Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach,or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Outside Our Door
A/N: Current arc, Thousand Years Blood War, following Sasakibe's death; prompt was from Wye Oak's Civilian: "I'm perfectly able to hold my own hand, but I still can't kiss my own neck;" lemon.
There would be no more darkened corners, no more hidden rooms or deserted places for them to inhabit alone in the dead of night. It was all so very real for them now, both their kind and the humans who had joined their battle. Yet this was just the prologue, a single death as the precursor to what would become a full-on war. An ancient blood-feud that would be told in centuries time as a tale caught up in history's unending weave.
Anyone could be the next to fall, as she had to remind herself. In war, nothing was sacred, and there was no such thing as safety.
So she holds onto him as tightly as she can, eyes gazing out over their city, the only one they've ever known. Every streetcorner is carved into her memory, every hiding place she's used against him in their games of chase. If the night could last forever, perhaps she could stay her beating heart and remain content. Knowing that he'd always be here with her, that their world could never come to a burning halt, would bring such peace.
She likes the way he runs his hand down the back of her neck and into her hair, twisting his fingers around the ends with a subtle pull. Her mouth is shut tightly against his, a glare coming to rest in his soft eyes. So he brings her closer, hovering above as they lean further into the cool stone of the rooftop, moonlight casting their shadow far into the horizon.
There should have been some way for her to leave this body, though maintaining all sensation, so she could watch and enjoy all the things they're doing to one another.
Her fingers curl into the arch of his back, silent moans echoing through her head as he drops into her, the strain on his own body pulsing through her own with his touch. They move like the harsh blue waves across the scattered sands of the land's edge, crashing with a beat that fails that of their hearts.
Her feline eyes turn to watch him, his teeth caught in his lip. She wants to tease him, say that, should he press her any further, he'll bite right through. But it's the pride she carries that stops it, her voice. Should she open her mouth, he'll have her moaning in pleasure. So her hand slides across his body, falling between them to feel the warm weather of their love and revel in the motion he makes, their bodies pulsing together.
If it were to burn now, would they be able to pull apart to quell the flames? A pang of guilt strikes her, but no. If it meant leaving this, if it meant parting and chancing a run-in with death, she wouldn't be able to care about the streets of their sweet city.