Well, I don't know why, but this came to me last night, when I was banned to my room while my parents wrapped Christmas presents... Boredom does weird things to me. Anyway, this is meant to be a pretty vague narration, but I really like how it turned out. This was rated M mostly for safety because I'm not entirely sure (I think it's more borderline, but I'm not going to take chances until I get a second-opinion). So, I hope you enjoy this little oneshot I've written.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters. The unnamed OC (which, people who may know some of my other stories may know who she is) is mine, though.
She sought him out that night. He was used to it, really. He knew she would come to him, could even tell which nights she would, and he'd be there for her. The relationship they had was so complicated, yet simple. They each clearly understood the nature of their meetings, but neither would know how to truthfully answer if ever asked. For that reason, if not any other, silence was theirs. Not a soul had the slightest inkling of what happened on stressful nights behind closed doors.
Her nails bit into the skin of his arm as she threw her head back. His name lingered on the tip of her tongue, often started but rarely fully uttered. On the sparing occasions his name rolled off her lips, he was never 'lieutenant', but 'senpai'. He watched her eyes flutter closed as her long, fiery hair splayed around her head. The image could be compared to the flame in her spirit, but he only saw the blood of his past, or hers. The feeling of her skin, hot against nearly every inch of his, was often what pulled him out of a logical state of mind.
His lip against hers and her neck sent sparks flying behind her eyelids, in combination with his hips meeting hers. It never ceased to amaze her how much passion he held in these nights. Many a night, before they became lost in their lovers' embrace, she wondered if what she was doing was wrong. Every time, she couldn't find her answer. She decided to leave it be, as she had done again this night. Her hand traveled away from his arm, ghosting the surface of his skin to rest on the scars of his right eye.
His hand on her waist tightened their grip as a low sigh hissed through his teeth. There had once been a time he hadn't allowed her to touch the scars on his face. Now, he reveled in her touch. It was his high; it took the pain of his past failures away. There, in that room, in her embrace, it didn't matter that he'd killed his former captain. His mouth met hers again, no doubt further bruising the already sensitive flesh.
She let him do with her as he wished. It was the least she could do, she figured. She felt as though she was using him, to take it all away. The pain she'd endured, and put herself through, disappeared when she was wrapped in his arms. With him, she forgot her unrequited feelings for the Sixth Division's lieutenant. There was only this man, as long as she was here.
One could never consider her a whore. And if they did, he would have killed the poor, stupid bastard. She had only one lover, and it was him. He was the only one she'd come to, though neither of them were sure of all the reasons. Did she only go to him to erase her pain? Did he comply because she erased his? Was there really a much deeper reason than either could comprehend? It didn't matter to them.
She needed him.
He needed her.
If only for this moment.
Please R&R.