Summary: Jushiro witnesses a murder one night, and Kenpachi is left to deal with the aftermath of the shooting that was brought about by his own hand. AU.

A Murderer's Embrace

In the dark room he stood, frozen to the spot as he watched his long-time lover lean against the opposite wall. The window beside him was open, and the bright full moon cast its silvery light unto the floor, setting his face aglow.

Kenpachi felt his breath hitch in his throat. He swallowed, forcing his way through the guilt he had swelling up inside him, and took a step forward. Much to his remorse, Jushiro instantly backed away, feet acting fast as he moved into shadow.

"Ukitake, listen-"

"I don't want your explanations," he said, voice high and nearly broken. "You... I just want you to get out. Now. Leave here and get out now."

"Ukita-"

"Get out now, please!" Jushiro was now pressed up against the wall, his trembling hands flat against the cement. "Just go!"

Kenpachi pursed his lips, stopping in his tracks. Taking this approach wouldn't do them any good, what with Jushiro and his being hysterical at the moment. Usually, it was Kenpachi who leaped to conclusions, but now Jushiro was being every bit irrational.

But one couldn't blame him. He was just a mere schoolteacher, one who never saw the violence of the outside world where drug lords reigned and mafia wars were fought, with the end resulting in nothing but losers on both sides. Kenpachi should have known better than to pull that trigger right in his own home. Who would have thought that Jushiro would show up at that very moment?

Kenpachi had held the shotgun, the end of its barrel digging into the bastard's temple. Sweat littered his skin, his shirt already damp at the sole of his back, bound hands trembling beneath his bottom, the middle-aged man, probably in his mid-forties, knelt at Kenpachi's feet. He had died with the last pleas of mercy upon his lips, when Kenpachi had pulled the trigger, when Jushiro unlocked the door with his spare key, stepped in, and was momentarily blinded by the blast.

As brutal as he might be, that was the last thing Kenpachi wanted on his list. Above everything else, he wanted to protect his lover and of course, his daughter, from the terrors he once had to go through.

Seemed like he failed.

Kenpachi, mentally berating himself, approached Jushiro cautiously. Jushiro continued to back away, inching along the wall until he came to a stop beside the wardrobe. They were now locked eye to eye, and Kenpachi could see that his face was as white as a sheet. The man was terrified; what made it even worse was that he wasn't just terrified of anyone, he was traumatized, and it was all because of Kenpachi.

"Calm down, Ukitake," said Kenpachi, voice low, trying to soothe him. He dug in his jean pockets and pulled out empty hands. "Look, there ain't nothin' in here. I ain't gonna do anythin' to ye."

"You...you killed a man," Jushiro whispered, eyes wide like a cornered rabbit. "You murdered him. With that gun of yours. Where did you get such a thing? I can't even... You're...you're a murderer."

Now, Kenpachi couldn't deny that, but he wasn't just killing for fun. There was always a reason behind everything he did. The dead man now lying on his stomach in their kitchen downstairs had been a big pain in the backside - mafia leaders were now rejoicing at his death.

But of course, Kenpachi couldn't tell Jushiro that. It would only make matters worse, and he could barely even handle this current dilemma.

Kenpachi ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a submissive sigh, and that was when Jushiro took advantage. He launched himself off the wall, rushed to the door.

But Kenpachi was fast, his hand shooting out to catch Jushiro by the wrist. His vice grip didn't budge, restraining Jushiro as he tried to pull away with all his strength. Without much hesitation, Kenpachi whirled him around and pinned him to the wall, Jushiro's back hitting the cement with a loud bump that left him breathless. Still, he put up a fight, resisting the larger man by means of beating his chest, his arms, his stomach.

"Ukitake, listen!"

Jushiro's hand shot out, slapped Kenpachi right across the face.

Neither of them budged for a moment, both stunned by the sudden move, and then Kenpachi took Jushiro's face in a hand and kissed him, claiming his soft lips in a rough, angry battle. Jushiro did everything he could to pull away - hitting, punching, slapping - yet he still couldn't get away. Kenpachi was determined on not letting him escape.

And when they finally parted, Jushiro leaned back against the wall, weathered and exhausted, spent. Beads of perspiration trailed down his face and neck; Kenpachi couldn't help but bend down to lick at his glistening throat.

"You killed him," Jushiro whispered, hand creeping up to rest on his chest, over his racing heart. "You shot him in the head with your gun and left him for dead in the kitchen in a pool of his own blood."

Kenpachi gazed down at him, closing his eyes as Jushiro squeezed shut his own, and then he pressed his nose to Jushiro's temple, breathed in the man's sweet scent of peach, one that often did a great deal of intervening in Kenpachi's blood-soaked world.

"An apology will not bring the man back to life, Zaraki," Jushiro murmured, fingers curling into tight, shaky fists. "Nor will it gain back any of my respect for you."

"That's okay," Kenpachi heard himself say as he wrapped his arms around Jushiro, bringing him into a strong, warm embrace despite Jushiro's persistent resistance. "Just let me hold ye for a minute."

Kenpachi ignored the way Jushiro stood frozen, every muscle in his body stiff and rigid. He ignored how Jushiro's hand trailed hesitantly around his hip, coming to rest on his back pocket where the pistol was stashed.

He tightened his grip around Jushiro, the gesture alone speaking volumes of what he felt deep inside. It spoke of guilt and remorse, of a longing that was never satisfied. It was Kenpachi saying sorry, in a way only he could manage. It was saying that all he wanted was just to safeguard Jushiro from these brutalities.

It was saying that he never wanted to let go.

Comments and corrections welcomed.