In his gut his own lies are ringing.
That crazy bitch, he thinks to himself.
She's right, he knows. She has always been Yachiru, but inside of her the beast remains and he is the one pulling it out with his two hands. She is not dead, just buried under Unohana Retsu's calm guise.
"Save your tears," she whispers with a guttural sound in her voice. No woman has ever stirred his lust, but she does. They are both on the edge of death, so how is it like this?
Her hair, everywhere. His blood, or is it hers?, everywhere. Tattered clothing splayed across their bodies. Are they even fighting, or are they fucking? To them the two are so close it's hard to tell.
But only with one another. No other woman would sit so casually atop him with the tender flesh of her breasts so casually showing and simply smile. She was winning the fight. And why the hell would he stop her?
Man, woman, he had never cared. If you could fight, he would fight you. And she- she could fight like no other. His idol. A figure of respect. He had wondered if she died, but underneath her glares was a deadly warrior as she always had been.
He's clawing at her, but is it figurative or literal?, trying to bring that empty woman who slaughtered all upto the surface. Her smile is cold and full of a low animal instinct. It's there that Unohana Yachiru resides, alone with a dark empty lust. But only they two can understand it, and so they are not alone.
The ecstacy of battle already caused pleasure beyond belief, and a fight to the end of their own bodies was even more exhilarating.
He's never looked at a woman, not ever, because what the fuck did he care? Power was what he liked. And yet here he was feeling desire over her form, the form of a woman who would kill him if he let her. A warrior, and a woman. He shoved her down and watched as her breasts moved and the expression on her face turned to interest and challenge.
'Will you dare to fight me even this way, Kenpachi Zaraki?' her eyes said with icy intent.
'You bet your ass I will, Unohana Yachiru.' his own replied. She pulls at his hair and causes it to tangle and ruffle in her hands as she attempts to reign him closer and regain control. He uses that opportunity to grab her hips and roughly lift her leg sideways.
He can't stand it. He is yanking at the woman from before, pulling her out. And she is obliging, fighting him with her own essence- an essence just like his.
And for those moments, the moment where lust proved victorious, he felt a greater pleasure than he'd ever imagined.
And then, the greatest emptiness.