Ngoc Chau does not own Bleach
So this is the follow up to Break. Hope you enjoy. If you have any suggestions, please leave them in a review or send it in a PM!
Prompt: Pulse
He sighed as the pen scratched the surface of the paper.
Mayuri looked up to the clock that hung over the far wall, opposite the door. It was almost five, the room was losing its light as the sun was setting. He sat in the office room, waiting for Nemu to arrive. A few days earlier, he had arranged for a routine check up for her, he wanted to see how her body was faring, if anything would have to be improved or maintained, should anything be restocked inside her, etc…. Kurotsuchi Mayuri may not have been an eloquent man as others when it came to showing affection or 'love', but he knew to take care of his daughter.
He crossed his arms as he looked to the clock again, he wondered why he had come early. Because the work is already done, there is nothing else to do, and it's too late now to start on anything new; a voice answered him in the back of his head. He looked at the clock: five more minutes and it would be five o'clock. He had scheduled the check up for five-sharp. He promised himself that if she was late, he would definitely make sure that she would regret it. He blew out heavily through his mouth, half-expecting tendrils of smoke to emit. Perhaps he should take up smoking, Akon had always told him that he adopted the habit to calm himself down. What for, he had asked back then. The response was voiced not by him himself but by the gaze he suddenly threw all around the labs. Still such a little novice, Mayuri had concluded then.
It annoyed him that Nemu had recently been going back to her club. The only bright side was that the pink haired lieutenant of the eleventh division still had not infiltrated his division for the past months. There was only three more minutes till the clock would strike five. If she was not here in two minutes, he would take her apart again.
The next minute or so he had thought the former, she entered into the room: her head bowed low. She greeted him, her eyes still glued to the floor, and bowed earnestly forward. He responded in kind with a nod. There was almost no need to exchange words between them. She knew what protocol was and he knew that she knew.
Nemu left her choker on, but was swift in untying the white obi of her uniform and slipping off the modified black shihakusho from her shoulders to the floor. Modesty did not exist anymore between them; they, who had been through so much together, who knew each other… As she stepped out of the rumpled piece of black, Mayuri kept close watch on the length of her legs, how it traveled as it rose and descended. Damn him. Damn her most of all. How dare she compel him to want after her still!
It was odd that he should look upon nude bodies almost every day in his work, yet to see his daughter stripping incited great desire. Her body was not so different from any other bodies of women.
She picked up a standard robe that was left on a hook by the wall and put it on her. Still, she did not look at him. He paid attention to the long braid of hers that dangled to and fro as her arms adjusted to tie the belt of the robe. Her legs were made longer by the sheer length of white that covered them.
Strangely enough, his eyes joined at a common pot where the shadows accentuated the curves of her thighs and where the braid ended. He could very well do whatever the hell he wanted to her and she would let him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up to imagine what he could do to her: to trap her in his hold, make her scream, feel that warm skin under his cold hands and nails….
If she still didn't want to look at him, no matter, he'll simply take her from behind; throw her face into the floor and have his sadistic ways with her. He noticed a shiver go through her and smiled maniacally. So she heard, did she? He went on thinking more and more sordid things that he would do to her: all to make her scream for him. And they all involved a great deal of blood, knives, and ropes. All the while, he noticed with great delight that she was silently shaking. She knew he would not hesitate to go through with it, what did he have to lose.
The spell was ended when he heard her whimper. And what was this he was thinking to do, he suddenly realized. Rape her? Dear me, he thought, it would be nothing short of a dry experience.
Perhaps on other days, he would've made some amorous play on Nemu to hint to her of his need and as a good daughter, she would willingly oblige him. But the memory of their last encounter together disinterested him and he would not go through such a thing again. Not only was it humiliating in a certain aspect, but it had rather repelled him from the idea of attempting another amatory tryst. His hand, though just as satisfying, did not prove to be wanted company as it had been in earlier days before Nemu.
He called out her name and at this she nervously circled on her heel to look back at him. He pointed to a chair not too far from him with his pen in hand. Seriousness was all he was about now.
She sat, he questioned. When it came to physical checking, he carefully measured her and weighed her. His hands touched her everywhere and groped under to feel if any of the inventory of poisons and medicines inside her were hindering and needed to be refilled. Strange that as he worked, his lust almost disappeared. Almost. He remarked how her face flushed a tinted red as he touched her all around. She was always sensitive during check-ups like these. Still, she avoided looking at him.
He told himself to stop thinking about it too much, to stop caring. As long as work was done and she was serving her purpose to assist him and complete whatever he left for her: that was fine. His golden eyes rolled downwards to look at her. Standing before her, Mayuri, with snake-like reflexes, grabbed her hand. His digits rested upon her wrist, the thumb following the heartbeat. She was quiet. He made careful note about her pulse, the way it was speeding it up now. Hm, was she scared? Was she angry?
Feigning apathy, he looked to the clock: ten minutes past five. Suddenly, he felt something wet drip onto his hand.
He looked back to see where the source of the wetness had from. Surely it could not be from where he was guessing. But it was, it actually was.
Nemu's face was indifferent and emotionless, the lips held shut and the nose still. Her eyes, on the other hand, had become red and misty with the overflow of her tears. More drops fell upon his hand, the top of the wrist, his index knuckle…. He could recount the times he had saw tears in her eyes, but never once had he seen them like this before. She made no effort to wipe away the tears, neither did he. But he watched, a strange sound of interest coming from him, as he leaned in closer to her.
Her pulse quickened in his hold. Mayuri's grip tightened on her hand, his already-too-short nails digging into her wrists. He brought the palm of her hand to the side of his face, admiring the warmth and gaping at how potent the empathy between them could sometimes be.
It was as though their thoughts were not being shared directly to each other, but rather that it was being released from them, All to the air around them that they breathed and was surrounded in. Liken to drowning, the two of them - he knew that she could feel it too - drowned in themselves and the other. He had never felt pain for her, had always shared it with her or given it all up to her so that he could arise the victor in battles. For once, she was sharing it with him, and not the other way around. It was indescribable, no words existed to give account to her.
His tongue clicked on the roof of his mouth, against his teeth as he pressed her palm closer to his cheek. The tears from her poured continuously. She whimpered. He took in a deep breath.
Did she really think him so cruel when he told her that she could never have children? He knew then that she indeed fancied the idea of mother, but he had hoped and thought that she would pass it off as a whim and forget about it. Obviously she did not. He had knew inwardly the cause of her silence, but he could not have expected it to be this heavy. Her dam crumbled. The waters rose higher for the two of them.
He noticed that he was shaking.
His brows furrowed together and his teeth clenched as the sick feeling rose up in him, the familiar pain from the other night made itself known again. It was her fault that he was feeling like this! She was making him feel so… lousy!
With nary a word, his hand drew back.
She was suddenly on the floor, the chair having toppled with her.
He had struck her hard across the cheek, the injury swelling to be a violent blush. Nemu looked up at him for a second through watery eyes and turned her face away, a dejected sigh coming from her lips.
In that instant, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, wanting nothing but to be away from her.
And as he strode through the halls, shinigami here and there clearing a distinct pathway for him, his hands continued their shaking.
What did you think? Were they both IC enough for this scenario?