Final Chapter of Bleach Romances Fanfiction Contest, Round Two.
Warning: Rated M for Ikkaku's mouth and some sexual situations. No lemon, though, and if you're worried about it being too racy for you, it's probably not... If it were a movie, I'd guess PG-13. But, I rated it M to be safe.
Inferno
Kira shot back another cup of sake, savoring the fire as it burned down his throat. He reached for the jug to pour another round.
Empty.
Damn.
Three jugs already, and he was no closer to oblivion than he'd been yesterday, or the night before, or the week before that. Weeks had turned into months and still he couldn't reach that golden place, where nothing and no one mattered. Couldn't stop thinking, what if, and how, and why, and what now?
Gin had been everything to him. Captain, mentor, savior, teacher, lover. Now he was gone, leaving a gaping emptiness that couldn't be filled with training or paperwork or drinking or—
"Hey, baby," a voice whispered in his ear, making him shudder at the sheer sensuality of it all.
Kira twisted in his chair, eyeing the man whose hands were stroking the nape of his neck. Maybe he'd reached oblivion after all, because there was no way in hell that was actually Madarame Ikkaku putting the moves on him.
"Leave me alone," he muttered, in no mood for games. He turned around, ready to order another jug of sake and try again, proving his insanity—if it hadn't worked before . . . .
"C'mon, baby, don't be that way," Madarame slurred, running calloused hands down Kira's shoulders.
Kira bit back a groan, the simple touch too much for his contact-starved nerves. Was this really happening? The other man kissed his neck, and he knew it was. The Eleventh Squad's third seat was too proud, too macho, to ever take a joke this far. Madarame was sloshed.
And, apparently, gay.
Kira turned back around.
"That's better," Madarame cooed, stroking Kira's chin. "Now how 'bout you come back to my place and we'll see where the night takes us."
Kira opened his mouth, ready to rebuff him, to say he wasn't gay, to lie and keep the secret that was more of a burden than anything else, when something snapped in his brain.
Why the hell not?
Throwing down a few bills on the bar, he let Madarame lead him down into madness.
Ikkaku cupped the ass of the hot blonde in his lap and moaned as she thrust her tongue against his. She smelled like persimmons and melted like butter in his arms. Oh, yeah. Nothing he liked better than a good fuck after a hard day of fighting and a long night of drinking. The girl in his arms had played hard to get at first, but damn, once she changed her mind, she committed. She was shameless, sucking his tongue, writhing on his lap, shuddering and stroking him in all the right places. He'd never had a better, more responsive lover. And those hot little sounds coming from the back of her throat—he needed more. Ikkaku went wild, pulling the ties of her obi and sliding his hand down her stomach, reaching for—
"What the fuck?" he burst out, feeling something he was definitely not expecting. "You're . . . you're not a chick!"
He glanced up with lust- and alcohol-glazed eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of the man's ass as he bolted for the door. And what a fine ass it was. The man's whole body had been tight and lean, and Ikkaku was wishing he'd kept his fucking mouth shut.
After all, it wasn't an issue of preference. Just expectation.
Damn it all to hell. He was too drunk to try again; he'd just have to go to bed horny and give the guy a piece of his mind in the morning. He snorted; he wouldn't mind giving him a piece of some other parts of his anatomy, either . . . .
Kira sank down on his bed, wanting to die. Any tiny buzz he'd picked up from the copious amounts of sake he'd consumed had long faded, leaving him stone-cold sober to think about just how stupid he'd been.
He'd known Madarame wasn't gay. Everything about the man screamed homophobic meathead asshole. Kira wasn't sure if he should be madder at himself for forgetting all common sense in the pursuit of a good lay or Madarame for mistaking him for a girl. All right, so his hair was a little long these days, and he could be soft-spoken most of the time, but he wasn't feminine.
It was Madarame's fault; the man was completely trashed. Hopefully, he was so drunk he'd forget the whole thing ever happened.
But the way things had been going lately, Kira didn't think he'd be quite that lucky. It was best to lay low for a while—or forever—whichever came later.
The next morning, Ikkaku was in worse shape than he'd thought, because for the life of him, he couldn't remember the man's face. His ass, sure. His taste, the scent of persimmons, straight blonde hair falling into his eyes. But no face.
He needed help, so he confided in Yumi. And once the asshole stopped laughing, maybe he'd have an idea.
"You did what?" Yumi gasped for the fifth time, crying he was laughing so hard.
"Shut the fuck up, it's not that funny," he snapped, glaring at his friend. "I was surprised, that's all. I coulda sworn it was a chick. But seriously, what kind of a dick takes off like that, leaving a guy hard up?"
"The kind who thinks you're going to kick his ass for being a guy instead of a girl?"
"I'd never!" Ikkaku protested. "I like a good fight, but I'm no homophobe."
"Well, he doesn't know that."
"Everyone in Soul Society knows I'm friends with your fairy ass."
Yumichika raised a shapely—if gaudy—eyebrow. "My sexuality is still very much ambiguous, I'll thank you to remember."
"Whatever you wanna think."
"Hmmm," Yumi drew out, looking around (presumably for blondes), "it's too bad he didn't drop a shoe or something so you could track him down."
"What is this, cinder-fucking-ella? I would recognize his ass, should I just get every guy in Soul Society to drop his pants?"
"Only the blondes."
Ikkaku sighed. This was getting him nowhere. "Some help you are."
Yumi turned on him like an angry kitten. A very large, very scary, angry kitten. "Just because you fucked up and scared the guy off doesn't mean—"
He tuned the his friend out. "Do you smell that?" he asked suddenly, catching the light scent of persimmons along with something much more flowery. He raced toward it, Yumi hot on his trail, and ran straight into Matsumoto.
"Ikkaku, Yumi!" she squealed, holding up a sake jug. "Come to join us for some drinking? The next round's on you!"
"Uh, maybe later," Yumichika said as Ikkaku burst out, "Why do you smell like persimmons?"
It couldn't be her. There was no way in hell he would have mistaken Matsumoto for anything other than a girl, and no way she would have gone home with him in the first place. There was only one guy who could get anywhere with the busty lieutenant, and the idiot spent all his time trying to make her do paperwork.
"So rude, Ikkaku!" she scolded. "No sake for you!"
He could have screamed, but he knew it was a battle he couldn't win. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou, please tell me why you smell like persimmons," he tried again, biting his tongue.
"Better!" she huffed, releasing her death grip on the sake jug. "You can still smell them, though? Damn it, I hate the smell of persimmons, that's why I tried to cover it with this new perfume!" She pulled the bottle out, spraying it all over herself and sending everyone in the vicinity into a sneezing fit.
"Mafumodo, doo much!" Renji whined, holding his nose and grabbing the sake to take a nice, long draw. "Ahh, better. Warn a guy before you go spraying that shit all over the place!"
Her hands went to her hips. "Are you saying that my perfume is anything other than lovely, Abarai Renji?"
Renji put his hands on his own hips, completely unintimidated. "That's exactly what I'm say—"
"Abarai, I'm going to put you in the Fourth again if you don't shut the hell up!" Ikkaku barked, seeing his chance of getting anything out of the woman going down the tubes fast.
"I—yes, senpai."
He knew training Renji had been a good idea. "You were saying . . . ." he prodded Matsumoto.
"Huh?"
Ikkaku couldn't take it any more. "WHY THE HELL DO YOU SMELL LIKE PERSIMMONS?"
"Oh, is that all? Kira and I took some down to Gin's grave yesterday. We do it once a week. I know it's stupid, but they were his favorite, you know? He never really like flowers—"
Ikkaku had stopped listening, his mind reeling. Shit. Kira, of course. Blonde hair, tight ass, and jumpy enough to run off like a little bitch. Dammit!
He let Yumichika pull him away. "Stop gloating," he moaned.
"Who's gloating?"
"You know how much I can't stand Kira! He's such a whiny-ass weakling. You oughtta be falling over laughing by now."
"You forget that I do like Kira. And I bet he feels shittier than you do."
Like Ikkaku gave a fuck. "Let him. Serves him right for running off like a pussy."
Still. The hottest make-out session he'd ever had had been with Kira? Kira had been the one who felt like heaven in his arms? Ikkaku was bi, but when he wanted a man, he wanted a man. Strong, tough, good for a drink and a fight or two. Not Kira. How could someone with so little spark make him feel like he was burning alive?
Ikkaku was pissed. Pissed that Kira'd turned him on. Pissed that the little freak had dared to walk out on him when no one else in their right mind would want such a downer in their bed. At the same time, he wanted to feel that sweet ass filling up his palms again. Maybe he could just blindfold Kira so he couldn't stare at him with those beaten down eyes.
Nah, it was no good. Ikkaku couldn't fuck someone he didn't respect. He had some standards. Unfortunately.
Kira couldn't hibernate for long. He did have a division to run, after all—on his own. Still, the Third was far enough from the Eleventh that he thought he'd be able to safely avoid Madarame for, hmmm, the next lifetime or so.
So when he ran smack into the third seat the next afternoon, he knew the fates hated him. There was no other excuse for it.
He'd been flipping through the pile of paperwork in his arms and Madarame had been chasing after his sugar-crazed lieutenant, and then—bam! Kira's papers were everywhere and they were both on the ground.
"Sorry," Kira mumbled, trying to gather the documents as quickly as possible, while still keeping a hand within easy grabbing distance of his zanpaktou. Not to mention trying to shake off the jolt of pure desire that had run through him when their bodies met. What was wrong with him? Sure, he was gay, but he'd never had a thing for the brutish type.
Had never even looked at Madarame that way before, but now he couldn't get him out of his head.
"Watch where you're going, freak!" the third seat snorted, and Kira winced.
So that was how it was going to be. He didn't respond, didn't apologize because, really, he'd done nothing wrong. He just nodded and walked away; he'd found out all he needed to know.
"Hey!" Madarame called after him, and Kira heard the scrape of metal on metal. "Where the hell do you think you're going now? Get your ass back here and fight me!"
Kira just walked away.
Things went downhill after that. Every time Kira ran into Madarame—which for some reason, was almost everyday—he had to deal with the other man's glares, insults, and demands to fight. Renji and—Kami forbid, Hinamori—took to defending him, telling Madarame to shut up and leave Kira alone. Kira just ignored it all. He wasn't afraid; he just didn't see the point of dealing with it. Eventually Madarame would realize Kira had no intention of telling anyone about their near-miss, and he'd get over it. Right?
Ikkaku didn't know what'd gotten in to him. He was kind of an asshole, but he wasn't cruel. He didn't know why he kept hassling Kira, it was just that the guy was so annoying. He never reacted, except to look sad (but he always looked sad), he never stood up for himself, he just basically acted like Ikkaku didn't exist, like he hadn't melted in his arms and set him ablaze.
Ikkaku needed to provoke a reaction. He wanted to see that fire again, to believe it existed, and Kira needed it too. The other man couldn't keep living like that, walking around like he was dead inside and nothing and no one mattered. Ikkaku was doing him a service!
Okay, maybe he was just pissed.
When he felt a surge of Kira's reiatsu, a jolt ran through him. The wave of power was almost like emotion, the closest to passion he'd felt from the man since Ikkaku had realized who he was. He couldn't keep himself from following the power signature—not to help, of course. Just to figure out what was going on.
He found Kira in a deserted field in Rukongai, battling an Adjuchas with Hinamori Momo, who'd become Kira's tail ever since Ikkaku started harassing him. He crossed his arms, ready to laugh at the pair's poor battle skills.
The two lieutenants were holding their own pretty well, he had to admit, but they kept getting in each others' way. Served them right for not fighting one-on-one. As he watched, Hinamori stopped one of the hollow's arm with her zanpaktou, just as its tail swept toward her from behind. Kira shunpoed so quickly Ikkaku couldn't even follow him, landing in front of Hinamori just in time. The hollow's tail struck Kira across the face, sending him flying into a tree to land, crumpled, on the ground.
"Kira-kun!" Hinamori cried, racing toward him, heedless of the hollow that was lunging after her.
"Hinamori, watch out!" Kira warned, jumping to his feet a moment too late. Both lieutenants watched in horror as the hollow attacked, a heartbeat away from ripping them to shreds.
What a pain. Ikkaku sprung into action, drawing his zanpaktou and slicing the hollow in two from behind with one solid blow. He hated fighting like a coward, but sometimes it had to be done.
Kira blinked at Madarame, unsure if he was dreaming. Where had he come from, and had he actually just helped Kira?
"I knew you couldn't even take out a hollow with that wimpy zanpaktou!" the third seat taunted, sheathing his own sword.
Nope, not dreaming. In his dreams, Ikkaku was always nicer . . . and wearing a lot less clothing.
"Leave him alone!" Hinamori snapped, stepping in front of Kira. "There's nothing wrong with a kidou-based zanpaktou, and anything's better than being a bully like you!"
"Hiding behind a girl, now, huh Kira?"
Hinamori had the decency to wince. She wasn't doing him any favors. She and Renji had been sticking up for him for weeks now, not that he'd asked them too.
Kira couldn't live like this. He'd been hoping the other man would get the anger out of his system and leave him alone, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. Kira was tired of dealing with this shit, and he was beginning to believe that it was only going to get worse until he did something about it. So he cut off Hinamori, who was yet again jumping to his defense, and nudged her to the side.
"I got this, Momo. Why don't you head back?"
"But—"
He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Fine. But if you need me . . . ." she trailed off.
I won't. He waited for her to leave, then rounded on his tormenter.
"What the hell is your problem, Madarame?" he demanded, glaring at the man and wiping blood out of his eyes. "I get that you're mad about what happened, and whatever, I tried to ignore it because I should have known better—I'll take responsibility for that. But damn it, you came onto me, so let it go and get over it! I'm not afraid of you, and I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit!"
Damn, that felt good. He drew his zanpaktou and settled into a defensive position. "So you want to fight? Well, I'm here, let's fight. But if I win, you're going to shut the hell up and leave me alone!"
Madarame stared at him for a moment, grinned, and then disappeared into a shunpo. A moment later he was behind Kira, his arms wrapped around Kira's waist, pinning Kira's arms to his sides and rendering his zanpaktou useless.
Well, not quite. "Raise your head Wa—" Kira began, but Madarame's lips mashed onto his, cutting him off and stealing his breath all in one go. He struggled at first, but that mouth was too hot, too sweet, and the other man knew just how to use it. Within seconds, he'd turned around in Madarame's arms, his zanpaktou on the ground and his hands fisting in the third seat's shihakusho, trying to get ever closer.
Madarame pulled away, and all Kira could do was tremble. He was going to die now; it was inevitable. But Madarame just smirked at him.
"There's that fire I saw before." He placed another peck on Kira's lips. "You really oughtta let it burn all the time."
Kira just closed his eyes, wondering why he'd ever wanted oblivion when this heat was so much better.