A Lungful of Stars
By: WhisperedSilvers
Prompt: "We'll be the brightest stars in the sky."
Summary: "We're not in love, but I can make love to you." —Hitsugaya/Rukia
Twenty-three days.
It's been three days since that thing married Ichigo.
It's been twenty-three days since the ache in her heart became a constant reminder of a pain that gradually fell like broken glass—that burnt like a dull spoon, carving pictures and tears into skin.
She's not drinking, but she knows she'll feel better when she burns her throat with fire, and it shoots down into her bloodstream, into her veins, and into her brain with that fog, that thick black smoke, clouds the sight beneath her eyelids.
The sun is like honey—warm on her face, warm on her hair, skin.
"—okay?" A voice greets her and it's not unfamiliar. She opens her eyes, slowly, silver light glinting aqua.
"Captain Hitsugaya?"
He raises an eyebrow, before taking a seat next to her. The grass cold beneath his hands, green blades brushing the insides of his fingers and he continues with curiosity, "You haven't called me that in a while."
She chuckles without meaning; "You didn't like anyone calling you by your first name."
He hums deep in his throat, before admitting softly, "You were the exception."
Her eyes widen slightly. She wants to swallow the thickness in her throat, but she settles on flickering her eyes to look at him, she doesn't flinch when teal orbs pierce her's, but she very much wants to.
"So you admit that you liked me calling you by your first name?"
"I'm not admitting anything. I'm saying that I want you to call me by my first name."
She shifts slightly, "That's it?"
"That's it," Toshiro promises, he runs his fingers through her hair, touching the skin of her forehead lightly, he half-smiles, when he watches her eyes follow his fingers. He asks quietly, "How are you feeling?"
Her face cracks a smile that's full of so much anguish that Hitsugaya can't breathe for the barest of seconds, she admits quietly, "Not much better."
He lies next to her, hand still tangled in hair, he replied just as quietly, "It'll get better."
"Will it?"
Toshiro's fingers tighten to the base of her scalp, with much-unrestrained forcefulness, he yanks her, she topples over him, a sharp gasp escapes her, using her hands she attempts to balance herself by pressing onto the hard planes of his chest, and he does not give her time to process the sharp movement.
His hand leaves her hair and trails both appendages to her hips, yanking her to sit on his stomach, and the air within her chest disappears. Bewilderment floods her eyes and she's unsure—not sure of anything for that matter.
He narrows his eyes, "Stop it."
Irritation pushes the shock away and she hisses angrily, nails biting through his thin shirt, "Stop what?"
"Feeling sorry for yourself," Hitsugaya bites back, his hands tighten, "If anything, you are not pitiful."
And for a moment, he reminds her of him. Prideful and confident, steady enough to have her stable and she remembers that she's still on him—fumbling she tries to swing her legs back, and he lets one hand travel to her lower back, fisting into the base of her spine. She collapses with stuttering hips, her entire torso pressing onto his chest, her head resting at the end of his clavicle.
She doesn't dare breathe.
Hitsugaya does—deeply, and she can feel the hard contours of muscles. He loosens his fist, to slide underneath the back of her shirt, feeling the smooth skin, blunt nails digging into the tense muscles of her upper back.
She does not remember her breath being this breathy, she tries to hide her tremble with a sigh, "What are you doing?"
His other hand slides back into her hair and he pulls her head up, just until her forehead rests on top of his, his voice is deep and when he speaks, he's not whispering, "What are you doing?"
She can't answer.
She can't answer because she doesn't know how to answer.
She can stare into his eyes and realize that she can't—can't hide anything—from this man; she can't hide her pain, her loneliness, her insecurities—nothing, and it scares her.
But he doesn't hide anything from her either. She can see it—the same desire that she used to look at Ichigo with, the same kindness that she used to see in his eyes—but Hitsugaya's eyes—his feelings were of a different intensity. A type of an intensity that had the glass inside her shaking—that had her walls cracking at the mere strength.
She would not go down quietly.
If anything, she knows that much.
"I—" Her throat is clotty and she tries to find air.
But she cannot, not with him in front of her, not with him breathing in the scent of her mouth and not with him—breathing in her.
"Hey," Toshiro suddenly says, when had she begun to stare at his lips—her eyes focus on ice, and she's suddenly aware of how close he is, "Hey, look at me."
"I am," She whispers and oh my god—she can't breathe.
"Good," He murmurs, his eyes flickers down to her lips and then back to her eyes, his hand travels to the back of her neck and he pushes down, "That's good."
Hitsugaya kisses her.
He kisses her and she could feel herself tremble. His lips are soft, but he's kissing her with a certain desperation that she's always wanted, that she always craved. A certain roughness that has her spine shivering, a certain passion that makes her eyes cross and he's really kissing her.
His tongue runs over her lower lip and she can barely register the situation when he's running his hand under her shirt, those fingers scratching her back and then his teeth grazes the corner of her mouth—she gasps, trying to arch back and pushes her even closer. His tongue devouring her—demolishing and destroying, she whimpers and he's so close to her—that she feels whole.
And perhaps, that's all she wants—to feel complete, to feel that security and to feel so good.
She pulls back desperate for air, but he does not stop. His mouth is on her neck, nipping, pulling at the skin and tasting her colors. It's the same way he touches her, learning the points on her skin, understanding the way her pores raise at the slightest brush of her spine and the way her fingers curl onto his shoulders when he bites her just right.
"T—Toshiro," She gasps when he bites the junction where her neck and shoulder begins and she tries to disperse the wet smoke that clouds her mind, "What are you—what are we doing?"
She's on her back now, with him on her and he's not okay—he isn't, because he's shaking and she tightens her hands on his wrists.
He looks at her with burning tealtealteal eyes and he catches her lower lip with teeth. Bites and sucks away the sting—static runs in her blood.
"I'm going to make you feel good," Hitsugaya admits, his voice is just as clotty as hers. Charcoal-colored hair touching her cheekbones, he brushes his thumbs on her hipbones, "So good."
"You don't—"
"Rukia," He says, he kisses her once and then twice, "I'm here," He kisses her again, burning her lips and her eyes rolled back, "I'll make you feel good. I won't leave."
He's kissing her again, with that same desperation that she's having a hard time fighting with her morals, "—but."
Hitsugaya grounds into her and she arches back with a cry.
"Only me—you're only with me," He speaks gently—far too gently, that it comes out as a sigh, he breaks into her soul to play with the ice, the fears and the warmth, "So only look at me."
And for the first time in twenty-three days, she can't remember what it feels like to be in pain.
A repost. Just cleaned it up a bit.
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