Unorthodox
The music was pulsing through his rock solid body with every beat blasting from the speakers in the large room. A drink in hand, back leaning against the bar with amber eyes scanning the huge crowed on the dance floor, and his orange hair was turning every shade of neon with the multi-colored lights. He was a sight to behold for any passing female. His tall, lean body was in a half buttoned, short sleeved shirt to show his incredible pecks with several jagged scars on his tan chest; which only added to his animalistic attraction, and a pair blue jeans that hugged every curve of his tone ass and legs. Yes, every woman, of legal age or not, openly stared at him, except one.
With hands raised to praise the Music Gods, lithe body responding to every pound of the bass, eyes closed hiding from the room a beautiful shade of violet, she was the only one to hold his attention.
A smirk broke the permanent scowl on his chiseled face as his eyes sparkled with lust. No man could keep her beat, her moves where too smooth and she was tiny so most men found it awkward dancing next to her. Setting down his empty glass, smirk and spark still in place, his feet lead him straight to her, bumping and pushing into anyone that dare get in his way.
They met, body, mind, and soul, and it was perfect. Yin met yang, black mixed with white, instead of two separate entities, they became one beautiful unit without even trying. Her pale hands threaded through his orange hair while his moved from her neck, hip, stomach, breast, no place was forbidden to his callous digits. Moans of pleasure where lost in the noise of the atmosphere.
Onlookers watched, memorized. They had never seen a bond as strong as the two were demonstrating on the dance floor. Whispers flew through the crowed like a wildfire. 'They must practice every day!' 'I wonder if they're lovers?' 'Ahh, love in the purest form right there.'
They were almost right. The two did practice every day, with swords and spells but never music.
The title lover was true but not in the sense that most people knew. Lovers insinuated caring if their partner was in pain, if they both got off, and snuggling afterword. It was more than sex to them, but violence for them ruled the bedroom. When done with lovemaking, both sported bruises, bit marks, sometimes broken bones, and a distinct limp.
Love, they did love each other. They would, and have, died for each other. The words have never passed their lips but words where never a big factor in their relationship anyways.
Hours later found the two in his bed, sweaty and breathy and completely satisfied. They were both completely nude; him spread out on his back, her lying on his chest on her stomach, deflated manhood still in her. Using the last of his energy, he took in a deep breath and said, "Off." Then he grabbed her hips, slid her off of him, and then pushed her so she slipped right off his bed with a satisfying 'thump'. "Asshole," Came from the floor.
Several minutes later and she had just enough energy to crawl back onto the bed where she curled into a ball, back against his side and promptly fell asleep. He chuckled at the familiar pose she slept in every night. She once told him why. Living on the streets meant constant danger but not getting any sleep was even more dangerous. So, every night, she would find a sturdy wall, put her back against it, curl herself into the tightest ball so no one could easily attack vital areas without waking her up, and she would fall into a light sleep.
He felt privileged that she found him strong enough to be her wall, to protect her venerable back from anyone or anything that would try to take advantage of his sleeping midget. And with that thought, his amber eyes started to disappear behind their lids until the vision of his bruised lovers back started to blur before completely turning black. A smirk came to his tired face as the flashback of him shoving her against the doorframe lulled him into a satisfying dream just as he fell asleep.
As unorthodox as they are, without each other, they would be broken pieces just going through the motions of life without fully living, drowning from the rain in their separate worlds. But together in their own world, they fit perfectly, sitting under an umbrella to shield themselves from the sun.
The End
In case anyone didn't know who the two are in the story, it's Ichigo and Rukia but I felt their names would kill the mood I was trying to set (whatever the hell that means, but that's how I feel).
Anyways, constructive criticism would greatly help my horrible grammar and spelling skills for any future story that I decide to write. Regular reviews are fine as well, I love getting those little 'that was a really good story' notes. So, if you don't feel like writing a large review, just a few worlds are much better than none. Oh, and Flames just keep my unusually cold feet nice and toasty.
Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my little story and I hope you liked it enough to review. After all, writers can't live off of self-praise all the time, now can we? Later.