Prompt: hands
Pairing: Renji X Rukia
Disclaimer: Yeah whatever, I don't own Bleach, I'm not Tite Kubo, but who cares, I'm taking over China one day and will be all powerful anyway, so whatever, doesn't matter, not worries
Warnings: Rated T for strong sexual implications and general plotless romance
Renji Abarai never had the smoothest of hands.
They had always been rough, rough from the get-go, the very start. Rough from living as a vagabond, rough from the years of wielding a sword, rough and worn out from the beatings life dealt him, and the boulders he had to crush with bare fists to pull through.
To pull through to you, he always said.
His hands were huge compared to her, probably larger than her entire face. She tried to test this theory once, but he told her that if her own hand was bigger than her face, she was stupid, and then he smacked it into her nose. She had kicked him and whined, but took solace in the fact that she wasn't stupid.
You're stupid anyway, for falling for that, he'd said
And she'd whined some more.
But then he took those huge, rough hands of his and laughed, and pulled her close, and promised that no matter how stupid she was, he would never let her go.
And here they were, and those hands were still holding her close, close enough to feel his hot breath on her neck, close enough to trace every tattoo on his chest, to get lost in that wild tangle of red hair, and those twinkling eyes that looked at her like she was the sun.
His hands were huge, rough, calloused, like a monster, he'd whispered once.
Like a giant teddy bear, she'd whispered back.
Lying in his arms, she'd often contemplated how easy it would be for him to crush her, just like that; he could probably do it with just one finger. One rough finger pierced straight into her soul, and that would be it, die with her heart in those hands.
His hands, his body; everything about him was meant to rough, passionate, strong. But instead of being rough like his hands, his touches were soft and gentle. He cupped her face and kissed her like she was made of fragile china, caressed her body like it was a butterfly, always mindful of the delicate wings. Her thighs were thin cherry blossom branches to him; he parted them like he was leafing through a waterlogged diary, careful, don't rip the pages.
And he kissed her there in a flutter of light brushes or softly, slowly dragging those warm lips across her skin, as if she would bruise if he pressed too hard and the single touch of a tooth would make her bleed.
But he never, not once, had sex with her. At least, she could never bring herself to call it that. To her, it deserved more than just three letters, a crude vocabulary word. It was never angry and quick, or hard, or rough like his hands. It was sensual, unhurried, gentle, tender; a beast of a man stroking the wings of a broken bird. And she would gasp, moan, claw at the muscles in his back, ferocious like he looked but wasn't, and took from him until her body collapsed under the weight of his soft kisses and the gentle rhythm shattered her soul, and he would just take those hands hand gather up the pieces, and put her back together every time.
Once, she'd tried to note the difference to him. Making love, she'd called it.
Idiot, he'd scoffed, you can't make love. You can only find it, or hope it finds you. But I found it, tracing a calloused thumb along the line of her jaw, right here.
You're still really stupid, burying herself further into his arms, deeper into his heart.
"I love you too, Rukia."
Author's Note: It's weird, I really like avoiding the mention of names, for some reason. Eh, whatever. I have a list of all these ridiculous prompts, so this will probably gain some chapters in the future. But seriiously, what kind of prompt s "fried chicken for an average soul"? Needless to say, I'm a wimp and started out with the easiest ones. You know, like the generically romantic "hands". Whoever made this list is pretty damn creative though, not matter how messed up. Because fried chicken is for cool people, there is no such thing as an "average" person eating fried chicken and still be average. Remember that kids, and there's really no need for higher education, or even school in general!
But just in case I'm wrong, don't listen to a word I say.