Ugh. Sorry for the long break. Trust me. You don't want to know.
Title: Metonymy
Prompt: #011 Red
Characters: Urahara/Mayuri
Warning: General gore and mentions of disaster porn
Urahara looked in the lab.
As always, Mayuri was at his bench. The lights were turned off, but the full moon provided more than enough brightness to see clearly.
The remnants of…something graced the tabletop. A collection of organs were piled up in a little metal container along side a bloody mess of skin, fur, and bones with Mayuri's hands stuck in.
Mayuri wore no gloves, just the pale white of his hands stained red. Urahara frowned, opened his mouth and didn't say a word. He just silently observed the frenzied but seemingly happy muttering that was accompanied by the occasional gish of tissues giving way.
Carefully, muting the sound of each step, he crept over to the working man. He observed the angles that his body cut in his lab coat, his narrow shoulders, the jaunt of a hip.
He loved the man who bandied about ideas, the man who kept his wild mind in close-clipped order. He loved the man who stayed up all hours of the night scribbling down equations and diagrams, debating arguments, and hurling insults at him through the paper-thin wall next door.
He didn't want to love the man before him now, who created carnage to satisfy his own cravings for chaos. That was a dangerous road to go down, one that was scarily seductive. The more one does questionable things, the easier doing them becomes…
There was no point in not accepting a part of the whole. He had to love him, frightening beauty and all. The red that coursed through them both. Gods, he loved him all wrong, like the slowed tempo of voyeurs pretending to ignore a fatal crash.
Urahara wrapped his arms around Mayuri's waist. Mayuri paused for a breath before continuing with his tinkering. He stayed there in Urahara's arms as he worked.
It was here that they met half way.