Paradox of Nihilism
Glow
Shoka noticed the bandage on her neck. She told him she was allergic to a kind of lotion Yuzu let her try and got a terrible rash from it. He never asked her about it after that. She felt guilty for the rest of Saturday night.
Sunday was her brother's twenty-first birthday.
Misao finally decided to get Shoka the fifth season of NCIS for his birthday – something she knew he'd been wanting for a long time. It wasn't even close to what she was contemplating, but this was more of a sure thing. Besides, she was fairly certain that Shoka had all the Elvis music he wanted.
In the afternoon, he went into jinzen. While Shoka tried to bring out his zanpakuto, Misao spent six and a half hours trying to beat Lisa – as futile as that exercise was. But she would still take six and a half hours of sparring with Lisa than another two with Kensei. Parts of her body she didn't know she owned until this morning still ached with that reminder.
By eleven at night, Shoka still hadn't come out of jinzen and Misao had school in the morning. The Visored once again sent her up to the spare lower bunk.
"Hey, Misao," a voice whispered in her ear. "It's time ta get up."
She stirred slightly, fingers curled in the blankets around her. "Shoka-nii?"
That same voice laughed quietly and a rush filled her body. "Baby, if I'm yer brother, this relationship is much more complicated than I thought."
Shinji! She pushed herself up, ignorant of the fact that she just internally used his first name. "I'm awake," she said curtly. "Don't get any funny ideas, Hirako-san."
"Whose gettin' funny ideas? I think ya have a dirty mind there, Misao-chan. Hurry an' get dressed. Ya have to eat yer toast quick, or we'll be late."
"Was Shoka-?"
"No, the zanpakuto is too angry ta cooperate with him right now."
He was openly staring. He knew it, but he really couldn't help it. She gave him an arch look, but he couldn't help it. How could he possibly not stare when she was prancing around dressed like that?
Shinji thoroughly approved of the Karakura High School's track team uniform. Particularly on his classmate, Misao-chan. Although he had to say, the other second-place runner, Shimiya-san didn't look bad either. Nor did Karin. But as soon as they started doing stretches, his eyes were glued to Misao. Is this…free? Shouldn't ya havta pay like, an entrance fee, or somethin'? Oh, good god…
Like all the other girls, Misao wore her hair in a high ponytail, her bangs framing her face and falling in thin trails to her collarbone like an afterthought. Her uniform consisted of a pair of tight navy blue shorts, track shoes, and a white t-shirt that begged to be peeled off her – slow and sexy. Dirty thoughts raced through his head faster than Mashiro on a sugar high. Misao knew it, too – he could tell. Her face was pink before the team even started running. If ya knew exactly what I was thinkin', darlin', ya'd be red as a tomato.
Practice was a fabulous two hours of delicious torture for Shinji and veiled embarrassment for Misao. At the end of practice, she talked to Karin and seemed even more irritated. He waited patiently as the whole team hit the showers. She came back in a dark green dress, her hair still damp. "Did you have to stare the entire time?" she hissed at him indignantly. "Half the girls are in love with you and the other half think you're a creepy stalker now."
He just smiled. "Darlin', ya were practically invitin' me ta look. It woulda been rude not ta accept. What's got yer panties in twist, honey?"
"Don't call me that," she said petulantly, touching the white gauze covering her neck.
"What, yer okay with 'darlin' and 'koibito', but ya don't like 'honey'?" he asked incredulously. "Seriously, did somebody spit in yer cornflakes this mornin', sweetheart? Ya look…well, ya never look anything but bored, but ya seem kinda ticked off."
"We aren't going to the café on Friday." There was an edge to her voice. "Karin needs help with her home economics project and Yuzu can't help her because she's having a cavity filled at the dentist's. I have to go to the Kurosaki's house."
"No." Shinji replied. "Next problem."
"Unfortunately it's not up to you. I have to get over this sometime," she pointed out in a very logical voice. "I can't just cower every time I see Ichigo-san coming down the street."
"No, ya won't cower," he said cheerfully. "I'll be happy ta let ya hide behind me."
She gave him a burning, doubtful glare. "I am going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."
"Darlin', I'll let ya do anythin' ya want," he said, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.
"I want you to go away," she said blandly.
But her mouth was giving her away to him again. He had to admit that he was beginning to love that about her. "Yer about ta smile."
"I am not," she said severely.
"Ya were," he insisted. "I saw ya. Ya were gonna smile. Ya make yer whole face blank but yer mouth shows me what yer thinkin'."
"I'll have to learn to stop that," she muttered thoughtfully, touching the makeshift bandage. For a moment, he saw her small white teeth come out and nibble her lower lip.
She was facing away from him, so she wasn't able to see the mischievous smile that lighted his features. "I know how."
"How?" She was more focused on her own thoughts than him and that was very dangerous on a man as quick as he was perverted.
"If you don't want me to know what you're thinking, you should kiss me," he said, utterly serious.
She looked at him, momentarily stunned by his serious tone and proper syntax – something he never used. The rushing swell of desire threatened to pull her into a whirlpool. His hand came up and gently, oh so gently, stroked the back of her head, black hair wet from her locker room shower. The lightness in her body was back, warring with the desire. Her chin tilted up to look him in the eye. For once, Shinji was not smiling. Her inner thighs tingled. Shinji's spell was over her once again. "Kiss me, koibito."
How could she possibly fight against that command? The compulsion was so strong before he ever said the words that she was licking her lips. With one hand on his arm, she leaned up on her toes slightly to make up the small height difference. Lips brushed against each other gently, just a soft sigh of touch. But even if she would never admit it, Misao wanted to taste blood again. She wanted to taste the way his tongue ring turned the flavor of his mouth metallic, feel the way his tongue moved fluidly against hers with quick hunger.
But she could not admit this, even to herself.
That didn't prevent her from nipping his bottom lip. He groaned and opened for her, the wet hair clenched in his fist dripping down his shirt sleeve. He groaned again as she pressed closer to him, her tongue flicking insistently on his piercing. She tasted strangely like apples. It was probably the gallon of flavored water she drank at practice. He let her lead, slipping both hands in her wet, tangled hair. She was slow, hesitant, and soft. But hungry.
The other hand tugged the collar of his shirt, automatically aligning their bodies together. She whimpered as he lightly bit the corner of her mouth. He tasted the way she remembered, the way she wanted him to. He smiled into the kiss as he felt her fingernails curl and uncurl on his arm, like a kitten kneading a blanket. Kawaii!
"Mmmmm." She moaned and pulled away, her chest heaving with shaking breaths. Her hand was still wrapped around his wrist, her fingers trembling against his pulse. "I think that communicated its own message, ne, Hirako-san?"
He stared and watched her other hand come up and cover the white gauze on her neck.
He was a little out of breath himself. He chuckled and leaned down, kissing her temples and working his way into her hair. "You may have to repeat that to me, Misao. I didn't quite get that last part."
She shuddered, feeling shivers that made her weak kneed go down her spine. He was still using his serious voice and it had a debilitating effect on her speaking skills. "We…we have to go back to the warehouse," she reminded him softly. "Shoka-nii is going into jinzen again."
"Hai." He held her hand until the warehouse came into sight, keeping his fingers tightly around hers, even when she tried to tug them away. That light glow was anchored deep inside her – which meant it was deep inside him. She was afraid she was beginning to understand what this feeling was. She was beginning to fear that he wouldn't understand when she told him no. It wasn't as if she really wanted to hurt Shi – Hirako-san.
Shoka was already in jinzen when they arrived at the warehouse. Shinji and Misao sat next to Hiyori, who was apparently on watch duty. Misao pulled her Japanese homework out and addressed the blond girl. "How long has he been like this, Sarugaki-san?"
"Since noon," Hiyori grunted. "That must be one pissed off zanpakuto. He had a dislocated shoulder and a shattered wrist this morning. It was a bitch for Hachi to fix."
"It's his own fault," Shinji replied quietly. Misao stare at him. "Shoka an' is zanpakuto carry a great deal of distrust an' resentment toward each other. He subconsciously associates his weapon with his Hollow – probably because they appeared at the same time – so he rejects it. That rejection fuel's the zanpakuto's anger and pain. This is Shoka's fault and now he has to fix it."
"How long will that take?" She was actually a little surprised by how well thought that explanation was.
"As long as it takes for Shoka to learn to trust his zanpakuto," Shinji said pensively. "How stubborn is he?"
"Normally he's not. But when he puts his mind to something…"
"Yeah?"
"He's like a mountain. Will not be moved."
Shinji sighed. "This may take weeks, months, or years. But each time he goes inta jinzen, they're a little closer ta trustin' each other."
"It didn't take this long for me."
"Apparently ya've given Shojohime no reason ta resent ya. An' ya were able ta trust her completely, with yer whole heart. Shoka an' his zanpakuto can't do that yet."
Mashiro tried to wrangle Misao into sparring with her for a little while, but thankfully, Shinji got her to back off. "Not everybody has yer unlimited energy," he chuckled, shooing the girl away. "Misao-chan already had some good exercise taday an' she needs ta get some homework done. Go off an' bug Kensei fer me, will ya?"
"Yay! I'll go bug Kensei doo-doo head!" Mashiro cheered, skipping away with the goal of pissing the white-haired man off.
"Thanks for that," Misao said quietly, pulling out the essay she had due on Wednesday.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, the other eye noticing that Hiyori was now comfortably asleep. Apparently she thought they could take over her watch. "No problem. Yer gonna hafta make it up ta her tomorrow, though. I can't hold her off that way fer very long."
She murmured back in acknowledgment, trying to check for spelling mistakes throughout the four pages she had written so far. "Tomorrow I'll have the time. Tonight I have two more pages to write and a make-up assignment for History."
What he muttered under his breath sounded a lot like complaints at her for being so anal retentive.
"What was that, Hirako-san?" she asked loudly.
He grinned shamelessly. "Ya need ta loosen up, darlin'. I bet I know how ta fix that." His voice was a soft, enticing murmur. "Do ya know how ta dance, Misao-chan?"
"Mama taught us to waltz. And Tou-san knew how to do the…jive, I think. Ask Shoka."
"Do ya know how tango?" The fact that his grin was beginning to seem sexy instead of creepy meant that she was in deeper than she wanted to be.
"What is a tango?" she asked politely.
He chuckled and she felt the hair on her arms rise. "It's a kind of dance, darlin'." She noticed that he was just far enough away from her to be considered appropriate but still too close for people who only knew each other a week and a half. "It's a dance about sex." Maybe his body language was appropriate, but his voice was anything but. "The dancers perform the steps ta mimic an act of passion an' carnal desire."
"Oh?" Was she supposed to be breathing this fast just from the words he uttered? "I suppose you're very familiar with this dance."
He grinned wickedly at her. "I've done it once or twice," he agreed, brushing hair away from her neck. His voice was becoming lower, huskier. "I'd love ta teach it ta ya, Misao-chan…"
She cleared her throat. "I'm not very graceful, Hirako-san. I'm afraid I wouldn't make a very good dance partner."
A finger ran down her arm and she didn't know why, but it went straight between her thighs. The knowledge that these weren't her own emotions suddenly wasn't helping her. "Ya don't need ta be very graceful, koibito. All ya have ta do is move with me…" He placed soft, light kisses on the unmarked side of her neck. He was making her head spin. "Follow my lead, koibito. Learn my rhythm…"
She tried to sound serious and severe, but came out sounding breathless. "I don't think we're talking about dancing anymore, Hirako-san."
He kissed the corner of her mouth, lips moving with sensual care against her skin. "Whatever gave ya that impression, Misao-chan?"
Whatever reply she could have given him was cut off when Shoka gasped, jerking violently as he snapped out of his jinzen. A cut across his face made a trail of dried blood come from his temples and he held up his shaking hands. The appendages were bloody and mangled, mutilated almost beyond recognition. "Help me," he said hoarsely. "Please help me."
Shinji was already out of the room. "HACHI! Hachi, we need you!"
