Oh dear, my Ishida-fangirl-ness seems to be showing through.
I actually really, really don't like this fic at all, but others might, so I'll just put it up. (shrug)
---
-------Dare: START--
---
"I'm sorry."
Ichigo's on the floor. Ishida leans against the teacher's desk. His shirt is untucked, and there's a mark under his eye. Ichigo winces, too, as he touches his jaw. It's going to be one hell of a bruise.
"You're not."
Ishida's look is indifferent. Ichigo stands up slowly. Glares. His eyes are on poetic fire, fists clenched, legs apart.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I said I'm sorry."
Ishida pushes himself up a little as well. He's standing free of the table. "No, you're not."
He takes off his glasses, puts them aside, runs a hand through his hair. There's blood in it.
Ichigo stops suddenly, about to interrupt. Ishida's hair has gotten in the way again. His visible eye is black and cold, but his mouth twitches.
He looks different. Older.
Irresistible.
"You're just trying to get laid." By me. A predatory smile. Ishida walks forward a little, eyes flicking over the collar of Ichigo's open shirt. Something seems odd. It takes Ichigo a while to realise that they suddenly stand at the same height. He hauls Ishida even closer.
They're almost touching.
Almost.
"Say that again, uke-chan."
Ishida's grip is strong. Or maybe it's just Ichigo who's giving in.
"Well, I guess I don't need you to be sorry," Ishida says, mouth dangerously close to the other's ear. Ichigo tenses. He shoves Ishida backwards a little, grabs him by his collar again. Looks him in the eye.
I dare you.
---
--Dare: END-------
---
-Broken Coda
My number one pet hate is (are) ukes that are innocent and cute and blush a lot, and/or cry when they get screwed.
Especially Hisoka of Yami no Matsuei fame. (is trampled by hordes of fangirls)