Of Fire And Ice (Bleach, MatsuHitsu)
PAIRING: MatsuHitsu
SUMMARY: Matsumoto longs to claim Hitsugaya as hers, but first she must find out a painful secret that’s tearing him apart.
WARNINGS: het, citrus (heavy sexual implications and situations), mentions of rape
NOTES: This is an old one I wrote when I first started watching Bleach, and Matsu and Hitsu are both a bit OOC here; Hitsu is more shy/ timid and Matsu more aggressive.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach, and I make no money off of this
&&&&&&&&&&
OF FIRE AND ICE
by Neko Oni
“Damn you to Hueco Mundo and back, Hitsugaya Toshiro.” Matsumoto swayed in the doorway, glaring down with glassy blue eyes at the small, sleeping figure in the bed.
Hitsugaya lay curled up on his side, one small hand tucked under his chin in a fist. His spiky, thick hair was tousled and his young features relaxed, looking more childish without his usual scowl. So peaceful, sweet, and angelic. So pure, it made her sick. She wanted to impale him with Haineko, watch that sweet crimson blood bubble up and his life bleed away.
A hiccup interrupted her sneer. She staggered to his futon in a crooked zig-zag then plopped none too gracefully. Her vision wavered; she shook her head to clear it, then gazed down at him. So beautiful and fragile. Such a small container for so much reiatsu; it was as strong and powerful as his outer appearance was delicate.
His head lolled to the side, a strand of hair falling in his face. His per little nose scrunched up. She raised a hand to push it away, but froze when she was almost touching him. She hiccupped then smiled sadly.
“Even now, I fear to touch you. You’re too pure.”
She was fire. She scorched all she touched, leaving them in cold ashes. Her hair was fire and gold entwined, and no body was ever enough to satisfy the inferno that burned within her. She shared the warmth of her flame willingly, but either she or the other left before the embers grew cold. Ichimaru, Renji, Kira, Orihime, and countless others drew to her light and cracking heat when they were cold. But there was one who was cold whom she dare not touch.
He was ice. None had the pleasure of melting that frosty little glacier. His heart wasn’t cold or frozen; he wasn’t like Byakuya. He was strictly self-disciplined, but he cared deeply for those privileged few close to him. He was untouched, and pure like newly fallen snow. To touch him was to sully that cleanness, to break the shield of ice and burn the fragile heart beneath.
Matsumoto wanted him- she burned to touch that delicate ice sculpture. But she was afraid he would melt, or she would freeze. The little snow dragon blazed in her thoughts, in the heat between her legs.
“Damn you.” She hiccupped again, voice slurred. Her breath washed over him and his tiny nose crinkled. She reeked of sake.
Angry tears burned in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve ruined the others for me. All I see is you. All I want is you. Fucking little snowball.” She sneered.
They worked well together, opposite elements complimenting each other perfectly. She slacked on her paperwork a lot and he was always there to pick it up. She didn’t want the captain part of him; she desired the part none but those traitors- the cunt Hinamori and the bastard Kusaka ever glimpsed.
The part he would only reveal late in the dead of the night, the secret part of himself that he kept locked away so deep. Lately, she had been the only one staying for last call at the bar; the other shinigami had by then sloshed off to the beds of their loved ones or companions for the night. But not her, not anymore. Not since she wanted him. Except for poor Kira, who curled up around a bottle of gin, whimpering Ichimaru’s name. Shunsui went to his Nanao-chan or to Ukitake. Ikkaku went to the fairy peacock Yumichika. Renji went to Byakuya. Fucking Byakuya. They were all fucking, except for her. Sometimes, passing sleeping quarters, she heard them on her way home to her empty bed.
But not tonight. Tonight she went to Hitsugaya’s bed. Her hands fisted on her knees, angrily digging into the black cloth of her hakama. She wanted him under her, plundering that sweet mouth. But why couldn’t she bring herself to touch him, taste him, take him?
“Matsumoto.” Sea-foam green eyes peered up at her in concern and slender hands soothed away the tense lines of her face. Frowning, face serious, Hitsugaya sat up. Asleep, he looked more younger and child-like than he really was. Awake, he was focused and all business. Either way, she found him irresistibly cute.
Had she been sober, Matsumoto would have glomped him, smashing his face into her overwhelming boobs. In her inebriated state, he was pure temptation, the sweetest of sins and she could not give in.
She never touched him in that way for fear of defiling him. So innocent. So pure. She was no innocent- she was wanton, her long, lithe legs parting easily upon her will. She knew how to kindle desire, how to fan the flames of passion. Fire was her element, after all, and she liked to play with the fires of the heart.
Hitsugaya’s face was close to hers. His skin was pale, his eyes burned bright, and his lips were kissably soft and pink. He was ripe for the plucking. He stared at her. “Matsumoto, what’s wrong?”
Her cornflower blue eyes darkened with lust, her lips twisted in a sexy smirk like a leopard in heat about to pounce. He read the heat smoldering in her eyes and his own widened with a flash of fear for a brief second then he raised himself up higher, slim arms slipping around her neck. He closed his eyes, head tilted back in offering.
Hitsugaya wanted her to take him, to claim him. He wouldn’t force her into it; she still had time to change her mind. If she knew….tears burned his eyes but he fought them off. If she knew, she would fling him away in disgust. His sordid, shameful secret made him pause, kept him from pressing his soft lips to hers. He wanted her, burned for her touch, her caresses, his supple body trembling at her close, hot proximity. She was the one who came to him, and he offered himself to her, letting her take what she wanted.
Matsumoto lowered her head to press her lips to his and take him in her arms. He was as delicious as she’d imagined. So soft, sweet, and pliant. She pulled back at his moan. His lips were swollen from her kiss, pupils dilated and eyes more blue than green. He panted, smiling softly up at her.
She hiccupped.
“You’re drunk.”
“So what?”
He straddled her lap, pressing his face to hers as he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.”
Matsumoto attacked his mouth again, pushing him back down onto his bed. Her larger body engulfed his, her huge breasts smashing him into the mattress. He writhed, squirming, not quite finding her rhythm because of his inexperience.
Frowning, she broke away and leaned back, chest heaving. He looked like a wanton little slut in the bed, sleep yukata open and bearing that pale, pliant body to her hungry gaze. He held a hand out to her. “Rangiku.”
She had her open invitation- so why did she hesitate? What the hell was she doing? She shook her head, trying to clear it.
“I come to no one.” Here was this beautiful, pure soul, offering himself up to her. She, who had lain multiple times with Ichimaru Gin. She’d had threesomes with Urahara and Yourichi. She didn’t regret any of her past actions. She didn’t feel dirty- she enjoyed what she’d done, and would do it again. She had walked on the wilder side of sex, and that made her hesitant to touch him. To pull him into her wild world.
Hitsugaya looked up at her with lust-laden eyes. “I waited for you. And here you are.” He extended his other arm, offering his supple body to her.
She howled in drunken laughter. This was a wet dream come true and it was also the downfall of Hitsugaya Toshiro. Here he was, offering himself up on a silver platter to her less than honorable intentions. “Ah, the innocent one, waiting patiently for his True Love to claim him!” She mocked, mad at herself. Her brief moment of control was slipping- she was going to take him. She couldn’t help herself.
Hurt turned his eyes a light green with just a hint of the blue passion. He never looked away from her. Brave little snow dragon.
Matsumoto leaned in, ready to attack him, smother him in her heat. But the fearful, timid look on his face froze her. Her words had cut him. Ice numbed the fire blazing in her blood. Already, she was hurting him. And either one of them had yet to part their thighs!
Hitsugaya saw the hesitancy, the regret turning her eyes an even paler blue. Almost the hue of frost. Did she know about him? He closed his eyes and pressed his trembling lips together. Of course, to his lovely fukutaichou, who had graced beds all across Seireitei, he was just an untried little child, a playtoy. One that had been broken and was no fun anymore. He was not the innocent he looked; he’d been dragged down a darker path, his innocence ripped from him. Whether she took him, or left him in disgust, she deserved to know the truth. He couldn’t bear to hide it anymore.
“Don’t put me up on such a high pedestal, Rangiku. I’m not that innocent.”
Matsumoto jerked as if struck. What?! She’d kill whoever defiled him. She hissed like an angry cat, her long strawberry blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves of fire and gold. His small hands fisted in her locks, tugging her down on top of him again and putting her face within his reach. His fingertips ghosted over her face.
She lost herself in his large eyes, which were dark with sadness. “You don’t know what happened, do you?” His fingers eased over the skin of her throat, feeling it vibrate as she growled. Tears shimmered in his eyes. “I never laid with Kusaka or Hinamori. It was Aizen, and it wasn’t willingly.”
He laughed sadly, tears trickling down his soft, round cheeks. “You call me pure- but you’re the pure one. You give willingly. Its never been ripped from you. But what little I have left is yours, if you want it.” His sad little smile faded and his eyes closed.
He could understand if she didn’t want him. It was why he turned from others’ advances; once they knew, the didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want that burden. He couldn’t blame them. He was used, dirty goods. He wouldn’t want himself, either.
Matsumoto’s heart broke when that smile faded. The ice that had frozen her blood shattered. How could she, in all her drunken stupidity, take her anger out on him? “Shiro-chan…”
Thick, dark lashes fluttered open. He was confused at the sadness in her eyes, but instead of pulling away as he expected, she came closer, lips claiming his sweetly at first, then aggressively, bodies rubbing against one another through cloth.
Matsumoto yearned to burn that bastard’s touch away from Hitsugaya’s mind, so all he would know as her. Her touch. Her smell. Her kisses. She wanted to mark him as hers, so all who gazed upon his frosted beauty would know he belonged to her. But her scorching anger was soothed by cool hands like gentle snowflakes and eyes the blue green of an arctic ocean in summer as he softly moaned her name.
Matsumoto was so drunk she probably would not remember anything in the morning, but she could never forget how soft he was, especially when he was hurting, prompting her to be extra gentle.
That night, fire and snow entwined, not in a blazing battle, but in a slow, languid dance that dared the world outside to intrude.
OWARI
SUMMARY: Matsumoto longs to claim Hitsugaya as hers, but first she must find out a painful secret that’s tearing him apart.
WARNINGS: het, citrus (heavy sexual implications and situations), mentions of rape
NOTES: This is an old one I wrote when I first started watching Bleach, and Matsu and Hitsu are both a bit OOC here; Hitsu is more shy/ timid and Matsu more aggressive.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach, and I make no money off of this
&&&&&&&&&&
OF FIRE AND ICE
by Neko Oni
“Damn you to Hueco Mundo and back, Hitsugaya Toshiro.” Matsumoto swayed in the doorway, glaring down with glassy blue eyes at the small, sleeping figure in the bed.
Hitsugaya lay curled up on his side, one small hand tucked under his chin in a fist. His spiky, thick hair was tousled and his young features relaxed, looking more childish without his usual scowl. So peaceful, sweet, and angelic. So pure, it made her sick. She wanted to impale him with Haineko, watch that sweet crimson blood bubble up and his life bleed away.
A hiccup interrupted her sneer. She staggered to his futon in a crooked zig-zag then plopped none too gracefully. Her vision wavered; she shook her head to clear it, then gazed down at him. So beautiful and fragile. Such a small container for so much reiatsu; it was as strong and powerful as his outer appearance was delicate.
His head lolled to the side, a strand of hair falling in his face. His per little nose scrunched up. She raised a hand to push it away, but froze when she was almost touching him. She hiccupped then smiled sadly.
“Even now, I fear to touch you. You’re too pure.”
She was fire. She scorched all she touched, leaving them in cold ashes. Her hair was fire and gold entwined, and no body was ever enough to satisfy the inferno that burned within her. She shared the warmth of her flame willingly, but either she or the other left before the embers grew cold. Ichimaru, Renji, Kira, Orihime, and countless others drew to her light and cracking heat when they were cold. But there was one who was cold whom she dare not touch.
He was ice. None had the pleasure of melting that frosty little glacier. His heart wasn’t cold or frozen; he wasn’t like Byakuya. He was strictly self-disciplined, but he cared deeply for those privileged few close to him. He was untouched, and pure like newly fallen snow. To touch him was to sully that cleanness, to break the shield of ice and burn the fragile heart beneath.
Matsumoto wanted him- she burned to touch that delicate ice sculpture. But she was afraid he would melt, or she would freeze. The little snow dragon blazed in her thoughts, in the heat between her legs.
“Damn you.” She hiccupped again, voice slurred. Her breath washed over him and his tiny nose crinkled. She reeked of sake.
Angry tears burned in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve ruined the others for me. All I see is you. All I want is you. Fucking little snowball.” She sneered.
They worked well together, opposite elements complimenting each other perfectly. She slacked on her paperwork a lot and he was always there to pick it up. She didn’t want the captain part of him; she desired the part none but those traitors- the cunt Hinamori and the bastard Kusaka ever glimpsed.
The part he would only reveal late in the dead of the night, the secret part of himself that he kept locked away so deep. Lately, she had been the only one staying for last call at the bar; the other shinigami had by then sloshed off to the beds of their loved ones or companions for the night. But not her, not anymore. Not since she wanted him. Except for poor Kira, who curled up around a bottle of gin, whimpering Ichimaru’s name. Shunsui went to his Nanao-chan or to Ukitake. Ikkaku went to the fairy peacock Yumichika. Renji went to Byakuya. Fucking Byakuya. They were all fucking, except for her. Sometimes, passing sleeping quarters, she heard them on her way home to her empty bed.
But not tonight. Tonight she went to Hitsugaya’s bed. Her hands fisted on her knees, angrily digging into the black cloth of her hakama. She wanted him under her, plundering that sweet mouth. But why couldn’t she bring herself to touch him, taste him, take him?
“Matsumoto.” Sea-foam green eyes peered up at her in concern and slender hands soothed away the tense lines of her face. Frowning, face serious, Hitsugaya sat up. Asleep, he looked more younger and child-like than he really was. Awake, he was focused and all business. Either way, she found him irresistibly cute.
Had she been sober, Matsumoto would have glomped him, smashing his face into her overwhelming boobs. In her inebriated state, he was pure temptation, the sweetest of sins and she could not give in.
She never touched him in that way for fear of defiling him. So innocent. So pure. She was no innocent- she was wanton, her long, lithe legs parting easily upon her will. She knew how to kindle desire, how to fan the flames of passion. Fire was her element, after all, and she liked to play with the fires of the heart.
Hitsugaya’s face was close to hers. His skin was pale, his eyes burned bright, and his lips were kissably soft and pink. He was ripe for the plucking. He stared at her. “Matsumoto, what’s wrong?”
Her cornflower blue eyes darkened with lust, her lips twisted in a sexy smirk like a leopard in heat about to pounce. He read the heat smoldering in her eyes and his own widened with a flash of fear for a brief second then he raised himself up higher, slim arms slipping around her neck. He closed his eyes, head tilted back in offering.
Hitsugaya wanted her to take him, to claim him. He wouldn’t force her into it; she still had time to change her mind. If she knew….tears burned his eyes but he fought them off. If she knew, she would fling him away in disgust. His sordid, shameful secret made him pause, kept him from pressing his soft lips to hers. He wanted her, burned for her touch, her caresses, his supple body trembling at her close, hot proximity. She was the one who came to him, and he offered himself to her, letting her take what she wanted.
Matsumoto lowered her head to press her lips to his and take him in her arms. He was as delicious as she’d imagined. So soft, sweet, and pliant. She pulled back at his moan. His lips were swollen from her kiss, pupils dilated and eyes more blue than green. He panted, smiling softly up at her.
She hiccupped.
“You’re drunk.”
“So what?”
He straddled her lap, pressing his face to hers as he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me.”
Matsumoto attacked his mouth again, pushing him back down onto his bed. Her larger body engulfed his, her huge breasts smashing him into the mattress. He writhed, squirming, not quite finding her rhythm because of his inexperience.
Frowning, she broke away and leaned back, chest heaving. He looked like a wanton little slut in the bed, sleep yukata open and bearing that pale, pliant body to her hungry gaze. He held a hand out to her. “Rangiku.”
She had her open invitation- so why did she hesitate? What the hell was she doing? She shook her head, trying to clear it.
“I come to no one.” Here was this beautiful, pure soul, offering himself up to her. She, who had lain multiple times with Ichimaru Gin. She’d had threesomes with Urahara and Yourichi. She didn’t regret any of her past actions. She didn’t feel dirty- she enjoyed what she’d done, and would do it again. She had walked on the wilder side of sex, and that made her hesitant to touch him. To pull him into her wild world.
Hitsugaya looked up at her with lust-laden eyes. “I waited for you. And here you are.” He extended his other arm, offering his supple body to her.
She howled in drunken laughter. This was a wet dream come true and it was also the downfall of Hitsugaya Toshiro. Here he was, offering himself up on a silver platter to her less than honorable intentions. “Ah, the innocent one, waiting patiently for his True Love to claim him!” She mocked, mad at herself. Her brief moment of control was slipping- she was going to take him. She couldn’t help herself.
Hurt turned his eyes a light green with just a hint of the blue passion. He never looked away from her. Brave little snow dragon.
Matsumoto leaned in, ready to attack him, smother him in her heat. But the fearful, timid look on his face froze her. Her words had cut him. Ice numbed the fire blazing in her blood. Already, she was hurting him. And either one of them had yet to part their thighs!
Hitsugaya saw the hesitancy, the regret turning her eyes an even paler blue. Almost the hue of frost. Did she know about him? He closed his eyes and pressed his trembling lips together. Of course, to his lovely fukutaichou, who had graced beds all across Seireitei, he was just an untried little child, a playtoy. One that had been broken and was no fun anymore. He was not the innocent he looked; he’d been dragged down a darker path, his innocence ripped from him. Whether she took him, or left him in disgust, she deserved to know the truth. He couldn’t bear to hide it anymore.
“Don’t put me up on such a high pedestal, Rangiku. I’m not that innocent.”
Matsumoto jerked as if struck. What?! She’d kill whoever defiled him. She hissed like an angry cat, her long strawberry blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves of fire and gold. His small hands fisted in her locks, tugging her down on top of him again and putting her face within his reach. His fingertips ghosted over her face.
She lost herself in his large eyes, which were dark with sadness. “You don’t know what happened, do you?” His fingers eased over the skin of her throat, feeling it vibrate as she growled. Tears shimmered in his eyes. “I never laid with Kusaka or Hinamori. It was Aizen, and it wasn’t willingly.”
He laughed sadly, tears trickling down his soft, round cheeks. “You call me pure- but you’re the pure one. You give willingly. Its never been ripped from you. But what little I have left is yours, if you want it.” His sad little smile faded and his eyes closed.
He could understand if she didn’t want him. It was why he turned from others’ advances; once they knew, the didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want that burden. He couldn’t blame them. He was used, dirty goods. He wouldn’t want himself, either.
Matsumoto’s heart broke when that smile faded. The ice that had frozen her blood shattered. How could she, in all her drunken stupidity, take her anger out on him? “Shiro-chan…”
Thick, dark lashes fluttered open. He was confused at the sadness in her eyes, but instead of pulling away as he expected, she came closer, lips claiming his sweetly at first, then aggressively, bodies rubbing against one another through cloth.
Matsumoto yearned to burn that bastard’s touch away from Hitsugaya’s mind, so all he would know as her. Her touch. Her smell. Her kisses. She wanted to mark him as hers, so all who gazed upon his frosted beauty would know he belonged to her. But her scorching anger was soothed by cool hands like gentle snowflakes and eyes the blue green of an arctic ocean in summer as he softly moaned her name.
Matsumoto was so drunk she probably would not remember anything in the morning, but she could never forget how soft he was, especially when he was hurting, prompting her to be extra gentle.
That night, fire and snow entwined, not in a blazing battle, but in a slow, languid dance that dared the world outside to intrude.
OWARI