[Dawn] Bleach ficlet, Ichigo/Ichigo
Title: The Space Within
Pairing: Hollow!Ichigo/Ichigo
Rating: R for sexual imagery
Word count: 247
Disclaimer: Bleach © Kubo Tite.
Notes: From a year-old meme challenge from dawnshadow, prompt "do you really think that I would ever let you go? / do you think I'd ever set you free?"
Summary: The strong bear their swords; the weak bear the strong. And the king is weak.
“You thought you could crush me down?”
The sideways world again, and he’s thrust into the middle of a losing fight. His mirror image is leering at him, striking at him again and again with a pure white blade and he’s on the defensive, cornered. His vision swims in and out of focus, and there’s the familiar feeling of blood trickling down his limbs, sticky and warm on his skin.
“You’re not even worthy of holding Zangetsu’s scabbard,” the mirror sneers. As he strikes, Ichigo tries to meet him blade for blade, but his own is made of wood and it shatters in his hands the moment the swords connect.
The mirror cackles, derisive.
Before Ichigo can react, the white blade buries into his shoulder, pain searing through him as the blade sinks through flesh and then through stone behind him, pinning him to the side of the building. His mirror lets go of his sword and climbs on top of Ichigo, shredding what remains of his robes and pawing at the bloody skin underneath with sickly white fingers. Struggling nearly blinds Ichigo with pain, so he’s forced to lay still, even as those searching fingers slide lower, curling around flesh. All he can see are yellow eyes as the mirror leans in, whispering harshly, “Now let’s see who rides who, your majesty.”
He wakes then as he always does, one hand fitful in his boxers and the other curled around a mask, white with blood-red streaks.
Pairing: Hollow!Ichigo/Ichigo
Rating: R for sexual imagery
Word count: 247
Disclaimer: Bleach © Kubo Tite.
Notes: From a year-old meme challenge from dawnshadow, prompt "do you really think that I would ever let you go? / do you think I'd ever set you free?"
Summary: The strong bear their swords; the weak bear the strong. And the king is weak.
“You thought you could crush me down?”
The sideways world again, and he’s thrust into the middle of a losing fight. His mirror image is leering at him, striking at him again and again with a pure white blade and he’s on the defensive, cornered. His vision swims in and out of focus, and there’s the familiar feeling of blood trickling down his limbs, sticky and warm on his skin.
“You’re not even worthy of holding Zangetsu’s scabbard,” the mirror sneers. As he strikes, Ichigo tries to meet him blade for blade, but his own is made of wood and it shatters in his hands the moment the swords connect.
The mirror cackles, derisive.
Before Ichigo can react, the white blade buries into his shoulder, pain searing through him as the blade sinks through flesh and then through stone behind him, pinning him to the side of the building. His mirror lets go of his sword and climbs on top of Ichigo, shredding what remains of his robes and pawing at the bloody skin underneath with sickly white fingers. Struggling nearly blinds Ichigo with pain, so he’s forced to lay still, even as those searching fingers slide lower, curling around flesh. All he can see are yellow eyes as the mirror leans in, whispering harshly, “Now let’s see who rides who, your majesty.”
He wakes then as he always does, one hand fitful in his boxers and the other curled around a mask, white with blood-red streaks.