fanfic [Lover] part 2 winter is coming
Title: Lover
Part 2 Winter is coming
Author: bloodandpepper
Pairing: IshiIchi
Rating and warning: Harmless.
Summary: I knew it was him long before he uttered a word; his unique fragrant gives him away. There are times when I am able to detect him in a crowd of people due to his scent, like I'm some bloodhound solely trained on tracking him. That's my concept of being 'romantic', I guess.
***
I'm caught between sleeping and waking. The tendrils of my dream are still floating around me and my eyelids feel like they are made of lead. But I don't need my sight: there are other senses that are already wandering.
It's raining outside. There's that faint though unmistakable pit-patter against the window that makes me curl up against the warmth around me. This steady heat feels like garden Eden, like endless sun and wind, all in one. It makes the rain a contrasting reminder of a colder world, a world I don't want to return to. A sky, tipped into an odd angle, and gravity defying buildings are flashing through my mind. No, I don't want to go back, I don't want to, don't...
I wake with a start, and a pain is shooting up my side as if I've been grazed by a lightning bolt. I cringe, trying to breathe the ache away and suddenly there are arms that encircle me, firm hands easing me down again.
"Idiot, lay down," a sleepy voice mutters, but there's a steely undertone in it, that doesn't accept a 'no' as an answer, so I let myself be guided unwillingly.
A calming hand strokes my hair and there are words uttered that would make sense if I wasn’t so damn focused on that searing pain. But slowly it ebbs away, leaving me shivering, drawing in ragged breaths, while tears are drying at the corners of my eyes.
What a herculean task opening one’s eyes can be -and when I finally do I'm greeted by the sight of a window, peeking out between half-drawn curtains. My ears weren't betraying me: it's raining. Clouds are racing over an ash colored early morning sky and the treetops ar e stars in that wild dance the wind has set upon them. Winter is coming.
The fingers in my hair never stopped their silent seesaw and I begin to inhale his scent. He smells like earth: spicy, herbal, clear. I knew it was him long before he uttered a word; his unique fragrant gives him away. There are times when I am able to detect him in a crowd of people due to his scent, like I'm some bloodhound solely trained on tracking him. That's my concept of being 'romantic', I guess.
My eyes fall shut again and I bask in the feeling of being touched so gently. It's a rare treat for both of us - we don't let our guard down easily, but in that grey area surrounding us something like that is possible for a moment and I plan on enjoying it to its fullest.
"You were reckless again."
Trust him to burst my bubble when I was about to get comfortable. That's so... him. I grunt in response, unwilling and unable to form something more coherent on my tongue. I shift - carefully this time - until my head is resting in his lap.
When I look up, I meet his eyes directly, he's bending over me. What the October sky outside lacks is encapsulated by the cerulean kaleidoscope right above me. There are fragments of lapis and aquamarine and a dash of alexandrite, all mingled together into a song that celebrates the truest meaning of 'blue'.
There are so many things unspoken between us, but one sunny day I'm going to tell him about the blue melody that his eyes are made of. How sappy. No, I won't do that; he will laugh and call me a freak. And there are other, more urgent things that need to be said beforehand. But however clear they may appear in my mind, they never make it to my lips in the same form. I'm no man of words.
Slowly I reach up to touch his face. My fingers trace down the sharp line of his jaw till I grasp his chin in a loose hold, stroking my thumb over his lips softly. I smile when he gulps, the heat rising on his cheeks.
"You really are an idiot...," I hear him say with a sigh, right before he bends down to me. His left ghosts over my exposed throat and his lips hover for a moment right above mine, as if to breathe in my air, until he finally closes the remaining space to fulfill what he had started.
Words are so overrated. Really. And now that I think about it, breathing too. I should recede from thinking anything altogether. This is another moment to just feel and...cherish what I have.
He is such a complicated being. But at least I'm getting better. Better at kissing. At reading his body language. At detecting the words behind his words.
When we part, there's finally enough daylight illuminating the room for me to notice the dark circles below his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders.
"You look like shit."
He utters a shaky laugh - something between exasperation, genuine amusement and pure frustration. What a mix. He rakes a hand through his hair out of habit and gives me his trademark piercing stare.
"Look who's talking."
Maybe he's got a point there. If I look like how I'm feeling right now, I must resemble a zombie fresh out of some trashy B-movie. There's a dull pulsing ache in my side and my whole ribcage feels like an abused punching ball. In hindsight maybe it had been exactly that, but at the moment I refuse to think about it.
"If it weren't for Rukia, you would probably be dead."
Right. Rukia. I dimly remember her being there, dragging me out of that battlefield of broken glass. I've lost count of how many times the midget princess had saved my sorry ass by now. First saved it - and then kicked it. I have to smile inwardly at how some things never seem to change -and how I am to about to receive my fair share of ass-kicking later for sure. I want to joke about it, but when I look up at his face again, the words die in my throat.
Lost in thought, he gazes out the window at a point far away, brows drawn together and his mouth a thin and bitter line. He doesn't turn his head towards my direction when he begins to speak in a voice that is more of a murmur than anything else.
"...why do you have to be like this, rushing into trouble without a second thought? It could have been too late to..."
Save me.
The last words are almost audible when he refuses to bring the sentence to an end, letting them float in the space between us; to separate us even though we are this close. I want to be angry at him - I haven't asked for anyone to save me - but the look of utter defeat shown on his features silences me. Never had he looked like that upon the countless battlefields we have stood on together. No opponent had ever been able to force him to surrender like that.
No one but me.
"That's the way I am... that's what I am." I can't come up with any other answer, I can’t promise him anything, I won't bend into something that isn't me - even for him. Especially not for him: it's the duality, the contradiction that is 'us'.
"I'm sorry." Now my words are a mere whisper. "Guess I really am an idiot."
And there it is again: that tiny smile I have secretly hoped for. The smile that tells me I’ve been forgiven. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are back on me and his left hand is now resting right above my heart, fingertips slowly stroking small circles on my skin.
The rain is still pouring down and the wind howls his crescendo: winter is approaching soon, but I couldn’t care less. For a moment the world is a nutshell that contains just the two of us: full of contrasts and opposites and unspoken words.
But I wouldn’t want it to be anything else.
Part 2 Winter is coming
Author: bloodandpepper
Pairing: IshiIchi
Rating and warning: Harmless.
Summary: I knew it was him long before he uttered a word; his unique fragrant gives him away. There are times when I am able to detect him in a crowd of people due to his scent, like I'm some bloodhound solely trained on tracking him. That's my concept of being 'romantic', I guess.
***
I'm caught between sleeping and waking. The tendrils of my dream are still floating around me and my eyelids feel like they are made of lead. But I don't need my sight: there are other senses that are already wandering.
It's raining outside. There's that faint though unmistakable pit-patter against the window that makes me curl up against the warmth around me. This steady heat feels like garden Eden, like endless sun and wind, all in one. It makes the rain a contrasting reminder of a colder world, a world I don't want to return to. A sky, tipped into an odd angle, and gravity defying buildings are flashing through my mind. No, I don't want to go back, I don't want to, don't...
I wake with a start, and a pain is shooting up my side as if I've been grazed by a lightning bolt. I cringe, trying to breathe the ache away and suddenly there are arms that encircle me, firm hands easing me down again.
"Idiot, lay down," a sleepy voice mutters, but there's a steely undertone in it, that doesn't accept a 'no' as an answer, so I let myself be guided unwillingly.
A calming hand strokes my hair and there are words uttered that would make sense if I wasn’t so damn focused on that searing pain. But slowly it ebbs away, leaving me shivering, drawing in ragged breaths, while tears are drying at the corners of my eyes.
What a herculean task opening one’s eyes can be -and when I finally do I'm greeted by the sight of a window, peeking out between half-drawn curtains. My ears weren't betraying me: it's raining. Clouds are racing over an ash colored early morning sky and the treetops ar e stars in that wild dance the wind has set upon them. Winter is coming.
The fingers in my hair never stopped their silent seesaw and I begin to inhale his scent. He smells like earth: spicy, herbal, clear. I knew it was him long before he uttered a word; his unique fragrant gives him away. There are times when I am able to detect him in a crowd of people due to his scent, like I'm some bloodhound solely trained on tracking him. That's my concept of being 'romantic', I guess.
My eyes fall shut again and I bask in the feeling of being touched so gently. It's a rare treat for both of us - we don't let our guard down easily, but in that grey area surrounding us something like that is possible for a moment and I plan on enjoying it to its fullest.
"You were reckless again."
Trust him to burst my bubble when I was about to get comfortable. That's so... him. I grunt in response, unwilling and unable to form something more coherent on my tongue. I shift - carefully this time - until my head is resting in his lap.
When I look up, I meet his eyes directly, he's bending over me. What the October sky outside lacks is encapsulated by the cerulean kaleidoscope right above me. There are fragments of lapis and aquamarine and a dash of alexandrite, all mingled together into a song that celebrates the truest meaning of 'blue'.
There are so many things unspoken between us, but one sunny day I'm going to tell him about the blue melody that his eyes are made of. How sappy. No, I won't do that; he will laugh and call me a freak. And there are other, more urgent things that need to be said beforehand. But however clear they may appear in my mind, they never make it to my lips in the same form. I'm no man of words.
Slowly I reach up to touch his face. My fingers trace down the sharp line of his jaw till I grasp his chin in a loose hold, stroking my thumb over his lips softly. I smile when he gulps, the heat rising on his cheeks.
"You really are an idiot...," I hear him say with a sigh, right before he bends down to me. His left ghosts over my exposed throat and his lips hover for a moment right above mine, as if to breathe in my air, until he finally closes the remaining space to fulfill what he had started.
Words are so overrated. Really. And now that I think about it, breathing too. I should recede from thinking anything altogether. This is another moment to just feel and...cherish what I have.
He is such a complicated being. But at least I'm getting better. Better at kissing. At reading his body language. At detecting the words behind his words.
When we part, there's finally enough daylight illuminating the room for me to notice the dark circles below his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders.
"You look like shit."
He utters a shaky laugh - something between exasperation, genuine amusement and pure frustration. What a mix. He rakes a hand through his hair out of habit and gives me his trademark piercing stare.
"Look who's talking."
Maybe he's got a point there. If I look like how I'm feeling right now, I must resemble a zombie fresh out of some trashy B-movie. There's a dull pulsing ache in my side and my whole ribcage feels like an abused punching ball. In hindsight maybe it had been exactly that, but at the moment I refuse to think about it.
"If it weren't for Rukia, you would probably be dead."
Right. Rukia. I dimly remember her being there, dragging me out of that battlefield of broken glass. I've lost count of how many times the midget princess had saved my sorry ass by now. First saved it - and then kicked it. I have to smile inwardly at how some things never seem to change -and how I am to about to receive my fair share of ass-kicking later for sure. I want to joke about it, but when I look up at his face again, the words die in my throat.
Lost in thought, he gazes out the window at a point far away, brows drawn together and his mouth a thin and bitter line. He doesn't turn his head towards my direction when he begins to speak in a voice that is more of a murmur than anything else.
"...why do you have to be like this, rushing into trouble without a second thought? It could have been too late to..."
Save me.
The last words are almost audible when he refuses to bring the sentence to an end, letting them float in the space between us; to separate us even though we are this close. I want to be angry at him - I haven't asked for anyone to save me - but the look of utter defeat shown on his features silences me. Never had he looked like that upon the countless battlefields we have stood on together. No opponent had ever been able to force him to surrender like that.
No one but me.
"That's the way I am... that's what I am." I can't come up with any other answer, I can’t promise him anything, I won't bend into something that isn't me - even for him. Especially not for him: it's the duality, the contradiction that is 'us'.
"I'm sorry." Now my words are a mere whisper. "Guess I really am an idiot."
And there it is again: that tiny smile I have secretly hoped for. The smile that tells me I’ve been forgiven. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are back on me and his left hand is now resting right above my heart, fingertips slowly stroking small circles on my skin.
The rain is still pouring down and the wind howls his crescendo: winter is approaching soon, but I couldn’t care less. For a moment the world is a nutshell that contains just the two of us: full of contrasts and opposites and unspoken words.
But I wouldn’t want it to be anything else.