[Bleach Fanfiction = IchiRukia + IchiHitsu] The Black Layers
-=The Black Layers=-
He had to leave - get out - free; the flesh he inhabited was suffocating. In his living form, the intricate fabric of tissues, muscles, and breakable bones, there was no freedom. He could not grab for the hilt of his sword and wield the steal of his soul. He could not disappear in an elaborate but beautiful dance of footwork, invisible to the naked eye, and glide midair above the rooftops.
Oppression, restrictions, boundaries - life.
Ichigo abandoned his body, left it resting on his bed and vanished out of the window, transparent to the judging eyes of the living.
They would know - his family - that something was wrong.
He escaped life momentarily and sought refuge in the invisible silence of his existence.
Zangetsu heard him though - he felt him, and as Ichigo drew his sword, touched it, unraveled it, and looked at his face in the haunting gleam, he appeared from the shadow of the blade, cast by the moonlit sky.
“I can’t do this anymore, old man.”
The wise man crouched in the shadow of his strength and shared Ichigo’s disgusted expression.
“I can’t…live…like this…”
He closed his eyes to the world, to his partner, and sighed as the artificial darkness he created engulfed his vision.
“Say it” Zangetsu said sternly, forcing Ichigo’s reverie and refuge to dissipate under the pressure of his voice.
He could feel the desperate throbs of his partner’s heart and the shame that rapaciously ate at the ventricles and arteries.
“I love her. I love Rukia.”
“But-”
“But what - you know what I did.” Ichigo gritted his teeth and tasted his own bitter words.
“Say it.”
Silence.
“Say it, Kurosaki Ichigo.”
“I slept with…Toushiro.”
He remembered the night, as he sighed from his constricted throat - the dim lights, the light scent of jasmine tea now cooled in their glasses. They were talking peacefully, watching the stars speckle in the cloudless sky. Quiet, hushed laughed, faint smiles, and unfortunate secrets.
“I can’t…feel…love anymore”
“You’re still young…” Ichigo teased but it did not alleviate the sudden suffocating unease that strangled their serene moment.
“But after Hinamori…she loved Aizen, and I can never forgive her mistake.”
He swore off his heart in a frozen vow of solitude. Ichigo’s warm touches, however, began to melt away at the edges of resistance. He offered lust, a watered down dilution of love, which both could drown in now and reject in the future.
Deluded intentions, confused messages, mistaken gestures - the meld only melted together because of the heat of their actions. The result was a sticky mess of satiation, heard breaths, and waning erections.
Ichigo could not deny the attraction; physical ambitions fueled by a momentary emotional connection. He wanted Hitsugaya to express himself and feel the burning sensations that he hoped would inspire the wick of his love with a small, warm, flickering flame. He felt that too, for Rukia.
It began the same way - a kiss that never ended. After Renji, she vowed celibacy, but now curled into his chest and breathed placidly, at ease and comfortable.
Hitsugaya fled - both men were left alone with their shame. Guilt caked their flesh and stung their feelings of arousal. They sat drowning in their disgusting thoughts.
“How can I stand by Rukia, before our friends, now that she wants the world to know…”
“Do you love him?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“No.”
“Then let it die, while you go on living…”
-=Ende=-
He had to leave - get out - free; the flesh he inhabited was suffocating. In his living form, the intricate fabric of tissues, muscles, and breakable bones, there was no freedom. He could not grab for the hilt of his sword and wield the steal of his soul. He could not disappear in an elaborate but beautiful dance of footwork, invisible to the naked eye, and glide midair above the rooftops.
Oppression, restrictions, boundaries - life.
Ichigo abandoned his body, left it resting on his bed and vanished out of the window, transparent to the judging eyes of the living.
They would know - his family - that something was wrong.
He escaped life momentarily and sought refuge in the invisible silence of his existence.
Zangetsu heard him though - he felt him, and as Ichigo drew his sword, touched it, unraveled it, and looked at his face in the haunting gleam, he appeared from the shadow of the blade, cast by the moonlit sky.
“I can’t do this anymore, old man.”
The wise man crouched in the shadow of his strength and shared Ichigo’s disgusted expression.
“I can’t…live…like this…”
He closed his eyes to the world, to his partner, and sighed as the artificial darkness he created engulfed his vision.
“Say it” Zangetsu said sternly, forcing Ichigo’s reverie and refuge to dissipate under the pressure of his voice.
He could feel the desperate throbs of his partner’s heart and the shame that rapaciously ate at the ventricles and arteries.
“I love her. I love Rukia.”
“But-”
“But what - you know what I did.” Ichigo gritted his teeth and tasted his own bitter words.
“Say it.”
Silence.
“Say it, Kurosaki Ichigo.”
“I slept with…Toushiro.”
He remembered the night, as he sighed from his constricted throat - the dim lights, the light scent of jasmine tea now cooled in their glasses. They were talking peacefully, watching the stars speckle in the cloudless sky. Quiet, hushed laughed, faint smiles, and unfortunate secrets.
“I can’t…feel…love anymore”
“You’re still young…” Ichigo teased but it did not alleviate the sudden suffocating unease that strangled their serene moment.
“But after Hinamori…she loved Aizen, and I can never forgive her mistake.”
He swore off his heart in a frozen vow of solitude. Ichigo’s warm touches, however, began to melt away at the edges of resistance. He offered lust, a watered down dilution of love, which both could drown in now and reject in the future.
Deluded intentions, confused messages, mistaken gestures - the meld only melted together because of the heat of their actions. The result was a sticky mess of satiation, heard breaths, and waning erections.
Ichigo could not deny the attraction; physical ambitions fueled by a momentary emotional connection. He wanted Hitsugaya to express himself and feel the burning sensations that he hoped would inspire the wick of his love with a small, warm, flickering flame. He felt that too, for Rukia.
It began the same way - a kiss that never ended. After Renji, she vowed celibacy, but now curled into his chest and breathed placidly, at ease and comfortable.
Hitsugaya fled - both men were left alone with their shame. Guilt caked their flesh and stung their feelings of arousal. They sat drowning in their disgusting thoughts.
“How can I stand by Rukia, before our friends, now that she wants the world to know…”
“Do you love him?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“No.”
“Then let it die, while you go on living…”
-=Ende=-