[Fanfiction] - Kira/Matsumoto, Gin/Kira, Gin/Matsumoto - Drunk
Yes, it's been a while. A long while. After reading this, you may wish it had been a longer while, but I'm posting it regardless. I'm back reading Bleach, and for some reason this fic evolved out of a random Kira quote and mutated to become what it is now. I'm not hugely pleased with it, but I'm putting it out in the world nonetheless.
Title: Drunk (a failure of a title, by all accounts, but nevertheless apt under the circumstances).
Fandom: Bleach
Genre: Angst/Romance ()k, 'Romance' is really, really pushing it. Meaningless, emotionally abusive sex? Yes, that's better.)
Word Count: 1408
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kira/Matsumoto with implied past Gin/Matsumoto and Gin/Kira
Warnings: Dark. Dark with a generous teaspoon of angst. Drunk and disorderly behaviour. Some implied past rough sex. Kira solo.
Summary: Alcohol does many things, but it rarely brings peace.
They are both very, very drunk. Kira knows this because he has to half-carry, half-support Matsumoto back to her quarters, her arm around his shoulders while she leant close to murmur slurred nonsense in his ear. Her breath reeks of sake and her skin smells like roses and dried sweat.
Kira knows they're drunk because he can feel the alcohol soaking into his thoughts, drowning out grief and betrayal. It drips into the empty places inside him, slowly blotting out the world as he obliterates his hurt, then his thoughts, then his consciousness.
Kira knows it because when Matsumoto mashes her lips against his in something that is nothing like a kiss, he presses her hard against the wall and kisses her back.
They’re too drunk for finesse. Her mouth is hot and wet and Kira has one hand in her hair while the other fumbles with her kosode. Her hands are all over his face, and he feels for a moment as though she’s trying to reach under his skin, peel back his flesh and find answers written beneath in blood. She tastes like cheap liquor.
And persimmons. He’s always hated the flavour.
He wrenches her hakama undone and she moans as his hands find her breasts and he shoves her harder against the wall. She wraps her legs obligingly around his waist, and he breaks the kiss to nuzzle her throat. He flicks one rosy nipple and she cries out softly, wriggling against his body. He pulls his head up and kisses him again, deeply, her tongue in this mouth as he uses his free hand to shove up the bottom of her uniform.
She isn’t wearing underwear.
She gasps as his hand slides between her thighs, and the name she barely keeps from saying isn’t his. He nips he earlobe, leans in to whisper venomously in her ear.
‘I’m not him.’
She stiffens in his arms, but he has her pinned to the wall with one hand between her legs and the other wrapped tightly in her hair.
‘I know,’ she snaps. He lowers his head and licks a hot trail from her collarbone to beneath her ear, then turns his head to bite her throat. She throws her head back and groans, recklessly wanton for a moment, but then she realises what he’s done and goes still. He chuckles, wondering for a moment at how vicious he sounds. The alcohol is making the world buck and blur.
‘Did you think you were the only one?’ he asks softly, sweetly. ‘Really?’
She shoves him backwards hard and he steps away from her. Her hair is a dishevelled mess of gold and the top of her kosode flops open to expose her breasts. Her lips are red and swollen and a bruise is blossoming on her throat.
He wonders if Gin liked her like this.
‘Of course not.’ she bites out. He lets his eyes run languidly over her body and is pleased to see her shiver under the scrutiny. She takes an unsteady step towards her door, one hand resting against the wall as she tries to balance. There is suddenly real fear in her face, in her eyes. Fear as she realises that she is too drunk to stand, and that he is too drunk to be kind.
Gin, he thinks, definitely would have liked her like that.
‘Go away,’ she says quietly, plaintively, and Kira feels a stab of something between pity an disgust to see her brought so low. Mingled with something that tastes unsettling like satisfaction.
‘Did you think he cared?’ Kira asks. He’s not sure why he wants to push. Not sure why he’s being cruel. Why do children tear wings off butterflies? Because beautiful creatures look better when they crawl.
It’s the voice in his head again. It’s going to drive him mad, one of these days.
‘Did you love him?’ He puts every drop of his mockery into the word. Every ounce of his hatred. He knows he’s not speaking to her, not really, but there’s a sort of sick pleasure in the way her pretty face crumples and her eyes glisten with tears.
She slaps him. Or she tries too, but she’s too drunk to do anything but swat ineffectually in his direction. The movement sends her off balance and she teeters. He steps forward to catch her as she crumples into his arms, her naked breasts pressed to his chest. They wrestle for a moment of grotesque comedy, her beasts jiggling and his hands all over her body again. She tries to push him away even as she leans on him for support. She says something against his chest and he steps away from her, keeping a bruising hold on her arms as she struggles to stay upright. Her hair is like a golden veil over her face.
‘What did you say?’ he asks.
She draws herself up for a moment, and looks him straight in the eye.
‘I said no,’ she says quietly. ‘I didn’t love him.’ She hesitates for a moment, and he sees a kindred cruelty kindle in her beautiful eyes. ‘But you did and you thought you were the only one.’ She smiles bitterly. ‘And you want to know why he didn’t take you with him.’
His grip on her arms slackens and she wrenches herself free and staggers through the door to her quarters without another word. The door slams and he hears the thud from the other side as she hits the ground.
He notes with a degree of surprise that he appears to be kneeling.
Warriors don’t kneel, he chastises himself.
Really? says the voice. Ya sure, Kira-kun? Y’always knelt for me.
He’s not sure how he drags himself back to his own quarters, his body aching with frustrated lust, but he gets there somehow. Gets there with a long stream of images playing in his mind, wine splattered and hazy. It takes him a while to get the door open and he stumbles through, pushing it shut behind him. He manages to make it to his sleeping mat before his legs give out and he collapses on his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping the world will stop spinning.
Gin liked him like this. Gin liked him in a lot of different ways. Or Gin never liked him at all, but took him all the same because Gin was bored, and Kira was pretty.
Good boy. Hands on his shoulders, on his throat, hands sliding down his bare back as he knelt, the penitent one, head bowed. Shh, that’s right. A body pressed up against his, piercing him to the core, the taste of blood in his mouth as he fought to keep from crying out.
Thin lips on his, coaxing his mouth open, breathing his breath and lapping at his blood.
Do warriors beg?
Begging, pleading, promising, broken words like glass in his mouth and hot, shameful pleasure. D‘ ya like that, Kira-kun? His Captain’s lean frame pressed up against his own, trapping him, his Captain’s arms wrapped around his body, teeth nibbling at his earlobe.
His hand finds his cock and he fists himself roughly, biting his lip hard until he can taste blood and it feels real.
So impatient…the feel of Gin in his mouth as he spilled himself over his own trembling fingers, on his knees at his Captain’s pleasure. The soft exhalation as his Captain came that was the only outward sign that he had even noticed Kira’s presence. Gin’s gentle fingers in his hair as he spoke sweet words of mockery that made Kira flush with humiliation and lust.
He groans as he feels pleasure building in his belly, uncoiling deliciously trough his groin.
I want ya to come for me, Kira-kun. That’s right.
He yells as he comes, staining his uniform and covering his hand with his release. His panting sounds loud and coarse in the silent room. He has a sudden vision of Matsumoto, sprawled and unconscious with her arms akimbo and her heavy breasts bare. He laughs then, lying on the hard floor with blood in his mouth and hot stickiness on his belly. Laughs and coughs and curls up on his side so when he passes out he won’t choke on blood or vomit.
Unconsciousness comes quickly, reaching up to swallow him whole, and though he finds oblivion in the blackness, there is no peace.
Only stars of silver.
Everyone should be very afraid, because if I don't keep a check on myself I'm going to start writing Aizen and things are going to get completely out of hand. Or I'll write thet Ulqui/Grimm that's been stewing in my brain since butterflygirl_3 mentioned her love of them.
Title: Drunk (a failure of a title, by all accounts, but nevertheless apt under the circumstances).
Fandom: Bleach
Genre: Angst/Romance ()k, 'Romance' is really, really pushing it. Meaningless, emotionally abusive sex? Yes, that's better.)
Word Count: 1408
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kira/Matsumoto with implied past Gin/Matsumoto and Gin/Kira
Warnings: Dark. Dark with a generous teaspoon of angst. Drunk and disorderly behaviour. Some implied past rough sex. Kira solo.
Summary: Alcohol does many things, but it rarely brings peace.
They are both very, very drunk. Kira knows this because he has to half-carry, half-support Matsumoto back to her quarters, her arm around his shoulders while she leant close to murmur slurred nonsense in his ear. Her breath reeks of sake and her skin smells like roses and dried sweat.
Kira knows they're drunk because he can feel the alcohol soaking into his thoughts, drowning out grief and betrayal. It drips into the empty places inside him, slowly blotting out the world as he obliterates his hurt, then his thoughts, then his consciousness.
Kira knows it because when Matsumoto mashes her lips against his in something that is nothing like a kiss, he presses her hard against the wall and kisses her back.
They’re too drunk for finesse. Her mouth is hot and wet and Kira has one hand in her hair while the other fumbles with her kosode. Her hands are all over his face, and he feels for a moment as though she’s trying to reach under his skin, peel back his flesh and find answers written beneath in blood. She tastes like cheap liquor.
And persimmons. He’s always hated the flavour.
He wrenches her hakama undone and she moans as his hands find her breasts and he shoves her harder against the wall. She wraps her legs obligingly around his waist, and he breaks the kiss to nuzzle her throat. He flicks one rosy nipple and she cries out softly, wriggling against his body. He pulls his head up and kisses him again, deeply, her tongue in this mouth as he uses his free hand to shove up the bottom of her uniform.
She isn’t wearing underwear.
She gasps as his hand slides between her thighs, and the name she barely keeps from saying isn’t his. He nips he earlobe, leans in to whisper venomously in her ear.
‘I’m not him.’
She stiffens in his arms, but he has her pinned to the wall with one hand between her legs and the other wrapped tightly in her hair.
‘I know,’ she snaps. He lowers his head and licks a hot trail from her collarbone to beneath her ear, then turns his head to bite her throat. She throws her head back and groans, recklessly wanton for a moment, but then she realises what he’s done and goes still. He chuckles, wondering for a moment at how vicious he sounds. The alcohol is making the world buck and blur.
‘Did you think you were the only one?’ he asks softly, sweetly. ‘Really?’
She shoves him backwards hard and he steps away from her. Her hair is a dishevelled mess of gold and the top of her kosode flops open to expose her breasts. Her lips are red and swollen and a bruise is blossoming on her throat.
He wonders if Gin liked her like this.
‘Of course not.’ she bites out. He lets his eyes run languidly over her body and is pleased to see her shiver under the scrutiny. She takes an unsteady step towards her door, one hand resting against the wall as she tries to balance. There is suddenly real fear in her face, in her eyes. Fear as she realises that she is too drunk to stand, and that he is too drunk to be kind.
Gin, he thinks, definitely would have liked her like that.
‘Go away,’ she says quietly, plaintively, and Kira feels a stab of something between pity an disgust to see her brought so low. Mingled with something that tastes unsettling like satisfaction.
‘Did you think he cared?’ Kira asks. He’s not sure why he wants to push. Not sure why he’s being cruel. Why do children tear wings off butterflies? Because beautiful creatures look better when they crawl.
It’s the voice in his head again. It’s going to drive him mad, one of these days.
‘Did you love him?’ He puts every drop of his mockery into the word. Every ounce of his hatred. He knows he’s not speaking to her, not really, but there’s a sort of sick pleasure in the way her pretty face crumples and her eyes glisten with tears.
She slaps him. Or she tries too, but she’s too drunk to do anything but swat ineffectually in his direction. The movement sends her off balance and she teeters. He steps forward to catch her as she crumples into his arms, her naked breasts pressed to his chest. They wrestle for a moment of grotesque comedy, her beasts jiggling and his hands all over her body again. She tries to push him away even as she leans on him for support. She says something against his chest and he steps away from her, keeping a bruising hold on her arms as she struggles to stay upright. Her hair is like a golden veil over her face.
‘What did you say?’ he asks.
She draws herself up for a moment, and looks him straight in the eye.
‘I said no,’ she says quietly. ‘I didn’t love him.’ She hesitates for a moment, and he sees a kindred cruelty kindle in her beautiful eyes. ‘But you did and you thought you were the only one.’ She smiles bitterly. ‘And you want to know why he didn’t take you with him.’
His grip on her arms slackens and she wrenches herself free and staggers through the door to her quarters without another word. The door slams and he hears the thud from the other side as she hits the ground.
He notes with a degree of surprise that he appears to be kneeling.
Warriors don’t kneel, he chastises himself.
Really? says the voice. Ya sure, Kira-kun? Y’always knelt for me.
He’s not sure how he drags himself back to his own quarters, his body aching with frustrated lust, but he gets there somehow. Gets there with a long stream of images playing in his mind, wine splattered and hazy. It takes him a while to get the door open and he stumbles through, pushing it shut behind him. He manages to make it to his sleeping mat before his legs give out and he collapses on his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping the world will stop spinning.
Gin liked him like this. Gin liked him in a lot of different ways. Or Gin never liked him at all, but took him all the same because Gin was bored, and Kira was pretty.
Good boy. Hands on his shoulders, on his throat, hands sliding down his bare back as he knelt, the penitent one, head bowed. Shh, that’s right. A body pressed up against his, piercing him to the core, the taste of blood in his mouth as he fought to keep from crying out.
Thin lips on his, coaxing his mouth open, breathing his breath and lapping at his blood.
Do warriors beg?
Begging, pleading, promising, broken words like glass in his mouth and hot, shameful pleasure. D‘ ya like that, Kira-kun? His Captain’s lean frame pressed up against his own, trapping him, his Captain’s arms wrapped around his body, teeth nibbling at his earlobe.
His hand finds his cock and he fists himself roughly, biting his lip hard until he can taste blood and it feels real.
So impatient…the feel of Gin in his mouth as he spilled himself over his own trembling fingers, on his knees at his Captain’s pleasure. The soft exhalation as his Captain came that was the only outward sign that he had even noticed Kira’s presence. Gin’s gentle fingers in his hair as he spoke sweet words of mockery that made Kira flush with humiliation and lust.
He groans as he feels pleasure building in his belly, uncoiling deliciously trough his groin.
I want ya to come for me, Kira-kun. That’s right.
He yells as he comes, staining his uniform and covering his hand with his release. His panting sounds loud and coarse in the silent room. He has a sudden vision of Matsumoto, sprawled and unconscious with her arms akimbo and her heavy breasts bare. He laughs then, lying on the hard floor with blood in his mouth and hot stickiness on his belly. Laughs and coughs and curls up on his side so when he passes out he won’t choke on blood or vomit.
Unconsciousness comes quickly, reaching up to swallow him whole, and though he finds oblivion in the blackness, there is no peace.
Only stars of silver.
Everyone should be very afraid, because if I don't keep a check on myself I'm going to start writing Aizen and things are going to get completely out of hand. Or I'll write thet Ulqui/Grimm that's been stewing in my brain since butterflygirl_3 mentioned her love of them.