Stay {Kenpachi/Jushiro}
Title: Stay
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kenpachi/Jushiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,296
Summary: Sequel to In the Face of the Bullet. After a night of passion, of love and hate, Jushiro wakes up to a morning without Kenpachi.
A/N: Written for prompt 4: I know I was wrong, Table 21, 5_prompts, and prompt #65: hope, otp_100. Beta'd by synnerxx.
Murder Three-Shot Mini-Series Index:
Part 1: A Murderer's Embrace
Part 2: In the Face of the Bullet
Part 3: Stay
When Jushiro woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. He could feel only the slightest warmth among the sheets. The scent of his lover intermingled with last night's passion, musky and all too familiar to his senses. He rolled around, buried his nose in the quilts, clutching them tightly in his hands. Damn him...
The pistol was nowhere to be seen. Must have brought it with him. Jushiro squeezed his eyes shut, the memory now returning to him in waves. The quarrel, the lost look in Kenpachi's eyes, the gun to his forehead - everything seemed so vivid now in his mind, but they hardly seemed to ever be believable. Never had he imagined being held at gunpoint, just a thread separating him from death, and by Kenpachi nonetheless. Though he might have killed, Jushiro could never bet on Kenpachi pulling the trigger on him.
And he didn't. If Jushiro were to recall correctly, Kenpachi appeared to be more partial to pulling the trigger on himself. In that kiss Jushiro could sense all the remorse, the guilt that came with working with the yakuza. All the untold, hidden horrors that Kenpachi tried to protect Jushiro from - Jushiro couldn't say that he really understood. He was merely a schoolteacher, working with children, surrounded by innocence.
Now that Jushiro really thought about it, he found that Kenpachi was just too different from him. There was no way the both of them could get along.
And yet they did. From friends, to lovers...to this.
Jushiro sat up, shook his head to clear his mind. It wasn't befitting of a man of his stature to be thinking such things in the morning. He had class to attend to, children to teach, future leaders to guide - he didn't have time to mingle on his own crises, even if they were undoubtedly going to plague him for the rest of the day. Where was Kenpachi? Jushiro still cursed the man for not having a cell phone - one of the reasons why Jushiro felt like strangling him every time he couldn't contact him outside of the workshop. He just hoped that he didn't do anything stupid. Especially with that firearm in hand.
With that, Jushiro got up and, after a quick shower, rushed downstairs. There wasn't time for homemade breakfast - he'd have to pick something up on the way to work. Children didn't wait. Furthermore, he was quite aware that the fridge didn't have anything worth consuming at this moment, Kenpachi being the one who did things at the very last minute when the kitchen was completely empty.
When Jushiro stepped into the kitchen, there wasn't a trace of blood to be seen. The body of the man Kenpachi had murdered right before his eyes was gone. Jushiro swallowed, hoping that he didn't throw the corpse into the trash can or anything stupid and obvious like that. Kenpachi should know better - the police was out for him, and one false move, he'd be sent to prison like clockwork.
The kitchen, too, was relatively clean. Kenpachi wasn't one to do the chores and all, so Jushiro could only stare and acknowledge the washed and dried plates, the shiny sink and faucet, the dry floor, clean hand towel.
But before Jushiro could settle down and wonder just what had gotten into the man, he rushed out the door. Children didn't wait, and he would be damned if they so much as thought of their teacher being sick, blessing them with free periods with a sit-in teacher whom they could bully. The thought made Jushiro smile a little, just a faint quirk at the sides of his lips, but that was enough.
More than anything else, he needed distraction.
xxx
The day had been uneventful, only filled with the kids' laughter and gossips of the principal. Usually, Jushiro would be all for throwing his opinions into the discussion, but even Matsudaira-sensei noticed how static he was. Following that, his colleagues had fussed over him, bringing him coffee, tea, some buns. He accepted them all, thanked them, and brushed them off with a reassuring smile that he had to force. Once recess was over, he gave the treats to his students, who rejoiced and exploded out into chatter so loud that Jushiro was once again forced to grant them a free period.
Which was good, because he really didn't have the motivation to teach at the moment. It was very unlike him to feel that way, but he was grateful deep within his heart that he had time off to mingle around among his thoughts, the kids too preoccupied with themselves to pay him any heed. He liked peace and quiet, and despite being in a class filled with hyperactive , he managed to withdraw into his mind and block them out.
The thoughts that attacked him right then weren't at all comforting. They were more disconcerting, if not anything else. Kenpachi, the gun - he always came back to square one. He suspected that it was probably the early signs of a trauma, but he was quite shocked that the mental scar that ran through him from last night's incident wasn't as deep as he expected it to be. He didn't know why, but maybe it was because of how Kenpachi touched him that made him more partial to feeling sympathy than hate. His rough hands, so filled with desperation, of an insatiable need to ask for forgiveness - it was just something else, and Jushiro wasn't used to it.
Kenpachi didn't seek forgiveness. From what Jushiro had seen through the murder, he was the one who granted it.
Upon setting foot in his apartment, relieved to be out of the encroaching darkness, Jushiro heaved a sigh. He set the packed dinner of fried udon on the kitchen table and went about brewing some tea. Absently, his fingers touched his pocket, pressing lightly against the small packet of pills he had to take. With a cup of steaming tea and his cold dinner before him, Jushiro sat down and ate while looking over homework. Despite how many times he reminded the kids to improve their handwriting, they never did, and he, once again, had to squint just to read a single word.
Many times he caught himself looking at the wall phone, and each time he berated himself for it. There was no chance in hell that Kenpachi would call. Jushiro liked to think that there at least was a small, little chance, but as the evening wore on, twilight settling comfortably into the pitch blackness of night, Jushiro finally rose from his chair and cleared the table. His arms felt as heavy as lead as he moved about, washing the tea cup and matching pot. They were still half-full.
After gathering his things, tidying them up, stashing them away in his bag for tomorrow, Jushiro took a shower. A long one wherein he wondered just what would be of the two of them now. There really wasn't anything that could be said after what happened; even Kenpachi was at a loss for words when he launched himself at Jushiro, pinning him back against the wall. All he could do was ravage him all over, the words left unknown and unspoken on his rough lips. No matter how much Jushiro had tried to push him away, to scream at him, hold him responsible for the sudden burst of pain deep within his chest, he couldn't. Not with how Kenpachi was at that moment. The desperation caught up with Jushiro as well, seeped into his skin, and before long, he found himself pleading.
"Don't kill me," Jushiro had whispered into Kenpachi's hair as he held onto his strong shoulders, nails digging painfully into his flesh. "Please don't." And please don't kill yourself.
Pathetic.
Jushiro plopped onto the bed and buried himself under the quilts, pressing his face into the pillow. "Damn it, Ukitake," the curse came out muffled, his hands clutching the sheets so tightly that his nails were scraping against his own palms. "Damn you, Zaraki."
Kenpachi. The source of all his problems. If only they hadn't met in the first place. If only Kenpachi hadn't come looking for him the moment he was released from jail. If only...
Jushiro could only kick himself for being too friendly. Too nice.
Stop thinking about it, for goodness' sake.
With that, Jushiro rolled around to lie on his side, tucked an arm under the pillow, and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that his dreams wouldn't be plagued by carnage and decapitated bodies again. He just couldn't take them anymore and, if he were to have more tonight following that near-death experience at his lover's hand, Jushiro wouldn't doubt that he'd go into instant trauma. Sometimes, he just hated his weak mind, his sick body. It was just plain ridiculous.
Enough. Thinking of that would only ma-
And then he heard a click. A soft noise in the darkness.
Too afraid to even move, Jushiro stayed still, frozen under the quilts. Now he was going to be a victim of burglary. Wasn't that nice. For once, he wished for a firearm or a knife - anything that could protect him.
And the only person that he had in mind was none other than Kenpachi. He and his daring self - the one Jushiro could count on to snap the thief's neck in just one swift motion, saving them a bloody brawl and a shot to the head. Jushiro curled up into a tight ball, gritting his teeth as he heard the soft padding of feet upon the staircase, ascending. The owner seemed to know just where they were going, for the steps didn't stop at the top of the stairs like what Jushiro had expected. Instead, it headed towards his room, and in the next second, the door opened a crack.
Jushiro held his breath, too afraid to even turn around. He remembered locking the front door, and if he did recall correctly, there was no way a thief could just walk in without having to break the lock.
Still, there was something called lock-picking.
The bed sank, causing Jushiro's body to slip backwards, his heart racing against his chest, and the next thing he knew, an arm draped itself around his waist, muscular and firm. Jushiro didn't dare look back, for following that intimately familiar gesture, he was certain just who it was. The smell of tobacco and beer, grease and smoke, reached his nose, stronger than ever. No doubt Kenpachi had drugged himself on all the alcohol he could get and worked his way through the workshop for the whole day. As far as Jushiro was concerned, that was what he normally did whenever he faced a crisis - calm himself by spending time alone in the workshop, looking over the bikes with a can of beer in hand.
Kenpachi buried his face in Jushiro's back, nose pressed against his spine as his arms tightened around him, bringing him to his chest. He was still fully clothed, Jushiro noticed, from his worn leather vest to his greasy shirt, torn jeans and weathered boots, but for once, Jushiro didn't burst out in a series of nags. He couldn't, not with this sudden turn of events.
The silence was deafening, and neither of them dared to break it.
But then, when Jushiro just couldn't take it any longer, hands itching to touch him, he rolled around and tucked his head in the crook of Kenpachi's neck, breathing in the scents of the workshop. He couldn't stand the tobacco, causing him to cough, but he didn't care. He snaked his arms around Kenpachi, obscuring his face, unwilling to let Kenpachi see just how tensed he was, or how relieved he felt just holding him. There were so many things he wanted to say, some degrading while others gratifying, but the words were stuck in his throat.
"Stay," was all he could manage.
Kenpachi didn't budge for a moment, and then he sat up, prying Jushiro's fingers out of his clothes, but just when Jushiro was about to protest, he untied his boots and kicked them off. They landed on the wooden floorboards with a thump that made Jushiro wince. Kenpachi, on the other hand, seemed unfazed as he removed his vest and dropped it to the floor. Hesitantly, Jushiro reached out, helped Kenpachi out of his shirt, and the moment it was off, Kenpachi pinned him down and kissed him. His fingers raked through Jushiro's hair, his tongue forcing his way in, lips working Jushiro's in a rhythm that was all too familiar to them, and when he pulled away, breathless, Jushiro squeezed his eyes shut. His hands betrayed him though, stroking and caressing Kenpachi's sides, feeling the rigid contours of muscle and bone beneath his fingers, reassuring.
Kenpachi rested his head on Jushiro's chest then, making sure that he didn't have all his weight upon him, and sighed quietly as Jushiro's fingers ran through his hair, the touch soothing to his senses. "I ain't leavin'."
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kenpachi/Jushiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,296
Summary: Sequel to In the Face of the Bullet. After a night of passion, of love and hate, Jushiro wakes up to a morning without Kenpachi.
A/N: Written for prompt 4: I know I was wrong, Table 21, 5_prompts, and prompt #65: hope, otp_100. Beta'd by synnerxx.
Murder Three-Shot Mini-Series Index:
Part 1: A Murderer's Embrace
Part 2: In the Face of the Bullet
Part 3: Stay
When Jushiro woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. He could feel only the slightest warmth among the sheets. The scent of his lover intermingled with last night's passion, musky and all too familiar to his senses. He rolled around, buried his nose in the quilts, clutching them tightly in his hands. Damn him...
The pistol was nowhere to be seen. Must have brought it with him. Jushiro squeezed his eyes shut, the memory now returning to him in waves. The quarrel, the lost look in Kenpachi's eyes, the gun to his forehead - everything seemed so vivid now in his mind, but they hardly seemed to ever be believable. Never had he imagined being held at gunpoint, just a thread separating him from death, and by Kenpachi nonetheless. Though he might have killed, Jushiro could never bet on Kenpachi pulling the trigger on him.
And he didn't. If Jushiro were to recall correctly, Kenpachi appeared to be more partial to pulling the trigger on himself. In that kiss Jushiro could sense all the remorse, the guilt that came with working with the yakuza. All the untold, hidden horrors that Kenpachi tried to protect Jushiro from - Jushiro couldn't say that he really understood. He was merely a schoolteacher, working with children, surrounded by innocence.
Now that Jushiro really thought about it, he found that Kenpachi was just too different from him. There was no way the both of them could get along.
And yet they did. From friends, to lovers...to this.
Jushiro sat up, shook his head to clear his mind. It wasn't befitting of a man of his stature to be thinking such things in the morning. He had class to attend to, children to teach, future leaders to guide - he didn't have time to mingle on his own crises, even if they were undoubtedly going to plague him for the rest of the day. Where was Kenpachi? Jushiro still cursed the man for not having a cell phone - one of the reasons why Jushiro felt like strangling him every time he couldn't contact him outside of the workshop. He just hoped that he didn't do anything stupid. Especially with that firearm in hand.
With that, Jushiro got up and, after a quick shower, rushed downstairs. There wasn't time for homemade breakfast - he'd have to pick something up on the way to work. Children didn't wait. Furthermore, he was quite aware that the fridge didn't have anything worth consuming at this moment, Kenpachi being the one who did things at the very last minute when the kitchen was completely empty.
When Jushiro stepped into the kitchen, there wasn't a trace of blood to be seen. The body of the man Kenpachi had murdered right before his eyes was gone. Jushiro swallowed, hoping that he didn't throw the corpse into the trash can or anything stupid and obvious like that. Kenpachi should know better - the police was out for him, and one false move, he'd be sent to prison like clockwork.
The kitchen, too, was relatively clean. Kenpachi wasn't one to do the chores and all, so Jushiro could only stare and acknowledge the washed and dried plates, the shiny sink and faucet, the dry floor, clean hand towel.
But before Jushiro could settle down and wonder just what had gotten into the man, he rushed out the door. Children didn't wait, and he would be damned if they so much as thought of their teacher being sick, blessing them with free periods with a sit-in teacher whom they could bully. The thought made Jushiro smile a little, just a faint quirk at the sides of his lips, but that was enough.
More than anything else, he needed distraction.
xxx
The day had been uneventful, only filled with the kids' laughter and gossips of the principal. Usually, Jushiro would be all for throwing his opinions into the discussion, but even Matsudaira-sensei noticed how static he was. Following that, his colleagues had fussed over him, bringing him coffee, tea, some buns. He accepted them all, thanked them, and brushed them off with a reassuring smile that he had to force. Once recess was over, he gave the treats to his students, who rejoiced and exploded out into chatter so loud that Jushiro was once again forced to grant them a free period.
Which was good, because he really didn't have the motivation to teach at the moment. It was very unlike him to feel that way, but he was grateful deep within his heart that he had time off to mingle around among his thoughts, the kids too preoccupied with themselves to pay him any heed. He liked peace and quiet, and despite being in a class filled with hyperactive , he managed to withdraw into his mind and block them out.
The thoughts that attacked him right then weren't at all comforting. They were more disconcerting, if not anything else. Kenpachi, the gun - he always came back to square one. He suspected that it was probably the early signs of a trauma, but he was quite shocked that the mental scar that ran through him from last night's incident wasn't as deep as he expected it to be. He didn't know why, but maybe it was because of how Kenpachi touched him that made him more partial to feeling sympathy than hate. His rough hands, so filled with desperation, of an insatiable need to ask for forgiveness - it was just something else, and Jushiro wasn't used to it.
Kenpachi didn't seek forgiveness. From what Jushiro had seen through the murder, he was the one who granted it.
Upon setting foot in his apartment, relieved to be out of the encroaching darkness, Jushiro heaved a sigh. He set the packed dinner of fried udon on the kitchen table and went about brewing some tea. Absently, his fingers touched his pocket, pressing lightly against the small packet of pills he had to take. With a cup of steaming tea and his cold dinner before him, Jushiro sat down and ate while looking over homework. Despite how many times he reminded the kids to improve their handwriting, they never did, and he, once again, had to squint just to read a single word.
Many times he caught himself looking at the wall phone, and each time he berated himself for it. There was no chance in hell that Kenpachi would call. Jushiro liked to think that there at least was a small, little chance, but as the evening wore on, twilight settling comfortably into the pitch blackness of night, Jushiro finally rose from his chair and cleared the table. His arms felt as heavy as lead as he moved about, washing the tea cup and matching pot. They were still half-full.
After gathering his things, tidying them up, stashing them away in his bag for tomorrow, Jushiro took a shower. A long one wherein he wondered just what would be of the two of them now. There really wasn't anything that could be said after what happened; even Kenpachi was at a loss for words when he launched himself at Jushiro, pinning him back against the wall. All he could do was ravage him all over, the words left unknown and unspoken on his rough lips. No matter how much Jushiro had tried to push him away, to scream at him, hold him responsible for the sudden burst of pain deep within his chest, he couldn't. Not with how Kenpachi was at that moment. The desperation caught up with Jushiro as well, seeped into his skin, and before long, he found himself pleading.
"Don't kill me," Jushiro had whispered into Kenpachi's hair as he held onto his strong shoulders, nails digging painfully into his flesh. "Please don't." And please don't kill yourself.
Pathetic.
Jushiro plopped onto the bed and buried himself under the quilts, pressing his face into the pillow. "Damn it, Ukitake," the curse came out muffled, his hands clutching the sheets so tightly that his nails were scraping against his own palms. "Damn you, Zaraki."
Kenpachi. The source of all his problems. If only they hadn't met in the first place. If only Kenpachi hadn't come looking for him the moment he was released from jail. If only...
Jushiro could only kick himself for being too friendly. Too nice.
Stop thinking about it, for goodness' sake.
With that, Jushiro rolled around to lie on his side, tucked an arm under the pillow, and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that his dreams wouldn't be plagued by carnage and decapitated bodies again. He just couldn't take them anymore and, if he were to have more tonight following that near-death experience at his lover's hand, Jushiro wouldn't doubt that he'd go into instant trauma. Sometimes, he just hated his weak mind, his sick body. It was just plain ridiculous.
Enough. Thinking of that would only ma-
And then he heard a click. A soft noise in the darkness.
Too afraid to even move, Jushiro stayed still, frozen under the quilts. Now he was going to be a victim of burglary. Wasn't that nice. For once, he wished for a firearm or a knife - anything that could protect him.
And the only person that he had in mind was none other than Kenpachi. He and his daring self - the one Jushiro could count on to snap the thief's neck in just one swift motion, saving them a bloody brawl and a shot to the head. Jushiro curled up into a tight ball, gritting his teeth as he heard the soft padding of feet upon the staircase, ascending. The owner seemed to know just where they were going, for the steps didn't stop at the top of the stairs like what Jushiro had expected. Instead, it headed towards his room, and in the next second, the door opened a crack.
Jushiro held his breath, too afraid to even turn around. He remembered locking the front door, and if he did recall correctly, there was no way a thief could just walk in without having to break the lock.
Still, there was something called lock-picking.
The bed sank, causing Jushiro's body to slip backwards, his heart racing against his chest, and the next thing he knew, an arm draped itself around his waist, muscular and firm. Jushiro didn't dare look back, for following that intimately familiar gesture, he was certain just who it was. The smell of tobacco and beer, grease and smoke, reached his nose, stronger than ever. No doubt Kenpachi had drugged himself on all the alcohol he could get and worked his way through the workshop for the whole day. As far as Jushiro was concerned, that was what he normally did whenever he faced a crisis - calm himself by spending time alone in the workshop, looking over the bikes with a can of beer in hand.
Kenpachi buried his face in Jushiro's back, nose pressed against his spine as his arms tightened around him, bringing him to his chest. He was still fully clothed, Jushiro noticed, from his worn leather vest to his greasy shirt, torn jeans and weathered boots, but for once, Jushiro didn't burst out in a series of nags. He couldn't, not with this sudden turn of events.
The silence was deafening, and neither of them dared to break it.
But then, when Jushiro just couldn't take it any longer, hands itching to touch him, he rolled around and tucked his head in the crook of Kenpachi's neck, breathing in the scents of the workshop. He couldn't stand the tobacco, causing him to cough, but he didn't care. He snaked his arms around Kenpachi, obscuring his face, unwilling to let Kenpachi see just how tensed he was, or how relieved he felt just holding him. There were so many things he wanted to say, some degrading while others gratifying, but the words were stuck in his throat.
"Stay," was all he could manage.
Kenpachi didn't budge for a moment, and then he sat up, prying Jushiro's fingers out of his clothes, but just when Jushiro was about to protest, he untied his boots and kicked them off. They landed on the wooden floorboards with a thump that made Jushiro wince. Kenpachi, on the other hand, seemed unfazed as he removed his vest and dropped it to the floor. Hesitantly, Jushiro reached out, helped Kenpachi out of his shirt, and the moment it was off, Kenpachi pinned him down and kissed him. His fingers raked through Jushiro's hair, his tongue forcing his way in, lips working Jushiro's in a rhythm that was all too familiar to them, and when he pulled away, breathless, Jushiro squeezed his eyes shut. His hands betrayed him though, stroking and caressing Kenpachi's sides, feeling the rigid contours of muscle and bone beneath his fingers, reassuring.
Kenpachi rested his head on Jushiro's chest then, making sure that he didn't have all his weight upon him, and sighed quietly as Jushiro's fingers ran through his hair, the touch soothing to his senses. "I ain't leavin'."