Wounded Pride
Title: Wounded Pride
Rating: PG-15
Beta: live_with_love
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine.
Pairing: Kensei/Shuuhei
Warning/Spoilers: Allusions to sex, slight angst, spoilers for Shuuhei's backstory
Word Count: 388
Author's Notes: Finally getting around to cross posting this and I'm late for my other Springkink prompts |DDD
Shuuhei doesn’t speak about them but Kensei thinks he should.
Shuuhei thinks they’re ugly and Kensei thinks they’re perfect.
For Shuuhei they’re a constant reminder that he was too weak to save his classmates, even if all the first years made it back unharmed, that he had to be saved, again. For Kensei they show him that Shuuhei is a warrior and shows more emotion than people even begin to think.
Kensei knows the story, heard it from the blonde kid over in third, the only one of the three lower classmen he would want to recount it. He knows the blonde sees what the other two don’t, can’t. He knows the story but not the brunette’s thoughts and he far from thinks Shuuhei weak because of those parallel scars that stand out so clearly on the right side of his face.
They are a part of Shuuhei, just as much as the tattoos, the choker and the sleeveless uniform he wears so proudly. And that’s what Kensei doesn’t quite understand. All those other things the brunette wears with a distinct pride but the scars are something else. They’re not a symbol of pride to him, not really, though people might think that by the way he has worn them, instead they are a burden to him, a remainder of his weakness, of his needing to be saved, again.
The brunette doesn’t flinch anymore when the vizard’s fingers brush over the damaged tissue; he no longer silently turns away, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, exposing the number on his cheek to Kensei as he hides the scars against the pillow (or door, or desk, or whatever surface they are up against).
He lets Kensei brush his lips over the sensitive skin, lets his tongue trace them, and he knows his new captain only does it to try and get him used to them. As if the decades without him and the brunette trying to come to terms with them means nothing; that only his original saviour can make him believe the words Shuuhei hears with each touch.
“They are you.”
“They show you are strong.”
“They don’t show you are weak.”
“Tell me when you’re ready.”
Shuuhei doesn’t speak about them but Kensei’s beginning to think that’s ok: so long as he becomes proud of them.
Rating: PG-15
Beta: live_with_love
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine.
Pairing: Kensei/Shuuhei
Warning/Spoilers: Allusions to sex, slight angst, spoilers for Shuuhei's backstory
Word Count: 388
Author's Notes: Finally getting around to cross posting this and I'm late for my other Springkink prompts |DDD
Shuuhei doesn’t speak about them but Kensei thinks he should.
Shuuhei thinks they’re ugly and Kensei thinks they’re perfect.
For Shuuhei they’re a constant reminder that he was too weak to save his classmates, even if all the first years made it back unharmed, that he had to be saved, again. For Kensei they show him that Shuuhei is a warrior and shows more emotion than people even begin to think.
Kensei knows the story, heard it from the blonde kid over in third, the only one of the three lower classmen he would want to recount it. He knows the blonde sees what the other two don’t, can’t. He knows the story but not the brunette’s thoughts and he far from thinks Shuuhei weak because of those parallel scars that stand out so clearly on the right side of his face.
They are a part of Shuuhei, just as much as the tattoos, the choker and the sleeveless uniform he wears so proudly. And that’s what Kensei doesn’t quite understand. All those other things the brunette wears with a distinct pride but the scars are something else. They’re not a symbol of pride to him, not really, though people might think that by the way he has worn them, instead they are a burden to him, a remainder of his weakness, of his needing to be saved, again.
The brunette doesn’t flinch anymore when the vizard’s fingers brush over the damaged tissue; he no longer silently turns away, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, exposing the number on his cheek to Kensei as he hides the scars against the pillow (or door, or desk, or whatever surface they are up against).
He lets Kensei brush his lips over the sensitive skin, lets his tongue trace them, and he knows his new captain only does it to try and get him used to them. As if the decades without him and the brunette trying to come to terms with them means nothing; that only his original saviour can make him believe the words Shuuhei hears with each touch.
“They are you.”
“They show you are strong.”
“They don’t show you are weak.”
“Tell me when you’re ready.”
Shuuhei doesn’t speak about them but Kensei’s beginning to think that’s ok: so long as he becomes proud of them.