In the Face of the Bullet {Kenpachi/Jushiro}
Title: In the Face of the Bullet
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kenpachi/Jushiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,115
Summary: "So, shoot me. Shoot me and be rid of all your troubles." Kenpachi holds his lover at gunpoint. AU.
A/N: Sequel to A Murderer's Embrace and prequel to Stay. Written for prompt #80: curse (otp_100) and prompt #3: no one to care, Table 21 (5_prompts).
Murder Three-Shot Mini-Series Index:
Part 1: A Murderer's Embrace
Part 2: In the Face of the Bullet
Part 3: Stay
It was bullshit like this that Kenpachi hated.
"Zaraki," he murmured, taking a step forward towards the bed where Kenpachi sat, mute and motionless, "we can't anymore. I can't do this. It's just... It's nothing on you. I just...can't."
"Why not?" Kenpachi said, voice dangerously calm. "'Cept for coughin' up blood while we're fuckin', ye didn't do anythin' worth complainin' 'bout. So, that means that it ain't 'bout you. It's 'bout me. I did somethin' wrong, didn't I? And I don't know shit 'bout what I did 'cause ye ain't tellin' me anythin'. Keepin' me in the dark while ye go on and say whatever ye wanna say." Kenpachi rose to his feet, trying to steady himself on his suddenly weak knees. It wasn't often that he felt like this, like he wanted to tear everything apart and just stab Jushiro. Stab him and let him bleed on the floor to his death. "I ain't takin' this bullshit, Ukitake."
Jushiro was quiet for a while, running his fingers through his hair, biting his lower lip. "I can't be with you because you're a killer."
Kenpachi froze at that, and he could only be grateful to the darkness of the room that the way his face paled was hidden from Jushiro. Only the moonlight filtering in through the translucent curtains in the corner gave anything worth of illumination. He buried his fists in his jeans pockets, raising his face to the ceiling as if some higher power would grant him guidance. He really needed some right now. Even a light whisper in the ear, confirming his wish to drive a knife into Jushiro's rib cage, would suffice.
"That's it?" Kenpachi scoffed, bitter and resenting himself. Like Jushiro had any say in this. He didn't choose to be a killer - maybe at times, yes - he just was one, and Jushiro, even with all his nobility, couldn't judge. Because he just didn't understand how it felt like to be caught in the middle between someone who one cared about and a mob of gangsters who were just waiting around the corner to make one yet another of their victims. "Ye don't get it, Ukitake."
"Don't get what?" Kenpachi hated the pitying tone in Jushiro's voice then, felt like ripping out his tongue and shooting holes in it. "How can I understand anything if you're not telling me? You just... You keep everything to yourself, and when I do try to ask you, ask just how are you because you make me so ridiculously worried, all you do is brush me off." Jushiro had raised his voice a notch, and Kenpachi could sense the suppressed anger within him that was threatening to burst out. "You don't care about me, so why should I even stay? You have other things to worry about, and I'm not among them. It may seem selfish, but I don't want to be your doormat. Before you say that I don't understand a thing, I have feelings too. And you don't care about them, so tell me, Zaraki," he softened his tone, "is it even worth it to be there for someone when you know that they won't be there for you?"
Kenpachi's fingers twitched, and the next thing he knew, he was pointing a pistol right in Jushiro's face, pressing the end of it to the center of his forehead, the area which he always aimed for whenever he was set on blowing the brains out of some idiot who dared cross the line.
"Ye don't get it," he growled, his grip tightening around the pistol, very much tempted to just pull the trigger between Jushiro's widening eyes. The fear, the panic that arose within them fed Kenpachi's lust for battle, but the way his skin paled was all the more disconcerting, like he was facing yet another one of his disease's ambushes. Kenpachi was always there to hold him, steady him whenever he coughed up his own blood, but this time… This time, Kenpachi was going to shoot him and get it over and done with.
"Go on," Jushiro whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Sweat slid down his face, beads of them decorating his forehead and temples. "Shoot me."
Kenpachi pressed the pistol harder against Jushiro's skull, flexing his fingers, curling them more firmly around it. Get it over and done with. He'd always wanted to do this whenever they fought. He remembered storming out during one of the more severe cases and, once he was home, he'd shot several holes in the wall of his bedroom, imagining that it was Jushiro's face. When Jushiro came over and questioned it, he'd stayed silent, but the look in Jushiro's eyes told him that the both of them knew better.
Gritting his teeth, Kenpachi charged forwards, ramming the back of Jushiro's head into the wall with the pistol still in position, and then he flung it away and crashed his lips to Jushiro's. With a hand, he tugged open his mouth, forcing his way through, pressing his tongue up against the other. Jushiro's hands scrabbled against Kenpachi's chest, trying hard to push him away, but Kenpachi was steadfast and firm; he pinned his hands to the side of his head, raking his nails up his palms and clamping his fingers between his own, trapping him.
"Fuck you," Kenpachi hissed into Jushiro's mouth, grazing his teeth over his bottom lip. "Go and rot in fuckin' hell, ye bastard." And then he kissed him some more, fiercely and almost desperately, fingers tightening over Jushiro's hands. Jushiro let slip a moan as Kenpachi bit down on his lip, drawing blood that intermingled among their tongues, tainting the kiss with a coppery taste. And when Kenpachi pulled away, he didn't let go off Jushiro's hands as he lowered his head, hair obscuring that which Jushiro sought, desperate for more. "I should kill ye," Kenpachi said beneath his breath, so quietly that only the two of them could hear, so quietly that it made the silence deafening. "I want to kill ye." Kenpachi let his hands fall then, back to his sides where they hung, limp and lifeless.
Jushiro, hesitant, reached out and ran his fingers through Kenpachi's hair, a gesture that Kenpachi tried not to revel in. "I know," said Jushiro and, taking his face in his hands, kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin - everywhere, each nook and cranny that he always kissed. "You should've killed me so that your troubles will be over, so that you don't have to put up with me anymore."
Kenpachi shook his head, clenching his teeth. "I should've."
But they both knew that he just couldn't do it.
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kenpachi/Jushiro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,115
Summary: "So, shoot me. Shoot me and be rid of all your troubles." Kenpachi holds his lover at gunpoint. AU.
A/N: Sequel to A Murderer's Embrace and prequel to Stay. Written for prompt #80: curse (otp_100) and prompt #3: no one to care, Table 21 (5_prompts).
Murder Three-Shot Mini-Series Index:
Part 1: A Murderer's Embrace
Part 2: In the Face of the Bullet
Part 3: Stay
It was bullshit like this that Kenpachi hated.
"Zaraki," he murmured, taking a step forward towards the bed where Kenpachi sat, mute and motionless, "we can't anymore. I can't do this. It's just... It's nothing on you. I just...can't."
"Why not?" Kenpachi said, voice dangerously calm. "'Cept for coughin' up blood while we're fuckin', ye didn't do anythin' worth complainin' 'bout. So, that means that it ain't 'bout you. It's 'bout me. I did somethin' wrong, didn't I? And I don't know shit 'bout what I did 'cause ye ain't tellin' me anythin'. Keepin' me in the dark while ye go on and say whatever ye wanna say." Kenpachi rose to his feet, trying to steady himself on his suddenly weak knees. It wasn't often that he felt like this, like he wanted to tear everything apart and just stab Jushiro. Stab him and let him bleed on the floor to his death. "I ain't takin' this bullshit, Ukitake."
Jushiro was quiet for a while, running his fingers through his hair, biting his lower lip. "I can't be with you because you're a killer."
Kenpachi froze at that, and he could only be grateful to the darkness of the room that the way his face paled was hidden from Jushiro. Only the moonlight filtering in through the translucent curtains in the corner gave anything worth of illumination. He buried his fists in his jeans pockets, raising his face to the ceiling as if some higher power would grant him guidance. He really needed some right now. Even a light whisper in the ear, confirming his wish to drive a knife into Jushiro's rib cage, would suffice.
"That's it?" Kenpachi scoffed, bitter and resenting himself. Like Jushiro had any say in this. He didn't choose to be a killer - maybe at times, yes - he just was one, and Jushiro, even with all his nobility, couldn't judge. Because he just didn't understand how it felt like to be caught in the middle between someone who one cared about and a mob of gangsters who were just waiting around the corner to make one yet another of their victims. "Ye don't get it, Ukitake."
"Don't get what?" Kenpachi hated the pitying tone in Jushiro's voice then, felt like ripping out his tongue and shooting holes in it. "How can I understand anything if you're not telling me? You just... You keep everything to yourself, and when I do try to ask you, ask just how are you because you make me so ridiculously worried, all you do is brush me off." Jushiro had raised his voice a notch, and Kenpachi could sense the suppressed anger within him that was threatening to burst out. "You don't care about me, so why should I even stay? You have other things to worry about, and I'm not among them. It may seem selfish, but I don't want to be your doormat. Before you say that I don't understand a thing, I have feelings too. And you don't care about them, so tell me, Zaraki," he softened his tone, "is it even worth it to be there for someone when you know that they won't be there for you?"
Kenpachi's fingers twitched, and the next thing he knew, he was pointing a pistol right in Jushiro's face, pressing the end of it to the center of his forehead, the area which he always aimed for whenever he was set on blowing the brains out of some idiot who dared cross the line.
"Ye don't get it," he growled, his grip tightening around the pistol, very much tempted to just pull the trigger between Jushiro's widening eyes. The fear, the panic that arose within them fed Kenpachi's lust for battle, but the way his skin paled was all the more disconcerting, like he was facing yet another one of his disease's ambushes. Kenpachi was always there to hold him, steady him whenever he coughed up his own blood, but this time… This time, Kenpachi was going to shoot him and get it over and done with.
"Go on," Jushiro whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Sweat slid down his face, beads of them decorating his forehead and temples. "Shoot me."
Kenpachi pressed the pistol harder against Jushiro's skull, flexing his fingers, curling them more firmly around it. Get it over and done with. He'd always wanted to do this whenever they fought. He remembered storming out during one of the more severe cases and, once he was home, he'd shot several holes in the wall of his bedroom, imagining that it was Jushiro's face. When Jushiro came over and questioned it, he'd stayed silent, but the look in Jushiro's eyes told him that the both of them knew better.
Gritting his teeth, Kenpachi charged forwards, ramming the back of Jushiro's head into the wall with the pistol still in position, and then he flung it away and crashed his lips to Jushiro's. With a hand, he tugged open his mouth, forcing his way through, pressing his tongue up against the other. Jushiro's hands scrabbled against Kenpachi's chest, trying hard to push him away, but Kenpachi was steadfast and firm; he pinned his hands to the side of his head, raking his nails up his palms and clamping his fingers between his own, trapping him.
"Fuck you," Kenpachi hissed into Jushiro's mouth, grazing his teeth over his bottom lip. "Go and rot in fuckin' hell, ye bastard." And then he kissed him some more, fiercely and almost desperately, fingers tightening over Jushiro's hands. Jushiro let slip a moan as Kenpachi bit down on his lip, drawing blood that intermingled among their tongues, tainting the kiss with a coppery taste. And when Kenpachi pulled away, he didn't let go off Jushiro's hands as he lowered his head, hair obscuring that which Jushiro sought, desperate for more. "I should kill ye," Kenpachi said beneath his breath, so quietly that only the two of them could hear, so quietly that it made the silence deafening. "I want to kill ye." Kenpachi let his hands fall then, back to his sides where they hung, limp and lifeless.
Jushiro, hesitant, reached out and ran his fingers through Kenpachi's hair, a gesture that Kenpachi tried not to revel in. "I know," said Jushiro and, taking his face in his hands, kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin - everywhere, each nook and cranny that he always kissed. "You should've killed me so that your troubles will be over, so that you don't have to put up with me anymore."
Kenpachi shook his head, clenching his teeth. "I should've."
But they both knew that he just couldn't do it.