TeslaHime Drabble- Constant
...Holy crap, Every Reason is back! I'm really out of practice with these two, so kindly forgive the high possibility of fail. xD I'll be getting back into a more constant cycle with this series, though- no more five-month breaks. As for this particular drabble... All I had in mind was a pre-established relationship after the Winter War. If anyone would also like to suggest a title/prompt for a drabble, please do- I'm afraid I've gotten rather unoriginal...
Constant
There was something infinitely more satisfying in knowing the little quirks of his mind over those of his body, the things that told her again and again that he was no monster. He was a light sleeper, for instance- oftentimes, all it took to awake him was a simple shift in the bed, the half-conscious slide of her hand down his chest, or sometimes things she couldn’t pick up on at all. She would crack open a sleep-coated eye to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the moon with something between pain and acceptance until she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder. No matter the occasion, or what he was wearing, Tesla always smelled the same- like fresh-pressed linen with just a hint of musk underneath. For someone with such a seemingly austere face, he blushed quite easily if provoked into doing so, and in those moments, she could catch just a glimpse of the boy he might have been, the one she was slowly drawing out once more from a void of instinct and longing.
Their castle was lonely, inhabited by a scarce few Arrancar who had somehow survived both Soul Society and Aizen, each of whom lived on somewhere between fear and once again seeking a way to fill the voids of their hearts. He rarely spoke of his place as a survivor, but the lingering guilt was always there, curling around the edges of his one brown eye or hesitantly following the trail of her finger down the scar he’d insisted she not heal. Orihime would have questioned it once, aloud or within the soft sunshine cushions of her mind, but the ghost of her own loss that wafted between her footsteps like ash kept her silent, understanding. Tesla had slowly become a constant in her life, hesitant step by hesitant step. The phrase “birds of a feather stick together” came to her mind whenever he stood beside her, hands clasped patiently behind his back, though oftentimes, she wondered who had really lost the most. Those thoughts would slip past the smudged sunlight of her mind to take their leave whenever he laid down beside her, at first with the poise of a toy soldier, but eventually slipping into the finesse of a lover. Her fingers would trace the rim of his Hollow hole, and his eye would follow, round and round until their lips met, having found silent justification permeated only by a gentle moan or a soft sigh as the sheets rustled a soft welcome to something she couldn’t place as either a beginning or an end.
Constant
There was something infinitely more satisfying in knowing the little quirks of his mind over those of his body, the things that told her again and again that he was no monster. He was a light sleeper, for instance- oftentimes, all it took to awake him was a simple shift in the bed, the half-conscious slide of her hand down his chest, or sometimes things she couldn’t pick up on at all. She would crack open a sleep-coated eye to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the moon with something between pain and acceptance until she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder. No matter the occasion, or what he was wearing, Tesla always smelled the same- like fresh-pressed linen with just a hint of musk underneath. For someone with such a seemingly austere face, he blushed quite easily if provoked into doing so, and in those moments, she could catch just a glimpse of the boy he might have been, the one she was slowly drawing out once more from a void of instinct and longing.
Their castle was lonely, inhabited by a scarce few Arrancar who had somehow survived both Soul Society and Aizen, each of whom lived on somewhere between fear and once again seeking a way to fill the voids of their hearts. He rarely spoke of his place as a survivor, but the lingering guilt was always there, curling around the edges of his one brown eye or hesitantly following the trail of her finger down the scar he’d insisted she not heal. Orihime would have questioned it once, aloud or within the soft sunshine cushions of her mind, but the ghost of her own loss that wafted between her footsteps like ash kept her silent, understanding. Tesla had slowly become a constant in her life, hesitant step by hesitant step. The phrase “birds of a feather stick together” came to her mind whenever he stood beside her, hands clasped patiently behind his back, though oftentimes, she wondered who had really lost the most. Those thoughts would slip past the smudged sunlight of her mind to take their leave whenever he laid down beside her, at first with the poise of a toy soldier, but eventually slipping into the finesse of a lover. Her fingers would trace the rim of his Hollow hole, and his eye would follow, round and round until their lips met, having found silent justification permeated only by a gentle moan or a soft sigh as the sheets rustled a soft welcome to something she couldn’t place as either a beginning or an end.