New Fic: Green (Bleach)
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Gin/Kira
Rating: PGish
Notes: My first Bleach fic! Not very polished. Oh well. Gotta start somewhere.
"Izuru."
His taichou muses. Izuru scribbles through documents without a pause.
There was a time when Izuru would've jumped at his name, pronounced with that lemony tongue. He would've been instantly standing, alert, and "hai, taichou!"
"Izuru."
As a fukutaichou, he's still green around the edges. But at least he's used to taichou's demeanor now. He always wants to be amused.
"Izuru."
Izuru makes a last stroke, files a paper, pulls out another. Gin rustles in the background.
"Izuuruu..."
Gin's seat creaks and Izuru sighs. Izuru wonders how taichou was ever in his position. If he shouldered as much a burden as Izuru himself. Or if he just sat around like now doing...doing...what was taichou doing?
"Izuuuuruu-chan," Gin purrs.
Shocked at the diminutive, spoken so intimately in taichou's lilt, Izuru's head finally pops up from his work. Taichou is his sight.
Gin's pale skin is flushed, his head thrown back, and his mouth piqued in its habitual smile. Perfectly unconcerned. Izuru's eyes follow the line of taichou's loosened kimono to where his hand vanishes into his hakama, moving slowly, slowly, slowly...
Izuru almost yelps, leaping backward toward the door. Somehow he collects the presense of mind to snap his head downward, mumbling an "excuse me" as he backs outwards.
"IZURU."
This time, taichou slaps him with his name. Then, softer.
"Naa, Izuru-chaaan...You won't help me?"
Izuru is blushing. His hair is in his eyes, tickling his eyelashes. He wants to be everywhere else. The cool of the hall presses his skin through the screen door. Quickly, Izuru spins around and grasps the frame, meaning to burst out, to run. But he slides to the floor instead, his face pressed to the door, knocking on the lattice.
He tries to raise his head.
Gin is smiling.
Izuru crawls closer to him until it's too close.
Pairing: Gin/Kira
Rating: PGish
Notes: My first Bleach fic! Not very polished. Oh well. Gotta start somewhere.
"Izuru."
His taichou muses. Izuru scribbles through documents without a pause.
There was a time when Izuru would've jumped at his name, pronounced with that lemony tongue. He would've been instantly standing, alert, and "hai, taichou!"
"Izuru."
As a fukutaichou, he's still green around the edges. But at least he's used to taichou's demeanor now. He always wants to be amused.
"Izuru."
Izuru makes a last stroke, files a paper, pulls out another. Gin rustles in the background.
"Izuuruu..."
Gin's seat creaks and Izuru sighs. Izuru wonders how taichou was ever in his position. If he shouldered as much a burden as Izuru himself. Or if he just sat around like now doing...doing...what was taichou doing?
"Izuuuuruu-chan," Gin purrs.
Shocked at the diminutive, spoken so intimately in taichou's lilt, Izuru's head finally pops up from his work. Taichou is his sight.
Gin's pale skin is flushed, his head thrown back, and his mouth piqued in its habitual smile. Perfectly unconcerned. Izuru's eyes follow the line of taichou's loosened kimono to where his hand vanishes into his hakama, moving slowly, slowly, slowly...
Izuru almost yelps, leaping backward toward the door. Somehow he collects the presense of mind to snap his head downward, mumbling an "excuse me" as he backs outwards.
"IZURU."
This time, taichou slaps him with his name. Then, softer.
"Naa, Izuru-chaaan...You won't help me?"
Izuru is blushing. His hair is in his eyes, tickling his eyelashes. He wants to be everywhere else. The cool of the hall presses his skin through the screen door. Quickly, Izuru spins around and grasps the frame, meaning to burst out, to run. But he slides to the floor instead, his face pressed to the door, knocking on the lattice.
He tries to raise his head.
Gin is smiling.
Izuru crawls closer to him until it's too close.