Fic: Bleach // A Certain Lack of Pretense
Title: A Certain Lack of Pretense
Characters: Izuru, Gin
Summary: Gin likes'm with a little fight.
Rating: PG-13ish?
Notes/Warnings: I may expand this the next time I feel like writing porn. Which is rare, but you never know. It may happen! Also, temp title. If I can ever think of a proper one. Feel free to offer suggestions.
Gin likes Izuru best like this, he thinks, with the temper everyone likes to forget about snapping behind his eyes, teetering between surrender and defiance. Gin leans in to kiss him, just lips for now, waits to see if he'll bite and smiles when he doesn't. So full of contradictions, his Izuru; push him the wrong way and he'll push back, harder than anyone gives him credit for, quicker with his fists and sharp words than most expect. But push him the right way, and oh, Gin knows nothing if not the right way, and Izuru will bend for him until he breaks.
Gin has no intention of doing that, not now, not for a while, maybe never. Gin likes this show of spirit too much, likes the dull pain of Izuru's fingernails biting into his shoulders, the brighter, sharper sensation of those nails being dragged down his back, pulling at yesterday's scabs. He likes watching Izuru's pride fight with his desperation, loves watching him lose.
He could make it easier on both of them, Gin knows, could coax and cajole him, let Izuru play the docile vice-captain, let him play the victim. But there's no thrill in that. What Gin loves, as much as he's ever loved anything, is making Izuru submit willingly, forcing him to admit that he wants something he feels he shouldn't have.
Another kiss, deeper this time, Gin's tongue flickering against Izuru's mouth, a muffled laugh filtering between them when Izuru really does bite him, just the tip, just lightly. Gin's smile stretches, widens impossibly, and he forces his way in the next time, cups the back of Izuru's neck firmly and squeezes. His other hand has Izuru's uniform open already, is pushing it from his pale, thin shoulders, and Izuru makes a small sound of protest when it finally falls away. But his eyes are already unfocused when Gin pulls back to look, the sharp angles of his hips waiting when Gin's hands slide down to find them.
Characters: Izuru, Gin
Summary: Gin likes'm with a little fight.
Rating: PG-13ish?
Notes/Warnings: I may expand this the next time I feel like writing porn. Which is rare, but you never know. It may happen! Also, temp title. If I can ever think of a proper one. Feel free to offer suggestions.
Gin likes Izuru best like this, he thinks, with the temper everyone likes to forget about snapping behind his eyes, teetering between surrender and defiance. Gin leans in to kiss him, just lips for now, waits to see if he'll bite and smiles when he doesn't. So full of contradictions, his Izuru; push him the wrong way and he'll push back, harder than anyone gives him credit for, quicker with his fists and sharp words than most expect. But push him the right way, and oh, Gin knows nothing if not the right way, and Izuru will bend for him until he breaks.
Gin has no intention of doing that, not now, not for a while, maybe never. Gin likes this show of spirit too much, likes the dull pain of Izuru's fingernails biting into his shoulders, the brighter, sharper sensation of those nails being dragged down his back, pulling at yesterday's scabs. He likes watching Izuru's pride fight with his desperation, loves watching him lose.
He could make it easier on both of them, Gin knows, could coax and cajole him, let Izuru play the docile vice-captain, let him play the victim. But there's no thrill in that. What Gin loves, as much as he's ever loved anything, is making Izuru submit willingly, forcing him to admit that he wants something he feels he shouldn't have.
Another kiss, deeper this time, Gin's tongue flickering against Izuru's mouth, a muffled laugh filtering between them when Izuru really does bite him, just the tip, just lightly. Gin's smile stretches, widens impossibly, and he forces his way in the next time, cups the back of Izuru's neck firmly and squeezes. His other hand has Izuru's uniform open already, is pushing it from his pale, thin shoulders, and Izuru makes a small sound of protest when it finally falls away. But his eyes are already unfocused when Gin pulls back to look, the sharp angles of his hips waiting when Gin's hands slide down to find them.