Woops >_>
I wrote this fic over a week ago and sort of forgot about it completely. At any rate, I think it kind of sucks, but I haven't found fic for these two, yet -_-;;
Title: Ferocity
Author: Enkidu
Rating: R
Pairing: Il Forte/Zael-Apollo
Warnings: Yaoi. Spoilers for recent chapters. Sexual situations. Incest. Dark themes.
Summary: Introspective -sort of- look at Il Forte and Zael-Apollo’s relationship.
Author’s Notes: Really just experimenting with these two, so be gentle.
Il Forte was vain, cocky, and brash. He grinned and spilled out useless words. He threatened like it was an invitation and fought like it was an elaborate dance. He promised his own victory and slashed haphazardly with a dizzy spell of flowing hair. His words were like daggers, and his sword delivered the cut -the physical manifestation of blood he craved. He was cruel and unforgiving. He was heartless and uncaring. He claimed to be magnificent and would let his glory shine as a Numeros.
Zael had watched him since his own “birth”.
He opened his eyes and, at first, saw his master grinning and welcoming into the world. Aizen had a manner about him that appeared charismatic, but the cruelty swirled openly behind his eyes.
Then there was that infuriatingly unblemished face, smirking down at him and calling him brother. Long hair tickled his skin, and eyes shone brightly like Zael was Il Forte’s own achievement and not Aizen’s.
For the first moments of his life, Zael belonged to Il Forte. Il Forte wasn’t his older brother, but he was Il Forte’s younger brother.
The older Arrancar would run his fingers through his short pink hair and remark how silky it was -almost as soft as his own. Delicate fingers would caress his cheek, remove his glasses, and trace lightly over his lashes.
“You have long lashes like mine,” Il Forte would comment, and in truth, the resemblance between them was uncanny if one looked hard enough.
Il Forte liked to wrap around Zael’s thinner frame, slide his arms around his chest and hold him intimately. There were faded memories of warm breath sliding against the back of his neck, and Zael’s skin would prickle from the sensation until he wanted to scratch at his skin and make it burn.
The hands were always on him like he was a prized possession. Zael wanted to believe Il Forte thought him more precious than Del Toro -wanted to lean back into the embrace, close his eyes, and accept his role.
Then there were nights where Il Forte never wanted to let him go. Strong arms would crush him to the bed, and fingers would press into his skin until they tore through. Il Forte’s eyes were always open during sex, always watching him with pride as he conquered. Afterwards, Zael would find himself twisted and locked between arms, staring at the white-wash walls of Las Noches and feeling nothing. There was no love for this man who called himself his brother. There were no feelings of closeness or belonging.
But he was stronger.
“You are the Octavo Esapada,” Aizen had told him.
His new rank had shaken him. The sword in his hand felt heavy. All he’d ever wanted to do from that moment was slash the throat of the one who claimed him.
Il Forte had no longer touched him but looked at him with something close to contempt. His eyes would narrow at his sight, and there would be words of mockery hissed beneath an empiric voice.
“Don’t let this get to your head. You’re still my younger brother.”
Zael hated him. Zael hated him as brothers shouldn’t hate each other. Zael dreamt of twisting the sword into his neck until the older Arrancar begged for mercy.
“His time will come,” Zael had assured himself repeatedly.
When he lay with his brother one last time, Il Forte’s eyes had closed. Il Forte no longer wanted to look at him -see the power the younger Arrancar had achieved. Zael allowed himself to grin just as Il Forte always grinned. He allowed the cockiness and useless feelings of pride to overwhelm him until he was trembling. He felt he could lean in, open his legs wider, moan and scream out his enjoyment.
The harsh, panting breath whipped against his cheek, and Zael grinned wider, feeling elated, letting his hands grip Il Forte’s hair and tug. He kissed him harshly, lips dry and cracking beneath Il Forte’s wet ones. It was probably the only time Zael had ever really kissed him.
The parasites slid from their hiding place, moving discreetly into the body that exerted itself over Zael and twisting around in a mock embrace like the ones Il Forte had given him.
‘You are mine’ Zael’s mind whispered, and he let his body tremble and spasm with release, murmuring the words he’d never heard himself spoke.
“Brother.”
The End.
Title: Ferocity
Author: Enkidu
Rating: R
Pairing: Il Forte/Zael-Apollo
Warnings: Yaoi. Spoilers for recent chapters. Sexual situations. Incest. Dark themes.
Summary: Introspective -sort of- look at Il Forte and Zael-Apollo’s relationship.
Author’s Notes: Really just experimenting with these two, so be gentle.
Il Forte was vain, cocky, and brash. He grinned and spilled out useless words. He threatened like it was an invitation and fought like it was an elaborate dance. He promised his own victory and slashed haphazardly with a dizzy spell of flowing hair. His words were like daggers, and his sword delivered the cut -the physical manifestation of blood he craved. He was cruel and unforgiving. He was heartless and uncaring. He claimed to be magnificent and would let his glory shine as a Numeros.
Zael had watched him since his own “birth”.
He opened his eyes and, at first, saw his master grinning and welcoming into the world. Aizen had a manner about him that appeared charismatic, but the cruelty swirled openly behind his eyes.
Then there was that infuriatingly unblemished face, smirking down at him and calling him brother. Long hair tickled his skin, and eyes shone brightly like Zael was Il Forte’s own achievement and not Aizen’s.
For the first moments of his life, Zael belonged to Il Forte. Il Forte wasn’t his older brother, but he was Il Forte’s younger brother.
The older Arrancar would run his fingers through his short pink hair and remark how silky it was -almost as soft as his own. Delicate fingers would caress his cheek, remove his glasses, and trace lightly over his lashes.
“You have long lashes like mine,” Il Forte would comment, and in truth, the resemblance between them was uncanny if one looked hard enough.
Il Forte liked to wrap around Zael’s thinner frame, slide his arms around his chest and hold him intimately. There were faded memories of warm breath sliding against the back of his neck, and Zael’s skin would prickle from the sensation until he wanted to scratch at his skin and make it burn.
The hands were always on him like he was a prized possession. Zael wanted to believe Il Forte thought him more precious than Del Toro -wanted to lean back into the embrace, close his eyes, and accept his role.
Then there were nights where Il Forte never wanted to let him go. Strong arms would crush him to the bed, and fingers would press into his skin until they tore through. Il Forte’s eyes were always open during sex, always watching him with pride as he conquered. Afterwards, Zael would find himself twisted and locked between arms, staring at the white-wash walls of Las Noches and feeling nothing. There was no love for this man who called himself his brother. There were no feelings of closeness or belonging.
But he was stronger.
“You are the Octavo Esapada,” Aizen had told him.
His new rank had shaken him. The sword in his hand felt heavy. All he’d ever wanted to do from that moment was slash the throat of the one who claimed him.
Il Forte had no longer touched him but looked at him with something close to contempt. His eyes would narrow at his sight, and there would be words of mockery hissed beneath an empiric voice.
“Don’t let this get to your head. You’re still my younger brother.”
Zael hated him. Zael hated him as brothers shouldn’t hate each other. Zael dreamt of twisting the sword into his neck until the older Arrancar begged for mercy.
“His time will come,” Zael had assured himself repeatedly.
When he lay with his brother one last time, Il Forte’s eyes had closed. Il Forte no longer wanted to look at him -see the power the younger Arrancar had achieved. Zael allowed himself to grin just as Il Forte always grinned. He allowed the cockiness and useless feelings of pride to overwhelm him until he was trembling. He felt he could lean in, open his legs wider, moan and scream out his enjoyment.
The harsh, panting breath whipped against his cheek, and Zael grinned wider, feeling elated, letting his hands grip Il Forte’s hair and tug. He kissed him harshly, lips dry and cracking beneath Il Forte’s wet ones. It was probably the only time Zael had ever really kissed him.
The parasites slid from their hiding place, moving discreetly into the body that exerted itself over Zael and twisting around in a mock embrace like the ones Il Forte had given him.
‘You are mine’ Zael’s mind whispered, and he let his body tremble and spasm with release, murmuring the words he’d never heard himself spoke.
“Brother.”
The End.