When History Settles Upon Us {Kenpachi/Jushiro, implied Kenpachi/first!Yachiru}
Title: When History Settles Upon Us
Fandom: Bleach
Pairings: Kenpachi/Jushiro, implied Kenpachi/first!Yachiru
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,245
Summary: It's the night of New Year's. Jushiro and Kenpachi watch the
festivities being carried out below them, each dwelling within their own
respective pasts.
A/N: Written for prompt #5: (picture of the London Bridge), Table #4 (5_prompts) and prompt #15: colours (otp_100).
Jushiro stood on the balcony of the Eleventh Division barracks, his elbows resting on the railing, his eyes taking in the splendid sight before him.
Just moments before a blast of colour erupted in the dark night sky, splashing lights of red, orange, yellow, green - every colour that seemed to have been picked out of Yachiru's crayon box - onto the Seireitei. It hadn't faded away completely when yet another rocket, small as it travelled all the way up in the distance, spurting orange sparks out from its tail, caught Jushiro's eye.
He was too slow to focus on it, and as a result, was blinded once again with an explosion of a fiery red-and-yellow flower. The sound was deafening, and Jushiro, though he was disappointed in it being the last one, was grateful deep in the back of his mind. He figured that if he were to go through more of these, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.
How he wished that he could return to his younger days so he could mingle around with the shinigami out in the streets. He could see the lower-ranked ones, whose division he wasn't sure of, teasing a couple of academy students with twirling paper fans. It was all in good fun though, since the young man who had been trying to provoke a little girl was rewarded with a slap to the nose.
Jushiro closed his eyes as the sound of laughter, joyous and youthful, floated up to his ears. It reminded him of the days when he used to fool around with Shunsui and their other classmates, pulling pranks on unsuspecting teachers and wolf-whistling as girls passed by. Shunsui would attempt to catch a girl's attention, but always he ended up in the dust, and they would laugh at his inability to score.
Those days were long gone now, and all Jushiro had were memories. Some pleasant, others highly disapproved - he had to admit that he was one of the kids who frequently got into trouble. It wasn't because of his own faults though - however much he didn't want to, he just tended to get involved with the wrong company. He had Shunsui to blame for that.
But he'd give anything to return to those days. Though he didn't outright resent his living conditions now, except for the sickness that was constantly eating him from the inside out, he found that he missed his youth. New Year nights when he would sneak out under cover of darkness just so he could spend the occasion with his friends, when he would shoot fireworks up into the sky and watch in awe as they exploded into curtains of bright, neon lights.
"Hey." And Jushiro nearly jumped out of his skin when Kenpachi wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back. With the image of his younger self misting before his very eyes, Jushiro leaned back against Kenpachi's chest and tilted his head to the side as he felt Kenpachi's warm, wet tongue trailing up the side of his neck.
"Ye on to somethin'?" His breath was hot as it fell upon Jushiro's shoulder, warming his cold, sensitive skin, bringing a flushed look back to it. "I come outta the shower and ye're still here."
"Did you expect me to be waiting in your bed?" Jushiro grinned to himself as he heard that slight growl he had been anticipating.
"That would've been way better than standin' out here in the fuckin' cold."
"I didn't know Captain Zaraki could get cold," Jushiro teased gently, brushing his fingers over Kenpachi's hands that were clasped on his stomach. Kenpachi merely gave a scoff, nonchalant as to his random mirth. "It's New Year's, so I should think that it would be inappropriate if we were to go to bed so early."
"Haven't ye had enough of those damn fireworks? Good thing it's stopped or ye'll be out here for hours on end." He released Jushiro, and Jushiro had to swallow his disappointment at the loss of warmth. Kenpachi went to stand by the railing and rested his elbows on them. "That old man sure has a lotta money to spend on bullshit like this when he can't even fix the lower Rukongai districts. While we're standin' here celebratin', bastards in the Rukongai're watchin' us. They're hopin' that some day they can get to the Seireitei, be shinigami, have a better life."
The point struck home.
Jushiro gazed at the side of Kenpachi's face, his attention now drawn from the man's topless body to the way he stared out at the festivities taking place before them. Lanterns that were lit up bright, paving the way through the dark streets, hung from the edges of roofs; merry sounds of the academy students chasing each other around, using the maze of the Seireitei like a chessboard, echoed across the city; grown men helped each other up off the streets, each one drunk and still holding glass bottles full of sake in their hands; the music that delivered a haunting yet mesmerizing note through the air no doubt came from various tea houses and restaurants scattered about. The high-strung notes of the shamisen floated like feathers guided by the cooling night breeze, and Jushiro couldn't help but wonder whether this was the first time Kenpachi heard such beautiful music.
He wanted to ask, but at the same time was fearful of what would become of Kenpachi. The man was known to despise delving within the past. Jushiro learned it the hard way, remembering his lesson when he'd first asked Kenpachi how it was like back in the 80th District and received nothing but a murderous glare in return.
Instead, he just settled for all the melodies of the night to fill in the sudden silence. At the back of his mind he wondered where Yachiru was. Probably still torturing her underlings with ceaseless firecrackers and sticky candy out in the training grounds. Granted, he could hear a faint cry that sounded like Ikkaku's shout, followed by a small explosion that cut oddly through the calming notes of the shamisen.
That nagging feeling that he had stashed away in the deepest, darkest corner of his heart resurfaced. He knew that he was old - Kenpachi never once failed to remind him - and he felt it. The many years that had gone by, the battles that he had fought, the comrades and friends he had held as they died slowly in his arms - all those had changed him. He was nothing but a weathered warrior, who now straddled the seat of captaincy with a sickness that could kill him anytime if it so wished.
And Kenpachi.
Well, Kenpachi couldn't deny the fact that he was lost within his own thoughts. Jushiro could see it, the way he gazed out across the buildings without knowing anything but the images he summoned up in his mind's eye. Jushiro hated it whenever that happened. Kenpachi's attacks of nostalgia were few and sporadic in nature, but Jushiro never liked it. He didn't like Kenpachi to recall what went on back then, hated it when he remembered what happened to that woman who was Yachiru's namesake, despised it to the very depths of hell and back when Kenpachi ended up a moody, brooding, cold bastard after all that.
It was New Year's, and they were doing nothing but standing feet away from each other, on the balcony, as merriment took place all around them.
Pathetic.
With his mind settled on a decision, Jushiro marched up to Kenpachi and wrapped his fingers around the other man's wrist, taking him by surprise. He had to smile at the way Kenpachi's eyes widened as he snapped back to reality, as if an ancient burden had just been lifted off his shoulders.
"Come on," Jushiro urged, "you wanted me in your bed, didn't you?"
Kenpachi could only stare, uncomprehending, but as the realization hit him, a slow grin quirked the sides of his mouth, and soon he was looking down at Jushiro with an almost-manic smirk that caused the short hairs on the back of Jushiro's neck to stand on end. Kenpachi pulled him forward, and before he knew it, he was slung over Kenpachi's shoulder like a sack of rice and carried into the bedroom. He couldn't help but laugh, beating half-heartedly at Kenpachi's back so that he could be let down. It was all in vain however, and it was only when Kenpachi pinned him down to the bed that he could bring him in for a kiss.
"It's 'bout goddamn time." Kenpachi broke away and caught Jushiro's two fingers in his mouth. He twirled his tongue along, over and around them, oh so slowly, eyes never leaving Jushiro's, smirk never wavering. A tingle ran up Jushiro's spine, the strain in his fundoshionly adding to his self-consciousness. There was just something about Kenpachi that turned him on instantly like a light bulb, something that he couldn't place.
He ran his free hand over Kenpachi's torso, down to meet his waistline, and then up to grasp his wrist. Jushiro swallowed as he brought Kenpachi's hand to his own chest, shivered when Kenpachi nudged aside the folds of his yukata and pressed a warm palm to his stomach, fingers just tickling the top of his hakama.
"I'm an old man," Jushiro found himself saying, in a voice that was so slow only they could hear. "I don't think I can keep up with you."
"All ye do is think," Kenpachi snapped, pinning Jushiro's hand above his head, allowing the other free to roam across his chest. "Ye gotta stop thinkin' and live. Ye won't get anythin' back if ye just keep on thinkin'. Thinkin' is ain't doin' shit, and ye need to get shit done if ye wanna get what ye want."
Sometimes Jushiro wondered just where Kenpachi knew all these things. One wouldn't have expected something like that to come from an 80th District dweller, but there Kenpachi was, saying things that Jushiro himself could never put into words. He had a feeling that it was due to his involvement with the first Yachiru, the woman who seemed to still be within Kenpachi's soul even though decades had passed since first he stepped out of that "hellhole."
"So, I'll stop thinking," Jushiro wriggled his hand free, wrapped his arms around Kenpachi's neck and pulled him down as he allowed his eyes to drift to a close, "and I'll let you do what you want with me."
Kenpachi scoffed his approval, grinning, the fire within his eyes burning with excitement and anticipation. He hooked Jushiro's legs over his shoulders and tore through Jushiro's old yukata, flinging them onto the floor like discarded trash.
"I'll show ye just how ye can keep up with me."
Matching the vigour in Kenpchi's actions, Jushiro reached out and tugged at his hakama. Thankfully, it was loose, hanging low on his hips, and with just one shove of his foot, Jushiro was treated to a sight that paused him in place. He could hear Kenpachi chuckle, a low, dangerous sound almost akin to a growl in the pit of his throat.
"This couldn't get any easier." Jushiro shook his head in mock-exasperation, fighting down the smile that wanted to overcome him. "Oh, you big oaf," he gave a low grunt as Kenpachi pulled the yukata right from under him, glaring when he heard a slight tear as the garment fell to the floor, "have you no sense of decency?"
"Well, I did want ye in my bed, but ye weren't in the first place, and now ye're givin' me a chance, so," he ripped the hakama off, tossed it over his shoulder and, with a triumphant grin, sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork, "I'm gonna take it all."
"What a greedy, greedy man you are." Jushiro eyed him. Kenpachi pushed him back down to the mattress and, pressing his nose to the side of Jushiro's neck, licked at his cold skin. Jushiro shivered under his touch, eyes rolling back as he felt Kenpachi's hands snake all over his body. His fingers massaged Jushiro's chest, his abdomen, his thighs, while nails scratched at the sensitive spots along his shoulder-blades, ribs, hips. But there was always one particular spot that he never came in contact with, and Jushiro felt like he was going to go mad if Kenpachi didn't give into him soon.
Jushiro, once again, took Kenpachi's hand in his and guided him down his body. From the look in his grey, cunning eyes, Kenpachi seemed to have expected that, and slid his hand all the way down without further prompting. As the large, heated palm engulfed him, sparks jolted his nerves, and Jushiro arched his back, mouth open in a strained moan that tore through the shamisen. He rocked his hips, voice escaping him in quiet, unconscious pleas.
Kenpachi bent down, kissed him, swallowing his soft cries. It was gentle, much in contrast to the heat of the moment. Kenpachi's tongue slid into his mouth, along his own, and he sucked on Jushiro's bottom lip to tease him. When they broke away, Kenpachi smirked.
"Ready, old man?"
Jushiro, cheeks flushed, all but smirked back, eyes daring him to take things further. "Ready when you are."
And the next morning, Jushiro awoke in the arms of his lover feeling as though he were a thousand years younger.
Fandom: Bleach
Pairings: Kenpachi/Jushiro, implied Kenpachi/first!Yachiru
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,245
Summary: It's the night of New Year's. Jushiro and Kenpachi watch the
festivities being carried out below them, each dwelling within their own
respective pasts.
A/N: Written for prompt #5: (picture of the London Bridge), Table #4 (5_prompts) and prompt #15: colours (otp_100).
Jushiro stood on the balcony of the Eleventh Division barracks, his elbows resting on the railing, his eyes taking in the splendid sight before him.
Just moments before a blast of colour erupted in the dark night sky, splashing lights of red, orange, yellow, green - every colour that seemed to have been picked out of Yachiru's crayon box - onto the Seireitei. It hadn't faded away completely when yet another rocket, small as it travelled all the way up in the distance, spurting orange sparks out from its tail, caught Jushiro's eye.
He was too slow to focus on it, and as a result, was blinded once again with an explosion of a fiery red-and-yellow flower. The sound was deafening, and Jushiro, though he was disappointed in it being the last one, was grateful deep in the back of his mind. He figured that if he were to go through more of these, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.
How he wished that he could return to his younger days so he could mingle around with the shinigami out in the streets. He could see the lower-ranked ones, whose division he wasn't sure of, teasing a couple of academy students with twirling paper fans. It was all in good fun though, since the young man who had been trying to provoke a little girl was rewarded with a slap to the nose.
Jushiro closed his eyes as the sound of laughter, joyous and youthful, floated up to his ears. It reminded him of the days when he used to fool around with Shunsui and their other classmates, pulling pranks on unsuspecting teachers and wolf-whistling as girls passed by. Shunsui would attempt to catch a girl's attention, but always he ended up in the dust, and they would laugh at his inability to score.
Those days were long gone now, and all Jushiro had were memories. Some pleasant, others highly disapproved - he had to admit that he was one of the kids who frequently got into trouble. It wasn't because of his own faults though - however much he didn't want to, he just tended to get involved with the wrong company. He had Shunsui to blame for that.
But he'd give anything to return to those days. Though he didn't outright resent his living conditions now, except for the sickness that was constantly eating him from the inside out, he found that he missed his youth. New Year nights when he would sneak out under cover of darkness just so he could spend the occasion with his friends, when he would shoot fireworks up into the sky and watch in awe as they exploded into curtains of bright, neon lights.
"Hey." And Jushiro nearly jumped out of his skin when Kenpachi wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back. With the image of his younger self misting before his very eyes, Jushiro leaned back against Kenpachi's chest and tilted his head to the side as he felt Kenpachi's warm, wet tongue trailing up the side of his neck.
"Ye on to somethin'?" His breath was hot as it fell upon Jushiro's shoulder, warming his cold, sensitive skin, bringing a flushed look back to it. "I come outta the shower and ye're still here."
"Did you expect me to be waiting in your bed?" Jushiro grinned to himself as he heard that slight growl he had been anticipating.
"That would've been way better than standin' out here in the fuckin' cold."
"I didn't know Captain Zaraki could get cold," Jushiro teased gently, brushing his fingers over Kenpachi's hands that were clasped on his stomach. Kenpachi merely gave a scoff, nonchalant as to his random mirth. "It's New Year's, so I should think that it would be inappropriate if we were to go to bed so early."
"Haven't ye had enough of those damn fireworks? Good thing it's stopped or ye'll be out here for hours on end." He released Jushiro, and Jushiro had to swallow his disappointment at the loss of warmth. Kenpachi went to stand by the railing and rested his elbows on them. "That old man sure has a lotta money to spend on bullshit like this when he can't even fix the lower Rukongai districts. While we're standin' here celebratin', bastards in the Rukongai're watchin' us. They're hopin' that some day they can get to the Seireitei, be shinigami, have a better life."
The point struck home.
Jushiro gazed at the side of Kenpachi's face, his attention now drawn from the man's topless body to the way he stared out at the festivities taking place before them. Lanterns that were lit up bright, paving the way through the dark streets, hung from the edges of roofs; merry sounds of the academy students chasing each other around, using the maze of the Seireitei like a chessboard, echoed across the city; grown men helped each other up off the streets, each one drunk and still holding glass bottles full of sake in their hands; the music that delivered a haunting yet mesmerizing note through the air no doubt came from various tea houses and restaurants scattered about. The high-strung notes of the shamisen floated like feathers guided by the cooling night breeze, and Jushiro couldn't help but wonder whether this was the first time Kenpachi heard such beautiful music.
He wanted to ask, but at the same time was fearful of what would become of Kenpachi. The man was known to despise delving within the past. Jushiro learned it the hard way, remembering his lesson when he'd first asked Kenpachi how it was like back in the 80th District and received nothing but a murderous glare in return.
Instead, he just settled for all the melodies of the night to fill in the sudden silence. At the back of his mind he wondered where Yachiru was. Probably still torturing her underlings with ceaseless firecrackers and sticky candy out in the training grounds. Granted, he could hear a faint cry that sounded like Ikkaku's shout, followed by a small explosion that cut oddly through the calming notes of the shamisen.
That nagging feeling that he had stashed away in the deepest, darkest corner of his heart resurfaced. He knew that he was old - Kenpachi never once failed to remind him - and he felt it. The many years that had gone by, the battles that he had fought, the comrades and friends he had held as they died slowly in his arms - all those had changed him. He was nothing but a weathered warrior, who now straddled the seat of captaincy with a sickness that could kill him anytime if it so wished.
And Kenpachi.
Well, Kenpachi couldn't deny the fact that he was lost within his own thoughts. Jushiro could see it, the way he gazed out across the buildings without knowing anything but the images he summoned up in his mind's eye. Jushiro hated it whenever that happened. Kenpachi's attacks of nostalgia were few and sporadic in nature, but Jushiro never liked it. He didn't like Kenpachi to recall what went on back then, hated it when he remembered what happened to that woman who was Yachiru's namesake, despised it to the very depths of hell and back when Kenpachi ended up a moody, brooding, cold bastard after all that.
It was New Year's, and they were doing nothing but standing feet away from each other, on the balcony, as merriment took place all around them.
Pathetic.
With his mind settled on a decision, Jushiro marched up to Kenpachi and wrapped his fingers around the other man's wrist, taking him by surprise. He had to smile at the way Kenpachi's eyes widened as he snapped back to reality, as if an ancient burden had just been lifted off his shoulders.
"Come on," Jushiro urged, "you wanted me in your bed, didn't you?"
Kenpachi could only stare, uncomprehending, but as the realization hit him, a slow grin quirked the sides of his mouth, and soon he was looking down at Jushiro with an almost-manic smirk that caused the short hairs on the back of Jushiro's neck to stand on end. Kenpachi pulled him forward, and before he knew it, he was slung over Kenpachi's shoulder like a sack of rice and carried into the bedroom. He couldn't help but laugh, beating half-heartedly at Kenpachi's back so that he could be let down. It was all in vain however, and it was only when Kenpachi pinned him down to the bed that he could bring him in for a kiss.
"It's 'bout goddamn time." Kenpachi broke away and caught Jushiro's two fingers in his mouth. He twirled his tongue along, over and around them, oh so slowly, eyes never leaving Jushiro's, smirk never wavering. A tingle ran up Jushiro's spine, the strain in his fundoshionly adding to his self-consciousness. There was just something about Kenpachi that turned him on instantly like a light bulb, something that he couldn't place.
He ran his free hand over Kenpachi's torso, down to meet his waistline, and then up to grasp his wrist. Jushiro swallowed as he brought Kenpachi's hand to his own chest, shivered when Kenpachi nudged aside the folds of his yukata and pressed a warm palm to his stomach, fingers just tickling the top of his hakama.
"I'm an old man," Jushiro found himself saying, in a voice that was so slow only they could hear. "I don't think I can keep up with you."
"All ye do is think," Kenpachi snapped, pinning Jushiro's hand above his head, allowing the other free to roam across his chest. "Ye gotta stop thinkin' and live. Ye won't get anythin' back if ye just keep on thinkin'. Thinkin' is ain't doin' shit, and ye need to get shit done if ye wanna get what ye want."
Sometimes Jushiro wondered just where Kenpachi knew all these things. One wouldn't have expected something like that to come from an 80th District dweller, but there Kenpachi was, saying things that Jushiro himself could never put into words. He had a feeling that it was due to his involvement with the first Yachiru, the woman who seemed to still be within Kenpachi's soul even though decades had passed since first he stepped out of that "hellhole."
"So, I'll stop thinking," Jushiro wriggled his hand free, wrapped his arms around Kenpachi's neck and pulled him down as he allowed his eyes to drift to a close, "and I'll let you do what you want with me."
Kenpachi scoffed his approval, grinning, the fire within his eyes burning with excitement and anticipation. He hooked Jushiro's legs over his shoulders and tore through Jushiro's old yukata, flinging them onto the floor like discarded trash.
"I'll show ye just how ye can keep up with me."
Matching the vigour in Kenpchi's actions, Jushiro reached out and tugged at his hakama. Thankfully, it was loose, hanging low on his hips, and with just one shove of his foot, Jushiro was treated to a sight that paused him in place. He could hear Kenpachi chuckle, a low, dangerous sound almost akin to a growl in the pit of his throat.
"This couldn't get any easier." Jushiro shook his head in mock-exasperation, fighting down the smile that wanted to overcome him. "Oh, you big oaf," he gave a low grunt as Kenpachi pulled the yukata right from under him, glaring when he heard a slight tear as the garment fell to the floor, "have you no sense of decency?"
"Well, I did want ye in my bed, but ye weren't in the first place, and now ye're givin' me a chance, so," he ripped the hakama off, tossed it over his shoulder and, with a triumphant grin, sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork, "I'm gonna take it all."
"What a greedy, greedy man you are." Jushiro eyed him. Kenpachi pushed him back down to the mattress and, pressing his nose to the side of Jushiro's neck, licked at his cold skin. Jushiro shivered under his touch, eyes rolling back as he felt Kenpachi's hands snake all over his body. His fingers massaged Jushiro's chest, his abdomen, his thighs, while nails scratched at the sensitive spots along his shoulder-blades, ribs, hips. But there was always one particular spot that he never came in contact with, and Jushiro felt like he was going to go mad if Kenpachi didn't give into him soon.
Jushiro, once again, took Kenpachi's hand in his and guided him down his body. From the look in his grey, cunning eyes, Kenpachi seemed to have expected that, and slid his hand all the way down without further prompting. As the large, heated palm engulfed him, sparks jolted his nerves, and Jushiro arched his back, mouth open in a strained moan that tore through the shamisen. He rocked his hips, voice escaping him in quiet, unconscious pleas.
Kenpachi bent down, kissed him, swallowing his soft cries. It was gentle, much in contrast to the heat of the moment. Kenpachi's tongue slid into his mouth, along his own, and he sucked on Jushiro's bottom lip to tease him. When they broke away, Kenpachi smirked.
"Ready, old man?"
Jushiro, cheeks flushed, all but smirked back, eyes daring him to take things further. "Ready when you are."
And the next morning, Jushiro awoke in the arms of his lover feeling as though he were a thousand years younger.