Categories > Anime/Manga > Bleach
Bitter Start, Sweeter End
0 ReviewsIsshinRyuuken. Madonna, drinking, and dancing.
Written at two in the morning while listening to Madonna's "Get Together" on repeat for about one or two hours. It's a good song.
---
He was at a party. There was music. The red lights flickered behind his eyes as he danced. He was drunk, and yet not drunk enough.
This was not something he did on a regular basis, but when one found oneself in front of a half-hollow created from the soul of a dead girl who had been beaten by her mother for having mutilated limbs at birth and was eventually drowned - well, there was no antidote for the knowledge of that kind of crime.
It was an image seared in his mind that would not go away easily. It was not a good night to be a Quincy.
When large hands drunkenly fumbled at his hips and proved only the start of a similarly large body that pressed against his back he did nothing to shake them off. Just keep moving. He ignored the fact that he was dancing - grinding - with another man in public. He was just grateful that someone had the balls to approach him, because he definitely wasn't drunk enough to go to someone himself.
The music pounded through his veins and he vaguely felt himself get aroused by the way that their bodies moved together.
And then he turned his head and looked back and met dark brown eyes that looked like black pits in the darkness. He blinked, once, and they weren't gone, so he leant in until his eyelashes were brushing against a cheek. The music faded to a dull roar behind his consciousness.
And now they were dancing.
It was not really relevant that they went home together and this man, brave enough to attack a Quincy, also drew from him a crescendo of nameless moans.
This was just forgetfulness.
This was just love at first sight.
---
He was at a party. There was music. The red lights flickered behind his eyes as he danced. He was drunk, and yet not drunk enough.
This was not something he did on a regular basis, but when one found oneself in front of a half-hollow created from the soul of a dead girl who had been beaten by her mother for having mutilated limbs at birth and was eventually drowned - well, there was no antidote for the knowledge of that kind of crime.
It was an image seared in his mind that would not go away easily. It was not a good night to be a Quincy.
When large hands drunkenly fumbled at his hips and proved only the start of a similarly large body that pressed against his back he did nothing to shake them off. Just keep moving. He ignored the fact that he was dancing - grinding - with another man in public. He was just grateful that someone had the balls to approach him, because he definitely wasn't drunk enough to go to someone himself.
The music pounded through his veins and he vaguely felt himself get aroused by the way that their bodies moved together.
And then he turned his head and looked back and met dark brown eyes that looked like black pits in the darkness. He blinked, once, and they weren't gone, so he leant in until his eyelashes were brushing against a cheek. The music faded to a dull roar behind his consciousness.
And now they were dancing.
It was not really relevant that they went home together and this man, brave enough to attack a Quincy, also drew from him a crescendo of nameless moans.
This was just forgetfulness.
This was just love at first sight.
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