Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Shorts
I Never
January 2010
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Ichigo was innocent, not ignorant; there was a vast difference between
the two.
He’d never desired someone, but he could recognize it in the
lingering looks Renji gave him, the heat in that crimson gaze as it
wandered over his body in the public baths.
He’d never flirted, but he knew what it was when Renji sat so
close to him in the bar, leaned in to whisper things that didn’t
need to be said so softly, sake sweet on his breath.
He’d never come on to anyone, but he understood when Renji draped
an arm over his shoulders, long fingers slipping lightly beneath the
collar of his shihakusho to slide over bare skin, tracing scars.
He’d never propositioned someone, but he didn’t mistake it
for anything else when Renji asked him not to go back to the real world
just yet, his voice deepening as he offered his own bed for the night.
There were many things Ichigo had never done, never even considered,
but that didn’t mean he froze when confronted with them, or
didn’t know how to respond.
Lying on Renji’s futon, Renji sprawled against him lightly
snoring, sweat cooling on their skin, Ichigo breathed out slowly. He
drew his fingers through long, blood-red strands of hair. A languid
movement as he closed his eyes, relishing the new and different ways
his body ached.
He was still innocent in some ways, but ignorant about none of them.
Renji’s breath warmed the side of his neck; Ichigo smiled.
He’d never been the type to delude himself about what he wanted,
but sometimes he didn’t have to seek it out himself. It found him
first.
Going Down
October 2010
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Kisuke had no illusions about the destination of his soul whenever he
finally met his end. From his earliest days in the Rukongai to his
current existence, his sins were legion. Not for him reincarnation;
when his time came, hell would open wide its doors to welcome him home.
And there would be a special place reserved for him, a corner of hell
just for the sort of man who reveled in the sight of an orange-haired
fifteen year old boy kneeling at his feet, innocent brown eyes staring
up at him, soft, young lips opened wide, swollen as he slid his cock
past them in long, slow thrusts.
He knew he was damned. And, as he pulled free from that sweet, wet
mouth, hissing with pleasure as the first stream of come painted a
white streak down Ichigo’s chest, he couldn't find it in himself
to regret a thing.
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