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ajremixTitle: No Marks of Shame
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: R
Word Count: 434
Characters: Nemu, Ikkaku
In Response to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tsukishine who is starting a pr0n support group with me^^
Summary: Scars and the importance of.
Over the years Nemu’s body had accumulated a great variety of scars. Most- if not all –were clustered about her torso, having been dissected numerous times by her father to see what effects a new poison or drug would have on the body.
She was ashamed of it. Of the line that trailed from collarbone, between her breast and to her navel, the scar that went across her stomach, that opened up her ribs, the cut that went down the length of her spine for emergency treatment when a drug started attacking her nervous system. She was ashamed of every scar and refused to wear anything that exposed them.
The first time Ikkaku saw her naked he joked that she could get into the 11th with all the scars she had. When she said that she hadn’t earned them, had no right to be proud of them, Ikkaku tilted her head up and said, “Not every scar is worth having. But you should never be ashamed of what makes your body yours.”
Most of the times spent pressed against the walls of an alley were hurried, but the times he took it in his leisure, disregarding any danger of their secret being revealed, he’d crawl over her body. He pressed his fingers and lips and tongue and teeth into each scar. He lavished them with as much intent and passion as he did anything else. He touched every one of them, followed the mismatch pattern they created over her, lazed at where they connected and jumped to another on a whim.
He drove her mad like this, ghosting over her side, nipping against her sternum, lapping at the curve of her breast. His fingers danced over the nicks of her ribs, scratched against her stomach, played her nerves and burned her mind with his attention.
Ikkaku would keep at each one until she writhed and cried out, sobbing with pleasure, the need to release. He wouldn’t stop until she pleaded, sometimes until she’d take him into her own hands, shyness and inhibition shattered under her need to be filled.
He’d hold her close while she shuddered, clinging to his shoulder shivering. His rough fingers would trace her scars again until her legs were able to hold her again and her breathing leveled out. And then he’d kiss her a final time- long, languid, possessive. His hand claiming the network on her body as well.
Once Nemu was ashamed of the scars the littered her body. Now she’d trace over them in the long, quiet nights alone, waiting for the day he’d do the same.
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: R
Word Count: 434
Characters: Nemu, Ikkaku
In Response to:
tsukishine who is starting a pr0n support group with me^^Summary: Scars and the importance of.
Over the years Nemu’s body had accumulated a great variety of scars. Most- if not all –were clustered about her torso, having been dissected numerous times by her father to see what effects a new poison or drug would have on the body.
She was ashamed of it. Of the line that trailed from collarbone, between her breast and to her navel, the scar that went across her stomach, that opened up her ribs, the cut that went down the length of her spine for emergency treatment when a drug started attacking her nervous system. She was ashamed of every scar and refused to wear anything that exposed them.
The first time Ikkaku saw her naked he joked that she could get into the 11th with all the scars she had. When she said that she hadn’t earned them, had no right to be proud of them, Ikkaku tilted her head up and said, “Not every scar is worth having. But you should never be ashamed of what makes your body yours.”
Most of the times spent pressed against the walls of an alley were hurried, but the times he took it in his leisure, disregarding any danger of their secret being revealed, he’d crawl over her body. He pressed his fingers and lips and tongue and teeth into each scar. He lavished them with as much intent and passion as he did anything else. He touched every one of them, followed the mismatch pattern they created over her, lazed at where they connected and jumped to another on a whim.
He drove her mad like this, ghosting over her side, nipping against her sternum, lapping at the curve of her breast. His fingers danced over the nicks of her ribs, scratched against her stomach, played her nerves and burned her mind with his attention.
Ikkaku would keep at each one until she writhed and cried out, sobbing with pleasure, the need to release. He wouldn’t stop until she pleaded, sometimes until she’d take him into her own hands, shyness and inhibition shattered under her need to be filled.
He’d hold her close while she shuddered, clinging to his shoulder shivering. His rough fingers would trace her scars again until her legs were able to hold her again and her breathing leveled out. And then he’d kiss her a final time- long, languid, possessive. His hand claiming the network on her body as well.
Once Nemu was ashamed of the scars the littered her body. Now she’d trace over them in the long, quiet nights alone, waiting for the day he’d do the same.
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-01 07:22 am (UTC)but I'm sure you knew that, didn't you ^_~
no subject
Date: 2005-12-02 02:08 am (UTC)Part of the reason why I'd like to lay Ikkaku down and lick all the way upno subject
Date: 2005-12-02 11:55 pm (UTC)*Offers idiosyn Ikkaku tied to a table?*