Title: Blessed Victory
Rating: MA, it gets smutty, and I love it.
Warnings: Coarse language, adult themes.
Pairings: Kenpachi x OC, because I don't really like Unohana and Ichigo is Orihime's or Rukia's in my world (I like the angst in it)!
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish. ;o; Nanashi Katsue is mine tho, fark off.
A/N: Another idea that had been stewing around in my head. It amuses me to write Zaraki Kenpachi, and what could be more amusing than him developing the hots for someone?
It was a gloriously beautiful day in Sereitei, one that Nanashi Katsue had planned to enjoy in her own special way: with a bottle of saki and a cove of cherry blossom trees, far, far, far away from the Fourth Squad Headquarters. The sky was a clear, pristine blue that made her heart soar, and the breeze that tickled her cheeks made her want to wear her hair down for once. But, alas, it was not meant to be.
Instead, this wonderful spring day found her slaving away yet again in the hospital wing. The bloody Eleventh squad had been acting out again by voyaging into the real world to pick fights with any and every hollow they could find, and the casualties were mounting. Already today she had sewn up three or four of the lower ranking members, along with Captain Zaraki himself! She snorted as she thought of that giant of a man sitting on her exam table as he stared at her small hands stitching his chest back together. He had silently sat down on her table, grinning like the pretentious prick many of her squad members thought him as. My, how she had enjoyed watching that grin fade off his face as she harshly sewed him up!
Cackling to herself, Katsue finished taping up the ribcage of a low ranked officer from the Eleventh Squad. He was nothing special, she had decided long ago, and his wounds were hardly anything more than a bruising. Yet the man whined and moaned, claiming that his ribs were broken, that he was hemorrhaging—she had been shocked that his vocabulary included that word—and wouldn't keep quiet until she did something other than apply a liberal amount of the bruise balm she kept fully stocked in one of her cabinets to his purple skin. "Now get out," she smiled as the Shinigami jumped to his feet and stretched, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Ahh, Katsue-san, you are an angel!" he crooned and pulled his shihakusho back together, his eyes wide as he looked at Katsue with admiration. "Wonderful work, as always!"
"Shut up and get out," she laughed and pushed at his bony shoulders, aiming him towards the rice paper doors that lead to a large courtyard. She sighed as she eyed the group of Shinigami still waiting outside, either for her or for one of her other squad members to take them. "Next!" she called out and turned back towards her shelves of medical supplies, and the porcelain sink against one corner.
The rice paper door slid shut as she began washing her hands, and her exam table creaked as whoever came in sat unceremoniously down. "What's the problem?" she spoke towards her hands as she lathered up.
"The stitches came out," came a gruff reply that had Katsue frozen in place. Slowly, she looked up to the mirror that was placed over her little sink. She smiled at the man reflected in the mirror, a smug smile that told of a pleasurable, passive-aggressive attack to come. Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the Eleventh Squad, glared back at her reflection.
"Captain, I told you that you must take it easy until the wound knits together," she purred innocently and rinsed off her hands. It took her only a moment to find the hand towel she left nearby before she turned towards Zaraki. She was going to enjoy stabbing him with a needle for the second time in one day, she thought. That would teach him to ruin a perfect day like today by getting his entire squad beaten up.
He simply snorted in reply, his giant shoulders rising as he gave her a nonchalant shrug. "Ain't got time for it."
"Well, there really is no point in me stitching you up over and over if you won't give yourself time to heal," she teased and tugged aside a flap of his shihakusho, her eyes lighting on the row of angry red stitches that had indeed started to fall out from their tiny holes lining an even angrier wound marring Zaraki's chest. She felt a thrill of excitement at being so close to the huge captain, and acting so out of line. Most people, especially women, never felt comfortable around the huge oaf that sat like a little child on her exam table. She could hardly blame them; he was a humongous, intimidating man with a scary look about him. But damn, it was exhilarating. "I thought a big man like you would care less about stitches," she laughed.
"I don't," he growled and leaned forward, throwing her one of those scary looks that chased so many people away. She was still smiling though as she turned—she actually turned her back to him!—and went to the sterile sewing supplies she kept in a nearby drawer.
"I'm assuming you don't want me to numb the area again?" her voice was laughing as she spoke. Drawing on a pair of rubber gloves, she ignored the sounds of Zaraki stripping down to his waist behind her and threaded a needle. He grunted at her, and she stifled another laugh.
When she turned back to him, she took a moment to stare at the wide expanse of his tanned chest. He was nothing but thick muscles and taught skin, but her eyes kept being drawn in to the red cut that licked down through his right pectoral. She frowned. "You've been scratching at them," she accused him.
"They itch," he grunted again and watched her, a silent beast on her exam table, as she went to his side. He dwarfed her in size, she knew, as she felt his shadow fall over her as she bent to examine the wound closer. Grinning with a sick pleasure, she tore out the remaining stitches with the least amount of delicacy she could muster—and he didn't even flinch. Well damn it.
"You betray your reputation, Captain," she spoke absently as her smile faded and she went to work, her needle piercing his skin effortlessly. "I would think you could manage to ignore an itch if you can waltz around without a second thought to the pain this wound must be causing you." Her hands moved steadily, not even shaking as she slowly sewed his skin together.
Zaraki's chest rumbled with a growl. "And you don't live up to any of my expectations of the Fourth Squad," he rumbled in reply. She looked up at him for a moment to meet his harsh scowl looking down at her hands, and the needle that she was poking him with.
"I think I'm skilled enough to manage a row of stitches," she huffed.
"You shouldn't be able to do that," he huffed back.
She quirked a delicate eyebrow at him, and deliberately jabbed him a bit harsher than she would have ever considered. He didn't flinch like she hoped; he only moved his fierce black eyes to stare straight into her own eyes. "Even the lowest of the Fourth Squad can stitch up skin, Captain Zaraki," she spoke coolly. How dare he, she thought to herself, insulting her skills as a healer when he was still perched on her exam table.
He moved suddenly and before she could notice, his heavy hand snatched hers into a rough grip as he rose to his feet. His sheer size overwhelmed her all of a sudden, and she stepped back as she gaped up at him, a magnificent yellow aura pulsing around his frame as he loomed over her. Snarling, he grinned wolfishly down at her. "You shouldn't be able to do it," he growled, "because my reiatsu is too much for anyone lower than a Vice Captain to pierce my skin."
Eyes wide, Katsue cried out in alarm as his hand flattened hers against his broad chest, driving the needle she still held deep into his skin. He made a sound deep in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a purr, as the sharp metal disappeared into his chest. His hand dropped hers, and she snatched it back to her chest immediately. "Captain Zaraki!" she couldn't wrench her eyes away from the trickle of blood that welled up around the thread that disappeared into his chest.
"Call me Kenpachi," he laughed cruelly as he stepped forward. She didn't think, only reacted, as she took a hesitant step backwards. "How is it that someone like you ended up in the Fourth Squad? A reiatsu like yours…you should be in mine. Or do you not enjoy fighting?"
Katsue pulled herself together as his words sank in. Curling her upper lip in a silent snarl, she took another step back to put distance between herself and the captain. "I left the Eleventh Squad, before you wore the rank of Captain," she snapped.
"Oh? And why is that?" he wore that smug, aggressive grin of his as he kept advancing, his body driving her until she backed into a row of counters.
"None of your business!" she snapped.
"Scared, I bet," he smirked and kept stepping forward, his great bulk making the room suddenly seem smaller around her. Suddenly, he leaned forward, his mammoth palms flattening against the wall on either side of her head. He stared down at her, eyes flashing as he looked into the roiling depths of her stormy grey eyes. "No…not scared after all. Tired of fighting? Or was the constant death of your comrades gettin' you down?"
"Back off, Captain Zaraki," she snarled, her small hand falling onto the reassuring presence of her zanpakutou at her hip.
"Call me Kenpachi," he purred and leaned his face in to hers. His breath was warm on her face as he breathed, and she had the faint thought that he smelled like flowers. "What was it, then, that made you leave?"
With a fluid move, she drew her blade from its scabbard and pressed it against the thick cords of his neck. "Leave my clinic before I report you to Captain Unohana!"
"I bet your lover did something stupid and got himself killed," he drawled.
"I left," she snapped heatedly, "because I had avenged my family!" Her voice was borderline hysteric, she was ashamed to find, as she pressed her zanpakutou harder against his muscular throat. "The only reason I was there in the first place was to best avenge them, and once I gutted that hollow from tail to head, I left!"
"Why?" he pressed on, his weight leaning forward until a small bead of blood gathered on the pristine gray metal of her blade. "Why leave because you killed one hollow? Why leave when there are thousands more killin' off people who need to be avenged every day? You think someone else's family doesn't deserve to find peace?"
Growling, Katsue bared her teeth at him and braced her other hand on the hilt of her zanpakutou. She was trembling now, despite her effort to keep her blade pressed steadily to his throat. What was she going to do, slice his jugular? And be executed for attacking a captain?
"Three Shinigami died today alone," his voice grew softer, quieter, more intimidating. "And here you are, safe in Sereitei sewing up those that have the balls to put themselves in danger."
Her resolve waivered, her sword arm lowering ever so slightly as her stormy eyes glared at his. "I do not run and hide from no one or no thing, Zaraki Kenpachi," she snarled defiantly. "I fear no hollow, or death."
"Then why leave?"
Her voice trembled as she shouted into his face, her eyes clenching shut as she spoke:
Because my mother wanted me to be a medic!" She swore as her head hung, her zanpakutou falling to her side. "Because…I have no reason to fight anymore."
Grinning, Zaraki pressed himself closer until their bodies touched. One strong hand gripped her wrist, before he gruffly slammed her arm against the counter behind her. Reflexively, she dropped her zanpakutou to the ground. "Then fight for the sake of fighting," he growled as her eyes darted angrily back to his face.
"That's not a reason—"
"Slap 'because' in front of it; it's definitely a reason."
Blushing, Katsue tried to yank her arm free from his tight grip. His hand didn't even budge, even as she tried again, this time throwing her whole weight into the movement. "What are you doing?" her breath left in a rush as his body pressed even closer.
"Feel free to stop me," he drawled before he crushed his lips to hers.
Fire seared Katsue's entire body as her eyes snapped wide, staring at the hard angles and planes of Zaraki's face and the smoothness of his closed eyes. It wasn't until his body shifted against hers and he repositioned his mouth that she groaned against his harsh lips, her body melting slowly against his. Her mind went on vacation as she momentarily forgot why she was so annoyed with the giant of a man when she felt a hard length press into her stomach through their layers of clothing. Dear gods, she swore as he pulled back, what the hell…
"That is," he purred, his eyes sparking with gold as his other hand grabbed her free wrist and he pinned them both above her head, "if you can."
Anger overwhelmed the momentary confusion in her body as she snarled like a feral cat at him. She tried to tug her hands free from his grasp, but he only leaned his weight against her limbs. "Get off, Zaraki! Even rape is low for you," she spat as he roared with laughter.
"I don't see you fighting back," his chuckle was deep as he stared down at her with that odd look in his eyes. Suddenly, and with a sense of foreboding unease, Katsue realized that he looked at her with the hungry look and lustful eyes of a predator that saw a tasty morsel. Or a man that saw something he liked. "I told you to feel free to stop me."
"If I could," she finished for him, her voice a low growl.
His laugh was loud as he moved one of his hands down the inside of her arm. His touch was incredibly soft and gentle, an element Katsue didn't expect from such a crude and rugged man. "And you're not even trying," he drawled as a shiver visibly ran through her body from his touch.
A loud gasp escaped her full lips as he angled his hips into hers. Her heart pounded in her chest as butterflies went to work in her stomach, making her nauseous. "No," she gasped, her eyes half lidded as her body reacted to his.
"'No?'" his voice was a soft growl in her ear, and Katsue's knees went weak. "'No' what, Katsue? 'No,' you're not fighting me?" she whimpered in his arms as she squirmed against the hardness of his body. "You wanna know why?" his own breath grew harsh in his chest as he felt her move against him, particularly the hard lump at his groin. "You want me," he breathed.
Gray eyes flashed open as he pulled back as coldly as he had first entered the room. His body left hers; her arms fell freely to her sides. He could feel the shocked anger well up in her body as he started pulling his shihakusho back on and straightening his haori. Her eyes never left his as she stewed, silent and angry.
After a few moments, her small hands curled into fists at her sides. "Get out," she snarled quietly.
"I'll be back later for you to finish," he drawled calmly as he ripped out the needle and the string of stitches she had left in his skin.
"Don't you ever come back here!" she screamed at him. He only smirked in reply, and turned coldly towards the door.
"Looks like you got your fight back," he laughed, and slid the rice paper door closed behind him.
As always, feedback is much loved and appreciated.