Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ inside of the iceberg ❯ Ice ( Chapter 2 )

The bundle of paperwork was heavy in her arms, but it was only down the hallway to the left anyways. Matsumoto had met Kira on her way back to the office. He wasn't looking well. He tried to give a knowing and/or sympathetic smile when he saw the documents in her arms, nodding towards the ones he dragged in his own. But the smile came out so half-assed it turned her stomach. Kira wasn't quite right after the whole ordeal with Aizen and the rest of them. Not to say that anybody was quite right after it, but for Kira it was one step up on the Richter scale.

Speaking of people who weren't quite right, Captain Hitsugaya was all but murderous. He had a mean streak in him before, but what he was doing now was plain out slave-driving. She heard some of the younger officers whisper something of the sort during lunch. Matsumoto felt a bitterness churning in her stomach, but decided reprimanding them wouldn't serve much of a purpose. Specially since they weren't wrong. Hitsugaya was just…severe. After the original cloud of dust settled, people expected him to tune down to his usual level of captaining, but no such luck. His displeasure with every detail was bordering on hair-splitting. He was snappy, irritable and altogether unpleasant. If he were to project colours, he would be projecting pitch black.

Even so, Matsumoto found it hard to withstand whispered criticisms, no matter how understandable they were. She couldn't blame the junior officers for not knowing the full story. And even if they did, she couldn't blame them for being disgruntled that their captain was allowing private matters to influence the way he worked.

But she didn't suppose they could understand.

What it was like to see the woman you love bleed at your feet. What it was like to be unable to do a thing, despite all the cold rage gathering in your chest like cotton. What it was like to end up doing exactly what they wanted you to.

What it felt like to be used as a pawn by the people you trusted.

What it felt like to be betrayed.

Whoa! Who were we talking about just now?

Well, even if the juniors did understand, it wouldn't help things around here. Deciding so, Matsumoto inhaled a deep, settling breath and tried to look forward to finishing the work she was carrying and then relaxing in a hot bath. She felt waves of calm ripple just at the thought of a dimly lit bathroom and plum wine. No need to mope around, that sort of behaviour never helped anyone.

Wait and Wrong. Those were the first two words that sprang to mind.

The office was dark. Papers were scattered all over the floor, Hitsugaya's chair was in the wrong place, scrolls and books from the shelves were thrown carelessly on the floor and other furniture. In a word, it was chaos lighted only by the pale glimmer of the new moon coming from the opened veranda door.

If Matsumoto had weaker nerves than she did, she would've abandoned the papers in favour of her sword in an instant. But she stopped dead and felt around. Nothing was out of place except the furniture. No intruders, no imprint of ill-will and even though the place looked like something went off in it, it didn't feel like a battle scene.

Matsumoto set the armful of paper in the corner next to the door and felt around for a switch. Finding it, she tried clicking it several times only to find the switch wasn't the problem. The lantern was crushed and she saw the sad body of it flailing helplessly from the ceiling, rocking in the breeze. Well, evidently, something did go off. Sighing, she closed the door and took her time getting used to the darkness.

There. You couldn't really tell which way he was looking, out the window or towards her, it was only his outline in kontra-licht. Matsumoto shuddered thinking that those eyes might be looking at her right now. She remembered seeing them beyond fury, mad with bloodlust when her Captain fought her old lover, after he realized they were using Hinamori. And she remembered seeing them unconscious after the clash with Aizen, only days after that incident. And then, bitter, defeated when she came to see him recuperating while he sat there submerged in self-loathing. These were not things she was used to seeing there, on the inside of the ice berg. She was used to strength, determination, concentration, sometimes even kindness; things she drew from those eyes like from a well when she needed some for herself. Defeat and weakness she neither needed for herself nor wanted to find in his eyes. And so she was loathe to look for whatever new, ugly emotion prompted this.

She walked up the captain's table in front of the book case. It stuck out at an odd angle and all the papers they worked on in the afternoon were scrambled out of order or spread on the floor. Matsumoto sighed again and began feeling around relying on her memory of what went where as she began tidying up in the darkness.

“She doesn't want to wake up.”

Hitsugaya's voice came as an icicle through her womb, that much colder and raspier than usual. Matsumoto stopped all movement, giving him the silence of her attention.

“She doesn't want to wake up because that bastard isn't here, that fucking piece of treacherous shit,” he continued after a long moment. He said the whole litany of curses with no excitement or change of pace in his voice, as if he was fingering prayer beads while saying it. Now looking directly to the place he was standing in, Matsumoto felt dread ooze over her skin and into her bones. Hitsugaya's toneless voice was one of the most dangerous sounds in the world as she knew it.

There were several others she could think of, but she didn't care to list them.

Slowly she straightened from a crouch on the floor. She couldn't decide where to put her hands. Out of habit one of them ended up resting on the hilt of her sword. “You must give her time,” she said in a calm voice. She wasn't trying to reason with him or comfort him, he would only be annoyed. So in the same matter-of-fact voice, she went on, “You give her too little credit, perhaps, if you think she won't snap out of it. Personally, I would feel betrayed by your doubt of-“

Immediately she knew what she'd done wrong. Treason was the wrong word to use, absolutely, but it was too late now. From an abstract outline against the night sky, Hitsugaya turned into a very, very material bulk of power right in front of her. She wasn't sure if she'd tried to unsheathe her sword at all, or if his hand came crashing down on her wrist before she even had the time to think it.

“Capt-“ she tried, but Hitsugaya no more than flicked his wrist across her face and sent her, ribs first, into the desk. He didn't give her time to hold a hand to her bruised side before pulling her up by the rim of her uniform and throwing her against the table again. This time she thought to fight back, shrugging his hand off, hoping to catch his wrist in a lock to keep him down until he calmed. She had the leverage of height, certainly she could pull it off. He all but overlooked her attempt, as his fingers simply switched from the fabric to her flesh. No matter how much smaller his body was, pure physical power was incomparable and Hitsugaya shoved her sword arm behind her back, twisting it painfully. She tried grasping anything with the other hand, it was slapped away. Hitsugaya pushed himself on her, at the same time pulling out her sword, scabbard and all, and throwing it on the other side of the room.

One of her hands trapped between the desk and her back, she tried, knowing straight away it was futile, to push him off. It was like poking at a mountain.

“Get a hold of yourself, Hitsu-“, another slap silenced her, his hold on her preventing her from slumping on the desk.

“…wake her up, want to…” she heard between his deep breaths.

Matsumoto let out a painful grunt when Hitsugaya tore at her shirt. She was going to scream at him to calm down, to start thinking again, but for the slightest of moments she felt his face against her chest. And it was wet.

Her muscles gave up on her and she did nothing when Hitsugaya threw her on the floor, locking her between his knees. Like possessed, he clawed at the sash and her pants, at the same time pulling out the pink ribbon and sloppily tying her hands with it, holding them above her head. Not even a real knot. “Don't wanna wake up…” Matsumoto heard his toneless moan again.

He kissed her savagely. It was more along the lines of crushing her lips between two rows of teeth before going down to her neck. She shuddered, even under the circumstances, and he bit her enough to bruise. And she felt he wetness on his cheeks and did nothing but wince when he clamped down on her skin.

But then he pulled up, to hover above her and Matsumoto saw the whites of his eyes glinting in the moonlight, saw the pearly flash of teeth, lips pulled back like a snarling of a wolf or fox and she remembered another sound she abhorred.

His. Laughter.

He had laughed while all of it was being done, the treason that is. If one didn't know him like Matsumoto knew him, it would be hard to tell, but he was. Every drawled out syllable was filled with sardonic humour, positively dripping with it that entire week. Gin's laughter. His inner self holding its stomach while on the outside the only clue was that thick, layered cynicism. She should've known it wasn't because of all the running around, intruders and executions. She should've known better. It would take more than that to amuse Gin, to make him laugh so much and she should've known better.

“Ah,” she whispered. She wasn't sure what this sound conveyed to her captain - it was for her, her own sound - but Hitsugaya stopped abruptly. One hand suspended in midair, the other hard on her neck and his knees pinning her hips to the ground, he froze.

“I am, what am I-“ he whispered. “Matsumoto,” he said, for the first time acknowledging her presence. His voice didn't sound surprised, but it was no longer toneless.

“Yes?”

“…what am I,” he breathed, “doing to you?” This time he was surprised, awkwardly so. “Wh-“ he started again, but never finished. All of his power vanished, and he fell on her. The wind was knocked out of her. Not by the impact; his weight was nothing, but by the *twang* as invisible strings behind him snapped and he buried his wet face into her collar.

Matsumoto learned that Hitsugaya didn't make a sound when he cried. Even his breathing was even. His forehead was smooth and judging by the steady beat of eyelashes against her skin, his eyes were wide open. It was just tiny droplets of salty water that fell from his cheek onto her neck, hot at first and then cooling like melting snow flakes.

This was precisely the thing she was afraid to find in those eyes. The glacier was melting.

But at the same moment as fear cooled her insides to a twitching block of ice, she realized she was in the bubble. She had been for some time now. Only it was different this time around. She couldn't expect to fish out strength from his well, this time she had to give some.

So she let him lie like that for a while. Cold trickles of water curved around her throat and down her breasts. Taking care not to shake him, she freed her hands from the half-tied ribbon. For a moment, her arms hovered above him before they came to rest on his back. She tried not to think it was her captain, one of the strongest, most wilful men she had ever met, weeping in her embrace, but the boy whose body he wears. The boy wasn't weak. But he was hurt. He was cut. And maybe she could kiss it better.

Once no new warmth fell from his cheeks to her chest, Matsumoto sat up, Hitsugaya like a rag doll, and picked him up as she stood. She didn't bother trying to dress herself. The upper part of her uniform was open, pants only loosely holding on to her hips, but she didn't want to risk putting him down. Not now that she had a sense of purpose in this mess.

At top speed, Hitsugaya's official manor was seconds away. The wind was cold on her naked skin, but she couldn't care less. She was too fast for the guards to notice her, ignoring a familiar presence as they were. She entered his simple room and set him on the bed, reaching for the lamp to put it on, but Hitsugaya, still lying boneless on the covers, whispered a command: “Leave it.”

Well, it wasn't only his breathing, his voice didn't shake either when he cried. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I don't see a thing,” her voice light-hearted as ever, not a sign of distress or doubt. She was very good at keeping that out.

“I can take it from here.” Hitsugaya sat up, unbuckling the sword on his back and setting it next to the bed with care. He proceeded to his cloak, folding it with equal attention, and finally the rough black layer of his uniform.

“Very well then,” she said kindly. “I'll go settle the office. And here I thought I was going to be taking a bath right about now, you really did it, Captain,” she jived.

“No,” he whispered.

Half way to the door that led into the inner courtyard, Matsumoto looked back quizzically. “No what?”

“Stay here,” he said matter-of-factly. One would have expected a note of pleading, but this was his captain-voice, perhaps a tad quieter, thicker than usual.

Matsumoto obeyed, first sitting on the bed, then under the gaze she could guess only too well, lying down next to him as he pulled covers over both of them.

“…I am so sorry, Matsumoto,” he said, again in the captain-voice, without any trace of pleading or regret. That did not mean that he wasn't honest, and Matsumoto knew that.

“…Don't worry about it. It's between us.”
”That's not the point,” he pointed, a bit rougher. “I should've never let myself get that…”

“Angry?” ventured Matsumoto.

“Desperate,” proclaimed Hitsugaya. “Weak. Low.”

“I know how you felt, I don't-“

“I almost raped you,” he protested.

Matsumoto snorted. “You couldn't rape anyone. Captain. No offence, but for an attempt at rape that was just pathetic, so don't get all humble and self-pitying on me. …sir,” she stated.

Even in the darkness she could tell he had that miffed look on his face when he couldn't decide if he should be angry with what she said or just angry that she confused him. “That is not the point,” he repeated slowly.

“The point is that she doesn't seem to want to wake up just yet. Not for you in any case,” Matsumoto said in an unforgiving voice and continued before he could cut her off: “Just like he wouldn't have wanted to stop for me. So even though we both know what you did was desperate and low and weak and whatever, you did it with me. And I get it. If you'd have tried it with anybody else, I'd have your balls right about now. But it was me. So there is no harm done.”

There was a long silence before Hitsugaya spoke. “You loved him for a long time.”

Again it wasn't a question; Hitsugaya would find that below him. But it commanded an explanation nevertheless. For a few desperate moments, Matsumoto looked for ways to avoid answering. But denying him a piece of her own heart now, after he had turned into a crying, wounded animal for her, would be beyond insulting. So she settled for a simple, “Yes. For a long time. But that's not the problem.”

And Matsumoto remembered the third most dangerous sound in the world, her own crying. It was a soft whelp, just a glitch in her breathing, and in the dark of Hitsugaya's room she hoped he wouldn't notice.

But he did, and almost at the same time as they started falling from her eyes, Hitsugaya reached over to catch the tears with his thumb. She didn't want this, didn't want the kindness, it would only make her cry more, but she couldn't find the strength to push his hand away either. He propped himself on both elbows and pulled her head slightly toward him. Too dazed and weak to realize what was going on, Matsumoto felt only the hot, sharp tongue pulling slow traces from the corners of her lips to her eyes. He was tasting her sadness.

“This is not fair,” she whimpered because, unlike him, she couldn't keep her voice steady. “I let you cry yours out.”

One of his hands escaped to her hair as he whispered, “It's you, women. I can't stand you crying.”

She resolved herself to a smile and breathed in his scent. Her bare skin, cold from the run over, was now pressed to a hot wall of hard meat. It was only natural to want more of that warmth.

Hitsugaya's tongue slid to her lips and she parted them for him, content with letting him do as he pleased. Under the heavy covers, one of his hands slid between her legs, finding a way around what remained of the bottom half of her uniform. He stroked her, at the same time kissing his way down her neck. She arched her back, wanting to feel more of him, sliding the clothes off his shoulders.

He was taking his time. There was no hurry, no sense of efficiency, just his pleasure of feeling her and of her feeling him. This was like making love, Matsumoto thought. Must be his way of apologising. It was slow and sad and almost like a goodbye. Matsumoto felt lead in her stomach at the thought of goodbyes and, suddenly, intense hate as well.

She pushed off the floor, knocking him off balance and straddling him on the hard surface of the simple bed. She's had quite enough of goodbyes, thank you very much. Quite enough of `sorry'-s. The covers fell off her back when she straightened above him. He sat up to meet her, to sink hands into hair again and to kiss her neck. It would appear he understood he wasn't doing her a favour with all his mellow, careful caresses and when night's light struck his face, he was concentrated again.

Matsumoto breathed a sigh of relief once his usual hardness returned. His rhythm was slow still, he was enjoying himself, enjoying her, but he was once again sure of what he was doing. He was even playful, a novelty. He grabbed her breasts and kissed them as if they were something new, something he only just noticed on her. He took his time watching the muscles of her stomach work while she moved over him. And again, true to his old ache, he gathered her hair onto his face and inhaled its warm, clean smell.

“…Matsumoto?” he panted into her neck.

“Hnn?” she managed.

“Are you still crying?” He sounded almost innocent.

“…no. I am not.”

“Then does this mean I'm doing you a favour this time?”

She snorted.

“Glad you didn't cut my balls off, then, are you?”

Matsumoto looked down in confusion, but felt a rush of air as he snickered against her skin. He looked up at her, concentration still burned into every crease of his youthful face, but his look was less severe. She huffed in annoyance, although some of it was arousal as well, and, feeling exceptionally bold, pushed him down. Hitsugaya didn't resist. He kept observing her, scrutinizing every curve of her back, every tension in her thighs.

This time it came slower, but that much stronger as well, the heat spreading through and the muscles pulling together in her abdomen. She fell forwards and let him lead the rest of her way through the orgasm. His followed after only a few pushes, enhanced by the waves created while her insides rippled of their own will.

They lay panting, her hair coming down around them as a curtain, which no doubt pleased him to no end.

“Huh,” Matsumoto huffed after a while. “I just noticed we are not in the office. On that tiny couch.”

“Hn?” Hitsugaya hadn't yet regained his ability to fret over décor, evidently.

“It feels much better like this. …sir,” she added.

He grunted. Response enough, again, that he didn't take issue with her on that.

He wasn't mended. There was a black spot, a crease on his forehead that wasn't there a month ago. It might never go away, anyways. But he was ready to go back to his fortitude. The glacier was cold and impregnable again. She smiled a private smile and fell on her side next to him. She just began thinking how she's been in the bubble longer than ever and how it was about time that she left it, now that it was recharged with energy, when Hitsugaya reached over, already half-asleep, and hauled an arm over her. Even more to Matsumoto's surprise, he continued to worm next to her, looking for her softness and warmth, no longer in a sexual way. He shaped himself like he might against an older sister. Or a mother.

“Very well,” thought Matsumoto and kissed his forehead, something he would never allow awake.

It will be fun in the morning, in any case, when he freaks out that she hadn't left. A bit of the old him will come back, none of that unstable, toneless creature she saw tonight. He'll be cold and too high to reach again. And things will be getting better.

“I wonder what everyone will say about the bite marks. …Captain,” she giggled before letting sleep creep up on her.