Suddenly and Secretly

Chapter 8
A Reflection

It was an utter sin, a reckless development of insanity that flew from the thin, crumbing cracks of mortal, dread to imprison the soul. It was the delirious under tone of temptation, the starving affections of the turbulent reality that forced the screams to issue from that baritone, organ pipe. It was the crusade, the temptation, that red hot seductress of clarity that compounded all the events into one single meaning. It was the expression of surrendering pain, of the saturating, abysmal maelstrom that caused the shaking hands to swing the axe. It didn't matter if it was day or night, the present or the sticky past, or if the blood that ascended to the sky was the intended victim of the sword.

A question, a contemplation of the obvious, that pierced through the bosom straight into the thumping heart, to sear its burning emblem into soft, yielding flesh. A iron branded symbol of ignominy, a tribulation to the most delirious of gods. Death and destruction, life and salvation, the citadel that is the human soul. The heart; the perfect mad house. Where does the lie blur these absolutes into something tangible?

How much was to much before you couldn't bare the the thoughts that surrounded you? Love, hate, passion, corruption, carnality, the sense of being led, driven into madness with the confirmed feeling of devotion! When does the vow of silence place over the lips lead to a crash of the mind? When does it all dissolve into single movement of fury? Irrational is justified, the passions that eclipse the common sense simmer to a boil, when loving that one single person reaches new crescendos of horror.

Give him a eulogy, a elegiac of evinced justification. Understand him, sympathize with him, or at least peek into his heart and find the answer to the questions that contort all that is human.

After all it was only human to sink into despair. Wasn't it?

Ichigo screamed, forced the savage rage and searing darkness that confined him, to slink out of his cursing orifice and into the dust filled world. Ichigo threw his head back, released all the frustration that caused his heart to writhe painfully, and charged forward. His sword was featherlight, its stained tip the reflector of the artificial, lamp light. Halogen gas, their color invisible, swirled around inside milky white shells and emitated an ethereal glow that traveled over the distance to bounce off the lipstick, red tip of the blade. His sword was a mirror, a reflection of all that was morality. It was his retributioner, his ideal way of salvation.

He just wanted a way to release it all, how ever foolish and destructive it seemed. The situation was deemed average in his mind, his actions expected. If there was any other solution he doubted that he would have chosen to walk down its path. After all, fixing a problem with words and a calm demeanor wouldn't have uniformed with the natural behavior of one Kurosaki Ichigo. Taking that into consideration, trying to mangle the thing that forces such distress seemed like the only solution. It was this line of thinking,--of flawed justification, of reasoning that ended with sophristy--that in part led to where they were. One retreating, the other pursuing until their movements bled into one fantastical dance. Its rhythm screaming into the wind as its devious smile foretold the illuminating light of the future. The glistening drops of blood echoing the messages of passion and suicidal conviction. To kill was to become whole, to eradicate was to restore power.

If there was any form of excercing this madness from his body; it was to give into the red and all that caused such passions. How could these actions be explained? Therefore, let us venture into the tumbling mind of his soul. Let us explore the undulating pattern of thought and events that let up to this explosion. If in any case, let us learn the rumors circulating about one Abarai Renji. After all, with out Renji, Ichigo just would not be same.

The sexual exploitations of a man throughout the course of time can be numerous, well voiced, and debarred from the cloak of secracy. It was no small wonder that during his time as an undead being, Abarai Renji had shuffled through his fair share of bodies. It was no small wonder that each one in its own right had shaped not only the thought process but the sexual desires of Renji. Mystifying black-haired beings, shimmering blonds, sultry brunettes, and simply red heads-their title describing all- had each added a piquant taste to Renji's lips.

What was a wonder, was that more than half of his conquests had been diverged to several inquiring ears and spread around the watering wholes of soul society. Lieutenants, officers, freshly recruited shinigami's from the academy, and even one, highly dignified captain had all been submitted to screaming Renji's name or at least, subjected to a few lusty curses while being fucked into another oblivion. Gripped teeth, smeared lips, indention marks pressed upon skin that would tell the story of one thing and only one thing:sex.

Since this was all well and known, Renji never gave any thought as to whom and just where he chose to find his own personal release. Why bother concealing the facts when they were already placed upon the table and dissected with a gossipers starving eyes. What he hadn't counted on was the stories of him fooling around in the great library or dressing up in a captain's robes to do a quickly, would reach the areas outside of Soul Society. It was through second and third hand gossip that Ichigo, Ichigo who was mesmerized by a certain red head, learned of Renji and his "catches".

It was late in the mouth of may, exactly two months before Ichigo would discover a naked Renji in his bed. The air was sticky hot, a foreboding gal wind that caused Ichigo's body to stand still. Sweat dripped down his neck, as his eyes lost focused and his head slipped delightfully down. He was daydreaming, not paralyzed but struck with the sudden urge to linger among the breeze and the urban rustling boom of passing cars. His window, the path for the sounds to travel was open and his bed was the perfected cushion on which to lay. He was lost, dwelling deep within that peaceful moment that when Rukia and several other female shinigami's had come crashing in with a thump, thump, THUMP! he had screamed unmercifully.

The girls had descended from his make-shift, over head light tunnel. Their souls were constricted tight inside gigai's effectfully doubling the amount of trash and luggage that poured in from the small opening. A gigai and a filled soul body for each bubbling apparition of death.

How Jolly.

Laughing, they picked themselves up from Ichigo's floor and stared at his blushing face with amused bemusement. Prompt and always tactful with the ladies he had applied his smoothest voice and with great vigor screamed in a stampering mantra of "what! why! god dammit!" Another giggle, and Rukai explained why they had commenced such a great journey to KaraKura town.There motive for such a "long distance" trip was to gather information of the areas affected by Arrancars and Aizen. Equipped with numerous important and credifying forms and instruments Ichigo just raised one finely, sculpted brow and pretended that they were not all occupying his room. He went back to day dreaming, a vein ticking away in tune with the thump, thump, thumping of the cars.

However, a few more giggles and two days later Ichigo was forced to reconsider the importance of the girls so called mission. His suspicions were confirmed when twenty shopping bags later Ichigo questioned just what the hell the girls were doing other than sneaking off to buy human paraformial like stuffed bunnies and candy, flavored lip gloss. Even more surprising than their lack of work, was Ichigo's discovery of a silver G string under garment in Rukia's satchel.

With a mighty blush, Ichigo had screamed out his opposition to Rukia, only to stumble a very startling piece of camp fire gossip, The silver almost floss like underwear, for what else could a thin strap if string be used for other than oral hygiene, was in fact a requested item from a very certain red head. It was stunned disbelief that struck Ichigo, the thought of Renji wearing such a vulgar and unflattering color of string was ridiculous.

The thought of Renji, his gallant sword swinger flaunting around in nothing, caused a electric shock in Ichigo's brain and the result was a wide eyed, lip puckering, expression that Rukia had sought out and taken pity upon. With gentle, conniving hands she forced Ichigo unto his bed and told him the story of " Renji and the Rubber Duckling", Renji and The Ink Spill", "Renji and the mud puddle", and " Renji and the jello bowl".

Body after body, affair after affair, fling after heart destroying fling. Rukia told him all, divulged the secret sex world of Soul Society, and caused a painful thumping in his heart. The man he wanted was a playboy, a seeker of the flesh, and a chauvinist. Crestfallen, Ichigo bid Rukia and the other school, girl like shinigamis leave. Taking his head in hands, he stared out his window and listened to the thump, thump, thump of the passing cars. Misery loved him and he spent the night dreaming of a laughing warrior, laughing at Ichigo's exposed skin, laughing his exposed body. It was a dream of contrast, a dream different from his heat scorching visions of rawness. This dream stung and Ichigo prayed for a hollow to escape into another reality.

However, the hollows had disappeared and in their place Renji had appeared. Renji had come, two months after sleepless nights and countless hours spent in front of porn sites. Renji had tempted him, reminded him of the devious stories that Rukia had told, and messed with his heart. Was he another conquest? Another body to place between the sheets? Could Renji bend like that? Could he?

Maybe that was when he started writing the stories. No, that had come earlier, earlier than Rukia's visit. Ichigo had found an outlet for his bottled up emotion in his porn site and the blogs they offered. Late at night Ichigo summon up his dreams, his fantasy, his remembrance of the heat and fill page after page with his erotic tale. "Renji and the strawberry", "Renji and the bathtub", and "Renji and the confession booth" Ichigo had hoped that they would stay hidden ed, locked up tight in the Xclusive's directory, never to be seen by family, friends, or Renji.

What a crock.

Renji had found every way to destroy him. Renji and is irrefutable curiosity had forced a suffocating hand around his neck.

And it had come to this. Death and destruction, a hollow and a mortal, a primate and a strawberry.