She’s such a tease, Zangetsu notices.
They clash and sparks fly. He throws himself forward; she dances out of the way. And just when he thinks he has her pinned beneath him, she grins saucily and reverses the situation.
It’s maddening. It’s frustrating. It’s driving him mad in all the right kinds of ways.
“Oh, come now, Zan-chan. Surely, you’re not tired already?” Benihime taunts him, scarlet eyes glowing like embers. She rakes a hand through her hair, as white as snow and setting across her shoulders in bouncing curls.
Sometimes, he finds it hard to believe that she and that perverted shopkeeper are nearly one and the same. Then again, she says the same thing about Ichigo and he all the time. Except for the fact that they are both “sticks-in-the-mud” as Benihime so elegantly puts it.
Zangetsu inwardly snorts. Some princess. She is as royal in behavior as Shihouin Yoruichi. And twice as devious, he suspects.
His eyes narrow behind the sunglasses as he picks up his blade once more and swiftly crosses the ground in a sprint. She ever-so-casually lifts her own sword, meeting his attack head-on. Almost lazily. That smile never leaves her lips, her eyes continuing to sparkle.
“I am always ready to face off against you, my dear,” Zangetsu retorts over the sound of their blades clashing, the ringing echoing in the air.
She laughs, a delightful sound, each twist of her sword an expert move that he admires greatly. Benihime’s swordplay is like a dance, at least to Zangetsu, and he always enjoys watching her move. Perhaps it is such watching that always serves to be his downfall.
He never wins. And now is to be no exception.
Benihime twists around, blade slicing towards his head. Zangetsu whirls to avoid and fails to spot the sheathe that strikes out from her other hand. The blunt end slams into his belly, pushing out a great gust of air.
Momentarily stunned, Zangetsu stumbles, and it is all the falter that Benihime needs to take advantage of him. In a flash, the flat of her sword smacks against his hand, causing him to drop his own. And then, she all but tackles him and bears Zangetsu down to the windowed ground below him with a loud grunt.
He briefly sees stars as her body slams against his, softness to his hard angles. He is effectively trapped beneath her weight, not that he minds too terribly.
“Pinned you,” Benihime sings, all smiles and sparkles as her fingers curl around his wrists, pressing them to the ground.
Zangetsu admits he puts up only a token struggle. She is straddling his hips at the moment, her heat pressed right over him. And Zangetsu can’t find himself disappointed by the loss, not when the princess looks down at him like that, a certain promise in her eyes.
She leans over, her pale curls a curtain around them, lips mere inches from his own. “You don’t seem too disappointed, Zan-chan.”
“A true man knows when to accept that he has been bested,” Zangetsu returns, grateful for the shielding the sunglasses give him.
Benihime laughs, breath puffing over his lips and smelling faintly of the sweetness of cherries. “You like nothing better than being under me? Is that it?” she purrs.
“My dear, I cannot think of another place I’d rather be,” Zangetsu says, body thrumming in anticipation.
She is terribly close and yet feels so far away, and the distance is aggravating. He wants to close it. And quickly.
She makes a sound in her throat, a noise of agreement that hums erotically. And she leans closer, as though to kiss him. He can practically already taste her.
Until Benihime pauses, pupils dilating. She cocks her head to the side, and even Zangetsu can feel it, the slight change of reiatsu in the space around them. Benihime pulls back, despite the protest that must show on Zangetsu’s face. Her hips twist atop his, a maddeningly light touch that does nothing but tease him.
“Looks like Ki-chan’s waking up,” she says with obviously fake disappointment, her tone a light chirp. “Maybe another time, old man.”
And Zangetsu curses as she vanishes, leaving only the heat of her body behind. His wrists tingle where she held them, and the throbbing beneath his cloak can’t be ignored. The air still smells faintly of cherries and even more lightly of explosions and candy, just like her other.
“Tease,” he accuses loudly, voice echoing around him. Zangetsu promptly ignores the fact that he can hear Shirosaki laughing at him from somewhere nearby.
He and Ichigo are going to have to talk.