Fists

Enjoy.

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                                                                                       Fists

A vicious right hook sent me spinning, my body slamming mercilessly into the stone floor. I lay there a few moments, dazed and practically drooling blood down my chin as I clenched my aching jaw. He was holding back and the reality of that fact both frightened and angered me to my very core.

Slow, leisurely footsteps approached me and sent a shiver shooting up my spin. "Get up, Brat." He growled; hands dug in his pockets and clothes still more or less pristine. I could barely even raise my head to look at him let alone stand and my own uniform had been shredded beyond repair while he remained without so much as a scratch. It was infuriating. "Stand. Up." I complied with difficulty.

My body ached beyond anything and for a moment I was sure that my legs were going to give out. Thankfully they didn't or my lesson would have gone worse if the look in his eyes had anything to say about it. "You better put your fists up, Brat." he said. "You'd better defend yourself with everything you have because if you don't," The arrancar brought his left hand out from the depths of his pocket and flexed his fingers until the tough skin was taunt, bones popping loudly. His grin threatened to split his face in two. "I'm gonna kill ya'."

He meant every word, and I knew he did. So when he launched himself at me I was ready for him. I was ready for the rush of pain and excitement. I would not have dared to ask him to stop just because I knew that he would have no mercy for me, no pity.

He tore me apart.

And when I finally succumbed to the blessed darkness of unconsciousness I went content with the sight of four angry, bleeding, red gashes slicing across his unguarded cheek. I'd pierced his hierro, however minutely and his expression had become feral in that moment. Maybe he was even proud of me. Regardless, I knew that they'd be gone within the hour and that I would awake sometime later stripped of my uniform and lying among white sheets. The worst of my injuries would be healed save for a few bruises or scars. That was fine, I'd wear them like armor and the next time we sparred I'd do more than claw his handsome face.

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R&R