Coercion - Urahara/Mayuri fic [Bleach]
Title: Coercion
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con, OOC, PWP
Wordcount: ~2100
Summary: Written for kink meme prompt - set during Pendulum arc, starts with a foot massage, Urahara tops the hell out of it >:D
With a low hum, Urahara Kisuke smiled and dug his thumb into the arch of his newest subordinate's foot. Kurotsuchi Mayuri bared his teeth in a grimace - whether it was from discomfort, or the sheer fact that he was forced to submit again to his captain's inconsiderate intrusion into his tight schedule, Kisuke didn't know.
"I'd be happy to schedule you a round of daily appointments at the Fourth Division," Kisuke said cheerfully as he grasped Mayuri's long, pale foot and rolled his thumbs from the heel to just under Mayuri's toes. They twitched. "...Since this is so distasteful to you."
"I'm considering it," Mayuri said flatly.
Kisuke, knowing the man was considering no such thing, made an acknowledging noise and gave the foot a squeeze, then he cupped the ankle for a few seconds before kneading gently up to the calf. His fingertips skimmed over heavy callouses, the result of years of friction from a crudely hewn iron shackle, as they made their way up to squeeze and manipulate thin, twitching calf muscles.
As he moved up to the knee, he grinned up at Mayuri, who was staring at an equipment-covered countertop, his expression haughty and impatient. The thigh muscles were slightly shaky and tense when he reached them, and he worked some of the tension out with firm, practiced strokes. Once the muscles were suitably relaxed, warm and loose under his hands, he snuck his fingers under the robes that were bunched up around Mayuri's upper thighs.
His fingers encountered a roughly textured, uneven line of scar tissue and he went beyond it, his palms flattening on skin that was slightly coarser than that of the rest of Mayuri's body. And paler too, he knew from their previous physical therapy sessions; this band of flesh was a lighter shade than the warm olive of the rest of Mayuri, under all the robes and paints.
"Unacceptable," Mayuri snapped, his voice reedy and sharp. "I have work to do."
Kisuke made a soothing noise that only earned him a disgusted feh. He ignored it, and his hand crept higher, his thumb trailing over the inside of the upper thigh, fingers crawling toward the hip.
"Oh, but I think you need a little more rehabilitation," Kisuke cooed.
"And I think you need to get your hands off of me," Mayuri replied, threat hard and cold in his voice. Yet when he finally turned his eyes up to his captain's face, they were sharp and bright with interest inside the stark black stripe of his face paint.
"Your protest is noted." Kisuke reached higher, fingers tripping over another long scar to caress the hard curve of Mayuri's hip-bone, his thumb brushing the softness of the man's testicles. "But you're going to let me do this to you anyway, aren't you, Mayuri?" Kisuke's voice was low and teasing, and he watched intently as Mayuri sneered at the same time as his hooded eyelids shuttered lower.
Mayuri shifted, subtly spreading his thighs as Kisuke's thumb glided over his balls to the base of his penis. He looked away, his lips parted enough to bare his clenched teeth, his eyelids heavy.
"Don't worry - I won't keep you for too long," Kisuke promised with a smile.
This got him another impatient noise - a low, rasping grunt from deep in Mayuri's throat. "Your needs are so base. You're disgusting," he complained. To Mayuri's credit, his voice didn't break, but that didn't stop Urahara from reflecting on Mayuri's own base needs as his fingers curled around his subordinate's warm, wonderfully hard length. His lips curled up into a sharp grin against Mayuri's robed shoulder, and then he pulled the robes down with his free hand to bare that shoulder. He pressed his mouth against the warm, dusky skin exposed, and he stroked Mayuri's length slowly as he trailed wet kisses from the sharp point of Mayuri's shoulder to the curve of his neck.
He opened his mouth against the soft skin, and tasted the bitter, chemical flatness of paint on his tongue.
"Unnecessary," Mayuri said sharply.
Kisuke laughed softly - how long it took for him to protest! - and pulled back, remembering that he had promised he'd be quick. Attempting to keep his promise, he abruptly pulled his hand free, and he hauled Mayuri off the surface of the examination table.
"Undress," he suggested as he stepped away. "Unless you want me to make a bigger mess than I need to." He said it sweetly, and it truly was a good idea, but more importantly... he wanted to see and touch Mayuri's soft, beautifully colored, fascinatingly-scarred skin.
Kurotsuchi grumbled under his breath, but he complied as Kisuke rummaged in a cabinet and came back with a jar of medical lubricant.
"Face the table," Kisuke said, his voice light enough to take the edge off the command. Mayuri looked as if he'd rather stab himself than do as Kisuke said, but nonetheless, he turned... and wordlessly allowed Kisuke to push him down with a firm hand between his shoulder-blades, until his upper body was pressed against the examination table he'd so recently been reclining on.
Kisuke stared down at the man's long, scarred body - his eyes first going to the precise delineations at the base of his neck, and at mid-forearm, where white paint gave way to skin the color of milky tea. Then his gaze swept over Mayuri's tense back, over all the long, uneven scars, stopping momentarily at the few paler patches of skin: visible proof of Mayuri's self-experimentation, the very thing that got him snatched out of the general public and confined under Urahara's watch. Then his eyes slid down to the cleft of Mayuri's ass.
A sudden, short grunt snapped him out of his lingering admiration.
Mayuri's black-nailed fingers twitched where they loosely grasped the sides of the table, and Mayuri turned his head, and from the corner of his eye he shot his captain a dark look - one that Kisuke met with a crooked smile, and two lubed fingers pressing against Mayuri's anus. Kisuke dragged his eyes once more over the long, scarred back, circled his slippery fingers against the wrinkled skin, coaxing and relaxing the tight ring of muscle. And then, once he felt Mayuri bear down against his touch, he slipped his fingers in.
His smile widened at the way Mayuri squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sides of the table harder. Mayuri grunted quietly through his nose a few seconds later when Kisuke worked his third finger in, and the muscles that spanned the width of his shoulders twitched and bunched up, much like the muscles gripping Kisuke's fingers did, when those fingers spread carefully, and then wriggled.
"Enough," Mayuri spat, his eyes still squeezed shut.
The harsh enunciation of that command made Kisuke's insides heat and twist, and when he pulled his cock from the folds of his yukata, he found that it only took one slick stroke to bring it to full, almost-aching hardness.
There was something about Mayuri's impatience, his harshness, his cold near-inhumanity that sparked a fire inside Kisuke when it showed itself at times like these. As much as Kisuke knew that that was the true nature of the man, in situations such as this, it all seemed so much more artificial, so carefully-cultivated, affected in order to make Kurotsuchi seem as inhuman as possible. And Kisuke knew that Mayuri was actively working to evolve his physical form into something wholly artificial, as well.
But most of his parts were still his own, and they reacted as any normal male's would to things like arousal, and stimulation, and friction. And desire - the desire he'd first seen the spark of in Mayuri's unearthly yellow eyes years ago, when they'd met his through iron bars, in the midst of a discussion on the theory of consciousness that had spanned weeks of late-night visits - the desire to which Mayuri wouldn't admit, but instead had to be coaxed, coerced, nearly forced into allowing himself to indulge in. But it was obvious to Kisuke in the subtle arch of his back when he ran his hand down the bumps of Mayuri's spine, and in the welcoming tilt of narrow hips when Kisuke nudged the blunt head of his penis against his slick, clenching asshole.
It was the contrast that did it for him - the fierce scowl that hardened what little Kisuke could see of the side of Mayuri's painted face, the gentle curve of his warm, olive-skinned back. The cold glint of fluorescents on his black-lacquered nails, the velvety warmness of the inside of his body as Kisuke slipped in. In gradual nudges, deeper each time, and Mayuri's tight channel molded around him beautifully, seemed to try to suck him back in every time he withdrew for another thrust, until he was fully buried.
Kisuke looked down to where their bodies were joined, to where his sandy brown pubic hair and pale pink hips pressed tight against the lean, olive-skinned curve of Mayuri's buttocks. Mayuri had been silent throughout all this, and he still breathed in carefully-measured breaths, as if he refused to vocalize his pleasure.
This was something that Kisuke was certain of: that Kurotsuchi Mayuri felt pleasure, and that he also felt the need to deny it. However, Urahara Kisuke had recently made it one of his goals in life to induce sounds of pleasure from the mouth of Mayuri, regardless of how much Mayuri might hate it - and so he cupped Mayuri's narrow hips, and he stretched his thumbs out to skim over the little divots in his lower back... and then with a deep breath, he drew back almost all the way, and plunged back inside.
In and out, in and out, and Mayuri's insides were burning hot around his driving cock, and slick, and so tight it made Kisuke's toes curl against the floor when Mayuri constricted even tighter around him. Breathing heavily, Kisuke leaned in as he picked up speed, and he detached one hand from its hold on Mayuri's hip, and reached out to grasp a handful of coarse, shockingly blue hair.
He twisted his fingers in his thick handful, thoroughly mussing the usually-neatly combed strip of hair, and he gasped loudly as he plowed into Mayuri's body. With harsh thrusts of his hips, he sank himself deep inside that strangling heat. Over and over and over, sweat beading on his upper lip and rolling down his temple, his hips smacking against Mayuri's narrow ass, and for all that it was his goal, it almost surprised him when Mayuri began to make noises. Short little grunts that sounded more like annoyance than pleasure, but it was more than Kisuke had gotten out of him during their previous encounters, and it made his blood boil in his veins.
Mayuri choked off another sound. That just wouldn't do; Kisuke wanted to hear him. So he gave Mayuri's hair a harsh yank, abruptly pulling the man's head back, bending his neck at a sharp angle.
That got him a loud, strangled gasp - of surprise or pain, or pleasure, he didn't know, but it was enough to send him tumbling headlong over the edge.
As the first hot surge of orgasm ripped through him, he felt a few strands of Mayuri's hair give way. He released the thick tuft and slapped his palm down on Mayuri's flexing hip in time for the second hard pulse. With the third, he moaned, and he buried himself as deep as he could go, and rode out the rest of it, circling his hips, watching Mayuri's back shudder and his fingers shake where they still clutched the table.
As soon as his orgasm tapered to an end, Mayuri spoke up, his voice raspy but precisely regulated. "You're finished. If you have no more use for me--"
"I'm not done with you yet," Kisuke purred, and he used his slightly sweaty handhold to jerk Mayuri's hips back and off the table. Without giving Mayuri time to protest, he wrapped his fingers around the man's cock - which was soft but plump, and wonderfully slippery with pre-ejaculate, and which hardened almost immediately in his hand. He felt Mayuri's thighs shake where they were pressed against his own, and he felt Mayuri's stomach muscles flex in fits when he reached his other hand around to caress them.
It took less than a minute of long, slick strokes before Mayuri tensed up against him, his cock twitching to critical hardness. When he came, his semen flowing out hot over Kisuke's jerking fingers and splashing on the surface of the examination table, he hissed like a snake - the long, drawn-out sibilant the only sound he'd permit himself when he found his release.
Kisuke held him there for a few seconds before he released him from his grasp, and he let Mayuri lean heavily against the table. He watched Mayuri pull himself back together. It didn't take long; the man shook his head sharply, and then stood upright, keeping his back to his captain as he smoothed his hair back.
Kisuke ducked forward and planted a quick kiss against the knob of Mayuri's upper vertebrae, just under the line of his paint, and Mayuri twitched.
Then, grinning, Kisuke took a step back and reordered his clothing.
"Now I'm done with you," he said, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He let his grin go all lazy and vapid when Mayuri turned his head and aimed a perfunctory sneer at him. "You're dismissed," he continued on, and he laughed at the predictable eye-roll.
"It's past time," Mayuri groused. Kisuke just smiled happily for a few seconds as he watched Mayuri, who was stepping a bit gingerly now, walk to the hand-wash sinks and begin to clean his body.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Kisuke said brightly. "Same time... same thing, if you're lucky."
The disdaining flicker of Mayuri's eyelids, and the accompanying grunt of disgust, were all the answer he needed.
~the end~
_____________
Feedback is always welcome! ^__^
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con, OOC, PWP
Wordcount: ~2100
Summary: Written for kink meme prompt - set during Pendulum arc, starts with a foot massage, Urahara tops the hell out of it >:D
With a low hum, Urahara Kisuke smiled and dug his thumb into the arch of his newest subordinate's foot. Kurotsuchi Mayuri bared his teeth in a grimace - whether it was from discomfort, or the sheer fact that he was forced to submit again to his captain's inconsiderate intrusion into his tight schedule, Kisuke didn't know.
"I'd be happy to schedule you a round of daily appointments at the Fourth Division," Kisuke said cheerfully as he grasped Mayuri's long, pale foot and rolled his thumbs from the heel to just under Mayuri's toes. They twitched. "...Since this is so distasteful to you."
"I'm considering it," Mayuri said flatly.
Kisuke, knowing the man was considering no such thing, made an acknowledging noise and gave the foot a squeeze, then he cupped the ankle for a few seconds before kneading gently up to the calf. His fingertips skimmed over heavy callouses, the result of years of friction from a crudely hewn iron shackle, as they made their way up to squeeze and manipulate thin, twitching calf muscles.
As he moved up to the knee, he grinned up at Mayuri, who was staring at an equipment-covered countertop, his expression haughty and impatient. The thigh muscles were slightly shaky and tense when he reached them, and he worked some of the tension out with firm, practiced strokes. Once the muscles were suitably relaxed, warm and loose under his hands, he snuck his fingers under the robes that were bunched up around Mayuri's upper thighs.
His fingers encountered a roughly textured, uneven line of scar tissue and he went beyond it, his palms flattening on skin that was slightly coarser than that of the rest of Mayuri's body. And paler too, he knew from their previous physical therapy sessions; this band of flesh was a lighter shade than the warm olive of the rest of Mayuri, under all the robes and paints.
"Unacceptable," Mayuri snapped, his voice reedy and sharp. "I have work to do."
Kisuke made a soothing noise that only earned him a disgusted feh. He ignored it, and his hand crept higher, his thumb trailing over the inside of the upper thigh, fingers crawling toward the hip.
"Oh, but I think you need a little more rehabilitation," Kisuke cooed.
"And I think you need to get your hands off of me," Mayuri replied, threat hard and cold in his voice. Yet when he finally turned his eyes up to his captain's face, they were sharp and bright with interest inside the stark black stripe of his face paint.
"Your protest is noted." Kisuke reached higher, fingers tripping over another long scar to caress the hard curve of Mayuri's hip-bone, his thumb brushing the softness of the man's testicles. "But you're going to let me do this to you anyway, aren't you, Mayuri?" Kisuke's voice was low and teasing, and he watched intently as Mayuri sneered at the same time as his hooded eyelids shuttered lower.
Mayuri shifted, subtly spreading his thighs as Kisuke's thumb glided over his balls to the base of his penis. He looked away, his lips parted enough to bare his clenched teeth, his eyelids heavy.
"Don't worry - I won't keep you for too long," Kisuke promised with a smile.
This got him another impatient noise - a low, rasping grunt from deep in Mayuri's throat. "Your needs are so base. You're disgusting," he complained. To Mayuri's credit, his voice didn't break, but that didn't stop Urahara from reflecting on Mayuri's own base needs as his fingers curled around his subordinate's warm, wonderfully hard length. His lips curled up into a sharp grin against Mayuri's robed shoulder, and then he pulled the robes down with his free hand to bare that shoulder. He pressed his mouth against the warm, dusky skin exposed, and he stroked Mayuri's length slowly as he trailed wet kisses from the sharp point of Mayuri's shoulder to the curve of his neck.
He opened his mouth against the soft skin, and tasted the bitter, chemical flatness of paint on his tongue.
"Unnecessary," Mayuri said sharply.
Kisuke laughed softly - how long it took for him to protest! - and pulled back, remembering that he had promised he'd be quick. Attempting to keep his promise, he abruptly pulled his hand free, and he hauled Mayuri off the surface of the examination table.
"Undress," he suggested as he stepped away. "Unless you want me to make a bigger mess than I need to." He said it sweetly, and it truly was a good idea, but more importantly... he wanted to see and touch Mayuri's soft, beautifully colored, fascinatingly-scarred skin.
Kurotsuchi grumbled under his breath, but he complied as Kisuke rummaged in a cabinet and came back with a jar of medical lubricant.
"Face the table," Kisuke said, his voice light enough to take the edge off the command. Mayuri looked as if he'd rather stab himself than do as Kisuke said, but nonetheless, he turned... and wordlessly allowed Kisuke to push him down with a firm hand between his shoulder-blades, until his upper body was pressed against the examination table he'd so recently been reclining on.
Kisuke stared down at the man's long, scarred body - his eyes first going to the precise delineations at the base of his neck, and at mid-forearm, where white paint gave way to skin the color of milky tea. Then his gaze swept over Mayuri's tense back, over all the long, uneven scars, stopping momentarily at the few paler patches of skin: visible proof of Mayuri's self-experimentation, the very thing that got him snatched out of the general public and confined under Urahara's watch. Then his eyes slid down to the cleft of Mayuri's ass.
A sudden, short grunt snapped him out of his lingering admiration.
Mayuri's black-nailed fingers twitched where they loosely grasped the sides of the table, and Mayuri turned his head, and from the corner of his eye he shot his captain a dark look - one that Kisuke met with a crooked smile, and two lubed fingers pressing against Mayuri's anus. Kisuke dragged his eyes once more over the long, scarred back, circled his slippery fingers against the wrinkled skin, coaxing and relaxing the tight ring of muscle. And then, once he felt Mayuri bear down against his touch, he slipped his fingers in.
His smile widened at the way Mayuri squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sides of the table harder. Mayuri grunted quietly through his nose a few seconds later when Kisuke worked his third finger in, and the muscles that spanned the width of his shoulders twitched and bunched up, much like the muscles gripping Kisuke's fingers did, when those fingers spread carefully, and then wriggled.
"Enough," Mayuri spat, his eyes still squeezed shut.
The harsh enunciation of that command made Kisuke's insides heat and twist, and when he pulled his cock from the folds of his yukata, he found that it only took one slick stroke to bring it to full, almost-aching hardness.
There was something about Mayuri's impatience, his harshness, his cold near-inhumanity that sparked a fire inside Kisuke when it showed itself at times like these. As much as Kisuke knew that that was the true nature of the man, in situations such as this, it all seemed so much more artificial, so carefully-cultivated, affected in order to make Kurotsuchi seem as inhuman as possible. And Kisuke knew that Mayuri was actively working to evolve his physical form into something wholly artificial, as well.
But most of his parts were still his own, and they reacted as any normal male's would to things like arousal, and stimulation, and friction. And desire - the desire he'd first seen the spark of in Mayuri's unearthly yellow eyes years ago, when they'd met his through iron bars, in the midst of a discussion on the theory of consciousness that had spanned weeks of late-night visits - the desire to which Mayuri wouldn't admit, but instead had to be coaxed, coerced, nearly forced into allowing himself to indulge in. But it was obvious to Kisuke in the subtle arch of his back when he ran his hand down the bumps of Mayuri's spine, and in the welcoming tilt of narrow hips when Kisuke nudged the blunt head of his penis against his slick, clenching asshole.
It was the contrast that did it for him - the fierce scowl that hardened what little Kisuke could see of the side of Mayuri's painted face, the gentle curve of his warm, olive-skinned back. The cold glint of fluorescents on his black-lacquered nails, the velvety warmness of the inside of his body as Kisuke slipped in. In gradual nudges, deeper each time, and Mayuri's tight channel molded around him beautifully, seemed to try to suck him back in every time he withdrew for another thrust, until he was fully buried.
Kisuke looked down to where their bodies were joined, to where his sandy brown pubic hair and pale pink hips pressed tight against the lean, olive-skinned curve of Mayuri's buttocks. Mayuri had been silent throughout all this, and he still breathed in carefully-measured breaths, as if he refused to vocalize his pleasure.
This was something that Kisuke was certain of: that Kurotsuchi Mayuri felt pleasure, and that he also felt the need to deny it. However, Urahara Kisuke had recently made it one of his goals in life to induce sounds of pleasure from the mouth of Mayuri, regardless of how much Mayuri might hate it - and so he cupped Mayuri's narrow hips, and he stretched his thumbs out to skim over the little divots in his lower back... and then with a deep breath, he drew back almost all the way, and plunged back inside.
In and out, in and out, and Mayuri's insides were burning hot around his driving cock, and slick, and so tight it made Kisuke's toes curl against the floor when Mayuri constricted even tighter around him. Breathing heavily, Kisuke leaned in as he picked up speed, and he detached one hand from its hold on Mayuri's hip, and reached out to grasp a handful of coarse, shockingly blue hair.
He twisted his fingers in his thick handful, thoroughly mussing the usually-neatly combed strip of hair, and he gasped loudly as he plowed into Mayuri's body. With harsh thrusts of his hips, he sank himself deep inside that strangling heat. Over and over and over, sweat beading on his upper lip and rolling down his temple, his hips smacking against Mayuri's narrow ass, and for all that it was his goal, it almost surprised him when Mayuri began to make noises. Short little grunts that sounded more like annoyance than pleasure, but it was more than Kisuke had gotten out of him during their previous encounters, and it made his blood boil in his veins.
Mayuri choked off another sound. That just wouldn't do; Kisuke wanted to hear him. So he gave Mayuri's hair a harsh yank, abruptly pulling the man's head back, bending his neck at a sharp angle.
That got him a loud, strangled gasp - of surprise or pain, or pleasure, he didn't know, but it was enough to send him tumbling headlong over the edge.
As the first hot surge of orgasm ripped through him, he felt a few strands of Mayuri's hair give way. He released the thick tuft and slapped his palm down on Mayuri's flexing hip in time for the second hard pulse. With the third, he moaned, and he buried himself as deep as he could go, and rode out the rest of it, circling his hips, watching Mayuri's back shudder and his fingers shake where they still clutched the table.
As soon as his orgasm tapered to an end, Mayuri spoke up, his voice raspy but precisely regulated. "You're finished. If you have no more use for me--"
"I'm not done with you yet," Kisuke purred, and he used his slightly sweaty handhold to jerk Mayuri's hips back and off the table. Without giving Mayuri time to protest, he wrapped his fingers around the man's cock - which was soft but plump, and wonderfully slippery with pre-ejaculate, and which hardened almost immediately in his hand. He felt Mayuri's thighs shake where they were pressed against his own, and he felt Mayuri's stomach muscles flex in fits when he reached his other hand around to caress them.
It took less than a minute of long, slick strokes before Mayuri tensed up against him, his cock twitching to critical hardness. When he came, his semen flowing out hot over Kisuke's jerking fingers and splashing on the surface of the examination table, he hissed like a snake - the long, drawn-out sibilant the only sound he'd permit himself when he found his release.
Kisuke held him there for a few seconds before he released him from his grasp, and he let Mayuri lean heavily against the table. He watched Mayuri pull himself back together. It didn't take long; the man shook his head sharply, and then stood upright, keeping his back to his captain as he smoothed his hair back.
Kisuke ducked forward and planted a quick kiss against the knob of Mayuri's upper vertebrae, just under the line of his paint, and Mayuri twitched.
Then, grinning, Kisuke took a step back and reordered his clothing.
"Now I'm done with you," he said, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He let his grin go all lazy and vapid when Mayuri turned his head and aimed a perfunctory sneer at him. "You're dismissed," he continued on, and he laughed at the predictable eye-roll.
"It's past time," Mayuri groused. Kisuke just smiled happily for a few seconds as he watched Mayuri, who was stepping a bit gingerly now, walk to the hand-wash sinks and begin to clean his body.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Kisuke said brightly. "Same time... same thing, if you're lucky."
The disdaining flicker of Mayuri's eyelids, and the accompanying grunt of disgust, were all the answer he needed.
~the end~
_____________
Feedback is always welcome! ^__^