Better Of Two Evils
Author: Mama Quilla
Title: Better Of Two Evils
Rating: NC-17 / R
Pairing: Kurotsuchi Mayuri/Szayel Aporro Granz
Warnings: A bit of surgery kink and PWP.
Summary: Szayel, the better of two evils. Here's why.
Note: I would have continued, but I don't want you to run screaming for therapy.
The first thing I notice when I come to is cold metal, pressed against the bare skin of my back and buttocks.
I'm naked.
I open my eyes and realize I'm in the lithotomy position. My feet are in stirrups, legs forced and spread apart obscenely. The brown leather legholder restraints give the contraption an old-timey feel.
I give an experimental wiggle. My arms are rendered immobile courtesy of leather bonds, too.
A lesser man would panic. I lay there wondering.
I didn't wonder long.
"Good morning," I hear a familiar voice announce cheerfully from somewhere behind me. I didn't miss the menacing inflection.
"Good morning," I hear myself reply, in sultry tones, slightly surprised.
Something to the left clicked, and he begins to narrate in that voice of his, and I grow steadily more uncomfortable.
"Szayel Aporro Granz-"
I shivered.
"-Arrancar, Octava Espada-"
A hand brushes against my neck. The sensation of latex against my skin leaves tingles where it makes contact.
"Height, 185cm, weight, 67kg-"
I need to cut down on those Fraccion.
The latex-gloved hand glides lower, down my abdomen. (Yes, the carpet matches the drapes, if you must know.) To my horror, I feel myself growing hard. I have to fight the maddening urge to cross my legs, which the restraints will not allow. He continues to speak aloud. There's a great deal of smirking in his voice.
"Resurrección, Fornicarás."
He says that last word with a salacious grin, in a way that makes my cock twitch.
He stands before me and stares at me, still grinning away, baring his golden teeth at me. I don't dare move, like a butterfly pinned without the mercy of chloroform. Fear floods my veins as he approaches me, but it only serves to make me harder. I briefly consider this and how sick it is, and realize we're about to leave the realm of sick far, far behind.
His head disappears between my legs. I don't dare look down.
Without warning he drives his tongue into me, almost viciously, and I lose my mind.
I nearly give myself a concussion throwing my head back against the stainless steel examining table as the force of this pleasure hits me. I definitely howled, because I hear it reverberate off the walls of the surgical theatre.
"Oh, God..." I gasp.
His inhuman grin rises into my vision again.
"'Kurotsuchi-taichou' will suffice," he says mischievously.
His bony hands find my hips, pulling us together, and his tongue resumes its wicked activity, driving in ever deeper into me. It twists in and out sinuously, and I beg and plead for it never to stop with a string of incoherent moans. The leather restraints are biting into my skin as he makes me writhe and thrash.
The acknowledgement that all of this is being recorded occurs in a tiny part of my brain. The idea that he can store the audio on a small device and listen to it later while performing an otherwise mundane task makes me giggle.
Maybe that's why he grins all the time.
His long, skeletal fingers find my Hollow hole.
In most Arrancar they serve no purpose whatsoever. Some find a practical use for them. Grimmjow stores kittens in his.
Right now, he's found out what mine does.
He drags the pads of his fingers unforgivingly along the inside of mine, and I come with one final scream of his name.
I lie there, panting hard. I can feel my own semen splashed across my belly.
Well. No one's ever done that to me before.
He leans down over me. He handles my body with his spidery hands lovingly, like I am his most precious artefact. I stop breathing. There is the odd sensation that my bones are slowly melting under his gaze, under his touch.
Our eyes meet, and I notice, not for the first time, that they are the exact same colour, the same hue of honey-gold.
He grins like a skull (not that they have much of a choice). I manage a soppy smile back.
I think... I think I'm in love.
Not that it's hard to like someone with two latex-covered fingers inside you, touching you in places you don't usually spare a thought for, at least not in public.
Funny how many symptoms love has in common with a mind-blowing orgasm.
I watch him place a scalpel on my belly, watch it heave up and down in time with my laboured breathing. I know what he's planning and it makes me hard again. I feel my spine curve to his will, pressing up against him briefly. Sick is long is gone.
I wish he'd kiss me now. It would be perfect, I don't care what he says.
Title: Better Of Two Evils
Rating: NC-17 / R
Pairing: Kurotsuchi Mayuri/Szayel Aporro Granz
Warnings: A bit of surgery kink and PWP.
Summary: Szayel, the better of two evils. Here's why.
Note: I would have continued, but I don't want you to run screaming for therapy.
The first thing I notice when I come to is cold metal, pressed against the bare skin of my back and buttocks.
I'm naked.
I open my eyes and realize I'm in the lithotomy position. My feet are in stirrups, legs forced and spread apart obscenely. The brown leather legholder restraints give the contraption an old-timey feel.
I give an experimental wiggle. My arms are rendered immobile courtesy of leather bonds, too.
A lesser man would panic. I lay there wondering.
I didn't wonder long.
"Good morning," I hear a familiar voice announce cheerfully from somewhere behind me. I didn't miss the menacing inflection.
"Good morning," I hear myself reply, in sultry tones, slightly surprised.
Something to the left clicked, and he begins to narrate in that voice of his, and I grow steadily more uncomfortable.
"Szayel Aporro Granz-"
I shivered.
"-Arrancar, Octava Espada-"
A hand brushes against my neck. The sensation of latex against my skin leaves tingles where it makes contact.
"Height, 185cm, weight, 67kg-"
I need to cut down on those Fraccion.
The latex-gloved hand glides lower, down my abdomen. (Yes, the carpet matches the drapes, if you must know.) To my horror, I feel myself growing hard. I have to fight the maddening urge to cross my legs, which the restraints will not allow. He continues to speak aloud. There's a great deal of smirking in his voice.
"Resurrección, Fornicarás."
He says that last word with a salacious grin, in a way that makes my cock twitch.
He stands before me and stares at me, still grinning away, baring his golden teeth at me. I don't dare move, like a butterfly pinned without the mercy of chloroform. Fear floods my veins as he approaches me, but it only serves to make me harder. I briefly consider this and how sick it is, and realize we're about to leave the realm of sick far, far behind.
His head disappears between my legs. I don't dare look down.
Without warning he drives his tongue into me, almost viciously, and I lose my mind.
I nearly give myself a concussion throwing my head back against the stainless steel examining table as the force of this pleasure hits me. I definitely howled, because I hear it reverberate off the walls of the surgical theatre.
"Oh, God..." I gasp.
His inhuman grin rises into my vision again.
"'Kurotsuchi-taichou' will suffice," he says mischievously.
His bony hands find my hips, pulling us together, and his tongue resumes its wicked activity, driving in ever deeper into me. It twists in and out sinuously, and I beg and plead for it never to stop with a string of incoherent moans. The leather restraints are biting into my skin as he makes me writhe and thrash.
The acknowledgement that all of this is being recorded occurs in a tiny part of my brain. The idea that he can store the audio on a small device and listen to it later while performing an otherwise mundane task makes me giggle.
Maybe that's why he grins all the time.
His long, skeletal fingers find my Hollow hole.
In most Arrancar they serve no purpose whatsoever. Some find a practical use for them. Grimmjow stores kittens in his.
Right now, he's found out what mine does.
He drags the pads of his fingers unforgivingly along the inside of mine, and I come with one final scream of his name.
I lie there, panting hard. I can feel my own semen splashed across my belly.
Well. No one's ever done that to me before.
He leans down over me. He handles my body with his spidery hands lovingly, like I am his most precious artefact. I stop breathing. There is the odd sensation that my bones are slowly melting under his gaze, under his touch.
Our eyes meet, and I notice, not for the first time, that they are the exact same colour, the same hue of honey-gold.
He grins like a skull (not that they have much of a choice). I manage a soppy smile back.
I think... I think I'm in love.
Not that it's hard to like someone with two latex-covered fingers inside you, touching you in places you don't usually spare a thought for, at least not in public.
Funny how many symptoms love has in common with a mind-blowing orgasm.
I watch him place a scalpel on my belly, watch it heave up and down in time with my laboured breathing. I know what he's planning and it makes me hard again. I feel my spine curve to his will, pressing up against him briefly. Sick is long is gone.
I wish he'd kiss me now. It would be perfect, I don't care what he says.