Mercy Street AU- Master List (1/4)
In an effort to be more organized, here are all my Mercy Street AU fics from the very first to the very last. ^^
Title: Be Aggressive! Be, Be Aggressive!
Characters: Iba+Kira, vaguely ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: I DUNNO… um. THE FUTURE. But it’s not important, I guess. XD
Rating: PG-15? Haha YEAH.
Summary: A lunch date and a nooner, all at the same time.
The rhythmic pounding against the wall causes Tetsu to blush and stare down at the cup of tea Izuru’s made for him, though he averts his eyes from that when the liquid inside his mug starts to reverberate with the same force as the rest of the room.
He laughs, and it sounds awkward and horrible. “Uh…so. You hear that a lot?” he asks, trying to make light of the situation. He digs his fingernails into his own thigh and tries not to recognize the fact that Yumi’s shouts from next door are starting to conjure up every dirty dream he’s ever had involving the other man.
Kira, cheeks pink, fidgets with his sleeve uncomfortably. “Um… not too often,” he admits with an embarrassed smile. “I think… Ayasegawa-san is alone more often than not.”
“Er…guess that gives him cause to be vocal…” Iba adds, and then can’t believe himself right after. “Er! I mean…” he coughs. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be perverted, Izuru.”
“It’s… it’s okay,” Kira assures the other man quickly. “I um…well, I invited you over for lunch didn’t I? I didn’t know um… I didn’t think… well, it’s noon.”
The pounding begins to slow after a moment, and both inhabitants of the next-door apartment can be heard making one last, climactic cry before everything gets silent.
And still.
“Oh thank god,” Tetsu breathes then, rubbing his forehead. “I thought they’d never stop.”
Kira, flushed bright red, nods and stands, moving to guide Iba to the table. “Um…lunch! We should have lunch,” he says, quickly.
Knowing his neighbors, the end of one round gives them a good thirty minute window to eat.
The blond Vizord sighs to himself internally as he begins bustling around the kitchen, thinking that he maybe should have invited Tetsu over for dinner instead given that Yumichika and his paramour seemed to be in the mood for a daytime marathon this time around.
But inviting Tetsu over to dinner might imply that he expected…well… and… Kira feels his ears heat up at the thought and shakes his head, trying to serve salad and not draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
“Hey, you need some help?” Tetsu asks from the table, noticing that Kira seems pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. “Uh, don’t worry about them. I mean, Yumi…” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “Well… we both know how he is, I guess. Lonely sometimes…gotta make the best of what he’s got, right?” he offers. “I know how that is too.”
Kira drops his salad tongs.
Iba curses internally. “I mean! That is… well.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I haven’t been paid any attention to by someone else for a while, is all I’m sayin’, I guess.” He stands and moves towards Kira then, helping him pick up the dropped tongs. “Er… sorry.”
“No, it’s okay… I’m just clumsy,” the blond assures him, taking the utensil back and thinking he knows a little of what it’s like to not have any attention paid to him either.
“Aw well, I’m pretty clumsy too,” Tetsu chuckles, kind of wishing that Izuru would be a little less nervous around him. It makes him nervous too… in a sort of weirdly endeared, warm way. “We’re quite the match, eh?”
Pause.
Backtrack.
“Er…I mean! I mean…”
Kira laughs a little bit at that, because the two of them really are kind of ridiculous like this. Everything is a little ridiculous today actually, and all he’d really wanted was to invite the other man over to share a meal.
Well, he thinks that’s all he really wanted.
As if on cue, the wall-pounding resumes.
Both of the current inhabitants turn to look at each other in panic.
But on seeing one another’s vaguely horrified expressions, neither can help but smile, but laugh a bit incredulously at their joint discomfort. “So…” Tetsu begins, as if wanton sex sounds aren’t coming from the neighbors. “What’s on the menu?”
Kira tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and chuckles breathlessly. “Um… just tonkatsu curry with rice,” Kira admits. “Soup and salad…I guess…pretty standard.”
Tetsu grins. “Standard? Oh man… you obviously don’t know what I have to eat when I’m on my own.” Looking at Kira anticipatorily, he can’t help but add, “Seems I’m a pretty lucky bastard for havin’ all the prettiest guys around wantin’ to make me food.”
Kira blinks.
Turns red. “Ah! I should um… I should go check the curry,” he murmurs, heart pounding in his chest at the compliment.
It’s strange to be noticed suddenly, to be complimented like this… it’s all rather otherworldly to the young blond. To be someone’s sole focus for even a moment?
It’s…nice.
Tetsu watches his lunch date scurry off into the kitchen, not quite believing his own words just now. He’s never been the aggressive type--knows that for a fact-but there’s something weird going on here, where he feels like he should take the lead or something when he looks at Izuru. Like it’s time to step up.
At that very second, a particularly punctuated “Aaaaaugh!!!” comes from next door.
Blushing, Tetsu can’t help but wonder if the timing means that Yumi’s secretly cheering him on.
Well, given that Kira’s another guy it only figures Yumi would.
That in mind, Tetsu moves to help Kira dish out their lunch, wondering if the blond knows that when he blushes, it goes all the way down his neck.
Maybe even further, but Tetsu can’t see past the collar of his shirt and…
He pauses.
He really shouldn’t think like that he tells himself, thinks that maybe it’s perverted to be standing here staring at the back of a guy’s neck when all Izuru had really wanted was to invite a friend over for lunch.
Unless that isn’t all Kira wanted, but he can’t be sure.
Maybe he should ask, or something. Put it out there.
And then he can’t believe he’s thinking like that.
Tetsu wonders if isn’t the sex sounds from next door that’s reminding him (well, parts of him anyway) that he’s a guy with needs. Maybe that’s what’s making him a little less afraid right now.
Or maybe it’s just Izuru, who looks like he’s nervous enough for the both of them as he concentrates really hard on ladling curry out, his hands trembling just a little bit (and not because the walls are).
Tetsu can’t help but think that maybe that’s a sign.
It’s been so damn long he can’t be sure, but the parts of him that remember how this whole courtship game is supposed to be played out recalls that the nervousness he feels, the one that Izuru looks like he feels, is definitely a sign.
“Hey…lemme help you,” Tetsu urges once again, coming up behind Kira on the stove. “I can um… do the curry part. Heh, I know how to ladle at least.”
Kira jumps a little at the sound of his voice, and Tetsu watches, fascinated, as the blond turns to look up at him, cheeks flushed. “Ah… o-okay.”
He lets Tetsu take the ladle from him, breath shaky when he feels their fingertips brush. “I…I’ll check the oven… the um, the t-tonkatsu should be warm again now…” He murmurs, averting his eyes and looking at the other man’s chest instead.
That’s a sign too, Iba thinks, and damned if his heart rate isn’t speeding up from just that shy look from Izuru, from the excited fear he can feel radiating off of both of them.
Does he go forward? Does he press the issue? Or does he retreat, let them go back to the safe equilibrium they’ve been balancing precariously atop for a while now?
It’s the anticipation of action, of moving from straddling the fence and taking the plunge in either direction that has them strung like this, he thinks. Not knowing who’s going to do what now, not knowing what’s going to happen next.
And-he can’t help but think, wryly-- a vaguely pornographic ambience to go with all of that at the same time.
Well hell, it really has been too long or something, because Tetsu isn’t as reluctant as he usually is when you put it all together like that.
He decides he’s pretty much ready to go ahead and jump off the fence.
Catching Kira’s wrist before the other man can flee again-this time to the oven-Tetsu pulls the surprised blond up against him and wraps his arms around that little waist before kissing Izuru right then and there, right up against the kitchen counter while the walls are still banging the next room over.
When he feels Kira’s hands tentatively come up to touch his face, he smiles into the kiss and can’t help but think that yeah, there might be something to this whole ‘be aggressive’ mindset after all.
END
Title: Be Quiet!
Characters: IbaxKira, ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: A week or two after “Be Aggressive!”- sometime in the future.
Rating: PG-15? Haha YEAH.
Summary: Omake to “Be Aggressive!”- The walls are too damn thin sometimes.
He’s lying in bed staring at the ceiling, little aches and pains that aren’t at all unwelcome twinging deliciously in the muscles of his thighs and back every time he moves.
Shuuhei’s in the shower-he can hear the water running-and stretching luxuriously, Yumichika touches his own chest dreamily, curling the sheets covering him in his fingers and knowing he’ll be sore tomorrow. He doesn’t care in the least.
Shuuhei had been very good to him tonight, despite being half out of his mind with want after two weeks apart and unable to quite make it to the bed the first time around--Yumi will have to make sure nothing got on the carpet later, he does have a deposit on this place after all-- but he’s too busy basking to think much on it besides.
What he should be thinking about is getting them something to eat, because if Shuuhei had missed the sex as much as he’d indicated last night, Yumi can imagine that he’d missed the food too, and who out there is going to take care of Shuuhei properly if Yumi doesn’t first?
He entertains the thought of Eggs Benedict and bacon… maybe biscuits if Shuuhei doesn’t decide to jump him when he puts his apron on and take away his baking preparation time to prepare other things instead. Though on second thought, that could be fun too.
Yumi giggles to himself and rolls onto his side, deciding to wait until Shuuhei comes out of the shower to ask him what he wants to do for breakfast.
He’s considerate like that.
A little while later he hears the water shut off, and a little after that Shuuhei comes out with a towel slung low over his waist, looking refreshed as he runs his fingers through slightly dripping hair.
He eyes Yumichika on the bed as he comes out and the corners of his lips quirk upward ever-so-slightly at the sight greeting him, enough so that looking at that almost-smile, Yumichika thinks he wouldn’t mind another go right now if he could get one.
“God, don’t look at me like that,” Shuuhei murmurs, reading the expression on his lover’s face accurately. “I just got clean.”
Yumi laughs, and the sound of it is lovely enough, genuine enough, for Shuuhei to sigh and pad back over to the bed, touching the other man’s cheek as he leans down for another kiss. “Mmm, I can get dirty again later I guess,” he surmises, when they break apart. “Breakfast now?”
“Was thinking just that,” Yumi says, sitting up. “What would you like?”
Something along the lines of, “Something sweet I can lick off of every inch of you,” crosses Hisagi’s mind, but his empty stomach protests at the thought and he says, “Eggs sound good,” instead.
Yumi beams and presses another quick kiss to Shuuhei’s lips. “Got it. And then… we can work on getting you all dirty again, ne?”
Shuuhei raises his eyebrows at that, liking the sound of this new idea. He’s even on the verge of telling Yumi just that…
…when the earthquake starts.
“The hell is that?” Shuuhei exclaims when the banging begins, automatically reaching for the gun that isn’t there (considering he’s in nothing but his towel and all the other places he could have hidden are clean-Yumi checked a few minutes ago) out of habit.
They listen to the sound of something like rhythmic pounding, the wall on the bathroom side of Yumi’s bedroom reverberating enough to jostle some of the knick-knacks on the pretty host’s dresser.
After a moment of trying to figure out what’s going on, realization dawns and Yumi can’t help but laugh. “Oh my.”
Shuuhei doesn’t quite get it as fast as his lover, at least, not until he hears a rather emphatic “Aaaaaaugh!!!” come, muffled, from the other side.
“No way,” he mutters, blinking.
Yumi chuckles at the other man’s expression. “Seems that Kira-kun has finally gotten someone to his bedroom,” the smaller man murmurs, delighted at the thought.
Shuuhei, frowning, stares at the thumping wall. “You gotta put up with that a lot, babe?” he asks, not believing that this Kira person was just starting to have sex at-he checks the wall clock-9 am.
Talk about disturbing the neighbors.
“No, I don’t put up with it a lot. This is the first time, actually…” Yumi assures his frowning lover. “It’s good for him. He always seems so nervous. Maybe this will get rid of some of the tension,” he muses aloud, wondering what kind of woman-or more likely, man given the looks of him--- Izuru has brought home with him today. He entertains the thought of stopping by to visit his neighbor sometime later in the week and get all the dirty details that the cute blond is willing to give out.
Shuuhei rolls his eyes at the anticipatory look in Yumi’s eye. “Aw, c’mon, babe,” he starts, “that’s none of your business.”
“Still… it would be fun to find out, don’t you think?” Yumi poses.
“What, you think it’s someone you know?” Shuuhei asks, arching a brow at the other man.
“No,” Yumi responds. “But that doesn’t mean it’s still not fun to think about…”
Before he can finish however, there’s another thump-this one a bit louder than the rest-punctuated with a rather emphatic, “Nnnnnngh!!!”
Yumi’s eyes widen.
“TETSU?”
END
Title: Riding in Cars with Strangers
Characters: Il FortexUrquiola (non-con? O.o)
Timeline: Future. Yes. Unclear when, but…future. Or, AU even. Just make it it's own AU.
Rating: R (o.o)
Summary: What was it that parents are always telling their children about getting into cars with strange men? In either case it’s not his fault. He never had parents to tell him about stuff like this.
It’s not his usual guard dog sent to gather him today, he notes with something vaguely like suspicion.
The black car that’s pulled up to the front of the school gate and the white-haired young man leaning against it waiting for him are not entirely unfamiliar, but, he thinks, far too conspicuous for something as simple as picking him up from school.
Instantly wary, Urquiola does his best to ignore the curious murmurs of his classmates as they prepare to leave the grounds and quickens his pace towards the man of Ichimaru’s who is waiting for him. His allegiance in the organization is obvious to the younger boy because looking at him; the white-haired Arrancar seems to be all good looks and not much of anything else.
Il Forte grins when he sees his target for the afternoon, the one that required Grimmjaw being chained up (literally) for the day in order for the change of chaperones to take place without a hitch. Smiling, the white-haired Arrancar makes a bow of melodramatic grace when the boy increases his speed towards the waiting car, Urquiola obviously hoping to get out of here quickly and without generating more fuss than Il Forte’s presence already has.
Putting out his cigarette, the older man opens the door for Urquiola, who allows one sharp look at his colleague before slipping wordlessly into the backseat.
That done, Il Forte closes the door behind him, humming a bit, before letting himself into the car from the other side, giving the driver the go-ahead to leave.
He remains silent until the car stops at it's first red light, a small smile playing on his lips as he feels the other boy’s nervousness steadily increase with each passing moment of silence between them.
When Urquiola finally gives in, opening his mouth to speak, Il Forte jumps in smoothly, anticipating the question and answering it before it can even be asked.
“Grimmjaw is…indisposed for the afternoon. Aizen-sama’s orders.”
Urquiola scoffs internally at the other Arrancar’s arrogance. “I was going to ask why you were here,” he says then, dryly enough that it steals some of the long-haired gangster’s thunder.
Il Forte eyes the younger boy for a moment, before dismissing the comment with a flick of his wrist. “Aizen-sama’s orders, kid,” he states with no small amount of wicked glee. “You’ve been a bad boy and I’ve been sent to….well, punish you, I suppose.”
Urquiola’s brow knits in irritation-he doesn’t like being disciplined by those he considers inferior to him. Especially when he doesn’t know why he’s in need of reprimand.
But Aizen-sama knows that about Urquiola perhaps, and is apparently displeased with the young Arrancar enough that he took great pains to make this as humiliating as possible for the teenager.
His heart does sink a little at that, wondering what he could have done recently to displease his benefactor into letting one of Ichimaru’s henchmen into the mix.
This time Il Forte makes sure he’s reading the kid’s expression correctly before he says anything, and smiling as he pours himself a drink from the limo’s mini-bar, murmurs, “Little boys shouldn’t be striking deals with big names like it’s their place to make those sorts of grown-up decisions all on their own,” before taking a sip, eyeing the younger man for a reaction anticipatorily.
Urquiola disappoints him by doing nothing more than blinking. “Is that it?” he asks, irritated by the other man’s seeming superiority. “I’m ranked highly enough that I can offer the information I know in exchange for whatever strikes my interest. At my own discretion.”
Il Forte loves this, the indignation on that cute little face, and setting his drink down, lights up a cigarette. “Apparently not.”
Urquiola frowns. “Besides, the information I’ve offered Kyouraku-san thus far is inconsequential. There’s no need for concern.”
Il Forte puffs on his smoke indulgently, letting his young charge for the afternoon simper on as much as he wants about how inconsequential his knowledge is… that isn’t the point.
The point is that involving a big name like the Kyouraku family unnecessarily in the life of the Arrancar is sure to make a lot of powerful people uneasy, and the fact that Shunsui is interested at all in the gang activity makes him a possible target-no matter how powerfully connected-for assassination should he find out too much.
Aizen doesn’t want to lose the good faith of the Kyouraku, but he’s not above killing one if it gets to that.
As it is, he’d been in a position to not have to do that until Urquiola had agreed to their little information exchange and now, well, now the unpleasantness of such a task will always be hanging over the heads of the Arrancar no matter what the lounge singer may or may not know. The importance of any bit of information is liquid really…it changes with every move each opposing side implements.
And the Arrancar don’t want that leaked in an unsightly puddle all over the floor, after all.
“I don’t think it’s your place to question how Aizen-sama chooses to punish you, do you?” Il Forte asks absently after a moment, examining the burning end of his cigarette as the fire hungrily eats away at the instrument currently giving it life. “Aizen-sama has decided to leave you in my hands. From there, all you need be is obedient.”
Urquiola feels something a lot like rage settle in the pit of his stomach when Il Forte puts it like that, when the arrogant bastard sits there and presumes to know Aizen-sama personally or something, rather than simply being a lackey to a lackey, Ichimaru’s right-hand man obviously there for little else beyond good looks and a personality that’s far too eager to please.
The thoughts turn out to be his mistake, as they take him momentarily away from the present situation, enough so that Il Forte can see the derision in Urquiola’s face and get irritated at it himself.
A hand shoots out between them and Urquiola suddenly feels fingers clamping around his throat, the larger bulk of Il Forte pushing him back and pinning him, making it impossible to struggle upward when he’s being shoved down against the seat of the limousine.
“My, such arrogance,” Il Forte breathes, looking down at his captive with a mixture of anticipation and irritation. “Is this how it is when you’re important enough to have some mindless watchdog at your beck and call? He makes you confident, doesn’t he? Such a small fellow like yourself… so much attitude. Someone like you would need a babysitter.”
Urquiola bristles at the jab regarding his capability, and he grabs at the hand around his throat, trying to dislodge it.
“Ah, behave, little one,” Il Forte breathes. “I’ve got the order in my pocket if you’d like to see it, hand-signed by Aizen-sama himself this morning. You’re to show me that you know how to obey properly, as a good underling should.”
Urquiola stays his hand at that, automatically subdued by the confidence in the other man’s voice, at the way he knows for certain, that any order from Aizen-sama will be taken as law by the smaller Arrancar. “Obey?” he asks, stomach churning at the sound.
“Aa. Obey,” Il Forte murmurs wickedly, excited about the prospect of taking this young flesh before that loudmouthed idiot Grimmjaw, of being able to flaunt it in the hooligan’s face and get away with it scott-free and with the blessings of their superiors on top of that.
He feels the fight leave Urquiola then, the boy still trying to regain some of his pride even as he turns his head to the side submissively, eyes glaring sharply up at Il Forte when the other Arrancar begins to unfasten the fly of the younger man’s school pants.
“Make it quick then,” Urquiola sighs drolly, moving to help remove his clothing.
Il Forte snorts at that, swatting his ward’s hands away from the shirt. “No one told you to move, kid,” he breathes, taking great delight in frustrating Urquiola’s efforts for a quick and less-painful fuck. “Leave the shirt on.”
Urquiola can’t help but scoff when he hears the command, though his hands drop back down to the leather seat anyway, the younger boy figuring that any man of Gin’s would have to be a filthy pervert.
“I need this for school tomorrow,” he protests, flatly.
Il Forte smirks and his expression is enough to make Urquiola sick to his stomach. “I know.”
It’s both an embarrassment and a duty he knows, a baring of his repentant neck to bigger, stronger pack mates than himself, and so he bears it with as much quiet dignity as he can, when he feels hungry eyes take him in, when he feels hands that aren’t right at all begin to wind their way under his uniform.
He shudders when Il Forte’s nails scratch across the delicate skin on his back, Urquiola still in many ways, virginal, untouched beyond one fumbling encounter in the Kurotsuchi home many weeks before.
And Il Forte takes great delight in knowing about Urquiola’s inexperience, in wrenching a reaction from the younger boy who is still new enough to the game than to be able to control himself fully.
He works with that then, touches Urquiola just enough to make his breath speed up a little, to make his body-if not his mind-anticipate the act of sex.
It’s his own growing arousal that bothers him the most, he thinks. That such a disgusting man can take advantage of the knowledge Ichimaru has imparted upon him to render Urquiola very slightly quivering under his hands is the most annoying thing about all of this.
Il Forte chuckles darkly when Urquiola doesn’t quite manage to hold back a sharp cry as the older man presses his palm into Urquiola’s pants, rubbing skillfully, confidently, until the youth is hard in his hand, teeth clenched and face flushed.
“My, that guard dog of yours not taking proper care of you? You’re quite the eager one,” he murmurs teasingly, perversely delighted that he won’t simply get to relish taking Urquiola, but that he has the opportunity to make the younger boy ashamed about it, as well.
It’s one thing to fuck an unruly subordinate for punishment, but it’s so much more interesting when a part of them-no matter how small-wants it too.
Drawing the fingers of one hand into his mouth while pulling the smaller Arrancar’s pants and underwear down past his hips with the other, Il Forte nudges quivering knees apart and catches Urquiola’s eye as he wets his index and middle fingers.
This is going to take infinitely more tenderness than he’d first anticipated.
But sometimes, as Ichimaru-sama has taught him, that can be much worse.
Urquiola can’t quite bite back all of a pain-filled cry when he feels the first finger push into him with agonizing slowness, his breath short and his blood pounding in his ears as he feels his calves tighten reflexively, feels the need to squirm away from the intrusive touch.
Il Forte holds him there; hand on his chest as he smiles and murmurs maddeningly encouraging words to the younger boy, orders hidden clumsily in praise.
He manages not to scream again when a second is added, swallowing air in huge gulps to quell his gasps as Il Forte stretches him apart slowly.
Urquiola’s fingers curl into fists at his side, hard enough for his nails to break skin.
Eventually he adjusts to the intrusion, feels himself lose some of the awful tension in his back. It’s enough then, that he can notice that it feels as if Il Forte is searching for something inside of him, the older Arrancar’s breath coming more and more shallowly the more he pushes into the teenager, and when he finally finds his mark, he wrenches a disbelieved groan from his victim. He smiles in triumph at that, withdrawing immediately to watch the stars dance behind Urquiola’s hooded eyes. “What…” the boy can’t help but demand, short on air. “What was…”
Il Forte’s expression is disgustingly smug, and reaching down to unfasten his own pants, he leans over Urquiola until his larger frame is flush atop the shaking boy. “That,” he murmurs with something almost akin to tenderness, “is what is possible.”
Without pausing another second, he thrusts forward then, trailing his tongue along Urquiola’s throat when the teen screams at the abruptness of his entry, the feeling of blood and fire ripping through Urquiola as Il Forte’s larger hands pin him down, keep him still until the older man is fully seated. “This,” Il Forte finishes with a low chuckle, “is what you get.”
Something like tears come to the corner of Urquiola’s eyes as he shakes under the long-haired Arrancar’s weight, and as Il Forte draws his tongue along the tracks to taste the salt water there, he can’t help but think to himself that this is much better than he’d anticipated, his hips working mercilessly as he imagines what fun the future will bring when Grimmjaw learns of this, when Urquiola will be unwilling to be touched like this ever again because of the memory of Il Forte’s actions here.
Savoring the taste of salt on his tongue, Il Forte smiles and finishes not long after, taking great pleasure in finally getting to share some of the lessons Ichimaru-sama has so painstakingly sought to impart upon him.
It’s like Gin always says, after all.
Why go for the kill when you can go for the hurt?
END
Title: Pointy-haired Bastard
Characters: AkonxMayuri
Timeline: AU (hopefully. O.o)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For our first in-chat question winner! Here you go, Sid! XD
“Insolent…”
Akon grins.
Mayuri scowls at that reaction, changes direction. “Your hair…”
Akon’s eyes sparkle. “What about my hair?”
“Argh.” Mayuri wants to throw something at him. “You’re just a…”
“Yeah?”
“Would you stop it and let me…”
The younger researcher starts chuckling. “I’m sorry, Mayuri-sama, for interrupting. Please go on…”
Kurotsuchi snarls. “I should have you…”
“Have me however you’d like, sir.”
The last word (which had been ‘fired’ by the way) dies on the older scientist’s lips.
He sputters instead.
“What? Excuse me…did you just….did you…what?”
Akon’s smile gives Mayuri cause to take a step backwards, the younger man advancing with an all too knowing look in his eye as he slowly removes his coat. “I think I just did,” he answers, strangely charmed by his superior’s bug-eyed disbelief.
Two more steps forward and then Akon kisses him, right up against the file cabinet.
He laughs when Mayuri bites him in retaliation.
“Bastard,” Kurotsuchi snarls.
“Yeah,” Akon responds, before leaning forward and doing it again.
END
Title: Coming to an Understanding
Characters: IkkakuxShuuhei, mentioned ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: AU (hopefully. O.o)
Rating: R
Summary: For Virgo and her winning statement. The prompt was: MS!IkkakuxShuuhei- Hot Angry Sex. I still suck at pron. O.o
Yumi’s mad at both of them ever since that disaster where the both of them had shown up to take him home, has refused to talk or even see either of them-in what is turning out to be one of his more legendary fits of huffiness-- for a good three weeks now, the pretty host claiming that until they come to some sort of an understanding, the streak will continue as is.
Ikkaku likes to tell himself that he doesn’t care. The little fruit is better off leaving him the fuck alone.
Doesn’t explain why the hell he feels so damn rotten about it though.
Whatever he’s feeling however, Shuuhei’s gotta be feeling worse. He ain’t gettin’ any and has to deal with Yumi bein’ sore at him.
Madarame comforts himself with the thought. A little.
The bald bartender sighs and takes another swipe at the already pristine bar top, looking down into the wood and nearly blinding himself when he sees the light, infinitely bouncing back and forth between the reflections of his head and the flat surface of the bar.
Best damn cleaning he’s ever given the Brigand, hands down.
He tosses the rag aside and thinks he should be more satisfied with his good work than he is.
He growls.
“Fuckin’ stupid turn-coat friend-stealing…”
“Bastard,” Shuuhei snarls as he storms into the Brigand, practically kicking the door open and coming face to face with the current object of his intense and burning hatred in the process.
“You!!!” they shout simultaneously, glowering at each other from across the expanse.
It’s a bit of a blur from there for both of them, but Shuuhei remembers stalking over to the bar and grabbing two fistfuls of the bald idiot’s shirt, hauling him bodily over the wood without so much as a how-do-you-do, the blood pumping in his ears in a familiar rush of adrenaline and manic glee.
It had been too long since he’d last felt like this, since he’d let his mask of cold professionalism loose for a moment and just let himself go, let himself enjoy a good brawl like he used to do in past days, in a past life. But even after all this time he remembers it like he’d done it just yesterday.
It’s like riding a bicycle.
It’s a thing that never leaves you. You can’t ever forget standing there, face-to-face, one-on-one with someone else, the only weapons your fists and your words and the thrum of angry energy in your veins like a drug.
Maybe the fight was what Ikkaku’d needed too, because there had been a familiar grin across the idiot’s face, a kind of now we’re talkin’ type of expression in his eyes as he’d flung himself bodily into the brawl too, the two of them knocking over carefully placed chairs, shattering a table, punching a hole in the wall as they moved together, exchanging blows, snarling insults, drawing blood.
This is the kind of understanding men like them come to, Shuuhei thinks. There’s no sitting down and talking out their problems here, no thought beyond listening to primal instincts as they tell you to change, to react, to move at the spur of a moment and never look back once.
Yumi wants them to come to an understanding?
This is the only sort of thing they understand from one another.
“You’re a damned coward!” Ikkaku pants after the initial exchange, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and smearing it across his chin as it wells up from his split lip. The bitter liquid tastes hot, tastes strong, riles him up even more as he cracks bruised knuckles, hoping that the blow to the gut he’d landed a few minutes ago has got Hisagi winded enough that the idiot can’t talk back.
“You’re a narrow-minded idiot!” Shuuhei grunts in automatic response, hand absently rubbing at his abdomen as he fights to control his breathing through clenched teeth, regain his equilibrium.
The respite is brief, however-- Madarame takes another swing at him upon hearing that, frustrated that the bastard can still form words coherently. Shuuhei takes advantage of the wild swing and ducks under the other man’s fist, barreling into Ikkaku’s middle on the follow through and lifting him up, slamming his kidneys back into the bar and knocking the air from Ikkaku’s lungs, making his vision black out a little around the edges on impact.
Head spinning and pumped full of enraged adrenaline, Ikkaku manages to wrap one arm around Hisagi and slam down on the Arrancar’s back with the elbow of the other, sending them both tumbling to the ground in awkward heap.
There’s a half-dazed struggle from there, Shuuhei rolling onto his back and gasping, trying to dislodge Ikkaku’s larger bulk from atop him while Ikkaku does just the opposite, wrapping both arms around Hisagi’s chest and pinning him down, trying to maneuver his legs to cover his opponent’s too, to use his greater weight to immobilize the bastard, keep him from kicking at parts Ikkaku’d like kept intact after this is all said and done.
Shuuhei head butts him though, sharp enough at the chin that he feels his muscles freeze for a bit as his brain rattles in his skull a bit too loudly for his liking, and snarling past the pain, he grunts “You goddamned fucking fuck!” in Hisagi’s ear, tasting blood from where his tongue sliced itself open on his molars from the Arrancar’s last blow.
“You wish,” Shuuhei growls, half-out of breath as they lie like that on the floor of a shattered Brigand, blood and hatred thrumming between them strong enough to conduct a current.
It’s plainly a challenge, the words, and half-out of his mind with something, Ikkaku can’t back off, can’t let the fucker have the satisfaction of knowing that there’s anything left in him Ikkaku can’t beat him at.
Especially not now.
“Die,” he snarls, before his lips are devouring Hisagi’s, the cut on his mouth stinging happily when he feels the Arrancar hiss into him a moment later, feels teeth gnashing against the sensitive parts inside, scraping his sliced up tongue so that they can both taste the blood on it whenever they move, whenever they breathe.
There’s no explanation for it really, just instinct again, the tuning out of rational thought to pure, primal impulses and the need to draw more blood, to distinguish winner from loser, dominate from subordinate.
Ikkaku feels hands pushing at him a moment later, surprisingly well-muscled arms shoving him over unexpectedly, practiced limbs immobilizing him with just a shift of weight and a bucking upward motion of hips.
“Fuckin’…. Aaagh!!”
His protests are cut off when the fly of his pants is popped open by amazingly quick fingers, and arching up, the bald bartender tries to dislodge his biceps from the hold Shuuhei has on them, the way the other man’s hands are suddenly clamped around the muscles keeping his shoulders surprisingly well-pinned. “Goddamned shit-ass fucking…..naaaaargh!!”
He manages to twist his arms in that grip, bring them up so his fingers can dig into Hisagi’s forearms as he throws his pelvis upwards, trying to dislodge the hips clamped down around him, the knee that’s now working his unbuttoned pants from his body.
Shuuhei grunts when he feels nails digging into the soft undersides of his arms, flinching reflexively so that Ikkaku manages to wrench one shoulder free, wrapping his liberated arm around Hisagi’s back and yanking him down against his chest so he loses the precious leverage he’d had on Madarame’s shoulders.
He moves with every intention of biting the bastard when their lips smash together again, his pants halfway down his hips and his cock pounding blood between his legs in anticipation of violence, of fucking, of something, as long as it has to do with winning. He feels his teeth scrape Hisagi’s bottom lip before gnashing downwards, biting hard enough to break the Arrancar’s skin there.
Shuuhei gasps, breath heaving into Madarame’s open mouth when he feels the other man draw blood, though he’s more surprised when moments later, two big fistfuls of his expensive shirt are curled up into Ikkaku’s fingers, pulled sideways until the first three buttons pop off. He feels the seams starting to tear against his back, retaliates by rubbing his knee at Ikkaku’s groin, not hard enough to hurt but just shy of that.
Ikkaku grunts, moves his hands lower, leaving Shuuhei’s shirt hanging-destroyed-off of one shoulder as he laps up blood from their mouths, not sure who’s it is but uncaring anyway, mind focused on the heat rushing through his body when he feels Shuuhei knead his cock through his boxers- half warning, more horny than anything else.
Feeling unnecessarily exposed under the intensity of Hisagi’s gaze, Ikkaku works his hands down to the other man’s crotch too, grabs him through his pants and squeezes, earning a grunt that’s half moan and half annoyance, the sound of which offers some respite from his own arousal when Shuuhei’s hips jerk, giving him the leeway he needs to think a bit, to coordinate his fingers to move how he wants, to unzip the fly and slip inside, show this asshole who’s really in charge here.
He shifts when Shuuhei makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he gets him hot and hard in his hand, Madarame biting down on the pretty boy’s neck hard enough to bruise, though he doesn’t break skin.
“Heh…I’m…winning, fucker,” he breathes into Shuuhei’s ear with a smirk, hand still working the dark-haired man’s cock through his silky underwear, Shuuhei shuddering on top of him.
“Not over yet,” Hisagi hisses back breathily, fingers gingerly at his throat where Ikkaku had bit him but eyes still defiant all the same.
“Won’t change the outcome either way,” Ikkaku growls, hand working Shuuhei with long, firm strokes, fist squeezing like he’s trying to prove a point.
He doesn’t know what point that is exactly, but the way Shuuhei grits his teeth like he’s in pain is all the payoff he needs to keep going anyway.
Two can play at that game, Shuuhei thinks, trying to keep his hips from automatically thrusting into Ikkaku’s forceful hand. The bastard doesn’t need the satisfaction and no matter how you look at it, he’s hard and panting too, the smug fucker.
Rush of battle, joy of violence, whatever. First one who gets off loses.
That underlying threat firmly in mind, Shuuhei reaches down again, forgetting about trying to get the bastard’s pants completely off of him at that point. Time wasted when the results are going to be the same either way, he thinks, grasping Ikkaku’s cock through the cloth instead, squeezing with his hand with the kind pressure he knows Yumi likes, the one that gets those cute little breathy cries coming out of the pretty host’s perfect mouth whenever they’re hot and horny like this in bed.
Thinking about that doesn’t help his current situation though, and while Ikkaku’s combination grunting and snorting reaction to his hand’s movements aren’t nearly the same, Shuuhei finds himself dangerously pushing the edge thinking about Yumi, about that sleek, tiny body he hasn’t had for too long, the soft cries and gently mischievous eyes, the dirty little mouth and the wet, tight fit that makes him come so hard he’s not sure he’s going to live through it each time it happens.
He bites his lip imagining that, feels his hips thrusting unwillingly into Ikkaku’s larger, clumsier hand all the same, his own working frantically at the bartender’s twitching cock, forgoing rubbing him through his boxers and slipping inside so it’s skin on skin when the Arrancar feels himself growing increasingly more frantic, determined to take any advantage he can to hurry and finish this, hurry up and get home to Yumi and screw it if the other man is mad at him, he’ll find a way to make it better, he always does-- just needs a chance to apologize, some fancy presents, gentle touches until the pretty host is in a forgiving mood, kisses growing in firmness, gently increasing intensity and before long clothes will be all over the floor, maybe they’ll be too, too desperate to make it to the bed so they’ll go for it right there on the living room floor, thrusting up against each other like animals fort round one, just the touch and feel of each other enough to get off that crucial first time, make it so they can relax for the second go a little later, try the fancy stuff even, mouth and ass or both, on the floor, the couch, the dining table, in the hallway, up against the bedroom wall, stumble to the bed, be exhausted but wanting more anyway, pounding into the mattress for the grand finale until the neighbors bang on the wall and tell them to quiet down as they cuddle up close afterwards, laughing at each other because they know they’re both gonna be sore come morning.
The thoughts have the predictable effect and beating Ikkaku is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind at the moment, clumsy hand jobs in dark bars during the middle of the afternoon the last thing he wants when he knows there’s a perfect, pale body that could be arching beneath him instead, delicate features and long, pale fingers wrapped around him rather than the angry, rough-patched ones below, attached to a hand that’s too big and comparatively clumsy, kisses from a dirty mouth he can taste cigarettes on instead of sugar and cum the way he likes best.
Ikkaku grits his teeth and feels his cock surge under Shuuhei’s ministrations, cursing himself because it’s been one hell of a dry spell for the past few months and a hand that’s anyone else’s is a thousand times better than his own, especially directly on him now, the cheap bastard slipping into his boxers without warning. Ikkaku bites the Arrancar’s exposed shoulder to stifle back a blatant shout when Shuuhei’s thumb flicks over the swollen tip of his long neglected cock, though it comes out as a whiny grunt they can both hear anyway, a little “Haaaagh!!” badly muffled into Hisagi’s skin. Madarame thinks it’s really fuckin’ unfair; the bastard has an advantage ‘cuz he’s got more practice and … “Nnnnngh…asshole!!!”
The exclamation is a futile attempt at last-minute defiance because Ikkaku comes right then, mind going blank as white hot heat wipes out every last shot, the taller man shuddering into Shuuhei’s hand through gritted teeth as he does, almost like he doesn’t want to admit it. But the evidence is there, sticky-wet between the other man’s fingers, remnants on his boxers and jeans and even between their still-clothed stomachs as well.
There’s something like a charge of triumphant joy when Shuuhei feels the other man’s cock jerk and twitch against his palm like that, when he feels a warm familiar wetness squelch against his fingertips, and it’s a split second later when the Arrancar follows his rival and comes too, certain in his victory for this time, this fight, and not seeing a need to hold back any more. Groaning, he lurches forward, smacks his head against Madarame’s shoulder as he does, curses pouring out of him like the cum from his balls as he releases right into the other man’s hand, messing his pants for any future use but too steeped in the rush of the win to care at the moment.
“Hah…hah…I win,” he declares a breath later, when he can speak again.
The victory, like the blood on his lips, tastes amazing.
It’s short-lived.
“Oh, you won then? How nice for you, darling.”
BBoth men freeze on the floor at the sound of that voice. They hear two footsteps next; feel a shadow being cast over their prone bodies.
And very slowly, they will themselves to look up-though they don’t want to, would like nothing more than to fall into a hole in the earth infinite miles deep right now. But they do it anyway because they’ve got to and they see a silhouette in the process, the dim backlighting of the overhead lights making it impossible to see the details of newcomer’s face right away.
It isn’t necessary.
Shuuhei feels his mouth go dry, feels Ikkaku tense beneath him.
Horrified, they both watch as Yumi comes into focus as he draws closer yet, stopping a foot away and standing over the two of them appraisingly in the quiet of the still-closed bar, one delicate eyebrow arched and looking surprisingly calm.
Perhaps too much so.
“Tell me,” the pretty host begins after a moment, crossing his arms, “what exactly, have you won?” Pause. “Or, depending on who I’m talking to here… what was lost?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer of course, doesn’t even really care for one.
Not as though they could really give him one though, not one that would make things okay in any case.
Sighing, Yumichika turns around and goes home.
END
Title: Smug
Characters: AkonxMayuri
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Akon is infuriating.
He can feel the bastard’s eyes on him; can practically hear the little twerp’s smirk from here.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Wipe that ridiculous smile off your face.”
Akon’s grin widens. “Why?”
Figures the brat would do just the opposite of what he’d wanted. Mayuri snarls and tries to roll onto his side, so his back faces the spiky-haired idiot. He’s not about to get up out of the bed-it’s his bed after all-but the cold-shoulder approach should be enough of a sign for even a simpleton like Akon to realize how not wanted he is right now.
Except when the older man moves, there’s a twinge of pain in his lower back that convinces him it’s not a good idea to keep going.
So instead of settling on his side, he’s forced to stop halfway, shifts and turns his head so that he can glare at Akon accusatorily instead. “I’m sore.”
The statement doesn’t wipe the grin off the idiot’s face like it should. In fact, he chuckles.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Akon murmurs, still regarding Mayuri with an infuriating sense of smugness-accomplishment, maybe even.
The fact that Mayuri can’t really look at him in the eye right now might’ve helped to soften the blow of the more senior doctor’s accusations, the gloating idiot lying naked and unrepentant as he is and making it difficult for Mayuri to properly convey his absolute distaste and abhorrence of the spiky-headed twit.
“You’re not sorry,” the older man growls, feeling his eye twitch a bit at the patronizing tone the upstart little bastard is taking with him.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry,” Akon breathes, pausing to wrinkle his nose a bit. “Mostly I’m just sticky.”
The other doctor makes a disgusted face. “Insolent…”
“Shall I carry you?”
Mayuri pauses mid-insult, because as crazy as he believes the younger man to be, that statement had seemed even crazier than usual. “Are you insane?”
“Well if you’re sore, I should take responsibility, hmmm?” Akon poses, eyes still laughing at Mayuri rather shamelessly as he speaks whatever nonsense it is that he’s speaking. “I could carry you into work today, if you’d like. Wouldn’t that be terribly romantic?”
He wants to choke the life out of the arrogant little idiot when he hears that, he really does. Moves to do so even, except the ache in his back twinges reproachfully at him again when he tries it, leaving him half on his side and facing his tormenter with a rather pathetic scowl on his face instead.
Akon laughs outright at that, a mixture of mocking and fond and through it all, more amusement than anything else. Vaguely sympathetic however, he reaches out and tugs Mayuri forward like he’s been doing it all his life, tucking the protesting (and sore) doctor’s head under his chin without much effort. “Looks like I will have to carry you after all, then.”
“I’ll kill you.”
It’s more sulky than anything else when Mayuri says it, and Akon smirks at that, presses a condescending sort of kiss against the older man’s temple. “Don’t exert yourself much more, old man. I’m sure your aged body can’t take strain after strain piled on top of one another like that, and you’ve already had a busy night as it is,” he murmurs, smiling against Mayuri’s skin.
It earns the younger man a sharp rap on the chest (or two), but he’s laughing too hard for it to really hurt anyway.
END
Title: First Impression
Characters: GrimmxUrqui
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Grimmjaw is prepared for the worst.
He’s been looked down upon his whole life buy guys just like Urquiola.
The first time they meet he expects more of the same, expects arched eyebrows and delicate sniffs and general looks of disapproval.
He expects all that and imagines how he’s going to react, how he’ll be even more violent, even more ill-behaved, even more lewd than the stupid little prissy boy can ever have predicted.
He’ll outdo all their expectations and laugh at them as he does, will take the shorty’s surprise and feast on it.
He’s been looked down on his whole damn life by guys like that, after all. Quiet and neat-looking kids, smart in all the ways Grimmjaw isn’t but at the same time, too damn naïve for their own good.
The first time they meet, Grimmjaw sneers at Urquiola and has his smart ass comment all ready to go for when he gets that look, when he gets that arched eyebrow and those sniffs and those damned eyes full of disapproval.
When Urquiola looks at him for the first time, he’s ready for it.
The other boy walks up to him and says, “Hi.”
Sounds shy about it even, sort of uncertain. Does his best to look like he’s not though any idiot worth half a good goddamn knows otherwise.
Grimmjaw blinks.
His carefully prepared jab is lost somewhere in the back of his mind as he tries to process this.
He stares.
Urquiola blinks back at him then, and it doesn’t look like he expects a damn thing from Grimmjaw at all.
Grimmjaw says “hi,” back, and can’t believe it.
They look at each other for a while, and Grimmjaw is the first to avert his eyes.
Well dammit.
This just makes things unnecessarily complicated.
END
Title: Sing for Me
Characters: ShunxJyuu
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A complete work together.
Shunsui is filled with music-- nameless, wordless melodies that play through every part of him like the blood pumping through his veins.
A living breathing entity made up of a million unfinished symphonies.
Or, as his family had always called him-a work in progress.
Jyuushirou is full of words. He loves them, surrounds himself with them, lets them run through his mind in streams of meaning and depth and their own happy rhythm.
His greatest pleasure is a thick tome full of the beautiful words he likes so much, letters on a page creating a whole wide world for him, a place where he can lose himself for hours.
He is, as Shunsui calls him, the lyrics to Shunsui’s song.
That missing part of Kyouraku’s perfect symphony, the one he’d been looking for his whole life.
Jyuushirou smiles when the pianist says that, kisses Shun softly and asks him then, if that makes Shunsui the melody that he’d never been able to conquer in his own life before, the music he’d been missing that he can finally sing to.
Shunsui laughs and holds him close and agrees wholeheartedly. He hums in his Jyuu-chan’s ear when they make love and moves in time with Jyuushirou’s soft, keening cries, endless streams of murmured terms and phrases whispered from the white-haired man’s lips when they clasp hands and look at each other, both of them feeling like they only know the moves to this age old dance when it’s both of them linked together, Jyuu-chan the lyrics and Shun the melody and the song between them the perfect creation that only the two of them can make when they’re like this.
Shunsui keeps humming afterwards, when they’re tired and holding one another close, when he tucks his Jyuu-chan’s hair behind his ear and smiles against his skin.
Jyuushirou laughs at him, tells him outright that he can only be filled with so much music each night, you know.
Kyouraku begs to differ, always does, and leans forward for a kiss, coaxes another chorus of sighs and whispers from his lover’s lips before the night is very much through.
“Ah, Jyuu-chan,” he sing-songs, fingers running over the slope of the other man’s spine. “Just a little further yet, hmmm? We’ve only just hit the refrain, after all.”
He bends his head and touches their foreheads together then, smiling and hoping that his Jyuu-chan doesn’t mind singing for him just a little bit more.
END
Title: Fear Not
Characters: AizenxUrquiola, AizenxGinxUrquiola
Timeline: N/A
Rating: R
Summary: Urquiola admits to being afraid.
There’s something about Aizen-sama’s righthand man that sets Urquiola on edge, though he’d be loathe to admit it, though his pride doesn’t let him do any more than stiffen slightly when Ichimaru Gin passes him in a hallway, smiling in casual greeting, calling him “Aizen-yan’s puppy” and saluting as he heads to his office, presumably to kill small animals or rape young children or something to that effect.
He admits his fear only once, to Aizen-sama. They’re in his office and Urquiola is on his back atop the older man’s desk, panting and crying and arching into feather soft touches against his skin when Ichimaru breezes into the room, causing the young man to freeze, to reflexively still as Gin very casually hands Aizen a stack of folders, which the older man takes and sets aside, the two older Arrancar talking about the weather for a moment while Urquiola feels his skin crawl a little bit, even with Aizen-sama’s familiar hands on him, even with the rhythmic motion of his benefactor’s hips.
Ichimaru leaves then, and concerned at his little one’s tension, Aizen pauses for a moment, asking, “What’s wrong, Urqui?”
The younger Arrancar sighs, blushes sheepishly. “Nothing, Aizen-sama.”
“Come now, none of that. Tell me what’s bothering you, hmmm?”
And he’s always been weak to that tone, that gentle concern that Aizen-sama shows all of the people who serve him. “I… Ichimaru-san frightens me,” he admits, quietly.
“Oh my,” Aizen sighs, adjusting his glasses and looking genuinely troubled upon hearing that. “That just won’t do.”
Urquiola fidgets. “It won’t?”
But then Aizen’s hand is touching his cheek-tender as ever, and the older man smiles down at him benevolently. “I know just the cure. Will you be willing to try it for me, little one?”
Urquiola shivers, this time in delight, and nods before he knows what he’s getting into.
Aizen kisses him. “Wonderful.”
The next morning, when he is called into Aizen-sama’s office, Ichimaru is there, on his back atop Aizen’s desk as Urquiola had been just yesterday, panting and sighing and biting at Aizen-sama’s shoulder, his lips, his fingertips.
“A-aizen-sama?”
When he hears that his little one has arrived Aizen pauses, looks up from his task. “Come here, Urquiola.”
Obedient, the young Arrancar does as he’s told.
Aizen smiles and pulls out of Gin for just a moment, turning to the new arrival. “Take off your clothes, please.”
And Urquiola does exactly that, Gin’s snake eyes on him the entire time, making him shake just a little bit, though his pride forbids that he admit it to himself.
When he is naked Aizen touches him very gently, coaxes the same kind of quiet sighs and little moans from Urquiola just like normal, before lifting the young man up by the waist, depositing him shaking and confused, atop Gin on the desk. “There we are… nothing to be afraid of, ne?” Aizen asks, running fingers through Urquiola’s hair soothingly. “Everyone’s touch is the same when they care about you, little one.”
“Aa,” Gin agrees, smiling up at Urquiola and making his blood run cold. “Let’s get along, ne, puppy-han?”
END
Title: Cleaning Up
Characters: Kensei+Shinji
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing quite as devastating as a man in a suit.
“The hell do I gotta wear this monkey suit for?” Kensei grumbles, picking at his tie unhappily as he looks at the higher ranked Vizord, who’s eyeing him critically from the side.
“You, my dear boy, are the muscle for tonight,” Shinji explains, trying not to ogle too much. “And as this is a formal business meeting for potentially important future clients to the organization, you have to look presentable.”
Kensei glares.
“… well, more professional than normal in any case,” the blonde corrects, noting that the taller man is starting to get growly.
Not that that isn’t particularly appealing in its own way, but, as Shinji likes to say, they aren’t at the part of their relationship (yet) where Kensei getting aggressive with Shinji means anything remotely pleasant.
But it will someday.
He tells himself that as he stares at the silver-haired man’s ass through those tailored Gucci slacks (charcoal, not gray, dammit) while the oblivious Vizord fidgets with his tie more, frowning at his reflection in the mirror.
“Why the hell can’t I just wear black?” Kensei grunts, sighing after a minute and releasing the much-abused lavender tie. Crossing his arms, he turns back to Shinji. “I don’t like gray.”
The blonde twitches, but manages to keep his voice level, especially since Kensei crossing his arms like he just did makes for a particularly delicious silhouette of muscle under the cloth at the jacket’s shoulders.
“You clean up nicely when you put a suit on. And you look good in charcoal,” Shinji says patiently, reaching forward and straightening the tie for the fifth or sixth time.
Kensei fidgets at the blatant compliment. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Something like a lopsided grin comes to the other man’s face then, and he uncrosses his arms, even lets Shinji adjust his tie again (this time without resistance). “I guess this ain’t so bad,” he admits after a minute, looking thoughtful.
Shinji looks up at that, confused. “It isn’t?”
Still smirking, Kensei shakes his head. “Naw. Kind of don’t mind havin’ to dress like a priss given that I get to see you get all polite about it, ‘stead of how you’re usually a smart-ass know-it-all bastard.”
Hirako twitches. “Yeah?”
Kensei’s grin broadens. “Yeah. You act more like this, you’ll make some fella a pretty decent wife some day,” he snickers.
“Oi, watch what you…”
His words of protest trail off abruptly when Kensei suddenly leans down, stopping a breath before their noses touch and gazing down at the smaller man, looking devastatingly confident in his new clothes as he does. “Guess you clean up in certain ways pretty well yerself, there, Shin-chan.”
On the blonde’s dumbfounded look Kensei chuckles to himself and straightens again, strolling out of the room.
“Hurry your ass up, wife-of-mine, gotta go impress those damned fancy-pants clients, right?” he calls after him, prompting Shinji to move to catch up, the blonde gritting his teeth and swearing to god that the minute Kensei is out of that suit, he’s going to mess the big bastard up.
No amount of cock-teasing is worth ruining Gucci, after all.
END
Title: Be Aggressive! Be, Be Aggressive!
Characters: Iba+Kira, vaguely ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: I DUNNO… um. THE FUTURE. But it’s not important, I guess. XD
Rating: PG-15? Haha YEAH.
Summary: A lunch date and a nooner, all at the same time.
The rhythmic pounding against the wall causes Tetsu to blush and stare down at the cup of tea Izuru’s made for him, though he averts his eyes from that when the liquid inside his mug starts to reverberate with the same force as the rest of the room.
He laughs, and it sounds awkward and horrible. “Uh…so. You hear that a lot?” he asks, trying to make light of the situation. He digs his fingernails into his own thigh and tries not to recognize the fact that Yumi’s shouts from next door are starting to conjure up every dirty dream he’s ever had involving the other man.
Kira, cheeks pink, fidgets with his sleeve uncomfortably. “Um… not too often,” he admits with an embarrassed smile. “I think… Ayasegawa-san is alone more often than not.”
“Er…guess that gives him cause to be vocal…” Iba adds, and then can’t believe himself right after. “Er! I mean…” he coughs. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be perverted, Izuru.”
“It’s… it’s okay,” Kira assures the other man quickly. “I um…well, I invited you over for lunch didn’t I? I didn’t know um… I didn’t think… well, it’s noon.”
The pounding begins to slow after a moment, and both inhabitants of the next-door apartment can be heard making one last, climactic cry before everything gets silent.
And still.
“Oh thank god,” Tetsu breathes then, rubbing his forehead. “I thought they’d never stop.”
Kira, flushed bright red, nods and stands, moving to guide Iba to the table. “Um…lunch! We should have lunch,” he says, quickly.
Knowing his neighbors, the end of one round gives them a good thirty minute window to eat.
The blond Vizord sighs to himself internally as he begins bustling around the kitchen, thinking that he maybe should have invited Tetsu over for dinner instead given that Yumichika and his paramour seemed to be in the mood for a daytime marathon this time around.
But inviting Tetsu over to dinner might imply that he expected…well… and… Kira feels his ears heat up at the thought and shakes his head, trying to serve salad and not draw any unnecessary attention to himself.
“Hey, you need some help?” Tetsu asks from the table, noticing that Kira seems pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. “Uh, don’t worry about them. I mean, Yumi…” he says, trying to sound reassuring. “Well… we both know how he is, I guess. Lonely sometimes…gotta make the best of what he’s got, right?” he offers. “I know how that is too.”
Kira drops his salad tongs.
Iba curses internally. “I mean! That is… well.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I haven’t been paid any attention to by someone else for a while, is all I’m sayin’, I guess.” He stands and moves towards Kira then, helping him pick up the dropped tongs. “Er… sorry.”
“No, it’s okay… I’m just clumsy,” the blond assures him, taking the utensil back and thinking he knows a little of what it’s like to not have any attention paid to him either.
“Aw well, I’m pretty clumsy too,” Tetsu chuckles, kind of wishing that Izuru would be a little less nervous around him. It makes him nervous too… in a sort of weirdly endeared, warm way. “We’re quite the match, eh?”
Pause.
Backtrack.
“Er…I mean! I mean…”
Kira laughs a little bit at that, because the two of them really are kind of ridiculous like this. Everything is a little ridiculous today actually, and all he’d really wanted was to invite the other man over to share a meal.
Well, he thinks that’s all he really wanted.
As if on cue, the wall-pounding resumes.
Both of the current inhabitants turn to look at each other in panic.
But on seeing one another’s vaguely horrified expressions, neither can help but smile, but laugh a bit incredulously at their joint discomfort. “So…” Tetsu begins, as if wanton sex sounds aren’t coming from the neighbors. “What’s on the menu?”
Kira tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and chuckles breathlessly. “Um… just tonkatsu curry with rice,” Kira admits. “Soup and salad…I guess…pretty standard.”
Tetsu grins. “Standard? Oh man… you obviously don’t know what I have to eat when I’m on my own.” Looking at Kira anticipatorily, he can’t help but add, “Seems I’m a pretty lucky bastard for havin’ all the prettiest guys around wantin’ to make me food.”
Kira blinks.
Turns red. “Ah! I should um… I should go check the curry,” he murmurs, heart pounding in his chest at the compliment.
It’s strange to be noticed suddenly, to be complimented like this… it’s all rather otherworldly to the young blond. To be someone’s sole focus for even a moment?
It’s…nice.
Tetsu watches his lunch date scurry off into the kitchen, not quite believing his own words just now. He’s never been the aggressive type--knows that for a fact-but there’s something weird going on here, where he feels like he should take the lead or something when he looks at Izuru. Like it’s time to step up.
At that very second, a particularly punctuated “Aaaaaugh!!!” comes from next door.
Blushing, Tetsu can’t help but wonder if the timing means that Yumi’s secretly cheering him on.
Well, given that Kira’s another guy it only figures Yumi would.
That in mind, Tetsu moves to help Kira dish out their lunch, wondering if the blond knows that when he blushes, it goes all the way down his neck.
Maybe even further, but Tetsu can’t see past the collar of his shirt and…
He pauses.
He really shouldn’t think like that he tells himself, thinks that maybe it’s perverted to be standing here staring at the back of a guy’s neck when all Izuru had really wanted was to invite a friend over for lunch.
Unless that isn’t all Kira wanted, but he can’t be sure.
Maybe he should ask, or something. Put it out there.
And then he can’t believe he’s thinking like that.
Tetsu wonders if isn’t the sex sounds from next door that’s reminding him (well, parts of him anyway) that he’s a guy with needs. Maybe that’s what’s making him a little less afraid right now.
Or maybe it’s just Izuru, who looks like he’s nervous enough for the both of them as he concentrates really hard on ladling curry out, his hands trembling just a little bit (and not because the walls are).
Tetsu can’t help but think that maybe that’s a sign.
It’s been so damn long he can’t be sure, but the parts of him that remember how this whole courtship game is supposed to be played out recalls that the nervousness he feels, the one that Izuru looks like he feels, is definitely a sign.
“Hey…lemme help you,” Tetsu urges once again, coming up behind Kira on the stove. “I can um… do the curry part. Heh, I know how to ladle at least.”
Kira jumps a little at the sound of his voice, and Tetsu watches, fascinated, as the blond turns to look up at him, cheeks flushed. “Ah… o-okay.”
He lets Tetsu take the ladle from him, breath shaky when he feels their fingertips brush. “I…I’ll check the oven… the um, the t-tonkatsu should be warm again now…” He murmurs, averting his eyes and looking at the other man’s chest instead.
That’s a sign too, Iba thinks, and damned if his heart rate isn’t speeding up from just that shy look from Izuru, from the excited fear he can feel radiating off of both of them.
Does he go forward? Does he press the issue? Or does he retreat, let them go back to the safe equilibrium they’ve been balancing precariously atop for a while now?
It’s the anticipation of action, of moving from straddling the fence and taking the plunge in either direction that has them strung like this, he thinks. Not knowing who’s going to do what now, not knowing what’s going to happen next.
And-he can’t help but think, wryly-- a vaguely pornographic ambience to go with all of that at the same time.
Well hell, it really has been too long or something, because Tetsu isn’t as reluctant as he usually is when you put it all together like that.
He decides he’s pretty much ready to go ahead and jump off the fence.
Catching Kira’s wrist before the other man can flee again-this time to the oven-Tetsu pulls the surprised blond up against him and wraps his arms around that little waist before kissing Izuru right then and there, right up against the kitchen counter while the walls are still banging the next room over.
When he feels Kira’s hands tentatively come up to touch his face, he smiles into the kiss and can’t help but think that yeah, there might be something to this whole ‘be aggressive’ mindset after all.
END
Title: Be Quiet!
Characters: IbaxKira, ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: A week or two after “Be Aggressive!”- sometime in the future.
Rating: PG-15? Haha YEAH.
Summary: Omake to “Be Aggressive!”- The walls are too damn thin sometimes.
He’s lying in bed staring at the ceiling, little aches and pains that aren’t at all unwelcome twinging deliciously in the muscles of his thighs and back every time he moves.
Shuuhei’s in the shower-he can hear the water running-and stretching luxuriously, Yumichika touches his own chest dreamily, curling the sheets covering him in his fingers and knowing he’ll be sore tomorrow. He doesn’t care in the least.
Shuuhei had been very good to him tonight, despite being half out of his mind with want after two weeks apart and unable to quite make it to the bed the first time around--Yumi will have to make sure nothing got on the carpet later, he does have a deposit on this place after all-- but he’s too busy basking to think much on it besides.
What he should be thinking about is getting them something to eat, because if Shuuhei had missed the sex as much as he’d indicated last night, Yumi can imagine that he’d missed the food too, and who out there is going to take care of Shuuhei properly if Yumi doesn’t first?
He entertains the thought of Eggs Benedict and bacon… maybe biscuits if Shuuhei doesn’t decide to jump him when he puts his apron on and take away his baking preparation time to prepare other things instead. Though on second thought, that could be fun too.
Yumi giggles to himself and rolls onto his side, deciding to wait until Shuuhei comes out of the shower to ask him what he wants to do for breakfast.
He’s considerate like that.
A little while later he hears the water shut off, and a little after that Shuuhei comes out with a towel slung low over his waist, looking refreshed as he runs his fingers through slightly dripping hair.
He eyes Yumichika on the bed as he comes out and the corners of his lips quirk upward ever-so-slightly at the sight greeting him, enough so that looking at that almost-smile, Yumichika thinks he wouldn’t mind another go right now if he could get one.
“God, don’t look at me like that,” Shuuhei murmurs, reading the expression on his lover’s face accurately. “I just got clean.”
Yumi laughs, and the sound of it is lovely enough, genuine enough, for Shuuhei to sigh and pad back over to the bed, touching the other man’s cheek as he leans down for another kiss. “Mmm, I can get dirty again later I guess,” he surmises, when they break apart. “Breakfast now?”
“Was thinking just that,” Yumi says, sitting up. “What would you like?”
Something along the lines of, “Something sweet I can lick off of every inch of you,” crosses Hisagi’s mind, but his empty stomach protests at the thought and he says, “Eggs sound good,” instead.
Yumi beams and presses another quick kiss to Shuuhei’s lips. “Got it. And then… we can work on getting you all dirty again, ne?”
Shuuhei raises his eyebrows at that, liking the sound of this new idea. He’s even on the verge of telling Yumi just that…
…when the earthquake starts.
“The hell is that?” Shuuhei exclaims when the banging begins, automatically reaching for the gun that isn’t there (considering he’s in nothing but his towel and all the other places he could have hidden are clean-Yumi checked a few minutes ago) out of habit.
They listen to the sound of something like rhythmic pounding, the wall on the bathroom side of Yumi’s bedroom reverberating enough to jostle some of the knick-knacks on the pretty host’s dresser.
After a moment of trying to figure out what’s going on, realization dawns and Yumi can’t help but laugh. “Oh my.”
Shuuhei doesn’t quite get it as fast as his lover, at least, not until he hears a rather emphatic “Aaaaaaugh!!!” come, muffled, from the other side.
“No way,” he mutters, blinking.
Yumi chuckles at the other man’s expression. “Seems that Kira-kun has finally gotten someone to his bedroom,” the smaller man murmurs, delighted at the thought.
Shuuhei, frowning, stares at the thumping wall. “You gotta put up with that a lot, babe?” he asks, not believing that this Kira person was just starting to have sex at-he checks the wall clock-9 am.
Talk about disturbing the neighbors.
“No, I don’t put up with it a lot. This is the first time, actually…” Yumi assures his frowning lover. “It’s good for him. He always seems so nervous. Maybe this will get rid of some of the tension,” he muses aloud, wondering what kind of woman-or more likely, man given the looks of him--- Izuru has brought home with him today. He entertains the thought of stopping by to visit his neighbor sometime later in the week and get all the dirty details that the cute blond is willing to give out.
Shuuhei rolls his eyes at the anticipatory look in Yumi’s eye. “Aw, c’mon, babe,” he starts, “that’s none of your business.”
“Still… it would be fun to find out, don’t you think?” Yumi poses.
“What, you think it’s someone you know?” Shuuhei asks, arching a brow at the other man.
“No,” Yumi responds. “But that doesn’t mean it’s still not fun to think about…”
Before he can finish however, there’s another thump-this one a bit louder than the rest-punctuated with a rather emphatic, “Nnnnnngh!!!”
Yumi’s eyes widen.
“TETSU?”
END
Title: Riding in Cars with Strangers
Characters: Il FortexUrquiola (non-con? O.o)
Timeline: Future. Yes. Unclear when, but…future. Or, AU even. Just make it it's own AU.
Rating: R (o.o)
Summary: What was it that parents are always telling their children about getting into cars with strange men? In either case it’s not his fault. He never had parents to tell him about stuff like this.
It’s not his usual guard dog sent to gather him today, he notes with something vaguely like suspicion.
The black car that’s pulled up to the front of the school gate and the white-haired young man leaning against it waiting for him are not entirely unfamiliar, but, he thinks, far too conspicuous for something as simple as picking him up from school.
Instantly wary, Urquiola does his best to ignore the curious murmurs of his classmates as they prepare to leave the grounds and quickens his pace towards the man of Ichimaru’s who is waiting for him. His allegiance in the organization is obvious to the younger boy because looking at him; the white-haired Arrancar seems to be all good looks and not much of anything else.
Il Forte grins when he sees his target for the afternoon, the one that required Grimmjaw being chained up (literally) for the day in order for the change of chaperones to take place without a hitch. Smiling, the white-haired Arrancar makes a bow of melodramatic grace when the boy increases his speed towards the waiting car, Urquiola obviously hoping to get out of here quickly and without generating more fuss than Il Forte’s presence already has.
Putting out his cigarette, the older man opens the door for Urquiola, who allows one sharp look at his colleague before slipping wordlessly into the backseat.
That done, Il Forte closes the door behind him, humming a bit, before letting himself into the car from the other side, giving the driver the go-ahead to leave.
He remains silent until the car stops at it's first red light, a small smile playing on his lips as he feels the other boy’s nervousness steadily increase with each passing moment of silence between them.
When Urquiola finally gives in, opening his mouth to speak, Il Forte jumps in smoothly, anticipating the question and answering it before it can even be asked.
“Grimmjaw is…indisposed for the afternoon. Aizen-sama’s orders.”
Urquiola scoffs internally at the other Arrancar’s arrogance. “I was going to ask why you were here,” he says then, dryly enough that it steals some of the long-haired gangster’s thunder.
Il Forte eyes the younger boy for a moment, before dismissing the comment with a flick of his wrist. “Aizen-sama’s orders, kid,” he states with no small amount of wicked glee. “You’ve been a bad boy and I’ve been sent to….well, punish you, I suppose.”
Urquiola’s brow knits in irritation-he doesn’t like being disciplined by those he considers inferior to him. Especially when he doesn’t know why he’s in need of reprimand.
But Aizen-sama knows that about Urquiola perhaps, and is apparently displeased with the young Arrancar enough that he took great pains to make this as humiliating as possible for the teenager.
His heart does sink a little at that, wondering what he could have done recently to displease his benefactor into letting one of Ichimaru’s henchmen into the mix.
This time Il Forte makes sure he’s reading the kid’s expression correctly before he says anything, and smiling as he pours himself a drink from the limo’s mini-bar, murmurs, “Little boys shouldn’t be striking deals with big names like it’s their place to make those sorts of grown-up decisions all on their own,” before taking a sip, eyeing the younger man for a reaction anticipatorily.
Urquiola disappoints him by doing nothing more than blinking. “Is that it?” he asks, irritated by the other man’s seeming superiority. “I’m ranked highly enough that I can offer the information I know in exchange for whatever strikes my interest. At my own discretion.”
Il Forte loves this, the indignation on that cute little face, and setting his drink down, lights up a cigarette. “Apparently not.”
Urquiola frowns. “Besides, the information I’ve offered Kyouraku-san thus far is inconsequential. There’s no need for concern.”
Il Forte puffs on his smoke indulgently, letting his young charge for the afternoon simper on as much as he wants about how inconsequential his knowledge is… that isn’t the point.
The point is that involving a big name like the Kyouraku family unnecessarily in the life of the Arrancar is sure to make a lot of powerful people uneasy, and the fact that Shunsui is interested at all in the gang activity makes him a possible target-no matter how powerfully connected-for assassination should he find out too much.
Aizen doesn’t want to lose the good faith of the Kyouraku, but he’s not above killing one if it gets to that.
As it is, he’d been in a position to not have to do that until Urquiola had agreed to their little information exchange and now, well, now the unpleasantness of such a task will always be hanging over the heads of the Arrancar no matter what the lounge singer may or may not know. The importance of any bit of information is liquid really…it changes with every move each opposing side implements.
And the Arrancar don’t want that leaked in an unsightly puddle all over the floor, after all.
“I don’t think it’s your place to question how Aizen-sama chooses to punish you, do you?” Il Forte asks absently after a moment, examining the burning end of his cigarette as the fire hungrily eats away at the instrument currently giving it life. “Aizen-sama has decided to leave you in my hands. From there, all you need be is obedient.”
Urquiola feels something a lot like rage settle in the pit of his stomach when Il Forte puts it like that, when the arrogant bastard sits there and presumes to know Aizen-sama personally or something, rather than simply being a lackey to a lackey, Ichimaru’s right-hand man obviously there for little else beyond good looks and a personality that’s far too eager to please.
The thoughts turn out to be his mistake, as they take him momentarily away from the present situation, enough so that Il Forte can see the derision in Urquiola’s face and get irritated at it himself.
A hand shoots out between them and Urquiola suddenly feels fingers clamping around his throat, the larger bulk of Il Forte pushing him back and pinning him, making it impossible to struggle upward when he’s being shoved down against the seat of the limousine.
“My, such arrogance,” Il Forte breathes, looking down at his captive with a mixture of anticipation and irritation. “Is this how it is when you’re important enough to have some mindless watchdog at your beck and call? He makes you confident, doesn’t he? Such a small fellow like yourself… so much attitude. Someone like you would need a babysitter.”
Urquiola bristles at the jab regarding his capability, and he grabs at the hand around his throat, trying to dislodge it.
“Ah, behave, little one,” Il Forte breathes. “I’ve got the order in my pocket if you’d like to see it, hand-signed by Aizen-sama himself this morning. You’re to show me that you know how to obey properly, as a good underling should.”
Urquiola stays his hand at that, automatically subdued by the confidence in the other man’s voice, at the way he knows for certain, that any order from Aizen-sama will be taken as law by the smaller Arrancar. “Obey?” he asks, stomach churning at the sound.
“Aa. Obey,” Il Forte murmurs wickedly, excited about the prospect of taking this young flesh before that loudmouthed idiot Grimmjaw, of being able to flaunt it in the hooligan’s face and get away with it scott-free and with the blessings of their superiors on top of that.
He feels the fight leave Urquiola then, the boy still trying to regain some of his pride even as he turns his head to the side submissively, eyes glaring sharply up at Il Forte when the other Arrancar begins to unfasten the fly of the younger man’s school pants.
“Make it quick then,” Urquiola sighs drolly, moving to help remove his clothing.
Il Forte snorts at that, swatting his ward’s hands away from the shirt. “No one told you to move, kid,” he breathes, taking great delight in frustrating Urquiola’s efforts for a quick and less-painful fuck. “Leave the shirt on.”
Urquiola can’t help but scoff when he hears the command, though his hands drop back down to the leather seat anyway, the younger boy figuring that any man of Gin’s would have to be a filthy pervert.
“I need this for school tomorrow,” he protests, flatly.
Il Forte smirks and his expression is enough to make Urquiola sick to his stomach. “I know.”
It’s both an embarrassment and a duty he knows, a baring of his repentant neck to bigger, stronger pack mates than himself, and so he bears it with as much quiet dignity as he can, when he feels hungry eyes take him in, when he feels hands that aren’t right at all begin to wind their way under his uniform.
He shudders when Il Forte’s nails scratch across the delicate skin on his back, Urquiola still in many ways, virginal, untouched beyond one fumbling encounter in the Kurotsuchi home many weeks before.
And Il Forte takes great delight in knowing about Urquiola’s inexperience, in wrenching a reaction from the younger boy who is still new enough to the game than to be able to control himself fully.
He works with that then, touches Urquiola just enough to make his breath speed up a little, to make his body-if not his mind-anticipate the act of sex.
It’s his own growing arousal that bothers him the most, he thinks. That such a disgusting man can take advantage of the knowledge Ichimaru has imparted upon him to render Urquiola very slightly quivering under his hands is the most annoying thing about all of this.
Il Forte chuckles darkly when Urquiola doesn’t quite manage to hold back a sharp cry as the older man presses his palm into Urquiola’s pants, rubbing skillfully, confidently, until the youth is hard in his hand, teeth clenched and face flushed.
“My, that guard dog of yours not taking proper care of you? You’re quite the eager one,” he murmurs teasingly, perversely delighted that he won’t simply get to relish taking Urquiola, but that he has the opportunity to make the younger boy ashamed about it, as well.
It’s one thing to fuck an unruly subordinate for punishment, but it’s so much more interesting when a part of them-no matter how small-wants it too.
Drawing the fingers of one hand into his mouth while pulling the smaller Arrancar’s pants and underwear down past his hips with the other, Il Forte nudges quivering knees apart and catches Urquiola’s eye as he wets his index and middle fingers.
This is going to take infinitely more tenderness than he’d first anticipated.
But sometimes, as Ichimaru-sama has taught him, that can be much worse.
Urquiola can’t quite bite back all of a pain-filled cry when he feels the first finger push into him with agonizing slowness, his breath short and his blood pounding in his ears as he feels his calves tighten reflexively, feels the need to squirm away from the intrusive touch.
Il Forte holds him there; hand on his chest as he smiles and murmurs maddeningly encouraging words to the younger boy, orders hidden clumsily in praise.
He manages not to scream again when a second is added, swallowing air in huge gulps to quell his gasps as Il Forte stretches him apart slowly.
Urquiola’s fingers curl into fists at his side, hard enough for his nails to break skin.
Eventually he adjusts to the intrusion, feels himself lose some of the awful tension in his back. It’s enough then, that he can notice that it feels as if Il Forte is searching for something inside of him, the older Arrancar’s breath coming more and more shallowly the more he pushes into the teenager, and when he finally finds his mark, he wrenches a disbelieved groan from his victim. He smiles in triumph at that, withdrawing immediately to watch the stars dance behind Urquiola’s hooded eyes. “What…” the boy can’t help but demand, short on air. “What was…”
Il Forte’s expression is disgustingly smug, and reaching down to unfasten his own pants, he leans over Urquiola until his larger frame is flush atop the shaking boy. “That,” he murmurs with something almost akin to tenderness, “is what is possible.”
Without pausing another second, he thrusts forward then, trailing his tongue along Urquiola’s throat when the teen screams at the abruptness of his entry, the feeling of blood and fire ripping through Urquiola as Il Forte’s larger hands pin him down, keep him still until the older man is fully seated. “This,” Il Forte finishes with a low chuckle, “is what you get.”
Something like tears come to the corner of Urquiola’s eyes as he shakes under the long-haired Arrancar’s weight, and as Il Forte draws his tongue along the tracks to taste the salt water there, he can’t help but think to himself that this is much better than he’d anticipated, his hips working mercilessly as he imagines what fun the future will bring when Grimmjaw learns of this, when Urquiola will be unwilling to be touched like this ever again because of the memory of Il Forte’s actions here.
Savoring the taste of salt on his tongue, Il Forte smiles and finishes not long after, taking great pleasure in finally getting to share some of the lessons Ichimaru-sama has so painstakingly sought to impart upon him.
It’s like Gin always says, after all.
Why go for the kill when you can go for the hurt?
END
Title: Pointy-haired Bastard
Characters: AkonxMayuri
Timeline: AU (hopefully. O.o)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For our first in-chat question winner! Here you go, Sid! XD
“Insolent…”
Akon grins.
Mayuri scowls at that reaction, changes direction. “Your hair…”
Akon’s eyes sparkle. “What about my hair?”
“Argh.” Mayuri wants to throw something at him. “You’re just a…”
“Yeah?”
“Would you stop it and let me…”
The younger researcher starts chuckling. “I’m sorry, Mayuri-sama, for interrupting. Please go on…”
Kurotsuchi snarls. “I should have you…”
“Have me however you’d like, sir.”
The last word (which had been ‘fired’ by the way) dies on the older scientist’s lips.
He sputters instead.
“What? Excuse me…did you just….did you…what?”
Akon’s smile gives Mayuri cause to take a step backwards, the younger man advancing with an all too knowing look in his eye as he slowly removes his coat. “I think I just did,” he answers, strangely charmed by his superior’s bug-eyed disbelief.
Two more steps forward and then Akon kisses him, right up against the file cabinet.
He laughs when Mayuri bites him in retaliation.
“Bastard,” Kurotsuchi snarls.
“Yeah,” Akon responds, before leaning forward and doing it again.
END
Title: Coming to an Understanding
Characters: IkkakuxShuuhei, mentioned ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: AU (hopefully. O.o)
Rating: R
Summary: For Virgo and her winning statement. The prompt was: MS!IkkakuxShuuhei- Hot Angry Sex. I still suck at pron. O.o
Yumi’s mad at both of them ever since that disaster where the both of them had shown up to take him home, has refused to talk or even see either of them-in what is turning out to be one of his more legendary fits of huffiness-- for a good three weeks now, the pretty host claiming that until they come to some sort of an understanding, the streak will continue as is.
Ikkaku likes to tell himself that he doesn’t care. The little fruit is better off leaving him the fuck alone.
Doesn’t explain why the hell he feels so damn rotten about it though.
Whatever he’s feeling however, Shuuhei’s gotta be feeling worse. He ain’t gettin’ any and has to deal with Yumi bein’ sore at him.
Madarame comforts himself with the thought. A little.
The bald bartender sighs and takes another swipe at the already pristine bar top, looking down into the wood and nearly blinding himself when he sees the light, infinitely bouncing back and forth between the reflections of his head and the flat surface of the bar.
Best damn cleaning he’s ever given the Brigand, hands down.
He tosses the rag aside and thinks he should be more satisfied with his good work than he is.
He growls.
“Fuckin’ stupid turn-coat friend-stealing…”
“Bastard,” Shuuhei snarls as he storms into the Brigand, practically kicking the door open and coming face to face with the current object of his intense and burning hatred in the process.
“You!!!” they shout simultaneously, glowering at each other from across the expanse.
It’s a bit of a blur from there for both of them, but Shuuhei remembers stalking over to the bar and grabbing two fistfuls of the bald idiot’s shirt, hauling him bodily over the wood without so much as a how-do-you-do, the blood pumping in his ears in a familiar rush of adrenaline and manic glee.
It had been too long since he’d last felt like this, since he’d let his mask of cold professionalism loose for a moment and just let himself go, let himself enjoy a good brawl like he used to do in past days, in a past life. But even after all this time he remembers it like he’d done it just yesterday.
It’s like riding a bicycle.
It’s a thing that never leaves you. You can’t ever forget standing there, face-to-face, one-on-one with someone else, the only weapons your fists and your words and the thrum of angry energy in your veins like a drug.
Maybe the fight was what Ikkaku’d needed too, because there had been a familiar grin across the idiot’s face, a kind of now we’re talkin’ type of expression in his eyes as he’d flung himself bodily into the brawl too, the two of them knocking over carefully placed chairs, shattering a table, punching a hole in the wall as they moved together, exchanging blows, snarling insults, drawing blood.
This is the kind of understanding men like them come to, Shuuhei thinks. There’s no sitting down and talking out their problems here, no thought beyond listening to primal instincts as they tell you to change, to react, to move at the spur of a moment and never look back once.
Yumi wants them to come to an understanding?
This is the only sort of thing they understand from one another.
“You’re a damned coward!” Ikkaku pants after the initial exchange, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and smearing it across his chin as it wells up from his split lip. The bitter liquid tastes hot, tastes strong, riles him up even more as he cracks bruised knuckles, hoping that the blow to the gut he’d landed a few minutes ago has got Hisagi winded enough that the idiot can’t talk back.
“You’re a narrow-minded idiot!” Shuuhei grunts in automatic response, hand absently rubbing at his abdomen as he fights to control his breathing through clenched teeth, regain his equilibrium.
The respite is brief, however-- Madarame takes another swing at him upon hearing that, frustrated that the bastard can still form words coherently. Shuuhei takes advantage of the wild swing and ducks under the other man’s fist, barreling into Ikkaku’s middle on the follow through and lifting him up, slamming his kidneys back into the bar and knocking the air from Ikkaku’s lungs, making his vision black out a little around the edges on impact.
Head spinning and pumped full of enraged adrenaline, Ikkaku manages to wrap one arm around Hisagi and slam down on the Arrancar’s back with the elbow of the other, sending them both tumbling to the ground in awkward heap.
There’s a half-dazed struggle from there, Shuuhei rolling onto his back and gasping, trying to dislodge Ikkaku’s larger bulk from atop him while Ikkaku does just the opposite, wrapping both arms around Hisagi’s chest and pinning him down, trying to maneuver his legs to cover his opponent’s too, to use his greater weight to immobilize the bastard, keep him from kicking at parts Ikkaku’d like kept intact after this is all said and done.
Shuuhei head butts him though, sharp enough at the chin that he feels his muscles freeze for a bit as his brain rattles in his skull a bit too loudly for his liking, and snarling past the pain, he grunts “You goddamned fucking fuck!” in Hisagi’s ear, tasting blood from where his tongue sliced itself open on his molars from the Arrancar’s last blow.
“You wish,” Shuuhei growls, half-out of breath as they lie like that on the floor of a shattered Brigand, blood and hatred thrumming between them strong enough to conduct a current.
It’s plainly a challenge, the words, and half-out of his mind with something, Ikkaku can’t back off, can’t let the fucker have the satisfaction of knowing that there’s anything left in him Ikkaku can’t beat him at.
Especially not now.
“Die,” he snarls, before his lips are devouring Hisagi’s, the cut on his mouth stinging happily when he feels the Arrancar hiss into him a moment later, feels teeth gnashing against the sensitive parts inside, scraping his sliced up tongue so that they can both taste the blood on it whenever they move, whenever they breathe.
There’s no explanation for it really, just instinct again, the tuning out of rational thought to pure, primal impulses and the need to draw more blood, to distinguish winner from loser, dominate from subordinate.
Ikkaku feels hands pushing at him a moment later, surprisingly well-muscled arms shoving him over unexpectedly, practiced limbs immobilizing him with just a shift of weight and a bucking upward motion of hips.
“Fuckin’…. Aaagh!!”
His protests are cut off when the fly of his pants is popped open by amazingly quick fingers, and arching up, the bald bartender tries to dislodge his biceps from the hold Shuuhei has on them, the way the other man’s hands are suddenly clamped around the muscles keeping his shoulders surprisingly well-pinned. “Goddamned shit-ass fucking…..naaaaargh!!”
He manages to twist his arms in that grip, bring them up so his fingers can dig into Hisagi’s forearms as he throws his pelvis upwards, trying to dislodge the hips clamped down around him, the knee that’s now working his unbuttoned pants from his body.
Shuuhei grunts when he feels nails digging into the soft undersides of his arms, flinching reflexively so that Ikkaku manages to wrench one shoulder free, wrapping his liberated arm around Hisagi’s back and yanking him down against his chest so he loses the precious leverage he’d had on Madarame’s shoulders.
He moves with every intention of biting the bastard when their lips smash together again, his pants halfway down his hips and his cock pounding blood between his legs in anticipation of violence, of fucking, of something, as long as it has to do with winning. He feels his teeth scrape Hisagi’s bottom lip before gnashing downwards, biting hard enough to break the Arrancar’s skin there.
Shuuhei gasps, breath heaving into Madarame’s open mouth when he feels the other man draw blood, though he’s more surprised when moments later, two big fistfuls of his expensive shirt are curled up into Ikkaku’s fingers, pulled sideways until the first three buttons pop off. He feels the seams starting to tear against his back, retaliates by rubbing his knee at Ikkaku’s groin, not hard enough to hurt but just shy of that.
Ikkaku grunts, moves his hands lower, leaving Shuuhei’s shirt hanging-destroyed-off of one shoulder as he laps up blood from their mouths, not sure who’s it is but uncaring anyway, mind focused on the heat rushing through his body when he feels Shuuhei knead his cock through his boxers- half warning, more horny than anything else.
Feeling unnecessarily exposed under the intensity of Hisagi’s gaze, Ikkaku works his hands down to the other man’s crotch too, grabs him through his pants and squeezes, earning a grunt that’s half moan and half annoyance, the sound of which offers some respite from his own arousal when Shuuhei’s hips jerk, giving him the leeway he needs to think a bit, to coordinate his fingers to move how he wants, to unzip the fly and slip inside, show this asshole who’s really in charge here.
He shifts when Shuuhei makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat when he gets him hot and hard in his hand, Madarame biting down on the pretty boy’s neck hard enough to bruise, though he doesn’t break skin.
“Heh…I’m…winning, fucker,” he breathes into Shuuhei’s ear with a smirk, hand still working the dark-haired man’s cock through his silky underwear, Shuuhei shuddering on top of him.
“Not over yet,” Hisagi hisses back breathily, fingers gingerly at his throat where Ikkaku had bit him but eyes still defiant all the same.
“Won’t change the outcome either way,” Ikkaku growls, hand working Shuuhei with long, firm strokes, fist squeezing like he’s trying to prove a point.
He doesn’t know what point that is exactly, but the way Shuuhei grits his teeth like he’s in pain is all the payoff he needs to keep going anyway.
Two can play at that game, Shuuhei thinks, trying to keep his hips from automatically thrusting into Ikkaku’s forceful hand. The bastard doesn’t need the satisfaction and no matter how you look at it, he’s hard and panting too, the smug fucker.
Rush of battle, joy of violence, whatever. First one who gets off loses.
That underlying threat firmly in mind, Shuuhei reaches down again, forgetting about trying to get the bastard’s pants completely off of him at that point. Time wasted when the results are going to be the same either way, he thinks, grasping Ikkaku’s cock through the cloth instead, squeezing with his hand with the kind pressure he knows Yumi likes, the one that gets those cute little breathy cries coming out of the pretty host’s perfect mouth whenever they’re hot and horny like this in bed.
Thinking about that doesn’t help his current situation though, and while Ikkaku’s combination grunting and snorting reaction to his hand’s movements aren’t nearly the same, Shuuhei finds himself dangerously pushing the edge thinking about Yumi, about that sleek, tiny body he hasn’t had for too long, the soft cries and gently mischievous eyes, the dirty little mouth and the wet, tight fit that makes him come so hard he’s not sure he’s going to live through it each time it happens.
He bites his lip imagining that, feels his hips thrusting unwillingly into Ikkaku’s larger, clumsier hand all the same, his own working frantically at the bartender’s twitching cock, forgoing rubbing him through his boxers and slipping inside so it’s skin on skin when the Arrancar feels himself growing increasingly more frantic, determined to take any advantage he can to hurry and finish this, hurry up and get home to Yumi and screw it if the other man is mad at him, he’ll find a way to make it better, he always does-- just needs a chance to apologize, some fancy presents, gentle touches until the pretty host is in a forgiving mood, kisses growing in firmness, gently increasing intensity and before long clothes will be all over the floor, maybe they’ll be too, too desperate to make it to the bed so they’ll go for it right there on the living room floor, thrusting up against each other like animals fort round one, just the touch and feel of each other enough to get off that crucial first time, make it so they can relax for the second go a little later, try the fancy stuff even, mouth and ass or both, on the floor, the couch, the dining table, in the hallway, up against the bedroom wall, stumble to the bed, be exhausted but wanting more anyway, pounding into the mattress for the grand finale until the neighbors bang on the wall and tell them to quiet down as they cuddle up close afterwards, laughing at each other because they know they’re both gonna be sore come morning.
The thoughts have the predictable effect and beating Ikkaku is suddenly the farthest thing from his mind at the moment, clumsy hand jobs in dark bars during the middle of the afternoon the last thing he wants when he knows there’s a perfect, pale body that could be arching beneath him instead, delicate features and long, pale fingers wrapped around him rather than the angry, rough-patched ones below, attached to a hand that’s too big and comparatively clumsy, kisses from a dirty mouth he can taste cigarettes on instead of sugar and cum the way he likes best.
Ikkaku grits his teeth and feels his cock surge under Shuuhei’s ministrations, cursing himself because it’s been one hell of a dry spell for the past few months and a hand that’s anyone else’s is a thousand times better than his own, especially directly on him now, the cheap bastard slipping into his boxers without warning. Ikkaku bites the Arrancar’s exposed shoulder to stifle back a blatant shout when Shuuhei’s thumb flicks over the swollen tip of his long neglected cock, though it comes out as a whiny grunt they can both hear anyway, a little “Haaaagh!!” badly muffled into Hisagi’s skin. Madarame thinks it’s really fuckin’ unfair; the bastard has an advantage ‘cuz he’s got more practice and … “Nnnnngh…asshole!!!”
The exclamation is a futile attempt at last-minute defiance because Ikkaku comes right then, mind going blank as white hot heat wipes out every last shot, the taller man shuddering into Shuuhei’s hand through gritted teeth as he does, almost like he doesn’t want to admit it. But the evidence is there, sticky-wet between the other man’s fingers, remnants on his boxers and jeans and even between their still-clothed stomachs as well.
There’s something like a charge of triumphant joy when Shuuhei feels the other man’s cock jerk and twitch against his palm like that, when he feels a warm familiar wetness squelch against his fingertips, and it’s a split second later when the Arrancar follows his rival and comes too, certain in his victory for this time, this fight, and not seeing a need to hold back any more. Groaning, he lurches forward, smacks his head against Madarame’s shoulder as he does, curses pouring out of him like the cum from his balls as he releases right into the other man’s hand, messing his pants for any future use but too steeped in the rush of the win to care at the moment.
“Hah…hah…I win,” he declares a breath later, when he can speak again.
The victory, like the blood on his lips, tastes amazing.
It’s short-lived.
“Oh, you won then? How nice for you, darling.”
BBoth men freeze on the floor at the sound of that voice. They hear two footsteps next; feel a shadow being cast over their prone bodies.
And very slowly, they will themselves to look up-though they don’t want to, would like nothing more than to fall into a hole in the earth infinite miles deep right now. But they do it anyway because they’ve got to and they see a silhouette in the process, the dim backlighting of the overhead lights making it impossible to see the details of newcomer’s face right away.
It isn’t necessary.
Shuuhei feels his mouth go dry, feels Ikkaku tense beneath him.
Horrified, they both watch as Yumi comes into focus as he draws closer yet, stopping a foot away and standing over the two of them appraisingly in the quiet of the still-closed bar, one delicate eyebrow arched and looking surprisingly calm.
Perhaps too much so.
“Tell me,” the pretty host begins after a moment, crossing his arms, “what exactly, have you won?” Pause. “Or, depending on who I’m talking to here… what was lost?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer of course, doesn’t even really care for one.
Not as though they could really give him one though, not one that would make things okay in any case.
Sighing, Yumichika turns around and goes home.
END
Title: Smug
Characters: AkonxMayuri
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Akon is infuriating.
He can feel the bastard’s eyes on him; can practically hear the little twerp’s smirk from here.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Wipe that ridiculous smile off your face.”
Akon’s grin widens. “Why?”
Figures the brat would do just the opposite of what he’d wanted. Mayuri snarls and tries to roll onto his side, so his back faces the spiky-haired idiot. He’s not about to get up out of the bed-it’s his bed after all-but the cold-shoulder approach should be enough of a sign for even a simpleton like Akon to realize how not wanted he is right now.
Except when the older man moves, there’s a twinge of pain in his lower back that convinces him it’s not a good idea to keep going.
So instead of settling on his side, he’s forced to stop halfway, shifts and turns his head so that he can glare at Akon accusatorily instead. “I’m sore.”
The statement doesn’t wipe the grin off the idiot’s face like it should. In fact, he chuckles.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Akon murmurs, still regarding Mayuri with an infuriating sense of smugness-accomplishment, maybe even.
The fact that Mayuri can’t really look at him in the eye right now might’ve helped to soften the blow of the more senior doctor’s accusations, the gloating idiot lying naked and unrepentant as he is and making it difficult for Mayuri to properly convey his absolute distaste and abhorrence of the spiky-headed twit.
“You’re not sorry,” the older man growls, feeling his eye twitch a bit at the patronizing tone the upstart little bastard is taking with him.
“You’re right. I’m not sorry,” Akon breathes, pausing to wrinkle his nose a bit. “Mostly I’m just sticky.”
The other doctor makes a disgusted face. “Insolent…”
“Shall I carry you?”
Mayuri pauses mid-insult, because as crazy as he believes the younger man to be, that statement had seemed even crazier than usual. “Are you insane?”
“Well if you’re sore, I should take responsibility, hmmm?” Akon poses, eyes still laughing at Mayuri rather shamelessly as he speaks whatever nonsense it is that he’s speaking. “I could carry you into work today, if you’d like. Wouldn’t that be terribly romantic?”
He wants to choke the life out of the arrogant little idiot when he hears that, he really does. Moves to do so even, except the ache in his back twinges reproachfully at him again when he tries it, leaving him half on his side and facing his tormenter with a rather pathetic scowl on his face instead.
Akon laughs outright at that, a mixture of mocking and fond and through it all, more amusement than anything else. Vaguely sympathetic however, he reaches out and tugs Mayuri forward like he’s been doing it all his life, tucking the protesting (and sore) doctor’s head under his chin without much effort. “Looks like I will have to carry you after all, then.”
“I’ll kill you.”
It’s more sulky than anything else when Mayuri says it, and Akon smirks at that, presses a condescending sort of kiss against the older man’s temple. “Don’t exert yourself much more, old man. I’m sure your aged body can’t take strain after strain piled on top of one another like that, and you’ve already had a busy night as it is,” he murmurs, smiling against Mayuri’s skin.
It earns the younger man a sharp rap on the chest (or two), but he’s laughing too hard for it to really hurt anyway.
END
Title: First Impression
Characters: GrimmxUrqui
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Grimmjaw is prepared for the worst.
He’s been looked down upon his whole life buy guys just like Urquiola.
The first time they meet he expects more of the same, expects arched eyebrows and delicate sniffs and general looks of disapproval.
He expects all that and imagines how he’s going to react, how he’ll be even more violent, even more ill-behaved, even more lewd than the stupid little prissy boy can ever have predicted.
He’ll outdo all their expectations and laugh at them as he does, will take the shorty’s surprise and feast on it.
He’s been looked down on his whole damn life by guys like that, after all. Quiet and neat-looking kids, smart in all the ways Grimmjaw isn’t but at the same time, too damn naïve for their own good.
The first time they meet, Grimmjaw sneers at Urquiola and has his smart ass comment all ready to go for when he gets that look, when he gets that arched eyebrow and those sniffs and those damned eyes full of disapproval.
When Urquiola looks at him for the first time, he’s ready for it.
The other boy walks up to him and says, “Hi.”
Sounds shy about it even, sort of uncertain. Does his best to look like he’s not though any idiot worth half a good goddamn knows otherwise.
Grimmjaw blinks.
His carefully prepared jab is lost somewhere in the back of his mind as he tries to process this.
He stares.
Urquiola blinks back at him then, and it doesn’t look like he expects a damn thing from Grimmjaw at all.
Grimmjaw says “hi,” back, and can’t believe it.
They look at each other for a while, and Grimmjaw is the first to avert his eyes.
Well dammit.
This just makes things unnecessarily complicated.
END
Title: Sing for Me
Characters: ShunxJyuu
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A complete work together.
Shunsui is filled with music-- nameless, wordless melodies that play through every part of him like the blood pumping through his veins.
A living breathing entity made up of a million unfinished symphonies.
Or, as his family had always called him-a work in progress.
Jyuushirou is full of words. He loves them, surrounds himself with them, lets them run through his mind in streams of meaning and depth and their own happy rhythm.
His greatest pleasure is a thick tome full of the beautiful words he likes so much, letters on a page creating a whole wide world for him, a place where he can lose himself for hours.
He is, as Shunsui calls him, the lyrics to Shunsui’s song.
That missing part of Kyouraku’s perfect symphony, the one he’d been looking for his whole life.
Jyuushirou smiles when the pianist says that, kisses Shun softly and asks him then, if that makes Shunsui the melody that he’d never been able to conquer in his own life before, the music he’d been missing that he can finally sing to.
Shunsui laughs and holds him close and agrees wholeheartedly. He hums in his Jyuu-chan’s ear when they make love and moves in time with Jyuushirou’s soft, keening cries, endless streams of murmured terms and phrases whispered from the white-haired man’s lips when they clasp hands and look at each other, both of them feeling like they only know the moves to this age old dance when it’s both of them linked together, Jyuu-chan the lyrics and Shun the melody and the song between them the perfect creation that only the two of them can make when they’re like this.
Shunsui keeps humming afterwards, when they’re tired and holding one another close, when he tucks his Jyuu-chan’s hair behind his ear and smiles against his skin.
Jyuushirou laughs at him, tells him outright that he can only be filled with so much music each night, you know.
Kyouraku begs to differ, always does, and leans forward for a kiss, coaxes another chorus of sighs and whispers from his lover’s lips before the night is very much through.
“Ah, Jyuu-chan,” he sing-songs, fingers running over the slope of the other man’s spine. “Just a little further yet, hmmm? We’ve only just hit the refrain, after all.”
He bends his head and touches their foreheads together then, smiling and hoping that his Jyuu-chan doesn’t mind singing for him just a little bit more.
END
Title: Fear Not
Characters: AizenxUrquiola, AizenxGinxUrquiola
Timeline: N/A
Rating: R
Summary: Urquiola admits to being afraid.
There’s something about Aizen-sama’s righthand man that sets Urquiola on edge, though he’d be loathe to admit it, though his pride doesn’t let him do any more than stiffen slightly when Ichimaru Gin passes him in a hallway, smiling in casual greeting, calling him “Aizen-yan’s puppy” and saluting as he heads to his office, presumably to kill small animals or rape young children or something to that effect.
He admits his fear only once, to Aizen-sama. They’re in his office and Urquiola is on his back atop the older man’s desk, panting and crying and arching into feather soft touches against his skin when Ichimaru breezes into the room, causing the young man to freeze, to reflexively still as Gin very casually hands Aizen a stack of folders, which the older man takes and sets aside, the two older Arrancar talking about the weather for a moment while Urquiola feels his skin crawl a little bit, even with Aizen-sama’s familiar hands on him, even with the rhythmic motion of his benefactor’s hips.
Ichimaru leaves then, and concerned at his little one’s tension, Aizen pauses for a moment, asking, “What’s wrong, Urqui?”
The younger Arrancar sighs, blushes sheepishly. “Nothing, Aizen-sama.”
“Come now, none of that. Tell me what’s bothering you, hmmm?”
And he’s always been weak to that tone, that gentle concern that Aizen-sama shows all of the people who serve him. “I… Ichimaru-san frightens me,” he admits, quietly.
“Oh my,” Aizen sighs, adjusting his glasses and looking genuinely troubled upon hearing that. “That just won’t do.”
Urquiola fidgets. “It won’t?”
But then Aizen’s hand is touching his cheek-tender as ever, and the older man smiles down at him benevolently. “I know just the cure. Will you be willing to try it for me, little one?”
Urquiola shivers, this time in delight, and nods before he knows what he’s getting into.
Aizen kisses him. “Wonderful.”
The next morning, when he is called into Aizen-sama’s office, Ichimaru is there, on his back atop Aizen’s desk as Urquiola had been just yesterday, panting and sighing and biting at Aizen-sama’s shoulder, his lips, his fingertips.
“A-aizen-sama?”
When he hears that his little one has arrived Aizen pauses, looks up from his task. “Come here, Urquiola.”
Obedient, the young Arrancar does as he’s told.
Aizen smiles and pulls out of Gin for just a moment, turning to the new arrival. “Take off your clothes, please.”
And Urquiola does exactly that, Gin’s snake eyes on him the entire time, making him shake just a little bit, though his pride forbids that he admit it to himself.
When he is naked Aizen touches him very gently, coaxes the same kind of quiet sighs and little moans from Urquiola just like normal, before lifting the young man up by the waist, depositing him shaking and confused, atop Gin on the desk. “There we are… nothing to be afraid of, ne?” Aizen asks, running fingers through Urquiola’s hair soothingly. “Everyone’s touch is the same when they care about you, little one.”
“Aa,” Gin agrees, smiling up at Urquiola and making his blood run cold. “Let’s get along, ne, puppy-han?”
END
Title: Cleaning Up
Characters: Kensei+Shinji
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG
Summary: Nothing quite as devastating as a man in a suit.
“The hell do I gotta wear this monkey suit for?” Kensei grumbles, picking at his tie unhappily as he looks at the higher ranked Vizord, who’s eyeing him critically from the side.
“You, my dear boy, are the muscle for tonight,” Shinji explains, trying not to ogle too much. “And as this is a formal business meeting for potentially important future clients to the organization, you have to look presentable.”
Kensei glares.
“… well, more professional than normal in any case,” the blonde corrects, noting that the taller man is starting to get growly.
Not that that isn’t particularly appealing in its own way, but, as Shinji likes to say, they aren’t at the part of their relationship (yet) where Kensei getting aggressive with Shinji means anything remotely pleasant.
But it will someday.
He tells himself that as he stares at the silver-haired man’s ass through those tailored Gucci slacks (charcoal, not gray, dammit) while the oblivious Vizord fidgets with his tie more, frowning at his reflection in the mirror.
“Why the hell can’t I just wear black?” Kensei grunts, sighing after a minute and releasing the much-abused lavender tie. Crossing his arms, he turns back to Shinji. “I don’t like gray.”
The blonde twitches, but manages to keep his voice level, especially since Kensei crossing his arms like he just did makes for a particularly delicious silhouette of muscle under the cloth at the jacket’s shoulders.
“You clean up nicely when you put a suit on. And you look good in charcoal,” Shinji says patiently, reaching forward and straightening the tie for the fifth or sixth time.
Kensei fidgets at the blatant compliment. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Something like a lopsided grin comes to the other man’s face then, and he uncrosses his arms, even lets Shinji adjust his tie again (this time without resistance). “I guess this ain’t so bad,” he admits after a minute, looking thoughtful.
Shinji looks up at that, confused. “It isn’t?”
Still smirking, Kensei shakes his head. “Naw. Kind of don’t mind havin’ to dress like a priss given that I get to see you get all polite about it, ‘stead of how you’re usually a smart-ass know-it-all bastard.”
Hirako twitches. “Yeah?”
Kensei’s grin broadens. “Yeah. You act more like this, you’ll make some fella a pretty decent wife some day,” he snickers.
“Oi, watch what you…”
His words of protest trail off abruptly when Kensei suddenly leans down, stopping a breath before their noses touch and gazing down at the smaller man, looking devastatingly confident in his new clothes as he does. “Guess you clean up in certain ways pretty well yerself, there, Shin-chan.”
On the blonde’s dumbfounded look Kensei chuckles to himself and straightens again, strolling out of the room.
“Hurry your ass up, wife-of-mine, gotta go impress those damned fancy-pants clients, right?” he calls after him, prompting Shinji to move to catch up, the blonde gritting his teeth and swearing to god that the minute Kensei is out of that suit, he’s going to mess the big bastard up.
No amount of cock-teasing is worth ruining Gucci, after all.
END