Losing
Author: Me!
Title: Losing
Pairing: Byakuya/Ulquiorra
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo, Bleach owns, not me, etc.
A request by
xshelaghx. A challenge indeed! *fistshake*
"oh oh pick me!
Since you say you don't mind a challenge I'd love a good UlquiorraxByakuya. :P Assume they meet in battle and fight for awhile but are also very attracted to each other. It's like looking in a mirror after all and they are both beautiful, arrogant, strong pricks so they like what they see and stuff happens. "
Quoted, since the request itself gave me some inspiration for how to end the damn thing.
This pairing was tough for me. Actually, pretty much all of the requests are of difficult pairings. Normally, I don't understand things involving Ulquiorra. He is quite emotionless, to me. But having to write him has let me see a little of the reasoning for the pairing. The pair faithfuls will have to let me know how I did!
This is my first Byakuya/Ulquiorra, and also the first fic I've done in first person present tense. I'm not sure why, but it seemed right. It also allowed me to be quite snooty and fancy in my writing style, which was quite frankly a relief. I can write uppity convoluted sentences like nobody's business! All in all, I'm really quite happy with how this turned out.
Losing - Kuchiki Byakuya's point of view
The Arrancar’s fighting is distinct, conserved. There are no wasted movements or flourishes, no style. Only the exact, requisite movements. His green eyes are hawk-like; I feel as though no decision I make, no movement is a surprise, because he sees it before I myself imagine it.
Blood has not yet been shed. If the Espada Ulquiorra can guess my movements, I can see his in his body. He is skilled, but before each strike, I can see his muscles contract and they betray his next action, barely. This is a standoff of brilliant proportions.
He is a cold man, I can devise. No expressions play across his harshly beautiful face as we cross blades, not even a setting of the jaw, no display of determination or even frustration that I am unmarred. But I can see that he is thinking. There-a brief twitch of his eyebrows. He is studying me the same way I am studying him, and like me, he is unsure.
He is elegant in the most bare, minimalist and violent way. Our blades meet, hilt to hilt.
“You are not concentrating, Shinigami,” he tells me, looking me in the eye.
“You hardly require my full focus, Hollow,” I reply, and press him away with my sword.
“That is not the reason,” he says, watching my sword slash down and blocking it with ease. “I have piqued your curiosity, have I not?” I step aside from one of his thrusts. Our battle is quick, sonido against shunpo at every moment, but it is as good as slow motion. “But you are an equally curious creature,” he finishes. My shoulders stiffen. I do not want to be intrigued by or be intriguing to such a disgusting creature.
“You are trash,” I say coolly. “And if trash catches my interest, it is only so that I may throw it away.” A curious thing happens. I expected no reaction at all, and the silent continuance of our fight. But instead, Ulquiorra, he smirks. It isn’t very noticeable. Perhaps if I were not so intent upon his unique features I would not notice, but it is there.
“Trash. I am familiar with…trash,” he says softly. Then he returns to silence, and my anger bridles. How dare he speak in such a way to me. He cannot, he will not dismiss me as trash. But he does, and quickly, I see why. His blade has trapped mine, then my sword is gone and suddenly the edge of his lies against my throat. “You have a…peculiar beauty, Shinigami. You could almost be one of us,” he tells me, studying me but not my eyes. I flush with anger.
“Don’t insult me-“ I begin harshly, but he interrupts me.
“I am not,” he says levelly. “I pay you a compliment. Do not continue to hide behind your nobility, Shinigami, and tell me what you see.” It is more of a command than his voice implies, because I can still feel his Zanpakuto against my throat. I look at him, still distant. But I know what he expects me to say, because it is exactly what I’m thinking.
“…Your features are delicate, for a Hollow,” I say to him.
“Delicate. So you are intrigued after all.” My eyes narrow, and watch him. He is still outlining my body with his pupils, study as intense as my own. Raw and confused. Then he is intrigued as well.
“Perhaps not as much as yourself.” Maybe it wasn’t a wise thing to say, I reflect as his eyes snap back to meet mine, and his hand closes tightly around my throat. What kind of soul does an Arrancar bear, I wonder distantly. His nails prick and draw blood from my throat, but I don’t look away from him. His face looks the same.
His grip begins to crush, but I do not panic. I can feel something teeming beneath the surface of his reiatsu, something struggling within my own. I succumb to its prodding, and I reach up to touch him. To touch his hair, black as night. My face contorts as the pain increases, but I still touch him softly. I desire to. It is peculiar how oddly calm I feel as my death approaches, but there seems to be no other reasonable thing to be doing. Nothing else but this enigma.
And then his grip releases. No acknowledgement in his face, and again just blankness. But that is the only recognition from him that I think I will receive. I believe his silence is in fact an invitation to continue, so I do. He draws me in more than I thought he would, my desire compounded, and I trace the black lines on his cheeks. His skin is as cold as it appears, but I do not draw away from it. Our stares match, and I know my expression is as blank as his now. I touch his chest, and something roars within my own. I answer that roar and tear away at his jacket. His eyes flicker and the edge of the blade prods against my throat briefly, but no further action.
I touch my nails against his bizarre, pale chest and just barely rake them down. His stance shifts, and he sheathes his sword. I do not attempt to retrieve mine.
He does not have the structure for the definition he has. It is just another oddity. I reach with sureness to remove the jacket from his shoulders, and slip it off that smooth skin. I have stepped into a realm that is not easy to walk back from, and I do not think from straying from it. I know I will succumb, and this once I relish it. I grab him by the shoulders and reverse our roles-he is shoved against the wall and I am kissing him harshly, hungrily. I am surprised he gives me a response at all, but he wraps his arms around me and returns the kiss. He bites down onto my lip without reprieve, until the blood is flowing into both our mouths. It should not surprise me that the Arrancar desires blood.
I realize in very little time what I really want from him. Forcing my tongue past his lips and sliding my hands along his hips is not enough, and I know it is not enough for him either. He rips down my hakama and tears away the scarves I am wearing. He rips away my hair ornaments with complete disregard to the strands of hair torn away with them. He makes me feel almost as vicious, and without grace I tear down his pants. His arousal is obvious, and I press against him. His cold, white body shivers, but still his face remains the same. I am glad.
Madness. It is utter madness, but I still try to devour his mouth. I know the proper, gentile way to prepare a man, and I decide not to do this delicate Arrancar a disservice. It would not be enjoyable if I did. So I pick him up carefully and press him against the wall. My fingers creep up a perfect white thigh until his entrance is discovered, and it is enough to make this reserved man writhe once a finger enters, and his mouth opens. No sound, but an open mouth is enough. I kiss him as wildly as I know how, while still carefully pressing against his ring of muscle. I add a second finger and his body adjusts with some discomfort as they scissor. I am acutely aware, embarrassingly aware of every movement he makes. It burns some sort of honor within me that I can make him feel anything at all. He pants just slightly now, and watches me with intensity. It is the first hint I have that he might really desire me, and it makes me hurry. I want him now. I press in a third finger, and I am not as gentle as I planned. I want to be in him, I want to feel good, I want him to moan. I must hear his voice without control.
We are so similar. I can only imagine that he must desire the same thing. Truthfully, I must wonder if each of these facial expressions, are they only concessions to me? Perhaps he would like to hear my voice in wanton abandon and calculates the attempt.
If that’s true, I don’t care. I still want him as much, if not more if he can think so far ahead. I withdraw my fingers and grab his pale length. His eye close, and he murmurs. The sound…Is utterly delectable. It is a delicacy. I rub my hand up and down his penis, my thumb rubbing against his slit with skill. It is weeping precome, and betrays his desire in a way his thoughts cannot control. It makes me feel…good. It is vindication that must make him feel weak to display. So I try harder, and he hums. The sound makes my hardness almost unbearable, and I decide not to waste any more time.
I shed the last of my clothing, and look in his eyes. Even as I hold him apart, and press inside, we are staring at each other. Our mouths are open just slightly, but our eyes, I imagine, would betray nothing to anyone else. I enter him slowly and my mouth closes, it is so much more gripping, and pleasurable than I had predicted. His body heat is torturous and the texture within him makes me groan. I can see Ulquiorra’s faint smirk for a brief moment, and that satisfaction, I see it, and I can’t hold back any longer. I slam into him, and we exclaim in empty sounds.
I know he must desire the same. Gentleness would be out of place, and the fire is beginning to burn out of control. I thrust inside him with the same strength, and within short time I am relentless, pulling out and pounding. The Arrancar’s arms tighten around me and again my pride sparks. I am vindictively proud of what I can provoke out of this creature as I so crudely penetrate him. He squeezes tighter around me, and I feel like I’m losing myself. I pound at him, I need more, I need to be deeper inside of him.
So white, so pure. His green eyes see into me and beyond me and I cannot be deep enough inside him. It is so vulgar, but I can tell what his eyes say. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me Shinigami. Fuck me and make it hurt, if you can. Ulquiorra is a man who knows me, and he knows that is a challenge I must rise to meet. If it’s fucking he wants, I’ll fuck him all night. I’ll come and fuck him again, if he’ll let me. And as I close my eyes, beginning to feel desperate from this wonderful pleasure, I get the sense that he will. Because the Arrancar does not often feel pleasure, and he wants more. I pull out as and thrust my hips as hard as he can. I want him to feel alive and I need to hit him harder. I breathe heavily.
I thrust again, and Ulquiorra cries out. I let out a short groan in pleasure, that I caused the noise. I aim my thrust for the same spot, and the reserved Espada screams. Oh god it is delicious. The sound is delight. The sound is more noble and blissful than anything within Seireitei and I scream with him.
It is becoming frenzied. We are, neither of us, ourselves. Friction, sweat, pounding and desperate tongues. I don’t know if I am Kuchiki Byakuya anymore or if I am Ulquiorra Schiffer, and this uncertainty is something I will give anything to continue. I must have him. We must possess each other.
“Fuck!” I scream, my voice hoarse from yelling, and I bury myself deep inside his lustful body, coming with utter relief. He tightens his arms around me and burrows his head in the crook of my neck, crying out. His release decorates our lower torsos, and both of us shake with exhaustion and the aftereffects of our orgasm. I ride the high, thrusting weakly a few more times, before I slowly fall to the ground, still holding the Arrancar. I withdraw from him and slump against the wall, panting.
“…Enjoyable, Byakuya,” he says with a voice as raw as my own. He doesn’t attempt to move. I grip his midnight hair and pull his face to mine, and kiss him roughly. I am lost.
“You need me,” I tell him. There is no other conclusion to draw, not after that.
“As if I would have let you return regardless,” he responds without inflection. But he knows he needs me. He also knows the feeling is mutual. If only to reach that frantic peak once more, he will keep me, and I do not find the prospect of my containment truly so terrible.
Need has distorted me, and in the mirror, I see Ulquiorra Schiffer.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Title: Losing
Pairing: Byakuya/Ulquiorra
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo, Bleach owns, not me, etc.
A request by
xshelaghx. A challenge indeed! *fistshake*
"oh oh pick me!
Since you say you don't mind a challenge I'd love a good UlquiorraxByakuya. :P Assume they meet in battle and fight for awhile but are also very attracted to each other. It's like looking in a mirror after all and they are both beautiful, arrogant, strong pricks so they like what they see and stuff happens. "
Quoted, since the request itself gave me some inspiration for how to end the damn thing.
This pairing was tough for me. Actually, pretty much all of the requests are of difficult pairings. Normally, I don't understand things involving Ulquiorra. He is quite emotionless, to me. But having to write him has let me see a little of the reasoning for the pairing. The pair faithfuls will have to let me know how I did!
This is my first Byakuya/Ulquiorra, and also the first fic I've done in first person present tense. I'm not sure why, but it seemed right. It also allowed me to be quite snooty and fancy in my writing style, which was quite frankly a relief. I can write uppity convoluted sentences like nobody's business! All in all, I'm really quite happy with how this turned out.
Losing - Kuchiki Byakuya's point of view
The Arrancar’s fighting is distinct, conserved. There are no wasted movements or flourishes, no style. Only the exact, requisite movements. His green eyes are hawk-like; I feel as though no decision I make, no movement is a surprise, because he sees it before I myself imagine it.
Blood has not yet been shed. If the Espada Ulquiorra can guess my movements, I can see his in his body. He is skilled, but before each strike, I can see his muscles contract and they betray his next action, barely. This is a standoff of brilliant proportions.
He is a cold man, I can devise. No expressions play across his harshly beautiful face as we cross blades, not even a setting of the jaw, no display of determination or even frustration that I am unmarred. But I can see that he is thinking. There-a brief twitch of his eyebrows. He is studying me the same way I am studying him, and like me, he is unsure.
He is elegant in the most bare, minimalist and violent way. Our blades meet, hilt to hilt.
“You are not concentrating, Shinigami,” he tells me, looking me in the eye.
“You hardly require my full focus, Hollow,” I reply, and press him away with my sword.
“That is not the reason,” he says, watching my sword slash down and blocking it with ease. “I have piqued your curiosity, have I not?” I step aside from one of his thrusts. Our battle is quick, sonido against shunpo at every moment, but it is as good as slow motion. “But you are an equally curious creature,” he finishes. My shoulders stiffen. I do not want to be intrigued by or be intriguing to such a disgusting creature.
“You are trash,” I say coolly. “And if trash catches my interest, it is only so that I may throw it away.” A curious thing happens. I expected no reaction at all, and the silent continuance of our fight. But instead, Ulquiorra, he smirks. It isn’t very noticeable. Perhaps if I were not so intent upon his unique features I would not notice, but it is there.
“Trash. I am familiar with…trash,” he says softly. Then he returns to silence, and my anger bridles. How dare he speak in such a way to me. He cannot, he will not dismiss me as trash. But he does, and quickly, I see why. His blade has trapped mine, then my sword is gone and suddenly the edge of his lies against my throat. “You have a…peculiar beauty, Shinigami. You could almost be one of us,” he tells me, studying me but not my eyes. I flush with anger.
“Don’t insult me-“ I begin harshly, but he interrupts me.
“I am not,” he says levelly. “I pay you a compliment. Do not continue to hide behind your nobility, Shinigami, and tell me what you see.” It is more of a command than his voice implies, because I can still feel his Zanpakuto against my throat. I look at him, still distant. But I know what he expects me to say, because it is exactly what I’m thinking.
“…Your features are delicate, for a Hollow,” I say to him.
“Delicate. So you are intrigued after all.” My eyes narrow, and watch him. He is still outlining my body with his pupils, study as intense as my own. Raw and confused. Then he is intrigued as well.
“Perhaps not as much as yourself.” Maybe it wasn’t a wise thing to say, I reflect as his eyes snap back to meet mine, and his hand closes tightly around my throat. What kind of soul does an Arrancar bear, I wonder distantly. His nails prick and draw blood from my throat, but I don’t look away from him. His face looks the same.
His grip begins to crush, but I do not panic. I can feel something teeming beneath the surface of his reiatsu, something struggling within my own. I succumb to its prodding, and I reach up to touch him. To touch his hair, black as night. My face contorts as the pain increases, but I still touch him softly. I desire to. It is peculiar how oddly calm I feel as my death approaches, but there seems to be no other reasonable thing to be doing. Nothing else but this enigma.
And then his grip releases. No acknowledgement in his face, and again just blankness. But that is the only recognition from him that I think I will receive. I believe his silence is in fact an invitation to continue, so I do. He draws me in more than I thought he would, my desire compounded, and I trace the black lines on his cheeks. His skin is as cold as it appears, but I do not draw away from it. Our stares match, and I know my expression is as blank as his now. I touch his chest, and something roars within my own. I answer that roar and tear away at his jacket. His eyes flicker and the edge of the blade prods against my throat briefly, but no further action.
I touch my nails against his bizarre, pale chest and just barely rake them down. His stance shifts, and he sheathes his sword. I do not attempt to retrieve mine.
He does not have the structure for the definition he has. It is just another oddity. I reach with sureness to remove the jacket from his shoulders, and slip it off that smooth skin. I have stepped into a realm that is not easy to walk back from, and I do not think from straying from it. I know I will succumb, and this once I relish it. I grab him by the shoulders and reverse our roles-he is shoved against the wall and I am kissing him harshly, hungrily. I am surprised he gives me a response at all, but he wraps his arms around me and returns the kiss. He bites down onto my lip without reprieve, until the blood is flowing into both our mouths. It should not surprise me that the Arrancar desires blood.
I realize in very little time what I really want from him. Forcing my tongue past his lips and sliding my hands along his hips is not enough, and I know it is not enough for him either. He rips down my hakama and tears away the scarves I am wearing. He rips away my hair ornaments with complete disregard to the strands of hair torn away with them. He makes me feel almost as vicious, and without grace I tear down his pants. His arousal is obvious, and I press against him. His cold, white body shivers, but still his face remains the same. I am glad.
Madness. It is utter madness, but I still try to devour his mouth. I know the proper, gentile way to prepare a man, and I decide not to do this delicate Arrancar a disservice. It would not be enjoyable if I did. So I pick him up carefully and press him against the wall. My fingers creep up a perfect white thigh until his entrance is discovered, and it is enough to make this reserved man writhe once a finger enters, and his mouth opens. No sound, but an open mouth is enough. I kiss him as wildly as I know how, while still carefully pressing against his ring of muscle. I add a second finger and his body adjusts with some discomfort as they scissor. I am acutely aware, embarrassingly aware of every movement he makes. It burns some sort of honor within me that I can make him feel anything at all. He pants just slightly now, and watches me with intensity. It is the first hint I have that he might really desire me, and it makes me hurry. I want him now. I press in a third finger, and I am not as gentle as I planned. I want to be in him, I want to feel good, I want him to moan. I must hear his voice without control.
We are so similar. I can only imagine that he must desire the same thing. Truthfully, I must wonder if each of these facial expressions, are they only concessions to me? Perhaps he would like to hear my voice in wanton abandon and calculates the attempt.
If that’s true, I don’t care. I still want him as much, if not more if he can think so far ahead. I withdraw my fingers and grab his pale length. His eye close, and he murmurs. The sound…Is utterly delectable. It is a delicacy. I rub my hand up and down his penis, my thumb rubbing against his slit with skill. It is weeping precome, and betrays his desire in a way his thoughts cannot control. It makes me feel…good. It is vindication that must make him feel weak to display. So I try harder, and he hums. The sound makes my hardness almost unbearable, and I decide not to waste any more time.
I shed the last of my clothing, and look in his eyes. Even as I hold him apart, and press inside, we are staring at each other. Our mouths are open just slightly, but our eyes, I imagine, would betray nothing to anyone else. I enter him slowly and my mouth closes, it is so much more gripping, and pleasurable than I had predicted. His body heat is torturous and the texture within him makes me groan. I can see Ulquiorra’s faint smirk for a brief moment, and that satisfaction, I see it, and I can’t hold back any longer. I slam into him, and we exclaim in empty sounds.
I know he must desire the same. Gentleness would be out of place, and the fire is beginning to burn out of control. I thrust inside him with the same strength, and within short time I am relentless, pulling out and pounding. The Arrancar’s arms tighten around me and again my pride sparks. I am vindictively proud of what I can provoke out of this creature as I so crudely penetrate him. He squeezes tighter around me, and I feel like I’m losing myself. I pound at him, I need more, I need to be deeper inside of him.
So white, so pure. His green eyes see into me and beyond me and I cannot be deep enough inside him. It is so vulgar, but I can tell what his eyes say. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me Shinigami. Fuck me and make it hurt, if you can. Ulquiorra is a man who knows me, and he knows that is a challenge I must rise to meet. If it’s fucking he wants, I’ll fuck him all night. I’ll come and fuck him again, if he’ll let me. And as I close my eyes, beginning to feel desperate from this wonderful pleasure, I get the sense that he will. Because the Arrancar does not often feel pleasure, and he wants more. I pull out as and thrust my hips as hard as he can. I want him to feel alive and I need to hit him harder. I breathe heavily.
I thrust again, and Ulquiorra cries out. I let out a short groan in pleasure, that I caused the noise. I aim my thrust for the same spot, and the reserved Espada screams. Oh god it is delicious. The sound is delight. The sound is more noble and blissful than anything within Seireitei and I scream with him.
It is becoming frenzied. We are, neither of us, ourselves. Friction, sweat, pounding and desperate tongues. I don’t know if I am Kuchiki Byakuya anymore or if I am Ulquiorra Schiffer, and this uncertainty is something I will give anything to continue. I must have him. We must possess each other.
“Fuck!” I scream, my voice hoarse from yelling, and I bury myself deep inside his lustful body, coming with utter relief. He tightens his arms around me and burrows his head in the crook of my neck, crying out. His release decorates our lower torsos, and both of us shake with exhaustion and the aftereffects of our orgasm. I ride the high, thrusting weakly a few more times, before I slowly fall to the ground, still holding the Arrancar. I withdraw from him and slump against the wall, panting.
“…Enjoyable, Byakuya,” he says with a voice as raw as my own. He doesn’t attempt to move. I grip his midnight hair and pull his face to mine, and kiss him roughly. I am lost.
“You need me,” I tell him. There is no other conclusion to draw, not after that.
“As if I would have let you return regardless,” he responds without inflection. But he knows he needs me. He also knows the feeling is mutual. If only to reach that frantic peak once more, he will keep me, and I do not find the prospect of my containment truly so terrible.
Need has distorted me, and in the mirror, I see Ulquiorra Schiffer.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.