Release - Mayuri/Urahara fic [Bleach]
Title: Release
Summary: One of Mayuri's theories fascinates Urahara. Urahara volunteers to be the subject of the experimental procedure, to some unexpected results.
Warnings: Hard R? This fanfiction contains some disturbing imagery. Specifically gore, of the surgical variety. M/M, voyeurism, masturbation, ah, laboratory kink? Also, probably some very bad science XD
Spoilers up to Chapter 316 of the manga. Set during the Pendulum arc.
Wordcount: ~3500
"About time to shut down, isn't it, Mayuri-san?" Urahara Kisuke shuffled into Mayuri's lab yawning, his eyes red and bloodshot.
Kurotsuchi Mayuri made a noise of disgust and another notation on his page of notes. "Speak for yourself, Urahara-taichou."
"What are you working on over there?" Urahara asked, his shadowed eyes widening as he finally took in the medical implements spread over Mayuri's workspace. Most were familiar to him, but he'd never known Mayuri to use them.
"An idle curiosity." Mayuri made another note, and narrowed his eyes at the captain's continued presence.
Never one to be put off by his subordinates' dislike of his company, Urahara wandered closer and randomly snatched up a page of notes. After a few seconds of skimming, his eyes widened.
"This is brilliant, Mayuri!" Showing no sign of the exhaustion he'd entered the room with, Urahara picked up another sheaf of papers and began rifling through them. "I'd have never thought to amplify the reiatsu conductors through the reproductive system; it makes so much sense, though."
Mayuri hissed in anger when Kisuke let a page fall to the floor in his excitement.
"Of course!" Kisuke mumbled along with a few sentences, then raised his green eyes to meet Mayuri's, golden and dispassionate and inhuman, framed by the thick black stripe of paint he wore across his face. "The potential problem with the urethra - you could probably fix that by--"
"Yes, I know, I've already figured it out," Mayuri sneered. "And I need my notes back."
"Oh, sure thing," Kisuke grinned. He handed them back, but quickly lifted another page from the desk and began scanning it.
"That's quite enough, Urahara," Mayuri hissed. "Be gone, and let me finish."
"Right, right." Urahara laughed good-naturedly, and then leveled a much more serious gaze at his eccentric subordinate. "I assume you've fully tested your theory."
Mayuri stilled, and then his lips spread in a yellowed grin. "Not yet, Urahara. Though I'm confident that it will work as expected."
Urahara nodded. "It certainly looks that way. I'd like you to show me."
Mayuri sniffed in disdain. "You know how impossible it is to acquire adequate experimental specimens at this time of the morning."
Urahara's smile was a lazy one, though his eyes were still bright with excitement. "There's a perfectly good specimen here already."
There was a moment of considering silence, and then: "Reckless as always, captain," Mayuri chided, through a smile that showed all of his teeth.
"You know me," Kisuke laughed. "I'll help you set up."
***
Urahara reclined on the operating table, watching passively through blurry eyes as Mayuri shaved his abdomen. From the waist down, he couldn't feel a thing. From the ears up, not much was happening, either.
"I shoulda made you buy me dinner first," he slurred as Mayuri wrapped his long fingers around his penis and scraped the blade over his pubic bone.
Mayuri only sneered in response, and with a practiced flick of the wrist he cleaned the razor, and then shaved away another stripe of dark blond pubic hair.
"That tickles," Urahara lied as he watched Mayuri stretch the skin of his balls to ease the glide of the straight razor. "Is that really necessary?"
Mayuri made another disgusted noise. "I know that the drugs are potent, but can't you be at least little professional? It shames me, knowing you're my captain."
Urahara laughed, his head spinning. "I love you too, Mayuri."
The bared-teeth grimace Mayuri shot his way would have made most men tremble in their boots, but Urahara only smiled in return and tried in vain to wiggle his toes.
"You disgust me." Mayuri's frown took a long time to dissipate, but by the time his prone captain was cleaned and sterilized, with fine lines inked onto his skin to guide the imminent incisions, Mayuri was once again enshrouded in the intellectual thrill of experimentation.
Kisuke's playful mood had evaporated as well, and he forced his mind to clear as Kurotsushi really went to work. The way he wielded a scalpel was inspired; brutal and confident, with no time for second-guessing. His long-fingered hands were sure and arrogant, and more familiar with the surgical implements than most shinigamis' were with their own zanpakatous.
A glance at Mayuri's face showed his eyes glowing with an almost religious fervor, and his face split in a wide smile. Urahara noticed a smudge at his neck, a bare finger's-width of pink skin showing through his white paint, and he looked back down at Mayuri's brilliant hands, and he felt the ghost sensation of a lurch in his stomach.
He almost laughed. He couldn't feel it, that lurch and the subsequent twisting, but his brain, knowing exactly the messages his body sent it when he was in the early stages of arousal, tricked him into thinking that he did.
If he could feel, he'd feel the skin of his lower belly being parted and opened, and he'd feel his guts shift as Mayuri probed deeper, his skilled fingers sliding and pressing against Kisuke's insides. Well, maybe it's not so different, he joked with himself.
"Is that retractor one of your inventions?" Kisuke asked.
"Of course it is," Mayuri answered without emotion, his attention fully on the organs and glands he was exposing.
"It's brilliant," Kisuke said, and he stretched his neck to see what Mayuri was doing now.
"Of course it is." Mayuri flicked his yellow eyes up to Kisuke's face, then back down to his opened abdomen. "Hold this," he instructed, and Urahara reached down and gripped the handle of a clamp.
"Don't let go, or you'll bleed out. And you're cleaning it up if you do."
Kisuke grinned again and watched as Mayuri manipulated his viscera, again fascinated with those brilliant, long-fingered hands. His own blood stained the scientist's gloves, but not the ends of his sleeves. "That's amazing," Kisuke murmured when Mayuri performed his final modifications with an efficient flair that sent another tingling flush of heat through Urahara's chest.
A precise suture sent signals up Urahara's nerves. A pinch, a prick. And then only seconds later, other nerves began speaking up, in whispers, in murmurs, but speaking up nonetheless.
Mayuri stared at his captain's penis in distaste when it gave a subtle twitch just inches away from the site of operation. It gave another, which he ignored in favor of continuing to put Kisuke back together.
"You are beneath my contempt," Mayuri said, his voice flat, his hands busy.
Kisuke raised an eyebrow at his own swelling dick, which was rolling against his thigh as it hardened.
"You've just got such nice hands," Kisuke retorted, made immune from embarrassment by the sheer strangeness of his predicament.
"I should geld you," Mayuri hissed. "What have you done?"
"You're not the only one who experiments on himself, Mayuri," Kisuke said lightly. "I had to raise my resistance to drugs, alter my pain response, and shorten my recovery time, or else I'd have been unable to perform some of the procedures."
"Tss, don't say obvious things. You should have let me know beforehand," Mayuri complained, frowning. "Now my data is skewed. Useless."
Kisuke allowed Mayuri to snatch the clamp from his hand, a little more roughly than was perhaps safe. To protect himself from more harsh treatment, he attempted to soothe the fuming scientist. "I've got it all documented. I'll give you the information." Which was a dangerous thing to do, perhaps, but admittedly not as dangerous as allowing himself to be laid out on one of Kurotsuchi Mayuri's infamous operating tables.
"I'm sure it's all primitive trash," Mayuri muttered, but he appeared to be at least somewhat appeased. It was with steady hands that he completed the final sutures, and it was the sight of those hands carefully, artfully closing him up that made Kisuke's erection strain to full hardness. It brushed the back of Mayuri's latex glove, and the man stared at it with cold contempt in his yellow eyes when it bobbed up, the flushed, swollen tip smeared with blood.
Mayuri turned away in a fit of pique, leaving Kisuke to handle his own post-surgery cleaning. He carefully pushed himself up, nearly amused by his subordinate's reaction, and disinfected and bandaged his lower belly. With a square of alcohol-soaked gauze, he wiped the blood away from the head of his somehow-still-hard dick. Then he stood, and his legs only shook a little before supporting his weight.
****
Kurotsuchi reappeared minutes later, rolling a heavy diagnostic machine into the lab. His yellow eyes fell on Kisuke's unrelenting erection, and they narrowed to slits. "Do something about that," he ordered. "It'll impede the tests."
"Not much I can do," Kisuke admitted, a little concerned, himself. He'd tried all the mental tricks he knew, and nothing had happened; his cock stood out long and hard and proud from between his thighs, and it showed no signs of softening. He looked up from his shaved crotch and bandaged belly, and gave Kurotsuchi an impetuous grin, his eyes glinting under the shaggy fringe of his hair. "Hey, if nothing else, maybe you've come up with a surgical cure for impotence."
Mayuri made a feh of disgust and arranged wires and electrodes neatly on a disinfected counter. "I'd never attach my name to something as puerile as that."
"Maybe I'll steal it from you," Kisuke teased.
"Next time I have you on a table," Mayuri said, his voice dispassionate as he approached Kisuke with several sensors and electrodes draped over his arm. "I'll cut out your tongue."
"Then I'll have to stay off your table, won't I?" Kisuke joked, but his heart wasn't in it. The concern he had felt earlier was back; as he watched Mayuri work, watched him connect wires to his skin, watched him make notes on a clipboard and turn knobs and dials, he couldn't keep his eyes off the man's hands. The more he observed, the more in awe he was of their every movement and gesture, nearly hypnotized by the shine of the cool flourescent light off the glossy black nails. Mayuri came close again to attach the final electrodes to his temples, and as he leaned forward to do so, Kisuke's eyes fixated on the man's mouth, the compelling curve of that black-painted upper lip, the full lower lip, and when Mayuri's bare fingertips brushed his skin, Kisuke shivered and felt his erection give a profound jerk.
Mayuri sneered at him as he backed off to walk over to the banks of equipment. There was touch of something new, something resembling superior amusement in his sneer now, and that, if nothing else, should have been enough to soften him up. But it wasn't, and Kisuke partitioned off one section of his consciousness, to observe dispassionately, to catalogue his reactions. This couldn't be a true reaction. Certainly Mayuri was brilliant, and fantastic with his hands, and these were no small things, in Urahara's book, but... He had never, ever found the man attractive before, in anything more than an intellectual way.
This was a new development, and one he didn't trust.
Mayuri walked him through the calibration process, guiding his actions in a cold voice as he made his baseline readings. And through it, Kisuke's cock ached, it throbbed, he could barely concentrate. And when he did concentrate, he was taken by the regal shape of Mayuri's nose, the otherworldly glow of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, and his hands, goddamn, his hands.
And then Mayuri began running him through tests, and he was lost. The brilliance of the procedure, the subtlety and efficiency of it, of taking advantage of the body's hormonal reactions to amplify reiatsu output; the scientific elegance of it took Kisuke's breath away. When Mayuri came closer to observe, Kisuke wanted nothing more than to feel his subordinate's hands on his body, to get off to the touch of those long, sensitive fingers.
"Did you slip me some sort of a love potion?" Kisuke asked, joking, yet attempting to clearly communicate his situation without having to spell it out.. He shivered as his skin flashed all over in goosebumps; it was cold in the lab, without the protection of clothing.
The corners of Mayuri's mouth turned down. "Don't be stupid. It's the interference from your own meddling. Now take your zanpakatou, and we will continue."
Kisuke took a deep breath, and let his eyes wander over Mayuri's body. He wondered what he looked like, under his robes. Wondered what he looked like without his paint, with his blue hair in disarray, wondered what he looked like when he was aroused.
He wondered if Mayuri had made any modifications to his own penis, to its form or fuctioning, and all the possibilities that his imagination suggested drew a breathless moan from deep in his throat.
"You want to have sex with me, don't you," Mayuri said flatly, his face expressing extreme distaste. "You're not going to. It's your reiatsu, influencing your hormones. It works both ways, of course."
Kisuke nodded, of course. He swallowed, and Mayuri suddenly looked malevolently amused again. "You might enjoy this. I told you to take up your zanpakatou."
It felt heavier than usual, and he stood on shaking legs as Mayuri turned a knob, jotted down a note. Those hands. Kisuke licked his lips, and that clinical section of his mind responded in horror to the rush of profane images that overcame him. Oh, the things he would have Mayuri do to him, given the chance.
His balls felt full, and the skin of his thighs and freshly-shaven sac were unusually sensitive as they rubbed against each other. Mayuri stared at him with a hard glint in his eye, his lips curling up in a sharp sickle of a grin. "Increase your reiatsu output by ten percent," he ordered, his voice slow and taunting. Taunting, because they both had a very good notion of what that would do to Kisuke.
"Ah," Kisuke gasped as his power flared, and his cock throbbed in time with the rhythmic flaring of his aura. Or perhaps it was his aura that flared in time with the throbbing of his cock; Kisuke wasn't sure any more.
"Interesting," Mayuri observed, and he made another notation with a nasty smile. "You want me to touch you, don't you?" he drawled, and he ran his thumb along the shaft of the pen.
It was a crude gesture, one Kisuke wouldn't have expected from the seemingly inhuman Kurotsuchi Mayuri, but it was effective. Combined with his voice, that usually sticky, grating voice that was suddenly immensely appealing, it had the effect of making Urahara's balls draw up tight against his shaft. He looked down to see a pearly drop of precum well up at his tip. "Uh," he answered, and he had to swallow again.
Mayuri approached him again with slow, measured footsteps. His robes flared behind him, and the lift of his painted chin made him look arrogant and regal, like some primitive god.
"You have so many filthy desires," Mayuri rasped, his voice laced with contempt. He circled his captain, the sound of his pen scratching over paper a dry counterpoint to his voice. "So many base urges. You're so easily influenced. So human," he spat.
And then Urahara felt hot breath against the back of his neck. He sucked in a shuddery gasp, and he could smell Mayuri; the man smelled of disinfectant and spilled blood, tinged with the powdery scent of his paint. No hint of flesh, none of the salty warmth of a man - it was cold and clinical, but it made Urahara grunt through his nose in desire.
That grunt broke into a hoarse moan when he felt a finger run down his spine, over skin that was sweating now in spite of the coolness of the room, down to his tailbone. His cock bucked again, and squeezed out more precum. It ran down his shaft, a maddeningly sensual feeling.
Urahara flicked his tongue over his lips. "Aren't you concerned about the integrity of the experiment?"
A dark chuckle sounded behind him. That finger ran back up his spine, slowly, manipulating nerve bundles with cool intent. Urahara's hips curled forward of their own accord.
"You already ruined that, Urahara-taichou. Now I'm simply... satisfying my curiosity. That was your only purpose in volunteering, wasn't it, Kisuke?" Mayuri hissed out his captain's name, his breath pouring out hot and humid over the back of Urahara's neck again.
Urahara was speechless. His energy pulsed, his cock jerked, his mouth opened and closed, and the impartial observer in his skull clamored for him to regain control of the situation.
"Now," Mayuri whispered in his ear, making control impossible. "Shikai. Release."
Kisuke took a deep breath, and did as he was told, hoping that this would put an end to his torment. His reiatsu flared wildly as he reached for Shikai, but before he could release it, his whole body was enveloped in a shuddery heat.
"Ah!" he cried out as his balls tightened and tingled, and his dick swelled to unprecedented hardness. He barely sensed Mayuri move away and to the side, and then he fell to his knees as orgasm overtook him.
"Ohhhh," he groaned as his cock bucked and spurted, spraying his seed in a fluid arc that splattered against the cold, clean tile of the laboratory floor. He supported himself with his zapankatou, and with the other hand, he reached down to milk the remainder of his orgasm. He heard himself whimpering but couldn't stop, felt himself shaking as he gave himself a final wet, twisting stroke.
"Buh," he grunted, and he rested his forehead against the hand clasped around his zanpakatou. The hot shudders continued to run through him for several long seconds, and when they finally abated, he raised his face.
Mayuri was watching with cool interest, once again taking notes. "How would you rate the intensity of the orgasm, on a scale of one to ten?"
Bemused, Kisuke wrinkled his forehead, then shook his head. It was clearer now, and he was no longer quite as enamored of Mayuri's physical traits, though he did have have another fleeting curious thought about the man's penis. He shook his head again to rid himself of it. "Ten. Very intense."
Mayuri's brisk efficiency acted to clear the room of any awkwardness Kisuke might have felt. He shakily pushed himself to his feet and walked to the counter that held the cleaning supplies. As he rubbed himself down with a handful of gauze, Mayuri asked, "Do you feel any lingering effects?"
Kisuke mentally probed his body. "No. I feel normal again." He frowned. What had been the point of surgery, if the effects didn't linger?
"Wrong," Mayuri corrected. "Your reiatsu limit has been increased."
Kisuke raised an eyebrow at Mayuri's smug grin, about to ask what the man was going on about. But he searched inwardly again, and found that Mayuri was, in fact, correct. But that didn't explain the paralyzing arousal he'd felt... he softened his expression as he finished wiping his thighs, but his mind was running a mile a second.
He thought about a few of the surgical tools that Mayuri'd had scattered over his desk, that had nothing to do with the actual operation. He thought about the unbelievable (now that his mind was clear enough to think about it) assertion that Mayuri hadn't already known about the adjustments he'd made to his body. He thought about Mayuri abandoning experimental procedure, to interfere with the testing at the end. He thought about Mayuri's unusually mild bedside manner.
He thought about eventually asking for a sample of the reiatsu-responsive stimulant that Mayuri must have stealthily introduced into his system during the operation.
He turned away to walk over to his robes, his stomach sore inside from the intensity of his orgasm, coming right after the surgery as it did. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that he hadn't busted a stitch, not when Mayuri had known exactly what he was doing the entire time. He allowed himself a small smile as he draped his robes over his shoulders.
Perhaps Mayuri didn't find him so unpleasant after all.
But what an incredible, byzantine way to flirt. Urahara had to stifle a laugh.
"I'll give you that information I promised you tomorrow, and answer whatever other questions you have," Urahara said, and he covered a yawn with his hand as he turned back to his subordinate. "Now I'm gonna go crash. I suggest you do the same."
"I'll sleep when I choose to do so," Mayuri said, his dark, shapely upper lip curling in disdain. "Now leave me. I have work to do."
Urahara smiled, never one to be put off by his subordinates' feigned dislike of his company. "Right. Sweet dreams, Mayuri."
Mayuri sniffed, and swept out of the laboratory, once again scribbling down notes.
THE END
_____________
A/N: Written pretty quickly for a Bleach kink meme, then lightly edited. And this is my first posted Bleach fic, so I'd love concrit, but be gentle :) I'm not 100% certain on their characterizations, and I'm WAY less than 100% on canon stuff. So if I'm using terminology incorrectly, please correct me so I don't keep making the same mistakes! Same goes for typos - I seem to be missing more of those lately!
Thanks for reading! ^__^
Summary: One of Mayuri's theories fascinates Urahara. Urahara volunteers to be the subject of the experimental procedure, to some unexpected results.
Warnings: Hard R? This fanfiction contains some disturbing imagery. Specifically gore, of the surgical variety. M/M, voyeurism, masturbation, ah, laboratory kink? Also, probably some very bad science XD
Spoilers up to Chapter 316 of the manga. Set during the Pendulum arc.
Wordcount: ~3500
"About time to shut down, isn't it, Mayuri-san?" Urahara Kisuke shuffled into Mayuri's lab yawning, his eyes red and bloodshot.
Kurotsuchi Mayuri made a noise of disgust and another notation on his page of notes. "Speak for yourself, Urahara-taichou."
"What are you working on over there?" Urahara asked, his shadowed eyes widening as he finally took in the medical implements spread over Mayuri's workspace. Most were familiar to him, but he'd never known Mayuri to use them.
"An idle curiosity." Mayuri made another note, and narrowed his eyes at the captain's continued presence.
Never one to be put off by his subordinates' dislike of his company, Urahara wandered closer and randomly snatched up a page of notes. After a few seconds of skimming, his eyes widened.
"This is brilliant, Mayuri!" Showing no sign of the exhaustion he'd entered the room with, Urahara picked up another sheaf of papers and began rifling through them. "I'd have never thought to amplify the reiatsu conductors through the reproductive system; it makes so much sense, though."
Mayuri hissed in anger when Kisuke let a page fall to the floor in his excitement.
"Of course!" Kisuke mumbled along with a few sentences, then raised his green eyes to meet Mayuri's, golden and dispassionate and inhuman, framed by the thick black stripe of paint he wore across his face. "The potential problem with the urethra - you could probably fix that by--"
"Yes, I know, I've already figured it out," Mayuri sneered. "And I need my notes back."
"Oh, sure thing," Kisuke grinned. He handed them back, but quickly lifted another page from the desk and began scanning it.
"That's quite enough, Urahara," Mayuri hissed. "Be gone, and let me finish."
"Right, right." Urahara laughed good-naturedly, and then leveled a much more serious gaze at his eccentric subordinate. "I assume you've fully tested your theory."
Mayuri stilled, and then his lips spread in a yellowed grin. "Not yet, Urahara. Though I'm confident that it will work as expected."
Urahara nodded. "It certainly looks that way. I'd like you to show me."
Mayuri sniffed in disdain. "You know how impossible it is to acquire adequate experimental specimens at this time of the morning."
Urahara's smile was a lazy one, though his eyes were still bright with excitement. "There's a perfectly good specimen here already."
There was a moment of considering silence, and then: "Reckless as always, captain," Mayuri chided, through a smile that showed all of his teeth.
"You know me," Kisuke laughed. "I'll help you set up."
***
Urahara reclined on the operating table, watching passively through blurry eyes as Mayuri shaved his abdomen. From the waist down, he couldn't feel a thing. From the ears up, not much was happening, either.
"I shoulda made you buy me dinner first," he slurred as Mayuri wrapped his long fingers around his penis and scraped the blade over his pubic bone.
Mayuri only sneered in response, and with a practiced flick of the wrist he cleaned the razor, and then shaved away another stripe of dark blond pubic hair.
"That tickles," Urahara lied as he watched Mayuri stretch the skin of his balls to ease the glide of the straight razor. "Is that really necessary?"
Mayuri made another disgusted noise. "I know that the drugs are potent, but can't you be at least little professional? It shames me, knowing you're my captain."
Urahara laughed, his head spinning. "I love you too, Mayuri."
The bared-teeth grimace Mayuri shot his way would have made most men tremble in their boots, but Urahara only smiled in return and tried in vain to wiggle his toes.
"You disgust me." Mayuri's frown took a long time to dissipate, but by the time his prone captain was cleaned and sterilized, with fine lines inked onto his skin to guide the imminent incisions, Mayuri was once again enshrouded in the intellectual thrill of experimentation.
Kisuke's playful mood had evaporated as well, and he forced his mind to clear as Kurotsushi really went to work. The way he wielded a scalpel was inspired; brutal and confident, with no time for second-guessing. His long-fingered hands were sure and arrogant, and more familiar with the surgical implements than most shinigamis' were with their own zanpakatous.
A glance at Mayuri's face showed his eyes glowing with an almost religious fervor, and his face split in a wide smile. Urahara noticed a smudge at his neck, a bare finger's-width of pink skin showing through his white paint, and he looked back down at Mayuri's brilliant hands, and he felt the ghost sensation of a lurch in his stomach.
He almost laughed. He couldn't feel it, that lurch and the subsequent twisting, but his brain, knowing exactly the messages his body sent it when he was in the early stages of arousal, tricked him into thinking that he did.
If he could feel, he'd feel the skin of his lower belly being parted and opened, and he'd feel his guts shift as Mayuri probed deeper, his skilled fingers sliding and pressing against Kisuke's insides. Well, maybe it's not so different, he joked with himself.
"Is that retractor one of your inventions?" Kisuke asked.
"Of course it is," Mayuri answered without emotion, his attention fully on the organs and glands he was exposing.
"It's brilliant," Kisuke said, and he stretched his neck to see what Mayuri was doing now.
"Of course it is." Mayuri flicked his yellow eyes up to Kisuke's face, then back down to his opened abdomen. "Hold this," he instructed, and Urahara reached down and gripped the handle of a clamp.
"Don't let go, or you'll bleed out. And you're cleaning it up if you do."
Kisuke grinned again and watched as Mayuri manipulated his viscera, again fascinated with those brilliant, long-fingered hands. His own blood stained the scientist's gloves, but not the ends of his sleeves. "That's amazing," Kisuke murmured when Mayuri performed his final modifications with an efficient flair that sent another tingling flush of heat through Urahara's chest.
A precise suture sent signals up Urahara's nerves. A pinch, a prick. And then only seconds later, other nerves began speaking up, in whispers, in murmurs, but speaking up nonetheless.
Mayuri stared at his captain's penis in distaste when it gave a subtle twitch just inches away from the site of operation. It gave another, which he ignored in favor of continuing to put Kisuke back together.
"You are beneath my contempt," Mayuri said, his voice flat, his hands busy.
Kisuke raised an eyebrow at his own swelling dick, which was rolling against his thigh as it hardened.
"You've just got such nice hands," Kisuke retorted, made immune from embarrassment by the sheer strangeness of his predicament.
"I should geld you," Mayuri hissed. "What have you done?"
"You're not the only one who experiments on himself, Mayuri," Kisuke said lightly. "I had to raise my resistance to drugs, alter my pain response, and shorten my recovery time, or else I'd have been unable to perform some of the procedures."
"Tss, don't say obvious things. You should have let me know beforehand," Mayuri complained, frowning. "Now my data is skewed. Useless."
Kisuke allowed Mayuri to snatch the clamp from his hand, a little more roughly than was perhaps safe. To protect himself from more harsh treatment, he attempted to soothe the fuming scientist. "I've got it all documented. I'll give you the information." Which was a dangerous thing to do, perhaps, but admittedly not as dangerous as allowing himself to be laid out on one of Kurotsuchi Mayuri's infamous operating tables.
"I'm sure it's all primitive trash," Mayuri muttered, but he appeared to be at least somewhat appeased. It was with steady hands that he completed the final sutures, and it was the sight of those hands carefully, artfully closing him up that made Kisuke's erection strain to full hardness. It brushed the back of Mayuri's latex glove, and the man stared at it with cold contempt in his yellow eyes when it bobbed up, the flushed, swollen tip smeared with blood.
Mayuri turned away in a fit of pique, leaving Kisuke to handle his own post-surgery cleaning. He carefully pushed himself up, nearly amused by his subordinate's reaction, and disinfected and bandaged his lower belly. With a square of alcohol-soaked gauze, he wiped the blood away from the head of his somehow-still-hard dick. Then he stood, and his legs only shook a little before supporting his weight.
****
Kurotsuchi reappeared minutes later, rolling a heavy diagnostic machine into the lab. His yellow eyes fell on Kisuke's unrelenting erection, and they narrowed to slits. "Do something about that," he ordered. "It'll impede the tests."
"Not much I can do," Kisuke admitted, a little concerned, himself. He'd tried all the mental tricks he knew, and nothing had happened; his cock stood out long and hard and proud from between his thighs, and it showed no signs of softening. He looked up from his shaved crotch and bandaged belly, and gave Kurotsuchi an impetuous grin, his eyes glinting under the shaggy fringe of his hair. "Hey, if nothing else, maybe you've come up with a surgical cure for impotence."
Mayuri made a feh of disgust and arranged wires and electrodes neatly on a disinfected counter. "I'd never attach my name to something as puerile as that."
"Maybe I'll steal it from you," Kisuke teased.
"Next time I have you on a table," Mayuri said, his voice dispassionate as he approached Kisuke with several sensors and electrodes draped over his arm. "I'll cut out your tongue."
"Then I'll have to stay off your table, won't I?" Kisuke joked, but his heart wasn't in it. The concern he had felt earlier was back; as he watched Mayuri work, watched him connect wires to his skin, watched him make notes on a clipboard and turn knobs and dials, he couldn't keep his eyes off the man's hands. The more he observed, the more in awe he was of their every movement and gesture, nearly hypnotized by the shine of the cool flourescent light off the glossy black nails. Mayuri came close again to attach the final electrodes to his temples, and as he leaned forward to do so, Kisuke's eyes fixated on the man's mouth, the compelling curve of that black-painted upper lip, the full lower lip, and when Mayuri's bare fingertips brushed his skin, Kisuke shivered and felt his erection give a profound jerk.
Mayuri sneered at him as he backed off to walk over to the banks of equipment. There was touch of something new, something resembling superior amusement in his sneer now, and that, if nothing else, should have been enough to soften him up. But it wasn't, and Kisuke partitioned off one section of his consciousness, to observe dispassionately, to catalogue his reactions. This couldn't be a true reaction. Certainly Mayuri was brilliant, and fantastic with his hands, and these were no small things, in Urahara's book, but... He had never, ever found the man attractive before, in anything more than an intellectual way.
This was a new development, and one he didn't trust.
Mayuri walked him through the calibration process, guiding his actions in a cold voice as he made his baseline readings. And through it, Kisuke's cock ached, it throbbed, he could barely concentrate. And when he did concentrate, he was taken by the regal shape of Mayuri's nose, the otherworldly glow of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, and his hands, goddamn, his hands.
And then Mayuri began running him through tests, and he was lost. The brilliance of the procedure, the subtlety and efficiency of it, of taking advantage of the body's hormonal reactions to amplify reiatsu output; the scientific elegance of it took Kisuke's breath away. When Mayuri came closer to observe, Kisuke wanted nothing more than to feel his subordinate's hands on his body, to get off to the touch of those long, sensitive fingers.
"Did you slip me some sort of a love potion?" Kisuke asked, joking, yet attempting to clearly communicate his situation without having to spell it out.. He shivered as his skin flashed all over in goosebumps; it was cold in the lab, without the protection of clothing.
The corners of Mayuri's mouth turned down. "Don't be stupid. It's the interference from your own meddling. Now take your zanpakatou, and we will continue."
Kisuke took a deep breath, and let his eyes wander over Mayuri's body. He wondered what he looked like, under his robes. Wondered what he looked like without his paint, with his blue hair in disarray, wondered what he looked like when he was aroused.
He wondered if Mayuri had made any modifications to his own penis, to its form or fuctioning, and all the possibilities that his imagination suggested drew a breathless moan from deep in his throat.
"You want to have sex with me, don't you," Mayuri said flatly, his face expressing extreme distaste. "You're not going to. It's your reiatsu, influencing your hormones. It works both ways, of course."
Kisuke nodded, of course. He swallowed, and Mayuri suddenly looked malevolently amused again. "You might enjoy this. I told you to take up your zanpakatou."
It felt heavier than usual, and he stood on shaking legs as Mayuri turned a knob, jotted down a note. Those hands. Kisuke licked his lips, and that clinical section of his mind responded in horror to the rush of profane images that overcame him. Oh, the things he would have Mayuri do to him, given the chance.
His balls felt full, and the skin of his thighs and freshly-shaven sac were unusually sensitive as they rubbed against each other. Mayuri stared at him with a hard glint in his eye, his lips curling up in a sharp sickle of a grin. "Increase your reiatsu output by ten percent," he ordered, his voice slow and taunting. Taunting, because they both had a very good notion of what that would do to Kisuke.
"Ah," Kisuke gasped as his power flared, and his cock throbbed in time with the rhythmic flaring of his aura. Or perhaps it was his aura that flared in time with the throbbing of his cock; Kisuke wasn't sure any more.
"Interesting," Mayuri observed, and he made another notation with a nasty smile. "You want me to touch you, don't you?" he drawled, and he ran his thumb along the shaft of the pen.
It was a crude gesture, one Kisuke wouldn't have expected from the seemingly inhuman Kurotsuchi Mayuri, but it was effective. Combined with his voice, that usually sticky, grating voice that was suddenly immensely appealing, it had the effect of making Urahara's balls draw up tight against his shaft. He looked down to see a pearly drop of precum well up at his tip. "Uh," he answered, and he had to swallow again.
Mayuri approached him again with slow, measured footsteps. His robes flared behind him, and the lift of his painted chin made him look arrogant and regal, like some primitive god.
"You have so many filthy desires," Mayuri rasped, his voice laced with contempt. He circled his captain, the sound of his pen scratching over paper a dry counterpoint to his voice. "So many base urges. You're so easily influenced. So human," he spat.
And then Urahara felt hot breath against the back of his neck. He sucked in a shuddery gasp, and he could smell Mayuri; the man smelled of disinfectant and spilled blood, tinged with the powdery scent of his paint. No hint of flesh, none of the salty warmth of a man - it was cold and clinical, but it made Urahara grunt through his nose in desire.
That grunt broke into a hoarse moan when he felt a finger run down his spine, over skin that was sweating now in spite of the coolness of the room, down to his tailbone. His cock bucked again, and squeezed out more precum. It ran down his shaft, a maddeningly sensual feeling.
Urahara flicked his tongue over his lips. "Aren't you concerned about the integrity of the experiment?"
A dark chuckle sounded behind him. That finger ran back up his spine, slowly, manipulating nerve bundles with cool intent. Urahara's hips curled forward of their own accord.
"You already ruined that, Urahara-taichou. Now I'm simply... satisfying my curiosity. That was your only purpose in volunteering, wasn't it, Kisuke?" Mayuri hissed out his captain's name, his breath pouring out hot and humid over the back of Urahara's neck again.
Urahara was speechless. His energy pulsed, his cock jerked, his mouth opened and closed, and the impartial observer in his skull clamored for him to regain control of the situation.
"Now," Mayuri whispered in his ear, making control impossible. "Shikai. Release."
Kisuke took a deep breath, and did as he was told, hoping that this would put an end to his torment. His reiatsu flared wildly as he reached for Shikai, but before he could release it, his whole body was enveloped in a shuddery heat.
"Ah!" he cried out as his balls tightened and tingled, and his dick swelled to unprecedented hardness. He barely sensed Mayuri move away and to the side, and then he fell to his knees as orgasm overtook him.
"Ohhhh," he groaned as his cock bucked and spurted, spraying his seed in a fluid arc that splattered against the cold, clean tile of the laboratory floor. He supported himself with his zapankatou, and with the other hand, he reached down to milk the remainder of his orgasm. He heard himself whimpering but couldn't stop, felt himself shaking as he gave himself a final wet, twisting stroke.
"Buh," he grunted, and he rested his forehead against the hand clasped around his zanpakatou. The hot shudders continued to run through him for several long seconds, and when they finally abated, he raised his face.
Mayuri was watching with cool interest, once again taking notes. "How would you rate the intensity of the orgasm, on a scale of one to ten?"
Bemused, Kisuke wrinkled his forehead, then shook his head. It was clearer now, and he was no longer quite as enamored of Mayuri's physical traits, though he did have have another fleeting curious thought about the man's penis. He shook his head again to rid himself of it. "Ten. Very intense."
Mayuri's brisk efficiency acted to clear the room of any awkwardness Kisuke might have felt. He shakily pushed himself to his feet and walked to the counter that held the cleaning supplies. As he rubbed himself down with a handful of gauze, Mayuri asked, "Do you feel any lingering effects?"
Kisuke mentally probed his body. "No. I feel normal again." He frowned. What had been the point of surgery, if the effects didn't linger?
"Wrong," Mayuri corrected. "Your reiatsu limit has been increased."
Kisuke raised an eyebrow at Mayuri's smug grin, about to ask what the man was going on about. But he searched inwardly again, and found that Mayuri was, in fact, correct. But that didn't explain the paralyzing arousal he'd felt... he softened his expression as he finished wiping his thighs, but his mind was running a mile a second.
He thought about a few of the surgical tools that Mayuri'd had scattered over his desk, that had nothing to do with the actual operation. He thought about the unbelievable (now that his mind was clear enough to think about it) assertion that Mayuri hadn't already known about the adjustments he'd made to his body. He thought about Mayuri abandoning experimental procedure, to interfere with the testing at the end. He thought about Mayuri's unusually mild bedside manner.
He thought about eventually asking for a sample of the reiatsu-responsive stimulant that Mayuri must have stealthily introduced into his system during the operation.
He turned away to walk over to his robes, his stomach sore inside from the intensity of his orgasm, coming right after the surgery as it did. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that he hadn't busted a stitch, not when Mayuri had known exactly what he was doing the entire time. He allowed himself a small smile as he draped his robes over his shoulders.
Perhaps Mayuri didn't find him so unpleasant after all.
But what an incredible, byzantine way to flirt. Urahara had to stifle a laugh.
"I'll give you that information I promised you tomorrow, and answer whatever other questions you have," Urahara said, and he covered a yawn with his hand as he turned back to his subordinate. "Now I'm gonna go crash. I suggest you do the same."
"I'll sleep when I choose to do so," Mayuri said, his dark, shapely upper lip curling in disdain. "Now leave me. I have work to do."
Urahara smiled, never one to be put off by his subordinates' feigned dislike of his company. "Right. Sweet dreams, Mayuri."
Mayuri sniffed, and swept out of the laboratory, once again scribbling down notes.
THE END
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A/N: Written pretty quickly for a Bleach kink meme, then lightly edited. And this is my first posted Bleach fic, so I'd love concrit, but be gentle :) I'm not 100% certain on their characterizations, and I'm WAY less than 100% on canon stuff. So if I'm using terminology incorrectly, please correct me so I don't keep making the same mistakes! Same goes for typos - I seem to be missing more of those lately!
Thanks for reading! ^__^