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dracoqueen22a/n: Good afternoon folks! I bring to you the next request piece, this one for the 55555th hit on my fanfiction website. This one is much happier than the last one. It's also NSFW.
Title: For Your Entertainment
Pairings: Ichigo/Urahara
Rating: M
Warnings: Smut, Slash, AU-ish, a bit of playful D/s
Description: Give it all you’ve got until he screams your name.
Dedication: For viwild, who was the 55555th hit on Pandora's Box.
Title from a song by Adam Lambert.
Kisuke fights off a yawn as he steps into the unnatural silence of his shouten. Even the atmosphere is free of lingering reiatsu. Tessai’s off visiting Hachi, and the children remained in Seireitei, getting to know Kusajishi, much to the rest of Seireitei's vexation.
Kisuke snickers. He wonders how much of the city will be destroyed by the time he sees fit to return tomorrow? And he won't feel a bit of guilt about it. None at all.
Because tonight... tonight, he will get some peace and quiet, both of which are rare to come. He'll have the shop all to himself. He could’ve stayed in Seireitei if he wanted. Yoruichi-san had offered him a room, and his exile's been lifted, but honestly, Karakura has become something like home. He suspects he'll be spending an equal time in Soul Society and the living world from now on.
Besides, Karakura is where Ichigo is, and frankly, Kisuke's not ready to cut those ties. In fact, given the chance, he'd love to strengthen them. But the time hasn't come to push those boundaries yet.
Kisuke bypasses the main rooms – the kitchen, his lab – and heads straight for his bedroom. Tonight is the night for relaxation. Perhaps he'll even pick up that book he's been trying to read for half a decade. Other things kept interfering. Things like Aizen's war and training Ichigo.
He slides open the door and palms the wall, reaching by memory for the light switch. With a flick of his fingers, light floods the room, and Kisuke nearly leaps into the air out of sheer surprise.
Well, speak of the devil...
Perched on Kisuke's futon as though he belongs, having made himself at home, is none other than Kurosaki Ichigo. He's leaning up against the wall, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out. A jug of sake is tucked against his side, and one hand toys with a small cup. His expression is unreadable, his reiatsu wound tightly about his body, which explains why Kisuke hadn't sensed him.
He blinks, sliding completely into the room but wisely leaving the door open behind him.
“Kurosaki-kun?” the blond questions.
He’s unable to keep himself from raking a hungry gaze over his former student. Years have only matured his looks, turning him from a gangly youth to a handsome young man. A very handsome, very desirable man. Who’s currently lounging on his bed.
Kisuke swallows.
“This is a... surprise.”
Gee, understatement of the century there Kisuke.
Ichigo shrugs. He leans to the side and sets his jug on a nearby table, cup soon joining.
“This has been a long time coming.”
Curiosity battles with confusion.
“To what are you referring?” Kisuke asks.
Since really, as much as he racks his brain, he can't come up with a reason why Ichigo would sneak into his room, only to wait for him to come to bed. And with a bottle of sake at that.
Ichigo rolls his shoulders, shifting so that his legs fall open just a bit. “Don't play blond with me, Kisuke.”
His voice is a dark purr as his gaze focuses on Kisuke and Kisuke alone. Eyes dark, reiatsu brimming with intent, not dangerous, but focused.
The ex-captain has to fight to shiver. It's a heady thing, being the focal point of that intent.
“Are we so informal now?”
Rising from the bed, Ichigo crosses the floor on silent feet, his stride better described as a stalk. A lazy stalk, like a hunting beast, a panther or something equally amazing.
“I think we passed formal a long time ago,” Ichigo replies. He approaches with the weight of his reiatsu hanging around him. Not so much oppressive as patently tangible, coaxing Kisuke's own out to play.
He stops, however, when there’s little more than a foot between them. His expression is yet unreadable. That they’re nearly the same height now becomes all the more apparent.
Kisuke swallows again, licking his lips with a suddenly dry tongue? Is this fear? Far, far from it. He tilts his head to the side, aiming for nonchalance and hitting the target off center.
“My, Kurosaki-kun, have I done something to upset you?”
“Countless things,” Ichigo returns with a low chuckle that dances down Kisuke's spine and makes heat pool in his groin, makes him throb and ache in ways that he knows he oughtn't. “But not the one thing I've actually wanted.”
Kisuke laughs, arousal curling through him, battling against disbelief and hope. Ichigo can't really be here, implying these things. But he is! And suddenly, Kisuke's glad that he's chosen to linger in Karakura.
“And what would that be?”
Ichigo takes another step forward, completely closing the distance between them, and when had he gotten that close? Close enough for Kisuke to feel the buzzing of reiatsu against his skin, catch the scent of sake and laundry soap and whatever cologne it is that he wears. Close enough for him to touch if he so desired.
Brown eyes are smoldering, and a smirk curves the corner of Ichigo's lips.
“This,” he says.
And before Kisuke can react, can think to come up with witty repartee, Ichigo is kissing him.
Their mouths lock, a tongue brushing against the seam of Kisuke's lips, warmly requesting entrance, and he doesn't deny. He parts his lips, moans as Ichigo's tongue invades his mouth, and slinks back a step. His back collides with the wall, Ichigo following him, trapping him there. Arms come up, hands bracing on the wall above Kisuke's shoulders, Ichigo crowding in on him.
Only their lips are touching, but somehow, that makes it all the more arousing. Desire blooms to life inside Kisuke. His heart thuds in his chest, just like in those sappy romance novels; it feels like someone's turned up the heat in his room. His face is flushed, his clothes are too heavy, and Ichigo's tongue explores his mouth with talented sweeps. Tangling with Kisuke's and dragging need from the pit of his belly.
Until Ichigo ends the kiss, pulling back so that mere inches separate them. His breath a is heated wash over Kisuke's mouth. Ichigo looks at him, his eyes dark and rich with promise.
“Well...” the blond puts in with a weak chuckle that completely betrays his utter loss of composure. “You should’ve said something sooner.”
Ichigo licks his lips. “Any sooner and Isshin would've blown a gasket.”
Ah, yes. The tiny matter of age and consent. A neon bright reason as to why Kisuke had yet to make his move. Well, that and the fact he – like everyone else – thought Ichigo in love with Rukia-chan or at least adorable Hime-chan.
“There is that,” Kisuke admits, and his breath hitches as Ichigo shifts his weight, making no effort to hide the leisurely rake of his eyes over Kisuke's body.
Frankly, the blond’s beginning to wonder if he should fear for his virtue. And Kisuke didn't even know he had any virtue left.
“Mm hm.” Ichigo hums in his throat, gaze lingering. “You don't protest then?”
“Protest?” Kisuke snorts pointedly. “I am the furthest from protesting a man can possibly be right now.”
Ichigo's eyes drop to Kisuke's groin. One hand falls from the wall and traces the same path, a palm cupping Kisuke without hesitation.
“So I see.”
By the gods...
Kisuke's head thunks against the wall as he bucks into Ichigo's grip. Nerves spark with pleasure, and he bites back a moan. His arousal is already throbbing within his pants, eager for the touch of Ichigo's fingers.
“You … you just rush headfirst into everything, don't you?” he demands.
Ichigo laughs, the sound echoing in the room. Low and heavy. Intoxicating.
“Works out better that way,” he comments with a squeeze of his fingers that threatens to steal Kisuke's breath.
He arches again, hands scrabbling for purchase as he fists Ichigo's shirt with one and grips Ichigo's hip with the other.
“So you thought you'd just... stroll in here and take what you want?” Kisuke asks, voice little more than a gasp. The idea burns through him of Ichigo indeed bending him over and taking what he wants.
“Why? Do you mind?” the Vizard asks as he leans forward and nuzzles into Kisuke's throat. His lips are a mere brush over his sensitive flesh, fingers deftly massaging Kisuke's hardened length.
“Actually, I'm rather partial to it right now,” the ex-captain finds himself admitting. His fingers stroke Ichigo's hip, sliding under the hem of his shirt and glancing across warm skin.
Ichigo nips at his throat, making Kisuke jerk against him.
“Good,” he says and strangely backs off a pace, dislodging Kisuke's hold on his hip. “Then you don't mind if I take the lead.”
Heat surges through Kisuke. “Not one bit,” he manages.
Approval dances in Ichigo's eyes. He swoops in for another kiss that makes Kisuke moan, twisting his fingers tighter in Ichigo's shirt; surprise of his soon-to-be-lover’s skill rises in the back of his mind. So much for thinking his former student an untouched prude.
The kiss is all too brief. Ichigo pulls away from it to look Kisuke in the eye, his gaze dark and hungry.
“Clothes,” he growls. “Off.”
Another shiver dances down Kisuke's spine. “Are you going to return the favor?” he inquires teasingly, hands already raised to strip. He's all for getting naked as soon as possible.
Ichigo's answer comes in the form of him tugging off his shirt and throwing it over his shoulder, where it lands somewhere on the floor promptly forgotten. Kisuke's eyes roam over his bare chest, tracking down to where Ichigo's jeans hang low on his hips, a noticeable bulge behind the zipper.
“I approve,” he says huskily.
“I'm glad,” Ichigo replies, humor rich in his voice. “But you're still not naked.”
“Oh, I can remedy that,” Kisuke shoots back and quickly divests himself of every article of clothing he’s currently wearing. Nudity has never been an issue of him, and he has to admit, the way Ichigo's eyes burn hotter as they leisurely rake his frame makes Kisuke's arousal triple. “Do you approve?” he purrs.
Ichigo's tongue drags over his lips. “Yes.” One hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a tube which he then hands over. “Hold onto his for me.”
Kisuke obliges and watches hungrily as Ichigo shimmies out of his jeans – no underwear beneath, how bold! – and the denim pools on the floor. There's a hint of red to Ichigo's face, but he still stands straight, lifting one hand to twirl a finger in the air.
“Turn around.”
Kisuke's heart leaps in his chest. “Giving commands are we?” he asks huskily, already moving to obey.
“I know you like it,” Ichigo retorts, and Kisuke can practically feel the heat radiating off his body as he steps closer. “Hands on the wall.”
A thrill races through Kisuke's being. There's something simultaneously erotic and humiliating about being ordered around by his former student, but Kisuke is leaning more toward the former. Or at least the lower parts of him are, demanding his attention as much as he wants Ichigo’s.
He lifts his hands, palms flat against the wall. Ichigo presses up against him from behind, plucking the tube of oil from his fingers.
“I think I like you this way,” Ichigo all but purrs in his ear, hands roaming over a bare body.
Ichigo presses against him, heated chest pressed to Kisuke's equally heated back, his length nestled against Kisuke's ass. The blond gnaws on his lower lip, trying to contain his wanton noises.
“Like what?” Kisuke questions, fighting for composure, hoping his voice comes out even.
“Obeying,” Ichigo replies and pinches Kisuke's right nipple between thumb and forefinger, a sharp pain that makes him cry out.
The Vizard chuckles. “I think it's a first.”
Kisuke scratches his nails against the wall. “Are you implying that I misbehave?”
“Only when it suits you,” Ichigo retorts and pulls back a pace, a chilly waft of air brushing against Kisuke's back. Until a hand drags down his spine and pauses at the crest of his backside. “And does this suit you?”
Kisuke does not consider himself someone capable of begging, but he's quickly approaching that action.
“If you don't hurry, I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”
Ichigo's laugh echoes in the room. “We can't have that.”
Hands vanish from roaming Kisuke's body, and the sound of a bottle snapping open fills the room. The blond shivers from anticipation as he glances over his shoulder, watching Ichigo pour oil into his hand and drop the bottle to the floor. Kisuke licks his lips as Ichigo first coats his own arousal and then reaches for him, dragging oil-slick fingers over his skin. The tease.
Ichigo presses closer, heat radiating from his body. “You're not facing the wall,” he says, his voice low-pitched with desire.
“You and your orders.” Kisuke huffs, but he does as Ichigo bids only because it does suit him and the note of command in Ichigo's voice is turning him on like nothing else.
Ichigo's left hand plants itself on the wall next to Kisuke's left, fingers splayed as he braces himself. He leans forward, fingers of his right hand tickling Kisuke's skin, teasing him with a more intimate touch soon to come.
And he hasn't even needed an ounce of instruction. How... interesting.
Kisuke chews on his bottom lip. Breathing ragged as Ichigo traces his cleft, circling his entrance with oil-slick fingers.
“You seem – ah – like you know what you're doing?” he observes in an attempt to gain control of himself. All while his arousal beads at the tip, one drop falling to the floor.
He can practically hear the smirk in Ichigo's voice. “No, pervert, I'm not a virgin.”
Ichigo’s fingers quit teasing, finally pushing inside in one smooth, slick thrust. Kisuke gasps, back arching, his hands scraping against the wall.
“It was merely an observation,” he argues.
Ichigo leans over his back, heated chest pressed to Kisuke's bare back. “No, you're burning with curiosity, aren't you?”
Kisuke shivers at the voice in his ear, dark with promise.
“Only--”
He gasps as Ichigo curls his fingers, easily finding that special spot and rubbing it mercilessly.
“--Only if you're so inclined to share.”
Ichigo adds another finger, one which Kisuke doesn't really need. But he supposes Ichigo's only trying to torture him, trying to delay the inevitable.
“Shinji’s a good kisser,” Ichigo murmurs, punctuating his words with a nip to Kisuke's neck. “Tatsuki has a wicked tongue and talented fingers.” Ichigo's free hand slides around, grasps Kisuke's length and gives him a firm stroke. “And Jyuushiro taught me everything I know and then some.”
Kisuke sucks in a shallow breath, only to release it with a groan. His mind has just supplied him with all sorts of naughty ideas. Ones his body begs him to try.
“What’ve I been missing?” he breathes.
Ichigo's fingers vanish from inside him in the same moment that he releases his hold on Kisuke's length, leaving him thrusting into empty air. Both hands settle on Kisuke's hips, Ichigo's arousal dragging erotically across Kisuke's skin.
“I'll show you,” the younger man says huskily and positions himself at Kisuke's puckered entrance.
Breath caught in his throat, Kisuke's entire body tingles with anticipation. His fingers curl against the wall again, limbs trembling.
Ichigo's hips rock forward, and he slides into Kisuke tortuously slow. So that the blond feels him inch by inch, filling him to the brim. Kisuke groans, low-pitched and soft, and Ichigo thrusts into him. His insides clench, and he drops one hand. Curling fingers around his length, squeezing himself mercilessly. Ichigo's barely begun, and he already feels like he's going to embarrass himself.
“Ichigo,” he groans, pauses to give himself a moment to compose his words, and then continues. “There's a time for slow and loving and a time for fast and furious. I'm sure I don't need to tell you which this is.”
The fingers on his hip gripped tighter. “Oh, I'm sure I can guess,” Ichigo says, and his hips jerk forward, sliding to the last inch inside Kisuke with a dull smack of flesh against flesh. “But don't say it wasn't what you asked for.”
A feeling that mixes anticipation and concern winds its way through Kisuke's belly, but it's not enough to chase the blistering heat of desire. Or the realization that Kisuke is about to get something he's only ever fantasized about.
“I can take it,” Kisuke challenges.
Reiatsu swirls in the room as Ichigo's unusual, if not potent, blend flurries and mixes with Kisuke's own. The walls rattle around them both as Ichigo withdraws and then thrusts forward quickly. Snapping his hips, slamming inside of Kisuke with a slap of skin on skin. The blond is driven forward, a gasp pushed from his lips, as his palm smacks against the wall in effort to keep himself from smashing his nose against it.
Behind him, Ichigo chuckles without repentance and does it again. A sharp withdraw and an even sharper thrust forward, a slam of his hips that makes Kisuke rise on his toes and fall back again. Makes every motion stand out in stark relief, makes heat and desire swirl into an endless eddy within Kisuke.
“Yessss,” Kisuke hisses through gritted teeth.
Ichigo without fail thrusts into him again and again. Over and over, his fingers flex on Kisuke's hips with each body-shaking thrust. The older man squeezes his own arousal, but self-restraint fails him. He curls his fingers, strokes his shaft, smearing the copious dribbles of fluid all over himself. He pulses in his own fingers, rock hard. Heat throbs around he and Ichigo, and sweat paints Kisuke's skin, the temperature in the room skyrocketing.
It's a chilly, damp autumn evening outside. But Kisuke wouldn't know it from the heat emanating from Ichigo's body. From the sweat gathering on his brow.
Once more, Ichigo slams into Kisuke, only this time he pauses, deep inside. He shudders, and leans against Kisuke, pressing their bodies together as he grinds, hips in slow circular motions that make Kisuke's hair raise. It shouldn't feel so damn good. But it does, it does. Kisuke all but whimpers, Ichigo's cock doing a lovely, grinding dance against his prostate.
Ichigo mouths the back of Kisuke's neck, lips and tongue tracing a hot path over bare flesh and a thin layer of sweat. Teeth nip at the back of his shoulders, barely present, and with increasing pressure. A slight edge of pain that makes Kisuke's fingers curl against the wall, scraping paint and causing a few flecks to flutter free.
One hand loses its hold on the blond’s hips, sliding around the front of him to tangle with Kisuke's fingers and curl around his cock. He groans as Ichigo starts to stroke him, in tandem with his own grip, a thumb swiping over his leaking slit as Ichigo squeezes rhythmically. He grinds against Kisuke's ass a few more times, panting against the back of his neck before he shifts gears once more.
Ichigo pulls out, barely a fraction, and then pushes back in again. Over and over, the sound of skin slapping together fills the room. Each tiny movement sends a blast of heat down Kisuke's spine, makes the coiling in his belly threaten to snap. Makes his knees wobble and a broken moan fall from his lips.
Ichigo sucks in a breath. “Gonna make you come,” he says in a ragged voice that does little to curb Kisuke's approaching release. “Wanna feel you come.”
The blond groans, wordless. The sound of Ichigo purring in his ear, promising dirty things, is enough to be his undoing. His back bows as he pushes back into Ichigo's tiny thrusts, clenching down, heat rippling through him.
He comes with a choked cry, pleasure roaring through him. He erupts in their combined grip, soaking their fingers, splattering his poor, defenseless wall. His body trembles, muscles tightening. Behind him, Ichigo moans in tandem, his pace renewed as he resumes thrusting with increased vigor.
His hips rock forward, back to the unforgiving pace of before, and Kisuke can only groan and hold on as Ichigo shoves into him, chasing after his own release with single-minded determination. A mouth traces a wet, biting path over the back of Kisuke's shoulders, mouth clamping down and exhaling heatedly over his flesh.
Panting, Kisuke slumps forward, drained of energy, and clings to his grip on the wall to keep from falling. Ichigo's reiatsu is a frenzy of need around him, and the words “so close, yes, so close” are being panted in Kisuke's ear. He groans at the sound, cock giving a twitch in their combined grip but little more than that.
Legs wobbling, Kisuke focuses, drawing his reiatsu tightly around himself. Only to suddenly flare it out in a wave of heat and energy. To Ichigo, it must feel like a cascading tingle all over his skin, prodding at every erogenous zone, sending him into fits of pleasure.
Ichigo all but whimpers, slamming into Kisuke with a final thrust before he stills, release flooding through him. His fingers clench down on Kisuke's hip, certain to leave marks behind, as he locks their bodies together and loses the last of his control.
Ichigo sags, and Kisuke abandons his tedious stance. They slump together to the floor, bodies bathed in sweat. Ichigo slips out of him in the process, but he still nuzzles into Kisuke's damp hair, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck and shoulder.
“Nnnn,” he says, ever intelligibly.
Ichigo makes a sound like laughter. “I've made you speechless. A first.”
Kisuke reaches back, tangling his fingers in sweat-damp orangish hair. “Relish it now. I can't guarantee it'll happen again.”
“Oh really?” Ichigo's fingers flex where they are entwined with Kisuke's, a rippling motion against his sated length. “What about right now?”
“What about a bed?” Kisuke shoots back. “Like the one that's about fifteen feet away?”
Ichigo's lips wander a path across his shoulder again. Tongue tracing the light impressions of bite marks.
“Old men and their comforts,” he teases.
“I'm not that old,” Kisuke protests and tries to rise to his feet; his muscles protest the movement, and his legs are wobbly. Nevertheless, he does manage it, slumping against the wall once he does. He's a sticky, sweaty mess, and a bath does sound appealing. But even more so is the thought of stumbling over to his bed with Ichigo and getting sticky all over again.
Ichigo chuckles, rising to his feet as well. “So you say,” he counters and reaches out, dragging a hand down the planes of Kisuke's chest, stopping just below his belly button. “Care to prove it?”
Kisuke's breath hitches. “Gods, Ichigo,” he mutters, tongue swiping over his lips. “You've gotten brazen all of the sudden.”
Ichigo shrugs, shoulders lifting and dropping. But at last, there's a hint of a flush to his cheeks and not just one of arousal either.
“Maybe I was tired of acting like a kid.”
“Whatever the reason, I can't say I'm disappointed,” Kisuke says and finally feels himself standing a bit on solid grin. He manages a cocky smile, more a leer, and lets his gaze rake openly down Ichigo's body – well-muscled and a perfect shade of bronze. “Though why you chose today to pounce, I do wonder.”
Fingers weave through Kisuke's own. Ichigo’s not subtly backing toward the bed and tugging the other man along with him.
“A certain someone let it be known that you were coming back today, but everyone else wasn't. I knew you'd be alone.”
A certain someone? Kisuke shakes his head, affection rising up within him. It could have only been Yoruichi-san, as she is the only one that Kisuke had told. That devious cat. She's always known of Kisuke's attraction to his student. She's always teased him for it as well, but apparently, in the back of her mind, she'd also been plotting.
Kisuke owes her a saucer of cream, he does.
“I see,” the ex-captain muses aloud and lets his gaze roam over Ichigo's backside, a nicely built backside at that. “Will you be staying then?”
“If you'll let me.”
Let?
By the gods, Ichigo will be lucky if Kisuke will allow him to leave.
Ichigo reaches the bed. With a tug, he topples them both onto it, and they quickly become a mess of naked limbs and rumpled blankets. Kisuke, much to his delight, executes a move that he learned in the second division and emerges on top, pinning Ichigo beneath him with several flavors of erotic plans building in the back of his mind.
“Oh, I'll let you,” the blond purrs and drags one finger down the planes of Ichigo's chest. “So long as we both agree it's now my turn.”
Ichigo reaches out, catches Kisuke's hand and drags it toward his mouth. Tongue flicking across the tip of Kisuke's index finger.
“Whatever you want,” he says, nibbling at a fingertip.
Oh, he should know better than to give Kisuke that much freedom. A wicked smirk curls his lips.
Kisuke has years of fantasies to work through, and he's about to introduce Ichigo to the first of many.
****
a/n: This is one that once that idea hit me, the rest flowed. It was nice to be able to write Bleach again in such a way that it wasn't pulling teeth to get words. I quite like it.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Title: For Your Entertainment
Pairings: Ichigo/Urahara
Rating: M
Warnings: Smut, Slash, AU-ish, a bit of playful D/s
Description: Give it all you’ve got until he screams your name.
Dedication: For viwild, who was the 55555th hit on Pandora's Box.
Title from a song by Adam Lambert.
Kisuke fights off a yawn as he steps into the unnatural silence of his shouten. Even the atmosphere is free of lingering reiatsu. Tessai’s off visiting Hachi, and the children remained in Seireitei, getting to know Kusajishi, much to the rest of Seireitei's vexation.
Kisuke snickers. He wonders how much of the city will be destroyed by the time he sees fit to return tomorrow? And he won't feel a bit of guilt about it. None at all.
Because tonight... tonight, he will get some peace and quiet, both of which are rare to come. He'll have the shop all to himself. He could’ve stayed in Seireitei if he wanted. Yoruichi-san had offered him a room, and his exile's been lifted, but honestly, Karakura has become something like home. He suspects he'll be spending an equal time in Soul Society and the living world from now on.
Besides, Karakura is where Ichigo is, and frankly, Kisuke's not ready to cut those ties. In fact, given the chance, he'd love to strengthen them. But the time hasn't come to push those boundaries yet.
Kisuke bypasses the main rooms – the kitchen, his lab – and heads straight for his bedroom. Tonight is the night for relaxation. Perhaps he'll even pick up that book he's been trying to read for half a decade. Other things kept interfering. Things like Aizen's war and training Ichigo.
He slides open the door and palms the wall, reaching by memory for the light switch. With a flick of his fingers, light floods the room, and Kisuke nearly leaps into the air out of sheer surprise.
Well, speak of the devil...
Perched on Kisuke's futon as though he belongs, having made himself at home, is none other than Kurosaki Ichigo. He's leaning up against the wall, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out. A jug of sake is tucked against his side, and one hand toys with a small cup. His expression is unreadable, his reiatsu wound tightly about his body, which explains why Kisuke hadn't sensed him.
He blinks, sliding completely into the room but wisely leaving the door open behind him.
“Kurosaki-kun?” the blond questions.
He’s unable to keep himself from raking a hungry gaze over his former student. Years have only matured his looks, turning him from a gangly youth to a handsome young man. A very handsome, very desirable man. Who’s currently lounging on his bed.
Kisuke swallows.
“This is a... surprise.”
Gee, understatement of the century there Kisuke.
Ichigo shrugs. He leans to the side and sets his jug on a nearby table, cup soon joining.
“This has been a long time coming.”
Curiosity battles with confusion.
“To what are you referring?” Kisuke asks.
Since really, as much as he racks his brain, he can't come up with a reason why Ichigo would sneak into his room, only to wait for him to come to bed. And with a bottle of sake at that.
Ichigo rolls his shoulders, shifting so that his legs fall open just a bit. “Don't play blond with me, Kisuke.”
His voice is a dark purr as his gaze focuses on Kisuke and Kisuke alone. Eyes dark, reiatsu brimming with intent, not dangerous, but focused.
The ex-captain has to fight to shiver. It's a heady thing, being the focal point of that intent.
“Are we so informal now?”
Rising from the bed, Ichigo crosses the floor on silent feet, his stride better described as a stalk. A lazy stalk, like a hunting beast, a panther or something equally amazing.
“I think we passed formal a long time ago,” Ichigo replies. He approaches with the weight of his reiatsu hanging around him. Not so much oppressive as patently tangible, coaxing Kisuke's own out to play.
He stops, however, when there’s little more than a foot between them. His expression is yet unreadable. That they’re nearly the same height now becomes all the more apparent.
Kisuke swallows again, licking his lips with a suddenly dry tongue? Is this fear? Far, far from it. He tilts his head to the side, aiming for nonchalance and hitting the target off center.
“My, Kurosaki-kun, have I done something to upset you?”
“Countless things,” Ichigo returns with a low chuckle that dances down Kisuke's spine and makes heat pool in his groin, makes him throb and ache in ways that he knows he oughtn't. “But not the one thing I've actually wanted.”
Kisuke laughs, arousal curling through him, battling against disbelief and hope. Ichigo can't really be here, implying these things. But he is! And suddenly, Kisuke's glad that he's chosen to linger in Karakura.
“And what would that be?”
Ichigo takes another step forward, completely closing the distance between them, and when had he gotten that close? Close enough for Kisuke to feel the buzzing of reiatsu against his skin, catch the scent of sake and laundry soap and whatever cologne it is that he wears. Close enough for him to touch if he so desired.
Brown eyes are smoldering, and a smirk curves the corner of Ichigo's lips.
“This,” he says.
And before Kisuke can react, can think to come up with witty repartee, Ichigo is kissing him.
Their mouths lock, a tongue brushing against the seam of Kisuke's lips, warmly requesting entrance, and he doesn't deny. He parts his lips, moans as Ichigo's tongue invades his mouth, and slinks back a step. His back collides with the wall, Ichigo following him, trapping him there. Arms come up, hands bracing on the wall above Kisuke's shoulders, Ichigo crowding in on him.
Only their lips are touching, but somehow, that makes it all the more arousing. Desire blooms to life inside Kisuke. His heart thuds in his chest, just like in those sappy romance novels; it feels like someone's turned up the heat in his room. His face is flushed, his clothes are too heavy, and Ichigo's tongue explores his mouth with talented sweeps. Tangling with Kisuke's and dragging need from the pit of his belly.
Until Ichigo ends the kiss, pulling back so that mere inches separate them. His breath a is heated wash over Kisuke's mouth. Ichigo looks at him, his eyes dark and rich with promise.
“Well...” the blond puts in with a weak chuckle that completely betrays his utter loss of composure. “You should’ve said something sooner.”
Ichigo licks his lips. “Any sooner and Isshin would've blown a gasket.”
Ah, yes. The tiny matter of age and consent. A neon bright reason as to why Kisuke had yet to make his move. Well, that and the fact he – like everyone else – thought Ichigo in love with Rukia-chan or at least adorable Hime-chan.
“There is that,” Kisuke admits, and his breath hitches as Ichigo shifts his weight, making no effort to hide the leisurely rake of his eyes over Kisuke's body.
Frankly, the blond’s beginning to wonder if he should fear for his virtue. And Kisuke didn't even know he had any virtue left.
“Mm hm.” Ichigo hums in his throat, gaze lingering. “You don't protest then?”
“Protest?” Kisuke snorts pointedly. “I am the furthest from protesting a man can possibly be right now.”
Ichigo's eyes drop to Kisuke's groin. One hand falls from the wall and traces the same path, a palm cupping Kisuke without hesitation.
“So I see.”
By the gods...
Kisuke's head thunks against the wall as he bucks into Ichigo's grip. Nerves spark with pleasure, and he bites back a moan. His arousal is already throbbing within his pants, eager for the touch of Ichigo's fingers.
“You … you just rush headfirst into everything, don't you?” he demands.
Ichigo laughs, the sound echoing in the room. Low and heavy. Intoxicating.
“Works out better that way,” he comments with a squeeze of his fingers that threatens to steal Kisuke's breath.
He arches again, hands scrabbling for purchase as he fists Ichigo's shirt with one and grips Ichigo's hip with the other.
“So you thought you'd just... stroll in here and take what you want?” Kisuke asks, voice little more than a gasp. The idea burns through him of Ichigo indeed bending him over and taking what he wants.
“Why? Do you mind?” the Vizard asks as he leans forward and nuzzles into Kisuke's throat. His lips are a mere brush over his sensitive flesh, fingers deftly massaging Kisuke's hardened length.
“Actually, I'm rather partial to it right now,” the ex-captain finds himself admitting. His fingers stroke Ichigo's hip, sliding under the hem of his shirt and glancing across warm skin.
Ichigo nips at his throat, making Kisuke jerk against him.
“Good,” he says and strangely backs off a pace, dislodging Kisuke's hold on his hip. “Then you don't mind if I take the lead.”
Heat surges through Kisuke. “Not one bit,” he manages.
Approval dances in Ichigo's eyes. He swoops in for another kiss that makes Kisuke moan, twisting his fingers tighter in Ichigo's shirt; surprise of his soon-to-be-lover’s skill rises in the back of his mind. So much for thinking his former student an untouched prude.
The kiss is all too brief. Ichigo pulls away from it to look Kisuke in the eye, his gaze dark and hungry.
“Clothes,” he growls. “Off.”
Another shiver dances down Kisuke's spine. “Are you going to return the favor?” he inquires teasingly, hands already raised to strip. He's all for getting naked as soon as possible.
Ichigo's answer comes in the form of him tugging off his shirt and throwing it over his shoulder, where it lands somewhere on the floor promptly forgotten. Kisuke's eyes roam over his bare chest, tracking down to where Ichigo's jeans hang low on his hips, a noticeable bulge behind the zipper.
“I approve,” he says huskily.
“I'm glad,” Ichigo replies, humor rich in his voice. “But you're still not naked.”
“Oh, I can remedy that,” Kisuke shoots back and quickly divests himself of every article of clothing he’s currently wearing. Nudity has never been an issue of him, and he has to admit, the way Ichigo's eyes burn hotter as they leisurely rake his frame makes Kisuke's arousal triple. “Do you approve?” he purrs.
Ichigo's tongue drags over his lips. “Yes.” One hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a tube which he then hands over. “Hold onto his for me.”
Kisuke obliges and watches hungrily as Ichigo shimmies out of his jeans – no underwear beneath, how bold! – and the denim pools on the floor. There's a hint of red to Ichigo's face, but he still stands straight, lifting one hand to twirl a finger in the air.
“Turn around.”
Kisuke's heart leaps in his chest. “Giving commands are we?” he asks huskily, already moving to obey.
“I know you like it,” Ichigo retorts, and Kisuke can practically feel the heat radiating off his body as he steps closer. “Hands on the wall.”
A thrill races through Kisuke's being. There's something simultaneously erotic and humiliating about being ordered around by his former student, but Kisuke is leaning more toward the former. Or at least the lower parts of him are, demanding his attention as much as he wants Ichigo’s.
He lifts his hands, palms flat against the wall. Ichigo presses up against him from behind, plucking the tube of oil from his fingers.
“I think I like you this way,” Ichigo all but purrs in his ear, hands roaming over a bare body.
Ichigo presses against him, heated chest pressed to Kisuke's equally heated back, his length nestled against Kisuke's ass. The blond gnaws on his lower lip, trying to contain his wanton noises.
“Like what?” Kisuke questions, fighting for composure, hoping his voice comes out even.
“Obeying,” Ichigo replies and pinches Kisuke's right nipple between thumb and forefinger, a sharp pain that makes him cry out.
The Vizard chuckles. “I think it's a first.”
Kisuke scratches his nails against the wall. “Are you implying that I misbehave?”
“Only when it suits you,” Ichigo retorts and pulls back a pace, a chilly waft of air brushing against Kisuke's back. Until a hand drags down his spine and pauses at the crest of his backside. “And does this suit you?”
Kisuke does not consider himself someone capable of begging, but he's quickly approaching that action.
“If you don't hurry, I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”
Ichigo's laugh echoes in the room. “We can't have that.”
Hands vanish from roaming Kisuke's body, and the sound of a bottle snapping open fills the room. The blond shivers from anticipation as he glances over his shoulder, watching Ichigo pour oil into his hand and drop the bottle to the floor. Kisuke licks his lips as Ichigo first coats his own arousal and then reaches for him, dragging oil-slick fingers over his skin. The tease.
Ichigo presses closer, heat radiating from his body. “You're not facing the wall,” he says, his voice low-pitched with desire.
“You and your orders.” Kisuke huffs, but he does as Ichigo bids only because it does suit him and the note of command in Ichigo's voice is turning him on like nothing else.
Ichigo's left hand plants itself on the wall next to Kisuke's left, fingers splayed as he braces himself. He leans forward, fingers of his right hand tickling Kisuke's skin, teasing him with a more intimate touch soon to come.
And he hasn't even needed an ounce of instruction. How... interesting.
Kisuke chews on his bottom lip. Breathing ragged as Ichigo traces his cleft, circling his entrance with oil-slick fingers.
“You seem – ah – like you know what you're doing?” he observes in an attempt to gain control of himself. All while his arousal beads at the tip, one drop falling to the floor.
He can practically hear the smirk in Ichigo's voice. “No, pervert, I'm not a virgin.”
Ichigo’s fingers quit teasing, finally pushing inside in one smooth, slick thrust. Kisuke gasps, back arching, his hands scraping against the wall.
“It was merely an observation,” he argues.
Ichigo leans over his back, heated chest pressed to Kisuke's bare back. “No, you're burning with curiosity, aren't you?”
Kisuke shivers at the voice in his ear, dark with promise.
“Only--”
He gasps as Ichigo curls his fingers, easily finding that special spot and rubbing it mercilessly.
“--Only if you're so inclined to share.”
Ichigo adds another finger, one which Kisuke doesn't really need. But he supposes Ichigo's only trying to torture him, trying to delay the inevitable.
“Shinji’s a good kisser,” Ichigo murmurs, punctuating his words with a nip to Kisuke's neck. “Tatsuki has a wicked tongue and talented fingers.” Ichigo's free hand slides around, grasps Kisuke's length and gives him a firm stroke. “And Jyuushiro taught me everything I know and then some.”
Kisuke sucks in a shallow breath, only to release it with a groan. His mind has just supplied him with all sorts of naughty ideas. Ones his body begs him to try.
“What’ve I been missing?” he breathes.
Ichigo's fingers vanish from inside him in the same moment that he releases his hold on Kisuke's length, leaving him thrusting into empty air. Both hands settle on Kisuke's hips, Ichigo's arousal dragging erotically across Kisuke's skin.
“I'll show you,” the younger man says huskily and positions himself at Kisuke's puckered entrance.
Breath caught in his throat, Kisuke's entire body tingles with anticipation. His fingers curl against the wall again, limbs trembling.
Ichigo's hips rock forward, and he slides into Kisuke tortuously slow. So that the blond feels him inch by inch, filling him to the brim. Kisuke groans, low-pitched and soft, and Ichigo thrusts into him. His insides clench, and he drops one hand. Curling fingers around his length, squeezing himself mercilessly. Ichigo's barely begun, and he already feels like he's going to embarrass himself.
“Ichigo,” he groans, pauses to give himself a moment to compose his words, and then continues. “There's a time for slow and loving and a time for fast and furious. I'm sure I don't need to tell you which this is.”
The fingers on his hip gripped tighter. “Oh, I'm sure I can guess,” Ichigo says, and his hips jerk forward, sliding to the last inch inside Kisuke with a dull smack of flesh against flesh. “But don't say it wasn't what you asked for.”
A feeling that mixes anticipation and concern winds its way through Kisuke's belly, but it's not enough to chase the blistering heat of desire. Or the realization that Kisuke is about to get something he's only ever fantasized about.
“I can take it,” Kisuke challenges.
Reiatsu swirls in the room as Ichigo's unusual, if not potent, blend flurries and mixes with Kisuke's own. The walls rattle around them both as Ichigo withdraws and then thrusts forward quickly. Snapping his hips, slamming inside of Kisuke with a slap of skin on skin. The blond is driven forward, a gasp pushed from his lips, as his palm smacks against the wall in effort to keep himself from smashing his nose against it.
Behind him, Ichigo chuckles without repentance and does it again. A sharp withdraw and an even sharper thrust forward, a slam of his hips that makes Kisuke rise on his toes and fall back again. Makes every motion stand out in stark relief, makes heat and desire swirl into an endless eddy within Kisuke.
“Yessss,” Kisuke hisses through gritted teeth.
Ichigo without fail thrusts into him again and again. Over and over, his fingers flex on Kisuke's hips with each body-shaking thrust. The older man squeezes his own arousal, but self-restraint fails him. He curls his fingers, strokes his shaft, smearing the copious dribbles of fluid all over himself. He pulses in his own fingers, rock hard. Heat throbs around he and Ichigo, and sweat paints Kisuke's skin, the temperature in the room skyrocketing.
It's a chilly, damp autumn evening outside. But Kisuke wouldn't know it from the heat emanating from Ichigo's body. From the sweat gathering on his brow.
Once more, Ichigo slams into Kisuke, only this time he pauses, deep inside. He shudders, and leans against Kisuke, pressing their bodies together as he grinds, hips in slow circular motions that make Kisuke's hair raise. It shouldn't feel so damn good. But it does, it does. Kisuke all but whimpers, Ichigo's cock doing a lovely, grinding dance against his prostate.
Ichigo mouths the back of Kisuke's neck, lips and tongue tracing a hot path over bare flesh and a thin layer of sweat. Teeth nip at the back of his shoulders, barely present, and with increasing pressure. A slight edge of pain that makes Kisuke's fingers curl against the wall, scraping paint and causing a few flecks to flutter free.
One hand loses its hold on the blond’s hips, sliding around the front of him to tangle with Kisuke's fingers and curl around his cock. He groans as Ichigo starts to stroke him, in tandem with his own grip, a thumb swiping over his leaking slit as Ichigo squeezes rhythmically. He grinds against Kisuke's ass a few more times, panting against the back of his neck before he shifts gears once more.
Ichigo pulls out, barely a fraction, and then pushes back in again. Over and over, the sound of skin slapping together fills the room. Each tiny movement sends a blast of heat down Kisuke's spine, makes the coiling in his belly threaten to snap. Makes his knees wobble and a broken moan fall from his lips.
Ichigo sucks in a breath. “Gonna make you come,” he says in a ragged voice that does little to curb Kisuke's approaching release. “Wanna feel you come.”
The blond groans, wordless. The sound of Ichigo purring in his ear, promising dirty things, is enough to be his undoing. His back bows as he pushes back into Ichigo's tiny thrusts, clenching down, heat rippling through him.
He comes with a choked cry, pleasure roaring through him. He erupts in their combined grip, soaking their fingers, splattering his poor, defenseless wall. His body trembles, muscles tightening. Behind him, Ichigo moans in tandem, his pace renewed as he resumes thrusting with increased vigor.
His hips rock forward, back to the unforgiving pace of before, and Kisuke can only groan and hold on as Ichigo shoves into him, chasing after his own release with single-minded determination. A mouth traces a wet, biting path over the back of Kisuke's shoulders, mouth clamping down and exhaling heatedly over his flesh.
Panting, Kisuke slumps forward, drained of energy, and clings to his grip on the wall to keep from falling. Ichigo's reiatsu is a frenzy of need around him, and the words “so close, yes, so close” are being panted in Kisuke's ear. He groans at the sound, cock giving a twitch in their combined grip but little more than that.
Legs wobbling, Kisuke focuses, drawing his reiatsu tightly around himself. Only to suddenly flare it out in a wave of heat and energy. To Ichigo, it must feel like a cascading tingle all over his skin, prodding at every erogenous zone, sending him into fits of pleasure.
Ichigo all but whimpers, slamming into Kisuke with a final thrust before he stills, release flooding through him. His fingers clench down on Kisuke's hip, certain to leave marks behind, as he locks their bodies together and loses the last of his control.
Ichigo sags, and Kisuke abandons his tedious stance. They slump together to the floor, bodies bathed in sweat. Ichigo slips out of him in the process, but he still nuzzles into Kisuke's damp hair, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck and shoulder.
“Nnnn,” he says, ever intelligibly.
Ichigo makes a sound like laughter. “I've made you speechless. A first.”
Kisuke reaches back, tangling his fingers in sweat-damp orangish hair. “Relish it now. I can't guarantee it'll happen again.”
“Oh really?” Ichigo's fingers flex where they are entwined with Kisuke's, a rippling motion against his sated length. “What about right now?”
“What about a bed?” Kisuke shoots back. “Like the one that's about fifteen feet away?”
Ichigo's lips wander a path across his shoulder again. Tongue tracing the light impressions of bite marks.
“Old men and their comforts,” he teases.
“I'm not that old,” Kisuke protests and tries to rise to his feet; his muscles protest the movement, and his legs are wobbly. Nevertheless, he does manage it, slumping against the wall once he does. He's a sticky, sweaty mess, and a bath does sound appealing. But even more so is the thought of stumbling over to his bed with Ichigo and getting sticky all over again.
Ichigo chuckles, rising to his feet as well. “So you say,” he counters and reaches out, dragging a hand down the planes of Kisuke's chest, stopping just below his belly button. “Care to prove it?”
Kisuke's breath hitches. “Gods, Ichigo,” he mutters, tongue swiping over his lips. “You've gotten brazen all of the sudden.”
Ichigo shrugs, shoulders lifting and dropping. But at last, there's a hint of a flush to his cheeks and not just one of arousal either.
“Maybe I was tired of acting like a kid.”
“Whatever the reason, I can't say I'm disappointed,” Kisuke says and finally feels himself standing a bit on solid grin. He manages a cocky smile, more a leer, and lets his gaze rake openly down Ichigo's body – well-muscled and a perfect shade of bronze. “Though why you chose today to pounce, I do wonder.”
Fingers weave through Kisuke's own. Ichigo’s not subtly backing toward the bed and tugging the other man along with him.
“A certain someone let it be known that you were coming back today, but everyone else wasn't. I knew you'd be alone.”
A certain someone? Kisuke shakes his head, affection rising up within him. It could have only been Yoruichi-san, as she is the only one that Kisuke had told. That devious cat. She's always known of Kisuke's attraction to his student. She's always teased him for it as well, but apparently, in the back of her mind, she'd also been plotting.
Kisuke owes her a saucer of cream, he does.
“I see,” the ex-captain muses aloud and lets his gaze roam over Ichigo's backside, a nicely built backside at that. “Will you be staying then?”
“If you'll let me.”
Let?
By the gods, Ichigo will be lucky if Kisuke will allow him to leave.
Ichigo reaches the bed. With a tug, he topples them both onto it, and they quickly become a mess of naked limbs and rumpled blankets. Kisuke, much to his delight, executes a move that he learned in the second division and emerges on top, pinning Ichigo beneath him with several flavors of erotic plans building in the back of his mind.
“Oh, I'll let you,” the blond purrs and drags one finger down the planes of Ichigo's chest. “So long as we both agree it's now my turn.”
Ichigo reaches out, catches Kisuke's hand and drags it toward his mouth. Tongue flicking across the tip of Kisuke's index finger.
“Whatever you want,” he says, nibbling at a fingertip.
Oh, he should know better than to give Kisuke that much freedom. A wicked smirk curls his lips.
Kisuke has years of fantasies to work through, and he's about to introduce Ichigo to the first of many.
a/n: This is one that once that idea hit me, the rest flowed. It was nice to be able to write Bleach again in such a way that it wasn't pulling teeth to get words. I quite like it.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
