A gasp. A whimper that pitches high halfway through as he rocks up onto the balls of his feet. The shudder that passes over his body makes his voice shake as he groans, his toes curling, pressing hard into the wood floor beneath him. His knuckles are white, clenched hard and shaking around the mussed strands of the other's hair. When Shunsui grins it draws his lips around Jyuushirou's dick in such a way that makes him gasp, then cry out as Shunsui's tongue moves, supple and sublime, torturous and maddening.

"Sh--" It peaks, becoming too much all at once in an explosive burst of burning white. Jyuushirou rips away from Shunsui's mouth, cock throbbing and aching as pearls of pale cum arch between them, insistent on a connection being maintained. It beads in Shunsui's hair and drips over his cheek, smearing into his smile.

Ulquiorra felt as if he was being split open, head tossed back as Yammy's cock rammed inside of him. It shouldn't have been able to fit, and he could feel the bleeding and tearing, the pain seizing up and down his thighs, making him quiver and flinch. His eyes were shut and his face surprisingly smooth as he jerked up with every powerful thrust.

Nails dug into Yammy's broad shoulders, pricking and scratching the tough, leathery, nearly impenetrable skin that all the Arrancar possessed. He was close, he knew. Just one more thrust, shattering his ability to think, drawing out the breath from his throat until his insides burned. Yammy was close, too, eyes wide and face split into a triumphant grin.

There was glory in the conquest –Yammy's hands fit neatly around Ulquiorra's thighs, keeping them pried open as he shoved into him one last time, emptying jet after jet that seemed to fill Ulquiorra like a gushing waterfall until he couldn't take it anymore and came hard, too, from the warm semen spewing inside of him.

Cirucci was used to Espada coming to see her and today was no different, although she had entertained the new sixth many times while he was still a Numeros with delusions about joining the rank she used to call her own. She had to admit it was fun knowing that she could still make the all-too-proud little boy wriggle and beg.

She curled Goldrina's whip around his neck, tugging him closer. Her uniform had come off long before between her skilled fingers and his teasing ones. His hakama pooled at his ankles, exposing just barely muscled legs that his petite form gave little proof of.

"You aren't going to make Cirucci do all the work, are you?" she teased, her free hand plucking at what remained of Luppi's uniform. Her dark eyes told just what would happen if he wanted to get off without reciprocating a little. He was an Espada, but Cirucci knew he was no god.

Luppi rolled his eyes, shifting to match her in height, "I never showed you. What else I can do with her."

Cirucci lifted an eyebrow, but Luppi just smiled, that cruel little smile that held promises of plenty of punishments and delights that only arrancar could truly take pleasure in. She didn't even hear the smooth clink of Trepadora pulling just inches free from the bright pink sheathe Luppi wore like an accessory more than a weapon.

"Kubire, Trepadora." The armor rose against his skin and Cirucci tightened her grip on Goldrina, eyes widening at the threat of zanpakutou release so close to her. Luppi had no grudge, but he was unpredictable. He could kill with so little thought as to why.

Luppi laughed openly, almost purring as his eyes narrowed to slits, "Scared, Cirucci? Trepadora won't bite, you know. She's very pleasant when she wants to be. Shall Luppi show you?"

Without waiting for a response, Trepadora acted, curling around Cirucci's arms and legs, thinning slowly on Luppi's command as it bound her. Cirucci shuddered against the restraints, her grip on Goldrina faltering no matter how tightly she tried to keep it.

"Trepadora's hungry you know, Cirucci," Luppi murmured, almost intoxicated at the sight. One of his tentacles slipped into her mouth as she yelped at the sensation. It was bulky, yet smooth against her tongue, almost making her gag at the intrusion. But, Luppi didn't stop, reaching forward to gently stroke her now exposed wetness, "I could take you, but Trepadora wouldn't get to have any fun."

His finger slid down beyond her pussy, curling against and finally into a much tighter hole, "But Cirucci isn't like Luppi."

Luppi jerked her downwards with Trepadora, turning her to press against the wall as he slipped another finger into her unlubricated asshole. His laughter bubbled free with an almost childish playfulness to it, "Because Cirucci has two holes."

Cirucci closed her eyes, shuddering against the intrusion as the other tentacles found their way to her breasts and much lower places. Oh, she'd get him back for this. Her tongue pressed against the thick tentacle in her mouth with a suppressed moan as the little Espada and his zanpakutou penetrated at the same time. She'd make it just as pleasurable and painful as he had, but she would make sure he paid.

Ulquiorra regarded the strong muscles of Aizen's thighs with cool indifference. He lay spread out before him, utterly naked, hair fanned out against the white sheet of his bed. He allowed his eyes to trail up and down the sinewy torso, wondering how a man so strong, so powerful, so dangerous, would subject himself to this.

It should have been an honor, to see Aizen-sama like this, but each time that Ulquiorra entered his bed chambers, saw him prostrate like this, and gave Aizen exactly what he wanted - a hard, fast fuck - Ulquiorra could feel nothing but a slowly growing contempt.

Aizen's eyes were closed but his eyelashes made the smallest fluttering motions, and Ulquiorra knew he was watching. He climbed up on his knees between Aizen's legs and began sucking his cock, which was as large and well-muscled as the rest of him. Many times, Ulquiorra wondered what it would be like to have it inside him, ripping him open, making him writhe and yell and come the way Aizen did. He didn't really want to know; not really. He just knew it would be better than this, this messed-up situation where the ruler becomes the ruled, the master becomes the slave.

Ulquiorra had no interest in being a master, but he pushed his dick into Aizen's ass willingly, unable to deny that he was hard for him. Aizen gripped the sheets beneath his hands and jerked himself up and down on Ulquiorra's cock, the arrancar's pace apparently not enough for him. When he came, a strangled yell erupted from his throat, and the sudden tightening around him wrenched Ulquiorra's own orgasm out of him. He, however, made no sound, nor made any expression, as always.

When he pulled out, Ulquiorra thought he spotted a small tear - probably more from pleasure than emotion - in the corner of Aizen's left eye. He redid his clothing and left the room before he could be sure.

Yoruichi had been nervous when Soi Fong had asked her to do it. She was, by no means, a virgin. Kisuke had been her first and she'd had a dozen or so flings over the years, some with women.

Soi Fong had wanted something special, though. Something violent and outside of Yoruichi's normal tastes. She squinted herself as the fourth finger slid into the chinese shinigami's pussy, walls slick and hot against her knuckles, burning. She knew the feeling from masturbating herself, but it was different when one didn't have the sensual feedback from touching oneself. When the only feeling to concentrate on was the heat of another's flesh against your own.

Yoruichi moaned, sound dropping from her mouth like a plum, purple and sweet. Soi Fong choked back a sob from beneath her, growling and angry-- pleading.

Yoruichi slid the last finger in. Soi Fong's dark eyes fluttered shut, lashes pressed tight against her bronze cheeks, thin brows knit. "Am I hurting you?" Yoruichi asked, tone soft and concerned: a mother, a lover and an old friend.

"Yes," said Soi Fong honestly, voice tight. Her hips jerked off the ground and Yoruichi winced visibly, sure her sharp knuckles must have been dragging across the tender flesh inside Soi Fong, unexposed to the elements. Virginal.

"But I wanted you to, Yoruichi-sama."

A smile played on Yoruichi's lips at the familiar, bombastic title. She slid her fist in to her thin, graceful wrist, growing wet herself at the feelng of the tight stretch of smooth muscle stretched soothingly over her skin.

"If the bumblebee insists."

Luppi was already dead, but it wasn’t enough for him. It would never be enough. Grimmjow frowned. He wished he’d had the sense to humiliate him more he killed him. Even though the deed was freshly done, Luppi’s warm blood still trickling down his arm, he already regretted his actions. Sure, he had shown the scrawny fucker, but Grimmjow still wanted, no, needed more.

His cero blast had all but destroyed Luppi’s body, but as he gazed at the remaining pieces---the top half of his head, as well as a few fingers---Grimmjow’s lips pulled back in a devious grin. He could work with this. Hell, this was perfect.

Still grinning his maniacal grin, he bent down and grabbed Luppi’s head, his fingers curling in the short hair, blood and thicker things squelching as he picked it up. His other hand was busy in his hakama, trying valiantly to free his already straining cock from its cloth prison. Just looking at the severed head turned him on. A few harsh jerks later, his cock was free and he was more than ready to go.

Amidst the gasps from the crowd, Grimmjow maneuvered Luppi’s horrible, disgustingly smug---even in death-- face near his cock, which twitched in anticipation. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited. With this accomplished, he held the bloody head with both his hands, it would take both just to counteract the momentum from his powerful thrusts.

He paused then, staring down the length of his shaft at Luppi’s eyeball which had come partially out of its socket and was sagging onto his pallid cheek, clear fluid draining down his half-face, before thrusting hard into the socket, groaning with pleasure as he felt the eyeball burst under the pressure from his cock.

“Oh, fuck, fuck yeah,” was all he could say as the combined wetness of blood and other fluids coated his cock as he pounded into the hard socket. The squelching noises Luppi’s head was making only fueled his desire, and he groaned as a piece of what must have been Luppi’s brain fell out of the bottom of his head and splattered on the floor at his feet. He thrust faster, feeling the bones his enemy scraping the head of his cock through the wetness, and loving it. A few thrusts more and he came, viscous fluid overflowing Luppi’s eye socket and dripping down his face to mingle with his blood and other fluids.

Grimmjow’s depraved smile was back as he dropped Luppi’s desecrated head onto the floor, watching with sick fascination as his own cum leaked out the bottom of his enemy’s head. Now this was what revenge was all about.

Ahahaha, first Bleach ficlet ever and this is what I write. Yesss.....

The urine slid down Renji's craggy face, hot and acrid, burning like sweat where it trickled into his cinnamon-colored eyes as he stared up at Kuchiki Byakuya, face passive and unblinking. Byakuya sent the last trickles of yellow liquid into Renji's already damp hair, shaking his cock off with an effete flick of his wrist. It clung in Renji's darkened locks, made his scalp itch and steamed in the morning air of the rock zen garden behind the Kuchiki manor.

It trickled down his tattooed chest, clumping the formerly immaculate, pattern-raked sand.

"Fuck," Renji said, biting his lip. He could taste it there, salty and slightly oily from the proteins.

Byakuya moved his mouth, as if to apologize, to assure Renji it was a bad idea and that he hadn't enjoyed it. Renji cut him off, wrapping his rough, large hands around the soft, lightly-haired flesh of Byakuya's bare left thigh. He fidgited, grinding the crotch of his hakama against the ground as roughly as possible, a whimper rising deep from his chest, bubbling out.

"That was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me. I'm so hard it hurts. Just-- just tell me you liked it, too."

Byakuya hesitated before leaning down and threading his fingers through Renji's heavy, red hair.

Sorry, it’s not very good, since I don’t normally write het. Also, sorry it's not longer, but I need to go to bed. Oh well. Hope you enjoy.
-------------------------

"Mmmmmmmph! Mmm!" Very enthusiastic sounds were emerging around Yoruichi's mouthful of cock. Specifically, Yumichika's cock. Behind her some other, nameless, lucky member of the eleventh was humping like a dog in heat, groaning and panting quietly to himself. He was urged on by comments, catcalls, and advice from the watching circle of shinigami.

"Hell yeah, fuck her harder!" "It had better be my turn next!" "God, look at the cum dripping out of her pussy!"

Yumichika was moaning ecstatically about the beauty of the experience as he kept pushing his cock past her lips. A girlish moan left his throat as Yoruichi slipped one hand back between his legs, deftly shoving a finger up his ass. Jerking harder, hands clenched in her hair he came, then stumbled backwards to sit heavily at the edge of the ring.

"Ooooo, how I do love milk," Yoruichi smirked sweetly after him, tongue darting out to lick at a trail that had escaped one corner of her mouth. Then she shifted, lifting her ass higher in the air. "Come on, fuck me harder!" she whined loudly. The man behind responded energetically, balls slapping against bare skin in a rapidly increasing pace. With a last gasp and shout he pulled out, yanking on his slick cock as flecks of cum decorated both tanned cheeks.

"Ooo, that's right," she purred, wiggling her ass invitingly, "I like feeling you big, manly 11th men come all over me. Now, who else wants a taste of the best pussy around?" She swept golden, inviting eyes over the circle of men. "And you'd better have a fucking giant cock, because even the tightest pussy in Soul Society gets stretched out after this many times."

A keep, menacing chuckle sounded from behind her. "Giant cock, eh? Will this do?"

Yoruichi craned her head back over her shoulder. What she saw caused her expression to go from an instant of surprise to a face-splitting grin.

"Zaraki. That looks perfect. But do have anything to keep any of my other holes company?"

"Ikkaku," Kenpachi snapped while hungrily stoking the thick, ten-inch monster he kept in his hakama, "get your ass out here and do your duty as third seat."

"With pleasure, Captain." A grinning Ikkaku sauntered forward, also running his hands over his long, through slimmer, cock. “I get back, you get front?” he suggested.

A growl was his captain’s only response before Yoruichi was summarily flipped over, tossed back against Ikkaku, and then pinned below Kenpachi’s weight. As two hard, relentless dicks penetrated her at once, Yoruichi gave a pleased scream that was undoubtedly heard two divisions away.

Anon hopes this is what you wanted and that you like. ;D

It felt strange and full, sloshing in his insides, unable to exit because of the large plug placed at his entrance. Byakuya was bound with chains, wrists tied to the arrancar’s bed in Las Noches as he sat on the floor with his legs spread wide to accommodate the intrusion. Twisted and depraved in its own right, it was made worse by the fact that he not only enjoyed that on its own, but was aroused even more when he looked up at the Espada leering at him as his large erection throbbed while confined in his hakama.
A low, rumbling moan slipped passed the noble’s lips when his maniacally grinning captor squatted next to him and stroked his flushed, ring-bound arousal, causing him to arch towards the touch and feel the slosh of the liquid again, strange and yet perfect.
“Well Shinigami, think we should take this out yet?” Grimmjow taunted, smirking as his finger stroked around the ring of flesh so brutally stretched over the huge intrusion. Byakuya only groaned, dark eyes hazy, unfocused, and looking at him pitifully for relief. Grimmjow’s crazed smirk only widened into one more of satisfaction than anything, putting the cat that ate the canary (and had a vat of cream) to shame.
“Guess it’s time to make you as filthy as you are, fuckin’ rich Shinigami whoring scum.”
Quickly and unceremoniously the blockage was gone, and Byakuya watched in fascination as the water gushed from him, coating the floor in grime and causing the strangest feeling to course through him as a moan ripped from his throat to echo off the white walls. It was perhaps the most depravedly arousing thing the captain had ever experienced, and he didn’t even realize until he regained his senses that the cock ring had been taken off and that he’d came more intensely than ever before.
“Heh. Glad yaliked it Shinigami—‘cuz I’ve got a lot more in store for ya.”

"I don't think this is a good idea," Abarai Renji frowned, tattooed eyebrows knitting together at the middle of his forehead in apprehension and not even the tiniest bit of curiosity at all. Of course not.

Rukia smacked the rounded, glans-shaped tip of the black silicon strap-on she wore securely around her hips with her small, pale hand. She stifled a surprised moan when the extension of the dildo jiggled inside of her pussy, top rubbing just lightly along her clitoris. She blushed.

Renji blushed in return. He chewed at his dry lower lip.

"C-come on, Renji. Don't be such a wimp. Humans have been doing it for years-- they're so..." It was hard to think of the word she wanted when the strap-on was hanging there, bouncing lightly every time she shifted her weight from one leg to the next. She could feel the pressure building up, lips of her pussy growing pink and swollen. She wanted to stick her fingers in there so bad. She wanted to rub the nipples on her small breasts in circles until the were raw.

She wanted to fuck the hell out of Renji.

"Renji, please," she mumbled in her dark, gravelly voice. Renji's cock, already fully erect, bounced for her effort. "Please just let me do it this once, and next time I promise we can do whatever you want."

The frustrated, horny and desperate look in her blue eyes made Renji doubt her sincerity, but after all these hundred years they'd known one another, that he'd lusted after Kuchiki Rukia, well...

Renji was willing to have her any way she'd let him. He grabbed the tube of expensive lube, bought on his own stipend he knew, begrudgingly. He opened the bottle, fumbling and losing the cap and swearing as Rukia pinched at her nipples right in front of him (torturous bitch), he squeezed a goodly amount onto his palm.

Renji smeared the lube thick, inexperience showing, down the line of his ass. He slipped a finger in, and then another. The tightness was offputting, the feeling completely foreign but arousing-- he'd never done this shit before, hadn't even thought to.

"I think I'm ready t--"

Rukia cut him off, sinking in to the hilt. The black strap-on disappeared into Renji's ass as she pressed against him, tiny red hairs of his thighs tickling her own, spread lips crushed against Renji's spread cheeks. She moaned deeply against his broad back, nipples tickling at the small of it.

And Renji thought, fuck me, this was a good idea after all.

They hated themselves. Both of them. They hated themselves over what happened between them, a year ago. What Ichimaru Gin made them do over their own insecurities those few warm nights in spring. Hinamori, she had almost killed Hitsugaya-taichou, and Kira had almost killed Hinamori the day before.

That was why they met lately, once a month-- and sometimes months seemed so far apart and sometimes far too close together for a creature like a shinigami, who could live for eternity if they played their cards right. Neither one of them wanted to live an eternity and sometimes they didn't want to live at all. That was part of why they did it.

It was a silent agreement.

Kira mouthed Hinamori's small, pert breast, laving over the mother of pearl-pale flesh, working at the fresh zanpakutou wound hidden on Hinamori's upper thigh, recently made by her own sword. They never cut one another, only themselves. It felt right that way. He pressed his palm against the edge, spilling hot liquid onto his fingers.

He smeared it in bright streaks along Hinamori's other breast, violently red against the skin. She moaned against his thick blond hair. She fingered his hand, coating her own fingers with the sticky, drying blood. The scent of copper was overpowering.

"I hate myself," Kira sighed, parting from the nipple his tongue had been playing along.

I hope this is the right "Kurosakicest." :x



Ichigo bit his lip as Isshin sat back on the couch, undoing his belt. Was he really going to go through with this?

Isshin watched him, expression unreadable as he flipped open the top button on his trousers. Ichigo's gaze wandered up to his face, and sucked in a silent breath as his eyes locked with Isshin's. The lust in his father's eyes was undeniable.

"You do the rest," Isshin spoke softly, as if afraid he would back out and run away. But Ichigo couldn't run away from this anymore. He wanted it too much.

He slid down between Isshin's legs, kneeling on the floor, and pushed apart the front of his pants with shaky hands. Isshin, somewhat unsurprisingly, wasn't wearing underwear. His cock was thick, veiny, the shaft brushed with wiry black hairs, just like the rest of him. Ichigo's hands smoothed over it, blood tingling at the feeling of those hairs beneath his palms. He licked his lips. Isshin's cock twitched in his hand. Ichigo leaned in, and as his mouth wrapped around the wide, engorged head, he locked eyes with Isshin once again. Isshin was the one to break the gaze this time, eyes squeezing shut with pleasure as Ichigo took his hard cock into his mouth.

From there it was like a roller coaster. Ichigo was assaulted with so many sensations he could hardly keep up. The sight and smell of Isshin's cock, the silky feel of it in his mouth, the hard tension of Isshin's muscles. Isshin's hands were fisted in his hair, trying to push him down onto it, deeper and deeper, but Ichigo kept gagging. Somehow, though, Ichigo couldn't bring himself to mind, however uncomfortable it was. He still, inexplicably, loved every minute of it.

When Isshin came in his mouth he choked, but Isshin's hands held his head steady, forcing him to open up his throat and let his come slide down. He did so willingly, savoring the strange, bitter taste, the rims of his eyes wet from the endless gagging. When Isshin finally let go his grip, Ichigo stayed there for a few moments longer, waiting eagerly for more.

After licking a lasting drop of semen from his tip, Isshin pulled Ichigo into his lap. Ichigo made a startled noise, then a pleasured one, then yelled in ecstasy as Isshin roughly kneaded his erection through his jeans, making him come almost instantly.

Ukitake Jyuushiro's seated officers did more for him than they would ever know. He sat outside of Sentarou's quarters in the middle of the night, reiatsu muffled, back leaning against the cool wood of the wall, knees curled up to his chest as his fingers trailed down his abs. They rocked momentarily with a cough and he froze, hoping that he wouldn't be heard.

He wasn't.

The soft thumping coming from the bedrolls and blankets on the inside of the room continued on, as they did most nights. His long, pale fingers resumed their crawl beneath his white robe. They wrapped around his dick, covered in his saliva and slick. He stroked up and down, biting back a groan. His heart fluttered.

From behind the wall, he heard Sentarou climax, voice deep and growling like the noises he made during practice. Jyuushiro was glad suddenly, to have a valid excuse not to practice kenjutsu with his officer. He wouldn't have been able to take it, not after months of running images of the younger shinigami naked in his head, pounding against one another. Kiyone's small hands clawing at Sentarou's dark pectorals.

Kiyone mumbled something high and feminine, warbling. Jyuushiro only caught the 'finger me until I'm done, dammit.'

He stroked faster.

His broad hands were calloused and warm against the soft, tender white flesh on the inside of her thighs as he parted them. Her calves dangled over his shoulders, dainty feet crossed just barely at the ankles behind his neck, because he was tall. So tall.

His ponytail tickled the tops of them for only a moment, as Renji leaved forward and experimentally ran a ran down the pink, hot skin of the cleft of her ass. He parted it carefully, leaning forward and running the pointed tip of his rough, wet tongue around the edge of the hole before darting it inside. Rukia bit her lip and moaned. Moving back, Renji dragged his tongue along the entire length of her crack, out and over one soft cheek and then back again to exploring her hole. The saliva dried slowly, cold in the air of Seireitei in late autumn.

"Renji--" she murmured, voice breaking on the second syllable, announcing the name of her partner to nobody in particular. The world needed to hear it, perhaps-- Abarai Renji was giving the noble Kuchiki Rukia a rimjob. It wasn't so unusual that Renji might do something of the sort; he was a wildcard. But a Kuchiki receiving such animal treatment, well.

For his part, Renji was too busy to answer her.

Shuuhei couldn't believe it when Renji asked if his tattoo was a request or a suggestion.

"It's a request."

Then they were on the floor, him on the floor with Renji right above him. Cocks hot in their mouths and there's moaning and groaning and whatnot. Renji's got that special talent of actually managing to deep throat him, nice and warm and hot and ugh. Renji's fucking his mouth like a wanton Rukongai slut and his mouth's like one too. So when Shuuhei reaches up and starts to finger Renji, scissoring deep into that tight hole, Renji sucks abrutly. Then there's a rhthym. When Shuuhei fingers, Renji sucks, and Shuuhei sucks back. And repeat. They're so close, so close. And when Shuuhei pushes that spot with his index finger, Renji comes hard. Mouth clenching over Shuuhei's weeping cock, Shuuhei sees white.

"Fuck yeah, that'd better be a request everytime now."

I can't believe I'm doing this...

------

When they finally apprehended Ichimaru Gin, the traitor, it was Kuchiki Byakuya who volunteered to guard him. Nobody questioned this, of course: Ukitake himself supported the matter, assuming that as they had become captains at the same time, perhaps Byakuya was feeling spurned, responsible, perhaps, that his peer should be the one to have trodden on the rules that Byakuya held so dear.

This was not the case.

Byakuya really just wanted to kill the man. For every reason and for no reason.

Still, any noble knew that there were fates worse than death. Ichimaru Gin was a man deserving of such treatment.

When they locked Gin into his holding cell, Byakuya sent Rikichi and the rest of the guarding-squad home – Ichimaru was a category one prisoner, he informed them in a brief, uncharacteristic explanation, and when they were gone he locked the door and opened the cell.

First, Gin’s hands were bound tightly: Byakuya put an unusual amount of focus into reeling off the incantation.

One elegantly carved hand hauled at the white robes Gin wore, topping the taller man to his face and knees as he unceremoniously divested him of his hakama, the ties digging into his gut for a moment as Byakuya yanked at them carelessly. Gin waited, then, his ass high in the air as Byakuya palmed his cheeks with gloved hands and then, no spit or oil or gentleness, pressed Shinsou, hilt-first, against his asshole. It slid in easily, however, and Byakuya noted, with a sick feeling in his stomach – one of revulsion at something so unnatural, that Gin was obviously used to this.

“Sit up.”

Gin did. It took him two attempts; the first he was hindered by his hands – Byakuya really was very good at kidou; the second time he faltered it was from the rough tear of Shinsou’s binding against the hot, stretched skin of his asshole and the dull thud of the kashira against his prostate, and when he finally opened his eyes after the aching shudder had passed, Byakuya was standing in front of him and had already undone the ties of his hakama and fundoshi, the yards of fabric puddling around his knees. Byakuya slid slim, carved fingers up his hard cock once, twice, then he wrapped a fist around it and then went to work, his wrist pumping in arresting, short movements, his thumb pressing bruisingly into the red, slicked head.

His expression didn’t change, save for a shuddering of breath, the slight dip-and-rise of his eyelids as he came. Gin found that oddly fitting, that it was in the dim light of the cell that he knelt, his zanpakutou sticking out of his ass, his hands bound behind his back and Kuchiki Byakuya coming in his face with an expression as though he could be tying knots with his penis, he was that enthralled.

Gin looked up, smile still wide with a small glint of blue between his thin eyes as semen slid down his face in opaque beads – Byakuya even came elegantly. “Akan na, rokubantaichou-san,” he said softly. “What’d little Rukia-chan say if’n she saw you doin’ this?”

Byakuya backhanded him across the face.

Oh, someone really needs to do this one. ^^

He struggled at first. It was hard, with one arm, to fight back against the older man, but he tried anyway; to act otherwise would have been contrary to his very nature. Nonetheless, with fresh blood coming in spurts from his stump of a left arm, he could offer only minimal resistance as Aizen shoved him to his knees on the white carpet of his room. The fall, short as it had been, caused blood to rush forth from his mutilated flesh anew, his jacket now hopelessly stained with the substance. Grimmjow swore. It was becoming harder to focus, his eyes shifting in and out as his did his best to sneer up at Aizen’s grinning face towering over him. Even with his impaired eyesight, he couldn’t help but notice that Aizen looked not at his face, but the red ruin of his left arm, eyes dark with something Grimmjow did not even want to begin to identify.

Swiftly, and with as much force as he could muster, Grimmjow brought his fist towards Aizen’s stomach. He never even came close to impact. Face impassive, Aizen deftly caught the offending limb, applying just enough pressure that Grimmjow winced, his breath hissing out from between clenched teeth. Again, Grimmjow swore.

“Grimmjow,” Aizen said, and the meaning was clear, the sudden, oppressive reiatsu unnecessary to drive his point home. His vision now swimming as still more blood rushed to stain his jacket and the carpet, Grimmjow had more than enough motivation to close his eyes.

The pressure from the reiatsu eased, but he could offer no resistance as Aizen gruffly tore the jacket from his wounded shoulder. If he hadn’t been so out of it, he would’ve sworn he heard him moan. He felt dizzy as Aizen, still holding his fist in his large hand, reached down to caress the side of his face.

Aizen’s fingers trailed down his taut neck, across his perfect collarbone, across the flawless skin of his shoulder, and plunged themselves into the remainder of his left arm, sinking deep into the ruined flesh. Grimmjow’s eyes snapped open and he jerked back, falling on his ass, but he couldn’t escape the unbearable pain of Aizen’s touch.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” he swore as he writhed, all previous pain and dizziness forgotten under the pressure of the intrusion. He gained some control over himself and attempted to wrest his hand away from Aizen, but with no success. Smiling, Aizen sank his fingers deeper into his flesh, up to the second knuckle, and Grimmjow howled, spit flying into the air as his head flew back. His shoulder spasmed uncontrollably, sending blood coursing down Aizen’s hand and onto the already soiled carpet. He all but passed out from the pain, eyes rolling back into his head with the sheer magnitude of it. Aizen moaned again; this time he was sure of it and it was enough to make him grit his teeth and glare up at the bastard. Aizen moved his fingers again and Grimmjow winced, but did not break eye contact. He grinned and Grimmjow spit at his feet.

It hurt when Shini brought his sharp incisors and canines down along Ichigo's neck, tips and edges digging at the flesh of his veins and arteries, bringing the thud of his pulse into relief. The vaizored mouthed his neck with thin, strong lips. Ichigo groaned.

"Why do you always have to bite?" he sighed. Shinji raised one thin, long-finger pianist's hand and wrapped it along the other side of Ichigo's neck, pressing it against his mouth and working the skin there until Ichigo felt it grow warm. There would be a decent-sized hickie the next day.

Shinji pulled away and said, "Guess?"

Ichigo frowned and worked Shinji's button-up out of his slacks, running his thumb along the line of fabric and then slowly up the planes of Shinji's flat, pale stomach. If possible, his orange brows knit even more tightly together.

"I hate guessing," he groused. Shinji snickered and moved in again, running his tongue along Ichigo's chest, over one pectoral. Ichigo shivered at the feeling of the ribbed metal mouth jewelry. It was chilly against the feeling of Ichigo's own blood, weeping out when Shinji bit down hard, breaking the skin.

"Then you're never going to get any answers in life." Shinji licked the small dots of red off of Ichigo before leaving, grabbing Ichigo's discarded shirt off of the dusty floor of the warehouse.

"I really fucking hate your guys, Shinji."

"I heard these things are good for you," Renji absently commented as he stared down at his captain's face.

Byakuya could understand the ropes binding his limbs to each bed post. That wasn't unusual. It was Thursday, after all. The banana, however, had been a new addition to their questionable sex life.

"I believe …those are meant to be eaten," Byakuya replied as evenly as possible, considering his erection was red and engorged, already leaking pre-come, and he was panting loud like one of those dirty Rukongai street dogs on a hot day.

Renji wiggled the banana and moved closer, slipping just the tip in between his captain's legs. "You never know if you don't try."

He got about half of it through before the banana started to break apart, squish, and leak out of Byakuya's ass in a most unflattering display of mushed fruit. The look on his captain's face was priceless, though, and Renji's stupid grin refused to leave as he jammed the rest of it in there.

"Are you satisfied?" Byakuya deadpanned, though how the man managed to look dignified with a banana up his ass was beyond him.

Licking his lips, Renji's gaze turned into a full blown leer, and he knelt down. "Not quite," he answered and began to lick up the bits of banana that surrounded the puckered flesh. In retrospect, he probably should have peeled the banana before attempting to penetrate the older man with it.

Halibel had always been a mystery to Noitra, face hidden behind fabric and eyes always expressionless, but one day, their blades cross. She has him on his back in seconds, fingers threaded into his hair, pulling until his eyes water. He enjoys every minute she's above him, kissing him, grinding down against him, biting his mouth until it bleeds.

The seconds tick by, and Noitra is aroused, hips undulating from the ground and pushing against her thigh needlessly. His one eye is wide and eager, taking in the view as she strips slowly for him. Halibel's top comes off first, and it is the first time Noitra ever sees her lips. They're curled upwards in a decidedly cruel smile. Her hands move lower towards the hakama, pausing to moan lightly as she moves them down, down her stomach.

"Close your eyes," she orders, and Noitra only follows because the goal is that much sweeter and closer.

There's a whisper of fabric as it falls to the floor, and Halibel climbs over Noitra, pinning him down by the shoulders. All the blood rushes to Noitra's face when he feels something hard and pulsing, pressing into his thigh, rubbing slick fluid against him.

"What the fuck?" He starts.

"Not a word," Halibel hisses, and Noitra's legs are pride wide apart, tossed carelessly over her shoulders. She pushes her cock inside of him, pressing in deeper and deeper until she shudders when he clenches around her. She's not gentle as she fucks Noitra straight into the ground, pounding him mercilessly, letting the warm, hot muscles clench around her cock until she's grunting and shoving harder.

Noitra cries out first, a loud sound being torn from his throat. His head tips backwards, spilling long, dark strands across the floor, and his legs twitch over her shoulders. There's no reasonable explanation to account for the genitals that should not be there. He wants to laugh hysterically because she's fucking him, and it hurts. However, thinking is rendered obsolete when she pushes in just the right way, stroking against the sensitive spot that has him bucking against the floor, voice a hoarse whisper of curses as he comes.

For a second, he thinks it's over, but she merely pulls out, flips him onto his stomach then rams back in.

"Is this… what you had… in mind?" Halibel finally asks, and her voice is perfectly leveled in between pants.

"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!"

Ichigo couldn't make it stop. The black was bleeding into his eye, raping his consciousness. It let him see what was going on and took away his control. It made him feel helpless to stop it.

His own hand went into the front of his jeans, sliding beneath the denim and the cotton of his black boxers, wrapping vicelike around his cock. It hardened of its own accord, organic. The rough hand pumping it rubbed it raw without preparation, glans sore as it brushed up and down on the cotton, pressured against the tight pants.

The other hand easily held Asano Keigo against the wall of the school classroom, the one they were supposed to be cleaning right then. Keigo coughed beneath the hand. Ichigo could see the reflection of the ocelot-smile on the face that no longer belonged to him, the one that was yet so familiar with its orange frame. He could see himself strangling Keigo in Keigo's wide, white-flashing eyes.

The veins on Keigo's neck began to stand out, the skin of Keigo's palms growing unnaturally cold as they clawed at Ichigo's wrist until it bled, leaving white scratch marks.

But his expression, it was forgiving. The whole time it was forgiving. It only made Ichigo hate himself more.

Kira slid to his knees, boney and thin, thinner than they had been in years. The arrancar peered at him from corners of the room, shadowed. He could see the whites of eyes occasionally, glints of light off of swordmetal and smooth bone-like masks. He dug his nails into his thighs until pinpricks of red welled out onto his skin and stared at the antiseptic white marble of the floors of Las Noches. Behind him, the click of porcelain on porcelain reminded Kira that Aizen Sousuke was also watching, staring intently from his self-appointed throne.

Kira couldn't remember the last time he was so conscious of his nudity, watching to hide it-- to cover up the ribs that were showing too plainly along the center of his chest, the pink nipples hardened by the exposure. He wanted to cross his legs and hide his genitals from them.

Ichimaru-taichou reminded Kira of his presence suddenly, or rather, he was Gin, now. Kira couldn't think of the pale-haired man as Ichimaru-taichou. He was a traitor. A traitor that was bending over Kira's sharp shoulders with a weasel-smile, threading his arm along Kira's chest and abs. The light brush of fingers made Kira shudder, nausea rising in his stomach. The acid burned at the back of his throat.

Gin closed his palm around Kira's limp cock, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the top of the flaccid organ before sliding the foreskin down. He tugged twice. Kira felt doubly exposed. He would rather have been dead.

"Aizen," Gin hissed from Kira's shoulder, chin resting intently on it. Kira's blue eyes darted to the side. He jumped at the sudden speech. "He told me I ought to show all our new friends how things is when you don't listen to what Aizen's got to say. And you're gon' help me, aren't you?"

The shadowed forms shifted. Some murmured. There was a barking laugh from the doorway behind the two in the center of the room. The edge of Gin's reiatsu told Kira there would be no arguing in the situation.

"I-- I don't--"

"Shush, Izuru." Gin drew the pointed tip of his tongue along the curve of Kira's ear, heating the thin, fine-veined skin before it cooled quickly. "Be a good object lesson. Let's give Aizen a nice show for 'is efforts."

Rescue was a fickle word. Words Byakuya never liked, because they could be interpreted so many diverse ways. Expressions, on the other hand, were different. Expressions said what needed to be said, and that was that. No questioning. So it made sense that "rescue" was not a word to be associated with the current situation. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire", on the other hand...

Speaking of other hand, Byakuya moved his to Orihime's breast, toying with the sensitive peak of flesh there. He pulsed inside of her, relishing every scent, every taste, every touch her body had to offer him. It was delicious - she was delicious. From the way each moan reluctantly freed itself from her lips to the way her short nails dug into his skin. He lowered his mouth to her throat, hot breath soothing the cold prickles running along her neck. Salt nipped at his tongue as it traveled downward, lips gliding over tear tracks in a manner both delicate and carnal.

It had only been hours ago that she had been in Aizen's grasp. The "rescue" had passed by in vague ivory and scarlet blurs. All that he remembered was here, now, with the pearl pallor of her skin glistening in the moonlight and coated in sweat.

She was lonely. Lonely and broken from all her months and days in that dead world, among Arrancar that had made her hollow. But he could relate. He had loved, too, and he had lost. He was an empty man, and perhaps one of the only few people who could understand her pain. One of the only people who could, in some small way, quell it.

And that was why this - this tryst with this small, riven, shivering, sweating, panting, moaning, weeping body beneath him - was as much for her as it was for him. She hadn't agreed, he knew, but she wasn't new to the experience - after all, she had entered Hueco Mundo a virgin, and that was not the way she left. But such emptiness pooled in her once merry eyes, such dark, bleak nothingness, that he could do little less than this. Than take her and hurt her so she could feel anything at all.

For every now and then, the emotionally empty needed to be physically filled. And that she was, and so finally her tears stopped, and in that perfectly silent moment, they each knew this wouldn't be the last encounter - merely the first of many.

This comment is relevant to my interests.