![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fic: Sweet As Honey, Thick As Molasses
Title: Sweet As Honey, Thick As Molasses
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Urahara
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Slight Exhibition Kink, BDSM Elements
Notes: Written for Sweet Candy Shop Contest @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
uraichi and for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo Exhibition Kink
His knees are beginning to ache.
It shouldn't be this way. This is not how it started, was not his intention. He was supposed to be in control not...
Eyes slipping closed he ponders the power shift, stubbornly ignoring the young man pacing circles around him. It's not that he hates being on display, quite the opposite in fact. Nothing is as flattering as having someone - or multiple someones - give you that kind of focus, show that level of appreciation. Perhaps at some point in the past it may have bothered him, made him blush and scratch his head nervously, but he abandoned all shyness what seems lifetimes ago. Now it only succeeds in making his pulse race, his skin heat and that small, slightly shameful part of his personality - the part he has buried as deep in his psyche as possible and locked into a tight, neat little box, never to be opened or examined - relax in contentment at the approval wafting off of his audience. No, it's not the open appraisal that he minds.
It's that he didn't see the change coming, that he's weak to it, that he doesn't want to fight against it. If there's a personal quality he values most over the others it's his ability to stay one move ahead in the game. Always keep the other players surprised, off balance, confused. It's a rule he's lived by for quite some time now, a strategy that has served him well. Naturally it had to be learned the hard way - like most vital lessons - with pain, heartache and layers of guilt that only get thicker and thicker as the years pass. But given what that trial taught him about planning and about trust; if he's ever given the chance to face Soul Society's Number One Traitor...
Well, he just might kiss him out of overwhelming gratitude.
And yet, for all his abundant cunning and careful scheming, he's the one behind the curve, tripping over his own feet trying to take back the lead.
A rough hand on the curve of his jaw interrupts his brooding, fingers tracing the bone inwards to his mouth, strength in the touch despite their slenderness. They're really far too pretty to belong to someone so deadly powerful. Even if their wielder doesn't realize just how great a potential he possesses. The calloused thumb drags across Urahara's bottom lip, electric tingle left in its wake. Breath catching in his chest, he shudders lightly, pleasure snaking down his spine to spike the warmth in his belly. His tormentor steps back then, the only sign of mutual lust the prominent bulge stretching the front of his trousers tight.
"Do it."
The command is soft-spoken but firm, allowing no room for argument. Licking dry lips, the blonde slides his right hand along his hip, fingertips dancing across green fabric teasingly. If he stands a chance of regaining the upper hand it's now. The younger man is still fresh to his role, the occasional flicker of uncertainty giving Urahara hope of tipping the balance back in his favor. Unfortunately, the attempt doesn't work, an amused snort his only answer. Frustrated at his inability to make the man cave and do as he wishes, the blonde yanks open his pants, gasping in relief as his rigid cock slips away from it's place crammed against his lower belly and out into the cooler air of the room. He's been hard since his knees touched the floor, the torture of the previous long minutes steadily adding to the building pressure in his groin. But rather than relish the sweetness of that near-exploding sensation as he normally would, he wraps thin fingers around the shaft and starts pulling - quick and effective - determined not to play into his companion's desires any longer. Even if it means ending things sooner than he'd truly like.
Focusing on the younger man's hands, he imagines them skimming over his body, pinching and scratching in all the right places on their way to coil around his own on his leaking cock. Twisting his hips, Urahara pushes into his fist in short, tight thrusts and his eyes flutter closed, only to open a moment later and fixate on the other man's crotch. He groans at the memories that immediately flood his mind; all the times he's sucked the redhead down, coarse curls tickling his nose and lips, the heady scent of musk growing with each passing second, the thick bitter taste of success that he loves swallowing down. Shaggy blonde head tipping forward until stubbled chin touches heaving chest, he moans; squeezing the silken shaft, flicking his thumb over the swollen head, blunt nail scraping just right. Any minute now and it'll be over.
"No, not yet."
Groaning he hesitates, tempted to disobey and see what happens, but the intensity of his lover's stare and the shallowness of his breaths change Urahara's mind almost before he realizes it. Instead, he tries once again to turn the situation around and tilts his hips, displaying himself to his full advantage. However, instead of coming closer and finally, finally giving him what he's practically begging for; the man across from him takes another step back, pleased smirk growing larger still - if slightly shaky. That quiver rattles through him, leaving him feeling tangled and jagged - ready to do whatever his lover wants, if only to see him come further undone.
"Please..."
And there it is, the nod - permission - his reward for complying and playing along. He takes it gladly, choked off shout slicing through the stillness of the shop, ropes of semen hitting his hand, the floor, staining his pants. It feels like hours before he stops, wave after wave of ecstasy breaking throughout his straining body until he's left lightheaded and wrung out.
As he kneels there panting - oxygen but a faded memory - and Ichigo steps forward, fly unzipped and cock in hand, the answer to his dilemma becomes surprising clear. If he had any energy left he'd roll his eyes it's so obvious.
He's simply trained the boy too damn well.
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Urahara
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Slight Exhibition Kink, BDSM Elements
Notes: Written for Sweet Candy Shop Contest @
uraichi and for kink_bingo Exhibition KinkHis knees are beginning to ache.
It shouldn't be this way. This is not how it started, was not his intention. He was supposed to be in control not...
Eyes slipping closed he ponders the power shift, stubbornly ignoring the young man pacing circles around him. It's not that he hates being on display, quite the opposite in fact. Nothing is as flattering as having someone - or multiple someones - give you that kind of focus, show that level of appreciation. Perhaps at some point in the past it may have bothered him, made him blush and scratch his head nervously, but he abandoned all shyness what seems lifetimes ago. Now it only succeeds in making his pulse race, his skin heat and that small, slightly shameful part of his personality - the part he has buried as deep in his psyche as possible and locked into a tight, neat little box, never to be opened or examined - relax in contentment at the approval wafting off of his audience. No, it's not the open appraisal that he minds.
It's that he didn't see the change coming, that he's weak to it, that he doesn't want to fight against it. If there's a personal quality he values most over the others it's his ability to stay one move ahead in the game. Always keep the other players surprised, off balance, confused. It's a rule he's lived by for quite some time now, a strategy that has served him well. Naturally it had to be learned the hard way - like most vital lessons - with pain, heartache and layers of guilt that only get thicker and thicker as the years pass. But given what that trial taught him about planning and about trust; if he's ever given the chance to face Soul Society's Number One Traitor...
Well, he just might kiss him out of overwhelming gratitude.
And yet, for all his abundant cunning and careful scheming, he's the one behind the curve, tripping over his own feet trying to take back the lead.
A rough hand on the curve of his jaw interrupts his brooding, fingers tracing the bone inwards to his mouth, strength in the touch despite their slenderness. They're really far too pretty to belong to someone so deadly powerful. Even if their wielder doesn't realize just how great a potential he possesses. The calloused thumb drags across Urahara's bottom lip, electric tingle left in its wake. Breath catching in his chest, he shudders lightly, pleasure snaking down his spine to spike the warmth in his belly. His tormentor steps back then, the only sign of mutual lust the prominent bulge stretching the front of his trousers tight.
"Do it."
The command is soft-spoken but firm, allowing no room for argument. Licking dry lips, the blonde slides his right hand along his hip, fingertips dancing across green fabric teasingly. If he stands a chance of regaining the upper hand it's now. The younger man is still fresh to his role, the occasional flicker of uncertainty giving Urahara hope of tipping the balance back in his favor. Unfortunately, the attempt doesn't work, an amused snort his only answer. Frustrated at his inability to make the man cave and do as he wishes, the blonde yanks open his pants, gasping in relief as his rigid cock slips away from it's place crammed against his lower belly and out into the cooler air of the room. He's been hard since his knees touched the floor, the torture of the previous long minutes steadily adding to the building pressure in his groin. But rather than relish the sweetness of that near-exploding sensation as he normally would, he wraps thin fingers around the shaft and starts pulling - quick and effective - determined not to play into his companion's desires any longer. Even if it means ending things sooner than he'd truly like.
Focusing on the younger man's hands, he imagines them skimming over his body, pinching and scratching in all the right places on their way to coil around his own on his leaking cock. Twisting his hips, Urahara pushes into his fist in short, tight thrusts and his eyes flutter closed, only to open a moment later and fixate on the other man's crotch. He groans at the memories that immediately flood his mind; all the times he's sucked the redhead down, coarse curls tickling his nose and lips, the heady scent of musk growing with each passing second, the thick bitter taste of success that he loves swallowing down. Shaggy blonde head tipping forward until stubbled chin touches heaving chest, he moans; squeezing the silken shaft, flicking his thumb over the swollen head, blunt nail scraping just right. Any minute now and it'll be over.
"No, not yet."
Groaning he hesitates, tempted to disobey and see what happens, but the intensity of his lover's stare and the shallowness of his breaths change Urahara's mind almost before he realizes it. Instead, he tries once again to turn the situation around and tilts his hips, displaying himself to his full advantage. However, instead of coming closer and finally, finally giving him what he's practically begging for; the man across from him takes another step back, pleased smirk growing larger still - if slightly shaky. That quiver rattles through him, leaving him feeling tangled and jagged - ready to do whatever his lover wants, if only to see him come further undone.
"Please..."
And there it is, the nod - permission - his reward for complying and playing along. He takes it gladly, choked off shout slicing through the stillness of the shop, ropes of semen hitting his hand, the floor, staining his pants. It feels like hours before he stops, wave after wave of ecstasy breaking throughout his straining body until he's left lightheaded and wrung out.
As he kneels there panting - oxygen but a faded memory - and Ichigo steps forward, fly unzipped and cock in hand, the answer to his dilemma becomes surprising clear. If he had any energy left he'd roll his eyes it's so obvious.
He's simply trained the boy too damn well.