PreviousFiction IndexCatalogue and CommisionsArt GalleriesSend feedbackNext



by P L Nunn


Chapter 3


Chapter two


They didn't get much more than a block down the narrow street, before figures slunk out of the shadows, moving to block the way. Grungy, worn out looking men with eyes like starving wild dogs. Furtive and merciless. Two of them were bleeding from pretty fresh wounds on their faces.

"That's him." One with a swollen, clearly broken nose jabbed a finger towards Ichigo. "That's the shithead that did this to us."

He hadn't paid that much attention to the faces of the two guys who's asses he'd kicked back there, but he figured these two must have been them, come to even the score with reinforcements to back them up. Six or eight of them, beginning to circle, trying to get at his back like the scavenger animals they resembled.

He half turned his head, tracking the movements, looking for weapons among them, but they didn't even have shoes, much less knives. But fist and feet could do a lot of damage if they got in a few good shots. And they would, eventually, because there was just one of him.

He half glimpsed the kid behind him, head down, arms wrapped tight around his skinny ribs. A kid that had predicted this. Had been expecting this, despite Ichigo's optimism.

"When they come at me," he said softly. "You run. Okay?"

Abu didn't say anything. The misery radiating off of him so strongly that Ichigo almost thought he could feel it.

He turned back to the one's facing him. The bloody faced pair who had belligerent sneers on their swollen faces.

"Why don't you two try me first?" Grimmjow had accused him of having bravado without the power to back it up. Maybe that was true, but he had no intention of going down easy. He'd hurt as many of them as he could before they overwhelmed him.

But before they could make that first move heads started turning, the onlookers who'd paused to watch the unfolding violence murmuring and staring down the street beyond the group of men facing down Ichigo. He looked himself and saw two guys striding down the street towards them.

Two men in black kimono's, with swords thrust through the white sash of their obi's. The thugs started scattering, shuffling off out their way with furtive, sullen glances. The two men barely seemed to notice the gulf they created, as if they were well used to people making way for them.

If they were the soul reapers he'd heard about, maybe he could get a little help from them - - enough of a reprieve to get him and Abu out of town safely.

"Hey, are you guys soul reapers?" He stepped forward, and one of them did flick a glance his way, surprised maybe that he had held his ground and not slunk away like the rest. "I need to talk to you."

One of them was fairly young, dark haired and distracted. The other was a bit older seeming, with hair shorn close to his head and a broad, flat face that twitched in irritation.

"Beat it," the older one said, then glanced back at the younger one. "Nobuo?"

"There, Mikio" the younger one, Nobuo said softly, hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

The broad one scowled, going for his own blade.

Ichigo blinked, standing there with two men suddenly drawing swords against him.

"Woah. Wait a minute - -" He held up his hands, baffled.

"Move," the young one suggested.

"What - -?" he realized they weren't looking at him, but beyond him. He half turned, the whole of the street deserted, except for Abu, about six yards behind him, head down, eyes shuttered.

He snapped his head back towards the two soul reapers. They were moving, the blades of their swords gleaming even in the dull ever-twilight. Panic began to seep up. He could fight a bunch of thugs with nothing but fists to attack him with. He wasn't so sure he could survive two guys with blades they obviously knew how to use. Two guys with blades who were targeting a skinny, battered boy like he was a dangerous foe.

"What the hell? He hasn't done anything." Common sense said get out of their way. Common sense apparently wasn't a strong point with him. He took a couple of steps back, putting himself more firmly between them and the kid. "Why don't you go after those pricks over there? They deserve it."

He jabbed a finger towards the group of thugs observing from the other side of the street.

"You ignorant hick," the big one snarled. "Either move or get cut down."

"Go to hell."

The younger one widened his eyes, gaze fixed beyond Ichigo.

Someone screamed. The crowd at the edge of the conflict suddenly surging back, falling over each other to get away, panic thick on the street.

A shadow fell over him and he turned. It took him a second to realize what it was. Who it was. It was the eyes that confirmed it. One dead black one and the odd, implanted green one bulging from its socket as something swelled and grew under the skin of Abu's face. The body had already shattered, the flimsy layer of skin and meat that had been Abu lying like a scab across the monstrous, misshapen body that had exploded from within it. The head was the last thing to go, the flesh of the face split, separating at the scar running down across the bad eye, the bleached white bone of a hideous mask beneath. And like the shell of the boy's body, the remnants of his skull lay matted and bloody across that white maw, the patch of flesh with the one good eye draped like a bad toupee across its head. And it looked at him. Dead and hopeless and hungry.

Ichigo staggered back, horrified. Got hit by the shoulder of one of the soul reapers as they rushed forward, meeting the thing that had been Abu as it surged towards him. He stumbled over his own feet, went down, not able to take his eyes off the thing. Because there was a boy in there. There had to be a boy in there somewhere because that one eye was still filled with dull hopelessness and it tore at Ichigo's soul that they were going to simply cut him down without trying to make it right.

"God - - god - - god - -" he sat in the dirt, staring in shock, until somebody grabbed him from behind. Somebody way too strong for anyone's good jerking him up with an arm around his waist and hauling him backwards.

"No - - no - - you bastard - -" he fought it, blindly, a wash of madness coloring everything, until a head that felt like it had rock for bones, slammed into the back of his and the world swam in and out of focus.

"There's a kid in - - there. There's a kid - -"

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing, smothering, pressing his throbbing head back against Grimmjow's shoulder.

"Fool," Breath against his cheek. "That kid's long past helping. And we don't need their attention.

He didn't see what happened on the street, because Grimmjow didn't linger to let him. When his head cleared enough to protest, he fought him again, until Grimmjow got tired of it, and threw him into the nearest wall, grabbed a handful of his hair as he was sliding down it and slammed his head against it. Old wood splintered. Pain exploded inside his skull and the world just went grey.

* * *

Say my name - - Say my name - -

The orb hovered in a darkness that was no longer quite void with the awareness of its existence. The whisper slithered around the outskirts of his perception. Insistent. He didn't know what it wanted.

But he was curious - -

A fleck of armor plating tore off, drifting in the dark, disintegrating - -

* * *

He came around on that same grungy futon he'd woken up on before. Grimmjow was sitting cross legged on the end of it, back against the wall, drinking from a clay jug. He looked Ichigo's way as he sat up, lifting an amused brow as he scrambled backwards out of easy reach.

Ichigo cast a quick glance at the door, the first thing crossing his mind escape. The second thing - - was what had happened to that boy.

"Go ahead. Knock yourself out," Grimmjow suggested. "Or I could do it again for you, and save us both the time. But I don't mind. Every time you hit the ground, it makes me a special kind of happy."

Ichigo set his jaw, looking away, fisting his hands in the edge of the futon.

"Did they kill him?" He didn't want to look at Grimmjow, he didn't want to speak to him at all, but had to ask that.

"What? That kid? They did what soul reapers do."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think?"

"They killed him." He said numbly, a knot of grief lodging in his throat.

"He was dead long past, idiot. They just put him out of his misery."

"He was just a kid. An innocent." Just a miserable, abused kid that had never had a chance in this place. His eyes stung, blurring vision.

Grimmjow laughed. "You are all kinds of na´ve. There aren't any innocent souls out here in the outskirts. Those living here are the worst in all the Rukongai. Those that probably should have gone the other direction when they died, but slipped through to here anyways. What you met might have looked like a kid, but I guarantee you there was a black soul underneath."

"You would know, right?"

"You're soft," Grimmjow said, scorn in his voice. "Crying over some kid you didn't even know. I don't know how you beat me, being this soft."

Maybe he was soft. Maybe he was just still human enough to care.

"I beat you?" That admission finally registered.

A muscle in Grimmjow's jaw twitched.

For a long moment, he stared at Ichigo, then finally shrugged, and held out the jug in offering. Ichigo stared at it in disbelief.

"I not drinking with you."

"Suit yourself." Grimmjow didn't seem offended. There was a burlap bag on the floor next to him that he indicated with a jerk of his thumb. "So you hungry? I got food."

"I'm not eating with you, either."


Ichigo balled his fists and snarled. "I'm not stubborn, I'm just not socializing with my rapist."

"No, you're stubborn." Grimmjow corked the jug and sat it aside. "And ungrateful, after all I did for you."

Ichigo gaped, incredulous. "All you - - ? Are you insane? What have you done for me?"

Grimmjow starting ticking off points. "I paid off your debt. I didn't kill you. I bought all your drinks last night. I held off killing you again. Then I go to all the trouble to bring back supper and you refuse. Not only that," He rummaged around in the bag and brought out a little glass jar. "I got lube. I'm being all sort of considerate."

Ichigo looked at the door again, flight or fight instinct kicking into high gear. But he wasn't sure making a run for it wouldn't just turn the bastard on. Grimmjow seemed to enjoy the hunt. Fighting just made him crazier than he already was.

So Ichigo tried another tact. He pushed himself up, slowly. "No. Just no. Whatever the hell issue you have with me, you got your pound of flesh. Its over."

Grimmjow sat there, elbows across his knees, pale blue eyes tracking Ichigo as he moved casual and calm, towards the door. And maybe, maybe it was going to work. He had his hand on it, when Grimmjow's palm slammed into the frame next to his head, Grimmjow's body close behind him. He squared his shoulders, swallowing, refusing to flinch when Grimmjow leaned in to breath against his ear.

"Maybe when you're dead, it'll be over, Ichigo." He curled an arm across his shoulders, sliding his fingers up to his throat.

"I thought I was already dead." He stepped down hard on the instep of Grimmjow's bare foot, twisted around and drove his fist into Grimmjow's throat with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe it was surprise or maybe he made a dent, but Grimmjow took a startled step backwards.

Ichigo ripped the door open and ran. And it was worth a try. It really was. Because not to have made an effort, to have just given in to the inevitable would have destroyed him as much as Grimmjow was trying to do, one piece at a time. As much as that boy, who'd given in to despair so fully that something twisted and awful had consumed his soul and turned him into a thing no longer resembling the person he'd been.

He got as far as the desk where the sour faced inn manager sat, before Grimmjow hit him from behind, bowling him through the thin, rice paper panes of the doors leading outside. The innkeeper shrieked, screaming obscenities at the both of them. Ichigo rolled and kicked. Grimmjow avoided it like he was moving in slow motion, caught his ankle and flung him like a rag doll back through the shattered doorway of the inn. The innkeeper's desk went the way of the door, shattered by the impact of Ichigo's body. The innkeeper herself struggled to free herself from the debris, screaming all the while, raining blows down upon him with the tattered fan she clutched in her hand like a weapon.

"Sorry about that," Grimmjow strolled in, flicking mud off his jacket. He jerked Ichigo up by the hair, dug in his pocket for coin and tossed a handful at the irate innkeeper.

"Out. I want you out." She cried, even as she was snatching up the coin.

Grimmjow ignored her, dragging Ichigo behind him as he headed back to the room.

Ichigo hit the floor where Grimmjow dropped him, gasping painfully after breath. There were spots dancing about the edges of his vision like vengeful sprites. Grimmjow's foot connected with his shoulder, kicking him over onto his stomach, before he sank down over him, straddling his hips.

"I got something else I thought we could have a little fun with," he dragged a coil of rope from the burlap bag. "I was thinking you'd look good tied up."

And proceeded to do just that. He was creative about it and once Ichigo's arms were folded up behind his back, rope twined about his wrists, about his forearms, circling his chest, looped around his throat, he might as well have been a doll Grimmjow was trussing up and playing with. Hell, when it came down to it, with Grimmjow's unbelievable strength and his blinding speed, he'd already proven there was nothing Ichigo could stop him from doing to him. The bondage was just foreplay.

The only weapon he had that seemed to occasionally annoy the bastard was his tongue and he took that away from him, too, gagging him with the same rough rope he'd bound the rest of him with.

He lay there cheek pressed against the hard, wood floor, the thread bare futon a luxury that Grimmjow didn't seem inclined to indulge him with, while Grimmjow amused himself with his body.

He shut his eyes, biting down on the rope between his teeth when Grimmjow spread his legs, settling between them, hands sliding up the backs of his thighs and settling on his ass. He was humming something tuneless and grating as he entertained himself. It rang in the back of Ichigo's head, and nails along a chalkboard couldn't have made him cringe more.

When he slipped a finger up his ass, it was slick and cool with the lube he'd bragged about being thoughtful enough to get. And if the mind tearing revulsion of the total violation of his body hadn't been an issue, Ichigo might have even appreciated the consideration.

It still hurt, his body not healed yet from the last time Grimmjow had raped him without the benefit of preparation. As if the bastard would give a shit.

Grimmjow added a few more fingers, twisting them in to the knuckles, sliding them in and out in a parody of fucking. He leaned over Ichigo's back, biting his shoulder hard enough that it felt like teeth had pierced skin. "You like that? Feel good?"

God. As if the psychopath thought he might be getting off on it. Just fuck me, he willed, eyes squeezed tight, and get it over it.

And soon enough, the fingers slipped out and he felt the hot length of the man's erection nudging at the crack of his ass. Big hands biting into his flesh, thumbs spreading him while the smooth tip of a cock teased the tender nub of his asshole.

Grimmjow pushed in, and three fingers hadn't really been an adequate comparison for the girth of him. The painfully slow slide of it bulging against his insides.

He made a sound. An involuntary noise of dismay. Grimmjow seemed to like it, chuckling as he shoved in the rest of the way, all his weight against Ichigo's back forcing his cock hard and deep. He lay there a moment, grunting in satisfaction, the pressure of his body full atop Ichigo's compressing the air out of his lungs.

"So damned tight," he breathed, sliding his tongue along the shell of Ichigo's ear while he was struggling for air.

Then he pushed himself up and began to move.

Fingers dug into Ichigo's hips, dragging him to his knees, giving Grimmjow a more efficient angle to rut. The big hand sliding under him, grasping his flaccid cock, squeezing and pulling made explosions of color ripple behind his eyes. Made his gut clench in a horrifyingly unwelcome way.

Ichigo bit down so hard on the rope in his mouth that he tasted coppery blood. His hands were wet with it, skin torn from twisting against the bonds. And he hadn't even realized he'd been struggling hard enough to do it. He hadn't realized he was screaming curses muffled by the layers of rope wedging his teeth apart, until the blood trickling down the back of his throat began to burn on its way down.

"Yeah, yeah, you like my dick inside you, don't you, Ichigo? Better than my sword, huh?" Grimmjow was talking nonsense. Grimmjow was stone cold, crazy-ass delusional. But his cock was hitting something, every inward stroke, that was making Ichigo's body clench in unbearable sensation. And even when Grimmjow's hand left his penis, moving instead to Ichigo's hips as he drove in with more serious intent, it twitched, hard and desperate against Ichigo's belly.

His muffled cursing turned to baffled, choking gasps. Utter humiliation. Utter revulsion. Utter confusion. The utterly shocking experience of coming with a cock up his ass.

No. No. Nonononononono - - Blinded by tears mixed with blood. Disbelief and fury and helpless shame.

Say my name - - the fluttering, flailing beat of wings against a cage. Wake up and say my name - -

He sprawled where Grimmjow let him fall. Tears dampened the floor beneath his cheek and he didn't even care about that little embarrassment.

Grimmjow sat between his spread legs, absently tugging at his half limp dick. "Damn, that was good, huh? I don't think I'll ever get tired of fucking you."

He shut his eyes, cutting out the sight of the bastard. A smack across his ass and he did flinch. Grimmjow was laughing, all too pleased with himself. Ichigo felt him get up without opening his eyes to look. The soft pad of his footsteps, the faint sound of him uncorking the jug and drinking, the faint rustle as he maybe unwrapped some of the food he'd offered Ichigo earlier, and was consuming now.

Ichigo didn't move. Just lay there, the horrible feel of Grimmjow's seamen slowly seeping out of him, cool and thick as it trickled down across his balls. A little bit of nausea curled in his gut.

Silence for too long. Then the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

He opened his eyes then and found the tip of the blade a half inch from his left eye. Grimmjow stood there, naked and cold eyed, staring down at him. The blade never wavered. Ichigo looked up the length of it, eyes wide, breathing harsh around the gag. If Grimmjow was going to kill him, all it would take was a flick of that blade and he'd bleed out in the same dirty room that he'd been raped in - - twice now. And wouldn't that be just depressing.

"You know how many fantasies I've had about killing you? Of making you beg for my mercy before I took your life? Of wiping that look off your face - - that fucking irritating look in your eyes that screams you think you're better than me. A lot, let me tell you. But if I slid this sword into your flesh now, it would be like cutting into tofu. Soft and squishy and no resistance at all. Don't get me wrong. I wanna do it. I wanna do it so bad that even when I'm fucking you, I'm sorta imagining how it would feel if I slid my sword up inside you alongside my dick. You know, with you bleeding out all hot and wet on the inside while I came."

Grimmjow shivered, free hand moving to his cock, tugging and stroking as it began to harden again. "Maybe you'd like that, too. I always thought you were a little bit of a masochist, what with all the shit you put yourself through."

It was terrifying, the way Grimmjow's mind worked. And Ichigo realized with an absolute clarity that he didn't want to die. Again. However dismal and hopeless this afterlife he found himself in was - - he wanted to survive. He wanted to claw his way up out of this pit he was in and claim some semblance of victory. Even if it was only meeting Grimmjow's bat-shit crazy stare up the length of that blade and not flinching from it.

Overpowering him wasn't the same thing as breaking him.

He lifted his face off the floor, glaring up with defiant eyes.

Grimmjow's mouth slowly split in a grin.

"Fuck, but you're hot." The sword tip flicked, severing the rope gag. "I'm ready for another round, how about you?"

Two days. Maybe more. The light seeping in from that one dirty little window never changed enough to really tell the difference between night and day. When he slept it was the mostly the result of sheer exhaustion or a hand around his neck cutting off oxygen, or his head hitting a floor or a wall and plunging him into unwanted darkness. So maybe two days, maybe four. It was all starting to blend together in to one long nightmarish reality.

Grimmjow left sometimes, leaving Ichigo artfully bound, securely bound, no tiniest chance at leaving that room that smelled of blood and sex and sweat. Long hours, that he might have been grateful for Grimmjow's absence during, if not for the helpless frustration of waiting bound like a trussed pig for his return.

When Grimmjow came back, he'd be inevitably drunk and pleased with himself as the result of whatever he'd been doing in town. And horny. He was relentlessly horny. Drunk horny. Angry horny. Cheerful horny. Combative horny. Sadistically creative horny. He hit all the facets of the emotional roller coaster ride of a bat shit crazy, bipolar sex addict.

Then he'd fall asleep on the futon next to Ichigo, and Ichigo would grind his teeth, shifting within the small boundary of movement the rope would allow to get distance between him and warm, sweaty skin of his accoster.

"I need to pee, damn you." Ichigo hissed, waking up with Grimmjow's tongue on the back of his neck and his fingers pressing against the oversensitive lips of his anus.

Grimmjow moved his mouth to his shoulder, biting down hard enough that he probably broke skin, but he withdrew his hand, transferring it to his half hard dick as he sat up.

"Yeah. You also need a bath. You smell like somebody came all over you. Repeatedly."

"Fuck you, psychopath." Ichigo glared up with one eye, cheek pressed against the futon.

Which sentiment amused Grimmjow, who laughed as he loosened the rope biding Ichigo's legs. He left his arms bound, and pulled him up, taking most of Ichigo's weight when his legs took time to remember what it was they were actually supposed to do. He didn't bother with the courtesy of getting him dressed, just hauled him out as naked as Grimmjow was himself, past the wide eyed inn keep and down a little back passage towards the back of the inn.

There was little enclosed courtyard there, that shared a wall with the building behind the inn. A dingy little ill kept space with a low stone well at the center and lines with drying laundry along the sides.

Grimmjow buckled Ichigo's knee and forced him down to the worn flagstone. He knelt there, trying to clench his fists to work feeling into numb hands, but the blood had been so long restricted he could barely feel his fingers. Cold water sloshed down over his head as Grimmjow dumped the bucket he'd pulled up from the well over him. He dipped it again and poured the next one over his own head.

He stood there afterwards, dripping and grinning, hands roaming over his own body as he rinsed away sweat. Then he found a dirty rag hanging from the side of the well, and used the next bucket of clean water to wet it and used it to scrub at Ichigo's skin.

Ichigo shut his eyes and let him - - little enough choice - - trying to find a place inside his head to escape the mortification.

Say my name - - say my name - - the whisper scratched with something almost akin to gibbering indignation from the recesses of his mind.

Something nudged at his mouth. He opened his eyes for a close up view of Grimmjow's crotch, Grimmjow's fully engorged cock rubbing against his lips. Grimmjow's fingers grasped a handful of the hair at the back of his head. He flicked his eyes up, meeting Grimmjow's half lidded, crafty stare.

"Just open wide and I'll tell you how I like it."

"You want my teeth around your dick? Really?"

Grimmjow canted his head, considering all the possible ramifications of that. And strength and speed and uncanny power aside - - there were certain parts of himself that a man just didn't like to take undue risks with.

"Yeah - - maybe not."

Ichigo didn't bother to congratulate him on that call. He would have had to have knocked out all Ichigo's teeth before he got a blow job out of him that didn't involve blood and missing chunks of his anatomy.

"Put clothes on," the inn keep screeched at them, when Grimmjow was hauling Ichigo back to the room.

"We need a new futon. Ours is disgusting," Grimmjow barked back at her. The door to the street had been haphazardly patched, but it was open now to let in the stagnant breeze. She had dragged in a rickety table to replace the desk.

"You make it that way," she yelled. "Too much sex. Take your whore someplace else or give me cut."

Ichigo ground his teeth. "I'm not a whore, you shrew-eyed bat."

"I'm not paying him," Grimmjow added. "That just makes him a fuck toy. Get me a clean futon." He shoved Ichigo into the room and slid the door shut behind them.

Grimmjow flipped the futon in question, but it had already been flipped one too many times and was no less stained on the other side. He pushed Ichigo down anyway.

"You hungry?"

Ichigo was, but he was loath to admit it. He'd had rice last night, fed to him by Grimmjow, like a fucking dog licking scraps off his master's fingers. But no food a few days prior and instinct had overcome pride. He wasn't quite at that place again yet, where dignity took second place to hunger.

Grimmjow shrugged, seeing the look in Ichigo's eyes. He did bring over a jug of water though, wrapped one arm around the back of Ichigo's neck and put the mouth of the jug to his lips. For that he reluctantly opened his mouth. Grimmjow slid the lip of the jug in further than it needed to go, a little payback for Ichigo's refusal to give him oral sex. Half the water dribbled down his chin, but his thirst was satisfied.

Grimmjow ran a thumb across his chin, wiping away water, tightening his other arm when Ichigo tried to jerk away. "You need to be nicer to me."

Ichigo laughed, short and harsh. "Are you serious?"

"I've been nice to you."

"You're delusional. You've been raping me for two - - three days straight. I can't feel my arms."

"Not all the cum on the futon is mine."

Ichigo looked away, clamping his jaw.

"You like it when I fuck you."

Say my name - - say it!!

Grimmjow pushed him down, onto his back. "And I like it - -" Grimmjow reached for a length of discarded rope. "When you're all trussed up."

He grabbed one of Ichigo's ankles and looped the rope snugly, then folded his leg, securing his ankle to the back of his thigh. He repeated the process with the other leg until he lay there, like a bird bound up for basting, all his limbs folded in upon themselves. So deep into helpless that it killed a little bit of his soul. He just swallowed and shut his eyes while Grimmjow's hands spread out across his belly, sliding up to tweak a nipple. To twist and pull at it, until Ichigo had to bit his lip in pain. But the nub got hard, and the other one too, without Grimmjow even touching it, and when he did move his hand to brush against it, the muscles of Ichigo's belly contracted, rippling with reaction.

Grimmjow laughing low under his breath just made it worse. The hands slid around and under his hips, grasping his ass and dragging him up, his bound thighs spread around Grimmjow's hips, his ass resting on the top of his thighs, the most vulnerable part of him just open and there for Grimmjow's amusement.

Warm liquid dribbled down on his balls, trickling down his belly and between his legs. Grimmjow's oil, which wasn't as much of a kindness as Grimmjow liked to think, when Ichigo would have just as well have had excruciating pain instead of the easy slide of a cock into his body and the unwelcome sensations that brought with it.

Excruciating pain would have been welcome now, instead of Grimmjow's hands shifting his balls in their sack, sliding up and down his cock, warm and slick with oil. He choked on a breath, muscles spasming, arching into it, until Grimmjow's hand on his hip pushed him back down.

"Feel good?" The circle of Grimmjow's fingers around his cock was almost painfully tight and when he slid it slowly up, stopping just below the flared glans and squeezing, lights began dancing behind Ichigo's closed lids. He made a sound, an involuntary gasping moan that turned into a choked cry as Grimmjow dragged the circle of his fingers back down.

He barely even felt the finger up his ass, until the second one joined it and Grimmjow began pumping them slowly, curling his knuckles and rubbing against that one place inside him that made him lose his sense of reason and dignity.

"Ichigo?" Grimmjow leaned over him, fingers of one hand clamped hard around the base of his cock, the others up the knuckles inside him. "Does it feel good?"

It was an unfair question. An unfathomable question when his mentality had descended to a place right around the juncture of his legs. He didn't answer. He wouldn't answer when his body insisted on betraying him.

Grimmjow started jerking him off again, slow and languid, the fingers inside him curling and flicking, twisting and stretching and God - - God even the burn of that made every muscle in his body contract. Then he stopped, fingers like a band of iron around the base of his dick, trapping him at the apex of almost there but not.

"Does it feel good, Ichigo?" Grimmjow's tongue flicked the tip of his cock. Swirled around the leaking slit.

"Fuck - - y - -you."

"Do you want me to stop?"

He sobbed, trying to pump his hips, anything to relieve the pressure. "No."

"No?" Grimmjow took the head of his penis into his mouth. His fingers idly slid in and out of his ass.

"Do you want my cock inside you?" Ichigo's cock slid out of his mouth long enough for him to ask the question, then he had it between his lips again.

Ichigo slammed his head against the futon, looking for that pain, but nothing was getting past the overwhelming need between his legs.

"Yes. Yes." He couldn't form a more coherent reply.

"Ask me nicely."

"God - - god, just do it. Just - - do it."

The fingers withdrew and the hot, blunt tip of a penis replaced them, pushing in easy and slow, stretching him wider than four fingers had - - and if it had hurt it would have been a godsend, but it didn't. It felt like he was exploding from the inside out every time Grimmjow pumped into him. He tossed his head and choked on incoherent curses until the hand on his cock jerked him to an orgasm that had the whole of his body clenching and spasming as he came, spewing hot and wet across his own chest.

Grimmjow's fingers dug into his thighs, bending him forward as he slammed into him, hard and fast until he came. He leaned over Ichigo until the spasms stopped racking his body.

He pressed his mouth against Ichigo's ear. "You'll remember this every time somebody other than me fucks you - - that it was me that made you understand how much you love cock. That it was me that made you beg for it."

Ichigo lay there under Grimmjow's oppressive weight, shuddering. Hating Grimmjow and hating himself. It was a lie. A cruel jab to break him down even more than he was already broken.

"Get off me, asshole," he said it quietly, nothing to back up the command other than the hope that Grimmjow didn't like the feel of his sweaty skin anymore than he liked the feel of Grimmjow's.

Finally Grimmjow sat up, sitting there with an elbow propped on his knee and staring down at Ichigo, consideration in his sly green eyes.

"I think you deserve to stretch your legs a little. Tonight, I'll take you out on the town and give you a little taste of Dead End at night."



PreviousFiction IndexCatalogue and CommisionsArt GalleriesSend feedbackNext