Fic: Feathers and Sequins. Hisagi/Kira.
Title: Feathers and Sequins
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Hisagi Shuuhei x Kira Izuru
Notes/Warnings: This is smut. And I kind of fail at smut. But I tried really hard so maybe this one won't be so bad? XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its sexy characters. I just borrow them and make them do my nasty bidding. They like it. A lot. >:)
Dedication: To all my friends and readers just because. ♥
Happy Halloween, all!
It was a Halloween party - ridiculous, really, because shinigami didn’t care much for the occasion. You’d think they’d have grown tired of masked monstrosities showing their faces in the dark. But Rangiku always knew how to spice things up and the logic that hovered in the back of his mind, that little space at the very edge of rational thought, coupled with the image of Renji dumping toxic levels of sake into the fruit punch, told Kira Izuru that it was only normal, expected even, for things to get a little out of control.
He’s the tiniest inch past the point of tipsy, he knows - but not so much so that he can’t put up a fight if he doesn’t want this to happen. Which is probably why it’s still happening; he isn’t fighting.
He doesn’t want to.
Instead he wraps his arms around whoever is pushing him back against the wall and all but clings to him (definitely male, no mistake there) when firm hands loosen their grip on his shoulders to slide down his wiry frame. One of those hands slips into his clothes to touch him and he moans softly as heat seeps into him from where fingertips ghosted over his skin. It contrasts nicely with the cool plastic and feathers of the mask still over his face; a flimsy little thing but it holds fast over the upper half of his face, allowing tongue, lips and teeth to travel over his jaw and down his neck and to his collarbone where his skin is unprotected.
At this point Izuru is aware that they must be far from the party, though how that came to be he doesn’t know. It’s quiet here, the loud blare of music apparently left a long way behind them, maybe even in a different world; a world where Kira Izuru would not be disrupting the silence of the empty hall with the soft wet sounds of frenzied kisses and quiet moans with another shinigami-a man, no less-whom he didn’t even know.
That world is far away indeed and here his clothes are half off him, his legs wrapped tightly around the other’s waist, and the only thing keeping him up is the friction of his back against the wall and the hard body pinning him there. Lips leave the fine wings of his collarbones and, for a moment, disappear entirely until he feels teeth sink into overheated flesh, hard enough to sting and make him throw his head back to cry out. Strangely, the brief flash of pain turns into pleasure and, for the first time since his back hit the wall, he opens his eyes.
Gold flashes bright even in the darkness of the narrow corridor, nearly glowing under the one lit oil-lamp over their heads. It was the glimmer that attracted him in the first place, he remembers: a golden mask strapped over a dark-haired head, covering three-quarters of his current companion’s face. It wasn’t so much the colour, he guesses, but the mystery of it, the anonymity, and the freedom it isn’t supposed to entail. He could have left with any other masked shinigami and had originally left the party alone but this one…he remembers eying this one; taller than everyone else, golden mask glittering under the strobe lights. Out of all the disguised shinigami from the party, this one, he remembers. And out of all them, this one…
This one followed him out.
He gasps as he is suddenly pushed harder against the wall to keep him there. A hand reaches up over their heads and before he can see what the other is doing they are plunged into total darkness and the smell of the oil from the now doused lamp is strong in air. The mask brushes almost lovingly against the soft feathers of his own mask as the figure leans in to kiss the skin behind his ear. Izuru squirms from the sensation and the movement brings his attention back to hands, two of them again, in his clothes, slick with oil and sliding from his sides to the small of his back and lower still, making him shiver and oh, gods, he doesn’t even know who he is with but it feels so good.
“Mmmm…don’t stop,” he whispers and his companion pulls away until Izuru can see his entire face. The mask is still there but from this angle, even in the darkness, he can see into storm-grey eyes smoldering from behind two cut-out holes and the unmistakable lines of three scars running down one cheek which, in retrospect, Izuru was stupid to have missed. He gasps once recognition hits him and inhales, trying to catch his breath enough to say something. He can smell the sake, the punch from the party, and another unique scent that, strangely, he could recognize.
Hisagi.
Then a finger breaches him and his breath leaves him in a rush, rendering him unable to speak. In the back of his mind he is sure that his former sempai knows it’s him, knows who he is touching. He has to because Izuru likes to think that the stalwart Vice-Captain of the Ninth Division isn’t the type who would do this with just anyone; this has to mean something even if what started it were the alcohol and the masks. Hisagi followed him out, after all. This has to mean something because Izuru wants it to and ohh, Hisagi has three fingers in him now, sliding inside him, stretching and opening him, derailing his current train of thought and he couldn’t care less if this meant that Hisagi was going to leave him for dead once they were done or marry him.
He trembles and moans into Hisagi’s mouth. He doesn’t remember when Hisagi started kissing him again but he won’t complain because the older shinigami’s lips are soft and perfect, tongue darting out in a silent plea for permission to enter which Izuru is only too happy to give.
He should probably be ashamed, should probably put a stop to this, because Hisagi is his friend-his best friend-but Izuru found that he could do nothing more than thrust back against the fingers inside him and moan unintelligible pleas which could have meant anything between “let me go” and “oh, gods, what’s taking you so long”.
He pulls away from the brunet and realizes he’s panting, struggling even to just do something as simple as breathing. It’s ridiculous.
He doesn’t care.
Hisagi makes soft hungry noises against him, apparently turned on just from his reaction and the feel of him even if he isn’t feeling everything just yet. His masked face presses into the point where his neck meets his shoulder and gold sequins create delicious friction against the tender skin of his throat. Izuru concentrates on that sensation to keep himself grounded, a last attempt to retain what little rational thought hadn’t been burned away by desire. Then Hisagi touches something inside of him that almost makes him scream and he knows he won’t be able to hold on to his sanity if he tried.
“Please,” he wants to scream but only manages to utter the word in a breathless whisper. “Now…please…”
Hisagi’s fingers leave him as the brunet pulls away and he whines in protest at the loss, already regretting saying anything at all. His bare feet touch the floor as Hisagi lowers him to stand and even with his alcohol-and-lust-muddled mind this rejection hurts.
“Why…” he starts but doesn’t know what to ask.
Why are we doing this?
Why did you stop?
Then he sees the bright gleam of Hisagi’s eyes and before he knows it he is facing the wall with the brunet nipping and licking the skin on the back of his neck and shoulders. He shudders and lifts his arms to brace himself against the wall, his head hanging between his shoulders, blond hair tickling his face.
Now that the stimulus has abated somewhat he is acutely aware of their surroundings. They are alone but still out in the open, the night air is cool against his skin, and their ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart are loud in the silence.
Impatience sets in and he is just about to look over his shoulder when suddenly feels hands on his hips and then Hisagi is pushing into him, slowly and inexorably, and ohhh it’s almost too much; he nearly blacks out.
Every fiber of his being burns, threatening to reduce him into nothing more than ash. He feels Hisagi slide out of him and back in again slowly before he starts thrusting in earnest; strong, powerful thrusts that push Izuru up on the tips of his toes every time. He cries out when Hisagi hits that spot inside of him again and if was more aware, he would have felt the older shinigami shudder and tighten his grip on his hips at his reaction.
But he is too far gone.
His back arcs, his head falls back to the brunet’s shoulder, and he cries out again and again, not bothering to stifle the noise, beyond caring if anyone would hear them, and getting even louder. He wants so badly to say Hisagi’s name but finds that he can’t and it adds to the pressure building inside him until it’s almost painful, the heat spiraling to a barely tolerable level. It isn’t long before he starts screaming, words stumbling over one another in their rush to escape, pleas for both more and surcease.
A hand leaves his hip to grasp his chin and turn his face to the side so Hisagi’s lips can reach his. The kiss is difficult in this position but no less passionate as the older shinigami takes full control. He comes while they are still kissing, breath caught in his throat so he can’t even make a sound and body going taut under the intensity of his release. When the tension breaks, he sags in Hisagi’s arms just as the older shinigami shudders against him with a low moan.
He grays out for a few moments, floating in and out semi-consciousness, and when he comes to Hisagi is kissing him again, slower and softer this time, lips burning a trail up over his face then down his neck, kissing, nipping and suckling on over-sensitized skin. Izuru feels a spark of desire rekindle in him and he shivers as he is flooded again with sensation, ablaze with some inner fire, and surrounded by warmth and Hisagi.
* * *
When Izuru wakes up in the morning he is in his room and on his bed, hung-over and pleasantly sore. Sunlight streams through the open window and he squints at the brightness, puzzled, until he tries to move and comes up against something warm and very much alive in bed next to him.
Hisagi is snuggled up against him, sheets wound around his waist like a snake. One arm is thrown seemingly carelessly over him, a long-fingered hand resting over his bare stomach.
That explains the soreness, he thinks, smiling to himself and shifting in the sheets to make sure it wasn’t a dream. He feels a twinge of tenderness in some areas but it’s bearable and very, very worth it. The movement wakes the other up and Hisagi blinks sleepily at him before he smiles and sidles up even closer to his side.
It’s then that Izuru notices the scattering of gold sequins and feathers around them, the remains of their masks from the night before. Gingerly, he pulls a fluffy white feather free from Hisagi’s dark hair and twirls it in fingers.
He smiles to himself, remembering that the flimsy things had finally come off after they stumbled into Izuru’s room but long before the sun rose and long before they stopped.
END.
A/N: Enjoy yourself? XD
Feel free to point out any mistakes. I know there are lots of them but my brain can't figure out what they are or how to fix them. T_T ::fails::
-Antha
--------------------------------------------------
My Master Fic Index here.
My 30_romances Fic List here.
My 50scenes Prompt Table here.
Her Fanficcers Love Meme Thread here.
--------------------------------------------------
x-posted: all_for_bleach, asterisk_plus, bleach_yaoi, kurosaki_clinic and shuukira.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Hisagi Shuuhei x Kira Izuru
Notes/Warnings: This is smut. And I kind of fail at smut. But I tried really hard so maybe this one won't be so bad? XD
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its sexy characters. I just borrow them and make them do my nasty bidding. They like it. A lot. >:)
Dedication: To all my friends and readers just because. ♥
Happy Halloween, all!
It was a Halloween party - ridiculous, really, because shinigami didn’t care much for the occasion. You’d think they’d have grown tired of masked monstrosities showing their faces in the dark. But Rangiku always knew how to spice things up and the logic that hovered in the back of his mind, that little space at the very edge of rational thought, coupled with the image of Renji dumping toxic levels of sake into the fruit punch, told Kira Izuru that it was only normal, expected even, for things to get a little out of control.
He’s the tiniest inch past the point of tipsy, he knows - but not so much so that he can’t put up a fight if he doesn’t want this to happen. Which is probably why it’s still happening; he isn’t fighting.
He doesn’t want to.
Instead he wraps his arms around whoever is pushing him back against the wall and all but clings to him (definitely male, no mistake there) when firm hands loosen their grip on his shoulders to slide down his wiry frame. One of those hands slips into his clothes to touch him and he moans softly as heat seeps into him from where fingertips ghosted over his skin. It contrasts nicely with the cool plastic and feathers of the mask still over his face; a flimsy little thing but it holds fast over the upper half of his face, allowing tongue, lips and teeth to travel over his jaw and down his neck and to his collarbone where his skin is unprotected.
At this point Izuru is aware that they must be far from the party, though how that came to be he doesn’t know. It’s quiet here, the loud blare of music apparently left a long way behind them, maybe even in a different world; a world where Kira Izuru would not be disrupting the silence of the empty hall with the soft wet sounds of frenzied kisses and quiet moans with another shinigami-a man, no less-whom he didn’t even know.
That world is far away indeed and here his clothes are half off him, his legs wrapped tightly around the other’s waist, and the only thing keeping him up is the friction of his back against the wall and the hard body pinning him there. Lips leave the fine wings of his collarbones and, for a moment, disappear entirely until he feels teeth sink into overheated flesh, hard enough to sting and make him throw his head back to cry out. Strangely, the brief flash of pain turns into pleasure and, for the first time since his back hit the wall, he opens his eyes.
Gold flashes bright even in the darkness of the narrow corridor, nearly glowing under the one lit oil-lamp over their heads. It was the glimmer that attracted him in the first place, he remembers: a golden mask strapped over a dark-haired head, covering three-quarters of his current companion’s face. It wasn’t so much the colour, he guesses, but the mystery of it, the anonymity, and the freedom it isn’t supposed to entail. He could have left with any other masked shinigami and had originally left the party alone but this one…he remembers eying this one; taller than everyone else, golden mask glittering under the strobe lights. Out of all the disguised shinigami from the party, this one, he remembers. And out of all them, this one…
This one followed him out.
He gasps as he is suddenly pushed harder against the wall to keep him there. A hand reaches up over their heads and before he can see what the other is doing they are plunged into total darkness and the smell of the oil from the now doused lamp is strong in air. The mask brushes almost lovingly against the soft feathers of his own mask as the figure leans in to kiss the skin behind his ear. Izuru squirms from the sensation and the movement brings his attention back to hands, two of them again, in his clothes, slick with oil and sliding from his sides to the small of his back and lower still, making him shiver and oh, gods, he doesn’t even know who he is with but it feels so good.
“Mmmm…don’t stop,” he whispers and his companion pulls away until Izuru can see his entire face. The mask is still there but from this angle, even in the darkness, he can see into storm-grey eyes smoldering from behind two cut-out holes and the unmistakable lines of three scars running down one cheek which, in retrospect, Izuru was stupid to have missed. He gasps once recognition hits him and inhales, trying to catch his breath enough to say something. He can smell the sake, the punch from the party, and another unique scent that, strangely, he could recognize.
Hisagi.
Then a finger breaches him and his breath leaves him in a rush, rendering him unable to speak. In the back of his mind he is sure that his former sempai knows it’s him, knows who he is touching. He has to because Izuru likes to think that the stalwart Vice-Captain of the Ninth Division isn’t the type who would do this with just anyone; this has to mean something even if what started it were the alcohol and the masks. Hisagi followed him out, after all. This has to mean something because Izuru wants it to and ohh, Hisagi has three fingers in him now, sliding inside him, stretching and opening him, derailing his current train of thought and he couldn’t care less if this meant that Hisagi was going to leave him for dead once they were done or marry him.
He trembles and moans into Hisagi’s mouth. He doesn’t remember when Hisagi started kissing him again but he won’t complain because the older shinigami’s lips are soft and perfect, tongue darting out in a silent plea for permission to enter which Izuru is only too happy to give.
He should probably be ashamed, should probably put a stop to this, because Hisagi is his friend-his best friend-but Izuru found that he could do nothing more than thrust back against the fingers inside him and moan unintelligible pleas which could have meant anything between “let me go” and “oh, gods, what’s taking you so long”.
He pulls away from the brunet and realizes he’s panting, struggling even to just do something as simple as breathing. It’s ridiculous.
He doesn’t care.
Hisagi makes soft hungry noises against him, apparently turned on just from his reaction and the feel of him even if he isn’t feeling everything just yet. His masked face presses into the point where his neck meets his shoulder and gold sequins create delicious friction against the tender skin of his throat. Izuru concentrates on that sensation to keep himself grounded, a last attempt to retain what little rational thought hadn’t been burned away by desire. Then Hisagi touches something inside of him that almost makes him scream and he knows he won’t be able to hold on to his sanity if he tried.
“Please,” he wants to scream but only manages to utter the word in a breathless whisper. “Now…please…”
Hisagi’s fingers leave him as the brunet pulls away and he whines in protest at the loss, already regretting saying anything at all. His bare feet touch the floor as Hisagi lowers him to stand and even with his alcohol-and-lust-muddled mind this rejection hurts.
“Why…” he starts but doesn’t know what to ask.
Why are we doing this?
Why did you stop?
Then he sees the bright gleam of Hisagi’s eyes and before he knows it he is facing the wall with the brunet nipping and licking the skin on the back of his neck and shoulders. He shudders and lifts his arms to brace himself against the wall, his head hanging between his shoulders, blond hair tickling his face.
Now that the stimulus has abated somewhat he is acutely aware of their surroundings. They are alone but still out in the open, the night air is cool against his skin, and their ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart are loud in the silence.
Impatience sets in and he is just about to look over his shoulder when suddenly feels hands on his hips and then Hisagi is pushing into him, slowly and inexorably, and ohhh it’s almost too much; he nearly blacks out.
Every fiber of his being burns, threatening to reduce him into nothing more than ash. He feels Hisagi slide out of him and back in again slowly before he starts thrusting in earnest; strong, powerful thrusts that push Izuru up on the tips of his toes every time. He cries out when Hisagi hits that spot inside of him again and if was more aware, he would have felt the older shinigami shudder and tighten his grip on his hips at his reaction.
But he is too far gone.
His back arcs, his head falls back to the brunet’s shoulder, and he cries out again and again, not bothering to stifle the noise, beyond caring if anyone would hear them, and getting even louder. He wants so badly to say Hisagi’s name but finds that he can’t and it adds to the pressure building inside him until it’s almost painful, the heat spiraling to a barely tolerable level. It isn’t long before he starts screaming, words stumbling over one another in their rush to escape, pleas for both more and surcease.
A hand leaves his hip to grasp his chin and turn his face to the side so Hisagi’s lips can reach his. The kiss is difficult in this position but no less passionate as the older shinigami takes full control. He comes while they are still kissing, breath caught in his throat so he can’t even make a sound and body going taut under the intensity of his release. When the tension breaks, he sags in Hisagi’s arms just as the older shinigami shudders against him with a low moan.
He grays out for a few moments, floating in and out semi-consciousness, and when he comes to Hisagi is kissing him again, slower and softer this time, lips burning a trail up over his face then down his neck, kissing, nipping and suckling on over-sensitized skin. Izuru feels a spark of desire rekindle in him and he shivers as he is flooded again with sensation, ablaze with some inner fire, and surrounded by warmth and Hisagi.
* * *
When Izuru wakes up in the morning he is in his room and on his bed, hung-over and pleasantly sore. Sunlight streams through the open window and he squints at the brightness, puzzled, until he tries to move and comes up against something warm and very much alive in bed next to him.
Hisagi is snuggled up against him, sheets wound around his waist like a snake. One arm is thrown seemingly carelessly over him, a long-fingered hand resting over his bare stomach.
That explains the soreness, he thinks, smiling to himself and shifting in the sheets to make sure it wasn’t a dream. He feels a twinge of tenderness in some areas but it’s bearable and very, very worth it. The movement wakes the other up and Hisagi blinks sleepily at him before he smiles and sidles up even closer to his side.
It’s then that Izuru notices the scattering of gold sequins and feathers around them, the remains of their masks from the night before. Gingerly, he pulls a fluffy white feather free from Hisagi’s dark hair and twirls it in fingers.
He smiles to himself, remembering that the flimsy things had finally come off after they stumbled into Izuru’s room but long before the sun rose and long before they stopped.
END.
A/N: Enjoy yourself? XD
Feel free to point out any mistakes. I know there are lots of them but my brain can't figure out what they are or how to fix them. T_T ::fails::
-Antha
--------------------------------------------------
My Master Fic Index here.
My 30_romances Fic List here.
My 50scenes Prompt Table here.
Her Fanficcers Love Meme Thread here.
--------------------------------------------------
x-posted: all_for_bleach, asterisk_plus, bleach_yaoi, kurosaki_clinic and shuukira.