Bleach fic: Whatever, Ikkaku/Mizuho
Title: Whatever
Pairing: Ikkaku/Mizuho
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: manga chapter #213.
Warnings: crude language, v. little euphemism, utter lack of romance, humour
Dedication: to everyone who's tired of schmoopy het.
Whatever
by cinnamongrr1
Mizuho wondered, idly, if there were something wrong with her for being attracted to the monk-guy- Ikkaku, she thought his name was-- so strongly, so soon. Then she shrugged and went back to picking the lock on the spare room door, behind which he and his fruity friend were most likely fast asleep.
All the better to sneak up on him, she thought, unable to keep from smirking as she fiddled the end of the unbent paperclip in the lock. He’d seemed a little unnerved by her attentions to him, and she could see where the guy might be overwhelmed: just in from what looked to have been a whopper of a fight, and then this pretty girl is all over him…
She definitely could have played it cooler, upon meeting him, but then again, life is short- and likely to be even shorter, if he got into bad fights like that on a regular basis- and her boobs weren’t getting any perkier as time went on.
No, it was a modern world, and she was a modern girl. You had to take the bull by the horns and charge full steam ahead, guns a-blazing. Damn the torpedoes! Mizuho thought he was the sexiest thing she’d seen in years, even bloodied and wounded (perhaps especially because of that) and she wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity to bang a hottie slip through her talented little fingers.
With a final click, the lock gave way, and she carefully opened it, slipping through and shutting it behind her. She squinted into the darkness, peering closely at the two narrow beds, one on either side of the little room. She had to be careful she chose the right one, or it might be the fruity one she ended up with. Not that he was that bad, but she was pretty sure he was gay as a spring parade.
Moonlight streamed through a crack in the curtains and gleamed off a bare pate; Mizuho smirked in triumph and padded on carefully silent feet to his bed, kneeling beside it and grasping the covers in preparation to peel them back.
A strong hand grabbed her wrist before she could do a thing, however.
“What the fuck,” he demanded in a low whisper, “are you doing?”
Oh, he sounded like such a thug! She felt a thrill of pure desire all up and down her spine, and barely restrained herself from squeeing.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she challenged, using her free hand to pet the edge of the bed by his hip and edging closer with every pass. She’d caught a glimpse of him in the bathroom as he washed the blood from his body; his friend had stood in the doorway, helping when needed, and Mizuho had nearly swooned at the sight of his amazing body. There was no way in hell she was going to miss out on getting a piece of him.
He released her hand. “I think you’re trying to get laid,” he replied, sounding amused.
Now she did peel the covers back, biting her lip to keep from moaning at the sight of his naked torso in the moonlight. He wore only a pair of Keigo’s ratty old pajama bottoms, and in the dimness of the room, the slopes and valleys of his pectorals and abs were thrown into high relief. Mizuho brought a hand up to surreptitiously brush her chin, in case she’d started drooling.
“Do you have a problem with that?” she asked, aware of how hoarse her voice sounded. Her hands reached for him of their own volition, unable to keep from tracing those enticing muscles, and her fingertips easily discerned the puckers and ridges of scars crisscrossing his flesh. She shivered again at the knowledge that he was just as tough as he looked, and pinched his nipple smartly.
He made a rough sound in his throat, shifting his big shoulders restlessly. “You’re crazy,” he said flatly.
Mizuho shrugged and lowered her mouth to brush over his belly, tracing the outline of his shallow navel with her tongue.
“You just met me.” This was spoken with a touch more desperation.
She ignored him, pinching his nipple again and tugging at his pajama bottoms. The worn elastic gave way easily, revealing a cock that, even at half-mast, was impressing the hell out of her. Her hand curled warmly around it and gave an experimental stroke.
“Yumi is right across the room!” he hissed at last, propped up on his elbows to stare down the length of his chest at her. “Awake, I bet, and listening to the whole thing!”
She frowned at that, brows drawing together in displeasure, and released him with a glare. “Listen,” she said. “Do you want this blowjob or not?”
He glared back for a second before flopping back against the pillow and gazing fixedly up at the ceiling.
“Thought so,” she said, smug, and was about to take him in her mouth when a flurry of activity from the other side of the room interrupted her.
“Voyeurism is so ugly,” Yumichika informed them with more than a touch of petulant asperity as he rose, Venuslike, from the frothy waves of his bedsheets.
Mizuho blinked. “My room’s the second door on the right,” she told him. “Go stay there the rest of the night.”
He stared briefly past her to Ikkaku, whose cock she still cupped in her hand (but which was also wilting in her grasp), before flouncing from the room. Once he was safely gone, and the door shut behind him, she turned back to Ikkaku with one eyebrow arched high in inquiry.
“Whatever,” he said resignedly. “You might as well, since you went to all that trouble.”
She frowned again, even more fiercely, and stood up to disrobe.
“Now what are you doing?”
“If you’re going to be like that, I might as well get something out of it, too,” she snapped, stepping out of her panties and tossing them onto the heap where her nightgown had already been discarded. It was rather gratifying to see how swiftly his erection unflagged as she stood nude in front of him.
She placed one knee on the bed, swung the other over to the far side of his hips and settled down over him, full-length. He was strength and acres of hot, hard flesh and Mizuho couldn’t keep from whimpering at having all that leashed between her thighs.
He let out a groan that blew warm breath over her throat. “Fuck, you feel good.” His hands came up to grab her waist, pulling her tighter against him, and his cock was a solid bar between her legs, cradled perilously close to where she so dearly wanted it to be.
She shifted up, then down again, slowly taking him inside. The slight burn she felt as he stretched her open was nothing compared to how it made ripples of delight thrum outward from her center. He was thick, and hard, and his chest was slippery against hers, and she was so full and-
Then he moved, bucking his hips up, and Mizuho whimpered again, aware her eyes were closed while her mouth hung open in a haze of shocked lust.
“Oh, god,” she whispered, sucking hard on his neck. “Fuck me, you sexy bastard.”
Ikkaku growled, threading his hand into her hair and pulling her head back so he could look at her, staring hard for a long moment until she was wondering what was wrong with him, and tightening her muscles around his length in a rippling, liquid embrace.
He gave up, at that point, on whatever it was that had held his attention and instead crushed her lips with his. At the same time, he wound an arm around her waist to flatten his palm on her ass, holding her still so he could pump steadily up into her from below.
And it was so fast and hard and hot that hardly any time had passed before Mizuho was trembling and crying out and clenching around him, her mouth open on his in a rough approximation of a kiss.
When she was able to think again, still panting, she wheezed, “Damn, that was good. And you didn’t come yet, either. Maybe I can have another one…” She trailed off when she realized he was watching her oddly.
“What?” she demanded, propping herself up on straight arms to stare at him. “What?”
But he only grinned at her, taking between his teeth the nipple of one of the breasts dangling so temptingly before him. “You’re one crazy bitch,” he informed her around the morsel of flesh, undulating his pelvis just so.
She began to rock back and forth on him, rubbing her clitoris against his pubic bone in a way that had stars rocketing into her vision and Ikkaku clamping his hands on her hips.
“I don’t care,” she said breathlessly. “Just don’t stop.”
“Oh, trust me,” he drawled. “I won’t.” He rolled, then, managing to flip them over without either landing them on the floor or disengaging himself from her. Then, when he was finally and securely on top, he hooked his arms under her knees so she was fully open to him and began pummeling himself into her. Slowly at first, but building to a speed and intensity that knocked all the breath from her lungs and reason from her mind.
Mizuho knew she should be quiet, knew that she would wake her brother and disturb Yumichika again, knew there was even a chance her parents could hear her, even in their bedroom on the far side of the apartment… but being quiet for something like this seemed disrespectful, somehow. A fucking this good should be proclaimed to the world.
“Oh, god, yes, that’s so good,” she rambled witlessly, head tossing on the pillow and hands scrabbling over every sweaty inch of him she could reach. “You’re so hot. I knew you would be, the minute I saw you, you sexy bald fucker. And your cock is huge. This is awesome.”
“Shut up,” he commanded through gritted teeth. “If you keep talking like that, I won’t last.” He executed some intricate maneuver where his pelvis both thrust and swiveled at the same time. “And I’m not bald.”
“Whatever.” He could lie to himself however he wanted; Mizuho herself had this little denial thing going on about how her thighs were absolutely not getting flabby now that she wasn’t on the college track team any longer. Self-delusion made the world go round, as far as she was concerned. The present matter at hand was far more important, and she reached down to grab his ass to make sure he realized it.
He moaned against her cheek, and she turned her face blindly to meet his mouth with hers. The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongues, and paired with the steady, sinuous movement of his cock inside her, steadily drove her once more toward climax.
“I’m going to---“ he muttered in her ear, sucking hard on the lobe.
“Do it, do it,” she chanted in reply, the muscles in her limbs tingling from the effort of straining so hard against and around him. “Oh, shit.” A blazing wall of pleasure crashed into her, and she sank her teeth into the solid mass of his shoulder to keep from screaming.
Ikkaku shuddered deeply, then, his hands gripping the sheets in rough handfuls, pulling them from the bed as he hunched frantically against her. Mizuho was awash in sensation-her orgasm containing his, sweat and heat and friction and-
They rode out the waves of it together, clutching whatever they could reach like lifelines as they shook and rocked. Slowly, slowly they came back down, and when their eyes uncrossed, they stared in disbelief at each other.
“Guh,” said Ikkaku after a moment, collapsing to the side, half-on and half-off Mizuho. She shoved at his shoulder, but it was like he was built of pure lead and had no impact. She wriggled so she could breathe a little easier and resigned herself to being flattened like a pancake, come morning.
“That was great,” she murmured, smiling and sated. “Again tomorrow night?”
“Whatever,” he muttered sleepily, and passed out.