|Three's A Crowd
Author: Broken Promises 22 PM
Our favorite Bleach couple, IchiIshi hire a prostitute for a threesome and discover some jealousy issues.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Ichigo K. & Uryuu I. - Words: 2,055 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 1 - Published: 06-14-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8218183
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hi! It's SweetPurebloodAngel, here. My old account got deleted and I've made this new one. I decided to change my name because, I tend to get bored with my Usernames when I've used them for a long time.
Title: Three's A Crowd
Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki + Uryū Ishida
Summary: Our favorite Bleach couple, IchiIshi hire a prostitute for a threesome and discover some jealousy issues.
I made 3 really cool IchiIshi videos with flawless editing. So if anyone wants to see them? BUT DON'T FORGET TO TAKE OFF THE SPACES AND ADD A / RIGHT AFTER .COM❣
Here are the YouTube links: (1) www. youtube .com watch?v=KcRypYI-Qdc AND (2) www. youtube .com watch?v=rLhF3BXfbcY (3) www. youtube watch?v=2i2LCEOOXUc
Ichigo's going to break the guy's fingers. Every. Single. One.
It's the only thought he can focus on, looping through his mind like the ticker on a news channel, and it's starting to drive him a little crazy, because this? Is supposed to be hot. It's supposed to be fun. For fuck's sake, it was HIS SUGGESTION, and, okay, maybe he didn't really think Uryū would actually say yes, but he had, and now there's a stranger in his hotel room with his hands all over Uryū's chest, and aren't threesomes supposed to be hot?
This isn't hot. He wants to drag the guy off of Uryū, throw his zanpakutō at him and tell him to get the fuck gone. But he can't, because he's a goddamn idiot who runs his mouth and can't back down and he paid the guy money to come back here with them, and if he kicks him out now he'll lose and look stupid and the arrogant Quincy will never, ever let him live it down.
"You gonna stay all the way over there the whole night?"
The voice jerks him from his thoughts, and Ichigo looks up to find the guy studying him over Uryū's shoulder, chest pressed tight to the blue haired boy's back and hands moving under his shirt. the Quincy's eyes are closed, head tipped forward so that the soft fringe of his hair half-hides his face, and something soft in the substitute Soul Reaper aches to reach out and push it away.
Instead, he smirks—pure Hichigo Shirosaki—and draws his shoulders up and back in a slow roll that sends his jacket sliding to the floor. He twitches against the urge to pick it up and put it away properly, but he doesn't think the guy notices, his gaze glued to the strip of bare skin above the orange haired boy's waistband where his shirt hiked up at the shrug.
"Just enjoying the view," Ichigo replies with a smile that feels crooked and poorly formed. He licks his lips, and the guy's eyes—shark-eyes, a brown so dark and depthless they're black—lift and fix on the substitute Soul Reaper's mouth, an answering smile curling the stranger's lips.
"It's a nice one," agrees the guy—the fucking hooker, Kurosaki reminds himself, heat flaring in his stomach, equal parts want and shame. One of the guy's hands slides free of the Quincy's shirt, skims down his stomach to press behind his back, palming the tight butt of the younger boy's through his jeans, and Uryū's mouth parts on a groan. "That what you like? To watch? You wanna watch me fuck your friend's tight fuckable ass? Make him moan really pretty for you, worth every penny."
The older boy feels his lips pull back to show a snarl; feels the hot thrum of blood in his head and cock, pounding with adrenaline and something feral. Something that wants to bite deep into the soft angle of Uryū's throat, leave the imprint of his teeth like a barcode, like an autograph, like a fucking warning sign: PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATERS WILL BE KILLED.
A small, rational corner of Kurosaki's mind is yelling at him to calm down, to walk away, to not smash his fist into the man's face until things split and shatter and bleed, because that's very illegal and the police will come and he will go to jail, and then they'll find out that Ichigo sort of hired of a prostitute and he will go to jail some more. Soul Society will find out and his substitute Soul Reaper's powers will be taken away and Uryū will break up with him and move back to hating Soul Reapers, and Kurosaki won't be able to go after him and apologize because he'll be stuck in a prison.
"No," Kurosaki says, voice full of gravel, low and dark enough to drag Ishida's head up and his eyes open, so that both men are watching him now. He licks his lips again, taking a step closer and then another, until he can feel the heat rising from Ishida's skin, hear the soft click of the stranger's throat when he swallows. "No, that's not what I want."
He can feel the Quincy's gaze on him like a touch, but the substitute Soul Reaper doesn't look at him as he reaches for the stranger, curling a hand around the back of his neck and dragging him into a kiss.
It's strange at first, the shape of a mouth that isn't Uryū's against his. It throws him a little, makes him clumsy with nerves until he stops over thinking and just goes with it, presses the guy's mouth open and licks into soft heat. He tastes like the cinnamon gum he'd chewed and snapped on the drive back to the hotel; an undercurrent of dark rum, all warmth and spice. Ichigo tips his head without thought, finding a better angle and pressing closer; catches the man's full bottom lip between his teeth and pulls, a long, wet suck.
He hears the guy give up a quiet groan, and then a sound he doesn't recognize for a moment—low and rough, rumbling, and he realizes it's coming from the blue haired boy the second before he identifies it as a fucking growl.
Lips find his neck, and teeth; the substitute Soul Reaper hisses, tearing out of the kiss. He shoves a thigh between the Quincy's, pushing hard; but Uryū's still trapped between them, caught against the stranger's chest, and the motion rocks him back into the other man, makes them both moan. The guy moves a hand to the younger boy's hip, holding him steady as he grinds against Ishida's ass, and something snaps inside Kurosaki like a glowstick; shatters his control and lights up every nerve with need.
He jerks back enough to see Uryū's eyes; lidded and hungry, pupils blown huge and dark. He brings both hands up to Uryū's face, cupping his jaw, pressing his thumbs hard into the hinges. The pressure's painful before Uryū finally opens on a cry and Ichigo crushes their mouths together, demanding, the sweep of his tongue possessive, tasting Uryū deeply.
"Mine," he growls, so low it's in Hichigo's range. He bites the Quincy's lip, sucks until it's swollen and pink. He reaches down to where the stranger's still holding onto Uryū's hip, pries the hand away and replaces it with his own, clutching hard enough to bruise. "Mine, you're mine."
Uryū shudders, has to swallow twice to get his voice to work. "May I remind you. It was your idea in the first place, Kurosaki," he says weakly.
"Yeah, and now it's not anymore. Never again. You're mine and no one else fucking touches you, you got that?"
"Yes," Uryū whispers, and he looks so goddamned relieved that it knocks Ichigo's breath out. He calls himself ten kinds of fool, wants to kick his own ass for getting them into this in the first place, but Uryū's kissing him again, eating at his mouth, and Ichigo figures there's plenty of time to beat himself up tomorrow. Right now he really kind of needs to fuck Uryū into next week.
"I hate to ruin the moment," the stranger says, and Ichigo startles badly, realizing he forgot all about the guy not two feet away, "but if you guys have changed your mind, you really need to drop me back off downtown. My time ain't free, y'know."
"Sit down and shut the hell up," Kurosaki growls, and he'll probably feel bad later for being such a dick, but right now he just does not care. "I'll pay you what we agreed earlier just to watch and then call you a cab. Fair?"
Ichigo glances over at the guy, watches him blink once and then smile.
"More than fair," the guy agrees, getting comfortable in the room's only chair, but Ichigo isn't paying him any attention anymore. He's busy stripping Uryū's shirt off, manhandling him onto the bed; dragging his jeans down and kissing across his perfect golden skin. He's lost in the lines of Uryū's body, the mile-long legs sprawled open for him, the tan expanse of Uryū's shoulders and chest, begging to be tasted, to be marked.
He gets undressed in record time, and he doesn't care that he probably looks like an idiot doing it, because nothing feels as good or right as this: the Quincy's body naked and open under his; the blue haired boy's mouth against his mouth; Ishida's ass hot around his slick fingers. Nothing sounds as good as the blue haired boy gasping his name, begging for more, begging the substitute Soul Reaper to fuck him, fill him, own him.
Mine mine mine Ichigo thinks as he slides into tight heat; knows he's saying it out loud when Uryū groans like he's been shot, clenches around Ichigo's cock and promises raggedly, "Yours. God, Ichigo, I'm all yours."
And that's, fuck, that's more than Ichigo can take. It hurts him, how bad he wants Uryū, how bad he needs him; hurts so he can barely breathe, and when he starts to shake he doesn't know if he's going to cry or come or just fucking explode. He feels frantic, possessed, needs to fuck his Twink harder, needs to feel him come apart. He hitches the Quincy's legs higher, digs his fingers into Uryū's hips, and he'll have bruises tomorrow, perfect blue and purple smudge marks and Ichigo will lick over every one.
"Don't let me hurt you," Ichigo pleads, even as he pounds Uryū harder, gets his knees under him and snaps his hips into every thrust. "Uryū, please, I can't—"
"You won't," Uryū promises, shaking his head. His hair is tangled and damp, stuck to his forehead with sweat, hand a blur on his cock, his eyes wild, and he's never been more gorgeous.
"You won't, you can't, Ichigo," he says again; and then sharper, high and desperate, "Ichigo, aw fuck, Strawberry-" and bows his back, crying out and coming all over his stomach.
The substitute Soul Reaper has about three seconds to enjoy the sight before his brain shuts down, world turning grey and he's coming; coming like he's dying, sharp, startled sounds dragged out of him with every jerk of his hips. He's light-headed by the time his vision clears, dazed and content and halfway to asleep, but he doesn't miss it when the Quincy kisses his temple and whispers,
and though he'd never say it aloud, he thinks, yours, and it feels right.
THIS IS FINISHED❣ I WILL NEVER EVER UPDATE OR ADD ANOTHER CHAPTER. SO PLEASE DO US BOTH A FAVOR AND DO NOT ADD THIS FIC TO YOUR STORY ALERT❣ PLEASE❣ I❜M FREAKING BEGGING YOU❣