Be Done By As You Did
Ichimaru Gin, Matsumoto Rangiku, and Kira Izuru eyed each other meaningfully and somewhat doubtfully. The doubt being occasioned by the fact that nobody was quite sure who was allied with whom.
"Surrender, Gin," Rangiku snapped. "You're outnumbered."
"Two little points," Gin said with a smirk. "First point is that you're assuming that Izuru-kun's on your side --"
"Of course he is," Rangiku said firmly. "Stop trying to fool the poor boy into crawling back to kiss your sandals."
Gin pursed his lips. "That's kind of kinky, Rangiku-chan. Been having any dreams along those lines?"
"What's the second point?" Rangiku said through gritted teeth, ignoring Kira's whimpering.
"See this?" Gin held up a small device. "Little something I borrowed from Aizen-taichou. Instant Arrancarisation. Don't worry, you two'll like it on our side --"
Rangiku and Kira grabbed for him together, but it was already too late.
Rangiku woke up conscious of two great losses. They weren't there any more. She ripped open her kimono in shock, to find herself looking down at a male, blond, barely hirsute chest. Her exploring fingers touched beardless cheeks and a floppy length of blond hair that tumbled across her face disconsolately.
She looked around desperately. That was her lying on the ground there, beginning to moan, and that was Gin beginning to sit up and shaking his head in a confused way that was far more like Kira Izuru than Gin himself, and here she was in what seemed to be Kira's body, which meant . . .
Instinct made the jump while rational logic was still standing around on the cliff edge and waving its hands. She leapt on the body of "Rangiku", and wrenched the zanpakutou out of "her" hand.
"Oh god," "Gin" was saying, prodding his face and body with long-fingered hands. He'd dropped Shinsou. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god --"
"Kira-kun!" Rangiku snapped. "Stop babbling and come and help me subdue him -- her -- thingy!" She planted her knee in "Rangiku's" stomach, trying to ignore the weirdness of the whole situation, and wrenched off "Rangiku's" pink sash to tie her hands with.
"But I'm him," Kira said numbly. "And you're me. And he's you."
Gin looked up at Rangiku through barely-open eyes. "Why, Rangiku-chan," she said, her own voice falling into Gin's familiar accents, "when I said I wanted you to hold onto me, I didn't mean this way."
"Shut up or I'll make you." The more she let herself think about it, the weirder the whole situation was. Perhaps thinking about it wasn't going to help. "How long before this wears off?"
Her body shrugged. The breasts jiggled fluidly. "It weren't supposed to wear off. Then again, weren't supposed to do this either. Guess I shouldn't have taken it from the untested stuff."
There was a kind of perverse fascination to it. She prodded one of the breasts with a finger. It joggled again.
"Hey," Gin said. "Stop that."
"It's my breast, isn't it?" She felt her mouth curving into an unusual smile. "I can do what I like to my own breasts, can't I?"
"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," Kira said, "that's awfully perverse." He sounded strangely fascinated, though. He wore Gin's body in a more youthful, innocent way than the usual owner. It rather reminded Rangiku of when they'd both been young together. Frankly, it turned her on. Or perhaps that was the playing with her own breasts like this. The whole thing was intensely erotic.
"Kira." She smiled, and patted the ground next to her. "Look. Here I am. Come on and play with me. You know it's what Ichimaru-taichou would do --"
Gin kicked at her, trying to get loose from where she'd got him pinned. The way that her own body was squirming made her new body's loins tighten in a very odd way. She swallowed. "If we only had a jug of wine it'd be perfect."
"Yes. Yes, he would, wouldn't he?" Kira settled down next to her, kneeling neatly on the ground, and began to play with the other breast. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou -- did you know that sometimes I watched you both?" He blushed.
"I guessed." She smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry. I never blamed you."
"He knew." An expression of sulky petulance settled on Kira's face, again making "Gin" look younger. "He used to tell me about it afterwards. He'd say, 'And then I stroked over her breasts and brought my hands up to her nipples till they were all rosy and flushed like the tips of cherry blossoms -'"
"You bastard!" Rangiku slapped Gin's face. "You never told me about that!"
Gin pouted up at her. "Never told you what I did with him neither. I figured you wouldn't want to know about that sort of stuff, Rangiku-chan."
Her sense of injury and bitter resentment mingled with her growing desire. She slid a hand into her hakama. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to handle a man's body. Oh, yes . . . "So what did he tell you he did next, Izuru?" she asked, her voice husky.
"He said he used to kiss you. Kiss you on the side of your mouth and then down the side of your neck."
"So why don't you do it."
Gin wrenched at the sash around his hands again, but she'd tied him securely. She watched her own face tilt back as the younger-looking Gin kissed along the line of the jaw with hesitant lips, then traced down her neck to the hollow of her throat.
Yes. This was how it had been. This was how it should always have been.
"And then he'd open your jacket," Kira whispered. "And he'd play with your breasts and tell them how lovely they were and when you'd say something about how he only loved you for your breasts, he'd say no, he loved you just for everything you were --"
"Rangiku," Gin snarled. It was strange to hear that arrogance in her own voice. "You ain't gonna let him do this to me."
She patted Gin's cheek. "Honey, it's my body. You did this to us. So frankly, honey, Ichimaru-taichou, Gin . . . if I say that Kira-kun here can fuck my body, I don't see that you've got any right to complain. Lie back and enjoy it. You've told him how to do it enough times, haven't you? Made him watch, didn't you?"
"He enjoyed it."
"Yeah. Right." She twined her hand in Gin's hair. "Kira-kun? Did you enjoy it?"
Kira was shivering. There was something a little mad about his eyes. Perhaps it was just seeing them in Gin's face, seeing so much hunger and desperation in a face that was usually so expressionless and smiling. "It was the only way I could be close to him, Matsumoto-fukutaichou -- he said it made him happy, he said that I'd know better how to please him, though I could never be as good as you can. Never. Never."
"Well, I'll tell you something, Kira-kun. This is where you show me that you're better than he was." She leaned across to brush a kiss on Kira's cheek. On Gin's cheek. That familiar cheek. "Make yourself real comfortable with my body here and prove that you're a better man than he was. And then you can take me too, or maybe I'll take you, because you know something? This son of a bitch here doesn't deserve either of us."
Kira swallowed. He turned to look at her. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou, do you mean that?"
"Of course I do. I wouldn't lie to you, Kira. Now get on with it. It's my turn to watch."
As she had expected, Gin was too salacious not to let himself enjoy it. Like her, he had always been unconcerned by physical embarrassment. He squirmed under his own body and cried out in her voice, indistinct obscenities and begging for more. It was like a dream, but it was also a farewell; this was how the two of them had once been, when Gin was young and sincere, and she was honest and had had no reservations, and . . .
. . . and perhaps he really had loved her, then. Perhaps he'd meant it, somewhere, somehow, when he'd said that he wished she could have held onto him for a little while longer. She was crying without knowing quite when she had started, tears leaking miserably from her eyes, and making Kira look quite hideous, because he didn't have the complexion to cry prettily, she knew it, but still, as she watched the two of them, still she wished that it could have lasted, and in that wish she knew that it was gone for good.
Kira lay sprawled across Gin, both of them gasping for breath. Kira was still mostly clothed, but Gin's clothing was disarrayed, lying in loose folds around her body.
"C'mon." Her own need was heavy now, was demanding fulfilment. She wondered if Kira ever felt like this in his own body. She grabbed Kira by the scruff of his neck, pulling him up so that she could kiss him, working her tongue into his mouth.
He submitted happily, limp in her arms as she held him tight against her. When their kiss broke, he whispered, "Yes, please -- please, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, I wanted that."
"You wanted to kiss him like that?" She was aware that Gin was watching. "To get your hands on him and make him look at you?" She pulled the loose white robe from his shoulders, tossing it to the ground.
Kira grabbed at her shoulders. "Don't stop now," he begged. "Please don't stop now."
"Don't worry," she reassured him, pushing him down on the crumpled white silk. "I care more about you than he ever did, Kira-kun. I'm not going to let you go."
"Thank you," he whispered into the hollow of her shoulder as she parted his legs. "Thank you, thank you . . ." She slicked a couple of fingers with her own spit, and slid them up into him, wishing that she had something to make it easier, but unwilling to wait. ". . . thank you, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, thank you . . ."
She got herself into him as gently as she could, but he didn't seem to care about the pain that he must have felt, looking up at her with wide open eyes, still whispering thanks and begging her for more. He grabbed at her, pulling her down on him needily, and she was as avid as he was, his skin strange under her body's new hands but still familiar, his voice achingly nostalgic.
When they had finished, she looked across at Gin again. He was watching them, his eyes half-closed, and on her body's face was an expression of such scorn and bitterness that she turned away as if she had seen a serpent.