Two stories in one night—WHAT? Lol. I'm somewhat pleased with myself right now. Also, you know what sucks? There's no category/genre on for "smut" or...whatever this is, lol. 'Tis frustrating.


A rustle of skirts, of satin; Yumichika hides a smile at the soft moan behind him but only cocks his head to one side, pretending to contemplate his reflection in the mirror for a moment longer. His critical eye sweeps over the mascara and dark red lipstick—checking for the slightest smudge, the tiniest of imperfections. He juts his hip out to one side, a hand resting on it, pretending to pout at his hair; all the while holding in a pleased laugh, as Ikkaku gives another helpless whimper and writhes from where he's sprawled across the bed, naked and impatient.

"Y-Yumichika," he grits out finally, sounding almost angry, but for the faint, desperate tremble in his tone that makes Yumichika smirk in self-satisfaction. Yumichika tugs once more at the hem of his short dress—savors the feel of silk and ruffles sliding beneath his fingertips—and then decides to take pity on Ikkaku and turns to face him, full-on.

From the bed, Ikkaku makes a low, helpless noise and twists uselessly against the thin, silver cuffs around his wrists, keeping him trapped and chained to the headboard. Yumichika gives him a coy smile and strides forward, slow, easy, hips swaying.

He loves this: something about the slow heat of seduction that rises through him, the confidence that the dress gives him; the thin material of his pantyhose, the straps of the garter belt stretched taut against his upper thighs; the feeling of being free, of having no shame as he charcoals his eyes, as he pulls on the stilettos, as he turns this way and that, admiring himself in the mirror.

But most of all, he loves the look in Ikkaku's eyes—something dark and dangerous, and hungry; the weight of Ikkaku's gaze along the curve of his waist, along the short hem of his dress, on his lips, full and dark, and Yumichika has to pause, steadying himself. He hesitates at the edge of the bed and smiles as Ikkaku gives another impatient groan and spreads his legs wide, meaningfully.

"C'mon," he half-growls, half-begs, too proud to ever completely surrender. A true member of Zaraki's squad, Yumichika thinks, amused, and leans forward. He trails one hand lightly over the tight, rippling muscles of Ikkaku's chest; giggles, sounding almost like a real girl, as Ikkaku curses violently and strains against the cuffs once more.

"Shh," he croons, as he slides onto the mattress—shudders at the flash of heat in Ikkaku's eyes—, maneuvering until he's straddling Ikkaku's bony hips—hips that thrust up, suddenly, desperately. Yumichika whimpers at the slide of Ikkaku's cock, hot and leaking against the thin silk of his panties.

"C'mon," Ikkaku says again, and his voice breaks this time. There's sweat glistening along his scalp, and Yumichika tuts—somehow manages to hold onto his self-control, and runs his tongue in a long stripe over Ikkaku's chest.

A violent curse. Ikkaku thrusts up again, seeking friction, and this time Yumichika rocks back, grinding himself down on Ikkaku's erection. He locks his lips around one, dusky nipple, sucking and nipping, and continues to work his hips, until Ikkaku gives a small half-sob, half-moan of pure need.

Til he gives up.

"Please, baby," he whispers frantically, eyes fluttering closed, his hips continuing to thrust, "so pretty, God, so fucking hot, please, please…"

Yumichika chuckles, soft and wicked; but he's sitting back up, his fingers already moving to unlace the front of his dress.


Sometimes I feel bad for liking this pairing, like I'm corrupting some sort of beautiful, pure friendship that the series originally intended. And then this randomly falls out of my head and reminds me why the two of them are so much better as a couple.