The Noble Sort

A/N: As usual, all the important information is lurking in the notes of the first two parts.

Purely lemon, people.

Oh, and by “goofy grin” I mean the Ukitake grin in Shinigami cup 169. Too much!

Enjoy!

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“The Noble Sort”

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She stretched out next to him on the futon, her breathing heavier and quicker than it had been. She could already feel herself reacting to his closeness, and it made her realize just how long it had been since she had been with a man.

Especially a man she didn’t have to hide anything from.

His hands were soft, just like he was, and they fluttered like the wings of a butterfly over her arms, her shoulders, her neck. His touch was ephemeral, ghostly, leaving trails of sensation that set her nerve endings to tingling. Her own hands came up to push apart his yukata, baring his pale, muscled chest to her view. She traced the indentations of his pectorals, the caramel-pink nipples, even lovingly fingered the pink-brown scar on his breastbone.

He inhaled as she let her eyes leave his face and trace a path down his neck to his collarbone, and she knew if she was to suck on that spot, right there, he would ignite for her. She slowly let her mouth creep to his skin, first letting her breath bring up goosebumps before putting her lips to his soft skin and creating the smallest amount of suction.

She was right; he ignited.

His hands, once so soft and slow, now moved with a purpose. She felt one grasp the back of her neck and one trail down to linger heavy at her waist. She was pulled forcefully against him, her body aligned with his, and he titled her head up and captured her mouth with his own.

His tongue moved inside her mouth languidly, slowly examining every bit of her possible. His hand was massaging the nape of her neck, keeping her pinned to him but not advancing in the least. Only he could manage this, this intent with languor—controlled passion. It was arousing as hell but driving her nuts.

It would figure he’s as patient here as he is in everything else, she thought, eager to get things going. Her fiery nature was beginning to come into play.

She could feel him along her body, hard and soft at the same time, and she could feel the soft length of hardened flesh against her stomach. She tried to wiggle a hand in between them, hoping to be able to finally touch him, feel him, but his hand shot from her waist and enclosed her own.

Suddenly he rolled her backwards, settling her on the futon and coming to rest in between her legs. She shifted her hips and parted her legs just enough to allow him to be there, still not letting go or giving him any space to run from her.

He let her hand go, then, and she let it creep up his back into the silver-grey hair she had wanted to stroke so many times before tonight, and his trailed up her arm to her shoulder. His hands joined together, cupping her head and tilting her into his heated kiss. She pulled back, eager for room to see and be able to maneuver, but he kept her right where he had trapped her with his strong hands and tall body.

“Minako,” he breathed, his mouth approaching the sensitive skin right beneath her ear, “be patient.”

She bucked her hips, angling to get him rolled over and herself in charge. She felt him laugh silently and dropped back to the futon.

“Let me touch you then,” she muttered, her hands coming up to his chest to push his yukata back again and circle his torso.

“We have plenty of time.” She could hear the amusement in his voice, and it was just pushing the flame finally growing in her belly that much higher. It was like a game to her, at least at that moment.

Even as his chest shook from his silent laughter he allowed her to wiggle her hands downward and untie the sash of his yukata, and she pushed it down his shoulders and arms to his elbows, his arms coming up one by one so she could slip the robe-like garment off.

She flung it to the far corner of the room where he couldn’t possibly get it back on anytime soon.

She felt his hands make their way slowly down her sides, almost tickling, then slide beneath the sweater she had thrown on earlier. He slid the sweater and her t-shirt up at a glacial pace, sensually stroking each bit of skin his hands revealed.

She was sure that, by the time they were done, every part of her body would have felt his touch.

She lifted her shoulders and head slightly, allowing him to slip them off slowly, and then flung the garments above her head to another part of the room. His hands trailed back down her chest, now with a heavier touch, and she felt him as he memorized the swell of her breasts, the curves beneath the globes, even the shape of her caramel nipples.

She felt his legs shift, his knees taking most of his weight as his mouth trailed down her neck and collarbone to the swell of her right breast. His nose nuzzled the lace of her bra, sneaking in between it and her skin, and she moaned at the soft sensation. His hands traced up her sides, behind her back, and with the smallest of movements, the garment was undone. When his mouth shifted just enough to the left to pull the already sagging strap down her arm with his teeth, she felt like melting.

Then it was gone, his breath once again heavy and humid on her skin.

Her moan, as he took the puckered nipple in his hot mouth, was loud in quiet room.

One of her hands burrowed into the thick hair at the base of his scalp and held on tightly, the other coming to his shoulder to steady herself, to assure her that he was real and there and this was truly happening.

His breath was hot as he released her breast with a soft pop, his open mouth now trailing down her ribs. He stopped to let his tongue trace the curved underside of her breast before continuing, where he pressed soft, openmouthed kisses on each of the bones, his hands once again fluttering around the soft skin of her stomach.

The multitude of sensations—his mouth, his hands, his hair trailing her sides—it was overloading her senses. She wanted to rip her pants off and pull him into her, but she doubted he would allow it.

Finally—finally!—she felt one of his hands flutter to the waistband of her jeans, toying with the button at the front. His mouth was now on her stomach, his tongue slowly tracing her bellybutton, and she almost groaned as she felt his fingers fluttering underneath the waistband and then him undoing the button and slowly pulling the zipper down.

His hands barely grasped the denim at her waist and he jerked her jeans down her legs, the sudden change in pace shocking, causing her to stiffen.

Once again, she could feel him laughing at her, his body shaking in merriment.

He was—different. That was definitely the word. This was not the man who scolded her zanpakutou and gave everyone friendly advice. He was keeping her constantly on edge, keeping her focused on what his next movement would be.

He was either very, very good or acting.

As her jeans finally left her body, leaving her legs free to tangle with his own, she decided he was just that good. He had to know what this was doing to her.

Or not.

Perhaps the women he was usually with, most likely just as kind as he, expected slow and lovey and—

Oh.

As his hand finally came to rest at the apex of her thighs, his long index finger slowly stroked her from her clitoris to her perineum through slick fabric, and she moaned again, loudly.

Shit. How close are his officers? Or anyone?

She wasn’t going to risk it. She usually had no problem letting someone know exactly how much she was…enjoying her night. But this man deserved his privacy, something he wouldn’t have if his officers heard them.

His next movement, a long, wet, openmouthed kiss against the satin of the underwear covering her pubic mound brought another sound to her throat, and she quickly pulled her hand up to cover her mouth even as she bit her lip.

She felt long digits trace the seams of her underwear, teasing her with his touch, before the digits moved up and hooked underneath the sides of her underwear and pulled them down slowly, the sensation of satin sliding down her legs just as erotic as feeling his hands skimming the skin before and after it. She was going to have to plaster her hand to her mouth.

She felt the weight of him—skin on skin, finally—pressed down on her as he slid up her body, and she couldn’t completely hide the groan she unleashed when she felt his erection finally brush against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

—and her hand was jerked away, held captive by a much larger one that pinned it to the futon. She looked at him questioningly, but his copper eyes just glittered in the darkness of the room.

“Don’t hide who you are from me,” he whispered, the air behind his words leaving a trail of shivering flesh down her shoulders and arms.

“Your seated officers—”

“Are nowhere near here,” he said, his amusement plain. “I want to hear you.”

She could’ve come right then.

Instead, she put her now-free hand to good use.

She let all ten of her fingers trail down his chest to his stomach, felt the spasming of his abdominal muscles as she caressed his skin, and finally grasped him, heavy and hard, in her hands. His breath left him in one long exhale, and his eyes locked onto hers.

She gave a tentative jerk, twisting her hand as she reached the sensitive head, and he let out the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. It was a shuddering breath mixed with a strangled—something.

She let her left hand trail even lower and cup his balls, the sensitive skin shifting and pulsing in her palm, and squeezed slightly every time her right hand met the soft crown at the head of his penis. He was responsive in a way she’d never seen, his eyelids lowering and his pupils dilating as his breathing became heavier. There were fine tremors racing through his body, and she felt excitement bubble up in her stomach.

If a hand job had him this responsive…

But she didn’t get to test it; as soon as she began to slide down beneath his body his hands jerked both of hers up and away from his reddened erection. His hands slid up her arms to the fleshy area above her elbows and he pulled her upward on the futon, effectively cutting off any hope of her getting to see what he was like when she was sucking him into blissful oblivion.

“Not right now.”

His hands slid down to her waist and held her securely in place as he lowered himself again and slid down her body, his head nudging her legs apart until he had room to fit his broad shoulders between her thighs.

“I don’t get to, but you do?” she pouted, and he sent her a brilliant smile.

She immediately forgot the unfairness in his foreplay as his tongue darted out, slowly licking up her slit.

There was a brief moment of panic—there were scars that would never go away from the brutal night that had started all of this—but she pushed it down. It was dark in the room, too dark to see the silvery lines. Besides, he knew what she had been through. He had to expect it on some level.

She also doubted he was the type of man to comment on such a thing or even care—they were both shinigami. Scars were second nature.

“Juushirou,” she breathed out tentatively, gasping. The hands grasping her waist squeezed her slightly, apparently his way of showing his happiness in her finally using his first name.

One of his hands trailed lower, ruffling the small bit of pubic hair she kept and tracing the area his tongue was now laving before diving inside of her, while the other flattened out on her abdomen and held her still. Her own were now grasping at the futon as her pelvis tried to rise into the air.

His head stayed between her legs for what felt like hours, his tongue changing speed as he felt like it and constantly keeping her guessing as to what was next. The moment she was acclimated to one movement he sped up or slowed down, keeping her on edge the entire time.

Throughout, two of his long fingers were pumping inside of her, curling at just the right moment to hit the sensitive, spongy spot inside her. His fingers moved in a steady rhythm which only made the changing rhythm of his tongue that much more electrifying.

She could feel her stomach tightening, feel the pulsing of her inner walls and the building sensation in her thighs and pelvis that signaled she was close to orgasm. Her hands abandoned the futon to curl in his hair, and she jerked. Hard.

Instead of stopping immediately he slowed his movements to an excruciating crawl, his eyes locking with hers, and she mewled and wriggled, simultaneously showing her eager enjoyment but also trying to get him to come back up to her.

He shook his head slightly and his eyes danced with mischievousness.

He continued, his pace suddenly frantic, and the swift change in pace was enough to send her right over the edge. She came screaming his name and grasping his hair, his mouth sucking at her clit until he felt her body stop jerking.

She was panting as he slowed once again, and she pulled at his hair ineffectively as his hands continued to caress her thighs, her hips, her lower stomach. She released a noise of disgruntled fury and moved to wiggle out from under him.

Finally, she felt his chest once again rumble with laughter and he crawled up her body, the hand that had been inside her coming to his mouth as he sucked her juices off of his fingers. His eyes darkened, his gaze boring into her.

The visual was too much for her.

Her hands clasped the sides of his head and pulled him down for a heated kiss as she pulled her legs up to frame his hips, and she bucked up into him, telling him without words she was ready for him.

She felt him sigh as he pulled his hips to the right and his erection came to rest next to her thigh and nowhere near where she wanted it to be.

She pulled back, her eyes searching his own.

“What?” she asked, suddenly, finally realizing something was holding him back.

She felt him sigh again as his arms slid beneath her back and neck, and he pulled her to him, his head coming to rest next to her own. She could feel the breath puffing out of his mouth next to ear, could feel the tremors still shooting through his body. He was obviously aroused.

So why?

“I want you to be sure, Minako. We don’t really have enough time for it, though.”

“Sure?” she asked, her confusion surfacing. “I’m fucking here, aren’t I?”

She felt him laugh again as he shot her a disapproving look for her use of profanity, and he pressed a small kiss against the shell of her ear.

“You don’t really want this. You’re holding back,” he whispered.

How did he…

“Of course I want it,” she said, just the smallest waiver of her voice audible. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He lifted his head, turning to looking at her again.

“Then what are you holding back?” He pressed a small kiss into her hair right behind her ear. “I know who you are. This isn’t you.” His tongue darted out of his mouth to trace the shell of her ear, then he cooled with his breath as he spoke. “You would have already fought me, taken what you wanted.”

She stiffened, which only brought another sigh out of him as his head fell forward to the futon, his forehead resting next to her ear. She had tried to tell him earlier, though, and he had brushed off her confession. It wasn’t her fault that what she hadn’t said had been creeping up and bothering her.

But there was always a what-if to worry about. What was this to him? Sex? He would be on the front line the next day and she knew as well as he did how dangerous this was going to be. She had figured it would be better, since he didn’t think words were needed, to just be quiet and go on. If they died it wouldn’t matter who felt what.

“It isn’t anything that would keep me from this,” she finally said, hoping her voice was steady and believable.

And apparently it was, just not believable enough.

“But it bothers you.”

Now she sighed, and she tried to move out of the circle of his arms only to have him tighten around her considerably. He was obviously going to keep her here until she told him what it was which was only making her nervous and wary. Her previous incandescence was drifting away to be replaced with something ugly, mostly likely stubborn pride and arrogance.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, once again trying to wriggle away.

“It does.”

She gave one more token resistance effort and was cut off—should he really be that strong with his illness?—and then lay there, defeated.

It won’t be the first time you’ve made a total idiot of yourself.

“I—” she stuttered, “I don’t want to make this more than it is.”

She felt him stiffen now, his body rigid and his breath no longer coming in short puffs against her neck, and she was sure he had misread what she meant.

“I—damn it!” she huffed, afraid to say what she needed to and knowing that her fear was tangible to him, something she despised. “I think I—I think I care for you—”

“And you think I don’t care for you?” she heard him say, the smiling, teasing tone finally back in his voice. Good. She had missed the goofy taichou.

“I think I might…love you,” she said, and she knew the halting way she said it made her fear all that much more real to him.

“Why does that scare you?” he asked her, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, the angle of his hips changing and bringing his erection to rest at her entrance.

It was a distraction. He was trying to distract her.

“Because,” she whispered, her hands coming up to grasp his arms, “because tomorrow—”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” he said as his erection slid into her slowly, stretching her and filling her, his hips coming to rest flush against her own.

Maybe not just a distraction, she thought as she groaned at the feel of him.

He started thrusting slowly, but each thrust was forceful and brought him to rest at the very end of her. She felt each movement as it hit her cervix and sent waves of pain and pleasure radiating throughout her body.

“Let go, Minako.”

And she did.

She let her hips meet his halfway, their bodies slamming together almost forcefully each time they met. Her legs twined around him, her heels coming to rest on the backs of his thighs. She could feel the strength in his arms as he grabbed her shoulders and put his weight into keeping her close to him, could feel the sweat drip down his breastbone and smear against her own.

She slid her hands from his arms up his shoulders, then down the skin of his back, feeling the ridge of a scar every once in a while. She grabbed him, right at the shoulder blades, and hung on.

His pace was quickly increasing, his breathing growing even more rapid as his thrusts became more forceful and even quicker, and she felt one of his arms wriggle from underneath her back and move down to grab her hip in a bruising grip.

With every thrust his hand jerked her hips toward his own, making her keep pace even when he finally reached a point where he was moving so fast she couldn’t hope to do anything but hang on. With every thrust, every time he jerked her hips, her clit was rubbing against his pubic hair and a deliciously sweet friction was driving her mad.

She let her hands wander down his back, latching onto his flexing cheeks, and she tightened her hands, pulling him to her as the tension once again coiling low in her stomach threatened to blow.

He—impossibly, in her mind—sped up as her hands came to rest on his ass, his hand tightening on the back of her neck as he matched her little mewls of pleasure by actually growling in her ear.

Her sensitive, kind, very caring lover growling was enough to throw her over the edge and she tensed beneath him, her orgasm rippling through her body. He held her tight to him as she rode out the waves of pleasure, murmuring his name again and again—as well as the names of a select group of deities.

Once she fell limp from the end of her climax, though, he changed as if he had another personality hidden inside him. Both of his arms twined around her back, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders again. He started a brutal pace, his hands on her shoulders pushing her body into each of his thrusts, and she was once again in awe of the change in him during sex.
She just held on, keeping a tight grip on his ass since he seemed to enjoy it.

Apparently it wasn’t enough, though. He pulled out of her suddenly, prodding her up and over and onto her hands and knees. She could barely hold herself up and fell to her elbows, but it was enough. She felt his hands grip her hips hard as he thrust back into her, and he was once again thrusting at such a brutal pace that she could feel her body scooting along the futon.
She felt his movements become jerky, his hands like iron clamps at her hips and then he stiffened. He was still, rigid as he finally finished.

His hands came loose from her hips, both trailing down her ass and legs as she slowly let herself fall to the futon. He followed her, curling up around her and keeping her warm in the circle of his, she now knew, very strong arms.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and she turned to look at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow cocked.

“Where did that come from?” she said, still breathless and more than a little mystified.

He just gave her his trademark goofy grin.

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A/N: Post-coital cigarette anyone? Perhaps a light snack?

And sorry to those who think Ukitake might not be this way; I just can't see him as virginal, not with how long he's been around and his friendship with Seireitei's manwhore Kyouraku (although I DO enjoy the stories that portray him as such). To be honest, I like any story that gets him laid, really.

And you should all head to DeviantArt and check out Blackstorm's Ukitake art. My God, I actually did a fangirl squee and started blushing. And I'll say it right now, I'm nothing near innocent.

The Japanese Lesson:

yukata is a light kimono, usually worn during summer or at night, around the house, etc.

futon we should all know, although the Jap. version is just a mattress on the floor traditionally, not with a frame