Shuuhei is a Slut

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, especially Pervie_Priestess. A bit less Shuuhei than usual, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.



Title: Crying out to Myself

Pairing(s): Ichigo/Kon, and implied/imagined Shuuhei/Keigo and Grimmjow/Ichigo

Warnings: Angst, DubCon/NonCon, H/C, WAFF



Sometimes, when I'm out taking care of hollows, I'll get lost in my own thoughts; it's not like I ever really need to focus all that much as far as the lesser hollows are concerned. And there've been fewer and fewer of them recently, anyway. I was lost in thought like that when I got back home that night.



I didn't see it at first, I don't know why I would. I was just coming back to my room like I always do, nothing out of the ordinary. But then he gasped, and I looked, and I wished I hadn't.



He was on my bed, legs spread out where they'd be comfortable, and my pants were all the way on the other side of the room, half-draped over a chair.



“It's not what it looks like,” he said, hand still. . . down there.



To be honest, I was surprised I hadn't caught him at it much sooner than I did. He was just that sort of person; it couldn't be helped.



I set Zangetsu against the wall. There were, in my mind, several places I could take this. The most obvious, and tempting, involving a good load of yelling and maybe some kicking for good measure. Make sure he never tried anything like that again.



Or I could sit down and talk it calmly over with him. That one wasn't the least bit appealing.



But then there's what really happened, and to get why it went there I probably should tell you a lot more about the situation than I will. Oh well.



He still had my shirt on, and that reassured me, fuck if I know why.



I said, “By all means, go on. Don't let me stop you.”



He didn't trust me, just kind of looked at me without looking at me, avoided eye contact, mostly. A bit of a nervous twitch, here and there.



“Kon,” I said, in the sort of voice that says, very clearly, to do whatever it is I've just told you to do. No questions.



And he did, if hesitantly. Slow enough at least to give me time to think about it.



“Does it feel good, in my body like that?” I said, and I don't think I could have stopped even if I had wanted to. “Does that get you off? Or are you just happy to even have a body?” And it just kept spewing out of my mouth like dirty water from a broken faucet.



“Fuck,” I said. “Just. . . just go ahead and take off the shirt.”



And he did. Less hesitantly this time.



I made to stand up, but didn't quite follow through. Sat all the way back down, then tried again and made it up onto my legs. I could see my naked self on the bed, hand stroking what would otherwise have been my cock, face showing a sort of strained pleasure.



It was a body I knew very well, had known all my life. All the pits and bumps and other little things that distinguished it. But never from quite this perspective.



I had the sudden urge to beat him to a pulp, but restrained it.



Instead, I walked over to my body, inhabited as it was by Kon, and sat at the edge of the bed.



“Now faster,” I said, “and harder. Don't stop till you're cumming all over the place.”



He moved my hand that wasn't mine faster and faster, and sweat gathered along the brow I so seldom regarded as then I did. I leaned over and licked at it.



“What the fuck?” Kon said. “I don't—”



“Shut up,” I said. “Just. . . just don't say anything. Not another word.”



I put a hand on my—Kon's chest. Felt and moved along the sinewy muscle. The muscle I worked to produce, whatever good that did me.



Before I stood back up, I kissed the sweating brow, almost tenderly. Like a farewell.



The lube in my drawer was still mostly full, and fuck if I was going to wear a condom fucking myself.



“Whatever you do,” I said as I undressed the body I could actually feel, “don't stop, and don't speak. This shouldn't hurt a bit, slut that I am.”



He was nervous, visibly, but too afraid of me to say anything about it.



I moved his legs around as necessary, hefted them up and over my shoulders after applying as much lube as I thought necessary. Maybe a little less. He almost-shouted when I shoved all the way in his ass. Didn't say a word, though.



The familiar motions of fucking were but little comfort, but seeing your own face looking back up at you like that can do some weird things to your mind.



After maybe a lonesome minute as myself, I was Grimmjow, back in the recesses of Hueco Mundo, all those years ago, fucking me like an animal with all the ferocity and none of the care. And I on my back below squirmed and wriggled against his too-tight grip and piercing nails drawing just the slightest bit of blood. He grinned madly and I writhed madly and we fucked just as we were for just the briefest of moments.



“Ichigo,” he said, and the illusion was shattered, and I was myself, and I said to shut up, and he did.



Kon didn't seem to be enjoying this in the least, and I didn't care whether he did. Just kept pounding away, harder and faster every time, till he called out in pain, and my demand for silence was accompanied by a punch to the gut, and he stopped his stroking and wouldn't start back when I said to or punched him anymore so I did it for him and he just lay there crying softly and me not caring.



Then I was Shuuhei, and he was Keigo, not even a few hours ago, not fucking but what you'd call making love. The tears disappeared into a smiling face whose moving mouth made no sound because I didn't want it to. And the Shuuhei who was me inside moved only gently inside this lover of his who really was mine but not anymore and I could maybe even hear him call Shuuhei's name even when his lips weren't moving because I didn't want them to.



Except then they were moving, and making noise too, an almost-ecstatic sort of noise, just at the edges of euphoria because the body that wasn't mine had orgasmed and was finished and I was but an empty husk of a man, hollow on the inside.



I didn't see them till I turned my head and the Shuuhei at the window turned into me looking in on them still not-fucking-but-making-love with a wordless gape of the mouth the only reaction possible, and the me who was Shuuhei inside watched as the Shuuhei who was me came with a cry—not of pleasure, but the opposite in all possible meanings.



“I'm sorry, okay,” I said, “I'm fucking sorry,” and I collapsed upon myself, and returned to my body.



It ached. A bruise was developing around my gut, and my ass was more sore than I could remember it ever being.



I cried.



They were there still watching, and I was naked on my bed covered in my own semen and self-inflicted bruises I could only feel the after affects of because I wasn't me when I put them there.



I was pitiful.



Shuuhei came inside, put Keigo down on the floor, walked over and picked me up so I was staring at him level with his eyes.



And, still crying, I laughed.



So Shuuhei slapped me, and I stopped.



“What's wrong with you?” he asked.



“Me?” I said. “What right do you have to ask me that?”



“Look,” he said. “You and your boyfriend obviously have some issues to sort out.”



“I'd say they're pretty well sorted as it stands,” I said.



“You need to talk,” he said, and he put me down near Keigo, “so talk.”



But the words would not come, and we sat in silence.



“Dammit,” Shuuhei said after a minute, “you two are young. You have your whole lives in front of you. Now talk about your feelings.”



“Shut up,” I said. “You started this, anyway.”



“He did not,” Keigo said. “It wasn't him, it wasn't anybody. . . it just happened.”



“Bullshit,” I said. “None of this ever would have—”



“Would you just shut up about that already?” Keigo said. “Look. You had your own fun by yourself. I just. . . I wanted him, and I couldn't control myself. But I don't think you should be so upset by it. Today wasn't the first time we've ever done it—remember our little threesome?”



“That was different,” I said. “Do you know what it did to me to see you with him like that?”



“You were jealous?”



“Of course I was. Seeing you enjoying yourself like that, in someone else's arms, it drove me crazy.”



“Look,” he said, “I've had my fun with him, and now I'm done. We're even.”



“That's not something you get even about,” I said. “You had your chance, and you blew it. Remember? It's your own damn fault you couldn't come.”



“My, my, Ichigo, how naughty of you,” he said with a playful smirk.



And I laughed, because it was so very much him to hear what I said that way and to lighten the mood like that and just. . . everything. Everything about him I loved and still love to this day shone through at last and I saw him as he was and I knew.



It didn't even need saying, just a hug and a kiss and no words. Shuuhei knew, from seeing us, all was okay. Not really, but close enough, and what we needed was to be alone so he left us to ourselves.



Keigo touched lightly at my bruise. “Does it hurt?” he said, and I nodded. He got up, walked over to get a towel and wiped away my slowly drying embarrassment. Brought along some boxers too, for me to wear, and he took me over to my bed and lay down with me, holding me gently the while. He fell asleep long before I did, and the sight of his face, freed through sleep from worry, was truly a sight.



I shifted him to be on his side, beside me, and me facing him, arms draped over each other, and then a fade to sleep and to black.