Games

*blip blip* “C’mon!” *beep beep* “C’mon, c’mon! You!” *boo-boo-booo* “Gods damned useless piece of crap!” The only thing that kept him from throwing the game across the room was the cost of the unit. It’d taken him months to save up for it. He growled in frustration, placing the game heavily on his bedside table.

“Lose again?” came the drawling voice of his rival and lover from the doorway. Ichigo couldn’t help but stare as Ishida relaxed against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, one hand pushing up his glasses. He knew that gesture infuriated Ichigo almost as much as it turned him on.

Ichigo growled, “Fucking game.”

Ishida raised an eyebrow, “Really? I didn’t think you played those kind of games.” He smirked, gesturing at the discarded unit, “At least not on one of those.”

Ichigo tilted his head, his eyes glinting, ready for the hunt, “You offering a better game, pansy-boy?”

A smirk graced Ishida’s full lips, “You think you can beat me, Strawberry?”

“What game you wanna play? I’ll give you the advantage of choosing the rules, even.” Ichigo rose from the bed, walking to stand in front of the archer.

“It’s very simple,” Ishida began, circling the carrot topped boy. “You have to remain still and silent for half an hour. If you do, you can top. If you don’t, I get my way with your body,” The brunet’s voice was dark with promise.

Ichigo trembled on the edge of decision. It sounded easy, so very easy, but it was Ishida and the boy had a seriously twisted bent to what he liked. But, then, Ichigo usually liked what the brunet did to him. It sounded like a no-lose situation. “You’re on!” he declared, turning to face Ishida.

“Starting now,” Ishida murmured. Ichigo stood, silent, watching, wondering exactly how his rival, his lover would test him. To his utter disgust, Ishida went to the bed, sat down and began playing the game. “Remember,” the brunet said coolly, “you can’t move or speak.”

While Ichigo was forced to watch, Ishida poked the buttons of his game. Amused blue eyes turned to him, peering around the glasses, “This isn’t that hard. You really have such trouble with it?” His voice carried laughter at Ichigo’s frustration, clearly written over every feature, from the scowl on his face to the tension in his shoulders. As he continued to play, Ishida gave a running commentary, “So, it said you only got through level one? Hmmm.” The game played its victory song, something Ichigo had only heard once in the time he’d owned it. “That wasn’t difficult,” he smirked. He nailed Ichigo with a glare, “Don’t move, remember? And no sound, either.” Ichigo had to fight the urge to growl or cross the room to throttle the annoying Quincy.

Ishida grinned, settling more comfortably on the bed, stretching his legs out and bouncing his hips to find a more suitable angle to continue his games. The flash of desire that flitted through the irritation on the shinigami’s eyes made the action more than worth the small effort. They may indeed drive each other mad, but it was for more reasons that simple competition. Ichigo loved Ishida’s body, if not the archer himself. Ishida was well aware of this, and mostly felt the same for Ichigo, though he did have a grudging respect for the boy that was beginning to grow into more. Not that he’d ever admit it. He deftly played the second level, glancing at Ichigo every so often to make sure he stayed where he was supposed to.

A glance across the room showed him he had two more minutes left to get Ichigo to move. A couple more button pushes and the second level cleared. He smirked again, “So, why is it you can’t beat this game?”

“Bastard,” Ichigo growled.

Ishida stood from the bed, “Twenty-eight minutes.”

“Fuck!”

“Is that all you think I’d do to you?” Ishida’s voice was amused as he circled Ichigo. When he was behind the boy, he pressed on his shoulder, “Kneel.”

“What the fuck?” Ichigo protested.

“I won. You agreed to the terms. Kneel.”

Growling, grumbling under his breath, Ichigo moved to obey Ishida. The brunet had won, fairly under the rules of their game. Next time, he’d insist on other rules. When Ishida started petting his hair, he jerked away, “Teme!”

Ishida caught his chin, “I won, Ichigo. That means I can do what I want.” Ichigo growled, holding still as Ishida pet him. “You know, the way your hair stands up, you’d almost expect it to be coarse, but it’s not. It’s soft.” Ishida thread his fingers through Ichigo’s hair. “I like it,” he murmured softly before pulling his head back harshly and devouring the boy with a demanding kiss. Despite himself, Ichigo responded, as he always did when Ishida took possession of him. He moaned, heat beginning to build low in his body.

Abruptly, Ishida pulled back and began circling Ichigo again. Ichigo couldn’t help but think of him like a shark. A damn sexy shark, but still, a man-eating shark. That thought sent a shudder through him. Ishida was a very accomplished man-eating shark and Ichigo was beginning to have some hopes for this “punishment.”

Ishida pet his hair again, this time standing behind him. He pulled Ichigo’s body against him, the carrot-topped head coming to rest against the beginnings of the brunet’s arousal as Ishida bent over him, his glasses starting to come off, his hair falling gently toward the ground, “Tell me, Ichigo, did you lose on purpose?”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I would have had my way with you if I’d won.” A lascivious grin curled his lips, “And you know I love having my way with you.”

Ishida considered a moment and then smiled, “That you do.” He caressed Ichigo’s face, looking into his eyes even as his glasses threatened to fall off his head. “How much shall I torment you before I give us both relief?” he mused. Ichigo remained silent, unmoving. Ishida could be a downright bastard if he took it in his head to be that way. He could also be an amazingly adept lover, bringing them quickly to fulfillment and then taking them through the entire process again more slowly. Ishida’s lips quirked and he bent in to kiss Ichigo, keeping it light, teasing. “You have learned something,” he teased, pulling back and helping Ichigo upright again.

Ichigo grit his teeth a moment against what he knew would be expected and then asked, “Do I get a reward for learning, Master?”

Ishida moved around Ichigo, kneeling in front of him, “You call me that without me tormenting you by breathing on your erection?” Breathing over Ichigo’s erection was one of Ishida’s favorite forms of punishment, one that drove Ichigo absolutely insane. Though the ‘Master’ thing had started as a joke and Ichigo claimed to hate it, it turned them both on so they continued with it. Blue eyes searched him for a long moment, “Tell me, Ichigo, what you want from this?”

Ichigo looked to the side, not wanting to be scrutinized by the too-smart-for-his-own-good Quincy. He muttered, “Good sex.”

Ishida forced his chin up and turned Ichigo’s face until it looked at him, “Is that all you want, Ichigo?”

“Do you really think we could have anything else, Uryuu?” Ichigo spat out, not moving as he threw the boy’s name at him.

“Maybe,” was the soft reply. Before Ichigo could begin to understand the reply, Ishida kissed him softly, differently from every other kiss the archer had given him. It grew in intensity, slowly overwhelming his senses until he had no choice but to hold onto the brunet lest his legs give out and drop him the rest of the way to the floor. It was stupid to feel weak in the knees when he was kneeling, but that’s the only way he could think of to describe it before thought was taken from him as Ishida’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Never had the brunet showed such skill with his tongue, with his lips, and it left Ichigo regretting he hadn’t known before as much as he wondered what would come next, what new tricks those lips and tongue would show his body.

Ishida was content to play with his mouth, though. He didn’t stop, only intensifying their kiss until Ichigo’s body rocked against his, begging through their clothes for more. Then the archer began an achingly slow line from Ichigo’s mouth to his ear while his hands slowly worked around his body to find the hem of his t-shirt. With agonizingly slow movements, he pulled the fabric up while avoiding contact with the burning skin that seemed to heat the room as it was exposed. Ichigo moved to reciprocate, to unfasten the buttons on Ishida’s shirt, but the brunet murmured, “No. I won.” Ichigo growled in frustration, needing more than the brunet was giving him. “I promise,” Ishida whispered as he reached Ichigo’s ear, “that what I have in mind for you will more than make up for a little frustration.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop the moan at the brunet’s promise, nor the way his voice sounded when he said it. He had a brief moment to wonder if he should have asked for more earlier before Ishida’s lips brushed behind his ear lightly, and then his tongue tasted that same spot. Ishida plundered that spot, causing Ichigo to gasp and moan, tilting his head so that Ishida could reach the sensitive skin easier. His shirt continued its way up and still Ishida’s hands didn’t touch him. The shirt came up high enough that he had to lift his arms and still his skin was left wanting for contact. Ishida quickly broke contact with his neck, tossing the shirt away, holding Ichigo’s wrists out away from his body before the carrot topped boy could hold him again. Holding their bodies separate though Ichigo tried to close the distance between them, Ishida returned his lips to Ichigo’s neck, stealing volition from the shinigami.

Ishida’s lips slowly coursed their way down Ichigo’s neck and before he reached Ichigo’s collarbones, the boy was beginning to sweat. He alternately gave in and tried to hold Ishida as the brunet held his arms out away from his body. Ichigo whimpered and begged or moaned and pleaded for more, and Ishida continued to torment him, to tease him.

The brunet began lapping his collarbone and Ichigo groaned, “Just touch me, damn it.”

“I won,” Ishida murmured, continuing his enjoyment of the body that was beginning to quiver under his touch.

“You’re driving me insane!”

A soft chuckle, “That’s the point.”

“Bastard.”

“Yes. Now, be quite and let me work.” Ishida nipped at his prisoner’s shoulder to emphasize his point. Ichigo fell silent, save for whimpering pleas for more when Ishida’s lips and tongue found a particularly sensitive area. Ishida smirked at the drunken expression on Ichigo’s face when he came up to kiss the boy again, again, long, slow, mind-stealing. He then repeated his trail on the opposite side of Ichigo’s neck, the orange-haired boy only pleading for more as he trembled under the archer’s slow explorations.

Sweat formed rivulets down Ichigo’s chest and his jeans strained to contain him when Ishida pulled back to look at him. He’d stopped fighting the restraining hold on his wrists, stopped trying to arch into the brunet’s body, only trembled and waited for more. His eyes were closed, but opened as Ishida continued to just look at him. “What?” he asked, his voice throaty with desire.

Ishida couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted just yet, so he continued to enjoy looking at Ichigo, enjoying the flush on his cheeks, the swell of his lips. Before Ichigo could say anything else, Ishida kissed him again, drawing a groan of pleasure.

“Move to the bed,” Ishida managed to order, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. Ichigo didn’t seem to notice though as he stood and obeyed without question. He lay on his back, his lust-drunk eyes resting on Ishida, waiting.

Ishida crawled over to the bed, his clothes becoming a burden he both wanted to be rid of and wanted to savor a little longer. He was enjoying the effect his slow seduction was having on the boy, enjoying the hungry eyes that followed him as he crawled over the foot of the bed and up those long legs. He enjoyed the obedience he received when he said “No,” as those long arms reached up for him and then fell back to the bed. He enjoyed the power that Ichigo gave him. It was a headier power than anything he’d experienced before, promised so much more. Beginning at the button of Ichigo’s jeans, feeling the heat of his erection under his throat, Ishida slowly kissed a trail straight up Ichigo’s body, his glasses steaming until he couldn’t see through them any more. Ichigo squirmed, trying to get him to deviate from his path, but he whispered “Be still,” and the boy stopped, trembling under him.

His head brushed the bottom of Ichigo’s chin and he moved to look into his eyes, so lust drunk they were almost black, “You’re being good.”

Ichigo managed to pull a wry face, “You keep telling me you won, so…and what you’re doing feels so good.” He shifted a little. “I just wish you’d get on with it,” he managed to sound testy and horny at the same time.

Ishida smiled and then went up onto his knees, holding eye-contact event through the steam build up on his glasses. With aching precision and slowness, he slipped a button out of its hole, teasing apart the fabric before moving down to the next one. The whole while, he held Ichigo’s eyes, his own promising so much. The hunger in the one below him went up with each move he made, each button that came undone, until it filled the room with an intoxicating headiness. Ishida’s hips began moving slowly in time to his own need, circling out of reach over Ichigo’s, drawing groans out of the orange-haired reaper. His shirt went fluttering to the ground and he ran his hands up his torso, surprised at how damp his own skin was. “Like what you see?”

“Ye-e-e-es,” Ichigo moaned, squirming, struggling to not reach up and pull the brunet down on him. His body screamed for release, begged for more, tormented him with desire for the bloody minded Quincy. “Please,” he managed.

Ishida put his hands on the bed by Ichigo’s shoulders, holding his body up. “Please what, Ichigo?”

“Please, I need you. Please, touch me, fuck me, do something!”

Ishida bent down enough to lay a light kiss on Ichigo’s lips, “I will. Be patient and I will.” He smirked at the sound of near pain from Ichigo. It was empowering to have the bold-as-brass boy sweating and begging on his bed, under him. “I will make you feel so good,” he whispered huskily, kissing Ichigo again deeply. The orange-haired teen tried to crawl into his mouth as he slowly pulled away, retracing his path down the trembling body, this time taking side trails. He slowly kissed and licked over to one nipple, already drawn tight in anticipation. He spiraled around it, starting with a large circle that took in most of Ichigo’s peck, gradually getting smaller until he circled the nipple itself with his tongue. Ichigo’s hands had gone to his head, tangling in the orange strands, obeying Ishida’s dictate that he not touch the brunet. When Ishida brushed his tongue over the pebbled nub, Ichigo screamed. When he blew a soft puff of air, Ichigo whimpered in need. He begged for more as Ishida moved away to repeat the same torment on the other side of his body.

Ishida brought his hands up, caressing Ichigo’s sides and felt the tremors travel up his arms. “Please,” Ichigo murmured. “Please, something, please. You fucking tease! Bastard.” His voice went from desperate to irritated back to desperate.

“Like this?” he asked, taking pity on the begging boy and bringing his fingers up to pinch Ichigo’s nipples, twisting them slightly as the boy writhed and moaned out his name under him. That sound traveled through his own body and reminded him of his own need, patiently waiting, but still hungry for Ichigo. “Or do you want more?”

“More,” Ichigo moaned. “More…please,” he added belatedly.

Ishida smirked, “You ask so nicely.” He slipped down Ichigo’s body and began working the fastenings of the boy’s pants. Ichigo nearly screamed in relief as the zipper was lowered a tooth at a time. He didn’t even need to prompt the boy to lift his hips in order to pull the pants down. Ichigo whimpered in agony when he left the boxers in place, though. Ishida slid off the end of the bed again, pulling Ichigo’s pants with him. He pulled off the socks that covered his feet and then slowly made his way back toward the bed, kissing up Ichigo’s legs as he did, taking time to explore every spot that made the shinigami groan. He teased the backs of both knees, suckled on every spot on both legs that sent quivers through Ichigo’s body, traced the lower hem of his boxers.

Ichigo raised his knees, “Please, Ishida. Please take me. I can’t take any more. Please, Master.” His voice was pathetically hungry, begging even in its tone, raising some pity in Ishida.

“If I suck you off, we’re still not finished here, understand?”

“Anything you want,” Ichigo promised, nodding, his face relaxing at the promise of relief.

Something like a smile curved Ishida’s lips, though a little too sad for a smile, “Repeat that when you’re not wanting to get off.” He pulled Ichigo’s boxers down, careful to avoid pulling things the wrong way, and flung them to the floor. Ichigo’s knees fell out, his body defenseless and begging to be touched before Ishida. “Anything I want,” he murmured, bending over and taking Ichigo’s shaft into his mouth.

The orange-haired boy’s body was so keyed that that simple touch caused him to climax. Ishida took his seed in, swallowing around the convulsing flesh until it was empty, though still hard, begging for more. Ichigo called for him, something he’d never done before, and Ishida felt his own need demand fulfillment. Ichigo wanted him, not just sex, but him. He continued to suck on the erection in his mouth, moving slowly, taking time to map every bit with his tongue and lips, nipping gently when he swallowed the whole thing. Ichigo gave a strangled scream, his hands briefly touching Ishida’s hair and then leaving. He swallowed once and then slowly withdrew, breathing in the heady scent of Ichigo through his nose as if his very life depended on that aroma. He let the too tempting shaft slip through his lips. He wasn’t finished yet. There was still more he wanted to do, more begging he wanted to hear.

He looked up and Ichigo was looking down at him, his eyes dark with lust and more. “Anything you want,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise.

“Even if I want you?” Ichigo replied, not moving, his eyes just catching the twitching of Ichigo’s shaft as his breath hit it.

“Yes,” the word was hungry and aroused Ishida more than he thought possible. Yes, they were sexual partners, even worked together sometimes when it couldn’t be avoided, but neither of them had ever claimed affection for the other. Theirs was a relationship of convenience, nothing more. Until Ichigo said “yes.”

Ishida found himself kissing Ichigo deeply before he realized he had moved. Ichigo’s arms were around him, holding him, his hands caressing his back, pulling off his glasses, reaching around to unfasten his pants. Ishida’s willpower wasn’t strong enough to reach down and stop him. He barely managed to gasp out “lube” somewhere in their kisses.

“No shit,” Ichigo managed to reply, one hand leaving, rummaging on the bedside table, in the drawer, dropping things onto the floor until he found the bottle in the far corner of the drawer. The whole time, their lips remained joined, Ishida’s hands moving to push his pants and underwear down. He gasped in shock as the cool fluid touched his heated flesh. Ichigo moved them until Ishida’s shaft lined up with his hole and then he whispered, “Fill me, take me, Master.”

“I should make you beg,” Ishida choked out, his body screaming with every cell to fulfill Ichigo’s request, to not linger over stupid trivialities. Ichigo must have heard his body’s begging because he wrapped his legs around Ishida and pulled him in, encasing the archer’s shaft in his body. Their sounds of pleasure filled the room, increasing as Ishida slowly moved in Ichigo. Their lips rejoined and their movements remained slow, both luxuriating in the building pleasure. Ishida’s hands caressed Ichigo’s legs, up his side, his chest, teasing his nipples, tangling in his hair only to repeat the path in reverse and back up. Ichigo’s hands explored Ishida’s body, holding his ass as the muscles clenched and relaxed in time to his thrusts, massaging his back, tangling in his hair and down again, one hand slipping between those working ass muscles to caress Ishida’s hole, teasing it, hoping for another round, to enter the archer. “Horny?” Ishida murmured, his lips moving to Ichigo’s neck.

“Want you,” Ichigo replied, bending up to reach Ishida’s ass better and kissing his shoulders, nipping, biting.

Ishida moved Ichigo slightly, making sure his shaft hit the shinigami’s sweet spot with every stroke, “Good thing we want the same thing, isn’t it?” Ichigo only moaned, moving his hips and fingers in time to Ishida’s thrusts, pressing him a little to move faster, but the archer continued to move slowly, enjoying their joining. “You’re mine,” he whispered as his lips when to Ichigo’s collarbones where he sucked the flesh in.

Ichigo’s free hand held Ishida’s head where it was. His whole body begged for release, trembled to reach those heights that he knew Ishida could take him to. “More, please, please,” he begged, his voice breathy and deep with need. Ishida only moaned around the flesh in his mouth, his hips moving slightly faster, slightly deeper. Ichigo groaned, the sound balanced between frustration and fulfillment.

Ishida smirked slightly, pulling away to whisper, “Nice.” It was then that he realized he’d marked the boy beneath him. It was something that neither of them had done or allowed before. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, licking the spot.

“No you’re not,” Ichigo’s voice was testy.

“I marked you,” Ishida muttered guiltily

“Good,” Ichigo shot back, “now fuck me.”

Wanting to test the limits of this new relationship, Ishida asked, “Just fuck you?”

Ichigo was in no frame of mind for such a discussion, “Make love to me, you god damned bastard, and do it faster.” Color touched Ichigo’s cheeks even through the rosy glow of sex. Ishida smiled and kissed him, moving harder if not faster in to the orange-haired boy. Ichigo moaned in approval, his fingers working in as far as they could and Ishida returned the moan. Ishida wasn’t sure if he wanted Ichigo to make love to him just then. He wanted to take the reaper so high that it would take him the whole night to recover and Ishida wanted to hold him while he recovered.

His body, though, had other ideas. Given the freedom to move harder, it sped of its own accord until they had to break their kiss to breath, their mouths a breath apart, their voices mingling. “Touch me,” Ichigo begged, panting. Ishida didn’t argue, didn’t deny him. His hand slipped between their bodies and caressed the achingly hot flesh of Ichigo’s erection. Ichigo whined in pleasure, his body tensing around Ishida’s, causing the brunet to join in the sound. “More,” they whispered, together as their bodies moved quicker, their release calling to them.

Ishida came first, his body slamming hard enough into Ichigo’s to drive the orange hair into the headboard, his voice calling for the body that encased him. He kept stroking Ichigo until he could feel his muscles tightening, rippling around him, leaving him dizzy.

Ishida’s body went limp and he started to roll off Ichigo. He had only moved enough for his spent shaft to slip out when he was stopped. “It’s okay,” Ichigo murmured, his voice hoarse. “You won.”

“I won?” Ishida asked softly, holding himself up on his elbows.

“I was the prize, wasn’t I?” Ichigo smiled at him.

Ishida smiled, “You were.” He let himself relax onto Ichigo, enjoying the cuddling as Ichigo held him with arms and legs.

“I’ll win next time,” Ichigo declared on a yawn.

“Maybe,” Ishida murmured.

“Bastard.”

“Yes.”

A soft laugh, “Mine.”

Ishida nuzzled into Ichigo, “Mine, too.”

“Good. Now, shut up and let me sleep.”

Ishida laughed, “Tired after just one round?”

“Oh, trust me. I’ll get you back.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Now, shut up.”

With a sigh, Ishida kissed Ichigo’s neck and let himself drift off to sleep, held in the shinigami’s arms.

A/N My first venture into any fandom is the "easy pairings" This was written for my roommate and a friend of mine. My roommate has this thing for Ishida (she giggles and bounces when he comes on screen. It's cute and she's glad I made her watch it *grins*) Anyways, enjoy, leave cookies.