Bathsheba Smiles
folder
Bleach › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,472
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Bleach › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,472
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Bathsheba Smiles
Title: Bathsheba Smiles
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Kisuke/Shinji
Rating/Warnings: R
Status: One-shot, unbetad flashfic.
The ceramic teacups lay on their sides, forgotten for the sterile white of sake saucers, the bamboo bowl of kabuki crackers scattered across the short table in the central room of the Urahara Shouten. Beyond the rice-paper doors, the quiet snores of children could be heard. Shinji didn’t want to know where the big one with the apron was.
He wasn’t particularly fond of thinking of the children at the moment, either, with Kisuke’s heavy chest pinning him to the tatami. He moved, the rough straw mats scratching at the sueded elbows of his jacket. Kisuke’s breath was hot on his chest, fingers deft in his drunken-ness.
His cock was jabbing into Shinji’s hip, rising. It was still less painful than the folded fan chewing at the other hip. He winced and pressed his fingers against Kisuke’s chest, giving a suggestive shove away.
“Kisuke,” Shinji frowned.
Kisuke smiled, amusement spreading across his face to join the sake-heat that was bright in his pale, pale skin. The blush was violent, under his thick scarecrow hair. Shinji pressed again, surprised by the hardness and depth of the older man’s chest. He didn’t know why. He knew why. It was that Urahara Kisuke always projected the image of a dotty old man. Shinji layered his masks as well, but Shinji was not actually… He didn’t have…
Urahara’s thigh worked its way between Shinji’s thin ones, rubbing against the tight insignificance of Shinji’s own catwalk legs; supple. Mature. He couldn’t help but imagine them naked, dusted with hair even lighter than his own. Almost invisible, but for the way the light would no doubt shimmer off of it under the low, covered light of the small room.
“Kisuke,” Shinji cut in a second time, hissing. The expensive alcohol coursing through his own system was making the prospect of refusal gradually less attractive. The thigh quivered against his cock as Kisuke adjusted himself above Shinji, bangs brushing against Shinji’s high cheekbones. It was dry and ticklish and male. “I said I’ve never done this before. What I meant is, I had no plans to do this. I—“
“Pish-posh,” Kisuke whispered at him, unnaturally bright eyes flickering to the rice-paper walls, and when he smiled the cupid’s bow of his upper lip bowed even more. The expression would have been coquettish on anyone else. On Urahara Kisuke, it was pornographic. “You know as well as I do that no matter what ways you find to protest, it’s immaterial to me. I’m older than you. I’m beyond That Age.”
Shinji knew what Kisuke meant by That Age; he meant to take Shinji like a youth under budo; and really, Shinji should be more than a little offended by this suggestion. It was, after all, just another excuse for Kisuke to have more sex with people who were not that dark Shinigami. He couldn’t bring himself to disagree, however. “You’re terrible,” Shinji sneered up at Urahara’s ubiquitous simper.
The smile brought doubt to Shinji’s mind.
“Think of it as a learning experience, Hirako-kun.” Kisuke ripped the buttons on the shirt off one-by-one, indeliberate. His knuckles were red, the pads of his fingers firewalking across Shinji’s clammy, thin chest. They ran the crescents of their nails across Shinji’s ribs, where they surfaced just barely at the junction of his ribcage, between his model’s physique pectorals. The pointed touch tickled, nipples growing aching in the sudden cold breeze of the drafty traditional dwelling. Shinji arched into Urahara’s torso.
“That shirt cost me a small fortune.”
“Store credit.”
“Sure.”
His resolve was breaking just as easily as his argument. It felt unjust. Shinji didn’t falter under a smile. He doled them out. But Kisuke was cupping his adam’s apple in his mouth now, pressing his tongue heavily against the pulse of the arteries under the thin skin of Shinji’s long neck. He was breaking under that mouth. Shinji slid the hands that were still pinned under Kisuke’s erratic heartbeat slowly up, curling them under the sharp jawbone.
The facial hair scratched at the sensitive skin of his hands, making them itch; making his cock itch, in turn. He raised his hips and ground against the Shinigami’s. Kisuke groaned against his fingers, vibrating.
“Fine.” Shinji hissed. “If only to hold my reputation for trying a new way of doing things.” He raised his face, nipping at Kisuke’s lower lip and tugging until it grew hot against the top of his tongue. He pulled back, surveying his damage.
Kisuke just smiled.
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Kisuke/Shinji
Rating/Warnings: R
Status: One-shot, unbetad flashfic.
The ceramic teacups lay on their sides, forgotten for the sterile white of sake saucers, the bamboo bowl of kabuki crackers scattered across the short table in the central room of the Urahara Shouten. Beyond the rice-paper doors, the quiet snores of children could be heard. Shinji didn’t want to know where the big one with the apron was.
He wasn’t particularly fond of thinking of the children at the moment, either, with Kisuke’s heavy chest pinning him to the tatami. He moved, the rough straw mats scratching at the sueded elbows of his jacket. Kisuke’s breath was hot on his chest, fingers deft in his drunken-ness.
His cock was jabbing into Shinji’s hip, rising. It was still less painful than the folded fan chewing at the other hip. He winced and pressed his fingers against Kisuke’s chest, giving a suggestive shove away.
“Kisuke,” Shinji frowned.
Kisuke smiled, amusement spreading across his face to join the sake-heat that was bright in his pale, pale skin. The blush was violent, under his thick scarecrow hair. Shinji pressed again, surprised by the hardness and depth of the older man’s chest. He didn’t know why. He knew why. It was that Urahara Kisuke always projected the image of a dotty old man. Shinji layered his masks as well, but Shinji was not actually… He didn’t have…
Urahara’s thigh worked its way between Shinji’s thin ones, rubbing against the tight insignificance of Shinji’s own catwalk legs; supple. Mature. He couldn’t help but imagine them naked, dusted with hair even lighter than his own. Almost invisible, but for the way the light would no doubt shimmer off of it under the low, covered light of the small room.
“Kisuke,” Shinji cut in a second time, hissing. The expensive alcohol coursing through his own system was making the prospect of refusal gradually less attractive. The thigh quivered against his cock as Kisuke adjusted himself above Shinji, bangs brushing against Shinji’s high cheekbones. It was dry and ticklish and male. “I said I’ve never done this before. What I meant is, I had no plans to do this. I—“
“Pish-posh,” Kisuke whispered at him, unnaturally bright eyes flickering to the rice-paper walls, and when he smiled the cupid’s bow of his upper lip bowed even more. The expression would have been coquettish on anyone else. On Urahara Kisuke, it was pornographic. “You know as well as I do that no matter what ways you find to protest, it’s immaterial to me. I’m older than you. I’m beyond That Age.”
Shinji knew what Kisuke meant by That Age; he meant to take Shinji like a youth under budo; and really, Shinji should be more than a little offended by this suggestion. It was, after all, just another excuse for Kisuke to have more sex with people who were not that dark Shinigami. He couldn’t bring himself to disagree, however. “You’re terrible,” Shinji sneered up at Urahara’s ubiquitous simper.
The smile brought doubt to Shinji’s mind.
“Think of it as a learning experience, Hirako-kun.” Kisuke ripped the buttons on the shirt off one-by-one, indeliberate. His knuckles were red, the pads of his fingers firewalking across Shinji’s clammy, thin chest. They ran the crescents of their nails across Shinji’s ribs, where they surfaced just barely at the junction of his ribcage, between his model’s physique pectorals. The pointed touch tickled, nipples growing aching in the sudden cold breeze of the drafty traditional dwelling. Shinji arched into Urahara’s torso.
“That shirt cost me a small fortune.”
“Store credit.”
“Sure.”
His resolve was breaking just as easily as his argument. It felt unjust. Shinji didn’t falter under a smile. He doled them out. But Kisuke was cupping his adam’s apple in his mouth now, pressing his tongue heavily against the pulse of the arteries under the thin skin of Shinji’s long neck. He was breaking under that mouth. Shinji slid the hands that were still pinned under Kisuke’s erratic heartbeat slowly up, curling them under the sharp jawbone.
The facial hair scratched at the sensitive skin of his hands, making them itch; making his cock itch, in turn. He raised his hips and ground against the Shinigami’s. Kisuke groaned against his fingers, vibrating.
“Fine.” Shinji hissed. “If only to hold my reputation for trying a new way of doing things.” He raised his face, nipping at Kisuke’s lower lip and tugging until it grew hot against the top of his tongue. He pulled back, surveying his damage.
Kisuke just smiled.