The Moral of the Story Is...

Title: The Moral of the Story Is...
Characters/Pairings: Byakuya/Ichigo
Author Note: I had too much fun with this one, but it came out quickly, so yeah. Quite a bit of OOCness, but like I said, I had a bit too much fun with it.
Word Count: 2509
Summary: Ichigo is molested on his way home with dinner.

This was written for one of the LJ Bleach Kink Memes (I have to look and see which one, I saved a bunch of requests to fulfill and forgot to put which Meme they belonged to, but the prompt was Shinigami of choice/Ichigo--A shinigami molests Ichigo in a public place. Shinigami are invisible to normal people.') It isn't exact, but that'll give you more than enough.

I do want to thank those who read my other two. It makes me happy that you enjoyed them.

Oh, And I remember good_chaser asked about recommending. Please do! If you see something you think is worth mentioning, feel free to post it anywhere or show it to whoever you think may like it. It gives me great pleasure to know you enjoyed it so much and I'm glad I could fulfill your request.

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Between school, busting Hollows and dealing with visiting Shinigami, intent on taking over his room and life, Ichigo had had enough. He'd lost count how many times Renji or Ikakku had slipped in through his window, how many times Rangiku had shoved her chest in his face, purely on 'accident' or Rukia had lectured him on his duties as the representative shinigami of the area. He'd never asked for the damn job to begin with, but he sure as hell knew he was stuck with it until he died, which wasn't happening anytime soon, or they grew merciful and sent someone to do it for him, also not happening.

Every day, at least twice a day, there was a familiar face. Hisagi in a pet store with Orihime; Rangiku shopping with her captain being dragged along; Renji, Ikakku and Kira waltzing down the street, three sheets to the wind, with Yumichika finding nothing wrong with it; Hanatarou and Ganju working at that convenience store. Shinigami were everywhere!

He was almost positive he was going insane when he saw the flutter of an elegant scarf in the crowds as he walked back towards home with tonight's dinner in hand for Yuzu. He hadn't seen him ever visit the world of the living. It was only a flutter though and when he hadn't seeen it again, he shook his mind of it and proceeded forth, intent on getting things home for dinner before Dad started the song and dance or Yuzu got panicked about not starting dinner before her set time.

It was overwork. That had to be it. Overwork, stimulation and the overabundance of visiting shinigami had made him think that he was roaming the streets.

He was certain to pay close attention, for that ornamental headpiece, that flowing scarf, the ruffle of a white haori as people gathered at the street corner when the light changed, barring them from crossing for the moment. He sighed, though he couldn't be sure if it was relief or exasperation. Seeing things was definitely not something healthy.

Feeling things wasn't either...

When a hand skated down his side and fell on his hip, he moved to turn around and yell at the fucker touching him, only to be held in place with a stern hand on his shoulder and a warning whispered in his ear, "don't move."

That voice sounded full of promises, promises Ichigo wasn't sure he wanted him to keep. He knew it well, the different tones of displeasure that did nothing to change the effect of the soothing tenor of it. Still, no matter how mesmerizing that voice could be, he refused to let it get away with anything.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Still such disrespect. In front of spectators, too. We shall have to fix that, won't we?" Before he could get the chance to come up with a retort, the hand on his shoulder curled around one of his own, forcing the bags in that hand to hang off his elbow while, with strength that didn't fit his appearance, it was forced to the hem of his shirt, under and up, to roam across his stomach without any regard for those who'd turned to look at him for his outburst.

Trying to pull away was in vain--the hand on his hip refused to depart and just as the one dived under his shirt, the other went for the waistband of his pants. With all these people just staring at him while waiting for the damn light to change.

"Get off of me...!" He muttered when those fingers slowly, as if teasing, dipped around the tight denim. The little boys holding tight to their mother's hand stepped away and the elderly gentleman watching him over his shoulder stepped closer to the street.

"If your hand should fall," said the shinigami, black hair tickling the side of Ichigo's face, "then a punishment game is in order. My games don't tend to be amusing, Ichigo Kurosaki."

No, it was hard to believe that he ever played games, or even had a sense of humor enough to be doing this, but it did make him stop a moment. He was in a human body with no means of becoming a shinigami to kick his ass and even if he could, he was sure that he'd only be causing trouble in such a crowded place. Zangetsu wasn't like Senbonzakura; he couldn't fit into any space and avoid harm to the normal human citizens.

"Who would'a thought you're a pervert..." He ground out, biting his lip when the hand moving to hide inside the denim pulled away only to move down and cup him through the material, squeezing.

Pain wasn't the word to describe it... not when his yelp turned into a deep moan that he'd forgotten he needed to hide. "Humans have such strange fashions. I can only imagine how this rough material must feel," purred the shinigami in his ear, lips wrapping around his ear lobe, sucking so very carefully.

Ichigo really should have been flailing like crazy to get out of there, even with people watching, but something sapped his strength, something tore away from him his reason and it was the very reason he hated being a fucking boy sometimes. His second head got a say in everything...

There was a wide circle around him, people anxiously looking up at the street light for it to change while it appeared that he was feeling himself up and getting turned on by it. The hand guided his own--

What's he doing, Mommy?

--up until his own fingers brushed against a a sensitive nub--

Oh, my!

--while warm fingers he knew were not his own gently teased it. When his hand started to fall, they pinched and reminded him of the penalty awaiting and while it hurt like hell, it was a good pain a part of him wanted to feel a bit more.

The teasing of his cock through the denim hadn't been helpful, light touches that sent wave after wave of heat to pool in his stomach, but never anything substantial. The light changed and several people watching, covering the eyes of their children or friends of each other, hurried across the street, but Ichigo's feet would not move. His hips bucked involuntarily into that teasing hand.

"Walk, Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Huh...?"

"Walk. Step forward." Both hands stopped their exploration.

His mind barely registered the command, but he took a step forward, into the street, eyes rolling as they returned to what they were doing. It was awkward, with the weight of another against his back, pulled against his assailant with magic hands that seemed to know just what to do to get him to shiver and moan and yearn for more. He heard the screeching of tires, the honking of horns and gasps of surprise from people watching and his face heated up. People were watching as he made a complete pervert of himself. And the damn shinigami didn't care! He seemed to be spurred on!

When it seemed like cooperation was about to end, those lips descended and teeth nipped at his throat, hair tickled his chest through the thin cotton shirt he was wearing and he had, finally, made it to the otherside, a tent in his tight pants, a hand up his shirt and a shinigami wrapped around him who had no intentions on letting go.

Crossing the next street had been rather easy, even with the careful hands. "God... I'm gunna kick... kick your ass later..."

There was an amused sound in his ear and finally, the hand pulled away from his clothed erection. "It must be painful," mused the voice in his ear.

God, he hated that condescending tone, but it sent a new flash of vicious heat to his belly and his cock twitched in its confines. He hated it but he loved it. "You done?" He panted, irritated that the attention had left, but interest piqued to see just what he was going to do next.

"Not by far, Ichigo Kurosaki," he answered, taking hold of the hand that, until recently, had no use. "I want you to finish it."

If his face wasn't glowing hotter than the sun before, he sure as hell knew it was now. Every step he took was growing more awkward the longer he thought about it. In the middle of the street, where no one could see the shinigami latched onto him, grabbing himself... he'd be arrested for sure! "I'm not going--"

A rough grab at the tent in his jeans. "Would you rather I commence with the penalty game? I can assure you, it'll be much worse than being caught with your hand down your pants."

"Since when the hell did you get so fuckin' creepy?"

The shinigami didn't reply, but he did draw long lines over the strawberry's jaw with his tongue, fingers under his shirt tweaking a nipple while the one's over his crotch groped and kneaded the flesh begging for proper attention.

Ichigo was determined not to give in when that hand, so very interested in his groin, reached up and unbottoned his pants, then grabbed his useless hand and shoved it beneath the jeans, straight down to his arousal without giving him a minute to think about what had just happened.

He didn't know where it came from, but with what mind he had left, he headed straight for an alley and growled low in his throat. "Dirty trick..."

He didn't answer. No, instead, he worked his fingers, wrapped around Ichigo's, to explore the regions clothed with soft, careful, precise ministrations that made Ichigo arch into that touch and groan out loud. Now that not everyone was watching, he found he enjoyed it that much more. The heat of the body behind him pressed against his, such delicate fingers making the most simple of actions that got his attention much more than his own... he knew everything that got Ichigo off, knew just when to pull back and clamp his hand around him to stop his imminent release. Ichigo realized that his hands were only there to make it look like he was doing those things to himself, perfect cover for a 'by-the-books' shinigami.

"Are you ready?"

"R-ready?"

A lick at his ear lobe. "Are you ready?" He repeated, giving his erection one, long, hard stroke and Ichigo's legs quivered, his knees almost buckled and god, he never realized how fucking vocal he could be.

"God... dammit, yes."

"Then you should beg for it."

Ichigo had pride, dammit, and he was not about to beg for something he could do himself. However, his assailant was not going to be that kind and grabbed both of his hands. "Fuck you. I'm not going to--"

His hand, gripped in the hand of the shinigami touched him oh-so-gently and he bit his lip to hide the moan. Dammit why did it feel so good?

"I will not leave until you've decided, Ichigo."

"Dammit... just let me do it..."

His chest burned, his belly was on fire, his skin could outshine the sun and still the bastard hovering over him refused to give him the relief that he sought. He started the game, why not let him finish! He'd already embarrassed him, made him look like a fricking sexual deviant. Why the hell was it so important he beg for something so stupid?

"I want to hear it. Ask me."

"Ask you...?"

"'Byakuya-sama, may I please come?' has a nice ring to it, does it not, Ichigo Kurosaki?"

He grit his teeth. "No way in hell...!"

A pinch and twist of his abused nipple and his own hand clamping down around him made him rethink those words just a little bit. He couldn't just back down, but god if he wasn't about to fricking burst.

"P-please..." A compromise that should have gotten him what he wanted... at least he really hoped so.

"To whom are you speaking?"

Fucking bastard... "Don't make me say it."

Squeeze. "I asked you a question."

"Ah--fuck! B-Byakuya-sama!"

All pressure seemed to fall back and the air seemed to lighten just a fraction. "And what is it that you want from me, Ichigo?"

He was really going to raise hell over this later. Son of a bitch... "By... Byakuya-sa... sama. May I..." he swallowed the thick lump in his throat that was his pride when those hands started moving so very slow over his cock, ensuring that life remained but he didn't get the release his body was crying out for. "May I come, please?"

He knew he sounded pathetic, but when the words were finally out of his mouth, the molestation of his body returned, the shinigami obviously pleased that he'd stooped down. The hands on his cock stroked him faster, his hips thrusting into them with abandon, while lips danced across his neck, ear, cheek and reached the corner of his own and the hands beneath his shirt moved opposite of one another pinching, twisting, tugging, doing anything to get the sparks of pleasure shooting through him until, with a bit of a loud cry, Ichigo felt every splash of his seed against his hand, pooling around behind the cloth. He knew, faintly, that it'd show through, a large wet spot to walk home with, but as the intensity flashed before his eyes and his body jerked and trembled, he really didn't care.

Still held tight to that strong chest behind him, he rode it out, fingers that weren't his own drawing every sticky bit of come from him until he was empty, cold and shaking against his shinigami assailant.

Finally, when Ichigo seemed to have found his legs, Byakuya pulled away and stared at the white mess clinging to his hand. "You seem to enjoy my company."

Ichigo grabbed for the wall, ignoring the mess rolling down his hand for the moment to glare at the shinigami. "Shut up... when the fuck did you turn into a dirty old man?"

"Dirty?" Ichigo nearly flinched when the icy demeanor struck harder than his release a moment ago. "This was a lesson, Ichigo Kurosaki. You'll just have to think on it and give me an answer the next time we meet."

He licked his fingers with long, precise strokes, eyes never falling away from Ichigo who stared dead on, almost whimpering in response. God he looked so good doing that... he'd never taken the time to appreciate the majestic beauty of anyone, much less a captain of the Gotei 13, but it was a sight to see, watching the noble devour his seed, put on a show for him with that look of indifference. And then he swallowed and blinked and he was gone, leaving behind no trace of having ever been there.

Now that it was over and done with, the spell broken... the only fucking thing Ichigo wanted was to kick that pompous ass. And... maybe a little bit of round two... on his own terms.