Lost

Title: Lost
Author: Ansela Jonla
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con, angst
Summary: I wanted to tell you you're beautiful, but now it's too late.
Word Count: 1015
Notes: Betaed by tea_fiend

I shouldn't be watching this. It's wrong. You're my friend, and yet I'm watching this happen to you. Even worse, it's turning me on. If my arms were freed this instant, I'm not sure if I would grab my sword or my dick first. There's probably some special place in hell reserved for people who get off on watching their friends get raped.

The betrayal on your face every time you look at me is harder to bear than a sword through my chest. There's no hiding how aroused I am right now. We weren't left with the dignity of clothes. Why would we be? Prisoners don't need them, right? And fuck toys have even less of a need.

Yeah, fuck toys. The bastards made that pretty clear when they were gloating. We're here to be used. It's not like we have any information, that we're privy to Soul Society's plans for fighting Aizen. The Captains are plotting something, but they haven't shared those plots with anyone yet. Aizen knows this, somehow. He doesn't need information from us. He has his own spies. We're only alive as long as we're interesting to fuck.

You're trying not to cry. I want to tell you to let it out, that no one here will tell of your moment of weakness, but I can't. Even if I wasn't gagged, I don't think I could speak to you right now. Not without telling you how beautiful you are. Because that's what I want to say, what I should have said before. Even though you wouldn't have taken it well, I still should have said it.

Thin, muscular arms wrap around me, delicate fingers and rough fabric brushing against my bare skin. I can feel that despicable smirk against my neck as the bastard wraps one hand around my aching shaft. I don't want this. I don't want to get off on seeing my friend hurt like this, but my body has other ideas.

I thrust into that hand as much as my bonds allow, silently begging forgiveness the whole time. Would you do this? Would you let your baser instincts take over if our positions were reversed? If it was me getting raped over a table, would you find it as arousing as I do? I don't think you would. You're not gay, after all. You like women, even if you deny it. My body wouldn't interest you at all.

I blush so hard I think my face matches my hair as a moan forces its way up my throat. This isn't me. I'm not the one who wants to see you like this. I'd never want to see you like this. Who would? That broken look on your face, the betrayal and hurt and anger in your eyes, that's not the real you. You're fire and rage and righteous fury and loving protection. Being near you is like standing in full sunlight at the height of summer. Great, now I sound like a pathetic Academy girl with a crush.

Those hated fingers pinch the base of my cock, saving me from displaying my depravity even further. I still whine though, my body protesting at being prevented from relieving the arousal coursing through my veins. At least you don't have to see that proof of my sickness. I don't think I could bear the pain that would cause you, for you to know that I am that fucked in the head.

The bastard stands again, fabric shifting as he circles around me, his hand trailing over the back of my neck and along my collarbone as he moves in front of me. That damnable grin never leaves his face as he sinks to his knees between my spread legs, bracing his hands on the arms of the solid metal chair that I'm bound to. He thinks this is amusing, that my pain - our pain - is something for him to enjoy.

I arch my back as his mouth engulfs my penis. He's not my first, I haven't been a virgin since my second year at the Academy, but it's been a while. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have anything but a hand wrapped around there. Now I can pretend that it's his fault, that he's the one who put me in this state. You have nothing to do with this. You're not the reason that I'm ready to blow my load almost as soon as the bastard starts.

I'm just deluding myself though. Even as he pins my hips and sucks me off with as much skill as a Rukongai whore, I'm still looking at you. Still watching the emotions playing across your face. Still drinking in the revulsion in your eyes. I don't know who that hatred is for, but some small part of me hopes that I'm the target. I deserve it, for getting in this state to begin with. You're my friend, I'm one of the people you trust the most out of everyone in Seireitei, yet I'm getting off on your rape.

I cry out around the gag as I release, spraying the bastard all over that smiling face of his. He doesn't seem to mind, licking his lips and using his hand to get as much of my seed as possible. You look away, your face filling with something I can't identify as the Arrancar pinning you down also climaxes. He looks smug as he wipes his prick over your ass, and I want to tear his throat out. If you weren't bound even tighter than I am, you'd kick his ass like I know you can. You'd kick mine as well, and Aizen's.

Hopefully they'll throw us back in that cell now, and you can scream and swear at me as we make a thousand useless plans to escape. You're not a quitter, Ichigo, and I know this won't be enough to make you give in. Just hang on. We'll be rescued soon, then I'll pay for being a perverted fuck. Just hang on, don't let that fire of yours die. I'll die before I let Aizen kill you, I swear.