Not So Silent Night

SUMMARY: After taking some Christmas fun too far, Toshiro is going to make Ichigo pay.

WARNINGS: yaoi, smex, lemon. Yupp, full, out-right naughty-naughty. Some light, fluffy bondage. Some crack at the beginning. Possible OOC-ness, but I did my best to keep them IC. Perverted Matsumoto and Yoruichi.

PAIRING: IchiHitsu.

RATING; NC-17

NOTES: This is a little longer than planned, and my writing style is a little different here, but I think that’s a good thing. I was reading my favorite author, Storm Constantine, and I got inspired and kinda tried to take a leaf out of her notebook.

SETTING: When Matsu and Hitsu are staying in the real world at Orihime’s, and Ichi and Hitsu are in an established relationship.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach or Rainbow Bright, and I make no money off of this.

This is for: Dyaoka
For the IchiHitsu LJ Christmas exchange.
Her prompts are: . Rainbow, Mistletoe, and smex on Christmas Eve. (Ugh, I just realized I forgot the creaky bed part…gomen…but I did include a bed…)

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NOT SO SILENT NIGHT

by Neko Oni

It all started with that miserable Christmas pageant and a Christmas-obsessed, more-eccentric-than-Urahara music teacher. Hell, she made the geta boshi seem normal, sound, and sane. The music classroom and adjacent hall dripped and glittered Christmas. Decorations the students had made, store bought ones, tinsel and even lights were strewn everywhere. The star on top of the proverbial tree was the real, literal tree by the teacher’s desk. She even had a glitter encrusted name plate that read: Ms. Ima Knut. She even had her students, Karin included, singing carols in their sleep.

Ms. Knut was in charge of the Christmas pageant and she called a family PTA meeting for Yuzu and Karin’s school. All the PTA parents brought their families with them for a brain-storming session. Yuzu felt bad for Orihime, who had no family around this time of year, so she invited her to get involved. Orihime brought Matsumoto, who literally dragged a grumpy Toshiro along. Ichigo didn’t mind at all; it saved him the trouble of dragging the baby dragon.

At the meeting, Ms. Knut announced her intentions to throw a ‘unique’ and ‘unforgettable’ pageant the kids would enjoy. The cartoon character Rainbow Bright was making a huge comeback with the kids. Infact, Yuzi had worn a Rainbow Bright shirt that night. Online, the teacher had found Rainbow Bright versions of carols. So, instead of singing regular carols that everyone else would be singing, the kids would sing Rainbow Bright themed carols. Most of the assembled crowd agreed. Now all they needed was a Rainbow Bright.

Ms. Knut’s eyes scanned the crowd and landed promptly on Toshiro, who sat between Matsumoto and Ichigo. Ms. Knut asked the little icicle; Matsumoto squealed “YES!” and, as usual, chaos then ensued. Ichigo’s dad enthused the idea, Yuzu, Ms. Knut, and Orihimi latched on, begging Toshiro. He loudly roared his refusal. Karin ignored everyone. Ichigo snickered. While everyone was engrossed in arguing, Matsumoto whirled around and put it to a PTA vote; it was unanimous. She then clapped her hands, breast jiggling in her indecently cut top, and declared the matter settled. With the insane teacher, Yuzu, and Orihime gazing down at him with quivering lower lips and pleading puppy eyes, Toshiro sighed heavily and caved.

“Oh, alright.” Here a vengeful smirk crossed his defeated face and he pointed at a snickering Ichigo and gleeful Matsumoto. “But only if they’ll be the horse, and her the horse’s ass.”

Toshiro was pissed, grumpy, and irritable. He snapped and snarled at the slightest provocation. He cooperated with the pageant and sung beautifully. He performed beautifully and the audience loved how adorable he was.

Ichigo treated it like one big joke. Yes, his baby dragon was adorable, cute, and cuddly, but he’d kill anyone who dared call him that. The strawberry found it ironically funny that everyone thought of the tenth division taichou as a child, when he actually was two centuries older than Ichigo. Toshiro was by no means a child. Their nights together proved that.

Considering the baby dragon’s mood, though, Ichigo doubted he’d be getting any tonight, on Christmas Eve. Hell, he was lucky Toshiro didn’t freeze off a certain sensitive and valued part of his anatomy. Those thoughts sobered the strawberry. He needed to apologize to his beloved.

Dark brown eyes intently scanned the crowded living room. The pageant was over, and now family and friends gathered at the Kurosakis to celebrate Christmas Eve together. Everyone fussed and cooed over Toshiro; he still had the star and rainbow tattoo from his costume on his cheek. It wouldn’t come off no matter what Toshiro tried, and Ichigo suspected Matsumoto and Urahara had a hand in that. He had to admit, though, it made the soft baby cheek that much more kissable.

Teal eyes met brown; Toshiro shot his tall boyfriend a burning, hateful glance and turned his head away. The little taichou had all he could put up with and then some. He shoved his way through the crowd, heading toward the door. Ichigo saw and followed.

“Toshiro! Wait!”

Toshiro did not wait.

A little hand just closed on the door knob as Ichigo caught up to the ticked off captain. Large, calloused hands grabbed bony shoulders and spun the little one around. “Toshiro, what the hell-“

“Fuck off, Kurosaki.” Pretty features twisted in a snarl, Toshiro jerked free and yanked the door open.

Ichigo slammed it shut. “You don’t call your boyfriend by his last name.”

“I do when he’s being a bastard.”

“What did I do?”

“If I have to tell you, then you don’t know me very well and I should call you Kurosaki.” Toshiro’s voice was a low growl. Ichigo stared down at the petite figure, focusing on the rainbow on his cheek. The tender skin around the not-so-temporary tattoo was scrubbed red and raw.

Toshiro scorned childish things and loathed being seen as the child he was not. Yet he had been forced to dress up as a cartoon character and perform in a children’s pageant. On top of that, no one left him alone about it- not even his boyfriend. Toshiro had reached his breaking point. It was a testament to his patience, or his years with Matsumoto, that he had not snapped earlier.

Ichigo stared at the tattooed cheek. “That rainbow. And the way we’ve- I’ve- been treating you.”

Soft pink lips curled derisively. “Very perceptive, block head.”

The strawberry didn’t react as Toshiro expected. Ichigo sank to his knees and captured his dainty hands in his own. “I’m sorry, yukihime. It was just a bit of holiday fun, and you really did look cute. I guess I got caught up in it. It’s not often I get to see you like that, so soft and sweet, even if it was just acting.”

Toshiro growled.

Ichigo sighed. His voice and face softened. “I’m making things worse, aren’t’ I? Sorry, Toshiro. I really am. Forgive me, please? It’s Christmas eve.” Brown eyes stared at Toshiro beseechingly.

Toshiro stared back coldly for several heart beats then sighed. “Fine, but you are never to mention it again. I’m not going back to the party with those idiots.”

Ichigo beamed at him and kissed his soft, white hands. “Yukihime, I love you. You mean the worlds to me.”

Toshiro snorted softly at Ichigo’s sentimental mushiness, but his scowl relaxed and a gentle glow infused his huge aqua eyes.

Ichigo kissed the back of one hand, then turned it over and pressed his lips to the inside of the wrist. Beneath the soft flesh, he could feel the warmth of Toshiro’s blood and the beat of his pulse. His lips, wandering pilgrims, lingered longer than necessary. Toshiro tugged, but the strawberry would not release him.

Ichigo kissed then licked the gently throbbing flesh. Toshiro’s life. So precious. The younger male’s teeth nipped the flesh and he sucked, rough tongue grazing vulnerable skin. Toshiro sucked in a harsh breath, trembling slightly.

Ichigo smiled around his wrist, then licked and sucked again.

“What are you doing?” Toshiro started to pant, eyes growing hazy and baby cheeks turning pink as his desire rose to the ryoka’s summoning siren song.

“Showing you how much of a kid I think you are not.” Ichigo replied, nuzzling his nose at Toshiro’s sleeve and wanting access to more snow white skin.

“Ichigo!” Toshiro hissed and squirmed uncomfortably. He hated public displays of affection. Especially around that gossip-mongering blabbermouth of a fukutaichou. Suddenly suspicious teal eyes shrewdly scanned the hall but found no trace of big-boobed, peeping toms. He looked up at the ceiling and, ever the cynic, snorted in derision. “What hair-brained idiot hung a plant from the ceiling?”

Mood ruined by Toshiro’s bad mood, Ichigo sighed and looked up, not releasing Toshiro’s hands. “It’s called mistletoe. It’s-“

“I know what it is and what it does- I’ve heard about it and several lewd suggestions about what to do under it in lurid detail. Multiple times.”

“Ah. Matsumoto.”

“Very astute, idiot. What I want to know is who was stupid enough to allow that lunatic to decorate?” Toshiro pointedly eyed the many mistletoe balls generously hung every foot throughout the house.

“Yuzu and Orihime. My dad couldn’t refuse those breasts.”

Toshiro snorted again then thin, dry lips covered his own soft ones. He stiffened in surprise then melted as Ichigo coaxed the shyness and reserve out of him.

A loud squeal of “Ichigo kissed Taichou before ten o’clock- pay up, Yoruichi!” caused Toshiro to break away as if scalded. He turned to go to the living room, Matsumoto’s imminent death dancing in his eyes.

Ichigo caught him, strong arms wrapping around his slender form. “We were under the mistletoe, Shiro-chan.” He purred and kissed Toshiro’s lily-white neck.

“Those lechers were watching us!” Toshiro seethed, snarling.

“Then we’ll take the show somewhere more private. Say, my bedroom.” Before Toshiro could protest, the lanky rogue shinigami scooped him up and stood up.

“Kuro-“ A large hand over soft pink lips muffled the baby dragon’s protests. Toshiro glared at Ichigo, who kissed his pert little nose and smiled when Toshiro wrinkled it.

“Shush. Do you want to attract even more attention?” Ichigo smirked triumphantly at the incensed fury dancing in Toshiro’s brilliant eyes. He was outraged that his reckless, chaos-inducing, collateral-damage causing boyfriend had the nerve to tell him not to attract attention.

Half way up the steps, Ichigo yelped loudly as Toshiro managed to bite his hand. Downstairs, Yoruichi sulked on the arm of Urahara’s chair while Matsumoto looked very pleased with herself.

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Little one. Yukihime. Baby dragon. Fey child of a moonless winter night. Always on bottom, never on top. Ichigo, an invading barbarian conquering snow-laden fields. Ichigo, who could not mount his wild, whirling reiatsu bout easily mounted Toshiro’s lithe, sleek body.

Toshiro lay on his back, naked and shivering. Ichigo smothered him with his bigger body and heat. The brash brute rained tender kisses in silent worship on snow-white skin. Toshiro could not take it anymore; he needed to be in control of something, and that something was going to be Ichigo.

Dainty hands fisted in wild orange hair and pulled. Ichigo looked up in confusion. “Shiro-chan?”

“Off.”

“What?” Orange brows furrowed as the little taichou sat up, shoving the bigger male’s muscled chest.

“Toshi-“

“Shut up.” Toshiro’s soft lips cut off the strawberry’s protest as Toshiro’s arms twined round his neck, pulling him down into a world of snowflakes and sex.

As they fell, Toshiro twisted his small body so Ichigo landed on the mattress and was under him for a change. Their lips never broke contact. Toshiro was focused, striding the powerful ryoka like a ballerina on a bull. Ichigo’s surprise gave way to thrilled pleasure, unexpectedly enjoying Toshiro’s dominate side.

Toshiro played him like a master musician; Ichigo was a silken harp in his porcelain hands. Toshiro’s pink kitten tongue toyed with Ichigo’s, teasing his teeth then nipping lightly. Toshiro’s hands scratched Ichigo’s broad shoulders, running up and down toned arms, pinching taut nipples and caressing washboard abs. Toshiro’s pert, tight ass was slick with lube and slipped teasingly against Ichigo’s throbbing erection. Ichigo had already prepared him, stretching him out.

Ichigo bucked his hips impatiently, longing to be buried in the icy hot heat he loved. With each buck, each pleading groan, Toshiro would rise and pull away, fanning Ichigo’s escalating frustration. Seeing the consternation slip over the strawberry’s straining, blissful face, Toshiro would be back with his soft, fragrant limbs and teasing kitten tongue, urging Ichigo further into desire and madness.

What little patience and self-control Ichigo had broke; he reached for his baby dragon, intent on flipping them over and pounding him into next Christmas. Ichigo’s eyes popped wide open in surprise. His arms were tied above his head, to the headboard, with red and green ribbons. He was thoroughly bewildered; he never even felt it, so lost in the throws of passion. That unnerved him- when did his yukihime get so sneaky?

Toshiro’s smirk was ruined by the rainbow on his cheek. “I’m not that innocent, baka.” Pink lips twitched in amusement at Ichigo’s bewilderment. “You forget, I’ve had Matusmoto as my fukutaichou for centuries.”

Ichigo did NOT like the implication of those words. His face clouded with suspicion.

Before he could say anything, Toshiro read his face. “She never touched me!” He blurted quickly, cheeks blossoming pink. He met Ichigo’s eyes with frank honesty and Ichigo couldn’t help but believe him. “Matsumoto’s…not inexperienced.” Toshiro put her rampant sex-capades mildly. “Plus, she never shuts up, especially when I force her to do paperwork. It’s only natural I’d learn something.”

Ichigo was a bit upset to learn his yukihime was not as pure as undriven snow. He vowed to have a long talk with Matsumoto about the things she said to Toshiro, and he would use Zangetsu to make several, very sharp points. Maybe he’d even let his inner hollow out to have a little fun.

Noting the emotions flicking on Ichigo’s handsome face, and suddenly fearing for his fukutaichou’s safety, Toshiro descended on the bound Ichigo once more. He pounced like a kitten on a piece of string; the bed bounced and Ichigo’s engorged manhood brushed against Toshiro’s slick, stretched entrance. Ichigo whimpered in desperate need.

Toshiro smiled and ground against him, his own erection rubbing Ichigo’s taut stomach. Ichigo shuddered, straining in his ribbons, and Toshiro tilted his head back in pleasure.

“Toshiro.” The moan was a prayer, a plea.

One that fell on deaf ears. The vindictive little sex-kitten was far from finished with the strawberry and showed him no mercy.

Toshiro undulated his hips again and again, starting a rhythm as if he were dancing. Slow and sensuous; fast and furious. Ichigo shuddered and writhed below him; each tormenting movement brought him to the very portal to heaven, then the gates were cruelly closed again only to open back up. With his hands bound, he was helpless to move things along. Toshiro chose the pace, had the power. Ichigo could only urge with his mouth, his eyes, and his hips.

Toshiro reveled in his control of the bigger male. Ichigo was his to explore as he wished. He kissed Ichigo harshly, biting his tongue. Petal soft lips caressed Ichigo’s throat, pressing against his erratic, thundering pulse. Toshiro sucked, Ichigo’s flesh soft between his teeth. Ichigo jerked and moaned when Toshiro daintily nipped a nerve cluster and pinched his taut nipples at the same time. Little yukihime was leaving some serious bruises that would form in the morning, but the torment and pain were exquisite pleasure. Like a fine, tart wine.

Toshiro only stopped teasing Ichigo when he could no longer stand it himself. Both their bodies were coated in sweat, reeking of unfulfilled desire, hair damp and sticking to their faces and breathing labored.

Toshiro slipped down onto Ichigo’s huge, fully erect and dripping length. Large turquoise eyes shot open and he gasped. He had come down wrong. It hurt. Tear drops glittered like sparkling diamonds against bright emeralds on his thick, dark lashes.

“Toshiro!” Ichigo panted, seeing the pain on that sweet face and forgetting his pleasure at Toshiro’s tears. He pulled, ribbons cutting into his wrists. He could not take his baby dragon into his arms and kiss the tears away like he longed to.

Toshiro was frozen, immobile as his body adjusted. He closed his eyes, tears falling onto his own hard-on and Ichigo’s golden stomach. He had never done this before. He suddenly felt naked, inexperienced, and vulnerable, like a foolish, fumbling virgin. He was used to Ichigo’s large, calloused hands holding his hips, guiding him. Now he was on his own. He felt terrified and thrilled at the same time, like he was free but could fall at any moment and no one would catch him.

“Shiro-chan?” Ichigo’s voice was strained with desire and full of concern.

Toshiro opened his eyes and smiled gently. “It’s okay.” Ichigo gazed up at him with a lusty yet worried expression.

He squeezed his inner muscles. Ichigo gasped, hips bucking up and slamming into Toshiro, who inhaled sharply and let out a soft, little, “Oh” of surprise. Being pierced from the bottom was different than from on top. There was no weight, no warmth of another body; no crushing force pinning him down. Just a sharp, powerful thrust from below.

Toshiro squeezed again, fingers curling on Ichigo’s chest. Ichigo bucked in response. It was harder this way; they had to fight against gravity. Ichigo’s stomach and chest were full of scratches from Toshiro’s fingernails as the smaller shinigami clung to him. Ichigo bucked, straining, grunting and groaning in carnal pleasure as he pounded into Toshiro’s supple body. Toshiro bounced along with Ichigo, sliding up and down the length of him, slamming his hips down and squeezing after each thrust. As they writhed together, he reached down with one hand to stroke himself in time with the bigger man’s thrusts. They gazed into each other’s eyes, unable to look away. It was a communion of bodies and souls, shaking them to their cores. They truly joined together to become one.

“SHIRO-CHAN!!!” Ichigo roared as he climaxed, his seed spurting into Toshiro’s soft, warm body. Toshiro came with a shuddering whimper and a jet of liquid pearl shot onto Ichigo’s stomach. Toshiro collapsed on top of him, breathing hard. The air smelt of mistletoe, sweat, and the musk of their union.

Ichigo felt Toshiro snuggle up to him, head under his chin. He kissed the mop of damp, snowy hair. “Shiro, that was…” He couldn’t finish, too tired and sated. Toshiro kissed his sweaty neck and sighed softly in contentment.

They fell asleep like that, Ichigo still bound to the bed with Christmas colored ribbons and embedded in Toshiro. In the morning, Ichigo’s wrists would be sore and Toshiro would be unable to walk, but for now the lovers were too tired and sated and happy to care.

Out in the hallway, Yoruichi stood up, stretching her back from bending over the keyhole to Ichigo’s door. “Ha! He used the ribbons I put there! Now *you* owe *me*!” She pumped a fist in the air and smirked at Matsumoto.

The orange-haired fukutaichou pouted as she stood up. “But that’s not fair- where did my innocent little taichou learn something so dirty?”

“Who cares? Give me my sake!” The dark skinned, former taichou held out her hand expectantly. Matsumoto stared at it, pouted, then suddenly took off, Yoruichi hot on her heels.


,OWARI