Desire and Lust

BY : FicticiousDelicious
Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ichigo
Dragon prints: 17511
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters (ownership is to Tite Kubo). I do not profit from this story. I do not own or profit from vehicle manufactures (Lamborghini, Ford, Chevrolet, Jaguar, Lincoln, Mazda, Nissan) mentioned either.

*WARNINGS! : Alcohol, Exhib (includes general warnings in the story description)

 

 

 

DESIRE AND LUST

 

 

Chapter One

 

“Things to Be Desired”

            This was not his normal behavior; it hardly felt normal that anyone would come here so casually. The loud club beat pounded in Ichigo’s skull and his ears strained to hear what his friends were trying to say to him, eventually he just gave up trying to listen. This place felt so strange to him, it left over his senses a lazy haze. Here was an exotic dance joint and Ichigo was hardly adjusted to its flaring strobe lights blinding him as they traveled over the surfaces and walls; and blaring music that vibrated powerfully through the soles of his shoes.

 

            The music was little more than a slight distraction to Ichigo, as irritating and loud as it proved more than not the ‘shows’ displayed on individual lit platforms were enthralling and drew in the most of the orangette’s attention while he sat on a stool reclining against the bar. Just watching these dancers was waking an appetite for a firm body to use for his pleasure. Though he was enjoying watching, Ichigo still felt he was out of place. Perhaps if he had been given the opportunity to slink down to strip joints more often he would have been conditioned by now. In all truth, he would have taken every single chance he was given to sit in a place like this joint and watch oiled bodies perform. These mostly if not completely naked erotic dancers settled Ichigo’s nerves and helped ground him in this strange place.

 

            It was uncanny, Ichigo realized, how difficult it was to tear his eyes from a particular dancer he was watching to ensure the margarita he was drinking didn’t end up on his nice button-down shirt. It was new and Ichigo didn’t want to take it off any sooner than he might have to. He watched the light cerulean-haired dancer drop down on the pole, pushing himself against it and followed every inch of the man’s moving body as he rose with his hips leaning into the pole. He sure would take off his shirt for this stud if given the opportunity, hands down and without a doubt.

 

            The lights began to shift so they fell over the dancers’ heads in long beams of bright light. White light, it was concealing their lower extremities with dim shadows and giving each dancer a mysterious, soft glow upon the surface of their sensual skin. Ichigo could make out the shapes of this cerulean-haired one’s groin but just barley. His dancer wasn’t wearing a tight thong like many others or any other clothing but the tightened leather bondage braces around his ankles. So watching for a better glimpse of the man’s length Ichigo was tormented by the partially lit upward curve bouncing between the man’s thighs. He had to find out who this was, watching the body move up and down against the pole, he just had to.

 

            There was a sudden snap of fingers that moved in front of the orangette and blocked his view. Ichigo initially flinched and glared over at the source.

 

            “Gettin’ a little absorbed are ya? Ichi?” Nnoitora sneered and his toothy smile practically curled. He maintained a stare from the corner of his eye at Ichigo as he raised his beer and drank down a long gulp.

 

            'He’s acting like such a pig again.' Ichigo paused to find the right words, watching his friend’s adam’s-apple bob. “What makes you think I’m absorbed?”

 

Nnoitora lowered his beer and exhaled heavily, gesturing with bottle in hand at Ichigo’s crotch, a prominent hard-on was rising up under the fabric.

 

            Ichigo’s head twisted away, he was blushing, damn. How embarrassing, he hadn’t even noticed he was hard. His elbows lifted from leaning on the bar’s counter as he moved to hunch over his lap.

 

            Nnoitora’s high pitched cackle sounded as he swiveled on his chair, facing forward as Ichigo was and set to finish draining his beer. He finished the last and clacked the empty bottle down behind him, now scanning the room, seeking something of interest.

 

            After a few minutes of silence Nnoitora’s eyes sparked catching sight of what Ichigo might have called a hermaphrodite, strong jaw but feminine hair and eyes. He nudged Ichigo’s arm, “The rest'a 'em went an’ found a booth off ta the side an’ I’mma go see ta tha' piece over there. Don’ blow all yer money on just one slut's ass.” With that the excessively lean man got up and stalked off into the crowd.

 

            Those were really the perfect words to describe what Ichigo wanted; he wasn’t inclined to take Nnoitora’s advice. The orangette could see his ‘friends’ from the bar. They were in a booth alright and Yammy had his face buried in some large breasted girl’s chest and Starrk was groping at her body. They weren’t so much Ichigo’s friends as they were Nnoitora’s. He didn’t talk to them much and they didn’t try to talk to him. They were so…useless.

 

            His eyes returned to the cerulean-haired dancer, the lights overhead still made it hard to catch even a brief glimpse of his bare length. The man kneeled down on the edge of the platform and his member, long, thick and painfully hard came into full view at last. The length dangling between the male’s thighs appeared to be of an inhuman size, it sure looked heavy. Ichigo spotted a small black band encircling around its base, a cock ring. 'That must be what’s helping it jut out so far.' What Ichigo would give to be up on that stage pressing up behind him, teasing him, rubbing against him, playing with him. The crotch of his jeans felt horribly tight now, watching the dancer’s erection bounce as he spread his knees far apart and dropped down on all fours, leaning out into his crowding audience. Ichigo watched as he selected one man and beckoned him closer, and when obliged the dancer devoured the privileged fellow's lips. That person looked surprised to say the least.

 

            Albeit a little jealous, Ichigo couldn’t take it any longer; marking the cerulean-haired god from a distance was maddening. He needed a taste, no matter what it cost. One hundred, two, three, a grand, Ichigo felt well off and he felt compelled to figure out something to have his way. Leaving his margarita glass on the bar with some bills, Ichigo’s form rose and stepped toward the crowd. He elbowed his way through and got closer to the platform, the rise was about to chest height which made the audience press tighter together at the front. Ichigo stood relatively calm, his groin pulsed; he could spot the dancer between several heads still kissing the shocked man.

 

            He had to get just a little closer. Ichigo moved between a man and a woman and rested his chest against the stage. It was a whole new perspective being up right at the front. The orangette watched with bated breath as the man’s figure swayed in time with the music as he remained bent. Without clothes the naked fellow was showing off everything he had to offer raising his ass in the air like that. Ichigo felt hot, wanting again to leap up onto the platform. The lucky kiss to that audience member was finally broken soon and the godly body of this dancer drew back up to crouch on his toes. He leaned back without moving his feet and keeping his knees bent he reached back to grab the gleaming pole, supporting his weight with the grip. Ichigo was dying to have his name, something to call this perfect sexual specimen. Ichigo's hands were sweating and he rubbed his slick fingertips together at his sides, he should go and find a secluded spot to rub this one off, but it was impossible to look away.

 

            The dancer’s long, toned body writhed directly in front of Ichigo in slow thrusting movements with legs spread accompanied by an open mouth, this dancer appeared to be gasping. The long shaft between muscular thighs was nestled in a patch of well trimmed blue curls. It bounced again between upward thrusts. Its head was dripping with clear precum. At the wide base it strained against the restricting plastic ring and bulged with thick veins, blushing the color of its strain. Ichigo didn’t know how much more he could take; seeing this sweat drenched god before him he had begun imagining. Ichigo longed to probe the innermost of this man; his fists balled. Fuck he needed to move and find a place to jerk-off.

 

            Just about the time Ichigo was falsely hoping the performance couldn’t be more arousing the heated body’s hips jerked upward in a series of vigorous upward thrusts. The cerulean head was thrown back as he held the stance against the pole, knees bent, forcing up each strong thrust with a loud ‘ughh!’ mewl. Precum trailed down the man’s length in a steady flow as his hips jerked up in time to the last few beats of the song playing.

 

            While the cerulean-haired dancer pulled himself back up to stand and strike a final flirtatious pose next to the pole Ichigo was staring in a daze, feeling light headed. That guy, whomever he was had stupidly good stamina. He’d probably had that cock ring on for a few hours judging by the size his dick had swollen to. Ichigo felt a bit intimidated, he was pressing his lust-stricken limit already.

 

            Grimmjow looked down from his platform at the audience he’d collected and grinned. His dick hurt like hell but damn was this a crowd! He scanned the crowd and swore to himself that he was going to fuck Szayel’s brains out for putting this ring on him...or just yell at that pinkie a lot. Hold on... Grimmjow paused as his gaze fell on a fixated but dazed face below. This guy wasn’t all there but he had an enticing look about him, black button-down partially undone shirt and that orange colored hair. Handsome. He looked as if he were tripping or maybe... Grimmjow crouched down and whispered beside the orangette's ear in a husky, lustful tone, “Ya got a name, stud?”

 

            Ichigo could barley nod in response, unable to get his mind off the aching length confined in his jeans.

 

            Grimmjow chuckled in a manner that seemed false, “Well…what is it then?”

 

            The orangette was flustered and now he was blushing bright. “I-Ichigo.” He managed a stammered but quiet response.

 

            “I like that look you’re giving me. I’m gonna check up on ya, Ichigo. Wait for me over at the bar. I’ll be over there in a few minutes.”

 

            Ichigo hesitated and nodded dumbly again. This wasn't reality...it couldn't be.

 

            The man rose and looked over the audience, raising two lone middle fingers high in the air from which he got a cheering response. Lowering his hands he walked back along the catwalk, holding his dripping member in one hand. Light clinking from the bondage ankle bracers followed him the whole way until he disappeared behind a curtain hiding the back dressing area for dancers.

 

            Ichigo watched his strong figure the whole way, shocked. His vision had clouded and was hazy as he looked around to try and make sure that he was conscious. The crowd began to lessen and Ichigo weaved around numerous people moving to get back to the bar before he collapsed. His head would not stop spinning and his dick would not stop throbbing. He desperately clung to the counter and wished he could just disappear off into some corner and jerk off until the pressure was relieved, but then he might miss that tasty stripper if he was really coming to meet him.



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