What He Needs

BY : shadowkittae
Category: Bleach > AU - Alternate Universe
Dragon prints: 983
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of it's characters. I make no money off these stories. That priviledge belongs to Kubo.

He forced himself to sit and work through the stacks of reports waiting for his signature, trying not to picture his boy, his perfect, generous, gorgeous mate, bound and desperate and hungry for him, in his bed, in his quarters.

He’d never expected Shuuhei to be such a gift.

As a lieutenant, the younger man was everything he could ever hope for.

Dedicated, hard-working—sometimes too much so—at times infuriatingly so.

The boy—man—was nothing like the crybaby child he had rescued a hundred years before, though even then Kensei had sensed that the kid would not fall prey to the depredations of the Rukongai like most of those who shared his status. If he hadn’t been Hollowfied and forced into hiding, he liked to think that maybe he would have gone back for the boy that had shown so much promise. Even though the kid had been obviously terrified, he’d displayed more courage and grit than Shinigami several times his age.

When he’d first been re-instated as the 9th division’s captain, Kensei had been struck with equal parts pride and horror that the kid he’d rescued a century before was his new lieutenant; pride that the kid had survived, and thrived, horror that the boy had served under Tousen. He’d been right to be concerned that his traitorous 5th seat had taken over the division and had been Shuuhei’s direct superior. After being reinstated, Kensei had learned just how much damage Tousen’d done to his division as a whole—and Shuuhei in particular.

The tattoo on the lieutenant’s face—dear kami, what had the brat been thinking, putting it there in plain sight—had been a shock, even as his Hollow crooned its approval in Kensei’s Inner World. Tousen might have been blind, but the Vizard doubted that the man hadn’t known that his fukutaicho had branded himself with Kensei’s mark, and had made the young man’s life miserable for it—even if Shuuhei hadn’t realized what his then-captain had been doing.

When Kensei had…inherited…Shuuhei (for lack of a better word), he had been dismayed to see the ‘69’ on the kid’s face, dismayed to realize that the last good thing he had done before becoming what he had been duty-bound to cleanse had been corrupted by one of the men that had betrayed his oath to the Gotei. And Tousen had corrupted Shuuhei.

He’d taught him to fear what he was, to fear the part of his soul that was his zanpakutou; it had taken months for Kensei to actually see his new lieutenant unleash his shikai, and after Shuuhei had been subdued, almost flinching in his presence—almost as if he expected a blow from his new taicho.

Kensei, for his part, upon seeing Kazeshini released finally, had had to take himself off to a washroom to take care of the sudden, unexpected arousal gripping his frame. With his sword still sealed, Shuuhei fighting was a work of art to behold.

When he released his shikai, all deadly grace and spinning blades, the fukutaicho was the epitome of lethal beauty.

It had taken everything within the Vizard to keep himself from dragging his lieutenant to the dusty ground and fucking him senseless.

But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Shuuhei was his lieutenant, his subordinate; coaxing him into his bed could be construed as an abuse of his power and authority. Never mind that bedding one’s underlings was a long-upheld tradition in the Gotei. Never mind that every time Kensei laid eyes upon his new fukutaicho his thoughts veered into various scenarios that featured the younger man naked and moaning beneath him. Shuuhei was not for him. Tousen had twisted the kid up into so many knots that the Vizard’s fukutaicho couldn’t possibly consent willingly to his captain’s desires. Bedding Shuuhei could be seen as trading on his position as the younger man’s captain, and Kensei was unwilling to expose his lieutenant to any more gossip and speculation, no matter how much the reinstated taicho wanted his fukutaicho in his bed, and not for just a single night. The Vizard had his flaws, as did Shuuhei—a hell of a lot more than what showed on the surface, and Kensei was only slowly discovering just how damaged his subordinate was beneath the façade of calm, capable officer he showed to the rest of the world—but every part of him, including his Hollow and zanpakutou spirit, wanted the younger man with a ferocity that normally unflappable taicho down to the core of his being. And that was another reason he’d forced himself to keep his distance. He’d been called overly possessive and too gruff by lovers in the past, even before Aizen had Hollowfied him and the others. After he’d been infected with the Hollow, those qualities had only become worse. The last thing his fukutaicho needed was a lover who wanted nothing more than to lock him away from the world to keep him all to himself, to keep him safe from all the hurts—physical and emotional—that were out there.

So he’d kept his distance, held Shuuhei at arms’ length, and ignored the wantneedclaim that rose inside him every time he’d caught even a hint of the younger man’s reiatsu.

For six months he’d managed to keep away from Shuuhei, telling himself—and his Hollow, and Tachikaze, traitor that he was for agreeing with the Hollow in the first place—that Shuuhei was better off this way.

And then he’d spotted his fukutaicho sitting alone in the corner of a Rukon bar where Kensei had joined several of his fellow taichos—Kyouraku and Zaraki, along with Shinji—as well as Lisa and Mashiro, who had been complaining that she never saw him anymore. Her whining, annoying voice had faded into the background when he’d laid eyes on his current fukutaicho, dressed in a simple, dark blue yukata, head bowed and strong, broad shoulders hunched as he stared into the bowl of sake sitting before him without touching it. For long moments, Kensei had stared at his lieutenant unnoticed, drinking him in hungrily. Unfortunately—or fortunately, as it turned out—the others eventually noticed he was no longer paying attention to them, and had turned to see what—or rather, who—he was looking at.

What happened next changed his life—and Shuuhei’s—irrevocably.

“Well shit—and here I thought that with Tousen gone, the kid didn’t need to pull this shit,” Zaraki had muttered, and Kensei had torn his eyes away from his fukutaicho’s miserable-looking figure long enough to pin the bigger captain with a hard stare. But it was Kyouraku who offered an explanation, one that sent a chill through the silver-haired Vizard and completely destroyed his well-intentioned plans to leave his lieutenant alone:

“Shuu-chan is too much a product of the Rukon where he grew up, and despite having fought to escape his past, under Tousen’s tutelage and psychological abuse, Shuuhei returned to old habits that brought him comfort—even though that comfort left him broken and bleeding, and usually in dire need of Unohana-san’s care. We had thought, once Tousen had gone, and you returned, that he would have left that particular escape safely buried in the past. Seeing him here, like this, indicates that he had not.”

Kensei had been confused, unsure of what Kyouraku was saying, but Zaraki, with his usual forthright bluntness, quickly cleared matters up:

“He’s working up the courage to go off into the higher districts and sell himself off to the first scum he finds. Usually the type that likes to hurt his partners—and it ain’t hard to find someone like that in the upper districts. Hisagi knows ‘em all, and if he can’t find one willing to fuck him bloody in an alley, he’ll hit up one of the clubs or brothels that cater to that sort of shit. He knows all those places too.”

Oh hell no. There was no way Kensei was about to let his boy go off into Rukongai like that. He knew what the thugs that populated those districts were like, knew too what the clubs and brothels that operated in the higher-numbered districts offered anyone willing to pay their price. Someone like Shuuhei—tall and lean and muscled from hard training, beautiful despite the scars and tattoos marking his face and body, and so obviously hurting—would be all-but irresistible to people like that.

Shuuhei’s gaze had lifted, locked with Kensei’s even across the crowded expanse of the smoky bar, and Kensei was lost.

He didn’t remember what he had said to his companions, just remembered rising from his seat and ignoring their knowing glances, and had crossed the room in several long strides till he stood beside Shuuhei’s table. The younger man had looked up at him, his usual blank expression absent just long enough to reveal the soul-deep hurt and a shocking vulnerability in his dark eyes, and Kensei had merely taken his arm and pulled him to his feet, any words that he might have offered in explanation strangled in his throat as images of Shuuhei being held down and violated by others ran through his head with nauseating clarity.

It had been raining when they left the bar, but he hadn’t minded the inclement weather in the least, Shuuhei a long line of heat at his side.

When they had arrived back at the division, he’d taken Shuuhei straight his own quarters, not caring if anyone had seen them. The minute the door had closed he’d been on the younger, slightly taller man, twining his fingers through damp inky hair, angling his head, tasting the rain on his lips, cool and sweet—though not nearly as sweet as his fukutaicho’s mouth.

The night passed in a haze of pleasure: long, creamy gold limbs sprawled across his bed, dark, damp cotton pooling along either side of Shuuhei’s lithe frame; kiss-bruised lips parted on throaty moans and soft cries of need; stunned pleasure widening eyes Kensei had never realized were green before he’d been gifted with the treasure of seeing them so closely, long, lacey fans of black lashes fluttering helplessly as he tipped his head back in offering, and Kensei taking what his boy offered with lips and tongue and teeth; his Hollow cooing and sighing alongside Tachikaze as he finally—finally—sank himself deep into the tight, scorching heat of Shuuhei’s body, his lover’s long legs tight around his hips, dragging the Vizard impossibly closer as he opened himself fully to the older man.

And when dawn came, and the silly boy tried to slip from his bed, he’d dragged him back down with a grumble that was met with a blinding smile—one of the few he’d ever seen on his lieutenant’s face—and graceful acquiescence that told Kensei that he’d been foolish to believe that Shuuhei was like the others.

His fukutaicho—his lover—was perfect for him, complementing the Vizard in every way.

Kensei finished scrawling his name to last report on his desk and hastily set it atop the stack he’d already completed, rising from his chair with an eagerness that sent the wooden piece of furniture teetering precariously on two legs before it settled back down on all four. He didn’t even pause to make sure he hadn’t knocked the damn thing over, already halfway out the door.

Though his quarters lay on the other side of the building, it only took him a few minutes to traverse the distance at a quick-paced walk. The Old Man frowned upon Sonido and flashstep within the barracks, save for extreme emergency, and Kensei really didn’t want a lecture about how he was supposed to be a role model for his officers, or a demand to know why he’d been in such a rush. The last thing he or Shuuhei wanted was the Soutaicho to become party to what taicho and fukutaicho got up to while off-duty.

He knew Shuuhei would be able to sense him coming, his tainted reiatsu rolling before him like a dark, electrically charged cloud crackling with heavy pressure and anticipation and no little lust. They’d experimented with reiatsu-play, and Kensei had discovered his lover very adept with manipulating his spiritual pressure into long, tentacle-like strands that bound even the Vizard into utter immobility while their owner sent thin tendrils of the stuff to caress his balls and cock, and memorably, tease into his unprotected hole to stroke his prostate. Kensei didn’t think he’d ever come so hard in his life, and had even climaxed a second time, untouched, when Shuuhei had fucked his throat almost ruthlessly. Long and thick, Kensei had taken every inch and allowed his lover absolute control, and though both preferred their usual roles in bed, the Vizard thought that he’d be more than happy to reverse their positions every so often, when the mood struck—something he had never before contemplated with any of his previous lovers.

Reaching his rooms, he stopped and took a deep breath, shuddering as a wave of Shuuhei’s heavy, arousal-laced reiatsu washed over him, even with the reinforced barrier of the door separating them. The lube Urahara-san had given him had done its work; Shuuhei’s need had risen to a fever pitch if he could feel it out in the hall, and he was grateful that only he and Shuuhei had quarters in this part of the building. He was pretty sure that everyone in the division was aware of the relationship between taicho and fukutaicho, but possessive bastard that he was, Kensei was damned if any of them would get even a hint of just how sexy their lieutenant was behind closed doors. He already had to deal with infatuated idiots from other divisions fall all over themselves whenever Shuuhei was around, not to mention the lovesick students and raw recruits they encountered at the Academy; his lover was beautiful, yes, but he was also a smart, capable Shinigami who had taken down a number of Arrancars and Tousen during the Winter War and ran the 9th on his own when his former captain had revealed himself to be a traitor. That sort of thing, combined with his looks, attracted admirers like flies.

Kensei wanted to swat them all.

Opening the door brought a fresh, heavier wave of reiatsu, and he quickly stepped inside, closing and locking the door firmly behind him.

Shuuhei was laid out on the bed like Kensei had left him, writhing against his bonds, but he stilled as he sensed the Vizard’s presence, turning his head towards the door as much as he was able—which wasn’t very far. The strip of black silk Kensei had tied across his eyes was still firmly in place, a startling contrast against the paleness of his skin. Idly, Kensei wished he had used the new gag on Shuuhei as well, though not because he wished to silence his moans. That ripe, lush mouth would look so pretty stretched wide around the fake cock he’d bought on his last trip to the Living World. Shuuhei had lost his gag reflex ages ago, long before Kensei had returned to the Gotei, but he knew how much his boy loved to suck him off, and had though Shuuhei would appreciate being filled at both ends. He’d commissioned a very special toy for his lieutenant’s upcoming birthday, one that he had helped Kisuke design: a device that he could strap Shuuhei into featuring two fake cocks that would fill both greedy holes and thrust just like the real thing, allowing him to watch as his lover was forced to dizzying heights of pleasure over and over again. He couldn’t wait to see Shuuhei’s face when he saw it, or when Shuuhei was strapped into it for the very first time and forced to take the two thick rubber cocks again and again until Kensei let him out.

He only had a couple more weeks to wait till it would be ready, and he’d cleared both of their schedules and secured use of Ukitake-san’s estate for a long weekend of undisturbed pleasure.


He was snapped out of his pleasant thoughts by his boy moaning his name, and he shook off his daze to focus on the present—and the gorgeous man laid out before him, hungry and desperate and needing him.

“Shh—I’m here, Shuuhei.”

He swiftly crossed the room to the wide, low bed, already tugging off his haori and loosening his obi. Now that the paperwork was taken care of, he had Shuuhei all to himself for the next 48 hours, barring an emergencies, and even then his 3rd seat could take care of most issues that might arise. Shuuhei needed him, and he would do what he had to in order to settle his lover back into his own skin.

Haori and kisode fell to the floor, followed by his hakama. He hadn’t bothered with fundoshi, finding the undergarments far too restrictive after a century without. Naked now, he knelt up on his bed, between Shuuhei’s wide-spread legs, and smoothed his hands over his lover’s calves, up his thighs, then cupped the gorgeous swell of his ass, kneading the solid muscle for a moment—listening to Shuuhei’s breath hitch then shudder out on a long sigh—before he spread him open, gazing down at the flared base of the plug he’d pressed inside his boy’s body. Against the pale, unmarked skin that only Kensei was allowed to see, the wide black latex circle looked particularly obscene. It was much bigger than any of the other toys he normally used on his lover, keeping Shuuhei stretched and full so Kensei could simply remove it before sinking back inside that scorchingly tight channel and ride the sleek body bound beneath him hard and deep.

Leaning forward, he draped himself over his fukutaicho’s back, one arm sliding beneath Shuuhei’s hips, the other hand reaching up to unhook the chain connecting his collar to the headboard, then sat back on his heels, hauling the younger man back into his lap. Pressed enticingly close—not close enough, never close enough—he could feel Shuuhei trying not to squirm and failing miserably. Fine tremors shivered through the leaner man as he fought the itch that had to be maddening by now, and Kensei mouthed the tender skin just beneath the point of his jaw, nipping sharply before soothing away the hurt with his lips.

“Let go, Shuuhei. I got you. I won’t let you fall,” he murmured, nosing through soft dark hair and running his lips gently over the delicate curve of his lover’s ear.

For a long moment he thought Shuuhei was going to ignore the softly-spoken order, the trembling of his limbs intensifying as he struggled to maintain control, but Kensei tightened his hold, his arm shifting upwards to band across his lover’s chest, and he dropped the other hand down, between Shuuhei’s widespread legs, bound and held in place at the foot of the bed behind them. He knew that while Shuuhei was fairly flexible, and capable of being tied up in all sorts of interesting positions that other men could only dream about, he would have to either release the chains keeping him so prettily spread, or change his own position to take the strain off his lover’s slim hips and knees. But first, he needed Shuuhei to stop fighting the inevitable and let go for him.

He ghosted his fingertips beneath rich dark silk, down over the straining length of his lover’s cock, down over the silky smooth, freshly shaven skin of his balls, then bent his wrist so he could catch hold of the base of the plug, twisting it carefully and pressing it deeper at the same time.

That did it.

Shuuhei writhed in his arms, back arching as his hips ground down in the Vizard’s lap, riding the solid line of Kensei’s cock while desperate, whimpering mewls poured forth between bitten-red, swollen lips. The older man pumped the plug in and out slowly, dragging against the sucking hold of Shuuhei’s body so his rim stretched against the widest part of the toy, pressing it back in equally slowly before it could slid all the way out. He rutted against his lover’s ass, silky panties soft and tantalizing against his own straining cock, and held onto his own control by a thread.

“So good for me, Shuuhei, so fucking pretty. That’s it, let go—let it all go. I’ll take care of you, I promised you that I would,” he whispered against Shuuhei’s temple, hooking his fingers more firmly around the base of the plug and pulling it out completely, needing to be inside his lover.

Shuuhei tensed as the hard silicon slipped free of his body, then melted back against Kensei’s chest. The cum that had been plugged up inside his body began to trickle out, still slick and warm, and Kensei nudged Shuuhei off his lap, guiding him gently down to his stomach and dragging the ruined panties down his thighs. He shifted his weight, reaching back to unfasten the leather cuffs circling slim, strong ankles, and once both legs were free, he flipped Shuuhei to his back, lifting up long enough to pull the skimpy underwear off completely, then resettled himself between his lover’s legs.

Shuuhei allowed himself to be moved, breathless little whimpers spilling from his throat as he rocked his hips upward seeking more friction, and the Vizard had to press him back down to the bed, his other hand curling around his eager cock to guide it to the younger man’s hole. He sheathed himself in a single thrust, the plug and cum and extra lube having done their job, and Shuuhei moaned, long and low, head falling back against the pillows at the head of the bed, legs automatically lifting to wrap around his captain’s hips.

As much as he wanted to go slow, to tease Shuuhei, he himself was hovering just on the edge.

Lowering himself down to the lean frame beneath him, he snaked his arms under Shuuhei, one hand buried in the dark silk of his lover’s hair, the other curling around his shoulder to hold him in place as he thrust shallowly before beginning a slow, dirty grind.

Shuuhei wound his arms around the Vizard’s shoulders, rocking against him, and Kensei dipped his head, caught that sweet, lush mouth with his own, drinking down his moans and whimpers, and short, breathless cries. The younger man’s every wall had fallen, leaving him stripped bare, and Kensei knew that they had finally—finally—reached the place where his lover could let go completely, trusting that his captain—his lover—would catch him and put him back to rights.

Shuuhei came within the space of a dozen heartbeats, the slow grind of Kensei’s cock against his prostate shoving him over the precipice he’d been hovering on for the past hour. The tight clench of his lover’s body dragged Kensei over the edge with him, and the older man tore his mouth free to growl out a breathless curse as his vision whited out.

His orgasm seemed to go on for minutes, and when he came back to himself it was to see dark, hazy green eyes peering up at him while a tiny, satiated smile curled the corner of Shuuhei’s mouth upwards. The blindfold lay on the bed next to them, but Kensei didn’t reprimand him for taking it off. Instead, he leaned down to kiss his lover slowly, softly, lazy contentment curling through him. He eased out of Shuuhei, falling to one side and dragging his fukutaicho into his arms, nuzzling his nose into messy black hair.


He could feel Shuuhei’s smile widen against his shoulder, and the younger man tipped his face up so the Vizard could see it, a reward more precious than gold or jewels.

“Perfect. Thank you, Kensei,” he murmured, stretching up to plant a slow, sweet kiss against Kensei’s lips before resettling himself, his head tucking beneath his captain’s chin.

Kensei smiled up at the ceiling, not his usual manic grin but something infinitely softer, and tucked Shuuhei closer against him. In a minute he would get up for a washcloth to clean them both up, but for now he was content to bask in the knowledge that he had soothed his lover and given him what he needed.

Sometimes Shuuhei needed to be taken down, and trusted his captain to be the one to catch him and gentle the dark, jagged edges that life had left inside him. And Kensei, who had once thought pushing his fukutaicho away was his only course of action to keep him safe, would always be the one to give Shuuhei what he needed.


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