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Of Kings and Horses	By : SakikuTorakak Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3094 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or anything affiliated with it. And I don't make any money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Of Kings and Horses
- 1
Summary: Ichi/Shirosaki
Shirosaki decides to convince his King to switch roles for a bit - let Ichigo
be the horse…

Warnings: Bloodplay.
First time. Bondage. A bit of language.

A/N: Once again the
response to a kink meme - this time kinky-bleach.livejournal.com. The prompt is
bloodplay and bondage. Enjoy!

--

Of Kings and Horses

Huge skyscrapers reached into
the sky, each one as grey and monotonous as the next. Glass panes reflected the
occasional white cloud, and the ground was so far away as to be virtually
invisible.

It was a sight that wouldn’t
have been remiss in any of the cities that lined Japan’s East coast in one huge
megalopolis - except for one flaw: everything was sideways. The clouds moved up
and down, gravity dictated that a side of the skyscrapers was the ground, and
the wind blew in every-which direction.

Ichigo though wasn’t all that
concerned with the strange sight. For him, this was normal. He’d start to worry
when everything crumbled around him, but right now? Right now, he was more concerned
with the bleached-out version of himself staring at him from across the
skyscraper.

“On the outside, you might be
the King. But in here, in your fucked-up sidewise world where it’s only you and
me and Zangetsu…” Shirosaki licked his lips and stared at Ichigo hungrily.
“Your Horse might be a lot more cooperative if you occasionally let it have
some… freedoms in here.”

Ichigo crossed his arms in
front of his chest and gave his hollow a doubtful glance. “Really.”

The gleam in Shirosaki’s golden
eyes was carnal, pure hollow. “Why, certainly! And if you’re a good King, you
might even get something out of it, too.”

“Is that so.” Was that
Shirosaki’s way of demanding sex?

“But of course!” Shirosaki
slunk across the sideways skyscraper, loose-limbed and graceful like one of the
big cats on a hunt. All his predatory glee focused on the shinigami. “I think
you will enjoy it very much if we switch roles for some time… let your Horse
run free… command you…” Shirosaki had closed the distance until he was right in
Ichigo’s face, and his voice sunk to a hiss that bared sharp teeth in a feral
smirk. “Ride you…”

Taking care not to show how the
hollow’s presence was beginning to affect him, Ichigo raised an eyebrow and
retreated to his default scowl. “And of course, you won’t use that chance to
overthrow me. You know, there is a saying: give a finger, and they’ll an arm. You’re
practically the poster-child for that.”

Shirosaki’s smirk grew even
wider, and he raised a single digit to trail along the shinigami’s sleeve. “But
why would I want an arm when I could have… other things?” His gaze
trailed downwards suggestively. “I’m just a horse, after all.”

As incredible as it sounded,
Shirosaki really seemed to be after sex. Which, horribly scarring
Birds-and-Bees and Birds-and-Birds and Bees-and-Bees talks from his father
aside, Ichigo had absolutely no experience in. At least not with another person
- he was a teenager, and he was fairly well-acquainted with his hand.

He really didn’t know if he
wanted to do the real thing inside his mind with his alter ego. An alter ego
that definitely wasn’t benign most of the time.

“If you’re just a horse, you
wouldn’t feel the need to take over at every possible opportunity,” Ichigo
scowled.

“Any horse will rebel when its
needs aren’t seen to.”

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo
finally felt back on safe territory. Well, maybe not so much safe as familiar.
“And that’s exactly the problem. I’m not going to let you out so that you can
go on a rampage and kill my friends, or eat their souls.”

Apparently, he had said the
wrong thing. Shirosaki snarled, leering expression completely abandoned, and
pulled the sword from his back. He stabbed it deep enough into the skyscraper
that it remained standing on its own. Then, swordless and unarmed, he got so
close to Ichigo’s face that the shinigami could feel the other’s breath on his
skin.

“And you don’t listen! Did I
say anything about that earlier, huh? Did I say anything about killing or going
outside or eating souls?” A mock-pitying expression crossed the hollow’s features.
“Or is it rather that my King feels insecure enough in his position that even
the suggestion of giving me a small measure of control in your inner world scares
you out of your wits?”

“I’m not insecure!” Ichigo
retaliated reflexively. He regretted it almost immediately because it seemed to
be the exact response Shirosaki had been waiting for.

“You are not?” The hollow
looked like a cat with the proverbial canary. His grin was wide and challenging,
and he was suddenly in an excellent mood again. “Then prove it!” he
mocked. “Let your Horse take the lead for once. Let it take you where it
wants to go.”

“Only if you promise not to use
this as an opportunity to take over.” Ichigo glared mulishly, arms still
crossed in front of his face. He wasn’t happy that Shirosaki had maneuvered him
into this corner, but he couldn’t back out either.

And maybe, just maybe, he
didn’t want to back out. It definitely was a novel approach for
Shirosaki to deliberately unarm himself.

“Only if you promise not to say
anything about distrusting me until we’re done in here,” Shirosaki retorted.

“Until you try to get outside.”
Ichigo wasn’t going to budge on that, sword or no sword.

The hollow rolled his eyes and
repeated. “Until I try to get outside. Deal. Now can we get to the fun part?”

Ichigo scowled. “Whatever it is
someone like you calls ‘fun’.”

“Oh, but I think you like this
idea of ‘fun’, too,” Shirosaki licked his lips in anticipation. “But no
comments from the peanut gallery. You agreed to let me take the lead, so shut
up and be a good little horsie. Giddyup!”

Staring at him incredulously,
Ichigo didn’t move a single muscle. Instead, his jaw dropped to protest.

Shirosaki saw the look and
cackled in his high-pitched laughter. “Always wanted to say that. Well, if you
don’t want to giddyup, what about get down and strip? No? Then I’d better take
things into my own hands.”

Before Ichigo could react,
Shirosaki had pounced on him and toppled him over. If there had been any
warning Ichigo could have dodged, or at least firmed his stance. As it was, he
landed flat on his back with Zangetsu’s sheathed form knocking the wind out of
him and digging uncomfortably into his spine. He hadn’t even had the time yet
to recover his breath when Shirosaki knocked it out of him a second time by plunking
himself straight into Ichigo’s lap.

And then, he began to wriggle
in a very… distracting… manner…

“What the-“ was all Ichigo
managed before Shirosaki cut him off in a demented singsong.

“No, no, no-oh! Horses don’t
ta-alk!” His grin was so wide that it threatened to split his face. “Hands above
your head.”

Reluctantly, Ichigo complied,
glaring at the hollow all the while. Sure, he had said that he’d let Shirosaki
have free reign, but this definitely wasn’t what he had imagined. He shouldn’t
have agreed to such blatant manipulation from his hollow in the first place.

Still, he had promised. And he
was someone to always keep his word.

Shirosaki just smirked at his
glare and leaned forward, supporting his weight on Ichigo’s crossed wrists with
one hand, while the other tugged at Zangetsu’s hilt. Ichigo absolutely didn’t
like it that the hollow was touching his Zanpakutou - Shirosaki had his own,
still standing where the hollow had thrust it into the skyscraper - but Ichigo
liked it even less how Zangetsu was digging into his back.

Rolling to his side as much as
he could with Shirosaki holding him down, he took most of his weight off
Zangetsu. Instead of removing the sword though, Shirosaki just tugged at it
and, from the sound of it, undid the strip of cloth Zangetsu was wrapped in.

And then, he forced Ichigo to
roll back until he lay flat on Zangetsu once again. Zangetsu’s naked blade. The
only reason the sword hadn’t cut into his skin yet was the kosode Ichigo was
wearing, and that he was dealing with the flat of the blade. The cloth
prevented the cutting edge from reaching his skin, but Zangetsu was sharp
enough that any rash move was going to slice right through it.

Ichigo froze wide-eyed and
didn’t - couldn’t - protest physically when Shirosaki moved to tie his wrists
above his head. From the feel of it, the hollow was using the cloth of Zangetsu’s
wrapping that was still attached to the hilt. Ichigo couldn’t lift his arms
more than a few inches from the ground before the white ribbon stopped him.

Satisfied, Shirosaki leaned
back, and the change in weight sent sweatdrops hurling onto Ichigo’s brow. He
could feel the sword digging into his back, now clearer than ever. And he was
very uncomfortably aware that only a thin layer of cloth protected him from
Zangetsu’s sharp edge.

If this was his hollow’s idea
of ‘fun’, humiliating him and waiting until Ichigo sliced himself to ribbons on
his own blade, Ichigo was going to call this off right now.

Before he could say anything
though, Shirosaki caught his move to protest and frowned. “Relax, King. You
still don’t know that Zangetsu, your Zangetsu, isn’t going to let you
kill yourself? Sure, if you’re not careful you’re going to get a few nicks, but
he won’t hurt you seriously. You’re a shinigami, for fuck’s sake, you should be
able to withstand the pressure of your own blade!”

As if to emphasize Shirosaki’s
words, the bindings around Ichigo’s wrists tightened sharply once before
relaxing to their former state. Shirosaki’s hands hadn’t been anywhere near the
ribbon, so had Zangetsu done that on his own? The white cloth was part
of him after all.

Surprised, Ichigo pulled
slightly at his wrists, only to have the ribbon ensnare them a bit harder than
before.

He relaxed a bit. If Zangetsu
wasn’t entirely gone, the old man wasn’t going to let Shirosaki overwhelm him
completely.

So he exhaled slowly and stared
into those gold and black eyes with his own challenge. “Alright. Go ahead.”
Show me what you’ve got, went unsaid

Shirosaki scowled down at him
darkly and held his stare for several seconds. Then the hollow suddenly smirked,
his bipolar personality once again making a 180 degree turnaround. “So
magnanimous of you, King. Now be a good horsie and let me ride you properly!”

Grinding his ass into Ichigo’s
groin, Shirosaki hinted at exactly what kind of riding he was talking about,
and the sudden onslaught of pleasure took Ichigo’s breath away. He had never
felt anything like it; his self-gratification didn’t even come close. He never
realize that Shirosaki was undoing Ichigo’s obi and pushing his kosode open.
Only when Shirosaki untucked the white undershirt, the shitage, from Ichigo’s
hakama, did he take notice again.

The cold draft combined with
the hollow’s heated gaze along his bared chest, sent goosebumps prickling
across his skin. Ichigo wanted to squirm, but the constant presence of
Zangetsu’s threatening edge stopped him short. Somehow, that made things even
more intense.

Was Shirosaki really planning
to do what it looked like? Fuck Ichigo on top of his own Zanpakuto?

Slowly, Shirosaki started running
his hands over Ichigo’s chest, tracing his scars and muscles. He ran his
fingers across every square-inch of naked skin available, only stopped by the
way the fabric of the kosode bunched around Ichigo’s shoulders and the hakama drew
around Ichigo’s waist. The intensity the hollow dedicated to that task made
Ichigo quite uncomfortable. Had Shirosaki never seen an undressed human being?

The sound of their accelerated
breaths was ripped from their mouths by the sharp wind that always blew in
Ichigo’s inner world. It was cold and howled along the buildings, filling their
ears with its empty sound. But it was familiar, just like Zangetsu’s presence
at his back was familiar, and he decided to see where the hollow was going to
take this.

Soon though Ichigo’s eyes
narrowed when he felt a sharp, stinging sensation right below his left nipple. He
raised his head to look down on himself. Shirosaki’s thumbnail was dragging
across his flesh there and from the feel of it, splitting it apart. When the
hollow lifted his hand and it came away red, Ichigo knew that that was exactly
what had happened.

Had that little bastard
actually…? He growled low in his throat, ready to stop this right then and
there. There was no way he was going to let the hollow mutilate him, promise or
no promise.

Shirosaki looked at him,
sucking on the bloody digit. He talked around the thumb while he gyrated slowly
above Ichigo’s cock, sounding a bit distorted. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I
won’t take much. I only need a bit for some decorations. Make you pretty!”
The hollow laughed in his dual voice, still sucking on his thumb and throwing
Ichigo such a mocking gaze that he couldn’t help but snarl back,

“I’m not a girl!”

That wasn’t what he had meant
to say. He had wanted to say that Shirosaki could take his bloodlust and shove
it where the sun don’t shine. After this however…

The hollow’s laugh only got
more hysterical.

Ichigo scowled and closed his
eyes. He was not going to give Shirosaki the satisfaction of letting himself be
riled even further. He tugged against Zangetsu’s chord, but the sword was still
holding him tight. He relaxed a bit. That meant that he could be at least
reasonably sure that Shirosaki wasn’t going to do him any harm.

He was pretty sure though that
it didn’t mean that the hollow wasn’t going to push things to the limit.

Sure enough, Shirosaki’s
fingers found their way back to the wound and rubbed across it. Ichigo hadn’t
known that hollows could sweat, but the burn his fingers left clearly spoke of
salty residue coating Shirosaki’s skin. Ichigo bit his lip and gritted his
teeth, and wondered just why in the world it was more painful to have someone
finger such a small wound than getting run through by Kenpachi.

Alright, he might have
exaggerated a tiny bit. And what Shirosaki was doing with his hips was definitely
distracting him from the pain. He hadn’t known that simple frottage was so…
effective. If he didn’t have to be so careful of cutting himself on Zangetsu’s
naked blade, he would have started thrusting upwards a long time ago.

As it was, it was taking a lot
of concentration to keep his body’s reflexes down to slight twitches that
weren’t enough to make Zangetsu slice into his skin. And of course, the hollow
was seeing straight through him.

“Told you you were going to
like it!” Shirosaki cackled.

Ichigo’s eyes flew open to
glare at the pale face, but they shut almost immediately again upon seeing
blood-coated digits waving dangerously close to his face. Not a second later,
Shirosaki’s cold fingers drew a wet line down his forehead. It was placed just
left of the center and went from his hairline to the side of his nose. What the
hell was Shirosaki doing?

Once again the hollow laughed
his high-pitched laugh. “Don’t frown so much, Horsie, can’t paint you right
when your face is so wrinkled!”

Painting… Was Shirosaki drawing
things on Ichigo’s skin with his blood?

Apparently yes. Ichigo drew a
grimace. Only a hollow could find that so exciting.

Shirosaki’s fingers returned to
Ichigo’s wound, and then drew another stripe down his forehead - starting to
the left of the first, but going down to the root of his nose just like the
other. For a third stripe, the cut apparently didn’t give enough blood anymore,
so Shirosaki didn’t hesitate to create a second one on Ichigo’s other side. His
finger nails really were damnably sharp.

Ichigo hissed, but this one
didn’t sting as much as the first one. He didn’t know whether that was because
the salt was gone from Shirosaki’s finger, or whether the endorphins flowing
through him had dulled the pain. Shirosaki was still grinding down into him,
and Ichigo’s cock was getting more and more interested in the constant
friction. Ichigo didn’t know whether he should be disturbed at his own
reaction, or just go with the flow.

He did both.

Shirosaki hummed happily as he
dipped his fingers in Ichigo’s blood again and again, making more cuts whenever
necessary. The children’s song sounded all kinds of wrong in Shirosaki’s
high-pitched, dual voice, even more so while the hollow was cheerfully smearing
Ichigo’s blood across his skin.

Pretty much a scene like Ichigo
would have expected from a guro-anime. But in real life?

The drawing on Ichigo’s face
seemed to take shape, but Ichigo wasn’t sure why Shirosaki restricted himself
solely to the left side of his face. Three stripes ran down his forehead
towards his nose; two from his jawline to the center of his lip; and one
followed the lower curve of his eyesocket. It felt like he should know what it
was Shirosaki was painting, but he couldn’t quite make the connection.

The scent of blood was rising
from his skin, warmed by his body heat. Ichigo was quite familiar with it,
having been injured often enough to get used to it. He didn’t mind it too much.
However, he absolutely hated the way it tugged on his skin as it congealed. It felt
gross and grimy and made him want to wash it off.

Shirosaki though seemed happy
as a clam when he leaned back and slowly licked the rest of the blood off his
fingers. He admired his work critically for several seconds. Then he smiled down
at Ichigo, baring his teeth in a red smirk. “You look great, my little horsie!
Like a proper hollow horse, ready to be ridden into the ground!”

It hit Ichigo like lightening. Hollow
horse. The stripes were practically identical with the markings of his Hollow
Mask: a deep, bloody red that was painted down the left side of his face. What
the hell was Shirosaki insinuating? That Ichigo was just the same as him? Some
twisted kind of reasoning that this emphasized their temporary switch in roles?

He glared at the hollow. “Enjoy
it as long as it lasts, but don’t get too comfortable!”

“Oh, I’m very comfortable,”
Shirosaki giggled. He bent down until his face was only inches from Ichigo’s,
and the new position made their arousals rub against each other for the first
time. Of course Shirosaki was hard, too, and he let Ichigo feel it very
thoroughly. “But you don’t seem to be. Does my horsie want me to take care of
it?”

“Do whatever you want!” Ichigo
spat in his face. Not literally though, because he didn’t quite know what Shirosaki’s
reaction would be to that.

A devilish grin lit on the
hollow’s face. “I plan on it.”

Once again, Shirosaki leaned
back and Ichigo went rigid as the change in weight distribution made Zangetsu’s
edge uncomfortably present at his back.

Slowly, the hollow undid his own
belt until the white kosode fell open. But then, instead of taking it off,
Shirosaki got rid of his hakama, somehow slithering out of the pants without
ever really getting up. Ichigo was in a cold sweat by the time Shirosaki was done
with his acrobatics, trying to use his abysmal reiatsu control to harden the
skin on his back. It was made even harder by the way Shirosaki was wriggling
right on top of his groin.

Ichigo was biting his lower
lip, his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to face Shirosaki’s mocking,
lustful gaze. Somehow though, this only heightened his focus on his body. The
open folds of Shirosaki’s kosode brushed randomly across Ichigo’s exposed skin,
mostly his ribs and his waist. He became incredibly aware of just what
Shirosaki’s slight shifts in weight did to his body, and just how good it felt
to have that pressure right on top of his groin. And, of course, he was almost
hypersensitive to Zangetsu at his back.

He was clenching and
unclenching his fists rhythmically to relieve at least some of the tension
thrumming through his entire body. He hadn’t expected things to be so intense.
There hadn’t been any skin-on-skin contact yet, or any kind of foreplay. Unless
one considered getting blood smeared all over one’s face foreplay. And still
Ichigo was hard.

And then, Shirosaki undid the
strings to Ichigo’s hakama, shoved the fundoshi down, and grasped Ichigo’s
erection in a stranglehold. Ichigo couldn’t quite help the swear as his eyes
flew open and he convulsed upwards as far as his bonds allowed.

“Fuck,” he cursed, staring
wide-eyed but taking in Shirosaki’s grin only peripherally.

The hollow’s smirk grew only
wider and exposed more teeth. “That was the idea,” he cackled and squeezed
Ichigo’s erection.

Ichigo couldn’t help the groan
that escaped his throat as the hollow massaged Ichigo’s dick to full hardness.
Shirosaki’s own was bobbing happily in the air, already stiff and red. Seeing
so much color on the unusually pale body was somewhat disturbing. Same with the
fact that he was practically looking at his own dick, swollen and exposed as
the hollow maneuvered himself into place.

To Ichigo’s slight disbelief,
Shirosaki had really meant what he had said earlier: ride him. He was
straddling Ichigo’s groin, his ass hovering above Ichigo’s dick. Shirosaki held
tighter to Ichigo’s cock and, with a grin so wide and toothy that it really
wasn’t a grin anymore, sat down on it.

All air wooshed out of his
lungs. Ichigo could feel Shirosaki force his flesh in, more an act of brutality
than the kind of easy glide Ichigo dimly thought penetration should be. An
incredibly tight and squeezing sensation engulfed the head of his cock before
the friction got too much and Shirosaki stopped pushing with a grimace.

Both of them froze, and this
time it was Shirosaki’s turn to curse. “Motherfuckin’ shit! Can’t you be, like
smaller, King?”

And that was, Ichigo dimly
thought, why his father had insisted on not only giving him the Birds-and-Bees
talk, but also the Birds-and-Birds talk. That he didn’t get himself stuck in
such an embarrassing situation.

Dragging in a ragged breath,
Ichigo snarked back. “I’m not the goddamn idiot tryin’ to shove a dick up my
ass without any prep at all! Ever heard of lube?”

“And where’m I supposed ter get
lube from, yer bastard? Now shaddup ‘n lemme do my thing!” Shirosaki snarled
and twitched his hips slightly. He had his hands planed firmly on Ichigo’s
chest, not heeding the cuts he had made there earlier. His head was bowed, and
he was panting harshly.

Ichigo hissed and gritted his
teeth, caught between an eerie sensation of pain and burn and too
tight, and a coiling so deep that it might be pleasure but hadn’t burst
through yet. Shirosaki didn’t make things easier by starting to wriggle,
lifting himself a bit before pushing down a bit further. After an
indeterminable amount of time, Shirosaki’s ass finally sat completely on
Ichigo’s groin.

Both of them were soaked with
sweat and panting as harshly as if they had just fought Kempachi. Shirosaki was
hunched forward slightly, nails digging into Ichigo’s skin, and Ichigo was
trembling all over his body from the strain of holding still beneath the dual
sensation.

Slowly though, Shirosaki
straightened and lifted his hands from Ichigo’s skin. More blood was decorating
the hollow’s fingers, and he held Ichigo’s gaze as he slowly licked them clean.
“You taste good, King.”

Ichigo noticed the fine tremors
over his hollow’s skin, and he didn’t even want to imagine how painful it had
been for the other. To his surprise though, Shirosaki’s dick hadn’t really
softened. Instead, it was visibly hardening under his gaze while Shirosaki kept
watching him and licking his fingers.

Then, so slowly that Ichigo
first thought that it was only his imagination, Shirosaki lifted himself purely
with the strength of his thighs that he had planted to both sides of Ichigo’s
hips.

Ichigo let his head thump
backwards, unable to hold it up with the sudden influx of pleasure. And yes, it
was indeed pleasure. A pleasure so much more violent and primal than the
pleasure simply gained from jerking off, that he first hadn’t even recognized
it as pleasure.

But now that his body had
identified the sensation for him, it took all of his strength not to start
bucking up mindlessly into Shirosaki. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his
teeth, and he still felt like he had gotten sucker-punched when Shirosaki
reversed directions just before Ichigo’s head slipped out of his hole.

The second climb down was
easier, and the third even more. And then, Shirosaki really started and both
Ichigo’s mind and breath were blown away.

The world narrowed to that
steady in and out and Shirosaki’s fingers absentmindedly tracing
patterns in the blood on Ichigo’s chest. Every now and then, the hollow used a
fingernail to reopen clotting wounds, but the sharp sting only served to draw a
pleasured groan from Ichigo’s throat.

Shirosaki wasn’t much better
off by now, moaning and sucking his blood-covered fingers continuously. His
cock was leaking and spreading precum across Ichigo’s stomach, purplish at the
tip. Shirosaki didn’t touch himself though, for whatever reason. Ichigo didn’t
care. He only cared that the hollow kept bouncing up and down with increasing
vigor.

Ichigo felt himself getting
closer and closer, responding with a primal disregard for everything but the
tight squeeze around his dick. It was violent. It was scary. It was fucking
exhilarating.

He was wriggling and bucking in
tiny, aborted moves now, the threat of the blade digging into his back suddenly
as arousing as the hollow fucking himself on Ichigo’s dick. He pulled against
his bindings, not so much to get free but to simply do something with the
energy coiling in his body. And Zangetsu responded, tightening the white ribbon
and tugging his crossed wrists down sharply. Ichigo moaned, whined, and planted
his feet firmly against the ground to have some leverage to thrust upwards.

The slightly changed angle
seemed to have hit something, because suddenly Shirosaki convulsed on top of
him and reflexively dug his fingers into Ichigo’s already sore chest.

“Shit, King,” the hollow gasped
hoarsely, “do that again!”

Ichigo did it again, and
Shirosaki met him viciously. Not heeding the increasingly painful ache in his
shoulders, Ichigo continued trusting upwards as best as he could, and Shirosaki
seemed to appreciate it. The muscles inside his ass clenched around Ichigo’s
dick, and the tight fit got even tighter.

Almost before Ichigo realized
it, Shirosaki descended into the jerky convulsions of orgasm, blowing his load
all over Ichigo’s chest with a long, drawn-out groan. Ichigo did feel it though
when the spunk started to burn in his wounds, and that new pain ripped an
answering moan from his throat. His dick was nearly being squeezed off; but
what finally sent him over the edge was the sight of his hollow hunched over
him in a grimace of mind-blowing pleasure.

He exploded.

As he rode out the waves of his
orgasm, Shirosaki kept milking him with his ass until Ichigo relaxed and
shuddered only occasionally. Shirosaki was still sitting on him when he finally
came back, swirling a finger in the mess of blood and semen on Ichigo’s chest.
Ichigo was panting, staring into the gradually returning smirk of his hollow.
Very slowly, almost hypnotizing, Shirosaki lifted that finger from Ichigo’s
chest to his blue mouth and sucked on it. His eyes closed in an ecstatic
expression that had Ichigo’s spent dick twitch in a vain attempt to squeeze out
a last bit of spunk.

With a wet plop the finger
withdrew and Shirosaki smirked down at him. “Mmmmh, yes, you do indeed make a
good Hollow Horse, King. Very tasty. I think I’m going to clean you up after
all before you go back to being King.”

It didn’t take much for
Ichigo’s limp dick to slip out of Shirosaki’s hole, and the hollow winced only
a little bit at the sting of it. Then Shirosaki knelt next to him and started
lapping at the mess on Ichigo’s stomach like a dog. Or a cat. Or something.
Ichigo felt too… mellow to really care, and so he neither grimaced nor rose to
the occasion for a repeat performance.

When the bonds around his
wrists finally loosened, he was completely clean again. Even his face, which
had drawn some small protest from him. Shirosaki though hadn’t cared and merely
held him in place while he licked off the dried blood from his forehead, his
jaw, his cheekbone.

By the time the hollow was
done, Ichigo’s arms had almost fallen asleep. He sat up slowly and massaged his
wrists, meeting Shirosaki’s satisfied grin on the same eye-level for the first
time ever since this little usurpation had started.

It appeared that the hollow had
really only been after sex and nothing else. And the sex had been good indeed.
Better than anything Ichigo could have imagined. Even if it definitely had been
on the far side of kinky.

But did Shirosaki really have
no other motifs?

He frowned a bit at the
hollow’s crouched and still semi-nude form, and then got up to refasten his own
clothes.

Shirosaki got up together with
him, but instead of redressing himself, the hollow merely kept watching him.
Not knowing what to say, Ichigo merely nodded at the hollow and then left his
inner world. The last he saw of his alter ego was a sly and satisfied twist
playing around Shirosaki’s lips.

Both of them knew he’d
eventually be back.

--

A/N: Well, so how’d you
like it? I’m not so sure about Ichigo and his acceptance of Shirosaki’s
advances. Then again, I couldn’t really find another way to get them to have
sex - kinky sex at that. It would be great if you could tell me your
opinion!

Sakiku
- 1
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Of Kings and Horses