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The Limits of Denial	By : gypsygrrl420 Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5607 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and I do not make any money from these writings. I just like to play with the characters

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
Warnings: Angst, Bondage, Fluff, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Gags, Marking, Biting, Talk of Face Fucking, Mentions of Anal Sex. If I forgot anything, my apologies.

A/N: This is it everyone, the final chapter of Limits of Denial. I know it’s been a long road, and I thank everyone who had kept reading and encouraging me throughout the years. I hope you all enjoy this last installment, and the culmination of Kensei and Shuuhei’s story. Though I left room for some side pieces, at the moment I am declaring this finished. I don’t know if I will ever write anything more in this series, so I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. Again, thank you everyone, and I hope you enjoy. As always, comments are always appreciated.

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It had been a long time since Kensei had taken anyone to his bed, outside the occasional no-strings night with Lisa or Shinji and on rare occasions, Rose. After he and the others had been forced into hiding, there had been a handful of casual affairs with people he’d meet in a bar or at a club, lasting at most a few weeks before things cooled off and Kensei would move on. He didn’t have a particular type either, though he recalled that many of them had slim builds and they all were pretty in their own way.

None of them could handle a candle to Shuuhei.

His body was mapped with scars he’d refused to have healed, a permanent reminder of battles won and lost, of his status as a warrior. The stretches of skin between the scars, however, was pale gold and smooth as silk, just begging to be touched and tasted.

Kensei took his time freeing Shuuhei from the ropes wound about torso and limbs, drawing out the pleasure of finally having that naked form under his hands, turning each touch into a lingering caress as he coaxed the knots undone with patience he didn’t usually display. He could have used Tachikaze to cut away the dark green silken cords, but had wanted the pleasure of unwrapping Shuuhei like a present. Yeah, he was more than a little pissed off that his former companions had done this to Shuuhei; not just that they had stripped him naked and tied him up—though he was pretty furious about that too, possessive, jealous bastard that he was—but because he’d seen the misery and humiliation in his fukutaicho’s face when he’d walked into the room and discovered Shuuhei in such a state.

The kid had nearly strangled himself trying to get free, and when he saw Lisa—and he knew Lisa’s handiwork, having been trussed up by her more than once—well, she’d be lucky if he left her in pieces big enough to patch back together. What the hell had she been thinking, binding Shuuhei with ties circling his neck and then leaving him by himself? Bad enough she had bound him at all, but she’d never simply ignored the basic principles of Safe, Sane, and Consensual before, and to do so to Shuuhei of all people? His fukutaicho would have never consented to any of this, and as each skein of rope loosened, the skin beneath showed vivid with the red-violet marks of developing bruises. Simple murder would be too quick.

“I’m sorry, taicho.” Shuuhei’s voice, when he spoke, was raspier than usual, and Kensei’s eyes went to the gag he’d tossed aside before flicking up to his fukutaicho’s face, hoping his own face wasn’t as red as it felt. Shuuhei’s mouth stretched wide around a fake rubber cock would forever be burned into his brain as one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen; it made him wonder how it would feel stretched around his own length, if he could take Kensei down to the hilt, if he would let Kensei fuck his throat and paint his face with his seed.

Shuuhei’s expression, however, banished those mental images for the moment. The kid looked miserable, and guilty, and on the verge of tears.

Abandoning the ropes for a moment, he cupped Shuuhei’s face between his palms and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of the younger man’s mouth, stroking his thumb over one cheek.

“Shuuhei. You’re not the one who should be apologizing here. I was the idiot who sent you here, all because I was too fucking stubborn to admit that I wanted you. After I pulled my head outta my ass and admitted that you’re all I could think about, all I ever wanted since I saw you on the battlefield during the War, I came here to see if there might be a chance for something between us, or if I’d messing things up beyond redemption. If you don’t want this, and I mean really want this, I will cut you loose, escort you back to the shouten, and have Urahara open a Senkaimon back to Soul Society for you to return. And if you don’t want me as your taicho anymore, I will make sure you get transferred to any division you want,” he said, drawing away so he could speak. He’d planned on taking things slow, but his former companions had screwed that up when they’d decided to take action themselves, and now it was time to lay his cards out on the table. He knew that despite the desire Shuuhei felt for him, today’s events—along with Kensei’s admission that he had sent him away on a pretense because he was too blockheaded to admit that he wanted Shuuhei as more than his lieutenant—and Shuuhei’s own insecurities might be too much for the younger man to overcome. He would honor whatever decision Shuuhei chose to make, even if it killed him.

Shuuhei didn’t answer right away, long lashes lowering to veil his eyes, and when he gently pulled away from Kensei’s touch, a vast pit of aching loss opened inside him. He hadn’t expected Shuuhei’s rejection to hurt quite so much, but once again he’d underestimated how deeply the younger man had burrowed under his skin. He nodded once, blew out a shaky breath.

“Okay. Okay,” he said, mostly to himself, and if his voice sounded as hoarse as Shuuhei’s, well, it was difficult to speak around the lump in his throat.

“Taicho, I’m not—I don’t—I can’t think when you’re touching me.” There was faintest hint of amusement lacing Shuuhei’s voice when he spoke, but when Kensei looked back up at him, he’d already schooled his expression so that it gave away nothing of what he was thinking. The older man waited, knowing that he couldn’t rush Shuuhei into speaking what was on his mind, and after a moment or two, the tension radiating through Shuuhei’s lean form went out of him. He slumped, as best as he could while his torso and arms were still bound in intricate loops of rope, and Kensei reached out without thinking, sliding his fingers beneath the cord crossing the front of his throat, his other hand unsheathing Tachikaze at his hip. Much to his surprise, Shuuhei jerked away, aiming a glower up at him through the messy tangle of his hair.

“Don’t.”

Kensei sighed, reaching out and hauling him closer.

“She shouldn’t have put any ties around your neck, kid. Not when she wasn’t going to be here to make sure you didn’t strangle yourself while trying to get loose. Just let me cut the rope and I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself after,” he explained, drawing on a well of patience that he only seemed to have in relation to his vice-captain. Shuuhei scowled at him, trying to scoot out of reach.

“I don’t want you to cut them off.” A blush heated his face, edging along sharp cheekbones and making his eyes seem even greener than they were normally. “I don’t want to be transferred to another division. You’re the only taicho I have ever wanted, even before I got accepted into the Academy. I spent the past week thinking that you wanted to replace me as your fukutaicho, and it hurt—but I would have left without arguing. I know serving under Tousen has made me weak in so many ways, and that a lot of people think that he only promoted me to second seat because he wanted a fukutaicho who would be completely beholden to him—and they would be right, because I am weak, and I did owe everything to him—and I wouldn’t have blamed you for wanting someone else serving under you. But then you said I was the only fukutaicho you wanted, and I was so fucking happy, and didn’t want to fuck things up by letting you know that I was completely in love with you, that you wouldn’t want that from me, and that you deserved better than someone like me—”

Kensei couldn’t help himself.

He sealed his mouth over Shuuhei’s, swallowing down the brat’s words before he could spill any more self-deprecation into the air between them. His kiss, unlike the one he’d pressed to the corner of Shuuhei’s lips a few moments earlier, or even the one before that, their first, was ruthless, devouring the younger man’s mouth with a hunger that had been simmering inside him for months. One hand clenched in ink-dark hair, yanking Shuuhei’s head back on the long column of his neck to bare it to his tongue and teeth; the cord around Shuuhei’s throat bit into tender flesh, not enough to cut off his air completely, just enough to make him light-headed and set the endorphins singing in his blood. He could hear Shuuhei panting breathlessly above his bent head, but the younger man was arching into his touch as much at his bindings allowed, a litany of ‘pleasepleaseplease’ spilling from kiss-swollen lips as Kensei licked and nipped and mapped out the line of throat and collarbone offered up to his hungry mouth.

He knew he should slow down, that Shuuhei wasn’t in a position to be making an informed decision; he remembered how fucking good the ropes could feel, how easy it was to just let go and let someone else take control, to trust that they wouldn’t let you fall too far, too deep, too fast. His sessions with Lisa had been borne of her need to assert control when the proverbial rug had been yanked out from under all their feet; he’d given her that, because he could, because they had been friends, before, and it was part of his makeup to take care of the people in his life, whenever they needed it. It had cost him nothing to give himself over to her, and he’d enjoyed their play. She’d been an attentive and responsible Domme, more interested in giving pleasure than pain or humiliation, and as such, she had always been careful of him when he was subbing for her. What she had done to Shuuhei violated every rule she had drummed into Kensei’s head during their time together.

He wasn’t sure what position Shuuhei had been in when Lisa and the others had left him bound and struggling at the center of his bed; when he’d arrived Shuuhei had been on his knees, chest flat against the mattress, slowly strangling himself as he fought against his bindings. The dark green cord had been looped twice around his neck, the ends pulled down and forming part of the tie that bound Shuuhei’s wrists to his elbows; by the state of the rucked-up quilt and scattered pillows, Kensei theorized that Lisa—with the help of the others to hold him still—had originally bound him on his knees, up by the head of the bed, probably with several pillows behind him to prop him up at an angle. In his struggles, he’d most likely tipped over, and had been unable to right himself. The change in position had pulled the ropes tight across his body, and as Lisa had bound his ankles to the ties wrapping his forearms, which had been knotted into the cord around his throat, the more he fought them, the tighter they pulled.

Kensei had only managed to untie the ropes keeping Shuuhei’s long legs secured against his torso before he’d asked his question; the wraps binding thigh to calf and ankle to forearm were still in place, as were the ropes around his torso and neck. He’d need to turn him on his side or front to unfasten the rest, or cut the entire thing apart with Tachikaze. As much as he loved seeing Shuuhei bound so prettily, the younger man was in no state to consent to anything at the moment. The ropes had to go, even if Shuuhei had changed his mind about Kensei freeing him.

Reluctantly pulling away—earning a near-whine of disapproval from the younger man—he unsheathed Tachikaze and slipped the blade between Shuuhei’s skin and the silken cord, his zanpakutou slicing easily through the ropes wrapped around his legs. Shuuhei jerked, dragging Kensei’s attention away from his task, and he looked up to see his fukutaicho frowning at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, bluntly, and Shuuhei’s frown deepened.

“You’re cutting Yadomaru-san’s rope. Won’t she get upset?”

Kensei snorted. This kid was going to be the death of him. “First of all, I don’t care if Lisa gets upset. Second of all, they’re not hers—they’re mine.”

“What?”

Kensei sighed, looked back down as he cut cleanly through the rope securing Shuuhei’s other leg, laying Tachi aside on the bed so he could help Shuuhei straighten his freed limbs. Dark bruises were already blooming against the pale skin, and he scowled down at the sight even as he rubbed each briskly to help get the blood flowing again.

“The rope is mine. I—,” he paused, unsure how to tell Shuuhei that he’d bought the stuff because it matched his eyes, that he’d let himself fantasize about Shuuhei before he’d realized who he was, before he’d become his captain and Kensei had decided that the kid was off-limits, even in fantasies. But looking into those dark, feline eyes staring back at him, he knew that Shuuhei deserved to know the truth. “I bought it right after the War, before the Old Man asked me to come back as captain of your division and I told myself I couldn’t have you.”

It was hard, trying to find words for what he had felt, what he had wanted, especially since he had only just come to terms with his feelings for Hisagi Shuuhei a few days ago. He was no good with words, preferring his actions to speak for him, but in this instance, words were necessary. His fukutaicho was smart, but like Shinji had commented earlier, breathtakingly oblivious when it came to certain things.

“This,” he picked up a severed hank of rope, running it through his fingers in an unmistakable caress, “is not something I do lightly, or with a casual partner.”

He laid the rope aside with care, then smoothed his emptied hand along the long stretch of golden skin still crisscrossed with dark green cord, cupping Shuuhei’s sharp-angled jaw in the cradle of his palm as he settled above the younger man, making sure to keep most of his weight off his fukutaicho’s still bound figure.

“Then you and Yadomaru-san—” Shuuhei began, and Kensei shook his head.

“Lisa has only ever been a friend, though she was the one who introduced me to the BDSM lifestyle.” Shuuhei’s eyes shuttered at the admission, and Kensei hurriedly continued. “Not like that, Shuuhei. I was the sub in our sessions, because she needed to feel in control. When we fled Soul Society, we all had to find ways to cope with the loss of our former lives, and Lisa was hit especially hard. She hadn’t just lost her place as a fukutaicho, she lost her lover and a child she had looked at as her own. As her friend, I couldn’t just stand by and watch her self-destruct, not when I could do something to help.”

Shuuhei’s closed-off expression eased. “So you and Yadomaru-san are just friends.”

Kensei dipped his head to steal a soft, slow kiss, fighting the urge to make it deeper, and levered himself back up to his knees, retrieving Tachikaze from the rumpled covers so he could finish freeing his fukutaicho. “I thought we were. But after she did this—,” he slid his fingers beneath the lower edge of the rope-harness, lifting it away from Shuuhei’s skin and slipping Tachi’s blade beneath to cut it, “She’s at the top of my shit list. The others are all idiots, and I’ll be having words with them for their role in what they did today, but Lisa knows better. Not just because I’m closest to her, and she knows I hate people interfering in my business—kami only knows they’ve all learned that lesson over the past century we were stuck here—but because she’s a Domme, and there are certain rules you just don’t break.”

As cold steel parted silk cord, reddened, irritated skin was bared to Kensei’s eyes, fanning the flames of his anger. Shuuhei could have been seriously injured by Lisa’s callousness disregard for safety.

Shuuhei had lowered his gaze to watch him cut away the ropes, veiling his expression once more with the lacey fan of his eyelashes, but something flashed across his face, too quickly for Kensei to interpret.

“She didn’t hurt me, taicho,” he said quietly, and the older man had to pause and draw in a steadying breath, fighting a need to go hunt Lisa down and throttle her immediately, instead of waiting until he had taken care of Shuuhei.

“She didn’t have your consent to do this to you. She bound you in a position that should never be used on an inexperienced partner, and she left you here alone. You were strangling when I came in, Shuuhei, and I shudder to think about what could have happened if I hadn’t gotten here when I did. How is that ‘not hurting’ you?” he asked. He hooked his fingers under the cord wrapped around Shuuhei’s neck, but there wasn’t enough give to slip Tachikaze’s blade underneath. Laying his zanpakutou aside once more, he met Shuuhei’s gaze squarely. “I need to turn you over so I can cut the rest away. It’s not going to be comfortable, and you need to keep your legs and arms as still as possible, or you’ll start choking yourself again. Okay?”

Kensei waited for a nod, but Shuuhei just frowned at him.

“She told me to relax and not struggle, taicho, and I didn’t listen,” the younger man said, and Kensei lifted a brow. Unbelievable. The kid was actually defending Lisa, even after all this. He didn’t know whether he should be proud of the kid for being so magnanimous, or irritated at his stubbornness.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not the one at fault here,” he said shortly, eyeing his lieutenant’s position and calculating how best to roll him over without having the remaining rope tighten around his throat again. After a half-second, he scooted backwards till he cleared Shuuhei’s legs, then slipped off the side of the bed for better leverage. Shuuhei wasn’t particularly heavy, but he was all solid, lean muscle, and still awkwardly bound. “I’m going to roll you over, okay? Don’t tense up, and don’t try to help. I got you.”

Shuuhei bit his lip, brow creasing in a frown—the kid was going to get permanent wrinkles with all the frowning he was doing—but he nodded hesitantly, allowing his body to relax back against the bed, closing his eyes. The silver-haired taicho of the 9^th division gazed down at his fukutaicho, laid out before him wrapped in silk rope as green as his eyes, all sleek golden skin and lean limbs on display in open invitation, and the need to lay claim to the younger man, body and soul, swelled huge and hot inside him, stealing his breath.

It was hard to stay angry at his former companions, not when they had given him this.

That dark head tilted, brilliant green iris just barely visible between the dark fan of eyelashes as Shuuhei peered up at him curiously, recalling Kensei to his task. He could indulge later, once Shuuhei was freed and claimed; he was certain that a well-loved and satiated Shuuhei would be just as enticing as he was in the burgeoning stages of arousal.

“Taicho, you’re staring.” Green eyes opened fully, the color deeper and closer to emerald than their usual gray-green shade, made even greener by the contrasting flush that had edged along sharp cheekbones.

“You’re beautiful.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, feeling his own face heat at the blunt admission, and for a long moment, Shuuhei could only stare up at him in surprise. The blush started from his chest and rose quickly to his throat and face, and Kensei was pretty sure his own face was as pink as Shuuhei’s.

“Taicho, I thought you were untying me,” Shuuhei said finally, a tiny smile curling the edges of his mouth temptingly. Kensei wanted to taste that smile.

Shaking off his reverie, he leaned down and slid his hands beneath the younger man. “Stay still, okay?”

“Yes, taicho.”

Kensei bit back a smile at the dryness of his lieutenant’s tone. Though Shuuhei’s expression was perfectly neutral, the gleam in his dark eyes gave him away. Okay, so maybe he was repeating himself unnecessarily.

“Brat,” he muttered, and was rewarded with a smile—a real smile, not one of those infinitesimal little quirks of his lips that were there and gone so fast that Kensei would miss it if he wasn’t paying attention. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of that crooked grin, and he closed his eyes and drew in a shaking breath. The kid was going to be the death of him.

“The ropes, taicho?” Shuuhei asked, and Kensei opened his eyes, recalled to his task.

Firming his grip on the younger man’s far leg and shoulder, he swiftly flipped him over, then caught hold of one ankle when he saw the long muscles in his thigh flex. “Arch your back—that’ll take some of the pressure off your throat.”

He was treated to a scowl and a glare through a tangled curtain of hair. “Just how flexible do you think I am, taicho?”

He shifted his grip from ankle to beneath Shuuhei’s thighs, exerting just enough pressure that the younger man had no choice but to follow his instruction, and was rewarded this time with a snarled curse—but at least his voice had lost its previous breathy quality.

“I’ve seen you train, Shuuhei. You’re plenty flexible when you need to be,” he said, stifling his grin when the kid cursed at him again, roundly, and with a truly impressive degree of creativity. Hell, his fukutaicho could give members of the 11^th lessons. But as entertaining as he found his lieutenant’s display of temper and surprising grasp of invective, he had more pressing matters to attend to. The younger man’s hands had turned an alarming dusky color, his earlier struggles having tightened the cords binding wrist to opposite elbow, and when Kensei touched his fingers, he found them several degrees cooler than they should be.

Amusement vanishing, he reached for Tachikaze with the hand not holding Shuuhei’s legs, patting among the covers blindly for his unsealed zanpakutou—just managing to avoid nicking his fingers with the lethally sharp blade when his searching hand found it laying close to Shuuhei’s far hip. Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, he tightened his grip on the younger man’s thighs.

“Shuuhei, I need you to hold this position until I get your ankles free. If you try to relax, you’re going to pull the rope too tight, and I won’t be able to cut them without cutting you as well. Can you do that for me?”

Shuuhei’s cursing had tapered off when Kensei had moved, his breaths coming in ragged pants that sounded uncomfortably close to muffled sobs, but the Vizard couldn’t tell if he was actually crying or just exhausted by the entire ordeal. A niggling voice that didn’t sound like Tachikaze or his Hollow whispered that this was entirely his own fault, and that he shouldn’t be surprised if his fukutaicho wanted nothing to do with him once he was freed. Ruthlessly suppressing the voice, he focused on Shuuhei.

“Okay.”

The younger man’s voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper, and Kensei reluctantly slipped his supporting arm out from beneath Shuuhei’s folded legs, hand hovering for a moment to make sure he didn’t relax his position. The long muscles in his thighs quivered, but his legs didn’t move. Kensei worked his fingers between Shuuhei’s ankle and the rope biting into his flesh, grimacing when he saw the deep indentations in the skin beneath the cord, and carefully worked the tip of Tachi’s blade into the narrow space he’d created. The fibers of the rope parted one strand at a time—not enough room between braided silk and vulnerable skin for a quick, clean slice like he’d used on the rest of the rope—but after a few moments the last thread separated at the kiss of cold steel, and one leg was free. Kensei caught his leg before Shuuhei could lower it.

“Not yet. Let me get the other one first, then you can relax.”

It earned him a flash of a glare through the inky tangles of his hair, but his fukutaicho obeyed.

Freeing the other ankle took a fraction longer, as the tension on the rope was now centered unevenly, but soon enough the last strand was cut, and both legs were free. Kensei helped guide them both down to the bed, but held off on massaging them, wanting to wait until the rest of Shuuhei was free.

Cutting away the ropes wrapping his wrists and forearms took less time than he had been expecting; freeing Shuuhei’s ankles had taken the tension off the cords binding his arms, creating enough slack that Kensei was able to make quick work of the ties around his forearms, and though the rope had bit deep into his wrists, the loops securing them to his elbows weren’t nearly as tight. Tachikaze cut easily through the ties, and the rope around Shuuhei’s wrists fell slack. The cord wrapped around the younger man’s neck had been secured to his bound forearms; freeing his arms had taken the tension off the rope around his throat. Kensei set his zanpakutou aside and worked at the remaining tie with his fingers, and immediately saw that the knot had slipped, allowing the silk cord to tighten around Shuuhei’s neck—which it hadn’t been meant to do. Unraveling the knot with shaking hands—an accident, Shuuhei nearly strangling had been an accident—revealed a flaw in the rope itself, which had allowed the knot to slide and hitch into a noose instead of the anchor it was meant to form. It didn’t excuse Lisa’s gross negligence, but at least he knew she hadn’t deliberately bound Shuuhei with a fucking slipknot around his neck.

The knot came free, and he unwound the cord from Shuuhei’s throat, tossing it aside. The younger man sighed deeply, seeming to melt into the mattress. Eyes intent on his fukutaicho’s face—what he could see of it through the messy curtain of his hair—he lifting a gloved hand to his mouth, stripping the soft leather off with his teeth. A single green eye watched him, the iris darkening with interest, and Shuuhei turned his head on the pillow beneath his cheek, blowing irritably at his tangled hair in an attempt to get it out of his face, huffing when the long strands fell back across his eyes. Tossing his first glove aside, Kensei stripped off the second and sent it to join its mate, uncaring where they had fallen, his gaze never leaving Shuuhei’s.

Though his arms were free, his lieutenant hadn’t moved them from the position in which they’d been bound. The silver-haired man reached down and gently unfolded each arm, maneuvering them down to Shuuhei’s sides to the accompaniment of a wince and a hiss. Kneeling up on the mattress beside Shuuhei’s hip, then shifting to straddle the younger man’s thighs, he looked over his fukutaicho’s sprawled out form with critical eyes, allowing his hands to rest lightly just above the other’s narrow hips. Bruises showed vivid and dark against pale skin, the most prominent curling around wrists and lower arms, the back of his neck through the spill of midnight hair, and just below each of Kensei’s hands. His back was relatively unmarked save for a few scars along his shoulder that were white with age; the only other mark marring the smooth skin was a palm-length scar just beside his spine at the center of his back, still showing angry red of a wound only recently healed.

Kensei traced the injury with blunt, gentle fingers. A fraction to the right, and it would have severed the spine—

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the scar, closing his eyes as he imaged the sword plunging through Shuuhei’s belly at an upward angle, all-too easily picturing the shock and betrayal on the young lieutenant’s face at the moment Tousen’s zanpakutou had pierced his body. Kensei had an almost identical scar, though Tousen had stabbed him in the back. If he laid himself down atop his fukutaicho, the scar on his chest would line up with the one beneath his lips.

“Taicho—”

Kensei’s lips quirked up in a faint smile, though he didn’t lift his head. “Don’t you think it’s time you start calling me by name, Shuuhei?”

He caressed the length of the scar with his mouth, letting his teeth graze the raised, slick tissue gently, earning a soft, throaty moan from the younger man. He’d endured so much, in such a short time—Shuuhei’s strength was such an inherent part of who he was, a facet of his being that set Kensei’s blood to simmering in his veins, his heart aching with a mixture of pride and joy and no little sorrow for all that his fukutaicho had endured.

“Tai—Kensei!”

The sound of his name cried out in that rasping, broken voice had his hands clenching tight on narrow hips, a shudder of pleasure shivering down his spine.

His mouth moved lower, his body sliding down to rest between eagerly parted thighs. He kept his touch purposefully light, smoothing over soft skin even as his lips tasted bounty of flesh offered up to him. A deep, rumbling groan vibrated in his chest as his hands spread over the perfect rise of Shuuhei’s ass, muscled and tight and only faintly marked by the ropes. His mouth traced each reddened line, thumbs stroking down the center, spreading him open. Shuuhei’s hips rose sharply at the touch, a quiet, muffled sob of pleasure nearly lost to the pillows as the younger man buried his face into downy softness to stifle the sounds.

“I want to hear you, Shuuhei,” he growled, voice dark and thick with erotic threat, even as he dipped his head once more, hands holding Shuuhei firmly open, and licked a hot stripe over the tightly furled opening he found there, pink and untouched and all his now.

Shuuhei wailed, head tossing back to cry out his shocked pleasure. His hands were clenched in the bedding, legs spreading in an unconscious demand for more, and Kensei caught a glimpse of wide, almost feral eyes peering back at him over one shoulder before his lover closed his eyes and bowed his head, canting his hips in a wordless plea for more.

Kensei gave it to him.

Settling himself more comfortable between Shuuhei’s sleek legs, he snaked his arms under the younger man’s thighs to hold him in place. Dipping his head, he teasingly lapped at the musky, clean skin all around his lover’s hole, fluttering around the edges of his rim but avoiding the center. Shuuhei sobbed into the covers, hips twisting, trying to push back, trying to get closer, but Kensei held him in place, teasing him with kitten licks everywhere but where Shuuhei wanted it most. He could feel the younger man shaking beneath him, dipped his head to lap at the smooth stretch of his perineum, tilting his head and sealing his mouth against the tender skin, sucking hard.

Shuuhei came apart then, moaning and begging and bucking against the hands holding him down, his voice a ragged litany of inarticulate pleas that had Kensei rutting against the mattress in a desperate attempt to take some of the pressure off his aching cock. He’d underestimated the effect Shuuhei’s pleasure would have on his own self-control; he’d wanted to take this slow, worship every inch of skin laid out before him, for hours if need be, and only when Shuuhei was reduced to a hot, whimpering mess beneath him would he finally allow himself the pleasure of sliding deep into his fukutaicho’s heat.

Shuuhei deserved slow and thorough for his first time, especially after what he’d just been forced to endure.

Hot green eyes met his, Shuuhei twisting his head around to glare down at his captain. He was panting, cheek flushed dark with arousal, hair clinging damply to his neck and a strand had caught on plush, bitten-red lips, and he was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Kensei had ever seen. Shy, blushing Shuuhei had vanished beneath the weight of frustrated desire.

“Kensei, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

The threat was delivered in a low growl, but Kensei caught a fleeting glimpse of uncertainty in the younger man’s eyes, telling him that Shuuhei wasn’t nearly as confident as he was trying to appear.

Kensei slid upwards, blanketing Shuuhei’s leaner frame with his own; they were of a height—Shuuhei was a bare inch taller, perhaps—but the captain was more heavily muscled. He snaked his arms under Shuuhei, wrapping the younger man up in an embrace, rubbing his nose affectionately behind one delicate ear and pressing a tender kiss to the vulnerable hollow he found there. Shuuhei shivered at the touch, folding his arms over his captain’s, and allowed himself to be held.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Shuuhei. And as much as I want inside you, want to claim you in every manner possible, I don’t want to rush either. You deserve better than a quick fuck with a bunch of voyeuristic idiots listening to us out in the hall—,” Kensei smiled grimly when Shuuhei’s head shot up, wide green eyes flicking from his face to the door, a hot, embarrassed flush suffusing his face as he recalled the noises he’d made, and how loud he’d been, but the older man merely tucked him closer to his body, nuzzling the soft hair at his temple—and putting his mouth against Shuuhei’s ear. “I love the noises you make for me, Shuuhei, and when we’re alone in the privacy of our quarters, you can be as loud as you like. The walls in the division are completely soundproof, so no one will hear the sounds I will pull from your throat, late at night when it’s just the two of us and I spread you out across my bed.”

Shuuhei bit his lip to hold back a moan, eyes darkening to a shade of green closer to black, and Kensei chuckled quietly, lifting one hand to his fukutaicho’s cheek and nudging his face around so he could capture his lips in a slow, drugging kiss. His other hand slid down the long line of Shuuhei’s torso, closing calloused fingers loosely around the steel-hard length of his lover’s cock, stroking slowly as he swallowed down breathy moans. Pressing his own cloth-covered arousal against Shuuhei’s naked ass, he rutted unhurriedly against the lean body in his arms, clamping down on the urge to press his lover face-down on the mattress and take him fast and rough.

Drawing away from Shuuhei’s mouth so they could both breathe, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Shuuhei’s temple, struggling to keep himself under control.

“Kensei?”

“Shh—it’s alright, Shuuhei. Just give me a minute. You’ve no idea what you do to me, how hard it is to control myself around you.” He drew back slightly, but kept his arms around the younger man, and spotted the bottle of lube sitting on the night table. He really should leave well enough alone, wait till he got Shuuhei back to Soul Society and the privacy of their quarters, but it would be cruel to just leave his fukutaicho hanging, and his own need was a little too sharp to ignore. There were plenty of things he could do to take the edge off without resorting to actual sex, and he had a feeling Shuuhei would be amiable to a little experimentation.

He leaned over to snag the bottle, arm tightening around Shuuhei’s waist to keep him in place, and dropped it on the bed beside them.

“Do you think you can be quiet for me, Shuuhei?” he asked softly, his mouth close to the younger man’s ear. Shuuhei started to nod eagerly, then paused, turning his head to meet Kensei’s gaze. A wicked glint shone in his eyes for just a second, then long lashes swept down to veil his gaze.

“You could always use the gag Yadomaru-san so thoughtfully provided, taicho,” he murmured, lips curling up into a tiny, teasing smirk that had Kensei cursing inwardly. Damned brat was trying to kill him, he really was.

“Maybe another time, brat. Though I’d rather fill your mouth with my cock and feel you moaning around me as I fuck your tight little throat.” The bluntness of his words elicited a shiver and a loud moan that the younger man didn’t even try to muffle, and Kensei grinned against Shuuhei’s temple at the depth of his fukutaicho’s reaction. “Shh—quiet, Shuuhei. We’ll see how much of me you can take later, once we’re home and have more privacy. Right now I have something else in mind.”

Shuuhei nodded, hips undulating languidly against him, and Kensei laughed softly as he drew away to a disappointed mewl. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned down to untie his boots, toeing them off and moving them out of the way. He could feel Shuuhei’s eyes on him, and when he stood, he met and held his lover’s hungry gaze, taking hold of the hem of his shirt and inching it upwards in a slow tease, revealing a deeply ridged belly and the broad swell of his chest, the starkly etched numbers at the top of his abdomen that were a perfect match to the ones inked on his fukutaicho’s face. Shuuhei’s eyes roved over him slowly, hot and appreciative, and Kensei bit back a groan as liquid heat rolled through his veins. He’d never before had anyone look at him the way Shuuhei was looking at him right then; his lover was gazing up at him with an expression that was both predatory and possessive, but there was a wealth of tenderness there too, like he was looking upon something to be treasured.

With a jolt, he realized that Shuuhei was looking at him the way he looked at Shuuhei.

The realization shook him, straight down to his core, and he felt his face heat beneath the weight of his fukutaicho’s stare and the knowledge that someone—that Shuuhei—could feel that way about him. He wanted to avert his gaze, but at the same time he wanted Shuuhei to see that he got it, that he understood and not only accepted the younger man’s feelings, but that he was deeply affected and shared them as well.

His hand shook when he reached down to unfasten the button of his cargo pants, steadied though as he pulled down the zipper, the ‘burr’ of it parting very loud in the silence that lay over the room. He pushed the light colored cotton off his hips, watching as Shuuhei’s gaze dipped down—smiled faintly when the younger man noted the absence of undergarments and swallowed hard in reaction—and allowed them to fall, stepping free once they’d hit the floor. Still holding Shuuhei’s gaze, he bent to strip off his socks and straightened slowly, allowing his lover to look his fill.

The heat in Shuuhei’s eyes was gratifying, the weight of his gaze an almost tangible caress against his naked skin.

“Fuck, taicho, you’re fucking beautiful.” The reverence in his brat’s voice had heat crawling through his veins, spreading up his chest and throat and burning in his face. He tried for a grin, felt it wobble dangerously, and let it die. Kneeling back up on the bed, he drew Shuuhei back into his arms, their bodies slotting together perfectly.

“Kensei, Shuuhei. I told you to call me Kensei,” he murmured, sliding one hand into ruffled hair, angling Shuuhei’s head to one side so he could drink his mouth down deep. The taste of the younger man was addictive; especially now that he knew he could kiss him anytime he wanted. Shuuhei pressed closer, moaning quietly into his mouth, and Kensei reluctantly pulled away, settling his hands on his lover’s slim hips, gazing down at him with somber eyes.

His front was more heavily bruised than his back, the marks left by his bindings would show clearly once Shuuhei was back in his usual uniform. He didn’t know if his fukutaicho even owned a long-sleeved kosode, but if they didn’t want a lot of questions and raised eyebrows once back in the Gotei, Kensei was going to have to dig one up from the stores. He knew Shuuhei well enough by now to understand that his lieutenant wouldn’t appreciate the speculation and gossip that would be aimed his way if he walked around marked up like he was, and Kensei would do whatever he could to prevent that from happening.

“Kensei? What’s wrong?” Shuuhei asked quietly, when Kensei had been quiet for too long, but instead of answering the older man mustered up a smile.

“Nothing, just appreciating the view is all,” he replied, trying for lecherous, but falling short if the lack of an answering smile was any indication. Shuuhei’s head bowed, looking down at himself, and when he raised his eyes back to his captain’s face, his expression was difficult to decipher.

“They’ll fade. Urahara-san is a generous host; a soak in the springs beneath the shouten will clear them right up,” he said, correctly interpreting the reason behind Kensei’s pensive mood, his voice gentle. There was something fragile in his expression though, an uncertainty that Kensei hadn’t meant to stir.

“I hate seeing you hurt, Shuuhei, especially when it was my fault that they did this to you. If I hadn’t—”

Shuuhei laid his fingers over the older man’s mouth. “It’s not your fault. They were just trying to help you, and didn’t mean any harm. Yeah, I’m still pretty pissed, and embarrassed as all hell, but I’ll get over it. So stop blaming yourself.”

Shuuhei pulled his hand away, leaning in to kiss him deeply, and Kensei groaned into his mouth, gathering his lover closer as he deepened the kiss, resolving to stop thinking so much and simply enjoy having Shuuhei in his arms at last. Breaking away, he reached for the bottle that he’d tossed on the bed earlier, fumbling it open with one hand while the other combed Shuuhei’s hair out of his face.

“Turn around, Shuuhei,” he ordered softly, and was rewarded with a faint smile before the younger man did as he was asked, shuffling around on his knees until he was in the requested position. Drizzling a healthy amount of liquid in his palm before snapping the cap closed, he tossed the bottle aside, then rubbed his hands together to spread the slick fluid and warm it. He reached down and coated himself generously, wiping one hand on the covers to clean it off, then pulled Shuuhei back against his chest, arranging the younger man so his legs were pressed together and Kensei’s knees bracketed his lover’s. Shuuhei made a sound that was halfway between a contented purr and a throaty moan, and Kensei pressed a quick kiss to his hair, reaching down between their bodies to guide himself between the tight clasp of sleekly muscled thighs, smiling as a sound that was all purring approval left his lover’s throat. Tugging Shuuhei more closely to his chest, he reached around and grasped Shuuhei’s length with the hand still slick with lube, curling his other arm around Shuuhei’s waist to keep him in place.

He thrust between Shuuhei’s thighs, pressing them more tightly together with his own legs, and stroked his lover’s cock slowly, setting up a leisurely pace he knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain for very long. His lieutenant turned his face into the curve of his throat, muffling an almost continuous stream of moans and whimpers, his hips rocking into Kensei’s fist, then grinding back against the broad form behind him, the added friction sparking along the older man’s nerve endings.

His strokes sped up as lightning danced along his spine, heat pooling low and tight in his belly after an almost embarrassingly short amount of time, and he loosed the arm around Shuuhei’s waist to cup his lover’s jaw, turning his face up so he could devour his mouth. One of Shuuhei’s hands fell to Kensei’s thigh, gripping tightly as he rode his lover’s fist, he lifted the other arm and draped it back around Kensei’s neck, his fingers clenching in the short hairs at his nape. Kensei dropped his free hand down to Shuuhei’s chest, the edge of his thumbnail teasing at the hardened bud of a wine-dark nipple, then pinched it hard between his index and middle fingers.

Shuuhei tore his mouth free on a long, wordless cry, his body arching in climax. Kensei rutted desperately between his lover’s thighs, chasing his own release even as he stroked Shuuhei through the shockwaves of his orgasm, and his muscles locked tight as his brain seized in a burst of white fire that blotted out his vision and seemed like it would go on and on without end.

After what seemed minutes, he came back to himself, the taste of blood heavy on his tongue and his teeth buried deep in Shuuhei’s nape. Eyes widening in realization, he hurried let go of his lover’s neck, wincing at the deep, bloody imprint he’d left behind. His hand and softening cock were sticky with cum, both his own and Shuuhei’s, and he hastily wiped his fingers clean on the bedding, then turned Shuuhei’s face to his.

He needn’t have worried.

His lover’s expression was blissed out, eyes dazed and a smile playing over the corners of his mouth that widened as Shuuhei met his worried gaze.

“That was—yeah. I have nothing. Can I just curl up here and take a nap now? I think my brain melted out of my ears back there.”

Kensei snorted his amusement, his concern receding in the face of his lover acting all loopy from orgasm. Fucked-out was a very good look on the younger man, and Kensei resolved right then and there to make him look like that as often as possible.

“Sorry I bit you,” he murmured, and Shuuhei shrugged, leaning back against his chest.

“’s alright. Liked it. Kinda made me come a second time,” he said lazily, and Kensei laughed, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist and just holding him close. He nosed at Shuuhei’s hair, pressing his lips to his temple, and simply drank in the peaceful moment and lingering echoes of pleasure reverberating through him. Shuuhei shifted against him, pulling away, but returned to his former position a moment later. Kensei opened his eyes, wondering what his lover was up to, and blinked down at the bowed head in surprise. Shuuhei had picked up a short length of the dark green rope that was still lying among the tangled covers and was busy twisting it around his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Kensei asked, and Shuuhei shoved his arm beneath Kensei’s nose in lieu of a reply.

“Could you tie this for me? I can’t do it one-handed,” he said instead, and Kensei grasped his hand and drew it down to a more convenient level, a bemused smile flitting over his mouth as he obeyed his lover’s request.

“Why?”

Shuuhei admired his captain’s handiwork for a moment, then looked up at his lover with a small smile that turned his eyes to sunlit jade.

“Because you bought it for me, Kensei, and I want a permanent reminder of today.”

Kensei smiled and caught his lover’s hand, bringing his braceleted wrist to his lips and pressing a kiss to the twist of cord, then the very tips of Shuuhei’s fingers, eyes warm and soft on his lover’s face.

“We’ll have plenty of time to create memories, Shuuhei, but yeah, this is a good start.”

Shuuhei laughed, cupped his captain’s face, and kissed him deeply.

They had all the time in the world.
Fin.
- 6
- 7
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The Limits of Denial