Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Eight Hours One Night ❯ One-Shot

Eight Hours One Night

by debbiechan

Disclaimer: Kubo Tite, Viz Comics, and Pierrot Studios--not I--own Bleach. All I do is follow up on Kubo’s innuendoes with fanfic.

Description: This drabble series follows in the vein of my previous "Eleven Lovers" (which was about Bleach romances) and "Seven Days" (which introduced a little more sex into the theme of loss and longing), but here we have an unapologetic smutfest. Any plot is purely accidental. The characters involved, including those conjured in the imaginations of other characters, are Tatsuki, Orihime, Tessai, Urahara, Yoruichi, Renji, Rukia, Nemu, Mayuri, Ishida, Aizen, Gin, Byakuya, Hisana, and Kon.

Warnings: Implied yuri, straight-out yaoi, and graphic descriptions of genitalia. Spoilers for Arrancar arc (and please, if you’re not caught up with the manga and don’t want to be spoiled, why the heck did you open this page?)

Written for the yahoogroup bleachbacchanal. * Waves at Ku *

Hour #1

"A fireworks display is a festival! It’s about going nuts over the fireworks and the street vendors and getting all hot and bothered over girls in their Yukata robes!"--Keigo to Tatsuki, "The Last Summer Vacation," chapter 68:8

Tatsuki’s bed faced a huge window with no curtains. The blinds had gotten stuck in a half-raised position sometime last winter, and Tatsuki had grown used to waking up with the first wash of daylight over her bedsheets. Eventually, she didn’t even need to set the alarm to wake up for school.

It was summer now, though, and no need to wake up early. No need to go to bed at a reasonable hour either.

Still, try as she would, Tatsuki could not follow the indulgent summer pace of most teenagers. Maybe it was her karate training or maybe it was a predisposition for routine or maybe Tatsuki just liked waking up at dawn, but she was in bed early again. Night had just fallen. Shouts of primary school kids could still be heard from the streets. Somewhere someone was changing stations on a jambox, skimming through loud static and blips of music.

Tatsuki’s hand had been tucked in her pajama bottoms for a long while. She wasn’t even wet yet, and her hand rested lightly on a patch of coarse hair. Tatsuki’s approach to masturbation was not unlike moving through basic katas: ready, forward, horse, fighting.

Ready required an even pulse and a stilled sense of self-importance. No fantasy. Just being alone, assured of privacy, and her hand on the mark.

Forward. Tatsuki walked herself through a series of erotic images. They were often but not always of Orihime’s pink mouth, round breasts, that long white arch from thigh to knee and then the gracious curve from shin to ankle. Tatsuki inhaled deeply and let her mind wander.

She did not think of herself as a lesbian in the unrepentant, assertive way Chizuru was. She didn’t find boys uninteresting. She could see what Orihime saw in Ichigo--that slump-shouldered coolness and quiet strength. Even boys who weren’t tough martial artists had their appeal--like little Mizuiro whose face was pretty as a girl’s. Or that crafts club friend of Orihime’s--the long-fingered seamstress boy who was surely gay. He was beautiful for a skinny person. But girls--yes, girls were preferable and their soft bodies designed to be cherished during moments like these. The little bow of pink on Orihime’s bottom lip. The way her shoulders dipped into her chest and made shallow pools of pinkness right under her shoulderblades. The utter whiteness of Orihime’s upper arms. The way her nipples poked through her thin bra when she was changing before soccer practice.

Horse. Tatsuki’s knees rose and her legs splayed apart. Her forefinger began to circle insistently over her clit. There was a gentle wet stirring sound as flesh there moistened.

Ummm came the barely audible sound from deep in Tatsuki’s throat. Her breathing was louder than any moan, louder than any sloshing of fingertip against hard clit. Her breathing was deep and hoarse and steady and strong.

Tatsuki loved Orihime, loved her for all her goodness and light, but like everyone else, what had attracted her first to Orihime was … prettiness. Even before Orihime’s breasts became a prominent part of Tatsuki’s everyday landscape, way back in middle school when Orihime was just a cup A, the girl was just so damn pretty. That hair (which that pack of bitches had envied and cut off with scissors in first year!) was glamorous even styled short. It was brown and red and orange and caught light like a silk scarf. That mouth was thin-lipped pure sweetness, and Tatsuki had often imagined that if Orihime could eat doughnuts with soy sauce and make all those little sighs of satisfaction, then wouldn’t she just love to eat a real girl? Tatsuki stopped rubbing herself for a moment and brought her slick hand to her mouth. The first time she had seen Orihime, Tatsuki had felt a sudden warmth between her legs.

Salt, a pungent scent, a viscous moisture. Tatsuki lolled her tongue across her fingers and imagined what it would be like to lick Orihime’s folds. Would Orihime taste vaguely like all those strange foods she liked to eat? There was always something grotesquely sweet in Orihime’s lunchbox. Something smeared in honey or jam. Tatsuki swept four fingers through her mouth and returned the drenched hand to that warm place between her legs.

The sound of wet palm against wet mound made Tatsuki struggle to steady her breathing. Her fingers pressed into a slit already gurgling with rising moisture.

Fighting. Tatsuki’s left hand reached up and palmed her throat. It was no use. She was going to come soon. The muscles inside her were clenched tight and ready to erupt. The air was thick with the smell of coming. Her folds were sloshing wet. Her fingers were rubbing fast.

Ah. Tatsuki threw her head back and her hand ran back and forth across her pajama top, pushing the rigid nipples beneath the thin fabric. There was no time for indulgent tweaking or pinching. Ah--! Tatsuki’s voice hiccuped a tiny sound, and then she arched her back and felt the pleasure spear her. Ah, ah, ah! Her arms trembled, and she could tell that she was in for more. She pushed hard against the burning nub and came again. A glowing in her upper arms and chest. There, there, almost…again! An explosion in her belly that made her hips shake. And … no! Yes, again!

The pleasure came and came, like the fireworks bursting over the Onose River the last time she had seen Orihime.

Crowds shouting. Boys whooping. Old ladies ahhhhing.

Orihime.

Streams of color over Orihime’s pretty face and shiny hair.

Orihime.

Splash after splash of fire against the black sky….

Hour #2

Tessai was breaking paper rolls of coins into the cash register. Jinta and Ururu were in pajamas but not in bed yet, and Manager was shouting for them to go brush their teeth. "Such fine teeth and they need to be polished at least once a week!"

Then Manager patted Tessai on the back and said he was going to "go below."

Tessai was puzzled. Manager training at this hour?

Manager answered Tessai’s look with a wink. "I’m expecting a phone call from a very beautiful woman!"

Tessai was still confused. Yoruichi-san was still in Soul Society. Then it hit him: "Oh, she has been in contact with you via some Shihouin sacred object?"

"Oh yes, yes, remember those? Maybe she will bring back some nostalgic items for the store! Bye now!"

And Manager was gone--descended to the vast world that was the cellar beneath the Urahara Store.

Ordinarily Tessai was very respectful of Manager’s privacy, but it had been three weeks now since Yoruichi-san left with the human youngsters and Tessai was worried. He lowered himself to his knees and placed his ear against the floor.

The first thing he heard was Yoruichi’s deep, throaty laugh. He should’ve gotten up at that point (obviously everyone was alive and things were all fine!), but he kept listening.

"No, Kisuke, there is no gossip, and yes, I am wearing my black uniform and orange scarf."

Then Manager’s light voice: "Yoru, you became reacquainted with Captain Soi Fong, yes?"

Another laugh. "Pervert! Of course you want details."

"Oh yes, yes. I am very concerned for the dear girl’s emotional well being. I hope you fucked her hard and well. I do expect you fought her and fucked her and dug your pretty nails into her tawny shoulders and sucked her little nipples with your gorgeous mouth and reassured her of your love, yes?"

"I’m not telling you anything until I come back and can be in the same room with you."

"Please?"

Tessai’s forearms pushed his weight off the floor. He was about to rise to his feet and then hesitated. He knelt, still listening. I really should be getting up now.

"She’s fine, Kisuke. She missed me more than I thought she would, but who knew Little Bee could carry such a big torch for one-hundred years?"

"Ah, you are that unforgettable, my dear Yoruichi-san. I’m going to take my pants off now, so will you purr for me like a sweet happy cat, yes?"

Yoruichi laughed again, and this time Tessai decided that he’d heard enough. As curious as he was about Yoruichi-san’s "purring," he really did not want to hear any more…

Now, if only Manager had been speaking in such a sexy way with the pretty Kurosaki boy, Tessai would never have lifted his ear from the floor!

Hour #3

Renji sat in a giant marble pool inside the Kuchiki house. The water smelled of lilies, yews, and mint, and Renji wondered where the Bakuyas had acquired the foreign habit of throwing stuff into the bath. Various little colored tablets fizzled in the warm water, and whatever the unusual concoction, the fragrant water was washing away Renji’s deep henna tattoos. That was fine. They never lasted more than three washings anyway. Maybe he would not even draw them back on tomorrow.

Dinner with the Kuchikis had been a bit awkward (given that captain and vice captain had tried to kill one another over Rukia only days before), but there was no such thing as fun and laughs around Byakuya’s formal demeanor anyway. Rukia had insisted Renji eat with them, and then Byakuya had solemnly offered a guestroom for the night. Renji understood the whole evening to be some sort of noble gesture of reconciliation towards him, and he had endured it as such, even though he wished he could be back in his vice-captains quarters, unseen by servants.

"More soap crystals, sir?" The white-robed attendant had this annoying habit of coming into the bathroom every few minutes to offer fruits and wine and towels and nonsense. "Perhaps a cup of sake?"

"No, no, thanks," Renji said, not even trying to disguise his uneasiness this time. "Please, will you leave me alone in here for the rest of the night? I’m trying to relax."

The attendant bowed, and as soon as he was gone, Renji seized the stiff, erect shoot between his legs and began to pump. Rukia was staying in Soul Society! She was staying! She was staying for her brother, perhaps, but she was also staying for Renji.

Renji was so excited that he didn’t mind rushing, and he shot a thread of hot spume into the bath already full of so many other smells and oily luxuries.

He lay his head on the rim of the giant tub and let out a deep, contented sigh.

Rukia is staying in Soul Society!

And then it occurred to Renji that even though she was sleeping a room down the hall, Rukia was still a very great distance away from ever loving him the way she appeared to love… Ichigo. He looked around the palatial bathing room and felt his uneasiness return.

He wished he had taken the attendant up on the offer of sake after all.

Hour #4

Nemu lay naked on the verge of sleep on her light, cool futon on the floor.

It was warm in Soul Society, and the hour was late, and she knew that Mayuri-sama was not coming to her tonight, no matter how depressed he was.

At the very thought of Mayuri-sama, her body flushed with a sexual readiness, but she willed the feelings away.

She should sleep. Pure, uninterrupted sleep was a precious thing. But tomorrow the portal to the Realm of the Living was being opened, and the drifters were going home.

Somewhere, tonight, the Quincy was lying, whole and restored, the champion of an awful battle with a Shinigami captain, and Nemu could no more stop herself from loving the Quincy than he could have held back the arrow that disemboweled Ashisogi Jizou then tore through the torturer of his people.

Nemu caught her breath and smiled with her eyes still closed. It mattered to someone that her captain was unkind. It mattered to her enemy that her father was cruel. The Quincy had stood there, ripped and bleeding, with an icy resolve in his young face and a glowing wing of spiritrons flying above his shoulder. An avenging angel.

Nemu’s body soared with quiet adoration at the memory. She held the feeling--the rush in her chest, the delight in her belly, the longing in her arms--and did not bother to touch herself because she did not want to be satiated.

It was wonderful to feel this way for someone other than Mayuri-sama.

Quincy-san. Avenging angel. Ishida Uryuu.

It was a clean, white feeling.

She would teach her body to summon it again and again.

Hour #5

"Sosuke," Gin breathed, his voice still lilting and casual even though he was exerting himself. "Sosuke, if you make yourself a big white throne now that you are Lord of All, where oh where will I sit?"

Aizen stared at the body riding his and spoke in a voice heavy with pleasure. "Are you insinuating, Gin, that I am your throne?"

"Looks that way, doesn’t it?"

Aizen was lying flat on his back while Gin straddled his hips and moved up and down with languid deliberation. The slender cock of the top man pointed upward, and every now and then the bottom man would brush its underside lightly with his thumb.

The light in Hueco Mundo was different. There was no night or day but only a dusky fog at all hours. The eternal twilight flattered the face of Ichimaru Gin, who had always looked so wan in Soul Society. His concave chest looked more beautiful here, less scrawny. Fine gray hairs made the pattern of an elegant cross on his torso.

Gin was completely nude but Aizen still wore his Shinigami captain’s robe by the sleeves. The white fabric puddled around his body, and Gin’s bony legs were kneeling in the folds. Aizen lay very still, his eyes narrowed and his ample chest heaving, but his lower body was not assisting Gin’s efforts in the slightest. Gin’s sharp hipbones rocked towards and away, and muscles in his white thighs strained. He was fucking himself on Aizen’s cock. His breath huffed more irregularly than Aizen’s. He was closer to orgasm than Aizen was, but both men had not even broken a sweat yet.

"An army of Arrancar to serve your every whim," whispered Gin. "After you build them, what will you need me for?"

Aizen didn’t answer. He only closed his eyes and looked enthralled with pleasure.

Hour #6

"I am sorry for not being able to return the love you have given me wholeheartedly."--Hisana, recounted by Byakuya, chapter 179:13.

Byakuya was dreaming of his wife. She was usually healthy and full-cheeked in his dreams, but in this one she had the drawn, sad look of illness.

He was begging her to lie back down, but she was pulling on his scarf.

"Yield to me or your heirloom will be torn." She called his scarf by its noble name: ginpaku kazano-hana usuginu. Her voice, weak and raspy, was nonetheless playful. "Kiss me or these hands will rip ginpaku kazano-hana usuginu into pieces the size of petals. The power this poor body commands over you is still strong, ne?"

In the dream, he kissed her. Somehow he knew he was dreaming, but he could taste her lips, their warm pressure, and feel the shape of her tiny hands on his face. He crawled into the futon with her, and her tongue nudged into his mouth.

Hisana’s little body had always been like a stubborn fire. There was no squelching her passion; self-loathing and shame and Kuchiki snobs had kicked and spit at it, but the little fire always leapt up again, to wrap her arms around Byakuya’s neck.

"Let me pleasure you will I still can," the dream Hisana said. "Let me burn a memory into your flesh. It is all I can give you. It is all I can give you."

And because he was weak and grieving, Byakuya allowed Hisana to remove his scarf. She folded it loosely and laid it with the proper reverence next to her pillow. Then she loosened the obi at this waist and tugged at his hakama.

"Hisana!" Byakuya gasped. Then he spoke her name over and over. "Hisana … Hisana …Hisana…" He felt a familiar tightness in his throat, a sob in his voice that would never be released.

Her warm hands were kneading his buttocks. The air in the room was cool but pleasant; the season was sometime between winter and spring. Her fingers were little tongues of fire. Her hot mouth lapped and sucked between his legs, and each time her mouth left off torturing one part of him for another, cool air tingled warm spittle left on his skin.

At some point, he no longer felt the cool air, only the fire, and if he opened his eyes, the walls looked like aroused, rolling gooseflesh.

He was dizzy. His hands fisted into her black hair.

When he cried out, he was sitting, awake in his own room. His long hair was in his eyes, and his hands were clutching the light blanket …The walls were gray and plain … Hisana was still dead….

As Byakuya’s breathing returned to normal, random memories of the past week floated in his head. All the talk among the Gotei 13 lately had been of hypnotism, speculations about objects and events that may have been one of Aizen’s illusions.

They may have fallen under the spell of Aizen’s zanpakutou, but they do not understand what it is to be possessed.

And knowing he was possessed by Hisana’s memory only because he chose to be, only because he deserved to be, Byakuya lay back down with perfect composure.

Hour #7

"Heh heh, no Nee-san … ah, not you too, Inoue-san!"--Kon in his sleep, chapter 182:18

What is true lust? Is it of the body or of the soul? When not in Ichigo’s body, Kon inhabited a lion plushie that was not anatomically correct, yet the feelings that stirred within him for Nee-san and Inoue-san were strong and pure.

While in Ichigo’s body, Kon had the option of bludgeoning the beefsteak and even the glimmer of hope of real sex with real girls, although loser that Ichigo was, there were never any girls who wanted to talk to his Kon-occupied body. Besides, it was summertime, and all the cuties were vacationing in Thailand, displaying their tans for foreign boys.

Kon tossed and turned in Ichigo’s bed in the darkest night before dawn. Why couldn’t he be in someone else? That Chad person! He was rough and handsome with a deep voice to set aflutter the hearts of lovely virgins. Even that skinny depressive Ishida was surrounded by girls in his sewing club. Why was Kurosaki Ichigo so unpopular with the ladies?

Apparently, Ichigo’s perpetual scowl frightened the gentle ones, and the livelier schoolgirls went for upper classmen or college men. The only females not scared of Kurosaki were flat-chested dykes. Not that Kon had anything against tiny breasts (Nee-san!) but on an already manly girl, a flat chest was a big turn-off.

Kon sat up in bed. Damn it all to hell, when was Ichigo coming back? Loneliness made Kon almost eager to be back in the plushie--because that princess of cleavage, Inoue-san, was wherever Ichigo was, and they were supposed to be bringing back Nee-san too! Oh, Kon missed those lovely maidens so.

Nee-san! Inoue-san! Four scoops of French vanilla! Nee-san with her delicate waist and giant eyes! Inoue and her… breasts!

There was nothing else to do to assuage the sorrow at this dreary hour but play a little five-on-one. Go out on a date with Rosie Thumb and her four sisters. Ichigo would complain about soreness from the all the time Kon spent holding the sausage hostage, but honestly, what else was Kon supposed to do?

In the plushie body, Kon could only yearn.

Hour #8

"If the place I’m going is somewhere Tatsuki can’t go, then please wait for me. I will come back for sure. Come back to Tatsuki’s side."--Orihime, chapter 68:17

Orihime, who could not remember her parents and whose brother was dead, felt at times like she belonged nowhere and yet everywhere.

Sometimes she felt like the eyes of men wanted to own her. That Iemura of the fourth division? Gave her the creeps. The ones who said ridiculous things like "I will dream about you, tonight, Orihime-chan" were much less offensive. They were actually rather cute, and Orihime imagined that they did not really have dreams about her at all, that they just liked to say sweet things to make her smile.

Light broke through the window, and Orihime opened her eyes, remembering that Tatsuki always said, "if you get up with dawn, the day won’t be lazy." At first, Orihime did not remember that she was in Soul Society, and then it was another minute before she remembered that she was not still running, hiding, taking sleep shifts with Ishida-kun. Then the past week came back to her in a rush of bright images--golden healing orbs and crisply turned infirmary beds, the nods and smiling faces of soldiers who left their sickrooms feeling all better and thanking her, blessing her, flattering her profusely. She wondered again who really dreamed about her and who didn’t. Silly men! Why would they say such things?

Did she have a dream?

One side of her face felt sticky from sweating against the pillow. Her thighs felt damp. Her toes were curling.

Today was the day she would leave Soul Society, and although she would be so glad to see Tatsuki again, she knew a part of herself would always be here. In this place that felt like a half-remembered dream, even when she was awake and walking through it with all her senses alert.

Odd, but she felt a tense anticipation in the pit of her belly, as if her body was craving adventure. There had been so many adventures these weeks, so maybe she had become a thrill-seeker here! Inoue Orihime, Adventuress!

Did she have a dream?

Pieces of the past night emerged like bright pinpoints in her consciousness. They flickered and were lost, like fireworks.

Maybe, Orihime thought, she had been dreaming about everyone who was dreaming about her. The idea made her laugh, and laughing made her feel more awake. She sat up, shaking her bangs into her face.

END

Thanks for LisaB for being a faithful beta, and a special thanks to Cinnamongrr1 for the Nemu inspiration. Oh yes, and thanks always to Bardockgurl who encourages my smut fiction.