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It took him ages to talk Chad out of his guilt.

Yeah, there were times when Ichigo wanted to smack his oldest male friend, because when it came down to it, he was the one on his knees with his soul torn in pieces because Chad’s Fullbringer buddies were greedy for a power-up. But in a real way, it was his own fault, too, for leaving his brother-in-arms behind.

They’d promised to be one another’s fists when they were barely thirteen years old, and for a couple years, it had been them against the world. Then Rukia happened, then Byakuya happened, then Urahara happened, and between invading Hueco Mundo and saving Soul Society… Chad got left behind.

After he’d lost his power to contain Aizen, and end the Winter War, Ichigo had been left a normal, mortal, blind, weak boy, watching his friends become the champions he no longer was. He knew what it was to be left behind, but the pain was too fresh, and the gulf too wide between them all. So he’d let it drift, let it slide, let them go their way and barely maintained his friendships.

His world had been grey, and he’d nearly lost Chad, and Tatsuke, and everyone, because of it.

Ichigo would feel guilty for that for the rest of his life.

So he tried his best to remember that he had friends in the living world, too, and reconnect those ties that had frayed in all the madness.

And he discovered, with a little care and attention, he could keep his old friends, and still have his new ones. Yuzu told him he was growing up. Karin said it was about time.

Dad blubbered something incomprehensible at the foot of Mom’s poster, and Ichigo ignored him.

Then he got an itch between his shoulder blades, and made a move in respect of the one who had gone before him… and fallen so far… and he made his way to the Seireitei to ask, no, demand that the first substitute soul reaper be returned and buried with honor.

Because before he’d been a crazy, traitorous, power-hungry bastard, he’d been a human Shinigami, just like Ichigo.


They felt him before they saw him. For once, it wasn’t simply the unrestrained waves of thunderous reiryoku over which he had little control. Since he’d been forced to take Rukia’s powers, had them ripped from him, come into his own power, ascended to match Aizen’s power, then crashed to a null state, then developed his Fullbring powers, then had them snatched from him, then been infused with the combined power of the majority of the Gotei 13 command staff…

A few Shinigami actually thought that one through, and figured it was no wonder the kid never learned to control it. For one thing, it was either the size of an ocean or completely absent, and for another, it kept mutating on him.

Most of them just blamed him for being ignorant and didn’t think deeper on the subject.

No, this was something different. Something familiar, sensed through a new filter.

In his office, Byakuya stopped staring blindly at the portrait of his dead wife, and felt a shiver run down his spine.

In the headquarters of the 13th, Jūshirō abruptly straightened, dropping the report he was reading. Shunsui, sprawled at his knee, also straightened, but did not lose his grip on his sake bottle. The world wasn’t ending, after all.

Over at the 7th, a very large fox-man sneezed, and all the fur along his spine ruffled. His tail puffed out and his eyes narrowed. The room got very warm.

At the 8th, a serious young woman carrying a book clamped her thighs together, fought down her blush, and did as she always did on the very few occasions when wayward hormones caught her by surprise. Repress, repress, repress!

A grumbling young captain at the 10th looked up at the change in atmosphere, and for an instant his pupils slitted. Inside, the dragon roared.

Meanwhile at the 4th, the captain of calm stuttered a single step, then gave a smile that chilled everyone in viewing distance. After clearing the halls, she cleared her throat, denied her urges any power over her actions, and continued on with her duties. At the desk in their shared office, her lieutenant closed her eyes and indulged in a daydream. A very steamy daydream. Starring a tall young man with a pretty face and big warm eyes and sun-red hair, and manly attributes she’d love to see one day when he wasn’t unconscious recovering from life-threatening wounds.

And in the 11th, a hyperactive girl with pink hair bolted to the door, yelling, “Kenny! Let’s PLAY!”


Ichigo hadn’t actually expected the captains to all gather at the 1st, but he refused to let it slow him down. It was cool to see Rose and Kensei in their captain’s haoris, kind of weird to see Byakuya without his scarf, and he missed Jūshirō, but overall he thought it went well.

He made his case – Ginjō deserved to go home for his final rest for the work he did before he lost his mind – without making an ass of himself, so that was good. Old man Yama agreed, so that was also good.

If Tōshirō and the big fox captain seemed to be glaring holes through him, well, he didn’t know what their problem was. As long as Kenpachi didn’t try to kill him before he got through the gate, it was all golden as far as he was concerned.

Rukia saw him off, and it felt like everyone he knew met him back in Karakura. He did his duty by Ginjō, whom he both liked and despised, and headed home.

The itch didn’t disappear. If anything, it just got more persistent.

To the point where he asked his dad to check for a rash.

After the idiot stopped laughing, he told Ichigo there was nothing there, and he needed to get a girlfriend to distract him from his hypochondria.

Ichigo ignored that, too.

Funnily enough, a girlfriend was one thing he’d never missed. After explained that to Orihime, he ducked Tatsuki’s fist and accepted Uryū’s thanks. He didn’t know what those three got up to in their private time, and he wasn’t about to ask.


Her duties done for the day, Retsu Unohana walked in the formal gardens outside her home, deep in thought. When Kisuke brought forward the specialized asauchi he’d created to restore young Ichigo Kurosaki’s powers, she’d wondered.

If she’d trusted Kurotsuchi at all, she would have asked, but she didn’t, so she kept her silence. He probably didn’t know. Kisuke wouldn’t tell, even if she did ask.

All those who had contributed, those who felt friendship, kinship, or debt owed to the young Hero of the Winter War, had literally siphoned off a portion of their power and drained it into the spirit sword with which the young Kuchiki had pierced Ichigo, grafting the many slivers of soul onto his to bring forth and nourish his damaged power.

That HAD to have some impact.

Any time a major reiryoku transfusion was given, there was a period of adjustment, while the new infusion of spiritual pressure was subsumed into the existing pool.

But Ichigo’s pool of power had been nearly dried up. The transfusion they’d given him was the spiritual equivalent of dumping a cart-load of water into an empty dish. When Rukia had ‘awakened’ his powers with her own, her contribution had been minor compared to what it had unleashed within him. When they filled him with power the second time, they were pumping it into a vacuum.

And now, since Ichigo had come back to Soul Society, she had the answer to her question.

She purred, a sound she hadn’t made since the last time she let her bloodlust run free.

Only here, in private, for a few precious moments, would she once more allow the lust to set fire to her soul, to move beneath her skin. She would not allow it to gain hold, not allow it to consume her, because she knew herself.

It would consume them both, and she would not allow that to happen.

They were connected to him, all those who had given. Each had given a gift, and each had left an imprint. Now, as his own power swelled, meeting, mingling, joining with the power given to him… she would have to wait and watch, and see how this played out.

Carefully smoothing the psychotic smile off her face, she enforced calm over herself, and walked among the flowers, seeing blood and fire in the petals.


Isane had been dreamy all day. She was only thankful Captain Unohana hadn’t called her on it. It hadn’t interfered with her duties, but it had left her distracted.

She just knew she was going to have a nightmare when she finally laid down to sleep.

Only it wasn’t a nightmare.

It was a wet dream.

She was in the middle of the forest, only it wasn’t frightening. There were no indications of Hollows, only sunlight on the leaves and a soft breeze on her skin.

Her naked skin.

She wasn’t embarrassed, for that was the nature of dreams. It was natural. Necessary.

Because Ichigo Kurosaki stood before her, clad in nothing but sunlight and shadows. His hair moved a little in the breeze, and his hands ran gently over his own body, rubbing his chest, running down his ribs to rest at his hips. He was relaxed, penis hanging softly over his testicles in the dark red curls at the apex of his thighs, stance loose and easy, as he smiled at her.

He never smiled. That was another reason she knew it was a dream.

Then she moved, or he did, she couldn’t tell. He was kissing her, his fingers tugging gently at her braids, one hand cupping her chin. Her breasts rubbed pleasantly against his chest, and she parted her legs, moving forward until she was nestled against him from shoulders to knees. Her arms went around his waist and traced the curve of his buttocks, marveling in the softness of his skin and the tensile strength of his muscles.

His tongue was heavy in her mouth, her jaw dropping open under its intrusion. His erection was rising against her and she widened her stance, giving it room without sacrificing their closeness. He shifted in turn, and they moved again, with that instantaneous grace that only ever happened in dreams.

The grass prickled beneath her as he pressed her back into it. Her hands slid over his shoulders, pulling him close, as they continued to kiss. She bent one leg, spreading her thighs, and he was so close to taking her, so close to touching, she could feel his heat, feel his need, and DAMNIT.

This time, instead of waking screaming, she screamed after she woke up. How come she ALWAYS missed the good parts?

And, well, wherever had that dream come from?

At least it wasn’t a set piece from the Arabian Nights.

And at least she was in this one.

Even if she didn’t make it all the way to the end.



Budget. Arms. New recruits. Reports. After-action reports. Status reports. Any damned report she could get her hands on.

For the umpteenth time that day, Nanao Ise squirmed in her seat and, in a change from the norm, thanked any God that was listening that her boss was skiving off over at the 13th as usual.

If he’d been there he would have been hanging over her shoulder, interrogating her, just to see her blush to the point of self-immolation.

She had no idea why she couldn’t get Kurosaki-san out of her mind, but it was driving her completely insane.

She’d seen him walking, well, marching into the 1st that afternoon. He’d been rather astonishingly beautiful, tall and lean, with such a serious expression on his finely-featured face, with his high cheekbones and his large brown eyes and that hair blowing around his head that should have looked ridiculously orange but instead only looked like the embodiment of fire.

His uniform was unique, too, with that high collar that showcased his long neck, and the way his shihakushō outlined his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs made her mouth go dry. She could see some kind of outlined tattoo marked on his chest, and while usually she found such things tawdry, on him it looked both natural and insanely sexy.

She wriggled in her seat again, then reached up to wipe away a little sweat that had gathered at her hairline.

This was stupid. She had work to do. She didn’t have time to moon over a human who was practically an infant, even if he was an incredible fighter, the savior of Soul Society for his fight against the traitor Aizen, and the hottest thing on two legs she’d ever seen rock a hakama.

Oh, god. Where did Captain Kyouraku hide that stash of sake again?


This would not do.

Byakuya Kuchiki realized he’d been staring at the Council of Elders for the past half hour and hadn’t heard a word dropping from their wrinkled mouths, barbed and pernicious as their input would no doubt be. They had hated Hisana, tried to reject Rukia, and nearly had a collective heart attack when he’d turned against their ‘counsel’ – their thinly-veiled orders – to save his sister from Aizen’s schemes.

It was only the fact that Aizen turned out to be a traitor who had either killed or ordered the murder of the entire ruling body of Soul Society that had stopped their complaints then.

Not that it lasted. They were, once again, imploring him to find a suitable wife – of their choosing, look, here’s a list! – and insinuating that he was, once again, an abject failure at upholding the dignity of the clan.

Wait. Why was he here? He had work to do.

Well, not work, but something. Important.


He turned on his heel and left the room, completely oblivious to the three old women and two old men spluttering about his disrespectful ways who he left in his wake.

Once back in his rooms, he carefully turned Hisana’s portrait to the wall. She was too much the lady, even in death, to see what he wanted to do now. He brought forth a butterfly, whispered a message, and sent it off via the Senkaimon on the estate. Then he took the Kenseikan from his hair, removed and folded the rough cloth of the captain’s haori from his back, and, having divested himself of the markers of his rank and station, took himself off to wait for the response to his summons.

It didn’t take long.

Less than an hour after he sent word, the gates opened. His butterfly fluttered out, and directly behind it ran Ichigo Kurosaki.

The man who had pulled the scales from his eyes. Who had broken the wall around his heart. The one who had given him his sister, in a way he’d been unable to understand until it was beaten into him. Who had protected his pride when he could not.

The man he wanted, no, needed, to submit to him.



Who would always call him by his given name, and by this point, he found that strangely reassuring.

“Is everyone okay? Are you all right? Is it Rukia? Is Renji okay? Tell me it’s not Jūshirō! What are you-“

He stopped the flow of increasingly concerned words in the most expedient manner. He clasped Ichigo Kurosaki’s shoulders in his hands, yanked him forward, and kissed him like a man lost in the desert who had finally found water.

Somewhere behind him one of his servants fell over with a crash of broken crockery and a muffled swear.

Byakuya ignored it as such mundane matters were beneath his notice, especially when Ichigo Kurosaki was in his hands and under his lips.

It struck him that the boy was actually a couple inches taller than he was, and he sighed internally. At least he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck kissing Ichigo Kurosaki, unlike when he kissed Hisana. Although it was a tiny bit wounding to his dignity to be standing on his toes.

And so it only made sense to remove them both to somewhere private where they could rest horizontally, negating the small difference in their heights.

It would make the immediate removal of clothing more easily attained, as well.

He completely ignored the various Kuchiki minions scattered around staring at him in dumb amazement as he clasped Ichigo Kurosaki around the waist and used a shunpo step faster than any in decades to return them both to his rooms.

He had more important things to think about.


“Byuayaya?” Ichigo babbled when he got his mouth back. His eyes were huge and his mouth hung open slightly as Byakuya all but dragged him with a whoosh away from the gate and into his manor.

A bunch of servants fell over in shock as they rushed past. He could sympathize. If Byakuya’s arm wasn’t clamped around him like a steel bar he’d have fallen over himself.

Right after that scorching kiss.

Who knew pole-up-his-ass Byakuya could kiss like THAT?

And why on Earth was he kissing ICHIGO like that?

Did Renji drug him, maybe?

Or was Kurotsuchi experimenting again?

His poor fuzzy brain was still trying to figure it out when they came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a large, comfy-looking futon.

Then Byakuya was stripping him with an efficiency that made him dizzy again, and he kind of gave up on thinking. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter, because Byakuya had pushed him back on the futon with a bounce – it really was comfy – and crawled up between his legs. The brush of that long dark hair against his skin was doing very interesting things to his dick. And his blood pressure.

Sometime in the middle of the dizziness Byakuya had also gotten naked, and wow. He was… gorgeous. Creamy pale skin with a flush rising up from his chest, dark pink nipples rising, and it wasn’t because it was cold in the room. Long fingers, so deadly with a sword, were mapping him like he was going to sculpt him from memory.

Ichigo turned on harder and faster than he ever had in his life.

A ferociously-aroused Byakuya Kuchiki was a force of nature. Anybody would be overwhelmed, and Ichigo, virgin that he was, felt like he was drowning. Those hands were everywhere, the solid weight of Byakuya’s body holding him down and rubbing up against him, that mouth leaving a trail of fire everywhere it touched.

Then it closed around his dick, and the bastard swallowed.

He was pretty sure his head exploded.

The little one, anyway.

The big one may have just melted.

Along with all his bones.

Ichigo hadn’t thought much about sex, to be honest. He’d been too busy fighting when he went through puberty, then the whole ‘become a Soul Reaper, save the World’ shit happened, then he spent a year and a half trying not to lose himself in depression. Dating hadn’t really been top of his priority list.

It didn’t help that of the five girls he was close to, two were practically his sisters, two were actually his sisters, and the last one, while nice and very helpful, was so needy she kind of reminded him of a leech. Uryū was welcome to her.

It also didn’t help that of the couple dozen guys he was relatively close to, he couldn’t visualize himself asking any of them for a date. One wanted to kill him, the vast majority were fighting buddies, a few barely tolerated him… although one who he thought barely tolerated him was currently licking his dick like an ice cream cone, so he might have been a little off on that estimation…

Then Byakuya pushed two fingers up his ass, and Ichigo gave up any attempt to think.

Wasn’t that supposed to hurt? Maybe it was due to coming so hard his brain blew up, but it didn’t hurt at all. Stretched, yeah, burned, a little, felt weird, true, but also good.

Then he moved those evil, evil fingers, and Ichigo found himself splayed like a starfish, yelping like a dog in heat, and humping up and down with no shame whatsoever.

Byakuya laughed, wicked bastard that he was, and muttered, “Beautiful” against his chest. A shift, and he added another finger, pulling them apart, and it honestly felt like he was opening Ichigo up all the way to his spine.

Maybe he was, and it was probably a good thing too, because when he pulled his fingers out… okay, yeah, Ichigo would admit to a whine, there, but they’d felt good, and he wanted them back! Byakuya pushed in something a lot wider, a lot hotter, and a whole lot more intense.

Then he moved.

Ichigo had the vague impression that he was moaning a bit, like with every breath, but Byakuya seemed to like it, since he kept kissing him like he was trying to capture the sounds with his tongue. Somehow he’d gotten his hands up, running them through that long black hair, and it really did feel like silk. Byakuya had one hand on his hip, pulling him in to each thrust, and the other hand under his opposite thigh, keeping him positioned just right.

In, and rubbing against something inside him that made light spark behind his eyelids, then out, leaving him feeling so empty, before pushing back in. Ichigo wanted to tell him to go faster, to give him more, but Byakuya kept his pace, kept his strength held back just so, and kept him on the edge of insanity forever. Ichigo found enough strength to wrap his legs around Byakuya’s hips, and the change in angle gave him a jolt that made all his nerves flare at once.

He would have yelled, if he’d had any air, but since he didn’t, he just shook.


Finally broke Byakuya’s iron control.

Then the thrusts came harder, went deeper, rocked him until he felt it in his bones. He broke their kiss in a desperate attempt to breath, throwing his head back against the futon. He arched up as far as he could, thoroughly enjoying being held down.

Somewhere along the way he’d gotten hard again, and the friction of Byakuya’s hard stomach muscles against his dick felt incredible. He didn’t even need to touch himself to come again, and that was just as well, because he couldn’t stop touching Byakuya.

There was a muffled curse against his skin, then teeth biting down into the muscle where his shoulder met his neck, sending a last aftershock through him. Byakuya bucked up against him a couple times, then pushed in hard and held himself there, shuddering.

Ichigo finally unwound his hands from Byakuya’s hair, gently stroking the shaking muscles along his back as he allowed his legs to relax, flopping to either side of Byakuya’s body. They sprawled there together until he felt the bulky dick slip from his ass, making him shiver again.

He was going to feel that in the morning.

Long fingers clamped around his jaw again, tilting his head and, yes, there was more kissing, and yes, it was just as fucking incredible as the first time.

“Rest now, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

The velvet voice was a little rough, and Ichigo grinned. It was a little lopsided, because he’d just been thoroughly deflowered, if a guy could call his first time that, and none of his muscles were working right. But for once, he was happy to follow an order.

As he wrapped his arms around the hot, sweaty, still sweet-smelling man curled around him, his last thoughts were, ‘who knew Byakuya Kuchiki was such a cuddler?’ followed immediately by ‘I wonder if he’ll kill me in the morning?’ and ‘how can he smell so good after all that sweaty sex?’

Then he passed out.


As it turned out, Byakuya didn’t kill him in the morning. In fact, Byakuya fed him breakfast in bed.

Then took him to the hot springs, after he tried to get up and fell over. He would never make another joke about any guy having a stick shoved up his ass, because after having Byakuya’s pole up his ass, he knew just how painful the morning after could be.

As it happened, Urahara wasn’t the only one with a magic healing hot spring. So did the Kuchiki Clan Head.

Ichigo didn’t have much time to be thankful for it, though, before Byakuya had him bent over the edge and was taking thorough advantage of the recent healing to stretch him all out again.

They spent most of the day in the hot tub.

In between a visit to the gardens, where Byakuya pushed him face-first up against the trunk of a huge cherry tree, rucked up the yukata he’d borrowed, and pounded into him until they both came and their knees gave out. He tried not to think about the reaction of whoever did the laundry, and was just thankful it wasn’t Yuzu.

And lunch, where Byakuya waited until the servants cleared the dishes, then threw a locking kidō at the door, put him on his hands and knees on a cushion, and screwed him through the floor. After that it was back to the hot spring, this time with a big jug of juice, because the combination of dehydration and over-stimulation was making Ichigo giggly.

He hadn’t giggled since he was five, but Byakuya made him giggle. Yes, his brain was completely gone.

Then Byakuya pushed him down on his knees out by the koi pond, in yet another private garden with yet another kidō sheltering them, and taught him how to give a blow job. By feeding him his dick and telling him exactly what to do and when to do it.

Ichigo decided that sometimes, he could take orders, and he was damned good at it, if the way Byakuya’s eyes rolled up in the back of his head were any indication.

It was another night before Byakuya finally let him leave, and even then he might not have, except he had school, he needed to let his sisters know he hadn’t decided to fight yet another war, and Byakuya had to go to work. They parted at the gate to the Senkaimon with a final kiss, the resulting dizziness proving that exposure didn’t lessen the impact at all.

Looking cool as an ice cube, even with kiss-swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes, Byakuya nodded to him. “Until next time, Ichigo Kurosaki.” He turned and walked off without a care in the world.

There was going to be a next time?

Hell, yeah!

Distracted by possibilities, it was a wonder Ichigo made it back home in one piece and didn’t get sucked up by the cleaner.


Rukia stood at the side of the house, watching wide-eyed as her brother walked off to work with a bounce in his step she had never seen.

It had been a weekend for seeing things she had never seen.

Many of them, she wished she could unsee, because there were just some things you didn’t want to see your brother doing with another guy who might as well have been a brother, no matter how hot they both were.

If Captain Ukitake was surprised by her air headedness all day, he was kind enough not to comment.


His dad took one look at him, cried “my baby boy is a man!” and ran off to babble at Mom’s feet.

Ichigo didn’t bother punching him. He absently ruffled Karin’s hair, ducked her return kick, and smooched Yuzu on the forehead, taking the plate she offered him up to his bedroom

“Did you see his smile?”

“Yeah, not creepy fake or hiding something like it usually is.”

“Nii-san actually looked… happy!”

“I wonder who finally tripped him and beat him to the futon?”


“What? You and Dad are always the ones trying to peep on him in his bedroom! I bet you it wasn’t Orihime.”

His dad cried louder.

He ignored them all and meandered up the stairs. Once back in his room, he sat absently munching his breakfast while he stared absently at Kon.

The irritated stuffed lion stared back at him, finally demanding, “Who pissed in your rice bowl this morning?”

“Ick. No. We did a lot of stuff, but we didn’t do anything like that.”

Man stared at modified-soul-in-plushie for a long moment.

Then Kon laughed so hard he rolled off the desk, across the floor, and under the bed.

“Are you trying to tell me the King Prude actually got laid?” came the muffled question from beneath the mattress.

Ichigo sighed.

Only then did he notice the Quincy Archer Cousin sitting on the floor with the textbooks scattered around him. Staring at him. Eyeglasses glinting.


“Your situational awareness is usually much keener than this. What happened? Another concussion?”

He blushed.

“A possession? Some new power from yet another aspect of your heritage no one knew about? Yamamoto appointed you his successor? The Soul King made you his heir? Aizen escaped and you had to duel him to a standstill again? Kenpachi stopped trying to kill you? Rukia stopped smacking you around?”

“I got laid, okay?” Ichigo burst into the stream of increasingly silly possibilities Uryū was spilling out.

A moment of stark silence later, Uryū joined Kon in falling over onto the floor laughing. From beneath the bed, the hysterical laughter, bordering on hiccups, came once more.

“Oh, shut up, both of you!”

When Uryū finally stopped laughing like a hyena and pulled himself up to a sitting position, he gasped, “Really? You? Sex? Who?” He didn’t have enough breath to form complete sentences.

“Sometimes I kind of hate you,” Ichigo told him thoughtfully, before adding, bashfully, “Byakuya.”

Uryū choked.

So did Kon.

Ichigo took advantage of their inability to say anything to give them a complete rundown of his previous day, evening and morning activities, giving Kon blackmail fodder for years and giving Uryū mental images he really didn’t need and would require hours of intimacy with Orihime to blot out.

“I’m not really sure what he’s thinking.”

“Garden? Dining room?! PUBLIC??”

Apparently Uryū still wasn’t able to speak like a regular human.

Kon rolled out from under the bed, propping his little lion head on his little lion paw and staring intently up at Ichigo. “Oh god, you’re telling the truth. Quick, give me your body and go back to Soul Society. You need some more alone time with Miss Priss and I need to test drive the improvements to the chassis.”

Ichigo stomped on his head then kicked him into the closet. Then he threw a blanket over the complaining plushie and shut the closet door so he didn’t have to listen to him. Turning back to Uryū, he noticed the eyes behind the glasses were still wide, unblinking, and bugging out.

“Is it really that hard to believe that someone would want to have sex with me?” he whined, plucking at the blanket.

Uryū coughed, once, then answered, “No. What’s unbelievable is that you noticed.”

Ichigo cocked his head and looked at him, confused. “Noticed what?”

It was Uryū’s turn to sigh. “Exactly. It’s also inconceivable that your first time was with Byakuya Kuchiki. I didn’t think he knew he even had a penis, much less what to do with it, much LESS with a guy, MUCH LESS with YOU.”

“Yeah. That kind of confused me, too. Although, really, I wasn’t thinking much after the first kiss. I think it was partly shock, partly oxygen deprivation, and partly the fact that he’s a really, really good kisser.”

Uryū put both hands up in the universal STOP sign. “Tell me no more,” he said, “please god shut up,” much more softly, before raising his voice. “So now what. Are you two in some kind of long distance, two-world relationship? Are you friends with benefits? Fuck buddies?” He stopped, shook his head, and muttered, “I can’t imagine Kuchiki even saying fuck, much less doing it.”

“Oh yeah,” Ichigo said dreamily. “That little roll thing he did with his hips-“

“Shut. Up.” Uryū glared at him. “Now I need bleach for my brain.”

That offended him a little. “What? Aren’t friends supposed to share when major changes happen in their lives? I think Byakuya screwing me all over his estate is pretty major!”

They both ignored Kon’s muffled requests for either more details or Ichigo’s body, along with recommendations for other positions and places he could try. For a mod-soul who spend most of his life in a pill in a box and the rest in Ichigo’s body taking math and lit notes, he had a really vivid imagination.

Uryū cleared his throat and attempted to give serious advice while not thinking too seriously on what he was advising. “You need to go back and find out where you stand. Without clarification, you’ll be acting on assumptions, as will he. And while I know you, and am therefore afraid of the assumptions you’ll make, I don’t know him, and that makes me nervous for your sake.”

Ichigo wasn’t sure whether to be offended or grateful, but Uryū was making sense. He nodded. “Friday. I’ll head over to Kisuke’s Friday afternoon after class and borrow his Senkaimon.”

Uryū shook his head. “Do you really want to have to explain this to Urahara?”

That stopped him cold. Kisuke’s leering face and shadowed eyes, not to mention loud laughter and need to share with everyone on three worlds, plus his propensity for blackmail, made him a very bad choice of confidant.

“Damnit. No. I can’t just wait for another butterfly.”

“Are you just a pathetic Shinigami,” Uryū asked scornfully, looking every inch the Quincy Quivering in Distain, “or are you also a Hollow? Use all the resources at your disposal, idiot!”

Hm. Kisuke or Hollow. Hollow or Kisuke. That was actually a tougher question than one might think, but going to the Hollow beat out going to Kisuke due to the Yoruichi factor.

If the crazy cat woman figured out he wasn’t a virgin anymore, she might jump him. He’d rather let Aizen out of jail and face him – less scary than Yoruichi in full Tease Mode with the strong possibility of actual Pouncing.

Glancing quickly at Uryū, now buried up to his eyeballs in calculus, Ichigo took a fortifying breath and dropped into his soulscape.

Holy shit, it was bright in there.

The sun was glinting blindingly off the windows of the skyscrapers. In the distance, Old Man Zangetsu was sunbathing atop his pole… well, he’d undone the top buttons of his shirt, his trench coat was draped over a different pole, and his face was turned up to the sunny, clear, cloudless sky. Even the gleam off his sunglasses looked content. And around him… was that a park? Since when did his soulscape have trees? Still, he looked like he was enjoying himself.

Bad idea to bother him.

A noise like a very large housecat purring brought his attention around behind him. A hammock had sprouted from one of the windows, and his Hollow was reclined in it, wearing nothing but board shorts – Ichigo reminded himself that his Hollow was identical to himself, with the addition of major psychosis, so it was pervy to think he looked hot like that – sipping a bright blue frothy drink with a little red and green umbrella in it. His eyes were closed and he was humming ‘Get Lucky’ by Daft Punk.

He refused to think about how appropriate that was.

“Err, do you think you could teach me how to open a garganta?” He hated how hesitant he sounded, but his Hollow was actually smiling. It was freaking him out.

“That gonna get you laid again?”

“Uhm, yes?”

One black and gold eye cracked open and glared at him.

“Yes,” Ichigo added with significantly more assurance, “it will.”

The glare disappeared, the creepily happy smile came back, and one white hand waved at him. He felt his pointer and index fingers tingle.

“There ya go. Think on where ya want to end up and tap the sky. Have fun and get laid lots. Sunshine’s nice.”

Backing away slowly, he decided if that was how he looked when he smiled, no wonder it made people uneasy.

Maybe he’d try that next time Kenpachi tried to kill him.

He was smiling as he woke up. Uryū was looking at him like he was a serial killer, lacking only a hockey mask and a knife.

“Okay, okay,” he sighed, “I’m going.”

He dug Kon out of the closet, and popped the mod-soul pill. Staring at the gleam of anticipation on his body’s face, he growled, “If I come back to suspicious fluids or strange aches, I will crush you to powder and tell Kisuke I broke you in the washing machine.”

Uryū was snickering and Kon was staring at him in disbelief as he left.

Hey, it wasn’t THAT pathetic a threat.

He used shunpo to get to the park in under a minute. Opening a garganta really was as easy as visualizing his landing point and popping a crack open in the sky. He didn’t trust himself to remember any part of the Kuchiki estate clearly, as he’d been preoccupied with new experiences the previous weekend, plus he didn’t want the entire 11th division to show up thinking he was a Hollow and trying to kill him, so he landed in the Rukongai, about the 20th district, near a bar Renji had tried to get him drunk at a few weeks before.

Renji was pretty funny when he was drunk. Especially since Ichigo didn’t drink.

Still, a lot of the souls screamed and ran when he stepped out of the sky, so he kicked his shunpo into high gear and headed for the city. The gates were open, as a couple years of invasions and traitors and Hollow attacks hadn’t really made any impact on security, so he headed in and tried to remember where Byakuya lived.


“Kenny! Tag!”

“Oh, Ichigo’s back, huh? Great! The old man talked so much last time he was here we didn’t get a chance to fight!”

Yachiru found him first. He was wandering around the streets, looking so much like Kenny – lost – that she had to bounce over and offer him some of her precious candy.

He was so sweet. He smiled at her, and he meant it, not one of those painful ones he gave when he was trying to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. She grinned up at him and tugged on his bright, pretty hair.

“Tag! You’re it!”

And he played!

When Kenny finally caught up, he yelled, “Ichigo! Fight me!” and the game of tag had three players, so it was even more fun!

Sadly, just when Kenny finally tagged Ichi, Fox captain interrupted the game. He tossed Ichi over his shoulder and took off. She stood in the middle of the road and stared, lip quivering, as Ichi’s confused face disappeared into the distance.

“Oh, well. Kenny, candy?” She ignored his sulky face at not getting to play with Ichi. He picked her up, tossed her on his shoulder – not over it, because she was too short and wouldn’t fit – and ran off to try to follow Fox and Ichi.

And a new game began.

Several hours later they gave up and went home to have dinner.

They never did find Ichi and the Fox.


The scent had returned. His fur ruffled, his nose lifted, his ears twitched. His tail puffed.

The hunt was on.

The scent drew him to a whirl of activity, a small pink blur, a large block of power with bells on his head, and… I-chi-go.

The scent was I-chi-go.

Now he knew. He’d never felt this before. Never knew what it was…

…to be in heat.

For I-chi-go.

Must have him. Must away to the den. Must encircle and cover and soothe the heat.

I-chi-go made a small sound of distress as he was casually tossed onto the pile of blankets and pillows that was Komamura’s nest. No, must not be hurt.

Must share lust.

He was completely unaware that he was regressing to an animal state – ironic given his form – and, frankly, terrifying his potential mate.

He was too busy growling at anyone who came too close, then barricading the door once they got inside.

He turned, slid off the coverings smothering his fur, and stared down at his prize.



Ichigo was closer to a heart attack than he’d ever been, and considering he’d fought Aizen, Kenpachi, AND Grimmjow – several times – that was saying something.

“Can – can we – talk about this?” he squeaked.

The eight foot tall fox that made him feel petit snuffled at him. Paws the size of platters came at him and, with surprising delicacy, stripped him like they were cleaning a fish. Only without the whole gutting aspect. He was still trying to sort his metaphors when a tongue as wide as his palm licked between his legs.

When had he spread his legs?

The tongue was wet and rough, running from the small of his back all the way up to his belly button.

Over. And over.

It was nothing like anything Byakuya had done. It was weirdly both raw and soothing. He found himself relaxing, his hands coming up to card through the bright short fur behind those adorable ears. His body was softening like putty left out in the sun, and as odd as all this was, he found he didn’t want to fight it.

“This is so sudden,” he mused, then yelped when the tongue lapped at his dick.

When had he gotten hard?

It was like this was all sneaking up on him. One minute he’s playing with Yachiru and trying to avoid being killed by Kenpachi, the next he’s naked and a giant fox is licking his balls.

This was his life?

It felt pretty damned good.

He knew he should be freaking out over the fact that he was, in essence, engaging in bestiality. But Captain Komamura – he really should learn the guy’s first name if he was going to lay here like a slut and let him lick him all over – was more man than beast. He was better spoken than half the captains of the Gotei 13, a good fighter even if he lost most of his fights… he kind of reminded Ichigo of Chad there… and he’d seen him having tea and debating philosophy with Captain Unohana, so the inside was a man.

Even if the outside made Ichigo feel like he was at the most perverted furry con ever held.

Then a finger that was nearly the size of Byakuya’s dick was working its way into him, and there wasn’t enough spit for that to feel anywhere close to good.

“Lube! Lube!” he choked out, trying to wriggle away and failing spectacularly.

At least the invasion stopped for the moment.

Then it was back, and it was slippery, and life was very, very good.

The fur brushing all along his body was erotic and comforting at the same time, kind of like great sex crossed with cuddling a teddy bear. It brushed against his nipples and they stood to attention, making the brushing even more exciting. It brushed against his legs and sensitized the skin, making him tingle. It brushed against his ass, and next thing he knew, he was on his knees, and Komamura was very, very, very slowly shoving his dick inside him.

Thank god for slow speed, because he was fucking HUGE.

Ichigo was whining and trying his damnedest to relax, as it felt like a round, hot, wet two-by-four was splitting his ass apart. Then a furry paw wrapped around his dick and pulled, very gently.

It was amazing how a fox… man… guy so damned big could be so damned gentle, but Ichigo appreciated it. The tugging at his dick, the fur brushing all over him, and the inexorable advance of the huge dick in his ass overloaded his system, and he came so hard it was a wonder he didn’t pass out.

Okay. Yeah. He did pass out for a little while.

But that was fine, because when he woke up, he found himself fully impaled and locked down, ass to groin, as Komamura nuzzled and licked his neck and cheeks.

It was probably a good thing the Kurosaki family had never had pets, or he would have felt conflicted.

As it was, he dangled, hands flat on the floor, knees a good four inches off it, feet tangled in the blankets, and let the fox fuck him. In, all the way, out excruciatingly slowly, then back in and resting, over and over again. Fur enfolded his balls, blanketing them in heat, rough against the thin skin on the inside of his thighs and the hot spot he didn’t know he had at the small of his back. Time lost meaning, as his entire existence centered around the stretch, the burn, the constant rubbing against his prostate, the sheer heat that radiated from his stuffed ass up his spine, down along all his nerve endings.

It was a lot different than Byakuya, but in its own way, just as good. Komamura’s dick was as long and as thick as a man’s arm, and it felt like it was rearranging his insides with every push, but the foxy man was being so careful, so intent, so solicitous even as he growled and snuffled and licked, that Ichigo could only let himself go with it. There wasn’t any damage, well, nothing worse than he’d gotten in eight years of street fighting and three years of sword fighting, and the intensity of pleasure more than made up for it. Let’s face it, no matter how big he stretched, as long as he didn’t tear, it wasn’t worse than a gut wound so deep it nearly severed his spine.

Of course, he probably wasn’t going to be able to walk for a week, but hell, it was worth it.

He came again, or maybe still, since the pressure and the rubbing never let up, and he was pretty sure his prostate was in a state of happy shock. His ass would need awhile, but the rest of him was floating on a sea of endorphins, cresting and falling, until Komamura stilled. Pushed in even further, not that Ichigo had thought that possible, and came.

It was like a hot ocean, flooding him. There was no way he could contain it, and it squeezed back out, giving his stretched hole some sweet relief as it lubricated on the way out. Komamura made a muffled noise like a cross between a shout and a howl, but kept his muzzle clenched so it didn’t bring the roof down on him.

His constraint was incredible.

Ichigo was thankful for it.

Then he felt the huge dick swell, right at the base, buried a couple inches inside him, and nearly screamed.


Dogs knotted.

It was going to be a very long day.

He fell asleep that way, utterly worn out, ass stretched around a ball of flesh the size of a man’s fist, surrounded by fox fur, a deep rumbling sound shaking his back as Komamura purred – or snored – cuddled up against him. It was more relaxing than one might expect. He woke up when the knot finally eased, and Komamura pulled out.


Shit. It felt like his ass was turning inside out.

And maybe he was a masochist, because it also turned him on.

He was used to pain being normal… but exciting? Yeah, that was different.

Then he was being licked again, deep into his stretched ass then over his chafed dick then back at his abused ass. Smothering his yelping in a pillow, he came into the blankets, dry because his balls didn’t have a drop left to give. Dazedly, he reflected that for a relatively inexperienced prior prude, he had some major kinks.

Then he passed out again. When he awoke, it was to a sheepish fox – an oddly fitting expression – a full bottle of water, and an incredible ache in his ass. Then there was tea and snacks, which he took lying down.

Followed by a gentle scrub-down, a long soak in a very hot bath, a massage, and a nap. All of which he was carried to, pampered through, and generally spoiled more than he ever had been in his life.

It didn’t tell him where he stood with Byakuya… but at the moment, he really didn’t care.


Isane dreamed again. She wondered if this would be a recurring end to her work week. She’d had worse.

This time, it wasn’t her, but it was still Ichigo. He was naked again, and he wasn’t alone.

Captain Komamura was there. So was Captain Kuchiki. They were also naked.

A little voice commented that it was funny that she’d never been intimate with any of these men, yet she knew what all of them looked like naked, because they’d all been badly injured and under her care. She’d never seen any of them erect, though.

The dream was oddly detailed.

The three men were in a garden, under a cherry tree, surrounded by flowers. It was either dawn or dusk, as the light was soft but still clear, and shadows lingered. She was invisible, as she often felt in her waking life, watching, witnessing but never taking part.

That was fine, really. While she’d like to play once in a while too, she loved to watch.

Ichigo was on his hands and knees… well, hands anyway… in front of Captain Komamura, who was making love to him very slowly with an incredibly large penis that she was astonished Ichigo could take. From the way he squirmed and moaned, it must have felt really good. He couldn’t make much noise, though, because Captain Kuchiki stood in front of him, and was, well, fucking his mouth. She could see it slide in and out, pushing at Ichigo’s cheeks from the inside. He had his usual non-expression his face, but his hair was down, his eyes were intent, and his skin was flushed. His hands were buried in Ichigo’s bright hair, moving his head back and forth, taking what he needed.

Nobody was touching Ichigo’s penis, but he was hard anyway, and it slapped against his stomach and thighs as he was taken from both ends. It was the singularly most erotic thing Isane had ever seen, and she wondered at her imagination conjuring it up.

Then Captain Kuchiki orgasmed, pushing in until his testicles were flush with Ichigo’s chin, and Ichigo swallowed desperately, trying not to choke. A moment later, Captain Kuchiki withdrew and held his penis, pushing the tip lazily against Ichigo’s face as if he were painting it with the last of his orgasm. Ichigo was gasping for breath, then his own orgasm hit, still without being touched. He shuddered, his penis spraying wildly beneath him. Captain Kuchiki leaned down and kissed him, licking deeply into his mouth like he was cleaning him with his tongue.

That must have been too much for Captain Komamura, as he clasped his fingers deeply enough into Ichigo’s hips to leave bruises and pulled him completely off the grass, so he was balanced between them, taking Captain Kuchiki’s kiss and resting his weight on Captain Komamura’s pelvis, as the fox-man grunted and ground into him. Ichigo orgasmed again, whimpering against Captain Kuchiki’s mouth.

Then she came, and woke up.


She would not be sharing this strange dream with her captain.

Some things were better left unsaid.


It took a day or so of an insane level of pampering, but by Sunday afternoon, Ichigo really had to go home.

“I have a test in the morning. This is my last year of high school. If I’m going to go to college, and I have to or I’ll have no future while I’m alive, I have to get good grades, and I have to check on my applications.”

Sajin, as he’d found out Komamura’s name was – and having it panted in his ear as he twisted around on a dick the size of a plank engraved it into his memory – looked at him like he was speaking Swahili. He sighed. Reached up to scratch his devoted fox behind the ears and nuzzle his neck, then say sadly, “Now that I can walk sort-of straight again, I have to go home.”

And thank god the Hollow was in such a great mood. Since Ichigo had listened to him and gotten thoroughly laid, he’d rewarded him with some instant regeneration, or Ichigo would still be flat on his… stomach… trying to figure out how to make the lower half of his body move again. Hot baths and massages could only go so far, especially when they always ended in more licking. More coming. More stretching. Oh, just, MORE.

Sajin bowed him out the door, steadying him solicitously when he staggered. He reached up and Sajin bent down, and he rubbed his face against those cute whiskers. Then he straightened his shoulders, scowled at Shūhei who was staring at him with his jaw dropped and his eyes popping out, and staggered… err, swaggered in the general direction of the perimeter walls.

Very slowly.

Too slowly, as it turned out, because as he passed the next division headquarters, a blast of ice surrounded him. Then a dragon’s claw came out of nowhere, scooped him up, and kidnapped him into Tōshirō’s office.

Thankfully Rangiku was –still – out drinking at eight in the morning, or it really would have been embarrassing.


“Good morning, Treasure.” Tōshirō coughed and blushed. “I mean, Kurosaki.”

“Tōshirō! What are you doing? I have to go to school!” Ichigo looked so confused and adorable, caught in his clutches.

“It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you, Treasure!” he coughed again, and looked around a little wildly. “I mean, Kurosaki.”

That got him a searching look and a concerned, “Are you okay, Tōshirō? And why are you calling me Treasure?”

“Because you ARE!” A third cough, and his throat was getting a little sore. What was up with Hyōrinmaru? Ever since he’d felt Ichigo’s unmistakable spiritual pressure a few weeks ago, when he came to retrieve the body of the dead Fullbringer, his Zanpakutō had been restless.

He’d been dreaming of a cave carved in ice, full of treasures.

Isshin, still his captain, tossing paperwork at Rangiku, who tossed it back.

His grandmother, hale and healthy as she hadn’t been in decades.

Rangiku, irritating and smothering as she was.

Karin, fighting on the football field, letting nothing get in her way.

Yuzu, Karin’s shadow, still precious to him.

Momo, in the history of their friendship.

And Ichigo, fiery bright, lighting the ice like a torch but never burning.

His hoard. His dragon’s treasures.

“Um, are you sure you’re feeling all right? You might have a cold. Or a fever. Or be hallucinating, because you’re sitting in my lap hugging my neck and freaking me out, and that’s just not normal.”

Ichigo’s voice was a little higher than usual. He was sitting on the sofa, so there was another reason it was a good thing Rangiku was out. His arms were splayed out to his side and his head was reared back. His eyes were much larger than normal, and what pretty eyes he had, so warm and brown like melted chocolate, he could just swim in their sweetness. He was looking at Tōshirō like he’d never seen him before in his life.

That hurt, and his dragon sulked.

Oh. Wait. Right. He was straddling Ichigo’s lap and holding on to him like he’d never let him escape. Perhaps Ichigo was right to think he was ill.

With every drop of dignity he had left – not much – he pulled his arms away from their python-grip on his Treasure and clambered off his lap, trying not to damage anything important with his knees. Then he coughed again.

“Perhaps I am feeling slightly under the weather.” Not now, he wasn’t! Everything was great. His treasure was within his grasp! “Would you like to stay for some tea, perhaps, keep me company in my… illness?”

Oooh, yes, devious dragon. That would work!

“I’m sorry, Tōshirō, it’s late and I really need to get back home. I have classes in the morn…”

Ichigo trailed off as he gave him the biggest, saddest green eyes ever seen on any of the three worlds… except for Ulquiorra, but he was evil, so that didn’t count. It certainly worked, triggering Ichigo’s Big Brother Instincts, and he caved like a wet tissue.


And so Sunday evening passed in a haze of hanging out, dinner brought in by a confused unranked 10th member, and sleeping with Ichigo taking the couch and Tōshirō curled up on top of him. If little curls of ice vapor escaped his nostrils occasionally, no one was there to notice. Ichigo was too deeply asleep, and Tōshirō, along with Hyōrinmaru, was simply too content to care.

Happily, Rangiku came in at her normal time – noon – on Monday, so they had more hours to share. Ichigo made abortive efforts to escape several times. Tōshirō thought it was cute and penned him in with ice crystals. He still fed him and let him out to use the bathroom, though, so it was all okay.

Then Rangiku came in, screamed, dropped her sake jug, screamed again, and gave him a headache.

They were still arguing over him ‘kidnapping’ Ichigo and ‘holding him hostage’, with Rangiku shrieking and waving her arms around and himself meeting her silly arguments with reasoned logic about how of course Ichigo had to remain here, that this was his place with the rest of Tōshirō’s treasures… then Rangiku was trying to feel his face to see if he had a fever and he got so irritated he lost his concentration on the ice prison… err, pen, containing his Treasure.

Ichigo ran away.

Just for that, he was going to tie Rangiku to her desk with ice manacles and make her do ALL the paperwork. For a month.


Monday dawned, and Ichigo didn’t show up. Kon woke up, jerked off, cleaned Ichigo’s body very thoroughly as that last threat had been pretty effective, and toddled off to school.

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Lather, rinse, repeat.

He didn’t relax. He knew the minute he did, Ichigo would show up at the worst possible time – like, say, right as Chad was about to fuck him – and freak out. Kill him. Crush his pill. End his existence.

So instead of the sex he wanted to have, he aced an economics test, turned in the literature paper Ichigo had already written, and just for spite, signed Ichigo up for every trade school information packet he could find. Plus a few porn hotlines.

He also ditched work. Let that scary boss lady take it out on Ichigo’s body when Ichigo was the one in it!


After spending two days having incredibly intense sex then eighteen hours either enclosed in an ice prison or trying to sneak away and escape, Ichigo felt like his muscles were tied in knots.

He was also completely lost, as every damned street in the Seireitei looked exactly like every other street, and they hadn’t quite caught up to the times with the whole concept of street signs. The sun was nearly directly above his head, too, so even if he knew how to use it to tell cardinal directions, he didn’t know which direction he was supposed to be fleeing.

Heck, there wasn’t even any moss on the trees. There weren’t any trees.

Sighing, feeling rested and full but still tense from wondering what the heck else would happen before he could get back home, and a little worried that Kon had failed his math test, he came to a stop at the corner of two identical streets. He didn’t see anybody else around, and his reiatsu sensing still sucked, so he gave it up for a bad deal.

First thing, stretch out so he didn’t turn into one big cramp.

Second thing, try to find a Shinigami and ask him or her for directions to the outer gate.

Third thing, shunpo like crazy as far as possible out into the Rukon, open a garganta and head home before Kon lost his inhibitions and tried to have sex with his boss.

He shuddered.

Or Chad.

That gave him a whole other kind of shudder, and it was more in the sense of ‘not while I’m not there to enjoy it!’ instead of ‘Kill me now!’

Determinedly blanking his mind, he fell into a meditative mindset, ignored his sun-worshipping Zanpakutō and his drunkenly-singing Hollow… who really, really liked it when he got laid, apparently… and started to stretch. Arms above his head, sweeping down, holding, leg out one way, hold it, streeeeeetch it out, then the other leg, then up, and over to the side, cheek to knee, and hoooooold it, then…


In the shadows of the back entry to the 13th division, Jūshirō absently tossed the report he’d been reading over his shoulder and stared unabashedly at the feast for the eyes that was Ichigo Kurosaki, bent double at the waist, hugging first one leg then the other, and leaving his incredibly enticing rear end up in the air where any pervert could drool at it.

He absently wiped the corner of his mouth and stared some more.

Beside him, Shunsui took a deep gulp from his sake jug, emptying it and tossing it over to join the abandoned paperwork. Jū-chan had the right idea. That young man was delicious.

“We are going to fuck that boy through the mattress.” Jūshirō was determined.

“Whose bed? Yours or mine?” Shunsui was amused but interested.


“I like the way you think.”

His third seats were off arguing and wouldn’t be back for hours. One day they’d just give in and get on with it, but until then he’d send them off on day-long time wasting missions just so he’d have some peace and quiet. And privacy for seducing human substitute soul reapers.

Shunsui’s lieutenant had last been seen buried under an entire mountain of paperwork with no intention of coming up for air, so they were safe there.

Bright green eyes met lazy grey in complete agreement and they stepped off the porch in perfect synchronization. Jūshirō went left, Shunsui went right, and they came up on either side of young Ichigo.

Jūshirō was sidetracked for a moment when Ichigo shifted and he suddenly found himself groin to ass cheeks with the boy, but he only froze for a moment. He even managed to stop his hands before they reached out and cupped those shapely cheeks. There was time.

“Ichigo-kun! So good to see you. Are you busy? No? Excellent!”

Shunsui didn’t give him a chance to say a word before he had his arm around Ichigo’s shoulders and was walking him toward the 13th. Jūshirō came up on the other side and smiled sweetly down at the confused face looking up into his.

So darling. Big brown eyes, like a startled deer, and a mouth that couldn’t seem to decide whether to scowl or smile. The half-grin was adorable.

And All. Grown. Up.

True, he was quite young… but eighteen was adult in the human world, and he was something like that, wasn’t he? Plus he’d been battling Hollows and protecting Soul Society as a warrior for long enough to count as an adult.

And if he was a little inexperienced, well… they could take care of that.


There he was, innocently running through his stretches, trying to figure out where he was, when suddenly he was the Ichigo-meat in a Jūshirō-Shunsui sandwich. They were both smiling at him. He didn’t trust it.

Jūshirō’s beam mellowed into something a little more lustful, and Ichigo’s eyes widened.

He looked from the intent, hungry captain on his left, up into the equally hungry face half-hidden by a straw hat on his right, and had the feeling he was screwed.


Was he giving off some kind of pheromones or something? A blinking neon light only he couldn’t see that was hanging over his head flashing ‘fuck me’? Fallen into some kind of heat cycle that only Shinigami could sense?

Deep inside, he heard his Hollow cackle, and made a note to get back to that point later.

They’d entered a shadowed, quiet room and he automatically kicked off his waraji. He wasn’t sure quite why he toed off his tabi, too, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. They pulled him further into the room. He saw standard bedroom furniture out of the corner of his eye, but right behind Jūshirō was a fucking huge futon.

Already rolled out.

Ready to use.

He gulped.

“Have you eaten yet, Ichigo?” Jūshirō asked, looking concerned. As he was untying Ichigo’s obi and slipping it off his waist.

“Um, yeah, I’m good, Tōshirō fed me while he had me caged up.”

Everyone froze for a moment, and Jūshirō looked, if anything, more intent. Shunsui looked intrigued, but he was busy sliding Ichigo’s kosode off his shoulders.

“Oh, that’s good. How about some tea? Are you thirsty?”

Jūshirō was a good host, even as he was unfastening Ichigo’s hakama and placing a helpful arm around his waist so he didn’t fall as he was stepping out of it.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” Ichigo stuttered out as Shunsui’s hands tugged off his shitagi.

“Oh, my,” Shunsui breathed over his shoulder. “Lovely body art, Ichigo-kun.”

He glanced down at the outlined X on his chest, and the two on his forearms. “It, uh, came with the new outfit after Rukia stabbed me with you guys’ power.”

He only stuttered a little, which he thought was pretty good, considering Jūshirō was tracing the markings on his chest… with his tongue. He was down to his boxers now, since even in traditional clothes his body refused to put on a fundoshi. Not that it stopped Shunsui, who simply slid his thumbs under the waistband and slid them down to his ankles then off.

So. There he stood. Completely naked, while two fully-clothed captains felt him up.

Then Jūshirō lightly bit his nipple, and he jumped. Right back into Shunsui’s hands. Literally.

After that it got a little hazy. He’d heard of a somebody ‘worshipping’ a lover’s body, but he thought it was just romance novel crap, and resolved never to read Karin’s hidden stash again. But it wasn’t hyperbole after all.

They made him feel like he was spun gold. Strong and fragile at the same time, to be touched delicately then firmly and thoroughly all the while. Jūshirō’s hair tickled his skin, sensitizing everywhere he touched, and he wondered if it was some weird reiatsu manipulation or if he was just so completely turned on that the feather-light touch felt like it was touching beneath his skin, instead of along the top of it. Shunsui’s beard stubble rasped across his back, down his spine, across the top of his ass, and made him feel like he was going to jump out of skin, only for Jūshirō’s hands to soothe him back down again.

By the time they laid him down on the futon he didn’t know which way was up. He only knew he never wanted them to stop.

Hands and mouths explored him, controlling his fall and continually distracting him. One sensation bled into another, led to yet another, from Jūshirō then Shunsui then back again, and he felt like a feast before a ravening horde.

Shunsui was biting the back of his neck and rubbing something that smelled a little like sage down between his ass cheeks while Jūshirō pulled back just far enough to strip down. He had no idea when Shunsui had stripped off, but given the slightly furry skin rubbing against his back, he had. Now it was Jūshirō’s turn and Ichigo couldn’t tear his eyes away. The man was beautiful, like a marble sculpture brought to life, the only color the deep green of his eyes and the flush rising under his skin to darken his cheeks, dust the top of his chest, and run gently down his muscular torso to his erection.

The thin trail of hair leading down to his dick was as black as his eyebrows, as was the thatch of shiny curls cradling his balls and running along the top of his dick. Ichigo didn’t know where the impulse came from, but before Jūshirō could kneel back on the futon, he lurched forward awkwardly and caught himself with his hands on Jūshirō’s thighs. He made a small surprised noise, and Shunsui chuckled behind him, but he was too busy tasting the dick hardening under his tongue and petting the curly hair around it. It felt as springy as it looked.

Fingers speared through his hair as Jūshirō gasped and thrust his hips, an involuntary movement Ichigo was prepared for. Remembering what Byakuya had taught him, he passed the favor on, sealing his lips around Jūshirō’s dick and, trying to keep his teeth covered, sucking tentatively.

Jūshirō said something, but it was garbled. Behind him, Shunsui muttered, “So beautiful. You two are so fucking beautiful,” as he slid his fingers, one by one, into Ichigo’s ass. The steady intrusion, coupled with the taste of salt and, funnily enough, green tea, flooded over his tongue as Jūshirō came.

He looked surprised, too. His mouth was open as he panted for breath, and his eyes were half-closed, and he looked debauched. If a blow job did all that, and he wasn’t even very good at it, he’d have to practice a lot more. It was a good look, and he was kind of proud of himself for inspiring it.

Then Jūshirō’s knees buckled, and Ichigo caught him as he slid down onto the futon.

“Pretty good, huh, Jū-chan?” Shunsui asked. His voice was a little raspy, and deeper than normal.

He also timed it perfectly, saying that right as he pushed his dick inside Ichigo, making his breath hitch. He gave a gasp of his own, then moaned softly as Shunsui shifted inside him.

He wasn’t nearly as big as Sajin, but Ichigo could only be thankful for that. No, Shunsui was just right, just wide enough and just long enough to really make him feel it. Ichigo’s eyes were drifting shut when Jūshirō reached down and took hold of his dick.

His hand was slick.

His other hand was behind himself, and from the look of it, Jūshirō was pretty flexible. And pretty experienced. Because, with Shunsui urging them on breathlessly from behind him, Jūshirō turned, reached down between his thighs, and guided Ichigo directly into his hole.

It was tight. It took everything Ichigo had not to come right then and there. Jūshirō gave him some breathy encouragement that he couldn’t make out over the noise of blood rushing in his ears, and he sank in deeper. It was hot. It was incredible.

Then Shunsui moved forward, and Jūshirō pushed backward, and Ichigo came like a New Year’s firework.

Really, there was nothing else he could have done. It was the first time his dick had felt anything other than fingers or a tongue, and he was already on the edge. Thankfully, Jūshirō stayed still as Shunsui thrust into him, and in no time at all Ichigo was ready to keep going.

The nice side effect of coming while he was in Jūshirō was now he was all lubed up, with his own come, even, and while Jūshirō’s ass was even hotter, it wasn’t as tight. So he could move, and he did, and Shunsui was moving, and Jūshirō was moving, and it was like they were teaching him to dance, and he was a prodigy.

Shunsui had a hand wrapped around his hip, and another playing between his body and Jūshirō’s, running through his sweat-damp pubic hair then cupping his balls, then playing with the thin skin of Jūshirō’s hole where his dick was stretching him. It ratcheted the heat up on all three of them. Jūshirō reached down and took one of Ichigo’s hands, sliding it down and wrapping it around his dick, guiding it with his own hand, showing him how he liked to be squeezed, tugged, rubbed. Ichigo was amazed at how good it felt to know that his hand was making Jūshirō quiver, that his dick was making Jūshirō arch, that his ass was making Shunsui shudder, that they were so intertwined it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Then Jūshirō came, and it started a chain reaction. The hot-tight-silk-squeeze around his dick clamped down, and he buried his face in Jūshirō’s hair so he didn’t scream his head off when he came in turn. That clamped his ass down around Shunsui’s dick, and with a low groan, Shunsui unloaded into him.

Then there was a lot of shaking, and a slow slide apart that left them in a cuddle-clump in the middle of the messy futon.

Ichigo didn’t even care that he was lying in the wet spot. His head was cradled on Jūshirō’s chest, their legs tangled together, while Shunsui’s warm body curled up behind him. He felt safe, and satiated, and vaguely hungry. They were sticking together with sweat and come and he couldn’t care less. He felt Jūshirō lean over his head and Shunsui press forward, and heard them kissing above his head.

He fell asleep to the sound. He liked it.

When he woke up, they were still in a cuddle-pile, and the futon was still messy, but he’d been wiped off, they’d cleaned themselves up, and they were lying beneath a fresh sheet. He smiled up into Jūshirō’s face, then back over his shoulder at Shunsui’s sleepy expression. He was too comfortable to make waves, so he left it up to them where it went from there.

Which, as it turns out, was finger food in bed. He’d never had berries eaten off his back before. Nor had he had sake licked off his dick. He had to laugh when Shunsui started to fuck him with the peeled cucumber, until he was moaning instead of laughing, and Shunsui was eating it right out of him. Jūshirō was laughing, too, until Ichigo smeared cream over his dick then sucked it back off again. That stopped the laughter, and led to another round of let’s-melt-Ichigo’s-brain with-incredible-sex.

Eventually they did make it off the futon. They even had dinner, brought to them by a very quiet servant who stared at Ichigo like he was an hallucination then ran out the door. Shunsui laughed, Jūshirō sighed, and Ichigo ate like a starving man. Then he crawled face-first into Shunsui’s lap to see if he tasted as good as Jūshirō.

He was a little bitter, but still good. Turns out Jūshirō ate a lot fruit, while Shunsui drank a lot of sake. It made a difference.

That also gave Jūshirō the opportunity to see what mounting Ichigo felt like, and from the sounds he made, and the way his fingers kneaded Ichigo’s ass cheeks as he fucked him, he liked it. A lot.

So did Ichigo.

There was a bath attached to Jūshirō’s bedroom, which came in handy. He and Shunsui hid in there when two Shinigami came to report to Jūshirō, arguing very loudly. Jūshirō told them he wanted to rest, and to please make sure no one disturbed him. They eventually went away to do just that, and Jūshirō joined them in the bath.

Not to rest.

Shunsui had taken advantage of the noise the loudmouths were making to prop Ichigo on the edge of the bath and suck him down, while playing with his loosened hole, pinching the rim and curling his fingers in, finger-fucking him in rhythm with his sucking. Ichigo was about to come, trying not to make noise and get caught, when Jūshirō came in and shut the door.

“Started without me, I see,” he teased, then reached out to turn Ichigo’s head toward him. One deep kiss swallowed the yelp Ichigo gave as he came, then Jūshirō slid into the water and urged Ichigo down with him.

“I think he’s about ready,” Shunsui purred suggestively, and Ichigo blinked.

Ready? He’d been fucked nearly non-stop for two days. If he got any more ready he’d be bent over on a street corner, getting it from every hard-on that walked by.

Jūshirō moaned. “Oh, the mental images!”

Well, shit. He’d said that out loud. Then Shunsui was pulling him back into his lap, dick sliding easily up his stretched hole, and running his hands down Ichigo’s thighs, stopping under his knees to hold them up and spread them widely.

“For me?” Jūshirō said sweetly, with a mock-shy smile, then moved forward.

It took some careful maneuvering, and they slid a couple times before they got it right. But he settled between Shunsui’s knees, ran his hands soothingly down the back of Ichigo’s thighs down to his ass, then worked his way in beside Shunsui.

If he hadn’t already had experience taking Sajin’s dick up his ass, he would have freaked out. As it was, he was pleasantly exhausted, fully stretched, relaxed in the steam rising from the hot bath, and he trusted Jūshirō and Shunsui completely.

Then they started to move. Shunsui pressed up as Jūshirō drew out, then he drew back as Jūshirō pushed in. The stuffed feeling was overwhelmed by the continual pushing-pulling motion, as Shunsui groaned behind him at the tightness and at feeling Jūshirō’s dick working with his, and Jūshirō panted in front of him at the clamp of Ichigo’s ass trying to hold them both and the slide of Shunsui’s bulk pressing against his.

It couldn’t last long, but while it did, it was incredible. Ichigo could do nothing but give himself to the feeling as both men fucked him at once. His mind was floating somewhere outside his body, and his body was exploding from an overload of sensation. He came without a hand touching him, just Jūshirō’s body rubbing against his dick, barely managing to mumble a warning.

Jūshirō saw his orgasm approaching and said, “Shunsui, together,” then pushed it at the same time Shunsui did, so Ichigo was completely full with both men’s dicks when his body spasmed. He was so stretched he literally couldn’t clamp down, could only shudder as he came, rippling inside, causing both Shunsui and Jūshirō to groan as his orgasm triggered theirs.

They held each other and rode it out, each aftershock from each one setting off reactions in the other two. Finally their bodies were finished, and they fell bonelessly against one another. Jūshirō slipped free first, pulling a moan from Ichigo, then Shunsui slid out as well, leaving him gaping and empty. He shook in Shunsui’s arms, and Jūshirō dragged them both down into the water for a soak.

The bubbling of the hot water up inside him sent sensation rocketing through him, and he came again, a tiny spurt that he felt all the way from his scalp to his toes. Shunsui was chuckling even as he reached down to massage Ichigo’s stretched hole, playing with him again as Ichigo gave an incoherent, completely ignored protest.

Not that he protested all that hard. Shunsui was great with his hands.

Jūshirō was playing with his balls at the same time, rolling them, squeezing them gently in a milking motion, and that got yet another tiny, incredibly intense, and dry orgasm out of him, as his balls were completely empty. He was whimpering, and Jūshirō was kissing him, and Shunsui had his entire hand inside him now, and it was all just too much.

He only realized he’d passed out when he came to again, to find himself curled on a cushion in Jūshirō’s office. He was lying between Jūshirō’s spread legs, his head once more resting on Jūshirō’s chest, nestled up under his chin. Shunsui sprawled out beside them, one hand curled around a sake jug, the other running lightly over Ichigo’s ass, bare under the quilted covering.

Jūshirō was smiling at him. Shunsui was grinning. He gave them both a happy half-smile and fell asleep properly. He’d earned it.

Of course, that led him directly back to his soulscape. This time, the hammock was gone, but there was a nest of pillows and blankets much like the one he’d shared with Sajin. He looked around, not seeing anyone else, then looked down.

He was naked.

What the hell?

Then a slender, slightly hairy, nicely muscled, very naked Zangetsu, who wasn’t nearly as old a man as he’d thought under all those clothes, reached out to draw him down on the cushions just as a heavy weight landed on his back.

A naked heavy weight.

He looked over his shoulder, wide-eyed, at the indecently happy-looking – NAKED – Hollow draped over his back, and sighed.

Well, why not. He couldn’t go a block in the Seireitei without getting jumped… looked like the same thing applied in his inner world … so he might as well enjoy it where he found it.

He liked the sunshine, too.


The dreams didn’t wait until Friday.

Seldom had Isane been so thankful for individual rooms for officers… and privacy kidō… as she had been the last week. The steamy dreams were coming every night, and sometimes even at work when she daydreamed. It wasn’t just one or two, either… it was a montage of one sexy couple or trio or group then another. The only constants were Ichigo Kurosaki, in the middle of the action, and her invisible presence, seeing everything.

Sometimes it was Captain Komamura and Captain Kuchiki again, together or separately, ravishing Ichigo over and over. Sometimes it was Captain Kyōraku and Captain Ukitake, and who knew they were so inventive, even in her wild imagination? Sometimes it was Izuru and Shūhei, sometimes it was Captain Suì-Fēng and Yoruichi Shihōin, although with those two couples Ichigo seemed more a facilitator than the object of their attentions. Once it was even Rangiku and Captain Ichimaru, which was sexier than it had any right being, and one frightening time it was Momo and Captain Aizen, although that time it was Aizen having sex with Ichigo and Momo bringing them tea.

She’d woken up after THAT one and had to meditate for an hour before she could go back to sleep.

One time it was Captain Kenpachi, but once he caught Ichigo he didn’t seem to know what to do with him. Then Captain Kuchiki came by, insulted him, and made love to Ichigo right in front of him. That was a weird dream, but it ended quite nicely.

And once, it was Nanao. Reading out of a book, the Kama something, while Ichigo watched, wide-eyed and looking intimidated. Then Captain Kyōraku and Captain Ukitake came in, and Captain Kyōraku distracted Nanao while Captain Ukitake did very wicked things with his mouth to Ichigo’s penis. And anus. And nipples. And… anyway, Nanao ran away, carrying her book, and the rest of THAT dream was rather intense.

At least she was really relaxed, what with the multiple orgasms every night.

Captain Unohana looked at her like she knew what she was dreaming, but being the wonderful woman she was, never asked.


It was Friday before Ichigo got home, but not before he got promises from Jūshirō and Shunsui to come to the Living World and visit him. And to bring Byakuya. And Sajin, if they could find a way that wouldn’t have them all arrested for bestiality. They cheerfully agreed, and he got home in time to ace a test in social studies.

Uryū smirked at him. A lot.

Chad looked intrigued.


Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto looked out over his domain, sensing it as well as seeing it. Young Ichigo had visited again, and caused quite a stir.

Good. His boys deserved to be happy.

It would be some time before Ichigo realized that he’d been dead since Urahara cut his chain. When that happened, when he no longer felt he needed to stay in the World of the Living to protect his sisters and friends, he would have several souls waiting for him here, in Soul Society, with open arms.

Including Yamamoto. Who decided he’d finally found the one who would be strong enough to take his place, once he’d grown and seasoned a little more.

Maybe it was time he adopted an heir, after all.