Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Ginger Snaps ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

A/N - I do not own Bleach, because if I did, Orihime would stop saying "Kurosaki-kun!" every 3 words, and would be using her "God-like" powers to kick more ass.
Also, if you areunderage, or have issues withgraphic smut, masturbation, dark themes, old secret perverts, orbad shoujo manga, I kindly ask you to hit your "back" button. You've been warned.

A YanaGoya drawing of Byakuya I saw a while back inspired this. He was hanging out in a black kimono and spanking it on the floor. I liked the idea of Uki-chan doing that a little better. ;)

***SS***

It had taken nearly 2 years, but Aizen had been defeated and Seireitei was throwing a hell of a celebration in the 1st division's main assembly hall. Orihime feeling slightly fuzzy from the sake sat next to a completely smashed Rangiku. She was half listening to a drunken plan with Yumichika about how they were going to tie Captain Kuchiki and Renji to a bed and have their way with them. Yumichika was insisting that they both males needed to be covered in chocolate. Orihime shook her head, was everyone in Soul Society a sex freak? Probably, they had many years to hone and perfect something that she had never properly experienced. There was also the issue of being killed at any moment; and she knew first hand that would take away a lot of inhibitions. She scowled. Ugh, she didn't want to think about her stunted "relationship" with Ulquiorra right now.

Looking around the room, she realized that Seireitei was a shoujo manga fan's wet dream. Even Hueco Mundo - if you put aside the freezing cold and the fact everyone's personality sucked - was filled with hot guys with unbelievable bodies. Why hadn't she really noticed it before? Oh right, she was either crushing on Ichigo or fearing for his life, so she never looked at the other men around her in that light. Lot of good that did. Well, if one good thing came out of her time being held captive by Aizen and "tending to" Ulquiorra, it was the fact that she was no longer a slave to her feelings for Ichigo.

But what now? Orihime expected to die in Hueco Mundo. She had missed out on so much school that she had no hope of ever graduating, and her original backup plan of becoming Ichigo's dutiful wife was really immature and stupid every time she dwelled on it. Honestly, right now she didn't want to be anyone's wife, but she did wish for some kind of relationship, to discard her sort-of virginity…or maybe it was for some kind of validation? That she was still desireable and normal? She wasn't sure. Maybe she should ask Captain Unohana if Seireitei had the equivalent of a psychiatrist, because gods know she couldn't see one in the real world. A brutal and bloody pseudo relationship with a dead guy in a desert wasteland? Oh yeah, they would lock her up for sure. In fact, they would have probably medicated her even before she knew about soul society. Orihime wasn't a fool; she knew she had never played with a full deck.

Glancing around the room again, she saw Captain Ukitake and Nanao trying to pry a bottle of sake out of Captain Kyoraku's hands. She smiled; Ukitake was really sweet. Rukia and the rest of her squad worshiped that man, which was saying something since Rukia could be violent and hard to please.

As she watched, Ukitake finally was able to throw a terribly inebriated Kyoraku over Nanao and Hisagi's shoulders, before he settled back down at his table trying to ignore his two spastic third seats fighting over making his tea. She could see his eyebrows slightly furrowed, and was amazed at his self-control. Anyone else would have killed those two years ago. Hell, even she would have, and she used to have an astoundingly high bullshit tolerance.

Orihime smiled to herself. Ukitake was probably the only captain who encouraged her abilities, even going so far as to let her use his training grounds. He was even nice enough to arrange an escort for her back to the real world afterward - even though that turned out pretty poorly. Unlike the rest of her friends, he might not hold any of her experiences in Hueco Mundo against her. If Ichigo ever found out some of the things she had done, he definitely would never speak to her again.

Still looking at Ukitake as he turned to greet Rukia, she noticed that he had an open expressive face, with large brown eyes and he smiled easily unlike most of the other captains. She wondered what he looked like under his baggy uniform, even though he was ill, he had to be ripped…wait! Wait! Orihime's cheeks flushed, she's checking him out! Oh Gods, what is she thinking? He is far, far too old for her!

"So was Ulquiorra, he was also made up of thousands of dead suffering souls and that didn't stop you from..." She mentally smacked herself before that thought went any further.

Ripping her eyes away and glancing to the other side of the room, she spied Ichigo speaking to Urahara and Yoruichi - probably trying to come up with training for "super robot hollow bankai" or something insane like that. He was never within her reach. Hm, he probably masturbates to thoughts of defeating Aizen, or fighting both Grimmjow and Captain Zaraki with the eye patch off. Naked. Ewwwwww!

Shaking herself from that unwanted visual, she jumped back on her previous thoughts on manga and the handsome captain sitting at the table next to hers. Ukitake himself was a shoujo reader's fantasy. He fit most of the shoujo bishie checklist, otherworldly, handsome face, unbelievably pretty hair, successful, kind, and looking a little sad. Her blush deepened, oh gods she did not need another crush right now! Luckily before she could continue berating and second guessing herself, the object of her thoughts excused himself politely and made a beeline for the back door.

Before Rangiku could notice she had left, Orihime was quickly dodging through other guests and following Ukitake, intending to say goodnight and thank him for being so kind to her. That's it, to thank him. Nothing more.

Running down the dimly lit hallway that lead to the 13th division if she was correct, she picked up speed hoping that he wouldn't use shunpo to get home. Bursting through the door and letting out a startled yelp, she slammed into his back. She heard him let out a little "oof", then dodged sideways and grabbed his haori to avoid knocking either of them over completely. Waiting a minute for him to catch the breath she knocked out of him, she looked down at her hand to see his sleeve in a death grip to keep him from running away. He turned and seemed surprised to see her before his face split into a heart breaking smile and he said "Hello".

With Ukitake's full attention on her, Orihime's breath caught and her evil vocal cords betrayed her. Traitor vocal cords! He was so close! Too close! She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and smell the slightly bitter herbal tea he was drinking at the party. Dumbly Orihime wondered if he tasted like the tea as well, so she closed her eyes and leaned forward just a little bit…

***SS***

Jyuushiro was freaking out. It was the end of the victory party, and when Orihime stopped him to say goodnight in a deserted hallway of the 1st, he had impulsively kissed her. She didn't push him away, she didn't yell at him to stop. It took nearly 15 minutes of kissing her like a man starved before he was able to tear himself from her soft mouth, he mumbled some kind of excuse about getting up early to train recruits, and then he run away like an embarrassed little boy.

But why hadn't she stopped him? Maybe she just got caught up in the moment? Maybe she was just looking for a replacement for Ichigo since the boy was far too dense to return her feelings. Or maybe it was the sake? He scowled. She was clumsy, but she didn't seem drunk.

But why in seven hells would a goddess like Orihime let an old, sick, closeted pervert kiss her? Because that's what he was, and if he had let himself continue, it would have gone well beyond the robbing of a cradle. Even though most of his experience same from his right hand and those damn erotica books that Shunsui gave him for his 467th birthday, he was still almost a millenia older than her.

Jyuushiro sighed and ran his hand through his hair - this line of thinking was getting him nowhere and he was just depressing the hell out of himself.

Replaying the incident piece by piece in his mind, there was no doubt she enjoyed kissing him, he heard her muffled moans when he had pressed her against the wall and he had to attribute that to her lack of experience rather than any slight skill he might possess. He wasn't a fool; most women didn't enjoy the taste of blood so he never did much kissing. "Or sexing" he thought with a frown, his last dalliance a few decades ago ended spectacularly after he had a particularly messy attack during a rough lovemaking session. He didn't even get to finish.

Shaking his head mentally, he allowed his thoughts to come back to his source of confusion - what if she hadn't stopped him because she didn't want to? Could that even be possible?

Jyuushiro sighed again and sank back onto his futon. He thought about her hand grasping the front of his haori, and the other pulling on his hair, her large breasts mashed against him, and how she had been kissing him back so boldly. She was really was responsive to him. He remembered her mouth moving against his, and when he lightly flicked his tongue against seam of her lips, she had opened her mouth to him immediately with a deep breath out of her nose and a soft whimper in the back of her throat. Their tongues slid against each other and he could taste the sake she had been drinking, the faint sweetness of dango and...wait, did he taste hot sauce too?

He groaned at his errant thoughts and reached down to readjust himself, intending to ignore the now somewhat erect problem until it went away on it's own. A cold shower in his condition wouldn't do wonders for his health. But as he touched the semi hard flesh though the cloth, his breath hitched as raw need started to flow through his veins.

"Shit" he hissed as he slid his hand into his hakama and closed his eyes. He really was a horrible old pervert. His cock was now throbbing for attention and it wouldn't wait. Jyuushiro slid his palm over the head, smearing the precome pearling at the end of the slit with his fingers before taking hold of the hard flesh and fisting it. His hand began moving in quick strokes fueled by his imagination of a sweet red haired goddess biting her lip coyly.

His hakama were starting to get too restricting, so he stood up, pushed them down frantically and kicked them off before returning his hand to his turgid cock. Catching a glimpse of himself wearing only his opened black kimono in the mirror outside the dressing area, he sank down and sat on the end of the futon with his legs spread. Grasping his prick tightly, so that the head almost turned purple, he began stoking himself again at a more leisurely pace while watching his reflection with half lidded eyes.

He imagined Orihime on her knees in front of him, her large expressive eyes watching what he was doing with lust. She was nude, her flesh was pale and soft, and her breasts moved with each stuttering breath she took. She was looking at him hungrily, and licking her lips before crawling over to him to touch his cock. In his mind's eye, the hands that were stroking him were small, soft, and unsure of what they were doing, but they were working him toward orgasm nonetheless.

He opened his eyes, his hand moved quicker, squeezed tighter and he drove himself closer to his goal. His legs spread further and he could see his quivering asshole in the mirror. Giving it a quick thought he sucked on the digits of his unoccupied hand and then began running his moist finger pads around the twitching hole before pushing it slightly inside trying to mimic a little pink tongue. He grinned lopsidedly, trying to imagine Orihime's flesh slick with perspiration and her lust filled eyes looking up at him if she ever gained enough courage to lick his puckered entrance while she jerked him. Oh Gods, he hoped she would.

With each upward stroke he swiped his thumb over the head pressing it into the thin slit and every downward motion he gave an extra tight squeeze at the base. Under his ministrations, his balls were tightening and sparks of pleasure were beginning to work their way up his spine signaling to how close he was to coming.

And then the ball of pleasure finally burst. Heat was tearing its way up from his sac, where it shot through his shaft with ferocity he hadn't felt in years, possibly centuries. His back arched and his hips gave a spastic jerk that caused him to push up into his hand. Pleasure ripped though his body causing him to see white lights behind his eyelids from the intensity of his release. His cum spurted hard and hot over his hand and splattered across his abdomen, chest, and saturated his recently pressed black kimono, but he didn't care - it felt so fucking good. His hands trembled but still continued to move slowly along his length and across his ass trying to draw out the incredible sensation for as long as possible.

With a final shudder, Jyuushiro released his rapidly deflating cock and dropped back against the futon, wiping his semen covered hand on his stained kimono drowsily. He was too exhausted from his activities to bother with getting up and rinsing off in the shower, or to even change into his sleeping yukata. Remembering that Kiyone and Sentaro would likely barge into his room in the morning, he dragged a blanket out from under his body to cover himself and scooted up the futon a few feet.

Vaguely, before drifting off to sleep, he noted he really needed to work on his stamina if he was going to bed a woman who was 897 years younger. After all, he had many things to show her - like how to tie him up and spank him when he's been a naughty boy. He smiled softly, drifting off into contented dreams and wondering if a smiling gray-eyed goddess would be adverse to wielding an impressive strap on for him.

***SS***

Reviews, both positive and negative are appreciated. I can't hope to improve without them. ;)