Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9698108.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bleach
  Character:
      Ukitake_Juushirou
  Additional Tags:
      Implied_Underage, Wangst, of_the_most_literal_kind, apparently_this_is
      what_i_spent_my_christmas_2007_working_on, perhaps_this_explains_many
      things, perhaps_it_explains_none, old!fic, Solo, Orgasm
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-12-29 Words: 2042
****** Dark Thoughts ******
by Pippin4242
Summary
     He knows his feelings are inappropriate, but that isn't always enough
     to hold him back.
I shudder as the cool water cascades over my skin, dragging fine hairs away
with it to the drain. They twist and turn like long snakes before plunging away
into the blissful dark below. It was only a brush, I tell myself, nothing more
than my hand rumpling the fabric covering his shoulder, as I nudged past him
But no matter how I insist that the touch was a nothingness, a mere accidental
brush, that will not make it any better. I can hardly bear to believe that such
a tiny meaningless touch could make me betray myself like that. Thoughts of
such a nature that I... no! I try to drown them as I massage the soap into my
hair far too hard, and am rewarded by more snakes. I cannot believe I have been
thinking like this. What provoked it? As if he were promiscuous, or dressed
provocatively! Nothing could be farther from the truth. He was entirely
innocent to the blood pounding in my ears as he moved carelessly out of my
path. Innocent to the trembling of my hands and to my struggle to keep a normal
smile upon my face as I felt the blood rushing to my crotch. As I remember, I
can't believe how low I've fallen. I wish these thoughts would stop! But once
I've told myself to stop thinking about him it becomes impossible as this
growing obsession feeds upon itself like a snake encircling my life. Snakes
again. I remember what they're purportedly a metaphor for, and I wish that for
once I could have a single thought to myself without this alien pervert inside
me joining in. Sometimes a snake is just a reptile. And a colleague should
remain a distant workmate.
One thought. That was all it took. "I wonder what he would look like naked?" An
innocent enough thought, perhaps... in isolation. As soon as I tried to stop
myself thinking of him naked, I wondered what it would feel like to cup his
small buttocks in my hand, how big his penis might be, what he would look like
gagged. As soon as I push one thought down, another surfaces, ten times worse
than the last! Every time I glimpse a chance of redemption, every time I think
my thoughts aren't so bad, his intelligent eyes flash at me during meetings and
I feel myself growing red. It's not as if it were just us in those meetings.
There are eleven other captains, amongst the rank both my lover and my teacher.
My lover. Yes, that's right. I have a lover. We are supposed to be in love, for
goodness sake.
Tonight I will go to my lover's room, and strip in silence. I will lie on his
bed warm and still smelling of soap, and I will invite him to enter me. If I
give myself up to him, perhaps his goodness will wipe out my evil. I will try
and drown these perverted, disturbed thoughts in the rush of ecstasy he is able
to bring me, and maybe I will be able to confess my sins. If I am to tell him,
how will I say it? Will I hurt him more than if I keep this to myself? But what
if he finds out on his own, and feels betrayed?
He thinks he knows me, and I have killed the man he loves. He thinks I love
children. So I do. Now I find myself having to avoid them at all costs,
terrified of attaching that horrific curiosity to a new victim in my mind. In
trying not to examine my desires, lest I awaken still worse ideas, I will not
contemplate them at all. I walk from place to place distracted, my every
movement checked by the knowledge that I am a terrible person, and I cannot
remember why.
Is he a child? Is he a child? In the human world any being of his years would
be considered mature and beyond - likely even dead by now. But the fact remains
that I desire him for the one thing that is truly beautiful about him; his
sheer wide-eyed innocence, naked purity, illustrated in the fine lines of his
child's body. Like a flower, if I were to take it for my own I would crush it.
There is not so much as a trace of soap left in my hair now, but I do not want
to leave the safe, defined constraints of the shower stall. I close my eyes and
see his staring back at me in fear, from a futon where he lies barely covered
by a thin white sheet. Picture him slowly turning to face me, as the cover
falls away.
I know that he would hate me in an instant if he knew, and the very knowledge
seems to claw at my chest in shuddering gouges. The water continues to rattle
against the tiled floor, but it sounds as if it is a room away, as the blood
rushes in my ears, and invisible demons slash away at the core of my being. I
gasp in pain as burning tears threaten to overwhelm my vision, and in
desperation I lean back against the thin, cold wall of the shower stall.
Slumping a little as I try to regain my composure, I realise that I have missed
the signs that I am about to undergo another attack.
Of course, this shouldn't be an enormous setback. Not at my age, and with my
experience. But today? Whilst my body trembles from the icy pang of the water
with which I have surrounded myself, whilst my jaw aches and my head pounds
with the tension of trying to rein in my errant thoughts, whilst my erection
throbs between my aching legs, and whilst I rake my hands cruelly through my
sodden hair in an attempt to destroy all thought, I must deal with the ravages
of my illness? Already, the burning in my chest is starting to reach an
unmanageable level. If only I had not been so foolishly distracted, I would
have left the meeting early. I would have walked gently to my office upon the
lake, I would have inhaled steam from the steeping of one of the fourth
division's remarkable and entirely useless herb bundles, and I would have sent
my third-seated officers upon time-consuming errands, so that they would not
worry too much and crowd me. By the time that the attack reached the point at
which I now find myself, I should have been entirely at leisure, with soft
pillows behind my back, and a cascade of fresh white handkerchiefs at my
disposal.
Alas, no. Today I had to be a fool, and somehow felt it necessary to picture
that sweet, unmarked flesh, his soft tufts of snowy hair, the youthful pink of
his nipples, the curved lines of his hipbones pressing up against the taut and
well-trained flesh, pressing up against my chest as I lower myself upon him,
ready to sear my love across his body in hot pink welts, tugging at the hard
nubs of his nipples with my teeth, ignoring his desperate cries and struggles
beneath my greater weight as I thrust up into his tight anus, trying not to cry
out at the sudden exertion, for I do not want to spoil the beautiful, beautiful
moment. For these wicked thoughts I will be paying the price in blood.
I gasp, and splutter a single, racking cough. Blood stains the water as it
drains away. There is not much time left. I lower my hand, hesitate, then I
clear my thoughts as best I can, and I close my hand about my erection. Cool
and slick to touch from the shower, I can sense the hot blood pounding away
beneath the skin, betraying a terrible burning desire within me. The few small
drops of cum already weeping from the tip reveal themselves by their pearly
sheen, even as they are pulled away by the continuing deluge from far above.
Gently at first, I glide my right hand up and down my painfully hard organ,
shuddering in guilty pleasure at allowing myself to seek release. Using my left
hand I reach gingerly between my legs, afraid of even slight strain. I begin to
fondle my testicles, reaching behind them with a single finger to stroke at the
soft patch of skin which they conceal. Almost instantly it becomes clear that
this is one contortion too many; my lungs tighten immediately in a terrifying
spasm, and while I try and kneel upright to loosen my chest, I find myself
moaning - the shock has increased my grip on my member to a clench which I find
ridiculously arousing. I loosen my fingers a little and continue to pump. The
clenching in my chest makes way for deep hollow coughs, and my wet hair slaps
my face as I whip forwards into an involuntary crouch. I raise my left hand to
my mouth in a most likely futile attempt to prevent myself from becoming
completely covered in my own blood. Gasping, trying desperately to keep my
breathing under control even as a low moan escapes me, I realise that the
tightness in my chest has eased just a little. Sitting upright once more, I
close my eyes, and focus myself on the picture engraved on their lids.
His lithe young body, straining fiercely at the expertly tied ropes. Muffled
cries of indignation from behind the humiliating gag. His thrashing rumples the
bedclothes, but he knows as well as I do that this is futile - nobody will be
able to hear him. "Well," I say with a smile, as I lean down over him, "are you
ready to learn some new tricks from this old man?" I begin to take my hakama
off. He can only stare as I expose my penis to him, desperate to find solace. I
join him on my futon, and gently caress his hair, slipping one conveniently
lubricated finger into his anus, and feel his whole body jump with his mute
gasp.
In my dreams, my illness never slows me down.
As I wallow in my blissful reverie, I try not to forget the task at hand.
Pausing only once to heave another cough, hearing the splash as my blood joins
the swirling mess of water and precum in which I kneel, I lower my left hand to
my nipple, and tweak it once, sharply.
The pleasure is instant, like an electric shock coursing through my veins. I
try to rein in my reiatsu, worried that I may seem cause for concern if it
continues to fluctuate, but I cannot contain my loud moan of ecstasy. Oh, I'm
so close now - if I can only hold out for just a minute longer...
Slowing the repeated agitation of my shaft somewhat, I use my index finger to
caress the head, and am greeted by a flow of precum which, at my age, is
frankly impressive. Now, where was I?
In my dream, it is his nipple that I pinch and twist at. He doesn't understand
this unnerving pleasure, and he squirms and writhes. I thrust just once with my
lubricated finger, and he bucks in a most exciting way. Lowering my body to
join his, I remove the finger, and slowly but surely I make my way within him.
I groan, at some volume. Just as the deep coughing seizes me again, I come,
quite suddenly, gushing across my hand as I loosen my grip upon my penis. Bliss
engulfs me for a glorious but all too short while. And then I have to face what
I have become. The water ran cold long ago. I am quivering like a leaf,
scourged at ever-decreasing intervals by what seems to be a gigantic vulture
ripping at my ageing, skinny chest. I am covered in blood and cum, and I am
naked, and I don't know if I can reach a towel any more. Extending a suddenly-
heavy arm high above my head, I manage to turn off the rattling roar of the
shower, but somehow the noise doesn't stop. And then I realise that I am
sobbing.
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