Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Her Jurisdiction
A/N: Lemon.
He didn't know what the hell it was. For the longest time, it had manifested as being some weakened form of hatred, the edges laced with a bit of curiosity. And it was that which had sucked him into this. That overwhelming desire to understand every bloody concept he came into contact with. It had always been said that such a drive would be his undoing, but Mayuri had never once believed it. He'd chalked the whole thing up to the stupidity, and the inability to understand his motives.
There would be no denying that she had topped the list of irritations. Her inconceivable lack of emotion aside from that sickening joy that she'd paraded around with, the uncannily gentle way she disarmed anything and everything he threw at her. It was an insanity that not even he could comprehend.
It was just a mass of blurred lines by now, no distinct way to determine where one ended and began, let alone how he'd been pulled in. It was all fire and brimstone, the likes of which could only be understood through experience.
Even with that gentle touch, she had some way of breaking through, disarming and catching him off guard. He'd hated it before, but she was unrelenting, slipping through the cracks she'd made. He would grow irritated with the way she toyed with him, eyes hardening as he waited for her to cut to the chase. But she didn't say a thing, continuing to tease with those hands that spilled thousands of words through nothing more than a touch.
She would never indulge in a drink, even after coercing him into it, preferring to steal the taste away from his mouth with precision. Even in the dusky wake of the alcohol's effects, he knew that she could see everything reflected in his dusk-colored eyes. She easily distracted and silenced all thoughts with something so simple as humming a verse of a lullaby. He'd lose it then, drowned in the miserable ecstasy she had instilled in him. It lingered for a second, the heat from her touch, only to leave an uncomfortable chill as she moved along to much more entertaining methods.
He watched, observed her, noting the fire in her gaze that wanted him to beg. He'd sooner bite off his tongue than consent, but she had her ways. Her mouth left tempting trails across marred flesh, sending that damned spark down his spine as she worked her way to his lips, her tongue slipping between his teeth. He'd told himself that he wouldn't fall into her hands like this; that he wouldn't give her the control she desired. But he'd slipped into her territory, subject to whatever whims she had decided to heed.
He was a prisoner, and he almost hated it.