Title: The Right Kind of Wrong
Fandom/Community: Bleach / 15minutefic
Characters: Kira, Gin
Pairing: GinxKira
Rating: R
Word Prompt: Voluntary
Word Count: 461
Summary: It's wrong in his head but right in his heart.

Author Notes: I think I just like fucking with Kira. Gin apparently does too.


When Gin's hands slide over his body, it somehow clicks in his mind that he knows it's wrong.

The first time he saw Kurotsuchi-taichou slap Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou, he wanted to break the demonic-looking man. He wanted to rush to her defense and make the bastard pay for slapping around somebody like that, especially his second-in-command. Especially a girl. Especially his daughter.

When Ichimaru-taichou slaps him, he merely opens his mouth and licks at the blood he finds curling in the corner of his lip.

When Ichimaru-taichou uses his teeth to bite into his shoulder and then his tongue to lick the blood, he merely cries out; but you can't understand it at all, because his words are mangled with pleasure.

He doesn't understand the difference. Doesn't understand when slapping your fukutaishou and biting them and making them bleed and then licking the wounds became an okay thing.

He knows he'd be embarrassed if anybody ever found out about it. But he didn't understand where that mad it bad. Where that idea of it made it wrong. For some reason, it always just felt right, even when his mind told him, for some odd reason, that this situation was a wrong one.

For some reason, he knows that it's rape.

He doesn't know how, but he does.

When Ichimaru-taichou likes to curl up against his body, and makes it hurt in deliciously new ways that he's not sure he's ever going to be able to walk again because his legs hurt that much and he isn't quite sure if his back was ever supposed to bend that way. . . For some reason, he finds himself asking, begging, pleading,"Don't stop."

Anybody else would say it was rape.

Izuru Kira, however, wants it.

The blood, the sweat, the tears, the bruises, it's all worth it. Because at that moment, when Ichimaru-taichou touches him and the little rivulets of blood slide down his back like sweat pellets, he knows that he longs for it.

Whenever his taichou's big grin is forced in his direction, he soaks it in, pleased and happy and all together loved.

So the next time, when Gin corners him, presses against him, licks his neck. . .

He merely turns his head to the side, tilting it, giving his taichou more room to work with. Because when he spots Ichimarui-taichou walking towards him with nobody else in the room, he knows what his taichou is thinking about.

And when his taichou is thinking about it, he knows he thinking about it too.

A part of him wants it.

And it's in those moments that he knows he's just a little bit fucked up.

But he wonders if, or when, that had ever become a bad thing in the first place?