Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Routine
A/N: Lemon.
It gets grittier each time.
It's the immediate impatience that gets to her, the fact that she can't play by her own rules without him exploiting some new distraction, forcing her into a whole new playing field. He's like an undisciplined child, with no idea of how to play fairly, let alone acknowledge the existence of rules. So she has to fight, try to bully him back into the boundaries, jaw set and fingers tearing into his hair until he's calmed down, but not without a searing glare.
He gets far too worked up over this.
As she wraps her legs around him to pull him closer, she revels in the way it all feels, the notions of what's being done blinking through her head. It's pleasant, his hands framing her face, his blotted out by the dark. It's even funny, seeing, hearing, feeling a masochist like him trying to flinch away from her wire hands.
One would think he'd welcome it.
It used to make her sick, the way he'd mock her, laughing, as though she were little more than some new subject laid bare upon the table for his own amusement. The first few times, she'd even slapped him for it. Not for what he'd done, but out of her own embarrassment. Why? She'd found it alluring. It has since become routine. Silence doesn't cut it anymore.
There will be reminders when she wakes, scrapes, scars, maybe even blood, depending on how he decides to play her. The same game doesn't always serve to satisfy. But there's no guilt the way there should be. It's now too familiar to leave that sour taste in her mouth again.
