I wrote this while I watched the Hobbit, but that has nothing to do with this. Just thought you might want to know. The inspo was actually Britney, because she's flawless. Basically on her last tour, she brought a guy on stage and handcuffed him to a stripper pole, et voila, this fic. Whilst I am apparently currently a cauldron of AU oneshot ideas, if you have an idea that you would like me to write to see Ichigo and Rukia act out and it is in line with my delicate feminist sensibilities, I'll write it. But in any case, I hope you enjoy this. Because lemon. And actually it's my first lemon. So uh. We'll see. It's probably also my last. Lolaggedon.

I saw him prowl the pit between the stage and the crowd, keeping his eyes at the people at the barrier as I threw my body to the beat. I flicked my gaze forward to my mark as I went into a back handspring, concentrating on landing on the five inch stilettos attached to my thigh-high leather boots. My stage outfits were ridiculous, and as I turned my back to the crowd in a dance break and saw my own backing dancers' leotards and matte black Adidas trainers, I was incredibly envious of my old days. I turned front again, and someone handed me purple-gem encrusted microphone. I was singing some pop eurotrash song about finding myself on a club dance floor, and ignoring the guy staring at me from the bar.

It was ironic, because for the past hour of my show I'd been trying to catch the eye of the security guard in front of me but, like at every show, and every time he was in some way responsible for me, he ignored me.

I hit a high note, and pulled my leg straight up next to my head for emphasis as I walked across the stage. He didn't even look up. I was in my bejewelled underwear and leather boots dragging my legs up practically behind my ears and he didn't even notice me.

I thought I wasn't that bad. I wasn't ugly, I didn't think. I was a good dancer, and that was my crowning feature. I was an okay singer - good enough for people to get through a record without it grating too much on your nerves. For a 5 foot woman with a relatively flat ass but who squatted with her trainer every opportunity, I wasn't that bad.

So it was extremely confusing that whenever I said 'hello' to a member of my security team, he completely ignored me. Very confusing.

He was very cool. I'd seen his resumé. Black belt, kendo, wrestling, you couldn't get past him if he didn't want you to. He was very dedicated to his fitness and job. If he had to accompany me as part of my team to an event, he had this Top Gun-type black leather jacket and a pair of Ray Bans and some dark wash jeans and a very imposing attitude that made me get a little wet in the panties when he had to wrap an arm around me and practically carry me under his arm to nearest door when the paps were especially bad.

He'd been on my team from two years now. I wouldn't say I was in love because we'd never held a conversation - and I swear I wouldn't say I was in love once we had. That isn't the sole prerequisite of my love. I'd need at least a smile.

As I ducked under the stage for my final costume change into this stupid black crystal embellished leotard that was essentially a bikini connected by strings with a thong for the butt, I wondered if I should just go for it. Really pounce on him. Because now was the time to do it.

So I did.

"Now is the time of the evening where we get a handsome volunteer from the audience!" I'd had all sorts of people on this stage. I may have been straight, but that didn't mean I was gonna deprive some cute girl of me grinding up on her if that's what she wanted. Every gender, sexuality, race, I'd had a volunteer up on this stage and done this to them. Now, it was him.

"Hmmm, maybe over here?" I pretended to survey the crowd to my right, and did the same on the left, pretending to be indecisive. Funnily enough, I'd already picked my mark.

"How about this fine gentleman?" I gestured to Ichigo Kurosaki, my hot security guard, who was stood about ten feet in front of me. He stood stock still, and then slowly turned his head towards me in disbelief. His face was blank, and his eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

The crowd were much more enthusiastic once the camera focused on his face and he was projected onto the three huge screens above us.

"He said yes!" I yelled, despite him not opening his mouth. My dancers usher him up onto the stage, and he's fully glaring at me by this point. I take him by his arm, kiss him on the cheek to the delight of the audience, and lead him over to the black acrylic chair one of my guys has placed in the middle of my dance floor. I push on his shoulder to make him sit, accept the diamanté-encrusted handcuffs from a dancer, and attach him to the chair.

I step back to observe the damage, and he looks like he's wishing death upon me.

Go hard or go home, I guess.

A slower beat starts, and the crowd starts to wolf whistle as I start to dance, on my own, for him.

This part is usually the most embarrassing. I'm usually painfully aware that I'm exotically dancing for a complete stranger who's usually more interested in trying to get the attention of their friends to make sure they're taking a picture and 15,000 people look on. Not with Ichigo. Instead, I'm painfully aware that with every roll of my hips, every twist of my neck, every graze of my hands against my body, he's staring right at my eyes. I look away, being as seductive as my choreographers could teach me, and when I look back at him, he's still focused on my eyes.

It's sort of charming, although he does look like he's condemning me to the fires of hell while trying to calm down the hell of a boner I can see in his jeans. A brief thought of undoing his fly in case it's chafing him comes to mind, but I dispel it. He probably doesn't want his dick out on stage.

I spin slowly and turn my back to him. I part my legs, lean over, and grab my ankles, shoving my butt right in his face. There's a brief moment where I suddenly regret not wearing any form of tights this evening - I could probably done for sexual harassment at this point, considering he can probably see my whole cooch, but he doesn't start yelling and screaming that he's blind. That's a good sign.

I spin back around to face him, and lean in for the final part of the choreography. I say a silent prayer in my head, before I lean in for a kiss.

The non-disclaimer the volunteer signs says that no tongue must be used in this kiss, but he immediately shoves his in my mouth, and I immediately try to force it back in his mouth and follow with my own, and suddenly we're having a bit of an oral argument that I have to be the one to pull away from to make my next cue.

I undo his handcuffs, and twirl them around my finger and face the crowd. "A big hand for my gorgeous security detail!" I don't know where I get the courage from, but I grab his butt in an exaggerated motion as soon as he stands. He doesn't even look at me now: he's waiting for his opportunity to escape, and as soon as I've kissed him on the cheek again, he stalks away.

I'm slightly disappointed, but I briefly consider what I could've been expecting, sigh, and shrug it off. There's two songs left, and there's not much left I can do but throw myself into them. Kurosaki doesn't return to his place in front of the stage.

As the confetti finally begins to fall and I introduce my dancers and band for their applause, I'm a little relieved. I've spent the last fifteen minutes winding myself up over a guy instead of doing my job, so bouncing around and singing and twirling in a crown covered in long white ribbons like I'm an ice princess is cathartic.

As always, I'm the last off the stage as I say goodnight. The song hasn't even finished when, as soon as I'm out of sight of the crowd, I'm grabbed by unidentifiable hands and hauled into a tiny alcove to the side.

I see his bright eyes for a second, looking intense and angry, before his mouth is back on mine and we're arguing with our tongues again. It escalates quickly; he palms my breasts and I finally get to undo his pants when I feel him start poking me in the stomach.

I hadn't particularly envisioned what our first time would be like. Any time at all I'd been hoping for. He still surprised me though. I guess I must've pissed him off more than I realised by dragging him up on stage.

Once I'd undone his pants, my song still blaring from the speakers above us to the huge crowd, he'd obviously decided I'd crossed a line and took his hands off my chest. He replaced them on my thighs, and pulled them up around his waist while I pulled out his dick. He detached from my mouth to look my in the eye and glare at me again. At this point I realised that our first time together would not be beautiful love making. It would be angry fucking. I was being punished.

But god, it was good.

Suddenly, my back was against an equipment box, hidden from view by black curtains, and he was in me, hard and fast. I ground against him, but he held me in place with his hands so I could do nothing but shove my hands in his hair and fight his tongue. It seemed to go on forever, but as the beats finally faded, it could only have been four or five minutes. I'd wound him up so much in my dance.

It wasn't quite enough for me though. It never was. I took a hand out of his hair to sneak it down to my clit, but he grabbed my wrist before it could reach its destination and held it fast against the wall, and went harder, faster, deeper as the crowd started screaming, 'Rukia' outside, hoping for an encore. He started suckling my neck while I moaned his name over and over.

I started begging, I think; he must've known I was close and chose not to help me along. I took my other hand out of his hair too, so he wrapped his arms around my waist and went shorter and faster, and as my hands just nearly reached their goal, he came. I felt everything, and still I didn't finish.

I thought he might be gentlemanly, but I guess he must have been really pissed off at me, because he dropped me to my wobbling feet, and backed off a step to survey the damage that he'd made to my appearance. My leotard was still pulled to one side to expose myself, as was half of one breast, and my long hair was probably a rat's nest. My lips felt swollen, and my cheeks on fire so they must have been really red. He seemed happy with himself, looking at me like that while his dick was still out of his pants and half hard.

He wasn't getting away with it. I was so close.

So I moved my hands down and finally, finally reached my clit.

He was stunned for a moment when I started to play with myself, just stood there making eye contact while my hands were moving down below, and then he moved into action. It had only been a few seconds, but he surged forward, grabbed my hands, and turned my around to face the equipment box, my body flush. He shoved his crotch against my ass, and shoved his own two hands down. His mouth became intent upon giving me a hickey while two fingers slipped in me, and the other hand started rubbing.

It didn't take long. I came on his hands, and he stopped my whimpering with his mouth. I went a little boneless, and he had to extract his hands and hold me up by my waist while he kissed me as deeply as he could. As he pulled away, the crowd started to quieten down as the lights went up.

I squeaked a little when I met his eyes - still intense, but not angry anymore.

"Hi," I said, as eloquently as I could.

He smirked just a little. "Yo."