Rukia's Dirty Mouth

"What did you say to Nii-sama, baka?!"

"What?"

"Nii-sama! He looked ready to rip your head off, you idiotic halfwit! I haven't seen him so angry in ages; if he has any idea what is going on I will never—Hey!"

Renji stopped himself mid-thrust, looking down at the savagely disgruntled Thirteenth officer, sister and heir to his own overbearing taicho, and secretly waited for his sanity to break at his supreme (yet necessary) stupidity in momentarily halting the exquisite agony between cock and crotch. Damn it, he did not want to be talking about Kuchiki-san while fucking Rukia against the wall of the side parlour!

…Probably not the most intelligent place to be consorting but it couldn't be helped now.

"Eh! Rukia! Can ya stop talkin' for five damn minutes and concentrate!" There followed a slow tilt of his tattooed torso, tumescence sliding purposely deep into her wet warmth, then grinned at the growl he was able to elicit from her tight-lipped mouth. If Byakuya knew anything about their history as lovers—and given how long it had been going on undetected underneath the steely taicho's very nose there was no reason why he should know—it was because Renji's Chappy-obsessed lover didn't know when to shut up when her beloved Nii-sama was in hearing range. The red haired shinigami grunted and shifted Rukia's slight weight higher, pulling her legs tighter over the edges of his hips, rewarded with the bite of her short nails digging in to the back of his neck. No, Renji—contrary to popular belief—enjoyed living immensely and preferred not to have his head lopped off at the moment. Definitely not at this particular moment.

"Now! Harder!"

"Onna!" he hissed, withdrawing with that same punishing slowness, adjusting to brush against her sensitive nub once he pushed back. It was a wonder they hadn't been spotted by one of the Kuchiki servants; though they agreed their relationship need be kept a secret, she had been the one to fiercely tear down his hakama almost as soon as they had left the dining hall, Byakuya's dismissal still ringing in his ears. Had they been ensconced in the bath house or alone in the fields—where they usually rendezvoused—the vice captain would never have silenced her demands. Listening to her stern voice order, cajole and then finally beg for him to fuck her balls deep, strum her clit, suck her neck right there, was the most potent aphrodisiac Renji had ever known. Oh Kami she was tight; the redhead hissed into the crook of the slight woman's even slighter neck as he once again slid home.

"Hai," she murmured on the heels of a groan, and Renji jerked convulsively as sharp little teeth sunk into the flesh of his earlobe.

"Ru…Rukia!"

Hips tapped hips, though it was undeniably more of an incessant grind enforced by the fukutaicho to gain a moment of intimacy in their rush-around world. One last pelvic tilt had Rukia squealing into Renji's chest, a high-pitched keen while her release washed over her, muscles milking him for all he was worth, the soft swish of the parlour door muted by her cry and the blood pumping within Renji's head.

"A…Abarai-san?"

"Huh? KirAHH!" Renji yelped as Rukia's head sprung up, clocking him hard in the jaw while her eyes popped out to stare at the nervous fukutaicho inching ever closer behind them. "Rukia—"

"Kira-san! What are you—"

"You nearly broke my teeth!"

"Doing?! You can't—"

"Kami that hurt, ya stupid onna!"

"Be here now! Get—STUPID?!"

Lucky that his head wasn't twisted off his body by the force of his lover's smack, Renji blinked hard, recovering enough to acknowledge Izuru's hand moving up between his shoulder blades as well as Rukia's surprised eyes while the Third Division's Lieutenant innocently slipped his other appendage down Rukia's bare leg, still hooked over Renji's hip.

"Renji? What—"

"Welllllll we were in the Academy together."

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Shunsui was at a loss for words—and for a captain who lived to wax poetic that was a tragedy indeed. His poor Nanao-chan was acting entirely out of character, the dear, beautiful, inspiring fukutaicho spending her first moments in his quarters sniffing his haori of all things instead of lecturing him on the mess of sake bottles or his horrendous treatment of various books strewn around the floor. The wavy-haired captain put a hand over his big brown eyes and gave a ragged sigh. Sweet Kami, it was just as if he'd been given a piece of heaven…a drunken, partly drugged, oddly disturbing yet highly erotic piece of heaven.

Disturbing? Why yes. When the woman you've vocally pined over for centuries suddenly wakes you up and asks permission to take off her clothes, well one wonders when the ceiling will cave in or if one's zanpakuto will decide to make it's final release in one's face.

But once that worry is over one's answer must be a resounding yes.

"Kyoraku-san?"

Shunsui dropped his hand and slowly turned his head to stare in slightly pained wonderment yet undoubted adoration at his beloved lieutenant, her perfect form lying wrapped in his own sheets, his haori around her shoulders and bunched within her delicate hands like perfumed sachets—how she'd hate to hear him describe any part of her as delicate! Powerful, of course, what fukutaicho wasn't? but for Shunsui he saw the woman underneath the stern looks, serious demeanour, and scathing remarks, had been stripped of words, of breath, once she began to drop her shihakusho and her pale smoothness had been revealed. Those perfect, delectable nipples! He was not a saint and Kyoraku had looked, had stood silent and worshipped with grateful eyes at the altar that was Nanao Ise. For a minute. Or six.

"There must be others experiencing this abnormality."

Oh yes, this was definitely not normal.

They had been on his bed for a few hours now, Shunsui trying desperately to ignore the fact that she had quietly masturbated—twice—mere inches away from him, as well as the throbbing monster between his legs that was thankfully concealed by a hastily grabbed kimono; from the various sounds leaking into his chamber the captain would say for certain that there were many others in a state similar to Nanao…though lucky them, they had actually found some relief from their symptoms. But now that he thought about it a furrow began to appear between his thick eyebrows. Jushiro would have ingested some water at this point surely; the Thirteenth captain was an early riser—well, earlier than him anyway—and Shiro wouldn't be drinking sake this early. Shunsui could imagine little Kiyone-kun bringing her captain a cup of tea, unaware of its true contents. What if there was an adverse reaction?

He would have to make sure his best friend was alright…but he couldn't leave Nanao all alone and vulnerable.

"Har, Nanao-chan. We should check on Jushiro."

"No taicho. Unless you wish to engage in sexual conduct with your oldest confidante?"

Kyoraku's eyes bugged out.

"Whaaaaaaa?!"

Nanao's eyes became thin slits behind her lethal glasses.

"You refuse me taicho—" Shunsui winced at her tone. "—and because of your superior strength I must comply. However, while I do not doubt your prowess, I must think that Ukitake-taicho—if he were so inclined—would be harder to subdue from his intentions." Shunsui groaned and pouted, scratching his chin. Of course she was right. When was his lieutenant never fully informed?...besides today. But it wasn't as if he didn't want to have his fingerprints all over her body, didn't want to feel her warm and wet and wanting. But Shunsui wanted Nanao alone, not a chemically engineered construction of her lust.

"You make me sound very foolish my Nanao-chan," the captain put his meaty hands under his head, his timbre naturally easy-going though his words meaningful. "I would never dare to refuse you anything."

"…I know taicho."

"I would travel to the Real World and bring you back chocolate tomorrow if I could."

"I know taicho."

"I would find you the sweetest blossoms from all corners of the Rukongai and decorate your room personally."

"I know—"

"I would convince Bya-san to finally let your Women's Association—"

"That's enough taicho!"

Back to silence. Nanao lifted a pink corner of his haori and pressed it flat against her nose, her free hand slowly but surely making it's way down her chest.

"If you could just put your mouth down on—"

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Hinamori bit softly into the flesh of her lower lip. Dragging her teeth, flicking her tongue: the Fifth Division fukutaicho panted softly at the sensation, reminding herself of the attentions Izuru had so carefully paid to her lower lips earlier. They had not been able to stop touching each other as they set out to locate Abarai-san, Momo constantly reaching for Kira's hand while the fair-haired man would stop them both every few steps to adjust her uniform, his beautiful fingers dipping below her collar to caress the skin of her throat, his eyes still heated, still hungry.

She had been by the Tenth gates earlier to post Unohana-taicho's message, though now something inside her small form cried out to set eyes on Shiro-chan, his perfect chin and bright frosty eyes. Kira seemed to understand and kissed her mouth for the first time, squeezing her shoulder and looking down as he continued on to the Sixth.

Hinamori approached her childhood friend's Division offices unhurriedly, teeth still moving over lips, fingers brushing in nonsensical circles over her opposite palm; she swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss for what she would say. Had he been affected as she and Izuru? Or was he still the near-perfect image of stern captaincy that Soul Society knew so well. Would…would he turn her away? Shun her—No! No, it was much more logical to think that Toshiro had received Unohana-taicho's warning and had immediately tried to find the Fourth Division captain to organize those officers untainted by the poison…for lack of a better word. Hinamori was having trouble thinking of herself as poisoned; her body felt so alive, and what Izuru had done with his long fingers…

Timidly knocking, Momo slid the door open before waiting for a response.

"Hitsugaya-kun?" the fukutaicho leaned in, teeth still kneading lower lip. "Shiro-chan are you—"

But of course he was still there, sitting at his desk as usual, the piles of unfilled paperwork around him speaking for Matsumoto-fukutaicho's carelessness. But as his spiky white head popped up, teal eyes wide and wild, Hinamori could see there was nothing usual about him.

"Momo?!" the short captain stood up violently, his chair scraping loudly on the floor then falling back. "What are doing? You should not be here!"