a/n: More flash fiction to fill in some spaces, but never fear, by the time we hit drabble 190 it'll be back to our regularly lengthed fics. And also, the countdown to 200 where I call this fic series ended.

Enjoy!

Characters/Pairing: KisukexShinji
Prompt: handcuffs
Rating: M
Warning: slash, prelude to smut

The cuffs rattle as he tests them and Shinji tosses a glare at his lover. He had agreed to handcuffs, not reaitsu-stealing confinement cuffs from the second division. These damn things leave him feeling weak as a kitten, along with keeping his wrists locked behind his back.

He glares. Kisuke grins.

"Now, now," Kisuke says, waving a finger through the air. "I played your little dress-up game. It's only fair that you go along with my kink."

Shinji clenches his jaw. Kisuke's right, damnit. Fair and fair alike. He'd convinced Kisuke to put on that hot little number and Kisuke had whined about it, but he'd done it. And it had been one of the hottest fucks in all history for Shinji. Right up there in the top five.

"Fine," Shinji says, not whining at all. "But only this once. I hate these things."

Kisuke looks at him, and there's something dark in his grey eyes that makes Shinji simultaneously shiver and his guts clench with heat.

"I don't think you understand what we're doing here," he says, and circles around Shinji, who's kneeling on the tatami. "I'm the one making the rules right now. Not you."

Kisuke's voice is soft and husky, but there's a commanding edge to it, one Shinji rarely hears directed at himself. He chews on his bottom lip, but can't stop the groan that slips out of his mouth. Damn, Kisuke just had to pick a kink that they shared – secretly on Shinji's end – didn't he? The sneaky bastard.

He takes a few more steps until he's standing just in front of Shinji. "Understand?"

Shinji fights with himself for several long seconds. "Yes," he grits out, and his fingers curl in the reaitsu-stealing cuffs. He can feel them draining him, bit by bit, and he hates it. But he sees what Kisuke's looking for here. Control. Which means this is probably halfway Shinji's fault for taking a good bit of it yesterday.

"Good." Kisuke's lips stretching into a mild grin, but there's a hunger in his eyes as he rakes Shinji from head to knee, taking in every inch of exposed skin. "Your safe word is butterfly."

"Butterfly? What the hell-" But at the look in Kisuke's eyes, he clamps his jaw shut.

Kisuke smiles, and there's challenge in his eyes. "You're learning," he says approvingly and then one hand lowers to his groin, where an obvious arousal pushes against the fabric of his hakama. "Now suck."

Characters/Pairing: ByakuyaxRyuuken, Uryuu
Prompt: pride
Rating: M
Warning: slash, language

His father is a hypocrite. Uryuu knew this when he caught Ryuuken having a conversation with Ichigo's very Shinigami father, but he never expected to find Ryuuken in this situation. This goes beyond hypocritical and into a downright masquerade.

This is his father in something that's beyond a friendship with a Shinigami. This is his father fucking a Shinigami and Uryuu can't decide if he's thoroughly furious or pleased that Ryuuken no longer has a leg to stand on.

Worse that it's not even a pseudo-Shinigami like Ichigo or his father. Worse that it's a Shinigami who's considered a noble. Worse that it's a Shinigami who's way too young for Ryuuken, if one adjusts ages accordingly.

Worse that it's Kuchiki Byakuya.

Kuchiki is also a hypocrite. To the nth degree. He turns his nose up at Abarai courting his sister, but goes to bed with a human from the Living World. And not just any human either, but an honest-to-goodness Quincy. Though, to be fair, Ryuuken still likes to pretend he's not a part of that world. Uryuu wrinkles his nose and all he smells is bullshit.

"Uryuu," Ryuuken says, and he tries to sound stern, but it's hard for Uryuu to believe him when he's half-crouched over a naked, blushing Shinigami and very obviously aroused. "I did not realize you were visiting today."

Typical Ryuuken. Ignore the problem. Pretend it is par for the course, and like the good son, Uryuu should go along with it. Should just walk away and act like Ryuuken hadn't just stepped on every little lesson he'd stomped into his son's head.

Uryuu's voice is cold, like ice, as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry. Ididn't realize you were entertaining ghostly guests. My mistake." His eyes flick to Kuchiki, but the Shinigami is doing a very good impression of a statue, his expression betraying nothing.

Ryuuken's brow draws together, his brown eyes all the more visible for his lack of eyewear. "Uryuu-"

"No." It's the first time he's interrupted his father like this, a fact of which they are both startlingly aware. "I am done listening to you," Uryuu says, and turns on his heel, making a quick exit from the room. If Ryuuken comes after him, Uryuu doesn't care to look. Let the hypocritical bastard have his Shinigami lover.

Uryuu's not a little boy anymore, standing at his father's knees and begging for attention. He can and will walk away. A man has his pride; a Quincy even more so. Worser still that he'll never be able to wash that image from his mind. Uryuu shudders.

Characters/Pairing: Aizen/Stark
Prompt: dominance
Rating: M
Warning: slash, smut, some bondage

It's almost like being king of the world, or coming pretty damn close to it. At least, that's what Stark thinks. The Shinigami would probably think otherwise. So would Barragan. But being this close to so much power, so much he can almost taste it, Stark can't imagine a perch more lofty.

His knees press into hard stone. His fingers grasp the top of the throne above Aizen's head. His hips move, almost in a rhythm of their own, breath escaping him in short pants. The throne room is cold, almost dismally so, but three points of hot fire help to chase that completely away.

Aizen's hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin, gripping him as he pulls Stark's body down to meet each hungry thrust. Aizen's cock as it pushes into Stark, full and deep, throbbing every time he so much as clenches.

Their reiatsu is a slow and steady pulse in the air, Shinigami and Hollow mixing in a way that would make those old farts in Soul Society have a heart attack. Aizen's power is heady, a distinct buzz that rolls over Stark's body as though it were a physical presence. It makes his body tingle, his own reiatsu rise to meet it, makes his blood surge and his cock throb.

He wants so badly to reach down, stroke himself, but that's not the way things work. So his fingers tighten around the back of the throne and he groans, furiously trying to rock himself against Aizen's well-muscled abdomen. Aizen's grip tightens, however, keeping him firmly in place.

Stark feels a whine building in his throat, but he clamps down on it, refusing to offer such a plea. He knows Aizen wants to hear it. Which is all the more reason to keep it locked inside.

One of the overlord's hand looses it's hold on Stark's hip and slides up Stark's side, an almost caress that makes Stark's skin prickle. He shivers, licks his lips, and moves desperately. It's cold in the throne room, but Stark can't tell considering the sweat that paints his body, makes his hair stick to the back of his neck.

Aizen's watching him with an intensity that would frighten anyone else. But Stark's not that easily intimidated. Aizen might be an all-powerful Shinigami traitor, but he's still just a Shinigami.

He's a Shinigami hungry for power, hungry for all the things Seireitei denied him. He's come to Hueco Mundo to claim a throne no one ever wanted – save Barragan but he's a psycho and a moot point. He's built himself a palace, surrounded himself with enemies turned allies, but really, Aizen's no different from Stark. In the end, he's searching for the same utterly unattainable thing.

Characters/Pairing: ShirosakixShuuhei
Prompt: "Hurricane," 30 Seconds to Mars
Rating: M
Warning: slash, smut, bondage

Shuuhei can honestly say that he's never been in a situation quite like this before. He's sure Kurosaki is somewhere behind the black-gold eyes, but right now Shuuhei is faced with something else.

A tongue slips out, licking lips in a rather lewd fashion that should terrify Shuuhei, but instead makes his stomach do a flip of interest and twist with heat. "Well, well, what 'ave we here?" Kurosaki's body rasps, and what did Renji call this alter ego? Shirosaki? "A pretty little Shinigami trussed up for the taking."

Shuuhei works his jaw, wiggles a bit, but really, there's no room. He's effectively trapped beneath Kurosaki-turned-Hollow, and if he swallows too thickly, the blade pressed to his throat will bite further into his skin. He can already feel it teasing at his flesh, and there's a trickle of blood down his throat. Also, his hands are trapped in Kurosaki's – no, Shirosaki's, he has to keep them straight – and for such a skinny brat, Shuuhei doesn't think he can break the Hollow's one-handed hold.

He wishes he could be terrified, but there's something about the weight of the Hollow, the warmth and the lust that gleams in those black-gold eyes that makes Shuuhei not so much terrified as desperately aroused and really, isn't that just the kicker? Renji would find this so amusing, he would, he's always thought Shuuhei the most twisted of perverts, though that's kind of a case of pot calling the kettle black. He'll mock Shuuhei about it for days once he hears about it, providing Shuuhei lives long enough to tell the tale.

Shuuhei swallows, carefully mind, and looks up at the Hollow. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to convince you to let me go?"

Shirosaki chuckles, and one knee nudges Shuuhei's groin, where his traitorous cock has risen to the occasion and betrayed him. "Doesn't seem like all of you agrees with that request," he says, and both brows lift as he leans down, warm tongue dragging wetly over Shuuhei's cheek in a way that travels straight to his cock, making it throb against the faint pressure of Shirosaki's knee.

He gasps, tilts his head back, and the zanpakutou blade bites a little deeper. It hurts in such a good way and that's when Shuuhei knows he's completely fucked, off his rocker. His sense of kink is going to get him killed, is what is going to happen.

"Nope," Shirosaki says with a cheerful pop of his lips that shouldn't be so erotic. He pulls back, draws the blade with him, and examines the drop of Shuuhei's blood clinging to the edge. "Seems like you're more interested in staying, doesn't it?" And his tongue slides over the metal, lapping up the drop with a lewd lick that Shuuhei shouldn't find arousing.

But he does anyway, and he groans, arching beneath the Hollow. Shirosaki chuckles in a Hollow's voice, and Shuuhei is so dead. But oh, what a fuckin' way to go.

Characters/Pairing: AizenxGrimmjow
Prompt: "The Hand that Feeds," Nine Inch Nails
Rating: M
Warning:slash ,smut, some D&S

He's on his knees, probably the safest place for him to be right now.

Grimmjow tries not to shiver, that's a cowardly thing to do, but the chill in the air attacks his bare skin, and the stone floor is even colder on his bare knees. He wants to say that it's the temperature threatening to make his body shake, but that would be a lie. So he clamps his mouth shut, squares his jaw, narrows his eyes, and looks up defiantly.

He's not afraid. He's fucking terrified but he's not saying anything.

Aizen looks down at him, circle all around, and he's not saying much either. There's a look in his eyes that Grimmjow can't name. It's not anger, or annoyance, or amusement. It doesn't bode well for Grimmjow, that's for sure, but he doesn't know if that look means pain and lots of it, or agony that mixes with pleasure until he can't tell them apart. Until they get so confused in his head that he can't tell the difference anymore.

Aizen's still not talking. He's also not dressed like usual. Little more than a simple robe, belted at the waist. His feet are bare, and that should make Grimmjow feel a little safer, looking at the all-powerful Aizen's bare feet. It should make Aizen seem less intimidating, maybe even a bit silly. Except Grimmjow's not an idiot, at least not that kind. He knows better than to give substance to an illusion.

He stares at Aizen's bare feet, shoulders squared, and tells himself he's not going to shake.

A hand reaches out; Grimmjow doesn't flinch. Fingers trail through his hair, make his scalp pringle. The fingers are warm, almost caressing, stroking him from the crown of his head and down across his hair. They pause at the nape of his neck, a gentle stroke that makes a shiver dance down Grimmjow's spine. He can't stop it.

His head lowers. He knows, without the bastard saying it, that it's what Aizen wants and Grimmjow stares at the floor, his breathing echoing sharply in the otherwise empty chamber. Aizen's fingers are still on his nape, stroking the finer hairs, and Grimmjow clamps down on the rumble that tries to build in his chest, too much like a fucking purr for his comfort.

He can feel the weight of Aizen's stare, itching between his shoulderblades, and further down, burning and blazing on the tattoo on his lower back. Aizen's fingers drag out, across the top of Grimmjow's back and he's standing right behind Grimmjow now, hands on his Espada's shoulders, fingers curling over until they rest lightly on Grimmjow's collarbone.

Finally, Aizen leans forward, his voice a wet, hot breath across Grimmjow's ear, his words sizzling straight to Grimmjow's groin, making him swallow thickly. "Shall we begin?"

a/n: I hope you enjoyed! More ficcage to come.