Chapter Text
The festival had been going on for hours already. Demons and monsters intermingled at booths and around buskers, applauded performers and observed sacred rituals. They’d sampled savory takoyaki and split a scallion pancake so delicious Rukia had nearly swooned before seeking out shaved fruit ices to cleanse their mouths and cool them down.
Away from the mountain, Rukia could be herself for a while; she was not a Kuchiki, not the tengu who had given her powers to a fire demon and gotten them back, not the woman who had helped save the world. She was just Rukia.
Ichigo’s hand fell to the small of her back, warm through the thin fabric of the white yukata she wore, patterned with brilliant red flowers and greenery. “Had enough?” he asked softly, leaning down to murmur into her ear. There was a note in his voice…
She turned her head and a little jolt of heat worked through her as his honeyed amber eyes met her deep violet ones. “The festival isn’t over,” Rukia murmured, but she was already leaning closer to him, petite body easily hidden by the crowds around them.
“The rituals are over,” Ichigo pointed out. “The best performances are too. No one will miss us if we leave, and we can avoid the crowds.” There was temptation in his voice, a hint of a promise that he’d make it worth her while if they left early. He’d dispensed with his usual golden jewelry and finery in favor of a yukata that complemented hers, black cotton picked out with subtle outlines of matching red flowers. It hung open a little too much, showing off the smooth, muscled planes of his chest. It was as though the man couldn’t bear to be properly covered.
Not that she minded.
“Well.” Rukia smirked up at him. “If you really want to.” And when she held out her hand he took it, enfolding her smaller fingers and palm in the larger, heavier warmth of his. He led her expertly from the crowds and avoided the Kuchiki retainers and, most important of all, her brother; Byakuya didn’t disapprove of Ichigo, but neither of them wanted to get caught sneaking away.
They reached the edge of the festival grounds and plunged into the woods, walking along the wide path back up towards the mountain Rukia called home. Brilliant golden-orange leaves formed a carpet on the forest floor, and paper lanterns hanging from the trees and stakes in the ground lit their way. Fire was an existential threat to the forest, and so these lanterns glowed with foxfire instead, flickering like ordinary fire but harmless.
“It was nice to be off the mountain,” Rukia said when they were alone and the sounds of the festival were behind them, merely a muffled collage of music and chatter as they climbed the path up the mountain. It was an easy, if winding climb; the path was still wide and the way not too steep.
“I’m glad I could convince you.” Ichigo squeezed her hand and she looked up at him, cheeks flushing at the soft way he watched her, the warm curve of his lips and the banked heat in his eyes.
Their yukata were both on the shorter side, in deference to the heat and the fact that they were beings who wielded fire, hot-blooded in more ways than one. Her legs were bare from mid-calf down and Ichigo’s was even shorter – sometimes Rukia thought he would walk around naked if it wouldn’t scandalize the other ayakashi. Ichigo’s eyes drifted from hers, taking in the light yukata, her bare legs beneath it, and the delicate geta she wore. “You’re staring,” she pointed out, and smacked his bare chest lightly.
“I am,” Ichigo agreed. He glanced around; they were most of the way back to her home already. There were just two more switchbacks ahead of them. And they were alone. With a tug on her hand, he drew her to a stop and leaned down to press a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. “I like to look at you,” he admitted. “Especially like this.”
When he tried to straighten up, Rukia drew him down for another kiss. “I know.” She gasped when Ichigo nipped at the corner of her lips and tugged her into his arms, enveloping her in his warmth and pressing openmouthed kisses to her lips, to the pale, elegant curve of her bare neck. She clutched at the front of his yukata and moaned into his mouth when he returned it to hers, rough and claiming. Heat washed over her and settled low, below her belly. She loved the way he kissed her, the way he showed her how much he needed her with every touch of his lips on hers.
Ichigo’s grasp turned possessive, his big, strong hands drawing her up against him so he could rock his hips into hers in an intimation of just why he’d wanted to sneak away from the festival so early. A low, breathless moan escaped her lips and he echoed it, hands tightening. If he kept that up, she’d be bruised in the morning, and mind it not at all. He chuckled softly into her mouth as she rubbed her thighs together to ease the growing ache between them, and pulled her even closer. “You need me,” he rasped, voice husky with arousal, and pressed closer, hard and wanting against her.
“Yes,” she whispered back, and when their eyes met his were dark, intent on hers.
A twig cracked, loud as a shot in the silence of the forest, and as they drew back, startled, as low, distorted laughter echoed through the woods. “I finally found you.”
Ichigo stepped in front of Rukia, hiding her slender form behind his much larger one. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, the trio of elongated, slender red horns on his head beginning to glow with gathering power.
The Grotesque stood before them, his own dark horns gleaming purple with his power and shining bright against his alabaster white skin and free-flowing, equally pale hair. Like Ichigo he eschewed proper clothing: his kimono hung open to the waist and his clawed hands were covered in shoulder-length gloves that left his upper body bare of everything else except for the red tattoos on his chest and ribcage. “I’ve been looking for you,” he rasped.
Ichigo flung a hand up, the wide sleeve of his yukata hiding Rukia, but she pushed past it, one hand on his hip as she peeked out from behind him at the Grotesque. “What do you want?” she asked.
And – oh. She’d heard stories of the Grotesque, heard how Ichigo’s powers had been carved from him, how he’d been sent to sleep and his darker half imprisoned in a mirror for a hundred years and more, until he escaped and ran from the other spirits, claiming he sought a vessel. She’d heard how he’d tried to possess the Ichigo from the human world but failed, how the oni known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had chased after him.
Nobody had told her he was just as gorgeous as Ichigo.
“Oh.” White lips curved and teeth bared. “Is this where you’ve been hiding?” he asked. “With this… delicious little tengu?”
“Don’t touch her,” Ichigo ordered, and moved again to once more conceal Rukia from view. “I’ll kill you if you hurt Rukia.”
The white demon laughed again, the sound still distorted and too high-pitched, and pulled his studded kanabo from its place on his back, swinging it casually. “Don’t worry, she’s too delicious for that,” he said wryly, and paced around them, cackling when Ichigo turned in place to keep Rukia out of his sight. “You’ve already had your hands on her tonight. Were you going to take her right here on the forest floor?”
Rukia’s cheeks burned bright, a red flush working its way down her neck and chest, where her yukata was indeed rumpled and loosened from their tryst.
“Shut up,” Ichigo growled, heat radiating off him, so hot that Rukia had to step away lest he burn her, too. The ground beneath him smoked threateningly. “Don’t you touch her,” he repeated through clenched teeth.
“I could fight you for her,” the Grotesque taunted, dark power swirling around him as he circled again, coming so close to Rukia she could feel the heat radiating from him, too. “Pretty little tengu,” he crooned, “You’re wet for him, aren’t you? You wanted him to fuck you right here.”
“Yes,” Rukia said flatly, though her entire face and chest burned so bright she was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust. She was wet for Ichigo, thighs pressing tight together to soothe the faint ache of frustrated arousal. “And then you interrupted him.”
He laughed, gleaming golden eyes raking over her disheveled appearance, her smeared lipstick and mussed hair. “Poor, horny little tengu. Maybe…” He lowered his head to murmur in her ear, “Maybe you want me instead. Bet I’m a better fuck than he is.” Before she could object, he crushed his mouth against hers in a searing kiss, rougher than Ichigo but so familiar at the same time, tongue thrusting into her mouth in a lewd suggestion of what they could be doing. He bit at her lips as he pulled back, nearly hard enough to draw blood.
Then Ichigo was between them again, fire singeing alabaster skin as he shoved his doppelganger away from her. “I told you to stay back,” he snarled.
They faced off, all growls and threats and power radiating from their horns, and Rukia sighed, geta-clad foot tapping impatiently on the forest floor as her wings flared out, dark blue and green feathers beginning to shimmer with the first hints of her power. Not five minutes ago she’d been thisclose to getting fucked the way she needed, and now Ichigo’s worse half was getting in the way. “Are you done?” she demanded. “Or are you two idiots going to fight over me like a pair of bucks over a doe?”
The Grotesque swung his kanabo and Ichigo blocked it with his bare hand, skin gleaming with fire. “Oh? You’re not as weak as I thought.” He grinned savagely, ignoring Rukia’s pursed lips and dark, violet-eyed glower.
Ichigo’s eyes gleamed golden. “I’m gonna rip you apart,” he growled.
“That’s more like it,” his other half teased, dark blue tongue swiping at his white lips.
Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose. She loved Ichigo dearly, desperately – but right now she wanted to knock both their heads together. “You could just share,” she muttered under her breath.
They both heard her, and the Grotesque grinned his approval. “You found a greedy one,” he praised. “She wants both of us to fuck her, King.” His golden eyes shone bright under the moonlit sky and he drew closer, muttering something low in Ichigo’s ear and laughing again when the fire demon took a swipe at him.
The ground beneath them shook, and power filled the air, faint blue trails of it surrounding the three of them as another demon landed on the forest floor. A white jawbone fragment covered one side of his jaw and two short, sky-blue horns curved out from his forehead. Beading and feathers swirled from his hair and around his neck, giving him the appearance of something wild. “Found you,” he growled, grinning savagely. “Two of you? This should be even more fun.” One arm, covered with black fabric threaded through with bolts of light blue, rose and he began to summon his power.
Ichigo and the Grotesque exchanged a single look, and the latter brought his kanabo up – in front of Rukia, a barrier between her and the latest arrival. Ichigo’s hands glowed with fire.
Rukia unceremoniously shoved her way in front of them both, fan appearing from within her yukata and wings gleaming with power. “Don’t,” she snarled, channeling her brother and giving him her best Kuchiki Glare, “take another step closer.”
Grimmjow blinked, staring down at the petite tengu with the smeared lipstick and rumpled yukata. He’d spent a week obsessively tracking down Shiro, the Grotesque, after he’d escaped when those stupid humans had gotten in his way, and now here he was – along with a near-duplicate decked out with hair bright as a sunrise and powerful fire magic. “Out of the way, tengu,” he ordered. “I’ve been hunting that one and he’s mine. And I’ll take the orange one too.”
But the little tengu stomped her foot. “This is my territory. Ichigo is my mate. And I have been interrupted tonight first by my mate’s doppelganger and now by you. You have sixty seconds to get off my mountain before I turn you into a pile of ash.”
Grimmjow smirked down at her. “As if you could. I’m the King of demons, tengu. I could kill all three of you where you stand.”
Behind her, Ichigo’s power spiraled out as he snarled another order not to touch her, that he’d rip the other demon’s arms off. Shiro raised his kanabo, dark energy pouring from him as he echoed the threat, canines bared and sharp.
And Rukia’s feathered fan sparked flames as she glowered up at him, not afraid in the slightest and with her own power spilling out in a spiral of searing heat, stirring up the autumn leaves around her. Despite her dishevelment she was graceful – pretty. And so fierce.
Time stood still as he looked at the three of them, at the two men who had been consumed with fighting each other and now sought to protect her, at the woman who stood before them like a vengeful goddess.
Grimmjow swallowed. All of a sudden, he’d never been harder in his life. He looked at Shiro again, and the realization washed over him like a sudden storm.
Oh.
Oh.
He could have caught up to him sooner, could have even eviscerated him from a distance using his powers. But he hadn’t because…
“Well?” Rukia raised an eyebrow.
Grimmjow drew closer, leaves crackling and crushing beneath his feet as he stalked towards the three of them. He didn’t draw on his own powers; but he did clock when Rukia noticed the way his dark monpe were tenting in front. “Been chasing you for a week,” he growled.
“You said that already,” Rukia pointed out, fan rising higher. “But you are on my land, demon, and I forbid you to hunt here.”
“Grimmjow,” he corrected. “Thought I wanted to beat Shiro’s ass.” The scent of dead leaves and crushed pine mingled in the air around him, but he could smell the little tengu, too: sweet and hot, and if her lipstick wasn’t smeared he still would have known what she’d been up to with her mate. “Turns out I wanted his ass.”
Ichigo snorted. “You’re blushing,” he muttered to Shiro, who huffed something that wasn’t exactly a denial.
“I heard the Grotesque was split,” Grimmjow continued. He was close now, so close he could touch Ichigo, and his voice was low and raspy. “I figured his other half was long-gone but you’re right here, and you’re just as hot, aren’t you?”
“So are you,” Shiro muttered when Ichigo’s cheeks turned pink.
Rukia huffed. “Back off,” she ordered, and she wasn’t jealous or insecure, she wasn’t. Ichigo loved her, he wanted her. He wouldn’t just toss her aside for someone else…
Ichigo’s hand touched the small of her back lightly. “I’m Rukia’s mate,” he said firmly.
“Rukia,” Grimmjow repeated, and turned bright, bright blue eyes on her. “Of course you are. A fierce little tengu like this wouldn’t accept anyone less.” The kanabo blocked his next step forward, and he smirked. “I’m not going to fight her,” he promised with a quick, sharp grin. “At least not that kind of fight.”
This close she could feel his power too. It wasn’t anything like Ichigo or Shiro’s, but it was potent, heady to her senses. And far from clashing with hers, with the demons behind her, it sought to twine and tangle, to connect with the purple darkness of Shiro and the fire that she and Ichigo wielded.
Rukia had never been wetter in her entire life.
She reached for Ichigo and he was there, an arm wrapping around her waist to pull her back against him. She looked up; their eyes met, a silent conversation passing between them as Shiro and Grimmjow both watched. “Exactly what do you want then, Grimmjow? Shiro? Because,” Rukia said, pitching her voice lower, huskier. She rolled her shoulders back and lowered her fan. “Ichigo was going to take me home and fuck me until I passed out, and you have both interrupted that.”
Neither spoke; they watched her, and one another.
“I demand…” She paused, and Ichigo’s arm tightened around her waist, warm and reassuring. Encouraging. “That you make it up to me.”
Shiro was the first to catch on, and he chuckled low and husky in her ear. “Greedy tengu,” he murmured. “Are you telling me Ichigo isn’t eno—fuck, King!”
Rukia smirked up at him. “You were saying?” she asked smugly. She knew where Ichigo’s other hand was, even without turning to look. “And you, Grimmjow?”
He reached out and cupped the back of her neck with one enormous hand, bare chest almost touching hers. “I’m greedy too, little tengu,” he warned.
“Oh?”
“Heh.” Grimmjow chuckled lightly. His gaze fell to her lips and with a look at the demons behind her he bent to kiss her, utterly ruining the last remnants of her bright red lip paint. He was as rough as Shiro, and fearless in the face of Ichigo’s warning growl when he bit at the corner of her mouth. “You should know that I keep what I claim,” he said, voice gravelly, when their lips parted and she was breathing unevenly, eyes gone dark with rekindled arousal.
“So do I.”
They’d escorted her the rest of the way to her home, her hand on Ichigo’s arm and Shiro and Grimmjow both close behind, all three of them much bigger than her. It was, she thought as she unsealed the doors, a good thing that the home Nii-sama had given her was built with the finest shielding materials available in all of Spirit Society, and that the power-suppressing shields had been reinforced only the previous week.
After all, he’d given her the home out of self-preservation: she and Ichigo had nearly set her rooms in the compound on fire the first time they’d done more than hold hands, and demons could be. Well. Loud.
“Nice place,” Shiro commented as the three of them followed her inside. At a look from her they dispensed with their sandals as she shut the doors and bolted them, then removed her geta.
And it was a nice place: her brother had built a suite of generously sized rooms just for her, with pale plank floors in each one save for the elegant bathing room. Soothing landscape paintings decorated the walls and sliding, heavy fusuma concealed the kitchen, closets, and bedroom from sight. “It’s comfortable,” Rukia agreed. She strolled away from them, Ichigo following after her, and threw open the fusuma to the bedroom. Carefully, she peeled off the magical cloak that formed her wings when she wore it, and the shimmering feathers became finest silk patterned in blue and green feathers lined with gold.
Out of long-held habit, Ichigo opened the fusuma along the wall for her and helped her hang the cloak so it wouldn’t crease or fall, so that it wouldn’t be damaged. She set the fan on a shelf and he closed the fusuma, then shot a look at Shiro and Grimmjow both. “Don’t,” he said lowly, “try to take that.”
“And rob your little tengu of her powers?” Shiro asked wryly. “I like her better fierce and fearless.”
“Tch. What would I do with a tengu’s cloak?” Grimmjow shrugged.
Ichigo pulled her into his arms, lips covering hers in a slow, deep kiss that sent heat straight through her from head to toe and eased some of the frustration she’d been tamping down since Shiro had arrived on the mountain. Behind them Shiro and Grimmjow watched as he pulled her close by the hips, groaning into her mouth when she rocked into him, separated only by the thin layers of their yukata.
“We need ground rules,” Rukia breathed when Shiro stepped closer and dragged Grimmjow along with him.
“Tch.” Shiro slung an arm around her waist and rocked his hips against hers, letting her feel the growing hardness beneath his layers. “Gonna make us promise to play nice?”
“Ah! – Nice enough,” Rukia breathed, and opened her eyes to look over at Grimmjow, standing apart from them. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”
A smirk tugged at his lips and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Shy? Fuck no, I just want to watch them play with you a little, first.” Grimmjow stalked closer to them and leaned in to growl in her ear, “I want to see what you look like when they’ve made even more of a mess of you.” The words sent another bolt of heat straight through her.
Ichigo huffed out a breath and tugged at the bow he’d tied at the back of her obi until it unknotted and fell away in a flutter of silver-patterned fabric to reveal a koshihimo that he carefully unknotted, lips crushing against hers again as she grabbed at the front of his yukata. Shiro scoffed and the second binding fell away, ripped at her back.
“Wai—ah!” Rukia groaned as Shiro kissed his way down her neck and bit, hard enough to send a throb of arousal through her. She pressed her thighs together to soothe the ache, scowling up at them all when Ichigo laughed.
“What are your ground rules?” he asked teasingly, but kissed her before she could reply, and let her yukata fall open so Shiro could pull it from her body and fling it away. She had on a plain, white nagajuban beneath it, and Ichigo made quick work of that, flinging the white linen in the same direction as the yukata. Shiro ripped her breast binding open and then she was fully naked.
They all went still.
“Nice tattoo,” Shiro said eventually.
Rukia blinked. “Tattoo?” Ichigo turned her, and his fingertips brushed over her trapezius, sending a sudden shiver of sensation through her.
“You didn’t have this two nights ago,” he said. “When…?”
But she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have gotten a – a tattoo and not told you,” she scoffed. “What does it look like?”
Ichigo traced his finger over it again. “Like the markings on my ribs,” he said. “And…”
“And like the ones on mine,” Shiro said, reaching to brush his fingertips just to the right of Ichigo’s. Another shudder of sensation passed through her.
Grimmjow pressed his fingers to the mark that matched his, to Ichigo’s left. With all three of them touching her, liquid heat washed through her and she whimpered, hating the weakness in her own voice. “And like the ones under my eye. Ours are paler than Ichigo’s, more washed out,” he added.
“I don’t understand,” she said faintly. It was Ichigo who pulled her close, lips covering hers tenderly.
“I’m sure it isn’t anything bad,” he said softly when they parted. “It can’t be, if it’s my mark.”
“Sap,” Shiro muttered. Then, when Ichigo glared at him: “I know, I know. You’re in love with her.”
She’d had enough of them staring at the markings on her skin, enough of standing bare and vulnerable before them while they were still dressed. “You all have too much clothing on,” Rukia protested to distract them, and with eager fingers she tore off Ichigo’s obi so that his yukata draped open, too. “And – no killing or maiming,” she ordered as an afterthought. “Or blood.”
Grimmjow threw his head back and laughed, but helped her undress Ichigo and Shiro, pulling the armor from Shiro’s body and then the half-worn kimono and hakama as well. He traced the bright red tattoos along pale, pale skin, smirking when Shiro’s eyes went wide. “No maiming,” he agreed, and loosened the ties of Shiro’s fundoshi. “You don’t seem to mind a little biting though, tengu.” He wrapped a hand around Shiro’s long, wild white hair to pull it out of the way, then dragged his teeth down the other man’s neck, chuckling at the shudder of pleasure that moved through him.
Then he paused. “Huh.” And his fingers traced over markings. “This one must be yours, Rukia,” Grimmjow said as he spun Shiro forcefully, presenting his bare back to Ichigo and Rukia and revealing the markings that had been hidden by first his armor and then his hair. “They’re all a little faded though.”
On his left trapezius, just like Rukia, he bore markings that looked like miniature versions of those on Ichigo and Grimmjow, but there was a cerulean feather outlined in faint gold, much like the ones on her cloak. They twined together, with the feather cradled by the red and lighter blue markings on either side.
Soon enough Ichigo was naked as well, muscles gleaming in the light from the sconces that surrounded the perimeter of the room, glowing with magical fire. He had the same marks, but the left side of the “tattoo” was filled by Shiro’s markings rather than his own, and Rukia’s feather was a brilliant cerulean, gold outline gleaming against his tanned skin.
He was almost fully hard, too, cock rising from a trimmed bed of wiry orange just as bright as the hair on his head. He cupped her cheeks and brought her close for another kiss. “We’re all yours. Any other rules?”
“Speak for yourself,” Grimmjow muttered from behind Shiro, who ground his hips back against the bigger demon and provoked a low groan. “I say you’re all mine.”
Rukia smirked. “We’ll see. But I think that’s enough for a start.”
“Good,” he muttered, and grasped her ass so he could lift her up, high enough that he could more easily press hot, openmouthed kisses to her throat and then her breasts, taking a pink-tipped nipple into his mouth and sucking as she mewled her pleasure and called his name, grabbing for his shoulders. Behind her, Shiro pressed closer and took her slight weight against his chest, hand cupping the breast Ichigo wasn’t paying attention to and fingers pinching the nipple roughly. He bit at her neck again, leaving another reddening mark, and ground himself against her ass, cock thick and heavy against her skin and already leaking.
It was already overwhelming and they’d barely touched her. Ichigo gripped her hips harder and rocked against her, hot length brushing her folds, a tease that had her wanting to beg for more.
Shiro tightened his fingers on her nipple, drawing a sharp little cry from her lips, and grabbed at her chin, claiming her mouth in a hard kiss, tongue tangling with hers and sending more little bolts of pleasure through her. Skin too hot, she writhed between them, and Shiro rumbled, “Bet we can make her come like this.”
Fabric rippled beyond her sight and when Rukia turned her head Grimmjow was dropping futons onto the floor and then stripping himself of his clothes, revealing a body just as chiseled as Ichigo and Shiro’s were, all lean muscle and – she gasped out another moan when Ichigo sucked more firmly and rocked again, driving her higher.
“You like that, little tengu?” Shiro crooned in her ear. He pushed his hips against hers, drawing another cry from her throat as Ichigo’s cock bumped against her clit. “That’s right, you’re gonna come just like this, and then…” He kissed his way along her neck again. “Then we’re going to fuck you.”
“I- ah! Yes!” Rukia agreed, as Shiro pinched harder, massaged her breast with his big, heavy hand. Ichigo looked up at her from beneath the bright orange of his bangs, eyes dark amber and honeyed with his own arousal.
Her climax took her by surprise, a sudden wave that snuck up on her and pulled her under, spreading in a violent ripple through her body. She cried Ichigo’s name, shuddering against him as his cock brushed her clit again, body flushing pink from the roots of her hair down to her chest.
“I was right,” Grimmjow’s voice reached her when she started to come down. He grinned down at her. “You’re even hotter like this.”
She tried to swipe for him but he dodged easily, and anyway then Ichigo was bearing her down to the futons he’d so helpfully laid out, and Shiro dragged Grimmjow down with them, grinning savagely and running his fingers through bright blue hair and pulling him into a kiss so searing hot that all Rukia and Ichigo could do was stare. It was just this side of a kiss instead of a battle, all clashing lips and flashes of white teeth, as Grimmjow toppled him over and braced himself on one arm, the other hand tangling in his hair again and pulling Shiro’s head to the side to expose the alabaster pale skin of his neck and mark him, teeth biting and leaving reddening skin behind.
He had the markings too, Ichigo’s pattern and Shiro’s cradling Rukia’s feather between them. All three were a little faded, as if they weren’t fully saturated.
Ichigo rolled her onto her back and grinned down at her, bright hair falling into his face. But: “Stay here,” he ordered, and dropped a light kiss on her lips before his weight left her. He walked into the bathing room and – ah. She knew what he was getting.
He wasn’t gone for more than a few seconds before Grimmjow reached for her, claiming her lips again. “You’re gonna scream for me,” he promised, and kissed his way down her body. The fragment of bone at his jaw scraped lightly against her skin as he went, and he shot a meaningful look at Shiro before he lifted one of Rukia’s slender legs over his shoulder. “Does Ichigo do this?” he asked teasingly as he bit her inner thigh and then kissed the mark he’d left, laving it with his tongue and kissing higher, until he reached her center and licked a strip through her dripping wet folds. Rukia let out the prettiest little moan, and made a grab for Shiro’s shoulders when he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.
“All the time,” Ichigo growled, and dropped back down onto the futon. He set down a glass bottle off to one side and seized Rukia’s lips in another kiss. “I like making you scream, don’t I?” he asked, and Rukia nodded eagerly, making Shiro laugh.
Then she moaned again, arching up when Grimmjow began to lick in earnest. He was a fast learner, following the pitch of her moans to find the most sensitive spots. One finger and then two he slid into her, stretching her open while Ichigo kissed her breathless.
Grimmjow closed his lips over her clit and sucked and oh, she did scream then, a high and breathless sound as she heaved beneath them. “You look so beautiful like this,” Ichigo told her, voice low and gravelly. “You’re going to come for us again, aren’t you?”
“A-ahuh,” she gasped, clutching at him to drag him closer while Grimmjow sucked and fingerfucked her, stretching her open and pressing against the sweet spot inside her that made her want to wail.
“That’s right,” Ichigo murmured against her lips. “Come for us.”
The cliff was sharper this time, and she fell over it with a stuttered-out scream of Grimmjow’s name, clenching tight around his fingers as she rode out a full-body, heady throb of pleasure that left her pliant and boneless on soft cotton.
A muffled mmph! brought her back. When Rukia opened her eyes again Ichigo was sucking on Grimmjow’s fingers, cheeks flushed red. He pulled them back and Ichigo let go with a little pop. “Either of you ever bottomed before?” he asked casually.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows.
“I haven’t,” Ichigo said finally, cheeks red. “Rukia and I uh…”
Rukia snickered, and then pressed a kiss to his shoulder when he scowled. “I can’t believe you can fuck my ass but can’t talk about it,” she teased, and watched him blush all the way down his chest.
Shiro laughed, low and huskier, less distorted. “I haven’t. There weren’t exactly any other demons in that mirror.”
Grimmjow huffed. “That oil any good, little tengu?”
Rukia hummed under her breath. “It’s the best money can buy, and it’s the same stuff my brother uses.”
“I did not need to know that,” Ichigo protested.
“None of us needs to know what Kuchiki Byakuya gets up to,” Shiro said, making a face at Rukia.
She gave an unladylike snort. “He doesn’t think anyone knows what he gets up to wit—mmph!”
Shiro pumped his fingers deeper into her mouth, backing off only when Ichigo glared at him. “Not a word more about him,” he ordered. “Or no one’s going to fuck you.” But he shuddered when she sucked on them, tongue curling around his fingertips as he drew back.
Grimmjow, though, looked thoughtful. “Maybe he has something else up his ass instead of a stick, after all.” And he laughed until Ichigo groaned and shut him up with a kiss, rougher than he was with Rukia.
He stopped when Rukia’s breath hitched, pulling away to meet her eyes, concern in his amber gaze as he reached for her. “Is that okay, Rukia? We didn’t talk about—”
“Do it again,” she commanded breathlessly. “That was so hot.” Beside her, Shiro was grinning.
“Guess she likes to watch too,” Grimmjow teased. But they’d gotten off track; he reached for the bottle of oil. He’d let Rukia take charge but now he led. “On your knees, ass in the air,” he ordered Rukia, and pushed Shiro towards her, onto his side. He shot Ichigo a look, and the fire-haired demon knelt behind Rukia, brushing his warm hands over her and making her moan when he found her breasts again, when he grazed his fingertips along her ribs and up, back towards the marks on her back, where Grimmjow and Shiro’s were both darker than they had been. Almost like they were becoming more saturated the more time she spent in their presence.
But he kept his suspicions to himself; Rukia was waiting for him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, her ass in the air and showing off how pink and slick she was, how her lower lips were softly swollen with need beneath fine, dark hair. Grimmjow had already made her come once with his mouth, but Ichigo couldn’t resist: he leaned in and licked, savoring the heady taste of her, the hints of sweetness and musk. She gave him the most beautiful moans, arching back for more and clenching the futon beneath her hands as she writhed for him.
Shiro smirked at the look on her face, the way she pushed herself back against Ichigo’s mouth, the way her eyes practically rolled back into her head.
“Eyes open,” Grimmjow growled. He reached around Shiro and grasped his cock, jacking him off roughly as Shiro’s mouth dropped open on a low, surprised moan of pleasure. Rukia dragged her eyes open and watched, cheeks flushing bright pink at the sight of them. Shiro’s cock was hard and flushed pink, and just as big as Ichigo’s, thick and long and so, so tempting.
“Come suck on me, little tengu,” he coaxed, moaning again when behind him, an oiled finger pressed and stroked, pushing inside.
Ichigo pulled his mouth from her dripping pussy and dragged a hand over the back of his mouth. He curved himself over her, murmuring in her ear, “Go on, Rukia. Suck his cock while I fuck you just the way you like.” And his words washed over her in another wave of heat, set a shiver of need in her bones. He brushed his fingers over the marks on her back, making her cry out with the shock of sensation. “Suck him off while I stuff you full, and maybe, maybe one of us will fuck you in the ass too, later, if you’re good…”
“Guess… you’re not being shy anymore,” she sassed, and yelped when Ichigo smacked her ass lightly, not hard enough to hurt but a sweet sting. Then he was pressing inside her, the thick, heavy head of him spreading her open and filling her, stretching her so deliciously that she moaned, low and throaty into the air. He didn’t stop until his hips were flush with her ass, buried deep inside her.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Ichigo huffed, clutching at her hips so tightly she’d be bruised in the morning. “And you need me, don’t you?” Shiro and Grimmjow watched them through heavy-lidded eyes, breathing harsh and uneven.
“Yes,” she moaned as he drew back, so that only the very tip of him was inside her, and then thrust deep, forcing a cry from her lips. Her breasts dragged against the cotton beneath her as Ichigo began to fuck her, a slow rhythm of deep thrusts that hit a sweet spot deep inside her. But Shiro was so tempting before her, still, and she reached for him finally.
The first touch of her lips on him made him throw his head back and moan, and he grabbed for her, for the mess of silky black hair that tumbled down around her shoulders. She teased him first, kissing and giving him little kitten-licks, while Grimmjow prepared him, two fingers spreading him open and the other hand still stroking, pumping him.
“Don’t tease him too much,” Grimmjow urged over the sounds of Rukia’s low gasps as Ichigo fucked into her, over the sound of Ichigo moaning her name and the slick slide of them together.
Shiro glared and reached back, smirking when Grimmjow let out a low groan at the feel of a hand wrapping around his dick, too. Then he twisted the fingers still inside Shiro and pressed just right, and the other man shuddered, choking out a moan.
By the time Rukia parted her lips and slipped them down around his cock, Shiro was red-faced and panting, clutching at her hair with one hand and digging into the futon with the other. She wasn’t shy about it, taking more than half of him in one stroke and using her lips and tongue, the tight suction of her mouth, to make him groan her name in a choked-off breath. Ichigo’s next thrust pushed her closer and Rukia choked as the cock in her mouth hit the back of her throat.
She felt Ichigo’s panic in the way he started to back off, and pushed back against him to distract him, then grabbed onto Shiro’s thigh to steady herself, nails digging in and leaving reddened crescents in his white skin.
Grimmjow was hissing something in Shiro’s ear, asking if he was ready, and Shiro pulled on her hair to get her to back off. “Don’t think I can – keep control while he --” he huffed as Grimmjow settled behind him, slicking oil on his cock and then flinging one arm over his chest to keep him steady.
“Just relax,” Grimmjow muttered brusquely. “Not gonna hurt you.” All the air left Shiro’s lungs with shock and he grabbed for anything, for Rukia, for Grimmjow’s arm, as Grimmjow pressed inside of him, pushing through the puckered ring of muscle and filling him up.
Rukia keened into the air as Ichigo thrust deeper and reached around to play with her clit, tracing slow circles to build her pleasure and entice her. It wasn’t enough to make her come but it felt so good, and she pushed into his hand, into his hips, begging for more.
In front of her Shiro was shaking, pressing back against Grimmjow, and she reached for him, wrapping her hand around his thick, flushed cock. He groaned her name brokenly, hand tangling in her hair again and drawing her close, begging without words for her mouth, for more of her hand. Behind him Grimmjow began to thrust, smooth and slow, and every time he pushed against the sweet spot Shiro’s hand tightened and he jerked forward, held in place only by Rukia’s iron grip on his thigh.
Time dilated as they moved together, gasps and groans filling the room. On Shiro’s other side Grimmjow cursed as he thrust, breathing ragged and nails digging into Shiro’s chest. “You’re so fucking tight,” he hissed, hips pumping faster.
Ichigo thrust deeper and ground himself against Rukia, shuddering with pleasure and need. “I can’t –”
Rukia pushed back against him in encouragement, pulling her mouth away from Shiro to whisper frantically, “Come for me, Ichigo, I need you to…!”
“Fuck, Rukia.” She tightened around him, velvet soft and searing hot, and Ichigo sped up, fingers strumming her clit to bring her with him, to make her come. “Come on my cock,” he ordered hoarsely, balls tightening as he thrust faster, deeper inside her.
He came with a shout, spilling himself inside her with short, sharp thrusts and riding out his orgasm pressed deep inside her, clutching at her hip with one hand and frantically stroking to bring her along with him, until she fell apart too, moaning his name and tightening around him so that he couldn’t help but push even deeper, thrusting mindlessly until the spasms eased.
Shiro’s gasps and moans grew frantic and so did Grimmjow’s. Wrung out though she was, Rukia wrapped her lips back around Shiro’s cock and pumped the base of him, violet eyes watching him as he gasped for air, his entire body shaking.
“Go on and come for me,” Grimmjow ordered, a low growl in Shiro’s ear, and Shiro’s moans turned higher pitched and frantic.
“I’m – fuck, Grimmjow,” he groaned and jerked his hips, thrusting into her mouth frantically. Spurts of cum shot into her mouth, too much for Rukia to swallow as, behind Shiro, Grimmjow stiffened and came with a shout, thrusting roughly into his ass and filling him with his spent.
Behind her, Ichigo slipped out of her, making her shiver, and gently pulled her down onto the futon with him, wrapping himself around her from behind. She tried to wipe at her mouth, where a drip of semen was trailing down from one corner of her lips; Ichigo kissed her anyway. Shiro threw an arm around her and, after a glance at Ichigo, kissed her too. He shuddered when Grimmjow pulled out of him and leaned back to kiss him, rougher than he’d been with Rukia.
Eventually, Grimmjow got up, padding away to the bathroom to clean up and then chivvying Shiro to do the same while Rukia dozed in Ichigo’s arms.
They both ribbed him when he carried her to the bathroom after he reminded her that she’d be angry if he let her fall asleep without making the trip. “She has you wrapped around her finger,” Grimmjow snarked when they returned. They’d switched places; when Ichigo and Rukia lay back down she was sandwiched between them, with Shiro on Grimmjow’s other side.
“Entirely,” Ichigo agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind Rukia’s hair. His fingertips brushed across the marks on her back, making her shiver, and he said, “about these marks.”
Shiro huffed and threw an arm around Grimmjow’s waist. “Mating marks,” he said succinctly. “Demons used to have ‘em hundreds of years ago, but almost no one does anymore. Supposed to mean we’re meant for each other or some shit.”
Ichigo huffed and pulled Rukia closer. “Rukia is meant for me,” he grumbled, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. He relaxed when Grimmjow reached over and squeezed his hip.
Rukia roused herself, humming thoughtfully under her breath at his words as she snuggled between them. Despite his dismissive tone Shiro reached for her, pale fingers tracing over the skin of her waist and hip. “But if Ichigo and I have been together for months, why didn’t any of the marks show up until tonight?”
“Guess we’re all meant for each other.” Grimmjow pulled Ichigo closer and Rukia with him. “The marks are a lot darker now too, guess it’s ‘cause we all fucked.”
Shiro huffed from Grimmjow’s other side. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered. “When our little tengu’s less exhausted…”
“Who says I’m exhausted?” Rukia asked, smirking up at him.
Ichigo laughed softly. “She just needs to take a break now and then,” he said when Shiro raised an eyebrow. “But she’s insatiable. Aren’t you?” And he pressed a kiss against Rukia’s neck.
“Mm,” she agreed, eyes meeting Grimmjow’s and then Shiro’s. “And someone promised they’d fuck me…”
Repositioning themselves was a little awkward, but eventually Shiro perched her on his hips, gasping as she rocked herself atop him, slick folds riding the underside of his dick and getting him hard again while their mates watched.
Grimmjow was getting hard again too, just from watching them, cock bobbing against Ichigo’s hip. “I’m gonna fuck her after he does,” he muttered, and reached for Ichigo’s cock, grinning savagely when it twitched valiantly in his hand. “Think she can take it?”
Ichigo groaned, bucking into his grasp and growing harder, cock filling out quickly. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Probably, or we can – if she’s too tired…”
Rukia moaned, low and sweet, as Shiro sucked on her breast and eased her onto his cock. “I want to watch thaaaaat!”
Shiro smirked, easing the pressure of his thumb on her clit. “Eyes on me,” he ordered, and rocked up, shoving himself deeper so that her breath hitched. “You’re gonna fuck me until I come, Rukia, and then maybe they’ll fuck you, or fuck each other while you watch, but right now you’re mine, right now it’s my cock you’re riding.”
And oh: she did, and she learned what he liked, learned that he threw his head back and groaned when she clenched around him, that he, too, gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Shiro was rougher than Ichigo, less patient. He took control and it was almost too rough, breath driven from her lungs as he flipped them and her back hit the tatami.
He flung her legs over his shoulders, robbing her of any leverage, and when Ichigo pulled away from kissing Grimmjow to protest, Shiro ignored him and fucked deeper, pushing her legs back and hitching her higher until he was hitting just the right spot, and Rukia’s legs shook as she fell apart, clenching so tight around him that he broke too, hips bucking wildly against hers until he spent himself in her with a guttural growl of her name.
Ichigo was there when Shiro pulled out of her, kissing her with all of the gentleness his other half lacked, and Rukia let him hold her but mumbled, “That felt so good,” when he asked if she was okay, hands running over her blush-pink skin and lips pressing to the red marks Shiro had left on her neck and breasts.
“I told you not to be too rough,” Ichigo muttered when Shiro leaned up on one elbow to look at them, grin edged with the beginnings of exhaustion.
“She liked it; didn’t you, Rukia?” he asked teasingly, and swiped a hand just above his softened dick, where he was wet with her juices. “You came all over me.”
Rukia turned even pinker, if that was possible, and Ichigo relaxed, laughing gently when she turned her face towards his chest. “Don’t laugh at me,” she protested and smacked his arm weakly.
“Che.” Ichigo tipped her chin up and kissed her again. “Did that sate you, love, or do you need more?”
And though she’d taken both Ichigo and Shiro, though her thighs were shaking and spattered with cum, Rukia looked up at Grimmjow, who was fully hard, cock springing from a nest of wiry blue curls, and at Ichigo, who held her so tenderly but was hard against her hip. And Shiro snickered when she said, “I want you both.”
“Oh,” Ichigo murmured, lips falling to her neck, to her shoulder, where he sucked another mark into her skin. She arched into his touch and whimpered. “You’ve been so good for us, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Rukia moaned. His lips felt so good on her skin, his hands were so gentle, cupping her breasts and rousing her again.
Ichigo shot a look at Grimmjow. “You’re going to ride Grimmjow then,” he whispered in her ear, rolling a nipple between his fingers, “and I’m going to fuck your ass just the way you like. Do you want that?”
“Ah! Ahuh,” she agreed breathlessly.
“Are you sure? You’re not too sore?” Ichigo murmured teasingly. “You said you wanted to watch Grimmjow and me, we can do that instead if you’re too tired…” He laughed again when she scowled and smacked his chest. “Alright, alright. Be a good girl and go sit on his cock while I get you ready.”
Grimmjow laughed at that, too, and drew Rukia down onto his lap, thick, heavy cock bumping against her clit and drawing a faint whine from her lips. “You’re as greedy as me,” he said in her ear, gripping her hips and rocking her against him so she rode the sensitive underside of his dick. He hissed as she dripped on him, a mix of her slick and Ichigo and Shiro’s spent. “Aren’t you? You wanted all three of us to fuck you, you won’t be satisfied until I stuff you full, too.”
Pinned against him, Rukia squirmed in his grasp to get more friction, savoring the shudder he gave beneath her. Ichigo settled behind her and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “I love how needy you are tonight,” he husked in her ear. “And we’re going to give you everything you need, my Rukia.”
His. She was his, always. Theirs, now. The marks on her back seemed to burn, and when Ichigo pressed his lips to them Rukia shivered all over as pleasure slithered through her again. “I know,” she whispered.
Ichigo helped her slide down onto Grimmjow’s cock, and he watched just as avidly as she did as Grimmjow groaned her name, hands digging into and tearing the futon cover. “Slowly,” he urged. “Fuck him slowly so I can get you ready to take me, too.”
It was easier to take her time, this time, to ride Grimmjow languidly, slowly, as he held her thighs and thrust up into her, pressing deeper, deeper with every thrust. She reveled in the way he looked at her, sky blue eyes gone dark with arousal and pleasure, teeth clenching when she tightened around him.
Behind her the cork popped from the bottle of oil and one finger, slick with the stuff, pressed against her back entrance. Grimmjow shifted his grip, pulling her cheeks apart, and Rukia blushed to be so wanton, but Ichigo kissed her shoulder before Grimmjow urged her down into a kiss, pressing her down so her breasts were smashed against his chest and her lips crushed to his. “You like when he fingers you, don’t you?” he asked against her mouth when Ichigo pressed his finger inside her and thrust slowly, relaxing the tight ring of muscle and pushing more oil into her.
“I – ah! Like it even better when he fucks me,” Rukia admitted, trembling with the effort to stay still as Grimmjow held her against him, kept his cock buried inside her as Ichigo pressed a second finger and more oil into her.
“Course you do,” he rasped, and rolled his hips slowly, grinding against her clit and making her moan for him again. “Greedy tengu, I bet if Shiro wasn’t spent you’d want to suck him off again.”
Her cheeks burned red. “Maybe,” she admitted, but their lover was spent, though he watched them through heavy-lidded, golden eyes. “Ichi-go!”
“Ready for me?” he asked in her ear, three fingers knuckle-deep inside her, and dragged his teeth along her neck when she whimpered in response, nodding eagerly. Her dark, silken hair moved with her. She was a mess – they all were, bodies sweat-slick and marked in red by eager lips and teeth, hair damp and bedraggled. “Hold her still for me,” Ichigo ordered Grimmjow, who pinned her hips against his.
She felt momentarily bereft when Ichigo’s fingers left her but then the head of his cock pressed, hard and blunt, against her entrance. Rukia breathed out slowly as he began to press inside, cock slick with more oil. There was still a little drag, but it felt so good. She groaned, long and low, as Ichigo slid deeper, stretching her open. She’d never been so full, never felt like this.
“Slow,” Ichigo growled, chest pressed to her back. When she turned her head, he caught her lips in a sloppy kiss.
“She’s not made of glass,” Grimmjow complained, but he followed the pace Ichigo set. It took them a few tries to get it just right; they thrust at the same time, forcing one or the other to slip out, and once Grimmjow pushed in at the wrong angle and had to correct himself, pressing uncharacteristic apologies against Rukia’s lips when she cried out, voice edged with tension and pain.
But Ichigo was patient and Grimmjow was eager, and before long they were moving smoothly together, filling her with each thrust and savoring her moans and whimpers of pleasure, the way she was so hot, so tight around them. Rukia clutched at Grimmjow’s shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and he pulled her hand away, ignoring her when she whined.
“Touch yourself for us,” he ordered, and grinned at Ichigo over her shoulder. “You’re gonna come one more time.”
Ichigo pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders, head ducking down to trace his tongue over the dark, gleaming marks on her skin. She moaned his name, tension ratcheting higher, and Ichigo grinned against her shoulder. “Go on,” he murmured, and savored the way she shivered for him. “We want to watch you fall apart again. You wanted me to fuck you until you passed out, didn’t you? So now we both will.”
“Ah! – yes,” Rukia moaned, dragging her own hand down her stomach and lower still, to wedge between Grimmjow’s body and hers so she could rub her clit.
Grimmjow cupped the back of her neck and dragged her down to him for another kiss, tongue thrusting roughly into her mouth and mimicking his hips. “That’s right,” he praised as she rubbed, “I want to feel you come all over my cock, the way you came on Shiro’s, on Ichigo’s.” He kept up the stream of words in between low gasps and groans, grinning savagely when Rukia’s eyes rolled back and she keened for them.
Ichigo pressed deeper, thrusting faster as she drew closer to the edge and tension wound tighter. “You’re so hot like this,” he breathed in her ear, cupping a breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers. “Taking both of us and touching yourself. I – ah! I love seeing my mark on you, fucking love feeling you around me, like you were – fuck – made for me.”
“For us,” Grimmjow rasped, thrusting up and grinding against her. “So fuckin’ tight.” He groaned her name again and pushed her hand away. “You do it,” he ordered Ichigo. “Make her come.”
Ichigo hooked his chin over Rukia’s shoulder and reached around her hip, two fingers rubbing her clit in small circles. She shuddered in his arms, head falling back against his shoulder as she cried out. “Please,” she begged, and Ichigo held her tighter with his other arm. Beneath her, Grimmjow had her by the hips, and they worked together to bring her closer, closer –
Rukia’s mouth dropped open on a nearly silent cry, a thin, high sound leaving her throat as white-hot pleasure burned through every muscle, every molecule of her body. She grabbed onto Ichigo’s arm, onto Grimmjow’s, clinging to them as it swept her away. Her body throbbed in time with her racing heart and she clenched down on them over and over until Ichigo shuddered apart behind her, her name spilled hoarsely from his lips. Grimmjow thrust once, twice more and growled her name as he spilled himself inside her, grinding against her in slow circles to draw it out.
She really did pass out, coming to only after they’d slipped out of her. There was another trip to the bathing room in Ichigo’s arms so they could both clean up a little, and then he carried them back to the futon. Rukia’s head lolled against Ichigo’s chest as he held her close, Grimmjow on one side and Shiro on the other. The futon beneath them was ruined, stained and torn, and Rukia was an utter mess, spent from all three men still leaking out of her and her body covered with love bites and hickeys, with red marks that would soon be bruises. She was sore, too, thighs and abdomen both aching from their exertions. It wasn’t a surprise; demons were not exactly the gentle lovemaking type.
Ichigo pressed a soft kiss to her neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked, voice hushed.
“Sap,” Shiro grumbled, but he flung an arm around Ichigo’s waist and stroked Rukia’s hip lightly. “She’s feeling like she got fucked by her own personal harem.”
On Rukia’s other side, Grimmjow snorted. “Told you, you’re all mine,” he grumbled. He kissed the marks on Rukia’s back and smirked at the way she shivered for him.
“Mine,” Rukia murmured against Ichigo’s chest, and basked in their warmth, in Grimmjow’s heat at her back as he spooned up against her and the steady warmth of the fire demon who loved her. Even of the warmth of Shiro’s hand on her hip.
“Greedy,” Ichigo teased. He kissed the crown of her head and tucked her closer.
Just then, Rukia didn’t object… since he was right.