Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Cheaters Never Prosper

...Or do they?

Stark forced himself to tear his eyes away from those of his subordinate. She acted so carefree, so innocent. She acted as though squeezing his balls in order wake him up was perfectly normal and in no way erotic.

He could still feel the effect her hands had on him. A warmth had spread in his body, starting in his stomach, making no sign of slowing its torturous expedition downwards. It worried him she was able to unintentionally elicit such desire from deep within him, and it worried him to a further extent that it left him wanting - no, needing - more. It made him feel weak.

Of all things in the world, her hands will be what finally does me in, he mused.

Even now, she was affecting him. She had inadvertently settled herself atop him so that his hips met the deliciously soft, warm spot between her thighs. It was a wonder he hadn't already torn her practically non-existant shorts off and had her riding him.

He rubbed his eyes lazily, wiping away the last sign of sleep, and mentally berated himself. His thoughts were provoking parts of him that shouldn't even respond to her attention. He was delving into territory that, if crossed, could not be healthy for his mental state. He was an Espada, the Primero Espada, and yet his wits became muddled and disorganized when around Lilenette. No, Lilenett's hands, he corrected.

When it came down to it, she was a mere fracción, meaning he was supposed to be in control of her, not the other way around.

"They killed Aaroneiro."

The sound of her unusually reserved voice brought him out of his convoluted reverie, diverting his attention to the situation at hand. He let out a sigh and relaxed his neck, letting it rest on one of the many green overstuffed pillows that lay beneath him.

"I know," Stark conveyed lamely. It wasn't as though he had been on particularly good terms with the man-men?-it-thing. He knew, however, the death of the ninth Espada was blow to Aizen, if but a slight one, whether he wanted to it admit it or not. This incident had proved that they still had a long way to go until they could accomplish Aizen's objective of overthrowing the Soul Society, and above all, it exposed the reality that they were, in fact, vulnerable.

"You're okay with that?" He caught the double meaning of her question and decided to ignore it. Her voice was definitely softer than usual. She wasn't the loud girl that had rudely awoken him just moments before. Stark opened one eye and chanced a peek at the girl on top of him. Lilenette's gaze was pointed downwards to where her hands were positioned on his chest. She absentmindedly traced circles and various shapes with her fingertips, her mind appearing to be elsewhere.

"What do you want me to do about it?" It was a question meant to be left unanswered. There was nothing he could do about it.

Lilinette understood his hollow overture and continued tracing the carefully stitched seams of his white uniform. What he wouldn't give to have those hands travel lower, to feel her impossibly delicate skin against him...

Stark focused his attention on the drab yellow wall to the right of him, poorly attempting to veer his mind away from the agonizingly soft hands splayed less than a breath's distance away from his lips. He only had to lift his neck and move his head forward a few inches and he would be able to taste her, feel her soft pink lips against his own...

God, who in hell decided to paint the fucking walls in this place yellow.

Lilenette's hands began to slowly make their way upwards.

Of all colors, yellow.

They were now in his hair, teasing the messy untamed brown locks that framed his face.

Whatever idiot painted these walls obviously had a fucked up childhood.

They couldn't keep this up, this twisted game they played with each other. She couldn't continue touching him in ways that were beyond inappropriate for one of her rank, whether intentional or not, and he couldn't keep pretending he wasn't enjoying it. He should do something -- anything. One word out of his mouth and he could easily put an end to this.

Yeah, maybe a few years ago.

Stark had long lost the control he might have once had over Lilenette, and telling her, "Hey, you've got to stop squeezing my testicles because for some abnormally strangereason it turns me on," would only result in physical pain. As nice as her hands were, he didn't fancy having one shoved down his throat again.

He did, however, enjoy their current objective. Her fingers, which had managed to find their way behind his neck, continued to play with the small knots and tangles that had accumulated in his hair, placing her chest in his direct line of vision. Another train of thought made its way into his mind, and it was all he could do to suppress the moan that was aching to escape. Did this girl know what she was doing to him? He closed his eyes, attempting an impossible task of trying to concentrate on anything but her.

However, no sooner having been closed, they shot back open. In effort to gain better access to his hair, Lilinette had unintentionally rolled her hips against his own, and judging by the look on her face, he wasn't the only one who had felt the effect of it. Her eyes widened, and when they met his dark brown ones her face reddened ever so slightly. Her eyes suddenly became interested in the white stuffing peeking its way out of one of the pillows to his left, completely ignoring her previous objective, which had something to do with his hair. Stark couldn't help but smirk at her reaction. Come to think of it, she had never been on the receiving end of their game, always being the one to initiate a move.

Before they were able to retreat to the safety of her own body, Stark caught both of Lilinette's small hands in one his own, large calloused ones. Her eyes darted back to his own, but this time with a different emotion. Confusion? Did she really think he was going to let her stop after she'd gone so far as to rile him up? He assessed her current position on top of him and could safely presume there were hardly any boundaries that hadn't been broken and crossed. Her hips remained squared against his, and if she didn't move soon, a third member would soon join the current party of two. Why stop now? It seemed as though all of her touches, both the hard and feather light, intentional or unintentional, had lead up to this moment; the moment where his uncaring facade wore down to its final, thin thread. He could no longer brush off the innocent looks she gave him. She had to realize what she did to him. It was his turn now. His turn.

With grace only one his stature could pull off, he swiftly switched their positions so she was now beneath him. His knees dug into the green pillows on either side of her, one hand securely gripping her half bare left hip while the other continued its task of holding her alluring hands hostage above her head. He gave her a vindictive smile, and her eyes widened a fraction in response. Lilenette wouldn't be escaping from him this time. He lowered his head, moving his face closer to hers. His eyes were now level with her mildly shocked ones, his nose merely inches from her own.

"You've rolled the dice one too many times. It's my turn now."

Stark liked this new version of their game.