A/N: I'm not going to lie and say I like this pairing, but the idea for this piece hit me during a discussion with a couple of friends on AIM about how often Kira is portrayed as helpless and weak in fanfic, and how none of us see him as possessing either one of those qualities. That said, this isn't meant to portray Shuuhei in that light either, with Kira coming to his rescue. It's meant to be dark, and though I do have a sequel planned, there will not be a cute, fluffy ending for these two, in which they wind up living happily ever after. As always, I welcome any and all comments, but I do request that if you find yourself NOT liking this piece and wish to tell me so, please be respectful in your reviews. This is just my particular point of view.

I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.

He knew they all thought him weak. He knew they all thought that Gin had used him like a pretty toy only to toss him aside to leave Soul Society with Aizen and Tousen. He knew they all thought Gin's abandonment had led to long nights of drinking and closeting himself away in his office, stigmatized by the rest of Soul Society for his part in Aizen's plans.

But none of that was true.

Crack!

His handprint bloomed red against the delicious curve of his playmate's ass, dragging a muffled moan from the man bound to his bed.

He wasn't weak, and he was glad Gin had left—otherwise his captain would have found himself on his knees with Wabisuke's hook at his throat, and nothing in the all the worlds would have stopped him from cutting the fox-faced man's head from his neck.

Tears glittered in thick black eyelashes, a flush of arousal edging along sharp cheekbones above the length of silk gagging that pretty, pretty mouth, and he thought the other man never looked more beautiful than in moments like these—bound and vulnerable and utterly at his mercy.

Of course, if Gin hadn't left he would have never found out what his captain had been up to all these years, aided by Aizen and Tousen.

He shuddered as he watched swollen, tenderly-bruised lips part to take his steel hard cock inside a lusciously hot mouth, gripping dark hair tightly as he battled the urge to fuck the other man's throat roughly—losing that battle the minute those eyes lifted to his face, pupils blown and swimming in tears.

If Gin hadn't betrayed Soul Society, Kira would have never been cleaning out his former captain's desk, and therefore he wouldn't have found the stacks of photographs secreted away in a hidden drawer that the blond fukutaicho had found only by purest chance.

He found that his playmate didn't mind most things he wanted to do to him. The harsh bite of silken ropes tightening across surprisingly silken skin; the kiss of a whip or crop or cane across his thighs and back and gorgeously firm bottom; toys that teased and tormented; gags that silenced his moans and cries—his playmate seemed to crave them all. He discovered, however, that blindfolds and isolation would send the other man into a panic, pleading to be released while he writhed and twisted against his bonds until he was panting from exertion, only to go utterly limp once he had tired himself out, and only then would they move to the final stage of their play.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been alone at the time of his discovery—but what had made matters worse, the person who had offered to help him clean out his ex-captain's office was the very subject of the photos Kira had held in his hands, and at the blond's gasp, the dark-haired fukutaicho of the 9th had crossed the small room in seconds, far too quickly for the other lieutenant to have time to hide the damning pictures before his sempai saw exactly what it was he held.

He stretched him carefully, not wanting to hurt him; even after all those years in Aizen and Gin and Tousen's hands, he was still almost virginally tight—one of the down sides of being a high-level shinigami that healed with abnormal speed—and their first time had been painful for them both. He eased one lubed digit inside, followed a minute or two later by a second, scissoring them apart, working against the clenching muscle that threatened to force him right back out until he found the nub of tissue nestled in the inner wall and stroked—smiling when Shuuhei moaned through his gag and pressed back against his hand, wordlessly asking for more. Working a third and final finger inside that clenching heat, he stroked and rubbed and pressed until he felt the other man loosening enough to take his cock, removing his fingers to slick his length before positioning himself between the older man's bound legs, wrapping one hand around a slender calf while the other guided his aching cock to the dark-haired fukutaicho's entrance, pressing inside slowly.

He'd watched the color drain from Shuuhei's face until the older man was an alarming shade of pale, watched as his sempai schooled his expression into a perfectly blank mask that was both like and unlike his normally neutral expression, sending a shudder of apprehension down the younger man's spine at the sight of it. He watched as those dark eyes lifted from the photographs to meet his gaze, and the utter deadness in the other man's eyes was nearly heartbreaking. Shuuhei didn't say a word, didn't explain—though no explanation was necessary, not really, not when Kira held evidence of nearly a century's-worth of abuse in his long-fingered hands—he merely turned and left the office, leaving the younger vice captain standing in frozen silence.

He fucked him roughly, plunging fast and hard and deep into the lean body beneath him, giving them what they both needed. After the slow build up, he knew he wouldn't last long, but neither would Shuuhei. Despite the ropes binding him, the older man was writhing beneath him, his throaty moans and breathless cries more arousing than even those of the most celebrated courtesans in the high-priced brothels of Seireitei. Tightening his grip in thick, messy black hair to hold Shuuhei's head absolutely still—Wabisuke's blade hovering perilously close to that vulnerable, painfully arched throat—he felt the beginnings of his orgasm sizzling up his spine and sped up his thrusts, changing the angle of his thrusts minutely so he was now raking his length across the other man's prostate, feeling internal muscles begin to flutter around him before Shuuhei arched with a long, hoarse cry, clamping around him as his own climax took him over the edge—drawing the blond right along with him.

Two weeks later Shuuhei had shown up at his door, looking worn and more tired than Kira had ever seen him, and after a few minutes' desultory conversation about inconsequential things, the other fukutaicho had pulled a length of silk rope from his uniform and handed it to the younger man before he began to disrobe, shedding his clothing methodically until he stood naked in Kira's living room—lean and sleek and fucking beautiful in the candlelight—and the blond had been unable to refuse the silent plea in his sempai's dark green eyes, his own body tightening with arousal as mental images of Shuuhei bound and helpless before him flooded his brain.

He carefully untied the older man's wrists, grimacing at the deep abrasions left behind by the ropes but knowing better than to try healing them; he'd tried that before and Shuuhei hadn't come back for nearly a week, and when he had, he'd been in far worse a state than the blond had ever left him. That was the only time he'd permitted Kira to heal him, and the younger man now left it alone, fearing that the dark-haired lieutenant would risk serious injury in Rukongai to fulfill his needs instead of coming to him.

He uncoiled the rope crisscrossing Shuuhei's torso, then untied his legs, sealing and sheathing his zanpakuto while the other man rubbed the circulation back into his wrists and ankles.

"Feel better?" he asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Shuuhei rose from the bed unsteadily, reaching for the lightweight yukata he'd discarded earlier and drawing on, hissing as the thin material settled against his heavily stripped shoulders, but he turned at Kira's question, his expression carefully blank and his eyes deadened once more.

"Not really."

And with those two softly spoken words he was gone, leaving the blond Vice Captain alone with his thoughts, wondering how long they could keep this up until Shuuhei broke fully.