My English is nonexistent, but I just had to try. Sometimes it happens, just like that. Enjoy it anyway!

Since it's Gin/Kira, the full responsibility and ownership belong to Clio. Blame her only :P

A nawiasem, błagam o pochwały, jak najbardziej błagam, z całą niewinną bezczelnością. A jeśli nie ma co pochwalić, to o komentarze błagam tak czy siak.

THE MAP

If somebody was to chart a wind rose for the personality of Ichimaru Gin, it would have to become a multifarious guidepost, if based on said taichou's appearances only. His ever-dazzling smile woud point at bright cheerfulness. His never-uncovered gaze would point at constant self-secretiveness. His scrawny arms, always open as to warm embrace, would perhaps suggest something affectionate and effusive, when his slender fingers, capable of sword-crushing grip, would testify to some ruthless rapacity.

How silly.

Ichimaru Gin knows himself all too well to even imply such complexity of his own nature. Quite the contrary in fact – if ever accosted, he would need one characteristic only to describe all his gestures, faces, appearances and thoughts. Why to delude himself anyway?

E-ee-evil…

Such a vicious man he is, just like that, is he not? What more could there be to say? And why actually should he say anything more? Ichimaru Gin, a vicious scum. Nice to meet ya.

God, he enjoyed every single drop of his own venom.

If he was to set a map of his own soul, it would show a clear path within that pure viciousness of his. And thanks to that, and that only, his path led to such a richness of pleasures and enjoyments of darker shades of life. Why to complicate things, why to deny that anyhow, why to cloud the view, when the plane truth is so obvious and enjoyable?

Ichimaru Gin, silver flagpole of evil.

A disgrace, a grinning bane of Soul Society. Again – nice to meet ya. So ni-iii-iii-ce… Madly in love with his own shamelessness. And why? Such a nonsense, to be always in contrast to bride and shining virtue of the Death God. Why? Can't he just not to dig himself deeper into the dark, when the only purpose of his existence as a soul warrior should remain among virtues as bright as whiteness of captain's cloak?

How could he not to?

One just could not resist such a temptation. One just could not deprive himself of that poisonous, sweet juice. So again and again, he finds himself falling towards the same blessed downfall. A guarantee to deliver him the one delight he actually cared about.

How simple path to set a map.

He enjoyed to draw it multiple times with his long fingers, starting from gold-framed forehead, sharp cheeks, worried smile of thin mouth, where his own dazzling grin gets hopelessly softened every time by the touch of those faithful lips on his own. Lips dawdling with deepening kiss, he's drawing further his caressing scratches – by this irresistible, unsullied, luring neck, by delectable curves of those scrawny, absorbing shoulders, and elbows, and fingers and palms…

Must bite ya. Need to. Want to. I want it now.

He goes down with the kiss, his tongue always soaked somehow with the forgotten memories of a dessert - rough, and thirsty, and spicy, and thirsty, and distantly beautiful. Here comes the path, drawn with tender wounding on creamy, sensitive skin, clinging provocatively to ribs. Fingers clasping tightly to other's fingers, while long-delayed biting lands finally on hardening, surrendering nipple. Bitter. Overwhelming. Salty, honeyed, unique. Taste of innocence, devoured again and again, and once more some other time. Just this once Ichimaru Gin's lips got satiated enough to be unable to find a room for a an alienating, silver-poisoned grin.

There is no place for alienation with smooth cheek resting on that warm chest. Hands wander lower and lower, lips crawl down, torn between a hurry to reach the goal and never satisfied hunger for marking and possessing every spot that could be reached.

Every spot can be reached.

Every spot is marked. In every spot those rampant fingers and thirsty mouth meet the same welcome, sometimes just more blushing or spreading less openly. Shy, and heated, and addictive to the point of obsession.

Must have ya, my little obsession. Must have ya now.

Ichimaru Gin, born to be a conqueror, as all the captains of Soul Society should be. Every path of his is finishing with a conquest. As inevitable and pervading as the blade of Shinsou. And right now, accommodated so shamelessly with his sharp chin on gently unshaken hip, Ichimaru Gin kneels.

Unconditional welcome. Unconditional kneeling.

If somebody was to draw a map of Ichimaru-taichou emotions, it would take a shape of his acid-fixed smile. Sliding down from high virtues of his captaincy to the desert valley of shadows, where every single menos of his mind could find himself a nice nest. But to make a full smile, to fix another mouth-corner in the right place, to fix the life and emotions in the right place, one needs a reason for reaching the top and keeping the smile on.

One simply must be totally obsessed to be smiling that wide.

Ichimaru Gin closes his teeth on the welcoming and intolerably unharmed skin on the slender thigh below him. Truly, madly, deeply in love with his own shamelessness.

- Iii-zu-ru…

the end?