We've Resisted Enough

His words were ignored for the moment, though it was projected. Not many things in this world, or the others could have stripped the Kenpachi from her routine. This one, however was filled with anger and seething frustration that came with being unvalued. As a Taichō, and more prominently, one of the eleventh division, she had certain needs that required obtainability. Being deprived of what came natural to her temperament was next to treason in the realm of her thoughts; Itada had come to learn this after centuries of being ‘accustomed’ to her charm, if you will.   

She addressed him soon after, and while she couldn’t see him, she could certainly define his intent. Nonetheless, it wasn’t as if his arrival didn’t come without invitation. In response, he didn’t speak but simply walked forward. To the side his Zanpakutō was flung and in the opposing direction, his Haori hit the rare chair’s back. Immediately, in one swift motion, the Kenpachi would find her feet airborne as the Seiryū lifted her from the ground. From this point and a moment’s time, several footsteps guided the two from her padded wreck and towards the back wall.  

Pressed against the wall, Jingu would find her back studying the wood that composed her chambers whole her legs wrapped around his form; chest-to-chest the two Taichō remained. “You talk too much, Jingu-chan.” This was the truth; if confidentiality was a common theme, it would have been extraneous given the Kenpachi always felt the need to announce both Itada’s arrival and their night’s agenda. Nonetheless, at this point, with his irritation and her frustration, little would bother the setting.  

“If you plan to die after ‘slaying’ the Line Walker, then we better make this one count.” While the others were truly sights…phenomenal sights (minus the evident destruction) this time held a little more weight. Before, lives truly weren’t on the line besides those imprudent enough to be present when they had sex, however, Jingu couldn’t have been any more serious when the thought of killing a member of the Royal Guard slipped through her teeth. If she wanted to execute herself, Itada would have to begin such an execution somewhere.  

Understand traditional circumstances, the Noble’s demeanor would have been more poised, more formal. Nonetheless, nothing was traditional about this meeting, from the location to the conditions that led to this enviable lip lock. Hinaai was dead, Sojirō sharing her gray fate and a handful of mind-bending and ill-starred events united to meld this day into something chaotic. If the events were frenzied, why couldn’t the Taichō be as well?  

He would have to return to his old ways in due time for the Captain’s council would be held tonight. For now, in this moment, he would be the Dragon that powered his reputation. The fangs, the flames and the flight—he would embody the very creature that came to haunt those who faced him in combat. Auspiciously, this wasn’t a bout of wit and technique, no, a more intimate blaze would burn on this evening and Jingu would feel the strength of a beast holding enough strength to move mountains. The thought of actually losing her was absent, for now, the Seiryū was filled with one emotion: Lust.  

If she bit any harder, she’d puncture skin and blood would flow, though Itada didn’t mind. Doing well to keep her suspended within his arms, the raven-haired let her loose on his face, their lips touching and tongues dovetailing as she competently switch between sensual kisses and playful bites. These events were returned as the man consumed her features, his lips embracing the fullness of hers in reception. If one word could describe this event, it would have been sloppy. Even as she gestured towards violence, Itada wasn’t in the most submissive mood; her fingers blocked her lips, though her neck was open for teasing as his tongue ran along its surface before alternating between subtle sucks and gentle kisses.  

Soon enough, it seemed the Kenpachi had given in to the Dragon and before dropping her to the ground, allowing toes to touch the wooden panels once more, Itada’s face remained artless. “Your eyes…I thought—“It mattered not, her faults was seemingly erased and in its wake, rested two, stunning eyes. This was how he remembered the warrior and at least if she did perish tonight for crimes against the Gotei, she would do so after sharing an evening with Itada, her body whole.  

His dark pools well invested in Jingu’s restored gaze, his narrowed gaze would distract her from his second action. Without much poise, his attire was ripped from his form. His Kosode dropping from his visage, an exposed, shaped physique was present in the eyes of one. His hakuma soon following leaving nothing to the imagination as the Seiryū played a strong role in disrobing the opposing Taichō. A strong hand to her chest, a tight clench on the fabric, and with one fluid motion, it was torn from her body.  

It was rare to enter Itada’s circle of ‘friends,’ if that even existed. It went without saying being anything more was niche-impossible, though when you spent several centuries with a person; it became slightly easier to permeate those ranks. Hardships were ample and repetitive in the man’s life, all varying in severity and while he was a staple for destitutions, she was the only thing truly constant. Since youth, Jingu hadn’t changed and still remains as calm as she could possibly be. If a lover was ever met to enter his life once again, it would be her. That title, however, was to intimate for what they had and too personal for either of the prideful Taichō to admit. If love was there, it didn’t need to be said, just shown.  

The solid space between his legs became a prisoner of Jingu’s near superman grip, the Seiryū didn’t falter; instead, he accepted it. He didn’t respond to her words, knowing full well she was a woman of action; if her heart truly wanted cobwebs and a lonely ‘last’ night, he wouldn’t have been allowed to press this far. Instead, what replaced verbal retaliation was something more subtle, unanticipated and most importantly, sensual; a lustful grin.  

Eyes soon scaling her form, Itada didn’t find excitement in one last thing; her pants. As she bit into the junction along his torso, both of his hands moved down, sliding her pants, and what rested beneath them, down her long legs; her participation in removing these clothes being anticipated as he slid them off her body. She couldn’t hide behind her bangs of fiery red and her grip wouldn’t ensure her control. If she truly wanted to dominate, it would be an earned victory over the Seiryū and he rarely loss.  

Now erect, he stood upright and high, towering the Kenpachi as he looked down upon her form. If she truly thought death would approach her tonight, then they would fuck like this was her last time; in reality, the man wouldn’t allow a single strand of hair to fall from her head. The lust, passion and sensuality that came with this grim expectancy, however, were too inviting. His hands glided her torso before stopping over her full, voluptuous breast; handful was an understatement as his pales narrowly covered them while he shifted his beck to augment the sensation she gave to his neck.  

Squeezing modestly, his own teeth sank into the skin of Jingu, just behind her ear before trailing upwards to her mouth, where another series of passionate, aggressive kisses were shared. He wanted to full her out completely, strip the woman of all guards and give her body a high before forcing the Kenpachi to overindulge. This wouldn’t be a fast process by any means; a lot had to be worked in if she felt she was going to die tonight.  

As much as the Kenpachi found her digits moving across the ranges and indentations of the Seiryū’s form, Itada’s own fingers painted a portrait. In deliberate trends, his hands moved from the woman’s ample chest to the space in-between, outlining the shape and fullness that came with Jingu’s inexplicably perfect bosom. Delicate waves moved across each individual breast, which transitioned into tighter, more aggressive squeezes. Intermittently, the Taichō even indulged her abdomen. An open palm gliding over her flawless skin before dragging a single finger across the tattoo she donned around her navel. As if filling every aspect of her upper body, nothing was left untouched.  


It took only two things: a release of his member and handfuls of raven before Itada was tossed to the ground. His back, colliding with the padding of the conveniently placed Tatami mat before being pounced on by the avaricious Kenpachi; Her tch leaving a challenging impression. For a moment, he looked at her, into her through the stunning eyes she possessed when not powered by rage. She would be given time to straddle, roll and do what she wanted while she held the top position until it changed. Yes, it was going to change.

Swoosh and within a blink of the eye, the tide had changed for the better. Deftly, Itada took ahold of Jingu’s waist, and within the same fluid motion, manipulated his weight and momentum. The end result being a total flip, the Kenpachi moving through the air before finding her back against the mat and Itada, resting just over her rested form. Strong arms to both sides of her head, robust hands pushed into the wooden floor as his elevated himself, and his thighs spaced just outside her on for equilibrium.  

“Tch.” As if mocking the woman jokingly—something he did rarely—the Shinigami leaned down. Lips feasting upon the skin of her neck as his legs felt the moisture from her flora. His tongue exercising its length against Jingu’s neckline, his efforts moved upwards, taking ahold of her jawline before finally, crashing into her lips breathlessly, and filling her mouth with his tongue to exist with her own. 

There were few, of any who could truly match the Kenpachi in terms of brute strength. The raw power that dwelled within the fibers of her muscles was enough to move mountains with ease and part oceans as if she were biblical herself. The volume of energy that shaped the fiery haired woman was unfathomable, incalculable, mind-bogglingly frightening. If it were any other man, any other entity that sat above her so confidently, they would have capitulated to her never-ending pulses of reiatsu. Fortunately, Itada was both cultured to her ways and adapted to her customs and propensities.  

This wasn’t a battle of sheer force, no; it was something more primitive, something more in-depth. It was being unpredictable; never had the man been so forceful with Jingu and never had her skin been son desired by the dragon. Her demise on this night would be the fact that she didn’t know what he would do next, what he was capable of in such a state of mind. Was it anger that fired his actions, maybe something more exact and truthful to how he felt or even a permutation of the two? It mattered little; there wasn’t enough time in the day to eloquent such truths with bodily lust in-between. 

Warm digits wrapped around solid space as Itada’s posture faltered for but a second—a fraction of it even—before returning to normal. While she wasn’t outside her nature, the sensitive touch would alarm even the strongest of titans; it was an unwanted, though cluing expression. It didn’t help that, even soaking, that she was tighter than anything graspable; it wasn’t something Itada could or would complain about. If one would could describe it, beautiful only came to mind.  

Another clenching of teeth found its way into the skin of the Seiryū. Strong, penetrative and deep, Jingu’s mouth wrapped around a portion of his neck before sinking the length of her fangs into his veins. Letting out a soft sigh of exultation, the Captain adjusted his head, moving in back to give her full saturation before lowering his view towards her own. If she surfaced to peer into his eyes, Jingu would notice a slight adaptation. Normally raven and cold, Itada’s irises was taken over by tinges of sweltering ember and gold, a true indication of his spiritual energy seeping out and his inner dragon developing.  

She’d have little time to bask in this erogenous discovery or mock his uncontrollable energy for Itada pressed forward. As she arched her back, elevating her waist with her legs wrapping around his his midsection, the dragon lifted his torso up with the strength of his arms. Now hovering abstemiously over the woman, he rocked his hips. Gradual, deliberate and moving with purpose, his abdomen guided his stroke into a slow, progressively increasing rhythm in and out of her. She would feel only a portion of his length and girth for now.  

The Kenpachi was a strong symbol of strength and viciousness within the Soul Society. Beyond Jingu, anyone who held the title before the fiery-haired woman or subsequently after was held to a certain, unique standard. Placed on the pedestal of unrestrained, raw emotion for bloodlust and conflict, something as minimal as intimacy was a trait any kept secret and for good reason. Being vulnerable existed in many forms and shapes, sex not being the only one; if anyone could place Jingu in such a situation, her status would be derelict. Itada wouldn’t be the one responsible for taking part in such defamation, or in the ancillary violence that came after when the Kenpachi exerted her rage on the doubtful.  

But even as terrifying as the Kenpachi was, she was still a woman. Women needed more than mental delight; her body needed to be stimulated.  

As such, when she maneuvered her hips to take more of his member in, completely defying what Itada insisted, he smirked. He wouldn’t take action, however, until Jingu decided taking ahold of his neck was such a wise idea. He gave her a moment, allowing her nails to jeer into his skin before a immediate hand took ahold of her wrist. Elevated and balanced perfectly on a single arm, the Seiryū’s eyes wandered deep into Jingu’s, his raven orbs taking ahold of her colored jewels. “Take your own counsel.” and akin to the planet’s aligning, a scarcity had occurred. For the first time in a long time, the Captain smiled, though lust fed his intention.  

With that, the larger male pushed her hand over her head, his free hand dragging her other appendage over as well. Locking her arms in place, fingers interlocked, her arms took on a faint diamond contour as she had nowhere to go. The Dragon remained over her, partly inside as he pulled back slowly, drawing the process and joshing her walls as he initiated an exit motion.  

Before he pushed in pugnaciously. 

In a single breath, Jingu would feel Itada, in his entirety, moving into her, hard and vigorous as his hips swung forward quickly. Hands clenching harder into her own, the raven mane of Itada’s sprang off his back as his cadence hastened, and he continued to pile the totality of his member into the Kenpachi, one stroke after another. Their foreplay would be ending soon, and eventually these quarters would turn into shambles. Back bending in and out, his hips careened to add comfort and additional length necessary for this position. Jingu wanted to feel all of him; she would get what she asked for.