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Thrice In Our Lives	By : Ardespuffy Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Hitsugaya/Ichigo Views: 2789 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor its characters. I do not make money out of writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
DISCLAIMER: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.
WARNINGS (for this chapter only): AU, yaoi, mature content, PWP. Set in a non-magical universe. Also, be warned: these are NOT my usual Ichigo and Toshiro, their characterization in here differs from that of my other stories. Keep it in mind throughout the reading.
GENRE (for this chapter only): smut, angst.
SUMMARY: I want to love you till there's nothing left of me. But every time is just another last time.

2. Lust Time

The crowd is restless. No wonder per se: long queue plus short patience equals endless moaning, Toshiro ponders, wrapping his arms tighter around his own slender form. It doesn't help that it's bloody freezing too, he figures. As far as he's concerned that is actually the only bright spot, but still.
Matsumoto's sudden cry of exhaustion catches his attention. "Nnngyah! I can't take it anymore, this is getting ridiculous! Last time we were here this place was so bad off they nearly begged us to come, and look now! We'll be lucky enough to step foot in at the rate we're goin'. Hell, is this how they treat old friends? To think I've pestered you about this all week! Y'know, I'm starting to think you were right all along, Shiro-chan."
Those words sound like music to the boy's ears, so much in fact Toshiro fails to get back at the girl for using the hated nickname. "It's not too late to slink off. I promise no 'told you so's if we leave now."
"Nah, what's the point in dropping after we've come so far? Look, line's moving. Stay beside me or they'll tread upon you, little thing!" Here Matsumoto does the most humiliating… – namely, takes the admittedly short boy's hand in hers and fucking drags him along to slide with the flow.
By the time they finally reach the entrance, Toshiro's face is crimson with hate and utter embarrassment. To make matters worse, the tall, impressively well-built bouncer at the door is staring through dark sunglasses – most unnecessary, it's past bloody two in the morning – at the strange couple, looking all but eager to let them in. "Sssso… guess you thought something gave you the right to take me for a fool, ne?"
Matsumoto folds her arms across her massive, scarcely clothed breasts. "Whadda hell is this supposed to mean? We've been in line for bloody forever, you can't not let us enter!"
Wrong thing to say. The black-clad brute spits rudely at his feet. "I can and I will keep you out if you don't watch that trap of yours, beauty. Besides, what were you expecting brining a kid with you? Is it a new pick up technique I don't know of, or – wait, you're not a teenage mom, are you?" The man peers above the edge of his dark lens. "Nope, definitely too old for that."
In a moment the unadulterated fury radiating off Matsumoto's body seems to heat up even the chilling air. Toshiro rubs his temples and curses under his breath. Damn fucktard will never hear the end of it if he doesn't step in before the blond woman bursts. "There's no need for silly assumptions. I've got my ID right here. Take a look and you'll see I'm of age."
Albeit visibly annoyed at the condescending tone, the bouncer does as much. "Phew, whoa? You twenty-three, like hell! Don't ye fuck with me, boyo, or else…!"
"It's okay, Iba. Let 'em in."
That voice, the only one Toshiro could recognize any bloody where, even with the raging roar of the crowd behind him and the loud beat of the music coming from inside.
"Ichigooo ~ !" Murderous instinct kicked aside for the moment, Matsumoto leaps into the orange-haired newcomer's arms, nearly suffocating the guy with her huge boobs. "Thank God you've showed up, I was just about to jeopardize my criminal record again!"
"C-Criminal… what?" Iba, the bouncer, sputters in disbelief, but no one minds him.
"It's great to see you back around. Come on in." Ichigo gently urges the woman to follow him inside the dim lit nightclub, stopping to glance back over his shoulders at the reluctant boy behind them. "What about you?"
Toshiro averts his eyes quickly. Damn it all to hell. True, given that Kurosaki Ichigo is to the infamous Gotei disco club what Bill Gates is to Microsoft Corporation it had been pretty foolish of him to hope he and Matsumoto could sneak in without the redhead noticing – but Toshiro had been in desperate need of a shining utopia to cling onto ever since his smoky former flatmate had started considering dropping by Kurosaki's club to 'greet a few friends' before she was forced to leave town again due to her free-lancer job. Since the silver-haired young man's yet to succeed denying Matsumoto pretty much anything…
"What? Are you sure we should let him in, Kurosaki-san? He's just a brat!"
The vein on Toshiro's forehead throbs dangerously under the bouncer's sceptical scrutiny. Before he gets the chance to stand up for himself, however, the carrot-top youth gives Iba a friendly slap on the back. "Don't worry. He's with me."
Nnngghffuck. Toshiro feels his stomach churn at that. How dare the bloody asshole speak of him so freely, like – ? "Am not!" He barks as viciously as he can.
Here's when their eyes lock. Gods, does Toshiro know that gaze. Ichigo has got the unique ability to look right through him, bring his hidden secrets to the fore then shrug them away with a nonchalant smile and, sometimes in the past, those crazily skilled hands of his… which Toshiro will not be thinking about not now nor ever, thank you very much. Even now Ichigo's lips are arched in a mock-innocent grin. "Don't mind him, Iba. He's just too shy to admit it, but we are together." His light brown eyes take on a glint of mischief as the man goes on. "I meant we're all together, like an ol' big family. How would playing in as my little brother suit you, Toshiro?"
Damn motherfucking bastard. Toshiro can practically sense the flaming waves of embarrassment flowing off his own body as the redhead's eyes bore into his, as full of promises and sins as they always were. As they were back when – as they were last time. Then again, Toshiro tells himself, every sodding time is just another last time for the two of them.
"Huh, not to break the tension n' all but people are waiting, bumpkin-san. We'd better get moving and let these poor things have their turn as well." With just about the perfect timing Matsumoto grabs Toshiro's arm and pulls him unceremoniously inside the club, past Iba's surveillance range. "Now, show us around, will you Ichigo? It's been a long time since shorty and I last dropped by."
Toshiro feels his cheeks grow scarlet, not so much at the blonde's words – which, for the record, happen to hold a, mmh, a technical imprecision about them, meaning they are, huh, kind of, mh, well, untrue – but rather at the knowing glance Ichigo sneaks him behind Matsumoto's back. The smirk that blooms on the redhead's face soon enough speaks volumes. "Long time indeed. Why, follow me."
A strong arm props down casually around Toshiro's shoulders, causing the youth to stiffen and nearly trample over a stair-step. Ichigo's leer all but grows wider. "After all," he adds in a voice that sends shivers down Toshiro's spine, "we gotta make up for lost time."
It's going to be a long, long night – the silver-haired boy suddenly realizes.

The motherfucker is staring, Toshiro can tell. His prickling skin is always an indication of people watching him, and right now – right now his whole body's tingling with yearn, very annoyingly so. That's the Kurosaki-effect for you, I guess. There's just something about the redhead's stare that makes Toshiro feel like getting out of his clothes here and now. The white-haired boy sighs while nervously playing with the whatsitagain drink in his hand, teal eyes scanning the crowd nonchalantly. Hope so. It's no use trying to look at someone else when Ichigo's in the room, though, and Toshiro finds his gaze drawn to the redhead's once more.
And it's not like, he muses, the man is outstanding or something. Well, apart from the bright orange hair, which stands out in the crowd alright. Sure, Ichigo has got a nice body – warm in all the right places, well-built and mortifyingly comfortable to lean against in moments of intimacy – a smartass smile – that can switch to 'tender and caring lover' mode in seconds – and good tastes in clothing – hell, he looks positively killer in black shirt and pants… but that's just about it, really. Plain looks all in all. Nothing particularly enticing to stare at. Then why can't Toshiro seem to do anything but? Jerk. He's a jerk and you're worse off, 'cause you want him so much it's bad for your health. How pathetic.
Their eyes meet across the dance floor.
Ichigo has to bite on his lower lip to stop himself from shouting an invitation of some sort. That Toshiro would dump Matsumoto right upon stepping into the club is bad enough, but that he'd rather sit at the bar all by himself looking that illegally fuckable is more than any man in their right mind could bear. Sighing in self pity (seriously, he could have pretty much anyone he'd want in that room, yet he's stuck obsessing over an uptight midget – how's that even fair?) Ichigo wills himself to look away. After the last time they were together – which is not as far in time as Matsumoto must have been led to believe anyway – the redhead had made a point to stay the fuck away from Toshiro unless the boy came to him first. Yeah, right, like that's ever gonna happen. Then again, as long as it's all watching no touching… Sweet temptation has the better on him and Ichigo turns, his eyes drinking in the sight before them.
Gods, the boy drives him bloody insane. True, Toshiro might look like a kid nine-tenths of the time, but the way he acts around people, like he could really care less what everybody's thinking makes for one hell of a turn-on to Ichigo. Even though he knows way better than to buy it, the redhead reminds himself with a soft, sad smile. In truth Toshiro's utter fear of others' judgement has been one obstacle too many between them, second to their awful timing. But things weren't always so shitty. There had been a period they could actually talk and enjoy each other's company in public before ending up in bed together – sharing a real bed, that too has changed, replaced by rushed shagging in dark alleys whenever their pride cracks and their masks fall off. Ichigo knows they have screwed up big time. Somehow it feels like it's all broken beyond remedy now.
Chocolate brown eyes lock with pale ocean ones for the second time across the crowded room.
It's just a matter of seconds before Toshiro climbs off the stool he'd been slouched on, never breaking eye contact. Fuck it. He's sick and tired of listening to the frantic pumping in his chest without acting on it, not to mention his other, easily figured bodily reactions. Ichigo ignites him. Despite his exceptionally high IQ Toshiro can't think of a single good reason why the redhead should have that much power over him, but he does, and – that's kind of the problem, Toshiro can't even think when the fucker is around, and it annoys him to no end, but it's just the way things are. Little harm if it sucks. That's it, this is the last time. I swear this is going to be the last time we…
Ichigo watches in disbelief as the smaller boy strides over the throng to reach him, then stops halfway as if struck by a sudden thought. Surely he can't be suggesting…? Toshiro takes a quick look around before nodding toward the back of the club and sneaking that way, motioning for the carrot-top man to follow with a curt shake of his head. Well, fuck. This being the case… Upon making sure no one is looking his way, Ichigo mingles with the crowd, ready to slip away at the best given moment. Finally, finally the blood feels hot in his veins. The redhead has got absolutely no idea what came over his ever reluctant lover, but god knows he's not passing on a perfect chance at intimacy now that Toshiro barely speaks to him at all. They do need to have a chat, that much is sure. Whatever else may spark, Ichigo tells himself while strolling over the dance floor, 's just gonna be additional benefits. Nothing relevant nor emotionally compromising. Screw this shit.
Wishful thinking never really hurt anyone, has it?

Music's too fucking loud. Damn it. Toshiro had been too enthralled to notice before, but right now, whilst standing with his back against the wall in the dark storage room, waiting and cursing to himself, he's painfully aware of pretty much anything, any change in his surroundings, any beat of the bloody techno – shit, he knows for sure Ichigo doesn't like this crappy music more than he does – any scent, any noise, any shadow. Craving and longing and pure unadulterated need shake his body so hard Toshiro fears he's going to pass out cold. Which is funny, really, since it's blood hot in there. How he'd rather be out in the freezing December, instead of –
"Oi."
Tch. "Took you long enough."
Ichigo smiles that condescending smile of his that unnerves the smaller boy to no end. "Not as long as it took you to show up around here again. How've you been?"
A cool shiver runs down Toshiro's spine. Odd. "Busy. You?" Shit, screw small talk! He doesn't even care how's the motherfucker been, goddamnit. This is so stupid, but it seems like it can't be helped.
"This and that." The redhead shrugs and takes a step further into the tiny room (Toshiro doesn't fail to notice). "Sorry 'bout before. Lad at the door's new."
"Don't mention it."
" 'kay."
Silence. Well, except for the sodding techno music coming in stereo. Toshiro drags sheepishly his heels on the ground. He's ever grateful for the darkness protecting him from Ichigo's brain-melting stare, since the man's sole aura is enough to make his breath quicken. His smell fills up the storage room, invades Toshiro's nostrils with its musky, slightly metallic quality. Smells like a street fighter's blood, even though classy, well-off Kurosaki jr. is anything but. The silver-haired boy snickers to himself. Classy, yet not above shoving his precious dick up another man's ass in a dirty alley right behind the family club.
"So… you haven't told Matsumoto about us."
Ichigo's words shake the smaller youth to awareness. "There's no us."
A short, cheerless laugh. Then: "Get a grip. I just meant you lied to her 'bout the last time you were here." The redhead's features soften in a moment. "It's not like you to tell stories. What happened?"
Toshiro feels suddenly very much conscious of their proximity. As putting physical distance among them is currently impossible, though, cool words alone shall do. "Nothing happened. That's exactly the point."
Now that he's close enough, Ichigo is wasting no chances at human contact. His hand reaches out to pull at Toshiro's black sweater, fingers fumbling playfully with the hem. "Let me guess. Last time was a mistake." He suggests in a light happy tone, visibly mocking the other boy's cold façade. Then a darker shade of something Toshiro can't quite put his finger on crosses the chocolate eyes, and Ichigo leans forward, his face coming to rest a mere breath away from the silver-haired man's. "What's this time gonna be then?"
And they're kissing, gripping at each other's fronts for dear life, their tongues wrestling and lips smashing with little care. Toshiro yanks the redhead by the shirt, pulling him flush against his own thinner form and ripping a button or two in the process. They're melding together again, like they always have, and there's no bloody denying it is purely intoxicating. Fuck, his body –
Ichigo's knee slips to spread the silver head's legs apart before openly rubbing at the boy's cloth-covered crotch. Toshiro moans in the kiss, his own hands rushing to pull at the other's belt. There's no point in fooling around for people like them, people who know exactly what they want and how to get it. At least, that's what Toshiro has been thinking until a strong hand clasps his wrist and holds it in place, inches above the redhead's waistline.
"Here?"
Relief comes so intense the white-haired youth feels like screaming at the top of his lungs. "Dun care." He growls in-between kisses. "Jus' geron with it."
Ichigo obeys and Toshiro's fly springs open, exposing a full hard-on clad in grey boxers. The redhead's hand is instantly shoved down the unfastened pants, tugging them to slide mid-thigh. Someway through the shorter boy's shuffling Kurosaki's expensive leather belt ends up thrown carelessly on the ground, but the young man doesn't seem to mind nor notice for that matter – he's too busy groping Toshiro's ass in order to lift him up against the wall.
Teal eyes hold his gaze, seeming to look right through him. Only you, Ichigo wants to say, but manages to bite it back just before the words tumble out of his mouth. That's not the kind of things either of them needs right now. Right now, meaning he's only sticking to hushed quickies till better days come – days when Toshiro will be able to look at him without seeing the man who shot him down while he was experiencing his first real crush. Some faults you're never really done amending for, Ichigo considers.
Toshiro shifts against the shelf poking him in the back. When he'd first walked in the narrow room he'd been too flustered to take a nice look at his surroundings; now he totally regrets it. Whatever it is that Ichigo has him pinned to is nudging his spine uncomfortably and, what's even crazier, Toshiro is loving it. He's loving every minute of Ichigo's hands groping his butt, every minute of the man's tongue fucking his mouth, every bloody minute of their hips rolling together and now partly covered arousals rubbing each other. Ichigo is thick and hard and, goddamnit, his kisses alone have Toshiro squirm to hold back the desperate leaking of his eager, eager cock. The redhead's right hand slips to the front of his boxers, palming him roughly through the fabric. A loud hiss is heard. "Damn, Ichigo…"
Kurosaki takes advantage of the other one breaking their kiss to bite down hard on his own lower lip. Anyone who knew Hitsugaya Toshiro as the boy was in his daily life would never believe how sensitive he got during sex. That small body responds to all kind of stimulation so wantonly, reacts to every touch so strongly it has Ichigo lose his mind completely. After laying his lover's thin frame on a big paperboard box resting against the wall beside them, the orange-haired youth takes a step back to put some distance between them, then drops to his knees.
Shit, is all the none-too-elaborate thinking going on in Toshiro's mind while the man's body arches into the deliciously wicked mouth working over his shaft. Ichigo nuzzles the white-haired boy's crotch, breathing in the strong musky scent of arousal; then a skilled tongue darts past the redhead's lips and gives said clothed erection a hard lick. Toshiro's hips buck forward as the boy moans helplessly. Damnit, damnit, you bloody fucker. Only Ichigo has ever done – no, could ever do – this to him, reduce him to an incoherent, begging pool of lust. Such a disgraceful scene to witness, Toshiro reckons, but he Can't. Help. It. And it's not like he hasn't tried, even though every night spent in his bed alone knowing what he's losing takes just the tiniest shred of his scattered heart away. One by one, till nothing remains. That's it. I want to love you till there's nothing left,
… but…
Ichigo is still tonguing him through his cloth, ravishing him expertly, when Toshiro pulls at his hair to jerk him away. They lock eyes for a moment, both men panting and needy and broken. Teal orbs screw shut, which the redhead misinterprets as his cue to take things to the next level. Thoroughly wetted boxers slide off, and Toshiro feels the corners of his eyes tingle with pent-up tears.
… what's the point if every time…
A rustling sound and Ichigo is back on his feet, his shoes and pants discarded into a ball on the floor. Toshro wraps his skinny legs around his partner's waist, growling with feral possessiveness as their bare erections clash. The redhead's lips press against his in a soft peck before moving toward his earlobe, where they take their time nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. Just as Toshiro's about to demandingly grind his hips into his lover's, Ichigo lets out a quiet murmur, which somehow has the white-haired man's eyes water up even more. "Slow down, li'l thing. Gotta make it good for you."
… is but another last time?
Toshiro coaxes his lover into a harsh kiss lest those blasted tears give his inner anguish away. Ichigo doesn't seem to notice the wet, salted trails on his cheeks; in a moment he's adjusting to brush at Toshiro's entrance with the tip of his throbbing length, leaving little doubt what his intentions are.
"Wait. Let… lemme – "
The redhead draws back to give the smaller boy room to climb off the box and prop down on his knees. Understanding creeps over Ichigo's formerly puzzled face as Toshiro lifts his gaze to look at him from his telltale position between the other's spread legs. "Haven't been with anyone since – " The kneeling boy trails off mid-sentence and averts his eyes, probably, Ichigo muses, afraid to show all the sheer emotion in them. Well, too late for that. "… watch out." Toshiro mumbles at last, and it's the lamest warning ever, really, since a moment later his tongue is lapping at the redhead's bouncing cock, kissing all reasonable thought away. Ichigo can't help but whimper as his partner takes to sucking him off hurriedly, careful to coat the whole length in saliva before deep-throating him.
Toshiro knows he's really, really not supposed to be enjoying this, but truth is he has to force himself to pull away. The mere sight of Ichigo's red, glistening cock so close to his own face, though, threatens to send him over the edge and he subconsciously grips the man's firm butt cheeks to steady himself. Too bad the soft gasp this elicits from the taller boy draws Toshiro to take the pleading hard-on in his mouth again. Talk about giving swallow the bait a whole new meaning, his sense of humour screams somewhere very well hidden inside of him, but the irony's lost on the withering, grunting mess that Ichigo has become. The engorged head hits repeatedly the roof of Toshiro's mouth as Kurosaki fidgets; just when the white-haired boy is preparing to welcome the hot flesh down his throat, though, his lover pulls away with an abrupt jerk of his hips. "Point made." Ichigo mutters, lust-glazed eyes boring into their partners. "C'mere."
No sooner has Toshiro risen to his feet than he's once more pinned against the wall by the redhead's broad chest. Cloth covered chest, the boy recalls before tugging at the offending garment separating him from Ichigo's warm, so hideously warm skin. The black shirt he had previously admired comes off smoothly, leaving him to the contemplation of something equally worth admiring. Now, if only the pointed rubbing of Ichigo's moist tip against his opening wasn't so distracting…
Husky whispering reaches his ears. "Brace yourself. I want you to feel this." Ichigo all but breathes, his hold on the other man's thighs tightening. Toshiro only catches a glimpse of his face in the dim light, but it's enough to make him shiver at the bitter half-smile there. " 'tis our last time after all, innit?"
After that it's all pushing in and pulling out, in and out, delving each time deeper – deeper than hurt, deeper than time, and why does Toshiro feel like crying anyway? – just to make the retreat sting all the more – the loss, ever present, haunting him, Ichigo knows his wrongs and he can't make up. Every kiss a promise, every sigh a truce, every moan a dagger. Silence. Silent, for god's sake, lest their well-rehearsed sappy play take the wrong turn – that for tragedy or sodding happy ending, it doesn't even matter. This is all they've got.
It doesn't help that it feels so incredibly good, either, Toshiro tells himself as a particularly harsh thrust has him throw his head back and cry in ecstasy. Here and now, this moment in space – Ichigo sheathed balls-deep inside him, plunging against his prostate with every erratic jolt of his hips – seems great enough to make all the hurt go away, big enough to make a change. Except that nothing really ever changes, and every time all but hurts worse.
Just the tiny bit harder, just the tiny bit faster. Ichigo is struggling to catch his breath. Toshiro's walls embrace him, lull him, lead him on, then suck him into their darkest core and hold him there, right on the edge, not a single step over. Bloody story of my life, the redhead broods. What if… damn it. What if he crossed the sodding threshold for once? What if he did take that one step beyond any line they might have drawn in time? Sure it can't get any worse than this.
Suddenly Ichigo is tugging at Toshiro's boat neckline with his teeth, desperate for more contact. The silver-haired man shudders as a hot mouth closes over his collarbone, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses in its wake. And here he was thinking this couldn't get any more arousing… Ichigo licks and sucks at his pulse point, making Toshiro clench so hard around him the redhead needs to slow down his pace a little not to lose control. The words he's longed to say and hear for a long time seep through his lips with no restraints. "Love you. I love you." And he steals his partner's mouth, if not to make a point, at least to silence him before the boy can dismiss his confession as incoherent sex babbling. Which Toshiro is definitely bound to do, since –
"You too." A quiet gasp against his lips. Ichigo is so stunned his movements cease almost completely; that is, until Toshiro moans his disapproval and takes matters into his own hands, riding the redhead's erection in long, powerful thrusts. The smaller boy smirks to himself at Ichigo's obvious surprise. Hell, the man can be so naïve. I love you, you love me, what does it change? This ain't going to end up with some sitting in a tree holding hands and k-i-s-s-i-n-g bullshit. Love's no nursery rhyme, their love's no nursery rhyme, and Toshiro has learnt to make the most of every moment 'cause they're so hardly given any second chances. That said, it's about time Kurosaki stops thinking and focuses on what he's best at. The white-haired youth makes sure he's got all of the redhead's attention by kissing him roughly, pinching his nipples and squeezing the life out of him with his practised inner muscles all at the same time.
The outcome is brilliant. Ichigo growls against his neck, a deep, low sound that has Toshiro's skin prickle with excitement, then picks up a fast if unsteady pace. The hot hard-on sliding in and out of his body is splitting Hitsugaya in two, but nothing ever felt quite this satisfying before. Arching his back to meet Ichigo's every thrust, the white-haired genius feels his climax build and instinctively takes a look around in search of something to support him through the fierce jolts of pleasure coming up. Not finding it, he settles for his lover's shoulders and slumps against the boy, crushing him with his whole – admittedly irrelevant – weight. Incidentally, the new closeness allows him to grind his erection nicely into Ichigo's stomach, and Toshiro finds himself struggling to stay conscious among all the pounding and the stroking and his partner's illegally clever tongue doing little naughty things to his earlobes and jaw line.
This is the moment Ichigo likes best, the one he treasures for future reference when all alone in his bedroom: Toshiro lets himself go completely and begs for release with everything he's got, too enthralled to notice all the little freedoms his partner is taking – like feeling up those marvellously smooth butt cheeks or flicking his tongue over the cold boy's ear shell.
They've fallen into a crazy rhythm now: every time Ichigo slams his dick in, Toshiro is pushed more forcefully against the wall. Several glass bottles start wobbling on the shelves, threatening to fall down together with all the random junk in the Gotei's storage room. Ichigo can't help feeling oddly turned on by the instability – it's good to think you and your lover are going at it so hard you're breaking a bloody room down – but Toshiro doesn't seem unaffected either, if the muffled cry he lets out while burying his face into the redhead's neck is any indication.
The desperate twitching of the short boy's arousal against his own belly tells Ichigo all he needs to know seconds before Toshiro comes, his teeth sinking down into the tender flesh of the other's shoulder, hard to bruise. Fighting against his primal instinct – screaming claim, claim, make him feel it till the last drop, give it all – to stay somewhat gentle, the redhead pulls out completely before slamming back in to the hilt. A rush of electricity goes straight to his groin, and Ichigo knows he needs to end it now, before it's too late to retreat –
– but Toshiro feels so tight and hot around him, and the boy is literally mewling into his shoulder for crying out loud… ! – Ichigo comes with a loud groan, shooting his load inside his one-too-many night stand like he never dared do before.
The taller man's knees give away through the aftershocks and they collapse in a tangled mess on the floor. It's dark around them, but Ichigo doesn't need his eyes to tell apart Toshiro's utmost fury: the way he fidgets to pull away from his partner's embrace, rummages for his clothes and finally scrambles on his feet speaks much eloquently for itself. The redhead thinks he should be used to it by now, though he can't help that hideous sense of emptiness creeping through his body at Toshiro's hurry. Sure, the dirty floor of a storage room in a night club is no place for basking in the aftermath, but it fucking hurts to see him go, this time above all others. Ichigo shuts his eyes. Words of love ring in his ears together with the rustling sound of fabric as the silver-haired man puts his clothes back on. Damn, this is all wrong.
Finally Toshiro can feel it, the chilling December air. It's all bottled up inside him, along with Kurosaki's semen. Shivers run down his spine at the mental image. How dared that bloody messed up asshole – ? Toshiro pulls up his zipper. A disgusted scowl plays on his face both at the bothersome feeling of bodily fluids running down his thighs and a very disturbing idea that's just crossed his mind. His birthday's coming up in a week. Ichigo used to complain they were never allowed to spend it together. Guess that was his twisted way of getting me a present! The mere thought makes him want to throw up.
There's really nothing to say, so neither speaks. Ichigo watches his lover go out by the same door he went in feeling full of desire and expectations less than an hour ago. The loud beat of the techno – fuck, how the redhead hates this music – invades the narrow room for a split moment, before Toshiro shuts the door behind him. Ichigo is left sprawled on the floor, staring at the sodding door hard enough to make a hole in the wood. His lips arch in a weak grin.
"See ya next last time, love."

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Thrice In Our Lives