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Happy Ending	By : Ardespuffy Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Hitsugaya/Ichigo Views: 2079 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Happy Ending
- 2-Teaser
- 3-One
- 4-Two
- 5-Three
- 6-Four
- 7-Five
- 8-Six
- 9-Seven
- 10-Eight
- 11-Nine
- 12-First
- 13-Second
- 14-Third
- 15-Fourth
- 16-Fifth
- 17-Sixth
- 18-Seventh
- 19-Eighth
- 20-Ninth
- 21-Tenth
- 22-Eleventh
- 23-Twelfth
- 21
- 22
- 23
Welcome back, everyone! ^-^ With this, "Happy Ending" has officially made it past the year, whoa! Well, its birthday was actually in November, but my last update came in October, so I'm celebrating it now. I owe this fanfic quite a lot, considering it was what brought a great friend I'd have never met otherwise into my life. This chapter is my heartfelt present for that very friend, Kiki, whose birthday is coming up tomorrow. Hope you'll enjoy. =)
TIMELINE WARNING: this chapter opens with Ichigo's version of December, then picks up where Toshiro left off last chapter.

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December
It hasn't even snowed yet, Ichigo muses on a crazy busy working morning, and it's bloody freezing out there. Eyeing none too eagerly the thick foliage shaken by the chilling wind outside the glass doors, the redhead cups his mouth and breathes out heavily to warm his hands up, making a mental note to ask for a new pair of gloves as a Christmas present. Nothing worse than numb fingers when you do surgery for a living, after all. Or have an underpaid, no days off, no annual leave job as a researcher, Ichigo humourlessly rectifies, a scowl roughening his features as his thoughts drift yet again to unpleasant reminders of his career teetering. The days he feared he was never going to graduate are over, but all the stalling did no good to his programme, and he's acutely aware of just how fragile his position is. His lab supervisor was amazing enough to put his own arse on the line and negotiate an extension for his trainee's project; drowning himself in his job, beside providing a great distraction tout court, is the very least Ichigo can do to pay the man back.
A door opening catches the med student's attention right as he was deliberating to take heart and set foot outside to face the windstorm. There he is, as if right on cue. Ukitake-sensei working overtime, too?, the carrot-top vaguely wonders as the long-haired man appears at the other end of the hallway, clad in his lab coat and engaged in conversation with someone Ichigo can't identify from a distance. The two are standing in the doorway to Ukitake's personal studio, which is strange enough, since patients are seldom received at the university department. Maybe a colleague? Ichigo's frown deepens as the med student briefly debates whether to make his presence known. Whoever it is he's talking to, the long-haired surgeon looks positively engrossed in the discussion, and – though Ichigo can't tell for sure from afar – wearing his Bad News face to boot.
Wait, why is he even looking? He knows what his boss gets up to outside of working hours is none of his business, and it's not like he's ever had a personal interest for Ukitake-sensei before, but his… gut, you could say so, keeps telling him something's off. Clenching and unclenching his fists to test his fingers' growing sensibility, Kurosaki slides down the wall to get a better view of his boss's interlocutor. Ukitake picks that very moment to swing on his feet, thus hindering his sight again; Ichigo bends his knees slightly, and that does the trick.
The moment he lays eyes on the mysterious visitor, everything becomes clear – why his very body kept nagging at him to stick his nose in his professor's business, for one; that is, everything but the reason why Toshiro of all people should need to meet a well renowned surgeon in his consulting studio and look so sneaky about it.
His heart pounding wild in his chest, Ichigo straightens up and goes to walk up on the couple. He's just going to say hi to his boss, then steal that little whitey handful away and pester him till he spills the beans. Quick, easy, effective. Simple as that.
He's barely halfway there when Ukitake's hands landing on Toshiro's shoulders make his blood run cold.
Ichigo knows the gesture. It's just the same whenever the kind-hearted surgeon needs to tell someone something they don't want to hear, may that be his subordinates getting scolded for inefficiency or his patients' families forced to deal with the heart-piercing truth about their loved ones' conditions. No matter how you look at it, that pose means bad news.
Far from fuelled by the latest development, the carrot-top stops dead in his tracks and hesitates.
He's not all that sure Toshiro wants to see him, anyway. They never addressed the November accident again, which Ichigo is indefinitely grateful for (guilt-baiting Toshiro into sleeping next to him while he was broke down because of his own astounding idiocy and girls troubles is not something he can proudly relive in his head and discuss, you know); in fact, they haven't talked about anything personal ever since, their now civil interactions strictly limited to charted waters like how the heck it's so cold in this season and when is Renji going to be finally discharged. To walk up on him now, demanding to be filled in on his private affairs – his medical affairs – would be… well, kind of extremely inappropriate. Besides, Ichigo is probably fretting over nothing. But what if Toshiro had a serious problem of sorts – would he want his friends to know? Scratch that, would Ichigo want to know?
The choice is suddenly taken away from him as Ukitake pilots the short silverette out through the backdoor, his hands firmly planted on the boy's shoulders as the two exit his line of sight.
Well, eat him. 's probably for the best anyway.

Praying to all known deity he's not being as obvious as he feels, the redhead checks Toshiro out for the hundredth time this afternoon.
Looked at up close, the sportsman does have a bit of a sickly aura around him. Must be the unearthly white of his complexion, not to mention he's clearly underweight and likely malnourished. Ichigo would bet he hasn't had a decent meal in months, ever since whatshisface left for the athletics season. That's just the deal with supposed geniuses, isn't it – integral calculus they have for breakfast, but try introducing them to the wonders of oven and stove and see how wonderfully that works out. Also, is it just him or has Toshiro been fidgeting an awful lot in his seat? The quick peeks he's allowing himself are not nearly enough to establish whether the subject may be in pain, and that being the case, to locate the source of his distress. What's more, Ichigo recalls seeing the shorty practically rip his scarf untied and squirm out of his coat the moment they walked into the hospital, despite the undeniably chilling weather outside. It doesn't take a doctor to see that's odd behaviour, unless your bodily temperature is way higher than average. Could he be running a fever? That would most certainly provide reasonable background for Toshiro's occasional shuddering and reckless toying with the brim of his sleeves.
"We're having white winter hols! Christmas was fucking depressing this year, what with me being stuck in bed, Pretty Face AWOL and Bosom Baa-san running errands 'round the world, so we're just gonna celebrate our personal Latemas… "
"Latemas?"
Ichigo feels compelled to take part in the discussion so as to disguise his real occupation – boywatching. "Please, no instigating, girls. We may never get to the point as it is."
"… Gotei style on the move! I say we go on a ski holiday with all the trimmings. Ya strays in?"
A small smile blooms on Ichigo's face when Izuru, Momo and Rukia all automatically turn to lay expectant eyes on the killjoy par excellence. All in all Toshiro's health seems to benefit from the silent trial, since an alluring rosy red blush creeps over his cheeks as he shrugs begrudgingly. Assuming that's not more telltale sign of high fever, that is.
Worry creasing his forehead, Ichigo goes back to his clinical scrutiny.
December 20th comes and goes. The med student can't help but scoff bitterly at the irony: for the first time in years he will not be returning home for Christmas (his old man was very understanding when Ichigo expressed the wish to stay at Renji's side during the holidays) and they're not celebrating Toshiro's birthday anyhow. Once, he'd have happily taken it upon himself to arrange something, be it a friendly though not crammed – it's still Hitsugaya Toshiro we're talking about here – surprise party, or just a tête-à-tête for the two of them. But it no longer feels like his place to do such a thing. To care for such things.
If only his heart and body could follow after his rational standstill, now that would be going somewhere.

January
One thing about this little ski holiday Renji insisted on them having was clear from the very start: nobody wanting to risk a repeat of the summer vacations, they would so be taking the train to the small mountain village good old Kuchiki-taichou found them 'pulling some strings here and there', as Renji elusively put it.
Of course there are two sides of each coin, Ichigo smirks to himself while following with consistent interest the scene rolling before his eyes.
"Butt over."
"Heh? I was sitting there, y'know."
"…"
"… then again, we can share the bench, right?"
"Please, try and refrain from embarrassing yourself, Abarai. You draw shame upon one agent, you stain the whole law enforcement agency."
"I'll take it that's a no, huh?"
"Go get me coffee from that vending machine over there. This will save you the pain of being up with nothing to do."
"Ever the caring one, Chief."
Snorting to himself in amusement, the carrot-top shoots a sympathetic grin his tattooed friend's way (Renji flips him off), before twirling around and shove his fists down his pockets, eyes glued to a precise spot a few metres away, at the end of the platform.
Hell, you'd think Toshiro's incessant pacing in circles would have dug a hole in the concrete by now. Ichigo grunts under his breath as the snowy head switches his phone hand for the umpteenth time, silver brows pushed so tightly together the pretty face is bound to get permanent old man wrinkles. Not all that unattractive if it's still Toshiro underneath the slackened skin, but still. The mental picture brings a reluctant, borderline melancholic smile on Kurosaki's lips.
Growing old together, side by side, like those amazing aged couples you meet sometimes on the streets… there was a time that, too, had been a valid perspective. Then Ichigo had averted his gaze for the briefest moment, and when he'd turned back around it was off the table. Just like that.
Okay, so what if his briefest moment had consisted of several years of utter blindness followed suit by months of cat-and-mouse playing, a personal derailment, Toshiro's career tumbling and the whole giant Tatsuki alarm. To each their own and each at their own pace, right? Ichigo just happened to be disgracefully slow at figuring out what he wanted. But, well, he has now. He, he knows. He –
"Since these were good news, I must assume I get to hear the bad ones now."
This line is uttered considerably louder than the others to drown out the announcement of a train delay (their train delay, oh joy, Byakuya's gonna throw a fit), so Ichigo doesn't even struggle to grasp it. Further intrigued by the conversation going on, the redhead contents himself with hearing one side of it and casually strolls closer to the source of the sound.
Toshiro keeps silent for several minutes, his features scrunched up in contempt as the typical station commotion hinders his communication. Then, a tight: "Please, don't get me wrong. I really appreciate what you and Kyoraku-sensei are trying to do, but this is in no way what I had in mind."
At the mention of the familiar name, Ichigo blinks repeatedly, caught like a deer in the headlights. What could possibly professor Kyoraku Shunsui, art historian and Ukitake's stalker by default, have to do with Toshiro is beyond his understanding. He's hell-bent on finding out, though, and sacrifices his supposed discretion to edge blatantly forward on the platform, well within the sportsman's earshot.
But before he can take advantage of his privileged position right behind a conveniently placed pillar, the carrot-top feels someone sneak at his back and whips around to find Rukia, hands planted on her hips and a very expressive scowl on her face. "Jesus Christ, Berry, leave the guy alone! Or grow a pair and go talk to him. Either way, eavesdropping on his phone calls is just plain creepy, you know."
The bite in the girl's tone ticks Ichigo off in a trice. "I'm not eavesdropping – what about you, then? Think I can't tell you've been giving me the eye all through the morning? That scary brother of yours is rubbing off on you. We don't need any more cops around."
"Leave nii-san out of this! Damn, Ichigo, you do this every time. But, you know what?, that's fine by me. Go ahead, put up your stupid shields and snap at your friends for trying to help. If that's what it takes you to be at peace with yourself." Rukia drifts off in such a haughty, patronizing manner the lectured youth scoffs derisively.
"What are you, my conscience? I'll let you know I'm perfectly fine with myself as it is, friend."
"You don't have to tell me that." The petite raven crosses her arms over her chest, before gesturing with her chin towards the unaware silverette grunting in his phone a few paces away. "But if you can't let go of him after all this time, then it's really yourself you're trying to convince."
Following the direction of Rukia's gaze, Ichigo curses in his mind as he realizes the nosy girl succeeded in distracting him from his scrutiny. He clearly missed a crucial part of the conversation, for the next words he catches from Toshiro make absolutely no sense to him.
"I'm not sure there's such thing as a feminine way to do that, but…" The footballer trails off weakly, nibbling on his lower lip, and Ichigo is disoriented by the flush rising to his cheeks.
Okay, so just what the hell is this all about and why is Toshiro looking flustered because of someone other than – possessiveness mounts in the redhead's throat and squeezes, cutting his breath off. Choking on his spit, Ichigo turns to shoot a murderous look Rukia's way, before spinning back around and setting off, now more than determined to get to the bottom of matters.
Once again his former lover steals his thunder, though, and hangs up with a few muttered words Ichigo can't grasp right as the med student approaches him. They stand awkwardly in front of each other, Toshiro offering an opaque appearance of a smile as to prompt the other to speak first. And speak Ichigo would, if he only could come up with something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a crazed maniac or a jealousy riled up girl.
A high-pitched ring breaks through the air then, signalling a train entering the station. Thrown off balance, the ginger opens his mouth, but Toshiro beats him to it.
"Finally, that's ours."
"It was announced to be late."
The athlete shrugs nonchalantly, moving to sidestep Ichigo in the meantime. "Good thing it's not, then."
"Hey." Hitsugaya looks at him questioningly, and the would-be doctor stares away in a bout of self-consciousness. "Who was that on the phone?"
The emotional rollercoaster that can be spotted crossing Toshiro's suddenly wide eyes is nothing Ichigo could ever hope to describe. There's surprise, alarm, panic even, at first, changing into a righteous resentment, a stern graveness, diffidence, restraint in a second. The ginger's heart only quivers in his chest, though, as a certain anguished impatience, a guilty frustration, awkward secrecy, tongue-tied hesitation and thousands, thousand hundreds sputtering, trembling, hiccupping feelings flash across the footballer's face to peak in a mortified blush that mirrors Ichigo's bit by bit. This instant, with Toshiro saying more than words care to convey, this tiny fraction of time where everything stills and no sound is heard but a hummingbird heartbeat, this moment fills Ichigo to his core, seeps through him, bathes him in immense love, immense fear.
"That…"
"Midget, Berry! Come on you slugs, that's our ride!" Renji's call flies through the air like a bullet hitting right home, killing the words at the back of the silverette's throat. Teal eyes flutter apologetically; then Toshiro is facing away, hurrying to catch up with the gang on the train, and Ichigo's courage goes back crawling to its farthest pit, from where he couldn't summon it if his life depended on it.

It's a tight, terse day, air chilling and still. The dew froze before melting, so the sharp pine trees are shining a crystallized green.
This cliff, Ichigo considers while swallowing the thick lump in his throat, hadn't looked so ridiculously high when they were just cable-trekking.
"Y-You are kidding me, right?"
"Huh? Whazzit, blondie? Wet your panties?"
"Now that's sexist, Pineapple."
"Why, I bet he owns thongs too. Might be wearing one right now, for all we know."
"Not even an idol would wear a thong in this weather, jackass."
"Let alone a good boy like Kira-kun!"
"Dream on, Momo-chin! Deep down you know it's always the quiet ones."
"Guys!" Izuru squeaks pitifully (Ichigo wordlessly sympathizes). "Unless your lovely bickering over my sexuality is helping me back down this godawful peak, I'd suggest you stop it this instant."
"Whoa, what's with the bossy tone? Don't tell me you really are scared!"
"Of course I'm scared! Have you stopped to take a bleeding look around, superman?"
Don't know about Renji but, being no superhero, Ichigo has looked around. It's not like what he sees – hectares of fluffy white snow blanketing a steep slant whose uncanny quiet is ever so rarely disturbed by professional skiers bolting their way down at eyes-watering speed – excites him much, either. Or at all. Everyone has got their role in the group, though, and the redhead knows it's not his place to be all girly and sensible. He's just going to stand back and trust Izuru with that; if luck be on his side, they'll be Doing The Right Thing and taking the cableway down before lunchtime.
His eyes nearly pop out of his skull when Kuchiki Byakuya intrudes, hence messing up all conversation odds. "This piste is barely average. I don't see what's there to complain about."
Uh-oh. "Point is, I'm a less than average skier, sir." Kira ventures timidly, the force of his argument somewhat diminished by the reverential fear and exceeding meekness in his tone. "But, if you guys are up to it, that's perfectly fine by me. Not stopping you. I'll just take the cableway back down and see you at the refuge."
"The hell, blondie? The point of this whole thing is to stay together!"
"Well, excuse me, but I'd rather be an alive loner than a life-of-the-party goner!"
"Can you really be a life of the party goner, though?" Standing right behind her brother in an instinctual search for protection, Rukia rubs her chin pensively. "That's kind of nonsensical."
"You are kind of nonsensical."
"Ouch, Kira-kun gets scary when scared!"
"Haha, more nonsense."
"Come on, girls, I thought you at least would understand!"
"Why? 's that because girls are supposed to be little pretty shivering thingies clinging onto the strong arms of protective men? As if!"
"My my, even queers are doing sexism now. Just where is this world headed?"
"You know that's not – "
"COMPROMISE!"
The abrupt, raspy yell freezes everyone where they stand. Ichigo does a double-take before realizing it was the hitherto silent Toshiro who spoke, brows twitching dangerously and half his face sourly buried in a bright blue scarf. The ginger can't help the endeared smile that tilts his lips as he notices the chilling cold has painted his ex's cheeks a lovely shade of red. "Sleighs." Toshiro grunts in his scarf, the word muffled almost beyond comprehension.
When her cousin won't elaborate further, Momo sees to rephrasing the proposal herself: "That's right! We should take the sleighs rather than skiing, so we'd stay all together. Sure Kira-kun won't have a problem with that, too?"
"Oh, well… so long as I don't have to ride by myself?"
"No way, we'll go in twos. Bet taichou's a winter sports champion, ne?"
"That is really none of your business, seeing as I won't be riding in with you."
"You won't? Then who are you choosing over me?"
"Anyone here would be a much more trustworthy partner than you, but for the record, I'm riding solo."
"Aaaaah, taichou's a real wuss."
"I dare you to repeat that."
"Soooo, Kuchiki-san is going by himself, obviously Rukia and I are together… we need to rent four, right?"
"Ah, yep. Three couples and one boring boring lonely old man."
"I'll let you know your legitimate license days have just expired one word too many ago."
"Wha? You can't do that!"
"What's there in the concept of 'boss' you can't quite grasp?"
The nasty banter continues with much whining on Renji's part as Momo and Rukia briefly disappear to make arrangements, dragging Tohiro and Izuru along because "carrying heavy weights is men's job!". So much for feminism, Ichigo keeps himself entertained with the thought as he waits, and waits, and waits, trying to shut the agents' obnoxious fighting out and only concentrate on his plan.
For today is the day he takes that sexy little bull by the horns.
Ichigo tried, really. Tried and failed to convince himself to stay out of Toshiro's hair and, more importantly, out of his business. Because he shouldn't care. And he has no right to. Still, he does, and couldn't be brought to just close his eyes and pretend it's nothing, especially if Toshiro is ill. That would be highly irresponsible from a medical point of view, no matter what Ukitake-sensei says – Ichigo called the man to pester him about his suspicious meeting with Toshiro in December, and the long-haired surgeon, after fidgeting around for ages claiming that he was bound by professional confidentiality and this was extremely unbecoming and did Ichigo really wish to get him into trouble?, swore Hitsugaya-kun was perfectly healthy and there had been different motives to their meeting at the studio. Which, predictably, only alarmed the redhead more. All the prodding and coaxing and sweet-talking and threatening in this world didn't work on the ever so diligent physician, however, and Ichigo eventually resigned to look for answers himself. So, today's the day Toshiro will spill it, and so will Ichigo, for secrets are stupid and wrong and damn complicated, only burdening their keepers with vile dark guilt.
But there's more. Today's also the next to last day of their little journey, meaning tonight's going to be the last night.
He doesn't have much time left to carry out his plan.
The girls are back alongside their loaded assistants (who, Ichigo scathingly notices, are dragging two sleighs each) mere seconds before blood is shed, whether as a result to Byakuya and Renji's bitching or Ichigo's ultimate control snap. Snatching a tow-rope from Kira's hand, Rukia drags her selected sleigh to the very top of a small hill degrading sharply all the way down the ski run. "We'll set off from here." The girl cheerfully declares, the sinister glint in her eyes openly daring anyone to object. "This way we'll pick up speed gradually and it will be easier to keep our balance. Ready, Momo-chan?"
"Sure thing!"
"Wait!" Grabbing a tow-rope himself, Renji steps after the girls, a cunning smirk on his tanned face. "How about we make things a li'l spicier with a bet, huh?" The tattooed man crouches in the thick snow and palms the fluffy surface with a gloved hand to test the consistency. Then, seemingly satisfied, gets back on his feet, grinning. "Those on the sleigh hitting the bottom of the gorge last treat everyone to lunch!"
"You want to make this a race? Are you out of your mind?"
"Stop being such a worrywart, blondie! Say what, if that'll make you feel better, I'm riding in with you. On my officer honour, we're sooo mooching lunch today!"
"Your officer honour? Tch. The poor boy."
"Thanks a bleeding bunch, taichou. Your enlightened opinion was not requested, though."
"And here goes your duly paid overtime for the next three months."
"Are you shitting me? I need the extra money! I'm paying in instalments for this journey!"
"Your problem."
"Stuff it! I always knew my boss was a tight-assed, all work no play dull prick, but a sadistic bastard, too? The guys at the HQ were friggin' right about you!"
"You're on unpaid compulsory overtime for the rest of the year, agent Abarai. That, and one more word will have you suspended for insubordination."
"So meeeeeeean, taichou!"
This time, Ichigo makes his move before Toshiro can make his. Target in sight, flashes before warm hazel eyes as two long legs drive Ukitake's subordinate towards his goal.
The small silverette is slightly startled by the sudden pressure of a large gloved hand on his shoulder. Gauge angle… "Hey. Ride in with me?"
… fire!

It's not like Toshiro had much of a choice, Ichigo admits to himself while brushing wet, melting snow off his hair. But to bend left to dodge a kid (honestly, what's wrong with parents these days? Take fucking children skiing on such dangerous slopes) and end up running straight into a very tall, very visible pine tree, it's just, well… pretty un-genius like.
Ichigo would take the chance to laugh mercilessly at the supposed smarthead's coordination skills, too, if only said smarthead wasn't lying facedown in the snow, limbs sprawled and possibly twisted at an unnatural angle. Doctor instincts kicking in, the redhead crawls on all fours and approaches the smaller body trapped under the sleigh, inspecting the damage. "Oi, kid. Still with us?"
A long, drawn-out groan is all answer he gets till Toshiro tiredly rises on his elbows and proceeds to disentangle his legs from the steel blades. Water drips off the bangs on his forehead, while a small mount of thicker snow piles up on top of his head. Ichigo feels his chest ache with unforeseen tenderness as the boy shakes the snow from his hair vigorously, looking every bit like a grumpy stray pup. "Barely. Think I'm brainfroze." Toshiro grunts, digits rubbing softly against his temples as to ease the chilling vice. "Don't call me 'kid', anyway."
"Are you all right?"
The trauma caused by the fall must be really getting to Hitsugaya, slowing his brain process down considerably. Even his wording is stiff and strained. "Told you. Didn't hit that hard, you know."
Ichigo's heart thrums against his ribcage. He shakes his head no, and bids all hesitation farewell. "I didn't mean just that." This is it. This is really it. If this doesn't work, if he can't make it right now, he will let go. Cave. "Spit it already. I know you went to visit Ukitake-sensei at the studio." Because he clearly doesn't deserve an umpteenth chance. God knows he wants it, though. "Are you sick?"
Toshiro's hands-in-the-jam-jar expression is utterly priceless. The lovely blush that seems to be gracing the man's features every so often since they came out in the cold weather returns full force under the assault of crystal clear embarrassment. Ichigo stares intently as he sits up, straightens his back against the inimical trunk, takes his time to consider the question and all its possible answers. It gets too much to handle soon, though, and Toshiro's eventual reply is drowned out in the avalanche that is the ginger's venting.
"That – "
"Wait. Before you say anything else, know that I'm hell-bent on stopping you, this time."
The athlete winds both arms around his middle to keep himself warm as a flustered shiver shakes through his core. "Stop me from doing what?"
"Okay, if I can't stop you I'll go too."
"What are you talking about?"
They're squatting down in the thick snow on a steep hill, far from their friends – they lost sight of the others right after the abrupt halt in their race – on a positively chilly morning, suffering from a quite spectacular post face first tumble trauma and wearing ridiculously heavy windcheaters of unlikely colours (Ichigo's is an unsightly musk green, courtesy of the poor offer at the snow equipment rental store) that take 'kill the mood' to a sodding new level; but the sun is high in the sky, Toshiro looks as attainable as they come, there's something frighteningly huge at stake and, wonder of all wonders, Ichigo's tongue is cooperating, not heading first for the other's throat, as it's been prone to do, but actually conveying his real thoughts. Feels like a long gone lifetime since he was last able to state what he wanted, and it's inebriating. Ichigo realizes he may be in for the greatest failure of his life, but damn him if he's ever going down without a fight again.
"Toshiro." The redhead begins, calm and collected. "I know you're not sick. I've been watching you. That, and I harassed Ukitake's ass for answers." He scoots closer subtly, never tearing his eyes away from the sportsman's dazzled stare. "I have no idea what you're up to, but whatever it is, I can't… I won't stand us being apart again."
These words bring an old, well-known gleam of resentment in wide teal eyes. "Why did you… never mind. Just stop it. Don't even go there." Toshiro lunges forward abruptly, almost banging heads with Ichigo in the process. "Do you really think I'm here to be played around with at your heart's content?"
So close proximity is allowed. Nice to know. "Who's playing?" Ichigo takes advantage of the discovery by grabbing his lover's arm to pull him flush against his chest. Well, the fluffy barrier of stuffing secluding his chest, at least. "I'm serious. I need you to know that." He breathes out heavily, warm breath fanning Toshiro's cheek. "This time's for real. This, this is the real thing. Us. You. I…" The silverette struggles to get away. Ichigo's frustration has hit the roof. "I love you. Doesn't matter how long you have and I have – the only thing that matters is that now I do. Stop punishing me for my bad timing, you know I'd go back and change the past if I could. Your obstinacy is getting us nowhere."
He can only imagine what part of his speech did the trick. Thing is, Toshiro has given up on struggling and is staring back with a somewhat pained softness in his eyes.
The sight is breath-taking. Ichigo's hand shakes in its glove like a fallen leaf left to quiver out in the cold as he carefully, carefully traces the contour of this perfect little face so close to his own. "I'm not pulling this out of my ass, Toshiro. Wouldn't lie to you like that. I… there are things I still need to fix, things you don't know of, but I will tell you. In time, I will."
Their lips play a little game of hide-and-seek, brushing against each other good-naturedly. It's a light gesture, easy as breathing, and is it just him or it's a tiny knowing smile that meets his every dive? Bloody Mona Lisa, Ichigo thinks fondly, then pulls back a fraction to make room for the words stinging urgently on the tip of his tongue.
"It's true that I've been unfair to you. I took it all, and when I woke up and realized I was ready to be the man you wanted, I got mad because you were scared. I couldn't believe you'd deny us when you obviously still felt for me, it was so frustrating. Then you left at the worst of times. I was going through a lot, and sought for someone to help me through. But you came back, and you were hurt, and I lost it. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Nothing felt right. I tried to get close to you again, but you wouldn't trust me." It's so lonely without Toshiro's skin on his own, Ichigo steals another refreshing kiss before reaching the end of his speech. "I can't keep doing this. If there's still something in our way, I swear I can't see it. You're leaving again, go on ahead. Just don't expect me to stay behind this time."
There, all out in the open. Ball's on your court now.
Toshiro's reply composes of several calculated movements. First he touches the tip of his nose to Ichigo's. It's cold, yet intimate in a brand new way. Ichigo's breathing comes out laboured with passion, though if anyone asked, he'd just put on his brazen face and blame the height. Then a slender hand is crawling up to caress his jaw line, his ears, the sides of his face. It feels like Toshiro is trying to memorize his features, read them in Braille, which throws Ichigo off for a moment. He's not really leaving me behind, is he…? The mere thought seems so illogical after he's just poured his heart out at the man's feet, but Toshiro is, after all, a little wicked thing.
Last come the words, though they're so cryptic they don't really do much to clear the air. "We're in January, you know that, right?"
"What's it got to do with anything?"
Toshiro must find Ichigo's clueless answer satisfying, for he moves to climb all the way into the ginger's lap. "More than you think." And he smiles, a timid but certain tilt of lips unfolding into a full, teeth and all smile, the likes of which Ichigo hasn't seen on him in ages. "Had to make sure this was not your December syndrome striking again."
My Decem – what?
Then he's being thoroughly ravished, Toshiro kissing him for dear life, and it doesn't matter anymore. The difference is stunning, Ichigo notices in a flash. There is no comparing this to any other kiss, any other boy, any girl even; this is kissing someone whom you belong to.
Whom you belong with.
Toshiro shifts in his lap, inches closer than it's possible, whispers gentle nonsense on his lips; Ichigo moans in his mouth, cradles his head with both hands, breathes through the other's skin. It's the first, the most natural thing in the world, like one same action repeating itself in time, tinted with experience yet radically primordial. Ichigo is not exactly surprised, either. After six years, Toshiro is no longer before nor beside him; he's beneath, he's inside, he's nothing but few more body parts to move gracefully around, nothing but a second inhale, nothing but a different way to fix your hair, pronounce a 't', blink, walk, smirk, look around, nothing but a second heartbeat.
The smaller youth slides till his thighs are resting on either side of Ichigo's. Their groins clash together, and even through the thick layers of fabric heat seizes them both. When Toshiro plunges his tongue forward and grinds down hard at the same time, Ichigo hisses on the other's lips.
Fuck it.
Toshiro finds himself shoved back gracelessly and pinned against the trunk he was previously leaning on before he even realizes his lover has moved at all. Rising to his knees, the redhead nudges muscular calves apart and settles between the sitting man's legs, pressing his crotch firmly against taut abs and a flat stomach. The loss of delicious friction is not appreciated, as Toshiro points out quite effectively by whining low in his throat and lifting his hips urgently. Ichigo smiles to himself at the blunt message (when has his little ice prince gotten so bold, again?) and compassionately hooks his right arm under Toshiro's thigh, helping him up only to pin him again once his butt is no longer touching the ground.
The med student supports the shorty's weight with no effort and redirects his full attention to the intoxicating seduction of Toshiro's kiss. The velvety tongue toys with him, leads him on, catches him off guard and invades all the right places, drawing circles on the roof of his mouth, caressing his sensitive gums, pushing hot, wet spit down his throat. Ichigo can't get over how arousing the simple motion is, and suddenly feels his arm muscles go slack with pleasure. He's virtually forced to roll his hips sharply as to avoid dropping Toshiro; overwhelmed, the sportsman breaks their lip lock and gyrates back, whimpering softly while he rubs his now obvious erection up into his lover's responding hardness.
Ichigo's vision goes blurry with excitement. All the more reason to gently maneuver the eager silverette off his lap and take one or one hundred steps back. "Hey, hey." He tries, though his tone would probably sound much more soothing if it wasn't awfully husky with lust. "Better not get too carried away here, ne?"
Toshiro's eyes are droopy and dark, tantalizing. Before the ginger can lock all sense away and give in, though, the prodigy is gliding back and using the trunk for support to stand, legs not perfectly steady but firm enough to keep him upright. "Right." Toshiro concedes with a curt nod, his eyes scanning the white surface to spot any sign of the tow-rope they're supposed to use to move the smashed sleigh. "Guess lunch will be on us, too." His search is brought to a close by a strong hand flaring to grip his own.
Still sprawled in the snow, Ichigo holds the standing man's quizzical stare with a mute question trembling on his lips, lacking the guts to come out. All it takes him to leap off the ledge is a meaningful squeeze that reinforces the loosening hold of their joined hands, Toshiro's sign of agreement.
"Later?"
His lover's thumb traces the long lines of his fingers reassuringly. "Later."

.

Aaaaaand, next chapter is smex! =D After that, only a most necessary epilogue to go.
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Happy Ending