Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
… A little bit of love, little bit of love,

Little bit of love…

"Nice game."
Toshiro is dripping sweat from every pore. Not exactly what you'd call attractive, if you ask him. Sure, was he the one all hot and dirty… The small boy shakes his head hard to brush off the lewd thoughts. "Tch. Says the soccer expert."
Arms folded across his – broad, muscular, sculpted – chest, Ichigo lets out an admittedly mood-killer grunt. "I was just being nice! You should try too someday."
It's funny, really – is not – how their bickering only makes Toshiro's blood hot every time. "And turn into a sissy like you? How tempting." The athlete snorts to exorcise the wave of self-consciousness that's suddenly swept over him. Heck, the things Ichigo does to his mental stability… He takes in a deep breath. "I need a shower. You don't have to wait up though. Might take ages, everyone's at the stalls right now."
Ichigo just shrugs in that casual, laid-back manner of his Toshiro has fantasized about many a sleepless lonely night. "It's fine. May drop by the kendo d�j� to see what Tatsuki's up to." The redhead brightens at his own suggestion, then adds as an afterthought. "In fact, I'll meet you there. Don't take too long."
Toshiro is still fighting to quell the boiling rage twisting his guts – bloody girls, always hoverin' around him like he was covered in honey (insert naughty mental image here) – when the med student gives his thin frame a thorough scan before breaking into a cunning grin. "Why, no chance. There's little to wash 'bout ya at all."
Oh, seriously, what the fuck? Height-related jokes are known to be a big no-no among their group, what with both Toshiro and Rukia being overly sensitive on the matter. Then again, bloody light bulb head only cares for rules he makes up himself. The soccer player growls menacingly. "Kurosaki…"
"Sorry! My bad." It's just plain unfair how glorious Ichigo looks when he winks, honestly. Toshiro finds his mouth go dry as the carrot-top waves goodbye and sets off, leaving him in desperate need of a shower alright – a freakin' cold one at that.

Plick. Drip.
Drip.
Drip. Plick.

Six minutes elapse until Toshiro's resolve breaks and the boy reaches down to grasp at his manhood, pumping it with the desperation of the beaten.
'Cause he truly doesn't want this. Doesn't want to be thinking of one among his closest friends like this, with such a, such a sheer unadulterated longing. It's been going on for – what? two, three months now? – and Toshiro's delusional hopes for this lame crush of his passing in time are severely wavering.
Ichigo's image never leaves his mind. At first it's just the redhead's face, all warm eyes and killer smirk, with many close-ups of those tantalizing lips – Toshiro is fairly sure he's pictured that mouth everywhere on his body by now. Then the man's hands come into view: strong yet gentle, firm and precise, doctor hands alright, clenching and stroking him like he's clenching and stroking his aching length under the warm water spray at the moment. Toshiro's mind is running free, his inner eye wrapping around Ichigo's whole form, toned chest and flat abs included – then a glimpse of pert nipples and bare muscular thighs, followed by the tiniest peep at soft red hair between…
Fuck, Toshiro curses under his breath as he increases the pace, pulling and tugging at his throbbing erection like his life depends on it. Which might just be the case, since his growing need for the orange-haired youth is slowly yet inexorably killing each and every one of his brain cells – nnngh, fuck, his right hand is not nearly enough, not even close to the wonders Ichigo's touch would do to relieve the pressure in his lower belly, but still, Toshiro's fist runs down his hard cock smoothly thanks to the water, and it does feel quite incredibly…
His balls tighten to the point of ache as a very, very dirty picture of Ichigo on his knees before him fills his mind, and he comes in thick white sprouts, splattering the tiled walls of the shower stall with his guilty pleasure.
Damn, this is sick. To think Ichigo… Ichigo trusts him. Bloody buggerin' hell. Toshiro slumps down on the wet floor not ready to turn off the water just yet. Hopefully the tepid spray can wash away a bit of his self-loathing.

They spend a quiet, pleasant evening at home after that. With Matsumoto practicing her cooking skills on Rukia and Renji (unwilling guinea pigs – that's what you get for losing a bet to the well-endowed blonde), and Izuru off to revise for a particularly tough literature exam with Momo helping him, Ichigo and Toshiro end up sharing the couch to watch some movie Toshiro doesn't even catch the title of, as busy as he is feeling hot and bothered by his crush's proximity. Every time the redhead shifts their arms or legs would brush, making it impossible for the shorter boy to relax. In spite of being practically curled up in a ball at the opposite edge of the sofa, he's painfully aware of Ichigo's tiniest movement. Therefore it comes as some sort of a shock when the medic student stretches to lie crosswise on the couch, the mop of bright orange hair resting against Toshiro's thigh.
The soccer player stiffens, all of his muscles contracting at the same time. "What are you doing?"
Mortifyingly enough, Ichigo casts him a clueless, disbelieving glance. "You uncomfortable? I needed to stretch my legs, they were goin' limp over there." The boy's brow furrows as he looks up. "Am not hurtin' ya, am I?"
Toshiro shrugs no and the other turns his focus back on the TV screen, blissfully oblivious to the low sigh of exasperation coming from his human seat. Great. Just great. To have Ichigo's head mere inches away from his groin but not there quite the way he'd… Toshiro groans to himself, feeling worse a human being by the minute.
They're friends, alright? Good friends, best friends as far as the white-haired boy's concerned. Ichigo is clever and fun, not as loud as Renji nor as meek as Izuru, and after the initial difficulties he and Toshiro have clicked perfectly. Also, they both know how it feels like to grow up in no ordinary family – Ichigo's mother died when he was a child, whereas Toshiro never met his parents and was raised by his and Momo's granny – which somehow has brought them closer to each other than Matsumoto and the others could possibly understand. But. This. Is. It. Ichigo's loyal and caring, but he only acts as any good friend should, with no malice or ulterior motives. His uninterested displays of affection (picking Toshiro up at the soccer field after a game being a case in point) are what makes the white-haired young man feel the worst about his inappropriate fancying.
Still, damn, does it feel good to have Ichigo rest like that against him. So tempting, too: Toshiro's hands are all but shaking with desire to tangle up in those bright orange locks. Huffing, the boy stops seconds before yielding. There are times he actually needs to remind himself how all of the ease and the naturalness of their relationship would expire if he ever were to voice his feelings aloud.
"Everyone, eyes to the lovebirds! Awwww, seriously, aren't they just cute?"
"Hold your tongue, Rangiku, it's my cousin you're talking about!"
"Are you saying he doesn't look adorable right now?"
"Of course he does, but I'm the only one allowed to call him cute!"
"Well you tell Berry that, before he comes to his senses and finally onto our taichou…"
"No way! Hands where I can see them, Ichigo!"
The soccer team captain groans in utter humiliation while the redhead in his lap doesn't even budge, obviously accustomed to as well as unaffected by the teasing. Blissful indifference, Toshiro muses, then curses his own pallid complexion for once more revealing his mortification. Not that Ichigo ever notices, anyway.
… damn it all to hell.

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Happy Ending