Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Shades of Grey	By : SilverKytten Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Urahara/Ichigo Views: 3536 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo; I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement. No profit/money is gained from any of my writing.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8 – Through the Looking Glass
Urahara sighed, running a hand through his hair as he dropped the paper he was holding back onto one of the stacks littering his desk. He knew he'd been neglecting the store, but he hated paperwork even at the best of times, and the past month hadn't exactly fallen into that category. Ichigo, Isshin, and the Shinigami were already vying for his last thread of his attention, leaving little room for anything as mundane as Kyoto Packaging and Supply.
He eyed the mess with distaste and briefly considered sweeping the lot of it into the wastebasket, but thought better of it. With the way his luck had been going lately, one of these companies would be Yakuza-run, or something equally unpleasant. He shifted in his chair and reached for a different stack, hoping for something more interesting but finding a tax form instead. He felt the first throb of a headache stirring behind his eyes.
From the other room he could hear Yuzu's excited chatter, punctuated occasionally by her sisters more subdued tones and her brothers almost inaudible murmur. It seemed to be doing Ichigo good to be in a comfortable environment, away from inflammatory agents and the shadow of perceived threat. He still looked drained, and the tension hadn't left his shoulders in years, but there'd been a moment or two lately where he almost looked like he might smile.
Two days had passed since he'd taken his sisters, sacrificing another piece of his tattered soul as he watched his father's heart twist to ash. Two days since he nearly drowned under his doubt and grief atop that windswept hill as the night fell around them. Urahara worried that this brief reprieve was simply the lull before a far worse storm, but somehow it felt different. Something was shifting in Ichigo, the doubt ebbing away in the face something darker. The knot in Urahara's chest tightened but he pushed it down, locking it away with the thousand other things he didn't have time for. He had to keep moving.
Several stacks of paper and what seemed like an eternity later he was once again contemplating his wastebasket solution when a shadow shifted in the doorway. Glancing up, he found Ichigo leaning against the frame, watching him with a sort of brooding calculation.
"The store seems unusually quiet," Urahara noted, retrieving a random invoice from the chaos of paperwork.
"Tessai's running an errand and everyone else went to the park," Ichigo said softly and Urahara could feel a sort of indecision flicker through him.
"You didn't want to go with them?" He signed his name on a line and tossed the paper back onto one of the stacks.
"Not really," Ichigo confessed, stepping away from the door.
"I don't suppose you're here to be helpful." Urahara spared him a slightly bemused look.
Ichigo shrugged noncommittally, scooping up a handful of papers and perching on the edge of the desk to leaf through them.
"What is all this shit?" He muttered, scanning over a few pages.
Urahara pulled them lower with the tip of his pen, reading them upside down. "Those are the bills and resupply forms for some of the human companies I do business with."
"This one's a 4th division requisition form," Ichigo observed, holding it out for inspection.
Urahara grunted, tossing it onto a different stack. "I truly detest paperwork."
"You don't like work in general," Ichigo amended, adding another sheet to what appeared to be the Shinigami pile.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Urahara said loftily, signing off on another line with an added flourish.
Ichigo snorted quietly and picked up a second handful of papers, depositing the first in his lap for safekeeping.
"Twelfth division invoice, Nakamoto Printing bill, zoning notification," he ticked off the sheets one by one with a frown. "Why's all this shit in the same pile?"
"They all require me to speak with people I don't wish to at the moment," Urahara replied, leaning back in his chair and tossing the hair out of his eyes.
"Ah," Ichigo muttered dryly, a smirk playing on his lips. "You don't really have much of a system, do you?"
"On the contrary," Urahara plucked the papers from his grasp and dropped them seemingly at random onto the desk. "I have a very subtle and complex method in place."
Ichigo cocked an unconvinced eyebrow, shifting his gaze between the mess and the man responsible for it. "How long have you been letting this pile up?"
"I've been busy lately," Urahara shrugged." I handle what's immediately pressing and then play it by ear."
"I don't know how the hell you've stayed in business," Ichigo sighed, shooting him an exasperated look.
"Good looks and inexhaustible charm will take you a long way," he assured him, completely unrepentant.
"Oh really?" The corner of Ichigo's mouth twitched faintly.
"Absolutely." Urahara flashed a grin, catching one of his wrists and bringing it to his lips.
Ichigo rolled his eyes at the gesture, the smirk tugging into a near smile. "Slack-ass."
"So cruel," Urahara whined, drawing him into his lap.
He pulled the remaining papers gently from Ichigo's hand, tossing them onto a random pile.
"You seem to be feeling better today," he observed.
There was still something lingering under his seemingly light mood, but Urahara knew that only time would bring it to the surface.
Ichigo let his head drop against Urahara's temple, shifting in the chair. "Everything almost feels normal."
Urahara smiled gently, wrapping his arms around him. "Almost normal seems like a step in the right direction."
"I just want to do what's right," Ichigo's eyes slid shut and Urahara could feel the tension radiating through his body.
"It's never a mistake to want to protect someone," he soothed, tracing the spine beneath his fingers. "Are you doubting your decisions?"
"I don't know," Ichigo admitted. "Yuzu seems happy for now and Karin doesn't have to worry, but I just can't get his face out of my mind."
Urahara turned his head, his nose brushing over Ichigo's cheek as he pulled him closer. "You and your sisters mean the world to your father, even if it doesn't seem like it right now."
Ichigo slid lower, lips scraping against the prickle of unshaven skin, settling in the curve of his neck.
"I know," he breathed, so faint that Urahara had to strain to hear him. "It's just…fucked."
Urahara dragged his fingers through the fine hairs at Ichigo's nape, a soothing display of support and comfort. Ichigo was a creature of absolutes, and for better or worse that was how they all knew him. His decisions, once made, were pursued wholeheartedly, without hesitation or backwards glance. For someone like him to be reduced to uncertainty was something for which Urahara had very little experience. He felt that familiar helplessness sink its claws a little deeper.
"It really does get better." He let his eyes slipped closed, burying his fingers deeper into the wild mess of hair. "Things are painfully intense at the moment, but it fades."
Ichigo grunted a wordless reply and fell into pensive silence, fidgeting slightly in quiet agitation. Urahara felt his reiatsu flutter, restless and unsure, before setting once more to hum beneath his skin. They were all fraying at the edges, and though Ichigo's responses were more obvious, his own strain was wearing at him like water over stone. It was like watching the world drown through a sheet of glass, unable to reach it as it slowly slid away. They were all slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.
Ichigo's suffering tore a hole in his heart, the knife twisting deeper at each echo of his pain filled eyes. Isshin's grief-stained rage ate at his soul, searing him with the reminder of his own helplessness. The slow roll of Kon's lonely, tortured tear was burned into his eyes, haunting him with the memory of all the things he wished he could change, but never could. His errant thoughts drifter deeper, to a twisted smile lingering on too young lips. Karin, fierce warrior child, following steadfast in her brother's bloodstained footsteps. She deserved all the things she would never accept while Ichigo still struggled in the mire of his broken life. They all deserved more. More than the world had to offer. More than he had to give.
Urahara choked on the bitter taste of his own failure. With every passing second he felt the slow burn of his inability to protect them, to keep the darkness at bay, to bear the weight of their hopes on the strength of his will as the world fell around them. It was true that he had never asked for this, but he had accepted it without a moment's regret. He would endure whatever came because he must, because there was no other way, because he had long ago forgotten how to ask for help even when he felt himself stumble. He no longer remembered how to let go, even if it dragged him into the darkness to hold the others in the light. His heart pulsed again, tight and cold in that vice-like grip and he felt and answering sigh drift warm across his skin.
"I wish this could be easier," Ichigo murmured, his voice hardly carrying, as though speaking to himself.
Urahara's gaze drifted over him, but the younger man was still curled into the hollow of his throat. There was something different in his aura, a calm sort of heaviness rolling slowly through him. Whatever indecision had been plaguing him was gone, replaced by a vague sense of determination.
"Your chair's really uncomfortable," Ichigo spoke into his neck, flexing his spine as though to prove his point.
"It wasn't meant for double occupancy," Urahara pointed out, pushing his darker thoughts aside and striving for a lighter tone.
"It's digging into my back," Ichigo complained, the words tickling over sensitive skin.
Urahara pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I can see how that might be uncomfortable."
"I'm starting to lose feeling in my legs." Ichigo's lips curled faintly, nuzzling deeper into his warmth.
"If it's such a problem, I'm sure you could be doing something elsewhere," the blond reminded him, staring down at his bright head, unable to track the underlying mood.
"It's okay," Ichigo assured him, nipping at the pulse beneath his skin. "I'll deal with it."
"How generous of you to tolerate such hardship for my sake," Urahara muttered dryly, tilting his chin away as the assault continued up his neck.
"Are you done with your work?" Ichigo whispered against his jaw.
"Does it look like I'm done?" He countered, leaning in to capture that still wandering mouth.
Ichigo responded instantly, tongue meeting him half way, a soft moan drifting over parted lips. Cool fingers tangled in pale hair, drawing them closer as the kiss burned slowly between them.
"Looks like you're done from here," Ichigo breathed, teeth flashing sharp as they dragged over his lip.
Urahara's lashes fell softly, torn between the desire to slip closed and the need to hold the half-lidded gaze pinning him in place. Ichigo was brimming with a quiet agitation; he could feel it in the curl of the heavy air around them, thrumming with restrained power.
"I knew you weren't here to be helpful," he accused, fingers dipping under cloth to trace over warming flesh.
Ichigo shifted, dark amusement lurking in his features as he stretched a bare foot under the desk to hook the wastebasket. He dragged it free slowly, catching Urahara's gaze as he reached back to scoop a handful of papers off the glossy wood. Holding them at arm's length he stilled for a moment, cocking a well-sculpted eyebrow before releasing them to their fate below.
"That's an interesting filing method," Urahara acknowledged, leaning forward to nip at the smug tilt of his chin, "but I'm not sure it qualifies as helping."
"Fucking ingrate," Ichigo scolded, watching another stack flutter through the air.
Urahara chuckled, reaching past him to rescue his already completed work.
"You are quite possibly the worst influence I've ever encountered," he informed the younger man, "and believe me when I say that's no small feat."
"Hey, I can leave 'em if you want." Ichigo didn't bother to look at him as he casually scooped papers into the trash. "But they're gonna be in the way."
"And what is it they're going to be in the way of exactly?" Urahara inquired blandly, reaching for another random stack.
Ichigo spared him a heavy glance, his reiatsu pulsing softly to brush over Urahara's skin. "I just remembered that I owe you a fuck."
"Did you, now?" Urahara tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, but he couldn't suppress the shiver at that tingling contact.
Ichigo's lips curved in an almost predatory smile, leaning forward until they were only a breath apart.
"I want to lay you across your desk and watch you writhe for me." His words were a soft caress, eyes glittering bright behind the mask of dark lashes.
Urahara breath caught in his throat, stealing the words from his parted lips as the blood started to sing beneath his skin. Ichigo leaned in, head tilting slightly, but pulled back out of reach as Urahara tried to catch him.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" He murmured smoothly, grazing the curve of the older man's jaw. "Do you want me to bend you over your desk and make you scream for me?"
Fire poured through Urahara's veins, eyes dilating under the weight of the sex thick voice and the rolling shiver of flickering reiatsu. He drew a shuddering breath; his pulse drummed an erratic tattoo against the slow glide of Ichigo's lips.
"I want to feel you shiver around me," Ichigo whispered hot against his ear, tracing the lobe with the tip of his tongue. "I want to hear you panting until you can't even draw breath to beg."
"Oh, gods…" Urahara let his eyes fall shut, grinding unconsciously against the body in his lap. The papers he was holding fell unheeded to the floor, his hands drifting up the younger man's back.
"Do you want it, Kisuke?" Ichigo slid the collar of his shirt aside, barring his flesh to the skim of teeth. "Do you want me to make you beg for me?"
Urahara's breath hitched sharply as Ichigo bit down hard, the pain tinged bright with pleasure. His head rolled back, lost in the intensity of Ichigo's strange aggression, world slipping fast under the throb of his need. He had a weakness, at times, for the right kind of pain, but even on the rare occasions when Ichigo wanted to top he had never done so aggressively. Urahara struggled to reign in a whimper, grasping at the threads of some elusive awareness.
"Say it," Ichigo coaxed darkly, tongue tracing the marks his teeth left behind.
"You need to stop," he groaned raggedly, his control fraying badly as he tried to clear his head.
"Why, Kisuke?" Ichigo's voice was like honey, the whisper of a challenge burning thick in his tone.
His hand slid lower, nails scraping over a hardened nipple, the bud twisting sharp between battle rough fingers. Urahara hissed through tightly clenched teeth, chin tilting up in an almost submissive gesture as Ichigo's power pulsed again, harder this time. It had been well over a century since he'd felt sexual reiatsu, and more than twice that since he'd seen it with a darker tinge. This was dangerous territory, an unforeseen twist, and Urahara knew he was too close to the edge to allow it to continue.
"This is a bad idea right now."
There was a brief hesitation in the younger man's eyes, a faint pulling of his brows as they flew whisper fast over Urahara's face. Whatever he was searching for he either found it or didn't because the tension fell away, a wicked smirk drawing up the corner of his mouth.
Urahara felt strong hands run down his arms, tickling the fine hairs to attention before closing around his wrists. Ichigo slid from his lap with fluid grace, dragging his to his feet with an insistent tug. Urahara barely registered the move before the world spun and he slammed into the wall, his hands pinned above him.
"You're so fucking stubborn." Ichigo shook his head slowly, his eyes gone dark, blistering amber.
He swooped in fast, silencing the gasp of shock with an all consuming kiss. He dragged Urahara's wrists together, catching them in one hand pressed tight against wall. Freed fingers tangled through ash blond hair, cradling the back of Urahara's skull as his tongue pressed forward; tasting, possessing, demanding. Urahara moaned faintly, arching into the friction of Ichigo's lean body.
"Just say it," Ichigo coaxed softly, rolling his hips with an aching, hot slide.
"Who's asking?" Urahara was shaking, breath stirring ragged as he forced himself to care.
Ichigo stilled, his gaze lingering for a moment on those parted lips before traveling slowly upward. He released the captive wrists, trailing his fingers over Urahara's throat, thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw.
"You think I'm losing control?" He challenged, unable to hide the faint tone of disappointment.
The thumb pressed gently, tilting his chin as the heated gaze raked over his face. The ocher fire flickered, vivid in eyes unblemished by the crawling, black tint.
"No," Urahara panted, his voice thick with spiraling lust, hands curling over Ichigo's hips. "But I feel his aggression in you."
"No one's gonna fuck you but me," Ichigo murmured, the fire burning bright as he leaned slowly, deliberately forward.
"Is that so?" He groaned brokenly, rational though slipping through already frayed control.
"I promise," the younger man whispered hot against his mouth, the amber still lingering beneath the shadow of his lashes.
Ichigo's reiatsu surged hard for an instant, burning across his shivering nerves, choking him on the scream that rose trembling in his throat. He'd never felt anything so raw or so powerful, not in any of his experience with this erotic technique. He whimpered, his cock throbbing painfully, twitching in time with his frantic heart.
"Gods, Ichigo, you don't know what you're doing." He wanted to pull back but it was already too late, resolve crumbling away beneath surrenders siren call. He wanted this. He needed this.
"Trust me," Ichigo breathed, the words laced with a longing that could never be described.
It was too much to bear; the softly pleading whisper, the pulsing ache of need, the hundred promises lingering in that brightly burning gaze.
"Please." His lips were moving before he even had the words, control slipping free for a single, blinding instant. "Gods, I need you…."
Urahara felt a current surge ragged up his spine as Ichigo's reiatsu uncoiled, licking heavy and thick across his skin. His eyes squeezed shut, a rough moan tearing from his gasping lips as it twisted around him, tracing his body like a thousand phantom fingers over every inch of flesh. Instinctively his own power rose to his defense, trying to push back, shuddering under the weight of the searing, liquid glide.
"Stop fighting," Ichigo murmured against his hyper-sensitive skin. "I won't let you win."
Urahara could feel the curl of his lips as their mouths crashed together, rough and fast. Hot fingers slid over his chest, tearing his shirt open, dragging it down over his shoulders. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe as the power coursed heavy between them, ripping at his shredded control with wicked, silken tendrils. Ichigo pulled him closer, sucking on his lip as the hand trailed down to pull at the edge of his pants.
"I'll do anything you want; you just have to say it." Ichigo's voice was dark with promise, dancing low across his skin. "Tell me how you need it, Kisuke."
His breath hitched sharp, shuddering over lips that were parting without consent. He begged them to be silent, begged them to not betray him in his final, gasping sin.
"Rough…," he choked on a moaning sob. "Gods, please…make me scream for you…."
The tie came free and Ichigo thrust his fingers into Urahara's pants, drinking in the deep groan pouring through their kiss. The remaining hand tangled into pale hair, dragging the other man with him as he pulled away from the wall.
There was a brief, struggling dance of mouths and hands and teeth before Urahara crashed into the desk, sprawling over the smooth, hard surface. He started to rise, but Ichigo was on him, pressing him into the wood with the weight of his body and the pulse of his wild reiatsu. Urahara's spine bowed sharp as the power spiked through him, shuddering as Ichigo's mouth dragged down his throat. The younger man pulled back, discarding his shirt as he slid lower, tongue and teeth scorching over sweat damp skin. Urahara's heart was pounding in his ears, his breath a painful gasp, writhing against the weight still holding him in place.
Ichigo paused, panting over the straining erection partially freed by half open ties. His amber eyes flickered upward, catching the lust-dark stare, licking the seam between cloth and flesh.
"Up," he commanded softly, stripping the final barrier aside as the older man obeyed without question.
Urahara hissed as Ichigo grasped him, his arousal pulsing hard against the slide of his palm. His head rolled back with a moan as Ichigo swooped down, taking him deep in one smooth motion. Ichigo hummed a wordless reply, the shivering vibrations and perfect mouth weaving such a powerful spell that Urahara didn't realize we was moving until he felt the slide of hair between his fingers. He started to pull away but Ichigo caught his wrist, keeping it in place, rolling his tongue along the vein pulsing in his mouth.
Urahara's head hit the desk and he squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of reiatsu surged through him, drowning him under the relentless onslaught of power and lust. Ichigo's sudden aggression and the brief struggle for dominance had brought his arousal to a razors edge. Ichigo let him slip free, sucking two fingers into his mouth, sliding a hand up the back of his leg. Urahara complied, drawing up his knee, hooking his heel on the edge of the desk to open himself in a silent plea.
Ichigo licked a hot trail up his thigh, teeth sinking in as his fingers drove hard into his shivering body. Urahara's yelp of surprise blended with a deep groan, his eyes rolling back as he thrust against the intrusion. He twisted, arching off the desk when Ichigo's searing mouth closed over his cock and those fingers curled toward that perfect, blinding spot.
"Please…" He shuddered on a series of hitched breaths, bucking as Ichigo's fingers pumped deeper into him.
Ichigo raised his head to meet the unfocused gaze, swallowing him as far as he could take him.
"Gods, please…" Urahara's head cracked against the wood, nails scoring tracks in the highly polished surface. "Harder…"
Ichigo gave his fingers an extra twist, drawing a choked cry as Urahara's knuckles went white. He reached down, sliding over damp flesh to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him into a crushing kiss. He dragged him off the desk, mouths clashing and nipping, tongues winding together, fast, heavy.
Urahara's hands were shaking as he tore at Ichigo's pants, ripping them open push inside. The younger man groaned, sucking on his tongue, spinning him roughly to face the desk. Urahara's palms slammed into the wood, echoing loud in the still air as Ichigo pushed him forward. He whimpered, head hanging low, damp hair trailing loose around his face.
Ichigo ran a hand up his spine, tracing over bone and flesh, sliding his fingers back into the heat of the waiting body. He leaned forward, teeth grazing the carefully mapped paths, holding him in place as the fingers pressed deeper.
"Gods…," Urahara choked, palms sliding against the desk as he pushed himself back. "Just do it."
The fingers twitched, faltering in their rhythm and Urahara turned in time to catch the uncertainty fluttering in those over-bright eyes. This was all for him, he saw it even through the haze of need, but whatever part Ichigo was playing, the fear of causing harm still remained.
"Stop," he ground out, writhing against the body pressed along his back. "You don't have to….ahhh…"
The amber burned dark as Ichigo's teeth dug into his shoulder, stinging the marks he'd left before. He straightened, gripping the back of the Urahara's neck, pressing him down until his arms collapsed. Urahara's mouth opened on a soundless cry as reiatsu seared through him, peppering his vision with dancing light.
"I'm gonna fuck you 'till you can't even scream," Ichigo growled, fingers driving deep and Urahara thought he might go mad from the pleasure-pained spike so close on the heels of that velvet thick tone.
Ichigo withdrew the hand from his neck, digging into the pocket of his unfastened jeans before kicking them into the corner. He flipped open a bottle of lube, pouring it liberally over his still moving fingers and along the length of his aching erection.
"Do you need it, Kisuke?"
Urahara felt like he could come from that voice alone. "Please…"
Ichigo slid against him, biting his lip as the ring of muscle gave way to the searing, pulling glide. Urahara bucked as the last of his sanity snapped, slamming into that lean body, tearing a shocked cry from his own gasping lips.
"Shit," Ichigo groaned, his fingers digging in to hold his body still.
Urahara pressed a hand to the desk, thrusting back hard, impaling himself with another yelping moan.
"Be careful," Ichigo choked, nails biting hard into tender flesh.
"Just fuck me," Urahara gasped, his eyes pleading for the things he could never speak aloud.
A whisper of understanding passed over Ichigo's face and his reiatsu flared hard, his head rolling back as he surrendered to the aggression coursing through his veins. His hips snapped forward, driving into the blond with a merciless fury, slamming him down into the desk. Urahara was lost, crying out wordlessly, his own reiatsu slipping through his splintering control. Ichigo's hand returned to his neck, holding him against the wood, demanding and rough.
"You're gonna scream for me," he growled, reaching around to stroke him hard, tearing a sharp cry from his burning throat.
"Gods, please…harder…," Urahara moaned, eyes squeezing shut against the knife-sharp pleasure spreading from Ichigo's vicious thrusts. He was frantic, riding the edge of release and some deeper, clawing thing hovering just beyond his reach.
"Let go," Ichigo demanded, staggering under the pull of his building need.
His hand twisted rough and fast, pumping Urahara ruthlessly as he drove into him with flawless, brutal aim. Urahara cried out again, trembling uncontrollably, begging for the end on every gasping breath. Ichigo bit his lip hard, yanking him up, fingers tightening painfully in tangled strands of hair.
"Fucking let go," he snarled savagely, teeth tearing deep into the blond's already marred shoulder, reiatsu slamming through his twisting body.
Urahara screamed, broken and wild, his spine bowing sharp as he came over Ichigo's hand. He felt his soul tear free, every thought and care washed clean in a moment of blinding light that left him dizzy and gasping.
Ichigo hissed, his whole world narrowing until it existed solely in the heat and pulse and grip. He wrapped an arm around Urahara as he started to sway, holding him upright as he surrendered to his release with a drawn out groan.
"Fuck, Kisuke," he gasped breathlessly, lips sliding over the back of his neck. He pulled free from the nearly limp body, still reeling from the aftershocks, hands moving to turn him gently. "Are you okay?"
The rough edge of a tooth had torn into Urahara's shoulder and a thin ribbon of blood mixed with the beaded sweat, trailing over his collarbone, vivid and angry. Ichigo dragged his eyes away and back to his face, shaking him softly when he didn't answer.
"I…" Urahara looked dazed, panting shallow and uneven.
He edged away from Ichigo and eased carefully onto the desk, lowering himself trembling to stare at the ceiling. His heart was racing painfully in his chest; his blood singing thought his veins like a cleansing fire that threatened to burn him alive. He felt the fear and helplessness, the rage and agony all clawing at his eyes in a bid to be free. Somewhere behind them, in the aching darkness, the cold loosed its claws.
His breath hitched tight in his throat, shuddering past his lips as he felt the damp slide of bitter heat roll down his temple. He raised a hand but Ichigo was faster, catching the glittering droplet on his finger and spreading it slowly with the pad of his thumb. Urahara let his eyes slip closed as the answering tear painted a trail to vanish amidst his tangled hair.
Ichigo crawled onto the desk, hovering on hands and knees, spent and exhausted. He leaned down; resting on his forearms so their foreheads could touch, tracing his thumb over the nearly invisible path. Urahara drew a shaky breath, unable to choke back the slow roll of tears.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes still closed. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Ichigo accused softly, "you're fucking lying, just like you always do."
Urahara's lashes swept up, glittering wet as he stared at the younger man in silent confusion.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," Ichigo murmured, fingers trailing through his hair, "but you won't let anyone in and it makes me crazy."
"I'm not lying to you, Ichigo," he soothed gently, still trying to slow his fluttering heart. "I'm fine."
"This isn't fine." Ichigo's eyes darted to the torn, bloodied flesh and back again, searching his face.
"I think I'm just overwhelmed by your sexual aptitude." The easy smile slid back into place, his hands tracing slowly over Ichigo's ribs.
"Stop doing that," Ichigo snapped, leaning in to kiss him hard and pulling back with a glare. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to fall for your smartass shit all the time?"
"I don't think I've ever been kissed in reprimand," Urahara mused quietly, letting his smile fall away. "No, I don't think you're stupid, but you don't need my problems added to your own."
"But they're not your problems," Ichigo bit out angrily. "They're my problems, and Kon's problems, and Karin's, and my fucking dad's, and the bullshit Shinigami's. You can't just keep smiling all the damn time and saying it going to be fine like it doesn't bother you."
"Of course it bothers me." Urahara frowned, still tracing patterns over Ichigo's skin. "But I don't react to stress in the same way you do."
"Bullshit!" He growled, "then what the fuck was all this?"
Urahara sighed, his eyes falling shut once again. He'd been letting himself slip too far and he knew it, but there'd been little he could do to stop the slide. He'd never expected Ichigo to approach him like this, and in his moment of weakness he'd cracked, succumbing to the call of such a willing outlet. He recognized now this had been Ichigo's intent, thought he wondered if he truly understood what he'd been offering. The fact that he had taken advantage of such a thing, no matter how freely given, was a selfish abuse.
More troubling still was the inkling suspicion of another hand at play, the stir of something lurking behind the watchful amber gaze. Ichigo's eyes had since faded, leaving only worry in the chocolate-tinted depths, but the heavy swirl of reiatsu remained. He believed Ichigo when he said he was in control, that they had been alone, but at least a part of that aggression had been drawn from somewhere deeper.
Ichigo rose, slipping into his jeans, going in search of a towel to wipe away the blood. Urahara watched his retreating back, wanting to know but afraid to ask, needing to speak but unsure what truths the words might bring. His lips parted before he truly decided, his voice slipping free through his still broken control.
"Shiro."
Ichigo stilled in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. He was silent for a moment, but the coil of dark reiatsu was enough to tell the former captain he wasn't being ignored.
"What do you want, Demon?" Shiro's voice was still higher than Ichigo's, but as their powers had grown more closely twined it had lost much of its distorted, eerie resonance
"Did you tell him to do this?" He asked softly, ignoring the barbed epithet. The hollow had called him that since the first time he released his bankai in front of Ichigo, he was used to it by now.
"No." Shiro spat irritably, though it was hardly a shade of his former hostility. "I just made the suggestion when he came to me asking for it."
"Why would he do that?" There were a hundred deeper questions behind those simply spoken words.
Shiro shrugged, a gracefully awkward flutter that Urahara would have called uncomfortable if he believed the hollow capable of such a thing. "You needed to fall and he didn't know how to push you."
"And you did?" It was more a statement than a question.
Shiro shrugged again, sill facing into the hall, and there was a definite edge to it the second time around.
"Everyone needs someone to fall on," he murmured, low and cryptic, something indefinable tinting his vaguely haunting tone. "Maybe he wants to be that for you."
Urahara didn't reply, staring at the familiar shoulders as he considered the deeper implications. Ichigo and his hollow has come to an understanding long ago, and it wasn't unheard of for him to seek his advice. Something in the war had tempered him, burning his rage to a slowly rolling boil, though it had never been clear what had wrought such a change. Still, it was unlike him to offer aid for no reason; his tolerance of them had never bordered on true fondness.
"What are you looking for?" He wondered aloud, trying to guess at the larger picture.
Shiro sighed moodily, staring up at the ceiling, one finger tracing idly over the pattern in the wood and Urahara winced, realizing how much he was giving away in the uncontrolled flutter of his still leaking reiatsu. He drew a slow breath, trying to soothe his barriers and Shiro sighed again, shaking his head faintly.
"You remind me of someone," he said finally, the emotion hard to read in his not quite human voice. "He believed that to allow someone to see behind his careful exterior was a terrible weakness; that to share his insecurities was a mark of his failure. He was a coward, who couldn't let go of all the asinine duty and self-righteous bullshit even for all the right reasons."
He paused, seeming strangely subdued in some faraway thought, and Urahara remained silent, questions spinning in his mind.
"You seem different, though. I don't think you're holding yourself back because you're trying to prove something. I think it's just been so long that you can't let go without being forced."
"So this was a lesson in how to let go?" Urahara's voice had a sharp edge as he pushed himself up on the desk
"No, you dumb fuck, you're not paying attention," he snapped, his tone taking on a condescending lilt. "He had to force you let go, and I was the only one who'd tell him how to do it."
He paused, rolling his neck, head tilted slightly as though listening to something only he could hear. His hand rose to his temple, massaging it gently, drifting through his wild hair before falling to rest once more at his side. He shook his head again, growling rough under his breath.
"There's no lesson here, except maybe for the king. You already knew what you needed, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask."
"Because it's wrong," Urahara bit out, the earlier guilt still burning in his gut. "It's not fair to put that on him."
"Fuck your little dream world, life's not fair." Shiro's voice was cold as glass. "He knew what he was asking for; he wanted this."
"Even if he did that doesn't make it right." He ran a hand over his face the stress of the day giving way to fatigue.
"Same old bullshit," Shiro muttered darkly, studying the wood beneath his fingers. "You should be thankful it was so willingly given."
"He doesn't need my weakness on his shoulders." The words were laced with weary bitterness.
"Demon-chan," Shiro rolled the name slowly, mockingly, turning finally to meet his eyes. "Burying your fear and pain until they destroy you isn't strength. What good will you do any of them when you finally break?"
He let his gaze roam over the former captain, assessing, calculating as the weight of his words sank into every open wound. Urahara's fingers bit into the wood, brow furrowing painfully as the worries once again whispered hateful in his ears. Shiro paused, liquid gold and black searing turbulent grey-green, and something worn and tired danced through his alien eyes. The smirk faltered on his lips, trickling away like water through sand until he stood as quiet and serious as the other man had ever seen him. He looked almost sad for a brief, fleeting instant.
"The king's more resilient then you think, and your endurance is not as limitless as you would like to pretend. You should choose your battles more carefully while you still can; you're going to need that willpower intact someday soon."
He turned, the gold already fading from his eyes, and a moment later Ichigo passed from the room leaving Urahara alone with his inner demons and more questions than he'd had before the first words were spoken.
(*)
Ichigo sat in the middle of the empty lot, tracing idly through the recently scorched earth with the end of a broken stick. Night had long since fallen, the air settling heavy over buildings and trees, drifting lazily through the gently humming darkness. Behind him, the soft glow of life poured faintly across the ground from the half repaired hole in Urahara's shop.
Sometimes, when it was dark like this and everyone else had gone to bed, he like to just sit under the stars, to remind himself what it was like to be still and quiet. Some days it was hard to remember anything before this world of pain and loss. It was amazing how an entire lifetime could pass in just three short years, casting everything that had come before to some half-forgotten dream world.
It had taken awhile, but the rage and confusion were slowly ebbing away, leaving a trail of tired truths lying scattered in their wake. He'd been running, there was no way around it. He was running because he no longer knew how to live in a world he'd left behind three years ago. His human friends, his father, the carefree, easy shit, were all part of a life that felt like a lie. It grated on him, torturing him with memories of simpler times forever gone beyond his reach.
Nothing in this shadow world would ever burn as bright as Urahara's tired smile that didn't touch his eyes, or Karin's steely loyalty flickering twisted in her soul. Nothing cut as deep as Kon's silent agony under the easy slide of charm, or the dream for a better world fading from Hitsugaya's soul. These were the people for whom he had bled, and now, in the end, he was letting them all down.
He had been running, he knew that, and he'd been reckless with those lives who had believed in his resolve. He'd given little thought to any long term plan, too lost the need to escape what he no longer wished to feel. There were prices to be paid for such short-sighted indulgence, and now others were suffering when those payments came due.
There were other factors at play, of course; other people's actions that were far beyond his control. He had to admit, though, when it all came down to it, there were things he wished he'd done differently. He had pulled their lives apart with impulsive abandon, and all the apologies in the world couldn't take that away. Life was a real bitch sometimes, but he couldn't hide forever. The self-reflection always caught up in the end.
Ichigo heard the crunch of gravel and felt a slight thrill of apprehension. He owed Urahara more than he could ever repay and with him, at least, there were certain things he though he understood. It had been so fucking simple in theory; catch him off guard, don't give him time to recover, push him past his limits until the mask slid away. Three easy steps which sounded so much cleaner without the pleading resistance or the doubt seeping in; without the blood, or the tears, or that trembling confusion on normally calm lips. The afternoon had started with the best of intentions, but he was pretty sure he'd fucked it up somewhere along the way. Things were never as easy as he wanted them to be.
"May I?" Urahara paused beside him, gesturing to an empty patch of dirt.
Ichigo snorted at the quiet theatrics, nodding a vague consent as the corner of his mouth twitched. The older man sank gracefully to the ground, draping his arm over a drawn up knee. He was barefoot and casual in a pair of cotton pants and a T-shirt that Ichigo though might be his own.
Urahara rolled his neck, tossing back his hair to stare up at the stars.
"I owe you an apology for earlier," he said, forgoing the winding banter that usually came so easily.
"Don't start with that," Ichigo muttered, jabbing a rock with the end of his stick. This was already going badly.
"You shouldn't have had to do something like that," he went on, the fatigue weighing heavier in his voice.
"Like what, be aggressive?" Ichigo dragged his fingers through his hair, frowning at the familiar profile in the faded light. "I think I'll survive the fucking trauma."
"You know that's not what I mean," Urahara sighed, turning to regard him with tired, serious eyes.
"Then what?" Ichigo demanded, frustration pulling his tone much sharper than he intended. "I'm the one who fucking started it; I knew what I was doing."
Something flickered behind the grey-green gaze, and Ichigo realized that the older man didn't quite believe him, or possibly it was that he couldn't believe him. Yeah, this was definitely fucked.
"You shouldn't have to do things you're uncomfortable with for the sake of my weakness," Urahara said regretfully, reaching out to brush over the younger man's cheek.
"I already told you I wanted it." Ichigo jabbed the stick viciously into the earth, gouging an ugly trail.
Urahara's hand curled over his, prying the makeshift weapon from his grasp and casting it into the night.
"I could feel your hesitance," he murmured, thumb tracing the marks scored deep across his palm. "It's not in your nature to be rough with your lover."
Ichigo couldn't suppress his shiver at the way the word rolled off the older man's tongue. He leaned forward slowly, fingers threading into soft strands of hair, bringing their lips together in a lingering kiss. Urahara's hand trailed up his arm, ghosting over his neck as some of the tension slipped from his frame. Ichigo pulled back, catching the pale gaze glittering softly in the faint light.
"Yeah, it was new, and maybe it's not what I usually go for, but that doesn't mean I didn't want it," he muttered quietly, fighting the urge to drop his eyes as the blush crept into his cheeks. "I was just nervous. I've never done anything like that before."
A whisper of surprise flickered through the older man, so achingly brief that Ichigo almost missed it all together. Urahara' hand slid higher, tracing over the dusting of color as his gaze raked the younger man's face with a wistful sort of meditation.
"I still shouldn't have put you in that position," he said finally, censure and guilt outweighing whatever peace the words had to offer.
Ichigo blew out an agitated breath, dropping his head against Urahara's shoulder. All the shit he wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, twisting together, and it was pissing him off.
"You're there every fucking time I need you, telling me all this shit's going to be okay and that I don't have to worry." He snapped back up, spearing the older man with look of frustration. "Why won't you let me do that for you?"
"It's complicated, Ichigo." Urahara kissed him gently, fingers drifting over the curve of his jaw. "There are things that aren't fair for me to ask of you."
"Fuck fair!" Ichigo bit out, hands fisting in the front of Urahara's shirt. "Do you think any of the shit I've done to you is fair? Do you think any of our lives are fair right now?"
Taking without giving wasn't part of his nature, but he knew on some level that was exactly what he was doing. He'd crashed Urahara's whole life down around them both, drowning him under a relentless torrent of shit just for the sake of a little distraction. Urahara should have hated him for it, but the older man simply smiled through the pain and dragged him back up every time he slipped. Some days Ichigo despised himself, but he just couldn't bring himself to walk away from the memory of life he could taste on that perfect, pale skin.
Urahara sighed, arms sliding around Ichigo's lithe frame. He tugged at him gently, drawing the younger man to straddle his lap as he shifted to accommodate him. They stared at each other for a moment and Urahara smiled faintly, brushing his nose over Ichigo's cheek, trying to ease the tension coursing rough beneath his skin
"Life's general unfairness shouldn't be an invitation for me to engage in my own," he reasoned, the words tickling soft against Ichigo's ear.
Ichigo leaned into the touch, head tilting away as the mouth moved slowly down his neck. He could feel the irritation burning away, sliding through his fingers under that practiced, soothing glide.
"I can feel it when you're worried," he whispered, his eyes haunted with seriousness far beyond his years. "You fucking smile and laugh and say it's all gonna to be okay, but I can still feel it, even if you don't want me to."
Urahara gaze drifted upward, a wry smile lingering tired on his lips. "I must be slipping."
"I don't know," Ichigo's voice was soft, barely carrying in the stillness of the thick, night air. "It's like with all the shit we've been through over the years I just sorta learned you or something. Before we started fucking I could still tell things, even when you shut it all down. Now it's like I can feel you tearing yourself up inside just so everyone else doesn't have to worry. I can tell when you're lying even if you smile like you fucking mean it."
"I'm not lying," Urahara protested, kissing him gently, fingers moving slowly over his spine.
"You are," Ichigo whispered against his lips, eyes shining faintly beneath his half closed lids. "You're just pushing everything down and then faking like you're fine."
"I don't want you to have to worry about me," he murmured, pale brows pulling together as he met that searching gaze.
"Fuck that," Ichigo shot back. "Stop worrying about me, and the Shinigami, and my fucking dad if it's all so easy."
Urahara sighed ruefully, letting his forehead rest against Ichigo's. "I suppose you have a point."
"You can't always save everyone." He raked a hand through his bright hair, fingers twisting in the strands at his nape.
"That's quite a statement, coming from you," Urahara pointed out mildly, detangling the hand and pulling it gently to his lips.
"You're tearing yourself up over shit that's not your fault." Ichigo felt something squeeze in his chest as the blond's lips brushed over each finger in turn. "I didn't mean to drop this shit on you, and now it's like you think you're failing if you can't make it right."
Urahara paused, a fraction of a heartbeat, before moving to press a kiss into Ichigo's palm. His mask was still slipping, his emotions fluttering ragged behind the cracks in his control.
"You just can't let anyone past your fucking smile." Ichigo's eyes mirrored the loneliness haunting the answering, pale gaze. "Not even when it starts to drag you down."
"It's complicated," he repeated sadly, the weight ages hanging on the softly spoken words.
"Then let me help you," Ichigo pleaded, pulling his hand free to press against his jaw.
"Are you trying to save me, Ichigo?" Urahara's tone was gently, but his eyes were more serious than they'd been in centuries.
"Maybe I am," he admitted, voice dipping low as his thumb slid to trace the curve of his ear.
Ichigo could feel the whisper of longing twisting faint beneath his gaze, and he couldn't bear it. His reiatsu rose between them, shivering electric through his veins, pressing out to flutter over the former captain's skin. Urahara gasped faintly, chin tilting up as he let it wash over him.
"Don't," Urahara breathed, fingers pressing gently to Ichigo's lips, brows drawn together with a pained sort of desire. "That technique isn't something you can play with just to distract yourself. Forgive me, Ichigo, but I don't think I could bear it right now."
Ichigo could feel the tremor in the softly fleeting touch, tingling against his skin as the hand fell away. There was a sort of wounded yearning lingering in his eyes, stirring past the edges of his tenuous control. The scars ran deep beneath his far too easy smile, drowned under layers of lazy, practiced charm. Too many things seen that could never be forgotten, too many years spent alone, believing he couldn't afford to slip.
"I'm not playing with you, Kisuke." His tone pleaded for understanding, drawn by the call of that familiar, aching pain. "I just want to make things better."
The anguish still spun in Urahara gaze as Ichigo closed the space between them, thumb stroking his neck as their lips brushed together.
"I want you to be able to tell me when the shit's wearing you down." His teeth danced soft across breath stirred skin.
"To ask for help when you need it." The reiatsu rose around them, hair drifting lightly on its tingling, phantom breeze.
"And to let me drag you over the edge if you can't drag yourself." His mouth slanted over Urahara's, tongue sliding deeper to beg a gentle reply.
Urahara let his eyes slip closed, surrendering for a movement before reluctantly pulling free.
"Why?" He whispered searchingly as he traced over Ichigo's back. "Why would you ask for that?"
"Because I understand," Ichigo's eyes bored into him, flickering in the dim light. "I have that same shit pulling at me all the fucking time, telling me I'm letting everyone down and that I'm never enough. If you hadn't been there for me I would've just pasted a fucking smile on my face and slid by so no one would worry."
Urahara nuzzled him gently, the whisper of fatigue sinking deeper in his eyes.
"So you have me all figured out, do you?" There was no trace of teasing in his quiet, weary tone.
"Fuck no, but I get this." Ichigo growled. "There are a thousand fucking things I can't do anything about, but at least I get this."
"Sometimes just understanding isn't enough," Urahara said wistfully, smoothing his fingers over the younger man's frown.
"Dammit," Ichigo swore. "What is it you think I'm missing? Do you think I don't know what it's like to want to feel a little pain sometimes, just to break the dying feeling? I fight hollows with my bare fucking hands, Kisuke! Don't look at me like I don't understand, don't you fucking dare."
He caught Urahara's hand, fingers biting deep as he dragged it away from his face.
"Do you think I don't know what it means be that for you? If you need to fall then fall, if you need to rest then close your fucking eyes already. If you need someone to hurt you until you remember how to let go then let me fucking do it! I don't care if it's fucked up, because I get it. I fucking get it, Kisuke, do you understand?"
Urahara winced softly, a torn indecision flickering through his eyes. "I do, Ichigo, its just-"
"Fuck, Kisuke, let me have this for myself if you can't let me do it for you!" He was nearly shouting, voice trembling rough with confused emotion. "I fucking need this, too, and you're just making it harder.
His pleading eyes burned into Urahara, alive with fire and determination, passion and hurt. Everything they'd been through, every unspoken wish, every half-forgotten hope for a long gone future, spun between them on the breath panting hot across his lips.
"So now this is about you, not me?" Urahara asked slowly, gaze drifting over his flush stirred face.
There was a shadowy conflict raging in the depths his eyes, and Ichigo felt something sinking deep in his chest. Urahara sighed, his shoulders drooping faintly as he fell onto his back, oblivious to the dirt and jagged, scattered gravel. His arm slid over his face, burying his eyes in the curve of his elbow as his jaw clenched tight against some unknown thought.
The sinking feeling spread, twisting with guilt as Ichigo leaned forward, hands resting in the dirt, head hanging low. There was so much chaos racing is his head and he just couldn't seem to get his thoughts to come out right. He was fucking it up again, making it worse.
"Kisuke," he murmured, not knowing what to say, but the older man cut him off.
"Gods, you're so manipulative sometime," he breathed, lips twitching faintly in the soft wash of moonlight.
"I'm sorry," Ichigo whispered, defeat pressing him deeper into the warmth of the body below. "I didn't mean it like that."
Urahara shifted his arm, catching the gaze hovering just inches above his own.
"And you call me a liar," he accused mildly, amusement simmering deep in the shadow of his eyes.
"Are you fucking laughing?" Ichigo gaped at him, reeling under his shock and struggling to catch up.
Urahara ignored his outburst completely, moving his arm aside to stare up at the younger man. One pale brow twitched upward, meeting that wide, incredulous gaze.
"Let me see if I have this clear," he began softly, the ghost of a smile on the corners of his mouth. "You would like me to allow you to do certain things to me, in hopes of forcing me to achieve some level of peace I could not otherwise experience."
Ichigo started to open his mouth but the blond shook his head, placing a finger over his slightly parted lips.
"You would like me to do this," he continued," not for my own sake, which would be an unforgivable betrayal of my desire not to burden you, but for your sake, as a means of allowing you to feel proactive about one of the issues plaguing your life. Does that about cover it, or am I leaving something out?"
"It didn't really come out right," Ichigo mumbled against the obstruction.
Urahara's hand slid to cup his jaw, thumb replacing his finger to trace the fullness of his lip.
"I think it came out perfectly," he assured him, the smile burning brighter as his voice began to tremble. He shook his head slowly, as if the whole thing was just too much, and then he laughed, unrestrained and brilliant.
"Does this mean I'm winning?" Ichigo ventured, feeling a little dazed by the warmth in his eyes.
"I'll think about it," Urahara chuckled, dragging Ichigo's lip with the pad of his thumb. "For your sake."
Ichigo's head tilted slightly, brows drawn together with wary incredulity.
"That's so fucked up," he whispered with morbid fascination, leaning in to catch the lingering smile.
"We all have out moments," Urahara murmured against his lips, still laughing softly into the kiss.
(*)
Urahara ran a towel through his damp hair, staring at his hazy reflection in the mirror. The marring on his shoulder stood out in harsh relief, the faint shadow of a bruise already forming around the marks. He ran the tips of his fingers gently over the area, relishing the slight sting, shivering at the memory of Ichigo's reiatsu on his skin.
Reiatsu techniques like that were extremely uncommon, requiring both a large amount of power and exceptional control. It was nearly unheard of in someone as young as Ichigo, even at the crude level he had employed. The former captain would have been surprised if there were 50 people alive who could accomplish it at all, and maybe half that could use it properly. He couldn't help but wonder where Ichigo could have learned it, especially considering his innocence prior to their time together.
He shook his head, realizing the mirror held no answers, and returned his attention to sorting out his hair. They'd retreated inside shortly after conversation failed them, but he'd still managed to collect a fair amount of debris. One of the inevitable consequences of lying around in the dirt, he supposed, toeing the bedroom door open as he worked his fingers through a stubborn tangle.
"Are you really gonna think about it?"
Urahara eyed Ichigo through a curtain of darkened hair, digging though a drawer for a clean pair of pants.
"I said I would," he reminded him, coming to kneel at the edge of the futon.
Ichigo pushed up on his elbows, a frown marring his features as he studied the older man. The corners of Urahara's eyes softened and he reached out, trailing his thumb over the familiar lines, tracing the worry that lingered there. Why this, of all things, would mean so much to Ichigo was beyond him, but it was obvious that it did and that he wouldn't let it go easily.
"I'll think about it," he promised again, closing the distance to kiss him gently.
Ichigo leaned into him, tongue sliding out to trace the seam of his lips, inviting him closer, deeper. Urahara smiled faintly, letting himself be drawn in, relishing his unique taste as they moved together. Fingers mapped the couture of his ear as Ichigo kissed him with a languid, subtle grace, moaning softly into his mouth. They fell back lazily and Urahara let his weight settle onto the younger man, burying his hands in the tangle of bright hair, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
Ichigo shifted, nipping at his lips as he pulled back to stare at him.
"You really are fucking stubborn," he murmured, tucking a pale lock behind Urahara's ear.
"And you really are a horrible influence," the older man assured him, lips curving softly as he kissed the tip of his nose.
Ichigo snorted, but his eyes warmed faintly as his own smile threatened. Despite all odds, he seemed to have found some shred of calm in the tatters of the emotionally overwrought day. Urahara had always been amazed by the sheer force of will the younger man exuded, facing both the possible and impossible with the same level of tenacity. Even after he'd learned that he couldn't always win he'd still pushed on, surprising them all at every turn. More often than not he seemed to find a way, tearing apart the perceptions of how the world should work, just as he had today. Urahara tilted his head musingly, eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch as some of the earlier questions tickled across his thoughts.
"I'll admit," he said quietly, fingers trailing down Ichigo's throat. "I was caught off guard by this."
Ichigo gasped as the slow burn of reiatsu crawled up his spine, a wave of liquid pleasure licking through his body until his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Fuck," he panted brokenly as the lingering tremors passed, head falling limp against the pillow. "Is that what I did to you?"
"No," Urahara murmured softly, eyeing him with an odd curiosity. "Touch-based techniques are considered fairly casual. What you did earlier was a good deal more powerful, and far less gentle."
It was also generally reserved for more sadomasochistic play, but that was a different matter entirely and he didn't feel like addressing it at the moment.
He eased his weight off Ichigo, propping his cheek on his fist as he settled in beside him. Pale fingers traced over still flushed skin and Ichigo arched off the bed, teeth set against a whimpering cry as the reiatsu washed over him.
"Gods, you're so sensitive," Urahara breathed. "I'd almost believe you'd never felt it before."
"Only once," Ichigo groaned, eyes squeezing shut. "A long time ago, and not that rough."
Urahara frowned softly as he brushed over Ichigo's stomach, drawing a moan at the friction of flesh on flesh.
"It feels like I'm on fire," Ichigo shuddered, his tone dark with lust.
"It over-stimulates the nerves," Urahara explained, studying him with a perplexed sort of amusement. "You've really only felt it once?"
"Yeah," Ichigo slurred, shaking his head a couple of times to break the thickening haze. "Juushirou explained it to me, and then I asked him to show me because it sounded so unreal. He did, but only for a couple seconds. He said he wouldn't be able to stop if he went on any longer and he said I was still so young, even though I didn't feel young anymore. Gods, I didn't want him to stop, but he just shook his head and kissed me again."
A dusting of color seeped into Ichigo's cheeks, the echo of a blush dredged up on the ghosts of memory.
"I can still feel it sometimes, even after everything that's happened."
Urahara's surprise showed faintly he mulled over these revelations. Rumors of Ukitake's reiatsu control had bordered on Shinigami legend, but so had his reputation for being reluctant when it came to sharing his skills. It was likely that Ichigo would never know what he'd meant to a man with whom he'd spent only a few brief hours on that final moonlit night. Urahara felt the sting of grief, mourning the loss of so many scattered dreams.
"I heard he was amazing," he murmured, gliding up the curve of Ichigo neck.
"Yeah." Ichigo's smile was sad, his eyes staring wistfully at the rivers of the past. "He really was."
"It's remarkable that you grasped the technique, considering your limited exposure," Urahara admitted, running his fingers over Ichigo's lips.
He drew up short as Ichigo snorted, blowing out an annoyed breath as his gaze snapped back into focus.
"I'm total shit at it." He rolled his eyes, looking vaguely put out by his own admission. "Shiro had to show me what to do, and I still couldn't manage it without borrowing his control."
Urahara shook his head in mild exasperation; at least that explained the strange, amber eyes. The hollow's reiatsu control had always been better than Ichigo's, and it had increased dramatically once he mastered his frenetic rage. This wasn't the first time Ichigo had called on such a resource, though he usually reserved it for more dire situations.
"I suppose I should be grateful that between the two of you there exists enough control not to have driven me insane," he muttered dryly, though in truth it was a real concern. Channeling high levels of reiatsu in such an intimate manner could be a dangerous business, especially with someone who was relatively untrained.
Ichigo growled in annoyance, a surly little sound in the back of his throat, though it seemed to be directed elsewhere.
"Give me a week." His chin tilted up, the challenge sparking in his narrowing eyes. "I'll figure it out."
"In a week?" An eyebrow arched delicately, nails skimming over the rise of his hipbone. "Unlikely, even for you."
Ichigo's breath hitched hard, his head falling back to expose his throat.
"Fuck, that touch thing's amazing," he gasped raggedly, blood pounding wildly under every inch of skin. "That's what I wanted him to teach me, but he wouldn't. He's still so pissy about this reiatsu shit."
Urahara chuckled, staring down at his own hand as he ran his thumb over the pads of his fingers. "It's not as easy as it looks."
"Yeah, I know," Ichigo grumbled, sounding like he'd heard it all before. "My control fucking sucks, I get it."
"You're just inexperienced," Urahara consoled him, wondering what taunts he'd endured for the sake of the hollow's assistance. "I'm sure even he couldn't manage this level of refinement, regardless of what he may have claimed."
"What are you…?" The words cut short as something passed over Ichigo's face, a brief spark of confusion followed by a briefer flash of comprehension. "Oh, shit."
Urahara stilled, feeling a tingle of foreboding as he watched Ichigo's mind spin to life behind his sharpening gaze. There was something there in that half-spoken thought, some dredged up remembrance that had almost slipped free. Their eyes met briefly and Ichigo winced, as though something inside had caught up to his mouth and was less than pleased.
"Um, Shiro's not really guessing with this shit," he said slowly, as though hunting deliberately for just the right words. "I know it can be dangerous; I wouldn't have tried it if I didn't know he wouldn't let me hurt you. He's pretty fucking amazing, actually."
Urahara's brows drew together as something clicked in his mind. Ichigo hadn't simply been borrowing his hollow's control; he had been relying on him, at least in part, to regulate the flow of reiatsu. He'd been depending on him to keep the situation in check. For the hollow to be able to accomplish such a thing, especially without direct involvement, would require an astonishing level of finesse. Too much finesse for a few seconds of exposure.
"How could he have developed that level of skill?" He asked carefully, the frown pulling deeper as the younger man winced again.
Ichigo dropped his eyes to the edge of the blanket, fingers pulling absently at a stray piece of thread. His teeth dragged over his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, worrying it gently as he shook his head. He was hiding something, that much was obvious, as was his knowledge that he'd cornered himself.
"How do you get good at anything, Kisuke?" His gaze slid reluctantly higher, meeting Urahara's with a shrewd sort of resignation. "You practice."
"Practice?" Urahara repeated slowly, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah," Ichigo confirmed, mouth pulling ruefully at the corner.
"On who?" Urahara asked incredulously, feeling like he was drifting in the ether. The hollow had very little contact outside of Ichigo, especially after the war had ended. "When?"
"It's really fucking complicated," Ichigo grumbled, humor sparking faintly as fell back on the other man's words.
When it became apparent that Ichigo was not inclined to continue, Urahara fell silent to consider his options. He sank slowly into the futon, head resting against the curve of his arm as he tried to sort through the disjointed bits of information. There were still some large pieces that were missing from the puzzle, but some of the smaller fragments seemed to be falling into place. The hollow's tempered allegiance during the last part of the war, the settling of his previously unpredictable rage, the hint of memory drifting in his not quite hostile tone. It was all tied together in this strange little mess.
Urahara's brain tripped to a halt, sticking on a thought that he couldn't shake free. It seemed so unlikely with everything he'd known, and there was no possible way he could have missed such a thing, but his mind kept drifting toward the same unsettling conclusion.
"He had a lover at some point," he murmured to himself. An extremely skilled one.
"No…well…not exactly," Ichigo amended hesitantly, rolling to face him with a look of torn frustration. "That makes it sound like he was fucking someone."
"Then what?" Urahara pressed gently, his tone laced with genuine confusion. "These techniques are extremely sexual."
"I told you, it's complicated," Ichigo repeated, the humor gone from his serious gaze. "And it's not my story. I wasn't there."
They studied each other for a long moment, grey-green skimming over closed-off brown. The signs were starting to show in the set of his jaw; Ichigo was bracing for the coming assault, determination radiating through the lines of his body. Old determination, Urahara realized distantly, loyalties steeped in trust that would not easily be undone. Some things didn't change, and Ichigo's tenacity once he really settled in was one of them. Urahara felt his smile start to threaten, conceding the lost cause as he brushed a kiss over those stubborn lips.
"You house such interesting secrets," he whispered, eyeing him with a vague sense of wonder and filing it away for another time. "Not a day goes by where I find myself bored."
"Whatever." Ichigo rolled his eyes, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief.
Urahara's mind was still reeling, but there was nothing to be done, at least for the moment. Whatever situations the hollow had encountered, Ichigo was neither ready nor willing to divulge the details. Still, for Ichigo not to be present would mean the hollow had taken him over completely. That was extremely dangerous, especially in the earlier days when their balance had still been tenuous at best. Urahara had a hard time believing he could have missed such a thing. It was incredibly fascinating, and equally troubling.
Ichigo edged closer in an attempt to distract him, the warm caress of lips brushing light over his jaw. He let his head fall back, accepting the offering, willing to let it go for the sake of their peace. The mouth slid wet over the point of his chin, working slow kisses down the curve of his neck. Urahara purred a sound of contentment as teeth dragging gently over sensitive skin. Ichigo's tongue darted out, tracing across his flesh, pressing into the marks he'd left in his shoulder. His mouth closed over the tender flesh, sucking gently, teasing a sting through the soft hum of pleasure.
Urahara groaned deep in his throat, threading into his hair to pull him closer. He shifted slowly, rolling Ichigo beneath him, rocking to meet his already straining erection. A moan drifted moist on their intertwined tongues as Ichigo's leg slid higher, hooking over his hip as they moved together. His hands roamed over Ichigo twitching body, fingers skimming lightly across a tightly coiled nipple as the barest hint of power drifting feather light between them.
"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" Ichigo moaned, eyes slipping shut under the shuddering pulse.
"It's a terrible way to discourage someone from sleeping with you," Urahara pointed out smoothly, catching Ichigo's chin with the backs of his fingers. "Which, you may recall, I have been attempting to do."
"And now?" Ichigo's voice was thick, tongue darting out to wet eager lips.
"Now, there are many young ears very close at hand," he laughed softly, breath gliding hot over Ichigo's skin. "And it wouldn't encourage you to be quiet, either."
"Fuck." Ichigo panted, lust and frustration rolling off him in waves. "That's not fair."
"Life rarely is." Urahara's chuckle turned dark, rolling his hips one last, aching time. "Welcome to the newfound joys of parenthood."
- 7
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- 9
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Shades of Grey