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
- 7
- 8
- 9
… If anything should happen, I guess I wish you well

A little bit of heaven but a little bit of hell…

He had swore. He had swore Ichigo would never, ever know.
But right now, with the very star of his wildest fantasies draped all over him, their legs entwined in a heated denim mess on the couch, Toshiro is having an oh-so-very hard time hiding his enthusiasm. "Kurosaki…"
Ichigo huffs right in his ear. The puff of warm, wet air makes Toshiro shiver in ecstasy. "What do I have to do to have you calling me by my first name? Marry you?"
Well, that would be – no! Toshiro gulps audibly. How the fuck have they ended up in such a compromising predicament anyway? Oh, right. Renji wanted to celebrate his admission to the police force, which leads to a merry private house party with alcohol streaming sans control, a puking Rukia cursing her life in the bathroom and two very pissed off neighbours who, unappreciative of Matsumoto's good-hearted offer to join for a drink, resolved to call the police instead. That leads to an out of himself Kuchiki Byakuya currently giving Newbie Renji a piece of his mind, while Momo… – Ichigo writhes on top of him, cutting Toshiro's train of thought for good.
To be honest, Toshiro knows the redhead hasn't had much to drink, at least comparing to the rest of them. And he's perfectly aware of Ichigo's high booze tolerance, too. Nevertheless, he figures, having the alcohol card to play at the given moment would be a lot less awkward than trying to find a reasonable explanation for anything they might end up doing tonight. Assuming Toshiro doesn't faint like a bloody girl before they get the chance to actually do something, that is. "Geroff me, you drunk mutt." He grumbles, then makes a half-hearted attempt at pushing Ichigo away.
Too bad the carrot-top is apparently too stupid to recognize a safety measure when he's presented with one. " 'm not drunk. A little tipsy, maybe." He claims, thus royally spoiling Toshiro's getaway plan. How sweet. To make their situation even worse, Ichigo buries his face in the crook of the smaller boy's neck, draws a deep breath and exhales contentedly. "This is comfy."
Toshiro lets out a heartfelt snort, eager to mask his inner agitation with much more fitting sarcasm. "Glad to provide a good seat. I don't presume you'd like that armchair better?"
Much to the footballer's surprise – Toshiro had reckoned Ichigo knew better than to answer rhetorical questions – the med student shakes his head no. "This, all this 's comfortable. Lying here together and all. 'tis nice."
Oh. Ow. Again, Toshiro gulps hard, a surge of heat rising to his cheeks. Okay, let him summarize: he's lying on the couch with the same man he's pictured in various states of undress in his dreams right on top of him, murmuring sweet nonsense in his ear and, and breathing those hot breaths of his and, and, and wriggling and shifting in ways that are so not helping Toshiro's downward friend to stay uninterested. And the worst part about this, Ichigo finds it comfortable. I'm having a heart attack any moment while he might just fall asleep on me! Life's not bloody fair. Screwing his eyes tight shut in a poor attempt to keep control, Toshiro lets out an embarrassingly shaky sigh. "Ichigo…"
That warrants a happy hum and – oh gods, is Ichigo purring now? "Mm, my name. Like it."
But so far so good. It's not like they've never been close before, given how touchy-feely the redhead is with him all the time (mostly since he's figured out Toshiro's utter distaste for physical intimacy). So far so good, the captain keeps telling himself. Who cares if his heart might just pound out of his chest, or his balls tighten to the point of – so far so good. So far…
So far being till Ichigo shifts again, this time leaving no room for alibis or naïve excuses. Toshiro hears a strangled moan erupt from his own lips, which is funny, really, since he was sure by now he had no air left in his lungs to make a sound. "Ichigo?" He sputters, because bloody buggering fuck, he's hard. Ichigo's boner is pressing against his hip, and it's all Toshiro can do not to bolt screaming in panic.
Au contraire, the carrot-top seems shamefully at ease. "Mh?" He mumbles distractedly before wriggling again and… "Oh." Toshiro can practically feel the other man grin against his skin. "What an interestin' twist."
Okay, yeah, they both are hard, so what? Doesn't mean –
– anything, ohmygod, holyfuck, ishedoingwhatIthinkhesdoing? Ichigo grinds his hips down and Toshiro is positive that's not the kind of move you make unconsciously. The athlete opens his mouth to say something, what, what, what the hell d'you think you could say at a time like this?, but Ichigo's hand picks that very moment to slip down the front of his constricting jeans, and Toshiro is lost.
In a moment his legs are spread and they're rubbing up against each other, hard, fast, as if wanting to tear the upholstery and the fabric of their pants with mind-numbing friction. Toshiro's eyelids feel heavy and eventually slide close. As darkness envelopes him, every single sensation is amplified – the burning heat in his groin as well as Ichigo's feverish panting in his ear, the boy's lips grazing his neck ever so slightly, never kissing, tantalizingly.
The soccer player is disoriented (what are they doing and why, and how, and what the fuck, seriously?) but can't help arching up to meet each and every thrust, his fingers hooking onto Ichigo's loops to drive his pace, keeping him closer and closer and why exactly aren't they kissing, if they are to do this they should at least be kissing, and, and why are there so many clothes involved anyway? Before, before they reach the end – 'cuz it's near, fuck, so near it's not even funny – Toshiro demands more contact, more touching, more. Anything to make this real. Anything to make this more than random stress relieving between friends, even though he's not going to raise his hopes, for this is exactly what Ichigo must think they're doing. So Toshiro may die for a kiss while the man he's fallen head over heels in… lust with is using him as little more than a mattress.
But he can cope with this. He can live with this, if only, if only –
The moment he finally gathers enough courage to cup Ichigo's hardness through his jeans and pull at the zipper, the redhead snatches his hand away.
Later, it's all Toshiro can do to reassure himself – he wasn't rejected, Ichigo just brushed him off unconsciously in the heat of the moment, and what is he complaining about again? Wasn't his mate's face as he came the most exquisite sight Toshiro's ever beheld?
It doesn't work though.
When it's over (and yes, of course Toshiro shoots in his pants like a twelve-year-old, but it's not so bad if Ichigo does too, right?), the taller boy wastes little time pulling off his now quite sticky human couch, an infuriatingly endearing smile on his lips. "Better go change, otherwise we'll never hear the end of it in the morning!" Ichigo pecks him someplace between his cheek and temple, then leaps up and exits, leaving Toshiro still trying to process whatwhenhowwhyfuck.

January 10th
"I think I'm in love with you."
Ichigo's reaction is simply priceless. Assuming one would want to pay for a heartbreak, that is. The youth rises to a sitting position, buries his face into his palms and whimpers something which sounds quite like: "Fuck, no."
That, despite Toshiro's inner claims his heart has hardened enough to bear this, stings like hell. He takes a deep breath and lowers his head. Not a great idea all in all: his eyes lay on the couch Ichigo has arranged to sleep on, the very same couch they… Toshiro hisses. "Sorry. I was – I wasn't going to tell you. And I shouldn't have." But last night, what with the private delayed party and, and the hug, and, and you said you like me…
The way Ichigo shakes his head makes the smaller boy want to hit him. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who – I am sorry."
Empty, empty, his words are so empty. Toshiro hears himself speak before he even realizes it. "After last year…" Ichigo stares intently and he clears his throat. "Last month. At Renji's party."
"What about that?"
Chill. To the bone. "You – you don't…?" It dawns on him. He doesn't remember. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that sodding night for a single minute since it happened and he doesn't even remember. That settles it then. Toshiro's voice sounds thin as glass as he rectifies. "Nothing. Forgive me. Forget I even spoke."
It's almost funny how Ichigo grabs his arm to prevent him from leaving, given that Toshiro feels nowhere near strong enough to move a muscle at the moment. "I think it's better if we sort things out now." The carrot-top breathes through gritted teeth, and the other boy knows he's not going to like whatever's coming next. "Even though I don't want to do this any more than you do."
"Ichigo." Toshiro yields to temptation and at least tries to set up a safety net to cushion the impact as he begins falling down. Call it preservation instinct if you will. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. I understand." Then he gets ready to stand up, but the fiery redhead won't have it.
"Damnit, Toshiro!" Those chocolate brown eyes are glaring daggers. If it were later in the morning, were they in plain daylight and all, Toshiro figures Ichigo would be yelling by now. That he's forced to keep his voice down in spite of how thoroughly pissed off he looks sort of amuses the white-haired captain. A sour, even grotesque kind of amusement, sure, whatever. "How can you act like you don't give a shit even about something like this?"
"What else should I do then?" The words leave his mouth in a venomous spit before Toshiro can hold them in, but, screw it, there's no turning back now. Cat's out of the bag, he's got nothing more to lose and may he be damned if he doesn't make the most out of this hopelessness. Digging his knees down on the stuffed cushion, right between Ichigo's slightly parted legs, Toshiro gets on all fours on the couch, his face mere inches away from the med student's. "What would change the way you feel?" He presses, and the words all but clash against the redhead's lips because of the close proximity.
Now – Toshiro thinks, and it's like a bloody epiphany – now he might just kiss him. Would be nothing more than stealing that kiss Ichigo owes him anyway and, damn it all, at least that's bound to make a change. The moment he leans in, teal eyes fluttering close as tough in a state of trance, the redhead shies away in rejection. "Don't." Ichigo's voice sounds awfully hoarse.
Toshiro pulls back as well. Impassive, he stares as the medic student takes his head in his hands and lets out a frustrated growl. "Goddamnit!" Then a glint of what the prodigy identifies as hope passes through Ichigo's eyes. "Look, you can't possibly be in love with me. Perhaps you're just… confusing things a little? We're friends."
So, Kurosaki is not a genius, but to think this would be his logic… Toshiro isn't sure how he should be feeling anymore. Numbness is taking over the stinging ache in his chest, shutting up the voice screaming inside of him to just leave it be already and go find someplace to curl up and die. He's barely conscious of his own words as he replies in a cold, steady monotone. "If you really are my friend then you won't offend me further by doubting my feelings."
That must strike a nerve, for Ichigo falls completely silent, his head bowed in mortification. The captain drinks in the picture of utter defeat for a few more moments before raising to his feet. "Good night." He murmurs a little more gravely than intended and heads out, not expecting to be stopped this time.
Right, he's not expecting Ichigo to call after him. So it really is pathetic how disappointed he feels upon shutting the door behind himself. Blew it. Blew it, blew it, you fucking blew everything. That's just what you get for being unable to bottle it up some more. You little shit reap what you sowed.
Toshiro was hoping to make it to his bedroom before tears started flowing – he slides against the wall of the corridor and slumps down on the floor, pitifully reaching his breaking point. Looks like Toshiro was being delusional after all.

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Happy Ending