remix_redux
Since the reveal has gone up, here is the fic I wrote for the remix_redux, I am quite happy with how it turned out, even if it's a pairing I don't usually like. On the other hand, the orgininal story is fantastic and I enjoyed it remixing it a lot.
Title: Five (The What Exactly--? Remix)
Author: aviss
Summary: The step from sex friends to lovers is always a hard one to take.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Kubo Tite
Original story: Five by shayheyred
Notes: Thanks to my wonderful beta, moshesque, and to duare for the useful imput.
Five (The What Exactly--? Remix)
It has come to this…
Ishida looks at the silent figure standing on the other side of the room and sighs, wondering again how things have ended like this. Kurosaki is there--not talking, not even looking at him, just there--frozen by a simple question.
His deer-in-the-headlights look would have been endearing had it not hurt so much.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
He hadn't known his words would have that effect, or he would have never uttered them. Or maybe he would, he doesn't know anymore. Not knowing was hurting almost as much.
It isn't what they were doing there, at Ishida's house, in his room, at that precise moment. That is easy to know. They have been doing it for months already.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
No, it isn't the sex that is the problem. Ishida knows that. They are both hormonal teenagers that have to deal with less-than-normal situations on a daily basis. Relieving the stress and spending the excess energy with someone else is just a natural progression. The sex is easy, it's the rest that is confusing.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
It is the wrong question, he realizes. It should have been, How did we end up here, like this? But Ishida knows; he knows because he has been observing Kurosaki since the first time they met.
Because he has been wanting him since that time.
…
It was funny how the rest of their classmates were fooled by him, how they were unable to see past his orange hair and flashy clothes and that permanent scowl on his face. None of them could see the darkness lurking beneath that bright exterior.
But Ishida saw; he saw because he observed him. And he knew because they were opposites.
Kurosaki was darkness where he was light. Kurosaki was passion where he was restrain. Kurosaki was freedom, freedom to do as he pleased when he pleased. Ishida was stiff traditions and constricting pride. Shinigami. Quincy.
It was easy to see why they were fated to be enemies. That didn't explain, however, why he was unable to take his eyes off him. Not one moment, since they were put in the same class together, had Ishida been able to look away from him, to observe the changes brought by the shinigami, to see him move from reluctant avenger into active fighter.
And it was even better to realize Kurosaki himself was also completely blind. He had not seen, had not recognized Ishida. The light that surrounded him was so bright no one could see past it. But for the first time, Ishida wanted to be seen.
So Ishida had to make him see. Had to make him stop and look, really look, at that nerdy classmate that had always been beneath his notice.
And Kurosaki did, Kurosaki looked, Kurosaki saw.
…
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Ishida is beginning to feel awkward, and Kurosaki still refuses to meet his eyes or answer his question. He's pulling at a thread in one of his sleeves with single-minded intensity, and Ishida is sorely tempted to go there, strip the bloody thing off him and sew it before it comes apart. Instead he just looks, biting his lower lip and wondering if his lips would feel as dry to Kurosaki as they feel to him.
Not that Kurosaki knows--they have not kissed, not even once.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
He hates that the question keeps repeating in his mind, and he hates even more the silence in the room that makes the question almost boom and reverberate inside his head.
In the silence he can hear it clearly, almost as clearly as he could hear Kurosaki's sound before.
…
It had been driving Ishida mad. Since that day, the day in which they fought the Menos Grande together--the day in which Kurosaki fought the Menos to make up for his miscalculation--he had been unable to get close to the other boy without hearing it.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
It was maddening. The low throbbing noise that seemed to follow Kurosaki around, drowning almost every other sound and making Ishida think he was about to lose his mind. Not that he wanted to get close to the other boy, but they were classmates, and they had to fight together sometimes; it was impossible like that.
And there he was again--Boom. Boom. Boom.--Kurosaki was approaching.
Ishida scowled. He wasn't in the mood and he could feel a headache beginning. Just a look at his face, and he knew Kurosaki was in a foul mood as well. Well, that wasn't his problem, and besides, Kurosaki seemed to be in a foul mood all the time.
He wasn't expecting it when the other boy walked straight up to him ignoring everyone else around them. Shoving his face right at him, shouted "Cut it the hell out!"
Ishida blinked, confused, and then his brows furrowed in pain. Boom. Boom. Boom. He pushed past Kurosaki, trying to put some space between him and that infernal noise before it split his head in two. The next thing he knew, Kurosaki had him against a wall and was practically snarling in his face.
"Back off, Shinigami," Ishida growled, pushing at him.
"Me? You back off, Ishida, and cut it with that noise, will you? You're driving me insane!"
That made him pause for a second. What was Kurosaki talking about?
"You're doing it again!" Kurosaki shouted, and then he covered his ears with a moan of pain, taking a step back. "Stop it, Ishida!"
Ishida would have said something, but the noise was increasing in volume and he also clutched at his head. "You stop it, Kurosaki, make it stop!"
"Me? I'm not doing anything! It's you who makes that buzzing noise all the time!"
"Buzzing noise?" Ishida stopped for an instant and listened. Boom. Boom. Boom.
No. Wait. There was a pattern there.
He closed his eyes, ignoring everything but the noise Kurosaki made, forcing his mind to move past the pain.
"Ishida?"
He ignored Kurosaki's voice. Boom. Boom. Boom. There. It wasn't noise. It was…
"Music!" he said, his eyes snapping open in awe.
Kurosaki was looking at him with a scowl, as if he had lost his mind, which he probably had.
"Listen to it, Kurosaki! Really listen to it!" he said excitedly.
Kurosaki did, cocking his head to the side and listening. Ishida could see the play of emotions on his face when he recognized what he was hearing. "You--" Kurosaki whispered, his voice tinted with amazement. "you sound like a violin."
"You are a cello."
Ishida didn't say it, but together they resonated in harmony.
…
Ishida supposes that is part of the problem.
They had done so many things together they are past blushing. He knows the taste and texture of almost every single inch of Kurosaki's body, and Kurosaki has had his hands and tongue in places that are not exactly hygienic. They have brought each other to climax countless times, rutted, thrust, sucked, jerked off and so many other things…
Their mouths have not been officially introduced, though.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Bite. Bite. Bite. His poor abused lower lip will start bleeding soon if he doesn't stop. Only he can't, he doesn’t know how. Ishida wishes Kurosaki would look up at him, say something that would break the silence and put his mind at ease.
He doesn't.
Ishida wants to extend his hand and touch him. Just touch him, draw some comfort from the fact that Kurosaki is still there, and has not run away.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
But he can't. Wasn't his desire to touch him and be touched by him what got them in this situation in the first place?
…
Fighting hollows with Kurosaki was guaranteed to bring nothing but pain to Ishida.
That didn't stop him, though.
The days he was lucky, the pain would be just physical. A cut, or a bruise, or some other type of injury he would need to invent a ridiculous excuse for. Ever since he got involved with Kurosaki and that stupid shinigami business, he had gotten intimately acquainted with pain.
That pain, he didn't mind. He knew how to deal with it, and sometimes even welcomed it.
It was the other pain what worried him. The constant ache he felt whenever he was with the other boy. That was the one that was almost unbearable and getting worse every day.
"Ishida! Watch out, you moron!"
The warning was a bit too late; Ishida was able to finish the hollow with an arrow, but not fast enough to avoid getting sliced up in the process.
"Fuck!" The pain washed over him, and he grimaced seeing the blood seeping through his clothes. Red over white. That would stain. That was what he got for getting distracted during a fight.
The last hollow of the afternoon fell under Kurosaki's huge sword, and he turned to Ishida, a concerned expression on his face.
The pain came back, fiercer than the one from his wound.
"Are you ok, Ishida?"
He gritted his teeth and nodded. It was nothing, he'd had worse.
"Let me see." Kurosaki was by his side, his hands on him trying to asses the damage.
It took all his willpower not to flinch. He didn't want Kurosaki's hands on him, not even when the touch was gentle and concerned like that. He would much rather just feel the pain of the wound and let the blood swell and run down his chest. Anything so he didn't have to feel Kurosaki's touch.
"I'm fine," He said, not looking at the other boy and willing his body not to show any response.
It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done. Kurosaki's hands were warm and gentle, and Ishida was yearning for them, had been since the first time they touched and he felt that unique energy flowing through his body. Ever since that day, Ishida knew he was lost. He wanted the other boy, wanted to feel him, wanted to touch him, to be touched by him. And the pain of that desire was way worse than any a hollow could inflict.
Taking a deep breath, Ishida concentrated in that pain and took a step back from Kurosaki.
"I told you I'm fine," He lied, feeling the burn on his chest and letting it clear his mind. "I don't feel it." And he tried to leave under Kurosaki's suspicious stare.
He didn't get very far.
…
Yes, they have touched but they have never kissed.
Ishida bites his lower lip harder, until he feels the skin breaking and a thin line of blood forming on his lip. He licks it absentmindedly.
Kurosaki looks up, scowling. "Will you stop that already? You're going to bite the damm thing off!"
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
No, they've never kissed. They haven't even mentioned it. Kissing is something you do with the girl you like, not the boy you relieve tension with. This Ishida knows. And it has never been an issue. Not until today.
He's not sure what kind of impulse made him stop Kurosaki when he was about to lie on top of him, his hands already opening Ishida's shirt. The only thing he knows is that he had been unable to take his eyes off Kurosaki's lips, wondering how those lips would taste, and if he would be a good kisser, and if he had kissed any girl before; and he had to stop him, and ask that bloody question.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Kurosaki was off him and on the other side of the bed before he could recognize the ball of lead settling in his stomach as fear.
And now there is only silence stretching between the two of them and the empty bed. Ishida looks at the bed and tastes the blood on his lips and thinks about that day.
…
The smell of blood was almost overpowering in the small and warm room. Blood, and sweat, and fear and some other scents Ishida didn't know and didn't want to know before. His. Kurosaki's scent all over him.
Ishida gasped and arched up, seeking more contact, more friction, all the time wondering why didn't he stop Kurosaki from going back home with him.
He should have, and now it was too late.
A moan. He didn't know if it came out of his mouth or the other boy's. Lips on his neck, and his nostrils filled with that unknown scent he could only describe as his. Burying his nose in the orange spikes, Ishida inhaled deeply.
The pain from his injury was forgotten in the wake of their teenage passion, even if it was that same injury that brought them together. Kurosaki, concerned about his well being, had followed him home; Ishida, unsettled by his touch and his own desire, hadn't protested much.
The rest of the events were not completely clear in his mind, and at that moment Ishida didn't want to think about it either. He could feel Kurosaki--Ichigo, his name is Ichigo--on top of him, touching him, breathing against his neck, rubbing. He could feel that strong, warm body covering his, and the only thing he could come up with was finally.
It didn't last long. They were two hormonal teenagers and just had a trying afternoon, it was normal it ended in an embarrassingly short time. His only regret was he didn't have the chance to taste Kurosaki's lips.
It didn't matter. Now that they had done it, Ishida was sure it wasn't going to be the only time.
…
He was right that time, it wasn't the only time. But that chance never seemed to come up.
Kurosaki's lips.
Ishida looks at them again and wonders what will happen if he--
--and before he can finish that though he is on top of the bed, grabbing the other boy by the collar of his ridiculous sweater and pulling him close.
"Ishi--" he can't finish his sentence.
Finally, Ishida's mind supplies. Kurosaki's lips are soft and warm, as he was expecting, and he tastes of colours and sensations and sounds and things that have no name but make sense in Ishida's mind. And Kurosaki tastes of insecurity and inexperience and also strength and loyalty and beauty and pain and pleasure.
And then Kurosaki kisses back, opening his mouth to allow Ishida access and letting him taste him to the fullest. And Ichigo--not Kurosaki, not anymore--tastes of passion and desire and doubts and youth and burdens and freedom, and all those tastes Ishida knows, they're like mine, he's like me.
And while he deepens the kiss, lying down again in the bed, he finds a new taste in Ichigo's mouth and body.
Smiling against his mouth Ishida thinks it maybe, just maybe, it's the taste of love.
~Fin~
Title: Five (The What Exactly--? Remix)
Author: aviss
Summary: The step from sex friends to lovers is always a hard one to take.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Kubo Tite
Original story: Five by shayheyred
Notes: Thanks to my wonderful beta, moshesque, and to duare for the useful imput.
Five (The What Exactly--? Remix)
It has come to this…
Ishida looks at the silent figure standing on the other side of the room and sighs, wondering again how things have ended like this. Kurosaki is there--not talking, not even looking at him, just there--frozen by a simple question.
His deer-in-the-headlights look would have been endearing had it not hurt so much.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
He hadn't known his words would have that effect, or he would have never uttered them. Or maybe he would, he doesn't know anymore. Not knowing was hurting almost as much.
It isn't what they were doing there, at Ishida's house, in his room, at that precise moment. That is easy to know. They have been doing it for months already.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
No, it isn't the sex that is the problem. Ishida knows that. They are both hormonal teenagers that have to deal with less-than-normal situations on a daily basis. Relieving the stress and spending the excess energy with someone else is just a natural progression. The sex is easy, it's the rest that is confusing.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
It is the wrong question, he realizes. It should have been, How did we end up here, like this? But Ishida knows; he knows because he has been observing Kurosaki since the first time they met.
Because he has been wanting him since that time.
…
It was funny how the rest of their classmates were fooled by him, how they were unable to see past his orange hair and flashy clothes and that permanent scowl on his face. None of them could see the darkness lurking beneath that bright exterior.
But Ishida saw; he saw because he observed him. And he knew because they were opposites.
Kurosaki was darkness where he was light. Kurosaki was passion where he was restrain. Kurosaki was freedom, freedom to do as he pleased when he pleased. Ishida was stiff traditions and constricting pride. Shinigami. Quincy.
It was easy to see why they were fated to be enemies. That didn't explain, however, why he was unable to take his eyes off him. Not one moment, since they were put in the same class together, had Ishida been able to look away from him, to observe the changes brought by the shinigami, to see him move from reluctant avenger into active fighter.
And it was even better to realize Kurosaki himself was also completely blind. He had not seen, had not recognized Ishida. The light that surrounded him was so bright no one could see past it. But for the first time, Ishida wanted to be seen.
So Ishida had to make him see. Had to make him stop and look, really look, at that nerdy classmate that had always been beneath his notice.
And Kurosaki did, Kurosaki looked, Kurosaki saw.
…
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Ishida is beginning to feel awkward, and Kurosaki still refuses to meet his eyes or answer his question. He's pulling at a thread in one of his sleeves with single-minded intensity, and Ishida is sorely tempted to go there, strip the bloody thing off him and sew it before it comes apart. Instead he just looks, biting his lower lip and wondering if his lips would feel as dry to Kurosaki as they feel to him.
Not that Kurosaki knows--they have not kissed, not even once.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
He hates that the question keeps repeating in his mind, and he hates even more the silence in the room that makes the question almost boom and reverberate inside his head.
In the silence he can hear it clearly, almost as clearly as he could hear Kurosaki's sound before.
…
It had been driving Ishida mad. Since that day, the day in which they fought the Menos Grande together--the day in which Kurosaki fought the Menos to make up for his miscalculation--he had been unable to get close to the other boy without hearing it.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
It was maddening. The low throbbing noise that seemed to follow Kurosaki around, drowning almost every other sound and making Ishida think he was about to lose his mind. Not that he wanted to get close to the other boy, but they were classmates, and they had to fight together sometimes; it was impossible like that.
And there he was again--Boom. Boom. Boom.--Kurosaki was approaching.
Ishida scowled. He wasn't in the mood and he could feel a headache beginning. Just a look at his face, and he knew Kurosaki was in a foul mood as well. Well, that wasn't his problem, and besides, Kurosaki seemed to be in a foul mood all the time.
He wasn't expecting it when the other boy walked straight up to him ignoring everyone else around them. Shoving his face right at him, shouted "Cut it the hell out!"
Ishida blinked, confused, and then his brows furrowed in pain. Boom. Boom. Boom. He pushed past Kurosaki, trying to put some space between him and that infernal noise before it split his head in two. The next thing he knew, Kurosaki had him against a wall and was practically snarling in his face.
"Back off, Shinigami," Ishida growled, pushing at him.
"Me? You back off, Ishida, and cut it with that noise, will you? You're driving me insane!"
That made him pause for a second. What was Kurosaki talking about?
"You're doing it again!" Kurosaki shouted, and then he covered his ears with a moan of pain, taking a step back. "Stop it, Ishida!"
Ishida would have said something, but the noise was increasing in volume and he also clutched at his head. "You stop it, Kurosaki, make it stop!"
"Me? I'm not doing anything! It's you who makes that buzzing noise all the time!"
"Buzzing noise?" Ishida stopped for an instant and listened. Boom. Boom. Boom.
No. Wait. There was a pattern there.
He closed his eyes, ignoring everything but the noise Kurosaki made, forcing his mind to move past the pain.
"Ishida?"
He ignored Kurosaki's voice. Boom. Boom. Boom. There. It wasn't noise. It was…
"Music!" he said, his eyes snapping open in awe.
Kurosaki was looking at him with a scowl, as if he had lost his mind, which he probably had.
"Listen to it, Kurosaki! Really listen to it!" he said excitedly.
Kurosaki did, cocking his head to the side and listening. Ishida could see the play of emotions on his face when he recognized what he was hearing. "You--" Kurosaki whispered, his voice tinted with amazement. "you sound like a violin."
"You are a cello."
Ishida didn't say it, but together they resonated in harmony.
…
Ishida supposes that is part of the problem.
They had done so many things together they are past blushing. He knows the taste and texture of almost every single inch of Kurosaki's body, and Kurosaki has had his hands and tongue in places that are not exactly hygienic. They have brought each other to climax countless times, rutted, thrust, sucked, jerked off and so many other things…
Their mouths have not been officially introduced, though.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Bite. Bite. Bite. His poor abused lower lip will start bleeding soon if he doesn't stop. Only he can't, he doesn’t know how. Ishida wishes Kurosaki would look up at him, say something that would break the silence and put his mind at ease.
He doesn't.
Ishida wants to extend his hand and touch him. Just touch him, draw some comfort from the fact that Kurosaki is still there, and has not run away.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
But he can't. Wasn't his desire to touch him and be touched by him what got them in this situation in the first place?
…
Fighting hollows with Kurosaki was guaranteed to bring nothing but pain to Ishida.
That didn't stop him, though.
The days he was lucky, the pain would be just physical. A cut, or a bruise, or some other type of injury he would need to invent a ridiculous excuse for. Ever since he got involved with Kurosaki and that stupid shinigami business, he had gotten intimately acquainted with pain.
That pain, he didn't mind. He knew how to deal with it, and sometimes even welcomed it.
It was the other pain what worried him. The constant ache he felt whenever he was with the other boy. That was the one that was almost unbearable and getting worse every day.
"Ishida! Watch out, you moron!"
The warning was a bit too late; Ishida was able to finish the hollow with an arrow, but not fast enough to avoid getting sliced up in the process.
"Fuck!" The pain washed over him, and he grimaced seeing the blood seeping through his clothes. Red over white. That would stain. That was what he got for getting distracted during a fight.
The last hollow of the afternoon fell under Kurosaki's huge sword, and he turned to Ishida, a concerned expression on his face.
The pain came back, fiercer than the one from his wound.
"Are you ok, Ishida?"
He gritted his teeth and nodded. It was nothing, he'd had worse.
"Let me see." Kurosaki was by his side, his hands on him trying to asses the damage.
It took all his willpower not to flinch. He didn't want Kurosaki's hands on him, not even when the touch was gentle and concerned like that. He would much rather just feel the pain of the wound and let the blood swell and run down his chest. Anything so he didn't have to feel Kurosaki's touch.
"I'm fine," He said, not looking at the other boy and willing his body not to show any response.
It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done. Kurosaki's hands were warm and gentle, and Ishida was yearning for them, had been since the first time they touched and he felt that unique energy flowing through his body. Ever since that day, Ishida knew he was lost. He wanted the other boy, wanted to feel him, wanted to touch him, to be touched by him. And the pain of that desire was way worse than any a hollow could inflict.
Taking a deep breath, Ishida concentrated in that pain and took a step back from Kurosaki.
"I told you I'm fine," He lied, feeling the burn on his chest and letting it clear his mind. "I don't feel it." And he tried to leave under Kurosaki's suspicious stare.
He didn't get very far.
…
Yes, they have touched but they have never kissed.
Ishida bites his lower lip harder, until he feels the skin breaking and a thin line of blood forming on his lip. He licks it absentmindedly.
Kurosaki looks up, scowling. "Will you stop that already? You're going to bite the damm thing off!"
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
No, they've never kissed. They haven't even mentioned it. Kissing is something you do with the girl you like, not the boy you relieve tension with. This Ishida knows. And it has never been an issue. Not until today.
He's not sure what kind of impulse made him stop Kurosaki when he was about to lie on top of him, his hands already opening Ishida's shirt. The only thing he knows is that he had been unable to take his eyes off Kurosaki's lips, wondering how those lips would taste, and if he would be a good kisser, and if he had kissed any girl before; and he had to stop him, and ask that bloody question.
"What exactly are we doing here, Kurosaki?"
Kurosaki was off him and on the other side of the bed before he could recognize the ball of lead settling in his stomach as fear.
And now there is only silence stretching between the two of them and the empty bed. Ishida looks at the bed and tastes the blood on his lips and thinks about that day.
…
The smell of blood was almost overpowering in the small and warm room. Blood, and sweat, and fear and some other scents Ishida didn't know and didn't want to know before. His. Kurosaki's scent all over him.
Ishida gasped and arched up, seeking more contact, more friction, all the time wondering why didn't he stop Kurosaki from going back home with him.
He should have, and now it was too late.
A moan. He didn't know if it came out of his mouth or the other boy's. Lips on his neck, and his nostrils filled with that unknown scent he could only describe as his. Burying his nose in the orange spikes, Ishida inhaled deeply.
The pain from his injury was forgotten in the wake of their teenage passion, even if it was that same injury that brought them together. Kurosaki, concerned about his well being, had followed him home; Ishida, unsettled by his touch and his own desire, hadn't protested much.
The rest of the events were not completely clear in his mind, and at that moment Ishida didn't want to think about it either. He could feel Kurosaki--Ichigo, his name is Ichigo--on top of him, touching him, breathing against his neck, rubbing. He could feel that strong, warm body covering his, and the only thing he could come up with was finally.
It didn't last long. They were two hormonal teenagers and just had a trying afternoon, it was normal it ended in an embarrassingly short time. His only regret was he didn't have the chance to taste Kurosaki's lips.
It didn't matter. Now that they had done it, Ishida was sure it wasn't going to be the only time.
…
He was right that time, it wasn't the only time. But that chance never seemed to come up.
Kurosaki's lips.
Ishida looks at them again and wonders what will happen if he--
--and before he can finish that though he is on top of the bed, grabbing the other boy by the collar of his ridiculous sweater and pulling him close.
"Ishi--" he can't finish his sentence.
Finally, Ishida's mind supplies. Kurosaki's lips are soft and warm, as he was expecting, and he tastes of colours and sensations and sounds and things that have no name but make sense in Ishida's mind. And Kurosaki tastes of insecurity and inexperience and also strength and loyalty and beauty and pain and pleasure.
And then Kurosaki kisses back, opening his mouth to allow Ishida access and letting him taste him to the fullest. And Ichigo--not Kurosaki, not anymore--tastes of passion and desire and doubts and youth and burdens and freedom, and all those tastes Ishida knows, they're like mine, he's like me.
And while he deepens the kiss, lying down again in the bed, he finds a new taste in Ichigo's mouth and body.
Smiling against his mouth Ishida thinks it maybe, just maybe, it's the taste of love.
~Fin~