Fic - Still Time
Title: Still Time
Pairing: Urahara/Ukitake (I realize this makes no sense, just go with it)
Rating: PG-13 to R for...implied naughtiness? And some included~
Summary: Ukitake visits a friend and partakes in some much-deserved "relaxation."
Disclaimer: I'm not Kubo. I just play with his toys and hope I can make up a better plot than he does. Don't worry, I put them back when I'm done. Mostly not broken. *cough*
A/N: Written for a friend, wintaer , after we discovered how enjoyable our random escapades at adstringendum really are. Hope you like this! And that I didn't butcher Urahara too much.
The futon was meant for one, a fact that shouldn’t have stood out as much as it did. It was simple and narrow, just like any normal bed, and yet when Ukitake angled his face into the fabric, he could smell the indistinguishable scent that was Urahara. And still, amidst that almost tainted smell, the older Shinigami could detect something more familiar, though weaker to his senses because of the familiarity.
His own scent joined with Urahara’s.
The intimate joining of the two brought a smile to his lips and he buried his face more fully in the futon, tugging at the haori draped over his body. It wasn’t cold, but lying naked in another’s home while he was the guest felt funny and Ukitake was, admittedly, a little self-conscious, even after their previous activities. He didn’t have long to dwell on the events, however, for Urahara himself toed the door open just enough so he could squeeze into the room, teapot in one hand and two cups dangling from his fingers of the other hand. He also had discovered the decency to clothe himself, though his chest was still visible under his open jacket. But if that were strange, everything went back to normal with that striped hat resting easily on his head.
He closed the door in the same manner in which he opened it, raising an eyebrow at Ukitake curled up under his white garment. “There is no need for modesty, Jyuushirou,” he sing-songed, setting the tea and cups down on the floor. “I have already seen enough to supply my imagination with quite a bit.” Crossing his legs as he sat down, Urahara brought that familiar fan out of nowhere and flicked it open, fluttering it slightly in front of his face, waiting for the other man to move.
Which Ukitake did, slowly, his haori pooling around his waist as he sat up, pale, fading scars marring the middle of his chest. His hair fell around his face in sweaty clumps, and he had to rake his hand through his hair just to get the strands out of his eyes. “Ah, but if my clothing is so unneeded, then what does that say about your fan, Kisuke-san?” Ukitake tilted his head to the side, watching for the other’s reaction. “For my eyes were open to every movement on your face.”
Urahara stilled his hand, and thus the fan, lowering it a moment later to reveal his lips, quirked in amusement. “The mighty fish fights back.” With a flick of the wrist, the fan clicked closed. Urahara looked to the tea and poured them both a cup, leaning over to push Ukitake’s closer toward him so he wouldn’t have to move so far. The shopkeeper considered it courtesy, or maybe the payment Ukitake deserved for withstanding his teasing. At least for now. “I hope Jasmine is to your liking. Everything else was approaching the limits to their shelf life and Jyuushirou only deserves the best, and what so happened to be brand new.”
Ukitake reached for the proffered cup, a content noise rumbling in his throat as he absorbed the warmth into his hands. “How considerate of you.” Of course, none of the suspicion that might have been present in the captain’s words offended Urahara.
He was too distracted by that delicious sound, and the way Ukitake’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took a drink of that tea, as if baiting the shopkeeper to dare try and tame it. If Urahara didn’t know any better, he’d think the older man were a delicacy. And as far as he was concerned, Ukitake was.
All of this, of course, went unnoticed by the man in question, who daintily set the cup back down and closed his eyes, content with the progression of events. But as soon as he drew his hands back toward his lap, Ukitake saw a flash of dark green out of his periphery and felt a weight against his arm and side. “Comfortable?” he asked with a chuckle, not minding the closeness.
Urahara only nodded, then slipped down to lay his head in the captain’s lap, looking up into wide, brown eyes. Ukitake relaxed a moment later, letting one of his hands slip under that hat, knocking it to the floor, and into blond hair, gently threading through the strands, strands which stuck together much like his own did. In the back of his mind Ukitake announced that they matched, however messily the truth was. Seemingly satisfied with the treatment, Urahara hummed in appreciation, his own eyes sliding closed.
Ukitake's fingers continued their gentle caress of the man's scalp, forgetting entirely about the tea in front of them. This sort of peace was what he needed, what he had longed for during all of his long years alone. Just to have someone there to care for and be cared for by in return made Ukitake feel whole. He had always been told how loving he was and how big his heart was and what a shame it was that no one was there to fill it.
Ukitake had always smiled in answer, saying his heart just wanted to love everyone at once.
Cooling fingers on his chest brought him back to the present as he gasped at the sudden chill. He looked down to see the other man lightly, gingerly trailing his fingers over the scar, slightly raised on his chest. Ukitake wasn't sure what Urahara meant by that action.
"Does it still hurt?" His face was serious, eyes searching out Ukitake's. Concern resided in those gray depths, a look one did not automatically associate with the shopkeeper, but one that Ukitake appreciated, even if he felt it was a little too much.
He closed his eyes and took Urahara's hand in his own, pulling it down to rest on Urahara's chest. "It still twinges a little, but battle scars are wont to do such a thing." Especially when it was still somewhat recent, even with Unohana's healing.
"You're lying." Urahara didn't hesitate in answering and his face didn't change. Ukitake's brows knit together, silently wondering what brought his companion to that conclusion. The other raised an eyebrow. "You cringed earlier."
"I was enjoying the moment."
"During a particularly hard-"
"I am still healing, Kisuke!" Ukitake tried to look dutifully shocked at such a blunt announcement, but he couldn't help the soft chuckle that followed his words. What a pair they made. "It isn't every day you go through and survive such an experience."
Silence for a moment, and then Urahara pulled his hand from Ukitake's, reaching up again to press his palm to the healing wound. "Hm. Unohana-taichou could do better than this. She has done better in the past." He met Ukitake's eyes. "This is sloppy for her."
"I requested that the scar stay somewhat untouched." He hoped Urahara would understand his intentions, as a fellow fighter who did not leave that fight unscathed.
Of course, as luck would have it (or not have it, in Ukitake's case), Urahara moved his head to the side, questioningly. "Why?"
A sigh. "I let my guard down. If I had been paying attention, this may not have happened." He grasped Urahara's hand again, but did not pull it away. "It is a reminder not to do it again."
"Maa...," Urahara groaned loudly, pushing himself up and looking at Ukitake more levelly. "Ukitake-taichou thinks too much with his pride and not enough with his common sense." Leaning in, he brushes his lips along Ukitake's, so softly that the older Shinigami shuddered, even as the younger whispered from that position. "None of us were powerful enough to do enough, Jyuushirou." His lips drifted away from Ukitake's mouth and up to his ear, where he continued. "We are all lucky to have made it in such good of shape as we did." And he nipped that earlobe, eliciting a deep moan in Ukitake's throat. "Now stop taking the blame when it is not deserved."
As if Ukitake could argue with that. His hand tightened around Urahara's and he tried to focus on his breath, which suddenly betrayed everything by coming to him in irregular pants. Urahara heard all of it, felt all of it, and smiled as he kissed down Ukitake's creamy neck to the man's pronounced collarbone, lightly dragging his teeth over the strong line. That teasing sent shivers throughout Ukitake's body, as well as sent a hand to tangle into Urahara's hair, more forcefully than before.
And when a tongue joined the mix, as if in apology for any pain there could have been, a moan sneaked past Ukitake's lips, his head falling back, white hair slipping over his shoulders so gracefully, even in this act.
A moment later, Urahara kissed that adored feature and asked simply, "When will you be summoned back?" Of course, the words masked a more carnal question, one which Ukitake understand perfectly.
"There's...still enough time."
Urahara moved upward to press his lips to Ukitake's, chuckling as he pushed the other back onto the futon, their scents mixing once more in the celebration of bodies.