Fic: Roses and Hello (2/2)
Title: Roses and Hello
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Notes: This is solely for Jackie. A long time ago, she wrote a wishlist, and I determined to fulfill some of those wishes. I wrote the first part of this two-part fic over a year ago, and this is the part that even remotely has something to do with her wishlist (number five, btw). I apologize deeply, sincerely, humbly, that it took me this long to complete your fic, Jackie. ILU forever. Happy birthday (almost).
Part One: So Longs and Ashes
When Ichigo awoke, it took him a long time to get his bearings. Opening his eyes was the first challenge, then focusing on objects, and then recognizing them.
How bizarre, he thought muzzily. The ceiling bore no resemblance to Urahara's place, nor anywhere else he knew. He searched his memory for any room on Earth or Soul Society he had ever been in that would fit the same description: extremely white. Bzzt. Does not compute. So he refocused his attention to himself, and the unbelievable pain in his chest.
And suddenly, unmercifully, he remembered. He remembered fighting Grimmjow; a hand ripping into his torso, searching for his heart. He remembered white and red, red, red. He gasped and sterile air dried out his raw throat and lungs. He remembered beams of blue-white light tearing through the sky as he faded, gurgling up bubbles of blood with every breath. They looked like Quincy arrows but couldn't be. Couldn't be. He remembered Ishida just hours before he encountered Grimmjow, how they had fought and fucked ruthlessly in a dingy alley. He closed his eyes tight against the vivid memory.
He could guess, at least, at his location. Karakura hospital. The gentle beeping of various monitors and the inhuman, musty smell made that assumption easy. How he got there was another matter. He couldn't fathom it, didn't remember even coming close to having the upper hand in his battle. If someone from Soul Society had found him, why would they take him to a hospital, instead of anywhere that made sense?
Before he could contemplate the situation more deeply, a memory that had been just out of reach sprang to the forefront: Inoue. Oh, shit. Inoue.
Every muscle in his body clenched. He was in no condition to go after her, still had no idea where she was, and couldn't get to anyone who might help. He clenched his teeth and ground his fists into his bed, stupid goddamn hospital bed, stupid fucking everything that was in the way of him storming out of here and directly to Inoue's rescue.
Ichigo cursed the hospital and everyone in it in the most colorful language his muddled brain could imagine. It wasn't until a solid couple of minutes after his rant that he realized he wasn't alone in the room. At first, he felt intensely awkward. Who would sit there quietly, watching him curse and go through fits and never say a word?
Slowly, he turned his head. Of all the people he imagined he might see sitting against the wall, legs tucked up under his chin, Ishida was probably in the bottom ten. Maybe even five. But there he was, looking tired and unkempt.
Ichigo figured maybe he was dreaming (possibly having an incredibly annoying and unpleasant hallucination) until Ishida - who had been looking him in the eye the whole time - finally spoke.
“So. It looks like you'll be all right. I should have known you were too stupid to know when you ought to be dead.”
What? Asshole. Ichigo's anger was overridden, however, by a realization that was partly comforting but mostly confusing. “You really were there - I didn't imagine the arrows.”
Ishida turned his head away. “No, you didn't imagine the arrows.”
“But - but - against Grimmjow? How the fuck did you beat him?”
A smug smile pulled at the corner of Ishida's mouth, but it lacked conviction. “You've always underestimated the power of the Quincies.”
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
By way of completely refusing to display even one microspeck of maturity, Ishida just turned his head in the opposite direction and chewed on his thumbnail. Ichigo huffed. Try another line of questioning, then.
“Thanks for saving my life, I guess, if you really did.” Ishida's brows drew together to give him that pissy look that made Ichigo feel very good about himself. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ichigo cut him off: “Why didn't you just take me to Urahara's, though? It's really inconvenient to be at the hospital.”
Ishida's mouth snapped shut. He fiddled with a loose thread on his chair and took on an air that, if it had been on anyone else, Ichigo would have sworn was humility. “It didn't occur to me. This was the first place I thought of, so I brought you here.”
Ichigo didn't have a response for that. He imagined being in Ishida's position of finding the other boy - or any one of his friends - bloody and dying, and he couldn't find it in himself to rebuke Ishida, crabby as he was. Ichigo thought he probably would have had enough sense to take a person with supernatural injuries to Urahara, but he could let it go this once.
“Have you made up your mind?” He couldn't bring himself to voice the actual question directly. He assumed Ishida, smart as he presented himself, knew he meant about rescuing Inoue together. The issue that was more important than Ichigo's injuries, far more important than the tension between them.
Once more, Ishida averted his eyes. Ichigo choked on his frustration. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. It wouldn't do any good to get let himself get this angry. He couldn't strangle Ishida; he didn't currently have the strength or range of motion that would require.
If he kept his eyes closed and tried to think about other things (Inoue, Inoue, Inoue), he could almost forget the other boy was in the room and battle his anger down into a manageable ball of molten hot liquid rage, as opposed to an all-out slavering inferno demon that would sear his eyeballs with its intensity.
At least, he could until he heard Ishida shifting around. And then felt cool hands pushing at him. He opened his eyes to see Ishida putting his knee on the mattress as though he were joining Ichigo.
“What - the fuck - are you doing?” It looked like he was going to fucking climb in bed with him, what the ass.
“The chairs are too uncomfortable to sleep in, and your'e taking up the entire bed.” Sure enough, Ishida brought his other leg onto the mattress and pushed harder against Ichigo's shoulder.
“It's my bed! I'm supposed to take it all up!”
Ishida peered down at him as though he had some right to be annoyed. “You might show a little appreciation. I did save your life.”
What a little shit. Trying to make him feel guilty or endebted or God-knew-what just so he could take over his bed. Ichigo was so angry he couldn't think of a good retort. Instead, he sputtered angrily, putting up no resistance as Ishida nestled in to the narrow space he'd made for himself.
It didn't feel bad, having another body with him. The only prolonged human contact Ichigo had experienced lately was the impersonal touch of doctors. And it always felt nice to be next to Ishida.
The idea that he could still be attracted to Ishida - even though he was angry with the boy and frustrated and confused and Ishida was keeping secrets and refused to give him straight answers to very simple questions - made him pissed.
He wanted to shove Ishida off the bed, to grab him by the collar and shake him and demand to know what the hell was going on in that stupid head of his. Instead, all he said was, “You're a little shit.”
Ishida made no response, had no biting insults or a defense for his shittery.
“You could go home to sleep if the chairs are that uncomfortable.”
“No.” The reply wasn't snotty or defiant, just quiet. There was feeling behind it, and it sounded as though whatever it was, Ishida really meant it.
Ichigo swallowed hard, overcome with confusion again. He supposed no harm could really come from letting Ishida sleep beside him. Whatever they were giving him for pain made him drowsy, and his lack of activity made him focus on the situation with Inoue. And focusing on that made him want to destroy things in a rage of frustration with his uselessness. Ishida's presence was, at the least, a comfort and a distraction.
As he allowed himself to relax and admit that it was a relief to have Ishida there, Ichigo made a promise to himself that however emotional he got, he was not going to fucking cuddle. Not that he'd ever cuddled with Ishida, but the point remained. He was angry, and there would be no cuddling.
He noticed that Ishida's skin felt oily, and he smelled strongly of sweat and musk. When was the last time he showered? Not that it mattered, but it was strange. Ishida was irritatingly fastidious. Usually. Or, he had been back when they were together or whatever they were.
He remembered, suddenly, intensely, the smell of Ishida's soap and the feel of just-washed hair, slick and wet between his fingers. Soft purple marks Ichigo's mouth made on his skin.
Ichigo turned his head away from the boy beside him, trying to dislodge the memory. He shifted uncomfortably, jostling Ishida, and his hip brushed against a suspiciously familiar hardness. Ichigo froze, trying to process the implications if he had actually felt what he thought he felt, and he was pretty fucking sure he felt that.
“TELL ME YOU DID NOT JUST POP A BONER IN MY HOSPITAL BED.”
“Will you shut up for once, Kurosaki? Your stupid shouting will bring the entire hospital if you aren't careful.”
“That won't be my fault. You're the pervert who gets turned on by invalids.”
Ishida sighed heavily. “I'm not a pervert and you're no invalid.”
“I think a lot of people would disagree with you on that. Just -” he pushed Ishida as hard as his injuries would allow - “get away. You're fucking confusing and I don't need your bullshit right now. I - I don't have the patience.”
He didn't actually want to push Ishida out of the bed and there wasn't room for them to get farther apart than they already were. The only option left to him was to ignore Ishida, so he turned his head to stare at the wall.
Long, cool, unbearably familiar fingers slid under his hospital gown and curled around his limp penis.
“JESUS CHRIST,” he yelled, or would have if all the air hadn't gone out of his lungs. Instead, he opened his mouth and wheezed, not least because, in his shock, all the muscles in his body tensed. Including his injured torso, which hurt quite a lot.
He didn't know what was happening. Or, he did know Ishida was flipping his embarrassing gown up around his chest, exposing his genitals to the open air, and fondling him in his hospital bed; he realized all of those things. The trouble was, his brain couldn't figure out what was happening.
Then Ishida's mouth was on him, and everything blanked. All he was aware of was sensation; those lips, the tongue, and very distantly, the pain in his chest echoing with his overenthusiastic heartbeat. He gibbered and flailed, possibly even hit the other boy, but jerking his arms around hurt enough to cut through the pleasure. He gripped his own head, fingers digging into his scalp.
Oh God oh God what the fuck is going on
It was hardly surprising that he got hard in moments, somewhat more so when he felt Ishida guiding himself onto Ichigo's cock. He must have lost some time there, because somehow he slid into Ishida easily, and when he opened his eyes, all he saw was Ishida over him, straddling him, all around him. He was gripping the bedrails on either side of him.
"Ishida-" his words cut off when the other boy moved, so gently. He rocked forward, pushing his erection into Ichigo's belly. Slowly, he rolled his hips, pulling up fractionally, and then leaned back, pushing his ass into Ichigo's hips hard. The sensation itself took Ichigo's breath away, but he almost didn't notice the feeling. Ishida's face twisted, mouth dropping open to let out a long, gutteral moan - his head fell back, his knees spread farther apart, his erection twitched, leaked dribbles of precome. For a moment, he did nothing but arch his back, forcing Ichigo as far into him as he could go. Ichigo let out a noise that was practically a scream and shifted his grip from his hair to his pillow, clutching desperately tight.
Ishida repeated the motions, seeming to push Ichigo into him farther each time and Ichigo really was going to scream if he didn't pick up the pace so he could come because Jesus Christ he was so fucking hard his skin hurt. Seconds before he would have begged, Ishida rose up, pulling off of Ichigo's cock, and Ichigo thrust up to meet him. The dam broke; control was gone, and Ishida rose and fell and rose and fell almost violently, making small, helpless noises. He paused once to change the angle, leaning forward and shortening his thrusts. Ichigo lifted his knees and hips in response, digging his heels into the bed for purchase.
And then Ichigo was coming, yelling and grinding his hips into Ishida and almost regretting it because that was maybe the most amazing he had ever felt in his life and it was about to be over. Ichigo released his grip on the pillow as all his limbs turned liquid. Ishida was still moving in quick little thrusts, but he was using one hand now to jerk himself to completion.
Ishida came without a word, gasping and trembling. He dropped forward, though he stopped himself before making contact with Ichigo's injured chest. Eyes closed, Ishida rested his forehead on Ichigo's cheek. And then he kissed him.
It was sloppy, not hardly a kiss at all, but it was the closest thing to actual affection they'd shared in a long time. Ishida's lips pulled across Ichigo's, briefly he dipped a tongue into the other boy's mouth, and when he broke direct contact, he remained just apart so they breathed into each other.
He didn't understand. What was Ishida trying to prove? Was he trying to apologize with sex and absolutely no answers to direct questions? It didn't balance out, and he was too exhausted to be anything but annoyed.
Ichigo stared up at Ishida's forehead, at the lines of sweat cutting through grime on his skin, at his closed eyes and his glasses dangling between their faces. The longer he looked, the longer moments dragged by, and tension settled deeply into his chest once more. Ishida finally moved, pulling himself up and away with a small hiss, leaving Ichigo suddenly, terribly cold. Ishida flopped onto his back beside Ichigo and pulled the hospital gown back down almost tenderly. The other boy's pants hung over the side of the bed.
“What the hell was that about?”
“Not a thing.” Ishida's voice was strangely flat. But his fingers were looped around Ichigo's wrist and his thumb was brushing absently back and forth across his skin.
Ichigo didn't get it. He didn't understand the boy, couldn't wrap his mind around the possible motives behind his actions. He was frustrating, infuriating, a shitty asshole cocksucker, but Ichigo would have given anything to hear Ishida agree to fight beside him, say that he wouldn't go away.
It must have been the drugs or the pain or the lethargy of orgasm that made him vulnerable enough to voice the next question. “Are you coming with me to rescue her?” He hoped he sounded weak only to his own ears.
For a long time, Ishida's steady breathing was the only thing that interrupted the unbearable hospital hum around them.
You're not asleep. I know you're not asleep and if you give a shit you can answer a simple question.
He could have screamed.
Ishida might have felt Ichigo tensing, because he briefly squeezed Ichigo's wrist.
He ached. His chest ached, his head, all of his insides. Ache, ache, ache. Ichigo tried to turn his focus on the wall. Beyond it, an impossible journey still waited for him. Immeasurable distance to travel and battles to fight and all the distance back, and it didn't even feel as impossible to manage as what was beside him.
In the cold, pristine-white room, smelling of sweat and sex, Ishida heaved his heaviest, most infuriating and long-suffering sigh.
"I'm staying," he said. "I'll stay."
end
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Notes: This is solely for Jackie. A long time ago, she wrote a wishlist, and I determined to fulfill some of those wishes. I wrote the first part of this two-part fic over a year ago, and this is the part that even remotely has something to do with her wishlist (number five, btw). I apologize deeply, sincerely, humbly, that it took me this long to complete your fic, Jackie. ILU forever. Happy birthday (almost).
Part One: So Longs and Ashes
When Ichigo awoke, it took him a long time to get his bearings. Opening his eyes was the first challenge, then focusing on objects, and then recognizing them.
How bizarre, he thought muzzily. The ceiling bore no resemblance to Urahara's place, nor anywhere else he knew. He searched his memory for any room on Earth or Soul Society he had ever been in that would fit the same description: extremely white. Bzzt. Does not compute. So he refocused his attention to himself, and the unbelievable pain in his chest.
And suddenly, unmercifully, he remembered. He remembered fighting Grimmjow; a hand ripping into his torso, searching for his heart. He remembered white and red, red, red. He gasped and sterile air dried out his raw throat and lungs. He remembered beams of blue-white light tearing through the sky as he faded, gurgling up bubbles of blood with every breath. They looked like Quincy arrows but couldn't be. Couldn't be. He remembered Ishida just hours before he encountered Grimmjow, how they had fought and fucked ruthlessly in a dingy alley. He closed his eyes tight against the vivid memory.
He could guess, at least, at his location. Karakura hospital. The gentle beeping of various monitors and the inhuman, musty smell made that assumption easy. How he got there was another matter. He couldn't fathom it, didn't remember even coming close to having the upper hand in his battle. If someone from Soul Society had found him, why would they take him to a hospital, instead of anywhere that made sense?
Before he could contemplate the situation more deeply, a memory that had been just out of reach sprang to the forefront: Inoue. Oh, shit. Inoue.
Every muscle in his body clenched. He was in no condition to go after her, still had no idea where she was, and couldn't get to anyone who might help. He clenched his teeth and ground his fists into his bed, stupid goddamn hospital bed, stupid fucking everything that was in the way of him storming out of here and directly to Inoue's rescue.
Ichigo cursed the hospital and everyone in it in the most colorful language his muddled brain could imagine. It wasn't until a solid couple of minutes after his rant that he realized he wasn't alone in the room. At first, he felt intensely awkward. Who would sit there quietly, watching him curse and go through fits and never say a word?
Slowly, he turned his head. Of all the people he imagined he might see sitting against the wall, legs tucked up under his chin, Ishida was probably in the bottom ten. Maybe even five. But there he was, looking tired and unkempt.
Ichigo figured maybe he was dreaming (possibly having an incredibly annoying and unpleasant hallucination) until Ishida - who had been looking him in the eye the whole time - finally spoke.
“So. It looks like you'll be all right. I should have known you were too stupid to know when you ought to be dead.”
What? Asshole. Ichigo's anger was overridden, however, by a realization that was partly comforting but mostly confusing. “You really were there - I didn't imagine the arrows.”
Ishida turned his head away. “No, you didn't imagine the arrows.”
“But - but - against Grimmjow? How the fuck did you beat him?”
A smug smile pulled at the corner of Ishida's mouth, but it lacked conviction. “You've always underestimated the power of the Quincies.”
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
By way of completely refusing to display even one microspeck of maturity, Ishida just turned his head in the opposite direction and chewed on his thumbnail. Ichigo huffed. Try another line of questioning, then.
“Thanks for saving my life, I guess, if you really did.” Ishida's brows drew together to give him that pissy look that made Ichigo feel very good about himself. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ichigo cut him off: “Why didn't you just take me to Urahara's, though? It's really inconvenient to be at the hospital.”
Ishida's mouth snapped shut. He fiddled with a loose thread on his chair and took on an air that, if it had been on anyone else, Ichigo would have sworn was humility. “It didn't occur to me. This was the first place I thought of, so I brought you here.”
Ichigo didn't have a response for that. He imagined being in Ishida's position of finding the other boy - or any one of his friends - bloody and dying, and he couldn't find it in himself to rebuke Ishida, crabby as he was. Ichigo thought he probably would have had enough sense to take a person with supernatural injuries to Urahara, but he could let it go this once.
“Have you made up your mind?” He couldn't bring himself to voice the actual question directly. He assumed Ishida, smart as he presented himself, knew he meant about rescuing Inoue together. The issue that was more important than Ichigo's injuries, far more important than the tension between them.
Once more, Ishida averted his eyes. Ichigo choked on his frustration. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. It wouldn't do any good to get let himself get this angry. He couldn't strangle Ishida; he didn't currently have the strength or range of motion that would require.
If he kept his eyes closed and tried to think about other things (Inoue, Inoue, Inoue), he could almost forget the other boy was in the room and battle his anger down into a manageable ball of molten hot liquid rage, as opposed to an all-out slavering inferno demon that would sear his eyeballs with its intensity.
At least, he could until he heard Ishida shifting around. And then felt cool hands pushing at him. He opened his eyes to see Ishida putting his knee on the mattress as though he were joining Ichigo.
“What - the fuck - are you doing?” It looked like he was going to fucking climb in bed with him, what the ass.
“The chairs are too uncomfortable to sleep in, and your'e taking up the entire bed.” Sure enough, Ishida brought his other leg onto the mattress and pushed harder against Ichigo's shoulder.
“It's my bed! I'm supposed to take it all up!”
Ishida peered down at him as though he had some right to be annoyed. “You might show a little appreciation. I did save your life.”
What a little shit. Trying to make him feel guilty or endebted or God-knew-what just so he could take over his bed. Ichigo was so angry he couldn't think of a good retort. Instead, he sputtered angrily, putting up no resistance as Ishida nestled in to the narrow space he'd made for himself.
It didn't feel bad, having another body with him. The only prolonged human contact Ichigo had experienced lately was the impersonal touch of doctors. And it always felt nice to be next to Ishida.
The idea that he could still be attracted to Ishida - even though he was angry with the boy and frustrated and confused and Ishida was keeping secrets and refused to give him straight answers to very simple questions - made him pissed.
He wanted to shove Ishida off the bed, to grab him by the collar and shake him and demand to know what the hell was going on in that stupid head of his. Instead, all he said was, “You're a little shit.”
Ishida made no response, had no biting insults or a defense for his shittery.
“You could go home to sleep if the chairs are that uncomfortable.”
“No.” The reply wasn't snotty or defiant, just quiet. There was feeling behind it, and it sounded as though whatever it was, Ishida really meant it.
Ichigo swallowed hard, overcome with confusion again. He supposed no harm could really come from letting Ishida sleep beside him. Whatever they were giving him for pain made him drowsy, and his lack of activity made him focus on the situation with Inoue. And focusing on that made him want to destroy things in a rage of frustration with his uselessness. Ishida's presence was, at the least, a comfort and a distraction.
As he allowed himself to relax and admit that it was a relief to have Ishida there, Ichigo made a promise to himself that however emotional he got, he was not going to fucking cuddle. Not that he'd ever cuddled with Ishida, but the point remained. He was angry, and there would be no cuddling.
He noticed that Ishida's skin felt oily, and he smelled strongly of sweat and musk. When was the last time he showered? Not that it mattered, but it was strange. Ishida was irritatingly fastidious. Usually. Or, he had been back when they were together or whatever they were.
He remembered, suddenly, intensely, the smell of Ishida's soap and the feel of just-washed hair, slick and wet between his fingers. Soft purple marks Ichigo's mouth made on his skin.
Ichigo turned his head away from the boy beside him, trying to dislodge the memory. He shifted uncomfortably, jostling Ishida, and his hip brushed against a suspiciously familiar hardness. Ichigo froze, trying to process the implications if he had actually felt what he thought he felt, and he was pretty fucking sure he felt that.
“TELL ME YOU DID NOT JUST POP A BONER IN MY HOSPITAL BED.”
“Will you shut up for once, Kurosaki? Your stupid shouting will bring the entire hospital if you aren't careful.”
“That won't be my fault. You're the pervert who gets turned on by invalids.”
Ishida sighed heavily. “I'm not a pervert and you're no invalid.”
“I think a lot of people would disagree with you on that. Just -” he pushed Ishida as hard as his injuries would allow - “get away. You're fucking confusing and I don't need your bullshit right now. I - I don't have the patience.”
He didn't actually want to push Ishida out of the bed and there wasn't room for them to get farther apart than they already were. The only option left to him was to ignore Ishida, so he turned his head to stare at the wall.
Long, cool, unbearably familiar fingers slid under his hospital gown and curled around his limp penis.
“JESUS CHRIST,” he yelled, or would have if all the air hadn't gone out of his lungs. Instead, he opened his mouth and wheezed, not least because, in his shock, all the muscles in his body tensed. Including his injured torso, which hurt quite a lot.
He didn't know what was happening. Or, he did know Ishida was flipping his embarrassing gown up around his chest, exposing his genitals to the open air, and fondling him in his hospital bed; he realized all of those things. The trouble was, his brain couldn't figure out what was happening.
Then Ishida's mouth was on him, and everything blanked. All he was aware of was sensation; those lips, the tongue, and very distantly, the pain in his chest echoing with his overenthusiastic heartbeat. He gibbered and flailed, possibly even hit the other boy, but jerking his arms around hurt enough to cut through the pleasure. He gripped his own head, fingers digging into his scalp.
Oh God oh God what the fuck is going on
It was hardly surprising that he got hard in moments, somewhat more so when he felt Ishida guiding himself onto Ichigo's cock. He must have lost some time there, because somehow he slid into Ishida easily, and when he opened his eyes, all he saw was Ishida over him, straddling him, all around him. He was gripping the bedrails on either side of him.
"Ishida-" his words cut off when the other boy moved, so gently. He rocked forward, pushing his erection into Ichigo's belly. Slowly, he rolled his hips, pulling up fractionally, and then leaned back, pushing his ass into Ichigo's hips hard. The sensation itself took Ichigo's breath away, but he almost didn't notice the feeling. Ishida's face twisted, mouth dropping open to let out a long, gutteral moan - his head fell back, his knees spread farther apart, his erection twitched, leaked dribbles of precome. For a moment, he did nothing but arch his back, forcing Ichigo as far into him as he could go. Ichigo let out a noise that was practically a scream and shifted his grip from his hair to his pillow, clutching desperately tight.
Ishida repeated the motions, seeming to push Ichigo into him farther each time and Ichigo really was going to scream if he didn't pick up the pace so he could come because Jesus Christ he was so fucking hard his skin hurt. Seconds before he would have begged, Ishida rose up, pulling off of Ichigo's cock, and Ichigo thrust up to meet him. The dam broke; control was gone, and Ishida rose and fell and rose and fell almost violently, making small, helpless noises. He paused once to change the angle, leaning forward and shortening his thrusts. Ichigo lifted his knees and hips in response, digging his heels into the bed for purchase.
And then Ichigo was coming, yelling and grinding his hips into Ishida and almost regretting it because that was maybe the most amazing he had ever felt in his life and it was about to be over. Ichigo released his grip on the pillow as all his limbs turned liquid. Ishida was still moving in quick little thrusts, but he was using one hand now to jerk himself to completion.
Ishida came without a word, gasping and trembling. He dropped forward, though he stopped himself before making contact with Ichigo's injured chest. Eyes closed, Ishida rested his forehead on Ichigo's cheek. And then he kissed him.
It was sloppy, not hardly a kiss at all, but it was the closest thing to actual affection they'd shared in a long time. Ishida's lips pulled across Ichigo's, briefly he dipped a tongue into the other boy's mouth, and when he broke direct contact, he remained just apart so they breathed into each other.
He didn't understand. What was Ishida trying to prove? Was he trying to apologize with sex and absolutely no answers to direct questions? It didn't balance out, and he was too exhausted to be anything but annoyed.
Ichigo stared up at Ishida's forehead, at the lines of sweat cutting through grime on his skin, at his closed eyes and his glasses dangling between their faces. The longer he looked, the longer moments dragged by, and tension settled deeply into his chest once more. Ishida finally moved, pulling himself up and away with a small hiss, leaving Ichigo suddenly, terribly cold. Ishida flopped onto his back beside Ichigo and pulled the hospital gown back down almost tenderly. The other boy's pants hung over the side of the bed.
“What the hell was that about?”
“Not a thing.” Ishida's voice was strangely flat. But his fingers were looped around Ichigo's wrist and his thumb was brushing absently back and forth across his skin.
Ichigo didn't get it. He didn't understand the boy, couldn't wrap his mind around the possible motives behind his actions. He was frustrating, infuriating, a shitty asshole cocksucker, but Ichigo would have given anything to hear Ishida agree to fight beside him, say that he wouldn't go away.
It must have been the drugs or the pain or the lethargy of orgasm that made him vulnerable enough to voice the next question. “Are you coming with me to rescue her?” He hoped he sounded weak only to his own ears.
For a long time, Ishida's steady breathing was the only thing that interrupted the unbearable hospital hum around them.
You're not asleep. I know you're not asleep and if you give a shit you can answer a simple question.
He could have screamed.
Ishida might have felt Ichigo tensing, because he briefly squeezed Ichigo's wrist.
He ached. His chest ached, his head, all of his insides. Ache, ache, ache. Ichigo tried to turn his focus on the wall. Beyond it, an impossible journey still waited for him. Immeasurable distance to travel and battles to fight and all the distance back, and it didn't even feel as impossible to manage as what was beside him.
In the cold, pristine-white room, smelling of sweat and sex, Ishida heaved his heaviest, most infuriating and long-suffering sigh.
"I'm staying," he said. "I'll stay."
end