Unspeakable, chapter 3
Author: honey_mellon
Title: Unspeakable
Rating: R
Pairing: Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo
Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't expect from an R-rated yaoi fiction
Summary: Eighteen months after the fall of Aizen Sosuke, Ichigo struggles to get used to his new, "normal" life. But it isn't easy to forget, not when you've gone through so much.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Ichigo woke up with a groan, stung to his senses by the harsh sunlight shining directly into his eyes. Apparently, he had forgotten to draw the curtains before he fell asleep last night. Cursing under his breath, he got onto his knees and dragged the curtain closed. Then, with a sigh, he plopped back onto the bed, grunting when the impact knocked the wind out of his lungs.
It was a good thing that it was a Saturday, otherwise he would have to take a leave of absence from school, and whenever that happened, he would only draw more attention onto himself. Yuzu, especially, would be worried sick.
He was staring at the ceiling debating if he should go downstairs to grab pain medication for his headache when the dull ache of a fresh bruise caused him to wince. Feeling a little confused, he looked for the source of pain. It didn't take long to find-the knuckles on his right hand were marred with splotches of purple.
Of course, how could he forget.
The fire in his chest had taken a few hours to douse. When he got home last night, he was still fuming, the blonde shopkeeper's smooth voice etched deeply into his mind. "Really, Kurosaki-kun, you need to have better control of your emotions." How dare the man throw the words around like he knew what Ichigo was going through?
But, true to Ichigo's nature, a fierce sense of guilt immediately consumed him as soon as the last bits of anger seeped away. Urahara had been watching out for his sister after all. He didn't believe for a minute that the blonde just "happened" to be close by when Karin was attacked; the man had probably rushed to the scene when he sensed the danger.
And how did Ichigo repay him for the trouble? With a punch in the jaw.
Ichigo let out a mirthless laugh. Way to go, he congratulated himself. Way to show the man that you're stable and sane, he thought wryly.
By the time he finally forced himself out of bed and into the washroom, he had already wasted a good part of the morning. He went over his morning ritual hurriedly, threw on the first thing he could reach in the closet, and then hopped into the pair of jeans that lay crumpled on the floor next to his bed.
He was glad to find the kitchen empty; his father had probably taken the girls out. He didn't feel the least bit sad or offended at the lack of an invitation; he would've declined anyway.
It wasn't until he was halfway through a bowl of cereal that he finally slowed down and thought seriously about what he was going to do about Urahara Kisuke. He had to apologize somehow, that much he knew, but that didn't mean he knew how to go about it.
The blonde man was really quite a specimen. Ichigo knew better than to write him off as the goofball that the man tried so hard to play. He was absolutely brilliant, and seemed to have an endless pit of knowledge; Ichigo didn't think it would be possible to know how much he kept under that stupid hat.
It was the eyes, Ichigo decided. Those slate-grey eyes were the most mysterious part of the man; depending on when you look into them, they could hold a flirtatious, playful smirk, or the faraway look of one lost in deep thoughts, or the dark gleam of murderous intent. But there was always a spark of life in them, no matter how dire the situation.
Before he knew it, the bowl was empty, and he was forced to admit that he couldn't delay it any longer. Ready or not, he would have to face Urahara. Ichigo could be an impulsive asshole sometimes, but he was no coward. Not by a long shot.
Still, he wasn't prepared for the sight of the blonde's swollen, blood-crusted lip.
The man didn't pretend to look surprised when he opened the door for Ichigo today, but he wasn't hostile either. He just seemed...eerily normal. He offered the boy a cup of tea, and Ichigo had accepted it absent-mindedly, his eyes frozen on the injury that he had caused the day before.
"Why didn't you get Tessai to heal it for you?" Ichigo couldn't resist asking even as guilt gnawed on his nerves.
Urahara chuckled. "I wanted to leave it," he said, giving Ichigo a meaningful look. "To remind myself to think before I speak."
"Oh." Ichigo looked down at his cup and ran his fingers along the rim. He hesitated for just a few seconds longer, then, in a soft but firm voice, he apologized.
"What was that?" The blonde raised a palm behind his ear. "Do you mind saying it again?"
Ichigo scowled. Yeah, remind yourself to think before you speak, my ass.
The shopkeeper laughed at the boy's reaction, but after a while, his face turned serious. "No, really, I was...less sensitive than I should have been," he said solemnly. "I can't say that I understand your feelings, but I have some idea. I could've used better judgement yesterday, and for that I apologize."
Ichigo straightened his back with a startled look. "No, I..." His face turned pink at the idea of having the guy he punched apologizing to him.
"Then I guess we're even," Urahara interrupted with a good-natured smile. His voice softened, and he regarded the boy with a sense of tenderness that Ichigo had never seen before. "How have you been?"
The teen gave a noncommittal shrug and averted his eyes. He'd heard that question so many times in the past year and a half that he had given up on trying to answer it. He didn't even know what people expected to hear anymore.
"That's a good enough answer," the shopkeeper said gently. "I appreciate your honesty."
Ichigo froze. Now that was one answer that he wasn't expecting to hear, but it was one that flooded his chest with warmth. To his horror, he felt his throat constrict and his nose tingled, both symptoms he was familiar with-he had cried enough for his mother to recognize that these would be followed by tears. But before his eyes began to sting, he caught a fleeting grimace on the older man's face. It was gone in a heartbeat, but Ichigo immediately felt a stab of guilt-no doubt the cut was bothering the man.
"Is it okay if I take a look?" Ichigo pointed at Urahara's lip.
The blonde looked surprised at the request, but he scooted closer anyway. Ichigo met him halfway around the table. Up close, the wound looked even uglier than he thought. The edges of the cut were sharp-a sign of how hard Ichigo had hit the man; the flesh had been driven right into the edge of a tooth, most likely the canine.
"I'm sorry," Ichigo said softly. Wracked by another wave of guilt, he raised a trembling hand to the wounded lip and gingerly traced the tip of a finger over the raw skin.
The shopkeeper flinched, more in surprise than pain, but he kept quiet. His eyes were riveted on the young face in front of his-there was a faraway, almost dreamy look in the boy's chocolate-brown eyes, and it sent a chill down his spine.
"You're the only one who was okay with me not answering your question," Ichigo murmured, still transfixed on the wound. The longer he stared at it, the worse it seemed to look. His fists clenched unconsciously, and he felt a jolt of anger-at himself.
He must've totally lost it for him to lash out like this on a man who was, for the most part, his mentor and friend, and quite possibly his only tangible connection to his previous life. This man had seen his growth literally from the beginning till the end; he was there when Ichigo attained his power and he was there when he lost it.
Urahara sat rooted in place, not sure what he should make of this new development of the teen's mood. Truth be told, it worried him. The boy almost seemed like he was in a trance-like state, and he didn't want to startle him.
"You're the only one who would understand," Ichigo said, his voice barely a whisper.
The shopkeeper caught the undercurrent of loneliness in the boy's tone and his worry raised a notch. Isshin had mentioned nothing about his son being depressed the last time they spoke. Then again, he should've known; the boy wasn't the most forthcoming when it came to his own well being.
"Kurosa-" Urahara's eyes widened just a fraction before his lips were suddenly sealed.
Ichigo felt the rough skin beneath his own lips, and instinctively, his tongue slid out to touch the hot, inflamed skin around the edges of the cut, tasting a faint coppery tinge of blood. His mouth moved in a gentle caress, more of a silent apology than an actual kiss. When the older man's lips were finally moist, he pulled away.
The blonde stared at the boy, stunned. He was not one to be caught unprepared easily, but he had to admit, he had not seen this coming.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Ichigo stared at the floor, not quite understanding his own actions as well. But that had felt good; he hadn't felt such closeness to anyone for a while. "I don't know," he admitted truthfully.
Urahara looked at the boy; he seemed suddenly so young, so unlike the young man who stood his ground before Aizen Sousuke. Perhaps they had all forgotten that beneath all that strength and power lay a teenager who had been forced to grow up too fast. The boy may have grown much taller in the past year and a half, but there was no doubt a big part of him still clung to the memories of his fifteen-year-old self. If Urahara hadn't known before, he knew now.
"I don't know," Ichigo repeated, drawing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around his bent legs. "I just felt like...felt like I needed to do it." Now that the moment had passed, he was afraid to know what Urahara might think. First a punch, now a kiss; the man probably thought he was nuts. His head sank dejectedly between his knees.
"I can't talk to them about it," he mumbled, not really caring if the former captain was listening. "They ask me everyday if I'm okay, and I don't know what to say anymore. If I answer that I'm not okay, they try to help, but they can't. If I answer that I'm okay, they know that I'm lying."
Urahara looked at Ichigo, shocked by the sadness that saturated the boyish voice. He slid up next to the boy and mimicked his position, hoping that his presence could offer some comfort.
Ichigo's head remained bowed, and for a moment he looked as if he could be asleep. Then, soft sniffles began to drift out between the tightly-held knees.
Urahara looked stricken. He had seen the boy bleed from wounds much worse than what he'd seen in his lifetime and not flinch, but had never expected to see him cry. How much did he keep bottled up in that young chest? Tentatively, the blonde reached out and draped an arm over Ichigo's shoulders.
As though he was butter and Urahara's arm was the blade of a hot butter knife, Ichigo melted into the embrace and leaned heavily against the older man. The tremor in the boy's body pained the former captain, and he instinctively curled his arm protectively around the trembling shoulders.
Ichigo never thought he would find comfort in Urahara, of all people, but now he felt a sense of connection that was beginning to tear the shell that he had built so carefully around his heart, and he suddenly realized that it should've been clear that his mentor was the one he should've turned to all along.
Twisting his body in Urahara's arms, Ichigo angled his face upwards to catch the older man's eyes. He saw no pity in those grey eyes, just a sincere offer of support. He felt another rush of warmth spread in his chest, and he brought his head up to be closer to the blonde's face. He saw a flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes.
"I need this," he whispered, hoping desperately that he won't be turned away.
"Kurosaki-kun..." Urahara said, his throat suddenly tight. He knew he shouldn't do this; the boy was in no state to deal with a complicated situation, and if this were to go on further, they would be in a complicated situation. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pleading eyes-the silent call for help had him in a trap. And he knew at once, as the boy's face came nearer and nearer toward his, that this was a trap from which he could not escape.
A low, grateful moan escaped from the depths of Ichigo's throat as his lips brushed against the blonde's once more. He ran his tongue gently over the cut, then he pulled back just long enough to say, "Ichigo." Then his eyes slid closed and he parted his lips for Urahara.
Urahara's arm slid from the boy's shoulders down to the small of his back, and he pulled the boy closer. Ignoring the sting from his wounded lip, he tipped his head to the side and slid his tongue slowly into the awaiting mouth and explored it, searching for its partner. When he found it, he reached out in an invitation to dance, and their tongues entwined; hesitantly at first, then, as he felt Ichigo's hand rake through his light blond hair, he parted his lips wider and guided the boy's tongue into his mouth.
Ichigo groaned as the older man began to suck gently on his tongue, and he pushed further into the comforting heat, drawing a growl from the man. The boy's plea burned fiercely every time their tongues curled around each other, and Urahara felt himself edging closer towards the point of no return.
If they didn't stop now, they would both be trapped.
But when he felt Ichigo's palm slide inside his shirt, all rational thoughts left him, and Urahara realized that it was already too late.
To be continued...
Author's Note:
Hopefully this didn't seem like an abrupt twist. I really wanted to show how turbulent Ichigo's emotional state is, which will eventually lead up to what he ends up doing in later chapters.
Looking forward to hearing from you all! =) Until the next chapter, bye~