Life Lessons - Chapter 14: In Which Ichigo Finally Gets What He Wants
Title: Life Lessons - Chapter 14: In Which Ichigo Finally Gets What He Wants
Author: nehalenia
Paring: Ichigo/Ishida
Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations)
Warnings: just the usual guy sex stuff one expects from yaoi
Disclaimer: Bleach and all its characters belong to Kubo Tite. (Any original characters are mine.) This is posted for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made or sought.
Summary: Ichigo and Ishida are college roommates. They study, they fight Hollows, they have sex; but not with each other. Because Ishida likes guys, and Ichigo likes girls. Right?
Notes: Yeah, “late” doesn’t even begin to describe this update. Just trust me, I have a really good excuse this time. My apologies and my deepest gratitude to anyone who’s following this little saga, and many, many thanks to _debbiechan_ for beta-reading and much needed encouragement.
Chapter 1 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/300274.html
Chapter 2 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/300856.html#cutid1
Chapter 3 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/302528.html#cutid1
Chapter 4 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/307474.html#cutid1
Chapter 5 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/309030.html#cutid1
Chapter 6 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/311813.html
Chapter 7 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/317836.html
Chapter 8 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/319290.html
Chapter 9 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/335191.html
Chapter 10 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/337902.html
Chapter 11 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/338742.html
Chapter 12 is here: http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/351290.html#cutid2
Chapter 13 is here: http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/356429.html
“I told you hirenkyaku was faster than your flash step,” Ishida boasted as they zoomed over the rooftops, flying too fast for anyone to see. Any other day, Ichigo would have challenged the Quincy’s claim, but this time, he was too happy to protest. Saying something would have ruined the moment, the feeling of Ishida’s hair blowing into his face, Ishida’s waist beneath his hand, their thighs touching when the wave of reishi under their feet surged and bumped them together. He would have let Ishida fly him all the way to Karakura if they could stay just like that, but it was over too soon. His stomach lurched as they lost altitude, and then they were landing outside their apartment door.
Ishida had his keys out before Ichigo could reach into his pocket. For some reason, the idea of Ishida strolling into the apartment as if he’d just come home from a regular day at school, as if he hadn’t abandoned the place almost a week ago, aggravated Ichigo. Before Ishida could put his key in the lock, Ichigo reached over and plucked it out of his hand.
“What’s with you, Kurosaki?” Ishida gave him an odd look.
“Nothing.” He reached past him to unlock the door and then pushed it open. The hot, stuffy air of the closed up apartment hit them as they crossed the threshold, and Ishida made a face as he dropped his backpack.
“Am I the only one who ever thinks to open a window around here?” Ishida complained. He slipped off his sandals and padded barefoot to the sliding glass door of the balcony. Ignoring the broken blinds still tumbled on the floor, he slid the door open and sighed as a breeze swept in, flattening his shirt against his stomach and ruffling his hair.
Ichigo felt the apartment cool almost immediately and watched as Ishida turned and surveyed the interior with narrowed eyes. It reminded him of the day they had first looked at the place, of the way Ishida had scanned the scuffed wooden floor, the bare walls, squinting as if trying to imagine living there. Watching Ishida do the same thing now gave him an odd pang, as if something had tapped his heart and made it hum like a bronze bell. Ishida was saying something - his mouth was moving, and he looked displeased - but Ichigo couldn’t hear him until the small reverberations sank away.
“…towels on the floor, the recycling bin overflowing, a week’s worth of soda cans on the table. Kurosaki, did you clean this place even once while I was gone?”
He didn’t know what to tell him. Yeah, he’d let the place go to hell that week, but what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I was too busy obsessing about you to pay attention to the apartment? And besides, you weren’t here to bug me about picking up my stuff so it’s really kind of your fault anyway? He knew that would be the wrong thing to say. Ishida would look at him like a pissed off cat and probably stomp off to get a garbage bag and start cleaning the place up so Ichigo didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he walked over to where Ishida stood griping about the mess and took him by the shoulders.
“Ishida, for once in your life, would you just shut up?”
The words must have shocked him into silence because Ishida’s mouth actually stopped moving, and Ichigo, seizing this golden opportunity, pulled him close and kissed him. For a moment, Ishida didn't respond but then his mouth softened, and Ichigo slid his tongue against the inner edge of his lips. Their tongues touched, mouths opening wider, then Ichigo lost all sense of balance as he fell heart-first into their kiss.
It was a fantastic kiss. Ishida’s mouth tasted like miso and barley tea, and he kissed like nothing else mattered. Ichigo felt his skin prickle in the cooling air and his nipples tighten under his sweat-damp shirt as they shifted against each other, negotiating knees and hipbones as their mouths grew hungrier, more demanding. Ichigo found his hands roving over Ishida’s body, learning the feel of this new geography from the lean muscled arms, to the sharp rise of shoulder blades, to the shallow valley of his spine. His breath quickened as his fingers slid beneath the waist of Ishida’s shorts and spread to map the perfect curve of his ass. Ishida repaid him by sucking Ichigo’s tongue deep into his mouth and thrusting up so that his trapped erection met Ichigo’s crotch with a magnetic jolt. The sensation stunned Ichigo, echoing through his body like a blow. His brain stuttered and flared like a severed power line, and his blood swirled down like a shower of fiery sparks, filling his cock until it strained against the front of his jeans.
“Oh godth!” Ichigo mumbled because Ishida was still sucking on his tongue, and he had to get closer. Pulling his hands out of Ishida’s shorts, he grabbed him by the hips and yanked him off his feet so that they were crotch to crotch. Even through their clothes it felt so good that Ichigo’s head swam. It got even better when Ishida wrapped his legs around Ichigo’s hips and ground against him.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! Ichigo tried to groan, but Ishida was in full possession of his mouth, and the words rang and circled inside his head like metal balls in a game machine. Reeling with desire, he stumbled forward, tripped on one of the towels littering the floor, then came down hard on his knees and kept falling, spilling both of them to the ground in a tangle.
“Ugh!” Ishida broke their kiss, breathless under Ichigo’s weight. “Kurosaki, get off, you’re crushing me.”
Part of Ichigo’s lust-fogged brain agreed, but he couldn’t make himself obey. His knees hurt from smacking into the hard floor, but the rest of him was too stupidly happy at being where he was: right on top of his roommate, gazing down into that beautiful, irritated face.
Ishida’s beautiful, irritated face glared back at him. “Stop staring at me like that. You look like a pole-axed cow.” Ishida pushed against his chest, but Ichigo caught his wrist, leaned down and renewed their kiss, his free hand cushioning Ishida’s head. Ishida struggled for a few delicious seconds, then surrendered with a small groan when Ichigo’s mouth left his lips and traveled the sharp line of his jaw to his neck and collar bone. By the time his lips reached the top of the scar over his heart, Ichigo’s pulse was thundering in his head and his fingers were fumbling at the zipper on Ishida’s shirt.
“What are you doing?” Ishida frowned. “You’re going to tear it.” He tried to move Ichigo’s hands away, but then the zipper slid down with a metallic purr and the shirt fell open, leaving Ishida naked to the hips. Ichigo pulled back to take in the sight of Ishida’s lean, bared torso, let out one gratified breath, and dove to seize Ishida’s right nipple in his teeth. Ishida made an odd, high-pitched sound and grabbed Ichigo’s head with both hands, but Ichigo was already moving on, kissing down his ribs and onto his stomach where he swirled his tongue into his navel. Ishida gasped and stiffened, his fingers pulling at Ichigo’s hair, and before Ichigo could even register what his own hands were doing, he had thumbed open the button of Ishida’s shorts and yanked the zipper apart.
“Off-off,” Ichigo growled, sitting up to tug the gray shorts from Ishida’s hips. “I want you naked. I want you naked now.”
Dragging Ishida’s shorts past his knees, Ichigo sat back and stared, overwhelmed by the sight of Ishida’s erection straining against the thin cloth of his briefs and by the things it made him want to do. Like wrap his arms around Ishida’s hips and bury his face in his groin, rub his cheek against that swollen shaft the way a cat would rub against a chair leg, even open his mouth and touch his tongue to the spot near the head where moisture made the cloth almost transparent. He’d never wanted to do anything like that before, never even imagined it, but he wanted to do it now, more than anything.
He leaned close, breathing in the scent of cotton and musk, and hooked his fingers in the band of Ishida’s underwear. He was about to yank them off, already envisioning the way Ishida’s cock would bounce free, all swollen and stiff, when Ishida stammered “Don’t!”
It wasn’t the word itself but the tone that made Ichigo falter, and he glanced up at Ishida’s face. “What? Why not?”
“Because,” he sighed, looking uncomfortable. “We-we need to wait. Until I can get tested.” It took Ichigo a moment to register what he was talking about.
“Tested?” Frustration was rapidly replacing anticipation in Ichigo’s brain. “Because of that Toru guy? Don’t tell me you had unprotected sex with him!”
“Of course not!” Ishida pushed up on his elbows to glare back. “Do you think I’m an idiot? We always used protection.”
“Then what’s the big deal? It should be fine.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Ishida said. “What if a condom broke and I didn’t notice?”
“Like you wouldn’t notice something like that,” Ichigo snorted.
“Well, what about you? When was the last time you got tested?”
“Right before I moved here. And it’s not like I’ve had that much reason to get retested, okay?” he frowned. “Look, I know we’ve both been careful, so we’re really low risk. What are you so worried about?”
“Low risk isn’t no-risk, Kurosaki,” Ishida reminded him, sounding far too much like one of their class instructors. “Besides, our fathers are doctors. How do you think they’d react if they found out we’d contracted an STD? If your imagination’s deficient, I’ll be happy to offer a scenario.”
“No thanks.” Ishida didn’t have to say anything. Ichigo was already wincing at the idea of what old Goat-Chin would do. There would be a scene. And lectures. Embarrassing lectures with charts and photos that would turn him off sex for a month, or worse, leave him unable to….
He put the brakes on that train of thought immediately. Sitting back on his haunches, he ran an impatient hand through his hair. “So what are you saying? That we can’t do anything until we both go get blood tests?”
“No,” Ishida shook his head, “just that we probably shouldn’t indulge in… well, anything without a condom.”
Ichigo sat there glaring for a moment, then let out an aggrieved sigh. Ishida sat up, reaching for his shorts, and Ichigo experienced a moment of dismay, thinking he planned to pull them back up. Instead, Ishida shoved them down to his ankles and kicked them off, then shrugged out of his open shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Watching the clothing slide from Ishida’s limbs, Ichigo felt twin pangs of arousal and bitterness rise in his chest. He wanted to enjoy every inch of Ishida’s lean, gorgeous body in every way he could think of, and he wanted to be angry with someone for preventing that. He felt slightly better when he thought of an acceptable candidate.
“I really fucking hate your ex-boyfriend,” he told Ishida, who rolled his eyes.
“I told you before, Toru-kun wasn’t…”
“Your boyfriend,” Ichigo finished, rising to his feet. “Yeah, you mentioned that. So here’s what I want to know,” he went on, pulling Ishida up to stand before him. “If I want to do everything to you that he did and more besides, what does that make me?”
Ishida pushed up his glasses and considered him with half-lidded eyes. The afternoon sun put a silver sheen on his hair and painted his skin with gold so that even though he was standing there in his underwear, to Ichigo he seemed clothed in light.
“I guess we’ll figure that out, won’t we?” Ishida responded, and the timbre of his voice, so low that it raised the hairs on Ichigo’s arms, signaled that this was much more a proposition than a question. For a moment, Ichigo was the one who felt half-naked, and he took Ishida by the waist and pulled him close just to keep himself steady.
“Damn it, Ishida,” he breathed, leaning their foreheads together and gazing directly into his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I want you? The things I want to do to you?” He watched Ishida’s pupils dilate at his words, the black nearly obscuring the deep blue, and caught his breath at the pulse of arousal that sent through him.
“You gave me a pretty good idea at the café,” Ishida allowed. “But maybe we could try doing those things in a bed?”
“Oh fuck yeah,” Ichigo exhaled, and at that moment he couldn’t have said what was throbbing harder: his heart or his cock. Without another word, he grabbed Ishida by the wrist and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. It took several steps before he realized there was resistance on Ishida’s end, and he swung his head around, confused by the delay. Ishida was leaning back against his grip and looking pretty serious for a mostly naked person.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ishida wanted to know.
“My room. Where else?”
“Why your room?” Ishida demanded. “Mine’s closer. And better equipped, I might add.”
Ichigo was so stunned by Ishida’s opposition it took him a second to come up with even the most obvious reason. “My bed’s bigger.”
“So? It’s not like we’re mating elephants. We don’t need that much room.”
For a moment Ichigo thought about trying to answer him rationally because why wouldn’t a bigger bed be the obvious choice, especially if they were going to be thrashing around? But somehow he just knew that Ishida would say something about how his bed had been fine for him and Toru-kun, or how Toru-kun had never complained, and the spark of anger that flared whenever Ichigo thought about that cock-blocking gym rat erupted at that moment into a fireball of rage.
“Oh hell no!” Ichigo exploded. “We are not doing it in the same bed where your precious Toru-kun nailed your ass last week. No way. Nuh uh. Not. Happening.”
Ishida’s eyes widened at this outburst, but before he could say anything, Ichigo yanked him forward, scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and then charged down the hall to his own bedroom.
“Kurosaki, what the hell are you doing?” Ishida yelled, but Ichigo was already kicking open his bedroom door and flinging him into the middle of the bed. Ishida bounced on the mattress and then sprawled there spread-eagled, looking stunned as Ichigo dove after him.
“Have you gone crazy?” Ishida shouted, grabbing on to the edge of mattress, the springs protesting as Ichigo landed on the bed.
“Probably.” Ichigo liked the shock in those wide blue eyes as he crawled on top of him, liked the way Ishida scrambled back until the headboard stopped him. “Who wouldn’t be crazy after the week you put me through?”
If Ishida had any smart-ass answers to that, he didn’t offer them. Leaning forward, Ichigo plucked his glasses off and tossed them onto the night stand and then settled between those long, sprawled legs, angling his hips until his own throbbing erection nudged Ishida’s hardness.
“Fuck,” Ishida breathed just before Ichigo captured his mouth, thrusting in his tongue as he pressed their cocks together. “Fuck,” Ishida repeated, his voice now lower, thinner, when Ichigo pulled back for a breath. He kissed him again, deeper, forcing his mouth open wider, and felt Ishida’s hands on his back, sweeping under his t-shirt. Ishida’s touch on his bare skin was electrifying, and he rolled his hips so extravagantly that Ishida gave a muffled whimper and clamped his legs around his waist, thrusting up to meet his movements. Pleasure twisted deep in Ichigo’s gut as they surged and rocked together, but as good as it was, Ichigo knew that he wanted more. For one thing, he really wanted not to come in his pants this time.
“Wait,” he said, pushing up on his hands and pulling his hips back even as Ishida arched up for the denied contact. “Listen, we should…” But before Ichigo could finish his sentence, Ishida made a sound of deep frustration and twisted so that both of them were thrown to their sides. Before Ichigo could shake off his surprise, deft fingers were flicking open the button of his fly, tugging at his zipper, and jerking down both his jeans and underwear. His dick flopped out, thick and heavy, and the thrill he felt flared higher when Ishida wrapped his hand around it and gave it a long, firm stroke from base to tip.
“Ohgodfuckyes!” he groaned, the pressure of that sure, possessive stroke making him dizzy with need. He reached out and found Ishida’s hip, curled his fingers into the elastic band of his underwear and tore them down, seizing Ishida’s cock as it bounced free. It was shorter, slimmer than his own, but it filled his hand perfectly, hot, silky, and hard as the hilt of his sword. When his fist glided up to the tip, moisture leaked onto the side of his hand, first warm, then cooling as it dripped down his knuckles, and Ichigo heard himself whimper like a lost dog.
“Fuck you, fuck you’re so hot!” Ichigo gasped as he pulled Ishida forward. Their legs tangled, Ichigo’s hips lurched, and there was a sweet shock as their cocks mashed together, naked and moist. Their hands fumbled until their fingers entwined around their shafts as they thrust and tugged.
The pleasure was almost incidental. What was building like a storm cloud in Ichigo’s loins was nothing compared to the miracle of Ishida holding him, touching him like this, breathing hard against his shoulder, arm tight around his neck. Tendrils of dark hair clung to Ishida’s jaw, whipcord muscles flexed as his arm worked up and down, and Ichigo felt an overwhelming desire to taste Ishida’s skin and sweat. Dropping his head forward, he bit down where Ishida’s neck and shoulder met, teeth holding on as his tongue mapped out the fineness of his skin, tasting soap, and salt, and heat until the body in his arms began to struggle and resist.
“Oh god!” Ishida gasped, squirming as Ichigo sucked at his neck. “Too much! Ichigo-Ichigo, stop!”
And Ichigo did stop. He pulled back from their embrace and gazed wide-eyed as Ishida tried to catch his breath.
“You said my name.”
“What?” Ishida looked confused for a moment, but when he met Ichigo’s gaze, a kind of despair flashed through his eyes, as if he had broken the genie’s bottle and knew it would never go back inside.
“You said my name,” Ichigo repeated, his voice soft with awe, and then the marvel of it seized him. He sat up with a whoop of triumph and tore his shirt off over his head, then leapt from the bed to stumble around as he shoved his jeans and underwear off. He kicked the entrapping clothes away, pulled off his socks, and hurled himself back on top of Ishida, kissing him, pawing him, crazy with desire as he moaned “You said my name, oh god, you said my name, say it again, say it again!”
“Stop it, you moron!” Ishida said, trying to fend off some of the bites and kisses, but Ichigo was having none of it. He pinned Ishida’s wrists and straddled his thighs, relishing the feel of Ishida struggling beneath him, skin to skin.
“Say it,” he demanded, and when Ishida’s response was to stubbornly grit his teeth and glare, Ichigo fastened his mouth on the crook of his neck again, bit down and sucked.
“Ahhh!” Ishida struggled, but Ichigo held on and didn’t stop, not until Ishida’s breath was coming in sobs. “Ichigo! Ichigo, stop! Ichigo!”
No one had ever called his name like that before, so needy and desperate, and Ichigo reveled in every syllable. He nuzzled his way up to his ear, breathing against it before nipping at the lobe.
“I’m going to make you say it again,” he whispered, feeling Ishida shiver against him. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t do anything but scream my name over and over and over. I’m gonna…” He tried to go on, but his brain was tripping over itself at all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do, and then he realized that Ishida had grown very still beneath him, and a pang of fear struck his chest.
“You want that too, right?” he asked, rearing back to examine Ishida’s expression, suddenly unsure. “It isn’t just me who wants that? Because… because if you don’t…”
“I want it,” Ishida assured him. “It’s just…” He peered into Ichigo’s face. “Well, you’ve never done this before.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve had sex.”
“Not with a guy, you moron!”
Ichigo snorted as if the distinction was absurd. “So? It’s the same damn thing.”
“How on earth do you think sex with a guy is the same as sex with a girl?” Ishida sputtered, shaking off Ichigo’s grip and sitting up to face him.
“Simple,” Ichigo said, leaning in so they were almost nose to nose. “I get my big dick in your tight little hole and pound you until you go off like a fucking fireworks festival.”
Ishida’s eyes went wider than Ichigo had ever seen them. His lips moved as if he was trying to summon his usually inexhaustible vocabulary, but only a thin whine emerged, then he reached out, seized Ichigo’s head in both hands and dragged him in for a deep, resounding kiss.
“Fuck me,” Ishida growled against his lips. “Fuck me just like you said.”
“Oh hell yes!” Ichigo kissed Ishida again and then leaned over to paw open his nightstand drawer. He fished out a bottle of lube, then grabbed the condoms Urahara had given him, tore one open with his teeth, and sat back to fumble it on. Ishida stared openly as he did it, eyes wide through the tangle of his tousled hair, stomach shiny with the fluid dripping from his stiff cock.
“My god, you’re beautiful.” It came out of Ichigo’s mouth before he realized it.
Ishida frowned. “You don’t call a guy ‘beautiful’.”
“Tell that to those people at the Blood Rose club,” Ichigo smirked, enjoying Ishida’s discomfort. “Everyone thought you were a girl when you walked in.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am not. They were like “Oooh, is that a guy or a girl? He’s too pretty to be a guy. Oh no, all the guys are gonna go for him and ignore us!”” Ichigo mimicked.
“Well, I’m obviously a guy,” Ishida said, nostrils flaring.
“That’s what I told them” Ichigo smiled, his gaze flicking down to where Ishida’s cock strained up from its neat patch of trimmed black hair, and further down to where his underwear was rolled onto his thighs. “Time for these to go,” he judged, sitting back and bending one and then the other of Ishida’s long legs to pull off his briefs and toss them over his shoulder. “Much better,” he said, planting Ishida’s feet on either side of him and pushing his knees apart. He’d never imagined that the sight of a guy’s cock, balls, and ass could arouse him so much, but he was so turned on by Ishida’s that he was practically drooling. He reached for the bottle of lube, but found that Ishida had already picked it up.
“Here,” he said, pulling Ichigo’s hand off his knee and squeezing what seemed like half the bottle into his palm. “Use all of that, and don’t forget the head.”
Ichigo was about to tell him that he knew how to lube his own dick but got distracted by Ishida squirting gel into his own hand and slicking up his two middle fingers. Any comment he’d planned to make whirled right out of his brain as Ishida cupped his balls in one hand and slid the other between his legs, lubed fingers parting his cheeks to push at the tight, pink entry. Ichigo sat riveted, the handful of lube beginning to drip onto his thigh, forgotten, as Ishida arched his hips and let his head fall back, his two fingers moving in and out. He hissed through his teeth when he added a third, but whether it was in pain or pleasure, Ichigo couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter, anyway. The moment he heard Ishida make that sound, the moment he saw his hips lurch as two fingers pulled out and three pushed back in, he was lost. His balls tightened up like a clenched fist, every internal muscle between his belly-button and his thighs did a crazy dance, and his mind blanked out on anything and everything but the overwhelming need to get his dick inside Ishida. Grabbing said dick, he slopped the lube on in two quick strokes and scooted forward, his knees nudging Ishida’s thighs, sliding beneath them until the Quincy’s ass was practically in his lap.
“Let me in,” he groaned, pulling Ishida’s hand away and pressing in between those perfect cheeks. “Let me in, let me in, let me in.” He whispered it like a mantra, bending low to stretch over Ishida as he steadied his cock with one hand and pushed.
Pressure. Resistance. A hitch of breath as the head of his cock lodged, stopped. He bore down and heard a choked groan as he pushed through into impossible heat, into a tighter grip than had ever held him before.
It was sinking into the hottest pool at the onsen. It was chocolate melting on the tongue after a long fast. It was all these things and yet not, different, more because it was Ishida beneath him, Ishida he was sinking into, Ishida he was really tasting for the first time.
“Oh god,” he whimpered into Ishida’s neck, scenting ocean and sweat, tea and musk, and he snaked his arms around Ishida’s back and shoulders, gathering him up against him because he was jealous of every centimeter of Ishida’s skin that wasn’t touching his own. He was balls deep inside him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. He rolled his hips experimentally and pushed, just to see if there was any way to get deeper, and the bottom fell out of his stomach as Ishida spasmed around him.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” Ichigo moaned. He pulled back, ready to thrust in earnest but stopped at Ishida’s sharp breath. “You okay?” he asked, pushing up on his hands, concerned when he saw Ishida’s drawn expression. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you? Oh fuck, I’m hurting you.” He started to pull out but froze as Ishida’s knees clamped against his sides.
“Don’t. Move.” Ishida said through gritted teeth, gripping Ichigo’s arms for emphasis. “You’re not hurting me. You’re just-kind of big.”
Ishida’s words sent a warm flush through him, the way a shot of alcohol burns down the throat to the stomach, only this one went from his head straight to his balls and into his cock. He could have sworn he felt his dick swell even more at the compliment, and maybe it did because Ishida flinched. He felt a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
“So I’m big, huh?” Sure, he’d said it himself, but that was mostly bravado. Ishida saying it was something else entirely.
“Kind of big,” Ishida repeated, clearly more aggravated than uncomfortable at that moment.
“Bigger than Toru?”
Ishida’s expression went from pained to exasperated. “What is wrong with you? Why on earth would you bring up Toru-kun again at this-AHH!”
It was barely a thrust, more of a short, sharp surge of his hips, and he almost felt bad for doing it - almost - but his need to hear Ishida answer overwhelmed everything else in that moment.
“Well?”
“Yes, you’re bigger than Toru!” Ishida snapped. “Now will you just be still?”
Ichigo had no right to feel so pleased with himself, but he did, and the warmth of his happiness brimmed up until he felt like a cup overfilled with hot sake. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Ishida’s face, placing one kiss after another on his cheekbone, his jaw, his throat, his hair, murmuring his name with each kiss. “Uryuu,” he breathed against his temple, his shoulder, his chest, reveling in the right to speak that name. “Uryuu. Uryuu. Uryuu.”
Ishida’s body relaxed with each kiss, his hands traveling up Ichigo’s arms to his shoulders, his back, his sides. He shifted in a way that had little waves of pleasure lapping into Ichigo’s stomach until he finally tilted his hips and wrapped his legs around Ichigo’s waist, pulling him closer, tighter than before. Ichigo sucked in a breath and held it, every muscle tensed as he tried to keep his hips from doing what they really wanted to do, at least until Ishida was ready. He closed his eyes as slim fingers combed through his hair, calloused thumbs stroked his eyelids, hands pressed against the joints of his clenched jaw.
“Look at me.” The words were soft, but nonetheless a command, and Ichigo didn’t even think to disobey. He opened his eyes and gazed down at that familiar, narrow face, at the blue eyes dark with longing. “Say my name again,” Ishida whispered.
“Uryuu,” Ichigo groaned, lengthening the syllables as he leaned down to capture his mouth.
“Move,” Ishida said, just before their lips met, and Ichigo did.
The same damn thing, he’d said, and maybe he’d really believed it at that moment, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t the same. Fucking Ishida wasn’t like anything he’d done before. It hadn’t been from that first thrust, and now every movement was carrying him further away from anything he recognized as “the same”. It was tighter, rougher, the hands gripping his arms stronger, the body he pressed against less yielding, and all of it together made Ichigo more desperate than he’d ever been before. He felt the hot insistence of Ishida’s erection against his belly and ground his hips harder against his ass, wringing a groan from him.
“Is it good?” Ichigo panted, too breathless to keep kissing him. “Is this good? Tell me.” He pushed up on one hand, his thrusts slowing as he searched Ishida’s expression for pleasure, pain, approval - he wasn’t sure what. He got half-lidded eyes gazing back at him through strands of sweat-damp hair and parted lips bitten red and wanton. Those lips quirked in a wry smile.
“Are you going to talk, Kurosaki? Or are you going to fuck me like you said?”
So it was back to Kurosaki, was it? Ishida taunting him in that low, rough voice rankled like it always did, but even that was different this time. Usually it made him want to punch Ishida in the mouth; now it made him want to pin Ishida’s knees to his shoulders and fuck him through the mattress - and maybe that’s what Ishida had wanted all along?
“I get it,” Ichigo said as he pushed himself up and drew his knees under him. “If you can still talk,” he went on, hooking his arms under Ishida’s knees and then leaning over him, watching Ishida’s eyes widen in surprise as he was bent nearly in half, “then I’m not doing it right, yeah?”
Ishida looked like he was about to say something else, but Ichigo slammed in hard, full to the hilt, and whatever words were on his lips came out as a jagged groan. Encouraged, Ichigo drove in again and again - thrusts so deep and hard they were almost blows, stealing Ishida’s breath at every stroke so that all he could do was gasp. The new angle made it easier, better, faster, and soon Ichigo was huffing through gritted teeth, fingers digging in to Ishida’s hips as he pounded him, his cock going fast and slick, his balls smacking Ishida’s firm, little ass in time with his thrusts.
“Fuck-oh fuck!” Ishida choked, one hand twisting in the covers, the other bracing against the headboard to keep from being driven into it. He looked wild and tense and desperate, and in that moment Ichigo loved everything about him: the triceps flexing in his braced arm, the hipbones sharp under Ichigo’s thumbs, the stiff, flushed cock and drawn-up balls bouncing with every thrust. Hell no, this wasn’t the same. Fucking Ishida was heat and power, pleasure spiraling with despair. It was the stomach-twisting feeling of looking down from a great height and the dizzying knowledge that part of him wanted to fall. It was everything Ichigo had heard sex was supposed to be, but had never been till now.
That bastard Urahara had been right. There was some kind of connection between them, something vein-deep and electric that sparked whenever they came into contact. He’d always thought it was just irritation at having to deal with someone like Ishida, but now whatever it was ran singing through his body, tightening, twisting, making his head feel light and hot and crazy. Mostly crazy. Crazy at the pressure building up behind his balls, crazy at the way Ishida was gasping beneath him, crazy at the way Ishida’s head was tipped back, stretching out his throat, his entire body trembling, about to break.
“Don’t stop,” Ishida pleaded, his voice strained. “God, Ichigo, don’t stop.” Ichigo had no intention of stopping, but his rhythm faltered when Ishida reached down between them to grasp his cock and start pumping it furiously.
Ichigo was so ridiculously turned on by the sight of Ishida working himself that he nearly lost it then and there. The only thing that prevented it was Ichigo’s determination that Ishida was going to be the one to come first, and that he was going to be the one to make him. He pulled Ishida’s hand away and replaced it with his own, pressing his thumb to the sensitive area under the head and trying to stroke in time with his thrusts. It was clumsy, erratic, and off rhythm, and it didn’t matter in the slightest because Ishida tightened up like he’d been punched in the stomach and made a keening sound.
“Ichigo! Oh god-Ichigo!”
He felt it right before it hit - felt Ishida’s ass grip him hard, felt the delicious spasms start just as Ishida’s cock erupted in his hand - and kept stroking as pulse after pulse spattered Ishida’s stomach and chest with fluid whiter than his skin. Ishida’s entire body shuddered in release, and he groaned as his grip on the headboard loosened and his arm flopped to his side. Ichigo felt Ishida’s legs go slack and saw his head loll to the side, lashes fluttering over eyes that were glazed and distant. Slick with sweat, covered in come, and collapsed against the twisted sheets, the sight of him filled Ichigo with a bottomless sensation of need, as if he would never stop wanting to see him this way, and in that moment, he lost all pretense of control.
“Look at you, god, look at you,” Ichigo whimpered, falling on top of Ishida and kissing him as his hips went wild, bucking and plunging between Ishida’s sprawled legs. He wanted to tell him how good it felt, the heat, the friction, the way their skin connected, but desperation had seized him. He could feel his groin tightening, the liquid sensation of imminent release building up, and all he could do was pant against Ishida’s neck and thrust like crazy, unsure whether he was trying to hold it back or chase it down.
“C’mon,” Ishida whispered, pressing his mouth against Ichigo’s hair and draping languid arms around his neck. “I want to feel it. I want to feel it when you come.”
Oh fuck yes! was what Ichigo wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry as Ishida’s low voice husking in his ear pushed him over the edge into release.
It hit him the way a wave strikes a man struggling to shore, crashing down from above and behind, driving him to his knees and then flooding over him, pushing him forward and then sucking him back. Ichigo lost his breath, lost his voice, lost the power to do anything but clutch Ishida and bite down on the point of his shoulder as the tide of pleasure and relief washed through him. His balls contracted, and he felt the sharp, sweet thrill as he shot, his dick throbbing with every surge, and it was too good, too perfect, too much. The pleasure crested, resounding through his body, and he shuddered under its power, his senses tumbling like something caught in the surf. It felt like the room and the bed and even Ishida were reeling around him, and when it stopped, he lay there, sucking in air like a man pulled drowning from the sea.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself flat on his back, nearly crosswise on the bed, with Ishida on top of him, straddling his hips, his eyes bewildered. They were still connected, and when Ishida tried to move, Ichigo clapped both hands on his hips to keep him there.
“Don’t,” he exhaled with his first full breath. “Stay like this. It feels good. You feel good.”
Ishida’s hair had fallen into his face, and Ichigo took the risk of removing one hand from his hip to reach up and push his forelock away. He almost expected Ishida to shy away from the touch, or to refuse it as beneath his sense of pride. To Ichigo’s delight, Ishida not only accepted the touch, but closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into Ichigo’s palm.
“I’m not sure I can stay like this,” he confessed. “Sitting up, I mean.”
A faint spark of mischief flickered in Ichigo’s chest. Wore you out, did I? he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He sensed this new vulnerability was a fragile thing, and he wanted it to last. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could have stayed sitting up either.
“C’mere,” he said softly, opening his arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ishida eased down against his chest and into his embrace. “You felt it, didn’t you?” he ventured after a moment.
He felt Ishida’s eyelashes blink against his chest. “Yeah.”
“That was….” Ichigo groped for words to describe the experience.
“Yeah,” Ishida agreed, relieving him of the need to do so.
“So, uh… has anything like that happened to you before? You know. In bed.” Even if he couldn’t encompass it in words, Ichigo felt a keen curiosity. Did guys have these shattering orgasms with each other all the time? Had he been missing out on this all along? He suspected - no, he wanted to believe it was more personal than that, that it had more to do with who and what he and Ishida were, but how could he really know?
“No,” Ishida answered. “Never. But then I haven’t slept with a Shinigami before today.”
“Listen to you,” Ichigo chuckled. “Being all polite with your “slept with” when you were all “fuck fuck fuck” a few minutes ago. Say “fuck” again. It’s really hot when you say it.”
Ishida pushed up from his chest to give him a half-hearted glare. “Fuck off, Kurosaki.”
“Was that a challenge?” He slid his hands down to Ishida’s thighs, holding him as he rolled his hips, eliciting a grunt of what might have been discomfort.
“No, it wasn’t.” Ishida sat up with a frown and reached behind him. Ichigo couldn’t help groaning when Ishida’s fingers fondled his balls and then pressed against the base of his shaft.
“Kurosaki, considering that you came like a tsunami just a few minutes ago, I have to ask: why are you still hard? Is this normal for you?”
“Uh, no? But I’m not complaining.” He massaged Ishida’s thighs and rocked his hips, hoping that Ishida wouldn’t complain either. “Maybe my dick just finds you really inspiring. Maybe your ass is magic.”
Ishida didn’t seem to be listening to him. He had scraped his hair back behind his ears and was peering at the bed as he pulled at the folds of the sheets. Ichigo’s ardor cooled just a bit when Ishida fished up a torn plastic wrapper.
“This has Urahara-san’s face on it,” Ishida announced in the same tone one would use to say we just drank contaminated milk. “Read this.” Ishida shoved the wrapper at his face.
“Urahara Shouten Special X-tra Thin DOUBLE DUTY,” Ichigo recited. “When you need to be TWICE the man for your partner. Huh.”
“Huh,” Ishida repeated, louder and with extra sarcasm. “Great. Now we’re Urahara-san’s guinea pigs. You could have warned me.”
“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on a condom,” Ichigo pointed out. Ishida gave him a look. “I didn’t think about it, okay? I was a little preoccupied at that moment. More than a little,” he added.
Ishida let out a delicate snort that clearly communicated the insufficiency of Ichigo’s answer, disengaged from him and slid off the bed, leaving Ichigo to lie there with his dick still at full mast. He stared at it, considered making an appeal on the basis of “waste not, want not”, then gave it up with a sigh.
“So much for you,” he muttered, tugging off the condom and rolling over to toss it into the wastebasket by his bed. He pawed around for the tissue box he usually kept on the floor, grumbled when he couldn’t find it, and glanced up just in time to be smacked in the face by a damp washcloth.
“I was aiming for the bed,” Ishida explained. There might have been a hint of apology in his voice, but he also looked kind of amused. He was standing by the bathroom sink, glancing back at Ichigo through the open doorways as he washed off his chest and stomach. There was nothing consciously erotic in his movements, but when Ishida swept the cloth down between his legs and over his softened cock, Ichigo felt something tighten inside him. It wasn’t just Ishida standing there naked and unashamed, it was the casual intimacy of the act. The fact that Ichigo was watching, and Ishida didn’t mind suggested that this sort of thing would be happening again. Ichigo was already determined it was going to be on a regular basis.
“What’s with the weird look, Kurosaki?” Ishida shut off the water and tossed the rag in the small hamper by the sink. He gave Ichigo another glance as he opened the narrow door to the towel cabinet and reached inside.
“Nothing,” Ichigo shrugged, tearing his eyes away and swiping at the sticky residue on his own body. “I just like looking at you.” He heard Ishida rummaging around in the cabinet but didn’t pay it much mind until a small object sailed across his line of sight and landed on the bed beside him. It was a narrow, pink cardboard box with a branch of cherry blossoms on it. The white lettering said “Okamoto - 003 Variety Pack”. Ichigo stopped cleaning his stomach.
“What the hell are these?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Condoms. It was a box of condoms. And it had been in the bathroom all along.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ishida said. “Now we don’t have to use those dodgy ones that Urahara-san gave you.”
Ichigo filed away the happy news that yes, he and Ishida were going to be having sex again. At that moment, he had a more pressing question.
“Where the fuck were these! Were they in the bathroom?”
“Of course. Under the towels in the second shelf, all the way in the back.”
Ichigo’s head turned back and forth. He didn’t know whether to stare at Ishida or the box of condoms.
“How the-who the hell hides condoms under a stack of towels?” he wailed. “Why weren’t these someplace reasonable? Like the medicine cabinet?”
“Who puts condoms in the medicine cabinet?” Ishida frowned. “That’s the first place nosy people look.”
“But-why don’t you just keep them in your room?”
“I do. This was for emergencies.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me they were there?”
“I’m sure I did.”
“NO YOU DIDN’T!”
“Calm down, Kurosaki,” Ishida said. He flipped off the light in the bathroom and came in to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Why are you making such a big deal over a box of condoms?”
Ichigo exhaled a long, deep breath and put his head in his hands. He wanted to laugh, but he was sure that if he started, he might never stop. It was just too crazy.
“Friday night,” he said, his voice sounding odd to his own ears. Maybe he was going to laugh? Maybe there was no way to stop it. “Friday night,” he repeated. “The reason I went to your room. I needed to borrow a condom.”
He felt Ishida go very still beside him.
“You looked? In the bathroom?”
“Yeah, in the drawers and the medicine cabinet.”
“It didn’t occur to you…?”
“Nope,” Ichigo shook his head. “It never did.”
“And if you’d known they were there... if you’d found them…” Ishida didn’t finish the sentence. The air between them felt heavy, charged with something. Ichigo wasn’t sure what. Fate, maybe.
Ichigo felt the mattress shift, and when he looked up, Ishida had fallen backwards onto the bed. He was gazing at the ceiling, his arms loose at his sides.
“I’d never have gone to your room that night,” Ichigo said, finishing the thought for him. He lay back and stretched out beside Ishida. “I’d never have seen you and Toru.”
“What happened after that?” Ishida sounded genuinely curious. “After you saw us, I mean.”
Ichigo was almost surprised he still had the capacity to blush. “I got the most painful hard on of my life,” he admitted. “I nearly came in my shorts. I almost didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah,” he groaned, reliving the shame of that evening all over again. “That’s where Misa walked in and caught me with my dick in my hand right after blowing a load all over the sink.” Ishida had grown very still beside him. Ichigo wondered if he had said too much already, but, well, as long as he was confessing…. “One more thing,” Ichigo sighed. “That stuff you cleaned off the mirror Saturday morning? That, uh… wasn’t toothpaste.”
Ichigo closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable lambasting that Ishida was surely gathering steam for. Instead of a gush of abuse, however, Ichigo only heard an odd, staccato choking sound. He looked over to find Ishida’s features contorted, his arms wrapped over his mid-section as if he were in pain. For a second, Ichigo thought he was having some kind of seizure. Then he realized that Ishida was laughing.
Ichigo had never seen Ishida laugh like this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ishida laugh at all. He racked his memory but couldn’t come up with anything more than a few smirks and some tart comments, generally at his expense. Maybe Ishida wasn’t even laughing? Maybe this was what Ishida cracking up and going crazy sounded like?
“Ishida? Are you okay?” he asked, pushing himself upright. Ishida clapped his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, but it didn’t work. Ichigo thought he saw the glimmer of moisture at the corners of his eyes.
“Look, you’re starting to freak me out. Say something, alright?” Ichigo was actually starting to worry about the guy. Ishida did seem to be trying to rein in his amusement; he was taking deep breaths and only giggling when he exhaled. After a moment, he rolled to his side and dragged the backs of his fingers over his eyes. When he looked at Ichigo, his lashes were damp.
“My god, Kurosaki, you really are an idiot,” he said, still on the verge of laughter.
“It’s not like this is the first time you’ve told me that,” Ichigo reminded him. It wasn’t the kind of pillow talk he was hoping for from Ishida, but at least it was a sign he hadn’t gone nuts or anything.
“Yeah,” Ishida sighed. “But it’s the first time I’m glad you are.” And then he smiled at Ichigo. It wasn’t a smirk or a sneer or one of his smug, I’m so superior expressions, but a real smile. An affectionate smile. A smile that told Ichigo that things were going to be okay.
The urge to kiss Ishida seized Ichigo, and he did just that, leaning in and pressing their lips together. It was a gentle, almost chaste kiss, the softest they had shared, and when Ishida wound his arms around Ichigo’s neck and shoulders, Ichigo took him by the waist and pulled him all the way onto the bed. They lay together in the middle of the rumpled bedding simply kissing and touching, without words, with barely a sound except the whisper of lips on lips and fingers through hair. They pulled back at the same moment and gazed at each other. Ichigo blinked first.
“Wanna go again?” he suggested.
“Mmmh.” Ishida let his head drop to the mattress, his eyes flickering. “I do,” he said, drawing a finger down Ichigo’s chest and circling a nipple. “But I think I need a break first.”
“Oh yeah?” Ichigo propped his head on his fist and offered Ishida a teasing smile. “What’s the matter? Sore?”
Ishida rolled his eyes and then turned onto his back. “It’s more a matter of not getting much sleep for the past four days,” he said. A faint grimace passed over his features as he bent one leg then straightened it again. “Alright,” he sighed. “I might be a little sore.”
Ichigo grinned and scooted closer. “Want me to massage it for you? Turn over.”
“You stay on your side,” Ishida glowered, prodding him back.
“Why?” he teased. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to resist me?”
“No, it’s because you put off as much heat as a kotatsu,” Ishida pronounced, “and it’s too warm in here as it is. Now back off and let me rest, or I’ll go nap in my own bed.”
“Alright, alright, have it your way.” Ichigo retreated a few more inches, allowing Ishida a full half of his bed. “Here, want a pillow?”
Ishida accepted it with only a brief grunt of acknowledgement, shoved it under his head, and then turned away from Ichigo with a sigh. For his part, Ichigo yawned, stretched, and flopped onto his back. After a few minutes passed, he turned over to watch Ishida.
The light through the cracked window blinds was changing as the afternoon moved toward evening, the barred shadows on the bed shifting whenever a breeze rattled the slats. These shadows had always striped Ichigo’s empty bed. Now they shivered over Ishida, lithe and naked, and the sight filled Ichigo with a dizzy gratitude. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to go into the kitchen and cook a big pot of rice for when they got hungry later. He wanted to run his hands over Ishida’s body, using his fingers to count every vertebra, every rib, every dip and hollow.
Ichigo didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he watched the light and shadow stretch across his bed and the boy who lay there until Ishida’s breathing deepened and his body fully relaxed. Only then did Ichigo move closer, carefully molding himself against Ishida’s back, draping one arm over his waist and snaking the other under his neck to support his head. When Ishida didn’t rouse or protest, Ichigo grinned to himself, shifted until he was comfortable, and pressed his face into Ishida’s hair.
“Like hell I’ll stay on my side of the bed,” Ichigo muttered, feeling pleased with himself. He figured Ishida would be ticked off when he woke up and found Ichigo wrapped around him like this, but he didn’t much care. In fact, he was kind of looking forward to it. It wasn’t even evening yet. They had time to sleep and wake and argue and fuck each other silly all over again. They had all the time in the world.
Author: nehalenia
Paring: Ichigo/Ishida
Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations)
Warnings: just the usual guy sex stuff one expects from yaoi
Disclaimer: Bleach and all its characters belong to Kubo Tite. (Any original characters are mine.) This is posted for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made or sought.
Summary: Ichigo and Ishida are college roommates. They study, they fight Hollows, they have sex; but not with each other. Because Ishida likes guys, and Ichigo likes girls. Right?
Notes: Yeah, “late” doesn’t even begin to describe this update. Just trust me, I have a really good excuse this time. My apologies and my deepest gratitude to anyone who’s following this little saga, and many, many thanks to _debbiechan_ for beta-reading and much needed encouragement.
Chapter 1 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/300274.html
Chapter 2 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/300856.html#cutid1
Chapter 3 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/302528.html#cutid1
Chapter 4 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/307474.html#cutid1
Chapter 5 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/309030.html#cutid1
Chapter 6 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/311813.html
Chapter 7 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/317836.html
Chapter 8 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/319290.html
Chapter 9 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/335191.html
Chapter 10 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/337902.html
Chapter 11 is here: http://community.livejournal.com/ishi_ichi/338742.html
Chapter 12 is here: http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/351290.html#cutid2
Chapter 13 is here: http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/356429.html
“I told you hirenkyaku was faster than your flash step,” Ishida boasted as they zoomed over the rooftops, flying too fast for anyone to see. Any other day, Ichigo would have challenged the Quincy’s claim, but this time, he was too happy to protest. Saying something would have ruined the moment, the feeling of Ishida’s hair blowing into his face, Ishida’s waist beneath his hand, their thighs touching when the wave of reishi under their feet surged and bumped them together. He would have let Ishida fly him all the way to Karakura if they could stay just like that, but it was over too soon. His stomach lurched as they lost altitude, and then they were landing outside their apartment door.
Ishida had his keys out before Ichigo could reach into his pocket. For some reason, the idea of Ishida strolling into the apartment as if he’d just come home from a regular day at school, as if he hadn’t abandoned the place almost a week ago, aggravated Ichigo. Before Ishida could put his key in the lock, Ichigo reached over and plucked it out of his hand.
“What’s with you, Kurosaki?” Ishida gave him an odd look.
“Nothing.” He reached past him to unlock the door and then pushed it open. The hot, stuffy air of the closed up apartment hit them as they crossed the threshold, and Ishida made a face as he dropped his backpack.
“Am I the only one who ever thinks to open a window around here?” Ishida complained. He slipped off his sandals and padded barefoot to the sliding glass door of the balcony. Ignoring the broken blinds still tumbled on the floor, he slid the door open and sighed as a breeze swept in, flattening his shirt against his stomach and ruffling his hair.
Ichigo felt the apartment cool almost immediately and watched as Ishida turned and surveyed the interior with narrowed eyes. It reminded him of the day they had first looked at the place, of the way Ishida had scanned the scuffed wooden floor, the bare walls, squinting as if trying to imagine living there. Watching Ishida do the same thing now gave him an odd pang, as if something had tapped his heart and made it hum like a bronze bell. Ishida was saying something - his mouth was moving, and he looked displeased - but Ichigo couldn’t hear him until the small reverberations sank away.
“…towels on the floor, the recycling bin overflowing, a week’s worth of soda cans on the table. Kurosaki, did you clean this place even once while I was gone?”
He didn’t know what to tell him. Yeah, he’d let the place go to hell that week, but what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I was too busy obsessing about you to pay attention to the apartment? And besides, you weren’t here to bug me about picking up my stuff so it’s really kind of your fault anyway? He knew that would be the wrong thing to say. Ishida would look at him like a pissed off cat and probably stomp off to get a garbage bag and start cleaning the place up so Ichigo didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he walked over to where Ishida stood griping about the mess and took him by the shoulders.
“Ishida, for once in your life, would you just shut up?”
The words must have shocked him into silence because Ishida’s mouth actually stopped moving, and Ichigo, seizing this golden opportunity, pulled him close and kissed him. For a moment, Ishida didn't respond but then his mouth softened, and Ichigo slid his tongue against the inner edge of his lips. Their tongues touched, mouths opening wider, then Ichigo lost all sense of balance as he fell heart-first into their kiss.
It was a fantastic kiss. Ishida’s mouth tasted like miso and barley tea, and he kissed like nothing else mattered. Ichigo felt his skin prickle in the cooling air and his nipples tighten under his sweat-damp shirt as they shifted against each other, negotiating knees and hipbones as their mouths grew hungrier, more demanding. Ichigo found his hands roving over Ishida’s body, learning the feel of this new geography from the lean muscled arms, to the sharp rise of shoulder blades, to the shallow valley of his spine. His breath quickened as his fingers slid beneath the waist of Ishida’s shorts and spread to map the perfect curve of his ass. Ishida repaid him by sucking Ichigo’s tongue deep into his mouth and thrusting up so that his trapped erection met Ichigo’s crotch with a magnetic jolt. The sensation stunned Ichigo, echoing through his body like a blow. His brain stuttered and flared like a severed power line, and his blood swirled down like a shower of fiery sparks, filling his cock until it strained against the front of his jeans.
“Oh godth!” Ichigo mumbled because Ishida was still sucking on his tongue, and he had to get closer. Pulling his hands out of Ishida’s shorts, he grabbed him by the hips and yanked him off his feet so that they were crotch to crotch. Even through their clothes it felt so good that Ichigo’s head swam. It got even better when Ishida wrapped his legs around Ichigo’s hips and ground against him.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! Ichigo tried to groan, but Ishida was in full possession of his mouth, and the words rang and circled inside his head like metal balls in a game machine. Reeling with desire, he stumbled forward, tripped on one of the towels littering the floor, then came down hard on his knees and kept falling, spilling both of them to the ground in a tangle.
“Ugh!” Ishida broke their kiss, breathless under Ichigo’s weight. “Kurosaki, get off, you’re crushing me.”
Part of Ichigo’s lust-fogged brain agreed, but he couldn’t make himself obey. His knees hurt from smacking into the hard floor, but the rest of him was too stupidly happy at being where he was: right on top of his roommate, gazing down into that beautiful, irritated face.
Ishida’s beautiful, irritated face glared back at him. “Stop staring at me like that. You look like a pole-axed cow.” Ishida pushed against his chest, but Ichigo caught his wrist, leaned down and renewed their kiss, his free hand cushioning Ishida’s head. Ishida struggled for a few delicious seconds, then surrendered with a small groan when Ichigo’s mouth left his lips and traveled the sharp line of his jaw to his neck and collar bone. By the time his lips reached the top of the scar over his heart, Ichigo’s pulse was thundering in his head and his fingers were fumbling at the zipper on Ishida’s shirt.
“What are you doing?” Ishida frowned. “You’re going to tear it.” He tried to move Ichigo’s hands away, but then the zipper slid down with a metallic purr and the shirt fell open, leaving Ishida naked to the hips. Ichigo pulled back to take in the sight of Ishida’s lean, bared torso, let out one gratified breath, and dove to seize Ishida’s right nipple in his teeth. Ishida made an odd, high-pitched sound and grabbed Ichigo’s head with both hands, but Ichigo was already moving on, kissing down his ribs and onto his stomach where he swirled his tongue into his navel. Ishida gasped and stiffened, his fingers pulling at Ichigo’s hair, and before Ichigo could even register what his own hands were doing, he had thumbed open the button of Ishida’s shorts and yanked the zipper apart.
“Off-off,” Ichigo growled, sitting up to tug the gray shorts from Ishida’s hips. “I want you naked. I want you naked now.”
Dragging Ishida’s shorts past his knees, Ichigo sat back and stared, overwhelmed by the sight of Ishida’s erection straining against the thin cloth of his briefs and by the things it made him want to do. Like wrap his arms around Ishida’s hips and bury his face in his groin, rub his cheek against that swollen shaft the way a cat would rub against a chair leg, even open his mouth and touch his tongue to the spot near the head where moisture made the cloth almost transparent. He’d never wanted to do anything like that before, never even imagined it, but he wanted to do it now, more than anything.
He leaned close, breathing in the scent of cotton and musk, and hooked his fingers in the band of Ishida’s underwear. He was about to yank them off, already envisioning the way Ishida’s cock would bounce free, all swollen and stiff, when Ishida stammered “Don’t!”
It wasn’t the word itself but the tone that made Ichigo falter, and he glanced up at Ishida’s face. “What? Why not?”
“Because,” he sighed, looking uncomfortable. “We-we need to wait. Until I can get tested.” It took Ichigo a moment to register what he was talking about.
“Tested?” Frustration was rapidly replacing anticipation in Ichigo’s brain. “Because of that Toru guy? Don’t tell me you had unprotected sex with him!”
“Of course not!” Ishida pushed up on his elbows to glare back. “Do you think I’m an idiot? We always used protection.”
“Then what’s the big deal? It should be fine.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Ishida said. “What if a condom broke and I didn’t notice?”
“Like you wouldn’t notice something like that,” Ichigo snorted.
“Well, what about you? When was the last time you got tested?”
“Right before I moved here. And it’s not like I’ve had that much reason to get retested, okay?” he frowned. “Look, I know we’ve both been careful, so we’re really low risk. What are you so worried about?”
“Low risk isn’t no-risk, Kurosaki,” Ishida reminded him, sounding far too much like one of their class instructors. “Besides, our fathers are doctors. How do you think they’d react if they found out we’d contracted an STD? If your imagination’s deficient, I’ll be happy to offer a scenario.”
“No thanks.” Ishida didn’t have to say anything. Ichigo was already wincing at the idea of what old Goat-Chin would do. There would be a scene. And lectures. Embarrassing lectures with charts and photos that would turn him off sex for a month, or worse, leave him unable to….
He put the brakes on that train of thought immediately. Sitting back on his haunches, he ran an impatient hand through his hair. “So what are you saying? That we can’t do anything until we both go get blood tests?”
“No,” Ishida shook his head, “just that we probably shouldn’t indulge in… well, anything without a condom.”
Ichigo sat there glaring for a moment, then let out an aggrieved sigh. Ishida sat up, reaching for his shorts, and Ichigo experienced a moment of dismay, thinking he planned to pull them back up. Instead, Ishida shoved them down to his ankles and kicked them off, then shrugged out of his open shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Watching the clothing slide from Ishida’s limbs, Ichigo felt twin pangs of arousal and bitterness rise in his chest. He wanted to enjoy every inch of Ishida’s lean, gorgeous body in every way he could think of, and he wanted to be angry with someone for preventing that. He felt slightly better when he thought of an acceptable candidate.
“I really fucking hate your ex-boyfriend,” he told Ishida, who rolled his eyes.
“I told you before, Toru-kun wasn’t…”
“Your boyfriend,” Ichigo finished, rising to his feet. “Yeah, you mentioned that. So here’s what I want to know,” he went on, pulling Ishida up to stand before him. “If I want to do everything to you that he did and more besides, what does that make me?”
Ishida pushed up his glasses and considered him with half-lidded eyes. The afternoon sun put a silver sheen on his hair and painted his skin with gold so that even though he was standing there in his underwear, to Ichigo he seemed clothed in light.
“I guess we’ll figure that out, won’t we?” Ishida responded, and the timbre of his voice, so low that it raised the hairs on Ichigo’s arms, signaled that this was much more a proposition than a question. For a moment, Ichigo was the one who felt half-naked, and he took Ishida by the waist and pulled him close just to keep himself steady.
“Damn it, Ishida,” he breathed, leaning their foreheads together and gazing directly into his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I want you? The things I want to do to you?” He watched Ishida’s pupils dilate at his words, the black nearly obscuring the deep blue, and caught his breath at the pulse of arousal that sent through him.
“You gave me a pretty good idea at the café,” Ishida allowed. “But maybe we could try doing those things in a bed?”
“Oh fuck yeah,” Ichigo exhaled, and at that moment he couldn’t have said what was throbbing harder: his heart or his cock. Without another word, he grabbed Ishida by the wrist and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. It took several steps before he realized there was resistance on Ishida’s end, and he swung his head around, confused by the delay. Ishida was leaning back against his grip and looking pretty serious for a mostly naked person.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ishida wanted to know.
“My room. Where else?”
“Why your room?” Ishida demanded. “Mine’s closer. And better equipped, I might add.”
Ichigo was so stunned by Ishida’s opposition it took him a second to come up with even the most obvious reason. “My bed’s bigger.”
“So? It’s not like we’re mating elephants. We don’t need that much room.”
For a moment Ichigo thought about trying to answer him rationally because why wouldn’t a bigger bed be the obvious choice, especially if they were going to be thrashing around? But somehow he just knew that Ishida would say something about how his bed had been fine for him and Toru-kun, or how Toru-kun had never complained, and the spark of anger that flared whenever Ichigo thought about that cock-blocking gym rat erupted at that moment into a fireball of rage.
“Oh hell no!” Ichigo exploded. “We are not doing it in the same bed where your precious Toru-kun nailed your ass last week. No way. Nuh uh. Not. Happening.”
Ishida’s eyes widened at this outburst, but before he could say anything, Ichigo yanked him forward, scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and then charged down the hall to his own bedroom.
“Kurosaki, what the hell are you doing?” Ishida yelled, but Ichigo was already kicking open his bedroom door and flinging him into the middle of the bed. Ishida bounced on the mattress and then sprawled there spread-eagled, looking stunned as Ichigo dove after him.
“Have you gone crazy?” Ishida shouted, grabbing on to the edge of mattress, the springs protesting as Ichigo landed on the bed.
“Probably.” Ichigo liked the shock in those wide blue eyes as he crawled on top of him, liked the way Ishida scrambled back until the headboard stopped him. “Who wouldn’t be crazy after the week you put me through?”
If Ishida had any smart-ass answers to that, he didn’t offer them. Leaning forward, Ichigo plucked his glasses off and tossed them onto the night stand and then settled between those long, sprawled legs, angling his hips until his own throbbing erection nudged Ishida’s hardness.
“Fuck,” Ishida breathed just before Ichigo captured his mouth, thrusting in his tongue as he pressed their cocks together. “Fuck,” Ishida repeated, his voice now lower, thinner, when Ichigo pulled back for a breath. He kissed him again, deeper, forcing his mouth open wider, and felt Ishida’s hands on his back, sweeping under his t-shirt. Ishida’s touch on his bare skin was electrifying, and he rolled his hips so extravagantly that Ishida gave a muffled whimper and clamped his legs around his waist, thrusting up to meet his movements. Pleasure twisted deep in Ichigo’s gut as they surged and rocked together, but as good as it was, Ichigo knew that he wanted more. For one thing, he really wanted not to come in his pants this time.
“Wait,” he said, pushing up on his hands and pulling his hips back even as Ishida arched up for the denied contact. “Listen, we should…” But before Ichigo could finish his sentence, Ishida made a sound of deep frustration and twisted so that both of them were thrown to their sides. Before Ichigo could shake off his surprise, deft fingers were flicking open the button of his fly, tugging at his zipper, and jerking down both his jeans and underwear. His dick flopped out, thick and heavy, and the thrill he felt flared higher when Ishida wrapped his hand around it and gave it a long, firm stroke from base to tip.
“Ohgodfuckyes!” he groaned, the pressure of that sure, possessive stroke making him dizzy with need. He reached out and found Ishida’s hip, curled his fingers into the elastic band of his underwear and tore them down, seizing Ishida’s cock as it bounced free. It was shorter, slimmer than his own, but it filled his hand perfectly, hot, silky, and hard as the hilt of his sword. When his fist glided up to the tip, moisture leaked onto the side of his hand, first warm, then cooling as it dripped down his knuckles, and Ichigo heard himself whimper like a lost dog.
“Fuck you, fuck you’re so hot!” Ichigo gasped as he pulled Ishida forward. Their legs tangled, Ichigo’s hips lurched, and there was a sweet shock as their cocks mashed together, naked and moist. Their hands fumbled until their fingers entwined around their shafts as they thrust and tugged.
The pleasure was almost incidental. What was building like a storm cloud in Ichigo’s loins was nothing compared to the miracle of Ishida holding him, touching him like this, breathing hard against his shoulder, arm tight around his neck. Tendrils of dark hair clung to Ishida’s jaw, whipcord muscles flexed as his arm worked up and down, and Ichigo felt an overwhelming desire to taste Ishida’s skin and sweat. Dropping his head forward, he bit down where Ishida’s neck and shoulder met, teeth holding on as his tongue mapped out the fineness of his skin, tasting soap, and salt, and heat until the body in his arms began to struggle and resist.
“Oh god!” Ishida gasped, squirming as Ichigo sucked at his neck. “Too much! Ichigo-Ichigo, stop!”
And Ichigo did stop. He pulled back from their embrace and gazed wide-eyed as Ishida tried to catch his breath.
“You said my name.”
“What?” Ishida looked confused for a moment, but when he met Ichigo’s gaze, a kind of despair flashed through his eyes, as if he had broken the genie’s bottle and knew it would never go back inside.
“You said my name,” Ichigo repeated, his voice soft with awe, and then the marvel of it seized him. He sat up with a whoop of triumph and tore his shirt off over his head, then leapt from the bed to stumble around as he shoved his jeans and underwear off. He kicked the entrapping clothes away, pulled off his socks, and hurled himself back on top of Ishida, kissing him, pawing him, crazy with desire as he moaned “You said my name, oh god, you said my name, say it again, say it again!”
“Stop it, you moron!” Ishida said, trying to fend off some of the bites and kisses, but Ichigo was having none of it. He pinned Ishida’s wrists and straddled his thighs, relishing the feel of Ishida struggling beneath him, skin to skin.
“Say it,” he demanded, and when Ishida’s response was to stubbornly grit his teeth and glare, Ichigo fastened his mouth on the crook of his neck again, bit down and sucked.
“Ahhh!” Ishida struggled, but Ichigo held on and didn’t stop, not until Ishida’s breath was coming in sobs. “Ichigo! Ichigo, stop! Ichigo!”
No one had ever called his name like that before, so needy and desperate, and Ichigo reveled in every syllable. He nuzzled his way up to his ear, breathing against it before nipping at the lobe.
“I’m going to make you say it again,” he whispered, feeling Ishida shiver against him. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t do anything but scream my name over and over and over. I’m gonna…” He tried to go on, but his brain was tripping over itself at all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do, and then he realized that Ishida had grown very still beneath him, and a pang of fear struck his chest.
“You want that too, right?” he asked, rearing back to examine Ishida’s expression, suddenly unsure. “It isn’t just me who wants that? Because… because if you don’t…”
“I want it,” Ishida assured him. “It’s just…” He peered into Ichigo’s face. “Well, you’ve never done this before.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve had sex.”
“Not with a guy, you moron!”
Ichigo snorted as if the distinction was absurd. “So? It’s the same damn thing.”
“How on earth do you think sex with a guy is the same as sex with a girl?” Ishida sputtered, shaking off Ichigo’s grip and sitting up to face him.
“Simple,” Ichigo said, leaning in so they were almost nose to nose. “I get my big dick in your tight little hole and pound you until you go off like a fucking fireworks festival.”
Ishida’s eyes went wider than Ichigo had ever seen them. His lips moved as if he was trying to summon his usually inexhaustible vocabulary, but only a thin whine emerged, then he reached out, seized Ichigo’s head in both hands and dragged him in for a deep, resounding kiss.
“Fuck me,” Ishida growled against his lips. “Fuck me just like you said.”
“Oh hell yes!” Ichigo kissed Ishida again and then leaned over to paw open his nightstand drawer. He fished out a bottle of lube, then grabbed the condoms Urahara had given him, tore one open with his teeth, and sat back to fumble it on. Ishida stared openly as he did it, eyes wide through the tangle of his tousled hair, stomach shiny with the fluid dripping from his stiff cock.
“My god, you’re beautiful.” It came out of Ichigo’s mouth before he realized it.
Ishida frowned. “You don’t call a guy ‘beautiful’.”
“Tell that to those people at the Blood Rose club,” Ichigo smirked, enjoying Ishida’s discomfort. “Everyone thought you were a girl when you walked in.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am not. They were like “Oooh, is that a guy or a girl? He’s too pretty to be a guy. Oh no, all the guys are gonna go for him and ignore us!”” Ichigo mimicked.
“Well, I’m obviously a guy,” Ishida said, nostrils flaring.
“That’s what I told them” Ichigo smiled, his gaze flicking down to where Ishida’s cock strained up from its neat patch of trimmed black hair, and further down to where his underwear was rolled onto his thighs. “Time for these to go,” he judged, sitting back and bending one and then the other of Ishida’s long legs to pull off his briefs and toss them over his shoulder. “Much better,” he said, planting Ishida’s feet on either side of him and pushing his knees apart. He’d never imagined that the sight of a guy’s cock, balls, and ass could arouse him so much, but he was so turned on by Ishida’s that he was practically drooling. He reached for the bottle of lube, but found that Ishida had already picked it up.
“Here,” he said, pulling Ichigo’s hand off his knee and squeezing what seemed like half the bottle into his palm. “Use all of that, and don’t forget the head.”
Ichigo was about to tell him that he knew how to lube his own dick but got distracted by Ishida squirting gel into his own hand and slicking up his two middle fingers. Any comment he’d planned to make whirled right out of his brain as Ishida cupped his balls in one hand and slid the other between his legs, lubed fingers parting his cheeks to push at the tight, pink entry. Ichigo sat riveted, the handful of lube beginning to drip onto his thigh, forgotten, as Ishida arched his hips and let his head fall back, his two fingers moving in and out. He hissed through his teeth when he added a third, but whether it was in pain or pleasure, Ichigo couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter, anyway. The moment he heard Ishida make that sound, the moment he saw his hips lurch as two fingers pulled out and three pushed back in, he was lost. His balls tightened up like a clenched fist, every internal muscle between his belly-button and his thighs did a crazy dance, and his mind blanked out on anything and everything but the overwhelming need to get his dick inside Ishida. Grabbing said dick, he slopped the lube on in two quick strokes and scooted forward, his knees nudging Ishida’s thighs, sliding beneath them until the Quincy’s ass was practically in his lap.
“Let me in,” he groaned, pulling Ishida’s hand away and pressing in between those perfect cheeks. “Let me in, let me in, let me in.” He whispered it like a mantra, bending low to stretch over Ishida as he steadied his cock with one hand and pushed.
Pressure. Resistance. A hitch of breath as the head of his cock lodged, stopped. He bore down and heard a choked groan as he pushed through into impossible heat, into a tighter grip than had ever held him before.
It was sinking into the hottest pool at the onsen. It was chocolate melting on the tongue after a long fast. It was all these things and yet not, different, more because it was Ishida beneath him, Ishida he was sinking into, Ishida he was really tasting for the first time.
“Oh god,” he whimpered into Ishida’s neck, scenting ocean and sweat, tea and musk, and he snaked his arms around Ishida’s back and shoulders, gathering him up against him because he was jealous of every centimeter of Ishida’s skin that wasn’t touching his own. He was balls deep inside him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. He rolled his hips experimentally and pushed, just to see if there was any way to get deeper, and the bottom fell out of his stomach as Ishida spasmed around him.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” Ichigo moaned. He pulled back, ready to thrust in earnest but stopped at Ishida’s sharp breath. “You okay?” he asked, pushing up on his hands, concerned when he saw Ishida’s drawn expression. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you? Oh fuck, I’m hurting you.” He started to pull out but froze as Ishida’s knees clamped against his sides.
“Don’t. Move.” Ishida said through gritted teeth, gripping Ichigo’s arms for emphasis. “You’re not hurting me. You’re just-kind of big.”
Ishida’s words sent a warm flush through him, the way a shot of alcohol burns down the throat to the stomach, only this one went from his head straight to his balls and into his cock. He could have sworn he felt his dick swell even more at the compliment, and maybe it did because Ishida flinched. He felt a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
“So I’m big, huh?” Sure, he’d said it himself, but that was mostly bravado. Ishida saying it was something else entirely.
“Kind of big,” Ishida repeated, clearly more aggravated than uncomfortable at that moment.
“Bigger than Toru?”
Ishida’s expression went from pained to exasperated. “What is wrong with you? Why on earth would you bring up Toru-kun again at this-AHH!”
It was barely a thrust, more of a short, sharp surge of his hips, and he almost felt bad for doing it - almost - but his need to hear Ishida answer overwhelmed everything else in that moment.
“Well?”
“Yes, you’re bigger than Toru!” Ishida snapped. “Now will you just be still?”
Ichigo had no right to feel so pleased with himself, but he did, and the warmth of his happiness brimmed up until he felt like a cup overfilled with hot sake. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Ishida’s face, placing one kiss after another on his cheekbone, his jaw, his throat, his hair, murmuring his name with each kiss. “Uryuu,” he breathed against his temple, his shoulder, his chest, reveling in the right to speak that name. “Uryuu. Uryuu. Uryuu.”
Ishida’s body relaxed with each kiss, his hands traveling up Ichigo’s arms to his shoulders, his back, his sides. He shifted in a way that had little waves of pleasure lapping into Ichigo’s stomach until he finally tilted his hips and wrapped his legs around Ichigo’s waist, pulling him closer, tighter than before. Ichigo sucked in a breath and held it, every muscle tensed as he tried to keep his hips from doing what they really wanted to do, at least until Ishida was ready. He closed his eyes as slim fingers combed through his hair, calloused thumbs stroked his eyelids, hands pressed against the joints of his clenched jaw.
“Look at me.” The words were soft, but nonetheless a command, and Ichigo didn’t even think to disobey. He opened his eyes and gazed down at that familiar, narrow face, at the blue eyes dark with longing. “Say my name again,” Ishida whispered.
“Uryuu,” Ichigo groaned, lengthening the syllables as he leaned down to capture his mouth.
“Move,” Ishida said, just before their lips met, and Ichigo did.
The same damn thing, he’d said, and maybe he’d really believed it at that moment, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t the same. Fucking Ishida wasn’t like anything he’d done before. It hadn’t been from that first thrust, and now every movement was carrying him further away from anything he recognized as “the same”. It was tighter, rougher, the hands gripping his arms stronger, the body he pressed against less yielding, and all of it together made Ichigo more desperate than he’d ever been before. He felt the hot insistence of Ishida’s erection against his belly and ground his hips harder against his ass, wringing a groan from him.
“Is it good?” Ichigo panted, too breathless to keep kissing him. “Is this good? Tell me.” He pushed up on one hand, his thrusts slowing as he searched Ishida’s expression for pleasure, pain, approval - he wasn’t sure what. He got half-lidded eyes gazing back at him through strands of sweat-damp hair and parted lips bitten red and wanton. Those lips quirked in a wry smile.
“Are you going to talk, Kurosaki? Or are you going to fuck me like you said?”
So it was back to Kurosaki, was it? Ishida taunting him in that low, rough voice rankled like it always did, but even that was different this time. Usually it made him want to punch Ishida in the mouth; now it made him want to pin Ishida’s knees to his shoulders and fuck him through the mattress - and maybe that’s what Ishida had wanted all along?
“I get it,” Ichigo said as he pushed himself up and drew his knees under him. “If you can still talk,” he went on, hooking his arms under Ishida’s knees and then leaning over him, watching Ishida’s eyes widen in surprise as he was bent nearly in half, “then I’m not doing it right, yeah?”
Ishida looked like he was about to say something else, but Ichigo slammed in hard, full to the hilt, and whatever words were on his lips came out as a jagged groan. Encouraged, Ichigo drove in again and again - thrusts so deep and hard they were almost blows, stealing Ishida’s breath at every stroke so that all he could do was gasp. The new angle made it easier, better, faster, and soon Ichigo was huffing through gritted teeth, fingers digging in to Ishida’s hips as he pounded him, his cock going fast and slick, his balls smacking Ishida’s firm, little ass in time with his thrusts.
“Fuck-oh fuck!” Ishida choked, one hand twisting in the covers, the other bracing against the headboard to keep from being driven into it. He looked wild and tense and desperate, and in that moment Ichigo loved everything about him: the triceps flexing in his braced arm, the hipbones sharp under Ichigo’s thumbs, the stiff, flushed cock and drawn-up balls bouncing with every thrust. Hell no, this wasn’t the same. Fucking Ishida was heat and power, pleasure spiraling with despair. It was the stomach-twisting feeling of looking down from a great height and the dizzying knowledge that part of him wanted to fall. It was everything Ichigo had heard sex was supposed to be, but had never been till now.
That bastard Urahara had been right. There was some kind of connection between them, something vein-deep and electric that sparked whenever they came into contact. He’d always thought it was just irritation at having to deal with someone like Ishida, but now whatever it was ran singing through his body, tightening, twisting, making his head feel light and hot and crazy. Mostly crazy. Crazy at the pressure building up behind his balls, crazy at the way Ishida was gasping beneath him, crazy at the way Ishida’s head was tipped back, stretching out his throat, his entire body trembling, about to break.
“Don’t stop,” Ishida pleaded, his voice strained. “God, Ichigo, don’t stop.” Ichigo had no intention of stopping, but his rhythm faltered when Ishida reached down between them to grasp his cock and start pumping it furiously.
Ichigo was so ridiculously turned on by the sight of Ishida working himself that he nearly lost it then and there. The only thing that prevented it was Ichigo’s determination that Ishida was going to be the one to come first, and that he was going to be the one to make him. He pulled Ishida’s hand away and replaced it with his own, pressing his thumb to the sensitive area under the head and trying to stroke in time with his thrusts. It was clumsy, erratic, and off rhythm, and it didn’t matter in the slightest because Ishida tightened up like he’d been punched in the stomach and made a keening sound.
“Ichigo! Oh god-Ichigo!”
He felt it right before it hit - felt Ishida’s ass grip him hard, felt the delicious spasms start just as Ishida’s cock erupted in his hand - and kept stroking as pulse after pulse spattered Ishida’s stomach and chest with fluid whiter than his skin. Ishida’s entire body shuddered in release, and he groaned as his grip on the headboard loosened and his arm flopped to his side. Ichigo felt Ishida’s legs go slack and saw his head loll to the side, lashes fluttering over eyes that were glazed and distant. Slick with sweat, covered in come, and collapsed against the twisted sheets, the sight of him filled Ichigo with a bottomless sensation of need, as if he would never stop wanting to see him this way, and in that moment, he lost all pretense of control.
“Look at you, god, look at you,” Ichigo whimpered, falling on top of Ishida and kissing him as his hips went wild, bucking and plunging between Ishida’s sprawled legs. He wanted to tell him how good it felt, the heat, the friction, the way their skin connected, but desperation had seized him. He could feel his groin tightening, the liquid sensation of imminent release building up, and all he could do was pant against Ishida’s neck and thrust like crazy, unsure whether he was trying to hold it back or chase it down.
“C’mon,” Ishida whispered, pressing his mouth against Ichigo’s hair and draping languid arms around his neck. “I want to feel it. I want to feel it when you come.”
Oh fuck yes! was what Ichigo wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry as Ishida’s low voice husking in his ear pushed him over the edge into release.
It hit him the way a wave strikes a man struggling to shore, crashing down from above and behind, driving him to his knees and then flooding over him, pushing him forward and then sucking him back. Ichigo lost his breath, lost his voice, lost the power to do anything but clutch Ishida and bite down on the point of his shoulder as the tide of pleasure and relief washed through him. His balls contracted, and he felt the sharp, sweet thrill as he shot, his dick throbbing with every surge, and it was too good, too perfect, too much. The pleasure crested, resounding through his body, and he shuddered under its power, his senses tumbling like something caught in the surf. It felt like the room and the bed and even Ishida were reeling around him, and when it stopped, he lay there, sucking in air like a man pulled drowning from the sea.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself flat on his back, nearly crosswise on the bed, with Ishida on top of him, straddling his hips, his eyes bewildered. They were still connected, and when Ishida tried to move, Ichigo clapped both hands on his hips to keep him there.
“Don’t,” he exhaled with his first full breath. “Stay like this. It feels good. You feel good.”
Ishida’s hair had fallen into his face, and Ichigo took the risk of removing one hand from his hip to reach up and push his forelock away. He almost expected Ishida to shy away from the touch, or to refuse it as beneath his sense of pride. To Ichigo’s delight, Ishida not only accepted the touch, but closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into Ichigo’s palm.
“I’m not sure I can stay like this,” he confessed. “Sitting up, I mean.”
A faint spark of mischief flickered in Ichigo’s chest. Wore you out, did I? he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He sensed this new vulnerability was a fragile thing, and he wanted it to last. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could have stayed sitting up either.
“C’mere,” he said softly, opening his arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ishida eased down against his chest and into his embrace. “You felt it, didn’t you?” he ventured after a moment.
He felt Ishida’s eyelashes blink against his chest. “Yeah.”
“That was….” Ichigo groped for words to describe the experience.
“Yeah,” Ishida agreed, relieving him of the need to do so.
“So, uh… has anything like that happened to you before? You know. In bed.” Even if he couldn’t encompass it in words, Ichigo felt a keen curiosity. Did guys have these shattering orgasms with each other all the time? Had he been missing out on this all along? He suspected - no, he wanted to believe it was more personal than that, that it had more to do with who and what he and Ishida were, but how could he really know?
“No,” Ishida answered. “Never. But then I haven’t slept with a Shinigami before today.”
“Listen to you,” Ichigo chuckled. “Being all polite with your “slept with” when you were all “fuck fuck fuck” a few minutes ago. Say “fuck” again. It’s really hot when you say it.”
Ishida pushed up from his chest to give him a half-hearted glare. “Fuck off, Kurosaki.”
“Was that a challenge?” He slid his hands down to Ishida’s thighs, holding him as he rolled his hips, eliciting a grunt of what might have been discomfort.
“No, it wasn’t.” Ishida sat up with a frown and reached behind him. Ichigo couldn’t help groaning when Ishida’s fingers fondled his balls and then pressed against the base of his shaft.
“Kurosaki, considering that you came like a tsunami just a few minutes ago, I have to ask: why are you still hard? Is this normal for you?”
“Uh, no? But I’m not complaining.” He massaged Ishida’s thighs and rocked his hips, hoping that Ishida wouldn’t complain either. “Maybe my dick just finds you really inspiring. Maybe your ass is magic.”
Ishida didn’t seem to be listening to him. He had scraped his hair back behind his ears and was peering at the bed as he pulled at the folds of the sheets. Ichigo’s ardor cooled just a bit when Ishida fished up a torn plastic wrapper.
“This has Urahara-san’s face on it,” Ishida announced in the same tone one would use to say we just drank contaminated milk. “Read this.” Ishida shoved the wrapper at his face.
“Urahara Shouten Special X-tra Thin DOUBLE DUTY,” Ichigo recited. “When you need to be TWICE the man for your partner. Huh.”
“Huh,” Ishida repeated, louder and with extra sarcasm. “Great. Now we’re Urahara-san’s guinea pigs. You could have warned me.”
“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on a condom,” Ichigo pointed out. Ishida gave him a look. “I didn’t think about it, okay? I was a little preoccupied at that moment. More than a little,” he added.
Ishida let out a delicate snort that clearly communicated the insufficiency of Ichigo’s answer, disengaged from him and slid off the bed, leaving Ichigo to lie there with his dick still at full mast. He stared at it, considered making an appeal on the basis of “waste not, want not”, then gave it up with a sigh.
“So much for you,” he muttered, tugging off the condom and rolling over to toss it into the wastebasket by his bed. He pawed around for the tissue box he usually kept on the floor, grumbled when he couldn’t find it, and glanced up just in time to be smacked in the face by a damp washcloth.
“I was aiming for the bed,” Ishida explained. There might have been a hint of apology in his voice, but he also looked kind of amused. He was standing by the bathroom sink, glancing back at Ichigo through the open doorways as he washed off his chest and stomach. There was nothing consciously erotic in his movements, but when Ishida swept the cloth down between his legs and over his softened cock, Ichigo felt something tighten inside him. It wasn’t just Ishida standing there naked and unashamed, it was the casual intimacy of the act. The fact that Ichigo was watching, and Ishida didn’t mind suggested that this sort of thing would be happening again. Ichigo was already determined it was going to be on a regular basis.
“What’s with the weird look, Kurosaki?” Ishida shut off the water and tossed the rag in the small hamper by the sink. He gave Ichigo another glance as he opened the narrow door to the towel cabinet and reached inside.
“Nothing,” Ichigo shrugged, tearing his eyes away and swiping at the sticky residue on his own body. “I just like looking at you.” He heard Ishida rummaging around in the cabinet but didn’t pay it much mind until a small object sailed across his line of sight and landed on the bed beside him. It was a narrow, pink cardboard box with a branch of cherry blossoms on it. The white lettering said “Okamoto - 003 Variety Pack”. Ichigo stopped cleaning his stomach.
“What the hell are these?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Condoms. It was a box of condoms. And it had been in the bathroom all along.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ishida said. “Now we don’t have to use those dodgy ones that Urahara-san gave you.”
Ichigo filed away the happy news that yes, he and Ishida were going to be having sex again. At that moment, he had a more pressing question.
“Where the fuck were these! Were they in the bathroom?”
“Of course. Under the towels in the second shelf, all the way in the back.”
Ichigo’s head turned back and forth. He didn’t know whether to stare at Ishida or the box of condoms.
“How the-who the hell hides condoms under a stack of towels?” he wailed. “Why weren’t these someplace reasonable? Like the medicine cabinet?”
“Who puts condoms in the medicine cabinet?” Ishida frowned. “That’s the first place nosy people look.”
“But-why don’t you just keep them in your room?”
“I do. This was for emergencies.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me they were there?”
“I’m sure I did.”
“NO YOU DIDN’T!”
“Calm down, Kurosaki,” Ishida said. He flipped off the light in the bathroom and came in to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Why are you making such a big deal over a box of condoms?”
Ichigo exhaled a long, deep breath and put his head in his hands. He wanted to laugh, but he was sure that if he started, he might never stop. It was just too crazy.
“Friday night,” he said, his voice sounding odd to his own ears. Maybe he was going to laugh? Maybe there was no way to stop it. “Friday night,” he repeated. “The reason I went to your room. I needed to borrow a condom.”
He felt Ishida go very still beside him.
“You looked? In the bathroom?”
“Yeah, in the drawers and the medicine cabinet.”
“It didn’t occur to you…?”
“Nope,” Ichigo shook his head. “It never did.”
“And if you’d known they were there... if you’d found them…” Ishida didn’t finish the sentence. The air between them felt heavy, charged with something. Ichigo wasn’t sure what. Fate, maybe.
Ichigo felt the mattress shift, and when he looked up, Ishida had fallen backwards onto the bed. He was gazing at the ceiling, his arms loose at his sides.
“I’d never have gone to your room that night,” Ichigo said, finishing the thought for him. He lay back and stretched out beside Ishida. “I’d never have seen you and Toru.”
“What happened after that?” Ishida sounded genuinely curious. “After you saw us, I mean.”
Ichigo was almost surprised he still had the capacity to blush. “I got the most painful hard on of my life,” he admitted. “I nearly came in my shorts. I almost didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah,” he groaned, reliving the shame of that evening all over again. “That’s where Misa walked in and caught me with my dick in my hand right after blowing a load all over the sink.” Ishida had grown very still beside him. Ichigo wondered if he had said too much already, but, well, as long as he was confessing…. “One more thing,” Ichigo sighed. “That stuff you cleaned off the mirror Saturday morning? That, uh… wasn’t toothpaste.”
Ichigo closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable lambasting that Ishida was surely gathering steam for. Instead of a gush of abuse, however, Ichigo only heard an odd, staccato choking sound. He looked over to find Ishida’s features contorted, his arms wrapped over his mid-section as if he were in pain. For a second, Ichigo thought he was having some kind of seizure. Then he realized that Ishida was laughing.
Ichigo had never seen Ishida laugh like this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Ishida laugh at all. He racked his memory but couldn’t come up with anything more than a few smirks and some tart comments, generally at his expense. Maybe Ishida wasn’t even laughing? Maybe this was what Ishida cracking up and going crazy sounded like?
“Ishida? Are you okay?” he asked, pushing himself upright. Ishida clapped his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, but it didn’t work. Ichigo thought he saw the glimmer of moisture at the corners of his eyes.
“Look, you’re starting to freak me out. Say something, alright?” Ichigo was actually starting to worry about the guy. Ishida did seem to be trying to rein in his amusement; he was taking deep breaths and only giggling when he exhaled. After a moment, he rolled to his side and dragged the backs of his fingers over his eyes. When he looked at Ichigo, his lashes were damp.
“My god, Kurosaki, you really are an idiot,” he said, still on the verge of laughter.
“It’s not like this is the first time you’ve told me that,” Ichigo reminded him. It wasn’t the kind of pillow talk he was hoping for from Ishida, but at least it was a sign he hadn’t gone nuts or anything.
“Yeah,” Ishida sighed. “But it’s the first time I’m glad you are.” And then he smiled at Ichigo. It wasn’t a smirk or a sneer or one of his smug, I’m so superior expressions, but a real smile. An affectionate smile. A smile that told Ichigo that things were going to be okay.
The urge to kiss Ishida seized Ichigo, and he did just that, leaning in and pressing their lips together. It was a gentle, almost chaste kiss, the softest they had shared, and when Ishida wound his arms around Ichigo’s neck and shoulders, Ichigo took him by the waist and pulled him all the way onto the bed. They lay together in the middle of the rumpled bedding simply kissing and touching, without words, with barely a sound except the whisper of lips on lips and fingers through hair. They pulled back at the same moment and gazed at each other. Ichigo blinked first.
“Wanna go again?” he suggested.
“Mmmh.” Ishida let his head drop to the mattress, his eyes flickering. “I do,” he said, drawing a finger down Ichigo’s chest and circling a nipple. “But I think I need a break first.”
“Oh yeah?” Ichigo propped his head on his fist and offered Ishida a teasing smile. “What’s the matter? Sore?”
Ishida rolled his eyes and then turned onto his back. “It’s more a matter of not getting much sleep for the past four days,” he said. A faint grimace passed over his features as he bent one leg then straightened it again. “Alright,” he sighed. “I might be a little sore.”
Ichigo grinned and scooted closer. “Want me to massage it for you? Turn over.”
“You stay on your side,” Ishida glowered, prodding him back.
“Why?” he teased. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to resist me?”
“No, it’s because you put off as much heat as a kotatsu,” Ishida pronounced, “and it’s too warm in here as it is. Now back off and let me rest, or I’ll go nap in my own bed.”
“Alright, alright, have it your way.” Ichigo retreated a few more inches, allowing Ishida a full half of his bed. “Here, want a pillow?”
Ishida accepted it with only a brief grunt of acknowledgement, shoved it under his head, and then turned away from Ichigo with a sigh. For his part, Ichigo yawned, stretched, and flopped onto his back. After a few minutes passed, he turned over to watch Ishida.
The light through the cracked window blinds was changing as the afternoon moved toward evening, the barred shadows on the bed shifting whenever a breeze rattled the slats. These shadows had always striped Ichigo’s empty bed. Now they shivered over Ishida, lithe and naked, and the sight filled Ichigo with a dizzy gratitude. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to go into the kitchen and cook a big pot of rice for when they got hungry later. He wanted to run his hands over Ishida’s body, using his fingers to count every vertebra, every rib, every dip and hollow.
Ichigo didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he watched the light and shadow stretch across his bed and the boy who lay there until Ishida’s breathing deepened and his body fully relaxed. Only then did Ichigo move closer, carefully molding himself against Ishida’s back, draping one arm over his waist and snaking the other under his neck to support his head. When Ishida didn’t rouse or protest, Ichigo grinned to himself, shifted until he was comfortable, and pressed his face into Ishida’s hair.
“Like hell I’ll stay on my side of the bed,” Ichigo muttered, feeling pleased with himself. He figured Ishida would be ticked off when he woke up and found Ichigo wrapped around him like this, but he didn’t much care. In fact, he was kind of looking forward to it. It wasn’t even evening yet. They had time to sleep and wake and argue and fuck each other silly all over again. They had all the time in the world.