Elevation, Verse 1
A/N: Due to the suggestion of my fabulous editor in chief gwoman, I'm posting this on Valentine's day (OK, so it's still Valentine's somewhere in the world) to show my love for all you wonderful folks out there. Thanks for reading, and for your support!
Summary: AU. What should you do when every visible thing in your life is fine, but everything inside is dead? Sometimes it just takes a little jolt to bring the dead back to life...
Warnings: Angst, bad language, dirty talkin', inappropriate groping, dirty thoughts, stories of past drunken misadventures, good sex (yaoi).
Usual disclaimers: I don't own these characters and don't make any money for these writings; I'm just creating these stories to entertain myself and (hopefully) you.
All of the people depicted (or referred to) in sexual situations in my stories are intended to be and considered to be by the author of the legal age of consent in any jurisdiction, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from. OK?
_________________________________________________________________
Fuck Mondays.
Ichigo found himself meeting his own eyes in the mirror across the elevator then, easily done over the heads of his fellow passengers, wondering where that spark of anger had come from. But just as quickly, he dropped his gaze because he'd seen the same thing there that he'd seen for the past couple of years. His eyes had been a place where a great living blaze had been, something that turned everything he'd seen into the pure golden fuel of dreams, but maybe that fire had burned too brightly, because the only thing he saw in his reflection any longer was a mountain of ash.
His eyes quickly slid over the reflection of his traditional dark suit, his classic striped tie, and his unoriginal white shirt. Ichigo could remember the days when he used to sneer at all the people dressed the way he was now, boldly leaning in a corner of the elevator in worn-in jeans and his favorite black t-shirt with a bloody skull pattern that went around the shirt like some oversized medallion chain. But now Ichigo couldn't feel any distaste for his business clothing, mostly because he could barely feel anything at all over the black emptiness that had gotten stuck in his chest. On some days when he felt particularly low, Ichigo would avoid even scratching an itch near his heart, irrationally worried that he'd uncover the black hole that had settled there and that he'd be quickly reduced to a plasma version of his former component parts, smashed to nothingness from the inside out.
The huge gasp of air his lungs took in derailed all of his thoughts, however, along with the frighteningly large thump of his heart. It seemed like the sort of gulping breath a rescue victim would take upon having their system re-started, but when Ichigo looked in the mirror again, it didn't seem like anyone had noticed, since the bell had rung, signaling that they'd reached the 18th floor, and people were getting off. The hiss of surprise he gave a moment later grounded him, however, once he realized what had shocked him in the first place. Ichigo glared at the man he could see over his shoulder in the reflection, because the redhead was the only person behind Ichigo and certainly the only one who could have grabbed his ass like that.
He'd opened his mouth to yell at the man when Ichigo was suddenly transfixed by the one long, strong-looking finger that appeared in front of the man's lips. As Ichigo watched, the redhead's eye slid along the length of the elevator car, a tattooed eyebrow raised and his message plain: if you make any noise, everyone's going to hear you. Ichigo glared at him even harder, but the redhead seemed to find it funny as the crowd shifted and pushed the two of them farther into one corner. Groaning internally, Ichigo tried to move away from the stranger as the elevator doors opened for the 20th floor, but ended up being shoved up tighter against the redhead. The man's breathy chuckle seemed to singe his ears.
All right, he told himself, just bear with it until we reach 43. He used the reflection in the mirror to study his assailant a bit more. So that I can avoid him in the future, Ichigo told himself, but he somehow forgot after a moment as his eyes ran over the tattoos on the man's neck, the heated look in his eye, and his tight-fitting, dark blue jersey. Coupled with the messenger bag slung over his shoulder (and hanging to strategically block anyone else's view of anything that might going on between the two of them), Ichigo figured the redhead was a bike messenger. He's fit enough to be one. The embarrassing thought surfaced as Ichigo's body remembered the hard planes of muscle behind him when he'd been pushed against the man.
Don't think about it, don't think about it, he repeatedly advised himself, but it became impossible not to notice as a big hand slipped gently down his spine, setting up a wave of heat that seemed to flood through Ichigo. He'd worn a lightweight suit that morning since the day was supposed to hit summery temperatures, but even with that, the gentle touch seemed so intense that Ichigo could have sworn he felt it on his naked skin. Shivering and gasping inaudibly, his eyes fell shut as one of those huge hands slid lower.
He didn't usually like to touch people these days, even feeling a bit put out as he had to shake people's hands at important meetings, but when he tried to remember how long it had been since he'd been touched like this, Ichigo drew a blank. At least six months, he finally realized. Since Orihime left. Normally, that thought seemed to spiral him down even deeper into the darkness inside that was threatening to eat him alive, but today it barely registered. Instead, he went on to think that despite how long it had been since anyone had touched him this intimately, he'd never actually been touched like this before, this maddening, gentle roughness, and he had to bite his lip to stop the groan he'd been about to let out as the redhead's hand slipped from his waist to grab his ass more roughly this time.
Ichigo opened his eyes then, and meeting his own half-lidded dark eyes in the mirror caused his cheeks to color, the pink deepening as his eyes ran over his slightly open mouth, his lower lip reddened where he'd been biting it. When his eyes met the redhead's in the mirror again, however, Ichigo felt his stomach clench as he looked into the man's gaze in reflection. The look he was getting in return was dark and hungry, and Ichigo felt something inside his gut tremble and flutter under that rapt stare. Suddenly, as the floor chime sounded, Ichigo's attention was diverted to the elevator's display and he felt slightly panicked as he realized they were now on his floor.
He surged forward with the press of people headed out of the car, but not before the man behind him held his hip tightly for a split second and thrust against him. Ichigo couldn't help the gasp he made as he realized the redhead was hard, but it didn't mask the growling murmur in his ear before he surged forward with the crowd. “Bye, sexy.”
Ichigo was surprised at the flash of heat that ran through him and found himself trying not to think of what might have caused it, but he was even more surprised to realize a split second later that he was hard, too. He clutched his briefcase a little higher than usual and was mentally thankful that he was wearing a suit jacket as he headed for the men's room.
____________________________________________________________
That evening he could still almost feel that volcanic heat from the redhead's hands dancing across his skin as he stood by the living room window, looking down on the city. It made him feel like there was hope for him, somehow, that he could actually feel something like he had that morning. Before that, Ichigo hadn't felt anything for so long that he'd become sure that he'd gone irretrievably dead inside.
Sure, the view from the 36th floor was impressive, and Ichigo could remember the almost fierce pride he'd felt the day he'd bought this place and spent most of the evening gazing down at the city lights. Although it seemed far away now, he remembered the way his ambition and obsession for what he was doing caused him to work like a demon after he'd been hired as the third official employee of Graphic Arts, Inc., and the long days and nights he'd put in creating games that they'd hoped would be the next big hit. He could remember the shocking surprise, and then the intense sense of accomplishment he'd felt the first night he'd passed by the banner ad at the local electronics store, advertising his baby, Insane Clown Circus, and showing an eight-foot-tall version of his photo-negative alter ego in the game, blue tongue licking the knowing sneer on his lips. He'd had to stop and have Orihime take his picture by the ad, and he'd left it as his wallpaper on his computer for months afterwards.
Yet that all seemed far away, strangely, now that he'd achieved the sort of success most people were envious of. A bitter taste seemed to spring up on his tongue as he recalled how his duties had started changing shortly after the wild success of Insane Clown Circus, how his time spent thinking about and creating the next big video game had gradually turned to attending meetings with important clients and talking about how Graphic Arts was indeed creating the next big game and using that to solicit investments. Ichigo closed his eyes and rolled his forehead against the cool window glass, unable to shake the feeling that he was being paraded around like a show pony because of the notoriety that creating such a big hit at a young age had brought him.
The worst part had been the way everything else in his life seemed to dry up as the change had continued. His ideas for new games, which used to flow out of him to the point that he always wanted to have a pad of paper or his laptop at his elbow to jot down new thoughts, had slowly dried up. These days Ichigo basically stuck to the equivalent of doing paperwork at work because the desert that used to be his wellspring of ideas scared him. His relationship with Orihime had gradually worn away to nothing, as well. She'd been encouraging him to get help for months towards the end until she finally left, saying that she couldn't take watching him do this to himself anymore. Ichigo had only felt a dull, distant ache then, though she had been one of his best friends and they'd been together for years, but he guessed it figured, since it seemed like the heart had dropped out of him somewhere along the line. In some ways worst of all, he thought looking over at it, was the fact that his guitar had pretty much stopped talking to him.
But as he looked at the deep blue metallic body of his instrument, Ichigo felt a jolt. All of a sudden those days of silence, where he would pick up his guitar with an effort and everything that came out of it sounded like an out of tune, hackneyed mess, fell away and he could remember being drawn to the instrument magnetically for hours at a time, his fingers seeming to move on their own to produce music he couldn't believe he'd played. He turned the amp on very low and tuned, even that sound almost enough to move him to tears. Carefully, since it had been a long time since he'd done it, he hooked up his reverb and delay effects pedals and plugged them into his amp before plugging his guitar into the effects chain. The first chord he played turned into a melody that made his heart soar, and after a while changed to another and yet another. It was around three in the morning by the time he finally realized the late hour and went to bed, his whole body seeming to vibrate with the music of the universe.
_____________________________________________________________
Comments about what you liked and what you think could be improved are most welcome!
-WriterX
Click here for Elevation, Verse 2
Summary: AU. What should you do when every visible thing in your life is fine, but everything inside is dead? Sometimes it just takes a little jolt to bring the dead back to life...
Warnings: Angst, bad language, dirty talkin', inappropriate groping, dirty thoughts, stories of past drunken misadventures, good sex (yaoi).
Usual disclaimers: I don't own these characters and don't make any money for these writings; I'm just creating these stories to entertain myself and (hopefully) you.
All of the people depicted (or referred to) in sexual situations in my stories are intended to be and considered to be by the author of the legal age of consent in any jurisdiction, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from. OK?
_________________________________________________________________
Fuck Mondays.
Ichigo found himself meeting his own eyes in the mirror across the elevator then, easily done over the heads of his fellow passengers, wondering where that spark of anger had come from. But just as quickly, he dropped his gaze because he'd seen the same thing there that he'd seen for the past couple of years. His eyes had been a place where a great living blaze had been, something that turned everything he'd seen into the pure golden fuel of dreams, but maybe that fire had burned too brightly, because the only thing he saw in his reflection any longer was a mountain of ash.
His eyes quickly slid over the reflection of his traditional dark suit, his classic striped tie, and his unoriginal white shirt. Ichigo could remember the days when he used to sneer at all the people dressed the way he was now, boldly leaning in a corner of the elevator in worn-in jeans and his favorite black t-shirt with a bloody skull pattern that went around the shirt like some oversized medallion chain. But now Ichigo couldn't feel any distaste for his business clothing, mostly because he could barely feel anything at all over the black emptiness that had gotten stuck in his chest. On some days when he felt particularly low, Ichigo would avoid even scratching an itch near his heart, irrationally worried that he'd uncover the black hole that had settled there and that he'd be quickly reduced to a plasma version of his former component parts, smashed to nothingness from the inside out.
The huge gasp of air his lungs took in derailed all of his thoughts, however, along with the frighteningly large thump of his heart. It seemed like the sort of gulping breath a rescue victim would take upon having their system re-started, but when Ichigo looked in the mirror again, it didn't seem like anyone had noticed, since the bell had rung, signaling that they'd reached the 18th floor, and people were getting off. The hiss of surprise he gave a moment later grounded him, however, once he realized what had shocked him in the first place. Ichigo glared at the man he could see over his shoulder in the reflection, because the redhead was the only person behind Ichigo and certainly the only one who could have grabbed his ass like that.
He'd opened his mouth to yell at the man when Ichigo was suddenly transfixed by the one long, strong-looking finger that appeared in front of the man's lips. As Ichigo watched, the redhead's eye slid along the length of the elevator car, a tattooed eyebrow raised and his message plain: if you make any noise, everyone's going to hear you. Ichigo glared at him even harder, but the redhead seemed to find it funny as the crowd shifted and pushed the two of them farther into one corner. Groaning internally, Ichigo tried to move away from the stranger as the elevator doors opened for the 20th floor, but ended up being shoved up tighter against the redhead. The man's breathy chuckle seemed to singe his ears.
All right, he told himself, just bear with it until we reach 43. He used the reflection in the mirror to study his assailant a bit more. So that I can avoid him in the future, Ichigo told himself, but he somehow forgot after a moment as his eyes ran over the tattoos on the man's neck, the heated look in his eye, and his tight-fitting, dark blue jersey. Coupled with the messenger bag slung over his shoulder (and hanging to strategically block anyone else's view of anything that might going on between the two of them), Ichigo figured the redhead was a bike messenger. He's fit enough to be one. The embarrassing thought surfaced as Ichigo's body remembered the hard planes of muscle behind him when he'd been pushed against the man.
Don't think about it, don't think about it, he repeatedly advised himself, but it became impossible not to notice as a big hand slipped gently down his spine, setting up a wave of heat that seemed to flood through Ichigo. He'd worn a lightweight suit that morning since the day was supposed to hit summery temperatures, but even with that, the gentle touch seemed so intense that Ichigo could have sworn he felt it on his naked skin. Shivering and gasping inaudibly, his eyes fell shut as one of those huge hands slid lower.
He didn't usually like to touch people these days, even feeling a bit put out as he had to shake people's hands at important meetings, but when he tried to remember how long it had been since he'd been touched like this, Ichigo drew a blank. At least six months, he finally realized. Since Orihime left. Normally, that thought seemed to spiral him down even deeper into the darkness inside that was threatening to eat him alive, but today it barely registered. Instead, he went on to think that despite how long it had been since anyone had touched him this intimately, he'd never actually been touched like this before, this maddening, gentle roughness, and he had to bite his lip to stop the groan he'd been about to let out as the redhead's hand slipped from his waist to grab his ass more roughly this time.
Ichigo opened his eyes then, and meeting his own half-lidded dark eyes in the mirror caused his cheeks to color, the pink deepening as his eyes ran over his slightly open mouth, his lower lip reddened where he'd been biting it. When his eyes met the redhead's in the mirror again, however, Ichigo felt his stomach clench as he looked into the man's gaze in reflection. The look he was getting in return was dark and hungry, and Ichigo felt something inside his gut tremble and flutter under that rapt stare. Suddenly, as the floor chime sounded, Ichigo's attention was diverted to the elevator's display and he felt slightly panicked as he realized they were now on his floor.
He surged forward with the press of people headed out of the car, but not before the man behind him held his hip tightly for a split second and thrust against him. Ichigo couldn't help the gasp he made as he realized the redhead was hard, but it didn't mask the growling murmur in his ear before he surged forward with the crowd. “Bye, sexy.”
Ichigo was surprised at the flash of heat that ran through him and found himself trying not to think of what might have caused it, but he was even more surprised to realize a split second later that he was hard, too. He clutched his briefcase a little higher than usual and was mentally thankful that he was wearing a suit jacket as he headed for the men's room.
____________________________________________________________
That evening he could still almost feel that volcanic heat from the redhead's hands dancing across his skin as he stood by the living room window, looking down on the city. It made him feel like there was hope for him, somehow, that he could actually feel something like he had that morning. Before that, Ichigo hadn't felt anything for so long that he'd become sure that he'd gone irretrievably dead inside.
Sure, the view from the 36th floor was impressive, and Ichigo could remember the almost fierce pride he'd felt the day he'd bought this place and spent most of the evening gazing down at the city lights. Although it seemed far away now, he remembered the way his ambition and obsession for what he was doing caused him to work like a demon after he'd been hired as the third official employee of Graphic Arts, Inc., and the long days and nights he'd put in creating games that they'd hoped would be the next big hit. He could remember the shocking surprise, and then the intense sense of accomplishment he'd felt the first night he'd passed by the banner ad at the local electronics store, advertising his baby, Insane Clown Circus, and showing an eight-foot-tall version of his photo-negative alter ego in the game, blue tongue licking the knowing sneer on his lips. He'd had to stop and have Orihime take his picture by the ad, and he'd left it as his wallpaper on his computer for months afterwards.
Yet that all seemed far away, strangely, now that he'd achieved the sort of success most people were envious of. A bitter taste seemed to spring up on his tongue as he recalled how his duties had started changing shortly after the wild success of Insane Clown Circus, how his time spent thinking about and creating the next big video game had gradually turned to attending meetings with important clients and talking about how Graphic Arts was indeed creating the next big game and using that to solicit investments. Ichigo closed his eyes and rolled his forehead against the cool window glass, unable to shake the feeling that he was being paraded around like a show pony because of the notoriety that creating such a big hit at a young age had brought him.
The worst part had been the way everything else in his life seemed to dry up as the change had continued. His ideas for new games, which used to flow out of him to the point that he always wanted to have a pad of paper or his laptop at his elbow to jot down new thoughts, had slowly dried up. These days Ichigo basically stuck to the equivalent of doing paperwork at work because the desert that used to be his wellspring of ideas scared him. His relationship with Orihime had gradually worn away to nothing, as well. She'd been encouraging him to get help for months towards the end until she finally left, saying that she couldn't take watching him do this to himself anymore. Ichigo had only felt a dull, distant ache then, though she had been one of his best friends and they'd been together for years, but he guessed it figured, since it seemed like the heart had dropped out of him somewhere along the line. In some ways worst of all, he thought looking over at it, was the fact that his guitar had pretty much stopped talking to him.
But as he looked at the deep blue metallic body of his instrument, Ichigo felt a jolt. All of a sudden those days of silence, where he would pick up his guitar with an effort and everything that came out of it sounded like an out of tune, hackneyed mess, fell away and he could remember being drawn to the instrument magnetically for hours at a time, his fingers seeming to move on their own to produce music he couldn't believe he'd played. He turned the amp on very low and tuned, even that sound almost enough to move him to tears. Carefully, since it had been a long time since he'd done it, he hooked up his reverb and delay effects pedals and plugged them into his amp before plugging his guitar into the effects chain. The first chord he played turned into a melody that made his heart soar, and after a while changed to another and yet another. It was around three in the morning by the time he finally realized the late hour and went to bed, his whole body seeming to vibrate with the music of the universe.
_____________________________________________________________
Comments about what you liked and what you think could be improved are most welcome!
-WriterX
Click here for Elevation, Verse 2