Fic: So Longs and Ashes (1/2)
Title: So Longs and Ashes (1/2)
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Summary/Notes: Ichigo and Ishida meet up again for the first time since Ishida started training with Ryuuken. Follows canon up to chapter 239 and takes a sharp left turn. Or possibly a right one.
Also: Much thanks to _debbiechan_ for the beta and sublimeparadigm for inspiration. The next chapter is all for you, you crazy kid.
"I told you that the next time we met would be as enemies." It was the only thing he could think to say, even with Kurosaki staring at him like a lost, confused dog. Bumping into him was the one thing that had given him any reservations about coming out to fight.
Kurosaki looked upset and bewildered, but he always sort of looked like that. He was imposing in spite of his stupid expression, all tall and dressed in his shinigami robes, enormous zanpakutou resting casually over his shoulder, bits of spattered blood on his face visible even in the spare light.
Ishida could just go. He should just go, now, while it would still be easy. It wouldn't mean anything that he bumped into Kurosaki while they both happened to be out fighting Hollows, or whatever was the source of the strange, erratic bursts of reiatsu he'd been feeling of late.
He didn't leave. He stared at Kurosaki instead, not initiating anything. If he didn't start conversation, it wouldn't really be his fault if Kurosaki spoke to him. But neither of them did anything for long moments; they simply watched each other. Ishida thought it a highly dramatic meeting -- two figures facing each other on a quiet, dark street, each thrumming with reiatsu.
"Where did you go?" Kurosaki finally asked, slinging his zanpakutou over his back.
Ishida glared at him.
"You were gone and you didn't say anything to anyone. Where were you?"
"That's not any of your business," Ishida snapped, a knee-jerk reaction of a response that he didn't fully believe. Before, they'd had something, maybe more than just sex. Even if they hadn't been involved in whatever strange way, Kurosaki was important to him. Whatever he liked to tell himself about it, he was important to Kurosaki. They all were: Kuchiki-san, Sado-kun, Inoue-san... even that loud-mouth Asano. He swallowed and drew up his resolve. "And I don't have any business with you."
Kurosaki's brows flinched closer together as stalked over to Ishida, his initial confusion at seeing him dissolving under irritation. He stopped a few feet from Ishida, sizing him up. "When did you get your power back?" he asked, almost accusing. Ishida felt a jolt of surprise.
"How did you know I'd lost them?"
"I'm not entirely useless at reading reiatsu, Mr. Quincy Fancypants," Kurosaki snarled, indicating himself with an angry jerk of his thumb.
Ishida snorted and rolled his eyes, but refused to answer the initial question, choosing instead to adjust his glasses and tip his head back so he could look down his nose at Kurosaki. It was a familiar gesture he hadn't used since they last saw each other, but it was almost comforting to fall back into the habit, and satisfaction bloomed in him as Kurosaki, predictably, grew visibly frustrated.
He jabbed a finger at Ishida, stopping it only inches from Ishida's nose. "And if you're so good at reading reiatsu, how come you didn't sense me? You could easily just go if you didn't have any business with me."
Ishida's face warmed and he glanced around for a second to re-gather his bearings. There had been the chance that Kurosaki wouldn't come down this particular sidestreet, or wouldn't see him even if he did. "I can go where I want," he replied coolly, crossing his arms.
Now that Kurosaki was close, Ishida felt his reiatsu again, and was surprised to find a dark undercurrent that was like biting down hard on metal. His eyes narrowed. That was something to file away for investigation later. Kurosaki glared as hard as his face would allow, which was actually fairly impressive. "Even if you want nothing to do with me, I thought Inoue would be more important to you."
Ishida stopped. He remembered why he came out at all, risking breaking his word and seeing Kurosaki again -- it was Inoue-san. Ishida had kept tabs on them all through their reiatsu, and Inoue-san's had simply... disappeared. The sudden absence of her had awakened him in the middle of the night, and he couldn't convince himself that she was just making a friendly visit to Soul Society.
His cool expression dropped as he considered Kurosaki more closely. "What happened to her?"
Kurosaki blinked at him. "She's gone."
Ishida spluttered. "Well, that's helpful. Gone where?"
"I think Aizen took her." His voice and expression softened, concern taking over.
"WHAT."
Kurosaki's features fluctuated between anger and hurt. "I don't know."
God, Inoue-san. What would Aizen possibly want with her? He remembered, in sudden, horrible detail, the fascination Kurotsuchi had in Inoue-san's powers. How could she possibly defend herself against Aizen?
"How did this happen?"
"I don't know!"
Ishida snarled in frustration. "You're useless!" he cried, turning on his heel.
Kurosaki immediately grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Hey! Where are you going?"
He slapped the hand away in irritation. "I'll find her on my own."
"How?!" The question was angry and desperate -- Kurosaki really did want to find Inoue-san. Ishida could understand that. He paused.
"Where was she taken?" he asked as evenly as he could.
Kurosaki shoved his face into Ishida's. "I don't know how to get there. No one will tell me, and YOU sure as hell won't be able to find the way alone."
Ishida couldn't think straight. He knew two facts: he had to help Inoue-san. He had to get away from Kurosaki. Maybe Ryuuken would help him find her. She wasn't shinigami, after all; maybe it wouldn't be a problem.
Kurosaki kept interrupting his concentration, screaming at him and waving his arms like a monkey. "You could help us get her back, you asshole! What are you going to do on your own?"
"Just shut UP!" Ishida yelled. Kurosaki wasn't keeping all his reiatsu under control, and it was pouring over him in hot, angry waves that made him lightheaded. He was frightened and angry and confused and he wanted to just agree with Kurosaki, get his Quincy uniform and tear a hole through the universe with this moron shinigami to save her because of all the people in the world who didn't deserve a terrible fate, it was Inoue Orihime. But he couldn't, he couldn't; he had given his word, and his word meant something.
But Kurosaki made another move toward Ishida, and that blew apart his thought process. Maybe he was actually going crazy. Maybe it was the adrenaline and the high from Kurosaki's reiatsu. Maybe the idiot was important to him. Whatever the motivation was behind the action, he recognized what he was going to do as he reached for Kurosaki's neck, and he didn't stop himself. He grabbed the other boy and pulled him down, kissing him harshly. Kurosaki was still trying to yell at him, and he kept shouting into Ishida's mouth for a moment before shutting up.
He stood passively for possibly five, six seconds, letting Ishida kiss him until he finally moved. He brought his hands up to Ishida's shoulders, digging his fingers into his skin and pulling him closer, kissing him more ferociously than Ishida could remember. Kurosaki's reiatsu was flowing freely, and Ishida didn't know if it was on purpose or not - he doubted that Kurosaki remembered the effect his unchecked spirit power had on someone like Ishida - but it was making him giddy. And horny.
Kurosaki pulled at his clothes roughly, tugged him until his back was pressed against the wall of the nearest building, and as the back of Ishida’s head connected with the brick, he wondered if maybe it was a bad idea to do this in the street, even if it was night. It would be just like their luck that they could kill Hollows and blow things up and no one would turn around, but once they wanted to have sex, the street would be busy. He only wondered for a moment what the scene would look like to an outsider if they couldn't see Kurosaki in his spirit form, but then Kurosaki pushed his knee between Ishida's thighs and ground his hip into his groin, and the rest of the world didn’t actually matter.
He moaned into Kurosaki's mouth, the familiar heat building in the pit of his stomach. Why did all their fights end up like this?
After this time, Ishida thought, this definite last time, he would have to avoid Kurosaki just because they obviously couldn't remain sane around each other. They were fighting more than anything; Ishida kissed with all the force of his frustration, and when Kurosaki's fingers dug painfully hard into his shoulders, he thought the other boy was probably doing the same. They scratched and used their teeth and tore, and Ishida knew he shouldn't be doing this, not when Inoue-san was in danger and their world on the brink of warfare, but he couldn't stop. Not now, not when he was doing the first thing that felt right in ages.
Ishida used both hands to push Kurosaki away, to give himself a little leverage, and they both staggered. When he bit Kurosaki's lip hard, the other boy jumped, made a noise of angry surprise, and hooked his foot around Ishida's leg, tripping him. They both fell in a heap, tangled in each other, and the hard landing was all the worse for Ishida with Kurosaki’s weight on him.
Winded for only a moment, he turned his attention to Kurosaki's body. They pulled at each other's clothes, tearing away the layers that prevented access to flesh. The zanpakutou, a bulky hindrance, slid off Kurosaki's back onto the ground beside them with a few firm tugs. Kurosaki had an advantage - even though Ishida was wearing more clothing, the unchecked force of his spirit power flowing over Ishida's senses was making him feel drunk; his hands were too heavy and he couldn't focus enough to move them well. Kurosaki made it to his erection before Ishida even had Kurosaki's robes fully open, and when those long fingers circled around him, it took all his fortitude not to come right then.
If simply being near Kurosaki when he was in spirit form affected Ishida, skin-to-skin contact was almost unbearable. He thought he might fly apart when Kurosaki moved his hand along Ishida's erection -- firm, fast, rough. He was only distantly aware that he had stopped trying to disrobe Kurosaki and had wound his hands so tightly in the fabric his fingers hurt. He couldn't even concentrate on Kurosaki's face in front of him, just toss his head from side to side and make incoherent noises. He spread his knees as far apart as they would go, arching up up up into Kurosaki's touch, slamming the back of his head into pavement. The world was going white around the edges, everything around him smelled like heat, and his entire body was electric.
He screamed as he came because he couldn't do anything else, digging his heels into the ground and thrusting his hips helplessly. Kurosaki kissed him again, cutting off his yell, and Ishida kissed back with desperate confusion, trying to talk and regain his wits all at the same time, but the hand kept moving around him and he couldn't think and all his words were lost behind Kurosaki's lips.
His body fell limp, his mind and senses coming down from an unbelievable high. Hand jobs should not be so mind-blowing, he thought. He felt, as if from a distance, a hand tugging at his pants, pulling them all the way off, and he tried to squirm out of them to give assistance, but he had no concept of whether he was helping or making things worse. His palms and fingers felt funny, and he noticed that chunks of Kurosaki's robe were missing in the front, frayed threads wafting in the open air. It had disintegrated where Ishida had been holding it, and his hands were covered in greasy black residue. Ash. Fascinating.
Ishida's eyes slipped shut and he breathed deeply, still reeling from his orgasm. Just what was going on with him and Kurosaki? Why did they have to meet up again? Why couldn't they keep their hands off each other? Why did he only realize now that he had missed Kurosaki, and why did he miss the idiot at all?
It wasn't until he felt sticky fingers poking at him that his mind finally caught up with the rest of the world and he realized that Kurosaki was preparing him with a handful of his semen. A palm and fingers on his body had almost made him lose his mind, so what would Kurosaki inside him be like?
Kurosaki lifted Ishida's legs, settling his knees over his shoulders, lining up his erection without needing to look. He gently pressed the tip of his penis against him and locked eyes with Ishida, who couldn't look away from the grimly determined expression, from the almost insane heat behind the gaze. He braced himself as much as he was able for what was coming, hands feebly attempting to gain purchase on the flat ground.
When Kurosaki slid inside, Ishida's entire body seized; his jaw clenched, his neck tightened painfully, his lungs froze, his fingers dug into cement, scraping away skin and nails. His heart didn't start beating again until Kurosaki was all the way in, and then it pulsed in unstable, fluttering palpitations that made him think, with only vague concern, that he might be going into cardiac arrest. It was so much; it was far too much. It was so unbelievably intense he couldn't stand it, but he couldn't move his mouth to speak. Kurosaki's fingers brushed lightly over his hairline, but Ishida couldn't even open his eyes to acknowledge the touch. When Kurosaki pulled back and thrust in again, Ishida gave up trying to think.
Feeling was the only thing in his existence anymore, a rush of sensation that was dull compared to the reiatsu surging through him. He lost track of time and place and everything but the fact that he was being rocked, and he'd never felt anything so incredible in his life. He flung his arms up and grabbed hold of Kurosaki; he wasn't sure where, but he needed the physical contact to keep grounded, to stay sane under the force of the reiatsu and the feeling like he was being split in half.
He couldn't possibly be hard again so soon, but he thought he felt the buildup of an approaching climax. Ishida was so detached from his own body that he couldn't even tell if he was hard, but even as he was distantly contemplating the situation, the pressure of sensation swelled, closing off his throat and bearing down on his heart, and he knew what was next.
All at once he was exploding, his flesh and viscera flying apart. He wasn’t a soul attached to a body anymore. He was a sun rising, he was a flock of birds taking flight, he was a star collapsing, he was burning from the inside, he was screaming. He was screaming and his body was spasming, his lungs raw and his flesh bruised.
Too soon, the sensation faded. His vision returned slowly along with his hearing. The first thing he recognized were his own knees in his periphery, still draped over Kurosaki's shoulders; the other boy had him almost bent in half from fucking him so hard. He saw orange hair next, and Ichigo's strange wonderful face contorted in pleasure. Ishida noticed his own hand fisted in Kurosaki's hair; the other was bunched in his robe again at his shoulder, and there were long, deep scratches on Kurosaki's neck that he must have inflicted. His own breathing was painfully loud and ragged; Kurosaki's was steadier, and under it he could hear a litany of murmurs Kurosaki was breathing close to his mouth.
"I hate you, Ishida," he panted, sounding anguished, "You're so stupid and I hate you so much I can't stand it. I hate you, I hate you." Ishida groaned, twisting his grip in Kurosaki's hair. Kurosaki yelled, slamming into Ishida, and for a moment he thought he must have ripped out an enormous chunk, but he realized in an instant that Kurosaki was coming.
Kurosaki's hips jerked crazily and he made a series of painful choking noises as he slowed. Ishida forcefully unclenched his fingers and Kurosaki hissed quietly as several strands of orange hair came away with Ishida's hand. Kurosaki opened his eyes as his breathing slowed, looked into Ishida's for only a moment before he ducked his head.
Ishida stared up at the night sky, feeling surreal and dissociated from his own body and unable to process what had just happened. Even the discomfort of his position, still folded practically in two with the brunt of Kurosaki's weight resting on him, didn't hold as much of his attention as his concern for his behavior. One moment Kurosaki fighting with him, the next pulsing between his thighs. Both were familiar to him, more than anything he did when he was at home with Ryuuken. Falling back into the old pattern with Kurosaki had been as simple as pulling thread through the eye of a needle. Even with one of their best friends in what was very likely mortal danger. He brought a hand to his face and covered his eyes, rubbing the grit that stuck to his fingers into his skin. Weren't they pathetic.
Kurosaki, suddenly awkward, pulled out of Ishida abruptly. The action made Ishida certain he was more attached to his skin that he'd thought. He bit back a cry of discomfort, stretching his legs and opening his eyes again to search for his pants. He got back into them with all the fumbling that came with stiff fingers, abrased palms and aching thighs. When he was fully clothed, there was nothing left to do but acknowledge the boy sitting across from him.
They watched each other again, wordless. Well, Ishida thought, I think that definitely counts as "associating." But the threat of his father's disapproval - which wasn't anything new, anyway - couldn't concern him at the moment. Not with Kurosaki's semen inside him and his hair still caught between his fingers.
Kurosaki looked like he wanted to say something desperate and ridiculous, something that would only make the situation much worse. Ishida's obvious skepticism must have stopped him, because when he opened his mouth, all he asked was, "Are you fighting now?"
"Yes." An easy question. An easy answer.
"Will you help me find Inoue?" There wasn't anything behind the question to make Ishida's skin prickle like it did. Kurosaki wouldn't use Inoue-san just to try to keep tabs on him.
He swallowed. "I don't know."
Kurosaki looked away, tugging his robes back into place firmly. "All right," he said. He locked eyes with Ishida again, not accusing, not angry, not anything. "Let me know."
Ishida nodded. He stood slowly, cataloging all the places of his body that might be sore enough to cause him a problem when he was fighting. Doing this was stupid for so many reasons. His pants were torn and sullied with drying ejaculate. His hands had cuts all over them; gravel was embedded deep in his fingertips. When he looked up at Kurosaki, the other boy was standing too, his zanpakutou strapped to his back again. The only evidence he bore on his person of what happened was where Ishida burned away chunks of his clothing. Even his hair didn't look much different.
Kurosaki's expression was closed. He didn't make any move to leave or to initiate their parting. How this ended was entirely up to Ishida. He shifted uncomfortably, finally tipping his chin up in a show of arrogance.
"Someday, Kurosaki," Ishida said quietly, and it didn't come out as jocular or threatening as he intended, not nearly, "I swear we'll settle our score."
Kurosaki nodded once. As Ishida turned to leave, the other boy was still watching him silently, as though keeping a vigil, as though waiting for him to turn back.
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Summary/Notes: Ichigo and Ishida meet up again for the first time since Ishida started training with Ryuuken. Follows canon up to chapter 239 and takes a sharp left turn. Or possibly a right one.
Also: Much thanks to _debbiechan_ for the beta and sublimeparadigm for inspiration. The next chapter is all for you, you crazy kid.
"I told you that the next time we met would be as enemies." It was the only thing he could think to say, even with Kurosaki staring at him like a lost, confused dog. Bumping into him was the one thing that had given him any reservations about coming out to fight.
Kurosaki looked upset and bewildered, but he always sort of looked like that. He was imposing in spite of his stupid expression, all tall and dressed in his shinigami robes, enormous zanpakutou resting casually over his shoulder, bits of spattered blood on his face visible even in the spare light.
Ishida could just go. He should just go, now, while it would still be easy. It wouldn't mean anything that he bumped into Kurosaki while they both happened to be out fighting Hollows, or whatever was the source of the strange, erratic bursts of reiatsu he'd been feeling of late.
He didn't leave. He stared at Kurosaki instead, not initiating anything. If he didn't start conversation, it wouldn't really be his fault if Kurosaki spoke to him. But neither of them did anything for long moments; they simply watched each other. Ishida thought it a highly dramatic meeting -- two figures facing each other on a quiet, dark street, each thrumming with reiatsu.
"Where did you go?" Kurosaki finally asked, slinging his zanpakutou over his back.
Ishida glared at him.
"You were gone and you didn't say anything to anyone. Where were you?"
"That's not any of your business," Ishida snapped, a knee-jerk reaction of a response that he didn't fully believe. Before, they'd had something, maybe more than just sex. Even if they hadn't been involved in whatever strange way, Kurosaki was important to him. Whatever he liked to tell himself about it, he was important to Kurosaki. They all were: Kuchiki-san, Sado-kun, Inoue-san... even that loud-mouth Asano. He swallowed and drew up his resolve. "And I don't have any business with you."
Kurosaki's brows flinched closer together as stalked over to Ishida, his initial confusion at seeing him dissolving under irritation. He stopped a few feet from Ishida, sizing him up. "When did you get your power back?" he asked, almost accusing. Ishida felt a jolt of surprise.
"How did you know I'd lost them?"
"I'm not entirely useless at reading reiatsu, Mr. Quincy Fancypants," Kurosaki snarled, indicating himself with an angry jerk of his thumb.
Ishida snorted and rolled his eyes, but refused to answer the initial question, choosing instead to adjust his glasses and tip his head back so he could look down his nose at Kurosaki. It was a familiar gesture he hadn't used since they last saw each other, but it was almost comforting to fall back into the habit, and satisfaction bloomed in him as Kurosaki, predictably, grew visibly frustrated.
He jabbed a finger at Ishida, stopping it only inches from Ishida's nose. "And if you're so good at reading reiatsu, how come you didn't sense me? You could easily just go if you didn't have any business with me."
Ishida's face warmed and he glanced around for a second to re-gather his bearings. There had been the chance that Kurosaki wouldn't come down this particular sidestreet, or wouldn't see him even if he did. "I can go where I want," he replied coolly, crossing his arms.
Now that Kurosaki was close, Ishida felt his reiatsu again, and was surprised to find a dark undercurrent that was like biting down hard on metal. His eyes narrowed. That was something to file away for investigation later. Kurosaki glared as hard as his face would allow, which was actually fairly impressive. "Even if you want nothing to do with me, I thought Inoue would be more important to you."
Ishida stopped. He remembered why he came out at all, risking breaking his word and seeing Kurosaki again -- it was Inoue-san. Ishida had kept tabs on them all through their reiatsu, and Inoue-san's had simply... disappeared. The sudden absence of her had awakened him in the middle of the night, and he couldn't convince himself that she was just making a friendly visit to Soul Society.
His cool expression dropped as he considered Kurosaki more closely. "What happened to her?"
Kurosaki blinked at him. "She's gone."
Ishida spluttered. "Well, that's helpful. Gone where?"
"I think Aizen took her." His voice and expression softened, concern taking over.
"WHAT."
Kurosaki's features fluctuated between anger and hurt. "I don't know."
God, Inoue-san. What would Aizen possibly want with her? He remembered, in sudden, horrible detail, the fascination Kurotsuchi had in Inoue-san's powers. How could she possibly defend herself against Aizen?
"How did this happen?"
"I don't know!"
Ishida snarled in frustration. "You're useless!" he cried, turning on his heel.
Kurosaki immediately grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Hey! Where are you going?"
He slapped the hand away in irritation. "I'll find her on my own."
"How?!" The question was angry and desperate -- Kurosaki really did want to find Inoue-san. Ishida could understand that. He paused.
"Where was she taken?" he asked as evenly as he could.
Kurosaki shoved his face into Ishida's. "I don't know how to get there. No one will tell me, and YOU sure as hell won't be able to find the way alone."
Ishida couldn't think straight. He knew two facts: he had to help Inoue-san. He had to get away from Kurosaki. Maybe Ryuuken would help him find her. She wasn't shinigami, after all; maybe it wouldn't be a problem.
Kurosaki kept interrupting his concentration, screaming at him and waving his arms like a monkey. "You could help us get her back, you asshole! What are you going to do on your own?"
"Just shut UP!" Ishida yelled. Kurosaki wasn't keeping all his reiatsu under control, and it was pouring over him in hot, angry waves that made him lightheaded. He was frightened and angry and confused and he wanted to just agree with Kurosaki, get his Quincy uniform and tear a hole through the universe with this moron shinigami to save her because of all the people in the world who didn't deserve a terrible fate, it was Inoue Orihime. But he couldn't, he couldn't; he had given his word, and his word meant something.
But Kurosaki made another move toward Ishida, and that blew apart his thought process. Maybe he was actually going crazy. Maybe it was the adrenaline and the high from Kurosaki's reiatsu. Maybe the idiot was important to him. Whatever the motivation was behind the action, he recognized what he was going to do as he reached for Kurosaki's neck, and he didn't stop himself. He grabbed the other boy and pulled him down, kissing him harshly. Kurosaki was still trying to yell at him, and he kept shouting into Ishida's mouth for a moment before shutting up.
He stood passively for possibly five, six seconds, letting Ishida kiss him until he finally moved. He brought his hands up to Ishida's shoulders, digging his fingers into his skin and pulling him closer, kissing him more ferociously than Ishida could remember. Kurosaki's reiatsu was flowing freely, and Ishida didn't know if it was on purpose or not - he doubted that Kurosaki remembered the effect his unchecked spirit power had on someone like Ishida - but it was making him giddy. And horny.
Kurosaki pulled at his clothes roughly, tugged him until his back was pressed against the wall of the nearest building, and as the back of Ishida’s head connected with the brick, he wondered if maybe it was a bad idea to do this in the street, even if it was night. It would be just like their luck that they could kill Hollows and blow things up and no one would turn around, but once they wanted to have sex, the street would be busy. He only wondered for a moment what the scene would look like to an outsider if they couldn't see Kurosaki in his spirit form, but then Kurosaki pushed his knee between Ishida's thighs and ground his hip into his groin, and the rest of the world didn’t actually matter.
He moaned into Kurosaki's mouth, the familiar heat building in the pit of his stomach. Why did all their fights end up like this?
After this time, Ishida thought, this definite last time, he would have to avoid Kurosaki just because they obviously couldn't remain sane around each other. They were fighting more than anything; Ishida kissed with all the force of his frustration, and when Kurosaki's fingers dug painfully hard into his shoulders, he thought the other boy was probably doing the same. They scratched and used their teeth and tore, and Ishida knew he shouldn't be doing this, not when Inoue-san was in danger and their world on the brink of warfare, but he couldn't stop. Not now, not when he was doing the first thing that felt right in ages.
Ishida used both hands to push Kurosaki away, to give himself a little leverage, and they both staggered. When he bit Kurosaki's lip hard, the other boy jumped, made a noise of angry surprise, and hooked his foot around Ishida's leg, tripping him. They both fell in a heap, tangled in each other, and the hard landing was all the worse for Ishida with Kurosaki’s weight on him.
Winded for only a moment, he turned his attention to Kurosaki's body. They pulled at each other's clothes, tearing away the layers that prevented access to flesh. The zanpakutou, a bulky hindrance, slid off Kurosaki's back onto the ground beside them with a few firm tugs. Kurosaki had an advantage - even though Ishida was wearing more clothing, the unchecked force of his spirit power flowing over Ishida's senses was making him feel drunk; his hands were too heavy and he couldn't focus enough to move them well. Kurosaki made it to his erection before Ishida even had Kurosaki's robes fully open, and when those long fingers circled around him, it took all his fortitude not to come right then.
If simply being near Kurosaki when he was in spirit form affected Ishida, skin-to-skin contact was almost unbearable. He thought he might fly apart when Kurosaki moved his hand along Ishida's erection -- firm, fast, rough. He was only distantly aware that he had stopped trying to disrobe Kurosaki and had wound his hands so tightly in the fabric his fingers hurt. He couldn't even concentrate on Kurosaki's face in front of him, just toss his head from side to side and make incoherent noises. He spread his knees as far apart as they would go, arching up up up into Kurosaki's touch, slamming the back of his head into pavement. The world was going white around the edges, everything around him smelled like heat, and his entire body was electric.
He screamed as he came because he couldn't do anything else, digging his heels into the ground and thrusting his hips helplessly. Kurosaki kissed him again, cutting off his yell, and Ishida kissed back with desperate confusion, trying to talk and regain his wits all at the same time, but the hand kept moving around him and he couldn't think and all his words were lost behind Kurosaki's lips.
His body fell limp, his mind and senses coming down from an unbelievable high. Hand jobs should not be so mind-blowing, he thought. He felt, as if from a distance, a hand tugging at his pants, pulling them all the way off, and he tried to squirm out of them to give assistance, but he had no concept of whether he was helping or making things worse. His palms and fingers felt funny, and he noticed that chunks of Kurosaki's robe were missing in the front, frayed threads wafting in the open air. It had disintegrated where Ishida had been holding it, and his hands were covered in greasy black residue. Ash. Fascinating.
Ishida's eyes slipped shut and he breathed deeply, still reeling from his orgasm. Just what was going on with him and Kurosaki? Why did they have to meet up again? Why couldn't they keep their hands off each other? Why did he only realize now that he had missed Kurosaki, and why did he miss the idiot at all?
It wasn't until he felt sticky fingers poking at him that his mind finally caught up with the rest of the world and he realized that Kurosaki was preparing him with a handful of his semen. A palm and fingers on his body had almost made him lose his mind, so what would Kurosaki inside him be like?
Kurosaki lifted Ishida's legs, settling his knees over his shoulders, lining up his erection without needing to look. He gently pressed the tip of his penis against him and locked eyes with Ishida, who couldn't look away from the grimly determined expression, from the almost insane heat behind the gaze. He braced himself as much as he was able for what was coming, hands feebly attempting to gain purchase on the flat ground.
When Kurosaki slid inside, Ishida's entire body seized; his jaw clenched, his neck tightened painfully, his lungs froze, his fingers dug into cement, scraping away skin and nails. His heart didn't start beating again until Kurosaki was all the way in, and then it pulsed in unstable, fluttering palpitations that made him think, with only vague concern, that he might be going into cardiac arrest. It was so much; it was far too much. It was so unbelievably intense he couldn't stand it, but he couldn't move his mouth to speak. Kurosaki's fingers brushed lightly over his hairline, but Ishida couldn't even open his eyes to acknowledge the touch. When Kurosaki pulled back and thrust in again, Ishida gave up trying to think.
Feeling was the only thing in his existence anymore, a rush of sensation that was dull compared to the reiatsu surging through him. He lost track of time and place and everything but the fact that he was being rocked, and he'd never felt anything so incredible in his life. He flung his arms up and grabbed hold of Kurosaki; he wasn't sure where, but he needed the physical contact to keep grounded, to stay sane under the force of the reiatsu and the feeling like he was being split in half.
He couldn't possibly be hard again so soon, but he thought he felt the buildup of an approaching climax. Ishida was so detached from his own body that he couldn't even tell if he was hard, but even as he was distantly contemplating the situation, the pressure of sensation swelled, closing off his throat and bearing down on his heart, and he knew what was next.
All at once he was exploding, his flesh and viscera flying apart. He wasn’t a soul attached to a body anymore. He was a sun rising, he was a flock of birds taking flight, he was a star collapsing, he was burning from the inside, he was screaming. He was screaming and his body was spasming, his lungs raw and his flesh bruised.
Too soon, the sensation faded. His vision returned slowly along with his hearing. The first thing he recognized were his own knees in his periphery, still draped over Kurosaki's shoulders; the other boy had him almost bent in half from fucking him so hard. He saw orange hair next, and Ichigo's strange wonderful face contorted in pleasure. Ishida noticed his own hand fisted in Kurosaki's hair; the other was bunched in his robe again at his shoulder, and there were long, deep scratches on Kurosaki's neck that he must have inflicted. His own breathing was painfully loud and ragged; Kurosaki's was steadier, and under it he could hear a litany of murmurs Kurosaki was breathing close to his mouth.
"I hate you, Ishida," he panted, sounding anguished, "You're so stupid and I hate you so much I can't stand it. I hate you, I hate you." Ishida groaned, twisting his grip in Kurosaki's hair. Kurosaki yelled, slamming into Ishida, and for a moment he thought he must have ripped out an enormous chunk, but he realized in an instant that Kurosaki was coming.
Kurosaki's hips jerked crazily and he made a series of painful choking noises as he slowed. Ishida forcefully unclenched his fingers and Kurosaki hissed quietly as several strands of orange hair came away with Ishida's hand. Kurosaki opened his eyes as his breathing slowed, looked into Ishida's for only a moment before he ducked his head.
Ishida stared up at the night sky, feeling surreal and dissociated from his own body and unable to process what had just happened. Even the discomfort of his position, still folded practically in two with the brunt of Kurosaki's weight resting on him, didn't hold as much of his attention as his concern for his behavior. One moment Kurosaki fighting with him, the next pulsing between his thighs. Both were familiar to him, more than anything he did when he was at home with Ryuuken. Falling back into the old pattern with Kurosaki had been as simple as pulling thread through the eye of a needle. Even with one of their best friends in what was very likely mortal danger. He brought a hand to his face and covered his eyes, rubbing the grit that stuck to his fingers into his skin. Weren't they pathetic.
Kurosaki, suddenly awkward, pulled out of Ishida abruptly. The action made Ishida certain he was more attached to his skin that he'd thought. He bit back a cry of discomfort, stretching his legs and opening his eyes again to search for his pants. He got back into them with all the fumbling that came with stiff fingers, abrased palms and aching thighs. When he was fully clothed, there was nothing left to do but acknowledge the boy sitting across from him.
They watched each other again, wordless. Well, Ishida thought, I think that definitely counts as "associating." But the threat of his father's disapproval - which wasn't anything new, anyway - couldn't concern him at the moment. Not with Kurosaki's semen inside him and his hair still caught between his fingers.
Kurosaki looked like he wanted to say something desperate and ridiculous, something that would only make the situation much worse. Ishida's obvious skepticism must have stopped him, because when he opened his mouth, all he asked was, "Are you fighting now?"
"Yes." An easy question. An easy answer.
"Will you help me find Inoue?" There wasn't anything behind the question to make Ishida's skin prickle like it did. Kurosaki wouldn't use Inoue-san just to try to keep tabs on him.
He swallowed. "I don't know."
Kurosaki looked away, tugging his robes back into place firmly. "All right," he said. He locked eyes with Ishida again, not accusing, not angry, not anything. "Let me know."
Ishida nodded. He stood slowly, cataloging all the places of his body that might be sore enough to cause him a problem when he was fighting. Doing this was stupid for so many reasons. His pants were torn and sullied with drying ejaculate. His hands had cuts all over them; gravel was embedded deep in his fingertips. When he looked up at Kurosaki, the other boy was standing too, his zanpakutou strapped to his back again. The only evidence he bore on his person of what happened was where Ishida burned away chunks of his clothing. Even his hair didn't look much different.
Kurosaki's expression was closed. He didn't make any move to leave or to initiate their parting. How this ended was entirely up to Ishida. He shifted uncomfortably, finally tipping his chin up in a show of arrogance.
"Someday, Kurosaki," Ishida said quietly, and it didn't come out as jocular or threatening as he intended, not nearly, "I swear we'll settle our score."
Kurosaki nodded once. As Ishida turned to leave, the other boy was still watching him silently, as though keeping a vigil, as though waiting for him to turn back.