Fic: Pluralism
Dude, I do not know where this came from. It just did. I don't fight these things.
Title: Pluralism
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s): Kon/Ichigo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kon and Ichigo come to an understanding about their strange give-and-take relationship.
Author's Notes: I think Kon is an underexplored character with a lot of potential for depth, and Kon/Ichigo is a pretty mind-bending pairing that I just had to do if only to freak people out. It helps that of the only other two Bleach fans in my dorm, one is strictly an Ichigo/Rukia fangirl and the other likes the pretty non-crack pairings like Byakuya/Renji. So I decided I’d do something with a hint of crack to it, but try to do it seriously. I think it worked, actually. ^_^. There’s smut. Be afraid. This is officially the first true story containing PWP that I’ve ever both written and posted. Hah! (This is what happens when you’re trying not to study for finals or think about anything difficult.)
And I just thought the title was funny. Don’t question it too deeply.
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Pluralism
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It was just turning dark out, flourescent streetlamps lending their ethereal accent to the barely-defined shadows, when a pair of sneaker-clad feet touched down on the sill of Ichigo Kurosaki's open bedroom window.
Ichigo's eyes scanned the room -- but they were borrowed eyes, and Kon knew it. Sighing, he hopped lightly down from his perch and into the room, silenty reveling in the effortless slide of muscle in his legs. God, he loved being in this body. It didn't happen often enough. Grinning, he pirouetted once -- twice -- just because he could. Maybe he could ask Ichigo if, sometime when Ichigo was off with Soul Reaper duties elsewhere, Kon could take this body out dancing...
But he knew what Ichigo's answer would be.
Kon sighed and tossed Ichigo's school bag (containing his usual plush toy body) onto the bed before walking over to the closet door and rapping once. No response. He pulled the door open a fraction just to make sure Rukia wasn't in there asleep, but the closet was empty. She hadn't returned, then... and she'd been gone all day. He didn't mind, of course; he knew she could take care of herself and it was only when she wasn't around that Kon got to borrow Ichigo's body like this.
Speaking of... the threat of a Hollow that Ichigo had gone to answer this time hadn't seemed like too much of a problem (not against Ichigo's power, anyway), but he still wouldn't be home for a while and he'd told Kon to check on his family. Make sure they saw him so they wouldn't suspect the real Ichigo was out saving the world. Kon snorted.
He'd told Kon that he'd promised Yuzu he'd be home in time for dinner. Part of Kon wished Ichigo would be late, so that Kon could take his place at the table. The masquerade wouldn't hold for a second, of course, but what Kon wouldn't give to be able to actually taste the food he could smell every time Yuzu took to the kitchen...
Kon ran a hand through his -- no, through Ichigo's -- unruly hair and ignored the flutter of nerves he always felt before approaching Ichigo's family. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable in this body or even that he was uncomfortable being around people -- in fact, when he'd first gotten landed in Ichigo's body he wouldn't have given half a shit if Karin or Yuzu had seen him, realized he wasn't their brother, and freaked out. He would have thought it the greatest joke in the world. But for all his posing and complaining, he really was connected to Ichigo now. The things that Ichigo held sacred, Kon also felt obligated to protect -- in whatever small ways he could. And that included making sure the Kurosakis didn't worry about their prodigal son's frequent absences... by making sure they didn't know he was ever gone.
Kon focused, recalling Ichigo's usual expression -- the lax, slightly distracted scowl he wore in class or when he was just doing nothing, thinking. Kon knit his brows together, drew down the corners of his mouth, and opened the bedroom door.
He didn't spend long downstairs -- just went in the kitchen exchanged a few words with Yuzu ("Dinner's in an hour!" she reminded him as he left), wandered aimlessly from room to room as he'd often seen Ichigo do, and went back upstairs. (Sometimes Kon wondered why Ichigo drifted around his own house like a ghost, as if he constantly needed to see everything that connected him to the world of the living in order to keep those links alive -- or maybe that was the reason.) Still, by the time he got back to Ichigo's room, Kon's heart was pounding -- from momentarily forgetting exactly what greeting Ichigo used around Yuzu, to being terrified (as he always was) that Karin would notice that his spirit energy was significantly different and weaker than Ichigo's, to listening every second for the sound of the front door opening -- because more than anything, Kon did not want to have to fight with Isshin Kurosaki. Kon didn't fight like Ichigo, couldn't fight like Ichigo, and the deadest of giveaways would be one misplaced kick, one wrongly worded deadpan joke, one hit too hard or too soft. A father would know. A father would be able to tell that his son was not real.
Kon shut the door to Ichigo's room softly, shivering at a slight chill breeze from the window. Dinner in an hour. Ichigo would be back by then -- unless the world was ending, he didn't miss dates with his family. Rukia was another matter. If she didn't get back in time, there was no way to get Kon back into the plushie or Ichigo's spirit back into his body. Maybe Ichigo really would let Kon have dinner, in that case...
No, probably not.
Kon wondered if Ichigo ever realized how much being in that plush body tormented Kon. Not just the undignified treatment and the frequent instances of being thrown or sat on or ripped -- those were minor. But being able to smell food without being able to eat -- only being able to see in two dimensions (buttons had no depth perception) -- watching Ichigo run and not being able to do it himself, knowing exactly how amazing those pumping legs felt under him, hitting the ground at each step with the coiled spring of an athlete who could still go faster if he wanted, could still go all-out...
Seeing Ichigo run and knowing that he, Kon, could run faster. Longer. Lighter. Better. As a doll, Kon still had his leg strength -- that was intrinsic to the modifications done to his soul. But there were limitations depending on the body he occupied. And Ichigo's was the body of a lean young man in perfect physical health, whereas the lion toy didn't have muscles. It had fluff. And fuzzy felt. And useless buttons.
Kon sighed, and looked down at Ichigo's body. They were pretty amazing things, really, these flesh and blood mechanisms that were only vessels for souls, and yet so much more. He slowly stretched one leg out and lowered himself into a streamlined runner's stretch, enjoying the simple pleasure of the uninhibited interaction of muscle and sinew and skin, and the blood that heated it all with a flush of life and color that made Kon's eyes shine with fierce joy at being alive.
He owed Ichigo for this. That was why he felt so obligated to protect his family -- no, not obligated. He wanted to do something for Ichigo. Wanted to return the favor. Because he'd realized a while back, right when he'd first confronted Ichigo, that humans needed their bodies as much as Kon wanted one, and that no one -- not Kon, not Hollows, not Soul Reapers, no one -- had the right to take someone else's body away, even if that person could exist independently in spirit form, like Ichigo. So the fact that Ichigo hadn't allowed Soul Society to destroy Kon like so much refuse, had kept him and allowed him to help fight the good fight -- had let Kon use his body, even for short amounts of time --
That was enough. Kon laughed softly to himself. That was enough.
He jumped up suddenly and began dancing around the dark room, giggling to himself just to feel the vibrations of vocal cords and diaphragm. His control was perfect. Without Ichigo's muscle tone, Kon might have slipped up once or twice. But Ichigo had done most of the work here -- Kon just provided the balance, leg strength and dancing skills. It was a joint effort towards perfection, really. Kon could never express to Ichigo how much that meant to him, even though this wasn't exactly the end Ichigo ever had in mind when he worked out.
After a while he began to lose the rhythm, and he turned the kinetic motion of one last dramatic spin into a perfect collapse onto Ichigo's bed. It had been a good workout; he'd even worked up a little bit of a sweat. The back of his legs burned pleasantly with exertion. Satisfied, Kon lay back and breathed deep of the mingling night air and clean salt of his body. His body. For now, at least.
As he lay there, sprawled out with his hands behind his head, Kon thought about Ichigo -- wondered when he would be getting back (forty minutes until dinner? Or half an hour? How much time had passed?). And, in thinking about Ichigo, memory sparked back to a shock of orange hair -- a lean body, stretched out, legs spread -- one hand up, behind his head, long fingers curling -- the other hand --
It wasn't like Kon watched on purpose, but Ichigo tended to throw him wherever as soon as they got back from school and then forget about him. He'd been on Ichigo's desk that night, right next to the bed. Okay, maybe Kon could have buried himself deeper into Ichigo's backpack and blocked his ears from the quick, shallow breaths and the faint sound of skin on skin. But...
Kon remembered how much he'd hated Ichigo that night, irrationally and intensely. He'd watched with his depthless button eyes, and had felt only psychological pleasure. Vicarious. Cruel. He had not been flesh then.
And Kon remembered wondering who or what Ichigo thought about with one hand down his pants and the other clutching in spasms at the pillow.
Rukia had been out, of course, because Ichigo would never -- not with someone in the same room. He would've had to get over a lot of qualms considering he lived with two younger sisters, but Kon figured that Rukia moving in had been the death blow. So whenever Rukia was out late, Ichigo would seize his chance. "Seize" being the operative word.
Kon shifted in Ichigo's bed, his self-assurance that as long as Ichigo wasn't here his body belonged to Kon completely dissolved. He was uncomfortably aware that he wasn't Ichigo, that he was thinking things with Ichigo's brain that were causing Ichigo's body to respond in ways that wouldn't have happened had Ichigo been occupying it at the time. Dancing was one thing. But even Kon, who didn't have many inhibitions, knew there were lines one man didn't cross with another man's body.
But... this was the only flesh body Kon would probably ever have. And the opportunity was golden. Half an hour until dinner, in the dark, only the muffled sounds of clatter from downstairs betraying the continued existance of life on earth. Kon thought about the slow, long strokes Ichigo had taken, wondered how that would feel...
Ichigo could be back at any time. Kon had wasted plenty of time already, and now he was thoroughly aroused -- whatever he was going to do, he'd better do it fast. And to be honest with himself, he figured it'd be faster to get rid of the evidence if he just went ahead and jerked off than if he tried to get Ichigo's body to calm down in a cold shower or something. How would he explain the wet hair? Besides, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn't as if he could make Ichigo's body go blind.
Maybe it was a weak excuse, but Kon was desperate for any excuse these days. His doubts slid away as he pulled one hand out from under his head and hesitantly started to touch himself -- he slid a hand down the side of his chest, to his hip, and shivered... not with the night air this time. He touched a nipple through his shirt, scratched lightly at the most sensitive spot with a bitten nail, and shivered again, harder. Sparks of good lightning, straight down. His head started to feel light.
Right. He remembered Ichigo's movements, figured Ichigo would know where his own sweet spots were, and tried to find those places as best he could. He bit his lip at the light sensation each one brought, until he'd finally gotten his pants open and his boxers down far enough to --
Oh God. He swallowed a groan and let the pleasure roll through him at each touch. He was probably lasting a pathetically short amount of time, but who cared? He hadn't had a body in hundreds of years and he hadn't felt physical pleasure since... he couldn't remember. Letting out a shaky breath, Kon let his eyes drift shut and his mind wander free at last, to all the things he'd ever wanted to fantasize about while doing just this -- the girls in Ichigo's class, silky hair and short skirts and long legs Kon wouldn't mind just watching instead of using; Orihime, all soft, exaggerated curves and full lips. He imagined her sprawled wanton above him, flushed and naked. And Rukia... that time he'd been in the closet because Ichigo had gotten annoyed with him and thrown him in there to shut him up, and then they'd both forgotten about him and he'd still been in there when night fell and Rukia had climbed in and stripped for bed, shimmying out of her schoolgirl skirt in that confined space that forced certain movements, certain ways she'd had to bend over to --
Shit, he was close. He could feel the pressure building like nothing he'd felt in a long time, and he dragged his eyes open for the last of it because he wanted to see the world go white --
He registered the clatter on the windowsill a split second after it happened. The voice, however, cut instantaneously through to reality.
"Hey Kon, is Rukia back yet? I've --"
Kon didn't know if it was possible to be more mortified. Probably. In some parallel universe. But as far as the here and now was concerned -- the look on Ichigo's face said it all. Kon fleetingly wondered if he'd live long enough to find that expression amusing later. Say, in a few centuries.
"What the hell are you doing?" was the first thing out of Ichigo's mouth, which had gone slack with shock for at least ten seconds.
The accusatory tone galvanized Kon into movement. He jerked upright and slid away from Ichigo, turning towards the other side of the bed to hide both the incriminating evidence of his actions and the crimson stain spreading across not just his cheeks, but his whole face and neck. "Sorry," he croaked, then went even redder at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I just --"
"You -- you --" Ichigo fumed at Kon's back. The automatic solution, the one that both of them expected, was for Ichigo to simply pick Kon up and toss him at a wall. But Kon wasn't in his plush body, and Ichigo didn't dare hurt himself. Instead he flailed for a real response, something he could do or say that would make the situation cease to be yet would still be nonviolent.
Kon squeezed his -- Ichigo's, he reminded himself forcefully, this body belongs to Ichigo -- eyes shut and fumbled with his underwear and pants. It wasn't that much trouble; his erection was pretty much gone. Some things were more turn-offs than others. "Sorry," he repeated, knowing he sounded like a broken record but not knowing what else to say. Should he try to explain his rationalization to Ichigo? Its weakness stood out to him now as starkly as a Hollow's mask.
"Look, you -- just --" Kon heard Ichigo move, probably stepping down from the sill. "At least -- close the window! Someone else might have been --"
The window had been open that night Ichigo had jerked off, Kon protested silently. For Rukia. "You couldn't have gotten in," he said weakly.
"Yeah -- well --"
Kon got the button fastened and stood quickly, turning to face Ichigo while backing away from the bed at the same time. Ichigo was still sitting on the windowsill -- not crouching, just sitting. Hunched forward a little. He looked paler than usual, and he seemed to have given up his struggle for words.
"I just wanted," Kon began, but Ichigo cut him off.
"Look, I know you -- haven't had a body in a long time," Ichigo said quickly. "It's not like you were... hurting my body or anything. And I've been -- interrupted. So. I know how it is. Sorry." He coughed and looked down, flushing with embarrassment. Kon realized his mouth was open in surprise and shut it quickly.
"Um," said Kon. "Dinner's in twenty minutes."
Ichigo looked up sharply. "You talked to Yuzu?"
"Yeah, I went downstairs for a few minutes."
"They say anything?"
"That dinner was in an hour. Twenty minutes. Now. Um."
"Right." Kon noticed that Ichigo wasn't moving from his seat, and that his breathing was slower and more forced than usual.
"Hard battle?" Kon asked without thinking.
Ichigo twitched.
Literally. All over, he just... jerked, like Kon had touched him with a tazer or something. The blush started to return, too. It took Kon a second to make the connection between that and the universal hunch men went into to hide a certain incriminating part of their anatomy.
"Are you --?"
"Shut up!"
Kon almost snickered, before he caught himself. Seeing himself jerking off had turned Ichigo on mightily. Now that Kon knew what to look for, he could tell.
"I just -- you caught me off-guard," Ichigo muttered, sliding off the windowsill and stalking, hunch-shouldered, across the room to Rukia's closet. He flung the door open and began rummaging.
"You're ever on-guard? Against seeing yourself?" Kon asked before tact had a chance to overtake curiosity in his brain.
"Mmph," Ichigo grunted noncommitally. "She never leaves the stupid glove here. Wish she'd show me some way to get you out of me without needing her or that stupid hat-n-clogs nearby."
Kon seriously wondered if Ichigo had had fantasies about playing around with his own body while in spirit form. With or without Kon occupying it? The question burned.
"Seriously, Ichigo," Kon began.
For the second time, Ichigo interrupted. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, tone clipped and harsh as if he wanted the words out as fast and with as little misinterpretation as possible.
"What?"
"When you," Ichigo said. "To get off. What did you."
"Oh," Kon said. He backed up to the bed and sat down again. Now that Ichigo had brought it up, the images he'd tried to shut out of his mind with iron bars started to drift back in. "Um. You'd hurt me, I think."
"Only when you're out of my body again," Ichigo said bluntly. "Tell me."
Kon swallowed. "Girls... Orihime, for one. Her hair in the moonlight, and... a really short skirt, like, shorter than the school ones... and Tatsuki, but a little bigger in the chest, you know. Just... girls in your class."
"Yuzu or Karin?"
Kon made a horrified face. "They're, like, eleven! And they're -- no! God."
"...Rukia?"
Kon hesitated.
"You don't have to answer that one." Ichigo closed the closet door and turned around. "As long as my sisters stay out of this."
Kon shuddered.
A shout drifted up from downstairs. "Ichigooo~! Dinner's in ten! Be on time or I'll send Dad after you!"
Ichigo jerked again, but Kon noticed that he was standing straighter now and figured his reaction had been entirely an instinctive reflex to the word "Dad." Ichigo started to call back, then checked himself. "Kon," he said. "Answer her?"
Kon coughed, lowered his usual speaking voice a little to match Ichigo's, and called, "Yeah, sure!" at the top of his lungs.
Ichigo sighed and came over to sit down near Kon on the bed. Not close, though. "Damn it," he said. "Rukia needs to get back. All I want is dinner and sleep, is that so much to ask?"
Kon shrugged. "She said she had some shopping to do, but that was five hours ago --"
"You’re talking about me?" came a familiar voice from the window. Ichigo and Kon turned around at the same moment. Rukia gave them her usual smirk of greeting and hopped into the room, heading immediately over to her closet to drop off the cluster of white bags she held in one hand. "Errands successful," she said, turning triumphantly. "But I have one last appointment. Just needed to drop those off." She slid the door shut and gave both of them a look. "Don't go through any of my things."
"Why not? Important Soul Society top-secret gadgets?" Ichigo asked sarcastically. "More sketch pads and crayons for your kindergarten diagrams?"
She refrained from smacking him. "No, actually," she said smugly, "it's just a few things that you boys would probably rather not think about. Got me?"
Ichigo blinked and Kon shuddered visibly. "In my room?" Ichigo exclaimed, disbelieving. "Shit, you gotta be kidding me! God, why did I deserve this life...?"
"Oh, get over it, you big baby," Rukia said flippantly.
Another call to dinner drifted up from downstairs, followed closely by a sugary threat in what was unmistakably Isshin Kurosaki's voice, and a thud that might have had something to do with Karin and a frying pan coming into contact with Isshin's head. "Look, we've gotta switch," Ichigo said, standing. "I have to eat dinner with my folks. Could you just leave the glove? It's annoying to have to wait for you."
Rukia blinked. "Oh yeah, I forget." She pulled the glove out of her pocket, slipped it on, and tapped Kon lightly on the forehead with her palm. Ichigo's body fell back on the mattress, eyes blank and staring, as a small white pill rolled into a groove in the covers. "There you go. And I guess I can leave this, since you keep having to use Kon to get into Soul Reaper form." She dropped the glove on the bed. "But I'll need it back whenever we find you a better method for going out-of-body."
Ichigo nodded his thanks and walked over to his body, sitting down on it -- into it -- and leaning back, melding, until there was no sign of his Soul Reaper form at all, just one whole, tangible Ichigo lying on the bed. He blinked, stretched, stood up on shaky legs, and reached down to pick Kon up from where he'd fallen. "Thanks," he told Rukia.
"Well, go eat dinner," Rukia said, hopping back up to the window frame. "I might be back late. Don't wait up!" And she jumped down out of sight.
"Convenient," Ichigo muttered. He found his backpack and dug around in it for the lion plush. "Back in here for now," he said, almost apologetically, pushing the small pill into the plush's open mouth.
It took a split second for Kon to come to life again, kicking and screaming -- literally. "She could ask first, dammit!" he yelled in his small roar, flailing this way and that. "Just knocking me out of a body like that without a word! Who the hell does she think she is!"
Ichigo smiled humorlessly and put Kon down on the bed, where he immediately walked to the pillows and flopped back onto them.
"I've got to go," Ichigo said. "Be back in a while."
"Eat something good for me," Kon mumbled.
Ichigo hesitated at the door. "Yeah," he said. "Sure." And then he was gone, and Kon could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs and his voice rising almost immediately to full pitch against the onslaught that was his father.
Kon lay back on Ichigo's bed, thankful that this body couldn't really shiver, per se. It wasn't Ichigo's body, that was for sure, but -- every time, for those few seconds he went back to being just a pill, he experienced the same numbing, silent-screaming terror of the first time, decades ago, when he'd been a thing with rational thought but no body and no senses, feeling the death of each of his fellow creations as if they were his own, wondering when the living darkness would end and the darkness of death would overtake him --
So he flexed his little stuffing-filled paws and legs, and was as grateful as he could be under the circumstances.
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It was an hour and a half later, maybe closer to two, by the time Ichigo managed to get disentangled from his family with mumbled excuses about homework and sleep (except, in the case of his father, yelled at the top of his lungs with an added helping of roundhouse kicks to the solar plexus). At first he’d wondered why he was more physically tired than usual (his legs felt sore, for one), but then he’d decided it was probably just another thing he didn’t want to think about Kon doing with his body.
It wasn’t just the sore legs and the tiredness. He felt restless, antsy, hollow -- and he knew where that feeling came from. Damn Kon. And damn himself for interrupting.
Shit.
It was full dark, almost nine, when he yanked open his door and slouched in, irritable for reasons he couldn’t entirely pinpoint. It wasn’t just the thing with Kon -- well, it was. But not for the reasons Kon thought, or even the reasons Ichigo kept telling himself he should think. It was... confusing, to say the least. And he wanted to talk to Kon again, now. There were answers he needed to hear to questions he was afraid to ask, and he thought maybe if he dived in without thinking too hard about it, he might get the words out before he had any second thoughts.
The lion plush was still on his bed, face-down now and apparently as close to asleep as a body that needed no sleep could be. Ichigo had watched Kon daze out before, just like this. It was probably too much of a strain to be concious all the time.
“Right,” Ichigo muttered, and strode over to his bed. He picked Kon up -- such a light thing, like a puff of air in his hand, and it was hard to believe that a fully sentient being resided in this pathetic toy body... he blanched from the idea of talking seriously with a doll.
It wasn’t like Kon was different when he was in this body. A body was a body. Kon’s soul and voice were what mattered.
Except... that wasn’t true. Kon was different in flesh form. And Ichigo reacted differently to him then, too. More honestly, for one. And less violently. Because Kon was in his own body and all Ichigo could think about was how hard it would be on Karin and Yuzu and Dad if something happened to him, because they wouldn’t understand about the Soul Reaper thing, they just wouldn’t. Maybe it was narcicissm that kept him from attacking Kon when Kon was in his body, but Ichigo grudingly admitted that it was beneficial narcicissm.
He tossed Kon up and down in his hand a few times, thinking. The movement started causing Kon to come awake again. “Hey,” said Kon in that small, annoying voice, “What the hell you think you’re doing? I was asleep! Hey!”
Nope, Ichigo couldn’t talk to Kon like this. He cast a sidelong glance at the glove on his desk, set his jaw, and nodded to himself. “Sorry,” he said, without really meaning it, and stuck three fingers in Kon’s mouth.
The little plush screamed against his invading fingers, blunt paws flailing against his hard grip. But the body was just fluff and felt, and Ichigo knew he couldn’t hurt it. Kon just liked to complain. It was only a few seconds’ determined digging before he got the pill out, anyway, and the doll went limp and lifeless in his hand.
Ichigo hesitated for a second -- he’d never done this outside of an adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight situation, except the first time, and he hadn’t known what it was going to feel like then. Closing his eyes, he made himself stick the pill in his mouth before he could think about it.
He didn’t... swallow, exactly. He never did. The pill took effect before that, right about when it hit the back of his throat, and it always felt like the backwards momentum was simply carrying through to the rest of his neck, to his spine and on through that, until his neck was no longer in his neck, but he was seeing double and a field of orange that resolved itself into his hair and he staggered, coughing, as the familiar weight of the zanpakutoh thudded down across his shoulders. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it felt so strange that he sometimes wished it would make him nauseous so that he could just vomit like an ordinary person and get the twisted feeling out of his system. And there was always a moment, right when the pill hit his tongue and throat, when he could sense Kon. Not really hear his thoughts, or anything concrete like that, but he could... feel what Kon was feeling, just for an instant, and sort of get the, well, the flavor of the mod soul tingling in his mouth and mind. It only lasted for a second, but a second felt like way too long to literally share a body with someone.
Ichigo watched his body stumble forward and catch itself on the edge of the bed. It shook its red head, reorienting itself, and then --
“Why you!” Kon spun around to face Ichigo. “What the hell was that about? You just feel like being a bastard today? I was having nice dreams to make up for earlier, too!”
“You don’t dream,” Ichigo said as a conversation- killer. “The doll has no brain. Synapses can’t fire randomly. So you can’t dream.”
Kon’s mouth tightened. Well, Kon tightened Ichigo’s mouth. Ichigo flinched at the paradoxical train of thought and reminded himself to just think of Kon as Kon. “Yeah,” said Kon resentfully. “Well. I daydream.”
“I know,” Ichigo said bluntly.
He and Kon stared at each other for a long minute, just trying to gauge each other’s thoughts. Finally, Kon seemed to relent, and his face registered only apprehension -- waiting for Ichigo to begin whatever real conversation he obviously wanted to have.
Ichigo looked away then, and let out a short breath. He shook his head... at himself, at Kon, he wasn’t sure. He unslung his zanpakutoh, feeling strangely underdressed in these looser clothes without his sword’s comforting weight holding them down, despite the fact that he had about five more layers on than Kon did. Leaning the sword carefully up against the closet door, he tried to word what he needed to say. It was just that words came so hard when all he could think of were actions.
It was his body -- he should be able to do whatever he wanted to with it, right?
“Girls, huh?” he said finally. It wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but now that Kon was back in his body he’d started to lose whatever angry momentum had gotten him started. “Daydreaming just now?”
Kon looked like he wanted to give Ichigo some snappish response, and a ‘duh’ sort of expression wavered on his face. But he seemed to recognize the conflict in Ichigo and just shrugged instead. “What about it? You do the same.”
Do I? Ichigo thought. Just the fact that he was so intrigued by his own body and... well. Dammit. It was still solo if it was with his own body, right? And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he wanted to know what another boy would feel like under his hands...
Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek hard, hiding the pain with a grimace. That one time... he’d realized before he’d really gotten started that Kon was on his desk with a front-row view, but he hadn’t stopped. And honestly, until recently he’d been thinking about the same stuff Kon thought about to get off. But it wasn’t his fault that every time he tried to distract himself from his obsession with thoughts of Orihime’s luscious red hair and full... uh, lips, his goddamned dark hair and deft, pale hands would creep back in, tearing down Ichigo’s careful construct of teenage lust with something more real, more visceral -- more frightening.
It was all Ishida’s fault. And besides, this thing with Kon was pure academic curiosity. Nothing to do with anyone else. He wished he hadn’t brought up fantasies at all.
Kon was giving him a look.
Dammit.
Good with a sword, awful with communication. Sometimes Ichigo hated the strengths he’d been landed with in this life. “It’s just, you didn’t get a chance to finish earlier, and I could tell,” he said lamely. “Had to get out of that body.”
“Why didn’t you just jerk off yourself, then?”
Because “I didn’t mean --” that wouldn’t be enough “ -- I just wanted --” to feel it from another perspective, to know what he felt like to an outsider, to --
“Just wanted to watch?” Kon asked with a look of infinite amusement tempered with curiosity. He stood from the bed and walked towards Ichigo.
“It’s not that!” Ichigo protested, though he knew the blood was draining from his face (and collecting elsewhere). He resisted the urge to take a step back.
“This, then?” Kon reached up and touched Ichigo’s face, familiar long, bony fingers tracing an equally familiar jawline --
Before Ichigo knew what he was doing (some part of his mind was still formulating protests, rationalizations, changes of subject), he’d grabbed two handfuls of orange hair and crushed his mouth against Kon’s. The kiss was sloppy -- Ichigo had kissed a couple of girls before but he’d never been much good at it, and they’d broken up with him anyway, so he’d never had any incentive to improve. But with Kon he felt an irrational need to make it feel good -- and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just because he was kissing his own body (a fact he was simultaneously excited and repulsed by). So he turned and shoved Kon against the closet door and kissed hard, because in Ichigo’s mind doing something harder meant doing it right. (Dozens of fighting lessons on control and timing hadn’t really sunk in in terms of applying to all aspects of life.)
Kon grunted in protest at the rough treatment and pushed Ichigo off forcibly, just enough for Kon to catch a breath. Ichigo froze, suddenly afraid he’d gone too far -- but Kon just gave him a look that seemed to say nice try, before licking his lips and pulling Ichigo forward for another kiss.
If Ichigo had had much firsthand knowledge to draw on he might have been able to tell that Kon was also inexperienced, that he was just making it up as he went along -- it simply happened to be that Kon was better at disguising the fact, and Ichigo didn’t feel like questioning it. He just knew that Kon’s tongue in his mouth felt pretty fucking amazing, and he had to brace his forearms against the closet door on either side of Kon’s head to keep himself upright. Only a few seconds of Kon’s slow, hot, sliding kisses and Ichigo was already pressing harder again, wanting... he didn’t know. Contact. Pain. An excuse. Maybe it was just pure want, want without reason.
Kon wasn’t complaining about the roughness this time.
When Ichigo broke away to catch his breath, Kon gasped, “What do you want to do?”
Ichigo shook his head. His head felt light, while his guts squirmed at the roil of unformed ideas flashing through him at the speed of light, most of which bypassed his brain and headed straight for his groin. His whole body was one big hormonal and emotional mess, and right then he decided that he hated being fifteen. He could barely stand, much less answer Kon’s question, which was far more complicated than it had any right to be.
He groaned and gently bumped his forehead against Kon’s, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Now that he was still he could feel the hypersensitivity to touch that sung through his nerves like one long glass-shattering note. It was uncomfortably pleasant. “Don’t know,” he whispered. “Everything.”
Kon slid out from under him, and Ichigo let himself collapse face-first against the closet door, eyes still closed. He could feel himself shaking.
Footsteps. Like his own, but a little lighter, because Kon knew how to move like a dancer, a runner -- not the heavy movements of a fighter used to carrying enormous weight. Ichigo found himself wondering guiltily if Kon didn’t deserve his body more than Ichigo himself did. Clearly Kon knew how to take care of it better. And with Kon in it, his body became a thing of grace and beauty... whereas all Ichigo knew how to do with it was slouch and dodge and fight. Why couldn’t he move like Kon? Like Ishida? Ishida was a fighter too, and he didn’t -- lumber. He didn’t drag his feet. When Ishida ran, it was like white lightning.
Fuck. Ichigo pressed his forehead against the smooth wood of the closet door and wished he could sink into it.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, gripping and pulling firmly. He pulled himself upright, away from the wall, and turned to see Kon grinning at him with his own face. “I locked the door,” Kon said. “Come on.” He jerked his head at the bed.
Ichigo didn’t know why Kon was going along with this. His hormones and his hard-on weren’t inclined to argue with it, but Ichigo had always had a pesky conscience. “Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“It’s still your body,” Kon said. “You can do what you want with it.”
Ichigo winced at the repeating of his own weak rationalization. The body didn’t matter; the soul did. “But you,” he persisted. “You like girls.”
Kon shrugged. “I like sex,” he said bluntly. “And I haven’t had any in a few decades. Not that I had much to start with. I only ever occupied one or two dead bodies before I was recalled for destruction.”
Ichigo grimaced. Okay, there was proof that his hormones were not completely undauntable. “Ugh,” he said.
Kon laughed. “I know,” he said. He dodged in quickly while Ichigo was distracted and pressed a fast, open kiss out of the other boy. Kon tangled his hands in Ichigo’s hair and walked him the few steps to the bed, half-dragging him by his orange roots.
Kon’s knees bumped against the edge of the bed and he sat down hard, yanking Ichigo down on top of him. Sharp pain through Ichigo’s scalp collided with an unexpected flare of lust, so that the sound that finally made its way out of his throat was somewhere between a groan and a squeak. Undignified, whatever it was. Kon had apparently decided it was his duty to get Ichigo’s mind off of moral agonizing and self-analysis and onto mindless pleasure, an intent Ichigo became positive of when he felt Kon’s hands disentangle themselves from his hair and slide down his neck, inside the front of his kimono and onto his chest.
The next few minutes became a battle for the upper hand, silent but for gasping breath and the rustle of fabric. Ichigo was grateful for that -- finally, something he knew. Even when there was no intent to kill or even harm, he knew how to fight. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the fact that Kon was wearing a button-down shirt and relatively snug pants, whereas Ichigo’s traditional clothes, despite their intimidating number of layers, were fairly simple for someone else to slip into. Trying to focus on buttons was torture when his kimono was hanging off one shoulder and Kon’s quick hands were already working on his hakama.
Then Kon slid his hands past the loosened waistline to hips, ass, lower still, and even though there were only three buttons left, Ichigo gave up and just ripped. Wasn’t like it was Kon’s shirt anyway, and if Ishida could make his own whole costume from scratch, Ichigo could handle a couple of popped buttons. Ishida... thin hands pushing his hakama down and his kimono open, too calloused for seamter’s hands but oh shit, that was Kon’s tongue on his nipple. Ichigo’s hands went to Kon’s shoulders reflexively, holding on for dear life as he was rendered momentarily helpless.
“Shit,” he gasped, voice shaky. Kon stopped and looked up, and Ichigo almost whined. “Lemme move,” he grated out instead.
Kon let Ichigo take an unsteady step back and watched as he shrugged the rest of the way out of the insanely multi-layered Soul Reaper outfit. Freed of its entangling weight, Ichigo all but fell on Kon without a second thought, forcing him back along the mattress until he was almost at the head of the bed and Ichigo had room to move. He pushed Kon’s upper body down and tugged his hips up in less than a second, letting them fall flat again once he’d stripped him of pants and boxers.
Kon struggled onto his elbows again, now just as flushed and flustered as Ichigo had been before. “Damn, Ichigo,” he said, “what’s up with --”
Ichigo surged forward, hands coming down on either side of Kon’s head, and shut the other boy up with a rough kiss. “Shut up,” he muttered when they parted, and went straight for the neck. He’d always wanted to be kissed on the neck. He wondered if his body would have the response he always thought it might.
It did -- Kon arched and hissed under him, mouth falling open briefly.
Ichigo continued down along Kon’s body, his own body, testing all the places he’d ever touched by himself, getting stronger reactions from some than others but a significant response from all, until Kon was practically writhing with need and spitting with anger at the same time. Ichigo kept having to push his hands down and shove him back into the mattress to keep him in one place. “Fuck it, Ichigo,” he hissed loudly, “if you don’t stop teasing I swear to God I’ll --”
But Ichigo knew what he wanted to do, and would not be dissuaded. He grabbed Kon’s wrists and pinned them down hard enough to bruise one last time. “This has been bothering me,” he said roughly, looking into Kon’s eyes for the first time. “Just let me.”
Kon relented and Ichigo let go of his wrists, slid down his lean body, and didn’t give himself time to think before he took the head of Kon’s till-then-ignored arousal into his mouth.
Kon cried out. Ichigo thought about telling him off, considering that his family could hear Kon’s voice since it belonged to Ichigo’s physical body, but Ichigo was afraid that if he stopped what he was doing now, he wouldn’t start again. He’d heard the names at school -- fag, cocksucker -- and he knew what they meant by it, although what they meant had little to do with the action itself. But maybe by doing this, at least this once, he could prove to himself that the action was just an action, and that wanting to do it didn’t make him the things those boys meant when they yelled the words at the weaker kids in the class.
And God, did it feel right. It wasn’t about the cock sliding in and out of his mouth, it wasn’t about the motions he went through -- it was about the connection, and the power he had over Kon. From this position he could make Kon do or feel pretty much anything. Ichigo groaned a little at the thought and the vibration made Kon arch almost all the way off the bed, chest and throat too constricted with sensation to make a sound. Ichigo felt Kon twitch and harden further against his tongue, and that was all the warning he got before he had to swallow or choke.
He managed most of it, but after a couple of swallows Ichigo came up coughing. Kon was propped up on his elbows, limp, head hanging back, clearly resisting the temptation to just fall back the rest of the way and go to sleep -- but after a moment’s unsteady breathing, he braced himself and sat up, shaking sweaty hair out of his eyes. He put his hands behind Ichigo’s neck and waited for the last of the coughing to pass before he leaned in and licked a few spatters of come from Ichigo’s cheek and lower lip.
Ichigo shuddered, feeling his own arousal more acutely than ever, especially when Kon bit lightly at his lip and drew him into a deep kiss. “Want me to return the favor?” Kon asked after a breathless moment, sliding his hand down between Ichigo’s legs.
“You keep asking,” Ichigo breathed. “Don’t ask. Just do.”
Kon nodded, expression oddly serious for once, and immediately took hold of Ichigo’s cock and pumped hard, once, twice -- Ichigo wasn’t prepared for it and nearly jumped out of his skin. His voice cracked when he cried out, but he was beyond caring. In less than a second he was so painfully hard that just one more touch would --
Somehow Kon flipped him and the next thing Ichigo knew he was on his back with Kon between his legs, and just for a second Ichigo could do nothing but stare at himself and want to die because this was so pathetic and so wrong. One part of him was ashamed that the only action he could get was with his own body and a soul who had no other choice, but a deeper part of him was ashamed because that was what he really wanted and when he looked up at his own face he could imagine himself being in Uryuu’s position like this, looking up at his own unscowling face ready to --
Confused and angry with himself for thinking too much, Ichigo pushed all his moralizing aside and gritted his teeth. Whatever Kon did, he wanted it to hurt.
“Fuck me,” he hissed.
Kon froze for a second, then chuckled low and shook his head. “Probably not right now,” he all but purred, still lazy and flushed from his orgasm. “How about this?” He brushed a hand over Ichigo’s cheek before putting two fingers to Ichigo’s lips.
Ichigo swallowed hard, and drew the fingers in, barely wetting them thoroughly before Kon started moving away, downward. Kon spread his legs with his palms and kissed along the inside of Ichigo’s thigh, distracting him before --
Kon didn’t try to be gentle. He probably knew Ichigo would beat him up later if he held back -- it didn’t matter if it worked out right or not, it was simply a matter of Ichigo’s pride. The penetration didn’t hurt, exactly -- probably would have if it was more than one finger, Ichigo reflected, breathing hard and blinking sweat from his eyes, but he wouldn’t admit that to Kon -- but it burned more than actually feeling good. Ichigo closed his eyes and made himself relax as much as possible.
“Ichigo?” he heard Kon ask softly.
“Do it.”
No questions, no hesitant pause. Kon worked for a moment with one finger, stretching, then added a second. By then the burn had faded enough for Ichigo to get an idea of how this kind of pleasure worked. It was different, but... The feeling of fullness and connection was there, as it had been when he’d sucked Kon off, and he found himself wanting more of it.
Kon pulled his hand away completely and Ichigo grunted with annoyance, opening his eyes, but Kon was just wetting a third finger with his tongue. Ichigo shivered. He let himself think seriously for a second about the fact that he was letting another boy finger-fuck him and it made his mind reel and his cock twitch. He wasn’t quite as unbearably hard as he’d been a minute ago, but with more stimulation, Ichigo didn’t doubt that he could come like this.
“You don’t get it yet,” Kon whispered against his thigh, once again trailing lazy kisses along the legs he worshipped so much. He pressed all three fingers against Ichigo’s entrance and shoved in, hard, all the way to the knuckle -- the burn returned, and a some real pain this time, but mostly there was fullness and good friction and Kon immediately curled his fingers, probing gently, searching for --
Blinding white. Ichigo didn’t quite scream, but it was close. He bucked against Kon’s hand, pushing deeper, as pleasure spiked through him from the spot Kon had just touched, whatever it was. Ichigo tried to speak, beg, but words wouldn’t form. Kon started fucking him in earnest, pushing in hard, fast, long strokes. The burn didn’t go away this time, but as it grew it transformed until it was all about friction and connection with that spot inside, now that Kon had found the angle to hit it with each thrust --
Ichigo was close again, and moved as if to take hold of his neglected cock to bring himself to completion -- Kon was doing all he wanted or expected him to do, after all. But Kon caught his roaming hand and pushed it out of the way, steadied Ichigo’s hip and deftly took Ichigo’s length into his mouth.
The bliss of molten heat was all Ichigo really had time to register before Kon struck the spot inside one last time and he shattered into orgasm, unaware of any sounds he was making, still thrusting haphazardly into Kon’s mouth and down against his fingers, riding out the waves of pleasure rolling through him.
At last he was reduced to bonelessness. Kon slid his fingers out of Ichigo and sat back, licking his lips and giving Ichigo an intense stare. Distantly, Ichigo noted that Kon was already half-hard again, but the mod soul didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it. He smiled out of the blue, kissed Ichigo’s knee again, and slid off the bed.
“Where’reya goin’?” Ichigo didn’t bother to enunciate. His eyelids felt heavy.
“Towel, or tissue, or something...”
Ichigo flung out his arm to the desk right next to the bed and pulled open the middle drawer. Kon rummaged one-handed until he found the box of tissue, and pulled out several, one for his hand and several for his face -- he’d caught even less of Ichigo’s release than Ichigo had of his.
“Good thing no one else can hear you,” Kon said, amused.
“They better not have heard you,” Ichigo retorted, letting his eyes drift closed again. It was late, and there was school tomorrow.
Kon climbed back on the bed next to Ichigo, leaning over to ghost a kiss across his lips, his neck, and to whisper in his ear, “You know, the name you yelled when you came sounded a lot like that Quincy’s.”
Ichigo’s eyes snapped open and Kon went flying from a left hook to the jaw before Ichigo had time to think. Dammit, that was going to hurt when he got back in his own body. “Shit!” Ichigo snapped, not sure whether it was because he’d damaged his body or because of what Kon had... implied...
Who was he kidding, he’d been thinking about Uryuu the whole time. It was no wonder his name slipped out somewhere along the line.
Kon stood up unsteadily, gingerly wiping away a trickle of blood from a split lip. He gave Ichigo something that resembled a smirk around the swelling in his cheek. “It’s not exactly a big surprise,” he said, shrugging. “Explains a lot, actually. And only a blind person wouldn’t notice how much time you spend either staring at him or moralizing over the Quincy versus Soul Reaper issue, considering how often you have to remind everyone that you don’t care. You really should let that one go, Ichigo.”
Ichigo stared at Kon for a second, then took a deep breath and looked away. He let the breath out slowly. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
“Who would I tell?”
“Don’t, Kon.”
“Yeah... sure.” Kon hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed again. “I promise. You know I’ll be back in the doll before morning, so it’s not like I can talk to anyone then.”
Kon’s tone didn’t sound manipulative, didn’t sound like he was fishing for pity -- and maybe that was why Ichigo did pity him, just for a second. He felt like he ought to do something for Kon to make up for dragging him into the events of the night.
“I dunno,” Ichigo said. “I don’t want to feel that just yet.” He poked Kon’s swollen cheek -- gently, but it was hard enough to make Kon wince and hiss. “Sorry,” Ichigo said, not sounding it. He grinned.
Kon blinked, slowly comprehending what Ichigo had said. “You mean...”
“I mean I’m exhausted and I’m going to sleep,” Ichigo said. “Too bad I can’t find Rukia’s glove in the dark. Oh well.” He flopped back, not looking at Kon.
“Ichigo --”
“Shut up,” Ichigo said. “It’s not like it’s a permanent thing. But, uh, if some leftovers go missing, ‘s no big deal.”
“I can eat?” The breathless happiness in Kon’s voice was almost comical.
“Do whatever you want,” Ichigo said, finally meeting Kon’s eyes. All the mod soul ever wanted was the chance to live a little, experience life like a normal person. It wasn’t that much to ask, and Ichigo felt bad not giving Kon the easiest gift in the world. It cost Ichigo nothing, as long as Kon wasn’ t ruining his image or breaking his bones or anything.
“This is a bribe, isn’t it?” Kon was grinning now too.
“So what if it is?” Ichigo retorted. He sat up and pushed Kon off the bed, then leaned down to grab his Soul Reaper clothes. “But put some pants on or something, because I don’t know when Rukia’s getting back.”
Kon hopped to it. While he was finding the pants and boxers Ichigo had thrown across the room, Ichigo prodded the pile of black robes and grimaced at the idea of putting everything back on. He pulled just the white juban out instead, stood up to slip it on, and fished around for the obi.
He turned in time to see Kon literally dancing to the door, mostly dressed but with his shirt still unbuttoned. Ichigo rolled his eyes at the mod soul, who blew him an exaggerated kiss before disappearing out the door. Ichigo heard his light footsteps going all the way down the stairs before they faded.
Ichigo crawled back into bed, feeling oddly alone. The post-coital exhaustion had faded a bit and he was reminded that his spirit form didn’t really need sleep. But he wanted to sleep, if only because he wanted to black out and not have to cope with the strangeness of his life for at least a few hours.
It wasn’t that he was in love with Kon... well, maybe he was. He loved and hated Kon because Kon was somehow better than him. Idealogically incapable of killing any living thing. Willing to accept Ichigo’s sexual confusion and ease it in any way he could. Always there to protect Ichigo’s family in the one way Ichigo couldn’t -- by letting them know he was okay. By keeping them from knowing how much danger he was in at any given moment.
He felt like whenever Kon took over his life, he lived it better than Ichigo did.
Ichigo wasn’t as bitter about that as he thought he ought to be. Instead, he just missed Kon -- here and now. He’d given Kon what he wanted, the chance to dance and eat and sleep and laugh and be human, at least for a while. But the part of him that was satisfied with doing a good deed was steadily being overwhelmed by the selfish voice that complained about the swiftly cooling bed and the empty closet and the silent rooms where his sisters and his father were lost to sleep -- the selfish voice that wanted to be near people, that wanted people to always be there for him the way he was for them, that wanted... attention, reassurance, comfort in numbers... because Ichigo didn’t like being alone with himself. He’d known that for a long time. Deep down, he didn’t really like himself.
Because of what he’d caused to happen to Mom. Because of his hair, his walk, his magnetic attraction to violence. Because of how much he’d sucked at fighting when he was little, and how he hardly had to lift a finger to achieve excellence now -- Tatsuki was so much better than him. She worked so hard towards her dreams, and Ichigo didn’t deserve what adolation he got because all he did was by instinct alone.
A lot like what he’d done with Kon tonight. Instinct. Acting without thinking. He hated the way he always did that.
He turned over, pulled the cover up over his shoulder, and stared down at the little lion doll that had gotten kicked to the foot of the bed at some point. After a while, he closed his eyes.
At first he wasn’t sure if he imagined it when, about an hour later, a weight on the bed behind him shifted the angle of the mattress and an arm slipped over his waist, on top of the blanket. Not holding or cuddling, just resting there. Warm breath tickled against the back of his neck.
He knew he didn’t imagined the murmured “thank you” in his ear.
After that he slept deeply.
---------
“Rise and shine!”
Ichigo bolted awake to the sound of loud rapping on the wall beside his open window. Rukia hopped down from the sill and slammed the window shut as soon as she saw that Ichigo was awake.
“School’s in twenty minutes!” she said cheerfully. She was already wearing her uniform.
Ichigo blinked dumbly and tried to sit up, but there was a hindering weight over his shoulder that -- that was --
He said something that probably should have made Rukia blush, but he chalked her lack of reaction up to not actually knowing what it meant. Kon tried to roll over further on top of Ichigo and nearly crushed his arm. “Get off!” Ichigo yelled, shoving the mod soul completely off the bed, where he landed with a loud thunk.
“Don’t fall out of bed, dumbass,” Karin’s voice drifted through the door as she passed on her way to the bathroom.
“Ichi-nii! Karin! Breakfast is ready!” Yuzu, calling up the stairs.
“Shit! What is with everyone!” Ichigo rolled out of bed and nearly fell on his face as he tripped over Kon, who’d decided that Ichigo’s Soul Reaper robes were soft enough to go back to sleep on top of. “Damn it, Kon!” Ichigo emphasized his name with a kick.
“Wha?” Kon sat up, blinking groggily. His eyes fell on Rukia and his whole face brightened. “Hey, Sis!” He jumped up and lunged at her for a hug, only to be sent flying happily back against Ichigo’s desk by her one-handed rejection. The lamp fell over with a clatter.
“I see you two worked something out last night,” Rukia commented dryly.
Ichigo went paper-white, then blood-red in the space of about two seconds. He tried to gibber something about practicing timed body-switching in case of a Hollow attack and --
“Stupid,” she cut in. “You can’t use that glove, you can’t control your spirit energy or use demon magic worth anything. I just left it here so you and Kon might be tempted to switch. I knew you two needed to talk.”
“How?” Ichigo squeaked.
“Female intuition!” Rukia gave him the thumbs-up.
Ichigo could swear he heard crickets chirping after that one.
That was, until a bulk that could only belong Isshin Kurosaki slammed into the door and that familiar, grating voice called out, “Don’t tell me my only son, my pride and joy, is going to be late for school! What tragedy! If you have trouble with your homework I’ll beat up your teachers for you, Ichig-- OOF.”
“Shut the hell up! Are you saying we’re not your pride and joy, too?!” Karin retorted, following her father down the stairs where he’d fallen after her pummeling.
“Time to switch back!” Rukia had slipped on her glove while Ichigo was distracted and Kon was still recovering from his not-so-soft landing on the corner of the desk. She pushed Kon’s -- Ichigo’s -- forehead, caught Kon when he fell out, and popped him back into the lion plush’s mouth.
“Awww, Sister!” Kon cried when he reanimated, flailing his little stuffed paws. “I was having such a good night’s sleep, too!”
“It’s not night, it’s morning,” she told him.
Yuzu called one last time for breakfast and Ichigo made a mad dash for his body, slipping into it as fast as he could. Synching up was a little harder because he’d been out of it for a while. His Soul Reaper clothes vanished as soon as his spirit form did.
“Ow!” he yelped when he tried to stand. His body had taken more abuse than he’d thought, what with all the hitting and kicking and falling on things.
He barely had a chance to get a piece of toast and some juice in his system before he was running out the door. He met Rukia in the street under his window. “Where the hell were you all night?” he asked around a second piece of toast, still doing up the top buttons on his uniform jacket. His pants and shirt were yesterday’s, but who cared.
“I was at a sleepover with some other girls in the class! Inoue-san and Tatsuki-san were there, too.” Rukia grinned at him, knowing how flabberghasted he always got when she was doing too well at fitting in to the human world.
“What the -- you -- you said you had an appointment!”
“I did. Isn’t that what you call it when you have to be somewhere at a certain time?”
“That’s formal! You just say you’re going to stay at a friend’s house when you have a sleepover!”
“But appointment was still correct?”
“Gah! Shut up!”
“What did you and Kon talk about!”
“Erk --” He choked on the last bite of toast. “Nothing much.”
“You let him stay in your body? Wthout trying the glove?”
“He was hungry! He doesn’t get to eat.”
“All night?”
“I was tired!”
“You’re kinda beat up...”
“It’s Kon, what do you expect? He jumps at something, I hit him. Even when he’s me.”
“Speaking of which, he’s getting torn around one seam. Maybe you should bring him to school tomorrow and have Ishida-san look at --”
“NO!”
They kept bantering all the way to the school.
Today, Ichigo decided, might as well be a good day.
---------
Title: Pluralism
Author: ravenclaw42
Fandom: Bleach
Character(s): Kon/Ichigo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kon and Ichigo come to an understanding about their strange give-and-take relationship.
Author's Notes: I think Kon is an underexplored character with a lot of potential for depth, and Kon/Ichigo is a pretty mind-bending pairing that I just had to do if only to freak people out. It helps that of the only other two Bleach fans in my dorm, one is strictly an Ichigo/Rukia fangirl and the other likes the pretty non-crack pairings like Byakuya/Renji. So I decided I’d do something with a hint of crack to it, but try to do it seriously. I think it worked, actually. ^_^. There’s smut. Be afraid. This is officially the first true story containing PWP that I’ve ever both written and posted. Hah! (This is what happens when you’re trying not to study for finals or think about anything difficult.)
And I just thought the title was funny. Don’t question it too deeply.
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Pluralism
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It was just turning dark out, flourescent streetlamps lending their ethereal accent to the barely-defined shadows, when a pair of sneaker-clad feet touched down on the sill of Ichigo Kurosaki's open bedroom window.
Ichigo's eyes scanned the room -- but they were borrowed eyes, and Kon knew it. Sighing, he hopped lightly down from his perch and into the room, silenty reveling in the effortless slide of muscle in his legs. God, he loved being in this body. It didn't happen often enough. Grinning, he pirouetted once -- twice -- just because he could. Maybe he could ask Ichigo if, sometime when Ichigo was off with Soul Reaper duties elsewhere, Kon could take this body out dancing...
But he knew what Ichigo's answer would be.
Kon sighed and tossed Ichigo's school bag (containing his usual plush toy body) onto the bed before walking over to the closet door and rapping once. No response. He pulled the door open a fraction just to make sure Rukia wasn't in there asleep, but the closet was empty. She hadn't returned, then... and she'd been gone all day. He didn't mind, of course; he knew she could take care of herself and it was only when she wasn't around that Kon got to borrow Ichigo's body like this.
Speaking of... the threat of a Hollow that Ichigo had gone to answer this time hadn't seemed like too much of a problem (not against Ichigo's power, anyway), but he still wouldn't be home for a while and he'd told Kon to check on his family. Make sure they saw him so they wouldn't suspect the real Ichigo was out saving the world. Kon snorted.
He'd told Kon that he'd promised Yuzu he'd be home in time for dinner. Part of Kon wished Ichigo would be late, so that Kon could take his place at the table. The masquerade wouldn't hold for a second, of course, but what Kon wouldn't give to be able to actually taste the food he could smell every time Yuzu took to the kitchen...
Kon ran a hand through his -- no, through Ichigo's -- unruly hair and ignored the flutter of nerves he always felt before approaching Ichigo's family. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable in this body or even that he was uncomfortable being around people -- in fact, when he'd first gotten landed in Ichigo's body he wouldn't have given half a shit if Karin or Yuzu had seen him, realized he wasn't their brother, and freaked out. He would have thought it the greatest joke in the world. But for all his posing and complaining, he really was connected to Ichigo now. The things that Ichigo held sacred, Kon also felt obligated to protect -- in whatever small ways he could. And that included making sure the Kurosakis didn't worry about their prodigal son's frequent absences... by making sure they didn't know he was ever gone.
Kon focused, recalling Ichigo's usual expression -- the lax, slightly distracted scowl he wore in class or when he was just doing nothing, thinking. Kon knit his brows together, drew down the corners of his mouth, and opened the bedroom door.
He didn't spend long downstairs -- just went in the kitchen exchanged a few words with Yuzu ("Dinner's in an hour!" she reminded him as he left), wandered aimlessly from room to room as he'd often seen Ichigo do, and went back upstairs. (Sometimes Kon wondered why Ichigo drifted around his own house like a ghost, as if he constantly needed to see everything that connected him to the world of the living in order to keep those links alive -- or maybe that was the reason.) Still, by the time he got back to Ichigo's room, Kon's heart was pounding -- from momentarily forgetting exactly what greeting Ichigo used around Yuzu, to being terrified (as he always was) that Karin would notice that his spirit energy was significantly different and weaker than Ichigo's, to listening every second for the sound of the front door opening -- because more than anything, Kon did not want to have to fight with Isshin Kurosaki. Kon didn't fight like Ichigo, couldn't fight like Ichigo, and the deadest of giveaways would be one misplaced kick, one wrongly worded deadpan joke, one hit too hard or too soft. A father would know. A father would be able to tell that his son was not real.
Kon shut the door to Ichigo's room softly, shivering at a slight chill breeze from the window. Dinner in an hour. Ichigo would be back by then -- unless the world was ending, he didn't miss dates with his family. Rukia was another matter. If she didn't get back in time, there was no way to get Kon back into the plushie or Ichigo's spirit back into his body. Maybe Ichigo really would let Kon have dinner, in that case...
No, probably not.
Kon wondered if Ichigo ever realized how much being in that plush body tormented Kon. Not just the undignified treatment and the frequent instances of being thrown or sat on or ripped -- those were minor. But being able to smell food without being able to eat -- only being able to see in two dimensions (buttons had no depth perception) -- watching Ichigo run and not being able to do it himself, knowing exactly how amazing those pumping legs felt under him, hitting the ground at each step with the coiled spring of an athlete who could still go faster if he wanted, could still go all-out...
Seeing Ichigo run and knowing that he, Kon, could run faster. Longer. Lighter. Better. As a doll, Kon still had his leg strength -- that was intrinsic to the modifications done to his soul. But there were limitations depending on the body he occupied. And Ichigo's was the body of a lean young man in perfect physical health, whereas the lion toy didn't have muscles. It had fluff. And fuzzy felt. And useless buttons.
Kon sighed, and looked down at Ichigo's body. They were pretty amazing things, really, these flesh and blood mechanisms that were only vessels for souls, and yet so much more. He slowly stretched one leg out and lowered himself into a streamlined runner's stretch, enjoying the simple pleasure of the uninhibited interaction of muscle and sinew and skin, and the blood that heated it all with a flush of life and color that made Kon's eyes shine with fierce joy at being alive.
He owed Ichigo for this. That was why he felt so obligated to protect his family -- no, not obligated. He wanted to do something for Ichigo. Wanted to return the favor. Because he'd realized a while back, right when he'd first confronted Ichigo, that humans needed their bodies as much as Kon wanted one, and that no one -- not Kon, not Hollows, not Soul Reapers, no one -- had the right to take someone else's body away, even if that person could exist independently in spirit form, like Ichigo. So the fact that Ichigo hadn't allowed Soul Society to destroy Kon like so much refuse, had kept him and allowed him to help fight the good fight -- had let Kon use his body, even for short amounts of time --
That was enough. Kon laughed softly to himself. That was enough.
He jumped up suddenly and began dancing around the dark room, giggling to himself just to feel the vibrations of vocal cords and diaphragm. His control was perfect. Without Ichigo's muscle tone, Kon might have slipped up once or twice. But Ichigo had done most of the work here -- Kon just provided the balance, leg strength and dancing skills. It was a joint effort towards perfection, really. Kon could never express to Ichigo how much that meant to him, even though this wasn't exactly the end Ichigo ever had in mind when he worked out.
After a while he began to lose the rhythm, and he turned the kinetic motion of one last dramatic spin into a perfect collapse onto Ichigo's bed. It had been a good workout; he'd even worked up a little bit of a sweat. The back of his legs burned pleasantly with exertion. Satisfied, Kon lay back and breathed deep of the mingling night air and clean salt of his body. His body. For now, at least.
As he lay there, sprawled out with his hands behind his head, Kon thought about Ichigo -- wondered when he would be getting back (forty minutes until dinner? Or half an hour? How much time had passed?). And, in thinking about Ichigo, memory sparked back to a shock of orange hair -- a lean body, stretched out, legs spread -- one hand up, behind his head, long fingers curling -- the other hand --
It wasn't like Kon watched on purpose, but Ichigo tended to throw him wherever as soon as they got back from school and then forget about him. He'd been on Ichigo's desk that night, right next to the bed. Okay, maybe Kon could have buried himself deeper into Ichigo's backpack and blocked his ears from the quick, shallow breaths and the faint sound of skin on skin. But...
Kon remembered how much he'd hated Ichigo that night, irrationally and intensely. He'd watched with his depthless button eyes, and had felt only psychological pleasure. Vicarious. Cruel. He had not been flesh then.
And Kon remembered wondering who or what Ichigo thought about with one hand down his pants and the other clutching in spasms at the pillow.
Rukia had been out, of course, because Ichigo would never -- not with someone in the same room. He would've had to get over a lot of qualms considering he lived with two younger sisters, but Kon figured that Rukia moving in had been the death blow. So whenever Rukia was out late, Ichigo would seize his chance. "Seize" being the operative word.
Kon shifted in Ichigo's bed, his self-assurance that as long as Ichigo wasn't here his body belonged to Kon completely dissolved. He was uncomfortably aware that he wasn't Ichigo, that he was thinking things with Ichigo's brain that were causing Ichigo's body to respond in ways that wouldn't have happened had Ichigo been occupying it at the time. Dancing was one thing. But even Kon, who didn't have many inhibitions, knew there were lines one man didn't cross with another man's body.
But... this was the only flesh body Kon would probably ever have. And the opportunity was golden. Half an hour until dinner, in the dark, only the muffled sounds of clatter from downstairs betraying the continued existance of life on earth. Kon thought about the slow, long strokes Ichigo had taken, wondered how that would feel...
Ichigo could be back at any time. Kon had wasted plenty of time already, and now he was thoroughly aroused -- whatever he was going to do, he'd better do it fast. And to be honest with himself, he figured it'd be faster to get rid of the evidence if he just went ahead and jerked off than if he tried to get Ichigo's body to calm down in a cold shower or something. How would he explain the wet hair? Besides, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn't as if he could make Ichigo's body go blind.
Maybe it was a weak excuse, but Kon was desperate for any excuse these days. His doubts slid away as he pulled one hand out from under his head and hesitantly started to touch himself -- he slid a hand down the side of his chest, to his hip, and shivered... not with the night air this time. He touched a nipple through his shirt, scratched lightly at the most sensitive spot with a bitten nail, and shivered again, harder. Sparks of good lightning, straight down. His head started to feel light.
Right. He remembered Ichigo's movements, figured Ichigo would know where his own sweet spots were, and tried to find those places as best he could. He bit his lip at the light sensation each one brought, until he'd finally gotten his pants open and his boxers down far enough to --
Oh God. He swallowed a groan and let the pleasure roll through him at each touch. He was probably lasting a pathetically short amount of time, but who cared? He hadn't had a body in hundreds of years and he hadn't felt physical pleasure since... he couldn't remember. Letting out a shaky breath, Kon let his eyes drift shut and his mind wander free at last, to all the things he'd ever wanted to fantasize about while doing just this -- the girls in Ichigo's class, silky hair and short skirts and long legs Kon wouldn't mind just watching instead of using; Orihime, all soft, exaggerated curves and full lips. He imagined her sprawled wanton above him, flushed and naked. And Rukia... that time he'd been in the closet because Ichigo had gotten annoyed with him and thrown him in there to shut him up, and then they'd both forgotten about him and he'd still been in there when night fell and Rukia had climbed in and stripped for bed, shimmying out of her schoolgirl skirt in that confined space that forced certain movements, certain ways she'd had to bend over to --
Shit, he was close. He could feel the pressure building like nothing he'd felt in a long time, and he dragged his eyes open for the last of it because he wanted to see the world go white --
He registered the clatter on the windowsill a split second after it happened. The voice, however, cut instantaneously through to reality.
"Hey Kon, is Rukia back yet? I've --"
Kon didn't know if it was possible to be more mortified. Probably. In some parallel universe. But as far as the here and now was concerned -- the look on Ichigo's face said it all. Kon fleetingly wondered if he'd live long enough to find that expression amusing later. Say, in a few centuries.
"What the hell are you doing?" was the first thing out of Ichigo's mouth, which had gone slack with shock for at least ten seconds.
The accusatory tone galvanized Kon into movement. He jerked upright and slid away from Ichigo, turning towards the other side of the bed to hide both the incriminating evidence of his actions and the crimson stain spreading across not just his cheeks, but his whole face and neck. "Sorry," he croaked, then went even redder at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I just --"
"You -- you --" Ichigo fumed at Kon's back. The automatic solution, the one that both of them expected, was for Ichigo to simply pick Kon up and toss him at a wall. But Kon wasn't in his plush body, and Ichigo didn't dare hurt himself. Instead he flailed for a real response, something he could do or say that would make the situation cease to be yet would still be nonviolent.
Kon squeezed his -- Ichigo's, he reminded himself forcefully, this body belongs to Ichigo -- eyes shut and fumbled with his underwear and pants. It wasn't that much trouble; his erection was pretty much gone. Some things were more turn-offs than others. "Sorry," he repeated, knowing he sounded like a broken record but not knowing what else to say. Should he try to explain his rationalization to Ichigo? Its weakness stood out to him now as starkly as a Hollow's mask.
"Look, you -- just --" Kon heard Ichigo move, probably stepping down from the sill. "At least -- close the window! Someone else might have been --"
The window had been open that night Ichigo had jerked off, Kon protested silently. For Rukia. "You couldn't have gotten in," he said weakly.
"Yeah -- well --"
Kon got the button fastened and stood quickly, turning to face Ichigo while backing away from the bed at the same time. Ichigo was still sitting on the windowsill -- not crouching, just sitting. Hunched forward a little. He looked paler than usual, and he seemed to have given up his struggle for words.
"I just wanted," Kon began, but Ichigo cut him off.
"Look, I know you -- haven't had a body in a long time," Ichigo said quickly. "It's not like you were... hurting my body or anything. And I've been -- interrupted. So. I know how it is. Sorry." He coughed and looked down, flushing with embarrassment. Kon realized his mouth was open in surprise and shut it quickly.
"Um," said Kon. "Dinner's in twenty minutes."
Ichigo looked up sharply. "You talked to Yuzu?"
"Yeah, I went downstairs for a few minutes."
"They say anything?"
"That dinner was in an hour. Twenty minutes. Now. Um."
"Right." Kon noticed that Ichigo wasn't moving from his seat, and that his breathing was slower and more forced than usual.
"Hard battle?" Kon asked without thinking.
Ichigo twitched.
Literally. All over, he just... jerked, like Kon had touched him with a tazer or something. The blush started to return, too. It took Kon a second to make the connection between that and the universal hunch men went into to hide a certain incriminating part of their anatomy.
"Are you --?"
"Shut up!"
Kon almost snickered, before he caught himself. Seeing himself jerking off had turned Ichigo on mightily. Now that Kon knew what to look for, he could tell.
"I just -- you caught me off-guard," Ichigo muttered, sliding off the windowsill and stalking, hunch-shouldered, across the room to Rukia's closet. He flung the door open and began rummaging.
"You're ever on-guard? Against seeing yourself?" Kon asked before tact had a chance to overtake curiosity in his brain.
"Mmph," Ichigo grunted noncommitally. "She never leaves the stupid glove here. Wish she'd show me some way to get you out of me without needing her or that stupid hat-n-clogs nearby."
Kon seriously wondered if Ichigo had had fantasies about playing around with his own body while in spirit form. With or without Kon occupying it? The question burned.
"Seriously, Ichigo," Kon began.
For the second time, Ichigo interrupted. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, tone clipped and harsh as if he wanted the words out as fast and with as little misinterpretation as possible.
"What?"
"When you," Ichigo said. "To get off. What did you."
"Oh," Kon said. He backed up to the bed and sat down again. Now that Ichigo had brought it up, the images he'd tried to shut out of his mind with iron bars started to drift back in. "Um. You'd hurt me, I think."
"Only when you're out of my body again," Ichigo said bluntly. "Tell me."
Kon swallowed. "Girls... Orihime, for one. Her hair in the moonlight, and... a really short skirt, like, shorter than the school ones... and Tatsuki, but a little bigger in the chest, you know. Just... girls in your class."
"Yuzu or Karin?"
Kon made a horrified face. "They're, like, eleven! And they're -- no! God."
"...Rukia?"
Kon hesitated.
"You don't have to answer that one." Ichigo closed the closet door and turned around. "As long as my sisters stay out of this."
Kon shuddered.
A shout drifted up from downstairs. "Ichigooo~! Dinner's in ten! Be on time or I'll send Dad after you!"
Ichigo jerked again, but Kon noticed that he was standing straighter now and figured his reaction had been entirely an instinctive reflex to the word "Dad." Ichigo started to call back, then checked himself. "Kon," he said. "Answer her?"
Kon coughed, lowered his usual speaking voice a little to match Ichigo's, and called, "Yeah, sure!" at the top of his lungs.
Ichigo sighed and came over to sit down near Kon on the bed. Not close, though. "Damn it," he said. "Rukia needs to get back. All I want is dinner and sleep, is that so much to ask?"
Kon shrugged. "She said she had some shopping to do, but that was five hours ago --"
"You’re talking about me?" came a familiar voice from the window. Ichigo and Kon turned around at the same moment. Rukia gave them her usual smirk of greeting and hopped into the room, heading immediately over to her closet to drop off the cluster of white bags she held in one hand. "Errands successful," she said, turning triumphantly. "But I have one last appointment. Just needed to drop those off." She slid the door shut and gave both of them a look. "Don't go through any of my things."
"Why not? Important Soul Society top-secret gadgets?" Ichigo asked sarcastically. "More sketch pads and crayons for your kindergarten diagrams?"
She refrained from smacking him. "No, actually," she said smugly, "it's just a few things that you boys would probably rather not think about. Got me?"
Ichigo blinked and Kon shuddered visibly. "In my room?" Ichigo exclaimed, disbelieving. "Shit, you gotta be kidding me! God, why did I deserve this life...?"
"Oh, get over it, you big baby," Rukia said flippantly.
Another call to dinner drifted up from downstairs, followed closely by a sugary threat in what was unmistakably Isshin Kurosaki's voice, and a thud that might have had something to do with Karin and a frying pan coming into contact with Isshin's head. "Look, we've gotta switch," Ichigo said, standing. "I have to eat dinner with my folks. Could you just leave the glove? It's annoying to have to wait for you."
Rukia blinked. "Oh yeah, I forget." She pulled the glove out of her pocket, slipped it on, and tapped Kon lightly on the forehead with her palm. Ichigo's body fell back on the mattress, eyes blank and staring, as a small white pill rolled into a groove in the covers. "There you go. And I guess I can leave this, since you keep having to use Kon to get into Soul Reaper form." She dropped the glove on the bed. "But I'll need it back whenever we find you a better method for going out-of-body."
Ichigo nodded his thanks and walked over to his body, sitting down on it -- into it -- and leaning back, melding, until there was no sign of his Soul Reaper form at all, just one whole, tangible Ichigo lying on the bed. He blinked, stretched, stood up on shaky legs, and reached down to pick Kon up from where he'd fallen. "Thanks," he told Rukia.
"Well, go eat dinner," Rukia said, hopping back up to the window frame. "I might be back late. Don't wait up!" And she jumped down out of sight.
"Convenient," Ichigo muttered. He found his backpack and dug around in it for the lion plush. "Back in here for now," he said, almost apologetically, pushing the small pill into the plush's open mouth.
It took a split second for Kon to come to life again, kicking and screaming -- literally. "She could ask first, dammit!" he yelled in his small roar, flailing this way and that. "Just knocking me out of a body like that without a word! Who the hell does she think she is!"
Ichigo smiled humorlessly and put Kon down on the bed, where he immediately walked to the pillows and flopped back onto them.
"I've got to go," Ichigo said. "Be back in a while."
"Eat something good for me," Kon mumbled.
Ichigo hesitated at the door. "Yeah," he said. "Sure." And then he was gone, and Kon could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs and his voice rising almost immediately to full pitch against the onslaught that was his father.
Kon lay back on Ichigo's bed, thankful that this body couldn't really shiver, per se. It wasn't Ichigo's body, that was for sure, but -- every time, for those few seconds he went back to being just a pill, he experienced the same numbing, silent-screaming terror of the first time, decades ago, when he'd been a thing with rational thought but no body and no senses, feeling the death of each of his fellow creations as if they were his own, wondering when the living darkness would end and the darkness of death would overtake him --
So he flexed his little stuffing-filled paws and legs, and was as grateful as he could be under the circumstances.
--------
It was an hour and a half later, maybe closer to two, by the time Ichigo managed to get disentangled from his family with mumbled excuses about homework and sleep (except, in the case of his father, yelled at the top of his lungs with an added helping of roundhouse kicks to the solar plexus). At first he’d wondered why he was more physically tired than usual (his legs felt sore, for one), but then he’d decided it was probably just another thing he didn’t want to think about Kon doing with his body.
It wasn’t just the sore legs and the tiredness. He felt restless, antsy, hollow -- and he knew where that feeling came from. Damn Kon. And damn himself for interrupting.
Shit.
It was full dark, almost nine, when he yanked open his door and slouched in, irritable for reasons he couldn’t entirely pinpoint. It wasn’t just the thing with Kon -- well, it was. But not for the reasons Kon thought, or even the reasons Ichigo kept telling himself he should think. It was... confusing, to say the least. And he wanted to talk to Kon again, now. There were answers he needed to hear to questions he was afraid to ask, and he thought maybe if he dived in without thinking too hard about it, he might get the words out before he had any second thoughts.
The lion plush was still on his bed, face-down now and apparently as close to asleep as a body that needed no sleep could be. Ichigo had watched Kon daze out before, just like this. It was probably too much of a strain to be concious all the time.
“Right,” Ichigo muttered, and strode over to his bed. He picked Kon up -- such a light thing, like a puff of air in his hand, and it was hard to believe that a fully sentient being resided in this pathetic toy body... he blanched from the idea of talking seriously with a doll.
It wasn’t like Kon was different when he was in this body. A body was a body. Kon’s soul and voice were what mattered.
Except... that wasn’t true. Kon was different in flesh form. And Ichigo reacted differently to him then, too. More honestly, for one. And less violently. Because Kon was in his own body and all Ichigo could think about was how hard it would be on Karin and Yuzu and Dad if something happened to him, because they wouldn’t understand about the Soul Reaper thing, they just wouldn’t. Maybe it was narcicissm that kept him from attacking Kon when Kon was in his body, but Ichigo grudingly admitted that it was beneficial narcicissm.
He tossed Kon up and down in his hand a few times, thinking. The movement started causing Kon to come awake again. “Hey,” said Kon in that small, annoying voice, “What the hell you think you’re doing? I was asleep! Hey!”
Nope, Ichigo couldn’t talk to Kon like this. He cast a sidelong glance at the glove on his desk, set his jaw, and nodded to himself. “Sorry,” he said, without really meaning it, and stuck three fingers in Kon’s mouth.
The little plush screamed against his invading fingers, blunt paws flailing against his hard grip. But the body was just fluff and felt, and Ichigo knew he couldn’t hurt it. Kon just liked to complain. It was only a few seconds’ determined digging before he got the pill out, anyway, and the doll went limp and lifeless in his hand.
Ichigo hesitated for a second -- he’d never done this outside of an adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight situation, except the first time, and he hadn’t known what it was going to feel like then. Closing his eyes, he made himself stick the pill in his mouth before he could think about it.
He didn’t... swallow, exactly. He never did. The pill took effect before that, right about when it hit the back of his throat, and it always felt like the backwards momentum was simply carrying through to the rest of his neck, to his spine and on through that, until his neck was no longer in his neck, but he was seeing double and a field of orange that resolved itself into his hair and he staggered, coughing, as the familiar weight of the zanpakutoh thudded down across his shoulders. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it felt so strange that he sometimes wished it would make him nauseous so that he could just vomit like an ordinary person and get the twisted feeling out of his system. And there was always a moment, right when the pill hit his tongue and throat, when he could sense Kon. Not really hear his thoughts, or anything concrete like that, but he could... feel what Kon was feeling, just for an instant, and sort of get the, well, the flavor of the mod soul tingling in his mouth and mind. It only lasted for a second, but a second felt like way too long to literally share a body with someone.
Ichigo watched his body stumble forward and catch itself on the edge of the bed. It shook its red head, reorienting itself, and then --
“Why you!” Kon spun around to face Ichigo. “What the hell was that about? You just feel like being a bastard today? I was having nice dreams to make up for earlier, too!”
“You don’t dream,” Ichigo said as a conversation- killer. “The doll has no brain. Synapses can’t fire randomly. So you can’t dream.”
Kon’s mouth tightened. Well, Kon tightened Ichigo’s mouth. Ichigo flinched at the paradoxical train of thought and reminded himself to just think of Kon as Kon. “Yeah,” said Kon resentfully. “Well. I daydream.”
“I know,” Ichigo said bluntly.
He and Kon stared at each other for a long minute, just trying to gauge each other’s thoughts. Finally, Kon seemed to relent, and his face registered only apprehension -- waiting for Ichigo to begin whatever real conversation he obviously wanted to have.
Ichigo looked away then, and let out a short breath. He shook his head... at himself, at Kon, he wasn’t sure. He unslung his zanpakutoh, feeling strangely underdressed in these looser clothes without his sword’s comforting weight holding them down, despite the fact that he had about five more layers on than Kon did. Leaning the sword carefully up against the closet door, he tried to word what he needed to say. It was just that words came so hard when all he could think of were actions.
It was his body -- he should be able to do whatever he wanted to with it, right?
“Girls, huh?” he said finally. It wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but now that Kon was back in his body he’d started to lose whatever angry momentum had gotten him started. “Daydreaming just now?”
Kon looked like he wanted to give Ichigo some snappish response, and a ‘duh’ sort of expression wavered on his face. But he seemed to recognize the conflict in Ichigo and just shrugged instead. “What about it? You do the same.”
Do I? Ichigo thought. Just the fact that he was so intrigued by his own body and... well. Dammit. It was still solo if it was with his own body, right? And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he wanted to know what another boy would feel like under his hands...
Ichigo bit the inside of his cheek hard, hiding the pain with a grimace. That one time... he’d realized before he’d really gotten started that Kon was on his desk with a front-row view, but he hadn’t stopped. And honestly, until recently he’d been thinking about the same stuff Kon thought about to get off. But it wasn’t his fault that every time he tried to distract himself from his obsession with thoughts of Orihime’s luscious red hair and full... uh, lips, his goddamned dark hair and deft, pale hands would creep back in, tearing down Ichigo’s careful construct of teenage lust with something more real, more visceral -- more frightening.
It was all Ishida’s fault. And besides, this thing with Kon was pure academic curiosity. Nothing to do with anyone else. He wished he hadn’t brought up fantasies at all.
Kon was giving him a look.
Dammit.
Good with a sword, awful with communication. Sometimes Ichigo hated the strengths he’d been landed with in this life. “It’s just, you didn’t get a chance to finish earlier, and I could tell,” he said lamely. “Had to get out of that body.”
“Why didn’t you just jerk off yourself, then?”
Because “I didn’t mean --” that wouldn’t be enough “ -- I just wanted --” to feel it from another perspective, to know what he felt like to an outsider, to --
“Just wanted to watch?” Kon asked with a look of infinite amusement tempered with curiosity. He stood from the bed and walked towards Ichigo.
“It’s not that!” Ichigo protested, though he knew the blood was draining from his face (and collecting elsewhere). He resisted the urge to take a step back.
“This, then?” Kon reached up and touched Ichigo’s face, familiar long, bony fingers tracing an equally familiar jawline --
Before Ichigo knew what he was doing (some part of his mind was still formulating protests, rationalizations, changes of subject), he’d grabbed two handfuls of orange hair and crushed his mouth against Kon’s. The kiss was sloppy -- Ichigo had kissed a couple of girls before but he’d never been much good at it, and they’d broken up with him anyway, so he’d never had any incentive to improve. But with Kon he felt an irrational need to make it feel good -- and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just because he was kissing his own body (a fact he was simultaneously excited and repulsed by). So he turned and shoved Kon against the closet door and kissed hard, because in Ichigo’s mind doing something harder meant doing it right. (Dozens of fighting lessons on control and timing hadn’t really sunk in in terms of applying to all aspects of life.)
Kon grunted in protest at the rough treatment and pushed Ichigo off forcibly, just enough for Kon to catch a breath. Ichigo froze, suddenly afraid he’d gone too far -- but Kon just gave him a look that seemed to say nice try, before licking his lips and pulling Ichigo forward for another kiss.
If Ichigo had had much firsthand knowledge to draw on he might have been able to tell that Kon was also inexperienced, that he was just making it up as he went along -- it simply happened to be that Kon was better at disguising the fact, and Ichigo didn’t feel like questioning it. He just knew that Kon’s tongue in his mouth felt pretty fucking amazing, and he had to brace his forearms against the closet door on either side of Kon’s head to keep himself upright. Only a few seconds of Kon’s slow, hot, sliding kisses and Ichigo was already pressing harder again, wanting... he didn’t know. Contact. Pain. An excuse. Maybe it was just pure want, want without reason.
Kon wasn’t complaining about the roughness this time.
When Ichigo broke away to catch his breath, Kon gasped, “What do you want to do?”
Ichigo shook his head. His head felt light, while his guts squirmed at the roil of unformed ideas flashing through him at the speed of light, most of which bypassed his brain and headed straight for his groin. His whole body was one big hormonal and emotional mess, and right then he decided that he hated being fifteen. He could barely stand, much less answer Kon’s question, which was far more complicated than it had any right to be.
He groaned and gently bumped his forehead against Kon’s, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Now that he was still he could feel the hypersensitivity to touch that sung through his nerves like one long glass-shattering note. It was uncomfortably pleasant. “Don’t know,” he whispered. “Everything.”
Kon slid out from under him, and Ichigo let himself collapse face-first against the closet door, eyes still closed. He could feel himself shaking.
Footsteps. Like his own, but a little lighter, because Kon knew how to move like a dancer, a runner -- not the heavy movements of a fighter used to carrying enormous weight. Ichigo found himself wondering guiltily if Kon didn’t deserve his body more than Ichigo himself did. Clearly Kon knew how to take care of it better. And with Kon in it, his body became a thing of grace and beauty... whereas all Ichigo knew how to do with it was slouch and dodge and fight. Why couldn’t he move like Kon? Like Ishida? Ishida was a fighter too, and he didn’t -- lumber. He didn’t drag his feet. When Ishida ran, it was like white lightning.
Fuck. Ichigo pressed his forehead against the smooth wood of the closet door and wished he could sink into it.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, gripping and pulling firmly. He pulled himself upright, away from the wall, and turned to see Kon grinning at him with his own face. “I locked the door,” Kon said. “Come on.” He jerked his head at the bed.
Ichigo didn’t know why Kon was going along with this. His hormones and his hard-on weren’t inclined to argue with it, but Ichigo had always had a pesky conscience. “Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“It’s still your body,” Kon said. “You can do what you want with it.”
Ichigo winced at the repeating of his own weak rationalization. The body didn’t matter; the soul did. “But you,” he persisted. “You like girls.”
Kon shrugged. “I like sex,” he said bluntly. “And I haven’t had any in a few decades. Not that I had much to start with. I only ever occupied one or two dead bodies before I was recalled for destruction.”
Ichigo grimaced. Okay, there was proof that his hormones were not completely undauntable. “Ugh,” he said.
Kon laughed. “I know,” he said. He dodged in quickly while Ichigo was distracted and pressed a fast, open kiss out of the other boy. Kon tangled his hands in Ichigo’s hair and walked him the few steps to the bed, half-dragging him by his orange roots.
Kon’s knees bumped against the edge of the bed and he sat down hard, yanking Ichigo down on top of him. Sharp pain through Ichigo’s scalp collided with an unexpected flare of lust, so that the sound that finally made its way out of his throat was somewhere between a groan and a squeak. Undignified, whatever it was. Kon had apparently decided it was his duty to get Ichigo’s mind off of moral agonizing and self-analysis and onto mindless pleasure, an intent Ichigo became positive of when he felt Kon’s hands disentangle themselves from his hair and slide down his neck, inside the front of his kimono and onto his chest.
The next few minutes became a battle for the upper hand, silent but for gasping breath and the rustle of fabric. Ichigo was grateful for that -- finally, something he knew. Even when there was no intent to kill or even harm, he knew how to fight. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the fact that Kon was wearing a button-down shirt and relatively snug pants, whereas Ichigo’s traditional clothes, despite their intimidating number of layers, were fairly simple for someone else to slip into. Trying to focus on buttons was torture when his kimono was hanging off one shoulder and Kon’s quick hands were already working on his hakama.
Then Kon slid his hands past the loosened waistline to hips, ass, lower still, and even though there were only three buttons left, Ichigo gave up and just ripped. Wasn’t like it was Kon’s shirt anyway, and if Ishida could make his own whole costume from scratch, Ichigo could handle a couple of popped buttons. Ishida... thin hands pushing his hakama down and his kimono open, too calloused for seamter’s hands but oh shit, that was Kon’s tongue on his nipple. Ichigo’s hands went to Kon’s shoulders reflexively, holding on for dear life as he was rendered momentarily helpless.
“Shit,” he gasped, voice shaky. Kon stopped and looked up, and Ichigo almost whined. “Lemme move,” he grated out instead.
Kon let Ichigo take an unsteady step back and watched as he shrugged the rest of the way out of the insanely multi-layered Soul Reaper outfit. Freed of its entangling weight, Ichigo all but fell on Kon without a second thought, forcing him back along the mattress until he was almost at the head of the bed and Ichigo had room to move. He pushed Kon’s upper body down and tugged his hips up in less than a second, letting them fall flat again once he’d stripped him of pants and boxers.
Kon struggled onto his elbows again, now just as flushed and flustered as Ichigo had been before. “Damn, Ichigo,” he said, “what’s up with --”
Ichigo surged forward, hands coming down on either side of Kon’s head, and shut the other boy up with a rough kiss. “Shut up,” he muttered when they parted, and went straight for the neck. He’d always wanted to be kissed on the neck. He wondered if his body would have the response he always thought it might.
It did -- Kon arched and hissed under him, mouth falling open briefly.
Ichigo continued down along Kon’s body, his own body, testing all the places he’d ever touched by himself, getting stronger reactions from some than others but a significant response from all, until Kon was practically writhing with need and spitting with anger at the same time. Ichigo kept having to push his hands down and shove him back into the mattress to keep him in one place. “Fuck it, Ichigo,” he hissed loudly, “if you don’t stop teasing I swear to God I’ll --”
But Ichigo knew what he wanted to do, and would not be dissuaded. He grabbed Kon’s wrists and pinned them down hard enough to bruise one last time. “This has been bothering me,” he said roughly, looking into Kon’s eyes for the first time. “Just let me.”
Kon relented and Ichigo let go of his wrists, slid down his lean body, and didn’t give himself time to think before he took the head of Kon’s till-then-ignored arousal into his mouth.
Kon cried out. Ichigo thought about telling him off, considering that his family could hear Kon’s voice since it belonged to Ichigo’s physical body, but Ichigo was afraid that if he stopped what he was doing now, he wouldn’t start again. He’d heard the names at school -- fag, cocksucker -- and he knew what they meant by it, although what they meant had little to do with the action itself. But maybe by doing this, at least this once, he could prove to himself that the action was just an action, and that wanting to do it didn’t make him the things those boys meant when they yelled the words at the weaker kids in the class.
And God, did it feel right. It wasn’t about the cock sliding in and out of his mouth, it wasn’t about the motions he went through -- it was about the connection, and the power he had over Kon. From this position he could make Kon do or feel pretty much anything. Ichigo groaned a little at the thought and the vibration made Kon arch almost all the way off the bed, chest and throat too constricted with sensation to make a sound. Ichigo felt Kon twitch and harden further against his tongue, and that was all the warning he got before he had to swallow or choke.
He managed most of it, but after a couple of swallows Ichigo came up coughing. Kon was propped up on his elbows, limp, head hanging back, clearly resisting the temptation to just fall back the rest of the way and go to sleep -- but after a moment’s unsteady breathing, he braced himself and sat up, shaking sweaty hair out of his eyes. He put his hands behind Ichigo’s neck and waited for the last of the coughing to pass before he leaned in and licked a few spatters of come from Ichigo’s cheek and lower lip.
Ichigo shuddered, feeling his own arousal more acutely than ever, especially when Kon bit lightly at his lip and drew him into a deep kiss. “Want me to return the favor?” Kon asked after a breathless moment, sliding his hand down between Ichigo’s legs.
“You keep asking,” Ichigo breathed. “Don’t ask. Just do.”
Kon nodded, expression oddly serious for once, and immediately took hold of Ichigo’s cock and pumped hard, once, twice -- Ichigo wasn’t prepared for it and nearly jumped out of his skin. His voice cracked when he cried out, but he was beyond caring. In less than a second he was so painfully hard that just one more touch would --
Somehow Kon flipped him and the next thing Ichigo knew he was on his back with Kon between his legs, and just for a second Ichigo could do nothing but stare at himself and want to die because this was so pathetic and so wrong. One part of him was ashamed that the only action he could get was with his own body and a soul who had no other choice, but a deeper part of him was ashamed because that was what he really wanted and when he looked up at his own face he could imagine himself being in Uryuu’s position like this, looking up at his own unscowling face ready to --
Confused and angry with himself for thinking too much, Ichigo pushed all his moralizing aside and gritted his teeth. Whatever Kon did, he wanted it to hurt.
“Fuck me,” he hissed.
Kon froze for a second, then chuckled low and shook his head. “Probably not right now,” he all but purred, still lazy and flushed from his orgasm. “How about this?” He brushed a hand over Ichigo’s cheek before putting two fingers to Ichigo’s lips.
Ichigo swallowed hard, and drew the fingers in, barely wetting them thoroughly before Kon started moving away, downward. Kon spread his legs with his palms and kissed along the inside of Ichigo’s thigh, distracting him before --
Kon didn’t try to be gentle. He probably knew Ichigo would beat him up later if he held back -- it didn’t matter if it worked out right or not, it was simply a matter of Ichigo’s pride. The penetration didn’t hurt, exactly -- probably would have if it was more than one finger, Ichigo reflected, breathing hard and blinking sweat from his eyes, but he wouldn’t admit that to Kon -- but it burned more than actually feeling good. Ichigo closed his eyes and made himself relax as much as possible.
“Ichigo?” he heard Kon ask softly.
“Do it.”
No questions, no hesitant pause. Kon worked for a moment with one finger, stretching, then added a second. By then the burn had faded enough for Ichigo to get an idea of how this kind of pleasure worked. It was different, but... The feeling of fullness and connection was there, as it had been when he’d sucked Kon off, and he found himself wanting more of it.
Kon pulled his hand away completely and Ichigo grunted with annoyance, opening his eyes, but Kon was just wetting a third finger with his tongue. Ichigo shivered. He let himself think seriously for a second about the fact that he was letting another boy finger-fuck him and it made his mind reel and his cock twitch. He wasn’t quite as unbearably hard as he’d been a minute ago, but with more stimulation, Ichigo didn’t doubt that he could come like this.
“You don’t get it yet,” Kon whispered against his thigh, once again trailing lazy kisses along the legs he worshipped so much. He pressed all three fingers against Ichigo’s entrance and shoved in, hard, all the way to the knuckle -- the burn returned, and a some real pain this time, but mostly there was fullness and good friction and Kon immediately curled his fingers, probing gently, searching for --
Blinding white. Ichigo didn’t quite scream, but it was close. He bucked against Kon’s hand, pushing deeper, as pleasure spiked through him from the spot Kon had just touched, whatever it was. Ichigo tried to speak, beg, but words wouldn’t form. Kon started fucking him in earnest, pushing in hard, fast, long strokes. The burn didn’t go away this time, but as it grew it transformed until it was all about friction and connection with that spot inside, now that Kon had found the angle to hit it with each thrust --
Ichigo was close again, and moved as if to take hold of his neglected cock to bring himself to completion -- Kon was doing all he wanted or expected him to do, after all. But Kon caught his roaming hand and pushed it out of the way, steadied Ichigo’s hip and deftly took Ichigo’s length into his mouth.
The bliss of molten heat was all Ichigo really had time to register before Kon struck the spot inside one last time and he shattered into orgasm, unaware of any sounds he was making, still thrusting haphazardly into Kon’s mouth and down against his fingers, riding out the waves of pleasure rolling through him.
At last he was reduced to bonelessness. Kon slid his fingers out of Ichigo and sat back, licking his lips and giving Ichigo an intense stare. Distantly, Ichigo noted that Kon was already half-hard again, but the mod soul didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it. He smiled out of the blue, kissed Ichigo’s knee again, and slid off the bed.
“Where’reya goin’?” Ichigo didn’t bother to enunciate. His eyelids felt heavy.
“Towel, or tissue, or something...”
Ichigo flung out his arm to the desk right next to the bed and pulled open the middle drawer. Kon rummaged one-handed until he found the box of tissue, and pulled out several, one for his hand and several for his face -- he’d caught even less of Ichigo’s release than Ichigo had of his.
“Good thing no one else can hear you,” Kon said, amused.
“They better not have heard you,” Ichigo retorted, letting his eyes drift closed again. It was late, and there was school tomorrow.
Kon climbed back on the bed next to Ichigo, leaning over to ghost a kiss across his lips, his neck, and to whisper in his ear, “You know, the name you yelled when you came sounded a lot like that Quincy’s.”
Ichigo’s eyes snapped open and Kon went flying from a left hook to the jaw before Ichigo had time to think. Dammit, that was going to hurt when he got back in his own body. “Shit!” Ichigo snapped, not sure whether it was because he’d damaged his body or because of what Kon had... implied...
Who was he kidding, he’d been thinking about Uryuu the whole time. It was no wonder his name slipped out somewhere along the line.
Kon stood up unsteadily, gingerly wiping away a trickle of blood from a split lip. He gave Ichigo something that resembled a smirk around the swelling in his cheek. “It’s not exactly a big surprise,” he said, shrugging. “Explains a lot, actually. And only a blind person wouldn’t notice how much time you spend either staring at him or moralizing over the Quincy versus Soul Reaper issue, considering how often you have to remind everyone that you don’t care. You really should let that one go, Ichigo.”
Ichigo stared at Kon for a second, then took a deep breath and looked away. He let the breath out slowly. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
“Who would I tell?”
“Don’t, Kon.”
“Yeah... sure.” Kon hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed again. “I promise. You know I’ll be back in the doll before morning, so it’s not like I can talk to anyone then.”
Kon’s tone didn’t sound manipulative, didn’t sound like he was fishing for pity -- and maybe that was why Ichigo did pity him, just for a second. He felt like he ought to do something for Kon to make up for dragging him into the events of the night.
“I dunno,” Ichigo said. “I don’t want to feel that just yet.” He poked Kon’s swollen cheek -- gently, but it was hard enough to make Kon wince and hiss. “Sorry,” Ichigo said, not sounding it. He grinned.
Kon blinked, slowly comprehending what Ichigo had said. “You mean...”
“I mean I’m exhausted and I’m going to sleep,” Ichigo said. “Too bad I can’t find Rukia’s glove in the dark. Oh well.” He flopped back, not looking at Kon.
“Ichigo --”
“Shut up,” Ichigo said. “It’s not like it’s a permanent thing. But, uh, if some leftovers go missing, ‘s no big deal.”
“I can eat?” The breathless happiness in Kon’s voice was almost comical.
“Do whatever you want,” Ichigo said, finally meeting Kon’s eyes. All the mod soul ever wanted was the chance to live a little, experience life like a normal person. It wasn’t that much to ask, and Ichigo felt bad not giving Kon the easiest gift in the world. It cost Ichigo nothing, as long as Kon wasn’ t ruining his image or breaking his bones or anything.
“This is a bribe, isn’t it?” Kon was grinning now too.
“So what if it is?” Ichigo retorted. He sat up and pushed Kon off the bed, then leaned down to grab his Soul Reaper clothes. “But put some pants on or something, because I don’t know when Rukia’s getting back.”
Kon hopped to it. While he was finding the pants and boxers Ichigo had thrown across the room, Ichigo prodded the pile of black robes and grimaced at the idea of putting everything back on. He pulled just the white juban out instead, stood up to slip it on, and fished around for the obi.
He turned in time to see Kon literally dancing to the door, mostly dressed but with his shirt still unbuttoned. Ichigo rolled his eyes at the mod soul, who blew him an exaggerated kiss before disappearing out the door. Ichigo heard his light footsteps going all the way down the stairs before they faded.
Ichigo crawled back into bed, feeling oddly alone. The post-coital exhaustion had faded a bit and he was reminded that his spirit form didn’t really need sleep. But he wanted to sleep, if only because he wanted to black out and not have to cope with the strangeness of his life for at least a few hours.
It wasn’t that he was in love with Kon... well, maybe he was. He loved and hated Kon because Kon was somehow better than him. Idealogically incapable of killing any living thing. Willing to accept Ichigo’s sexual confusion and ease it in any way he could. Always there to protect Ichigo’s family in the one way Ichigo couldn’t -- by letting them know he was okay. By keeping them from knowing how much danger he was in at any given moment.
He felt like whenever Kon took over his life, he lived it better than Ichigo did.
Ichigo wasn’t as bitter about that as he thought he ought to be. Instead, he just missed Kon -- here and now. He’d given Kon what he wanted, the chance to dance and eat and sleep and laugh and be human, at least for a while. But the part of him that was satisfied with doing a good deed was steadily being overwhelmed by the selfish voice that complained about the swiftly cooling bed and the empty closet and the silent rooms where his sisters and his father were lost to sleep -- the selfish voice that wanted to be near people, that wanted people to always be there for him the way he was for them, that wanted... attention, reassurance, comfort in numbers... because Ichigo didn’t like being alone with himself. He’d known that for a long time. Deep down, he didn’t really like himself.
Because of what he’d caused to happen to Mom. Because of his hair, his walk, his magnetic attraction to violence. Because of how much he’d sucked at fighting when he was little, and how he hardly had to lift a finger to achieve excellence now -- Tatsuki was so much better than him. She worked so hard towards her dreams, and Ichigo didn’t deserve what adolation he got because all he did was by instinct alone.
A lot like what he’d done with Kon tonight. Instinct. Acting without thinking. He hated the way he always did that.
He turned over, pulled the cover up over his shoulder, and stared down at the little lion doll that had gotten kicked to the foot of the bed at some point. After a while, he closed his eyes.
At first he wasn’t sure if he imagined it when, about an hour later, a weight on the bed behind him shifted the angle of the mattress and an arm slipped over his waist, on top of the blanket. Not holding or cuddling, just resting there. Warm breath tickled against the back of his neck.
He knew he didn’t imagined the murmured “thank you” in his ear.
After that he slept deeply.
---------
“Rise and shine!”
Ichigo bolted awake to the sound of loud rapping on the wall beside his open window. Rukia hopped down from the sill and slammed the window shut as soon as she saw that Ichigo was awake.
“School’s in twenty minutes!” she said cheerfully. She was already wearing her uniform.
Ichigo blinked dumbly and tried to sit up, but there was a hindering weight over his shoulder that -- that was --
He said something that probably should have made Rukia blush, but he chalked her lack of reaction up to not actually knowing what it meant. Kon tried to roll over further on top of Ichigo and nearly crushed his arm. “Get off!” Ichigo yelled, shoving the mod soul completely off the bed, where he landed with a loud thunk.
“Don’t fall out of bed, dumbass,” Karin’s voice drifted through the door as she passed on her way to the bathroom.
“Ichi-nii! Karin! Breakfast is ready!” Yuzu, calling up the stairs.
“Shit! What is with everyone!” Ichigo rolled out of bed and nearly fell on his face as he tripped over Kon, who’d decided that Ichigo’s Soul Reaper robes were soft enough to go back to sleep on top of. “Damn it, Kon!” Ichigo emphasized his name with a kick.
“Wha?” Kon sat up, blinking groggily. His eyes fell on Rukia and his whole face brightened. “Hey, Sis!” He jumped up and lunged at her for a hug, only to be sent flying happily back against Ichigo’s desk by her one-handed rejection. The lamp fell over with a clatter.
“I see you two worked something out last night,” Rukia commented dryly.
Ichigo went paper-white, then blood-red in the space of about two seconds. He tried to gibber something about practicing timed body-switching in case of a Hollow attack and --
“Stupid,” she cut in. “You can’t use that glove, you can’t control your spirit energy or use demon magic worth anything. I just left it here so you and Kon might be tempted to switch. I knew you two needed to talk.”
“How?” Ichigo squeaked.
“Female intuition!” Rukia gave him the thumbs-up.
Ichigo could swear he heard crickets chirping after that one.
That was, until a bulk that could only belong Isshin Kurosaki slammed into the door and that familiar, grating voice called out, “Don’t tell me my only son, my pride and joy, is going to be late for school! What tragedy! If you have trouble with your homework I’ll beat up your teachers for you, Ichig-- OOF.”
“Shut the hell up! Are you saying we’re not your pride and joy, too?!” Karin retorted, following her father down the stairs where he’d fallen after her pummeling.
“Time to switch back!” Rukia had slipped on her glove while Ichigo was distracted and Kon was still recovering from his not-so-soft landing on the corner of the desk. She pushed Kon’s -- Ichigo’s -- forehead, caught Kon when he fell out, and popped him back into the lion plush’s mouth.
“Awww, Sister!” Kon cried when he reanimated, flailing his little stuffed paws. “I was having such a good night’s sleep, too!”
“It’s not night, it’s morning,” she told him.
Yuzu called one last time for breakfast and Ichigo made a mad dash for his body, slipping into it as fast as he could. Synching up was a little harder because he’d been out of it for a while. His Soul Reaper clothes vanished as soon as his spirit form did.
“Ow!” he yelped when he tried to stand. His body had taken more abuse than he’d thought, what with all the hitting and kicking and falling on things.
He barely had a chance to get a piece of toast and some juice in his system before he was running out the door. He met Rukia in the street under his window. “Where the hell were you all night?” he asked around a second piece of toast, still doing up the top buttons on his uniform jacket. His pants and shirt were yesterday’s, but who cared.
“I was at a sleepover with some other girls in the class! Inoue-san and Tatsuki-san were there, too.” Rukia grinned at him, knowing how flabberghasted he always got when she was doing too well at fitting in to the human world.
“What the -- you -- you said you had an appointment!”
“I did. Isn’t that what you call it when you have to be somewhere at a certain time?”
“That’s formal! You just say you’re going to stay at a friend’s house when you have a sleepover!”
“But appointment was still correct?”
“Gah! Shut up!”
“What did you and Kon talk about!”
“Erk --” He choked on the last bite of toast. “Nothing much.”
“You let him stay in your body? Wthout trying the glove?”
“He was hungry! He doesn’t get to eat.”
“All night?”
“I was tired!”
“You’re kinda beat up...”
“It’s Kon, what do you expect? He jumps at something, I hit him. Even when he’s me.”
“Speaking of which, he’s getting torn around one seam. Maybe you should bring him to school tomorrow and have Ishida-san look at --”
“NO!”
They kept bantering all the way to the school.
Today, Ichigo decided, might as well be a good day.
---------