Shades of Grey (chapter 6, pt. 2)
DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Author: SilverKytten
Title: Shades of Grey (chapter 6, pt. 2)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: IchigoxUrahara
Warnings: Yaoi, language, angst, graphic content, spoilers
Summary: The sequel to ‘Falling Into Darkness' - Ichigo never asked to be either loved or fixed, he just asked to be distracted. (previous chapters)
Notes: Ha, this has been a nightmare! I edited this, posted it and then somehow managed to delete it. Of course, I hadn't saved a draft so I had to do it all over again *face palm*. I apologize if there are any errors, I lacked a certain degree of patience the second time around.
Anyway, this marks the end of that I have written. I'm still working on the story, but it will be posted slower from here on out. Sorry :(
(read chapter 6, pt. 1)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.
Slow Decay (pt. 2)
Isshin sat at the table, unmoving as he stared into the surface he’d memorized over the past two hours. He’d retreated to the familiar comfort of the kitchen, no longer able to concentrate on work as Urahara’s words continued to haunt him. He hadn’t seen Yuzu since that morning; she’d been unusually subdued in her sister’s absence, despite a reassuring phone call explaining the need to remain at a friend’s house. He didn’t mind, he was glad for the silence as he thought about his carefully constructed world that was falling around his feet.
He could still see Ichigo looking at him with those hate filled eyes, flinging his blood to splatter hot against his face. There had been no sympathy there, no softness, just the brutal, glittering intent of a man who had cut down a hundred enemies without hesitation and now found himself facing another. It was no longer Ichigo, not in the way he remembered him, it was someone he didn’t even know.
He remembered Karin standing between them; delicate hands wrapped around that deadly blade as she held him back, screaming with flashing eyes. There had been no uncertainty in her, not even a backwards glance as she raised a sword to her father in defense of the brother she loved more than life. Isshin realized, with a slipping sort of coldness, that she’d never even viewed it as a decision, where Ichigo went she would go. She would make her stand wherever he drew his blade, without question, without regret.
The sound of a door closing drew his attention and he looked up, surprised at the odd assortment of people filing into the room. He’d expected Karin, because Yuzu had told him of her intended return, and he had known Ichigo would accompany her because that was the nature of their bond. The fact that Kon was there, still wearing Ichigo’s body wasn’t too much of a stretch, because Ichigo would no doubt want Zangetsu close at hand. What he hadn’t been expecting, though, was for Karin to be flanked by Jinta, eyes hooded and cold, and another white haired boy in dark jeans, who looked disturbingly familiar.
Isshin rose slowly and Ichigo tensed, ready for any sign of hostility. He made his way around the table, stopping a good distance away from the solemn group. He looked between them, feeling an odd stirring of trepidation and uncertainty.
“We need to talk about yesterday,” he said slowly, turning his attention to Ichigo.
“I’m not interested,” Ichigo bit out, giving him a look cold enough to freeze his blood. “We’re just here to get a few things, so stay out of the way.”
“What do you mean?” Isshin’s eyes flickered between them, “Where are you going?”
Ichigo let out a bark of laughter, a hard, cutting sound. “Do you really think I’m just going to march home like a good little boy after all that?”
Where the usual anger would of risen Isshin felt only the cold stirring of fear. “I think I need to explain-”
“He said we’re not interested, so just shut the fuck up,” Karin cut him off, her voice vicious and angry. “We’re just here for Yuzu.”
“You can’t do that." Isshin paled, turning back to Ichigo. "You can’t just take your sisters.”
“I’m looking out for them, just like you wanted,” Ichigo sneered. “There’s no way I’m staying here and I’m sure as fuck not leaving them alone with you.”
Isshin’s heart constricted. “You think I would hurt them?” His voice was shaking.
“I don’t know anymore.” Ichigo's tone was coldly indifferent. “And I’m sure as hell not going to wait around to find out.”
“That’s crazy.” Isshin felt a sickening lurch. “I won’t let you do this.”
“It’s not up to you,” Karin snarled, “This is all your fault. You couldn’t make me stay here if you tried.”
Ichigo put a hand on her shoulder, the other reaching up to curl around Zangetsu’s hilt, “Just fuck off already.”
“You can’t do this to them.” Isshin felt his panic stir the tendrils of his earlier anger. “You can’t take care of two thirteen year olds; you don’t have any way to support them.”
“Do I look like I’m planning to live on the fucking street?” Ichigo voice was dripping with distain. “I’m taking them to Kisuke’s, he has plenty of room.”
“No.” The word was little more than a breath, escaping without his consent.
‘I’m just catching the pieces when you drive them away.’ The words were burned into his memory and he shook at the thought of Urahara taking his family, taking everything that mattered to him.
“This has gone too far, Ichigo, you can’t do this.” His eyes were flashing with a dangerous light.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Ichigo seethed bitterly. “This passed too far a long time ago.” He turned to Karin. “Go get Yuzu and your things, I’ll stay here.”
Kon laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want anything specific?”
“No,” he didn’t bother to look at him, “Just get a couple of uniforms and whatever you feel like wearing, I don’t care.”
Kon removed his hand and ushered Karin from the room, Jinta trailing a couple of steps behind, though Hitsugaya remained with Ichigo.
Isshin’s hands were trembling as he watched them go, turning back to Ichigo with growing anger. “You may not care who you hurt anymore, but I do,” he growled. “You’re out of control, and I won’t let you drag your sisters down with you.”
“I’m out of control?!” Ichigo eyed him with cold incredulity. “You can’t go five minutes without screaming bullshit at people, or storming into other people’s houses, or hurting little girls. For fuck sake, you were trying to kill Kisuke right in front of me and you think you have the right to say I’m out of control.”
“I didn’t go there to kill him, we just wanted to talk to you.” Isshin’s voice was snapping despite his best efforts to remain quiet.
“That’s a pretty fucked up way to have a conversation,” Ichigo sneered, his face contorting with anger.
“What did you expect me to do?” Isshin voice was rising, his reiatsu curling around their feet. “It’s not like you left me any other options.”
“What the fuck kind of option is that?!” Ichigo’s lip curled back. “You tried to kill someone!”
“I was doing what I thought was right,” Isshin snapped. “I was trying to protect you.”
“So you’re gonna kill all the nasty men in the world and make it all better.” Ichigo barked out that cruel laugh again. “Is this daddy coming to carry me away on his fucking white horse?”
There was a brief pause, a boiling, angry silence as Isshin reeled under the weight of the bitterness pouring from his son. Ichigo felt sick just looking at him, watching the warped justifications pouring from his pathetic mouth.
“What do you know anyway, you fucking self-righteous bastard?” The cold edge was creeping back into his tone, a biting sting to the slowly simmering rage. “Do you think that killing is easier just because you have some sort of shitty morality on your side, because you think it’s the right thing to do?” His eyes were burning. “It’s not a fucking badge you can pin on that makes everything okay, you know. You can’t just tuck your good intentions under your pillow at night so that you don’t have to see the screaming faces and taste the fucking blood pouring down your throat.”
He took a step forward, his reiatsu coiling tight and dangerous as he stared at Isshin with dead, silver eyes.
“You had your chance to go out and protect all of this shit that you claim to care about, and you fucking ran away. You fucking let everyone else go off and fight, and bleed, and die so that you could stand back and preach your fucking bullshit like you have a clue what really happened. ”
He was shaking, his chest constricting painfully around his heart, tinting the world in shades of grey. His blood was pounding, calling out for someone to hurt, screaming with the voices of a thousand anguished memories buried safe within his soul. Isshin was staring at him, his lips forming on whatever lofty ideal he thought was going to magically erase the feel of Yachiru’s cold body pressing against his chest; the sick slide of Rukia’s fingers as they fell through his for the last time; the blood trailing from the corner of Juushirou’s eyes, staring sightlessly up at him. Ichigo felt the dizzy twist of nausea lurching in his stomach.
He didn’t realize he was moving until he felt a hand on him and he spun, ready to tear and break and crush until the screams in his ears matched the ones in his head. Green eyes bored hard into him, and through the haze he realized that it was Hitsugaya, not Isshin who had touched him. A hand lay against his chest, not grabbing or restraining, just resting in a nonthreatening gesture. He stared down, seeing the twisted understanding in that gaze, reading the fear and pain and fury buried so deep that he could feel the fingers trembling where they lay. He forced his fist to uncurl; releasing the shirt that he didn’t remember grabbing and watching him sink a couple of inches back to the floor. He didn’t apologize, just turned away, dazed and confused.
Isshin had finally stopped speaking, his lips slightly parted as if the words had simply died, leaving him stranded in horrible silence. He stared between the two boys, his anger tempered by a knot of rising dread. Ichigo stared back, his eyes distant and unfeeling, cold chips of ice regarding him without a hint of affection.
The other one, who Isshin had finally recognized as a Shinigami captain, was idly rubbing his throat, his face carefully neutral as he looked towards the stairs to where Kon was lounging against the wall. The mod soul cocked his head to one side, running his eyes over the three of them before disappearing back upstairs.
“You’re not worth the effort that people put into saving you.” Ichigo’s voice held a brutal finality and Isshin belatedly recognized the truth behind Urahara’s words.
He had pushed his son so far beyond his reach that nothing he could say would ever make a difference. This wasn’t the surly, rebellious boy that had torn recklessly off to Soul Society in pursuit of a friend three years ago. This wasn’t the angry kid who had run his mouth, and screamed, and raged because he thought that someone was being unfair, or because he wasn’t getting his way. This was the man who had stared at him without mercy, who would have killed him without hesitation for daring to harm those with whom he’d walked through hell. This was Urahara’s Ichigo, not his.
“Ichigo-”
“Don’t make a scene or this is the last time you’ll see any of us.” Ichigo’s voice was rigid as he cut him off, turning towards the stairs as Kon rematerialized. He was chatting easily with Yuzu and Karin like it was any other day, and Ichigo had to admire his ability to lie so easily.
Hitsugaya swung one last look between Isshin and Ichigo before stepping away to take a bag from Karin, smiling politely as he was reintroduced to her sister.
“Isn’t it exciting, daddy, I haven’t seen Jinta and Ururu in sooo long.” Yuzu skipped unseeing past her Shinigami brother, babbling happily. “Karin told me about you having to go to that conference, why didn’t you tell me? I would have made you a lunch for the train if I’d known.”
Isshin seemed frozen in place but it didn’t matter because Kon cracked a joke about old men and memories, laughing uproariously, his eyes hard as flint. Yuzu giggled into her hand, looping her arm with Karin who had pulled out her own tainted smile.
“I know we could stay here, but this way it’s like an adventure and Karin can finish her project with Jinta, and I can go shopping with Ururu.” Yuzu was still smiling. “Besides, Ichi-nii always grumbles about having to stay at home while you’re gone.” She pouted at Kon and he ruffled her hair affectionately.
“I told you I have stuff to do.” He rolled his eyes. “And this way you can see your friends.”
She laughed again, and Karin pulled her towards the door, engaging in a lively banter with Jinta and Hitsugaya to keep her distracted. Isshin started to follow, started to call out after them but Ichigo stepped in front of him, his reiatsu crackling in warning.
“Bye pops.” Karin shot a hard look back while Jinta blushed at something Yuzu said.
“Oh, bye daddy.” Yuzu gave him a sparkling smile. “Have fun on your trip.”
Karin pulled her around again and then they were gone, out the door and into the sun like nothing was wrong. Isshin didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t lash out at Ichigo without exposing the others to the resulting explosion. He couldn’t run out the door and pull Yuzu back because she wouldn’t understand even if he managed to pry her away from her sister.
“You can’t do this,” he repeated brokenly, staring into those eyes that didn’t seem to know him.
Something flickered in the depths of Ichigo’s gaze, a brief shudder of sadness and something else before the indifference settled back into place. “Stay the fuck away from the shop.”
He turned away, pacing to where Kon still waited.
“I heard about the Shinigami investigation,” Isshin called after him, looking for anything to keep him from walking out the door.
Ichigo faltered, turning to face him with narrowing eyes. “How did you hear about that?”
“I…” Isshin clenched his jaw, realizing far too late the role he’d played in this. “You have to believe that I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Ichigo ignored the words as he recognized the most likely source of the information. He felt a small thrill of worry; he hadn’t seen Urahara since he’d gone out on his errands earlier that morning. He spun again, ignoring the voice that called after him as he stalked away from what had once been his home.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was almost evening when Ichigo found Urahara sitting in a densely wooded area of an overgrown park, watching the sun set between the trees. He’d gotten his sisters settled before heading out to search for the former captain, worry gnawing at the back of his mind. The task had not been easy; Urahara suppressed his reiatsu as his natural state, a habit born from both the war and his prior period of exile. It had taken hours until he finally drifted close enough to feel the whisper of him on the gently flowing breeze.
He was sitting cross-legged in a slight clearing, slouched over and spinning his hat slowly between his fingers. He looked up as Ichigo approached, his lips lifting in a faint, wistful smile of acknowledgment. There was a dark smudge along the left side of his jaw, a vivid, angry marring of the otherwise flawless skin. Ichigo’s eyes narrowed as he crouched beside him.
“That fucking bastard.” His voice was sharp but his fingers were gentle as he reached out to ghost across the bruise.
“I ran into a door,” Urahara murmured softly, giving him another faint smile. “Horribly clumsy of me.”
“That’s not funny,” Ichigo growled, giving him a hard look.
“Yes it is,” the blond assured him, reaching up to catch his wrist, pulling it away from the tender flesh.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Ichigo fell forward onto his knees, worry making him sound angrier than he really was.
Urahara tugged on the wrist and Ichigo allowed himself to be dragged into his lap, resting his forehead against the curve of the pale neck as arms closed around him.
“It doesn’t matter.” The words were sad and quiet against his hair.
Ichigo recognized the tone and knew he didn’t want to talk about it so he let it drop, nuzzling a little deeper into his neck. He felt fingers run up his spine, traveling through his hair as the other arm tightened around him. He sighed softly into the skin.
He shifted again after a moment, working around until he was straddling the blond, bringing them face to face. The arms resettled around him and he raised a hand up to brush the tendrils of hair from the other man’s cheek. Soft lips curved slightly as Urahara leaned into the touch, exhaling some of the tension from his body.
“I thought we were going to stop doing stupid shit,” Ichigo reminded him, his other hand tracing the bruise again.
“I believe that only applied to you,” Urahara pointed out, his tone soft and dry as he winced under the touch. “I’m not the one prone to sweeping displays of melodrama.”
“You’re such a smartass lately,” Ichigo murmured, a soft frown still marring his brow.
“You’re just paying closer attention,” the other man countered, sounding a little more like himself.
Ichigo snorted softly, ignoring the hiss of pain as he cupped the side of his face. Urahara reached up, gripping the wrist but didn’t pull him away as he saw Ichigo’s eyes slip shut, lips moving as he muttered something under his breath. His reiatsu rose around them and Urahara bit back a grunt as he felt the burn of slightly unstable kidou ripple over his skin.
Ichigo’s lashes stirred and Urahara caught the faintest hint of a glow before the tingle faded. Lips parted slightly as Ichigo exhaled, his eyes drifting open slowly. He pressed his fingers a little deeper and Urahara noted, with some degree of astonishment, that the pain seemed to have receded. He rotated his jaw and found it only marginally uncomfortable to do so.
“I believe we had a discussion about untrained kidou experimentation.” His eyebrow twitched subtly.
“Ingrate.” Ichigo leaned in, his lips brushing over the curve of his jaw.
He slid forward, trailing soft, apologetic kisses over the slightly discolored skin. He knew it was his fault that Urahara had been hurt, even if the other man would never blame him.
“I’m sorry.” The words stirred against pale skin as Ichigo dropped his head onto his shoulder. “It wasn’t fair of me to fuck up your life like this.”
Urahara’s eyes slid closed as he pulled him closer, cradling the smaller body against him and resting his cheek in his hair.
“It’s not your fault,” he sighed. “My life was complicated long before you showed up.”
“But I’m making it worse,” Ichigo murmured and Urahara felt arms sliding around him.
“No, you’re just making it different.” He reached up to stroke the back of the younger man’s neck, trying to relieve some of the tension settling there.
Ichigo turned his head, his lips brushing over sensitive skin as he spoke. “I took Yuzu,” he admitted softly.
“I know.” Urahara felt a rolling sadness settle into his chest.
“I couldn’t leave her there,” he whispered, his voice old and worn.
“I know,” Urahara repeated, rubbing his cheek against the hair.
“I didn’t think it would be like that.” He shifted a little against the embrace, slow, agitated movements.
“Like what?” the blond coaxed, still nuzzling him gently.
“I thought he’d scream and fight, you know, and for awhile he did, but then…” He paused, like he was trying to find a way to voice his chaotic thoughts. “He had that look people get when they’re dying, the part where the light just fades out and they know that nothing can save them. He just stood there, like I was killing him, shaking and looking at me with those dying eyes, those begging, hurt eyes. ”
Urahara’s lashes felt shut, the sadness throbbing a little deeper.
“I thought it would be easier,” he sounded confused, his voice almost lost in the still air.
He fell silent again as though he didn’t know what should have been easier, or what had failed to make it so.
“I was so angry,” Ichigo whispered disjointedly, the threads of memory tangling together in a jumbled mess. “I felt like everything was closing in around me. I almost hurt Toushirou just for touching me.”
“What happened?” Urahara tensed slightly, rubbing slow circles against his back.
“I don’t even know,” Ichigo sounded so lost. “Everything was just wrong for a second; my heart was pounding and all this crazy shit was flashing around in my head...the next thing I know I had a hold of his shirt and he was just staring up at me. Gods, he had this look on his face, it was just… he was just looking at me, and it was like I didn’t know who he was, and then I did but it was all fucked up. I don’t even remember grabbing him, I just remember… I just wanted to make him hurt, I wanted someone to suffer. I just wanted to hurt him until I…until…fuck.”
Ichigo shuddered and Urahara turned, pressing a kiss against the side of his head, trying not to let his worry show. “It’s okay, you didn’t hurt him and that’s what matters.”
“It’s not okay.” Ichigo’s voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear it, and there was another pause. “What if I really am losing it?”
“You’re not.” Urahara nudged him gently, pressing him back until their eyes met. “It’s just the stress.”
Ichigo’s face seemed to crumble under the weight of everything pressing in.
“What if I’m dangerous?” His eyes held such haunting agony.
Urahara felt something ripping in his chest, a hopeless, useless frustration that squeezed around his heart. He ached to reach inside Ichigo and tear away the things that were dragging him down, twisting the life out of him. He would have given anything not to see the doubt and grief smothering the fire that had once burned so bright inside him. People like Ichigo shouldn’t have to suffer like this, shouldn’t have to carry the weight of so many lives, and sorrows, and tortured memories.
Urahara leaned forward and kissed him softly, tasting the pain on his lips. “That’s not who you are.”
“I don’t know who I am anymore, Kisuke.” His barriers had all fallen away, the grief and fear swimming so close to the surface that Urahara thought he might drown.
He brought up his hands to frame his face, thumbs stroking over the soft skin as if to soothe away all the things he’d seen, the things he’d done.
“I know who you are,” he breathed, feeling the body shiver against him, leaning in to kiss him again.
It was a soft gesture, unhurried and without force, a gentle glow reaching out in the darkness. His hands slid to Ichigo’s neck, tracing along his jaw and down his throat to where the life pulsed faintly beneath his skin. Ichigo shivered again, his breath hitching soft and painful as he reached out hesitantly with his tongue. Urahara’s lips parted, coaxing him in, tasting the uncertainty, the infinite anguish that he wished he could breathe into himself through the softly trembling kiss.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against those bittersweet lips, the words tumbling free without knowledge or consent.
Ichigo made a soft noise, a choking, broken gasp that brushed hot against his mouth as they came back together. Their tongues slid with aching slowness, speaking of things that were too dark and damaged to ever put into words. Urahara’s arms slid around him again, holding him close, sheltering him from the world that had already taken so much.
Ichigo’s hands slipped up his chest, fingers shaking slightly as they clenched over his heart. He made a soft whimpering noise in the back of his throat, pressing deeper into the kiss, pouring himself into it like it was his last chance for redemption. The fingers drifted lower, fumbling with the knotted ties, pulling back the cloth to trace over the soft skin beneath.
Urahara shifted under the touch, untangling his arms as Ichigo pushed the shirt away onto the grass. There were no arguments on his lips, no guilt echoing in the back of his thoughts; in that moment he would have given Ichigo anything he asked without hesitation or question.
Ichigo’s mouth slid sideways, trailing back over the marred skin of his jaw, slipping further to ghost over the curve of his ear. Urahara leaned into the touch, pale fingers pulling the ties at the lean waist until they fell away. He pealed back the layers of the kimono, pushing beneath them to run his hands over the gentle ridges of his spine. Ichigo leaned forward, skin pressing against naked skin as he continued his slow decent along the sweep of the arching neck. He pulled back, seeking out the green-grey gaze, eyes dark with turbulent thoughts.
Urahara withdrew a hand, reaching up to cup his jaw as he kissed him again. He tipped Ichigo’s head back; lips sliding over the pointed chin and down to suckle the delicate rise of his collarbone. Ichigo let out a shuddering sigh and Urahara slipped his kimono down over one shoulder, following the path with his mouth. Dark lashes fluttered softly as the younger man arched against him, lips parting as a tongue slipped out to taste him.
Ichigo’s fingers closed on a peach colored nipple, rolling it lightly as Urahara hissed against his neck. Soft hair tickled his skin and he buried his other hand in the blond locks, holding him closer as the lips moved along his throat. Long fingers were trailing down his spine, splaying across his back and he rocked forward into the hardness pressing against him.
Urahara groaned softly, pulling him closer, sliding against him through their remaining clothes. He reached down, teasing Ichigo’s nipple in return, finally pulling a low moan from slightly parted lips. He dipped lower, tracing the curve of his ribs, the ridges of the stomach that twitched under his fingers. He came to the edge of Ichigo’s hakama and felt him exhale sharply against his hair, hips twitching in anticipation and need.
“Please...” The sound was little more than a breeze stirring the shell of Urahara’s ear, but it carried so many emotions that it curled in his chest.
He unwound the ties with practiced fingers, feeling a tongue tracing his earlobe, faltering slightly when the warm mouth closed over it. He reached inside; brushing Ichigo through the confines of his fundoshi and felt a shiver run through the smaller body. He pulled the remaining cloth loose, wrapping his hand around his arousal and stroking him with deliberate grace.
Ichigo rose against him, releasing his ear as another broken moan tore from his throat. He threw back his head, thrusting onto the fist, grinding against Urahara and drawing a groan of response. The blond leaned forward, sucking at the exposed flesh of his throat, rolling his hips against the slowly twisting body in his lap.
He felt a hand close over the fingers rolling a dusky nipple and drew back to find Ichigo watching him with heavily lidded eyes. Urahara leaned forward, sliding his tongue through the softly panting lips, inhaling the gasps and hitched breaths as he continued to pump him slowly. His thumb curled up, sliding over his slit, catching some of the liquid to smear across the tender flesh. Ichigo bucked hard, shuddering against him as he groaned into his mouth.
“Kisuke…” He felt a shiver run through him, just like it always did when his name fell from those lips in that thick and heavy tone.
Ichigo’s hand slid to his wrist, pulling it higher as he broke away from the kiss. He turned his head drawing three fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently before rolling them with his tongue. Urahara groaned, curling one finger slightly to slide against the moist caress. Ichigo released the fingers, seeking out his gaze, soft brows drawn together on a silent plea as he pushed the hand lower.
Urahara leaned forward, nuzzling against his cheek as he brushed the already loosened hakama aside and pressed down to tease his puckered opening. Ichigo drew a shuddering breath, lost in gentle probing and in the hand still moving languidly over his weeping arousal. One finger slipped inside and he hissed out a moan, still a little sore from not having used their normal lube the night before. He felt Urahara hesitate and rocked back slowly, biting his lip as he impaled himself on the slick digit, begging him to move.
The blond pushed into him slowly, twisting as the body relaxed around him, and felt Ichigo’s groan stirring against his hair. He added a second finger, drawing a gasp, trailing soft kisses along his jaw as he continued to stretch him open. He curled his fingers and had to release Ichigo’s cock to steady his hips as he jerked forward with a sharp cry. Ichigo rose on his knees, pressing himself to the other body, riding the fingers with soft little sounds.
A nipple hovered tantalizingly in front of his face and Urahara leaned forward, tracing it with his tongue as Ichigo writhed against him. A third finger joined the others and Ichigo threw his head back, panting out his moans, his cock sliding between their bodies with the most delicious friction.
“Gods, Kisuke…” His voice was almost reverent, spoken to the sky as his eyes drifted closed.
Urahara released the nipple, mesmerized by the flush creeping into his cheeks, the way his teeth caught his lip as he rose and fell softly. As if sensing the stare Ichigo’s head tipped down, lashes swept low over lust dark eyes. He reached out, tangling a hand in the pale hair, gasping as the fingers sent another spark of pleasure through him. The hand on Ichigo’s hip slid away, trailing up beneath his fluttering kimono as Urahara continued to stare transfixed.
The fingers were withdrawn and Urahara leaned forward, supporting the smaller frame as he lowered him into the grass. Ichigo stared up at him, one hand still tangled in his hair, lips swollen and glistening in the nearly gone light. Lean hips arched off the ground as long fingers stripped away his hakama, exposing him to the gentle breezes swirling around them. Urahara trembled slightly as he reached for the ties on his own pants, pulling them free while he stared down into that glittering gaze.
He crawled over Ichigo, kissing his way up the twisting body to catch his lips in a slow, deep kiss. Arms slid around his back and knees drew up beside him as Ichigo pulled him closer, hips thrusting in a gentle, unconscious rhythm. Urahara pulled away, coating himself with saliva before settling back over the trembling body. Ichigo moaned softly, squirming at the pressure nudging his entrance, trying to draw him in. Urahara leaned closer, running his knuckles over a flushed cheek as he rocked his hips forward in slow, shallow thrusts.
Ichigo bit his lip, hissing as his body was breached, relaxing against the slow intrusion. Urahara leaned down, licking the lip from between his teeth, his groan stirring with Ichigo’s hitched breath as he finally slid to the hilt. He inched out and rolled forward again, catching Ichigo’s gasp on his tongue, bracing his elbows beside his head as their lips moved together. Long legs slipped further up his body and the younger man arched up into the next thrust, his head falling back as the pleasure simmered through him.
“That…uhhh… so good…” Ichigo murmured, trembling beneath him as he continued to move with long, slow strokes.
Urahara groaned his agreement against the damp neck, lapping at his fluttering pulse. Ichigo panted, bucking against him, moaning soft, senseless curses as Urahara kissed a gasping trail along the curve of his throat. Ichigo’s hand dropped lower, resting against the small of his back, pulling him closer as their tempo increased. They moved together effortlessly, practiced and unhurried, untouched by the world passing around them.
“Gods, Ichigo…” Urahara whispered, pulling back to watch him as he continued to writhe.
He could feel the need rising as he gripped Ichigo’s hips, angling him better against the next deep thrust. The younger man cried out, arching against the grass, dark lashes sweeping closed against the flush of his cheeks. Urahara was burning, the heat coiling tight, fueled by the pulsing body and the erotic scene before him. He licked his palm and reached between them, curling around Ichigo’s neglected cock. The younger man cried out again, his body clenching tight, pulling an answering cry as Urahara thrust harder.
“Oh, Kisuke…gods…” Ichigo was moaning as he rocked against him, riding the pleasure as it started to peak. “…please, Kisuke.”
Urahara groaned, driving deeper, pushing Ichigo towards the release he so desperately needed. He could feel the tremors starting to flutter as he increased his pace, grinding hard into that sweet spot that had Ichigo screaming. He twisted his fingers around the straining cock, feeling the body wind tight beneath him.
“Come for me.” he panted, broken and rough, and felt Ichigo stiffen instantly with a final, drawn out moan.
He drove into him again, groaning as the young body constricted around him, the release pulsing over his hand as Ichigo fell apart. He continued to stroke him, drawing out the orgasm, watching his face as his own release took him. Ichigo shuddered and he leaned forward, catching those gasping lips, groaning his name as he poured into the welcoming body. He collapsed, crushing him into the ground, kissing him deeply as the tremors wracked their frames. Ichigo’s arms slipped around him, pulling him closer, returning the kiss with slow intensity.
The blond pulled back, staring down at those dark eyes still hazed with the afterglow of pleasure. The anguish remained, buried deep beneath the surface, but it had loosened, relinquishing its stranglehold on his soul. Urahara smiled softly, kissing him again before inching out of him slowly, groaning at the tight slide over sensitive flesh. He started to roll away, but Ichigo’s arms tensed around him, holding him in place. He relented, shifting his weight to one side and resting his head against the damp curve of his throat. He sighed, running his fingers over the cooling skin.
The silence stretched between them as they lay under the darkening sky, tangled together and mostly naked in the grass. Urahara trailed soft, slow kisses up Ichigo’s neck, trying to soothing away the worry still lingering on his face. The arms around him shifted and he pulled back, lifting his head to stare down at the younger man.
“Are you alright?” His voice was soft, his lips hovering just inches from the ones below.
“I’m sorry about this,” Ichigo sighed, his breath stirring warm between them.
A pale brow twitched subtly and his lips twisted. “You know, you shouldn’t apologize after sex, it sends the wrong impression.”
Ichigo stared up at him for a second before the corner of his mouth began to pull. “Fucking smartass.”
Urahara’s smile grew and he leaned down to nuzzle his cheek. Ichigo reached out to brush his hair back as he pulled away, still smirking faintly but looking more serious.
“What happens if they decide I’m dangerous?” he asked softly, not quite meeting his eyes as he continued to stroke through the pale blond locks.
“It won’t happen,” Urahara assured him, brushing their noses together.
“You’re the one who said they’re paranoid.” Ichigo finally raised his eyes, looking solemn and reflective. “What if they come for me because they’re afraid of what I might do?”
Urahara stared down at him for a moment, watching the emotions swirl in his unmasked gaze. He felt a surge of anger towards anyone who would put Ichigo in that position, anyone who would ever think that of him. He traced his knuckles across his cheek, his eyes hardening under his resolve.
“I would never let it happen,” he told him softly, his voice so laced with conviction that Ichigo could do nothing but believe him.
The arms tightened and Urahara went easily into the embrace, wrapping around him, protecting him from both the chill of the air and the darkness of his thoughts. The worry was starting to fade, giving way to a sense of steely determination. He would never let them take him; never let them dishonor all he’d suffered, all he’d given, for the sake of their unfounded fears. If this was his stand then so be it; he would give his dying breath before he allowed them to harm Ichigo.