Shades of Grey (chapter 1)
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 1)
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.
Notes: If you haven’t read ‘Falling Into Darkness’ then I highly recommend you do, it’s not an absolute requirement, but it will give a better perspective on the events of this story.
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.
Shades of Grey
Urahara woke before the door to his room slid open but didn’t bother to open his eyes. The reiatsu was easily identifiable and he’d always found that people do singularly more interesting things when they don’t know they‘re being observed. There was silence for a long moment and he had to fight the urge to take a peek and see what his visitor was up to. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he felt a shift at his feet as the intruder settled onto his futon. Slowly something moved over him, crawling with feline grace, just barely avoiding contact. He felt a warm breath trace across his lips.
“I know you’re awake.” The voice was sensual and amused.
“It’s possible.” He cracked an eye open to study the face just inches away.
Ichigo chuckled darkly, letting his weight settle on the body beneath him and bringing a hand up to tangle in the ash blond hair. “I thought you might be lonely.”
“Is that so?” Urahara smirked, hands trailing up to circle the younger man’s throat, thumbs stroking gently at his pulse points.
Ichigo leaned forward, bringing their lips together in a slow caress, his tongue flicking out to taste the fullness of the lower lip. Urahara made a small sound, lips parting under the slow assault, his own tongue slipping forward into the waiting mouth. Ichigo’s other hand slid up to grip one of Urahara’s wrists as they moved together languidly. The younger man loved to kiss like this, slowly and skillfully, and it still amazed Urahara that someone who was so reckless and aggressive in every other aspect of his life would be so very different here. Ichigo also liked to kiss with his eyes open, the older man mused, catching that dark, half-lidded gaze so intently fixed on him. As far as Urahara was concerned, it was one of his more erotic traits.
Ichigo pulled back a little, sucking on the other man’s tongue, wringing a soft moan from beneath him. Urahara sat up slowly, forcing Ichigo back until the younger man was straddling his hips. Long fingers traced the edge of a just slightly too tight shirt, slipping under to caress the skin beneath. Ichigo made a sound of approval in the back of his throat, nipping at Urahara’s lips and trailing a hand down the planes of muscle that had been revealed when the blanket fell away. The older man broke from the kiss, grabbing the hem of the shirt and pulling it away, burying his face in the crook of the exposed neck. He pulled back, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What did you do, run the whole way here?” he admonished gently and felt Ichigo laugh against his skin. It was the first real laugh he’d heard from him in nearly three months.
“I was out fighting a couple of hollows.” He sounded genuinely amused, pulling back to meet the green-grey gaze. “I was gonna come here and take a shower but I got distracted with you pretending to be asleep.”
“I thought you weren’t going to fight in your human body anymore.” Urahara chided, hands coming to rest on the lean hips in front of him.
“I was hoping for a bit of a challenge, but they were nothing, even like this.” the younger man sighed. He rolled the bud of a peach colored nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a hiss from the older man. “I should have just come here in the first place. You’re a much better distraction, Kisuke.”
It still sent a jolt through him every time Ichigo said his name in the rough, hungry voice. “I do try.”
“I’ll tell you what,” The younger man detangled himself and rose fluidly, moving towards the bathroom. “I’m going to go take a quick shower and then I’m going to come back here and let you fuck me until I pass out.”
He paused in the doorway, smirking over his shoulder and Urahara had to fight the urge to just push him up against the wall right there. Instead, he forced himself to lie back and cock an eyebrow, eyeing him from head to toe.”You’re going to let me, are you?”
Ichigo’s smirk grew, “Or I could fuck you, if you’d like; I’m not picky.”
The door slid closed and Urahara threw an arm over his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, damning himself for not having more restraint. It had been little more than a month since that fateful night in the basement and things continued to spiral out of control. Each time Ichigo came over Urahara promised himself it would be the last, that next time he’d find a way to reestablish the proper barriers. It was all a lie, of course, because every time the younger man walked into the room, his eyes dark and rough, Urahara felt something inside him crumble. Every time his name rolled off those lips he knew he’d already lost.
At first it hadn’t been so much of a problem, the younger man would come over once or twice a week and leave after an hour or two. It had been easy to convince himself that it was all under control. In the past couple of weeks, though, he’d been coming more and more, slipping in at odd times during the night and staying until dawn. Things had gotten way out of hand and he knew that it was only a matter of time before they were caught.
Urahara felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes as his thoughts slipped to Isshin, the dear friend that he couldn’t seem to stop betraying. He had a very good idea how the other man would take the news that his old friend was currently fucking his only son, and it was enough to cause him some real worry. Ichigo laughed off his concerns because he’d always viewed his father as something of a good natured oaf, but Urahara knew better, he remembered just how vicious and unforgiving the former shinigami captain could be. As difficult as it might be, he knew that he needed to put a stop to things sooner rather than later.
The sound of a door sliding open stirred him from his thoughts and peeking out from under his arm he found himself faced with the sum of all his worries. Isshin stood at the foot of his futon, foreboding in his shinigami uniform with his zanpakutou unsheathed in his right hand. His eyes were like chipped ice as he stared down at the man in front of him. Urahara couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of fates better jokes as he moved the arm fully aside to regard the other man.
“I see you’re as good at hiding your reiatsu as ever, Isshin, but don’t you think it’s a bit late for a visit?” His voice was light as he sat up slowly, spotting Benihime lying on a chair at the far side of the room. He wondered idly when he’d grown so lax.
“I’ve been worried about Ichigo lately,” Isshin spoke softly, his voice as sharp as his blade. “I know he changed a lot after the war, but in the last few weeks it’s been different. He disappears at night and turns up looking exhausted, he seems restless and irritable all the time, and he refuses to talk to me about anything he’s going through.”
“How about I put on some tea?” Urahara started to rise but froze when Isshin leveled him with his zanpakutou.
“I decided to follow him, in case he was in some trouble that I didn’t know about. I watched him fight a couple of hollows with his bare hands and I was really worried that he was going to get himself hurt. I was actually relived when I saw him come in here, if you can believe that.” He laughed a hollow laugh, the sound cutting across Urahara like a whip, “I thought I would stop in, see what you were doing, maybe have some tea with my son and my old friend.”
“We can still do that, you know?” He could hear the water running in the next room and he knew that he had to diffuse this before Ichigo rematerialized.
“How long have I known you, Kisuke?” Isshin’s reiatsu was starting to flutter as his control slipped, his voice rising in anger. “How long have I trusted you?”
“We’ve been friends a long time, Isshin, whatever’s wrong we can talk about it.” He raised his hands in a placating gesture, casting about for a means of escape.
“How long have you been fucking my son, Kisuke?” Isshin snarled at him, taking a step forward, zanpakutou pointed at his throat.
Urahara winced, his mind spinning wildly. He considered denying the charge but quickly dismissed the idea, realizing that the other man had likely been standing right outside of the door during he and Ichigo’s entire exchange. Sighing, he accepted the fact that he was caught and there was no way out. He met that furious gaze steadily.
“About a month.”
Isshin’s face contorted as he struggled to contain his rage, “How could you do something like this to him after all he’s been through?”
“You make it sound like I’m intentionally harming him.” Urahara tried to keep his voice low, even as the guilt washed over him.
“You know better than anyone what he’s seen, what he’s done. He came back traumatized and instead of helping him when he comes here, you take advantage of him.” He was nearly shouting, his reiatsu starting to uncoil despite his attempts to hold it back.
“It wasn’t anything like that,” Urahara bit out, feeling his own temper begin to stir under the weight of the accusations, “Ichigo may be hurting but he’s certainly capable of making his own decisions.”
“He’s 17 years old, Kisuke!” Isshin roared, fury radiating off of him in thick, smothering waves.
“He’ll be 18 next month.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say before the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t call them back in time. Isshin’s eyes widened fractionally and then narrowed to slits as the full weight of his spirit force crashed into the room. Urahara saw the moment he snapped, eyes flashing with fire and hate. The sword swung up and flashed back down in the blink of an eye and Urahara barely had time to raise an arm before it was on him.
The sound of steel on steel rang out sharply even as he registered the weight settling over him. Folds of black cloth blinded him for a moment and he leaned back, staring up at the boy who seemed to have materialized out nowhere. Ichigo crouched across him, one knee planted on the futon and Zangetsu braced against his forearm as he held back his father’s blade. His head was ducked under the weight of the blow and Urahara gasped as he turned his face, pinning him with that eerie silver gaze. He raised his head slowly and Isshin fell back in surprise. There was no recognition, no compassion, only deadly intent in that look.
“Ban-” his snarl was cut off as a hand slid over his mouth, drawing his back against a hard chest.
“I rather like my store in one piece, if it’s all the same to you.” Urahara murmured into his ear, brushing his nose against the lobe and down his jaw in a soothing motion.
Ichigo’s body thrummed with power as he stared up at the man who had dared come to this place as a threat; Zangetsu screamed for release in his hand. Urahara continued to whisper into his ear, the fingers dropping from his mouth to drift across his chest, holding him tighter against his body. There was a pounding of feet in the hall and the door was thrown open to reveal three worried faces.
“Kisuke-san?” Ururu sounded scared as her eyes darted between the three men.
“It’s fine, just a bit of a misunderstanding.” Urahara responded pleasantly; chin resting on Ichigo’s shoulder, “Go back to bed.”
“But…” she hesitated, eyes fixed on Isshin who still looked thunderstruck, sword now dangling limp in his hand.
“It’ll be okay, Ururu, Isshin just got a bit upset.” He pinned the other man with a hard, warning look.
His staff looked unconvinced but didn’t argue further, sliding the door back into place and retreating down the hall. Ichigo seemed to have regained himself a bit and Urahara loosened his hold, drawing the younger man further across his lap so that he could see his face.
“Ichigo,” the younger man tore his gaze from his father and Urahara was relieved to see that his eyes had returned to normal, “I think things have settled down a bit, how about you go find your body.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with him.” he spat the last word out, swinging around again to glare at the other man, seeing him flinch under the fury of that stare.
“You know, if I were a lesser man, I might think you were implying that I’m unable to take care of myself. That would be fairly insulting.” He stared down at the younger man for a moment before turning his attention to his old friend. “Isshin and I will be fine for a few minutes, won’t we?”
Isshin, still standing frozen and wide eyed, managed a nod.
“See, it’s settled. You go get that body of yours and I’ll make us all some tea so we can talk.” The voice was soft but the eyes were hard as flint. He leaned down nudging the younger mans ear, whispering so that only he could hear, “You have to calm down, Ichigo.”
The younger man made a noncommittal noise but some of the tension seemed to fall away as Urahara released him. His eyes never left his father as he stalked across the room to retrieve Benihime, tossing the zanpakutou to Urahara before returning to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. The blond ran a hand across his face, sighing as he stared down into his lap. Throwing back the rest of the blanket he rolled slowly to his feet, taking the time to pull on a patterned robe before making his way towards the door.
“Come along, Isshin, some tea will do us both some good.” He muttered to the man still staring forward in shock.
“Did my son just try to kill me, Kisuke?” The confusion and pain were clear in his voice as he turned to face his long time friend, sword dragging roughly against the floor.
Urahara paused, hand resting on the doorframe, staring into space. “It’s possible, Isshin. Can’t really say for certain because I cut him off so fast, but your son doesn’t respond well to the type of anger you were displaying back there. It touches on too many memories.”
“He looked like he didn’t even recognize me.” His voice hitched slightly, his knuckles white against the hilt of his zanpakutou.
“He very likely didn’t.” Urahara’s voice was soft.
“He seemed to know you.” Isshin snarled bitterly.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He stepped out of the room and headed towards the kitchen, not bothering to check if the other man was following.
He filled the teapot and set it over the fire, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he watched the flames dance. He knew that he should have been prepared for something like this, but in truth he wasn’t. He had no real answers for the questions that were sure to come. He felt a presence behind him but didn’t turn, knowing that to do so would only invite conversation.
“Do you love him?” The question came anyway, and Urahara’s eyes slid closed at the bite in the other’s tone.
“I’m very fond of Ichigo.” His grip on Benihime tightened fractionally.
“That’s not the same thing.” Isshin growled and Urahara felt him move closer.
“I know that.” He turned to meet the eyes of the larger man. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate a lie.”
Isshin looked like he wanted to say something but he held himself back, staring hard at the other man for a moment before turning and stalking from the room. Urahara followed a few minutes later with the tea and three cups. He found Isshin already seated on a cushion at the table, staring into the patterns of the wood as if they could give him the answers he so desperately wanted. Urahara frowned in the direction of his room, wondering what was keeping Ichigo. He considered checking to see if the younger man had simply snuck out the back while he had the chance.
“How could you do this, Kisuke?” Isshin’s voice cut through his thoughts, a mixture of anger and grief.
“The situation’s more complicated than you seem to believe.” Urahara sighed, seating himself at the table and pouring them both some tea.
“Why don’t you explain it to me then?” He was nearly shouting again, “Explain to me what’s so complicated that my friend of several centuries can’t seem to not fuck my emotionally traumatized, 17 year old son.”
That hit a nerve, “You have to take Ichigo into account here, Isshin. He’s very strong willed and once he gets something into his head it’s awfully hard to knock it back out.”
“Are you honestly going to try to pin this on Ichigo?” His control was starting to slip again, his face red with fury.
“Of course not.” Urahara snapped, “But he’s not a child and he certainly wasn’t the victim of some nefarious plot of mine. He made his own decision.”
“He’s too young to know what he really wants.” Isshin bellowed.
Whatever reply Urahara might have had was cut off as Ichigo stalked into the room wearing a dark green silk robe that Urahara recognized as his own. He stopped just inside the doorway, surveying the two men, face set in stone. Without uttering a word he walked straight over to where Urahara sat, stepping lightly across him and lowered himself to straddle the older man’s lap. One hand came up to tangle in the pale hair, pulling the head back as he brought their lips together.
Even now, with all the tension and rage that had passed between the three, with all of the anger seeping through his own veins, Ichigo still kissed slowly. He brought his free hand up to cup the other mans jaw, thumb tugging at his chin, opening his mouth so that his tongue could slip inside. Urahara's breath hitched and he brought a hand up, though whether he was trying to push the younger man away or pull him closer no one could tell. Ichigo caught the hand in his own, lacing their fingers together, twisting around so that both rested at the small of his back. Tongues dueled slowly as Urahara gave in to the kiss, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table with his free hand. Ichigo finally pulled back, tugging Urahara’s lower lip gently between his teeth, staring at him with that half-lidded gaze.
“This really isn’t helping the situation, you know.” The older man pointed out softly, feeling Isshin’s reiatsu flaring somewhere behind Ichigo.
“Yeah, well some people should just mind their own business.” He raised his voice a bit, casting a glare back over his shoulder to where his father was barely managing to keep his seat.
Ichigo rose slowly, adjusting his robe, and sank onto his own cushion between his father and his lover. Reaching forward he poured himself some tea, accepting the sugar that Urahara passed him without having to be asked.
“I suppose you think you’re proving some sort of point, son.” Isshin struggled to keep his tone even.
“Only that I’m not being molested, or manipulated, or whatever it is that you think is going on.” He didn’t bother to look up, just continued to stir sugar into the dark liquid.
“You’ve been through a lot; it’s understandable that you’re confused right now.” The larger man’s tone was soothing, as if he were talking to a frightened child.
Ichigo smiled faintly. “There’s a lot of shit wrong in my head, dad, but I’m really not confused about wanting Kisuke to fuck me. That one’s pretty clear.”
Isshin bristled, “I don’t know what he’s been telling you but this isn’t going to help you fix your problems and he certainly doesn’t love you. You’re just some sort of toy to him.”
He tore his gaze away from his son to glare at the man who had remained quiet up until this point. Urahara’s eyes narrowed and he opened him mouth to reply but Ichigo beat him to it.
“I’m pretty sure that last part isn’t true, and as for the rest, I never asked him to love me or fix me, I just asked him to distract me.” Ichigo’s voice was hard.
“Even if that’s true, he should have said no instead of taking advantage of you when you were vulnerable.” Isshin’s fist smashed into the table, upending his cup and sending tea across the hard wood surface.
“He did say no,” Ichigo was yelling, too. “If you want to feel bad about somebody getting molested then feel bad for Kisuke, he says no all the time.”
Isshin’s gaze flicked to Urahara who just shrugged slightly as if to say that he would rather stay out of it. “Well he obviously isn’t saying it with enough force.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Ichigo demanded, his reiatsu stirring around him. “Are you pissed that I’m fucking to escape my problems, or is it specifically because it’s with Kisuke?”
“Stop calling him that.” Isshin roared, “You’re 17! I don’t care if you want to be with another man but you should be with someone your own age, not some perverted old fool who was a friend of mine before your mother’s grandmother’s grandmother was even born.”
“And what am I going to talk to this boy, this child, about?” Ichigo hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Am I supposed to listen to him talk about the car he wants to buy, or what he got on a chemistry exam and pretend like I care? Maybe I could entertain him with stories of what it’s like to be held down by three people while someone slaughter’s half of your team; or how about what it feels like to have a friend begging you to kill them before the darkness fully takes hold and uses them as a tool for the other side. Do you think he’s going to pat me on the back and tell me that he knows what I’m going through?”
Isshin felt like he’d been struck, staring at the pain and rage etched into his son’s face. He looked to Urahara but found the other man had turned away, eyes shut against some memory that Ichigo’s words had stirred.
“The point is that this isn’t healthy.” He lowered his voice, trying to calm his son.
“I don’t really care.” Ichigo sat back, the emotionless mask slipping into place.
“Well I do, and I’m not leaving you here.” Isshin stood, moving around the table towards his son.
Ichigo reached into the sash at his waist, clutching something tight against him. He stood slowly to meet his father, shinigami robes fluttering slightly as his body fell away. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight.”
“It wasn’t a request, Ichigo, I’m your father and I’m taking you home.” Isshin reached out and grabbed around the upper arm.
The younger man looked up at his father and then down at the hand restraining him, remorse flickering briefly across his face. His eyes slipped closed and even Urahara seemed to shudder as Ichigo brought the full weight of his power to bear in the confines of the small room. Isshin felt his head start to swim as he struggled to stay upright. Ichigo’s eyes reopened and his father flinched as he was met once again with that cold silver stare.
“You don’t have the power to force me against my will.” His voice was soft and unbearably tired.
“I was a captain, you know. I’m not so easily intimidated.” Isshin was panting but he refused to give in.
“Please don’t make me show you my mask.” The larger man’s eyes widened as the meaning of his son’s words sunk in.
Urahara stood, wincing at the pressure in the room, and wrapped his arms around Ichigo from behind, resting his chin next to his ear. “You’re going to scare the children again. This obviously isn’t going to be settled here, and I think everybody’s had enough for tonight.”
Ichigo relaxed a bit under the touch, his reiatsu releasing its death grip on them all and retreating slowly back into his body.
“I’m not leaving my son here with you.” Isshin repeated, glaring at Urahara though his voice had lost its earlier conviction.
“Yes you are, Isshin, because he’s right.” His voice held no tone of triumph, only sense of weary acceptance, “It’s safer to let him cool off here anyway.”
The larger man clenched his fists tight, knowing he was out of options and hating it.
“This isn’t over.” he spat, his jaw clenching.
“I know.” Urahara stepped back, taking Ichigo with him to clear a path out.
Isshin gave them both one last, disgusted look and then swept out of the room. A moment later a harsh slamming in the distance marked his exit from the building. Ichigo let his head fall back onto Urahara’s shoulder and the older man turned his face to nuzzle against his cheek, still holding the lithe body in place.
“That didn’t go so well.” he murmured, resting a hand on the arms that held him captive.
“It went better than I expected,” Urahara admitted, lips brushing the younger man’s ear as he straightened to his full height. “I’m still alive, after all.”
“That’s not funny.” Ichigo pulled away slightly, turning to face him.
“I didn’t mean it to be.” He brought a hand up to the side of Ichigo’s neck, thumb stroking the skin behind his jaw. “Come on, let’s go to bed, all this nonsense has worn me out.”
Ichigo stooped to retrieve his body, embracing it and forcing his spirit back inside. His old shinigami substitute badge was still clutched in his hand and he tucked it safely back into his sash before regaining his feet. He let Urahara steer him back in the direction of his room but was brought up short when they passed into the hall and discovered Ururu and Jinta sitting against opposite walls, facing each other.
“I thought I told you two to go back to bed?” Urahara scolded gently.
“Is he going to come back, Kisuke-san?” Ururu was still staring off in the direction that Isshin had gone.
The older man sighed, crouching down in front of her. “I’m sure he will, but not tonight. Don’t worry about it, Ururu.”
“He seemed pretty pissed.” Jinta noted, his eyes moving between the two men.
“That he did.” Urahara stood, offering each of them a hand.
“Maybe you two shoulda been a bit more subtle.” The boy cocked an eyebrow, smirking up at him.
Urahara gaped at him slightly, unsure of what the boy did or didn’t know and Jinta’s smirk grew.
“Thin walls, old man, and it ain’t like you two were quiet to begin with.” He put an arm around Ururu, who was blushing slightly and refusing to meet the older men’s eyes, leading her off down the hall.
“Well that was awkward.” Urahara muttered, pushing Ichigo ahead of him, into his room.
He slid the door closed and turned to find the younger man standing less than a foot away, eyes dark with rising lust. Urahara leaned back against the door, watching and waiting. Ichigo stepped forward, pinning him to the wood and bringing their mouths together in a searing kiss. Hands rose, tracing and caressing. Urahara pulled him closer, fingers digging into the silk of the robe, pulling it down over one shoulder. He broke the kiss; lips burning a path down the younger mans neck. Ichigo threw back his head, arching into the touch.
“Gods, Ichigo, we shouldn’t be doing this.” Urahara panted into the hollow of his throat. “Not after everything that just happened.”
“Probably not.” Ichigo agreed, pulling at the tie on Urahara’s robe as he tugged the cloth aside to nip at the top of his shoulder.
The older man brought his hands to the chest pressed against him, tearing the last of the silk roughly away, baring Ichigo completely before him. Their mouths came together again, hot and needy, tongues stroking and writhing. Ichigo moaned thrusting forward against the soft cloth of the pants the other had worn to bed. He arched away, shoving a hand between their bodies to rip at the tie, pushing inside to curl his fingers around the waiting erection. Urahara hissed, hips driving forward into the touch.
Ichigo lost his grip when the other man moved suddenly, shifting his weight to reverse the position, shoving him against the wall. Urahara fingers dug into his hips as he pressed forward, grinding their weeping arousals together. Ichigo moaned as his head rolled against the wood, granting better access to the tongue that was doing wicked things to the soft skin behind his ear. A slender hand snaked between their writhing bodies, fingers curling around as much of both erections as they could manage, stroking a steady rhythm.
“Fuck, Kisuke.” Ichigo groaned, thrusting helplessly under the skilled touch, eyes rolling back.
Urahara dragged his mouth along his jaw, recapturing that hot mouth, drinking in the cries as he continued to drive them towards the edge. He released his hold on Ichigo’s hip, breaking the kiss and running two fingers over the younger man’s swollen lower lip. Ichigo opened his mouth, drawing them in, rolling his tongue over them sensuously while holding that green-grey gaze. Urahara moaned in the back of his throat, removing the fingers and thrusting his tongue between those still parted lips. He slipped his hand down behind Ichigo, teasing his opening, knuckles scraping against smooth wood. Ichigo whimpered against his lips when the first finger slipped in, pressing back into the hand, needy and wanting.
“Gods, Kisuke, please…nnggg…” He broke off, a shudder running through his body as a second finger joined the first.
Urahara pulled them both off the wall, spinning in a complex dance of hands, teeth and aching bodies until Ichigo connected roughly with the wall across the room.
“Sorry.” Urahara mumbled against sweat soaked skin, not sounding in the least bit sorry as his fingers resumed their previous exploration.
Ichigo’s arm shot out, scattering the contents of a nearby table as he fumbled to open a drawer, fingers closing around a nearly empty bottle.
“Here,” he gritted out, shoving the lube at the older man’s chest.
Urahara took the bottle from him, removing his fingers from the trembling body and spinning the younger man to face the wall, holding him in place with his own weight.
“Fuck, you’re hot when you’re aggressive.” Ichigo panted, eyes dark and burning as he stared back over his shoulder.
Urahara just smirked, kissing him on the back of the neck as he flipped the bottle open. He drizzled lube over three fingers before plunging them back into the waiting body, twisting them to spread the liquid. Ichigo groaned as those fingers brushed that electric spot inside of him and Urahara curled them, thrusting harder until Ichigo had to bite his forearm to keep from screaming. The fingers were removed roughly and then there was something larger in their place, driving into him in one swift and fluid motion.
He threw his head back and gritted his teeth against the blinding sensation as the other man began to thrust into him, hard and fast. There was no time for slow tonight, emotions were too high and they were both flying too close to the edge. Urahara leaned forward, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of the younger man’s shoulder. Ichigo braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other finding the back of the blond head, pulling him down harder.
The thrusts grew wilder, deeper, and Ichigo dropped his forehead against the wall, reaching down to pump himself in time. Urahara’s fingers were digging into him with enough force to bruise but Ichigo didn’t care because he was hitting that spot with every stroke and he was starting to get light headed. The next thrust put him over the edge and he came hard, splattering the wall in front of him and coating his own hand. Urahara made a choking sound against the back of his neck and he felt him shudder, throbbing inside of him.
Neither could move for a long moment. Ichigo felt arms slip around his waist and he leaned his head back against the other mans shoulder, still panting. As their heart rates began to even out, Urahara withdrew slowly from his body, dragging him back around so that they were face to face. He leaned down slightly, resting his forehead against Ichigo’s, his breath stirring across the younger mans lips. He looked exhausted and a little bit sad.
The sadness spoke to Ichigo and he tilted his chin, bringing their lips together. There was no real passion to the kiss, just an understanding passing between two people who had seen and done far too many things that no one should ever have to.
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“As wrong as all of this was, I think I’m still going to miss it.” Urahara mused, fingers tracing idol patterns in the orange hair resting against his chest. They had long since showered and were curled into the futon.
“What the hell does that mean?” Ichigo pulled away, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could look at the other man.
“After everything that’s happened you can’t possibly expect to keep this up.” Urahara sighed, brushing the backs of his knuckles against the sharp edge of the boy’s cheekbone, “Best thing for everyone is to put some space between us.”
“Fuck that.” Ichigo huffed, dropping back down to his previous position.
Urahara stared at the top of his head “You’re involving yourself in an unhealthy relationship with a much older man just for the sake of a bit of diversion in your already unstable life, all of which your very angry and scary father has just discovered, and your answer to the only available solution is ‘fuck that’?”
“Fuck that’ isn’t a terribly complicated statement, Kisuke, what part didn’t you understand?” Ichigo smirked into his chest, turning his head to lick a slow circle around one of his nipples.
“The part where you refuse to be even the slightest bit reasonable, though I don’t know why I’m still surprised by it.” He threw an arm over his face, burying his other hand in the mess of bright hair.
“Fuck reasonable.” Ichigo chuckled darkly, settling into a more comfortable position.
Urahara couldn’t help the sound of amusement that escaped him despite his best efforts as he lay there grinning in the darkness. He realized that Kurosaki Ichigo might very well be the death of him someday, but at least he could say that it was never a boring ride.