Shades of Grey (chapter 4)
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 4)
Rating: R (overall - 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)
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.
Remembrance
Ichigo had no interest in either arguing with his father or the preposterous idea of going to therapy. He’d successfully managed to get out of the house without incident this morning, due mostly to the fact that he’d jumped out his bedroom window a good hour before he really had to leave.
He made his way to the school, arriving long before any of the other students, and sat alone in his empty classroom, lazily flipping through a couple of books as he finished the last of his homework. He might not want to be there, but that didn’t mean he was going to slack. He didn’t like to do things half-assed.
About fifteen minutes before the start of class the other students began to file in. Most just ignored him, but a few stopped to chat. He hauled out his polite conversation, noticing how awkward it felt on his tongue, and wondered if any of them even noticed the lie. It was a relief when the teacher arrived, because he could tune her out easily and she knew better than to call on him.
The day flew by in a haze of color, like so many of the days that had come before it. He kept to himself, taking notes when he could be bothered to listen, handing in assignments when they were requested. The outside world drifted by and Ichigo couldn’t help but feel more like an observer than a participant. It was okay, he didn’t mind, he almost enjoyed it that way.
About ten minutes before the final bell rang, just when he was beginning to think that the day was going remarkably well, everything started to fall apart. Ichigo didn’t look up when the door opened; it wasn’t an unusual occurrence after all. He did look up, however, when the aid that had just entered called his name softly. Apparently he had a visitor, one who was deemed important enough to be taken out of class for. He growled as he followed her.
She led him to a rarely used conference room and slid back the door to reveal Isshin sitting at a long table, accompanied by a smaller, somewhat mousier man. Ichigo couldn’t say that he was surprised, once his father got something into his head he generally refused to let it go. A little thing like absolute refusal and a grand escape attempt wouldn’t have thrown him off. Ichigo blinked at them twice and turned to leave, only to be drawn up short by a sharp word from Isshin. He sighed; he really didn’t want to make a scene here.
“We already talked about this,” he said patiently, his back still to them. “I thought I made myself clear.”
“I think I was pretty clear as well, son,” Isshin said sharply. “Now come here and meet Shimizu-ishi.”
Ichigo’s shoulders tensed but he turned, nodding sharply to the other man.
“I’m Shimizu Jin.” He stood, smiling politely at the younger man. “I’m a licensed psychiatrist.”
“Kurosaki Ichigo.” He scowled, casting a glare in his father’s direction. “Apparently I’m the designated fuck-up for today.”
“Ichigo!” Isshin snapped in warning, but Shimizu cut him off.
“Let him speak his mind, Isshin,” he said pleasantly, seating himself once again at the table. “That’s why we’re here after all.”
Isshin kept his mouth closed with visible effort and Ichigo smirked at him.
“This isn’t an official appointment.” The doctor began, looking at Ichigo, “Your father just wanted us to have a chance to get to know one another. Would that be alright with you?”
“Why are you making it sound like I have some choice here?” Ichigo wondered aloud, his voice slow and bored.
“No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” the doctor assured him, apparently not having seen the look on Isshin’s face.
Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, stalking over to a chair and dropping heavily into it. Isshin joined them at the table, folding his hands together and looking at his son.
“You know I’m worried about you Ichigo. I think that this is in your best interests.” Isshin was using that ‘good father’ tone again and Ichigo wondered idly if punching him in the face could be considered speaking his mind.
“What the fuck do you know about my best interests?” Ichigo laughed bitterly. “You should take a look at yourself; find your own damn interests.”
“Let’s just calm down.” Doctor cut in smoothly before Isshin could reply. “I understand that there’s a lot of hostility between the two of you right now, but yelling isn’t going to solve anything.”
“How about hitting?” Ichigo asked coolly, watching Isshin flinch out of the corner of his eye.
“Violence solves even less than yelling,” Shimizu assured him, oblivious to the exchange.
The doctor pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped through a couple of pages. “I understand from your father that you’ve recently lost a friend to an accident. I hear that the two of you were close, that she’d actually been living with your family for awhile.” He glanced back up at Ichigo as if to confirm.
The younger man met his gaze blankly for a moment before turning to fix his father with an incredulous look. Isshin, to his credit, was staring uncomfortably into the table top.
“Seems someone’s been telling stories.” Ichigo bit out, still staring coldly at the bowed head.
“You shouldn’t blame your father, Kurosaki-san, he only told me out of concern for your wellbeing.” The therapist said soothingly, attempting to bring his attention back around.
It took a moment for Ichigo to turn. “So, I’ve lost a friend in an accident and now I need help, is that it?”
The therapist regarded him placidly, apparently immune to his hostility. “It seems that, since the accident, you have been engaging in certain, shall we call them, self-destructive behaviors.”
“Such as?” Ichigo’s voice had lost all inflection and he didn’t have to turn this time to see his father twitch.
Shimizu flipped a couple more pages into his notes, “Such as fighting, disappearing at odd hours, and hostility towards your family.”
“Don’t forget my current unhealthy relationship with an old friend of my fathers.” Ichigo pointed out, noting that the doctor didn’t appear at all surprised by this piece of information. He shot Isshin another glare.
“Is that something that you would like to talk about?” the therapist asked calmly.
“I’m over the age of consent and it’s not your business. What’s there to talk about?” Ichigo was the picture of cool indifference.
“Your father believes that you may have fallen victim to someone preying on your pain. How do you feel about that?” he asked, studying Ichigo intently.
Ichigo didn’t as much as blink. “I think that my father is being awfully hypocritical, considering he was much older than my mother.”
The doctor frowned slightly, his first real expression. “I’ve known you father since medical school, and I knew you’re mother as well, before she passed away. At their age, two years was hardly a large difference.”
“Oh right, I forgot my dad was only two years older than her.” Ichigo turned to spear his father. “I guess all my memories of her are from when I was young and he seems so much older now. My mistake.”
“It’s quite understandable,” the doctor assured him. “Now, your own behavior, on the other hand, has some very different characteristics.”
“I bet it does.” He nodded, holding his father’s gaze, before calmly turning back to Shimizu. “Could you explain how someone falls into one of these unhealthy relationships for me? I guess maybe I just don’t understand it.”
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he felt he were being mocked, but he complied, launching into a brief psychological lesson on trauma and its ability to leave a person open to suggestion. Ichigo nodded politely, reaching into his pocket as he pushed his chair back. Finding what he was looking for he returned his hand to the table, rolling the little green ball across its surface with one finger.
He glanced at his father, saw him watching, saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. With a small smirk he popped the thing between his lips before his father could say a word. He felt a tug in the back of his chest as he broke free from his body, stepping quickly aside to avoid hitting the table.
“Are you alright?” the doctor asked mildly, having seen the shudder that passed through his frame.
“Just tell him you sneezed,” Ichigo prompted.
“Just stifled a sneeze,” Kon said easily, “Please go on.”
Isshin was glaring daggers at him as he paced alongside the table. He settled behind the therapist, who was still rattling on, blissfully unaware of the new addition to his audience. He cocked an eyebrow at Kon over the man’s slightly balding head.
“This is Shimizu-ishi, he’s a licensed psychiatrist,” he informed the mod soul critically. “My father seems to think he’s going to help me work through all of the horrors I’ve seen, because he obviously has so much experience with this sort of thing.”
Kon looked distantly amused, but he could feel Isshin’s reiatsu starting to flicker.
“You see,” he went on, pacing back along the opposite side of the table. “He’s an old human friend of my apparently human father. I’m sure that will help to provide a completely accurate impression of me, what with dad telling him all sorts of fantastic stories.”
He pinned Isshin with a stare across the table, silently telling his father exactly how angry he was. He came to a halt behind Kon, bending down to wrap an arm around the familiar chest. He rested his chin on the mod soul's shoulder, looking across the table at the doctor who was winding to a close.
“He wants to talk to us about how Rukia died in that tragic accident” he whispered, loud enough for his father to hear.
Kon stiffened, but didn’t break character. “I guess I don’t see how that applies to me.” He frowned at the doctor. “Which one of those categories do you think I fall under?”
The therapist sat forward, warming to the topic now that Ichigo seemed to be showing interest. He began to use his hands a bit while he talked. Ichigo eyed him indifferently for a second before turning his attention back to Kon.
“You always liked to talk about yourself more than I did,” he murmured. “To warn you, though, I think he wants to talk about Kisuke, and I know guys aren’t really your thing. Maybe you could tell him about all the girls you chase after, that might fuck with his brain a bit.”
Kon made a very faint sound of amusement and reached up to brush a hand over the arm still holding him.
“I don’t suppose you want to open a window for me.” Ichigo straightened, pulling away.
Kon started to move but Isshin beat him to it. He made a brief excuse about needing to use the restroom and headed for the door. Ichigo shrugged and followed, casting one last look over his shoulder at his replacement before the door slid closed behind him.
Isshin looked around quickly for any wandering eyes before grabbing him and hauling him down the hall to an empty class room. He rounded on his son as soon as the door was shut.
“What the hell do you think you were doing in there?” he fumed.
“I told you, I’m not talking to your damn therapist,” Ichigo snapped back at him.
“You can’t just jump out of your body and run away whenever you feel like it.” Isshin was turning red again.
“Sure I can,” Ichigo pointed out coldly, “And I think that fact that he didn’t know I’d even done it should indicate to you that he’s not fucking qualified to deal with my sort of problems.”
Isshin hesitated. “It might not have been the best idea, but at least I’m trying.”
“Which part do you think wasn’t a good idea?” Ichigo snarled roughly. “Because I especially liked the part where you said Rukia died in some fucking accident, instead of fighting to protect your children. Way to honor the sacrifice, dad.”
“Look,” Isshin snapped, “I might have been wrong about him being able to help you, but I’m not wrong about you needing help.”
“You’re right; I think I’m going to go find Kisuke,” Ichigo sneered. He took a step forward but Isshin grabbed him by the arm and shoved him against the wall.
“You gonna hit me again?” Ichigo taunted. “I hear the first time’s the hardest, it’s easy after that.”
Isshin drew a breath, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it stops now.”
“You said that you want me to talk to someone, and I’m talking to Kisuke. You should be happy,” Ichigo spat.
“I understand why a human might not be able to help you, but there are other Shinigami you could talk to. Hell, I’m a Shinigami, you could talk to me. I’d understand,” he shouted, flecks of spittle peppering Ichigo’s cheek.
“Talk to you?” Ichigo’s lip curled back. “What the fuck would you know about any of it?”
He pushed Isshin back, sending him staggering into a desk. “You were still so bitter with Soul Society that you didn’t want anything to do with any of it. You just sat here complaining about how stupid the Shinigami were while we were busy fighting, trying to keep Aizen from killing you all. Fucking Ishida was even there, fighting alongside of us, and he’s a Quincy, sworn enemy of the Shinigami.”
“I did what I could.” Isshin glared at him.
“No, you did what you wanted,” Ichigo shouted. “You sat in your office and played human with all of your little friends. You told yourself that there was nothing you could do so that you didn’t have to feel guilty about all the people who were dying out there. You just put your fucking head down and said it wasn’t your fucking problem.”
“Would you rather I’d just left your sisters to fend for themselves while I ran off on the orders of people I didn’t even believe in?” Isshin raged.
“I would rather you didn’t preach to me in all of your fucking, self-righteous glory about shit you don’t understand.” Ichigo felt his control slipping. “If you want to play human that’s fine, but don’t come to me and pretend like you understand me. You want to know why I talk to Kisuke and not you. It’s because he spent the whole fucking war about three feet behind me, killing things that were trying to kill me, while you looked the other way.”
“You don’t know anything about what I did during the war,” Isshin snarled, taking a step towards him.
“You’re right,” Ichigo sneered, “Because you weren’t there.”
“There’s no point in marching needlessly to your death.” Isshin spat at him, and Ichigo felt something cold pierce his heart.
“No, but sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself for the greater good.” His voice had gone soft, his eyes unfocused against some lost memory.
“There’s that greater good of yours again. It’s so easy to say and so hard to prove.” Isshin was lost in his anger, intent on driving his point home. “How can you really know if any of those deaths meant a damn thing? The Shinigami have a long history of sending people to die needlessly for overinflated causes. Most likely it was just a useless waste of life.”
One second Isshin was crowing his triumph, red faced and furious, and the next he was speechless, the point of Ichigo’s zanpakutou hovering an inch from his face. He belatedly registered the crush of Ichigo’s reiatsu in the room as he met the terrifying silver gaze.
“I told you never to mention them again.” His voice was deadly calm. “You might not respect Soul Society, but you will respect the people who went to their deaths to protect your shitty little life.”
He withdrew the blade, pivoting sharply and stalking towards the door.
“Ichigo.” Isshin called after him, though it was hard to tell if he was angry or apologetic.
“Your guilt isn’t my problem.” Ichigo paused in the doorway. “Stop trying to take it out on me.”
He was gone in the blink of an eye, having shifted to shunpo in order to escape. Isshin remained rooted to the spot for a long moment, deep in thought. The things that Ichigo had said about him stung, but he knew that the boy just didn’t understand. He hadn’t spent enough time with the Shinigami to know their true nature. He carefully pushed aside all thoughts of the guilt he might have harbored for standing back while his son fought for his life. He wasn’t guilty, he was just looking at the bigger picture.
He winced as he remembered that his son had raised a sword to him for the second time, the first being in defense of Urahara. His eyes narrowed as he thought of his friend. Whenever he broke the situation down it always came down to Urahara. He was the one who had trained Ichigo as a Shinigami, even though Isshin hadn’t complained at the time. He was the one who kept sending his son into Soul Society. He’d sent him into Hueco Mundo, even accompanied him into the war, and now he was fucking him, taking advantage of his pain.
Isshin felt his anger start to rise again as he delved into the familiar thoughts. It was far easier to blame the situation on what seemed to be an obvious problem than it was to examine himself. By the time he left the room, he’d convinced himself that Ichigo had just been spouting more of his grief laden nonsense.
------------------------------------------
Dusk was just starting to fade into earnest darkness when Urahara arrived back at his shop. Upon stepping through the door he was immediately greeted by a rather worried Ururu, though he didn’t need her to tell him what was wrong, he could already feel the reiatsu. He wordlessly handed his purchases to his young employee and headed for the back of the shop. He bypassed the entrance to the basement, sliding back the door to what was often their impromptu medical chamber.
The room was dark, but the light from the doorway was enough to reveal the lone figure sitting against the wall, head dipping low over drawn up knees. Zangetsu lay to one side, casually discarded. He left the door open but didn’t bother to turn on the light as he moved forward. Ichigo didn’t acknowledge his approach, staring into the cup he was spinning slowly in his hand. There was an open jug of sake between his feet. Urahara sighed, moving the jug as he sat cross-legged in front of the younger man.
“You know, it’s rather crass to drink sake from a water cup,” he admonished lightly, slipping off his hat and placing it next to Benihime on the floor.
“You here to correct my manners, Kisuke?” Ichigo’s eyes flickered up to meet him.
“It’s not like you to drink,” he pointed out, “Did something happen?”
“Fucking memories.” Ichigo swirled the cup again. “Just worse than usual.”
“Are you drunk?” Urahara inquired gently.
Ichigo smirked faintly, raising the cup to his lips. “No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He reached forward, taking the cup without resistance and raising it to his own lips.
“I don’t know,” Ichigo replied truthfully, brows furrowed.
Urahara didn’t press the matter, knowing that to do so would only push Ichigo deeper into himself. He took another sip, grimacing slightly. “You know, this is really better warm.”
“Is it?” Ichigo asked softly, a strange gleam in his eye.
He slipped forward with a grace that suggested he hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t drunk, sliding into Urahara’s lap and wrapping his legs around him. A hand came to rest against his lower back, settling him more comfortably, as he reached out to retrieve the cup.
He drank slowly, eyes glittering in the semi-darkness, as he watching Urahara over the rim. He lowered the cup, rolling the sake over his tongue before leaning in to capture the other man’s mouth. Urahara’s lips opened easily, accepting the gentle caress and the wine that accompanied it. A tongue swept into his mouth, a brief, flickering presence before Ichigo pulled away, licking his lower lip to catch a fallen drop.
“Better?” he inquired, studying him intently.
“Much,” Urahara assured him, feeling slightly dazed. “You have some decidedly interesting talents.”
Ichigo smiled faintly. “A kiss is like a work of art.”
As if to punctuate this fact he took another sip and repeated the process, delving deeper into Urahara’s mouth, consuming him. Hands slipped up to frame his face as the older man pressed into him, a soft moan rising in the back of his throat. Ichigo broke away, breath stirring against the mouth an inch from his own.
“It takes patience...” The swipe of a tongue.
“…skill…” Teeth tugged softly at the fullness of a lip.
“…and passion.” Ichigo closed the distance again, and Urahara met him half way.
The kiss was slow and demanding, like a fire spreading through his blood. Ichigo was watching him through those half lidded eyes and he found that he couldn’t look away. When they pulled apart a moment later he reached out to run a finger over the younger man’s lips, still feeling a little breathless.
“Did you just make that up?” he murmured, dragging his eyes away from that kiss swollen mouth.
“No,” Ichigo admitted, leaning down to rest his forehead on the other man's shoulder. “Juushirou said that to me once, almost exactly how I just said it to you, except without the sake. He didn’t like to drink.”
He turned his head, lips brushing against the pale column of Urahara’s throat before continuing, “He said that a true artist could choose to create or destroy with the power of a single kiss.”
Urahara rubbed his jaw against Ichigo cheek. “Just to clarify, when you say Juushirou you do mean Ukitake Juushirou, a man old enough to make even myself feel like a child, correct?”
“About your height, brown eyes, long, white hair.” Ichigo confirmed, lips tickling across his skin. “Really soft hair.”
“When was this?” Urahara asked gently, wrapping his arms around the smaller frame.
“The night he volunteered to lead the initial assault.” Ichigo’s voice was distant. “We all knew that whoever went wasn’t coming back, but someone had to do it. He said he wanted to and no one could change his mind.”
“He was a man of honor. He would never have asked anyone to go into a fight that he wasn’t willing to face himself,” Urahara said sadly.
“I went to see him, because he’d always been a friend to me, from my first time in Soul Society.” Ichigo raised his head to take another sip of sake. “He was sitting alone on a hill overlooking Seireitei, just staring up into the sky.”
He settled deeper into Urahara’s lap. “We talked for awhile, just nonsense and history, nothing about the war. He told me that I reminded him of his former vice-captain, Kaien. Did you know him?”
“I knew him before he was a Shinigami,” Urahara murmured into his hair.
“He said that he felt like he’d failed Kaien,” Ichigo whispered, “He said this was a sort of penance for not having been able to save him. He looked so sad and tired, like he was drowning under the weight of all the shit that kept piling up. It just seemed so wrong for someone like him to die with all that guilt. I don’t even remember what I was thinking, but I just leaned over and kissed him. I just wanted…”
He trailed off as though he didn’t know how to continue. Urahara remained silent, waiting for him to collect his thoughts, and after a moment he went on.
“I think I shocked him, because he didn’t do anything for a couple of seconds and then he pushed me away. He put his hand up to his lips.” Urahara felt Ichigo unconsciously mimic the gesture. “He looked so confused, but he didn’t move away or get mad. He apologized to me, like he’d done something wrong, and said I should go back to my room. I didn’t understand what he was sorry for. I could see his hand shaking against his lips and I reached out to grab it.”
Ichigo shivered slightly and Urahara held him tighter, wishing there was something he could say to make this easier.
“I couldn’t just leave him there, not like that. It was the last night before he was going to walk to his death and he was all alone. No one should have to be alone like that, it isn’t right.” Ichigo’s breath hitched slightly. “I didn’t know what else to do so I kissed him again. It was sloppy; because I was afraid and confused; and because I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’d never kissed anyone seriously before but I didn’t have anything else to give.”
He fell silent again, lost in thought, and Urahara ran a hand up his back and into his hair. Ichigo sighed brokenly, nuzzling into the older man’s neck.
“He pushed me away again after a minute or so and looked at me. He cupped the side of my face and just shook his head, smiling a bit. He said that if this was his last night to live, then he supposed he should do something productive with it. He pushed me back into the grass and said if there was one thing he still had the time to do, it was teach me how to kiss properly.”
Ichigo pulled back, seeking out Urahara’s pale gaze. “We stayed out there until dawn, just kissing and talking. He never took it any further even though I probably would have let him. When the sun came up he seemed sad, but in a different, softer way. He kissed me one more time, and thanked me for staying with him. Then he just walked away, looking calm and collected like it was any other day.” He paused. “That was the last time I saw him before they brought his body back.”
“I remember that night,” Urahara mused, his thumb resting against the fluttering pulse at Ichigo’s throat. “I was looking for you but couldn’t find you. Too much reiatsu in too small an area.”
“I’m glad you didn’t find me,” Ichigo admitted softly, his eyes falling away.
“So am I.” Urahara ran his nose up the soft skin of his cheek. “Your time was better spent elsewhere.”
They both fell silent again, but Urahara waited, knowing that those memories would have inevitably led to others. Ichigo housed a thousand demons from the past, and the older man knew them well. He had been there, after all; they were his demons, too.
“That was a bad fight.” Ichigo’s eyes fell shut against the memories.
“It was,” Urahara confirmed, gently brushing the hair from his face.
“You were there when Zaraki Kenpachi fell.” His voice was barely audible now.
Urahara nodded, jaw clenched. It hurt to think about it, but Ichigo had never talked about that day, and if pain was the price then Urahara was willing to pay it. “I was trapped a little ways behind you when I heard you shout.”
“They got swarmed, there were just too many. I could hear him laughing right up till the end, and then that sword went through him and he dropped.” Ichigo ground his teeth together. “I saw him and he saw me, and then he just fell away.”
“He died exactly how he would have wanted. He took out almost an entire unit before he went.” Urahara assured him, his voice rough. “There was nothing you could have done. Not about any of it.”
“I tried to get to her, Kisuke. I tried but I fucking couldn’t,” Ichigo choked, his voice broken. “I was screaming at her to run but she wouldn’t. I know she heard because she looked at me, she smiled at me, right before she stepped over his body and blasted an Arrancar away in one swing. She wouldn’t leave him, not even when she knew it was over. She just kept fighting, standing over him, hacking away at them and laughing, just like he had done. I just kept screaming and pushing towards her but there were so many of them. I couldn’t get to her.”
“He was the closest thing she ever had to a father,” Urahara whispered through the stinging in his throat. “She would have hated you for taking her away, even though she knew it meant her life.”
“Maybe.” Ichigo shifted uncomfortably. “I got there at the same time as Yumichika and Ikkaku. She was already dead, all cut up and bleeding everywhere, but she was still smiling a little. She died smiling, laying across Zaraki. It looked so right, even though it was all just so wrong. I thought that he was dead, too, but he wasn’t. He was still breathing, just barely. He was holding her against him, cradling her head to his chest with the last bit of strength he had.”
Urahara drew in a shaky breath, his arms tightening fractionally. He hadn’t known that.
“He told me to take her, to make sure that no one touched her. He said that he owed her that. He said that he was sorry that he wasn’t going to be there to see the end. He apologized to me, like he was letting me down. I hated it when they would apologize.” Ichigo’s voice was thick and hard. “I didn’t know what to say, I never did. I told him that he’d kicked their asses good and he seemed happy with that. I took Yachiru, promised that I would take care of her. I promised him. He was fading fast, but the other two grabbed him anyway; no one got left behind, not if there’s any other way. He died before we broke back through the lines. He was smiling too.” His voice faltered, but he pushed on.
“We buried them together, after the fight was over. Put them under a tree, just inside the gates of Seireitei, figured they would have wanted to be out in the open. I never let anyone touch her, just like I promised. I put her in the ground myself.”
He faded off again, there was nothing more to say and he couldn’t have found the words even if there was. Urahara leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, tracing soothing patterns over his back.
“They died doing something that they believed in. We should all be so lucky,” he whispered against Ichigo’s lips. “I was honored to fight alongside every one of them, just like I was to fight with you.”
“She shouldn’t have died.” The grief in Ichigo’s voice was a knife through his heart.
“None of them should have died,” Urahara agreed.
“She was just a kid.” His voice was broken.
“So were you,” Urahara pointed out softly. “But no one could have kept you out of that fight. She was a vice-captain. She wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, looking tired and worn.
“No,” Urahara murmured, “It never is.”
Sometime during the conversation Ichigo must have set the sake aside because he retrieved it from the floor and tossed back a large swallow. He offered the cup to Urahara, who took it and did the same. The silence stretched between them but they didn’t mind. Ichigo once again leaned forward to rest against Urahara’s shoulder and the older man just held him there, nuzzling him gently.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked finally.
“I’ll never be okay,” Ichigo muttered half-heartedly.
“Are you going to be as okay as you were yesterday?” Urahara corrected softly.
“I think so.” Ichigo pressed a kiss into the side of his neck. “You’re as good a therapist as you are a nurse. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Urahara smiled wanly at the attempted humor. “I can’t seem to not touch you,” he admitted quietly.
“To be fair, I don’t think you try very hard.” Ichigo chuckled weakly, grateful for the lighter mood.
“It’s possible,” Urahara concurred, his breath hitching slightly as Ichigo’s tongue snaked into the hollow behind his ear.
“Kisuke,” he murmured softly, lips following the line of his jaw. “Will you make me feel good again?”
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Urahara tried to reason, even as he arched into the touch. “Besides, I think you’re a little drunk.”
“Kisuke.” Ichigo pulled back, cupping the side of his face and running his thumb over his lips. “Not today. I’ll fucking let you argue with me twice as much next time, okay?”
Urahara looked slightly exasperated, but it didn’t stop him from opening his mouth to bite the end of Ichigo’s thumb.
“Just make me feel it, okay?” His voice was rough and his eyes pleaded for understanding.
All thoughts of argument died on Urahara’s lips as he realized that, fucked up as it was, he needed this as much as Ichigo did. They were both using the other to stay afloat and there was no turning back, at least not from here.
He brushed Ichigo’s arm aside and took his face between his hands, kissing him gently. The tension seemed to fall away from the younger man as he recognized the surrender. Tongues dueled slowly with the lingering taste of sake. Urahara’s fingers worked the knot in Ichigo’s sash with practiced ease, pulling it away, rising up to push the cloth back over his shoulders. Ichigo shrugged out of the clothes, bringing his hands up to thread through Urahara’s hair, pulling him closer.
The former captain pushed to his knees, spilling Ichigo onto the floor and crawling over him. Ichigo's fumbled with the ties on his clothing, the combined effect of the sake and overworked emotion making the task more difficult. Urahara stilled him with one hand, peeling away the layers himself, before settling into the body beneath him. He dipped his head, latching onto the delicate curve of Ichigo’s collarbone, drawing a hiss from the younger man as he found the sensitive skin on the side of his neck.
His movements were unhurried, deliberate, geared more towards the comfort of pleasure than the immediate need for release. Ichigo’s hands found his hips and held him still as he ground into him slowly, groaning at the contact. Urahara bit back a gasp as teeth sank into his ear lobe, tugging gently before releasing and traveling lower.
Ichigo shifted, rolling sideways, pinning Urahara to the floor. Lips pressed into his throat as his head fell back. Ichigo’s fingers trailed down his chest, rolling an already hard nipple, twisting gently. A half moan broke free and he bit his lip against the assault, dragging him back up for another kiss.
Long, pale fingers slipped into the gap at the side of Ichigo’s hakama, brushing over his erection through his fundoshi, sending a jolt through his body. He tugged at the material, loosening it, slipping his fingers inside to curl around the waiting flesh. Ichigo moaned into his mouth, tongue pressing forward to match the jerk of his hips.
Urahara ran his thumb over him, smearing moisture around his tip in slow, teasing circles. Ichigo broke away from the kiss, breath hissing between his teeth as his eyes fluttered shut. He pumped him once, firm and unhurried, feeling the younger man’s shiver run through both of them.
He rolled Ichigo onto his back again, leaning over him, bracing one arm against the floor as he stroked him. Ichigo’s head rolled back as he arched up to meet the touch. The blond lowered his head, taking a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue as he ground himself against Ichigo’s thigh. Their breathing grew more ragged and Ichigo whimpered beneath him.
“I need you, Kisuke,” he panted, sliding his hands over unmarred shoulders. “I need you inside me.”
Urahara groaned roughly, shifting to settle between Ichigo’s thighs and feeling the long legs slide up around his hips. He thrust down into him through the layers of clothes still separating them, leaning forward to nip the swollen lips beneath him.
“I want to feel you.” Ichigo’s breath was still tinged with sake as it ghosted across his face.
Urahara leaned in and kissed him again, his fingers already on the ties holding his hakama up. Ichigo’s arms twisted around him, pulling him down, making the task harder. Sweat-slicked bodies slid together effortlessly and Ichigo made another breathy, needy noise against Urahara’s lips.
“What the hell is going on here?” They froze as the familiar voice cut through the room, calling sudden attention to the fact that the light from the hall had been blocked out.
There was a click and both winced as light flooded the room. Yoruichi stood just inside the door, one finger still resting on the switch as her gaze traveled over the scene. Urahara saw her eyes narrow as she took in the sake jug still resting next to the wall before flickering over the discarded clothes and their intertwined bodies.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she speared the former captain with a cold stare.
Urahara didn’t bother to reply, untangling his fingers from Ichigo’s hakama so that he could curl them around Benihime, who still lay, thankfully, within reach. Below him, the younger man hadn’t moved, though he could feel the tension rolling off his body. Zangetsu still lay next to the sake.
It wasn’t Yoruichi’s sudden appearance that had caused him to freeze, or even the accusation in her tone. Truthfully, he’d barely spared her a glance, as his attention was riveted to the spot behind her where his father leaned against the door frame. His eyes held a dangerous fire, locked on the face of his former friend.
“I think the lady asked you a question.” His voice was deadly soft.