Shades of Grey (chapter 8, part 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 8, part 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)
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.
(Go to: part 1)
Chapter 8 - Through the Looking Glass (part 2)
Ichigo sat in the middle of the empty lot, tracing idly through the recently scorched earth with the end of a broken stick. Night had long since fallen, the air settling heavy over buildings and trees, drifting lazily through the gently humming darkness. Behind him, the soft glow of life poured faintly across the ground from the half repaired hole in Urahara's shop.
Sometimes, when it was dark like this and everyone else had gone to bed, he like to just sit under the stars, to remind himself what it was like to be still and quiet. Some days it was hard to remember anything before this world of pain and loss. It was amazing how an entire lifetime could pass in just three short years, casting everything that had come before to some half-forgotten dream world.
It had taken awhile, but the rage and confusion were slowly ebbing away, leaving a trail of tired truths lying scattered in their wake. He'd been running, there was no way around it. He was running because he no longer knew how to live in a world he'd left behind three years ago. His human friends, his father, the carefree, easy shit, were all part of a life that felt like a lie. It grated on him, torturing him with memories of simpler times forever gone beyond his reach.
Nothing in this shadow world would ever burn as bright as Urahara's tired smile that didn't touch his eyes, or Karin's steely loyalty flickering twisted in her soul. Nothing cut as deep as Kon's silent agony under the easy slide of charm, or the dream for a better world fading from Hitsugaya's soul. These were the people for whom he had bled, and now, in the end, he was letting them all down.
He had been running, he knew that, and he'd been reckless with those lives who had believed in his resolve. He'd given little thought to any long term plan, too lost the need to escape what he no longer wished to feel. There were prices to be paid for such short-sighted indulgence, and now others were suffering when those payments came due.
There were other factors at play, of course; other people's actions that were far beyond his control. He had to admit, though, when it all came down to it, there were things he wished he'd done differently. He had pulled their lives apart with impulsive abandon, and all the apologies in the world couldn't take that away. Life was a real bitch sometimes, but he couldn't hide forever. The self-reflection always caught up in the end.
Ichigo heard the crunch of gravel and felt a slight thrill of apprehension. He owed Urahara more than he could ever repay and with him, at least, there were certain things he though he understood. It had been so fucking simple in theory; catch him off guard, don't give him time to recover, push him past his limits until the mask slid away. Three easy steps which sounded so much cleaner without the pleading resistance or the doubt seeping in; without the blood, or the tears, or that trembling confusion on normally calm lips. The afternoon had started with the best of intentions, but he was pretty sure he'd fucked it up somewhere along the way. Things were never as easy as he wanted them to be.
"May I?" Urahara paused beside him, gesturing to an empty patch of dirt.
Ichigo snorted at the quiet theatrics, nodding a vague consent as the corner of his mouth twitched. The older man sank gracefully to the ground, draping his arm over a drawn up knee. He was barefoot and casual in a pair of cotton pants and a T-shirt that Ichigo though might be his own.
Urahara rolled his neck, tossing back his hair to stare up at the stars.
"I owe you an apology for earlier," he said, forgoing the winding banter that usually came so easily.
"Don't start with that," Ichigo muttered, jabbing a rock with the end of his stick. This was already going badly.
"You shouldn't have had to do something like that," he went on, the fatigue weighing heavier in his voice.
"Like what, be aggressive?" Ichigo dragged his fingers through his hair, frowning at the familiar profile in the faded light. "I think I'll survive the fucking trauma."
"You know that's not what I mean," Urahara sighed, turning to regard him with tired, serious eyes.
"Then what?" Ichigo demanded, frustration pulling his tone much sharper than he intended. "I'm the one who fucking started it; I knew what I was doing."
Something flickered behind the grey-green gaze, and Ichigo realized that the older man didn't quite believe him, or possibly it was that he couldn't believe him. Yeah, this was definitely fucked.
"You shouldn't have to do things you're uncomfortable with for the sake of my weakness," Urahara said regretfully, reaching out to brush over the younger man's cheek.
"I already told you I wanted it." Ichigo jabbed the stick viciously into the earth, gouging an ugly trail.
Urahara's hand curled over his, prying the makeshift weapon from his grasp and casting it into the night.
"I could feel your hesitance," he murmured, thumb tracing the marks scored deep across his palm. "It's not in your nature to be rough with your lover."
Ichigo couldn't suppress his shiver at the way the word rolled off the older man's tongue. He leaned forward slowly, fingers threading into soft strands of hair, bringing their lips together in a lingering kiss. Urahara's hand trailed up his arm, ghosting over his neck as some of the tension slipped from his frame. Ichigo pulled back, catching the pale gaze glittering softly in the faint light.
"Yeah, it was new, and maybe it's not what I usually go for, but that doesn't mean I didn't want it," he muttered quietly, fighting the urge to drop his eyes as the blush crept into his cheeks. "I was just nervous. I've never done anything like that before."
A whisper of surprise flickered through the older man, so achingly brief that Ichigo almost missed it all together. Urahara' hand slid higher, tracing over the dusting of color as his gaze raked the younger man's face with a wistful sort of meditation.
"I still shouldn't have put you in that position," he said finally, censure and guilt outweighing whatever peace the words had to offer.
Ichigo blew out an agitated breath, dropping his head against Urahara's shoulder. All the shit he wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, twisting together, and it was pissing him off.
"You're there every fucking time I need you, telling me all this shit's going to be okay and that I don't have to worry." He snapped back up, spearing the older man with look of frustration. "Why won't you let me do that for you?"
"It's complicated, Ichigo." Urahara kissed him gently, fingers drifting over the curve of his jaw. "There are things that aren't fair for me to ask of you."
"Fuck fair!" Ichigo bit out, hands fisting in the front of Urahara's shirt. "Do you think any of the shit I've done to you is fair? Do you think any of our lives are fair right now?"
Taking without giving wasn't part of his nature, but he knew on some level that was exactly what he was doing. He'd crashed Urahara's whole life down around them both, drowning him under a relentless torrent of shit just for the sake of a little distraction. Urahara should have hated him for it, but the older man simply smiled through the pain and dragged him back up every time he slipped. Some days Ichigo despised himself, but he just couldn't bring himself to walk away from the memory of life he could taste on that perfect, pale skin.
Urahara sighed, arms sliding around Ichigo's lithe frame. He tugged at him gently, drawing the younger man to straddle his lap as he shifted to accommodate him. They stared at each other for a moment and Urahara smiled faintly, brushing his nose over Ichigo's cheek, trying to ease the tension coursing rough beneath his skin
"Life's general unfairness shouldn't be an invitation for me to engage in my own," he reasoned, the words tickling soft against Ichigo's ear.
Ichigo leaned into the touch, head tilting away as the mouth moved slowly down his neck. He could feel the irritation burning away, sliding through his fingers under that practiced, soothing glide.
"I can feel it when you're worried," he whispered, his eyes haunted with seriousness far beyond his years. "You fucking smile and laugh and say it's all gonna to be okay, but I can still feel it, even if you don't want me to."
Urahara gaze drifted upward, a wry smile lingering tired on his lips. "I must be slipping."
"I don't know," Ichigo's voice was soft, barely carrying in the stillness of the thick, night air. "It's like with all the shit we've been through over the years I just sorta learned you or something. Before we started fucking I could still tell things, even when you shut it all down. Now it's like I can feel you tearing yourself up inside just so everyone else doesn't have to worry. I can tell when you're lying even if you smile like you fucking mean it."
"I'm not lying," Urahara protested, kissing him gently, fingers moving slowly over his spine.
"You are," Ichigo whispered against his lips, eyes shining faintly beneath his half closed lids. "You're just pushing everything down and then faking like you're fine."
"I don't want you to have to worry about me," he murmured, pale brows pulling together as he met that searching gaze.
"Fuck that," Ichigo shot back. "Stop worrying about me, and the Shinigami, and my fucking dad if it's all so easy."
Urahara sighed ruefully, letting his forehead rest against Ichigo's. "I suppose you have a point."
"You can't always save everyone." He raked a hand through his bright hair, fingers twisting in the strands at his nape.
"That's quite a statement, coming from you," Urahara pointed out mildly, detangling the hand and pulling it gently to his lips.
"You're tearing yourself up over shit that's not your fault." Ichigo felt something squeeze in his chest as the blond's lips brushed over each finger in turn. "I didn't mean to drop this shit on you, and now it's like you think you're failing if you can't make it right."
Urahara paused, a fraction of a heartbeat, before moving to press a kiss into Ichigo's palm. His mask was still slipping, his emotions fluttering ragged behind the cracks in his control.
"You just can't let anyone past your fucking smile." Ichigo's eyes mirrored the loneliness haunting the answering, pale gaze. "Not even when it starts to drag you down."
"It's complicated," he repeated sadly, the weight ages hanging on the softly spoken words.
"Then let me help you," Ichigo pleaded, pulling his hand free to press against his jaw.
"Are you trying to save me, Ichigo?" Urahara's tone was gently, but his eyes were more serious than they'd been in centuries.
"Maybe I am," he admitted, voice dipping low as his thumb slid to trace the curve of his ear.
Ichigo could feel the whisper of longing twisting faint beneath his gaze, and he couldn't bear it. His reiatsu rose between them, shivering electric through his veins, pressing out to flutter over the former captain's skin. Urahara gasped faintly, chin tilting up as he let it wash over him.
"Don't," Urahara breathed, fingers pressing gently to Ichigo's lips, brows drawn together with a pained sort of desire. "That technique isn't something you can play with just to distract yourself. Forgive me, Ichigo, but I don't think I could bear it right now."
Ichigo could feel the tremor in the softly fleeting touch, tingling against his skin as the hand fell away. There was a sort of wounded yearning lingering in his eyes, stirring past the edges of his tenuous control. The scars ran deep beneath his far too easy smile, drowned under layers of lazy, practiced charm. Too many things seen that could never be forgotten, too many years spent alone, believing he couldn't afford to slip.
"I'm not playing with you, Kisuke." His tone pleaded for understanding, drawn by the call of that familiar, aching pain. "I just want to make things better."
The anguish still spun in Urahara gaze as Ichigo closed the space between them, thumb stroking his neck as their lips brushed together.
"I want you to be able to tell me when the shit's wearing you down." His teeth danced soft across breath stirred skin.
"To ask for help when you need it." The reiatsu rose around them, hair drifting lightly on its tingling, phantom breeze.
"And to let me drag you over the edge if you can't drag yourself." His mouth slanted over Urahara's, tongue sliding deeper to beg a gentle reply.
Urahara let his eyes slip closed, surrendering for a movement before reluctantly pulling free.
"Why?" He whispered searchingly as he traced over Ichigo's back. "Why would you ask for that?"
"Because I understand," Ichigo's eyes bored into him, flickering in the dim light. "I have that same shit pulling at me all the fucking time, telling me I'm letting everyone down and that I'm never enough. If you hadn't been there for me I would've just pasted a fucking smile on my face and slid by so no one would worry."
Urahara nuzzled him gently, the whisper of fatigue sinking deeper in his eyes.
"So you have me all figured out, do you?" There was no trace of teasing in his quiet, weary tone.
"Fuck no, but I get this." Ichigo growled. "There are a thousand fucking things I can't do anything about, but at least I get this."
"Sometimes just understanding isn't enough," Urahara said wistfully, smoothing his fingers over the younger man's frown.
"Dammit," Ichigo swore. "What is it you think I'm missing? Do you think I don't know what it's like to want to feel a little pain sometimes, just to break the dying feeling? I fight hollows with my bare fucking hands, Kisuke! Don't look at me like I don't understand, don't you fucking dare."
He caught Urahara's hand, fingers biting deep as he dragged it away from his face.
"Do you think I don't know what it means be that for you? If you need to fall then fall, if you need to rest then close your fucking eyes already. If you need someone to hurt you until you remember how to let go then let me fucking do it! I don't care if it's fucked up, because I get it. I fucking get it, Kisuke, do you understand?"
Urahara winced softly, a torn indecision flickering through his eyes. "I do, Ichigo, its just-"
"Fuck, Kisuke, let me have this for myself if you can't let me do it for you!" He was nearly shouting, voice trembling rough with confused emotion. "I fucking need this, too, and you're just making it harder.
His pleading eyes burned into Urahara, alive with fire and determination, passion and hurt. Everything they'd been through, every unspoken wish, every half-forgotten hope for a long gone future, spun between them on the breath panting hot across his lips.
"So now this is about you, not me?" Urahara asked slowly, gaze drifting over his flush stirred face.
There was a shadowy conflict raging in the depths his eyes, and Ichigo felt something sinking deep in his chest. Urahara sighed, his shoulders drooping faintly as he fell onto his back, oblivious to the dirt and jagged, scattered gravel. His arm slid over his face, burying his eyes in the curve of his elbow as his jaw clenched tight against some unknown thought.
The sinking feeling spread, twisting with guilt as Ichigo leaned forward, hands resting in the dirt, head hanging low. There was so much chaos racing is his head and he just couldn't seem to get his thoughts to come out right. He was fucking it up again, making it worse.
"Kisuke," he murmured, not knowing what to say, but the older man cut him off.
"Gods, you're so manipulative sometime," he breathed, lips twitching faintly in the soft wash of moonlight.
"I'm sorry," Ichigo whispered, defeat pressing him deeper into the warmth of the body below. "I didn't mean it like that."
Urahara shifted his arm, catching the gaze hovering just inches above his own.
"And you call me a liar," he accused mildly, amusement simmering deep in the shadow of his eyes.
"Are you fucking laughing?!" Ichigo gaped at him, reeling under his shock and struggling to catch up.
Urahara ignored his outburst completely, moving his arm aside to stare up at the younger man. One pale brow twitched upward, meeting that wide, incredulous gaze.
"Let me see if I have this clear," he began softly, the ghost of a smile on the corners of his mouth. "You would like me to allow you to do certain things to me, in hopes of forcing me to achieve some level of peace I could not otherwise experience."
Ichigo started to open his mouth but the blond shook his head, placing a finger over his slightly parted lips.
"You would like me to do this," he continued," not for my own sake, which would be an unforgivable betrayal of my desire not to burden you, but for your sake, as a means of allowing you to feel proactive about one of the issues plaguing your life. Does that about cover it, or am I leaving something out?"
"It didn't really come out right," Ichigo mumbled against the obstruction.
Urahara's hand slid to cup his jaw, thumb replacing his finger to trace the fullness of his lip.
"I think it came out perfectly," he assured him, the smile burning brighter as his voice began to tremble. He shook his head slowly, as if the whole thing was just too much, and then he laughed, unrestrained and brilliant.
"Does this mean I'm winning?" Ichigo ventured, feeling a little dazed by the warmth in his eyes.
"I'll think about it," Urahara chuckled, dragging Ichigo's lip with the pad of his thumb. "For your sake."
Ichigo's head tilted slightly, brows drawn together with wary incredulity.
"That's so fucked up," he whispered with morbid fascination, leaning in to catch the lingering smile.
"We all have out moments," Urahara murmured against his lips, still laughing softly into the kiss.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Urahara ran a towel through his damp hair, staring at his hazy reflection in the mirror. The marring on his shoulder stood out in harsh relief, the faint shadow of a bruise already forming around the marks. He ran the tips of his fingers gently over the area, relishing the slight sting, shivering at the memory of Ichigo's reiatsu on his skin.
Reiatsu techniques like that were extremely uncommon, requiring both a large amount of power and exceptional control. It was nearly unheard of in someone as young as Ichigo, even at the crude level he had employed. The former captain would have been surprised if there were 50 people alive who could accomplish it at all, and maybe half that could use it properly. He couldn't help but wonder where Ichigo could have learned it, especially considering his innocence prior to their time together.
He shook his head, realizing the mirror held no answers, and returned his attention to sorting out his hair. They'd retreated inside shortly after conversation failed them, but he'd still managed to collect a fair amount of debris. One of the inevitable consequences of lying around in the dirt, he supposed, toeing the bedroom door open as he worked his fingers through a stubborn tangle.
"Are you really gonna think about it?"
Urahara eyed Ichigo through a curtain of darkened hair, digging though a drawer for a clean pair of pants.
"I said I would," he reminded him, coming to kneel at the edge of the futon.
Ichigo pushed up on his elbows, a frown marring his features as he studied the older man. The corners of Urahara's eyes softened and he reached out, trailing his thumb over the familiar lines, tracing the worry that lingered there. Why this, of all things, would mean so much to Ichigo was beyond him, but it was obvious that it did and that he wouldn't let it go easily.
"I'll think about it," he promised again, closing the distance to kiss him gently.
Ichigo leaned into him, tongue sliding out to trace the seam of his lips, inviting him closer, deeper. Urahara smiled faintly, letting himself be drawn in, relishing his unique taste as they moved together. Fingers mapped the couture of his ear as Ichigo kissed him with a languid, subtle grace, moaning softly into his mouth. They fell back lazily and Urahara let his weight settle onto the younger man, burying his hands in the tangle of bright hair, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
Ichigo shifted, nipping at his lips as he pulled back to stare at him.
"You really are fucking stubborn," he murmured, tucking a pale lock behind Urahara's ear.
"And you really are a horrible influence," the older man assured him, lips curving softly as he kissed the tip of his nose.
Ichigo snorted, but his eyes warmed faintly as his own smile threatened. Despite all odds, he seemed to have found some shred of calm in the tatters of the emotionally overwrought day. Urahara had always been amazed by the sheer force of will the younger man exuded, facing both the possible and impossible with the same level of tenacity. Even after he'd learned that he couldn't always win he'd still pushed on, surprising them all at every turn. More often than not he seemed to find a way, tearing apart the perceptions of how the world should work, just as he had today. Urahara tilted his head musingly, eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch as some of the earlier questions tickled across his thoughts.
"I'll admit," he said quietly, fingers trailing down Ichigo's throat. "I was caught off guard by this."
Ichigo gasped as the slow burn of reiatsu crawled up his spine, a wave of liquid pleasure licking through his body until his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Fuck," he panted brokenly as the lingering tremors passed, head falling limp against the pillow. "Is that what I did to you?"
"No," Urahara murmured softly, eyeing him with an odd curiosity. "Touch-based techniques are considered fairly casual. What you did earlier was a good deal more powerful, and far less gentle."
It was also generally reserved for more sadomasochistic play, but that was a different matter entirely and he didn't feel like addressing it at the moment.
He eased his weight off Ichigo, propping his cheek on his fist as he settled in beside him. Pale fingers traced over still flushed skin and Ichigo arched off the bed, teeth set against a whimpering cry as the reiatsu washed over him.
"Gods, you're so sensitive," Urahara breathed. "I'd almost believe you'd never felt it before."
"Only once," Ichigo groaned, eyes squeezing shut. "A long time ago, and not that rough."
Urahara frowned softly as he brushed over Ichigo's stomach, drawing a moan at the friction of flesh on flesh.
"It feels like I'm on fire," Ichigo shuddered, his tone dark with lust.
"It over-stimulates the nerves," Urahara explained, studying him with a perplexed sort of amusement. "You've really only felt it once?"
"Yeah," Ichigo slurred, shaking his head a couple of times to break the thickening haze. "Juushirou explained it to me, and then I asked him to show me because it sounded so unreal. He did, but only for a couple seconds. He said he wouldn't be able to stop if he went on any longer and he said I was still so young, even though I didn't feel young anymore. Gods, I didn't want him to fucking stop, but he just shook his head and kissed me again."
A dusting of color seeped into Ichigo's cheeks, the echo of a blush dredged up on the ghosts of memory.
"I can still feel it sometimes, even after everything that's happened."
Urahara's surprise showed faintly he mulled over these revelations. Rumors of Ukitake's reiatsu control had bordered on Shinigami legend, but so had his reputation for being reluctant when it came to sharing his skills. It was likely that Ichigo would never know what he'd meant to a man with whom he'd spent only a few brief hours on that final moonlit night. Urahara felt the sting of grief, mourning the loss of so many scattered dreams.
"I heard he was amazing," he murmured, gliding up the curve of Ichigo neck.
"Yeah." Ichigo's smile was sad, his eyes staring wistfully at the rivers of the past. "He really was."
"It's remarkable that you grasped the technique, considering your limited exposure," Urahara admitted, running his fingers over Ichigo's lips.
He drew up short as Ichigo snorted, blowing out an annoyed breath as his gaze snapped back into focus.
"I'm total shit at it." He rolled his eyes, looking vaguely put out by his own admission. "Shiro had to show me what to do, and I still couldn't manage it without borrowing his control."
Urahara shook his head in mild exasperation; at least that explained the strange, amber eyes. The hollow's reiatsu control had always been better than Ichigo's, and it had increased dramatically once he mastered his frenetic rage. This wasn't the first time Ichigo had called on such a resource, though he usually reserved it for more dire situations.
"I suppose I should be grateful that between the two of you there exists enough control not to have driven me insane," he muttered dryly, though in truth it was a real concern. Channeling high levels of reiatsu in such an intimate manner could be a dangerous business, especially with someone who was relatively untrained.
Ichigo growled in annoyance, a surly little sound in the back of his throat, though it seemed to be directed elsewhere.
"Give me a week." His chin tilted up, the challenge sparking in his narrowing eyes. "I'll figure it out."
"In a week?" An eyebrow arched delicately, nails skimming over the rise of his hipbone. "Unlikely, even for you."
Ichigo's breath hitched hard, his head falling back to expose his throat.
"Fuck, that touch thing's amazing," he gasped raggedly, blood pounding wildly under every inch of skin. "That's what I wanted him to teach me, but he wouldn't. He's still so fucking pissy about this reiatsu shit."
Urahara chuckled, staring down at his own hand as he ran his thumb over the pads of his fingers. "It's not as easy as it looks."
"Yeah, I know," Ichigo grumbled, sounding like he'd heard it all before. "My control fucking sucks, I get it."
"You're just inexperienced," Urahara consoled him, wondering what taunts he'd endured for the sake of the hollow's assistance. "I'm sure even he couldn't manage this level of refinement, regardless of what he may have claimed."
"What are you…?" The words cut short as something passed over Ichigo's face, a brief spark of confusion followed by a briefer flash of comprehension. "Oh, shit."
Urahara stilled, feeling a tingle of foreboding as he watched Ichigo's mind spin to life behind his sharpening gaze. There was something there in that half-spoken thought, some dredged up remembrance that had almost slipped free. Their eyes met briefly and Ichigo winced, as though something inside had caught up to his mouth and was less than pleased.
"Um, Shiro's not really guessing with this shit," he said slowly, as though hunting deliberately for just the right words. "I know it can be dangerous; I wouldn't have tried it if I didn't know he wouldn't let me hurt you. He's pretty fucking amazing, actually."
Urahara's brows drew together as something clicked in his mind. Ichigo hadn't simply been borrowing his hollow's control; he had been relying on him, at least in part, to regulate the flow of reiatsu. He'd been depending on him to keep the situation in check. For the hollow to be able to accomplish such a thing, especially without direct involvement, would require an astonishing level of finesse. Too much finesse for a few seconds of exposure.
"How could he have developed that level of skill?" He asked carefully, the frown pulling deeper as the younger man winced again.
Ichigo dropped his eyes to the edge of the blanket, fingers pulling absently at a stray piece of thread. His teeth dragged over his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, worrying it gently as he shook his head. He was hiding something, that much was obvious, as was his knowledge that he'd cornered himself.
"How do you get good at anything, Kisuke?" His gaze slid reluctantly higher, meeting Urahara's with a shrewd sort of resignation. "You fucking practice."
"Practice?" Urahara repeated slowly, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah," Ichigo confirmed, mouth pulling ruefully at the corner.
"On who?" Urahara asked incredulously, feeling like he was drifting in the ether. The hollow had very little contact outside of Ichigo, especially after the war had ended. "When?"
"It's really fucking complicated," Ichigo grumbled, humor sparking faintly as fell back on the other man's words.
When it became apparent that Ichigo was not inclined to continue, Urahara fell silent to consider his options. He sank slowly into the futon, head resting against the curve of his arm as he tried to sort through the disjointed bits of information. There were still some large pieces that were missing from the puzzle, but some of the smaller fragments seemed to be falling into place. The hollow's tempered allegiance during the last part of the war, the settling of his previously unpredictable rage, the hint of memory drifting in his not quite hostile tone. It was all tied together in this strange little mess.
Urahara's brain tripped to a halt, sticking on a thought that he couldn't shake free. It seemed so unlikely with everything he'd known, and there was no possible way he could have missed such a thing, but his mind kept drifting toward the same unsettling conclusion.
"He had a lover at some point," he murmured to himself. An extremely skilled one.
"No…well…not exactly," Ichigo amended hesitantly, rolling to face him with a look of torn frustration. "That makes it sound like he was fucking someone."
"Then what?" Urahara pressed gently, his tone laced with genuine confusion. "These techniques are extremely sexual."
"I told you, it's complicated," Ichigo repeated, the humor gone from his serious gaze. "And it's not my story. I wasn't there."
They studied each other for a long moment, grey-green skimming over closed-off brown. The signs were starting to show in the set of his jaw; Ichigo was bracing for the coming assault, determination radiating through the lines of his body. Old determination, Urahara realized distantly, loyalties steeped in trust that would not easily be undone. Some things didn't change, and Ichigo's tenacity once he really settled in was one of them. Urahara felt his smile start to threaten, conceding the lost cause as he brushed a kiss over those stubborn lips.
"You house such interesting secrets," he whispered, eyeing him with a vague sense of wonder and filing it away for another time. "Not a day goes by where I find myself bored."
"Whatever." Ichigo rolled his eyes, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief.
Urahara's mind was still reeling, but there was nothing to be done, at least for the moment. Whatever situations the hollow had encountered, Ichigo was neither ready nor willing to divulge the details. Still, for Ichigo not to be present would mean the hollow had taken him over completely. That was extremely dangerous, especially in the earlier days when their balance had still been tenuous at best. Urahara had a hard time believing he could have missed such a thing. It was incredibly fascinating, and equally troubling.
Ichigo edged closer in an attempt to distract him, the warm caress of lips brushing light over his jaw. He let his head fall back, accepting the offering, willing to let it go for the sake of their peace. The mouth slid wet over the point of his chin, working slow kisses down the curve of his neck. Urahara purred a sound of contentment as teeth dragging gently over sensitive skin. Ichigo's tongue darted out, tracing across his flesh, pressing into the marks he'd left in his shoulder. His mouth closed over the tender flesh, sucking gently, teasing a sting through the soft hum of pleasure.
Urahara groaned deep in his throat, threading into his hair to pull him closer. He shifted slowly, rolling Ichigo beneath him, rocking to meet his already straining erection. A moan drifted moist on their intertwined tongues as Ichigo's leg slid higher, hooking over his hip as they moved together. His hands roamed over Ichigo twitching body, fingers skimming lightly across a tightly coiled nipple as the barest hint of power drifting feather light between them.
"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" Ichigo moaned, eyes slipping shut under the shuddering pulse.
"It's a terrible way to discourage someone from sleeping with you," Urahara pointed out smoothly, catching Ichigo's chin with the backs of his fingers. "Which, you may recall, I have been attempting to do."
"And now?" Ichigo's voice was thick, tongue darting out to wet eager lips.
"Now, there are many young ears very close at hand," he laughed softly, breath gliding hot over Ichigo's skin. "And it wouldn't encourage you to be quiet, either."
"Fuck." Ichigo panted, lust and frustration rolling off him in waves. "That's not fair."
"Life rarely is." Urahara's chuckle turned dark, rolling his hips one last, aching time. "Welcome to the newfound joys of parenthood."