The Girls, Part Three
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach. If it weren’t for Kubo Tite’s story which beats all fanfic out there, I wouldn’t be writing in this fandom. I bow before Kubo-sensei.
Description: This (for real this time) is the NC17 part. Ichigo and Ishida “resolve” some issues. For those of you who skim through plot, those ten pages of boysex in the middle are just for you--wrapped up in shiny paper and tied with a red spirit thread. Sorry it’s ten pages of romantic sex, but I can’t sustain pure graphic description that long.
Warnings: Funny (as in ha-ha) sex, very mild dominance stuff, toe-licking, anulingus, and the usual yaoi position for these two.
"So dear I love him that with him, all deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life." ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost.
Ichigo needed to jack off.
Yesterday life had dwindled into a nothingness worse than the tedium Ichigo had felt while trapped in Hueco Mundo. There, his worst fear had been dying. Here, he was afraid of living without Uryuu. He wasn’t sure if he could do that.
How could it be that one stuck-up Quincy person who wore weird clothes and always called him a moron was that important to him? People were right; love is crazy.
Yesterday, Ichigo hated himself. Today, the future was spinning closer and closer, and maybe Ichigo had a chance at making the world right again.
But first he really needed to jack off.
He needed a shower because he’d sweated buckets from nervousness since speaking to Uryuu. He didn’t want to look like he was too eager to go to Uryuu’s place but then he didn’t want to look too casual about this “resolving things.” He figured that giving himself about an hour before heading over would be right.
But until then he couldn’t just wait in anguish, could he? He couldn’t just malinger, hoping for the hour he would resolve things right into Uryuu’s pretty white-cheeked ass, could he?
Jacking off was the best way Ichigo knew how to kill time.
Once in the shower, he realized that there was no escaping the wait. He hadn’t expected that taking hold of his own cock would remind him of what was at stake. Being forgiven or being judged again by that narrow-eyed cool Quincy glare. Tomorrow Ichigo would be miserable or tomorrow he would be glad.
We’re talking about my whole life here.
Like he had every morning since Uryuu left, he pumped himself, trying to remember past good times of panting and groaning, but no past sex could compare to awaited-for sex.
He shut off the shower.
He looked down at his raging erection and felt insane.
He felt the impulse to growl and slam his fist against the bathroom tile. He would have done so--except that he was still sane enough to remember that he lived in a house with two sisters and a freaky dad.
He didn’t finish himself. Why bother? His life for the past two weeks had been a perpetual hard-on, anyway, and nothing could assuage the longing for something else--Uryuu’s acceptance? Uryuu’s passing grade? It was pitiful that he cared so much but he didn’t care about that. Not bothering to towel off, he picked up the school pants he’d dropped before stepping into the shower. Zipping them over his erection (and taking his belt out one or two holes), he knew that there was nowhere to go but to Uryuu’s apartment.
It takes crazy to get to the truth. He still believed that. It takes crazy to push towards tomorrow.
He was racing down the stairs with his shirt not even buttoned, and Yuzu was coming up.
“Yo.” That had to be enough. Ichigo didn’t want to look at her because she sometimes needed him for homework help and he had to get past her so he could run out the door--
But he looked.
“Ichi-nii?” Yuzu’s wide-eyed look of perfect innocence should have been enough to wipe all lascivious thoughts of Uryuu from Ichigo’s mind but this afternoon there was no abating the craziness.
Ichigo stopped and gave his sister an impatient glare and she looked a little frightened.
“What?” Ichigo whined. “Get Karin to help you with your math.”
“You don’t look right,” Yuzu said. “You look like you’re about to turn into a monster.”
At those words, Ichigo felt a pang of terror. The Other had been sleeping for a long time, ever since Hueco Mundo.
No, no, this craziness wasn’t the kind that wanted to conquer as a violent King; the craziness was the kind that needed to kneel before Uryuu and beg for forgiveness.
The vague fear that the Other might make an appearance didn’t stop him from pushing past his tiny sister and heading towards the door.
“What’s the matter? Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I left something somewhere,” Ichigo lied. “I’ve got to run and get it back before someone picks it up and steals it.”
Ichigo was out the door and trying to walk, not shunpou, down the sidewalk, when he realized that he hadn’t told Yuzu a lie after all.
I left someone somewhere. I’ve got to get him back before someone steals him.
From her perch in a tree at lunchtime, Rukia had seen Ichigo talking to Ishida. She’d smiled at the erotic tension between the boys--even though, in her secret self, she was hoping against hope that the love affair wouldn’t work out. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Ichigo’s happiness or that she wanted Ishida to feel more pain, it was that the Ichigo she had become fast friends with in recent days was not the Ichigo she remembered. She missed the old unconsummated anxiety.
She hadn’t let go completely of an unspoken dream. It was going to take some getting used to this new friend, the one who would never marry her and live with her in Soul Society.
This Kurosaki Ichigo was an older, more emotionally stable (yes, even despite his bursts of lunacy and stalking), more confident person. This Ichigo, despite being miserable about Ishida, wasn’t the glum-faced Ichigo of old. It must’ve taken all the bravery in his soul to tell to tell a woman with whom he’d been intimate that he was in love with someone else. And to tell her that it was Ishida.
I knew he had it in him to step up to Ishida. He had it in him to step up to me.
Presuming that Ichigo would be at Ishida’s before long, Rukia had jumped down from her tree limb and missed the new Ichigo too. Today his interest isn’t going to be plotting with me how to get Ishida back; it’s going to be in being with Ishida.
This afternoon’s tryst also meant that Inoue wasn’t going to have her afterschool porch therapy with Ishida.
It was tournament season too. Tatsuki was going to be at soccer practice again.
Inoue must be lonely.
If I can get over Ichigo, then so can she. It’s really not a matter of getting over him, though. It’s just moving him to another place in your heart.
Rukia considered going to visit Inoue but then beat down the notion. Too much interaction with Inoue, and if not necessarily spilling the beans about Ichigo and Ishida, Rukia might unintentionally give the girl some clues. Inoue was smart. She was going to find out sooner or later.
The vulnerable, beautiful heart that was Inoue Orihime’s. Was it really so fragile? Did it have to be protected to the point where her friends didn’t tell her the truth?
After watching the boys take their first nervous steps toward a reconciliation, Rukia had turned her attention to the bright-eyed Inoue Orihime who was eating a second slice of cake. This girl wasn’t gloomy--she had four different desserts in her lunchbox.
Rukia didn’t know Inoue as well as she knew Ichigo, but she knew her well enough to see a strength of spirit that could stretch as wide as her school sweater over her buxom form. Inoue was no fainting flower. When Rukia had trained with her in Soul Society, Inoue had not once seem grieved or heartsick there. She had been concentrating on her fighting.
Her whole life isn’t Ichigo.
Under the green tree, in the patches of light and dark, Rukia had fought her curiosity. She hadn’t talked to Inoue one on one in a long while. What was the truth about Ishida? What was the truth about her feelings for Ichigo? Rukia wasn’t the popped-by-to-say-hello sort of friend. She needed a good excuse to visit Inoue after school and she didn’t have one.
Then she thought bad-tasting things.
There was a whole unopened bag of caramel butter chips in the Kurosaki house. Papa Kurosaki had bought them by accident and no one would eat them.
If Inoue hadn’t taken note yet of something fishy between Ichigo and Ishida then there was no way she would notice a flimsy excuse to visit her. She’d just eat the chips.
All Ishida saw was the ceiling. Then his glasses fell off, and he could see much of anything.
He felt his back sliding down the wall and then he was on the floor. What? A moment ago he had answered the door and there had been Kurosaki looking grouchy as usual.
Did I faint?
No, Kurosaki had pushed him down. Kurosaki was lying on top of him, his cheek pressing Ishida’s brow.
Is this supposed to be passion? A body flying at you at shunpou speed is a little hard to take. I think he knocked the wind out of me.
Besides the resounding ache in his lungs, Ishida felt utter disgust with himself for the lack of practice that had made his reflexes slow. His cross was buttoned away in his sleeve and… what?
Kurosaki was holding that wrist as tightly as he could hold it.
Which was pretty tight.
He actually thinks I would draw my bow? That I would shoot him?
The feeling of abandonment that Ishida had begun to feel at school deepened--despite the fact that the one he felt abandoned by was squashed against his body.
“I’m sorry,” Kurosaki whispered. His voice did indeed sound a little crazy. “I thought you’d see me coming.”
“Why do you even bother? If you want to chase me with shunpou I can evade you with ransoutengai.” Ishida made a move to rise, to push Kurosaki away with his other hand, and then he felt his mouth being kissed.
And the mere pressure of Kurosaki’s lips blurred Ishida’s thoughts. No, don’t lose it just because he’s kissing you. This isn’t discourse. We can’t solve everything with one kiss.
Kurosaki’s tongue licked Ishida’s upper lip, and Ishida’s mouth opened. It was a familiar kiss but it was a little different too. Kurosaki’s tongue was sweeping around like it’d never been in there before. It was a crazy tongue. It was a crazy Kurosaki.
If I don’t want this, then why am I kissing him back? You’ve always sent him double messages, Ishida. This is why he’s crazy now.
Teeth pressing Ishida’s teeth, a relentless bite of a kiss.
My fault he’s crazy. Ishida stopped kissing back. “Kurosaki--” Lips on his mouth. “Kurosaki--” Lips on his cheek. “Kurosaki, we need to talk.”
Crazy Kurosaki was still holding Ishida’s wrist as if he expected a struggle, but the grasp was loosening and the kisses were becoming softer. Ishida wondered if he should just lie still until Kurosaki felt embarrassed or if he should try to push him off.
“I missed you, I missed you” Kurosaki was kissing his throat.
This was promising. At least Kurosaki was talking. At least Kurosaki had missed him.
“I’m sorry. I missed you so much, Uryuu. I missed you so much.”
The moron’s ardor was touching; it really was.
“There’s no one but you, Uryuu.”
As Ishida’s heart was softening, his penis was hardening.
“If I never see you again after this--” Kurosaki was mumbling crazy things through wet kisses that Ishida couldn’t make out. “But it matters, it matters--”
At this point Ishida wanted to move his wrist--not to struggle but to bring hand his hand to Kurosaki’s brow. He wanted to touch the crazy orange head, to soothe this lunacy. Really, they had to talk first. The guy needed to calm down.
It did appear by now that there was a high probability of sex, but Ishida was still hoping for a little conversation first.
“I missed you.” It was a wet plea on Ishida’s neck. The poor sex-crazed Kurosaki. He wouldn’t be acting this way if he was in love with Kuchiki-san, would he?
“I know,” Ishida said in a voice he hoped was gentle but not patronizing. “I missed you too but--”
Ishida’s mouth was being kissed again. This time Kurosaki was breathing harder and the sound was unbelievably arousing. Oh damn it, damn it, Kurosaki!
Then Ishida both heard and felt the soft, desperate whimper in Kurosaki’s throat, and it was all over. Ishida felt all his inhibitions unclench the way they always did if he lay long enough in this position with Kurosaki. Ishida’s lips parted and he arched his neck, offering his throat.
Kurosaki, who still hadn’t let go of Ishida’s weapon hand, pulled away. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
Ishida’s open mouth made a noise that was supposed to be we need to talk but it sounded like ta….
“You want it. Tell me you want it. Say fuck me, Kurosaki.”
This was odd. Ishida stared at the face gripped with passion and remembered that Kurosaki was acting a little crazy when he came through the door. Normal people don’t barge in and knock their ex-lovers to the floor. Maybe this was that Hollow person who Urahara-san said had given Kurosaki some trouble….
Kurosaki shook Ishida’s shoulders. “Don’t play around. SAY IT. And say please.”
As turned on as he was, Ishida reached for an impromptu psychological evaluation of the person pinning him to the floor. Maybe Kurosaki wasn’t being all that crazy. Maybe he had learned some hardcore dominance technique in the past couple weeks. Maybe he expected Ishida to something ugly in leather. What exactly, Ishida couldn’t guess, since his knowledge of these things was limited to what he’d seen on television.
“I’m serious, Uryuu. You have to ask for it.”
Well, Ishida wasn’t going to beg. A Quincy didn’t do that. He didn’t want to be a fetish object, and he certainly didn’t have to have sex with Kurosaki just because Kurosaki wanted him to. Their relationship wasn’t about sex. Maybe it had started that way, but it shouldn’t end that way.
This is not about sex.
Ishida’s hardness against the hardness in Kurosaki’s pants said otherwise.
“Make up your mind, Uryuu. Don’t do this with me and later say you couldn’t help yourself and that it didn’t matter to you.”
Oh! He was just asking for permission.
“Stop staring at me and say that you want me to fuck you and fuck you hard.”
No matter how much Kurosaki seemed to be the type who might actually like to beat up a sex partner, the moron was really just asking for permission.
“You moron. I never said you were a rapist. I said you were an out-of-control sex maniac.”
“And this is a bad thing?”
“Look, just tell me who I am to you. I don’t want to be second to any other lover of yours. I’m a Quincy. I don’t--”
“Shut up, Uryuu. You know that I don’t want to rape anybody but you.”
At that, Ishida’s hips rose to writhe against Kurosaki’s. Oh God how much Ishida wanted to be fucked by him.
Kurosaki seemed to take the impatient hips as a sign of acquiescence, and clothes started to come off. Kurosaki’s belt-buckle clanged on the floor.
“Fuck me,” Ishida said softly. “Please fuck me.”
Kurosaki seemed to take the whispered words as a sign of legal consent, so he pulled on Ishida’s collar and tore the shirt right off.
For a while it was all sensation. Ishida’s nipples were being sucked and tugged, one after the other. Before one nipple could relish Kurosaki’s hot mouth, the other was assaulted and the former felt cold and pimpled from the loss.
When Kurosaki’s mouth traveled lower, the pressure between Ishida legs and inside his skull skyrocketed. Everytime Kurosaki touched a different part of his body, Ishida startled. It was too much too fast. He tried to focus his eyes on spots on the ceiling but that was impossible since his glasses were off. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on the spots he saw there. He wanted to come--he needed to come or die because the hot sucking on his kneecap was so excruciatingly sexy.
Then a sudden relief. Where did he go? Ishida’s body cooled in an instant from the absence of that mouth, and he opened his eyes to see what had happened.
Somehow Ishida’s pants were gone but his socks were still on. Ichigo was pulling them off.
Ishida rose on one elbow and marveled at the sight. He was grateful that he was not the sort of person who laughed aloud at these things because there was a crazy person at his feet, and this crazy person was holding one of Ishida’s ankles as if ankles were the body’s most fragile and precious part.
Why is he staring at my foot?
Ichigo pulled off a sock, admired Ishida’s toes and began to suck on them. Ishida didn’t think the situation was comical anymore; he threw back his head and felt wave after wave of pleasure travel from toe to groin.
“That’s enough,” he gasped. “That’s enough. FUCK me.”
“I will, I will.”
All this time, Kurosaki hadn’t even touched Ishida’s crotch yet. His mouth had been landing on some of the strangest places on Ishida’s body. Head, shoulders, knees and toes--everywhere but the place about to explode into Big Mess, Ground Zero if Ishida didn’t get a grip.
Hold on, hold on. He’s going to fuck you eventually.
And then a delicate lick touched the inside of his thigh. Ishida realized that his wrist wasn't being clamped anymore. His wrist prickled and stung as the skin came back to life.
Kurosaki noticed the white ring around Ishida’s wrist too and kissed it.
Ishida wasn’t certain, but it felt like Kurosaki was trying to communicate some form of worship. An I-love-every-part-of-you worship.
Ishida couldn’t distract himself with those musings, though, because Kurosaki had now risen to his knees.
It was very strange--the first time Ishida had seen Kurosaki he hadn’t thought him a particularly attractive boy. Now all he saw was a creature of absolute beauty. Naked, rose-colored, chest heaving, Kurosaki was lean and muscled perfection, a body all the more gorgeous because Kurosaki wasn’t aware of its gorgeousness.
His large red erection was not far from Ishida’s face.
Kurosaki wasn’t asking to be sucked off, but Ishida moved on impulse. He brought his lips forward and licked the head lovingly, adoringly, and Kurosaki moaned.
A rose-cheeked Adonis. How did the poem go? Kurosaki liked Shakespeare. The first time Ishida had taken note of Kurosaki was not when sensing his strange reiatsu but when their teacher assigned a poem that no one read but Kurosaki. Kurosaki wrote the only paper turned in on time, and he volunteered for the oral report.
Ishida had managed to write a paper without reading it, of course, as most students did in English literature, but he wanted to read this one because Kurosaki had. Envious, Ishida had scoured the poem for meaning.
Adonis… something, something, stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man … more red than roses, whiter than doves….
Loving Kurosaki was on that high a plane. A supernatural one, a mythical one.
Adonis, more lovely than a man.
Kurosaki kept moaning, and ran his fingers through Ishida’s hair with a stroke so tender it was reverent and shy.
It’s like we’re worshipping each other.
The mere touch of a fingertip on Ishida’s ear made him shiver. He knew this feeling too well--it happened when things were about to get more painful than pleasant, when desire would start to tear at his throat, his thighs, his eyes.
Ishida’s mouth let go.
Ishida fell backwards and opened his arms.
“Uryuu, Uryuu, Uryuu….” Ordinary kissing held off the pain for a little while longer.
“What? They’re a lot like song lyrics,” Kurosaki had said when teased for knowing so much about Shakespeare. “The sonnets don’t always make sense because I don’t think they’re supposed to.”
Kurosaki pushed Ishida’s legs apart.
Kurosaki cupped Ishida’s scrotum and rolled it gently in his palm.
Kurosaki lay his face on Ishida’s groin and rubbed his cheek against the hairs there.
Ishida was too senseless to speak by now, and Kurosaki tongue began to circle Ishida’s hole. Ishida was aware of his arms flailing. He couldn’t stop them. He clutched at the floor and couldn’t get a handhold.
Kurosaki’s lips formed a tiny o and began to suck.
Ishida’s eyes burned. He opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Kurosaki’s tongue pushed inside. It pushed deep, just short of the place where Ishida wanted to feel pushing. Warm saliva filled the space and ran out in a thin trickle.
Ishida arched his back so much that he sat up.
Then he was down again, his ankles on either side of Kurosaki’s face and his heart hammering. He didn’t have the voice to beg. His mind shouted, “Fuck me, please.”
Kurosaki entered him easily, the way he always did, and to Ishida’s dismay, didn’t move. So Ishida clawed at Kurosaki’s shoulders and began to push backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, fucking himself.
“Uryuu, I love you.”
The bastard could still talk. It wasn’t fair.
“Fuck you, Uryuu, you make me crazy. You make me crazy like this.”
It was Kurosaki’s turn to work his hips uncontrollably. The pounding began in regular strokes but disintegrated into stops and starts. The impatience was stinging Ishida and his mouth was hissing.
Pain, pain, an unbearable lurching towards no relief. No relief in sight.
“Uryuu, you’re turning pink.”
“I… I am?”
Ishida broke with those words. He held onto Kurosaki and rode the too-brief waves of a hard, deep orgasm. He shivered a little more and felt aware of himself sweating and panting with his back to a hot floor.
Kurosaki sped up and took huge gasps of air. He finished not long after Ishida, grimacing and looking more cruel than he ever did when striking with his sword. The he rolled off Ishida.
The room throbbed with their own hearts. It took a long time, longer than Ishida could remember it having taken before, until he felt recovered enough to talk.
But he didn’t talk and neither did Kurosaki. They lay there until both of them were breathing normally and the semen was cool on Ishida’s belly.
“I told Rukia everything,” Kurosaki finally said. His voice wasn’t crazy anymore. “Rukia understood. She told me to find you, to come after you, and I didn’t listen.”
“It’s okay, Kurosaki.” For some reason Ishida didn’t want to hear the apology--even though for days that’s all he had wanted to hear.
“I’m a fuck-up,” Kurosaki said. “You can beat me up if you want. You really can. Only don’t ever leave me again.”
That was a pretty romantic thing for Kurosaki to say. Ishida felt his heart speeding up again.
“And if you do want to leave me again, please kill me first, okay? Shoot me with an arrow so it’s the last thing I feel.”
Ishida didn’t know who grabbed who but their arms were around one another again.
“You moron.” Ishida felt his throat tighten.
“I thought you were sleeping with Inoue,” Kurosaki continued. He wasn’t going to quit berating himself, and Ishida just wanted him to stop.
“I know, I know, everybody thought that. It wasn’t just you.”
“I should have been more careful about guarding against gossip. I didn’t protect Inoue-san. It was my fault. I’ll have to fix that up somehow, Kurosaki.”
“It’s okay. People will forget about it. They’ll find something else to gossip about.”
Another long silence, and the idle thought floated through Ishida’s mind that he and Kurosaki seemed to have sex on the floor a lot. Maybe because Ishida’s bed was a single. It was better to start on the floor than to fall of the bed.
“The irony,” Ishida said, “was that I thought you were sleeping with Kuchiki-san. It was a comedy of errors. It was like a short story by O Henry.”
“You mean you can quote whole sonnets from Shakespeare but you don’t know who O Henry is?”
“He’s probably American. Our class didn’t get to American literature that year.”
Rukia was complaining about humans. Modern humans had no tact, no discretion. They kissed in public and posted pictures of themselves doing bizarre things on the Internet. They assumed things about people when these people were doing nothing more than just sitting on a porch.
“Oh I know,” Inoue said. She was eating her caramel chips unenthusiastically. “I wasn’t bothered. I thought Ishida-kun was bothered, though, so I tried to help him get over it. I wanted to sit next to him and be able to make faces and stuff--”
“Modern humans judge too quickly,” Rukia was going on. “They don’t respect elders who have more experience to judge.”
“I didn’t know anything about this tradition where lovers sit next to each other in class,” Inoue said.
“They think independence means thinking the opposite of what is obvious and true. Conspiracy theories! Even television shows about gossip! They demand entertainment.”
“People were demanding something?”
“They yell at each other of these talk shows. Modern humans are too loud.”
“I think that’s just Asano-kun,” Inoue said.
“The only way to combat this rumor,” Rukia concluded righteously, “is to walk right up to the gossipers within hearing distance of the other gossipers and say oh so you say you saw Ishida leaving my apartment in the morning! Untrue! Untrue!
“Oh but he really did spend the night.”
Rukia searched Inoue’s innocent face. The girl was odd but not so odd as to think that having sex with Ishida was no big deal.
“You… you didn’t… with Ishida, did you?”
“Didn’t what?” Inoue shot back the last crumbs of her chips and rumpled the bag. “Ishida didn’t want to leave after I started crying. He was so gentlemanly.”
A wave of sympathy washed over Rukia, and she smiled at Inoue. “Yeah, Ishida’s like that. Why were you crying?”
Inoue blushed as if she believed that no one knew, even though last year she had spoken freely of the fact at lunchtime. Maybe it was only Rukia who Inoue wanted to keep her true feelings from--because she suspected that a romance between her and Ichigo.
Rukia didn’t like being protected this way. So this was what made a partition between Rukia and Inoue. That wall of a lie. Rukia wanted to knock it down.
Inoue’s eyes were lowered and her cheeks were burning. “I was being foolish about something.”
“Ichigo,” Rukia said in a plain voice. “You love him so much it hurts.”
Inoue raised her eyes. The tears were already shining in them. “Don’t you?”
The question took Rukia aback for a moment, and then she spoke in as breezy a voice as she could manage. “Sure. I love him. But not like that.”
Inoue’s eyes widened. “Really? But I thought--”
Everybody thought. But people thinking so didn’t make it true. Ichigo’s real love, meanwhile, was a secret. Rukia wondered how long that would last.
The skies was graying and growing dusky. The girls had been sitting on the porch for two hours.
“It’s hot,” Rukia said. “Let’s go inside.” She didn’t mention that the main reason she wanted to go inside wasn’t the heat--her behind wasn’t as ample as Inoue’s and her tailbone couldn’t handle the modern sitting position. She kept wanting to sit feet on knees with her hands in her lap, but that posture would’ve given her away as person from another time.
“I want to look at the sky until the blue goes away.”
“Why have you started doing this lately, Inoue? This porch thing?”
“Ishida-kun got me used to this,” Inoue said. “When I sit here, I expect nice things to happen. I don’t think about the war. I don’t think about wanting a family and a happy life--(the slight pause in her voice told Rukia that Inoue purposefully didn’t mention with Kurosaki-kun). I don’t worry about the future. Because the sky….” Inoue looked up. “is so big and I’m so little and Ishida-kun brings me little presents. And today--look, you showed up with chips. Friendship seems to happen here, and I think that’s the best kind of love of all, don’t you?”
Rukia didn’t quite catch all of that wistful optimism. She had been too entranced by Inoue’s glistening eyes.
She was glad that there were women in the world like Inoue Orihime.
She cries so other people don’t have to.
I think she cries so that I don’t have to.
She looked up at the sky to see what it could be that Inoue found so hypnotizing up there. It was even a sunset yet. It was just plain gray.
Ishida wasn’t too crazy about his school shirt being torn because he only had so many and he washed clothes on a strict schedule.
He picked up the ripped fabric and saw that it was beyond repair.
“Ruined it, didn’t I?” said Kurosaki.
The orange-haired, rose-cheeked Adonis was still nude, sitting on the couch with a spent look on his face. Ishida used to regale him for walking around naked in this apartment. Why? What did it matter if someone caught a glimpse of him from the street. Kurosaki looked like Adonis.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
Ishida felt a simple gladness that Kurosaki was back on his couch but it was something else too … it was that … no, it couldn’t be that … it was that Ishida had forgiven him?
And if so, there was no reason to resolve anything. No reason to talk about what had happened in the past.
Ishida sat next to Kurosaki and the tips of his fingers across the fine, almost invisible gold hairs on Kurosaki’s chest. It was a loving gesture, and Ishida could tell that Kurosaki was near bursting with joy over it.
“If that was make-up sex, I’ve had better,” Ishida said.
“You’ve only ever had with me, so that’s not much of an insult.”
“I didn’t mean it as one.”
“What did you mean then?
“I meant that make-up sex wasn’t what everyone says it is.” Ishida felt unusually sleepy. It would not be very manly of him, though, to lie right down and take a post-fuck nap. That was for noobies. He and Kurosaki needed to have more sex. “Make-up sex,” Ishida continued, “is supposed to be glorious.”
“I wasn’t glorious?”
“Fairly glorious. But you’ve been more glorious on other occasions.”
“I have not yet begun to glory,” said Kurosaki and pulled Ishida closer for a kiss.
Ishida tweaked a hair near Kurosaki’s nipple and the boy flinched. “Hey!”
“You moron, I was just joking. You were pretty damn glorious.”
“I know,” Kurosaki said. “I was just pretending to be dumb.”
“You’re good at that.”
Kurosaki. Ishida stared at that good, happy, dumb face.
The face was the one that had never lost courage in Hueco Mundo. His arms were the ones that held Ishida through the darkness at the End of the World.
The kiss wasn’t one like Ishida could remember. Not one of those perfunctory goodbye-hello-thankyouforthesex-yeahIlov
Kurosaki opened his mouth, and Ishida opened his, and the two open mouths grazed lips. Kurosaki’s open mouth swept further up Ishida’s cheek, and Ishida’s rose to meet it. Their tongues touched. The room was quiet enough now--no breathy grunts and moans of sex to override the wet noise of simple kisses.
Love suspended. Love that would invariably move forward into a less sacred measure of time. Into sex or dinner or teasing or an argument but not into forever. This felt like forever. Forever for a little while.
Ishida tried to contain the rareness of the moment. Some people haven’t known this feeling yet; some people might never know it.
“Kurosaki, do you think the girls are going to be alright?”
It was hard to imagine them not being alright; they were the kind of girls who always came out alive but….
Kurosaki, preoccupied with sucking on Ishida’s earlobe, paused to whisper: “Oh they’ll be alright. They’re girls.”
It was a facile statement and Ishida wanted to call Kurosaki on its insensitivity but not now. He only wanted to lie on his lover’s chest.
So he did.
And for a long while, maybe forever, each was content in the other’s company.