_debbiechan_ (_debbiechan_) wrote in bleachness,
_debbiechan_
_debbiechan_
bleachness

"You're Taking Too Long," NC17 IchiIshi, sequel to "Instant."

When I get started writing these boys, I can't stop. That's so funny because last year IchiIshi was one of the pairings I thought would never interest me.

Still having problems with the hardcore. And everything I write seems way too long for the Kink Meme.
Be prepared: some fluffiness ahead!


You’re Taking Too Long
by debbiechan



Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach and neither do I intend to make any financial profit from this story.

Description: NC17, IchiIshi. A sequel to “Instant.”

Warning: boysex

Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace!

Romeo and Juliet, ACT V Scene 3.
 ~ William Shakespeare




Ichigo was in his Shinigami form, not to kill Hollow but to enter into Ishida’s room unnoticed. It was only ten p.m. but the university dormitories disallowed visitors after eight. Ichigo presumed that Ishida would still be awake, sitting with a book and that pensive look of his.

Flash-stepping across the rooftops, Ichigo worried about his obsessive-ness but kept moving forward anyway. After having spent all afternoon at the university, here he was, bounding back to it. He’d gotten off the bus at the Karakura station a mere hour ago. What more did he want? What would he tell Ishida? I’m scoping out prospective med schools for myself? Ishida would be pissed.

It had lasted the whole afternoon, but it had been a painful visit--their first since Ishida left for medical school two weeks ago. “You’ll be here soon,” Ishida had offered, but Ichigo knew that was bull. Even though anyone could take a test and qualify for the six-year medical program, Ishida would always be out-classing Ichigo academically. And on the odd chance that Ichigo did get into medical school, Ishida would’ve already graduated at some stupendously early date and be interning at some prestigious hospital overseas.

Besides, Ichigo didn’t think that Isshin’s promises that entrance exams were “easy as pie” had any basis in earthly reality.

The fact that Ichigo was an intellectual failure had bothered him at every step on the campus. He would never be with Ishida in the same dorms. Even if Ichigo came here, to wear an apron and sell skewered meat on a street-corner just to be near Ishida, Ichigo had his father’s clinic to consider. He’d promised Isshin he would help with the failing family business, and Ichigo was a man of his word.

The only times I get out of Karakura are when I go to another dimension.

The medical school campus had seemed like another dimension. A predominantly male student body and a weirdly quiet one. It was like a whole bunch of Ishidas were walking around. Ishida’s room was in the third year building because the first year dorms were full, and Ichigo had been worried about that. He’d eyed the young men as they passed in the corridor, not to admire their shirt-and-tied handsomeness (most were, in fact, bleary-eyed nerds, exhausted from studying) but to see if any were predatory rakes who would seduce his Uryuu. Ichigo had soon been ashamed of his jealousy. The way Ishida walked said that he was nobody’s fool. He outshone the third-years. Brighter-eyed, more poised, certainly more beautiful. A thoroughbred among the ordinary.

Ichigo went gliding over a large sweep of land without buildings. He landed on a metal warehouse and continued at his unhurried pace.

I must be doing something right if this special person is my partner, friend, lover or … whatever we decided last month … Boyfriend? Ishida had veto-ed that last one because it sounded too high school. Lover? Maybe that was the designated term, but it didn’t always fit. You don’t do laundry or dishes or watch rented movies or sit around bored, pitching rocks into a pond with your lover.

This afternoon, though, they had been nothing else but lovers. After a cafeteria dinner and stroll around the grounds (and Ichigo hadn’t seen the point of that, period), Ishida led Ichigo his dorm room. As soon as the door shut, they didn’t bother to lock eyes before they locked lips, and after some clutching of clothes, they fell, as was their habit, on the floor.

There, they had sex for six straight hours. Their supernatural sensitivities and their still demanding teenage hormones propelled them, but even for a Quincy and a Shinigami, six hours was a long time.

However much absence had made their hearts grow fond, the boys discovered that absence also made the cock grow quicker: the first two fucks were over in seconds with neither boy undressed and no endearments spoken.

“Have you even masturbated since I left?” Ishida had tried to put all the responsibility for the frantic sessions on Ichigo.

“Every day,” Ichigo had replied. “Every day thinking about you.”

That last romance-tinged remark managed to get them out of their shirts and socks for the third session and even allowed time for Ishida to fetch the lube from the dresser drawer.

They fucked until they were faint-headed. They fucked until they were sore. Ishida, whose accommodating ass never got un-fuckably raw, made expressions of pain that Ichigo hadn’t seen before. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” And Ichigo hadn’t stopped. In the shower he’d dropped to his knees to see if the wetness was soothing the chafe, and he’d lingered too long looking between Ishida’s legs. Ishida’s fingers had combed Ichigo’s hair and before they knew it, the boys were fucking on the cold bathroom tile.

Bathwater had dripped from Ichigo’s nose, Ishida had let out a throaty oof at each thrust, and the wet sounds of sex had been amplified by the acoustics of the bathroom. “You have your own bathroom,” Ichigo had observed. “My father is Ishida Ryuuken,” said Ishida, who’d climaxed every time despite his raw ass. “I have a lot to prove here.”

And then it had been eight-o-clock.

Ichigo landed on the pebble pathway of the university garden and decided to walk the rest of the way.

“It’s not the same,” he said out-loud. He walked through the light of the gas lamp without making a shadow.

Ishida had tried to reassure Ichigo’s obvious melancholy with the promise that when he graduated, Uryuu Ishida could practice wherever he wanted--even, Ryuuken-go-to-Hell, at the Kurosaki Clinic. Wherever the university was that accepted Ichigo, Ishida would go. They’d share an apartment again. They’d annoy people with their avant guarde décor. They get a cat.

But Ichigo knew that he wouldn’t make it in university. Being a “Substitute Shinigami” would not correspond with the demands of a serious schedule. In high school he’d gotten away with cutting class to kill Hollow, but in university, not all professors were Ms. Ochi.

 Ishida might be embarrassed by his dumb, unambitious boyfriend.

“It’s not the same.”

What did Ichigo want? Why was he coming back here? It wasn’t for sex--he’d gotten plenty of that for six hours and his entire groin hurt. It wasn’t for the spicy conversation--they’d started arguing in the cafeteria about why a stroll through the gardens was necessary, even if it meant an hour’s less of nakedness. What was it Ishida had said? Something about aesthetics and quiet contemplation. How … which one was it? … Was contemplation requisite for a loving relationship?

Too eager to get laid, Ichigo had missed a lot of Ishida had been saying about the trees and flowers, let alone catching anything about contemplation.

He was walking past the same trees. He recognized their contours and their leaves even if he didn’t know their damn names. The academic buildings were black shapes on a dark midnight sky, but almost every window in the dorms was lit.

You have to learn to stay up all night if you want to make it as a doctor. I guess the graduates are only those who can operate on your liver even if they’re dead drunk and hallucinating from lack of sleep.

I could probably do that much.

As he came closer, Ichigo saw that many of the dorm windows were open. It was typhoon season, uncomfortably humid, and the students didn’t have air conditioning. He bounded up to Ishida’s floor, and saw, with surprise, that the diligent scholar’s room was dark.

Maybe he’s so smart he doesn’t need to study that much.

Maybe he’s playing around with some student, kissing and touching and….

Ichigo flew through the window.

Ishida was asleep. He had picked up all the mess they’d made that afternoon. There was a picture of Ichigo on the study desk, and it stabbed Ichigo to realize that he hadn’t noticed it before…. Or maybe Ishida put it out only after Ichigo left.

Gods, what a beautiful face. Ichigo had not noticed beautiful faces in people until he saw Uryuu’s. Ishida-aesthetics, he called it. He compared nose, chins, and mouths to Ishida’s now and caught the tiny but fascinating differences between humans who looked essentially the same.

Quiet contemplation? It felt more like quiet adoration.

He’s so tired. Don’t bother him. This is all you need to see.

Ichigo knew that he should go home now, that this was the point in the movie when the lover said goodbye without the person in the bed waking up. Maybe there would be a good-bye kiss on the lips of the object of affection. And then the music of an unfulfilled love would flood the theatre.

What an unlikely scenario.

Ichigo crossed his arms. He couldn’t imagine just looking and leaving. How could anyone do that? How could anyone walk away from a beloved person looking so pure and apart from the messiness of consciousness? Maybe Ichigo would just sit in the window until morning and then say “hi.”

Under tiny-veined white eyelids, Ishida’s eyes were moving in dreams. His lashes touched his cheeks. He was perfect and--

Quick, think of some of his flaws.

Unless Ichigo could think of Ishida as an ordinary person, he was going to stare at him all night. Forgetting the fact that he himself was a death god, Ichigo felt as if he were before a god. A Quincy god who went to medical school.

He’s stuck up… he never talks and when he does, he interrupts people to tell them stupid things about the properties of minerals … his boiled rice is always mooshy … or maybe he likes it that way but it’s mooshier than the kind you get in a restaurant… he says he’s ambidextrous but he’s not … And he’s skinny… waaaaay too skinny… you can’t see his scrawniness now because he’s got the blanket pulled up to his chin the way he always….

An alabaster profile on a Grecian urn. Straight nose, pouting lips.

He’s a show-off … he’s short-sided…he’s so--

Ishida’s tiredness was the most human thing about him at the moment. Geez, give the boy some rest, you sick lecher. Ichigo was about to leave before his noisy thoughts awakened the worn-out vision of loveliness when….

The worn-out Quincy sat straight up in bed.

“God-DAMN, Uryuu, you did that like a fucking Frankenstein’s monster.”

Kurosaki yelling is especially loud and resonant so right away, Ichigo knew it was a good thing he was in Shinigami form. Otherwise, the whole dorm would’ve heard him.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” Ishida said a voice that sounded like he still was. “Your reiatsu was here the whole time.”

Ichigo sat on the window ledge with his legs inside the room. “Hi there, Uryuu.”

“What’s happened?” Ishida sounded less dreamy and more alarmed. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand. “Why do you need my help?”

Ichigo blushed.

“No,” said Ishida. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, no, no, I’m not here for the sex.” Ichigo waggled his legs in their black hakama and looked past Ishida into the tiny room. Ichigo hadn’t noticed one thing about it the whole afternoon he was here. “Although now that you mention it, we haven’t done it with me in pure reishi form in a while. That always gave things an extra kick, hmm?”

“Kurosaki!”

“Sssh, you’re human. They’ll hear you.”

“They heard me all this afternoon.” Ishida spoke in that haughty voice only he could put on. “My dorm-mates knew perfectly well who I had in here and what we were doing. We were doing it during the allotted hours, though, and not breaking the rules.”

“Nobody heard a thing. The building was almost empty. I could tell because you weren’t holding back all your little oohs and aahs.”

“Never mind,” Ishida snapped. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Trying to buy time, Ichigo continued in what he clearly recognized as Hime-speak. “I do think that whether or not this building here had people in it when two guys were going at it is an important topic for discussion because…. Whether your dorm-mates accept us as a couple is going to play a part in your campus experience. The truth is, we don’t need to sneak around. This is a gay rights issue.”

Ishida didn’t respond this time. He gave Ichigo a hard stare, and Ichigo would have been a little bit more perturbed if Ishida hadn’t been wearing pajamas.

Ishida was the only adult he knew who wore pajamas to bed.

Ishida’s stare deepened.

Ichigo was going to say something about the shiny blue trim on the pajamas but decided not to.

Ishida looked tired and human and very pissed off. A boyfriend… a friend … a lover … all that.

Ichigo fell in love again.

“I just realized something,” he said. “All today I kept thinking it’s not the same, it’s not the same. And you know why it wasn’t the same?”

“Because you fucked your cock right off?”

“Uryuu, please, do you really think I’d be here for that?”

“Yes.”

“Look here, I’m a Shinigami. Why don’t you assume that I’m dropping by after some Hollow business?”

“If you think that you can get more action just because you’re in Shinigami form, let me tell you--”

Ichigo held up his hands. “No, no. I just want to tell you what I figured out. That it wasn’t the same for me this afternoon because I didn’t fall asleep with you.”

Ishida’s expression went blank.

“More than the fucking, I think I wanted to sleep with you.”

Ishida’s eyes widened.

“I know I’m not going to wake up with you anymore.” Ichigo looked away. “And I think I realized today what you meant about contemplative moments.”

If Ichigo had been looking at Ishida instead of embarrassedly focusing his sight on a lamp, he would’ve seen Ishida’s mouth drop open.

“Didn’t think I was listening, huh?” Ichigo scratched his head. “I think what you meant by contemplative moments was that this”--his hand waved between them to indicate the relationship--“doesn’t have to do with having sex, spending time with each other, or ever planning our lives around each other. It’s … standing back and appreciating everything as it happens.”

Ichigo looked at the dorm room ceiling now. It was infinitely fascinating. “I didn’t do that contemplative moment thing very well when you were still in Karakura.”

Ichigo heard Ishida take a step towards the window. Sure, Kurosaki Ichigo had always been good at bullshitting his way through literature classes, but maybe Ishida could tell that he was being sincere this time.

“I didn’t do the contemplative thing so … ” Ichigo still couldn’t look at Ishida. “I didn’t know how much I loved you until you were gone.”

And Ichigo let out a big breath.

And Ishida inhaled audibly.

The moment required an embrace, but the boys didn’t budge. Finally, Ichigo lowered his head to look at Ishida, who seemed appropriately touched. At least he wasn’t glaring anymore.

“Come in,” Ishida said. “It’s a lousy room with no kitchen and only a single bed but--”

“That’s fine.”

“You can stay here tonight but we can’t make this a habit because I’m only human and I have biology lab every morning at eight. You’re an exhausting person, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo furrowed his eyebrows. “So you are expecting sex tonight?”

“Well ….”

“I just want to sleep, Uryuu. I’m tired too.”

“Are you telling me that the guy who learned ban kai in two days can’t do two straight days of intense sex?”

They bickered until Ishida put his head on the pillow, at which point he fell fast asleep. Ichigo followed him.

The god of Quincy loveliness stayed asleep all the night hours with a death god’s arms around him.

-----

Ishida was showered and looking through notes at a tiny desk when Ichigo woke up. Ishida was the only person he knew who actually wore a bathrobe for a significant time after a shower. The belt was even tied around Ishida’s waist in a perfect light knot.

Ichigo felt better than the day before, but thinking about the relationship had weighed down his spirit. And his spirit, being Shinigami, could withstand a lot of weight.
His hands felt tired, his joints felt tired, his mouth felt tired. There was something like a muted grief deep in the pit of his stomach.

I’m never going to live with him again like this. It’s just not going to work out.

“Come with me to the cafeteria?” Ishida had noticed that Ichigo was awake. “I usually make a cup of miso right here, but you’ll probably want to eat something more.”

“Uryuu, why is this so hard for me?”

Ishida walked to the bed and sat next to Ichigo. “Because you’ve never done this before. Separating from important people is hard--don’t look at me like that, Kurosaki. I mean important still living people. Your mother doesn’t count here.”

Ishida put his head on the pillow where Ichigo’s lay. The boys’ faces were separated by only centimeters. Ishida went on in a whisper. “Me, I left home pretty early. I’ve readjusted my life a few times. Leaving Karakura was sad, but not defeating. I mean, I miss you too, but you….”

Ishida put a hand on Ichigo’s chest and spoke even more softly. “You look a little bit crazy.”

It was what Ichigo feared. He was crazy.

But it felt nice to have one’s feelings being taken care of.

Then Ishida began to take care of Ichigo’s morning hard-on.

“You don’t have to, Uryuu.”

“I have a whole hour before class.”

He petted Ichigo over the hakama and then beneath it. Ishida’s hands were long-fingered but not delicate at all. He had calluses from drawing the bow and from sewing without a thimble. He was immensely talented at hand-jobs, and seeing as they were both still sore, Ichigo didn’t expect much else this morning.

Then Ishida pushed down the fabric and lowered his face against Ichigo’s crotch. Damn beautiful mouth. Ishida could lick and suck in way that felt right for the morning stillness. Too much passion would’ve been irreverent. Ichigo wanted to yell a couple times, but he followed Ishida’s cue of tender attentions and took Ishida’s fingers into his mouth.

After Ichigo came, Ishida gave him a look that was sleepy with lust. His mouth was extra-wet and the fingers of one hand were sucked pink. And the expected shape was poking against the terrycloth robe.

What else was Ichigo supposed to do?

“Dammit, Uryuu, why do you always have to tie things tight around your waist? Belts, bathrobes, everything….”

“It’s not tight,” said Ishida and he unloosened the knot with one finger. “You were just pulling in the wrong direction.”

Bruises on the boys were not uncommon, given all the clunking around they did on the floor while fucking. But the sight of all the red-blue bruises on Ishida’s white body made Ichigo feel a little guilty. He kissed the big one on Ishida’s ribs.

“Ouch.”

There was no place on Ishida that didn’t hurt him, so Ichigo spent a good long time licking the boy’s cock the way an animal would lick its wounded parts. Ishida just lay there. He couldn’t raise his legs to wrap around Ichigo’s neck because his muscles were stiff from having spent too much time in that position yesterday.

“I’ve never been this messed up in any battle.”

“You long-range fighters never get hurt.” Ichigo licked the underside of Ishida’s cock and spoke again. “And you never fought me or I would have fucked you up good.”

“You fucked me up good yesterday,” said Ishida in a breathless voice. “Faster.”

Two licks. “No.”

“You’re taking too long. Don’t you want to go to the cafeteria?”

It was almost class-time before Ishida, with a single tear of exultation gleaming at the corner of his eye, clutched the pillow and came. Looking at the clock, Ishida said, “We missed breakfast,” and Ichigo said that they hadn’t. Then Ishida dressed and took the time to give Ichigo a decent goodbye kiss before racing to class.

Ichigo had not planned on going back to sleep in Ishida’s bed again.

He dreamed that he was still licking Ishida’s cock. That the blue-red circles around Ishida’s nipples were gone, and the boy with the flawless skin was back. The taste that was either white miso with fish or semen. A fluid that was either semen or tears at the corners of Ichigo’s mouth. I had you for breakfast. And Ishida answering goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, a million times goodbye.

I’ll always be with you was something his mother had said, and look, she wasn’t here.

Slamming himself into Ishida with a desperate roughness, Ichigo didn’t expect to feel accepted. Warm, home. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop. He was holding hands with his lover and walking across the areas one isn’t supposed to cross in a Japanese garden. The stems snapped beneath their feet. Flowers plummeting out of the sky had little voices, like Inoue’s fairies. They said it’s over, it’s over, it’s over. He doesn’t love you anymore.

“Remember the bow and arrow guy?” Yuzu said. “The one with the glasses and the pretty face?”

Ichigo woke up when Ishida walked in and tossed his book carrier on the desk.

“I knew you were here,” Ishida said. “It’s alright. I don’t think you’re a stalker. You were just tired.”

Ichigo stared at the ceiling. “There’s some sort of intense pre-recital practice going on in Yuzu’s dance class. My dad is counting on me to clean up today.”

“I would like to see,” said Ishida, “how you clean up a house.”

“I’m competent, really I am. I just didn’t do any housework when I was living with you because you always did it before I could even think about it.”

Ishida sat on the bed. “Want to have sex?”

“No, I’d rather talk.”

“The world has turned upside down.”

“Actually, I need to go now, Uryuu.”

“Don’t look like that,” Ishida said. “It’s all going to turn out alright.”

“Doesn’t it always?” Ichigo’s voice sounded uncharacteristically bitter.

“I’ll always be with you,” Ishida said, and Ichigo cringed.

Ishida saw at the disbelief in Ichigo’s face, but he repeated himself nonetheless. “I’ll always be with you. No matter what happens, no matter where we go, we might be separated for some time but we’ll always end up back together.”

“Okay.”

Ichigo said that for Ishida’s sake. He didn’t want Ishida to have to spit out any more reassurances. Ichigo was being an impossible customer.

“Believe it.” Ishida took some heavy books out of his bag. “If we’re not going to have sex, then come eat lunch with me.”

“I have to go, Uryuu.”

It took some time before Ichigo believed it. A winter of endless years followed the longest fall semester in history. From the Emperor’s Birthday through the New Year, Ichigo was so busy with his own relatives that it seemed he saw even less of Ishida than he had when school was in session. When the cherry blossoms came, students had one day off, and Ichigo and Ishida spent that day together. Not looking at trees, of course, or drinking the pink beer.

Ishida’s dorm room was a temporary place. Like a gigai for an infinite soul. Once, Ichigo in human form had broken the desk by sitting on it, and in Shinigami form, had torn the shutters off the windows.

There is no limiting love and its reach across the miles, but as good fortune would have it, Isshin’s practice recovered and Ichigo passed the entrance exam in the early summer.

“Are there any girls on this campus?” Ichigo asked. He looked around the cafeteria. His dorm would be very far from Ishida’s, but there was always shunpou.

“They drive to eat out,” Ishida said. “They’re snotty and shallow and always talking bad about everyone and each other on their tiny cellphones. I can’t stand them.”

“Newsflash. Ishida doesn’t like girls.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ichigo saw very little of Ishida, actually, during the first year of medical school. Ichigo needed three times as much time to study, he believed, as everybody else.

“Who told you that you were dumb?”

“You, for one.”  Ichigo made a face. “You’re always calling me an idiot.”

Ishida ignored the charge. “Anyone who accomplished all the miraculous things you did to save the universe didn’t do that with a dumb brain.”

Holidays were spent inside. The splotchy ceiling of Ishida’s dorm room would feel like the endless sky, but Ichigo still wondered; if the street-corner meat seller’s job had come through, could Ichigo hold Ishida’s head, kiss his Grecian urn nose, and breathe on his godly perfect face without feeling unworthy?

Did it matter? Maybe tomorrow he would skip class to look at the cherry blossoms. He needed some alone time.

Ishida lay with his legs on Ichigo’s shoulders while Ichigo fucked him on the floor. Bright light from the shutter-less window was making Ishida squint. “Kurosaki,” he said between hard breaths. “Kurosaki, I’m going to skip class tomorrow. Let’s look at the trees. Just for a little while.”

Ichigo wasn’t straining yet. “Shut up,” he said. “I’m having a contemplative moment.”

END






Thanks to parvati4th for the kick to do a sequel.
Tags: ichiishi, yaoi, you're taking too long
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