I called Nel's release form--although it wasn't much of a call given her ram's horns. She turned into this Pan-looking creature with furry legs.I like the idea of her as satyr, but she's got some sort pastoral-named spear and I'm getting all these bucolic peaceful associations with her form. Then just as she's got Nnoi whooped, she can't kill him again and goes ZAP back into the body of a child. So now Nnoi puts the one-up on his nastiness and squishes her head or something (wasn't clear on that from the summaries) so once again, the tables have turned.... (Kubo, c'mon, pick up the pace).
The winning moment, although, as far as I can tell from Spacey and Annie's summaries at Bleach Asylum is that Pesh pulls a sword out of his pants (!!!!) and it's a glowing sword made of reishi like Ishida's Seele Shneider. Ishida isn't too thrilled about the comparison apparently and I can't wait for the raw to see how he expresses that.
Jackie has a cold so I'm posting her Pr0ntober request early. Feel better, woman. This is a weird little IshiIchi. As always, I didn't get enough sex in here because I got sidetracked by romance or something.
My Lover is Ishida Uryuu
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach. Kubo Tite created the characters of Ishida and Ichigo, and I didn’t put the boys together in this story for monetary profit. If you read this, don’t pay me. Whatever you do, don’t send money.
Description: Drabble-vignette-short thing. Another request for Pr0ntober 2007. NC-17. IchiIshi.
Ishida didn’t sleep soundly. Not ever. It was funny how he tensed-up even unconscious, and the movements under his eyelids were rapid-fire.
Ichigo wondered what Ishida could be dreaming about. Dodging arrows? Reading a poem?
Not like Ishida would tell him.
Ichigo slung his legs over the side of the bed and looked for his pants. There they were--way over by the door because he and Ishida didn’t make it past the foyer for the first fuck. The recent purchase of designer-brand lube in his big-knuckled hand, Ishida had been waiting for him; he’d tackled Ichigo by the shoulders and with those efficient fingers and Quincy refinement that never involved the tearing of clothes, Ishida had ripped into Ichigo’s body and soul like the cool blue arrow of spiritrons he was. Like Mr. I Own Your Hormones.
Fuck number two had been on the floor too--Ishida’s turn to kneel and get those pebbly impressions on his face from rubbing against carpet fibers. And since Ichigo hadn’t seen where Ishida dropped the tube of that fancy sweet-smelling gel, Ichigo had prepared him the old-fashioned way--licking and spitting while Ishida’s white ass blushed under Ichigo’s groping fingers.
Ichigo had carried Ishida to the bed for Fuck number three, which hadn’t been a fuck really, just Ichigo finishing Ishida off. The leisurely hand job had given Ishida a thrashing orgasm which in turn had put Ishida right to sleep.
So was it time for Ichigo to leave?
It’s not like the family expected him home. It’s not like Ishida was ever rude in the morning--he was sweet and hospitable in fact. Made bubble tea as sweet and frothy as anything you could buy in restaurant, would put out the last bit of salmon Ichigo knew he was saving for dinner. Acted relaxed, a little shy, and if it wasn’t a school morning, Ishida didn’t rush Ichigo out the door.
But they’d never … what was it that made Ichigo uncomfortable? They’d never talked about fidelity, if they were gay even though girls were hot, telling people, not telling people. A month of this assuming that if the sex was great, then everything else was--
Normal and fine and true?
Once the weirdness of having an actual lover wore off, the fact that this lover was Ishida Uryuu was not too weird.
Who else understood that rush of power? Who else threw his own strength against that impossible wall? Who else knew that being alive meant dying several times over just to get to the other side?
Ichigo had never wanted to hit somebody in the face the way he’d wanted to hit Ishida. Smash. Bam. That confident look didn’t belong on a teenager. Something had to be hiding under the glare of those glasses. A mouth that had been a perfect line of misery when Ichigo had most wanted to punch him. For what? Saving a Shinigami’s life? I hate it when people save my life. Ichigo had never gotten around to punching that mouth, but whenever Ishida’s stiffest, haughtiest, most fuck-you sneer parted into two pale lips, Ichigo wanted to kiss him.
They didn’t kiss much. Not hello, goodbye. It was all desperate unguarded kissing during fucking. Like Ichigo’s mouth needed to land somewhere while it was gasping, so why not against that neck, that sharp chin, that long white throat? Ishida answered kisses like someone parrying blows. His cheek would struggle against Ichigo’s. His teeth close to biting.
Ichigo found his belt and put it on.
He leaned over Ishida’s face to give it a goodbye kiss but something stopped him.
You’re not normal, Ishida Uryuu. I don’t care that you’re not normal, but I wish you would lighten up.
It was either the staring or the intensity of Ichigo’s thoughts that woke Ishida up.
“Kurosaki?” Ishida’s long lashes blinked, noticed that Ichigo was dressed. “Where are you going?”
One, two, three. Just do it.
Ichigo leaned forward and his lips glanced off Ishida’s.
“I’ll see you later, Ishida.”
Ishida raised himself on his elbows, felt for his glasses. “What’s wrong?”
He had never asked Ichigo that question before.
“Nothing. I’m just restless. I’m going to walk around some and maybe--”
Here it comes. Ishida’s hand was on Ichigo’s forearm. There was going to be a tug of a sleeve. Ichigo’s shirt would appear to unbutton itself. Lightning flashes and a cold touch that reminded Ichigo of the never-used scalpel in his dad’s clinic. (He’d fingered forbidden things in there as a kid). Ishida would turn into this insatiable instrument of torture. Ichigo’s heart would explode. From the raw need, from the gorgeousness of Ishida’s jutting bones and dark erect nipples. From the lack of tenderness.
“Did something happen with the curfew?” Ishida asked in a sleep-raspy voice. “Is it back?”
“Nah. My dad doesn’t care. He knows something’s going on and he knows better than to ask me about it.”
Ishida lay his head back on the pillow. The folded frames of his glasses were still in his hand. “My father asked.”
Ishida shut his eyes. He looked dreamier now than before he’d been startled awake. “All I said was that it was none of his business.”
Just like Ishida. Ishida was many infuriating, frustrating things but he wasn’t a liar.
“If my dad asked….” Ichigo heard the bravery in his own voice, felt something like desperation slam in his chest. “If my dad asked, I’d just say … My lover is Ishida Uryuu.”
Ishida opened his eyes. It was too dark in the room to see their blueness, but Ichigo sensed how wide they were. Their sudden innocence.
The moment went on, unconsummated. It was a moment that Ishida could be filling with protestations. Kurosaki have you lost your mind? Why would you tell anyone? It was a moment that could be wiped away with a tongue-heavy kiss.
“I’m going to the konbini,” Ichigo said, as if that explained everything.
“Are you coming back?”
Did Ishida’s voice sound worried?
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” And then Ichigo was already back. He was lying next to Ishida, laying his hand gingerly on Ishida’s nude stomach. “You want something? Some hot ha chan? A sandwich? I feel bad about eating your food all the time.”
Ishida’s abdomen tensed. “No. That’s okay.”
Ichigo looked him in the face. It was strange to linger so close to his face without other parts of their bodies touching. Did the intimacy embarrass Ishida? It embarrassed Ichigo, so it had to embarrass Ishida.
“I thought,” Ishida said at last, “I thought that maybe ….”
Talk, Ishida. Talk to me.
“I thought maybe you’d decided you’d had enough.”
Enough? Of what? The crazy sex, the bubble tea? No. The strain of uncertainty? Yes, yes, that was it. Ichigo waited for Ishida to say more, but Ishida’s mouth stayed shut. His hand covered Ichigo’s. Stay here, it said. Stay.
This was scarier than being jumped at the door by a Quincy holding a tube of lube. The moment demanded something of Ichigo now.
“Oh goddammit.” For the lack of anything better to say, Ichigo kissed Ishida on the cheek this time, and Ishida’s mouth dropped open. I love you, Ichigo felt. For now, feeling it was enough.
Talking didn’t happen after that. In fact a great deal of not talking did.
And the moment opened wider than Ishida’s mouth.