A helpless moan escapes Ichigo's chapped, parted lips as his slim body curls around his Father's large head resting in his lap. How strange they must look like this, rolled up on their sides all clothed on the white bed sheets and most oddly intertwined. They could face each other if they wouldn't lie in such a constellation: Their bodies nuzzle into one another where Ichigo's knees press hard into his Father's broad chest and where...

Again a sudden heating shock of bittersweet pleasure makes Ichigo whimper.

How did this happen?

This is what he wonders ever since this deviant habit appeared between the father and son. This strange relationship of theirs…it just happened. Utterly unforeseen. And still the Substitute Soul Reaper hasn't managed to bring it under the control of any explanation he'd possibly come up with. He doesn't understand it. Still. Ichigo lets nothing just happen in his life. Nothing but this. And so time and again it feeds a distant panic in the back of his mind.

Isshin is peacefully calm with his eyes closed as he sucks his son's bared and pleading flesh with lazy pleasure, causing Ichigo to toss his neck back, choking on a whimper as Isshin swallows him up completely. When he stretches one of his strongest gulps deep down his throat his shameless mouth smacks utmost slick noises.

This is what they do.

With heaving chest he shuts his eyes again and absently starts to stroke his Father's scalp. Ichigo doesn't dare to listed down into his strangely numb thoughts related to what he just allowed his Father to do once again. But that one question won't be still. It never is.

How did this happen?