Title: A Fear of Falling

Warnings: Sexual situations, violence, and sibling love ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

.

Chapter One

.

Shiro lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag, his gold-tinted, heavy-lidded eyes squinted against the smoke and late afternoon sun. He checked his phone before shoving it back into his pocket.

Ten past five. Ichigo was late. Ichigo hated being late. He hated Shiro giving him a hard time about it more.

He smirked as he leaned back into the shadows of the school's brick exterior. He had to focus to ignore the group of chittering underclassmen sneaking peeks at him while he scanned the courtyard for teachers. Not that he cared about getting lectured or jerked into the office or whatever they'd do if they caught him smoking for the hundredth time. But they did have ways of making life shit when they felt like it, and all he wanted to do was find his twin and go home.

Shiro took another drag and tilted his head back to watch the sky, tucking his uniform jacket under his arm so he could squeeze a hand into a skin-tight pocket.

Wasn't like he gave a fuck what anyone thought. Especially the teachers.

Who cared if they expected the worst from him? They'd singled him and Ichigo out the whole time they'd been in school. Wasn't anything new, and bitching and whining wasn't gonna change it. Not that he liked being watched like he was a twenty-to-lifer waiting to happen. Hell, there were entire weeks where someone could just look at him wrong and he'd be ready to paint the walls red.

Fine, he was a handful— more than a handful. He didn't know what made him that way. Like he was incompatible with normal people. Sometimes he just needed to push, to fight, to get under people's skin and flick all the little switches that made them tick. And he was good at it. Maybe it was part of growing up to be a spiteful, little fuck and not know or care why.

That's what people saw when they looked at him.

When he was alone anyways, which meant school. Or unless they wanted in his pants. That seemed to be a new kick. Something about being white as the driven-fucking-snow and having eyes like he'd just crawled out of the seventh circle of hell made him exotic.

Shiro snorted, sending smoke out with a huff.

But who cared. People got easy to screw with when they thought they could get something out of you.

A noise between a giggle and a squeal came somewhere to his left, and he took note of how much closer the group of girls had crept, still stealing peeks at him over their shoulders. When he tilted his head to slant a look their direction, a new round of hysterics broke out. He rolled his eyes, willing Ichigo to hurry up before he had to get snarly to keep them at bay.

As soon as he thought it, Ichigo came down the front steps, bright hair catching the sun like an orange flare.

He straightened. "'Bout fuckin' time…"

Shiro tracked him with his strange, inverted gold and black eyes, lips lifting at the edges.

There was always something about seeing his twin after being separated all day that eased something in his chest. It got easier to breathe. Easier to smile. Not like he was lonely by himself— he hardly ever got lonely, as if he had some disconnection in his interpersonal wires that made him indifferent to most people. This was deeper. His brother was more critical to his existence than having blood under his skin.

He still didn't know who's idea it had been to split them up during school. Probably some fucker that got it in their head that they couldn't be handled together. Someone had taken one look at them, ripped up their schedules, and started over again. Funny thing was, they were probably right. Getting one of them mad was a problem. Getting both of them together and riling them up was a catastrophic train wreck. But it still pissed him off. It was the very fucking definition of bigotry.

Shiro's gaze narrowed.

From across the courtyard, it was hard to tell if Ichigo was annoyed or just tired.

Ichigo could take care of himself. He knew that, but it didn't change the fact that seeing his brother hassled made him itch to draw blood and break bones.

With the usual crowd of bickering classmates surrounding him like a forcefield, Ichigo and his irritated facial expression were out of reach.

Shiro watched almost mystified by how easy they all made it seem to be normal. Sure, he could fake being social if he needed to. He could pretend to be comfortable and outgoing, but it wore thin after a while, made him agitated and itchy, like he'd shoved himself into someone else's skin. He got tired of it, and only for his brother's sake did he even try.

Shiro smashed the cigarette under his shoe before his twin saw it and decided to give him Ichigo's Thirteen Point Discourse on the Demerits of Smoking. He took the side exit, ignoring the fickle female stalkers that decided to trail his brother instead. He couldn't blame them. Ichigo was only half as likely as he was to leave them in shreds on the ground.

-o-

No one else seemed to notice when Shiro disappeared out the side gate.

Ichigo frowned, but kept walking, stung.

He'd hoped things would change in the three years they'd been enrolled at Karakura High. That either his friends would reach out or Shiro would force his way in, but nothing like that ever happened. There was still some unspoken buffer that seemed to repel everyone but him. Shiro put up with them, could even be coerced into eating lunch every now and again, and they were nice enough back, but that was as far as it'd ever went.

Ichigo waved and said his goodbyes at the corner, waiting for the light to change before crossing to the opposite side. As he passed the first alley, he gained a pale shadow.

"Smoking's a filthy habit."

Shiro snorted. "Shut it."

Ichigo didn't need to turn to see the smirk on his brother's white features. A shoulder nudged his. He shook his head and smiled too, wishing he had a bed and a pillow and a ten day nap.

"What'd ya think about the college thing? Decided yet?"

Ichigo's smile vanished. "No. How do they expect us to just make decisions this big? What if I change my mind about what I want to do? What if I'm no good at being a doctor?"

"You're too stubborn to be anythin' less than good."

Ichigo pressed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets, but humored his twin's protest. "What about you?"

Shiro shrugged and Ichigo narrowed his eyes. When Shiro ignored it, he huffed.

Ichigo knew what that laid back act was covering. Shiro still planned to trail him to whatever college he picked. No matter how many times Ichigo ranted about how these things weren't something you could just follow someone else into, Shiro had set his jaw and refused to be moved. They fought about it for months before Shiro stopped responding at all. Ichigo just couldn't pound it into Shiro's head that he deserved something better than someone else's hand-me-down futures. Especially his.

Not that Ichigo wanted to split up, but he didn't want to dictate his brother's life either. It was hard enough thinking he was going to screw up his.

It was too much pressure.

Why didn't Shiro see how bad he was going to fuck all of it up? How could he be so confident in him?

His brother was watching him with sharp, golden eyes.

Ichigo turned his head away as if that would break the contact. "I'll look at it again tonight."

"S' no hurry, there's still—"

"There is a hurry, Shiro. Everyone's already sent off their applications, and been accepted or rejected and applied somewhere else. If the college reps didn't think I was a delinquent before they sure as hell do now—"

A strong hand twisted into his jacket and he was shoved into the unyielding side of the building they'd been passing. The air left his lungs with the force of it, and Shiro was inches from his face, eyes burning.

"Shi—

"Don' say that. It's bullshit and ya know it."

Even though they were supposed to be the same height, Shiro always seemed taller to him. Ichigo got why people were afraid of him. Shi could be scary as hell when he wanted. Vicious.

Ichigo swallowed, eyes wide before he came to his senses. Scowling, he knocked the hand holding him aside and returned the aggressive stare.

"Look, maybe you can get in wherever you want, but my scores weren't that great."

Shiro released his shirt and rolled his eyes, mercurial temper fading as quick as it came. "Ya scored in the top twenty."

"Not nationally." Ichigo adjusted his bag, starting to walk again. "Not like you. I swear, if I find out you cheated…"

"Yeah, yeah."

He hadn't. Ichigo knew he hadn't. Shiro had been just as shocked as the rest of them when they'd gotten the scores. His grades had always been average. Although, he'd also never turned in half his assignments, which meant he had to be scoring high enough to maintain it. He never even studied.

He always just seemed… bored with it all.

Ichigo couldn't believe Shiro was that brainy, and he'd never noticed.

He didn't want to sell him short like everyone else. If Shiro ever got serious with anything, he'd be someone. Make a fortune or something.

They walked the rest of the way quietly, sleeves brushing from time to time, but he didn't mind. Hell, they'd slept in the same bed until they were twelve, and Tatsuki had commented on how weird it was. Neither of them had thought about it before that. Staying close seemed more natural, and after their mom's death—

Ichigo shook his head to clear the thought and swallowed.

When they first started splitting them up in school, Ichigo had been teased about talking to himself. But the truth was he just kept forgetting Shiro wasn't there. He'd always been there.

Even if Ichigo didn't like the pressure of picking a school for both of them, the idea of separating to go to different colleges made him want to stop walking, lie down on the ground, and never get up again. He couldn't imagine being so far away that they couldn't see each other when they wanted, if he couldn't look over and read his twin's thoughts by nothing more than his expression or listen to him rant and blow up about pointless things.

Their fingers brushed and he wasn't sure who moved to intertwined them. He squeezed anyway just to reassure himself Shiro was still there.

Shiro glanced over, took one look at his brother's face and gripped back. He gave Ichigo another nudge, but didn't pry further.

Their fingers slipped apart as they rounded the corner to the clinic, and snuck in the side.

The old man was with a patient, so they didn't have to worry about beating off his melodramatic greetings. Shiro ruffled Yuzu's hair as they went by, and attempted the same with Karin only to be swatted away.

But Yuzu beamed at the attention, calling up the stairs after them, "Ichi-nii, Shiro-nii, dinner's in ten minutes!"

He managed a grunt in acknowledgement and opened the door to their room. Shiro shut it behind them. Ichigo dropped his bag into the desk chair and fell face first onto his bed. Shiro's bed was in the opposite corner where they'd taken out the closet, but he ignored it. Ichigo felt the mattress shift as Shiro stepped over him, sliding down with his back to the wall.

It wasn't long before cool fingers were running through his hair, and Ichigo twisted to put his head in Shiro's lap.

He looked up and stared into molten eyes surrounded by heavy, black lashes. Not normal, obviously, but to him it was like a stunning work of art. A shock to the senses. How could anyone think he wasn't beautiful? Frost white hair fell in pieces, caging in his brother's striking, golden gaze. Without thinking about it, he lifted a hand up to trace a pale cheekbone with the pads of his fingers.

Sure there were people that wanted to screw him, but that wasn't even close to the same thing.

Shiro seemed to know what he was thinking because his mouth curved into that grin. But before he could say anything, the door flew open, a shout ringing through the room as their heads whipped to the side and Ichigo jerked his hand back.

"Boys! Don't think I didn't notice you creeping in! You've disturbed the peace in this abode by showing up late, and without giving daddy hugs! Now, daddy must mete out the house's absolute justice!"

Ichigo cursed their questionable paternity under his breath. He'd still been working downstairs, how could they be late?

Shiro's muscles tensed under him like he was preparing for an ambush and wanted to accept the challenge, but Ichigo was still on top of him.

Grabbing a pillow, Ichigo flung it. "Shut up. Yuzu said we had ten minutes. It's only been," he checked the clock. "Five."

"Ah!" Isshin held up a finger, idiot smile plastered in place. "But the rules of the house are subject to change without notice. And I say dinner is… Now!"

When he received only glares, he cracked his knuckles.

"You go low, I'll go high," Shiro muttered.

"No way," he hissed back. "Last time I ended up on bottom, and you two are fucking heavy."

Shiro snorted, his deranged grin coming out to play. Ichigo narrowed his eyes, because he knew his brother was fixing to say something lewd, but before he got the chance, Isshin was already tackling them.

"New rule! No plotting against daddy!"

A knee caught his unprotected stomach while he was distracted, and the air whooshed from his lungs. Shiro was already retaliating, and he tried to twist from beneath the two of them throwing punches and elbows over his head. Someone trampled his spine before he could wiggle out onto the floor, and when he finally found his feet, he aimed a kick into his father's back with a growl, sending them crashing down in a pile of limbs.

He stalked to the door, rubbing his newest wounds. "Both of you are idiots."

Shiro fought his way to the top, gripped his hands together, and dropped an elbow into their would-be attacker's ribs while he was down, earning a muffled "Umph!"

"Oi, Ichi! Wait up!"

-o-

Ichigo walked into the room, toweling his hair dry only to stop and scowl at the scatter of college pamphlets covering his bed.

Shiro followed his gaze before turning back to his manga. "Oyaji left those for ya."

Ichigo dropped his towel to let it hang around his neck and sighed, picking up the closest one and leafing through it.

"Tell me you hit him."

Shiro snorted and flipped another page. "'Course."

Across the room, Ichigo was silent a moment too long.

"I wish mom was here."

Shiro dropped the book, letting it fall without marking his place. He slipped off the bed and wrapped his arms around Ichigo the next second. Everything about Ichigo was tight— the fist at his side, the set of his jaw, every rigid muscle pressed against Shiro's.

Ichigo's face was blank, lids drooping half shut, his expression closed off. Unreachable. Somewhere else. Seeing something Shiro couldn't see. Like Ichigo was floating away from him, cast adrift on an ocean of old grief. In these moments, Shiro was treading water without a compass. He hadn't been there when it happened. If there were words that could fix Ichigo, he didn't have them.

Their mother tugged at him from beyond the grave.

Shiro tightened his arms around his twin, anchoring him to the room.

"I'm here." Shiro pulled a strand of bright hair. "I can help."

Letting the hair go, he dug his chin into a tense shoulder, pulling Ichigo back until he was supporting some of his twin's weight. He got a soft smile for his effort, so he reached around him, picking up a brochure.

"How 'bout this one?"

Ichigo leaned his head back on his shoulder and sighed. "Too far away."

Shiro didn't need to ask why he wanted to stay close. Ichigo had friends here, even if Shiro didn't, and he wouldn't want to be more than a day's drive away from their mother's grave. He tossed it back.

"This one?"

"Too expensive."

He picked up another, but Ichigo frowned. "Kyoto? I'll never get in there. You might be able to, but even if I qualified, it's too late. They're probably full."

"Try it." He pushed it into Ichigo's hands. "It'll at least get goat-chin off your back."

A soft snort reached his ears, and before he could move, Ichigo turned around and pressed his face into the curve of his neck. "Thanks."

Shiro's lungs stalled out. His eyes widened as warm breath puffed into his shoulder, lips brushing sensitive skin. A strong hand came up to grip his shoulder, fingers tight, and Shiro shivered.

The longer his twin held him back, the better it felt. There was no way Ichigo wouldn't feel what it did to him. Being so close. Standing pressed together with arms wrapped tight around each other. There was no space left between them, and he felt the jolt in Ichigo's muscles when he noticed Shiro's body reacting.

Shiro held his breath.

He couldn't help it. It was an involuntary reaction, not even his fault this time. But he knew how Ichigo felt about it. He expected to be pushed away, for annoyance to flash across his brother's face, but Ichigo didn't move away. He stood still. Shiro could feel him wavering.

There was a moment of silence, and then the soft brush of a tongue rasping over the tensed chords of his throat. Lightning skittered from that single wet stroke straight through his nervous system. He damn near raised onto his toes to follow it.

Shiro shuddered. He didn't know how else to respond.

His hand fisted in the back of Ichigo's shirt as his heart skipped a beat then went into overdrive. "Ichi…"

Lips brushed along his neck, and he tilted his head to the side, exposing more skin for them to ghost over.

Nails scratched his back as Ichigo tried to get a better grip, and Shiro released the breath he'd been holding. The hint of pain sent a wave of adrenaline crashing through his veins, waking his body completely and twisting it into a tempest of heat and making him so hard he moaned out loud, breath coming in shaky draughts.

When they dug in again, his restraint snapped. Gentleness splintered. Caution. Sanity.

He fisted orange hair, jerking it to the side so he could scrape teeth over the top of Ichigo's tanned shoulder, biting down on the firm ridge of muscle there, swabbing his tongue over freshly washed skin.

Ichigo gasped, and Shiro found his mouth, fused it with his, fingers tangling further into damp hair, holding him still so he could push his tongue in deep. He growled at the taste, a low sound rumbling through his chest as he tried to get closer than skin and muscle and having two separate bodies allowed.

One of Ichigo's arms wrapped around his neck, the other still clawing down his back, dragging stinging trails of fire that had him arching and half forgetting what he was doing.

He couldn't let him get away with that.

Twisting them, Shiro pinned his twin against the wall, hiking a lithe leg up so that he could grind into the hard bulge under Ichigo's sweats.

Ichigo bucked beneath him, shaking and panting. Tanned hands skimmed down the heaving expanse of a white chest, left swirling currents of need reverberating through Shiro's veins and out to his limbs and back again. Blood pooled south, and he was so hard it hurt, growling into Ichigo's mouth, his tongue dragging strokes over Ichigo's again and again.

His senses were trapped in a dizzy fog of heat, shutting down every thought he had that wasn't focused on fucking Ichigo against the wall.

He hauled the other long leg around his waist, taking his Ichigo's weight onto himself so he could grind deeper into the curve of his hips. Shiro's hand wrapped around Ichigo's neck, giving a firm squeeze before releasing to run down a tone chest and his brother moaned, flexed and arched into it like a cat as it traveled lower, scraping the coiled muscles of a taut stomach, making them shiver and tense as Shiro dug his fingers down.

When he reached the waist of the sleep pants, he passed over and went for the small closure in front, flicking the button free and reaching inside to wrap his fingers around hard flesh.

Ichigo jerked, eyes flying open. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat when Shiro's thumb glided under the head and over the top.

His spine arched from the wall, and Shiro watched, stunned as he came undone with nothing more than that. It was perfect. Ichigo's mouth opened and closed, lower lip trembling, his hands clenched tight in Shiro's shirt. His eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, startled but dark with carnal haze as he choked out a groan, shaft pulsing. His legs contracted with an almost painful grip around Shiro's waist with each wave of pleasure.

Wet heat coated his hand.

Shiro shuddered, licked his lips and watched Ichigo writhe, almost mindless.

His own erection was so ready it ached, but he couldn't take his eyes off Ichigo. Couldn't stop the filthy thought of carrying him to the bed and fucking him until they both couldn't move.

He could see it in Ichigo's face. A flicker of heat and challenge and a desire so deep it brought a wicked smile to his twin's lips.

And then it was gone. The fizzy, effervescent bubble that had surrounded them popped, flitted away and evaporated.

Ichigo blinked then went still, something like dawning realization mixed with revulsion crept over his face.

"What—" He gasped and shoved Shiro away, nearly falling his legs were so shaky. His hand went up to scrub at his mouth. "What the hell was that?"

Shiro flinched back at his brother's tone, at a loss. Fuck, he was still reeling from the sight of him coming apart from nothing more than a few touches. Still had the evidence covering his hand.

He couldn't put two coherent thoughts together.

Ichigo shook his head, fisting bangs, watching his pale twin with a weary gaze. "No. We said this wouldn't happen again, Shiro. It's wrong."

Shiro flinched then grit his teeth. Ice creeping up to replace fire.

"You're the one that jumped me," he snarled. "So don' sit there lookin' like I'm the fuckin' mastermind behind this, Ichi-nii."

The chords in Ichigo's neck jerked at the name. He looked sick, and Shiro felt a prick of guilt, but he was too pissed and unsatisfied to give a shit.

Ichigo shook his head. "I didn't mean—"

"Whatever."

Shiro jerked his shirt off and cleaned his hand, tossing it away without caring where it landed. He dropped onto his bed and faced the wall, blocking Ichigo out while he tried to talk his body through going sixty to zero in the space of a poorly-timed mood swing.

Then the only sound was the low hum of the house's air kicking on.

A minute later, he heard the sound of drawers opening and closing. Then Ichigo snatched his pillow off the bed and slammed the door behind him.

A/N

Ah, my first HichiIchi story :) Please, let me know how I did. ^^

I think this will be about six chapters. That's what I have plotted out anyways, but there's lots of wiggle room if anyone has any suggestions :D Also, there will be some fairly descriptive smut, because that's what I write, so um, yeah. Turn back now, I guess if you don't like that stuff :)

Too early for a kiss maybe? Idk, like I said, it's not a long story.