Title: Torment

Author: alstair
Main Pairing: Ichigo x Ishida Uryuu

I. Storm Signals

"Let's break up."

Several seconds passed before Ishida registered Ichigo's words. Let's break up. The hands that not too long ago had been pumping at his hardness were now still, pinned at the orange-haired boy's sides as he sat up from where they lay on the bed. Ishida struggled to sit up, his body refusing to move as though pinned down to the mattress. But it wasn't just the sex that made his body feel like a dead weight. And even the sex that night had been demanding--more demanding than it had been in weeks. Even now if he closed his eyes he felt--could still feel--Ichigo's tongue twining around his tongue, sucking, teasing--fevered. He could still taste Ichigo's sweat as his body had arched time and time again as Ichigo drove his cock inside him with a desperate urgency. He could still hear their moans, their screams, louder and higher than he had ever remembered them to be.

Let's break up. The words seemed to echo, to repeat and in their repetition, to mock him. Let's break up. He opened his mouth to ask why? but no sound came out. Opening his mouth to attempt to ask a second time he stopped. This time, deliberately, he held himself in check. No, he would not ask Kurosaki Ichigo for his reasons. He didn't want to sound like a sappy high school girl straight from the movies asking her boyfriend--soon to be ex-boyfriend--what his reasons for breaking up were. He was a Quincy dammit and he had pride. He would take this standing straight (or as straight as he could while half lying in bed).

But even greater than Ishida's pride was his fear. He was afraid of what Ichigo would say--afraid he would say her name, afraid to hear him saying it softly, sweetly, reverently--passionately. He would begin it the same way sappy high school boys did in the movies (because what more could he expect of the stupid idiot). It would begin something like this: "I'm sorry. I'm in love with..." And he, Ishida, would break down, lose what little control he still had over his emotions, the desperate need he had that he'd carefully hidden finally out in the open, laid bare.

Ishida raised his hand to touch Ichigo's back only to feel the youth shudder as his fingertips lightly pressed against his skin.

Let's break up. The words seem to echo as he said them. Ichigo sat up not wanting Ishida to see the pain he felt--and the fear. Even now he could feel Other's gaze, hear that Other's distorted and twisted laugh echo throughout his entire consciousness drowning him until it drove him nearly mad. Not that the Other's presence alone wasn't enough. He'd had to do it now--now while he still had some measure of control, now before his inner Hollow consumed him and in consuming him reach out to hurt that which was near to him--Ishida.

From somewhere deep in him he felt--and heard--a low chuckle. "So you think that will solve everything do you, King?" His hollow Other was plainly amused. "Not by a long shot." Pause as It relished the sudden flare of panic that rose up from Ichigo's gut. "Even now," It continued, "I can just as easily take over and with these precious fingers of yours squeeze that young Quincy's throat until his eyes pop out after I've fucked him raw. Think of it. The look of horror in those bright blue eyes as his lover slowly kills him." A slow malicious grin split his hollow Other's face. It liked to see Ichigo squirm, liked to see him break. It wanted him to break. But It knew the time wasn't ripe yet so it didn't do more. Instead it taunted the young man, torturing him until the youth shuddered.

The night air was cold, stinging. He didn't care. The sound of Ishida's footsteps seemed loud on the pavement as he left his apartment where not more than an hour ago his lover--no, correction, ex-lover--said Let's break up not more than ten minutes after they'd had sex. Of course said lover--ex-lover--left soon after, not once turning back to look at him as the orange-head's tan hands fumbled with shirt and pants, or when placing the spare key to his flat he'd once given the boy on top of the dining room table, inevitably sealing his Let's break up with cold finality, before he turned the door knob and left. Since then Ishida had tried to relax, forget the incident ever happened--forget anything ever happened. But try as he might he could not. The bed still remained warm with the orange-haired boy's heat. The room still had the heady smell of cum--his and Ichigo's--and if he looked closely enough even in the dark he could make out the dark splotches on his sheets where the semen that had flown from their joint release had seeped in.

Sex with Ichigo had always been mind-blowing--ever since that night more than a month ago when a heated argument (he could not remember what it was about now, but knowing Ichigo it was likely due to some stupid thing the Shinigami had done) had ended up with Ichigo shoving his huge cock up his virgin ass as a way to shut him up. Of course it worked. As the Shinigami took him from behind he could barely think, unable to understand why he'd felt arousal and pleasure being taken that way, having his cock pumped by expert hands, the head licked by the other boy's hot tongue then down the hard length of it before it was swallowed and sucked hard. He'd bucked his hips until he'd been unable to handle the crazy pleasure and came into the Shinigami's mouth. And then, with little preamble, the orange-haired youth had thrust into him with a cock already sloppy with precum hitting that little nub in his ass he now knew was his prostate again and again until delirious and begging for more he came a second time in less than fifteen minutes.

Now he just wanted to forget. In fact for once, he didn't want to think. Thinking made the pain even worse. And staying in that room, with the signs of Ichigo's presence still lingering all over, would make everything all the more unbearable. It would make him crazier than he already was from what he called Ichigo's betrayal even though ever since he realized the way Inoue felt about Ichigo he knew this day--and those words--were inevitable.

At exactly 11:47 pm their respective worlds turned upside-down...

"I am a Vaizard...I am your kin."

"However, there is one condition...You must swear that, henceforth, you will have nothing to do with the Shinigami."

Part II: Decisions

It wasn't just Sado, Orihime, Tatsuki, Keigo, and Mizuhiro who noticed. Everyone did. And how could they not? Even without being able to sense reiatsu the tension between and within the two boys was a palpable and oppressive weight that threatened to smother. Whispered excuses to visit other classrooms flew back and forth as their classmates sought even temporary refuge from what seemed to be an impending catastrophe. Those that did stay chose to stay well away from the battle zones.

It wasn't long before the tension, straining at breaking point, finally snapped.

Ishida didn't think it would be this hard to keep still, feign indifference. Not when not more than a meter from where he sat was the one person he wanted--and at the same time didn't want to see was sitting. Not when he could feel the other boy's reiatsu roiling, his anger and frustration hot and scalding as it coursed through it. He preferred to say he was calm, that unlike Ichigo, with Ishida's far superior control of his reiatsu and his emotions, he was mature enough to take things as they were and face them with calculated, deliberate steps. But now he found that even the veneer of indifference--that of maintaining his everyday face--was far too much strain to handle. The only thing that still helped to barely keep him in check was his Quincy pride. No way in hell would he show the world just how much the infuriating bastard affected him. No way...no way...no way.

But that didn't change the fact that he longed for the bastard. Didn't change the dull persistent throb in his chest...and in his groin...every time he'd so much as felt a whiff of the other boy's spiritual energy. Didn't change the fact that more than once that previous night he'd though of finding the boy and pleading (a Quincy never pleads!) for him to stay. Didn't change the fact that when Ryuuken had offered to return him his Quincy powers he'd actually hesitated, the thought of never more associating with the orange-haired boy even if the other had someone else--that someone else being Inoue Orihime--almost a physical pain he'd barely been able to hide from his father's piercing gaze.

He sighed. He resisted the urge to stand up, to walk to where he felt the orange-head was and do something, do anything, even if it meant punching the idiot. He resisted the urge to cry. Instead he chose to clasp his hands, fingers and nails digging into his flesh, letting the pain drive out all other impulses.

It was then he felt, more than he heard, the other youth's hand slam against a table, chair scrape against the floor as the tall boy stood up from where he sat. Controlling the sudden panic--and desperate hope--that rose up in him, Ishida turned to find Ichigo storming, not towards him, but towards the blond-haired Hirako (the new guy he'd barely registered the day before) who had his arm carelessly draped around Inoue's shoulders.

"Come here, Hirako." Ichigo pulled the slimmer blond boy by the lapels of his shirt and dragged the boy out of the classroom and into the hall. What was that note in the other boy's voice. Ishida could not quite place it. There was enough anger in it--in fact more than there had been when the Shinigami had been seated--but there was something else in it that seemed to be struggling for dominance. Was it fear? He did not know. It was only when he raised his hand to push his glasses back up his nose and noticed it trembling, palms sweaty, that he realized he felt relief--and resignation.

There had always been that part of him that had always held onto a hope that he knew was insane, baseless--that Ichigo felt for him just as much as he felt for Ichigo. That Ishida wasn't just a fuck buddy, someone handy to screw whenever the shinigami felt horny--or even worse, somebody the boy fucked with out of a sense of rivalry or spite (but now even that he would take over this whole not-see-each-other-and-never-fuck-again). That it wasn't Inoue Orihime that he loved but rather Ishida. But if the Shinigami's actions were anything to go by, it was indeed just a baseless illusion on Ishida's part. Ichigo loved Inoue strongly enough to care about Hirako's blatant passes, enough to forcefully drag him away from Inoue. It hurt that Ichigo had never once acted that way for him. Not that anyone would have an interest in him. But nonetheless it hurt.

He wanted to wish Inoue congratulations--congratulations, you finally have your man--but somehow he couldn't bring his heart to. Inoue was good. She deserved to be loved. She would be good for Kurosaki. She would... He sighed once more as he watched her, a bright smile on her lips as she talked with Tatsuki who tried to fend off Chizuru's hands from encircling the ample breasts of the girl. Try as he might he could not shake off the bitter taste in his mouth. He could not shake the bitterness he felt at the thought that it would now be her mouth that would pleasure Ichigo, her tongue that would draw circles and suck as his nipples, her hair that would curl itself around his member as she gave him a stellar blowjob, his cock ramming into her making her buck her hips and moan in pleasure, delirious, as he fondled her breasts. And then Ichigo would kiss her softly, sweetly, after sex and with brown eyes alight with concern ask her if he'd hurt her while she would shake her head and say no, it was perfect and he would stay--yes, he would stay--holding her in his arms until they fell asleep.

And he would break. Just as he was already breaking now.

His last illusion--that he would be fine even if Ichigo stayed with Inoue so long as he could still somehow be near the boy--was finally shattered. He now knew where he would be later that afternoon. And he knew what he would say to those steely blue eyes so much like his own.

"I swear... I will have nothing further to do with Shinigami or their allies."

Ichigo felt before he heard Hirako. It wasn't so much Hirako's reiatsu, which in itself was so much like his own, but rather the other boy's material presence. Hirako's words still rang in his ears, taunting him. "I am your kin. Come to our side, Ichigo. You do not belong on this side." His nerves were already frayed beyond breaking point, his body fatigued with the double weight of consciously keeping his Hollow Other at bay and processing the previous evening's revelations. He'd never been good at that he knew. Ishida had called him stupid idiot enough times at what the other boy called his lack of forethought and consideration. But now that he felt himself cracking up from the strain all he wanted to do was throw any forethought and consideration he had out the window and simply grab Ishida, pinning him to his seat, ramming his mouth into the other youth's, probing, sucking, sliding, slurping, as his fingers reached down to grab Ishida's hardness and right there in front of the eyes of the whole world thrust into Ishida's tight ass until they moaned and violently came.

But he didn't.

Instead he chose to cross his arms and frown even more, refusing to look at Ishida's slim back lest the desire to lick the dark-haired boy's neck and down that entire length of skin before stopping at the crack of his buttocks rise further. Instead he thought and willed himself into anger--anger at himself--for doing the exact thing that made this Hollow Other lick its lips in depraved delight.

Hirako. What did he know? From the way he'd talked last night he knew that the blond boy knew a lot if not everything. There had to be some way to control, to tame his Hollow Other. But how much was he willing to sacrifice to achieve that? Come to our side, Ichigo. Betrayal. That was what Hirako asked, demanded. To side with Hirako was nothing short of betrayal. He tried to shake from his mind the thought that he'd already committed that--to Ishida. He told himself this was different. This meant betraying everyone who'd ever placed their trust in him, betraying the very people he'd sworn to protect...with his life. But somehow the words rang empty. There had been only one person in the past month he'd truly wanted to protect, only one person who's everything he wanted but was never once sure he had--the one he'd betrayed. Just last night.

Slamming his hand on the table hard, he stood up, walked to where Hirako stood, arm carelessly draped around Inoue's shoulders, and with his right hand pulled the blond Vizard up by the lapels of his shirt and out the door. They needed to talk. And he needed to make clear to himself, if not to this boy, that he had no intentions of betraying anyone else, of hurting anyone else--otherwise he didn't know how long he would still be able to keep his sanity.

The sideways otherworld was cloudy, threatening rain. Hollow Ichigo frowned as he felt Zangetsu mumble and complain. The old man hated rain. He didn't. But he disliked it when Zangetsu complained. So he chose not to taunt Ichigo, choosing to stay quiet and watch the young Shinigami squirm in his seat and fret. It was entertaining enough. This was what he wanted after all--Ichigo breaking down, cracking up, and becoming his prey. It wouldn't be long before the orange-hair's body would be his to control with Ichigo forever locked in this sideways world watching him, impotent, as he destroyed everything the boy held near and dear.

But patience was never one of his virtues. He knew ways of making the sport of breaking Ichigo more enjoyable. Mentally commanding Zangetsu to be quiet he laid his plans out. It would be fun. So much fun. He laughed, his distorted voice echoing in the deserted otherworld. Just you wait Ichigo. I'll destroy you from the inside out. I'll tear your soul apart. I'll toy with those fragile emotions of yours in my wonderful fuckfest. He smirked. Who knows, maybe you'll even enjoy it.

Part III: Scare Tactics

The room had not changed one bit since he'd been there. Clean. Pristine. The plates were neatly stacked near the kitchen counter, the coffee table spotless, no thread out of place in the handmade pillowcases that adorned the black sofa. He remembered how often those pillows stayed off the sofa rather than on it as they'd threatened to destroy the sofa's springs whenever they'd made out in the living area of Ishida's apartment, far too impatient and far too aroused to make it into the bedroom. He grinned at the thought before looking up. The clock on the wall read 2:30. It would be a few hours more before Ishida came home from school. Wait...he thought. Why wasn't he at school?

Try as he might, Ichigo could not remember what had made him go to Ishida's apartment. All he knew was that he needed to see the dark-haired boy and talk to him, about what he did not know. He'd figure out what it was eventually when he came face to face with Ishida. With a sigh he scratched his orange hair and decided to make himself as comfortable as he could while waiting for the Quincy. And that meant only one thing. The bed. But he didn't get as far as that. Instead he'd stopped dead on his tracks at the entrance to the bedroom, one hand gripping the door knob as he stared, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, at the scene that was unfolding before him.

The two bodies were joined at the hip--or rather the man who stood stark naked with his back towards Ichigo was mercilessly thrusting into a pale youth partially obscured. Something about the two, about the way the long thin fingers twisted the bed sheets, was very familiar. Then his throat tightened. It wasn't just familiar. He knew those fingers, those hands, that black hair--he knew it because those same fingers, those same hands, and that black hair had been under him not more than a few days ago moaning and begging just as they did now. It wasn't just any shameless shmuck that had chosen to break into Ishida's apartment to fuck someone on the same bed he'd fucked Ishida only 3 days ago. It was Ishida himself. And what's more he knew the shmuck that was fucking Ishida, making Ishida buck his hips, moaning and screaming, oblivious to the fact that he was being watched and by none other than Ichigo.

The crazy grin that that 'man' wore when he turned to face Ichigo sickened him.

"Welcome, King," his Hollow Other said. "It isn't nice to just stand there you know." The grin widened, the Other's tongue slowly licking It's lips as though savoring the shock and the fear that filled Ichigo making the boy unable to move.

Before he had any time to react Ichigo found himself strapped to a chair he had not seen in the room, his Hollow Other advancing towards him with that crazy grin still plastered on It's face.

"I bet you're wondering why I'm here eh, King? Wondering what I'm doing to your beloved Ishida? Well as you can see King, I'm fucking your lover--oops, ex-lover. I told you before didn't I, King? I'd fuck your Quincy boy raw. That's what I'm doing, see." The hollow laughed, his twisted voice filling the room, freezing Ichigo's bones as he tried to struggle out of the leather straps that kept him from rushing to Ishida, from taking the boy away from this maniac before anything...worse...happened. But the hollow, knowing what Ichigo was thinking laughed even harder.

"You think you can get away from this can you, King? Think you can protect this kid from yourself do you, King? You can't. You never could and you never will. Who was it that could barely stand after that blue-haired bastard Espada--Grimmjow, wasn't it--cut you up so bad? Who was it who couldn't even stop that bastard from shoving his hand through Rukia, almost tearing her apart? Who says you can protect this Quincy, eh, King?"

His Hollow Other bent down until those yellow eyes filled Ichigo's entire vision, clammy fingers gripping his chin, pulling his face up, forcing his mouth open as the hollow pressed its tongue inside Ichigo's mouth. Unable to resist to the kiss of his hollow Other, all he could do was let it happen, let the long tongue of the hollow wrap around his own, scrape the roof of his mouth until he felt, despite himself, the beginnings of a raging hard on. "Relax," the hollow said as it let Ichigo's chin fall back down. "Your precious Quincy is still safe in his bed somewhere. This place is only in your head Kurosaki Ichigo. That's right." The Hollow reached down to free Ichigo's throbbing cock. With practiced fingers it began to rub the cock head, pulling the foreskin back before releasing, and then back again before releasing, slow and agonizingly pleasurable. Despite all his efforts to remain unaffected by his hollow Other, his body was warming, reacting, to the bastard's touch. The face so like his own pressed close to him and smirked as it abruptly let go of Ichigo's already sloppy cock. "Think of this as a sneak preview, King--a sneak preview of what I'll do with your body once it's mine," It whispered.

"Enjoy," It said as It slipped a cock ring around Ichigo's member.

It was forever. No. Time had stopped. Or maybe forever was precisely that--a place where time did not exist and forever and a minute were just one and the same. This was the tenth--or was it the hundredth--time that his Hollow Other rammed his cock into the dark-haired boy's ass. This was the tenth--or was it the hundredth--time that Ishida's screams of Stop! Ichigo! NO! HELP! filled the night air, blue eyes wide with fear, looking straight at him and pleading him, begging him to do something, anything now that he knew that the man--no, thing--that was fucking him from behind was not Ichigo. This was the tenth--or was it the hundredth--time that he'd helplessly looked at the one person he had wanted to shield from harm, especially from this, while his cock, still trapped in the vise-like grip of the cock ring, pulsed and throbbed making Ichigo sick and disgusted with himself--this self that felt intense arousal at the sight of the man he loved being taken by someone else right in front of him.

Hollow Ichigo looked at those brown eyes that were filling with despair and couldn't help but smile. This was what he wanted. The boy had totally forgotten that this was all a--what's the word those humans used for this type of thing--"dream." But they weren't finished. Oh no, he had lots more in store for Ichigo. The fun was just about to start.

He yanked the Quincy by the hair, making the dark-haired boy gasp in pain. He pulled the boy up and up and heaving the boy's body into position, chained the boy's wrists with the manacles that now hung from the room's ceiling. Like a fish out to dry, the hollow thought, smacking his lips at the prospect of what was to come. Reaching for something he'd hidden by the bed, he pulled out a long cylindrical rod which he promptly shoved into the Quincy's ass eliciting a few gasps from the boy but not much else. After being fucked over and over again the boy's hole was stretched to breaking. Then, with a malicious smile, he flipped a switch near the base of the rod and watched the dark-haired boy scream as wave after wave of electricity coursed through his body.

Ichigo could do nothing but watch. He watched the monster drag a half-dead Ishida up, the dark-haired boy's cock and front splattered with the white of the Quincy's cum from repeated release. He watched as that Other Him rammed what looked like a long stick up Ishida's ass. He watched as scream after scream tore from the boy's already hoarse throat, watched the lanky frame of the boy jerk and twitch in a frenzied death dance. Then he too was screaming, screaming for the bastard Other to STOP! But instead of stopping, the Hollow only let out a cracking, high-pitched laugh and spat the following words at him: "Then why don't YOU stop YOURSELF from torturing him? Because to this Quincy brat the one torturing him right now isn't ME...It's YOU!"

The leather straps that bit into Ichigo's body were suddenly gone. The electrode--for that was what had been rammed up the Quincy's ass--had fallen down into the mattress still crackling but the boy continued to jerk and twitch, eyes glazed and unfocused from the pain but unable to pass out due to the drugs the Hollow had injected into his system sometime back.

Half-dazed, Ichigo lurched forward until he was face to face with Ishida, fingers running up the dark-haired boy's bare chest. At his touch, the dark-haired boy's eyes regained some life and started. The blue eyes that trained their orbs at him were filled with fear and with the fear, a burning hatred. His hands, tightened, gripping the youth hard. He did not want to see those eyes looking at him like that. He wouldn't stop gripping the boy until those eyes stopped looking at him that way. Tighter. Tighter. Until the blue eyes filled with fear and hate became unfocused, lost their shine. And only then did he release the tight grip of his hands on the boy only to realize that what he'd been gripping tightly hadn't been the boy's shoulders but his throat. The whisper that spoke to his right ear was patronizing. "That's right, Kurosaki. The only relief you can give the Quincy is this, death-god."

It took a minute before the words of the Hollow sunk in. And by then Ichigo was screaming as he had never screamed before.

The blankets that covered his almost naked body were drenched in sweat, his mouth opened in a wordless, soundless scream, his arms wrapping themselves around him whether to comfort himself or to restrain himself he knew not anymore.

He lay curled in his bed, a heaving broken mass. The pain in his chest and the knowledge that the line between dreaming and waking, between reality and fiction was beginning to blur brought him into racking soundless sobs. More to himself than to anyone he whispered, "I can tell. At this rate, I'm done for..." It wouldn't take more than a few days at best before the darkness, before that monstrous Hollow Other, had complete control over him. If he didn't do anything those dreams wouldn't merely be dreams. It had promised that.

Slowly, he sucked in air, trying to calm his pounding heart. Somehow, despite his desire to never betray anyone ever again, he knew it would come to this. He'd have to rely on them to teach him how to suppress his inner hollow. But then perhaps in the first place, not taking Hirako up on his offer was the real betrayal. Curling up in the corner he refused to close his eyes, the silence of his darkened room infinitely better than the mad screams and harsh laughter he knew would chase him the moment he tried to sleep.

Part IV: News

Ishida sighed, watching his breath mist in the cold air of the hospital's basement. Even as he lay flat, staring into the sky past the small slit that was the sole window in the secret room, he felt fatigue from the days of continuous fighting tugging at his bones like weighted chains pulling him down, making his eyes flicker beneath his glasses as he fought off sleep. It would do no good to sleep here. He had no plans of letting Ryuuken find him defenseless, no plans of giving the man another chance to remark on his weaknesses in that cold, clinical voice of his as though his son was nothing more than a piece of hospital equipment that he'd been asked to evaluate and criticize.

He shifted, feeling the cool warmth of the spirit particles that suffused the air shift with him. This awareness was what made the Quincy so different from the Shinigami, bringing with it the sheer pleasure of feeling each and every spirit particle in his surroundings vibrate, and should he desire it, the pleasure of molding those spirit particles into a weapon. He was whole again, complete. Despite the deep-rooted dislike--if not hate--he carried against his father, the man had given Ishida back that which he had lost--his Quincy powers. But for the hundredth time since he'd first stepped into the cold whiteness of that basement with its white ledges and white floor blocks he questioned himself if the price he'd paid to regain his powers was not too high.

Ichigo. He had not wanted to dwell on that name since he'd made the decision to accept Ryuuken's offer yet that name--and the orange-haired boy to whom it belong to--seemed to take perverse pleasure in replaying itself in Ishida's mind unbidden, making his heart clench tighter, making his steps falter. It seemed that every little thing reminded him of the boy's presence, made him remember with a painful bitterness the nights the Shinigami would rush to his room after taking care of some hollow or other, and under the pretext of needing to take a shower to wash off the stench would end up having sex with Ishida; made him remember that one time when, in the high of a particularly fierce release, the Shinigami had called him Uryuu--not the usual Ishida but the name only Ryuuken had ever called him by.

Three times Ishida had noted the sudden flare of the all-too-familiar reiatsu of the Shinigami somewhere outside as he fought his father. Three times Ishida had almost stopped from the desire to break out of that white-walled prison to go stand by the orange-haired youth's side. Three times Ishida had bit his lower lip until it bled willing himself to forget, to focus on dodging lest one of his father's arrows find his rebelling heart and pierce it while he was subconsciously trying to trace the spiritual energy back to its owner, not aware that that was precisely what his father had been aiming for. But for the past few days that reiatsu had been absolutely untraceable, undetectable. Not even in the constant "background noise" of the low key reiatsu emitted by any number of inhabitants of Karakura who had no idea they possessed even a modicum of spiritual power. And this bothered him more than surges of the Shinigami's power. He knew Ichigo could not mask his reiatsu even if he had tried--not that the boy had of course.

Ishida gingerly propped himself up with his right arm. The muscles were still stiff from all the exertion he had put them under, but with a little more time they would be fine. He inventoried his condition and found that other than the weariness and a few cuts and abrasions he was still as battle-ready as ever.

A swishing sound somewhere to the side caught his attention. There shouldn't be anyone in the room with him at that time. Ryuuken had gone out leaving the boy alone to his thoughts. He fought the unreasonable hope that the sound was that of a Shinigami's robes--no, not just any Shinigami's robes but his. Shaking himself from his delusions, he reasoned that he would have felt the boy's reiatsu long before he would have heard the sound of his robes. And he was right. It was a minute before Urahara Kisuke, the mysterious manager and owner of the Urahara shoten, had walked towards Ishida far enough for the boy to make him out in the basement's dim light.

"Good evening, Ishida-kun," the shopkeeper said quietly. "Sorry to come so late."

"Urahara-san?" Ishida pulled himself up further until he was face to face with the former Shinigami captain. As always the shopkeeper wore his striped hat and heavy wooden clog slippers. In one hand he held the cane which he'd learned from Ichigo hid the shopkeeper's zanpakuto. He didn't have to wait long for the other man to explain why he'd come.

"You don't know do you?" Urahara eyes were like flint as he carefully looked around for, Ishida was sure, any sign of his father's imminent return.

He shook his head and managed to say a no. He remembered the three times Ichigo's reiatsu had flared into action--and the subsequent absence of it. Something told him something was wrong. Very wrong. And now, even in the dim light of the basement, Urahara's face bore the grim expression of a harbinger of ill tidings. Quietly, solemnly, the shopkeeper said, "Inoue has been kidnapped by the Arrancar on Aizen Sousuke's orders...Kurosaki-kun will probably try to save her by himself. And he'll probably come to my shop tonight looking for some way to get into Hueco Mundo."

He walked to the side of Urahara, matching the former captain step by step as they made their way to the shoten. As though by agreement neither talked, and neither used any speed-augmenting movements. If Ryuuken realized his son had escaped and searched, at the speed they were going, he would have absolutely been caught. But Ishida could not find it in himself to hasten forward even though the loud and fast pounding of his heart seemed to urge him on--made it plain how much he wanted to see Ichigo...and to do more than that. If he'd ever imagined that being with a Shinigami would make him this horny he would have snorted in disbelief. Now all he wanted was the other boy's tongue in his mouth, on his skin, around his cock. But for once staving off those thoughts was remarkably easy.

Urahara's words were like the cold showers he had often enough taken those mornings that he'd needed to dampen his sexual desires. Kurosaki-kun will probably try to save her by himself.

...try to save her...by himself.

Was it just Ichigo's sense of duty to protect his friends? Or was it a lover's sense of duty to rescue the one he loved?

And what in turn would he say to Ichigo? Hey, long time no see? Was that what people who'd not too long ago broken up used to greet each other? And even that--would Ichigo even make any pretense to care about how he'd been much less where he'd been? Or would Ishida find himself face to face with an Ichigo who had no more need of him, even if merely as a comrade-at-arms?

No matter what he would say, could possibly say, he would stay to help rescue Inoue--not only because she was a friend and sometimes companion but also because doing so would probably be the last act he would be able to do for Ichigo, the last act he could still do (he'd tried to reason to himself how helping Inoue was in no way infringing on the vow he'd made to Ryuuken) to ensure the happiness of the two and in so doing finally be able to give the boy up completely.

Part V: Confrontation

They stood a foot apart, hands plastered to their sides, each fully aware that they hadn't been this close for what seemed like ages. And though each wanted to reach out and grasp the other they did nothing of the sort, afraid to see the other flinch at the touch, afraid to hurt and be hurt once more. Instead they contented themselves by standing a foot apart in the underground training area and dancing around the issues. Each was grimly aware that time was short, that Urahara, who had called Sado away for a while to deal with some last minute preparations leaving the two boys alone, would be back anytime.

It was Ichigo who broke the silence. "I'm glad...you're ok. You...got back your powers?"

Ishida nodded, unable to trust his voice. He tried to resist the temptation to mentally undress Ichigo, tried to resist the thoughts and the wild hopes that had crept back at the sight of the orange-haired Shinigami making him want to throw all resolve into the wind. He needed to make it clear to Ichigo that he would not stand between him and Inoue--that this would be the last time...the last time... No. I will not break down now. I must not...

Ichigo never knew what the right thing to say to Ishida was and now more than ever he was at a loss. How could he explain to the Quincy that he loved him, that he always had, that he had broken up precisely because he loved him, and that now that he had his inner hollow under control (barely yes, but still in control) they should get back together? The dark-haired boy was infuriatingly calm while Ichigo, standing only a foot away from him, was tormented by the desire to wrap his arms around the slim body and lick the Quincy from head to toe.

Instead, Ichigo chose to ask another question. "Did...Urahara-san...explain the situation to you?"

Ishida nodded. "He did. On the way here."

"I see."

Silence.

Ishida had never before been bothered by silence. Until now. He felt the frustration in Ichigo like a taut tight string ready to snap. He was acutely aware of the lines on Ichigo's face. As though he'd had to suffer through an ordeal. Figures, with Inoue in the hands of the Arrancar he must be worried sick. He recalled the face Ichigo wore when he entered the Urahara shoten not more than half an hour ago, a full hour after Ishida had himself arrived at the shop. Distraught...and determined. It was an expression that said that he would pursue this course of action even if it cost him his life. There was in Ichigo a stubbornness that refused to give up--that had always been there--but tonight, for some inexplicable reason, Ishida felt that the Ichigo standing before him, the orange-haired Shinigami he'd pined over for long enough, was a different person altogether.

Once more he called upon the reiraku of the Shinigami, the red thread dancing before him visible to him alone. Once more he let the thread coil around his right index finger. Once more he felt that something bitter--dark--mixed into the boy's reiatsu, a distinct vein running through it. He'd felt that before but not quite as strongly as now, not as distinctly. It was as if that darkness--Ishida shuddered--had somehow been accepted by the Shinigami. As if Ichigo had willingly made it a part of himself.

Enough. If Ichigo refused to talk about the issue, though each had pointedly avoided it in the earlier exchanges, he would. It was time they settled--no, I settled--the matter once and for all.

"Ichigo...," Ishida said, holding his palm up to ensure he had the orange-head's full attention. "Did Urahara-san tell you the conditions I paid in order to get my powers back?"

Ichigo shook his head, unable to comprehend what Ishida was leading up to. "Why? It doesn't matter now, does it Ishida? You have your powers back. That's all that matters."

Ishida sighed at the Shinigami's seemingly total lack of cerebral capacity.

"Idiot. It means everything." Taking a step back, he turned his back to Ichigo, knowing that if he saw the other's expression his resolve would waver. Or worse, he thought, his lack of expression. "Ryuuken demanded from me a vow. That henceforth I would never again associate myself with Shinigami or their allies..." Ishida mentally added the words he'd not wanted to acknowledge sooner: Never more associate with you...

"Then why...?" Did he hear correctly the crack in Ichigo's voice?

"As you've been abandoned by Soul Society on this mission and you yourself are not a full-fledged Shinigami I see no objections arising from my pact. But that is beside the point. This is my goodbye Kurosaki. After Inoue is rescued we will have nothing more to do with each other. Nor will we meet again. I have made arrangements to leave Karakura."

A rough hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Gripping his shoulder's tightly Ichigo shook Ishida demanding why. Ishida sighed, looking into the crazy light that filled Ichigo's eyes--and the pain. Yes, there was pain. As though his words had mortally wounded the Shinigami. He will forget me soon enough, once Inoue is back. "This is the best. For both of us," he quietly said.

No. No. No. No. Ichigo refused to understand what Ishida was saying. He refused to listen. There was no way the Quincy meant what he said right? It was just a joke, a sick joke as revenge for the break up, he thought, completely forgetting that the dark-haired boy did not know how to crack any. He shook Ishida demanding an answer, demanding why in hell he would want to do that. He looked into the Quincy's eyes searching for something, anything that would tell him the boy was lying but Ishida was as calm and composed as he had always been except when they were having sex. Then he heard, as if from a distance, or from underwater Ishida's final words. This is the best. For both of us. And snapped.

Forgetting all the words he'd planned to say to get Ishida back, forgetting that they were in the underground training room in the Urahara shoten where the manager, Jinta, Urururu, Sado, or anyone could just pop in, he lunged at Ishida, gripping him tightly, pinning him against the nearest rock refusing to let the Quincy go. Frenzied he pressed his mouth against Ishida's, forcing his tongue inside. Holding Ishida's wrists he held them tightly high above the head of the Quincy as Ishida struggled. No. He would not allow Ishida to leave. He would not allow Ishida to leave him.

Ichigo ground his hips against Ishida, wanting to make the other boy hard--hard and desirous of him. He wanted to ingrain into the very core of Ishida the same need, the same want, he felt. He wanted to penetrate the Quincy. Shifting his hands until only his left gripped both wrists, he reached downwards with his right.

Ishida could not react fast enough before Ichigo had him pinned against the jagged surface of one of the countless boulders that littered the underground training room. He felt Ichigo force his tongue into his mouth, his hardness press and grind against Ishida, and despite himself, despite everything he'd resolved he felt himself respond. No, this was not how it was supposed to go, dammit. This was just a reflexive response. It meant nothing. Ichigo was just shocked. The fevered kisses meant nothing, were nothing. Ichigo, being too physical and less cerebral, had no other outlet except to do this. He was just venting himself. The urgency of Ichigo's thrusts against him meant nothing, were nothing.

Dimly he became aware through the fog of increasing lust that Ichigo had repositioned his hands, his right now snaking downwards to free his and Ishida's cocks. Fighting the desire to let Ichigo continue, fighting the knowledge that he wanted Ichigo to continue and always would, he found no other option to stopping the madness than sharply yanking his left hand from Ichigo's loosening grip and punching the idiot he loved and probably always would--hard.

The sudden pain made Ichigo gasp, making him lose his grip. That was all that Ishida needed to free himself from Ichigo. Panting and shaking, he backed away from the Shinigami. He waited. He waited to see if Ichigo had been woken from his madness by the pain and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the crazy light in Ichigo's eyes dissipate. It had been replaced by confusion, by pain. He'll get over this soon enough, Ishida thought to himself. Straightening himself he began to fix himself. It would not be good if Urahara and Sado suddenly came back to find them as they were now. This is the best. For the both of us. It was his mantra. That's right. This was the best way--the only way.

Neither spoke of what happened, pretending to Urahara, Sado, and even themselves that they'd just had a pleasant conversation--the kind where old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while got caught up talking about what each had missed out on. Neither acknowledged the shopkeeper's inquiring gaze when they insisted that they leave for Hueco Mundo without further delay. It had been a silent compromise after that. They would pretend nothing had happened. It was the only way to keep up any veneer of civility under the ignorant gaze of Sado. They would sort out by themselves their own feelings and thoughts later when all this was over. This was the best. For the both of them.

Part VI: Confessions

It was over...for now. They had been able to escape, barely yes, but they'd achieved precisely what they had sought. Inoue was now safe. With the help of the captains, they had been transported back to Soul Society battered but still alive--somehow. Except Rukia. Even now, three days after they'd arrived in Seiretei she'd not once opened her eyes, her breathing labored. Even had he known nothing about medicine it was still plain to see that Rukia was in critical condition despite Inoue's ministrations.

Ishida glanced at the moonlit sky and sighed. The fight was not over. Aizen Sousuke, Ichimaru Gin, Tousen Kaname, and the remaining Espada, though temporarily held back, were very much alive and with the hogyoku still in Aizen's grasp--and the revelation that even though it remained asleep Aizen could still make use of it to create more Arrancar--boded ill. It had been decided that he and Sado were to return to Karakura the next day. Inoue would continue to stay in Soul Society to continue to care for Rukia. And Ichigo? He did not ask. He'd resolved since that night before they left Hueco Mundo that he would have nothing more to do with the Shinigami had he not? It shouldn't--it wasn't--his concern anymore. But somehow now that the time had come the prospect of returning to Karakura--and having to permanently leave Ichigo's side--was becoming less and less appealing.

Captain Ukitake had tried to convince him to continue lending his aid in the upcoming battles but he'd gently declined. A Quincy never backed down on his word. If he should act, even if it may coincide with what the Shinigami wanted, they should remember that he was acting alone, independent of Soul Society and of any of their plans. But before he left he needed to confirm Rukia's state. It was with this intention that he'd gone to the Kuchiki mansion where Inoue, Rukia, and Ichigo were being housed by Byakuya. As to why Sado and him were not given the same offer by the cold sixth division captain he did not know but at the very least the Kuchiki servants had not been instructed to bar him entry as he'd half expected them to.

Seated in the traditionally-styled room that for the duration of their stay was Inoue's, he reflected while waiting for her. He'd not broached the topic of total separation to Ichigo again since before they'd entered Hueco Mundo. He did not want a repeat of the Shinigami's outburst. He wanted to be able to keep his resolve, his pride, and not break down and concede to whatever the Shinigami would do to him should Ichigo react similarly as before. At the same time he knew that nothing he would say would probably penetrate the thick skull of the idiot when, even more than he was, Ichigo was desperately worried about Rukia--to the near oblivion of everything else. Instead he'd opted to do things quietly this time. Just pack up his bags and leave. Let Ichigo find out later and deal with it.

A soft rattling hiss alerted him to the arrival of company. Inoue, clad in what looked to be a modified and more regal version of Shinigami robes, came in and sat across Ishida. The white robes the Arrancar had made her wear were, he expected, somewhere in the bowels of the research division being pored over by Mayuri and all his other mad scientists and analyzed down to the separate threads that made it up.

"Hello, Ishida-kun," she said softly. Astute as the girl was she knew what he was there for. Her eyes, normally cheerful, were downcast.

"Is there...any hope?" He did not know how to frame the question better, to make it less...desperate...than it was.

"It's better than it was before," she said, quietly. "But the problem isn't the physical wounds she's received. That's been cured. It's..." Looking at him with bright eyes, she choked back a sob before continuing in a shaky voice. "...It's as if she wants to die. I can't...I can't do anything for that. My powers...If only my powers...could reach out to her and tell her that it's ok, that she's safe...that she doesn't need to want to die..."

Reaching out, Ishida wrapped his arms around Inoue, letting her lean on him and cry. The tears she'd held back those three days flowed unashamedly out. She'd not wanted to make Ichigo suffer any more than he already was. She didn't want to see an Ichigo unable to eat, unable to sleep, restlessly prowling the corridors. So she'd kept everything in. Now in front of Ishida she wept, clinging onto him with the desperation of a drowning sailor. He stroked her hair gently, comforting her until she'd composed herself enough to let go and wipe her tears. Returning a weak smile she busied herself making tea for the both of them.

Ishida frowned. He'd seen those symptoms in other patients in the hospital before, patients who despite the best care seemed to waste away into nothingness. He did not know what horrors Rukia had seen while in Hueco Mundo. He could only barely imagine. Running a finger across his wrist he remembered how Szayel Aporro Granz had broken and re-broken his wrists over and over again in their fight and how with each break he'd made it a point to point out to the Quincy his utter uselessness. He could just as easily have ended up just like Rukia. The only difference was that after 15 years of contending with a father whose only comments were to complain about his son's powerlessness, his uselessness, Szayel's taunts lost their potency.

Inoue motioned him to help himself to the tea while saying, "Have you seen Ichigo?"

At the mention of the orange-head's name Ishida's hands faltered. Recovering his composure he took a sip of the tea before replying in an even and measured voice, "No. I didn't plan to."

Inoue looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. She twilled her thumbs. "You should, you know. He's also been worried about you."

Worried? Ichigo would never worry about him, he knew. In all the time they'd been together Ichigo had not once, not once cared about asking Ishida if he was alright. Not once did the Shinigami care for him the way Ishida did, of that he was certain. When Ishida replied he could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "No," he said firmly. "He never did."

Inoue shook her head. Somehow she understood Ishida's pain. She understood because she'd borne that pain herself. But it was precisely because she knew the pain that came when someone you loved dearly never looked at you, never noticed your quiet devotion, your care, that she wanted him to know that it wasn't--it shouldn't--be the case for him. Taking hold of Ishida's hands in her own she made him look at her. And only when she knew she had his full attention, full understanding did she continue.

"You're wrong Ishida-kun. He cares for you more than you think he does." Swallowing, she rushed head on. "I know. I know because I saw it. I heard it in his voice when he asked of Captain Zaraki to look for you, to make sure you were ok. Ichigo..." She looked straight into Ishida's eyes, wanting him to see the truth in them. "Ichigo wouldn't allow himself to be taken away until Captain Zaraki told him Captain Mayuri had been likewise sent to fetch you out of what he called a 'hell hole.'" Swallowing back her tears and the pain of having to finally admit the fact not only to Ishida but to herself as well she said, "He loves you Ishida-kun. Not me. Not Rukia. You."

He heard the words but somehow they didn't want to sink in. He loves you Ishida-kun. Not me. Not Rukia. You. Surely Inoue had it all wrong. But looking into the girl's eyes he saw truth and certainty. Whatever it was that she had seen, that she had witnessed, made it absolutely crystal clear that what she was saying was the absolute truth. He remembered the words from some book he'd read before. Incontrovertible evidence. That was what Inoue had that made her say that statement. Incontrovertible evidence. And whether it was his logic or his heart that made him want to believe her he did not care anymore. He did. He trusted that quiet faith, that quiet adoration he knew she possessed for the orange-haired Shinigami. He knew that to admit that Ichigo loved Ishida was the most painful blow she could inflict on herself. Slowly, and with many pauses she revealed to him about Ichigo's inner Hollow and how the only way he had to control it lest it get out of hand was to cut himself off from everyone--including and especially Ishida.

He took his leave of her not long after. He knew that staying longer would only make her pain worse--and his. How stupid he was So certain that Ichigo had abandoned him for Inoue he'd refused to see, refused to listen and now that Inoue had opened his eyes and his ears for him he began to recognize the signs for what they were. The anger, the desperation. Now he knew he needed to find Ichigo. He needed to find him and apologize. To hell with his damned pride but if needed he would go down and beg--plead--Ichigo to give him another chance.

Searching was not hard. Though the Shinigami had marginally improved in his control of his reiatsu there was still more than enough of it overflowing from the boy to be detectable a mile away. And now that he was worried, Ichigo had abandoned any pretense of control. Ishida was more worried about being unable to find the so-to-speak needle in the haystack of reiatsu than finding any reiatsu to guide him at all. Following Ichigo's reiraku led him to, of all places, Rukia's room. But the orange-haired boy was not alone. Kuchiki Byakuya was there as well. That in itself was not surprising as after all, when all is said and done, Captain Kuchiki was and is Rukia's elder brother. But what surprised Ishida, and made him make himself scarce, masking his reiatsu completely, was the look on the sixth division captain's normally impassive face. That and the hand the noble rested on Ichigo's shoulder. Then as though taunting him for his stupidity, he heard the words Kuchiki Byakuya whispered to the other Shinigami.

"Stay. Rukia needs you. I need you."

Ichigo rubbed his eyes. He needed to stay awake. He needed to stay awake so that Rukia would wake up too. He knew his logic sucked and if Ishida were there with him he would have berated Ichigo for it. Ishida. It had been three days since they arrived in Soul Society, three days since Byakuya, carrying the broken body of Rukia in his arms, escorted himself and Inoue to the Kuchiki mansion and to the room he was now in where he gently placed Rukia on a futon and asked--almost begged--Inoue to do something for Rukia. It had been a full day since Inoue's Soten Kisshun had been lifted. The combined effects of the healing Byakuya had done for Rukia while still in Hueco Mundo and Inoue's own healing when they'd arrived in Seiretei had restored Rukia's body to its former strength. Except, even if Inoue did not tell Ichigo herself, he knew that the problem wasn't the physical wounds. He'd seen patients die before not because of the severity of the wounds they'd received but because they had lost hope in living.

Ishida. He'd not spoken to Ishida since they had arrived but he did not forget--could not forget--the declaration the Quincy had made before they left for Hueco Mundo. For now at least the dark-haired boy had not yet made any move to leave, not renewed that declaration that made Ichigo despair at the mere thought of. At the smallest sign that Ishida would pull through with what he'd said, Ichigo would move heaven and earth to stop him.

The soft padding of footsteps snapped Ichigo out of his reverie. Byakuya stopped and stood at the corner of the room, arms folded across his chest staring at the seemingly lifeless face of his younger sister. This was not the first time he'd done this. The normally impassive and aloof noble would do precisely this at least thrice each day, his actions rather than his expression belying the sixth division captain's anxiety. During those times neither would speak, the mutual silence comfortable, even comforting. But today it seemed Byakuya had other ideas. Once he knew that Ichigo had noticed him, he walked to where the orange-haired shinigami sat.

"Commander-General Yamamoto commends you for your bravery in rescuing Inoue Orihime, however, he expressly wanted me to inform you that as a human and as a substitute Shinigami your place is not here but in Karakura. He wishes you to depart first thing tomorrow morning."

Ichigo shook his head. He knew the Commander-General had a point but he was unwilling to back down on this point. "I will not leave until I know Rukia will be alright."

Kuchiki Byakuya sighed. But oddly, the sigh was not one of exasperation at what the sixth division captain might well consider his obstinacy. Then, as though divulging an intimate secret he would rather not have anyone know Byakuya said, "Not that I am loathe to let you stay."

Ichigo turned to face the noble. Rather than the normal cold front he wore, Byakuya's face clearly showed the worry and the strain that was weighing him down. Quietly, so that his voice only carried as far as Ichigo, Byakuya corrected himself. "No. It is not that I am not averse to letting you stay. Rather, I want you to stay."

"Why?" Ichigo waited for the noble to explain himself but the silent desperation in Byakuya's response almost made Ichigo want to take back his words.

"Because you're the only one that can bring Rukia back. You're the only one she'll respond to...because she loves you."

Byakuya tried to control his voice, to not let it tremble as much as his heart did. He'd known long enough how much Rukia loved Ichigo. He knew how much pain she'd felt when the boy had suddenly disappeared without a trace only to resurface later with little explanation as to his whereabouts--only the vague words "to train" as a response to all inquiries. He knew how much pain she'd felt when she'd carried him back to his house unconscious and unresponsive and how long she stayed up watching, waiting, praying and hoping, for the orange-haired Shinigami to wake up. Just as he did for her now. He knew how much she'd begged him to let her go to Hueco Mundo to help him. And he knew how much he himself had wanted to go to that barren wasteland because even as she loved him so did he.

"Stay," he said. "Rukia needs you. I need you."

Holding Ichigo by the shoulders Byakuya pressed his face forward into Ichigo's chest, his bottled-up emotions overflowing with his tears. He felt the youth's tan arms circle around him, comforting him, crying with him.

Ishida felt lost and empty as he watched the two men crying, holding onto each other with the desperation of drowning sailors as Ichigo whispered something to Captain Kuchiki. Slowly, he stepped away, not wishing to disturb the scene. Not knowing what to do or to think except to leave. He'd seen enough. But this time, he said to himself, he would not make the same mistake he'd made twice. He would trust Ichigo. He would trust and hope that Ichigo would come back with him, stay with him.

That was the only thing he had left.

Part VII: Afternoon

Familiar voices washed over him. Inconsequential conversations, uninhibited laughter. Briefly glancing at the still empty seat he wondered how things remained the same despite everything, despite him.

The school desks arranged in their usual rows and columns, the scribbled messages on the blackboard, the black schoolbags and the whites of their uniforms--all of it seemed to exist in another time that constantly looped, detached from time's thundering passage. Ishida felt disjointed, out of place. But nonetheless he'd chosen to stay. Fuck Ryuuken and his demands. Why should he bow to the whims of a father who'd never once been truly father to him in fifteen years? This was his life. Or as much of it while waiting, hoping, for him.

A hand seemed to squeeze his heart whenever questions were asked about Ichigo's whereabouts. Neither he nor Sado said much, knowing that trying to explain concepts like Soul Society and an impending full-scale war with a renegade Shinigami captain hell-bent on obliterating the entire town was impossible. They were better-off living their dreams in their protected bubble worlds for as long as they still could. Life--and all its inescapable grief--would come knocking soon enough.

Carefully Ishida replaced his books back into his bag. Maybe he would end up living his life as Inoue did, bravely holding up against the knowledge that the man he loved would never more be his. But somehow this didn't trouble him. Maybe that was his punishment. With nothing else to do, and the Handicrafts Club closed for the day, he had no choice except to return to his flat.

Reaching his apartment he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Winter was fast approaching and with the increasingly cold wind biting into his body going inside would be a relief. The click of the lock's tumblers falling into place as he closed the door seemed to mock him in his aloneness. The room remained just as he had left it. He gently placed his bag in its usual place beside the coffee table. Reaching up he eased the tie of his uniform. He sighed. A nice shower to wash off the day's grime and organize his thoughts was in order. With another sigh he opened the bedroom door. And stopped.

Seated on the floor, back pressed against the edge of Ishida's bed was a familiar orange head.

"I-Ichigo...?"

The Quincy's voice faltered as he looked at the apparition of the Shinigami, unable to believe his own eyes--which he'd never before done--unwilling to let the hope bursting from his chest out until, almost shyly, Ichigo raised a hand, grinned, and said, "Yo."

"What are you doing here," Ishida blurted out, unthinking. Ichigo laughed tentatively.

"To see you of course."

Ishida crossed the room, the distance for once excruciatingly long, each moment too long and too hard to bear. "No," he said. "That's not what I meant. Aren't...aren't you supposed to be in Soul Society?" With Rukia, he silently added. After all, hadn't the Shinigami continued to be absent for almost a week since Ishida and Sado arrived? Hadn't his absence meant he'd made his choice to accept Rukia?

Ichigo scratched his head, ruffling his spiky orange hair in the way that personally drove Ishida nuts. "Byakuya told me you saw...and heard...what happened that night. Said he'd briefly felt your reiatsu before you hid it. There's nothing...I was responsible...so..." Ishida watched Ichigo fumble for words and decided to spare the Shinigami any more trouble.

"I know," he said, crossed the final stretch of the room to where Ichigo sat and without any further superfluous explanations stooped down to kiss the Shinigami.

It was everything Ishida had wanted and more. With tongues intertwined, licking and sucking with fervor, passion, and ardor he'd not remembered and desperately craved, Ishida's knees began to buckle. Warm palms reached out to grasp his thighs, pulling him down into a tight embrace. Gentle fingers caressed his cheeks, wiping away the tears that trickled down from the corners of his eyes. There was no need to speak. No need to spout unneeded words. All that mattered were the hands that slowly, carefully traced each curve, each angle of his body as if to burn each inch of Ishida's skin, Ishida's being, in his memory. All that mattered was the sensation of Ichigo's lips as they traveled down his throat, his collarbone--the feel of his warm breath tingling even the smallest of hairs on Ishida's body.

Slowly, deliberately, in sharp contrast to the impatient desire in his eyes, Ichigo made love to Ishida. His tongue made lazy circles around Ishida's left nipple, accentuating the motion every now and then with sharp sucks that made Ishida moan, his dripping cock twitch. His fingers in Ishida's hole twisted and turned, clockwise then counterclockwise, spreading him open. Every so often those fingers would stop to rub the nub of his prostate making Ishida thrust his hips backwards in an attempt to get the tan fingertips to brush that spot once more. With his other hand Ichigo grasped Ishida's balls and slowly began to knead them, fondle them, making Ishida gasp and whimper his pleasure. And just when Ishida felt he was on the edge, ready to explode, Ichigo would completely stop, making Ishida beg Ichigo to continue but still totally addicted to the rise, ebb, and subsequent rise of pleasure in being again and again denied release.

Drowning in the combined sensations, trembling and moaning, Ishida felt Ichigo flip him over so that his back was laid against the cold floor. Ichigo pulled his own cock free. From where he lay Ishida could see its long pulsing hardness, already sloppy, a wet splotch splashed across the front of Ichigo's pants where his cock's fluids had seeped through, before Ichigo laid his hot member against Ishida's own and began to rub it up and down. One. Two. Three. Each time their cock heads brushed and collided moans leaked from their lips. One. Two. Three. Three times more Ichigo rubbed their cocks together before placing his throbbing cock against Ishida's entrance and pushing in.

The pleasure of just feeling Ichigo's throbbing hot cock in him, splitting him open, was more than Ishida could handle, making him come. But with his desires not yet fulfilled his own cock remained hard. Ichigo swilled his fingers around the base of Ishida's cock before traveling upwards to pet its overflowing head. One. Two. Three. Ichigo pulled the foreskin down then let it slide back up. Slowly at first, as though in a trance, but eventually picking up speed, Ichigo began to move. And all thought left Ishida's mind as his body repeatedly arched and shook.

Three hours and countless releases after, the two bodies of the boys sank into the bed's mattress with grateful satisfied sighs. The thoughts and questions that Ishida had set aside during the act now came rushing back unbidden.

"How is Rukia?" he asked the boy at his side.

"She regained consciousness two days ago. We've talked. She understands. Inoue's staying with her until she makes a full recovery which shouldn't be too long from now."

"How come I didn't sense you were here?"

"Yamamoto--you remember that first division captain--and Ukitake gave me a bracelet that I'm supposed to wear at all times. It masks my reiatsu completely. Apparently they don't want Aizen to be aware that I've returned. That and as a way to monitor me." Ichigo raised his left hand so that Ishida could see the black and orange band that was strapped to his wrist.

"Monitor...? Is something wrong?" Ishida asked. He propped himself with a hand, looking the shinigami in the eyes, searching them. He shuddered at the grimness in them and felt an unreasoning panic rise from his gut at the possibilities implied by the Shinigami's next words.

"No. Not yet."

Ichigo swallowed. He wanted to smooth away the pain and the worry that lined Ishida's face at his words. But just then he needed the dark-haired boy to completely understand what he had to say. It was the only way he could continue to stay with Ishida.

"I still hear him, Ishida. The hollow in me. It's just biding its time until it can overwhelm me and take control. If...when...it does, all that we've done will go down the drain. I know just how depraved and destructive he is. But before that...before he takes complete control of me...I want you to promise me something."

Ichigo took Ishida's free hand and placed it directly over his heart. "Promise me...that with these very hands...you will kill me."

There was no need to dwell on remote possibilities--even remote possibilities that might just actually happen. Although he'd promised Ichigo to, as the boy had said, kill him with his own hands, Ishida had no plans of doing so. He vowed, silently, secretly, to himself that when that time came he would save Ichigo from the darkness that had laid claim on the boy. He had no plans of losing the shinigami ever again.

Lying back beside Ichigo, wrapping his hands around the orange-head he kissed him. Driving the grimness out of his thoughts, he once more bent forward to kiss the boy and let what little remained of the afternoon to melt into a night filled with the urgent sighs of their passion.