A/N: So, this is the prequel to my 3-shot 'Illuminated Illusions'. Like the original story, this one, too, will be only 3 chapters and it's dedicated to my friend SirenShadow, who, for reason I will never understand, finds 'Illuminated' my best fanfiction-al achievement. xD As a very late birthday present... here we go.

Slumbering Shadows

Part 1

It's unheard of.

For so many reasons, and none of them really matter, to be honest.

Sometimes Gin says they are 'almost' lovers, because no one can ever know, and because keeping this relationship of theirs alive takes so much effort and brings so little results… He flips that suggestion as a joke, like they are maybe sharing something special that nobody else can ever have, but secretly, Toushiro hates it when the older captain talks like that. It seems so… belittling somehow, to be reduced to this in-between entertainment that can only be savored behind closed doors and with curtains tightly shut. It's selfish to think that way when they both know there is no other path for them to take, but the boy can't help the way he feels when Ichimaru blows off the candle beside their bed and turns around to wrap an arm around his naked form. They both know Toushiro will be waking up alone the next morning, surrounded by crispy, yet wrinkled sheets, and they both know there might be weeks before they share another night again, but neither dares speak about it, lest it becomes even more true than it already is.

Toushiro clearly remembers three times when they have been on the verge of breaking. Three times that can only be defined in their silence and painted in sad, crumbling blue and forgotten, austere white… Sometimes he wonders if something would've gone different if they had just allowed themselves to be pulled apart, for the world to yank their bleeding, thrashing bodies away from one another, and to leave that deep, leaking crevasse of sorrow in between for time to heal in their absence. It sounds easy when spoken from the current point of view, but deep inside Hitsugaya knows there has never been any other option to pick, any other game to play… They have done everything and nothing altogether and it has broken and rebuilt them many times, only for Fate to prove to them in the end, that there's no escaping the inevitable.

No running against the flow.

The first time they fight it's about initiation.

The morning finds the captain of the tenth division seated behind his desk and burrowed to the neck in paperwork that his lieutenant has been avoiding with very little grace and subtlety the past few weeks or so. The table is swarmed with ink, documents and brushes, a little more disorderly than usual, a little less meticulous under the young, stern eyes that are fervently trying to devour the whole wooden plain before them. The cautiously puckered lips, fighting between a pout and a nit-picking purse, are charming in their adolescent struggle to compose a mature expression, and the small hands, fussing with the one too many stacks of work and said work's callous wording, seem to move a bit too urgently today, too hurriedly in their zeal to perform a job that is meant for someone so much older and more experienced.

The customary cup of tea remains untouched at the far corner of the bureau, no longer steaming in silent suggestion, no longer striving to tempt its owner to sip from the soothing beverage that the fine porcelain is guarding. A thin smell of leaves and already perishing morning is penetrating through the window in tiny, invisible rivulets, but while at any other time the genius would've paused in his endeavors and regaled in the simple relish of the benevolent nature for a couple of seconds, today he doesn't seem to notice anything outside his own busy bubble, concentrated as he is on jotting down notes and battling with the pressing deadlines that some cruel soul has scribbled at the bottom of the pages. The words and numbers pop one after the other in his brain as he works, trying to synchronize and organize themselves in something at least remotely sensible, yet the task is already proving to be close to impossible, loading his blooming mind with so much more than it needs or is capable of handling. He persists nonetheless… Because this is what Toushiro's always done - struggled with ordeals and tackled problems that even his far older colleagues couldn't cope with, all of this with the sole purpose to make it clear that he can. That he is capable of being just as effective, just as responsible, or sometimes… most times… twice as skilled in managing a situation as anyone else.

The soft knock on the door doesn't make the captain look up, and neither does the second or the third one that follow up. Finally, the person who's standing on the other side of the threshold decides that their politeness is obviously unappreciated, and slides the obstacle back with ease, stepping into the office regardless of receiving no permission to do so. There's almost no trace of sound as the man moves primly along the parquet, a pair of familiar slit eyes landing with laughable arrogance on the fastidious little prodigy that is still thoroughly fulfilling his duties behind the writing table.

"Yare, yare, Shiro-chan…" the painfully familiar purr disrupts the quietness of the room even with its fleecy soft, slightly teasing nature. "Wherever do ya find all that energy, I wonder? Afta last night, the only thing I wanna do is lie down an'-"

"Is there anything I can help you with, Captain Ichimaru?" Hitsugaya cuts the man off harshly, voice flat as he dips the tip of his brush in the inkwell and proceeds to sign one of the documents with a graceful flourish of his wrist. "As you can see, I happen to be quite busy at the moment."

The boy's words are met with peculiar, somewhat crispy silence, and the weight of the man's surprise, the awkward way in which the usually dynamic and flexible body now stills, is something so rare and abnormal that it can be tasted in the very air. Then the nearly imperceptible rustle of clothes reaches Toushiro's ears, and even without looking up, he can tell the other one's folded his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head to the side in a look that is equal parts curious, taunting and concerned… It's hard to tell what the third division taicho wants in such cases, the guy has always been such a closed book - a misfit that attracts attention just as much as he repulses people – but by now the boy has learned there's no point in even trying to dig into the meaning of this person's expressions and bearing. He'd get everything all wrong anyways…

"Very busy, indeed…" Ichimaru breathes vaguely, obviously speculating over something that an ordinary person would probably do better not to try to discover. Hitsugaya's brows screw into a frown at the comment and oddly enough, he finds himself struggling to suppress a shudder as the soft, nearly soothing voice caresses his ear-shells like an exquisite and downy white feather with just these three small words.

"If there's nothing to share, do you mind closing the door on your way out? It's somewhat noisy outside and it keeps me from focusing on my work." Toushiro forces his tone to remain flat and firm, exactly like the one he'd be using for any other lost soul that dares to interfere with his paperwork schedule, but as painful as it is to admit it - even to himself - Ichimaru is not just anyone. He's not your average neighbor, friend or colleague… In fact, he's none of those. He's nothing important, or interesting, or much less irreplaceable, because somehow, despite all these years that they have known each other, he still belongs to no reasonable category out of the ones that the boy has pedantically listed inside his mind.

They are nothing to each other, and they never will be… It's that simple. That easy…

So… Toushiro thinks it shouldn't be a problem. It can't be hard to behave like this, to steel his voice and keep it robbed of any emotions that could give away just how desperately he wants this awkward encounter to end. Ichimaru might be many things, but he's not stupid. He'll get the hint, and he'll leave, just like he's done with so many other men and women before Hitsugaya. And it'll be over then… It'll be over, forgotten for good, this little mistake he's made... Out of stupidity and out of hope.

Foolish, childish hope…

He honestly hates that about himself… The traits of youth, visible not only on the surface, but reaching far beneath, corrupting his anxious mind and seeking heart to tarnish it, too. If he could just uproot those weaknesses of his, pluck them out and free himself from their power… He'd do anything, really… anything.

"A lil too eager ta get rid o' me?" the fox suggests with a certain hint of teasing, but the undertone that undulates the texture of his voice is miles away from the man's usual manner of speaking.

"Nonsense." The younger captain demurs in a perfect deadpan. "It's just that, unlike you, I don't have so much time on my hands to wander the other divisions in search of ways to pester my fellow captains. I enjoy your company immensely, of course, but I do believe you would do good to engage yourself with someone else. My hands are full at the moment."

"Ya're so cold, Shiro-chaan…" the man downright whines, sashaying his way further inside the room till he's standing right in front of the young prodigy's desk. A pair of hands land on the edge of the nearly ancient piece of furniture, and then Ichimaru is leaning over the piles of paper looming over Hitsugaya's stubbornly lowered head while the little ice-wielder struggles desperately to proceed with his work. He can feel the man's scent - so faint, yet fresh, tangible, masculine – creeping enticingly over his small frame as it caresses his senses with invisible, decadent digits… And the odd, unfamiliar longing crashes down on the boy hard, shattering his will and his resolute coldness with power that Toushiro has no chance of repelling no matter how much he struggles or how loudly his mind screams for help... All of a sudden, the memory of Gin's lean body above him, the naked and scarred flesh beneath the child's fingertips, the hard chest, heaving with half-suppressed moans of pleasure, and the palpable delirium that lingers in their mingling breaths – it all swims behind the younger captain's eyes, harsh and vivid, impossible to escape. "Sometimes I think ya jus' enjoy torturin' me. Am I really that unlikable fo' ya? I honestly try so hard."

"Cut the crap, Ichimaru, and get the hell out of my office."

"Ah…" the fox comments indefinitely, his index finger stretching out to nudge at the edge of a document that is lying nearby, and then he adds softly, making the sound of his next words tremble in the air with an emotion that the genius can't quite pinpoint. "I see now… How bad does it hurt? You know, it's perfectly normal to feel a bit sore the next day… But that doesn't give you an excuse to act all bitchy about it."

Toushiro's gaze immediately snaps up, cheeks burning with anger and humiliation as he exhales in indignant disbelief, trying to figure out if he's heard correctly. His small hand fastens around the brush he is armed with, squeezing it hard as he tries to get a hold of his breathing, to keep his temper in check despite the insolence of the man who's currently standing before him. Everything is dancing before his eyes, unsteady and wracked like a quivering illusion that he cannot escape, and he doesn't notice the way the other captain is watching him now, his face grin-less and serious, thin brows knitted together in wonderment that is only verbally expressed in the brief loss of the infamous brogue he's demonstrated a moment ago… The emerald gaze flashes hopelessly, breathlessly, the bones literally crumbling inside his body as the echo of the degrading (albeit truthful) words pulses and thrashes inside his head. The blissful flame of the rage is somewhere there, hidden among the swirls of iridescent emotions, and he scrambles to catch the right colour, to bring out the one feeling that he can allow himself to set free right now, but… but it evades him still.

And, God, how he wants to just scream… To wrap everything that he's going through in raspy hollers and hopeless anger. He wants to let go, just this once, and make it clear just how hard this is… How much it hurts him to see himself in the situation of the used and disposed entertainment, the idiot who gave in when he should've fought, the virgin who succumbed to this red-eyed demon, surrendering to the shallow pleasures of the flesh and sacrificing his dignity for a night of carnal contentment. Isn't the knowledge of what happened enough of a punishment? Does this cruel, heartless excuse of a joke need to stretch any longer, to poison anyone any further, when there is nothing left to aim for, no more games to play, innocence to corrupt, untouched body - to claim…? Either Ichimaru doesn't get it, or he doesn't want to understand, for it probably doesn't strike him as anything special to trick, to lie, to deceive… To lure the eyes and the mind of his prey, and then steal its most guarded possession when that victim is at its weakest…

What does anyone's pride mean to this fiend, anyways? Just another notch on the wall, marked absently with the tip of a pocket knife in places where no one would find the nick or question the unwritten name that the man has already engraved in his mind. Because this is all it is, isn't it? A sick little triumph and nothing more.

Nothing more…

"How dare you?!" Toushiro grits out, standing up slowly to at least partially lessen the height difference that is so humiliatingly pronounced when he has to face someone as tall and slender as the third division taicho. The boy's fingers are shaking and he drops the brush, closing his hands in tight fists to gain at least a little control over himself. His head, skin, lungs – everything is burning, hurting so bad he has no idea what to do with himself to escape this aching fever. He feels so lost as he speaks now, choking on his own words and making an even more pitiful picture of himself as the futile anger morphs into helpless, childish bitterness, and he slowly begins losing himself... "How dare you stroll into my office, pretend like you've got any right or permission to be here, and then speak to me in such disrespectful manner? Are you not satisfied? Didn't you get what you wanted at the end?" his lips jerk in heart-sore little smile and he continues in a low, shaky voice, trying to keep his body up despite the urge to just collapse and hide from the world, disappear like an insignificant speck, blown away by the wind. "Congratulations, you. Won. You were the first to fuck the local brat-genius, time to brag about it now. I bet there're hundreds of people who are just dying to find out exactly how you managed this extraordinary feat. Do not leave them disappointed, it's surely a great story to relate over a drink, especially when the memory is still fresh in your mind, ready to be distributed to all anxious ears and awaiting mouths for the future jolly journey around Sereitei's bored population. Please, I won't mind, go ahead and spread your story, I imagine common decency isn't what's holding you back. You don't appear to be burdened with any such minor flaws, anyways, and I don't see any reasons for you to act as though it's otherwise."

With that said, Toushiro makes a move to sit down again and resume his initial position, but before he can even begin doing so, Ichimaru's hand is around his arm, keeping him in place as slightly cracked red eyes bore down on the boy with shocking intensity.

"Is that what ya really think?" he asks quietly and the boy purses his lips, resisting the urge to jerk violently from the touch. "Do ya honestly consider possible what ya jus' said?"

"What else is there left for me to believe," Toushiro hisses as an overwhelming mix of anger and confusion shoots through his spine like a jolt of sizzling electricity. "When I wake up in four in the morning to an empty bed, no note, and no traces of you whatsoever? This is how you dispose of your one-night whores, isn't it, Ichimaru, how you sneak out in the middle of the night once you're done with them? You really needn't explain anything to me, I got the picture, I know where I stand in your eyes now... I would merely appreciate it if you'd leave me alone to tend to my work."

The boy tries to settle down in his chair again, but the older shinigami doesn't let go, staring without any hint of a smile at the diminutive captain. The pair of thin, usually sneering lips, part ever so slightly, urging some kind of a rebuttal, a response to the accusations, but heavy, suffocating silence is all that fills the confines of the room. No rational excuse seems to come to the man's mind, no badly conceived lie or a reassurance of discretion of any kind. And Toushiro's heart drops at that, barely beating now, as the disappointment flood his veins and leaves him even more aching than before, desperate for this to be over.

"Nothing?" Toushiro mutters, features softening as a small, sad smile tugs the corners pf his mouth. "Well, that's a first."

"Ya dun kno' what it is like." Ichimaru whispers suddenly, squeezing the boy's arm a bit too tightly as he leans over the desk, closer to the boy. "Ya dun get it. I had no choice."

"No choice?" Toushiro repeats incredulously, one eyebrow jerking up in a pessimistic arch as he shakes his head and adds spitefully. "Well, I'm so sorry to hear that. I suppose my immature mind cannot comprehend how difficult it must be to remain in the same bed all night long."

"It's hard enough for me as it is, can't ya at least try ta not make it any harder?"

"And what exactly am I doing?" Toushiro chokes out in a broken whisper, shaking his head as the disbelief fills up his sore, tight throat. "You're the one who invaded my office despite my reluctance to meet you, let alone talk about last night. Truthfully, I'd rather you just didn't speak to me again, I've got enough on my mind and I don't need a recurrent reminder of the mistake I made out of utter and unforgivable stupidity."

"Don't say that!" Ichimaru hisses, grabbing both of the child's upper arms and shaking them with urgency that makes the tenth captain's eyes snap wide open. "Do ya honestly not see why I came 'ere?"

Toushiro can't respond. Gaze nude and uncertain, he absently lifts hands to cover Ichimaru's wrists, either planning to try and pray the harsh fingers off of himself, or – what? – he isn't sure. It's only now that he realizes just how close their faces are, and the desk that separates them – hard and unyielding – is practically nothing to the taller man's height and range, the length of those lean limbs making up so well for the general smallness of the white-haired genius. A familiar, crushing weakness crawls insidiously up his backbone, splintering his will bit by bit and he finds himself hating and loving this sensation with every fiber of his being. It hurts worse than anything he's ever felt, but it's also the most powerful and the most amazing thing he has ever experienced… Their bodies, their mouths and minds attract like magnets, and from this distance the effect is even stronger. How can he ever resist this? How can he fight it when this man's presence is inside, outside, everywhere around him, in everything he does, every molecule of air he swallows… Toushiro can almost taste the third captain's breath on his lips, the warmth of the succulent, avid tongue and the delicious pressure of the man's mouth on his own. The air between them crackles as though set on fire, and Hitsugaya's eyelids lower in some kind of defeat, incandescent need already coursing through his skin as he allows himself to turn pliant, defeated in the other one's hold.

And then Ichimaru leans forward, ready to swipe the younger boy off his feet, and bright red lights go off in Toushiro's mind, making him tense. No, no, nononono, this can't happen again…! The sound of skin meeting skin resonates loud and clear in the air, and the contact is instantly lost as Gin stumbles backward, clutching his right cheek with his palm. Hitsugaya lets out a breath he hasn't realized he's been holding and glances in shock at his own throbbing hand, instinctively pulling it to his chest as he steps back from the desk, almost afraid of what the result of his actions will be for him. The distant gleam of worry managing to flicker in his orbs as he continues staring at the man before him, expecting the explosion, the catastrophe to unravel, but much to his surprise, the silver-haired man just huffs, surprisingly composed regardless of the stinging slap he's just suffered.

"I s'pose…" Ichimaru mutters finally, grin spreading across his lips as he slowly removes his fingers from his burning face and glances at the younger shinigami. "I s'pose I deserved that…"

Toushiro lets out a shaky breath, stepping back again, uncertain. But before he can say or do anything to either apologize or accuse Gin of anything, the man is standing right in front of him, no longer hindered by any obstacles that could prevent him from fully embracing the smaller male. Hitsugaya doesn't have the time to struggle as a pair of arms wrap around his thin waist and he's crushed against the taller body, the protests vanishing from his mind as the other captain bends to bury his nose in the crown of white hair, inhaling the radiant scent of purity and winter as though it's the most precious pleasure in the world.

"Ya're right." Ichimaru whispers with surprising meekness, clutching the tiny figure closer to his own, like he's afraid to let go, to break apart from the brief mirage of safety that he's created around the two of them. "Ya're right… I should've been there fo' ya, ta hold ya in the mornin', ta make it all okay… An' I'm sorry, because I kno' ya deserve betta, ya deserve so much more than this. But I can't help mahself, this is all I can offer ya – kisses in the shadows an' promises fo' somethin' else when the time comes… If ya won't have me, that's alright, I'll go… But, I won't say a word ta anyone, I'd neva' do somethin' like that, eva'…" Long, slender fingers comb through Toushiro's hair and he hears the man sigh against his hair as he adds quietly. "I wouldn' share what we had with anyone, because this is the one thing that is only mine ta cherish. Mine. Nobody can have it-… Nobody can take you away from me…"

And as the final word rolls of Gin's tongue, the boy realizes that he can no longer fight this. His body slumps against the other shinigami's one, and he reaches to grasp the sides of the man's robes, balling the fabric between his fingers as he shakes all over, reveling in the memory of what he has just heard. His eyes are stinging, beginning to shed the tears he's been struggling to hold back all day long, but he never lets them go as his head is tilted back and a warm, gentle mouth claims his own.

A/N: I don't expect much from this story, but I'd appreciate reviews nonetheless. :) I hope it lived up to your expectations.