Pairing: Shinji Hirako x Ichigo Kurosaki

Music: Falling, by Florence + the Machine

Word count: ~ 1800

Rating: M

A/N: Really, how did Ichigo manage to survive getting his powers taken away, then returned + Hollow, then taken away, then returned + the power of every captain in Soul Society without it having any effect on his metal wellbeing? This is my take on that. Kind of? Spoilers for Bleach—up to chapter 479

Prompt 43: Empire

"We're not friends."

Shinji tilted his head back and looked up at the moon. The words rang true, but deceptively so.

"No," he agreed. "Not friends."

But "not friends" left far too much for simple words to encompass, so much of their relationship undefined. He slanted a glance to where Ichigo sprawled on the edge of the porch, his eyes fixed on the distance. Zangetsu leaned against the steps, next to a cluster of bamboo and within easy reach. Even here, in the heart of Soul Society, Ichigo never quite relaxed. Shinji tried not to think about it, because that road led to dangerous places and dangerous questions. But when he did, he resented, just a little, that even his presence wasn't enough to put the substitute fully at ease.

There was no blame in it, no solid reason that Ichigo could give, but Shinji reasoned that it was because his one real trip to the Seireitei had been a single constant battle against the most powerful members of the Court of Pure Souls, and had ended with Ichigo being nearly cut in half by a traitor. Not good memories, for all that he had accomplished what he set out to do.

But Shinji would always be there, would always be somewhere, for Ichigo to have a place to come back to. Be it in the world of the living or the heart of Soul Society, Ichigo would always be able to find a place with him.

More so now than ever.

With a soft sigh, Ichigo flopped back, laying his head on Shinji's thigh and staring up at the clear blue sky. His eyes were the gold-on-black of his Hollow, a permanent change to go along with the strange shift is his temperament. Shinji had long since adjusted to the changes that had occurred when Soul Society gave the substitute his powers back, but the personality change was the hardest to adjust to.

Even so, Shinji couldn't leave Ichigo alone, any more than the rest of the Vizards could. He was like the sun at the center of their universe—a wild, unpredictable sun with no set orbit beyond "protect friends" and "don't give up," but their sun all the same. Each and every one of them would follow him into Hell and out of it, giving up everything if he so much as asked. Even now, with their positions in the Gotei 13 restored, Shinji's words to Old Man Yamamoto were still absolutely true.

We're Kurosaki's allies, not yours.

If it was love, it was a twisted version of it. Maybe devotion was closer to the truth, fidelity without question, just like a knight to his liege. Shinji didn't want to question that loyalty, either, and that was the most terrifying thing of all. He was happy to follow Ichigo without so much as a passing thought for the consequences.

Gently, Shinji ran his fingers through Ichigo's bright hair, longer than he remembered it from their training. It suited the substitute, softened the sharp, sleek angles of his face into something a little more understandable, approachable. It made Shinji remember that he was just a boy, for all of his power.

A boy who singlehandedly toppled a god, Shinji thought wryly, letting his hands drift lower. He traced his calloused fingertips over Ichigo's smooth skin, drawing out abstract nonsense patters with childlike amusement. The sun was warm, and the air buzzed with all the sounds of a lazy summer day. Peaceful. Shinji hadn't felt peaceful in a very long time.

"They're weak," Ichigo said suddenly, breaking the stillness, and Shinji dropped his eyes to the boy's face. His Hollow eyes were distant, as though he were listening to a noise outside the normal range of hearing, a voice no one else could hear. On someone else, it would have seemed like madness. On Ichigo, it just seemed like power.

"Hmm?" Shinji asked, more for clarification than having not understood.

Ichigo's golden gaze flickered up to him, and the substitute simply repeated, "They're weak." He stretched his arm up, reaching towards the sky, and grinned. "They pretend that they're strong, that they can't be beaten, but they're really just pathetically weak. If I wanted to, I could bring them all to their knees."

"You could," Shinji agreed. He wasn't patronizing; if Ichigo wanted it, Shinji had no doubt that Soul Society would fall. And Shinji himself would be one step behind the substitute, turning his blade on former allies without a second thought. None of the other Vizards would hesitate, either. What their sun decreed, they would do. Frowning faintly, he returned to carding his fingers through Ichigo's hair, wondering what had caused this change in the boy to begin with. "Do you want to, Ichigo?"

Maybe it was the return of his powers, and the sudden return of his Hollow. Shinji knew his own Hollow well, knew that it represented the inner darkness no one ever spoke of. But it was a necessary darkness, and Shinji couldn't imagine what it would be like to have it suddenly ripped away—not only the Hollow-darkness, but also the Zanpakuto-conscience. Losing Sakanade would have killed him, and he couldn't imagine how Ichigo could come through losing Zangetsu, regaining it, losing it again, and then having it returned without at least a little mental instability.

Whatever had caused it, Ichigo was fragile now—not in body, but in mind, and Shinji had taken it one himself to care for the substitute. It wasn't pity, or duty, or anything but the desire to remain close and never leave Ichigo. The others felt it, too, but only Shinji gave in so easily. Ichigo allowed it, and Shinji had no illusions about it being anything other than an indulgence of Shinji's whims for the boy, who most certainly didn't need the coddling.

But then, on days like this, when Ichigo spoke so easily of toppling Soul Society, of waging a war that it was clear he would win even in such a state—or maybe especially in such a state—Shinji couldn't help but think of Ichimaru and Tousen, and how they had followed Aizen so closely. Was this the same? Had they felt the same overwhelming tenderness for the man who styled himself a god? Shinji knew that even now Ichigo wouldn't disregard those close to him. His friends were still his friends, and he wouldn't raise a hand against them, but could he someday?

Shinji wanted to protect Ichigo from that ever happening. Ichigo might not be able to strike at his friends, but to protect him, Shinji wouldn't hesitate.

"Do I want to?" Ichigo moved his eerie gaze from the sky to Shinji's face, and crooked a small half-smile. "I suppose. Wouldn't you want to see it, Shinji? A new empire, for all of us? It would be…"

"Beautiful," Shinji finished on a breath, and Ichigo kept smiling at him. As though to reward him for that answer, he reached up and twined his fingers in Shinji's blond hair, tugging him down for an awkward kiss, the angle strange but the touch utterly consuming. It was hot and soft and Ichigo tasted sweet, like the strawberries they had been eating earlier. Shinji gave in to the touch with a desperation that might have scared him if it hadn't been Ichigo at the heart of it. As it was, Ichigo kissed him back in the same way, lips pliant and hungry as he surrendered. The surrender itself wasn't a form of giving up, though. Shinji knew that he was only allowed to take control because Ichigo let him, and if anything, that drove the need higher.

It was like having a god at his fingertips.

Ichigo's hand skimmed over Shinji's thigh, then drifted higher. "Our empire," he murmured, strange, eerie Hollow-eyes fluttering shut with a soft moan as their lips broke apart. "The world at our feet."

"At yours," Shinji disagreed, deft fingers undoing Ichigo's simple kimono even as Ichigo undid his own. "The whole of Soul Society would fall at your feet, Ichigo, and we'd be right there with them."

Ichigo smiled at that and rolled over, rising to his knees and swinging a leg over Shinji's lap to straddle him. "Mine?" he murmured, hot fingers grabbing Shinji's erection and guiding it towards the entrance to his body.

"Yours," Shinji affirmed, groaning as Ichigo slid down, body still stretched and wet from their last round just an hour before. His fingers closed around Ichigo's biceps, the feeling of the strength in those arms only doubling his desire. So much power all trapped in a fragile, breakable human form, and his. Not for the taking, because Ichigo undoubtedly belonged only to himself, but offered up in a way that only made Shinji want him more. Only Ichigo chose where and when he wanted to surrender, and Shinji knew it was a rare thing, reserved for him alone.

Even if that wasn't love, it was close enough for Shinji.

Ichigo rode him slowly, body twisting in a captivating rhythm. Shinji could only hang on and gasp, the pressure building into something exquisite as Ichigo leaned forward to cover his mouth again. "Touch me," he whispered, an order, and Shinji was only too happy to comply, gripping Ichigo's cock in the just-shy-of-painful grip he liked best, twisting and pulling. The substitute came apart under his hands, beautiful and lethal as he choked and cried out Shinji's name, body shuddering through his orgasm. Shinji followed him, as in everything, clutching Ichigo's hips to drag him closer, get that last inch of skin-to-skin contact that he could as he came, Ichigo a limp, warm, wonderful weight in his arms.

They sprawled side by side on the deck to recover, breathing hard, their sweaty skin cooling as the evening breeze picked up. Eventually, Shinji rolled over on his side to look at Ichigo with serious eyes.

"If you want an empire, we'll give you one," he said quietly. "If you give us the word, we'll bring Soul Society to its knees. Do you want that?"

Ichigo simply smiled at him, closing his Hollow-eyes. "Maybe someday," he said noncommittally. "We have time, all the time in the world. They're only getting weaker."

Shinji thought about peace, and about war, and about what he would do for Ichigo. Letting out a breath, he nodded and pulled the substitute closer, feeling the racing blood under his fingertips. Proof of life, whatever the equivalent was for them.

"It's yours," he repeated softly, even though Ichigo's breaths had already evened out into sleep. "Everything. It's all for you."