Pairing: Shiro (Hollow Ichigo) x Ichigo Kurosaki
Music:Iridescent, by Linkin Park
Word count: ~ 2,000
Rating: M
Prompt 6: Seize the Day
Shiro wondered, sometimes, if he was really good enough for his lover.
It wasn't a serious thought, not really, not when he knew that Ichigo would quite happily have kicked his ass for even entertaining it in the first place, let alone asking it out loud. But, in all honesty, he was a high school dropout with a criminal record, and Ichigo was one of the most prominent up-and-coming authors in the country. His agent was even talking about translating his books and marketing in other countries. He was smart, and Shiro wasn't. He was cultured, and refined, and wealthy, and educated, and deserved so much more than Shiro—the extent of whose up-and-comingness was restricted to "Boss wants that one done yesterday, Snowflake," at the shithole garage where he fixed bikes part-time—could ever give him.
But Shiro was selfish, and he didn't want to let his lover go, no matter how he would have benefited.
Shiro was also too proud to tell Ichigo that, even though he knew he should have, long ago. Despite that, the words were incredibly difficult, sticking in his throat whenever he went to utter them, even if the moment was perfect.
Lying in bed after the most amazing sex of his life?
He choked.
During a romantic dinner in a nice restaurant, with the mood practically screaming for a confession?
He choked.
Getting groceries together on a sunny afternoon?
He choked.
Curled together on the couch on a lazy weekend morning, content and happy and feeling that whole all-is-right-with-the-world-and-shit vibe?
Oh yeah, choked and burned.
It wasn't all bad, Shiro attempted to rationalize. Ichigo—who said it often, and without problems, himself—had to know that Shiro's only other meaningful relationship had been during grade school, when he and Szayel Aporro Granz had been passionately in love for all of thirty minutes, until recess had ended. Afterwards, there had only been occasional sex-friends, one night stands, and flings, until a bad-tempered, mouthy, and utterly drop-dead-gorgeous university student had pushed his bike into the shop and demanded that it be fixed as fast as possible, as his class started in two hours.
While calling love at first sight was probably a bit generous, Shiro could admit that he had never taken to someone so quickly, or wanted them so much—even when his first request for a date earned him a deadly right hook to the face and a trip to the dentist for his loose teeth. In all fairness, "Hey, baby, wanna have a quickie in the back?" probably was not the most romantic proposition Ichigo had ever received. Nevertheless, Shiro had kept on, and while he had no illusions that he did anything but drive the pretty redhead borderline insane with his near stalking, he had eventually worn Ichigo down.
And here they were, six years later, living together in the same shitty apartment they had shared since Ichigo had moved out of the dorms, with Shiro staring at the small velvet box in his hand, wondering if he would ever get up the nerve to give it to the one person who was everything to him.
He couldn't imagine a life without Ichigo anymore, hated even the thought of it, but he still didn't know if he could take that final step.
The doorbell rang, startling him enough that he nearly dropped the box. Catching it with a quick fumble and tucking it into his pocket, he headed for the door, grumbling, and jerked it open with a snarled, "What?"
His cousin stared back at him with flat, emotionless green eyes, completely ignoring the fact that he looked utterly ridiculous with a huge, strapping, six-foot-six-god-damn-he's-built-and-fucking-tall blue-haired monster towering over him. Shiro was momentarily at a loss for words.
"Toshi," Ulquiorra said dully, ignoring his twitch at the hated name—and god damn his old man to fucking hell for doing that to him. "May we come in?"
Shiro debated, for a moment, whether he wanted to deal with Ulquiorra's stupid I-am-a-robot-till-I-decide-to-get-annoyed-and-then-go-ninja-policeman-on-your-ass impression, or if it would be better to just keep brooding.
Ulquiorra won, but it was by a narrow margin.
"Yeah, sure," he said, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping back. "Jus' don't…uh, crack yer skull on the ceiling."
Mr. Ninja-Policeman shot him a dead-eyed glare informing him that his humor was not appreciated, but the blue-haired cotton-candy-convention-escapee just boomed out a laugh and shoved Ulquiorra inside, then manhandled him onto the couch.
Forget brass, Shiro thought admiringly as he closed the door, his have gotta be made out of cast iron. Bet they clank like hell when he walks, too.
"Name's Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," Mr. Balls-of-Cast-Iron said once Shiro was sitting, and stuck out his hand. He jerked his head at the silently fuming brunet beside him. "I work with Ulqui at the department. Head of the bomb squad. We're fucking."
Shiro processed that piece by piece. Grimmjow. Check. What the hell kinda name is that? Works with Ulquiorra and is head of the bomb squad. Check. Guess I was right about the balls—that's gotta take some courage, calling the creepy bastard a nickname like that. His job, too, I guess—
WAIT A MINUTE.
STOP.
BACK UP THE FUCKING BUS.
THEY'RE DOING WHAT?
"What?" he repeated weakly.
Ulqui—and no, he was never, ever going to live that down, thank you very much—turned his dead-eye glare to his…
Shiro gulped.
His lover.
Shit.
"We are preparing to file for a civil union," he said stiffly, and it sounded like he had rehearsed it in his head a lot before they got here, "and we wished to inquire if you and Ichigo would stand as witnesses."
"Yeah, sure," Shiro repeated, wondering if he really was going to pass out from shock, like those pussy women in the afternoon soaps—not that he ever watched them, of course. Really, fucking was one thing (and as much as he needed some brain bleach after the images that statement generated, it was understandable, since Ulquiorra was human, too. Probably), but a civil union was completely different. That was commitment, and a lifetime, and picking-out-fucking-curtains-together, and he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Seeing that they were still looking at him expectantly, though, Shiro nodded and added, "Ichi and I would love to. Uh, congrats, I guess."
Ulquiorra and Grimmjow traded looks—and if seeing silent couple-speak from his emotionless bastard of a cousin wasn't the weirdest thing ever, Shiro didn't know what was—and then turned back to him. Ulquiorra hesitated for a moment, and then said quietly, "Shiro, what is wrong? Have you and Ichigo…broken up?"
Uh-oh. He was serious. Ulquiorra only dropped the "Toshi" when he was really worried. Shiro quickly waved his hands, dispelling the awful image those last words called up. Ichigo wouldn't break up with him for not saying those words, would he? "Nah, nothing like that. I just…" He hesitated, but seeing the way his cousin sat so comfortably with his huge lover, their fingers laced together almost unconsciously, and the worries came pouring out.
"I haven't said anything to him," he blurted. "We've been together for six years, six years, Ulquiorra, and I've never told him that I…that I love him." Barreling through the confession was a tactic he'd never tried before, but it seemed to work well enough, and the fucking relief of getting it off his chest was staggering. "He's gorgeous, and smart, and respectable, an' I'm jus'…" The flow of words stopped, and he stared down at his hands in something close to despair. "I'm just—"
"Sweet, and thoughtful, and sexy as hell, and considerate, and everything I could ever want in a lover, you mean?"
Shiro froze, heart pounding in something close to horror, or terror, or wonder, or maybe all three. The soft, smoky tenor was amused, and when he turned, Ichigo's amber eyes were full of love and light and laughter. The redhead was leaning against the doorframe, keys dangling from one hand. Shiro had probably been too preoccupied with his meltdown to hear him come in. And…somehow, he was happier than he could have ever imagined that Ichigo finally knew.
"Ulquiorra, call us when you have the details," Ichigo said, and there was something dark in his eyes and husky in his voice that sent shivers up and down Shiro's spine. "For now, can you excuse us?"
Ulquiorra, ever tactful—actually, no, not really, but he was pretty observant, as long as his personal feelings weren't involved—rose, and tugged Grimmjow up with him. He nodded to the redhead. "Certainly. Good night, Ichigo, Shiro."
The door closed softly behind them, and Ichigo locked it with a careful click. Then, without warning, he was on Shiro, desperate and hot and so sweet that it burned Shiro's mouth. Shiro grabbed his hips, dragged their pelvises together and ground up into him as hard as he could, delighting in the mewling moan that spilled from Ichigo's mouth. He could feel the redhead's cock, hard and eager next to his own as Ichigo fumbled with their pants, stripping off jeans and boxers in one coordinated motion. Then hot skin was on hot skin, and Shiro bit savagely at Ichigo's neck as his fingers wormed their way inside his lover, feeling the faintest remaining stretch and wetness from that morning's quickie in the shower.
Ichigo shuddered against him, then knocked his exploring fingers away and shoved him deeper into the corner of the couch, sliding his knees on either side of Shiro's hips as his almost-too-warm hand positioned Shiro's cock and he dropped.
Ichigo keened, shuddering at the fierce, burning stretch, even as Shiro sank his fingers into tanned hips hard enough to bruise, trying to keep from just fucking his lover into oblivion as Ichigo adjusted. Then the soft whisper of, "Move, Shiro. I want your cock. I want you to take me," was breathed into his ear and his control snapped. He jerked his hips up, loving the way Ichigo cried out, topaz-and-honey eyes going wide, and his body bucked in pleasure with every stroke.
It wasn't romantic, though—despite appearances and assumptions—Shiro was more of a slow-and-sweet lover. It was fast, and hard, and dirty, and more satisfying than anything Shiro could remember in a long time. And, when Ichigo arched backwards in a graceful bend, crying out Shiro's name as he came, Shiro closed his eyes and came, too, because he had never seen anything more beautiful in all of his twenty-five years of life.
Afterward, he found that those three small words came easily, and he whispered them over and over again as he pulled the small velvet box from his pocket and held it up to Ichigo like an offering to some great god, only breaking the litany to ask, "Forever?"
And, as Ichigo smiled at him, and kissed him, and let him slip the ring onto his finger, Shiro found that it didn't matter that they couldn't get married the way a man and woman could, or that all he had to give Ichigo was himself, a second-rate mechanic without much education or much of a future. Ichigo was his, and he was Ichigo's, and he was just about ready to shout it from the rooftops, he was so fucking happy.
Later that night, when Ulquiorra called, Shiro grinned up at the ceiling and pulled his sleeping lover more tightly against his side in their piece-of-crap bed, and asked, "What would ya say to a joint ceremony, cousin?"