Writeen for the Dreamwidth Bleach Kink Meme.
For my dearest BFF muchuusakura. Colqhoun rides again!
Urahara strained against the chains that kept him up against the wall in the dingy room. It had been only yesterday that he had stumbled across Ichigo in that mad, feral state, the whites of his eyes gone black around his golden irises.
Hollows ate human souls. Here in Soul Society, they were as plentiful as ever. Ichigo had been stooped over the body of a young woman who had died by Quincy hands. Her throat gaped open and blood dripped down Ichigo's face from where he had seemingly taken a chunk out with his teeth. Urahara's first bite had been raw, too, the hollowified Ichigo overpowering him and offering him strips of meat in his beast-like state. The choice had been easy. Eat or die. Urahara may have had the better mind, but Ichigo's power had out-paced him back when he fought in Hueco Mundo. Saying no to Ichigo while still keeping him alive would have been problematic.
Urahara entertained his passing thoughts. He thought about the Vaizards, wondering if any one of them had gotten out of control and fed their hollow side, too. What it must feel like to have that force inside of you that whispers for you to eat.
The door to his room opened. Ichigo stood in the doorway, an almost tender look on his face as he regarded Urahara. His eyes were white, not black, and in his hands he held a silver tray piled high with roasted meat.
"Urahara-san, I'm sorry you found me when I was indisposed," Ichigo apologized.
"That's quite all right. I'm alive and breathing, being cared for by an old friend," Urahara joked.
Ichigo's face hardened. "I generally don't eat my food raw. I was careless and let my powers spiral out of control. I didn't mean to force that upon you."
"I'm pleased to hear it, but don't worry," said Urahara "Do you know if this sort of thing is common? Have you ever shared a meal with Shinji or the like?" Urahara was still intensely curious, despite the situation.
"I don't think so. At least I don't think they push their powers to the limits that I do." Ichigo shook his head. "But if you really want to strengthen your hollow side, this is the best way to do it."
"That makes some sense," said Urahara, eyeing the platter of meat.
His heart sank. The inhabitants of the Rukongai didn't need to eat unless they possessed spiritual power. He doubted the vicinity of any livestock in the wreckage of this quincy decimated town.
"I left you in here so I wouldn't accidentally hurt you when I was out of control. I didn't want to leave you alone for so long, but I figured you must be hungry."
Ichigo pulled a slice of the meat free. It glistened with its juicy moisture, and he cut it up into smaller bites.
"Here," said Ichigo, extending the fork full of meat towards Urahara's mouth.
"I'm not that hungry, don't worry about me, Ichigo-san." Urahara smiled demurely.
"I made enough for both of us," said Ichigo. "Don't worry. Even when I let out too much of my hollow, I still only eat people who were already dead. Nobody here will be missing their bodies, and it's no one you know." Ichigo squatted down next to him. "You've been fighting, too. Build back up your reiatsu."
The fork continued to dance under Urahara's nose. He could smell the meat, how it had been lovingly coated in spices. It smelled unlike anything he had ever eaten before and his stomach betrayed him by rumbling, his mouth by watering.
"I won't tell anyone," said Ichigo. "And we're doing nothing wrong. We're borrowing the strength of others in order to fight for Soul Society once more."
Urahara closed his eyes. It was maddening how he could almost smell its flavor. Ichigo's hand rested on Urahara's jaw and gently pried it open. He could feel the meat pass his lips and land on his tongue. It tasted a little bit sweet, though whether it was a characteristic of the meat or the spice, he couldn't tell. Doggedly he chewed it, the texture surprisingly soft and free from gristle. It was like a fine cut of pork, but a little more bitter.
He swallowed and opened his eyes. Ichigo stared back at him, smiling. "I might not be the best cook, but I've had enough trial and error to fix you my favorite, the meat off of the ribs."
Ichigo filled his own mouth with the food and sighed happily. He prepared another mouthful and raised the fork again to Urahara's lips.
He'd already done it once. Refusing didn't turn back the time, didn't undo his first bloody mouthful under the light of the moon. He accepted it, much to Ichigo's delight.
The rest of the meal, Ichigo continued to feed him, sharing bites in between. It was an intimate ritual, and Urahara backwardly understood what this meant to Ichigo. How he was now no longer burdened with his dark secret, and in fact was partaking in it with another. For every crack that appeared in Urahara's psyche, every place it shattered, Ichigo's mind strengthened, the warping was permanent, but it was healing.
Urahara woke up the next day. He was free from chains, but Ichigo was nowhere to be found. Likely he was fighting the Quincies, just like Urahara should be doing. Urahara forced a finger down his throat, begging to throw up just a little of what he had eaten but fate was cruel. All he wretched up was saliva and bile.
The molecules that had made up that other person had now been digested by Urahara's body, and now were being incorporated into it. It was science, principles of energy. Simple anabolism. He would never be the same.
The closer Urahara got to the Seireitei proper, the louder the sounds of battle became. The Quincy fight still raged on, and he was sure that somewhere Ichigo was in the thick of the battle.
Urahara released his reiatsu as a call to anyone in the vicinity. It burned brighter and steadier than it ever had before. Yet still within him, he could feel as if he could reach an even greater height of power.
There were bodies, killed not long ago, resting at his feet.
Urahara was shinigami through and through. Was he still one to resist the wendigo, too?