Rating: M - [AR]; Not for the religiously devoted.
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo-sensei owns Bleach and its characters; I solely us them for writing funtimes.
Author's Note: I can't help but think that maybe I should've postponed this idea for a little longer - or, at least until I have more time. School sucks. Nonetheless, I'd like to thank LyricalSin for helping me with this. Reviews and criticism are always enjoyed~!
Honey orbs stared down at the grey, cracked pavement beneath him, neck bent and averting his gaze from meeting the sight of those around him. Arms lapped over his chest, shakily clutching a neat Bible flush to his torso, the carrot-top chewed on his lower lip when yet another wave of anxiety washed over him.
Why was he, of all his classmates, asked to do this, on today of all days?
Coming to a halt at the intersection of the main street, he briefly glanced up to regard how much longer until the light turned green. A soft gasp escaped his lips, peach blush lining his sun-kissed cheeks before he hurriedly rushed through the crowd of Blasphemers breathing the same air he was when he happened to glimpse at two men lock lips. He honestly didn't know if he could take much more of it.
Had they told him because of the knowledge of his irrational fear and scorn toward their kind?
Suddenly, he felt a hand jerk at his clothed forearm, and despite himself his eyes widened. He was afraid. He was so terrified; scared he'd contract the same disease that plagued these people's minds, that they would brand him a traitor to his community and his Savior that he almost reverted to his youthful ways and punched the gay woman square in the jaw.
But he didn't.
Warm, auburn eyes met his frightened orbs, and she gently released his arm, an even gentler smile easing her once flamboyant features.
"Father, are you lost?" The soothing voice inquired, with nothing more than worry of exactly what she meant.
He couldn't dare to count how many times he'd asked himself that in the previous five years.
Another soothing grip on his shoulder from the same female brought his mind back to reality, and he found himself smiling — awkwardly, but trying — as he shook his head.
"I'm fine, thank you." He took a second to contemplate something, before adding, "And please, just call me Ichigo."
Quirking an eyebrow, the navy-haired woman crinkled her nose a little as she pointed to somewhere far off but in the same direction he was headed.
"If you're looking for the new Catholic Church they built, it's just over there." She stated kindly.
Nodding his head as he gave an embarrassed thank you, the two parted and he kept walking, a resolute look upon him.
Surely, if nothing had happened to him yet, it simply meant He was permitting him to tread the same paths they did. And as he reassured himself of this, the redhead slowly walked up the steps of the House of the Holy, with no less of an enthusiastic grin.
Passing through the tall, wide doorway that had been left ajar, displaying all the basic frivolities any should hold, he idly dragged his fingertips over the curved edges of the benches. They felt oddly soft from the previous sanding and lamination, he found it very tempting to plop down and pray for at least an hour himself.
But his mind wouldn't allow it.
Such indulgences were not allowed for his line of duty, so he continued admiring the paintings etched onto the colored shards of glass. He watched with awe how a Sister directed a poor, devastated soul to one of the benches and implored for them both to pray; for his lost ones happiness in the Realm of the Beyond.
A soft smile tugged at his usual scowl and the sight made his heart drop and clench all the same.
Deciding that it was best to leave them be, the carrot-top continued, silently admiring the aesthetics provided from devotees, until he gaped at the large crucifix at the front. It hung Jesus in the most painful of ways, it took all he had to refrain from wanting to carry down the statue and wrap the paper-mâché in robes more appropriate.
Steps quickening, his breath caught when he caught full sight of the figurine, grip tightening on his Bible whilst his other hand found his quivering lips. As disturbing and heart-breaking and empowering the doll made him feel, there was a faint tinge of arousal that hid under his gasp as he caressed the dirtied face.
The trails of blood looked all too real, the wreath had been made of actual greenery and even the cloth wrapped around his hips was fabric he could both touch and feel. He had to remind himself he was merely staring at a model of His son.
Reluctantly pulling his hand away as he gripped onto the blindingly white altar, a soft fluster tainted his features as he continued to admire the rest the doll had to offer.
Abruptly, however, he was startled back to reality by a silvery chuckle from beside the figurine.
"I wasn' so happy with how it'd ended up, firstly," the snow-haired male began, warmly grinning as he jerked his thumb at the attempted recreation of Jesus' crucifixion, "but I think I can settle. Seein' how you are clearly enjoying it."
Unable to rear the innuendo the albino was trying to convey, the redhead simply smiled back, made a quick prayer and then turned his full attention to the other.
"Did you make this?" He inquired, voice gentle and slightly impassive as he'd learned it should be.
However, it merely earned a lackadaisical scowl from the pale artist.
"Not like I had much of a choice." He grumbled, running a hand through his spiky locks, scratching at an imaginary itch before facing the carrot-top again.
" 'sides, I'm just an amateur at these types a' things. Ya shoulda' seen what the previous guy had made."
Ichigo tilted his head to the side, cutely but absentmindedly, as he motioned for the two to take a seat at a nearby welcoming bench.
"A man with talent is a man who's received his fair blessing by God." He took another moment to admire the structure of the pews, before continuing, "Despite that I newly transferred here, I find your piece to be the most astounding and realistic."
The pale man faintly flustered; completely awed at the way the Priest had been able to say such a thing without a hesitance to his skin color or speech. If he didn't know any better… he thought the redhead was actually pretty handsome.
Shaking his head, the snow-haired male gave a soft chuckle as he stood up.
"I dun' deserve the praise." He dryly mused, earning a playfully scrunched nose.
"Don't be so modest; all children are in our Lord's good graces."
At this, his scowl returned with a darker vengeance.
"Well, anyways," he forced his brows to un-knit with his hand as he shoved his hands into his Jean pockets, "I should get going. Later."
Suddenly, a warm grin that exuded glee made his heart skip a beat; if only for a second.
"I hope to see you here at tomorrow's Mass. I'd appreciate having a friend to support me on my first day."
Okay, so maybe he thought his heart had been placed into an iron-maiden.
Flush deepening, the pale man outstretched a hand with as much benevolence as he could.
"Same here. But ya can call me Shiro from now on, Father."
Nodding his head, the redhead returned the small gesture just the same.
"Please, just call me Ichigo."
The carrot-top had failed to notice the slight widening of golden eyes at the pronunciation of his name, but the other kept his grin as he slinked away lazily.
Sighing happily, Ichigo hurried into the lower levels when a short, navy-haired Nun chided him for lollygagging about too long. It felt nice to live in such a place, where he needn't worry about relapsing to his once blasphemous ways.
Colorless lips parted, heaving out a deep groan before crashing themselves onto a smaller pair beneath the owner. Porcelain-hued hands maintained a vicious grip on the already bruised hips beneath him, a sheen of sweat making him glisten in the pitch dark as his thrusts quickly became erratic as his breaths.
The smaller figure began to sob quietly, reaching out for broad shoulders but was replied with no such hospitality, causing his choked moans to grow louder. Shirosaki grinned madly as he began to call out his name to all the Heavens, body flustering a dark red until he tensed beneath him. He would have remained staring at the erotic display of the youth undulating his hips against his own, but found that the tight heat he'd enveloped himself in had grown too tight.
A deep grunt his only sign, he came inside the other as he slumped over the trembling figure, involuntarily thrashing wildly once he achieved orgasm.
Moments after, he placed a faux gentle kiss onto the other's forehead, a rare look of apology flickering away as soon as it had appeared. Pulling out swiftly and cleaning himself off with the tangled bed sheets briefly, he turned to dress but a small hand at his forefinger stopped him.
Scowling, though at nothing in particular in that darkness, he glimpsed over his shoulder.
"Mmm?" He grunted, irritably, but made no move to leave.
Tears filled the younger man's eyes, mouth flopping open then closed until a coherent sentence was sobbed out.
"Y-you're leaving a-already?"
With a sigh, the albino sat beside him on the edge of the bed, and ruffled a hand through navy tresses.
"Not like I'm welcome ta stay."
The younger immediately opened his mouth again to give the proper invitation, but was unable to at the pale finger once stroking his sex at his lips.
"And I wouldn', Hana."
Thick, fat droplets cascaded sown his soft cheeks, and he couldn't help the cry that escaped him as the older male slipped on his clothes. Not that Shirosaki would hold it against him, at this point, anyhow.
Ignoring the quiet, desperate pleas Hanataro implored him with as he curled into a ball on his bed, the albino made sure to leave his spare keys to the apartment on a nearby coffee table. Sparing one last glance at the lonesome figure, Shiro locked the door soundlessly after muttering another incoherent apology.
Before he knew it, he'd begun to sprint. The cold, night air whipped at his face harshly and breezed through the thin layers of his shirt and jacket. However, he couldn't bring himself — or his body, for that matter — to stop. His breaths had once again grown heavy and ragged, though this time bereft of sensuality from before, and he couldn't help the borderline insane chuckle he gave through pants.
Such luxuries were beyond exhilarating; sex had become such a habit, he'd begun to lose interest halfway each time recently.
Perhaps, there was a reason deep in his subconscious for doing so, but at that moment, Shiro held no clue whatsoever as to why he'd suddenly stopped in front of the new Church. He couldn't fathom a reason as to why he'd knocked gently upon the large double-doors and thanked the Nun who accepted him with no less kindness than she had earlier. He didn't understand why he immediately headed for the Confessional booth after having made a silent prayer to their God.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd stepped into such a Holy institution without being chased out and his life threatened.
Abruptly, the fact that he held no answers for any of his questions faded, as a red-haired man approached him with a warm smile.
And he couldn't bring himself to care that doing what he was now were against his self-instilled morals, or that he'd probably hate himself even more for it the following day. He couldn't. Not when Ichigo welcomed him with such gentleness, as if he really were made of porcelain, that anything other than care would make him shatter into oblivion.
"Is there anything you'd like to say?"
The soothing voice once again made all thoughts vanish from his mind, and Shiro blinked many times before he realized exactly where he'd situated himself.
Turning his head to face the carrot-top - though it was hard to do so from the wooden fencing between them - a grin began to furl his lips. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought it would.
Ichigo's eyes widened every now and then throughout Shiro's stories, and honestly couldn't bring himself to look away.
The albino looked so hurt and torn during each one; he himself had to refrain from tearing up. Each was most likely a secret he'd never told anyone else before - or at least, someone who could understand - and he promised Shiro, God and even himself to never utter a word of what was being said.
At first glance, he clearly didn't seem like the type who has suffered through as many hardships as he had. But when a single droplet escaped him, and he had to turn away to hide a sob, Ichigo smiled warmly, despite regulations to keep an impassive face.
Oaths to his Savior or not; he wasn't ready to throw away his human side yet.
"And then… I didn't know what I had — was supposed — to do." He suddenly turned to the redhead, and it was then he first noticed the strange citrine hue to his eyes.
"How was I supposed to know that your dad isn't meant to touch you there?"
Eyes pleading with honey orbs, Ichigo curled his sun-kissed fingers around the fencing forlornly but absentmindedly, a sudden deep ache of understanding crushing against his chest.
"It's okay now, Shirosaki-kun. Please, for everyone; can you find it in your heart to forgive your father?"
The albino shook his head childishly, but Ichigo was determined to have him approve otherwise.
"To err is human, Shiro; but to forgive is divine."
Shiro took a moment to contemplate the quote, and once he understood, he frowned.
"I refuse, Father Kurosaki. That man deserves to be damned to the depths of Hell and beyond the grasp of God, for all the sins he so willfully committed." He proclaimed angrily, a burning frustration rekindling his golden eyes to life.
Sliding his eyelids shut, Ichigo took a moment to apologize to his Lord for what he was to say, before acting upon it.
"But do you not wish to rid yourself of these tormenting burdens? To relieve yourself of the pain inflicted on you so long ago?"
A defeated look upon him, the albino slowly nodded his head.
"Then," the redhead clasped his hands gently around a rosary, "you must forgive him for what he's done, as does our Savior for when we act upon diabolic desires."
Sniffling softly, he wiped another trickling tear away with the sleeve of his jacket, before slowly nodding his head again.
"You're right." He paused for a moment, before adding gratefully, "Thank you, Father."
Beyond grateful for the darkness that hid his blush, Ichigo warmly smiled again.
"There is no need to thank anyone but our dear Lord, Shiro."
Both turned to face the paper mâché he'd built prior to, before facing one another.
"But you're just as special, Father; for I can actually have a response as I repent for my past sins." He prodded.
Stepping out of the booth, the redhead cradled pale hands between his own, and it was then Shiro noticed the darker blush lining his sun-kissed cheeks.
"You're always welcome here, no matter the time, Shiro."
A playful grin tugging at him, the pale man inquired dryly, "Just me?"
He himself flustered at the soft chuckle that spilled forth from peach lips, closely resembling ruby. How deliciously soft they must feel, if pressed against his own, he idly wondered.
"As is anyone who has faith in our Savior."
Once he gave a goodbye to the carrot-top and one last silent prayer to their God, Shiro took his leave with a deviant smirk as his back faced a waving Ichigo.
Truly, his body had a magnificent way of choosing his next experiment.