A/N: My first attempt at yaoi, and at Renji/Ichigo! Enjoy!
Park Bench
Renji sat on a tall barstool staring morosely into his glass of sake, red hair a vibrant contrast to the gloom surrounding him.
He cast his mind back over the evening, remembering the fear that had shone so vividly in those deep, chocolatey eyes. Eyes that were normally calm and brooding; intense, yet always twinkling slightly with arrogance.
What had he been thinking? What on earth had possessed him to pin the orange-haired youth to a wall? He was only a kid: it was sick. He was sick. Sick, twisted Renji, lusting after a teen. What the hell was wrong with him? He had scared Ichigo half to death, towering over him like that, grinning like a goddamn maniac.
And when he'd seen that fear flash across the substitute shinigami's face, he'd been completely thrown. A punch in the face he had been half expecting, a kiss he'd been half hoping for, praying for. Not terror. Ichigo had faced hollows, menos grande, arrancar, everything - even Byakuya for Christ's sake - and not once had he seemed even slightly scared. Tired, frustrated, angry, on the verge of death; yes. But never scared.
"Shit," Renji cursed to himself, downing his sake and making for the exit. Was he really that intimidating?
Of course he was. He was Abarai Renji: one step away from becoming a captain and bad-ass as hell. Half of Soul Society were scared to death of him - funny, he scowled to himself, stepping outside into the night, cold air clawing at his bare skin. Damn gigai. He glanced at the goosebumps forming on his arms, mentally swearing never to visit the human world during the winter months ever again.
He and Ichigo had been friends, so what did the teen have to be scared of? Renji acted tough sure enough, yet he knew that Ichigo could see straight through his facade. He was a sap at heart, and Ichigo had seen Renji looking frantically around for him after a battle too many times not to know this.
Heading home, Renji tried to prevent his alcohol-addled mind from directing him straight to Ichigo's house and demanding a good, hard -
"Stop it," the red-head hissed vehemently to himself, quickening his pace in a vain attempt to try and distract himself from the orange hair that was currently flitting through his thoughts, taunting him.
It was no good.
Spotting a park bench a few metres to his left, Renji redirected his feet towards it and sat down heavily, promptly burying his face in his hands.
"I don't fucking well fancy stupid fucking Ichigo," he declared angrily at a passing moth, hoping that saying it out loud would miraculously make it come true.
"Shame," came a cool voice from behind him.
Renji's head snapped up, eyes flying open, and he whirled around to see who it was that had the nerve to interrupt him like that. There was no mistaking that reiatsu, but he had to check anyway, in case the worst thing in the world hadn't just happened.
Yet, lo and behold, leaning lazily against a tree in the dark park was Ichigo, orange hair a bright homage to the sun that had long abandoned Karakura town; deep hazelnut eyes staring unflinchingly at the man in front of him. Renji had flushed enough so as to almost match his shock of crimson hair, but when he spoke it was with the voice of a man very much in control. "What do you want, berry brains?"
Ichigo quirked an eyebrow at him. "Nothing but the pleasure of your company, oh mighty pineapple head."
Renji seemed to withdraw into himself at the sarcasm. "Well, you got it," he mumbled, turning away from the substitute shinigami to stare idly at his palms.
Curiously, Ichigo walked round so that he was standing directly in front of the subdued red-head. He stared at the top of his bowed head; at the almost magenta hair, the white bandana, the tanned skin, the tribal tattoos. There was no denying it, Renji was fascinating to look at.
"Oi." Renji tilted his head up in order to see Ichigo's face, his expression lost and forlorn. Confronted with such deep, penetrating sadness any annoyance Ichigo had been feeling at the evening's previous attack evaporated, and his lopsided grin melted into a concerned frown.
"What?" questioned the shinigami, cherry coloured eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Ichigo didn't like looking into those pain-filled pools of guilt, and so he quickly fixed his gaze upon his feet, scuffing his shoes absent-mindedly against the grass. Renji, too, looked away - Ichigo saw out of the corner of his eye - and so he took his chance to study his friend in detail.
The red-head's face was drawn, anxiety scrawled across his features, painted brow furrowed. His whole body was tensed, ready to run away; each muscle defined, tanned skin and black tattoos rippling over sinew. Raw power. The shinigami was biting his bottom lip nervously, eyes furiously avoiding contact with Ichigo's.
Never before had Renji looked more vulnerable than he did now, sat in the silvery moonlight that slid sorrowfully over his silent silhouette.
Ichigo thought back to the lust that had burned in those fiery eyes. Eyes which were now lowered, determined not to meet his own. Ichigo had been taken by surprise by his friend's sudden actions that afternoon, but that wasn't to say he wasn't pleased. He had, in fact, been nursing a crush on the older man since they had first met. Upon realising what Renji was doing, pinning his arms above his head, Ichigo could hardly believe that what he had wanted for so long was finally happening. His lips were inches away from Renji's feral grin, his wildest fantasies whipping around in his mind, each begging to be the first realised. He was so close, desire coursing through him as he struggled not to scare away this exquisite feeling, this short moment in time where anything seemed possible. This one, small dream that could be so easily disrupted were either of them to move; so easily lost.
The thought of losing Renji now, of having snatched away from him what he had so nearly had, what he had seen in such glorious detail, of being alone again after feeling so wanted for those few precious seconds terrified him. What if Renji didn't love him, or need him, or like him, only wanted him then and there, in the heat of the moment?
When this apprehension had ghosted across Ichigo's face, manifested itself for all of no time at all, something in the other shinigami seemed to snap. He swiftly released Ichigo's wrists as if they were burning him, taking wary steps backwards, away from the flame-haired teen, finally walking silently out of the alley, not looking back even once.
Ichigo had remained leaning against the cool brick wall against which he had been pushed, reliving over and over the rush of Renji's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his strong, muscular body pressed against Ichigo's slight frame; remembering the shinigami's intoxicating power that had completely filled his thoughts, permeating deep into his soul, blocking out everything except what it felt like to be here, with him, right now.
From the bench, Renji spoke slowly, deliberately, into the silence that had engulfed them, bringing Ichigo's thoughts tumbling back into the park, the present. "I - " The red-head faltered and shook himself, kneading his tattooed forehead with the palms of his hands. "I shouldn't have kissed ya, Ichigo."
Ichigo glared indignantly at him. "Why not?"
Countless reasons. Ichigo was fifteen, barely touched by the world. There were so many things he hadn't encountered yet. He was pure, he was young. Renji resented enough placing the burdens of Soul Society upon such unaccustomed shoulders, pitching a child up against their enemies simply because he had so much potential. Ichigo may think he was risking everything in these wars for his own reasons, for good reasons, but he had no idea just how much he'd been manipulated into it. He was just too young to even begin to understand the effect a hundred years of relentless fighting has upon a heart, how hardened and cold a person could become, and how easy it was for such a person to sacrifice a fellow fighter for the greater good. Renji couldn't bring himself to add yet another load of baggage to an already troubled teenager. The hurt Renji had felt over the decades; the emotional pain, the physical toil. He had lived through and coped with so much more. It would be unbelievably selfish to expect Ichigo to understand.
And there was always the practical side of things. As in the real world, had Renji acted upon his feelings towards Ichigo in Soul Society he would have been hounded as a cradle-snatcher, possibly arrested and almost definitely stripped of all his shinigami rights; thrown unceremoniously back onto the streets of Rukongai where they'd found him.
Renji swivelled his head in his hands to look incredulously at the orange-haired teen. "You're just a kid."
There was a moment's silence.
"Just a kid?" demanded Ichigo, balling his fists, "I've dealt with just as much as - if not more than - most shinigami." He looked pointedly at the scar on Renji's shoulder just visible where his t-shirt hung loosely at the neck, "Hell, I beat your sorry ass. Oh, and, let's see," He paused again, deep in mock thought, "Kenpachi, Byakuya, Ikakku - any of those names ring a bell?" He was furious now; nostrils flaring, voice rising, "Not to mention hollows, arrancar and all of that shit. Nearly getting killed all the fucking time, having to make sure my friends don't get themselves into trouble. Trying to keep absolutely fucking everybody alive. Walk in the park, hey, Renji? Fun and games. La-dee-fucking-da!" Mid-tirade his features froze, eyes hardening, tone dropping to a deadly whisper. "I watched my own fucking mother die right in front of me. Don't you dare patronise me, Renji."
The older man simply sat, impassive, as Ichigo's outburst hurtled to a finish. He cocked his head to one side and looked at the orange-haired boy sadly. "You're only fifteen."
"So what?" spat Ichigo. He no longer cared what the world wanted of him. He'd give it all in a heartbeat to be back in that alleyway for one more minute, kept safely in place by Renji's powerful hold and hypnotising eyes. He had so very nearly tasted Renji once, and he was not going to let the shinigami get away now. Not without a fight.
He fixed his friend with a piercing stare. "You want me, Renji," he hissed, enjoying watching the other man squirm.
"I was outta line," the red-head snapped, anger flashing dangerously in his dark eyes that were now fixed upon Ichigo, inhibitions of only moments before blasted away by his burning passion for the tantalising glimpse of what he could have, what he wanted so badly. What Ichigo was mercilessly teasing him with.
Ichigo stared fiercely back at him, and guilt twisted again at his insides. He'd acted rashly; on stupid, messed up feelings, taking advantage of Ichigo. Now the poor kid thought he wanted Renji in the same way. He kicked himself inwardly, This isn't fair.
Lowering his head again, he broke eye contact, although he could still feel Ichigo's glare boring holes into his back. He closed his eyes, imagining Ichigo's hands running over his chest, shoulders, through his hair. It was addictive, forbidden, and he found himself subconsciously tilting his head back in response to the phantom touch, despite himself.
Ichigo watched, fascinated, as Renji arched his neck, red hair falling from its tie and spilling over his broad shoulders, dripping like fire down his back. Without knowing what he was doing, he reached out and ran his fingers through the silky strands, relishing in his proximity to the shinigami. He heard a small moan escape Renji's full lips, and took it as permission to let his hands roam unchecked all over the older man's riveting body.
Cool fingers traced patterns on burning skin, following the ready-inked paths, as Ichigo manoeuvred himself onto the bench, straddling Renji.
"Ichigo - " he moaned, breath catching as Ichigo leant in to nibble at his earlobe, " - we can't... You don't - "
He was silenced by hot lips pressing roughly against his own, and he opened his mouth willingly, allowing Ichigo's tongue access. The boy on top of him leaned even further forward, crushing their bodies together and grinding his hips into Renji's groin, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from the red-head.
Ichigo grinned into the kiss, pressing himself harder still onto Renji's throbbing erection. The man beneath him writhed in ecstasy and Ichigo deepened the kiss, winding his fingers into Renji's soft hair as the shinigami's hands found themselves on Ichigo's back, pulling him towards him.
The pair were entwined, clasped together on the seat. Rogue hands pulled off obtrusive shirts, fumbling fingers unclasped buttons, ridding tensed legs of tight, restricting jeans.
Renji sank onto the hard wooden slats, dragging Ichigo down with him. Breaking the kiss for mere seconds, he breathed heavily into the orange hair two words: "Fuck. Me."
Obediently, Ichigo caught Renji's knee in the crook of his elbow, bringing it up high and pushing himself into the older man without hesitation. A cry of pain from Renji sliced through the silence, but as Ichigo looked into his shining eyes for further instruction he was met only with an amused smirk; a challenge to continue.
Ichigo could feel Renji digging his nails deep into his back through either pleasure or pain, he couldn't tell which, and the pressure only encouraged him to go faster.
He pummelled into Renji, reaching down with his free hand to satisfy the shinigami's hungry groans.
Their lips met again, crashing like waves upon rocks, a tangle of hips and legs riding back and forth relentlessly like the tide. They bit greedily at one another, tongues battling with the force and agility of clashing Zanpaktou.
With a yelp, Ichigo slammed into Renji, waves of pleasure washing over him. He spilled into his lover as Renji came gushing onto his chest.
Breathing hard, Renji captured Ichigo's lips in another ferocious kiss, roughly pulling at his orange hair so as to bring him closer. As they broke apart, Ichigo planted trails of hot, butterfly-light kisses over Renji's exposed throat, running his tongue from jaw-line to collarbone as the older man whispered into his ear, "I fucking love you, Kurosaki Ichigo."
Leaning back in order to get a proper view of the red-head, Ichigo replied, "and I love fucking you too, Abarai Renji."
"You little shit," Renji laughed, claiming the orange haired boy's lips as his own once more, "Try again."
Ichigo collapsed on top of the bigger man, resting his head on Renji's tatooed chest. His eyes flickered closed in contentment, "I love you too, dickhead."
Renji smiled to himself, It's as good as I'm gonna get, holding the younger boy tightly against his skin. Reluctantly, he planted a kiss into the feathery orange locks that were tickling his chin and said, "Ichigo?"
"Whut?" came the groggy reply.
"We're going to have to move."
Ichigo glanced up at Renji and frowned, "Why?"
"Well," Renji answered, surveying their surroundings, "this is a park bench."
YAY! That was fun! Be impressed at my ability to go way over my usual 1000 word boredom plateau.
I was trying to show that, despite Renji being uke here, he was the dominant one in the relationship, simply allowing Ichigo to take the lead. Did that come across at all?
It's a bit skew whiff on the whole Angst:Sex:Humour ratio but hopefully I'll get it in the end. One day.
Review for a tired writer?