Authors Note: I'm sorry. I'm writing this instead of FWCLAB. It's wretched of me….I know. I needed some angst-fluff! I couldn't help it! Haha. Question: Does ANYONE else love this pairing as much as I do? Grr!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Ichigo's eyes shot open. When his lover moved beside him, he shot across the dark room into the corner. His body shook, and he sobbed silently. He didn't want to wake the sleeping man; Aizen was a very light sleeper, who was very easily annoyed when he first woke up. It had been months since he had taken to living with the man, an even longer time since he started sleeping with him. Even so, every night the nightmares hunted the sleeping strawberry down and attacked him: Most often then naught, resulting in him not being able to fall asleep again.
He curled up in the corner, feeling a headache of immense proportions encasing him. He wasn't fragile. He wasn't glass. HE knew these things. He couldn't be the hero every time like the others expected him to be. Aizen didn't expect anything like that from him. He would hold the boy; and Ichigo, a holder, needed to be held.
Aizen was like that, though. He was everything the boy needed. He was everything the boy would need. He was fast and fast, and slow all together. Ichigo loved it. He lived it, breathed it, drank it in and flourished in it with every move he made.
What Ichigo wasn't expecting every time he woke up from that nightmare; that thing destroying him inside, was Aizen turning his head to the boy, opening his eyes and whispering his name. He didn't know that that time and every time after Aizen would get up and walk across the room and pick the boy up. He didn't expect to be carried bridal-style back to the warm futon and held there, gently. He didn't expect the tears to drip from his face as he pressed it into the crook of the man's chest, or the shaking body that contained his soul.
A quiet begging from the strawberry, "Can you please, please be real for me?"
The reply is that deep chuckling that is Aizen. All over his body, slightly rippling throughout him in his mirth.
The open-mouth kiss is expected. It's wanted and needed. It hurts and feels amazing, the wide, hard, cool lips. They match his; his are wide too, but not as wide as his lover's. They are pale, while Ichigo's are a pink tint. Ichigo adores those lips. The way they part to let out little sighs of air when he's annoyed. The little kisses that the older man runs along his face. Ichigo loves all of it. They seem to be almost vital for the boy.
As the older man's mouth seals over his own, his arms that are so thin-yet caked in trim muscles that could most likely lift a house, snake around him and deepen the kiss. It's like the feeling Ichigo got that one time he took a hit of the older boy's funny cigarette. Everything is spinning and beautiful and giddy and amazing.
It's alright, calm down. Don't be nervous. He tried to tell his stomach, but then the other man's hand is on his bulge and he's slowly out of control-everything is gone, clothes strewn across the floor. Everything about the older man is displacing. It's addicting. It burns in his veins.
Then they're at it, in and out and in and out and in out and in, and Aizen is feeling-and touching-and-ogodplease-and its amazing. Then it's white and Ichigo fucking loves it.
When it's all over, Ichigo reassures himself as he's falling back to sleep without fear of that thing inside him that only Aizen can save him from. He sighs contentedly, thinking if I just breathe. He's almost out and Aizen is placing little kisses on his forehead and smiling, chuckling. He's happy in this evil man's arms. He's happy being the damsel for once, and he never wants to let it go. It's fucking amazing. It'll stay that way too, forever, because Aizen isn't going to let him go-Isn't going to let him hurt himself. Not again.
Authors Note: Ooooooooo…….xD It was fucking horrid, ne? All I can think as I'm writing is…
"Ganbatte… Ganbatte … Ganbatte …."
xD I really shouldn't have wrote this. I feel like crap and I know I shouldn't be staying up as late.
