Gratitude

A/N- I don't own bleach. But I sure have a hell of a time watching Gin and Kira go at it like they're never gonna see each other again…

He's still sleeping. He's been sleeping the past three days since I carried his battle-weakened, bruised and torn body back to my quarters. Part of me was relieved after everyone cleared out of Karakura, seeming to forget us both. But part of me was also deeply angered that I seemed to be the only one who cared enough to bring him back, spend day and night healing him until my strength was drained from it. True, I had him all to myself, and that's just how I intended to keep things. But I struggled to understand how every one of my comrades could leave him behind. Struggled to understand how they could justify ignoring someone obviously wounded and so near death.

Maybe it was because I was the only one who really knew the truth about Gin. That he was never on Aizen's side to begin with. That he only had to make it seem so to coax out the traitor's trust so he could defeat him. Or get severely beaten up trying. Gin gave it all he had and then some, but still he fell before the psychopath that Aizen had become. And strangely, a small part of me also felt deep sympathy for Aizen. Even despite him having nearly killed my beloved taichou. It was clear that Aizen had become utterly consumed in his greed and narcissistic ambition. I wondered just how long the seal would hold him before he could manage to break it and escape.

My meandering thoughts were interrupted by a choked sob from the futon I had laid Gin in. I went and sat by his side as I heard quiet moans escape him. He seemed more agitated, as if having a nightmare. I smoothed my hand over his pale silver hair and studied his face. "Hush, Taichou" I whispered. "You're safe now, I have you."

He seemed to calm, the pained look on his features melting away, replaced by what almost seemed like a smile, slight enough that I had to keep my eyes on his face to make sure it wasn't just wishful thinking and exhaustion playing with my mind.

The buildup of three days of pouring my spirit energy into healing him had finally caught up with me. I laid down beside him in the futon, snuggling up close to his side and pulling the blankets back over us again. Within moments I was lulled to sleep by his warmth, my arm around his waist, holding fast to the body I missed so dearly.

The next morning:

Diffused sunlight filters through the windows to crumple in weak strips on the floorboards. Still partially asleep, I only half-register the sinewy arm wound around my waist, holding me close. The long, svelte body pressed close against my own, the warm breath on my hair. The way we fit together so perfectly is infinitely soothing to me.

"Arigato" comes the soft murmur behind me. That sole word unravels me as I turn to face him, his eyes open, tears falling down his beautiful face. The sight makes my heart ache and I begin to cry as well, burrowing my face into his chest.

He holds me tighter, protectively. Neither of us can stop the tears, mine coming fast and frantic, scalding, soaking the front of the spare yukata I dressed him in after removing the shredded garments from before and cleaning his wounds; his coming in silent streams that gently shake his thin frame and dampen the top of my head. I feel his powerful heartbeat, his deep and ragged breaths as I try to sink further into his body. I want to be swallowed up in him, maybe then I can find some reprieve from this hollow, slinking sadness that always ends up finding me.

His spirit energy envelops me, comforting. I can't even find the strength to say "You're welcome", I'm sobbing so hard. The relief of having him back after so long, missing him like my lungs had been ripped out is shattering me. Holding up a stoic façade the whole time he was absent, not being able to tell another soul about his plan to stop Aizen must have gotten to me more than I could even admit to myself. But really "You're welcome" wasn't right. When I picked him up and carried him home, I didn't think. It was pure instinct that took over, the same as if it had been me fighting, I'd have done everything possible to stay alive. So instead of "You're welcome" it was more like "You don't have to thank me for anything, I can't breathe without you. Of course I'd bring you back, I love you more than I could ever hope to express. You're my life, you're my heart, you're my soul. Without you I'm nothing, I don't exist. I can't exist. You're my whole world."

He can sense my thoughts as if I had actually spoken them aloud, I can tell from the pure gratitude radiating through his spirit energy. His breathing calms a bit and so does mine, my tears spent for the moment. He brings his hand gently to the side of my face, cupping my cheek and tilting my head up and I'm lost in those crimson eyes. Lost, as lost as I'd always get when he captured my gaze, his irises such an intense ruby hue, so saturated in heat they seem to throb softly the way I've seen neon lights do sometimes in the human world.

I need him so badly. We haven't made love for what seems like hellish, agonizing lifetimes though in reality I know it's only been a few months. I know he needs me too, I can feel the way his soul hungers for me. I close the scant inches between us and kiss him slowly, as if for the first time, and feel the surge of gratitude from his spirit energy spike exponentially. He told me once that it drove him absolutely wild when I initiated things between us.

He caresses the back of my head and I shift on top of him, deepening our kiss, tasting him. I move my tongue slowly back and forth over his, run it along his pearly teeth, flatten it out on the roof of his mouth. He responds by sucking my bottom lip, catching it firmly between his own, he's undoing me bit by bit. I gently push the yukata off his shoulders, exposing glorious white skin, freshly healed and still tender, but positively pulsing with heat. Gently, I dip my head lower to kiss his long, graceful neck, his lovely chest. He is so beautiful to me, and honestly I've never seen him more so than right now, all mine and without another soul to know. He's forever my secret now, and as he runs his hands through my hair I pause the kisses for a moment to lay my head on his chest and hear the steady thud of his heart.

He moves to pull off my yukata and I sit up to slip out of it, the azure silk pooling at the end of the futon. He seems to have regained quite a bit of strength already as he follows suit. He pulls me back down from my kneeling position before him, our naked skin flush in a full-body embrace, and as his cock brushes softly against my own I shiver with anticipation. He's stroking my hair again, and I feel his fingertips knead the base of my neck, holding me reverently as if I am a figurine carved from alabaster.

I sit up again, straddling him, and lean over to retrieve a small bottle of oil from beside the futon. I had massaged him with it while he was still unconscious and now it would serve nicely as a lubricant. He offers his hand and I coat his fingers with the patchouli-scented oil, our gazes locked as I do so. He slips one long finger into me, thrusts deeply twice, hitting my prostate and I shiver again as my pleasure builds. Then another finger, he hooks them back toward himself as if beckoning me to him. I drip some of the oil onto his cock and take it gently in the palm of my hand, stroking slowly from tip to base to coat him generously, as I stroke he's plucking at my prostate, almost seeming to pinch it between his fingertips and my oversensitive nerves ignite.

Then he pulls his fingers free and I line myself up with him at just the right angle and sink down, the engorged head of his cock invading me slowly until he is fully seated within me, his hands splayed on my hips to steady us. "Oh Gin…" I gasp, breathlessly, relishing the intense stab of pain at such deep penetration after being so long deprived of him. "Izuru" he whispers, his eyes heavy with lust but still locked on mine, and I feel my cock throb at the desperate, pleading way he says my name; a throb that jolts up my spine, makes me lightheaded, and finally settles in my heart, a sweet, melancholy ache that quietly brings back the tears. He reaches up to tenderly wipe them away, and I can't help but shed more at the sweetness of his gesture. He cups my jaw and I place my hand reverently over his, nuzzling my face into his touch like a wounded animal seeking comfort. I take hold of his wrist and start kissing the palm of his hand, sucking his fingers sensually, and this sends shock waves of pleasure through him. I study his face, illuminated by the soft, barely-there sunlight as his eyes flutter closed for a moment, his sweat-dampened hair falling around his head like a halo. My own head is bowed slightly, my shoulder-length blond hair spilling forward over the side of my face, a few errant strands caught in the corner of my mouth.

As he opens his eyes again I see tears glimmering in his lashes. His hands on my hips guide me up and down, each down-thrust met by a slight up-thrust from him, his long cock landing straight into my prostate, dizzying me from the intense pleasure. His palm encircles my cock, stroking slowly, and when he gets to my tip he wiggles his thumb into my slit, making me moan and writhe down harder. I want to feel him pressed tight into my prostate when I come so I bounce only slightly, not really lifting up, just making him sink deeper into me each time I bounce back down. I feel myself at the edge, and it feels like he's swollen even more inside me, filling me, stretching me to capacity. He strokes faster and hits my prostate with a very forceful crash and suddenly I'm spilling out faster and hotter and more than I ever have before, he keeps stroking and pulls me down on his cock, the pressure on my prostate not letting up as I keep coming for what seems like minutes or hours or an eternity, the most intense orgasm I've ever felt, and right before I finish he thrusts once more and comes inside me, moaning my name. The expression on his face as he spills into me is the most painfully beatific sight I've seen in my whole life, I can't look away, and as he rides out his white-hot pleasure his eyes are once more locked with mine.

After several moments of staring at each other dazedly, I gingerly roll off his lap and reach for the towel that was beside the oil and gently clean us both. Then I collapse next to him, and he holds me close as I sink into his embrace, lulled to sleep by his soft, even breath.