A/N v.2: *Purges*

This sequel was unexpected and weird and came out of nowhere, and I love it. When I wrote it, I was worried for myself because of all the angst I'd been writing. Now, I just accept it.

Reviews are loved. Always loved. Thanks to Critics United for taking the time to review my fics, it's much appreciated. :) But other than that concrit, I'd love to see what regular readers think. Let me know, k?

So... Enjoy Part Dieux, Amour Incompris Est L'Amour Perdu. ^^

EDIT: Just back to change the title. Same reason as for the first chapter.

Amour Mal compris Est L'Amour Perdu

He had only gone to the club because Yoruichi had threatened to hide all the alcohol he had if he didn't. In his eyes, he didn't need to be surrounded by drunken men and women, almost having sex on the dance floor, didn't need random people trying to hit on him, didn't need to get drunk himself. He was comfortable in his solitude, running his small shop in town, living in the quaint little apartment above it. In any case, he had enough money from all of his patents to live comfortably for the rest of his life without ever lifting a finger, if he so chose. He had his two close friends, and his two almost wards to take care of. He was happy.

Obviously, Yoruichi had different views. And since an angry Yoruichi meant an ass-kicking for whoever she was pissed at, Kisuke had complied with her demands. He had sat at the bar, performing a perfunctory scan of the club, marking off everyone he saw. Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, too slutty, too ugly…. Sighing, he had looked to the side, ready to leave. And that was when Kisuke saw him.

Kisuke watched the orange-headed youth make his way to the dance floor. He had felt a pull towards the boy for some reason, and maybe because the alcohol had dulled his senses, he had followed this tug. He had pressed up against the boy, wrapping his arms around the boy's waist as the boy leaned back into him.

The sex was mindblowing. They had stumbled into a back room, all arms and legs and heated kisses. He had shoved the boy up against a wall and just taken him, right there, no pleasantries involved. They had eventually moved to the bed, where Kisuke had finished using the boy. They lay there for some time, sharing the post-coital bliss, but both of them knew that it was nothing but a one-night stand.

But Yoruichi had been pretty pissed at Kisuke for some reason or another that next week, and he had disappeared to the club to avoid her wrath. He had sipped his drink again, not really taking in the crowd, just wanting to waste away the night. But fate had different plans, and Kisuke had seen that flash of orange again, swaying with the rest of the crowd on the dance floor. Wasting no time, he had set down his drink and moved behind the boy again. Leaning down, he had whispered "My place" into the boy's pale ear.

He took his time that night. Their kisses were slow, gentle, almost loving in their tenderness. There had been many more caresses, much more foreplay. Both males had been brought to the brink several times before Kisuke finally entered the boy. And even then, his strokes were slow, calm, peaceful, almost torturously so. Their orgasms were no less powerful for the lack of intensity, however, and Kisuke would almost go as far as saying that night had been one of the best nights of his life. They had curled up together that night, bonded by their shared act. The boy had asked Kisuke's name, and Kisuke had seen no harm in telling him. Little did he know…. But he had. And he had learned the boy's name in return, a name that Kisuke had since come to equate with a magnificent treasure. They had fallen asleep together, and Kisuke had felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: happiness.

Maybe it was their bond that drew them together; maybe they just had a mutual understanding. Kisuke didn't care. All he knew was that Ichigo and he suddenly shared more than just a platonic relationship. They would hook up every now and then when they were at the club at the same time, and depart to Kisuke's apartment. For some reason, though, neither thought to ask for the other's contact information. While this amused Kisuke to no end, he didn't seek to change it. In fact, it just cemented his somewhat-joking label on their relationship—acquaintances with benefits. But even though he knew that such a young and virile boy as Ichigo would never love an insane old man like Kisuke, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret that they couldn't be something more.

But then Ichigo seemed to gain a curiosity about Kisuke's life, and he dared to hope. Could Ichigo possibly…? But he quashed the hope immediately, guarding his heart against the inevitable break. He was sparse with his answers, not wanting Ichigo to possess more of Kisuke than necessary so that when Ichigo finally realized he could do so much better than Kisuke, less parts of Kisuke would be trampled upon. Because really, why would Ichigo want to love such a selfish old man? It was a stupid thought, a false hope.

But slowly, slowly, Kisuke's very heart became Ichigo's to control. Kisuke was simply the puppet, and Ichigo his master. Kisuke felt his heart fall deeper in deeper in love with this young, vibrant boy, until it nearly drowned. And no matter how much Kisuke tried to protect himself, Ichigo continued to break down all of Kisuke's carefully constructed walls, until only one remained: the fragile wall that hid Kisuke's feelings from Ichigo.

But if Kisuke's touches grew more tender, he didn't notice. If we worked a little harder to elicit those wanton moans from Ichigo's mouth, he missed it. If he began to map out all of Ichigo's pleasure points, it wasn't intentional. And in fact, he did try a little harder, caressed and kissed Ichigo a little longer, used subtle gestures more often. He slowly began to make the transition from sex partner to lover. But the shift was so gradual, neither male noticed.

And then, one day, when Kisuke woke up, Ichigo was gone. The side of the bed that Kisuke had come to regard as "Ichigo's side" was made and unwrinkled, exactly the same as it had been the night before. The only thing that attested to Ichigo's presence was the open window, curtains swaying in the breeze. And when Kisuke had gone to put on his favorite hat, the hat that Ichigo had once given him as a present, just so he could hold some piece of Ichigo with him as he processed the orange headed boy's absence, he had found a note.

I can'tdo this anymore, he read. Immediately, he recognized the handwriting as Ichigo's. Please forgive me. It's just too hard.

And underneath were three words that finally managed to drown Kisuke's heart in their meaning. He felt himself shatter into a million tiny pieces as he read and reread those three words a hundred times over. Three words that seemed to strike his very being, and yet managed to reflect his soul at the same time. Words he had never said to anyone. Words no one had ever said to him.

I love you.