Mindless
Shatter
"What the hell? Let me go! Let me go! Where is he?" The small black haired female struggles against the strong arms around her, fighting with all her might against Youroichi as she snarls at Urahara whose face is characteristically hidden behind his fan.
"I know he's here! Where is he?"
Urahara sighs softly, eyes flickering to the ceiling in exasperation. In that trained lightly carefree voice he speaks, smiling eyes meeting Rukia's with calm composure.
"Whatever do you mean, Rukia?"
This makes her fly into a rage even more, her legs attempting to kick back at the other woman, failing to even make her flinch.
"I know he's here, Urahara!" Her voice has raised a pitch, shrill, desperate. Youroichi and Urahara share a knowing look and her chin dips in a small nod as she lowers Rukia slowly to her feet, unwinding her arms and allowing Rukia to hop a few feet away from her, rage and determination flashing in her eyes.
"Very well. This way, then."
Urahara moves in that lazy way of his towards back of the shop, emerging through the door where a small garden has been nurtured, and sitting on a chair in the middle of it is a form that Rukia knows well and her heart jumps into her throat.
His back is to her, but that wild orange blonde hair is unmistakable. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and ignoring Urahara's warning to wait she dashes forward, sliding around the chair to face him, her wide grin accompanied by an excited and relieved "Ichigo!"
And then her whole world crashes as she stumbles back a few steps away from the form hunched over. She shakes her head slowly, her own misbelieving eyes dragging over a sharp angled face, shaded slightly by too long hair that hangs limp. She places a hand over her own mouth as she notes the void eyes, staring straight through her, familiar brown puddled in disconcerting black.
The color begins to drain from her face and her knees weaken, and no one is there to catch her when she falls to the ground in astonishment, not even registering the pain that arch's up her legs at the collision.
Slowly her hand falls away from her mouth and her throat tightens, but she is just able to choke out the words.
"What's wrong with him?"
She is vaguely aware of Urahara drawing closer and then he is within sight, kneeling down beside Ichigo, staring at her from over the top of his fan, hat tipped down so that she can barely see his shadowed eyes.
"We don't know."
She furrows her brows, feeling her ire rise a bit.
"Why haven't you figured it out?"
"We've tried," comes his somewhat slow reply, his eyes turning towards the male in question before he continues. "He's been unresponsive for a month."
She chokes on whatever rebuttal she had been forming, eyes going impossibly wide.
"He's been here a month? But the Soul Society has only known about him for two days! Everyone is an uproar, wondering where he has been for the past two years!"
"Raising your voice will not help him recover, Rukia." His soft admonishment makes a bit of color come back to tint her cheeks and she arranges herself in a more comfortable position, hunkering down in a way that shows Urahara that she is not going anywhere until she gets as many answers as she can.
Sighing, he stands, placing Benihime in front of him, leaning on her somewhat in a detached fashion as he begins to recount the seemingly endless days of trying to prod Ichigo into awareness.
…
"Yu are thinking of them again, Ichigo."
Said main looks up from his tea cup, peering into the eyes of the other, gauging the tone of voice he has used. Although his smile is turned up in slight adoration and his body screams that of welcoming, Ichigo can see the undercurrent of something inexplicably wrong under the mask presented for him.
As always he chooses not to acknowledge it, pushing it back into that very private part of his mind, storing it away as he stores all information of Aizen away for later contemplation.
"I have told you before that I am truly disappointed that it happened that way." Aizen sets his own teacup down, standing in a fluid motion and walking towards Ichigo in that flowing way.
Ichigo does not resist when slender fingers wrap under his chin, forcing his face to turn towards Aizen, their eyes to meet. Ichigo's expression is carefully schooled, blank, and Aizen speaks up again in a more tender tone, releasing the edge that had threatened to become razor sharp.
"Do you miss them so terribly, Ichigo?"
Ichigo watches as the stray lock of brown slides from one brow to the other when Aizen barely tips his head with his question, his hand leaving Ichigo's jaw to flutter down the side of Ichigo's neck and, on cue, Ichigo's skin prickles, a shiver passing through his body, Aizen's being the only contact he has known in a year and a half. That, and blood weeping no-longer-existing's.
"You're friends deaths were an unfortunate mistake, Ichigo." The older man tilts back his head in contemplation, then his voice lowers, purring out like a lover's caress, and Ichigo blinks in a show of surprise. That tone is new.
"Would you like to avenge them, Ichigo? Would you like to wrap your hands around Ulquiorra's throat, for cutting down Orihime?" Ichigo can feel his muscles tightening at the mention of the shy, wayward female that had begged him with dying eyes.
He can feel Aizen's fingers sliding over his shoulder, slowly, trailing a line of icy heat.
"Would you like to pierce through Grimmjow's chest, having watched him tear out your human friends heart?"
Ichigo flinches, just barely, a movement caught only because Aizen's fingers are trailing down, over his chest, sliding towards his heart. Chad, he sees in his mind's eye, telling Ichigo to run.
Aizen's lips are right by his ear now, whispering those cruel words, words that snake down to Ichigo's aching heart and squeeze tightly.
"Yammy, who sliced off the head of the Quincy?"
Ichigo suddenly finds it quite hard to breath, his heart hammering against his ribcage in painful shutters, as if trying to leap out from behind his bones into the hand pressed against his chest.
Aizen's lips brush against the lobe of his ear, his voice dipping into a seductive drawl, free hand moving up to curl into the long locks at the base of Ichigo's neck, though Ichigo does not even notice as his vision begins to fade at the edges.
"Would you like to shred Stark to pieces," Here he pauses, for dramatic effect, as his hand fists into Ichigo's robe, "For doing the same to Rukia Kuchiki?"
With a cry, Ichigo wrenches himself backwards, away from Aizen, and the other man lets him tumble to the floor, painfully colliding with the floor and the back of the chair, his head snapping against the hard surface and causing a blinding white light to bloom behind his eyes.
And then there is a weight over him, settling down over his hips, hands pressing against his biceps as a chest rests against his own.
When his vision clears he blinks a few times to register this new development. Straddling him is Aizen, eyes gleaming with a hot fever, his lips pulled into a slightly leering smile.
"I can give them to you, Ichigo." The words are still that sensual, husky purr, beckoning to Ichigo's torn heart, his bleeding heart, his delicately healing mind. In the back of his mind he pictures Aizen's face, blood dripping from his temples, streaming down his cheeks and falling in his eyes; pooling on his lips as his gaze is that of horror.
Then he blinks, and the Aizen he does not know, the one whose face reflects that of lust, is before him again, and his own eyes are questioning, are confused.
Aizen smiles wider, his grip loosening on Ichigo's arms as he leans down, close enough to when he speaks, his lips brush against Ichigo's own in triumph.
"I can give them to you," a tongue smooth's out over Ichigo's lower lip and his mouth immediately opens, "If you give yourself completely to me."
And then Ichigo's mouth is being devoured, a skilled tongue caressing each and every spot inside of his mouth, tasting him and relishing in it.
Ichigo notes, as his tongue sluggishly begins to respond, that Aizen tastes like licorice.
…
Hopefully you are all enjoying the new twist, and the start of the more… mature themes.