A/N - Does this get a little too fantasy? Ha! Look who am I asking, we're all fans of monsters and death gods anyway, what's a dragon or two compared to that?
Thanks beebo85 for the new reviews!
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I sat cross legged on the thick, new rug in the living room, the furniture shoved to the side to provide a clear space. Ichigo settled in front of me, scooting close so that our legs touched lightly. He leaned forward, briefly caressing my knees with a small smile of encouragement to mask his anxiety.
"Probably nothing will happen, Ichigo."
"Well, I'm here either way, love. Remember that I'm here."
I closed my eyes and told myself that I was safe. The past could not truly hurt me. As emotionally painful as the memories were, they were only that, unchangeable and distant. I would face them, and I would return to the comfort of winter and the joy brought to me by my beloved. With the nearness of such warmth, I began to clear my mind, acknowledging and setting aside each fear, each mundane concern, and each and every passing thought as they made their small demands for attention.
When I would normally seek the solace of vast plains of snow and ice, instead I courted fire. The clearest, boldest memory I had found, the one that came to me first and last every single time, was of being wrapped in flames and unbelievable agony. I had fled from this memory time and again, falling into a pit of forgetfulness to escape. No longer.
Hot wind teased my senses and I deliberately embraced the uncomfortable sensation, enduring the bright light that grew as the wind increased. Though my body was distant from me now, there was increasing physical discomfort as a new skin encased my soul. Rough, abrasive heat surrounded me, the irritation of sunburn and sand scratching, tearing. My thick hide was tight and raw as desert air sucked the moisture out of me.
My power stretched far and wide, but could find no water which I desperately needed to heal my wounds and destroy the enemies below. Deliberately they had baited me here, cunningly they shielded their bodies to prevent me from stealing the water within, wisely they stayed rooted to the dry earth rather than fight me in the skies. I had underestimated them, deeming them as foolish as their master. These were not worms, but rats, swarming in great numbers to bring down the predator they feared, sacrificing dozens of their own for each drop of my blood.
A deceptively fine chain was wrapped around my neck, three loops circling and pulling, searing away skin while it tried to cut off my air and pull me down. My claws failed to sever the length of metal stretching toward the sands beneath me, or the twin chain that snaked around my right leg. I roared my rage at the insignificant black rats crawling along the dune, struggling for release to escape the heat and the deadly arid air.
Staggering pain shot through me as I watched my right wing shredded by multiple lances of fire. The chains pulled tighter and the sky started to slip away. With a growing sense of horror, I began to realize that I would fail. I had been beaten, tricked and lured into a place where I was weak enough to be brought down by my own prey. I would fall here, so far from home and the beauty of my snow-capped mountains and icy rivers, so far from any memory of the golden age with my beloved. The savage desert would swallow my bones, and time would turn me to sand under the unrelenting sun.
I hissed and forced my damaged wing to cooperate as I turned and dove. One perfect creation, one golden soul this world had witnessed, and destroyed. The world owed me its life for taking my heart. I had torn apart those who had dared laid hands on my beloved, but somehow the tyrant had survived. The vile thing that had enslaved me, that had used me to destroy my kin, that had tortured and killed my beloved had survived. And his slaves still resisted their fates. I would take these, at least, with me as I burned.
My overtaxed and heavily damaged wing snapped under the strain of trying to break my dive, and I hit the unforgiving sands hard. But the chain around my neck loosened and stopped burning as the puny Shinigami holding it was crushed under my weight. I spun, dealing death to the Death Gods with spell, claw, fang and razor-edged tail as swords and magic rained down on me mercilessly. The dead turned instantly to dust as my power snatched any moisture it could find, but it was not enough to keep up with the increasing ruin of my body.
I was already dying by the time their leader called a tornado of fire to be certain my life ended as painfully as possible. With the last of my hatred I lunged for him. His sword of flames pierced my jaw as I tried to swallow him whole, and he pushed my fangs away. Only one claw reached him before he casually flung my weakening body back into the inferno. The scent of his blood was my only reward, a deep but not nearly fatal cut across his forehead. I hoped that I had at least taken out the bastard's eye.
The tattered remnants of my soul could no longer hold, the gossamer threads breaking and disintegrating. I was left with no ability to enforce any more justice on this wicked world. I screamed the name of my beloved, which had not passed my lips since his death, pouring all my grief and fury into one final howl of rage and despair before the fire flowed into my lungs.
The world was red, the color searing through yellow and white, brighter and brighter until no option was left but black. The roar of the fire deafening, merging with the booming of my heart, the rush of my blood, the cacophony building until nothing was possible but silence.
Gasping for air, I tried to unclench my body, my human body. Everything hurt, especially anywhere skin touched skin, and my tears burned my eyes and face. I was in darkness, and after what I had just failed to live through I drew comfort from the void.
Was this death? Could death be so unmerciful, not allowing me to forget the pain or the unbearable loss?
There was no sight, no movement, no sound as I lay weeping for seconds or for centuries. Until a whisper cut like thunder through the emptiness. It scrapped across my raw nerves, disturbing the only peace I could find. I tried to shut it out, to stay in the quiet dark, but the interruption persisted.
What did this whisper want from me? I had nothing left to give.
". . . here . . . I am here . . ."
My eyes darted around uselessly and my ears suddenly strained to catch what they had been trying to avoid. Was he here? Had I found him at last? All the selfish, silly notions humans had about rewards of the afterlife came to tease me. Would death reward me by reuniting me with my beloved?
"My love, I am here . . . "
Sound was swallowed by the dark, though I knew I screamed at the agony required to push myself up. Only the whispering voice was audible, and no amount of pain would stop me from dragging myself through the darkness to find the light.
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He had been successful, if you could call this success. I knew it when I saw the pain wash over his face as his breathing became erratic. My fear grew when he could no longer sit still, clutching at his neck, growls and whimpers pushing through clenched teeth. I scrambled over to him, wrapping him tight in my arms as he struggled to breathe, but I had promised not to interfere.
When the bare skin of his wrist brushed my arm, I flinched. He was burning, his skin hot and red. Promises be damned, I had to do something to help. I did not panic this time, but I rushed to pick him up and headed for the closest source of relief, the thick blanket of snow just outside the back doors. Skidding to my knees in the garden, I scooped snow onto his scalding skin.
Just as I gathered myself to break my vow entirely and slap him awake, he screamed a name I did not know. Then that howl that haunted my nightmares ripped at my heart, growing louder and more ragged until he collapsed, going limp in my arms, his head falling back. I gasped as I saw the angry red welts spiraling around his neck. He had been physically damaged by a memory, and the nature of the wound terrified me.
"Ichigo!?" Matsumoto stood on the porch, shock written all over her face and stance.
I so do not need this right now.
"He's okay, Ran, don't panic."
How does my voice sound so calm?
"What happened? I heard . . . I heard him screaming."
She should not be here. She would never have heard if I hadn't rushed outside, beyond the barrier protecting Toshiro's privacy. She started toward us as I pulled open his yukata, bathing his chest in handfuls of snow, the flakes disappearing into water and steam as his skin finally began feeling a little less scorched. Rangiku sucked in a breath as she looked over my shoulder. So far, she hadn't accused me of hurting him, but it had to be on her mind.
"Rangiku, I need to focus on Toshiro right now, and you can help. Draw a bath upstairs, water just a little warm. Set towels and a pitcher of cold water nearby, and the bottle of pills from the top drawer in his closet, the one closest to the windows. And then leave us alone."
I felt her staring at me for too long.
"Rangiku, please. For Toshiro, please."
As she turned and went into the house I started rocking back and forth.
"My love, I am here. Come back to me. I am here."
I repeated it again and again like a prayer as his skin cooled and his breathing steadied. I don't know how long we stayed there in the snow before I saw the twitch of his eyelids. I could no longer feel my feet or the hand that kept reaching farther afield for snow. I was covered in a layer of white, as a new blizzard whipped around us.
"Toshiro? I'm here, love. Please, baby, wake up now. I am here."
He drew in a shaky breath and his eyes opened just the tiniest crack.
"Toshiro, I'm here. You are safe, my love."
His breath hissed out and he blinked slowly. Then I saw it. I saw him endure remembrance and I pulled him to my chest. He cried out, the mournful howl of devastating grief muffled as he pushed his face into me, and I could no longer hold back my own tears as I rocked him slowly and stroked his hair, whispering his name repeatedly as he sobbed and cried.
When he had been quiet for a few minutes he turned his head, cheek resting on cloth wet with tears and melted snow.
"Love, can I take you inside? The bath is ready if you want it."
He started to nod and winced, voicing a shaky and frail, "Yes."
Ever so carefully I gathered him to me and stood, slowly taking him inside and upstairs, clumps of snow and wet footprints trailing my steps. Our routine was repeated, I sat him on the edge of the bath to undress him and I couldn't help another gasp. His right leg was circled by the same livid red marks as his neck, from the ankle all the way up to mid-thigh. He glanced down and growled lowly, then his eyes found a mirror and his hand went to his neck.
"Let me heal those, they're sure to sting in the water."
He just stared into the mirror and I laid my hand gently on his chest. I should have done this earlier and he wouldn't have had to see it; I just hadn't been thinking clearly. Five minutes later he pushed my hand away. His skin all over looked better, but the sinister injuries only healed a little and refused to disappear.
"Let it be, Ichigo. Apparently, there is a price to be paid."
I didn't understand, but I left off anyway and helped him into the water. I gave him the medication and a glass of cool water, and kissed his forehead. He gave me a weak, false smile and went back to staring straight ahead while I went to change out of my freezing, wet uniform and make us both some hot tea.
I hated this, with every fiber of my being. Toshiro was in pain. He had told me how much having me be here helped, but I felt completely inadequate, unable to shield him or even heal him from the damage I failed to prevent. And if he was right, and let's face it Toshiro was always right, we would have to go through this several more times. I would find a way to put up with it, but I would need to find an outlet for my anger.
Shaking away thoughts that would not help either of us, I continued to do what I could. When I returned with the tea, Toshiro was completely under the water and I barely resisted the urge to reach in and pull him out. A rush of bubbles and he pushed back up onto the ledge while weakly chuckling and pushing long locks out of his eyes.
"You look like a tiger with a pulled tail, Ichigo."
"And you look like a drowning kitten, my love."
He glared at me for a moment, but couldn't hold the expression. He reached for the tea and sighed after sucking down half of the nearly boiling liquid. I didn't know how he could stand it, especially sitting in water that was probably a few degrees from turning into ice by now. I took the nearly empty pitcher, refilled it and moved it in by the bed with another glass I had brought up. If it was all I could do for him, I would make damn sure he was as comfortable as possible.
Toshiro had gotten out of the bath and was toweling himself dry. I froze in the doorway, indignant.
"Hey! You are taking all of the fun parts away from me."
He stopped and blinked at me. Then he grinned as he roughly ran the towel through his hair. It was one of my favorite mannerisms, when his face went still as he thought about a statement and then his whole expression changed when he came up with his answer.
"Not all the fun parts, Ichigo."
Dropping the towel, he walked toward me, flirting with the sway of his hips and the tilt of his head. As if he ever had to flirt to gain the attention of me or anyone. It seemed I still had some comforting to do, and I pulled him into my arms carefully. His skin which had been blistering was now colder than the snow I had poured over him. Expecting it did not lessen the shock that anyone could survive such extremes. I carried him to the bed, willing myself not to shiver.
Laying him down gently, I repeated what I had done for him before, using my concentrated reiatsu to force just a little fire into him, to break the hold of the ice. It had been an instinctual move the first time, not something I had ever learned. But it had worked.
Ever so slowly I caressed every inch of his magnificent body, forcing him to be patient and wait when he reached for me. He finally lay quiet and only squirmed a little as I massaged and kissed my way all over his exposed flesh.
I was very careful with his right leg, and as I moved close to it I could see that the welts had faded into red and only slightly swollen burns. There was a pattern to them, and my jaw clenched as I realized that they had been made by a chain. A delicate one by the size of the links, but the thought of a chain on him angered me beyond reason. The marks slowly spiraled in six loops from just above his ankle to halfway up his thigh. Kissing in between the burns, I still heard him groan as I moved my hands as tenderly as possible.
His unblemished left leg was a welcome distraction from my anger and worry. Here was a lovely, pale ankle. I ran my hands and then my tongue around it and pushed up a thin, strong calf to a knee with such soft skin behind it for my tongue to explore. Though well-muscled, this silver thigh was so pretty any woman would be proud to show it off. It warmed under my touch and I lingered to decorate it with small red kisses.
Skin so delicate and cool was delightful to lick, and my tongue ran along the crease where leg met torso, lifting his body so that my exploration would not be interrupted. Then the real treasure was revealed. Was there any skin as sweet as this, never seen or tasted by anyone else?
My hands gripped the toned, smoothly rounded cheeks to stop him as he nearly escaped. His moans increased as I lapped at that tantalizing flesh hidden behind the testicles, and I pressed closer as his resistance faded. Willingly he pulled his legs out ever wider. Thin fingers wound into my hair.
Nuzzling, licking, purring as I moved from balls to thigh and back to perineum, I lost my awareness and the sense of what I was supposed to be doing, lost myself in the delight of timeless exploration and enjoyment of the body I loved. I moved lower, holding him firmly as my tongue pushed inside to find more ways to savor him.
"Ichigo!"
I blinked and drew back just slightly in surprise as his muscles clenched. I grinned, he had made it to orgasm without me ever touching his lovely cock. My wanton Toshiro, he was everything one could ask for in a lover.
Aware once more, I used his moment of euphoria to get rid of the clothes I was still wearing, forgotten in the passion, and retrieved the lubricant for both of our pleasure. He was watching through barely open eyes, panting and flushed, so like the first time I took him that I shuddered. How far we had traveled together, how much we had faced, it was still unreal to me that we had survived.
After a moment to just admire the sight of him, spread and relaxed in his pleasure, I returned to my work, licking his chest and stomach clean as my fingers sought the warmest part of his still cool body. He grunted when I pushed in, and that warmth swallowed my fingers as he wrapped his left leg around me. I moaned against his chest, overwhelmed by the perfection, the wonderful responsiveness.
My free hand teased his nipples as I resisted the urge to lick his injured neck and nibbled instead on his earlobe, whispering his name before swirling my tongue around the edge of his ear. He shivered, and turned to catch my mouth with his in a fierce, hungry kiss that slowly became unbearable.
I broke free, no longer able to continue teasing, and he grinned as my fingers left him. He brought his wounded leg up with a brief hiss as I prepared myself. I moved quickly, wanting nothing more than to be joined with him as soon as possible. And it was Toshiro, he would not mind the rush.
His shaking body and high shout welcomed me and I froze in concentration, trying not to cum immediately. I forced myself to relax as I would before a battle, not as successfully as when Toshiro did this, but it worked for the moment.
Then I moved as slowly as my body would allow. I tried to block out Toshiro's moans and the tantalizing pets of his hands along my shoulders, back and sides, fighting to make this last. But it was a losing battle as Toshiro flexed and drove me faster almost immediately.
I wasn't going to last long, but as always Toshiro was right there with me. I stroked his erection and felt his caresses turn to grasps, and the sting of his nails on my back had me slamming erratically into him a few more times before we were both shouting in ecstasy.
We rode out our climax and clung to one another as our minds cleared. Ever so gently I pulled out and then turned, making sure it was his left leg that would be pushed against the bed as I pulled him on top of me. He relaxed and nuzzled my chest lightly as he caught his breath.
Drawing on another memory, I reached for my discarded robe and he snickered as I cleaned us up a little so he could stay and relax as long as he wished. It was so much better than the last time, when he had seemed almost absent and in so much agony that I could barely stand to look at him. But it was still difficult. He was still hurting, still only a heartbeat from that horrid grief.
I stroked his back and waited, knowing that he would tell me everything.
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"A dragon?"
"Yes. How did I know that would be the one thing you fixated on?"
"Like, an actual dragon? Big teeth, a tail, wings and everything?"
"Yes, Ichigo, an actual dragon."
"Did you breathe fire?"
"Of course not."
"Do you think you can do it again?"
"No. How should I know? This is the first time I have seen it."
"You so have to try. That would be . . . I don't even have words."
"I'm shocked."
"Don't be mean. But seriously, do you think that's possible, for you to . . . you know, turn into a real dragon?"
"I highly doubt it. I do not know enough yet about what happened. But I hope that the worst is over."
"I don't know about that."
I lifted my head and folded my hands under my chin on his chest.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at me for a moment, hands rubbing my back again.
"What caused you to do it? What could have been terrible enough to push you that far? That memory may be even worse, when you remember what happened to Raiden."
Before I could even think, a sharp pain of sorrow had me clenching my teeth to keep from sobbing. Ichigo moved one hand up to pet my hair until I could steady myself. Only from hearing that name said aloud.
"How do you know that name?"
"You screamed it, just before you passed out. It's his name, isn't it? The one you loved and lost."
I blinked back tears. Not for Raiden, I did not know him. For Ichigo, who was putting up with this lunacy and now probably feeling jealous over a man centuries dead, a man dearly loved by a man who was not me. I was too fragile right now, any little thought like that could have me bawling like a kid.
"Not I, beloved. I have loved only one and he is not lost."
"Stop worrying, my love. I'm not that shallow."
"Close, though."
"What did you look like, anyway? When you weren't a big lizard, anyway."
"Dragon. You are the one who turns into a lizard."
"See, we're meant to be together."
I chuckled. "I don't know. The perspective is always from his eyes, so I do not know what he looked like."
"Well, hopefully you wander in front of a mirror one of these times."
"I'll try to do that. But really, Ichigo, can you handle this again?"
"Of course, I can. You scare the shit out me, but as long as you promise to come back then I can take it. And if someday you figure out how to turn into a dragon I get to fight you first."
"I can agree to that since it will never happen. And it was easier this time . . . coming back, I mean. I think tackling it head on was too difficult before, but it is what I need to do. And I can thanks to you."
"Well, we have a day off together coming in a few days. I think you should rest before doing that again, though."
"Probably. Let's see how I feel. I do want something from you, though." He raised a brow. "I want to hear you sing."
"What? You been eavesdropping?"
"Just once. You have a lovely voice. Why would you hide it?"
"Not hiding, exactly. I'm just out of practice. I thought I'd get a little better at the guitar, too, before I embarrass myself."
"Too late, so sing for me."
"Alright. If you let me take you out in the living world for a proper date."
I stretched up to seal the deal with a kiss, and he pulled me closer. Before I knew it, he had rolled to the side and had me pinned under him once more. Sneaky bastard.
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Loosening the fabric yet again, I huffed in annoyance. Lucky that it was the depths of winter in Seireitei, and the scarf would not be out of place. But despite the lightness of the cloth I was used to neither the clinging around my neck nor the heat it was intended to provide.
Momo, at least, would be quite pleased; it had cost her dearly. She had taken odd jobs around Rukongai for months to save up enough for the gift for my birthday. Three years since my death and the start of a new life, and she was feeling very guilty. She had allowed her friends to pressure her into teasing me for the first time, telling me in front of all the neighborhood children that I was too small and too weird to go with them to a festival. She stopped short of calling me a freak, but it was the first time she had treated me like one.
She had gained nothing from it. Not one of those children were friends with her now. Not one had become a Shinigami. Most likely she did not even remember their names, though I never forgot them. The fact that I remembered every detail of that day more than 40 years later was testament to how deeply it had hurt at the time.
For the next several months she had scrimped together enough for a present that was more fine and valuable than anything I had ever had. A rich blend of silk and cotton in exactly my favorite shade of forest green, the scarf was very long and I was so small that I had to fold it in half before wrapping it to keep the ends from dragging the ground. I wore it that winter many times to please her, and then it was carefully stored away. Momo probably thought it lost or thrown away, but I treasured it even if a barrier between me and the winter weather was not as welcome as she had hoped.
Now, however, it would serve a purpose. The fading welts on my neck would raise too many questions that I did not want to answer. It had taken hours just to calm Matsumoto down this morning, and I couldn't do that every time someone noticed wounds that would not heal.
Matsumoto had been waiting at the office very early. Fury and worry warred on her face and in her words. She stopped just a word short of accusing Ichigo of abuse. She could always tell when my cold mask was no longer fake. Besides, she did not really believe that he would hurt me, though the circumstances would lead anyone else to that conclusion.
Thus, I accomplished not one thing on my morning agenda as I told her everything. Now two people were aware, two people held this secret and possibly my life in their hands. I was torn between feeling panic at this vulnerability and feeling unreasonably happy that there were two people I could trust with this, two people I could rely on for help and support. And Matsumoto had been supportive, once she got over the shock. She had always remembered what happened to me long ago, when I had a 'breakdown' after facing the deaths of my squad. She and Shiba had known it was no mere panic and grief induced collapse. Now she knew the truth, and the iron will she hid from most would help her deal with this new burden.
Once we had finished a long talk, I sent her out to at least make an appearance on our behalf at the training grounds before the morning ended. She was too worked up and would be useless for office work. I settled in to skip lunch and catch up.
To my dismay a notice was waiting at the top of the stack of papers. Before the traitors had destroyed the long period of relative peace, a meeting of all captains was rare. At least every few months there would be a standard meeting of captains and lieutenants, and perhaps one or two more in a year for important news. Each division was its own army, with its own commander. Few things really required more cross-communication than was possible through messages between captains.
But in the tension leading up to the crisis, and in the time after Aizen's traitors and Ichigo's misfits had brought chaos and war it seemed we were meeting constantly. It took too much time. The meeting itself would be at least an hour, likely several hours. I did not have as far to travel as many, but that too added time and inconvenience. Still, the fate of Ichimaru Gin was significant enough to call a meeting. The selfish part of me wanted to skip this foolishness, bury that problem in a very deep hole and piss on its grave. But duty and fairness demanded more of me.
My concern for Matsumoto aside, the question of Ichimaru's guilt came down to a few simple issues. He had been working against Aizen. Enough to earn a pardon or not, that was not as clear. It was very likely that he had not harmed Ichigo, and that Aizen was responsible for the horrors my beloved had been subjected to. Was that doubt enough to earn my pardon, or Ichigo's?
In the eyes of the Gotei, a Shinigami even suspected of treachery had to be put down without question, without trial, and without pity. The mitigating factor was that the Shinigami in question was a captain. A particularly clever and powerful captain, at that. Before I had come along, Ichimaru was the great child prodigy of the times. His personality won no allies, but his prowess would likely earn him mercy.
One thing kept bothering me. To get someone like Aizen to trust you even a little, to be able to stay at his side, there was simply no way Ichimaru was not guilty of some truly horrendous crimes. These had not been discovered and so could not be a factor in determining his punishment. But I knew, and the other captains knew. Whatever he had done to earn his way into Aizen's favor may never come to light. But trust him? Never in this life.
Central 46 had only just begun reforming, the nobles quarreling over who would have a seat on the influential council. It might be months before they were ready to interfere with the Gotei again. The king hadn't taken an interest in centuries. And so, for once, the fate of a traitorous captain would be left in the hands of his fellows. We who had our faith shaken, our trust trampled on, and our peace shattered by three of our own would now pass judgment on the last living target of our outrage.
I leaned back in my chair, the weight of my thoughts temporarily interrupting my work. Ichigo and I would need to talk about this tonight. Before then I needed to reach a decision on where I stood. Reason told me to condemn the man. Ichimaru had never been trustworthy, and someone with that kind of power could not be allowed to exist without that trust.
But emotion said otherwise, and for once I was inclined to favor emotion over reason. And as I reviewed my previous thought I understood why. The memory of the hurt and confusion on Kusaka's face, my own rage and sorrow that he had been condemned not for a crime, but for ideals that others believed might someday lead to a crime. Judgment had been passed on Kusaka, he had been deemed unworthy of power for the frailty of his convictions. It was not wrong, but neither was it a right action in any way. And what weaknesses Kusaka had shown, they were greater and more dangerous than the faults I had been able to prove in Ichimaru.
Punishment of some kind would be acceptable, a demotion at the very least. Even stripping his power, I could support. But death without proof, I did not want to see that happen again. The Gotei was learning after the near execution of Kuchiki Rukia, and Momo would not be alive today of we still jumped to the worst option.
It seems my decision has already been made. Now I just hope Ichigo can live with it.
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"Fine."
"What?"
"I said, fine. If that's your decision, I support it."
He stared at me, eyes slightly distant and I could almost hear the gears spinning in that remarkable brain.
"Why do you seem so surprised, love? I told you my feelings on this."
"Yes, you did. But forgive me for assuming this would be much harder for you."
"It is, in a way. But I've had access to classified material for a while now. I've learned enough to allow a faint shadow of doubt, just as you said. And I can't trust my memory. I'd already decided that when I can't trust myself, I'll just trust you. You have never steered me wrong and you never will."
Wide eyes blinked and he ducked his head into the new scarf that set those eyes afire like emeralds. I held back a smile at the adorable way he evaded showing how flustered praise made him feel.
It had been a long day in the 5th. Fewer transfer requests had come in than expected, but that still meant paperwork and research to find out why they wanted to leave. I didn't hesitate to approve them, but I wanted to be sure I was aware of any particularly spiteful or untrustworthy motives. Only in a few cases did I feel the need to inform the captain of the requested division of my findings. Most of them were just uncomfortable with me personally, or with serving under the man who killed their captain. The bastard had apparently been a pretty nice guy when he was hiding his true nature.
Training had been ongoing under Komamura, and I let that continue with few changes for now. Patrols had stepped up, and shortly the 5th would pull its weight in the living world once again. And we had finally started the final round of try-outs, pitting officers against the best of the unseated.
Feeling positive about the day and the future helped when I came home to find Toshiro still in the office with a carefully neutral attitude. He was quiet as we walked to our home and he sat down with me on the couch. With his usual directness, he told me what had been worrying him all day. No doubt afraid that I would be angry with him, he explained his thoughts each step of the way. Though my mind was already made up, I let him tell me his reasoning. It would help keep me from wavering when Ichimaru inevitably crossed me in the future.
Was I conflicted about Ichimaru? Of course, I was. Those memories, true, false or somewhere in between, they would never leave me. I hoped that it was Aizen all along, since the bastard was dead. I also knew myself well enough to know that there was nothing Ichimaru could do or say that would erase my hatred entirely. Zangetsu was of two minds, as well, both literally and figuratively. The old man was more pragmatic, and at least considered the possibility of Ichimaru's innocence in both the matter of Soul Society and my torture. The Hollow was still screaming for blood and always would be.
With all of this in my head and my heart, I could not be sure of any decision I might make. It came easily, trusting Toshiro.
I scooted forward as he gazed down, face still half tucked into the scarf and deep in thought. Sinking to my knees beside the couch, I took his hands in mine and met his startled eyes.
"I'm sorry, my love. It's not fair that you have to carry the weight for both of us."
"Ichigo, I did not think nor intend to imply anything like that."
"I know. But it is still true. You once warned me to treat you as an equal, but that's not something I can do just yet. You are my better in too many ways. Until I can be sure that my decisions are my own, unaffected by my past, then I have to ask this of you. Someday, if you can continue to guide me, I will be a worthy partner, an equal. I can swear it, with not one other promise to hold me back."
His amazed expression had softened, and he smiled at me before pressing soft lips to mine briefly.
"Nothing you ask of me could ever be a burden. There is no one more worthy, there never will be, but you can take all the time you need to realize that."
The next kiss he gave me was a good deal less chaste, and I moaned my approval as he took the lead. He tugged at my hands when he broke the kiss and stood to lead me to the bedroom. Given what happened the last time he fucked me in the living room, I couldn't blame him.
ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo
As expected, the arguments for and against execution were complicated and well thought out. Soi-fon and Komamura made the strongest cases for a death sentence, and they were all arguments I myself had considered. Ukitake and I countered every point. That left Kyoraku, Unohana, Kurosutchi, Kuchiki, Zaraki, Ichigo and of course the sotaicho, all being less vocal or clear in their opinions.
The only question before us was execution or not. If he lived, then more time would be needed for everyone to consider what to do with him. Or perhaps the sotaicho would make that decision on his own. This could go either way, and I, one of Ichimaru's only defenders, really could not care less about the outcome. I would argue for clemency, but I would not risk a damned thing to fight an execution order for that snake, not for my sense of fairness, not for a stand against summary judgment, and not even for Matsumoto.
Ichigo, on the other hand, I could see taking on the entire Gotei again. It would not be for Ichimaru, but for his own ideals. If it came to that, I would be right beside him. I may not have unshakable convictions on the matter of execution, but my support for Ichigo was unconditional. I shook away those thoughts, no need to create conflict when there was still a way to avoid it.
Ichigo remained silent, apparently listening calmly to each viewpoint. His casual stance, slightly slouched with head high, was one I had seen before. It was his own mask, even better than mine for it hid a level of battle-readiness that was truly astounding. I was willing to bet that Zaraki recognized that stance, possibly Kuchiki though their battle had been long ago in Ichigo's mind and perhaps he had not yet developed this habit.
It wasn't until the vote was called that he glanced at me, and the mask lifted for an instant with the corners of his mouth.
As always, the vote went in order, though Division 1 was skipped. The sotaicho would only vote in case of a tie, or if he had strong enough opinions on the matter. I slightly envied Ukitake his position at the end of the line. Often the matter was already decided before he needed to weigh in.
Soi-fon, of course, was a yes favoring execution. Unohana a no. Eyes turned expectantly to Ichigo and there were several surprised fluctuations of tightly controlled reiatsu when he spoke one, firm word.
"No."
Kuchiki, to my amazement, favored execution. The man had always been a stickler for the law, to the point where he fought to make sure his own sister was executed. But I had thought he had started to see beyond black and white after that incident. Perhaps he had, but this particular issue was sensitive enough that even I had trouble reaching a decision.
Komamura stuck to his arguments and voted yes to execution. Kyoraku, always a hard one to read, was a no. My no and Zaraki's no followed. Kurotsuchi, another difficult one to predict, was a yes. With Ukitake's no, all eyes turned to the old man to see if he would accept the simple majority vote, or drag this out until a unanimous decision was reached.
"Very well. The life of Ichimaru Gin has been spared. Proposals for punishment or lack thereof will be accepted for one week. Then I will announce my decision."
What a relief. If he had left that broad subject open for debate, it would be days before we gave up trying to find common ground or started killing each other.
Some captains make quick exits after meetings. Others tend to linger and discuss. I had always fallen in between, depending on the issues at hand and just how tedious the meeting was. Ichigo was in apparently deep discussion with Unohana, and I briefly debated waiting for him or leaving when it happened. I must have been too focused earlier, concentrating on the meeting and Ichimaru. As I stood thinking of more trivial things the sotaicho stood to leave. His eyes, usually hidden beneath heavy brows, were wide open as they swept the room, casually contacting mine before moving on.
In that instant, my mind clicked together the observations it had made and the memories it had recalled. Rage hit me like a physical blow, followed quickly by grief, confusion, and even a hint of fear. I looked away quickly, eyes automatically seeking out my beloved as I struggled not to react.
Ichigo may have decided on his own that he was not a strong partner, but he proved the lie as his eyes widened and his body tensed. He said a few more things to Unohana before slowly turning and walking to me with that deceptively casual, hyper-alert posture, his eyes scanning the room for danger. My mind registered all of this distantly as it labored to make sense of what I had just learned.
Unohana was looking toward me with concern and the sight of her doubled the torrent of raw emotion. I held back a growl and tried to block out the sight of her. I reined in my reiatsu ever tighter, trying to hide the feelings I could not yet sort out and control. Others must sense it, but I dared not look.
Stopping in front of me so that his body was between me and most of the lingering captains, he whispered low.
"Toshiro, what is it?"
I sucked in a breath and held it, resisting the urge to grab him, to find an anchor. The raw flesh around my leg and neck began to sting and burn. I was starting to feel dizzy. It would not be good if I passed out right here, showing weakness in front of Yamamoto was not an option. My eyes must have shown my growing panic.
Ignoring the others and any thoughts of propriety, Ichigo took my hand with a fake smile and with just a bit of pressure pulled me close by his side as he walked calmly out of the meeting hall. Gripping his hand so tightly that my own hand started to hurt, I let out my breath and composed my face and posture. No sooner had we crossed the threshold of the large double doors than he pulled us into a series of quick flash steps, stopping in a deserted, narrow alleyway and grabbing my shoulder with his free hand.
"Toshiro? What's wrong?"
I shook my head, "Home. It's not safe here."
Now he truly looked worried, but quickly the alarm faded into fierce determination and his eyes flashed gold. My darling Ichigo was just waiting for me to tell him who to kill to make it all better. I had no doubt that if I said Yamamoto's name, Ichigo would attack without hesitation, and I found myself sorely tempted. Which one of us was the dragon? I would have laughed if I wasn't afraid of sounding hysterical.
He set a blistering pace straight to our bedroom, casting the familiar barrier around us for good measure as he encouraged me with a gentle nudge. I sat on the edge of the bed as he asked, though the dizziness had passed and my mind was starting to clear. He worked the clasp on my sash loose, so that Hyorinmaru dropped from the awkward angle to land softly on the bed.
Ichigo removed his swords and knelt in front of me. The love and support in those warm, clear eyes steadied me. I had been so sure that I was going to fall into another unwilling confrontation with my past. The death-grip I had on his hand loosened, my fingers throbbing at the renewed flow of blood. I watched in fascination as whitened flesh flushed red and then gradually regained normal color. What an odd feeling.
"Toshiro?"
I blinked and looked up, not sure for a second where or even who I was.
"It was him, Ichigo."
"Who, my love?"
"Yamamoto. He is the one who killed me."
Having said it aloud, my confusion faded into cold certainty and fury surged through me again. It was not my anger, yet I could not suppress it. The wrath was an avalanche, burying me instantly. I felt trapped, pushed under a heavy weight and unable to move. Yet my body did move, to my horror, as I fought and screamed at whatever it was that was in control.
I was on my feet, pacing back and forth in short, quick strides, my entire body shaking. My clenched teeth parted in a rough shout of rage.
"Faithless coward! Fucking puny, mewling little human soul. How dare he!"
Something grabbed at me, attempted to move me, and I swatted it away.
"Insignificant worm. Slave of traitors. He dares lift a hand to me! I will rip him to shreds! Swallow him whole and spit out his bones!"
I lunged for my sword, intent on continuing my revenge on the world, starting with that arrogant murderer and his ragged band of mercenaries that gave themselves the glorified title of Shinigami.
I was grabbed again, this time in an iron grip on both arms. I focused on my attacker, snarling, and froze in shock. A small, plaintive whimper rose involuntarily from my throat. My eyes devoured the bronze skin, the features seemingly hand selected for pleasing perfection, the gleaming gold eyes that made me weak in the knees with just a look. The anger did not die, in fact it was sharpened by the grief. How cruel, whatever malevolent power showed me the image that haunted my shattered heart.
"What have you done to your hair, beloved?"
I smiled, indulging the fantasy for just a moment longer. What I would not give to believe this bittersweet lie. It was not him. There was no fire and lightening where his hands touched me. There was no pale scar on his lovely, long neck to prove our bond, only some ugly black brand.
"My love? Toshiro, please snap out of it. Come back to me."
My smile twisted into a sneer. "Illusion or ghost, angel or demon, you do not deserve to wear that face. Leave me before I destroy you."
It let go, and I was glad. I did not want to attack whatever it was while those eyes gazed at me. In my overconfidence and my haste to quench my bloodlust I made a fatal mistake. I turned for my sword and the thing moved with blazing speed. I whirled, a blade of ice forming in each hand, but its closed fists wrapped one around the other slammed full force into my temple.
One instant of surprise that it was capable of harming me was all I had. What had happened to me? Why was I so weak? And all faded into familiar pain and darkness.
ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo
Fuck!
I gathered up the crumpled form of the man I loved, wondering who he would be when he awoke. Laying him gently on the bed and sitting next to him, I immediately started healing the new damage I had done. The swelling retreated and already his eyelids gave a little flutter. Should I use a binding kido in case he was still violent? No, I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I did take a moment to move Hyorinmaru off the bed and out of easy reach. And I was out of time.
"What the hell?" His hand went up to his forehead as he propped himself up on an elbow.
"That's my question, love. I'm the one with the split personality, remember?"
"I completely lost it, didn't I?" He sounded absolutely composed. "That has never happened before and can never happen again."
"Agreed, your past self is even scarier than you are."
He looked up at me, almost reluctantly, and studied my features carefully. I had already figured out where this was going. For once I was a step ahead of the tensai, my broken heart giving me something of a head start. I gave him a light smile as his eyes widened.
"It cannot be."
"And why not?"
"It would explain so much, including why I am remembering now when all of my past selves could only find more unanswerable questions."
"And how you could fall in love with me in the first place."
He bared his teeth and suddenly had my head held firmly in his hands.
"No, Ichigo. Don't you ever cheapen us that way. I fell in love with you, and I fall again every day for the man you are. If our souls were together before, that takes nothing away from what we have now."
He responded instantly when I pulled him flush against me and pressed our lips together. His hands slipped back into my hair as I hurried to taste him, and I was soon lost in the sweetness of his mouth and the thrill of his tongue curling around mine.
Toshiro was right. My heart had cracked when he looked at me as if he was seeing a ghost, with a deep love in his eyes that was not meant for me. And I knew then, absolutely knew that Toshiro had not fallen in love with me. His soul was bound to mine, and to the memory of a man neither of us knew. It made sense, how could I have ever hoped to capture such perfection?
But I was the one touching that perfection now. And Toshiro was pushing against me with little noises of greed and enjoyment for me, for this body and this life.
Toshiro was right. Raiden was fucking dead, and Toshiro was mine. The man I had fallen in love with the moment his fierce eyes had found and pulled apart every secret in my heart was mine. The man who endured torture and abuse at my hands for just the slightest chance to painfully heal my broken mind was mine.
A moment of work and I was pushing away all the layers of cloth, then leaning into him as my mouth left his, skimmed down his neck and went straight to teasing his chest as he fell back with a soft moan. My hands worked on removing my own clothes, Shinigami really wore way too much.
I had to break away from him for a moment to strip away my pants and underwear; Toshiro really did not approve of the lost contact. Before I could lean back over him he had risen and pushed me back, his mouth latching onto my chest as his hands skimmed along my ribs.
Flat on my back, I yanked down the rest of his clothes while he pulled himself up my body for another long, fierce kiss. My hand fumbled blindly to the side and Toshiro suddenly chuckled against my lips. He leaned over and brought me what I sought, returning to nipping my lips as I popped the cap off the tube and rushed to reach that delicious softness.
He was grinding against me, his erection against my stomach as my fingers entered him.
"Mmmmm." He broke away from my lips and started creating a ring of bruises around the tattoo on my throat. Lips and teethe moving in time with my hand.
"Mine, only mine." His voice was almost angry and so frankly possessive that it made me shudder.
"As you are mine, my love," and I made him gasp with an expert push of my fingers. I knew his body better than my own.
His hands once again held my face as he pulled up to look into my eyes.
"My Ichigo." In total contrast to his attitude seconds ago he smiled playfully and kissed just the tip of my nose as I smiled back.
Then he was scooting down and my hand pulled away as his intentions became crystal clear. I had not stretched him much, but I knew Toshiro would do what he wanted anyway so I hastened to run slick fingers over myself. When that lascivious little demon sat up and reached for my cock I couldn't stop my hips from jolting up and he smirked down at me, pushing my length against his ass with a long, slow stroke of his palm.
"Toshiro!" I reached for his hips and he resisted for a moment before letting me force him upward. All this teasing was about to drive me mad. But finally, he was lowering himself onto me, and I groaned at how uncharacteristically slowly he was moving, how unbearably, how perfectly tight he was.
His eyes were closed and his head back, mouth open as he took slow breaths and let his weight fall gradually. My body shook with the effort to remain still until I was fully and almost painfully sheathed in heat. He looked down at me, eyes dilated but sharp as he captured my gaze.
"This is my promise, Ichigo." I clenched his hips and groaned as he rocked forward, then back. "I have never been inside anyone but you, and I never will be."
He flexed again, the movement pulling right at the base of my cock, causing a flash of pain and then unbelievable pleasure.
"No one has ever been inside me except for you, beloved. And no one, no one but you ever will."
Fuck! He can't possibly expect me to take this torture.
He smirked again and tried to push me back halfheartedly when I sat up and wrapped my arms around him to pull his body close. He moaned at the shift in position as my tightening arms pulled him up a few inches and his cock was pinned between us. I captured his lips and flexed up into him, feeling his arms slide around my sides and his hands caressing my back.
We moved together gently, slowly, allowing kisses and nibbling at ears and necks in this close, intimate pose. When he started rolling his hips against me to tell me he wanted more, I was more than ready to comply. I leaned into him a bit to encourage him to fall back, his weight rested in my arms at what I knew would be the ideal angle.
Within minutes I had turned my sensitive, delightfully vocal lover into a shrieking, writhing mess. Of course, I was not much better off, and I could feel the building wave of bliss ready to crash down. I pulled him back to my chest, hoping to slow the end just one more minute. But as he clutched at me and bit into my shoulder I felt the warmth spread between us. His body tightened around me, muscles pulsing and dragging me right along with him as I came with a shout.
We were locked together, pushing still against one another and holding tight. In that delirium, it seemed we could actually become one being and never be separated again. What Heaven dreamed of by man offered such a reward?