A/N: I suck. Just getting that out the way. This is the first update for this story in over a year and a half and I'm so very sorry. I had real trouble with this chapter and ended up focusing on my other fics instead. I actually had to re-read all the previous chapters to remind myself what had happened in the story thus far. I find Aizen tricky to write sometimes, not only because he's so different in my other on-going Bleach-universe fic but also because turning a high and mighty antagonist into a relatable protagonist is an awkward thing to do (this is also my first and only AU fic so still finding it tricky). And yes I'm dragging my feet on the smut (next chapter guys!) and I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter after re-writing it several times. But I'm pleased to announce that I'm back on track with the majority of the rest of the story planned out! And I will start to update regularly (which is sporadic for me at the best of times but there won't be a gap nearly as long as there has been). Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and reviewing, you make me feel guilty about neglecting this and it always makes me smile to read all the awesome feedback.
I'll shut up now, enjoy!
K.
Ichigo flattened his hair against the top of his head before making a face in the mirror. Cursing at his reflection he twisted his unruly strands this way and that, before finally giving up and mussing back into its usual mess. He stood in front of the full length mirror attached rather precariously to his bedroom wall, frowning at his outfit. Usually he couldn't care less about how he looked but today… Well today he had a date.
With Sosuke Aizen.
Though he supposed it wasn't really a date technically, which was making deciding what to wear and how to part his hair even more stressful. It had been exactly one week and one day since Aizen dragged him bleeding from the street, and his injuries were healing well. He'd been back at college this week since he'd escaped the concerned clutches of his family, at least they'd let him go in for the majority of the three out of the four days he was supposed to attend. When not at classes he had spent most of his time indoors, helping out in the clinic and catching up on the work he'd missed. This was partly thanks to his father's reluctance to have him go out with his friends in the evenings but mainly due to his little sister's guilt trips. But now it was Friday night once again, and Ichigo Kurosaki was going to dinner with his English tutor.
As far as his (what could he call it?) relationship with Aizen was concerned, things were good. Better than good in fact. Ichigo was still firmly in the awkward stage where he was coming to terms with the fact that not only was this the first time he had engaged in anything remotely resembling a relationship, but also at the fact that it was with his teacher and that it was of a secret nature, which somehow made things even more exciting. How little time he'd spent with the man since he had visited him in his bedroom was frustrating but now the prospect of spending an entire evening alone with him both excited and terrified Ichigo.
The week had passed quickly, too quickly for Ichigo's liking. It had been a week of secret meetings and stolen moments. He wasn't quite sure how the dynamic would change but to his relief it had been better for the most part. Having gotten some of the tension out of the way he felt more able to relax in class and concentrate more on his work rather than spend all his time wondering why he felt so strange in the presence of Aizen. This wasn't always the case though, sometimes Ichigo thought he would go crazy just from sitting in the classroom, watching him teach and lecture and scold. Watching the hands that had skimmed his skin as they bandaged his wounds and tangled in his hair write out notes on the blackboard had at points been verging on torturous, and as much as Ichigo had to admire the skill that Aizen had in making ordinary movements seem like pornography it was starting to get to him. The emotional tension may have faded somewhat but the sexual tension still hung heavy in the air, so much that Ichigo was surprised that they were the only ones who felt it. All of this only added to his nervous anticipation of the coming evening.
He knew that he wouldn't be so nervous if they were going out to see a film, or for dinner, or for some other cliché date night in some public place. But for obvious reasons it was not a good idea for them to be seen together in public, and for even more obvious reasons it was a very bad idea for Aizen to come over to the Kurosaki household without good reason. And so it had been decided (by the older man) that Ichigo would come to his flat, the scene of their first intimate encounter, remembrance of which still caused a fiery blush to spring up in Ichigo's cheeks.
Biting back the blushing memories, Ichigo made a face at himself in the mirror before glancing for the umpteenth time at the alarm clock that flashed its digital lights on his bedside table. It was almost time to go. His eyes rested upon his messenger bag which lay upon his desk. He wasn't sure how much to presume from tonight and so, just in case, he had shoved a change of clothes and a toothbrush into his bag along with his wallet and phone. His face flooded scarlet again as he thought about what that action might mean, for someone as inexperienced as him trying to work out the right things to say and do was torturous. For all he knew things could go horribly and he might have to leave earlier than planned, he'd heard plenty of nightmare date stories from his friends. But this wasn't an ordinary date, and the object of his affections was certainly as far from ordinary as he could be. He decided to take the items with him, just to be safe, and hope that Aizen did not find him too presumptuous.
Gulping, Ichigo made one final attempt to tame his unruly hair, frowning harder as he realised that the more he tried to neaten himself up, the messier he seemed to become. With one last scowl at himself in the mirror he grabbed his bag and left, saying goodbye to his family who were under the impression that he was going to visit Chad.
Aizen's flat was not too far from where he lived, a comfortable fifteen minute walk. The afternoon was just beginning to give way to a warm summer dusk. The air smelt clean and warm as he made his way through the town. It was quite quiet for a Friday; no spirits around at all, but then again it was still early. As he reached the neighbourhood where Aizen lived he instinctively glanced around for any of those thugs loitering around but saw none. It was then he remembered that he had never asked Aizen exactly what had happened when he scared them off; he had been a little preoccupied at the time but made a mental note to ask him about it later.
By the time he reached Aizen's flat to say that he had butterflies in his stomach would've been an understatement; in fact he thought that it felt like some kind of giant, clumsy prehistoric birds were crashing around in there. Steeling his courage he rang the buzzer and stood back momentarily to have a proper look at the place where his tutor lived. Save for the security door from the outside the block of flats looked like houses, clean and whitewashed in a neat little row. Having been inside and seen the size of the living room he supposed that Aizen had the entire ground floor to himself. Which was nice, but somehow he thought the domineering man would prefer living on the top floor.
The buzzer hummed and Aizen's silken voice came through the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Um, hi. It's Ichigo." He couldn't see the man but somehow Ichigo could tell that he was smirking on the other side of the intercom and he felt a scowl upon his face already. If nothing else tonight was going to give him a headache from frowning at the irritating man.
"Come in." It sounded like more of a command than request, something which made Ichigo's heart skip a beat. Another buzz and the security door unlocked. Ichigo opened it and stepped through into the hallway, surprisingly clean and white for a shared block of flats. Then again, if he was Aizen's neighbour he'd feel compelled keep the place neat and tidy. The teacher never raised his voice but the anger he had felt in his soft tone the day he had rescued Ichigo from the fight had been enough to reduce a grown man to a puddle.
Aizen's front door was ajar and he took that as an invitation to enter. Removing his shoes in the entrance hall he called out, trying and failing to mask the nervousness in his voice.
"Hello?"
Aizen appeared in the hallway wiping his hands on a dishcloth which he then flung over his shoulder. The sleeves of his white shirt were pushed up to his forearms to display arms surprisingly defined for someone who spent all day teaching. His tie was absent, the top buttons of his shirt undone to expose a v neck of pale skin dipping down a few inches from his collarbone. The tails of the shirt were neatly tucked into a pair of form fitting black trousers in a way that made Ichigo want to reach out and pull them free from the waistband. His glasses were pushed up on top of his head; pulling back all of his hair save for one particularly unruly strand which fell across his forehead. Ichigo found that this slightly dishevelled look suited Aizen. It was hardly a polar opposite of his usual composition, he doubted that the elegant man even owned a t-shirt or sweatshirt, but the slight ruffling of his business-like clothes took away his edge slightly. Their eyes met and he swallowed as he tore his gaze away, a slight tinge of pink returning to his cheeks as he knew he'd just been caught checking him out. Again.
"You're late." Aizen smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Dinner is ready already."
"I'm not late." Ichigo scowled at him, nervousness quickly being replaced by annoyance. Aizen's irritating smirk just grew wider as the scowl deepened and Ichigo remembered how strange and oddly exciting it felt to have the other man get under his skin in the way that he did. The two men stared each other down for a moment until Aizen made a gesture for Ichigo to follow him through to the kitchen.
Ichigo wasn't surprised to find Aizen's kitchen decorated in the same manner as his living room. It was all black and white; there was an occasional deviance of red or silver in there but aside from that the monochrome colour scheme remained. The floor was that same white laminate as the living room and looking at it made Ichigo wince as he remembered how much of his blood had been spilled on an identical looking floor in this flat.
Aizen regarded him curiously, watching how his eyes flicked over everything in the kitchen, taking it all in. Observation was a quality he admired in other people. He himself was acutely observant, looking over every detail of a room or a person and filing it away for later. It was a habit he had picked up quickly in his youth and now he was putting it to use as his eyes trailed over Ichigo's body. He noted the healing injuries, mostly gone save for the gash over his eyebrow, the nasty one which had needed stitches from his father. The swelling was gone from his face and only a ghost of a black eye remained. Looking at it still made anger swell in his chest, no matter how faded it had become. He had a feeling that even when it faded fully from Ichigo's body he would still see it there when he looked at him.
He distracted himself with further wanderings, eyes darting over Ichigo's more attractive features. He was dressed as usual in jeans, but these were tighter and less faded than the ones he usually wore. Beneath his light summer jacket he wore a dark fitted shirt with short sleeves that clung to his frame in a way that made it look tailored specifically for his body rather than just picked up off of a shelf. His eyes danced over the curves of his lips and he couldn't help but remember how good they felt, how soft and pliant they had been against his own. If not for the obvious awkwardness and uncertainty that showed in the boy's face he would have leant forward to capture them one more.
Aizen was staring at him again and Ichigo shifted uncomfortably beneath that gaze, feeling that nervousness creep back in. Aizen felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he watched the boy fidget, but forced himself to remember that he did not invite Ichigo over to make him uncomfortable. He was obviously inexperienced and slightly uncomfortable about the whole situation and right now he should be putting him at ease rather than making it worse. Besides, depending on how the evening went he would have plenty of opportunity to make him squirm later. A few unsavoury thoughts flashed through his mind and he felt something spark in his stomach, the old blood was still there beneath the surface and he knew exactly what his old self would have done to the boy right then and there in the kitchen. Cursing himself he squashed those thoughts down, for now was not the time to be tormented by such demons.
"Would you like a drink?" He distracted himself by slipping into the role of host, one which he prided himself upon playing excellently.
"Um, yeah sure." Ichigo let out a breath as though he was letting go of some tension that had been knotted in his chest and Aizen saw his shoulders relax a little. He must have been making the boy more uncomfortable that he had thought. 'Stupid' he chastised himself.
"Do you drink wine?"
"What kind?" It seemed like a stupid question to Ichigo but it was all he could think to say.
"Red." Aizen smirked, somehow the simple word sounded suggestive coming from his mouth.
"Yeah." Ichigo swallowed as he tried to think of something to say, his mind coming up blank.
Aizen uncorked a bottle with a practiced deftness and poured two glasses. He handed one to Ichigo as he gestured for him to take a seat at the white dining table which dominated the most part of the kitchen. Ichigo forced himself to relax as he sat down, taking a larger gulp than was entirely necessary from his wine glass, feeling the thick liquid burn its way down his throat.
They made small talk over dinner, Aizen asking about his injuries and enquiring as to how it was that he kept getting into fights until it became obvious that the redhead didn't want to talk about it any further. He thought about asking Aizen why the gang had been so scared of him but decided to wait until the closed off man had a few more glasses of wine. The talk had turned to Ichigo's family and Aizen had learned about each of the Kurosaki household members. He listened in wonder and slight disbelief to the various eccentricities of Ichigo's father and reflected about his own, brief meeting with the man at the door of the clinic. He had been friendly enough, a little too friendly for Aizen's liking. Most parents would have been at least a little put off by their child's tutor showing up at their front door, such things were not common practice once they reached the college years. But Aizen had barely even had time to explain that he had heard what had happened to Ichigo and had come to drop off some work before Isshin was ushering him up the stairs and directing him towards Ichigo's room. Strange indeed.
"What about you?" He was snapped from his thoughts by a question directed at him across his table.
"Hmm?" He understood what Ichigo was asking but made the questioning noise to allow himself a fraction more time to think the answer through. That was a tricky and painful question for him, even after all these years.
"Do you have any family?" Ichigo said hesitantly, starting to wonder if he shouldn't have asked.
"No, not anymore." The briefest hint of sadness crossed Aizen's face and Ichigo felt a small ache bloom inside of him. Aizen noticed his pained expression and smiled softly. "My parents died when I was young." Not the whole truth, far from it actually, but that was a story best kept locked away inside of him.
"I'm sorry."
Aizen waved away his apology, the mask of cool indifference back upon his face. The redhead sat in silence for a moment, twirling his fork nervously in his fingers.
"My mum died when I was just a kid." Ichigo bit his lip, his gaze focused on his plate as he spoke. "I know how it feels. Kinda." He corrected himself, realising that Aizen's loss had been much greater than his own.
"I'm sorry."
Aizen saw his own dismissive gesture reflected back at him and smiled as Ichigo looked up to meet his gaze once again.
"Still, I am." Aizen truly was. As much as he hated to talk about his own family he hated dragging up painful memories for Ichigo even more. From the sound of it Ichigo's family loved him dearly and he loved them in return; something that Aizen had never experienced even when he had family, at least not in any conventional sense. This had become a bit too heavy for dinner conversation anyway; a swift change of subject was in order.
"So how did you meet Abarai?" Aizen's voice cut through Ichigo's thoughts like ribbons. He looked up and frowned in confusion for a moment before realisation set in.
"You mean Renji?" He'd never heard anyone call Renji by his surname before. Aizen nodded, his wine glass halfway to his lips. "He was the year above me in junior high, but that didn't stop me from kicking his ass when he challenged me." Ichigo smiled a little at the memory and Aizen was surprised to see that the expression suited the boy even more than his ever present scowl. "I haven't been able to get rid of him since."
"The two of you seem close."
Ichigo blinked, he could've sworn there was a hint of jealousy in Aizen's voice and it set off a spark in the pit of his stomach. He took a quick drink from his wine glass to extinguish it.
"Yeah I suppose. We've gotten each other in and out of bad situations over the years but he's always been there." Aizen briefly and slightly cynically wondered what Ichigo's definition of a 'bad situation' was before silently reprimanding himself. He had inhabited an entirely different world from Ichigo when he was his age and sometimes he forgot that. "He's a good guy even if he is an idiot."
"No arguments there." An amused grin twitched at the corner of his mouth as he swirled the remnants of the red liquid in his glass.
"He likes you." There was a hint of humour in Ichigo's voice and Aizen raised an eyebrow at him.
"He likes irritating me you mean."
"Yeah that sounds like him." Ichigo smiled softly as he spoke and Aizen decided that he definitely liked that expression.
Draining the last of the wine from his glass, Aizen stood to the clear the dishes. Ichigo sat somewhat awkwardly in his chair after his hands were shooed away from helping. Aizen placed the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick rinse before abandoning them for later. As much as it irked him to leave even the smallest mess in his kitchen he had more important things to attend to. Turning round he leant back on the counter and fixed his intense gaze on the redhead seated at his dinner table. His orange hair shone in the fading light of the sunset coming through the kitchen window and even the cuts and bruises couldn't make him look any less attractive.
Ichigo looked up, seeing those piercing eyes fixed upon him once again and swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat. Aizen held out a hand and after staring at it for a moment Ichigo realised that he was gesturing for him to pass over his empty glass. He obliged, his cheeks blushing pink as their fingers touched ever so slightly. Aizen took the glass from him with a smirk and turned to refill both glasses from a bottle on the counter.
"What now?" It was supposed to sound casual but Ichigo's voice betrayed him with just the slightest waver.
"We could move to the living room? It's more comfortable than sitting at the table." Ichigo nodded before realising that the older man still had his back to him.
"Yeah sure." He muttered, cursing himself for acting so stupid. The bastard had evidently gotten under his skin more than he had anticipated. Aizen turned to hand him back his refilled glass and as Ichigo reached out a hand to take it he found his wrist caught in a firm grip. Chocolate eyes flicked upwards, regarding the other man suspiciously as he found himself gently pulled towards him by the wrist. Aizen leaned forward to press his lips against Ichigo's ever so slightly, feeling the redhead's breath hitch as their skin met. The kiss was short and gentle; it contained no demands but rather carried with it a soft reassurance. He felt Ichigo relax into the touch and it took all of his self-control to not to push it any further. Ichigo's eyes fluttered open as Aizen pulled back, suspicion replaced by a soft questioning look, as though he was still trying to figure the other out. The elder man simply smirked softly, giving his wrist a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
"Don't worry, I've cleaned up the blood."
Ichigo flushed scarlet as he took his wine glass by the stem. 'Ass.' He cursed Aizen inside his head but decided to keep those thoughts to himself. For the time being anyway.
He followed Aizen across the hall into the living room. It looked much the same as he remembered it, minus the splashes of dark red upon the floor. The black and white colour scheme marked only by the colourful spines of books in the bookshelves which lined the wall, a veritable rainbow of literature spreading across an otherwise monochrome landscape. He found he quite liked it, it suited Aizen down to a tee and for a moment Ichigo wondered how exactly he was supposed to fit into this otherwise neatly organised and clinical world.
Aizen sat down at one end of one of the black leather couches and gestured for Ichigo to take a seat beside him. He did so only slightly uneasily, both men well aware that this was the same couch he had been sprawled upon the last time he was here, shirtless and bleeding. Ichigo took another sip from his wine glass to loosen his dry throat, noting somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd end up drunk before long if he kept this up.
Many hours and several glasses of wine later, Ichigo was feeling the effects of the alcohol quite profoundly. It wasn't that he was a stranger to drinking; despite being not yet of legal age his Friday nights usually consisted of having a few with his friends. But that was beers in the company of people he knew well, here he was unused to drinking wine and even less used to drinking to quell his nervousness. The problem was not only that he'd had more than a few, but that he was still recovering from his injuries and still had antibiotics kicking around in his system. Aizen had noted this earlier but let it pass, partly because with every drink he had Ichigo seemed to loosen up some more, becoming less shielded and nervous. The frown was still there but it had become softer, his jibes turned more teasing than angry. Not that Aizen was trying to get him drunk to get him into bed; it was more about the dropping of the guarded boy's defences which intrigued him, a quiet vulnerability which he had never seen in him before and which intrigued him greatly.
Darkness had long since fallen outside the window, the streetlights flickering on to guide weary travellers home. A quick glance at the clock told Aizen that it was later than he had thought. Time seemed to slip by at a different rate when the redhead was in the room, but then again the wine that he himself had consumed had probably contributed to that also. Ichigo seemed to notice this too. Tiredness pulled at his face, a combination of the alcohol and the fact that he hadn't slept very well the previous night in anticipation of what was to come. He yawned, his eyelids drooping despite his efforts to the contrary.
They had been talking for hours, the conversation stopping and starting at times. Aizen was surprised to find the little silences comfortable, a feeling that Ichigo seemed to share as his frowning and awkward stammering subsided. This particular silence seemed longer than the others though, and it wasn't until Aizen flicked his attention back to Ichigo that he realised the younger man was on the verge of falling asleep on the couch. He smirked at the boy who was too proud to admit that he was tired and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Ichigo fixed him with that familiar questioning look but allowed himself to be pulled closer to Aizen, resting his head on his shoulder as that arm lay comfortingly across his back. For several minutes they stayed that way in a gentle embrace upon the couch until the soft rising and falling of Ichigo's chest told Aizen that he was nearly asleep already. He shook his shoulders gently, pulling him back from sleep for just a few moments longer.
"I think it's time for bed." He smirked gently at the frown that furrowed Ichigo's brows as he tried to work out the sentiment contained in that sentence. On any other occasion there would have been heat behind the statement, but not tonight. No matter how badly he wanted it. He cupped Ichigo's face in his hands and was pleasantly surprised when he leaned into the kiss. As their lips met he had to steel himself to keep it soft and gentle, but could not resist deepening it, running his tongue along Ichigo's bottom lip to encourage him to open his mouth. He did so with little persuasion and Aizen felt him gasp slightly when their tongues met, sliding together ever so softly. It pained him to pull back, but he was amused to see Ichigo's reaction when he did so, a mixture of disappointment and arousal.
"You're drunk." He said by way of explanation. Ichigo shook his head.
"Mm not." It would have been much more convincing had he not been slurring his words. Aizen smirked as he stood, holding out a hand for Ichigo to take.
"Come on." Ichigo took his offered hand, too tired and frazzled from the kiss to argue.
Aizen led him through to the bedroom, another room decorated in the same black and white colour scheme. Unlike the rest of the house the floor was carpeted, but like the rest of the house it was white. The room was sparsely decorated, taken up for the most part by a large, comfortable looking bed with thick black pillows and white sheets to match the rest of the décor. He steered Ichigo to sit down upon the bed, his eyes heavy with sleep and alcohol. The redhead yawned and stretched and, after an initial questioning look at Aizen began unbuttoning his shirt. Aizen's hands ached to reach out and help him, to pull the cloth from his body and feel that smooth skin beneath his fingertips once more. But he resisted, busying himself with turning to close the curtains against the streetlights.
When he turned around Ichigo was shirtless and was sitting looking questioningly at him from the bed, wondering what was going to happen next. But Aizen did not intend to push any further. He had slept with enough intoxicated partners to know that it was rarely as good as when they were both fully alert, not to mention how much advantage he would be taking by perusing further activities with Ichigo now. He did not intend to have his first time with the boy when either of them were under the influence of alcohol. It suddenly occurred to him that for all he knew the boy was still a virgin. He had assumed that someone as attractive as Ichigo would have shed that title long ago, but from his guarded stoicism he wouldn't have been surprised if he had never let another person close enough to him for that honour.
Ichigo's brown eyes regarded him inquisitively and he seemed to understand. Aizen leant over him to capture his lips in another deep kiss, relishing the way the redhead moved his mouth against his own, feeling rather than hearing every little noise that he made in the dark of the night. As they parted he leant to rest his forehead against Ichigo's. The boy's amber eyes struggled to focus upon his own and he could see the fatigue in them.
He laid Ichigo down upon the bed and the boy preoccupied himself with pulling off his jeans. Aizen quickly shrugged off his own clothes and crawled in beside him, pulling the blankets over them both. Ichigo curled his body into him, resting his head upon the brunette's shoulder and Aizen slid an arm around his waist, pulling him close. The younger man was asleep in a matter of minutes and Aizen lay there in the dark feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his own. He closed his eyes, allowing his own fatigue and the soft sound of the redhead's breathing to lull him asleep. As he drifted he reflected that for the first time in a long time he felt completely at peace, and in the darkness a little voice inside his head wondered if he could possibly dare to hope that such a thing could last for him.
