Sorry for the week's delay; I had a disgusting case of writer's block

Ichigo's hands shook as he clutched the staring wheel of his truck, nails digging into the black vinyl; he didn't care if he ruined the upholstery. He hadn't thought twice when he swung the poker hard enough to kill. He hadn't even thought of the consequences. A man was suffocating his husband; there was only one course of action. He hadn't taken the time to assess the situation; he had just reacted. Toushiro was turning blue on the ground; his hands were weakly scrabbling at the wooden floor as a beast of man pinned him to the ground by his neck, and Ichigo had seen red. Something incredibly protective had risen up inside of him and he swung the iron poker as hard as he could. He had expected to meet the back of a skull to hear a thud or a crack, but the man had dissipated into the air like a wisp of smoke, leaving Toushiro to gasp and cough weakly. His next instinct was to get the hell away from the house. He grabbed his husband and hightailed it out of there, kicking the front door shut and not looking back.

Now, he was driving along the road that lead into Rayle without actually paying attention. He wasn't quite sure what to think, actually, and the empty road was the least of his worries. He had been humouring himself, the part that believed in the supernatural, when he had bought all the salt and iron pokers. He had hoped that a logical explanation would have reared its head sooner or later. But as he glanced to his unconscious husband in the passenger seat his throat grew bone dry and his stomach tilted back and forth. It had undeniably been a ghost or something of the like. He shivered slightly, pulling over to the grassy shoulder and resting his forearms against the wheel as he let the engine idle. How was this even happening? A ghost, a real live ghost was haunting their house. The more he said it the more ridiculous it sounded. Yet, he couldn't deny the deep purple bruising around Toushiro's neck. He reached out a finger to stroke this discoloured skin, thankfully feeling a strong, steady pulse beating underneath. He was breathing too, deeply and evenly, so Ichigo wasn't terribly worried about his physical state. He was worried about everything else, however.

What were they going to do? Could they call someone? Wasn't there a show about people who hunted ghosts, 'ghost hunters' was it? But no, the last thing he needed was to create a spectacle; Toushiro had nearly died. He needed to think of a way to get rid of it; there had to be away. The iron seemed to work and he needed to try the salt. He shook his head, was he really thinking of ways to defend himself against a ghost. This was the stuff his stories were made of, well not really; he hadn't done any horrors before. He paused; that's what this was, a horror story.

"Oh Shiro," he mumbled softly, brushing a lock of light hair from his husband's forehead, "What have we gotten ourselves into this time?"

They had been through quite a bit, but this took the cake. Never before had they been frightened for their lives. Ichigo continued to stroke Toushiro's thick hair as a few muscles in his face twitched gently. His hands were shaking slightly; he was still frightened and for a split second Toushiro's lips turned blue, his skin was almost grey, the bruises on his neck transformed into bloody ligatures, and he stopped breathing. His head lolled on his shoulder and his beautiful teal eyes were open, bloodshot, unseeing, and lifeless. Ichigo took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear this image. Toushiro wasn't dead; he wasn't going to let him die.

"I'm going to protect you, I swear," he whispered, leaning over to press his lips to Toushiro's temple.

He drove around Rayle for almost a full hour, unsure what to do. They couldn't go back home, not with that thing there. But nowhere was open at ten o'clock on a Tuesday night, even on Halloween; he had been the last person in the home and garden store when he bought the iron pokers. Besides it wasn't like he could carry Toushiro anywhere without arousing any questions. He had topped up on gas and circled the network of streets at least five times. Toushiro showed a few signs of waking up, but didn't seem to be able to shake the hold of unconsciousness just yet. Ichigo was about ready to park in a vacant lot and spend the night there when his phone rang.

Rukia invited them over to watch a few scary movies, apologising for the last minute invite. Ichigo couldn't drive fast enough. It had been a little tricky to explain Toushiro's state without the Abaris noticing that he was unconscious, but he told them that Toushiro had been feeling off and would probably sit the first movie out. Renji not so subtly narrowed his eyes while Rukia offered the guest room to let him rest. Ichigo quickly realised that he had to set up a few boundaries with Renji.

Renji snorted loudly as Ichigo led Toushiro into the living room to join them for the second movie after they had a short talk about what had happened earlier.

"How was your nap, princess?" Renji asked, receiving a well-deserved elbow in the ribs from Rukia.

Toushiro raised an eyebrow and hesitated before uncomfortably sitting down. Ichigo glared at Renji, wrapping an arm around Toushiro's shoulders and handing him one of the blankets that were strewn across the couch.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Rukia asked brightly.

Toushiro cleared his throat. "Tea would be nice, thank you-"

"There are drinks right there in front of you." Renji waved his arm at the coffee table, which held a few bottles of coke, beer, a half- empty bottle of wine, and various bowls of snacks.

Toushiro tensed and stared at Renji for a minute. Ichigo knew that he wouldn't argue with someone in their own house, but he would be hearing about this later.

Rukia broke the edgy silence as she stood up and stepped over Renji's legs to head to the kitchen. "He can't drink alcohol; you know that, idiot," she snapped at her husband and mumbled a few profanities in Japanese. Ichigo had to hide a snicker, pleased that she knew the language and that Renji seemed to have no idea what she had said.

"Well he can have coke-"

"We have black tea, green, chai... or would you prefer something without caffeine?"

"Green tea would be fine, thanks," Toushiro mumbled, twisting a corner of this blanket around his fingers.

Ichigo squeezed his shoulders and continued to glare at Renji, begging him to stop. Renji huffed, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back into the couch. He didn't make any more remarks afterwards, but the next couple of movies were unnecessarily tense and it wasn't thanks to Jamie Lee Curtis. He was quiet when Rukia suggested that they spend the night since it was so late, but didn't look too happy about it. Ichigo decided that he would confront his friend tomorrow and quietly thanked Rukia when they were alone tidying up the living room. He spoke in Japanese, thrilled that he finally had someone to talk to. Rukia seemed to be just as happy as he was, even though she was fervently apologising for Renji.

"I'm so sorry about that," she muttered, speaking so quickly that Ichigo almost didn't understand. "I hope Toushiro wasn't too offended."

Ichigo shook his head. "It's probably my fault; I shouldn't have vented to him. I just didn't think Renji would take everything I said to heart and judge Toushiro."

"He's looking out for you. He's a complete idiot, but in his head he's doing the right thing." She set a folded blanket neatly on the couch's arm rest. "We should get some rest now; tomorrow is going to be a long day. And Renji doesn't really like when he's excluded from the conversation like this."

Ichigo chuckled, "He doesn't speak Japanese?"

"No, his parents didn't teach him because they thought he'd be discriminated against. It's a pity; it would be nice to have something that's all our own."

"I understand that; Toushiro doesn't speak it either."

Rukia tilted here head. "Isn't there a pretty large Asian community in California?"

"Yeah... but most of the younger generations only speak English; I forced my grandfather to teach me. Toushiro's family had been here long enough to be thoroughly mixed and he didn't have the best relationship with his parents either..."

She nodded and they began to head upstairs. "We should have more conversations like this; I only get to speak with my family ever so often."

Ichigo chuckled, "Just start and I'll follow."

She switched back to English to tell him goodnight. Ichigo went to bed feeling a little better than he had earlier and for the night he was able to forget about the ghost.

...

Their house was a complete mess when they returned home early the next morning. Ichigo drew in a sharp breath when he opened to front door; the living room and the foyer were trashed. Their meagre ornaments had been scattered across the floor, pictures were torn from their place on the mantle and walls, lamps knocked over and flickering. The large clock had been knocked over; its inner workings were littered across the room and the face had been smashed to bits, leaving small scars across the wood flooring.

Ichigo walked slowly around the room, holding his breath as shards of glass crunched under his shoes. The couch had been ripped open, stuffing leaking from gashes in the black leather and onto the floor. The television had been torn clear off its mount, wires straining against the bare wall. The screen was cracked in a series of spider web fractures and the plastic housing was missing in chunks.

Toushiro shook his head as ran his fingers along one of the rips in the couch; his face was a few shades paler than normal, causing the bruises to stand out even more. Ichigo's stomach turned and he found himself clenching his fists tightly.

"Do... do you think someone could have broken in?" Toushiro asked, even though they both knew the answer.

"Check the windows?" Ichigo replied, already scanning the glass. Apart for the ripped curtains the windows were untouched. The front door had been locked as well; no one had broken in. He swallowed thickly as he wrapped his arms around Toushiro. "Let's check the rest of the house?"

Toushiro took a deep breath and nodded. The living room was the only room damaged; the rest of the house was unscathed. Ichigo insisted that Toushiro let him clean up while he got ready for work. He swept up the glass and detached the cables from the television. He grumbled thinking of how much it was going to cost to fix all of this, but an ice-cold chill ran down his back and chased him into the kitchen where it wasn't as cold. He hunched over the island with his head in his hands. What were they going to do? The house was dangerous; they couldn't stay here. What would happen next? One of them could really end up seriously injured.

"Ichigo?" Toushiro called softly, as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still damp from his shower, his shirt was untucked, and his tie was crooked. He sat down on one of the stools around the island and brushed his hair from his face. "What happens now?"

Ichigo swallowed and straightened, going over to make coffee. "What do you want to do?"

Toushiro sighed heavily, "We can't move again."

"We could-"

"No. I'm not taking out a loan for another house when we just moved into this one. It's too expensive so soon. Besides, we'd have to sell this one and your family would start asking questions and I don't think they'd take too kindly to the idea that we're being attacked by a ghost. I don't even think that's a plausible reason for us to leave anyway."

"But it's dangerous; you nearly died last night, babe-"

"You made it disappear with that poker; we can defend ourselves somehow."

Ichigo sighed as the coffee maker began to hiss and the room immediately began to smell of the rich, warm grounds. He pulled out a carton of yogurt and some blueberries from the fridge and set them in front of Toushiro. They could defend themselves, but, he sighed loudly as he scooped a few spoonfuls of ground flaxseed and lecithin powder into a cereal bowl, how effective could Iron pokers and salt be against a ghost? He didn't want to be constantly on edge.

"We aren't even sure if it really is a ghost," Toushiro continued, peeling the lid off of the yogurt container.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, pausing in the middle of pouring granola into the bowl. "Toushiro, have you seen your neck?" Even though his collar covered the worst of the bruises, they both knew that they were still there. "How else would we explain half the shit that's been going on in this house? Don't tell me that after all of this you're still trying to deny this?" He roughly slid the bowl across the marble countertop. It bumped into the blueberry carton and nearly knocked it to the floor.

Tousihro shook his head, "I'm not denying that it happened, but a ghost? It's impossible-"

"And yet, last night I swung a poker at a man's head and he dissipated, literally disappeared, into thin air. I know it doesn't seem plausible, but we can't explain this otherwise." He pulled up a stool and sat down, watching as Toushiro mixed the yogurt and blueberries into the bowl. "I'm going to do a bit more research on this, and hopefully be able to ghost-proof the house."

Toushiro nodded slowly. "I suppose I can ask around the staffroom, everyone seems to know something about this house that we don't."

"Yeah, I met Rachel, from your school, yesterday and she told me this story about some sort of servant wanting revenge. Maybe it's a widely known tale?"

Toushiro nodded again, scooping a spoonful of his breakfast into his mouth. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked sending a pointed glare at Ichigo's lack of food.

"Later, gonna work out first. But yeah, see what you can find out at school and I'll do the same here."

Toushiro shovelled two more spoons into his mouth before moving to hop off the stool.

"Uh uh," Ichigo said, grabbing his shoulder, "you're gonna finish your breakfast before you go anywhere, mister."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "I'm going to be late."

"Then you better hurry up."

Toushiro had been hesitant to leave Ichigo alone and made him promise to call if anything went wrong. Ichigo had acted brave in front of his husband, but the moment he left he went from room to room, brandishing the iron poker like a sword. He worked out constantly looking over his shoulder and showered with the poker in the stall with him. The ghost didn't show itself as Ichigo went about tidying the living room, but the temperature plummeted and Ichigo felt like he was being watched.

He normally would have put on music as he worked, but he wanted to be on high alert in case anything tried to sneak up on him. Once the living room was cleaned of all the broken glass, the television out on the curb, and he had tried to flip the couch cushions before deeming the whole thing irreparable and deciding to get a new one. In fact that was what he could do today; he was jumpy enough running from room to room and would feel better if he got out. After pushing the ruined couch out through the back door and taking quick measurements he jumped into his truck. He could probably get a few more things to make the house feel less empty while he was at it... and salt; they would be needing lots more salt.

...

That night Toushiro sat on the edge of the bed halfway through changing out of his work clothes and typing out a long text message to who Ichigo could only assume was his best friend, and personal menace, Rangiku. He had very few contacts in his phone. Ichigo sat down next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tightly against his side. Toushiro grumbled as his face was smushed into Ichigo's armpit.

"Let go of me, you oaf," he muttered, pushing away.

"How's Ran?"

"She's fine, complaining about her boss as usual."

Ichigo chuckled tightening his arms. "You need to relax, babe," he mumbled, noticing how tightly Toushiro was gripping his phone. He crawled onto the bed to kneel behind him, reached around him, and gently took one of his hands to knead the palm.

"Relax?" Toushiro snorted, turning his head to look at him. "How can I relax when we have a fucking ghost in our house?"

"I haven't seen it today. Have you?"

Toushiro shook his head with a short sigh as set his phone down on the nightstand. Ichigo let go of Toushiro's palm and moved to knead his shoulders. He was scared, but they were alright, somehow, and that was what he was willing to focus on tonight. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to the nape of Toushiro's neck.

"You're so tense," he muttered, pressing his fingertips into the tight muscle.

"I wonder why," Toushiro deadpanned.

Ichigo chuckled softly, "Come here."

He pulled Toushiro to the centre of the bed, making him lie on his stomach, and he massaged his back through his thin undershirt. Toushiro sighed softly as he closed his eyes. Ichigo smiled and pressed his palms into the small body. "Oh wait, I think we have some oil in the bathroom."

Toushiro cracked open an eye as Ichigo hopped off the bed. "Oil? You don't have to take it that far."

Ichigo was already halfway into the bathroom. "Nah, I'm going all out tonight."

"Fine, but don't expect me to return the favour."

Ichigo returned shortly with a small bottle of jasmine scented oil. He knew that it would come in handy some day and had placed at the back of one of the drawers. He jumped back onto the bed, immediately straddling his husband and rolling up his shirt.

Toushiro clicked his tongue, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. "Don't get any of that on the sheets."

"I won't use a lot," Ichigo said as he poured a liberal amount of oil onto his palms. It wasn't as if Toushiro did the laundry. He rubbed his hands together to warm the oil then smoothed them down Toushiro's back. He pressed his thumbs into the knotted muscles as Toushiro let out a long, deep sigh.

He worked out the muscles in his shoulders and moved along his ribs to the small of his back. Ichigo nearly chuckled at the fact that he could almost span one of his hands across Toushiro's waist. His back was devoid of any marks, no freckles, moles, or anything of the like, only shadows from the subtle dips and rises of his bones and a few fading bruises stood out against pale skin. He sighed internally; vowing to make sure Toushiro ate more. He was almost scared to flip him over and see the way his stomach sank inwards or his ribcage stuck out. He shook his head banishing such thoughts, yes he had lost a lot of weight, but he wasn't completely emaciated. His fingers reached the edge of Toushiro's waistband and stood up on his knees to slide his pants partially down his buttocks. Toushiro mumbled again and squirmed a bit, but flopped bonelessly back into the mattress as if too tired to protest much more than the bare minimum.

Ichigo chuckled, "Hey, don't fall asleep on me. This isn't all I have planned."

"'M not sleeping," Toushiro slurred, kicking one leg as if to prove his point.

"Take off your pants for me then."

Toushiro huffed but wiggled out of his slacks as Ichigo got off of him to retrieve the bottle of oil from the nightstand. He drizzled more onto his palms and stared down at his naked husband, not even bothering to hide his smirk. He had to; there was no other option than to grab Toushiro's butt and gently squeeze the taut cheeks. He had never had a round, perky butt. Even when he was at a more optimal weight it had always been on the flat side, but Ichigo loved it all the same. As long as it jiggled when he slapped it he was happy. It still jiggled. Ichigo almost sighed in relief, nearly leaning down to kiss it then and there.

"Is my ass particularly tense?" Toushiro huffed, propping himself up on his elbows and craning his neck to see what Ichigo was doing.

"Hmmm?" Ichigo didn't even look up.

"So you're just having fun then?"

Ichigo grinned, squeezing him again just for good measure. "I like your ass."

"I know." He rolled his eyes and buried his face into the sheets, allowing Ichigo to squeeze and prod to his heart's content. Or so he thought until, "Ichigo," Toushiro hissed in panic, propping himself back up on his elbows. A second later he jolted upright, scrambling to his knees and clutching the sheet to his chest.

Ichigo jerked back, following Toushiro's gaze as he stared at the doorway with wide, frightened eyes. He drew in a sharp breath, pulling his husband against him as he spied a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. The light from the bedroom barely illuminated the hallway, but he could just make out a pair of angry, bloodshot eyes and green-grey, decomposing skin. He shivered as it stared at them, opening its mouth showing off a blackened grin. He clutched Toushiro tightly to his chest, feeling his heart start to race and his stomach tightened as he prepared himself to fight it off. He quickly glanced around for the poker, cursing himself for not keeping it on hand, and spied it leaning against the night stand. He unwrapped one arm from around his husband and slowly began edging towards the nightstand. But Toushiro stopped him and clutched his wrists. They were completely silent as they watched the ghost snarl at them from the doorway and angrily pace from one side of the hallway to the other.

"Why isn't it..." Toushiro began softly as the lights flickered and a few doors further down the hall began to rattle.

"The salt," Ichigo breathed. He had poured a line across every doorway and window in the house after reading that ghosts couldn't cross over a line of salt. He had also drawn a ring around their bed, just in case.

Toushiro shuddered, tightening his grip on Ichigo's hands. "Is it just going to stay there?"

Ichigo gently kissed his neck, not taking his eyes away from the ghost. "It can't get to us, don't worry, babe."

Still, the lights dimmed and the doors rattled even louder. Ichigo's heart was hammering against his ribs and he could only pray that Toushiro couldn't feel it. The ghost snarled again, moving as if to leap into the room. Ichigo's whole body flinched, and he was ready to leap across the bed for the poker. Toushiro shouted and curled against him, however, causing him to stay in place.

"It can't come in," Ichigo repeated soothingly, eyeing the ghost as it slowly stalked backwards, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. He let out a deep breath and wound his arms tightly around Toushiro. He breathed heavily through his nose and buried his face into his husband's hair. The scent settled him somewhat, but he still had to fight to calm his racing heart. "We're okay," he muttered more to himself than Toushiro.

Once he was sure that his knees weren't going to shake if he stood up, he slowly got off the bed and went to close the door. He grabbed the poker before peering out into the hallway for a brief second. He saw nothing but dark shadows and the outlines of the other doors and the staircase, and took a deep breath out of relief. He closed the door and locked it then leaned back against it switching the poker from one hand to the other. They were alright; it couldn't cross the salt, it couldn't get to them. They were safe.

Toushiro was staring at him from the middle of the bed, clutching the sheets with white knuckles.

"It's alright, baby," Ichigo breathed, pushing off from the door and sliding back onto the bed, "it can't get us in here."

Toushiro looked from him to the door and closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "Good. At least we know for sure that the salt works."

Ichigo watched his chest expand and deflate. He reached out to hug him, but he slipped under his arms and padded to the bathroom.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," he mumbled softly, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Ichigo could see that goose bumps had formed all over his skin.

Ichigo sighed as he perched himself on the edge of the bed, watching as he opened the faucet and picked up his toothbrush, and decided that he should get ready for bed as well. He pulled off his shirt, pulled on a pair of sweat pants, and slipped under the covers. His stomach was still churning and he rolled onto his side, listening as Toushiro moved about in the bathroom. He re-entered the room a short while later, smelling of toothpaste and squinting as he shuffled over to the bed.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow as he pulled back the covers. "Are we sleeping nude tonight?"

"I thought you wanted to... were you done?" Toushiro frowned. A light pink began to dust his cheeks.

Ichigo tilted his head, slightly surprised that Toushiro was still open to having sex after what had just happened. He wasn't complaining, no, not at all, but Toushiro's sex drive had all but stalled to a complete stop with his medication. "No, I'm not done. But only if you want to."

Toushiro's smile was a bit awkward and he ducked his head as if trying to hide his face as he lay down next to Ichigo and pulled the sheets over them. "Who knows when either one of us is going to be killed by that thing," he mumbled, "Might as well..."

"Don't say that." Ichigo clicked his tongue, as he tilted Toushiro's face upwards. "I'm going to protect you."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "My hero," he said dryly.

"Damn straight." Ichigo dipped his head downwards and captured Toushiro's lips. He was tense for a short while, as if the massage from earlier hadn't done anything for him, before he began to kiss back, allowing himself to meld into his husband as he pulled him closer.

Ichigo held him tightly, one arm around his shoulders and the other at the small of his back, as they kissed long and hard, breaths ragged, noses bumping. Toushiro reached up to cup the side of his face and nipped at his bottom lip. He pulled back and paused for a minute, taking in Toushiro's flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, then kissed him gently. Taking time to soothe the swelling lips with his tongue then languidly explore his mouth. Toushiro tolerated the change in tempo for a short while before he began to push back, roughly sucking on Ichigo's tongue and grazing his nails up and down his arms. Ichigo pulled away once more and slowly rubbed circles into Toushiro's back, watching as a small frown made its way onto his husband's face. Still, he crashed his lips into Ichigo's, intent on setting a rough, fiery pace.

Ichigo pulled away again, smirking gently as Toushiro huffed in annoyance. "I thought you wanted to fuck," he grumbled.

"No," Ichigo hummed, rolling onto his back and pulling Toushiro on top of him. Toushiro narrowed his eyes and sat upright, knees bent on either side of Ichigo's waist. Ichigo ran his palms up his thighs and settled on his hipbones. He was bony, so bony. He winced; glad that Toushiro's eyesight was bad enough that he couldn't make out his expression, as he rubbed his thumbs against his stomach.

"No?" Toushiro growled, folding his arms across his chest.

"I know what you're doing, Shiro, this isn't going to be a quick, hard fuck to make you forget everything. I know you're scared and I know you don't want to think right now, but I don't want that to be an excuse."

Toushiro snorted. "So what then? We just kiss and go to sleep?"

Ichigo shook his head. "No, I'm still gonna fuck you, but tonight," he ran his hands up Toshiro's sides, "tonight we're gonna make love."

Toushiro blushed crimson from the tips of his ears to his chest and Ichgio cupped the back of his head, gently bringing him down for a slow, tender kiss.

But wait! There's more! If you wanna read the explicit alternate ending head on over to my tumblr (link in profile)

Also decided to not call the town 'the town' any more so welcome to Rayle, Wyoming :)

Reviews are always welcomed - read encouraged.

-Mymomomo