TEN::
The light was still on when Ishida stepped into the bare yard. He breathed a little sigh of relief, not quite sure what he would have done if everyone was asleep. Tessai met him at the door; his looming presence was strangely comforting and Ishida smiled a tired greeting.
Urahara was sitting at the table with tea. For all that he was making a valiant effort to look awake and aware, Ishida could tell that the man was newly out of bed and felt a stab of guilt over it.
"What a pleasant surprise, Ishida-kun."
Ishida sank into a cushion opposite Urahara and wrapped his cold hands around the tea cup. Winter was coming on strong and Ishida's hands felt like mobile icicles. He was still wearing the sweater he'd put on that morning, but he wasn't exactly thinking about the weather when he fled his dorm room and the great black hole that seemed to be growing in the middle of it, so his coat was still hanging on the back of his chair.
"Sorry to show up unexpectedly like this," Ishida murmured into the cup.
Urahara waved his closed fan at Ishida with a silly smile. "Nonsense! We love to see Ishida-kun, right, Tessai?"
The big man nodded stoically, his tea cup looking ludicrously small in his giant hands. Ishida nodded slightly, ducking his head so he wouldn't have to look at either one of them, so he wouldn't be tempted to ask for the horrible thing that was bouncing around inside his head.
"You look like you could use some sleep, Ishida-san."
Ishida glanced up at Urahara; the man's uncommonly serious eyes peeked out at him from the thin slit between the brim of his ever-present hat and opened fan. Ishida felt a blush creeping up his neck and over the swell of his cheekbones.
Urahara shattered the moment with a snap of his fan. "I know I'm going to suffer from a lack of beauty sleep if I don't turn in!" he bemoaned, all seriousness gone. "You remember where the guest rooms are, yes?"
Ishida nodded quietly and Urahara climbed to his feet. Tessai followed him out of the room, leaving Ishida alone with his tea and his thoughts. He finished the cup and picked up the set, carrying it back to the suspiciously well-stocked kitchen. Considering how traditional everything else in the house was, Ishida was surprised to see such a modern kitchen. He was an effective cook himself and understood the basics enough to know that any chef would be envious of the shiny new appliances and wide working spaces. Not knowing what else to do with it, he left the tea set by the sink after emptying the pot out, and shuffled to the hall.
The warm, familiar lines of Urahara's home drew him to the guest room like a magnet. The futon was already laid out, the blanket turned down. A pair of neatly folded pajamas and a white towel were arranged next to the futon. He smiled as he sat in front of the stack, picking up the toiletry set resting on top of the towel. A bear shaped sponge smiled up at him and he gingerly turned it over.
Who decided that washing yourself with some creature's face was a good idea, anyways? Strangely, it looked like something Kurosaki would use...
The memory of Kurosaki's lips on his rushed over him with frightening ease. At the time, all he could concentrate on was the pain, and then the numbness, and finally that amazing bow. Kneeling awkwardly with the toiletry set in his lap, he could remember how warm and soft Kurosaki's lips were, how smooth and wide his tongue was. Ishida could clearly remember Kurosaki's big hand on the back of his neck-
He made a terrified noise and shook his head forcefully, as if he could throw the thoughts out with the motion. Resolutely going through a mental list of biological terms to keep his mind occupied, he quickly changed into the borrowed pajamas and burrowed under the blanket. With the heavy comforter over his head, he felt like a child hiding from the monster in the closet.
Goddamn you, Kurosaki Ichigo...
~I~I~
A lone bird was chirping outside his window. Ishida peeled his eyes open in annoyance and quickly closed them again; the room was flooded with sunlight. He put a hand over his eyes and opened them again, slowly introducing them to the light.
"... time is it?" he muttered to himself. His throat was dry and his bladder was irritatingly full, but otherwise he felt remarkably comfortable and relaxed. Ishida felt around in his clothes until he found his cellphone and flipped it open. He blinked at the display, closed the phone and opened it up again. It still said 1:34.
Ishida couldn't remember the last time he'd slept past 7am and continued to stare at the innocent display in shock for several long moments. It was his bladder that finally convinced him that the phone was telling the truth and he hauled himself up, stuffed his feet into the slippers and stretched on his way out the door.
Urahara passed him in the hall with a smile. "They look good on you," he said in passing. Ishida was still too muzzy-headed to do anything other than mutter a thank you, and the sound of Urahara's laughter didn't even penetrate until he was in the bathroom with the door closed. He stared at his reflection as his cheeks heated. The pale blue pajamas were decorated with clouds and smiling yellow stars. The buttons were pink. There was lace on the cuffs.
"Why do they even carry these in adult sizes?" Ishida demanded of the mirror. It didn't respond and Ishida finally gave up in favor of the toilet.
His futon was put away and his clothing was missing by the time he returned to the room. In the place of the rumpled pile was a dark blue long-sleeved shirt that was too big across the shoulders and a pair of jeans that were several inches too long. He was forced to role the pant legs up so he wasn't walking on them and belt the waist. Ishida was half way down the hall before he realized that the clothes must belong to Urahara; there was no way they fit anyone else in the house.
It made him feel weird, both that he was walking around Urahara's house in Urahara's clothes, but also because he couldn't imagine the man in jeans and a tee shirt.
"So nice to see you up and aware, Ishida-kun," Urahara greeted. He was seated at the table with stacks of paper in front of him. Ishida glanced at the untidy mountains of documents and sat down slowly.
"Thank you for the clothing," he said, keeping his voice as even as he could.
Urahara smiled. Was it just Ishida's imagination, or was the man giving him a once-over? He stifled a blush and looked casually over the papers to distract himself from the shopkeeper's gaze. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
A messy stack of papers landed in front of him with a heavy sound. "Sort by paid and unpaid," Urahara ordered cheerfully.
"You don't... know which is which?" He looked at the mess of papers in horror. "How do you keep your records?"
"Oh... I have a box somewhere..."
Ishida's right eye twitched compulsively. "A box."
"Yes! It's green and has pink flowers on the side." The man looked completely innocent, as if there was nothing in the world wrong with using a green flower-printed box as a substitute for a filing cabinet. Ishida took a slow breath, adjusted the hem of his loaned tee-shirt and launched into the pile.
Sorting, alphabetizing, numbers, figures, yes and no. He could do this. The hard quantifiable figures were familiar and mindless. He applied himself to the task with vigor that visibly startled his host. Once finished with the outgoing invoices, he appropriated the incoming invoices and, completely disregarding whatever obscure sorting method the shopkeeper was using, resorted everything into logical stacks.
~I~I~
Urahara watched the whirlwind that was Uryuu Ishida with a small smile. After his hands were given stinging slaps twice for getting in the way, he settled back and just observed. Ishida was muttering to himself too softly for Urahara to make out any words, but it was his guess that the man was invoking demonic powers.
"How do you get anything done?" Ishida demanded after nearly an hour of silence broken only by the slide and shuffle of papers.
"We manage," Urahara replied, unruffled.
"Not very well! Do you even have a system?"
"Of course I do!" Kisuke affected a wounded look. He pointed to one stack. "People I like-" his finger shifted to the larger stack. "And people I don't."
Ishida's eye was twitching again. Urahara thought the better of telling him that it was adorable and hid his smile behind his fan. It was nice to see Ishida with some energy. The young man had been withering slowly away over the last two years, largely unnoticed by those around him. And if organizing the shop's business records was the therapy, Kisuke was willing to make a noble sacrifice and let the man do it.
Once the files were neatly arranged and the accounts were balanced, Urahara retrieved his big green flower-printed box and scooped up a stack of invoices.
Ishida's hand was like a vice on his forearm. "Put it. Down. Now."
Had Ishida's voice always been so smoky and domineering? Urahara didn't think so, and frankly, it made him a little afraid for his life. He slowly set the stack back on the table and Ishida's grip loosened, releasing him only when the other man was sure that Urahara wasn't going to make a mad dash to sweep all the newly organized documents into his catch-all box.
Kisuke put on his most innocent expression and held both of his hands up to show his good intentions.
In a matter of moments, Ishida had a neatly penned list of office items in Tessai's hands and the big man took off with Jinta and Ururu over either shoulder. It was just a guess, but Urahara was fairly sure that Tessai was just as terrified of Ishida as he was.
Coward, leaving me alone with this mad man!
Kisuke sat very still and was careful not to make any sudden movements.
"Do you like to cook?" Ishida asked abruptly, making Kisuke blink is surprise. "Sorry, it's just... I saw your kitchen last night, and I just wondered..." The strangely terrifying creature inhabiting Ishida's body seemed to have fled, leaving him looking awkward and tired.
Careful not to disturb the table, Urahara stood and made a gesture with one hand for the Quincy to follow. Ishida hesitated briefly, but trailed after him into the kitchen.
"Tessai is really the better cook, but I have learned a few things to save us all from Ururu..." Kisuke announced from inside the giant refrigerator. He'd been forced to place a special order for the thing as most Japanese refrigerators were quite small. When he backed out of the fridge with his arms full, he found Ishida giving him a strange look. Kisuke puzzled over it, but pushed it aside and deposited his armload on the counter.
The boy was spacing off, and so was startled when Urahara dropped a cutting board in front of him. He pretended that he didn't notice and lined up various vegetables in front of the board.
"I can trust you with a knife, can't I?" he teased. He was looking for a very specific reaction, and Ishida didn't disappoint. He snatched the knife out of Urahara's hand and set to the head of cabbage with a vengeance.
They worked side-by-side in near silence. Kisuke made it a point to keep Ishida's mind off of whatever was bothering him badly enough to drive him away from school and all the way back to Karakura Town, to hishouse. With as mistrustful of shinigami as he knew Ishida was, it seemed like a strange place to run away to.
He flipped the stir fry with practiced easy, adding ingredients and prodding them with his long cooking chopsticks. The pan sizzled and popped, making up for Ishida's increasingly heavy silence. Kisuke continued to pretend that nothing was wrong, that it was normal to have a depressed Quincy boy sitting in his kitchen, in his clothes, while he cooked stir fry.
Once he deemed the food done, he portioned it out onto plates and dipped into the constantly full rice cooker. He left the dishes in the sink and slid Ishida's plate across the island to him. Ishida picked up his chopsticks and bowed briefly over the plate.
"Thank you, Urahara-san."
Kisuke bought out his most charming smile. "It's the least I can do as thanks for tackling that monster out there." He pointed vaguely towards the dining room.
Ishida nodded faintly and tucked into the meal. They ate in silence that was a little too strained to be comfortable, but not heavy enough to be uncomfortable.
Yare-yare... I've had my fill of angsting teenagers...
He was just flipping through his list of innocent 'open up to me' one-liners when Ishida set his chopsticks down on the edge of his half-finished plate.
"Urahara-san? Will you..." His hands clenched the side of the counter tight enough to generate a faint squeaking sound. He wouldn't meet Kisuke's eyes. Ishida's shoulders slumped abruptly. "I need your help."
Finally. He smiled broadly. "Whatever you need, Ishida-san."
~I~I~
They stood across from one another under the basement's manufactured sunlight. Urahara smiled to imply that he knew what was going on despite the fact that he had only the faintest of ideas, and Ishida kept clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides while he tried to decide what to do, or work up the courage to ask.
The man blushed faintly beneath the rims of his glasses. "Touch me," he whispered. His voice was quiet enough that Kisuke could pretend he hadn't heard the Quincy right without any difficulty. He scooted closer, putting two fingers beneath his right ear.
"What was that?"
"...Please, touch me, Urahara-san." Ishida ground the words out like they were physically painful. His hands were balled into such tight fists that his arms were shaking.
"Well, if that's all you wanted, we could have stayed upstairs!" He laughed, because doing otherwise might have been dangerous.
Ishida's face flared even brighter red. "That's not what I meant!" he shouted. Urahara pouted at him playfully; the expression had the desired effect of putting the Quincy at ease. Ishida took a deep breath and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Kurosaki touched me yesterday, and I was able to bring out a stable bow for the first time in two years."
He kept his back painfully straight and his voice strictly measured. He did these things to protect himself, but Urahara, who was more observant than he lead people to believe, could tell how much the admission hurt him. "You should have told me you were having problems getting it up, Ishida-kun. I would have been understanding-" He dodged a poorly-aimed kick and smiled innocently.
"Are you going to help or not?"
"Whatever you need, Ishida-kun!" He swung Benihime in her faux cane sheath and caught her under one arm, pulling out his 'unassuming idiot' mask as he did so. Ishida glared at him through narrowed eyes and Kisuke had a moment to wonder if the expression was going to work before Ishida nodded sharply and made a gesture with two fingers.
"Stand behind me," Ishida directed.
He makes this too easy. "What ever you say, Ishida-koibito."
Ishida's eye twitched, but he seemed to be determined to ignore Urahara's suggestive comments. It was less fun, but just as well. If Ishida's little experiment had any chance of success, the boy would have to be calm and focused. He stood in the designated place and put a hand on Ishida's shoulder when directed to do so. Ishida was tense beneath him and winced when Kisuke's hand wrapped around his shoulder. He hesitated for several seconds and then slowly relaxed.
"I have more control than Kurosaki," Urahara said gently. I'm not being comforting,just stating a fact.
Ishida nodded. "I know. Please release your reiatsu – slowly!"
Urahara couldn't help but smile. It had been such a long time since he'd worked in tandem with someone; it was a unique and uniquely addictive experience that he couldn't say he was sad to repeat. He relaxed and waited for Ishida to calm. The younger man was sealed up so tightly that Urahara wasn't sure he could push his spiritual pressure past it.
And yet, Ichigo seems to have no trouble with it...
He moved his hand so he was resting two fingers on the side of Ishida's neck. The man's pulse was fast and heavy beneath his fingers. His skin heated up with his blush. "Relax," Urahara suggested in his most sultry voice. "It will be easier."
"Just do it."
"Tch, so pushy!" Kisuke closed his eyes and concentrated on the pads of his fingers. He thought of nothing else until he could fell the tiny ridges of his fingerprints, the faint pulse of blood through the tiny capillaries. He could feel Ishida's pulse working as a counter melody to his own, could feel the fine hairs on Ishida's neck tickling his skin.
The tiny space beneath his fingertips thawed slowly, creating a channel that would feed directly into Ishida's reiatsu. His eyes peeled open and he caught a brief glimpse of the channels of Ishida's spiritual pressure, strangely dull blue beneath his skin.
Interesting.
It was like inserting a needle. Once he had a vein, he pushed his own reiatsu in. Ishida tightened up like a bow string. He stifled a scream behind his teeth and threw his head back until it nearly touched Urahara's chest. His neck was exposed like he was offering it up. Kisuke looked away and continued the tiny tap.
Ishida withstood the trial for several minutes and then lifted his right arm and tried to draw his bow out. Urahara knew it would fail even before the reiatsu gathered at Ishida's wrist and exploded outwards. It did not even take on the brief form of a bow, but simply went off like a reiatsu-projectile bomb, throwing energy shrapnel in all directions.
Ishida cried out and yanked his arm away from the blast and into his chest. Urahara let him go and Ishida held his wrist close to his chest while he struggled to breathe evenly.
"That was impressive," Urahara said brightly. When training hormonal young men – he had discovered from trial and error with one Ichigo Kurosaki – it was best not to let them dwell on their mistakes. Even the ones they couldn't have helped.
Ishida clenched his teeth. "Again."
Urahara said nothing. He certainly didn't tell Ishida that it would make no difference. Instead, he waited for the Quincy to right himself and set his fingers back to Ishida's smooth throat. The connection was easier to establish now that he knew Ishida's patterns. He began funneling again and Ishida arched back against him again.
"More," the younger man rasped through clenched teeth. His brows were knotted up tightly and a fine sheen of sweat was making his skin shine faintly.
My, how you would look in softer light, Ishida Uryuu... He did as he was asked and Ishida screamed before he could rein the sound in. It distorted to a high-pitched whimper and he tossed his arm away from his body again. Ishida screwed his eyes closed tightly and bit his lower lip while he tried to concentrate on what was once an effortless process. A jagged spike shot upwards. It growled audibly and twisted, distorting as he tried to school it into the correct shape. Half of it peeled away and wrapped around his wrist like a constrictor. Ishida screamed against the backs of his teeth and pushed his head back into Urahara's chest. The strangling cord of bright blue energy cut into his arm and squeezed.
Urahara lifted his fingers and the would-be bow condensed tighter yet before finally shattering. He caught Ishida as the younger man pitched forward. The Quincy rested in his arms, entire body shaking from strain and shock. He was gasping in air like a man who'd narrowly escaped drowning.
Kisuke said nothing and the man eventually straightened up. He took a shaky breath and adjusted his glasses. "Again."
Urahara pursed his lips and brought one arm around the Quincy's waist to support him. He set his fingers back to the younger man's throat and quietly did as he was told.
~I~I~
Six attempts later, Ishida was barely supporting his own weight. Forgive me, Grandfather, I'm so weak... Urahara felt nothing like Kurosaki. Urahara's reiatsu – blessedly controlled – was soft and light and cooling, where Kurosaki's was heavy, like molten rock and flame. Urahara's hurt in an entirely different way; Ishida wasn't even sure that hurt was the right word. After he got used to it, it was just uncomfortable, foreign. He was aware of it, but it wasn't exactly painful.
Urahara helped him to stand upright again. By that point, the taller man had both arms around Ishida's waist, one of which was underneath his shirt and resting low on his stomach for the apparently requisite skin-to-skin contact. Ishida might have been suspicious if Urahara was making lewd comments, or speaking at all, but the man had been silent since starting the exercise.
He swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten his throat. "Again." He tried to stay it stronger, but it came out like a plea.
"...Ishida-san-"
"Again. Please."
Urahara sighed. His fingers tightened against Ishida's skin and Ishida leaned into him, waiting for the cool press of the man's reiatsu. When it came, he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Originally nothing more than a trickle, it now felt like fast moving stream and he struggled to catch it and direct it outwards.
For a moment he almost felt it, the satisfying click when gears lined up correctly.It was going to work, it was going to work, it was going to – the gears slipped and electric blue bands wrapped around his wrist and grew snarling spikes.
No! He tried to rein it in, tried to force the spikes together and into the correct shape. They stubbornly resisted, and when he pushed harder they snapped, shooting away from his arm at high velocity.
His knees finally gave out and Urahara went down with him, nearly cradling him.
"Working in tandem is difficult at the best of times," Urahara said quietly, uncommonly soothing.
Ishida's good hand curled into a fist. "Kurosaki didn't have any problems with it."
"You two are more compatible than you think."
A frustrated, angry noise ripped out of Ishida's throat and he pushed away from Urahara's arms and spun around to face him. His head kept spinning after his body stopped and he moaned, waiting for everything to stop moving. Urahara remained on the ground, his legs tucked up underneath his body, his green robe settling around him like a dark cloud.
It's not Kurosaki. There's nothing special about Kurosaki! Nothing! He lunged forward, found Urahara's shoulders with both shaking hands and arched upwards to search out the man's lips. He missed the first time, his lips landing on the left side of the shopkeeper's scruffy jaw. Ishida quickly corrected his mistake, dragging his tongue over Urahara's lips and begging entry.
If he was thinking clearly, he would have been surprised that he was granted entrance. He wasn't thinking clearly, so he just pushed into Urahara's strangely cool mouth, exploring clumsily and not finding what he was looking for.
What was he looking for?
Urahara remained plaint and cooperative beneath him, but made no move to participate.
"Give it to me," Ishida pleaded helplessly, pulling back just long enough to murmur the words against Urahara's moist lips before diving back in.
~I~I~
Urahara knew he was talking about the reiatsu. The knowledge didn't stop his treacherous body from perking up at the sound of those words on Ishida's roughened voice. He took a deep breath through his nose and brought his hands up. They hesitated on Ishida's arms without his permission; they wanted (he wanted) to drag the younger man closer to him so he could take possession of the kiss, turn it into a kiss, and not merely an assault.
That wasn't all he wanted to do.
He forced his hands to push the Quincy back. Ishida looked up at him with hazy, moist eyes. His lips were beautifully swollen and his cheeks were flushed.
"If you keep that up, I will give it to you, and you might not like it." He forced his voice to be light, but it was more difficult than he wanted to admit. Ishida was like a broken toy in his hands. He sighed and pulled the younger man against him, directing Ishida's head to rest on his shoulder. Ishida nuzzled into him like a frightened cat and Kisuke thought it was quite possible that he'd never wanted to get up and destroy things as much as he did just then.
Damn whoever taught me that thing about being responsible, he mourned. Ishida went still and quiet in his arms and he realized that the man must have finally passed out.