Disclaimer: Not mine. Hara, however, is, as is the universe of All Night's Dreaming. Other people are welcome to play in this sandbox; just drop me a line beforehand asking permission, okay?

So! Without adieu – the next real chapter in this saga! It mainly acts to connect to the next part of the saga, though, answer a few question, so don't expect that much action.

The Other Kingdom

"How did it happen?" Ichigo's voice was unexpectedly solemn. His bright orange hair was dark from a much-needed shower, falling around his face in damp auburn spikes as he toweled his hair dry.

To his credit, Urahara didn't try to evade the issue. The older man let out a long, slow breath, setting his teacup down gently on the low table. "An accident." He stared at his hands.

Ichigo sat down besides him, expression patient as he waited for the other man to speak.

"I was the captain of my division, Ichigo." His voice was steady, but the shopkeeper's eyes were almost wistful as he gazed into the distance. He paused, gathering his thoughts; his words were careful and precise as he resumed speaking. "The head scientist in the science division. I was – young, then, I suppose is the best way to put it. Not in years, but in other areas." A bleak smile crossed his face. "I was very, very good at what I did, Ichigo, and I always believed it was easier to ask forgiveness then to ask permission."

"The Hougyoko." Ichigo was enraptured, displaying a concentration seldom viewed outside the battlefield as he gave his full attention to the story. His eyes followed Urahara's every move, tracing the faint glimpses of emotion on his drawn features as he watched the other man speak. Despite the intensity of his focus, his eyes reserved judgment as he waited for the shopkeeper to continue.

"Yes." Urahara's hands tightened briefly around his rapidly cooling teacup. He sighed, the sound full of weary regret. "I should never have made it. No one knows that better then I. But the shape, the idea…" for a moment his features lightened as he stared into the distance. "The opportunities it could have offered, the applications – the possibilities were limitless. And it was…" he groped for a word, face frustrated "beautiful, I suppose." His expression twisted in remembrance.

The fluctuating balance of equations, the sheer skill that it took to navigate the byways of the ultimate puzzle. The Hougyoko, brilliant and serene, a three-dimensional shape existing simultaneously on multiple planes of reality. The riddle, the wonder, the sheer adrenaline rush of discovery as his hands translated the whims of his imagination into a tangible form. The idea sculpting itself from the void, the culmination of his skill and intellect shaped into a glorious absolute. All else a shadow, save for that one concrete that stood supreme among illusion. The sheer exhilaration as he pitted himself against the boundaries of the impossible and forged a way in math and steel through the very storms of chaos, delighted laughter spilling from his throat as he danced in the shifting weave of promise and possibility…

Ichigo gasped softly and the former shinigami glanced in his direction, distracted. The substitute's eyes were wide, pupils dilated as he panted shallowly, staring at the shopkeeper in something approximating awe.

"Is that…" his voice was touched with something very much like wonder. "Is that what you see all the time?" The teen's voice sounded slightly dazed as he stared at the ex-captain, half-drunk from the other's vision.

The shopkeeper winced, realizing that he'd neglected to re-establish the defined boundaries of his minds after his battle with the younger shinigami. An iron will ruthlessly curtailed any further projection as he clamped down on his errant senses, drawing the silence around him like a shield. "Sometimes. Sorry." He added belatedly.

The teen waved off his apology with an absent gesture of one hand. "It was – beautiful." Ichigo stated hesitantly, staring off into space with wide eyes. His lips parted slightly; Kisuke swallowed, turning away from the sight.

"Yes." Urahara returned to his tea.

Silence reigned for a short time before Ichigo spoke. "The accident?" His expression was controlled once again, voice gentle as he prompted the former shinigami.

"Yes. Well." Kisuke coughed gently. "It wasn't quite an accident. The Hougyoko worked; I'd managed to prove that much at least in the trial runs. It performed beyond my expectations, far beyond what I'd imaged possible. The data I was collecting – it was revolutionary, I had to invent an entirely new system of mathematics just to understand the basic principles of what it was doing. Before long, it was ready for human trials. After all, what kind of a scientist would I be if I refused to test my inventions?" Urahara stared down at his clenched hands. "I wasn't about to ask anyone else to subject themselves to what I would not. And I was sure that it worked." His voice trailed off into silence.

"You tested it on yourself." Ichigo's eyes were wide as he stared at the former captain.

"Yes." His tea was spilling Kisuke noted absently, surprised to find that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He set the cup down gently, lacing his fingers together in a futile attempt to quiet their shivering. He did not look at the younger man.

A hand settled on his own, the broad palm warm and dry as it slid across his skin, coaxing his fingers to relax. He stared at the hand in stupefied amazement, eyes wide with shock as he followed the arm back to the younger man. Ichigo's face was concerned as he stared into the shopkeeper's dazed features, leaning forwards in an unconscious gesture of comfort.

"Kisuke?" The former captain shivered at the sound of his name on those lips. "Are you all right?" Brown eyes were concerned as they traced the planes of his face.

Urahara swallowed before looking away, eyes sliding to the side. "It's… not something I like to remember all that much." He paused for a moment, cutting off the other's worried glances as he continued, words brusque. "I didn't think it had worked at first; nothing seemed to happen. I gave it a day, nothing; a week, still no results. I put it away, chalked it up as a design flaw, and focused on other areas of interest. Then - " He paused, wincing slightly.

Ichigo leaned forward, fascinated.

"…I started seeing things. I started feeling things. And I started hearing whispers at the edge of my hearing. I thought I was going mad." The shopkeeper's eyes were filled with bleak remembrance, shadowed with the traces of a terrible knowledge. "I realized rather quickly that it had worked." His voice cut off abruptly, resolute tone conveying his refusal to continue the story. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his eyes to the other man's face, nearly crying with relief when the teen's gaze met his own.

Ichigo's features were filled not with hatred or disgust, but with something very close to horrified compassion. His eyes reflected a well-remembered fear, and he gazed at the former captain with an expression that, while close to sympathy, lacked the double-pronged barb of pity. Urahara shivered as he felt the waves of empathy pouring from the teen.

"Stop that." He shook his head. Ichigo started back, expression puzzled.

"Do what? I don't – " his bafflement radiated off of him in tangible waves of emotion.

"That." Kisuke winced, shivering slightly as concern bombarded his senses, piercing the silence he'd woven about him like a shroud. "You're projecting, Kurosaki-kun." He managed a weak smile. "It's rather overwhelming at the moment."

"What? Oh. Sorry." The faint sense of presence withdrew. The teen frowned absently, unconsciously worrying his lower lip. "Still haven't quite got the hang of this."

"You get used to it." Kisuke frowned at his tea. Probably cool by now; he'd have to get another pot.

Ichigo paused, expression suddenly unsure. "Shinji and the others – "

"It's one reason why they're all still together." Urahara cut him off, not wanting to pursue the topic of the other Vaizard any more then necessary. "It's easier if there's someone else around, someone who understands and can reciprocate in turn; it's one of the reasons why they wanted you to go with them." He winced slightly in remembered pain. "As it was, it nearly drove you mad anyway."

"Oh." Ichigo flinched in response. "Guess I should apologize to that pervert when I see him next time." Kisuke couldn't help but laugh at the disgruntled expression on the teen's face.

"Oh, don't worry, Kurosaki-kun!" He found himself smiling, voice bright as he giggled at the pouting teen. "Shinji's done more than enough as it is!" He winked, grey eyes brilliant over the brim of his fan.

Ichigo laughed softly in response, eyes crinkling in genuine mirth, the older man shuddered slightly at the husky resonance of the other's voice. The teen's mirth faded all too quickly, the delicious curve of his lips fading into a more serious expression. Ichigo's voice was unexpectedly gentle as he gazed at the older man. "The other Vaizard, do they know?" About you; the words went unsaid.

"Oh." Urahara's features sobered. "No." He turned his attention back to the table, refusing to meet the other's gaze.

"What – but you guys know each other, right?" Ichigo frowned, confusion plain on his features. "You're obviously not… well, you haven't turned into a hollow, so you'd have had to gone through that crazy-ass ritual of theirs at one point." His expression was disgusted, but faintly triumphant, daring the shopkeeper to disagree.

Kisuke laughed softly; there was no joy in the sound. "Who do you think invented the process they use to dominate their inner selves?"

"Che!" Ichigo grinned feraly, cracking his knuckles, "I should have known.

Only you'd invent something that whacked. That's another one I owe you." Kisuke smiled faintly in response. Ichigo paused, expression softening as he stared at the other man. "Who does know, then?"

"You're the first." And only. Kisuke flinched, an old, old fear rising in his chest. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead - but someone else knows.

"What?" Ichigo's expression was flabbergasted as he stared at the shopkeeper. "But – Yoruichi? Tessai?"

Urahara shook his head. "At first, I thought I was losing my mind. I wasn't about to admit that to anyone. Later," his throat bobbed as he swallowed, gazing determinedly into the distance. "Afterwards, I just – I wanted to pretend it wasn't there. That it never happened. It was easier that way." Kisuke shrugged, his perpetual smile miserable.

Ichigo's eyes filled with sympathy; a faint flicker of pity flowed from the younger male. Kisuke drew back sharply, eyes wide as he tasted the bittersweet emotion, desperately clamping down on the hunger rising beneath his breastbone. "Don't!"

Amber eyes filled with puzzlement as the teen drew back, hurt evident on his features. "I said I was sorry. You don't have to bit my head off for it!"

"No, it's not that, I…" Urahara paused, face frustrated as he struggled to bind scattered fragments of speech into a coherent whole. His hands shook slightly, clamping down on the edge of the table in an iron grip as he fought for control. Ichigo frowned, puzzled, before an awful understanding dawned in his eyes.

"You said it's easier with someone else around. Someone who understands." Ichigo's eyes were filled with a horrified realization. "You didn't have anyone, did you?"

Kisuke stared at the table, fingers white. "No."

"Why?" Ichigo's features twisted into a mix of confused horror. "You did this to yourself. You deliberately isolated yourself from everyone who could help you." The teen stared at him, voice rising in something close to indignation as he addressed the ex-captain. "I've only been like this a few months, but I already know I couldn't stand it. Why?"

Urahara let his neck drop as he brought his knees up to his chest in an uncharacteristic gesture of vulnerability. He cradled his head in his hands, letting rough laughter claw its way out of his chest. It was not a pleasant sound; devoid of humor, his laugh was filled with tired pain and ancient need, a need suppressed and compounded until it had rusted into a twisted mass of agony. "Why?" He raised hollow eyes to the other man. "Do you even have to ask?" His grin was bitter; the razor edge turned inwards as he bared his teeth in a savage imitation of a smile.

Determination. Frustration. The ochre eyes were firm as Ichigo met his gaze squarely, the tantalizing whips of taste softly bypassing firmly entrenched shields.

Urahara flinched. "Stop that." He jerked his head to the side, determinedly avoiding Ichigo's eyes even as he absently noted that his hands were shaking again.

Stubbornness. Puzzlement. Ichigo leaned forwards, features intent as he refused to back down. Questioning.

"I – " Kisuke gasped, quaking slightly as he turned towards the teen as if drawn by some irresistible force. Grey eyes went wide as he felt long erected barriers totter, felt the strained recognition as he unconsciously leaned towards the other male. It hurt, feeling centuries-old walls crack, feeling the shields he'd clung to for so long shiver in response to the sheer need clawing from the center of his being. "Please – " he panted softly, unable to tell what he was begging for.

Reassurance. Gentleness. Ichigo's eyes softened in promise. Welcome.

The barriers splintered; Kisuke's eyes rolled back in his head as emotions he'd locked away for decades crested and peaked, slamming down like a tidal wave of power. He slumped backwards, vaguely feeling strong hands seize his shoulders before he was swept beneath a wave of sensation so strong he nearly choked.

Need was there, that awful terrible hunger; he felt it claw its way up from his stomach, licking its teeth in anticipation of the feasts to come. It wove itself throughout the fabric of his being before slowly working its way up to his jaws; he nearly salivated as the crooning, desperate urge sawed through his flesh in a call he was helpless to resist. Shadows danced at the edge of his vision; faint traces of ghostfire darting across his eyes as he felt darkness stir in the depths of his soul before settling back into an uneasy slumber.

Hunger was no stranger to him these days; he could barely remember when the dull ache hadn't blossomed dimly beneath his skin. He'd wrestled with it on cold winter nights, smiled at it serenely over tea on still spring mornings as he taunted it with miniscule slices of satiation, deliberately baiting it with the promise of fulfillment. No; he'd mastered his hunger long before, though it could never be entirely tamed, taught himself to ignore the starvation gnawing at the edges of his soul.

It was what lurked beyond the hunger, carefully concealed behind layers of enraged need that frightened him so.

The soft touch of Ichigo's gentle projections pierced the howling maelstrom of unleashed hunger, the taste a beacon in the storm. Kisuke turned blindly, fingers groping desperately, driven by the terrible need and focusing on the other with laser-like precision. The shrill urging of his appetite drove him onwards, that and the faint recognition that the one person in the world who could possibly satiate him was just inches away. Rationality and intellect were discarded like so much trash as he lunged forwards, face twisted in despairing need as he strained towards the source of that delicious presence offering an end to his pain.

Soft welcome greeted him as he fumbled forwards, hands colliding with warm flesh even as his soul slammed into another's.

OOO

Kisuke's hands clenched fruitlessly, curling around broad shoulders as he stared blankly ahead, eyes unseeing.

Warm. It was warm; that was his first impression as he burrowed deep into the labyrinth of the other's self, swimming through soft currents of thought and memory as he tangled himself desperately in that sense of presence he could feel around him and about him and within him. Heat enveloped him, a soft groan echoing through the shattered remnants of long-entrenched barriers as he fed ravenously from the overwhelming torrent of passion and will that flowed from that delicious soul. Kisuke shuddered, feeling the soft heat in his veins countering the cold enveloping him in perpetual twilight. It had been so long…

Rationality returned with all the subtly of a high-speed freight train as recognition and coherent thought resurged, howling in terrified denial. He choked, sudden fear jolting through him as he backpedaled frantically, automatically reaching for the faint shards of his shields only to feel his hands caught in a firm grasp even as that delicious soul flexed about him.

Welcome blazed out at the former captain, the soft greeting transfixing him more firmly then any kidou. He froze, spellbound by the genuine emotion behind the greeting, hesitantly tracing the undertones of fondness and exasperation woven into the swell of thought and will.

The barriers that had long kept watch over his soul were nothing more then shadows; he clutched at them desperately even as his need rose to a siren pitch. Rationality and survival collided as he wailed, torn by the struggle between his instincts and his will. He was vaguely aware of strong hands immobilizing him even as violent convulsions wracked through his frame. Kisuke shook helplessly, clamping his teeth together in mute agony as he felt every muscle in his body contract as his mental turmoil manifested itself on the physical plane. It was a long time before he relaxed into the other's arms.

A hand tilted his head up, and brown eyes met tired grey. Show me?

Kisuke shuddered at the warm brush of emotion accompanying that request, closing his eyes in worn surrender as he opened his mind to the presence brushing the edge of his awareness. He would have begged, he would have killed, he would have done anything to feel that touch of heat and reassurance once again; he felt the last tattered remnants of long-entrenched barriers melt and dissolve, helpless before the taste and sense of the other.

He could feel Ichigo, a soft sense of heat/fire/bright delicately tracing the layers of his self; Kisuke shivered slightly at the images refracted back to him from the redhead's exploration. Guilt lashed with dull shadows, a constant grinding at the back of his mind laced with the splintered knowledge of his failure. The twisted blueprints of plans and countermoves at the edge of his perceptions responded by wrenching into an alignment he could not allow coming to pass. The stark colors of a chessboard were interspersed with the sharp angles of the chamber of the 46 as they pronounced their sentence; Shinji's face twisted behind a mask as he howled desperately, the low shine off a pair of glasses as Aizen smiled at him beneath the gibbous moon. Grim certainty; the dull fetters he'd forced himself to wear, the secrets buried tightly beyond scenarios he prayed would never bloom. His own horrified disbelief as he watched everything he loved wrenched from his hands, felt the cool rasp of ceramic crawl across his skin as he screamed helplessly behind a wash of inhuman hunger.

And always and above, pain, sharp and serene, the only constant in life. Burning, blazing, shadow-born and hungry; a pain that, for a time, even managed to crowd out the lonelinessthat seared him to the soul.

Submerged as he was in the presence of the other, he felt Ichigo's sudden realization. The redhead's hands tightened abruptly, his breathing suddenly ragged; Kisuke whimpered softly, clinging with body and soul as the other flinched backwards.

"You've been punishing yourself." The words dropped from astonished lips; Ichigo stared down at him with wide eyes. "You think this is all your fault."

Kisuke blinked, reality reasserting itself. He was half-lying in the redhead's lap, sprawled across the other's frame as his white fingers dug tightly into the teen's shirt. He couldn't seem to move, and it was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to simply reach out, discarding the clumsy limits of sounds and words. And is it not?

"No, it damn well isn't!" The redhead flared; Kisuke whimpered and burrowed closer, greedily drinking down the swell of rage. He was helpless to the surges of the genuine passion he felt emanating from the other, the warm, rich tones flowing through the empty corners of his being into the maw of the gaping emptiness endlessly haunting his footsteps.

My fault. He nearly choked at the knowledge, unable to disentangle himself from Ichigo's embrace even as he gorged himself on the teen's presence. All my fault. Images flashed through his mind, snapshots blazing with pained intensity; Aizen's smiling face as he stood on the cold stone of the courtroom, Rukia's frantic accusations, the dizzying crush of the Espada as they descended on the town. And Ichigo's own face, golden eyes burning in helpless need… It's all my fault. The guilt rose in a dizzying flood.

And yet he could not bring himself to tear away from the teen.

If not for me, this whole mess would never have happened. If not for me, Shinji and the others might still be happy. If it weren't for me, the War wouldn't have started…

The litany began to repeat itself, the crushing weight of his sins a familiar presence. Urahara closed his eyes, shoving back the darkness he felt caressing the edges of his mind in soft hunger. If it weren't for me, you might still be whole…

Bullshit. Ichigo's voice sliced through his recriminations, blonde head snapping upwards as his eyes widened in shock. "Aizen's a power-hungry maniac; he'd have found a way to launch his rebellion with or without that damned marble. You were convenient, but he'd have done it without you." Ichigo's voice was full of barely contained outrage even as he tugged the other man closer.

Urahara blinked up at him. It's – not my fault? He paused, hesitantly examining this new idea, rolling the taste of it across his palate.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "No."

Such a concept was literally inconceivable to the older man; he struggled with the notion, rolling it back and forth as he tasted its shape. He shook his head in frustrated incomprehension, unable to believe.

Kisuke's eyes shot open as he felt the soft touch of the other across his soul. He shivered, fingers cutting into tanned flesh as he tipped his head backwards in an unconscious gesture of submission, eyes clamping tightly together in dread as he waited for the inevitable sentence. He'd experienced this once before when he'd stood in front of a gloating panel of faceless judges, the sentence predetermined. He'd managed to escape by the skin of his teeth, forced to abandon all he knew and loved; he'd survived, lived because the alternative – letting the Hougyoko fall in Aizen's hands – was unthinkable.

But the future he'd struggled so hard to suppress had come to pass, and this time, his judge would have a familiar face. He swallowed, throat bobbing soundlessly. There was no fitter judge for his crime then the young man who sat above him. But - somehow – the thought of Ichigo's face, twisted in stern disapproval, cut deeper then he could have ever believed possible.

"Idiot." Ichigo wrapped his arms about his lanky form, crushing him against a broad chest. He could feel the soft vibrations as the redhead sighed in amused irritation. "Say it." Ichigo's voice held the same note of stubborn defiance that Urahara had previously seen directed against particularly obtuse arrancar. "Say it, you moron." Kisuke hesitantly raised his head to look at the other's face.

He stared, eyes wide at the expression he found there. The look on Ichigo's face would have challenged god himself. The teen's face was twisted in a stubborn scowl of defiance; Ichigo would go to hell and back for his goal, and damn everything in between. It was an expression he'd seen twice before, both times in the training area beneath his shop as he crouched beside a towering edifice of paper and ink, pouring blue-white power into elaborate designs that wrenched a gate in the fabric of reality.

Kisuke had never been looked at like that before. He'd always been the trickster, the maverick who pulled miracles out of thin air, a laughing magician who wasn't really real. He'd played the part of a clown for uncounted years, hiding his true self beneath a pile of constructed identities, picking and choosing between various traits in order to make up a believable whole. Urahara had been happy to explore, to experiment with identities as easily as changing his outfit – all in a desperate attempt to conceal the one mask he could never be rid of.

In all his myriad incarnations – he'd never been looked at like that. As if he was worth the risk of saving, worth enough to gamble it all on the toss of the dice, the luck of the draw. He'd never been the focus of such sheer possessive tenderness – as if he was valuable enough to justify tearing the worlds in two. He'd never been looked at as if he were worth protecting. He'd never been worth that much to anyone before.

It's not – my fault. He echoed the words slowly, cautiously, letting the subtleties of their meaning linger in his mind.

"Again."

It's not my fault. His body bucked involuntarily, trying to twist away from the words and their subsequent implications. Ichigo held him even tighter, broad muscles straining to keep him pinned in place even as the shopkeeper thrashed and writhed desperately against the redhead's touch. "Again." His voice was ruthless, standing in stark counterpart to the gentle reassurance brushing the edges of Urahara's mind.

But – it had to be his fault. Kisuke whimpered softly, muscles straining against the other man as he arched desperately. It had to. Because – because if it wasn't…

"Kisuke." Ochre eyes met his own as a surprisingly soft hand tilted his chin upwards. He stared, wide eyes defenseless in the face of the certainty in those chocolate depths. "It wasn't your fault."

Any other voice, he would have scorned. Kisuke would have smiled and laughed and made a pretense of acceptance of those words on any other lips. Except for one. Except for this one, singular voice. Except for this face.

"It's not my fault." His tongue was thick in his mouth as he swallowed harshly. It hurt, a dull throbbing like cutting open a festering wound. "It's not my fault?" Quicker this time, easier to say, words spilling out of him even as he felt the very foundations of his mindquake. "It's not my fault!" The world shattered, and he broke with it.

It wasn't his fault – and that changed everything.

"It's not my fault!"

The cups flew from the table, the books shivered on the shelves, the framed pictures crashing down from the wall with a crack of broken glass as the captain-level reiatsu slammed outwards, a maelstrom of snarling power buffeting the air in terrible glory. Grey eyes jerked wide open, fingernails digging into Ichigo's back. Kisuke arched in the eye of the storm, teeth bared and roaring as, for the first time in centuries, he allowed himself beyond the crushing confines of his guilt. The darker emotions he'd locked away, chained carefully with enormous effort, spilled forth as he allowed himself to feel, venting the passions that he'd long ago confined to the shadows of his soul.

Anger now, the violent rage riding hard on the edges of this new knowledge, the sheer seething fury at the injustice done to him. The bottomless depths of betrayal as the only home he'd ever known cast him out, ruthlessly invalidating centuries' worth of effort in a few short seconds. The friends he'd thought he could depend on turned aside; the enemies he'd accumulated gleefully claiming his works for their own. Hate; his own and the Other's, directed at both the glowering framework of authority and the rot that dwelt within, a rot personified and manipulated by a single smiling figure in a stolen white haori. Fire burned within him, an incandescent rage brighter then the sun, and he turned towards his shadow in savage appeal.

Hara's reiatsu exploded alongside his own; the table slammed backwards, cups flying as Kisuke roared his fury, power flaring in waves of pale blue flame intermixed with wisps of ghostfire as he bucked furiously in Ichigo's grip. The teen grunted softly, but crushed the blonde even closer to his broad chest, tightening his grip on the former shinigami even as a lightning-storm of untamed reiatsu snarled across his skin. Black-edged power rose in response to the shopkeeper's anger, tempering the worst of the maelstrom and blunting the force of his rage. Ichigo held on, even as the other screamed, even as the shopkeeper flailed in utter agony, drowned beneath a tumult of power and passion the former captain had thought extinguished centuries before.

Urahara raged, and Ichigo roared with him, the feral grin on the teen's face a perfect match for Kisuke's howl of fury. He could feel the redhead beneath his skin like a second shadow as their minds blurred and twisted, soaring together through the rust-stained corridors of his self.

Ichigo's soul snarled alongside his own, a predatory glee tasting of white-edged shadows conjuring an answering pulse of darkness from the farthest edges of his being. For once, Kisuke didn't try to resist his shadow, didn't try to push it down, condemn it to a small, carefully cordoned-off section of his soul. This time, he welcomed the hot rage that spread through his being like fire, welcomed the snarling fury that painted his vision red and set his blood alight with vengeance. How dare they chain him, how dare they bind him, how dare they blame him for something that wasn't his fault!

And Ichigo screamed with him, amber eyes bright as he watched the shopkeeper finally – finally – purge himself of over a century's worth of poison.

Kisuke turned to him blindly, power flaring with deadly promise as it whirled about him in a maelstrom of rage. Pale eyes met ochre as the shopkeeper buried his hands in the teen's hair before the former captain tugged, mashing their mouths together in one quick motion. Long fingers dug into auburn locks as Kisuke dragged the other man closer; strong arms closed about him in return, smothering him in deliciously hard muscles. The kiss was savage, desperate, tongues battling for domination; Kisuke moaned at the sudden rush of heat through his blood, sound smothered by the other's lips. Hunger met hunger, need met need; they devoured each other, power pouring between them like rain and purring against their skin. The kiss ended only when they ran out of breath, parting with a wet sucking sound as both men gasped for air.

"It's not my fault." Kisuke told the other dazedly, half-drunk with exhilaration as his power faded, faint afterimages flickering in the air like tongues of flame.

"It took you this long to figure out?" Ichigo smiled crookedly and kissed the tip of his nose. "Idiot."

Kisuke laughed softly, eyes bright. "I'm your idiot, though. Right, Kurosaki-kun?" His teasing tone didn't quite conceal the desperate uncertainty of his eyes.

"Yeah." A rough hand petted blond hair. "Mine."