A/N: Sorry for the wait! Finally it's done!
What're you thinking?
Epilogue
Ishida was looking peeved as he carefully folded up a pair of dark blue jeans.
Ichigo was looking amused as he watched, reclined upon the couch.
"Why bother folding it up if you're gonna throw it away?" asked the shinigami.
"I'm not going to throw it away. I'm going to donate it," answered Ishida whilst smoothing out a crease in a shirtsleeve.
"Either way, you're getting rid of it," said Ichigo, "Which I don't get, because you look sexy in those clothes."
The Quincy blushed hard, but he soon recovered and warned, "Call me that again and I swear I will shoot you.'
Ichigo pursed his lips. "Then… how about, you've got a great figure, and it wouldn't hurt to flaunt it once in a while?"
Ishida shook out his blazer with unnecessary force. "Kurosaki, I do not flaunt it. And are you saying that I just look mediocre when I'm not wearing those clothes?"
Ichigo's mouth dropped open and he actually rolled off the couch and clambered over to where his companion sat.
"NO! I'm just saying that… uh… those clothes emphasize your… um…"
The archer narrowed his eyes. "Really. I didn't know that appearances mattered so much to you, Kurosaki."
With some difficulty Ichigo tugged the jacket out of Ishida's hands.
"Whoa there! The premise of this whole discussion is that I think you're sexy, clothes or no clothes. Honestly!"
Ishida stared at him blankly.
"And I," Ichigo added in a hush as he slowly planted his palms on the floor on either side of Ishida's hips, "Definitely prefer no clothes."
He yelped as a lithe hand swiped at his cheek.
"Hey! Don't –OW! You actually slapped me!?"
Ishida snatched up the bundle of clothes and threw them at Ichigo.
"If you like them so much, you can have them," he said hotly.
"I would, because they're perfectly good clothes. But they're a bit too small –
"Actually," the raven interrupted, "Wear them. Put them on right now."
Ichigo's eyebrows almost disappeared under his fringe. "What?"
Crossing his arms Ishida said, "We had a deal, a few weeks back. Whatever I want, if I remember correctly."
"A waste of a good deal, if you ask me –
"I didn't ask you. Now go get changed in the bedroom. Hurry up."
Ichigo rolled his eyes. "All right, if you insist. But I'm telling you, they're not gonna fit."
After he traipsed off, Ishida climbed onto the couch and fumbled for the remote.
He stifled a yawn as News Zero came on, with the popular model-turned-news-reporter Kiritani Mirei discussing the advantages of having a vegetable garden in your own home.
It sounded like something that Ichigo would be unexpectedly into. After all, he was always going on about how Ishida should make his apartment more 'homely' –and he was always bringing in bizarre home decorations like paper maché sculptures and exotic pot plants (Ishida suspected that Isshin was behind this, however).
They had been together for just over a month now –during which he had been dragged over to the Kurosaki's for dinner twice, followed home after school by Ichigo close to twenty times, and jolted out of bed at 2am by Ichigo in shinigami form breaking in through the window twice.
Tonight was supposed to be a quiet Saturday evening of tidying his closet and fabric supplies, until Ichigo had shown up with a 1-litre tub of Ben & Jerry's in one hand and a duck-shaped scented candle in the other.
It wasn't that Ishida didn't like having him there –it was quite the opposite –but whenever he heard those soft, shuffling footsteps on the floorboards, or that slightly raspy tenor laughter over the noise of the TV, or felt that unruly mandarin hair tickle his nose as Ichigo drifted off against his shoulder, he would feel a strangely sweet kind of pain in his chest.
It was a most illogical kind of feeling that made him want to lash out or run or hide –and most of the time he did just that.
But always, Ichigo was unbelievably patient; patient like an ocean wave that polishes a jagged stone with a thousand caresses.
"Don't tire of me. Please," Ishida murmured, resting his forehead between his raised knees.
"Hey."
The Quincy started, hoping that Ichigo hadn't heard him –but apparently he hadn't, because the substitute shinigami was currently occupied with moving into the living area in little sideways waddles like an oversized penguin.
An oversized penguin in extremely undersized clothes.
Ishida fought to keep his face straight, but soon he was lying on the sofa doubled over with laughter.
Ichigo sighed, and even that movement was enough to make one of the buttons on his shirt come dangerously close to snapping free of its buttonhole.
"That's why I said they were too small for me."
Feigning a look of indifference with some difficulty Ishida said, "Well now you know how I felt."
Ichigo habitually lifted a hand to scratch his head, but he stopped midway with a grumble when the blazer refused to stretch any further.
"Okay. They're not the most comfortable clothes in the world," he concurred. "I still can't believe you actually went out and bought these."
"I didn't. Inoue-san took my measurements and bought them for me. Or, more precisely she bought them and forced me to take them off her," Ishida corrected as he unconsciously began to inspect the sheen of light on Ichigo's left collarbone.
The open v of Ichigo's collar widened as he rolled his shoulders. "Well maybe you should keep these in case Inoue gets offended. By the way, can I take these off now?"
"Hm," answered the raven without hearing the question.
"God, thank you," Ichigo said gratefully as he quickly shrugged off the jacket and began to flick open his shirt buttons.
Ishida sat with his eyes transfixed on the perfect harmony of tan skin and sculpted muscle and bone that moved like a play of dusky sunlight over a rippling sea as Ichigo turned towards the bedroom.
He tripped a little when his foot got caught in the discarded shirt, and stopped to switch his attention to the pants.
Then suddenly, he froze.
"Uh… Ishida?"
The Quincy jumped at his name, and only then did he realize –
"You were totally checking me out just then, weren't you?" joked Ichigo with a wide grin as he swiveled around and almost fell over in the process.
Ishida opened his mouth in preparation for vehement denial but stopped at the still frame of a gloriously bare torso and a generous band of red above the waistband of unmercifully tight dark jeans.
At the same time, Ichigo's grin withered away at the sight of Ishida's fire truck-red cheeks and wide eyes that were fixed somewhere well below his own face.
The archer snapped his eyes away at Ichigo's soft 'ahem'.
"Well you see," explained an Ichigo sporting an equally red face, "The zipper is stuck and I can't pull them off without, uh, doing some permanent damage. I think I'm going to need a hand."
"You are not serious," Ishida said –or rather, demanded.
"No, I'm serious. Look." Ichigo proceeded to prove his point and succeeded in tugging both boxer briefs and jeans further down half an inch.
Ishida's arms shot out on their own accord as if he were trying to convince a child to put down a loaded gun. "STOP, Kurosaki! You do not need to demonstrate. I get it. For god's sake just stand there. Stand. Don't move."
He jumped off the sofa and hurried into the bedroom.
Ichigo looked over his shoulder. "What're you doing?"
"Looking for fabric scissors! Damn it, where are they when I need them –
"Uh, why do you need them?"
"I'm going to cut the jeans off you, you idiot!"
"What!? Why can't you just help me with the zip like a normal person?"
"Well you said the zip is stuck!"
"You're not getting anywhere near my private areas with goddamn scissors, Ishida! Are you insane? I've seen Yuzu cut through soccer balls with those things!"
"Fine! Since I can't find them anyway, I'll use regular scissors!"
"Ishida, it's just a zip!"
"It's on your pants!"
There was a pause. "Does the thought of touching me by accident gross you out that much?"
Ishida pivoted to pin Ichigo with a look made up of a peculiar mixture of fear, offence and embarrassment. "That is unfair, Kurosaki. I can't believe you could ever think such a thing of me."
Ichigo's expression softened into one of those sheepish, disarming little smiles that always made the tips of Ishida's fingers tingle with warmth. "I'm the one who's supposed to be embarrassed as hell here, Ishida. Not you. Well, maybe you too, but to a lesser extent."
Slowly Ishida made his way over to Ichigo's front and crouched down on one knee.
"Make any stupid jokes and I swear I will shoot you twice," he warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it," answered the shinigami somewhat sincerely.
Ishida took a deep breath.
And tried to ignore how the planes of Ichigo's stomach flexed on his exhale.
The good news was that the buttonhole was already taken care of, so Ishida carefully pinched the fabric that sat over the zip between his finger and thumb and peeled it back.
The not so good news was that the zipper tab was resting flat and snug against the zip and there were two strands of thick cotton caught between the teeth.
This is fine, he told himself. Delicate operations are your forte.
He took hold of the zipper tab and gave it a firm jerk.
It slid down half an inch to reveal more of that intense cadmium red of Ichigo's underwear.
The heat. There was so much heat and his head was swimming with the scent of faint soap and musk and Ichigo.
Ishida mentally slapped himself.
"Suck."
"Huh?"
"Suck in your stomach."
"Oh."
The next tug had hardly any effect and Ishida cursed when his knuckles grazed the line of Ichigo's cock.
The shinigami breathed in sharply.
Ishida could hear the thunk-thunk-thunk of blood in his ears as he tried to still his hands that were shaking as if he had just spent five hours straight fighting hollows.
A few more accidental grazes and Ichigo was trembling with the effort to remain still while his reiatsu fluctuated wildly like laundry left out in the storm.
Ishida tried to isolate his visual field to the zipper but with little success.
"Kurosaki," he said in a low voice, "Stop that. It is extremely counterproductive."
"I'm trying," Ichigo insisted through gritted teeth.
"No, you're not!" Ishida retorted with his voice audibly raised by a few semitones, "You're reacting perversely to my perfectly innocent intention of trying to fix your zipper!"
The shinigami threw his head back in exasperation. "Seriously, Ishida? You're blaming me for getting a hard on when you're on your knees with your face right in front of my crotch?"
"Yes, I am," he snapped back.
With another tug the zipper finally gave away –Ichigo uttered a gruff "Thank you Jesus!" and immediately set about tugging the jeans down his thighs.
This time Ishida did not yell at him to stop because he was too busy trying not to notice Ichigo's erection and how the pit of his stomach was humming with a rising heat in kind.
I am getting sexually aroused from seeing my romantic partner aroused, the rational part of him observed. What a biologically fascinating phenomenon.
The other part of him was, of course, freaking out.
Seeing the obvious distress on Ishida's face Ichigo suggested, "Perhaps I should, um, take care of this (totally unnecessarily he gestured towards his nether regions) in the bathroom."
The Quincy sucked in a deep breath –then loudly, definitively he said: "No."
Ichigo blinked. "No?"
"No," Ishida affirmed as he stood. "You do not need to take care of that in the bathroom."
To say that the shinigami looked supremely irritated would be an understatement.
"What? To hell I don't need to take care of this! Are you telling me to go all the way home and wank?"
"I mean that you don't need to do it in the bathroom," Ishida repeated slowly, getting irritated himself.
Ichigo was sporting a frown to match that of a bulldog's as he opened his mouth only to close it again.
"You don't need to masturbate in the bathroom!" Ishida almost shouted. "What do you expect me to do while you're in there –watch TV and wait for you? I'm right here, aren't I? God Kurosaki, why are you so dumb?"
Ichigo looked angry, then confused, then his face went absolutely blank.
And then it finally dawned on him and his eyes turned a feral, heart-stopping shade of burning copper.
In two quick strides he had Ishida pinned to the sofa with their hearts hammering against one another's like snare drums rolling down a rocky hill.
Ichigo's pupils were so dilated and his breathing so fast and shallow that Ishida was starting to become concerned for his health.
The shinigami bent down, kissed him like he was trying to taste his very soul –it was teeth and tongue scrutinizing every nook and cranny of Ishida's mouth like the most detailed dental examination, only a hundred times more pleasant.
Ichigo pulled back to gnaw on Ishida's bottom lip in an oddly affectionate way before licking a thin trail up the underside of his jaw.
Nibbling and sucking on a rose-tinted ear Ichigo's fumbling hands found the bottom of Ishida's t-shirt and clumsily pushed it up past his ribcage.
Ishida tried to help and after a slightly complicated rearrangement of limbs they succeeded in getting one of his arms out of the sleeve.
Impatiently Ichigo latched his mouth onto whatever bit of skin that was exposed –clavicle, sternum, navel, and soon after that a dusky pink nipple.
The archer threw his head back with a surprised gasp and the motion made his glasses dislodge from his face and clatter to the floor.
Startled by the noise Ichigo stopped and breathlessly asked, "Is this what you mean? Because if this isn't what you mean I think I'm gonna keep going as if I think I know what you mean when I actually don't."
Ishida didn't bother telling him how nonsensical and grammatically incorrect that all was and answered, "No, I think we're more or less on the same page."
And oh, what a dirty and wonderful page it was to be, because Ichigo was making a sound of relief crossed somewhere between a grunt and a whine that made Ishida wonder why his pants suddenly felt a size too small.
He managed to shuck off his t-shirt before Ichigo resumed assaulting his nipples –rolling them clockwise and anticlockwise with his tongue repeatedly until the irked archer opened his eyes to see the shinigami smirking back.
He decided to wipe that smirk right off and rolled his hips so that their erections collided like fire and ice. The sensation had Ishida seeing white and put a most delicious grimace of pleasure on Ichigo's face.
Swearing profusely Ichigo clawed at Ishida's zipper and tore his trousers off his legs with such desperation that the Quincy would have laughed –but he didn't, because long, warm fingers were dipping into his boxers and tentatively taking hold of his cock and it was so insanely good that the touch was resonating through his bones in three-part harmony.
Ishida licked his suddenly dry lips and managed to choke out, "Damn it Kurosaki, just take it off."
For a second Ichigo looked gob-smacked, and then his expression dissolved into another one of those grimaces and he said, "Oh yes, yes, fuck yes," as he quickly got rid of the underwear too.
Ichigo pulled back to admire and the intense burnt sienna of his wide, probing eyes was making Ishida shiver. He wanted to cover himself but he stared back instead, taking in how Ichigo was clenching his fists, how he looked wild and desperate and gorgeous, how his cock was straining against his briefs, how his thundering pulse matched his own.
Suddenly he realized that it was him, it was Ichigo looking at him, it was Ichigo teetering off the precipice of his self control because of him, and something inside Ishida's chest was expanding, erupting, flooding his body with bone-aching desire.
"Oh god," Ichigo muttered reverently, nonsensically, "Oh god Uryuu, fuck, you're beautiful, you're so fucking beautiful. You have no idea, Uryuu."
He dove back in for another bruising kiss, and Ishida hummed in mild irritation because the most unromantic line in the world coupled with the poorest choice of adjectives had somehow managed to him feel dizzy with want.
He groped up the back of Ichigo's thighs and gave his backside a hard squeeze, making Ichigo growl and buck against him. Then he slid his hand down the shinigami's stomach, combing his hands through the thin trail of chestnut-colored curls, slipping his index underneath the waistband and his heart skipping a beat at how soaked Ichigo's underwear was.
He found his voice and commanded, "Off."
Two pairs of hands grappled with the briefs and they were gone in less then five seconds. The archer raised his elbow, pushing Ichigo off him; Ichigo scooted back on to his knees, hesitant but curious.
Ishida supported himself on one arm, admiring the flushed hardness of Ichigo's arousal. He reached out to feel its weight and heat, and they both stopped breathing as beads of rice-white fluid blossomed and seeped from the head. Ishida gave it a firm, upwards stroke before tracing his finger around the retracted foreskin. He circled the head, pressing his nail into the slit so that another trail of precome gushed out beneath his thumb.
Ichigo was trembling as if he was cold, and although he was gritting his teeth Ishida could hear it: a low, quivering moan that vibrated in his throat like the lowest string on a cello.
"Please," he begged, "Please, Uryuu, I can't hold on."
Ishida wrapped his fingers around the nape of his partner's neck and gently squeezed, pulling him down for a kiss.
"Ichigo," he said quietly, and it must have sounded like permission because Ichigo's eyes were on fire as he took hold of Ishida's knees and spread his thighs apart. He buried his face in the crook of Ishida's neck as he eased himself down, dropping his weight onto the archer so that it was skin on skin and nothing else in between.
They were both shuddering as their erections met, hot and hard and unbearably good. Ichigo grinded and Ishida groaned, feeling helpless and powerful as electricity surged through his veins.
He arched his back to meet the next grind, and the effect was good enough to leave them both gasping for air.
Ichigo sped up, driving Ishida into the couch with each thrust so that he had to reach up and grip onto Ichigo's arm.
The Quincy was slightly amused when Ichigo started to curse into his ear again, then quite annoyed when he bit down onto his neck hard enough to leave a bruise for days.
But all thoughts fled his brain as Ichigo took hold of his wrist, pulling their hands between their bodies to wrap around their cocks.
Ichigo thrust harder and harder, pumping his shaft with just enough force to make him see stars; he was beginning to have trouble keeping up as the coil in the pit of his stomach tightened with every stroke and grind.
Ichigo was repeating his name in a sinfully beatific chant but Ishida could hardly hear it over the sound of blood buzzing in his ears.
He dug his nails into Ichigo's biceps, trying to hold off his orgasm, but Ichigo must have noticed because he raised his head to look at him with half-lidded, lust-glazed eyes as his index and thumb found the head of Ishida's penis and pinched.
Ishida's toes were curling, his testis squeezing, his stomach clenching, his eyes unseeing, his mouth forming a cry that he couldn't hear as his release hit him like a roar.
It was letting his very first arrow slip from his fingers and into the air, it was the wind whipping through his hair and the landscape turning a versicolored blur as he runs unnoticed upon rooftops towards his next battle.
It was the pure energy burning in every fiber of his being the first time that he had taken in Ichigo's impossible reiatsu and fired them into the sky.
He became vaguely aware that Ichigo was coming too, his lips parting over clenched teeth to let out a muffled cry, his body shaking as his cock pulsated, letting a sticky warmth bloom between their stomachs.
Ishida felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as Ichigo groaned and collapsed on top of him like a pile of futon. He couldn't be bothered to muster up the strength to dislodge him so he simply leaned his head back against the armrest to lazily inspect the rays of light emanating from his lampshade. His leg was starting to slip off the sofa so he bent his knee and hooked it over Ichigo's.
Ichigo's breath was deep, warm and moist against his neck, his disorderly hair a spiky fuzz between his fingers. The archer chuckled as he pictured him as a Labrador napping with its four legs splayed out and its muzzle nestled in his shoulder.
The shinigami made a pleased noise and mumbled, "What're you thinking about?"
Ishida raised his eyebrows. "That you look like a lazy dog."
Ichigo smiled. "I'd be a home dog."
"You'd get obese," Ishida said, unimpressed.
Ichigo shifted, making their softening cocks rub together, and as if suddenly remembering to be embarrassed they both blushed at the dull spark of residual pleasure that the movement ignited.
The shinigami scooted forward, cradling the back of Ishida's head and pressing a slow kiss to his mouth.
"Uryuu," he murmured happily.
The Quincy scowled. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? You were calling me Ichigo just then."
"Well that was before."
"When we were humping like rabbits you mean."
Ishida reddened whilst Ichigo grinned.
He shoved at Ichigo's chest and ordered, "Kurosaki, do something productive and get yourself cleaned."
Ichigo sighed and reluctantly pushed himself up.
Seeing the rain clouds rolling in Ishida hastily pulled on his pants and wiped the mess off his stomach with his abandoned tee before rushing onto the veranda to bring in the laundry.
"Your jacket is never going to dry at this point," he grumbled as he set the rack in the corner of the room.
"You can keep it if you like," offered Ichigo through an extravagant yawn. He raised his arms above his head and stretched languidly, naked and beautiful like a golden idol.
Ishida stared a little more before saying, "Hurry up and put something on before my neighbors see you."
"Can I borrow your underwear?" asked Ichigo with a wicked grin as he reached for the laundry rack.
He gave his hand a none-too-gentle slap. "They're still wet, stupid. I'll get you a pair from my drawer."
"Lend me a fancy pair."
"Don't be daft, they're all the same."
The shinigami snuck up and wrapped his arms around Ishida's waist.
"Are you staying?" Ishdia asked distractedly as he tried to work out the logistics of showering schedules and sleeping arrangements.
"'Course I'm staying," Ichigo murmured contentedly. "I'm going to stay until you get sick of me, and then I'll turn into a parasite and latch onto your back."
Despite the parasite metaphor Ishida could feel his chest swell at Ichigo's words.
"What I meant was whether you're staying overnight," he corrected with feigned annoyance.
Ichigo's eyes lit up and he asked, "Can I stay till Sunday evening?"
The Quincy frowned. "Well, I suppose. But we have to get up early tomorrow morning to take care of the groceries, and then I need to borrow something from the library."
"Fine by me," Ichigo affirmed, and he pressed his nose into Ishida's hair and nuzzled his temple.
"What is wrong with you, Kurosaki?" he sighed, "Why are you being so clingy?"
"Because I'm happy," he replied simply. "Aren't you?"
Listening to the thrum of Ichigo's heart beneath his ear and breathing in his familiar scent, Ishida closed his eyes and thought, am I?
Ichigo, who is strong but sensitive, impulsive but determined, crude but honest, stubborn but trusting.
Ichigo, who taunts, maddens and enthralls him, who embraces him with a strong, yet yielding reiatsu of pure crimson as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
Of course I am. I have never felt so happy.
But his certainty frightened him, and he could only reach up to press his fingers to Ichigo's jaw, to his soft mouth, to the perpetual crease between his eyebrows, hoping that he would understand.
"I know what you're thinking."
The words were playful, but sincere –and upon seeing the mesmerizing smile on Ichigo's face, Ishida had to smile back.
Owari
A/N: Uh, I think that somehow this was the longest 'chapter' out of all of them. How did that happen? And I'm sorry for updating this about a gazillion times. So many mistakes, ugh!
And I know I mentioned this already, but please read the sequel to this fic, 'Sleep'! It'll make me really happy!