Misconceptions lead to misunderstandings. Written for the New Year's exchange on the ishi-ichi LJ comm.
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Some slight gore, a whole lot of angst, naughty language, and hand jobs
Summary: Misconceptions lead to misunderstandings.
Written for Jadelioness and her prompt:
Ichigo/Ishida getting it on in one of their dad's hospital rooms and dad walks in on them. (Also, medical kink would be GREATLY appreciated :D)
The clinic was dark and the door was locked when he arrived. It wasn’t a huge surprise since it was nearly ten o’clock at night. He could always go around to the front door. Ishida knew the elder Kurosaki would never turn away someone in need, but that meant a risk of running into Ichigo and he would rather not. The blood was beginning to creep through his fingers and run down his hand. It looked like he had two choices right about now- stand out here all night and bleed to death on Ichigo’s doorstep or just bite the bullet and deal with any confrontation that might happen.
His arm felt heavy as he lifted it pound twice on the door. There was no immediate response that he could hear coming from inside the house so Ishida began pushing the button for the doorbell in rapid succession. There was a muffled sound of footfalls coming down the stairs and Ishida felt immediate relief.
“Yeah, yeah…hold on, I’m coming,” an annoyingly familiar voice said on the opposite side of the front door. When it finally opened, Ichigo Kurosaki stood there wearing a loose, dark blue T-shirt and a pair of well-worn, baggy sweat pants.
Ichigo’s eyes narrowed as he recognized his late-night caller. “What do you want?” he practically sneered.
Ishida could have laughed right then. It was almost the exact reaction he had envisioned in his head on his walk over. A million witty retorts zipped through his head, but in the end he settled for, “Oh, not much. I’m just sort of bleeding on your doorstep.”
Ichigo took a step back in shock. Always a little slow on the uptake, but full of genuine concern. “Oh shit! What the hell happened?”
He threw his arm around Ishida’s shoulders and gently guided him into the house, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Fuck…that looks pretty bad. My dad’s not here. He took the girls out to a movie. I have no idea when he’s going to be home.”
Ishida stopped abruptly. “Then I’ll go somewhere else.” He tried to turn and walked back to the front door, but Ichigo blocked the way.
“No!” the orange-haired teen practically shouted then thought better of that and modified his strategy. “No, please stay,” he said in a calmer tone. “Let me take a look at it. I’ve been helping my dad for years now. He’s even let me stitch a few wounds. Please let me take a look at it.”
Ishida gave the other boy a cautious stare, looking for an ulterior motive that he knew wouldn’t be there. Ichigo was nothing if not fiercely loyal to his friends, though Ishida hesitated to use that word to define whatever the relationship between the two of them was. There had been an unspoken understanding between them when they left for Hueco Mundo, but now in the aftermath of Aizen’s war, there was nothing.
The two of them had barely spoken to one another since their return. Ichigo was a ghost at school, a shadow of his former self. The sheer amount of physical injuries he sustained coupled with the imaginable causalities that rocked the Soul Society to its core took their toll on him. From what he heard from Inoue and Sado during that time, Ichigo barely left his bedroom let alone the house. There was a small pang of guilt that Ishida felt for not checking up on him, but the memory of cold steel imbedded in his stomach was something not quickly forgotten, nor was the fear he felt when he looked upon Ichigo’s ultimate Hollow form and saw nothing in its eyes that even remotely resembled the person he thought he knew.
Maybe that was what kept Ichigo away for so long, but Ishida tired not to concern himself with that too much. His own father reminded him of his promise to stay away from Ichigo on an almost daily basis. The fact the Ryuuken had been dragged into the whole mess in the end was something that Ishida knew he would not be living down for a very long time, if ever. It was the least he could do for his father. Ichigo’s cool treatment towards him only made it that much easier.
In the end, Ishida decided to follow Ichigo through the house and into the back entrance to the clinic. He was bleeding heavy enough to know that it was more than just a scratch. This was the easiest solution to his problem.
“Have a seat,” Ichigo said softly, gesturing to the cot in the center of the small, yet efficient room.
Ishida complied and watched as the other teen wandered around the small space, opening drawers and cabinets to collect the various materials he needed. Ichigo set the items down on the raised tray next to him and rolled himself over to the left side of the bed on a low stool.
“Take your shirt off,” he asked softly.
Immediate panic seized Ishida’s lungs. He knew why he was being asked this, but he couldn’t…he couldn’t let Ichigo see. “Absolutely not,” he snapped hoping it would be taken as him trying to preserve his dignity or any other prudish notion he was always being accused of.
Ichigo eyes widened ever-so-slightly to indicate his surprise at the Quincy’s resistance. “I need to look at the wound. Your shirt will be in the way. Not to mention that it’s covered in blood.”
Ah, the practical approach. Just like Ichigo to be as predictable as ever in certain circumstances. “Then you’ll just have to cut off the sleeve,” Ishida replied.
Ichigo glowered for a moment then relented. For all his tenacity during a battle, the substitute Shinigami backed down rather quickly in more intimate settings. Picking up the scissors off the tray, he carefully cut the sleeve of Ishida’s shirt off just below the shoulder seam.
Ishida was doing his best to remain stoic as Ichigo worked, but he couldn’t bite back the pained gasp as the fabric that had begun to stick to wound was pulled free.
“Sorry,” the orange-haired teen murmured softly without looking up.
“It’s okay,” Ishida replied, the words coming automatically.
The two lapsed into a strained silence while Ichigo carefully cleaned the wound. Ishida couldn’t help but marvel at how gentle the other boy’s calloused hands were. It brought back memories of comfort and pleasure that seemed like a lifetime ago. But he didn’t dare let him mind linger there too long. It had been a mistake. They both knew it and circumstances were different now. There was no going back-- no matter how much he may have wanted it deep down in the cloistered part of his heart he locked away from the rest of the world.
“This is no Hollow wound.”
The sudden sound of Ichigo’s voice split the silence like an axe. “Excuse me?”
Ichigo sat up straight to meet the other’s eyes. “This wound. It wasn’t caused by a Hollow. There’s usually a residual trace of reiatsu. I should know; I’ve had plenty of them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looked like a knife wound. You want to tell me what happened?”
“No, not really,” Ishida responded coolly. He was in no mood for this fishing expedition.
Ichigo slammed the gauze he was holding back onto the tray. The resulting clatter nearly knocked the whole thing on the floor. He frowned when Ishida flinched. “Do you trust me?”
That was a loaded question if he ever heard one. Just how far did he trust the other teen? Would he trust Ichigo to have his back in a fight? Absolutely, but that didn’t change the fact that ever since Hueco Mundo things were different. It was true that he had been avoiding the Shinigami since their return and it wasn’t due to his father’s influence. “Yeah…I guess,” he answered cautiously.
Dark blue eyes met and were held by ruddy brown. “Good,” Ichigo said with what Ishida took to be a vague annoyed tone. He then looked away as he gently clasped both hands onto Ishida’s forearm.
Ishida could feel the reiatsu slowly building. It wasn’t erratic or uncontrolled as is usually the case. The spiritual energy was definitely focused at Ichigo’s hands rather than through a conduit like his zanpaktou. The hair on the nape of his neck rose. He didn’t like this one bit. “What are you doing?” he snapped and tried to pull his arm away.
“Relax, will ya?” Ichigo said, again with the annoyed tone. His grip tightened enough so that the dark-haired teen couldn’t yank free, but not hard enough to cause any more pain. “It’s something Hanataro taught me to help heal my wounds fast, well, faster when no one else was around to help. The cut is deep enough to need stitches, but since my dad isn’t here I figured this was the next best thing.”
Healing? Ichigo was healing him? From what he understood of the Fourth Division, it took years to master the healing arts because it not only required the user to be able to focus and direct their reiatsu with pinpoint accuracy, but to also draw out the injured person’s own energy and utilize that as well. As far as he could tell, Ichigo wasn’t drawing anything out of him, but to his utter astonishment the wound began to close. It started with a tugging sensation that quickly progressed in to a burning feeling. Panic set in. “Ah…is it supposed to hurt like that?”
“Yeah, I guess…I don’t really remember,” Ichigo said without looking up.
The burning pain intensified as though someone were cauterizing the wound with a soldering iron. “Ah…fuck! That really hurts, Kurosaki. What the hell are you trying to do?”
The substitute Shinigami didn’t answer. A look of determined concentration settled over his features. Amazingly, the pain began to ebb a few moments later and when Ishida looked down, there was only a faint red line where an open and bleeding wound had been minutes earlier.
“That should do it,” Ichigo stated. He was slightly winded. “I can’t make it disappear like Inoue, but it should heal completely in a week or two.”
Ishida didn’t know what to say. He pushed the glasses up on his nose nervously and muttered a “thank you.” When he met Ichigo’s eyes, they looked heartbroken…as if he was expecting something more. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hopped off. He didn’t want to stick around and run the risk of a bigger confrontation. “Well, I guess I’ll be going now.”
Ichigo said nothing. He just kept staring at the other boy with an expression the Quincy didn’t want to deal with or take responsibility for causing. Ishida had turned and was about to walk out of the clinic when the taller boy was suddenly right behind him. Strong arms wrapped around his chest, preventing him from moving.
“Don’t go.” It was the small voice of a child who was afraid and lonely.
“I have to. I can’t stay.”
“Why?” Ichigo whispered in his ear.
“It’s better this way. You and I both know it.” Ishida was doing his best to stay stern, but the despair that was practically radiating off the other boy made him feel like such a heel for trying to run away.
The grip on Ishida’s chest tightened. “I need you. Everyone’s left me. I’m all alone.”
“That’s not true and you know it, Kurosaki. Sado-kun and Inoue—“
“Chad and Inoue came by for the first few weeks and then they back off too!” Ichigo growled. “Everyone did. It’s like they all didn’t know how to deal with me afterwards…like they were scared of me.”
That took Ishida by surprise. He hadn’t given any consideration to the fact that others, who had no reason to fear Ichigo…not like he did, would bail on him.
“That’s not true. They are your friends, they wouldn’t—“
“But they did!” Ichigo interrupted again. “And you were the worst of them all. They at least did it with smiles, but you threw me to the side the moment we got back. Even after what we shared…I thought we had something special.”
Ishida felt his stomach bottom out. Ichigo’s reiatsu began to feel unstable once again, but not in his usual way. Fear seized his chest. Something was very wrong here. “Now wait just a goddamned second…” he started to argue, but the chance to plead his case never came. There was a sharp pain in his neck and then his body refused to obey his command to stay upright. He crumpled into a heap at Ichigo’s feet. Just before everything went black, he looked up at the other boy standing over him with a syringe in one hand and a scowl on his face.
“I’ll show you, Uryuu…I’ll show you how serious I am.”
He awoke to a sharp, hideous odor burning the inside of his nose. Ishida jerked his head in the opposite direction—a movement that felt like it was happening in slow-motion and his eyes snapped open. He tried to pull away from the stench as Ichigo waved the smelling salt under his nose again, but his body wasn’t responding properly. That was when he realized that he couldn’t move his arms or legs because they had been tied down and one Kurosaki Ichigo sat atop him straddling his hips.
“That’s it. Come back to me, Ishida.”
He tried to focus his eyes on the shadowy figure hovering over him. “Wha…what’s going on?” Ishida slurred. Even his tongue felt sluggish. Blinking a few more times to try and clear the haze, it dawned on him that his glasses were gone and that was why Ichigo’s face was still blurry.
The orange-haired boy placed the smelling salt on the bedside tray and then leaned his face in very close to Ishida’s. “Are you okay? It was a mild sedative so you shouldn’t feel too out of sorts for much longer.”
“No, I’m not fucking okay,” the Quincy raged, pulling hard on the bindings securing his wrists to the bedrails and found them to be quite sound. “You drugged me and now have me tied to the bed. This constitutes kidnapping, Kurosaki Ichigo. If you don’t untie me right now, I’m going to--”
Ichigo frowned and back off a bit. “Going to what? Attack me?” He leaned in once again and began to pet Ishida’s face gently with the back of his hand. “Don’t say things like that. This was the only way you were going to stay here and talk to me. And besides, you won’t be able to do anything without that.”
Ishida’s eyes tracked over in the direction Ichigo motioned with his head and saw his glasses folded neatly on the tray beside the bed and his Quincy cross draped over them. Oh shit. Not only was he rendered immobile, he was powerless as well. His heart was beating against his ribcage like a frightened bird. He had to be calm and level-headed about this situation. Clearly Kurosaki was not in the right state of mind and if he wasn’t careful he might end up making things much worse. Ishida pulled away, or attempted to, when the other boy started caressing his face again. “What do you want?” he asked carefully.
Ichigo smiled down at him as though he were pleased by the Quincy acquiescence. “I want to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them,” he said simply. Ishida didn’t respond, but he proceeded anyway. “I want to know how you got that wound.”
Ishida narrowed his eyes. Of all the things he could have been asked, this one, so far, was relatively harmless. “I was mugged walking back to my apartment. Don’t know who they were, but they weren’t much older than we are. One of them had a knife…caught me by surprise.”
“Mugged?” Ichigo asked with genuine concern in his voice. “Why would someone try to mug you?”
“Where have you been these last two years? I get harassed at least twice every school year… though I doubt these guys were students.” He watched as Ichigo’s widened in surprise. “I guess people assume I’m an easy mark because of how I look,” he continued.
“I know that feeling.”
Of course Kurosaki would. Having natural bleach-orange hair in a country of jet-black tended to make one stick out. Ishida received his fair share of insults and abuse about his blue eyes.
Ichigo’s hands left his face and slid down his neck to toy with the collar of his button-down shirt. “Stop that,” Ishida said as he squirmed around helplessly.
“But I like touching you,” Ichigo said with a frown. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been thinking you—us a lot lately.”
“There is no us, Kurosaki,” he replied coldly. “There never was. You’re deluding yourself if you th—“ He cut off whatever he was about to say when a fist slammed down next to his head.
“You can stop the act, Uryuu,” Ichigo said sternly as he leaned down so close that their noses were almost touching.
The use of his first name gave Ishida more pause than the fist that was a scant millimeter from his ear. The only other time Ichigo called him that was when they were alone in his room for that one night two days before Inoue was taken to Hueco Mundo. They had both been so desperately in need of comfort, a connection that their passion had taken over.
“You can’t say that you didn’t want it as much as I did,” Ichigo continued. “You’ve been going out of your way to avoid me.”
“I’m not the one who locked himself in his room for a month straight.” It was a low blow and Ishida knew it. Ichigo not only nearly lost his life, but almost lost his humanity to the Hollow inside him. The devastation was more than any one person should have been asked to bear.
Ichigo practically howled in anger, rearing up only to shove his hand down on Ishida’s thin neck and squeeze. “I did it all for my family and friends so they wouldn’t have to be hurt. I did it for you! You treated it like a mistake, like my love for you was a fucking mistake!”
“Please,” Ishida choked out. “Please…you’re hurting me.”
In his blind rage, Kurosaki was deaf to the smaller boy’s plea. “I’ll show you, Uryuu. I’ll show you how much I love you.”
With the hand still firmly logged around Ishida’s throat, Ichigo reached with the other to grab hold of the blood-stained shirt and yanked it open. Buttons went flying and hit the tile floor with a soft plastic clatter. Once the shirt was taken care of, Ichigo began to fumble with the belt buckle of Ishida’s pants.
The Quincy gave an all-out struggle to free himself. Thrashing wildly and bucking his hips in an attempt to get free. He could feel Ichigo’s erection grinding against his hip. “Not like this….please, Ichigo, not like this. This isn’t you! This isn’t like you, it’s like Him!”
That made Ichigo stop dead in his tracks. The expression on his face morphed quickly from one of anger to one of profound confusion and then the realization of what was happening sunk in. Red-brown eyes went impossibly wide as if he had just woken up to a nightmare. “Uryuu? Oh, my god, Uryuu I’m so sorry. I—I don’t know what came over me.”
“Just untie me,” Ishida snapped. The shame rolling off the other boy as he tore through the layers of surgical tape was palpable, but Ishida was too angry to care. As soon as he was free, he jumped off the bed and grabbed his glasses and cross. His shirt was ruined, but he didn’t care. Getting out of this room as quickly as possible superseded all.
“It wasn’t Him just then,” Ichigo called out to him when he reached the doorway. Ishida stopped and looked over his shoulder at the substitute Shinigami. Ichigo continued without looking up, “I take full responsibility. I was in control, but I let my frustration get the better of me. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know you must hate me now.”
“You just attempted to rape me. I think ‘hate’ is too nice a word for what I feel.” Ishida knew he should have just left without saying anything, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Was it really so horrible…that night?”
The pain in Ichigo’s voice tore through Ishida’s heart like a scalpel. He should be leaving this place and never returning and yet he found himself walking over to stand directly in front of the person who was just attacking him moments earlier. “Look at me, Ichigo.” A pair of forlorn eyes gazed up at him. “That night was not horrible, but you and I both know that it should not have happened. There are too many reasons for us to be apart then there are for us to stay together.”
“Your father?” Ichigo asked.
“He’s one of them, but not the only one.”
Realization brightened Ichigo’s eyes suddenly. “You’re afraid of me. I detected a little in everybody else, but I guess I was too blinded to see it. You are afraid of me. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me since the war.”
The nail was hit squarely on the head and Ishida could do nothing to deny that statement. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving.” Escape was the only option.
Ichigo grabbed his wrist and spun him back around to face him. “No, you’re not leaving until we straighten this out.” Blue light began to coalesce around Ishida’s right wrist. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, I just want to talk this out,” he quickly added and let go.
Ishida released some of the energy, but kept the cross held tightly in his palm. “What’s there to talk about? Being around you got a sword run through my gut as thanks. Do you think I want to put in that situation again…or worse, dead?”
“That wasn’t me, I mean; technically it was, but not the me that you know. The one who made love—“
“Shut up! That was you. He’s inside you somewhere.” Ishida took a deep breath before continuing. “I looked into your eyes that day on Los Noches, Kurosaki Ichigo, and what I saw was not human. A part of you died that day and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be there to take another sword from you.”
“Is that what you think?” Ichigo seemed genuinely shocked by this. “Then you can rest easy because the Hollow is gone.”
It was Ishida’s turn to be rocked to the core. “What?!”
Ichigo took a few steps backwards and flopped down onto the bed. “It took everything I had to beat Aizen. Whatever power my Hollow gave me was the price I paid to win. It’s gone now…I went supernova and then burnt out, I guess. Urahara seems to think that with time and some training I can get a handle on my natural powers, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as powerful as I once was.”
There was something so profoundly sad about that revelation. Victory always comes at a price…Ishida knew that all too well, but it seemed so very wrong for this to have happened to Ichigo. He had always given so much of himself without question. He should never have had to make such a sacrifice. Ishida’s hand unconsciously rubbed the star-shaped scar on his chest through what was left of his shirt.
Ishida closed the distance between them in a few short steps. “Ichigo?” He waited for the other to look up and them took hold of the sword-calloused hand and guided it under his shirt and over his heart. “We’ve all made sacrifices for what we believe in. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Ichigo’s eyes followed along his arm to where his hand was resting. What he saw made him flinch and pull back, but Ishida kept his grip firm. “Did I do that?”
“No, this was my sacrifice to get my powers back,” Ishida replied. His grip softened and Ichigo’s hand slid free.
“It’s beautiful,” Ichigo whispered as he ran his fingertips over each point. He wrapped both arms around the smaller boy’s back and pulled him close so that he could press his lips to the scar. A small gasp that turned into a throaty moan escaped Ishida. “Where did my sword stab you?”
“Lower,” Ishida said and then groaned when Ichigo’s tongue trailed a path down to the hollow of his stomach just above his navel.
“There is no scar,” Ichigo stated matter-of-factly as gently nipped and sucked. “Inoue does great work.”
Ishida offered no resistance this time when Ichigo pulled him down onto the bed and settled over him.
“Are you okay with this?”
Ishida nodded. The ability to form words having momentarily fled along with whatever apprehension he had been harboring all this time over Kurosaki. It wasn’t pity that had him grinding his hips up and writhing like a snake underneath Ichigo’s talented mouth, it was relief. He never wanted to hate the other boy once the two of them had gotten closer, but the fear that Ichigo’s inner Hollow elicited was more powerful than any threat his father, or anyone for that matter, could have made.
“Ah, shit,” Ichigo cursed softly, breaking away from their heated kiss. “I don’t have anything down here that we can use for lube.
“Don’t worry about it.” The hand that he slid into Kurosaki’s pants ensured that request would be followed. “We can do that later. For now, let’s just enjoy this.”
He couldn’t speak for Ichigo, but Ishida was so surprisingly wound up already that he knew he couldn’t last much longer. It was as if all of his pent up fear that had eventually turned into anger blossomed so completely into full-blown passion the moment their lips connected that he knew sex between them wouldn’t last very long.
Ichigo followed suit and unbuckled Ishida’s pants and pulled them down far enough for him to gain access to the wondrously engorged erection hidden there. Ishida’s hands interlocked with his own and the two formed a tunnel around each other’s cocks as they slowly started to grind against one another. It didn’t take long for the pace to pick up and become more fervent and chaotic. Ishida came first, arching his back as graceful as a longbow and spilling his seed between their bodies. Ichigo lasted a few more strokes before he too gave in and collapsed beside Ishida. They cuddled silently in the afterglow just enjoying each other’s company for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
“We can do more later up in my room, “Ichigo said sleepily and placed a kiss on Ishida’s forehead.
“Mmmm…that sounds ni—“
“Ichigo! Are you alrigh—AHHH!!!”
The two boys’ heads whipped towards the direction of the noise to see Kurosaki Isshin standing in the doorway. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates. He quickly got a hold of himself and jumped back out into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” he called out. “I saw a few drops of blood on the floor and I was worried.”
“It’s okay, dad. Uryuu had a cut on his arm, but I took care of it.” Ichigo yelled back.
“Oh, okay. That’s good.” There was a short silence before Isshin added, “It’s good to see that you two are back together.”
“Get the hell out of here, you perverted old man!”
Ishida could feel his cheeks redden in embarrassment. The two of them sat there in shock unmoving.
“No way that just happened,” Ichigo said.
Ishida laughed softly. “It’s the perfect ending to what had to be the strangest day of my life. If someone would have told me when I woke up this morning that I was going to be mugged, attacked by my pseudo-ex-boyfriend, only to them make up with said boyfriend, engage in some very heavy petting, and then have boyfriend’s father walk in on us, I would have punched them in the face for being a liar.”
He looked over to Ichigo who had a grin that went from ear to ear. “What?”
“You just said I was your boyfriend.”
Ishida snuggled into the crook of Ichigo’s arm a little more. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
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