Posed to Death

Beware of the angst ahead.

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His dad has his nose in his book, looking up on occasion to make sure that his son didn’t run off with some stranger.

Uryuu knew his father was protective of him, he just didn’t like showing it.

He swung his legs easily on the swing, pushing him higher and higher into the air, and he jumped off the swing as soon as his father wasn’t looking. The older Quincy hated it when he endangered himself like that, but he found it almost thrilling.

He saw a child about his age sitting watching him in awe, and he folded his arms across his chest.

Just as he was going to demand what this orange-haired boy wanted with him, he got his answer.

“Teach me how to do that!”

When Ryuken looked up next, the two were quarreling together on the swings, bickering about who could go higher.

The chocolate brown eyes of the orange-haired child were so much like Isshin’s.

His heart twisted in his chest as he saw the beautiful woman watching over the two of them, and he knew why the boy looked like his old lover.

It was his son.

The woman looked over at him, and he looked straight down into his book, his heart throbbing painfully. But he could already hear the soft clicking of heels against the tarmac as the woman made her way towards him.

"Hello." Masaki's voice was always calm and tender, much like the soft breeze of a summer gale, wisping over the waters of the bay and turning the waves to lap tenderly against the shores.

She sat down next to Ryuken on the bench, and she audibly gasped as Ichigo made a horrific leap, defying gravity, off the swing. She didn't cry out to him however, and she kept her hands primly held in her lap.

"Sometimes, it hurts to let them learn on their own, doesn't it?" Masaki's beautiful hazel eyes turned to the man, and she smiled sweetly, compassion radiating off of her like a beacon.

"You own the hospital, right? Ishida Ryuken-san? Isn't that your name?" She extended a delicate hand, and smiled brighter, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I am Kurosaki Masaki. My husband, Isshin, owns the small emergency clinic just up the street.” She pointed to the orange haired boy playing with what seemed to be Ryuken's son.

"That is my son Ichigo. Isshin's son too, of course." And she giggled, the sound light and tender as tinkling Buddist bells on the wind.

Ryuken closed his book out of politeness, and shook Masaki's hand. It was soft, moisturized, not at all like his scalpel-calloused hands.

"Hai… It's a pleasure to meet you, Kurosaki-san." He smiled softly, the best he could manage even after all these years.

And in the face of the woman that took his lover away from him, it was even harder to smile.

"My son, Uryuu.” He made a deft motion with his hand towards his young son, who had followed Ichigo’s example and leaped off the swing. “I've given up on keeping him out of trouble, it seems to follow him around everywhere."

He managed a soft laugh, the sound almost strained, much different to Masaki's soft tinkling giggle.

"It's difficult, raising a child, isn't it? My wife died many years ago, when Uryuu was only small, and my father helped me, until he passed on as well. It's been just me and Uryuu for years now, and I think he's starting to find it hard to make friends. It's good to see him playing with someone his own age... he spends so much time with adults nowadays that he's much too mature for his own good."

Masaki suddenly laughed, the sound of it even stopping spirits around to listen to the musical sound. Ichigo paused in his arguing with Uryuu to listen, and he grinned before turning back and finishing what he was explaining.

"Oh my, they do grow quickly, don't they? My beautiful Ichigo claims he can 'see ghosts' and I believe he's truly gifted. He says they come to him when they're sad." She smiled softly. "Maybe he is mature in his own way."

Masaki seemed rather proud of the fact that Ichigo could see ghosts, and she made no attempt to hide what might have been a superstitious belief in any other man's eye. Ichigo growled something at Uryuu in a scowl, his tiny eyebrows drawing up as his bottom lip puffed out.

"Mommy, what does s-s-sen-island mean?"

His warm chocolate eyes graced her face, and she smiled. Ichigo's eyes flickered to Ryuken's eyes, not unlike the glance of confusion Isshin would issue him when he said something beyond the Shinigami's understanding.

"Senile? It means crazy, my love." Masaki offered with a gentle smile. Ichigo's eyes widened and he suddenly turned to Ishida, pointing a finger.

"I AM NOT CRAZY!"

Ryuken couldn't help but laugh, pulling Uryuu towards him and scolding him lightly, and Uryuu made a soft huffing sound, all movement seizing for a moment before the bespectacled boy tapped the side of Ichigo's hand.

"Tag, you're it!"

The boys took off again, and out of nervous habit, Ryuken rubbed his wrists, feeling the clumsily-wrapped bandages underneath his white button-up shirt. He was tempted to comment on Ichigo's similarity to his father, but seeing as Ryuken 'hadn't met' Isshin, he decided not to.

"My Uryuu says he sees monsters. His grandfather encouraged it while he was still young, and I suppose it's stuck with him until now. He's trying to learn Spanish, because he says that's what they speak. The imagination of a child stretches far, doesn't it?"

Masaki opened her mouth to say something to the kind man, but the moment she did, a howl of laughter came from down the street, and a boisterous man with two tiny babies in a stroller called out for Ichigo.

The little orange haired boy screamed out something about ice cream and amusement park rides as he went careening into his father’s outstretched arms, high pitched giggles and playful tugs at thick, silken locks accompanying the ridiculous amount of noise.

He wasn’t as heavy as he had been, his muscles slimming down to a beautiful, athletic body, and the previous indecision and worry in his chocolate eyes seemed to have died away, leaving only compassion and calm in its wake.

Until he looked up to see who Masaki was seated with.

Time stopped for him, and he stared, his beautiful expression melting away to sheer shock, and even Ichigo paused, his bottom lip pouting out.

“Daddy…what’s wrong?”

Isshin shook his head gently and set his son down on the ground as he wheeled the stroller with two sleeping infants into the park and paused to give Masaki a kiss. She smiled sweetly at her husband and stood.

“Honey, this is the owner of the hospital.” Her hazel eyes sparkled lightly. “His name is Ishida Ryuken-san.”

Isshin stiffened, but he didn’t show any unpleasantness as he extended a broad hand…a hand that knew the curves of Ryuken’s body so well. “Pleased to meet you, Ishida-san.”

Ryuken swallowed as he caught sight of Isshin, hiding the sorrow in his eyes and holding a completely stoic gaze as he shook his former lover's hand, meeting his gaze for only a split second.

"And you, Kurosaki-san."

His hand slipped from Isshin's quickly, looking towards Uryuu and calling him to his side. His hair was white from stress, although his dark eyes shined still with a constant demand for respect and undertones of gentleness. Although, they were ever so slightly glassed with tears.

He bowed low to the couple, smiling gently at the babies in the stroller. "It was a pleasure meeting you both." He murmured softly, walking away almost stiffly.

Although, Uryuu turned and looked up at his father as they walked, and noticed the tears that streaked his face.

"...Papa? Why're you crying?" Ryuken looked down at his son and wiped them away, his smile forced and ever-so fake. “…It doesn’t matter, Uryuu.”

But this was a day he'd been dreading for so long - a day that he'd dreaded so much it had caused the deep scars across his wrists. His son was the only person that kept him alive... no-one else mattered enough to him. Or maybe it hadn't been dread that had filled him as he held Isshin's hand for those brief moments.

Maybe it had been... love.

Before Isshin had a chance to object, Masaki bounded after Ryuken and touched his shoulder, the sheen of tears catching her eye.

She was a receptive woman, and her hazel eyes softened as she realized that the spark of stress in her husband’s eyes and the tears in Ryuken’s was not a simple coincidence.

They knew each other.

“Ishida-san.” She paused behind him, hands clasping in front of her, and she smiled her sweet, loving smile, inviting and tender. “Please come and have dinner with us. I know that your wife has been with the angels for sometime…” She looked away nervously. “I’m sure Uryuu-kun would enjoy time with Ichigo?” Masaki looked almost hopeful, her eyes shining

“And I’m sure it’s been a while…since you’ve spoken to a family socially. Please come and eat with us at dark.”

Ichigo was still clinging to his father, but he nodded at Uryuu. “Yeah! Come over!” Isshin sighed softly.

Silly Masaki. She really had no clue what she was doing, and he loved her for her compassion.

“Please, Ishida-san. My wife enjoys cooking for others. It would upset her if ya didn’t accept.”

Ryuken quickly wiped away his tears before he turned to face Masaki, a soft, forced smile on his face.

Uryuu tugged on his father's sleeve, a pleading look on his face. The older Quincy ruffled his son’s hair, meeting Masaki's gentle eyes with his own.

"I'd love to, Kurosaki-san." Uryuu's bright eyes lit up, a wide smile on his face. It had been much too long since either of them had eaten with someone else casually, much too long since Uryuu had eaten something that his father hadn't made.

"I'll be there for dark, and if I can't make it, I'll drop Uryuu over. It's been too long since he's had a friend to eat with." The young Quincy was grinning widely, and bowed rather enthusiastically with his father before the two of them walked away.

Ryuken couldn't believe he'd agreed.

: ~*~*~*~*~

That night, the house was in an uproar, Masaki pleased with distinguished guests on their way, and Ichigo running around with a wooden katana, playfully batting Isshin in the backs of the knees with it as the big former captain took care of two of his beautiful daughters who lay cooing in matching bassinets.

He looked up to Masaki who was happily singing in the kitchen while she cooked, and he smiled lightly.

She would never know what pain she’d drudged up, but it wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t blame her for being kind hearted as always.

Isshin tenderly laid a kiss on Yuzu’s head before standing and going outside under the pretense of escorting his guest inside so that he knew which door to go to, but he stood outside and lit a cigarette, his chocolate eyes shimmering with nervousness.

He’d been beautiful still in his age. His hair was white, but his skin was still porcelain and fine, and he still wore the same cologne, and the same glint of pride was still in his olive eyes. Isshin took a long drag off the stick before sighing.

“Pet, what have you done?”

Uryuu had run ahead of Ryuken, and the elder Quincy saw the deep, polite bow his son gave to Isshin before being pointed in the correct direction for the door. He heard Ichigo's playful roar, and then the screaming of children as chaos ensued.

"...I'm not your pet anymore, Isshin. I stopped being your pet when you left me in that room." He whispered softly, his dark eyes shimmering with the unshed tears he'd held back for so long. "I'm no-one's pet any more. Were it not for my son, I wouldn't have allowed myself life."

He didn't allow Isshin to respond, instead pulling his former lover's head down for a deep kiss, something filled with indescribable passion. The tears poured down his face, and he sobbed softly against the Isshin’s lips, gripping hiss coat with tight fists and burying his face into the former captain's neck.

“Oh, Gods, Isshin, I missed you.”

Isshin could feel the world spin out form under him as Ryuken’s taste exploded in his mouth. His tongue battled tenderly and then almost brutally, tears forming in his own chocolate depths but not spilling over. Quickly, his long fingers wrapped around the slight shoulders of his former lover, and he pushed Ryuken back ever so slightly, his breath coming in hot pants, heated and sweet against the doctor’s face.

“What are you doing, Ishida-kun?” He whispered softly.

Neither of them noticed the curtains moving in the kitchen or the sad, tender smile that Masaki wore as she turned away from the sight of her husband in a man’s arms. So that was their secret.

Isshin leaned down and brushed his fingers through Ryuken’s silver locks and smiled grimly. “What happened to you?” He whispered.

Ryuken swallowed against Isshin’s neck, calming himself before he dared look at the man he once called his lover again.

“A lot has happened to me, Isshin. Negative, positive…”

He laid his hand on Isshin’s cheek, the familiar feeling of stubble underneath his palm soothing and yet so disturbing.

“I had to get the scar tattooed over. It was too macabre… If Uryuu ever saw, I’m not sure what I’d do.” He whispered, his expression one of pain as he pulled back from Isshin completely.

“I can’t face your wife. Not again, not after this. I hoped I’d never see you again… so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. So that I couldn’t confess to myself that I still love you, even after what you did to me.”

Tears came in another heady flow, and Ryuken gave Isshin one last look before he walked away. He couldn’t stand to look at Isshin any longer… he didn’t belong to him.

Not anymore.

Isshin watched Ryuken go, his chocolate eyes losing their gleam of momentary happiness. He turned to open the door to urge Uryuu after his father, but instead, he was faced with a beautiful, sadly smiling Masaki as she held out two boxed dinners and a tender touch on his cheek. "It seems that the two of you have a lot of catching up to do, my love." She offered the bottle of wine with the dinners and gave them to Isshin whose eyes were wide with wonder. "Enjoy yours self. Uryuu can play here for tonight. There's plenty of room." She whispered softly. Isshin was suddenly overcome with love, and he realized at that exact moment that the woman that loved him, loved him enough to allow him to bid his demons goodbye. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, and he turned to walk away.

In a few minutes, he was approaching the retreating Ryuken and he reached out and grabbed his shoulder with his free hand. "Quincy, I didn't say you could leave." The commanding, sexual tone was back in his voice, and he gazed down at Ryuken with burning eyes. "You haven't eaten yet." And he moved down and crashed his lips against the Quincy's, sending him up against a nearby brick wall with a crack.

Before he got him home, he would be sure to make him breathless with his kisses.

Ryuken gasped as he was forced against the wall with a passionate kiss – one so completely Isshin that he bit the inside of his cheek a bit too hard, the taste of blood filling their kiss as Ryuken parted his lips, his eyes closing in the heat of the moment.

The pain that throbbed through him, from the harsh hit to his back and the bite in his cheek, reminded him what he’d almost forgotten – he was alive. The Quincy wrapped his arms around Isshin’s neck, responding almost violently into the kiss, trying to provoke Isshin as he had done a few times in the past. When he wanted the pain – more, lots.

He couldn’t get enough of the feeling – eight years was a long time. Too long for his comfort, anyway. He really didn’t care what Isshin did to him tonight… so long as he wasn’t scarred as terribly as he had been before.

Isshin was out of his mind with desire, but he pulled away, licking his lips, savoring the bloody taste on his tongue before grabbing Ryuken and nearly dragging him down the street to an empty, quiet mansion on the street corner where Ryuken had hidden away from society for years.

He opened the door without asking, and he pulled Ryuken inside, setting the lunches on the floor with the wine. He wasted no time in nearly throwing Ryuken down onto the stairs and covering him with his body, lips meeting lips in a clash of passion, desire, and desperation.

He was ripping Ryuken's clothes from his body, and the moment his hand smoothed over the pale skin, he jerked back, stumbling off the stairs, his back pressed to the door.

"I-I can't..." He panted. "M-Mas-aki..." But it was all too apparent in his chocolate eyes and the obvious arousal that he didn't want to stop.

"Ryuken...I-I can't stand seeing you and not being able to touch you!" He turned to leave, his hand on the door, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. "My god, I've missed you..." He whispered.

"Then don't see me... or touch me." Ryuken was half-dressed, his shirt discarded and his pants unbuttoned from Isshin's ministrations.

He tightened the safety pins in the bandages around his wrists, looking over at Isshin and debating lighting a cigarette before he decided against it, moving towards his former lover and laying a warm hand on his still clothed back.

"I've missed you too, Isshin. So very much, my love." He didn't let the tears begin, this time, merely standing behind Isshin and letting him vent. He'd either leave, or he'd stay, and that was up to Isshin. It had been just him and his hand for the past eight years - he'd last tonight should he want to leave.

"As soon as your hand leaves the handle of the door, I'll know you want to stay. That's your admission to me, Isshin. That's the admission that you're going to stay here with me for as long as you can bare to touch me."

Ryuken's voice was low, but not seductive, merely a stoic mask that he'd kept up for his clients and co-workers. His voice could no longer be seductive - not after all these years of not speaking to a lover.

Isshin’s fingertips caressed down the side of the doorknob, and he paused, his dark eyes closing in a mock silence of what he wanted to say. He wanted to let the words spill out of his mouth so that he could admit how much he truly loved the man, and how much he’d truly missed him, but his grip didn’t leave the doorknob until the note of hopelessness seeped into Ryuken’s voice.

He couldn’t bear it. He turned from the door, and his fingers tangled in the silver hair, tilting the man’s head back so he could look deeply into his eyes and search them for the hope he’d been so used to before. When he didn’t find it, he made a vow to put it there before he left.

“Damn you and your pride, Ryuken. You always want me to crawl to you, and I always do.” He quieted and brushed a light kiss across the Quincy’s lips. “The only Quincy in the entire existence of Soul Society that has had his very own captain at his feet.”

Ryuken's stoic outer layers began to break away, one by one, until he could almost smile at the Shinigami.

"Perhaps my expectancy has begun to pay off." His hands rested on Isshin's shoulders, his emotionless eyes hardly fitting for the emotion, the hope that he spoke of.

"I've been waiting all these years for you, Isshin. In fact... not a day has gone by when I haven't thought about you, wondering if I'd ever see you again." He longed so deeply for one of their slow kisses, ones that they'd share after an argument, once that would lead to Isshin holding him close and apologizing. His pride stopped him, but he refrained from looking away.

"I've missed you. You've been gone... far too long." He whispered softly, his empty eyes showing the sheen of sorrow and regret before the salty tears began to pour down his cheeks, and then his eyes closed, his head dropping slightly. He was being selfish, and he was hurting Isshin and his family. He was hurting his own son.

"...I want to forgive you, Isshin. I do... I just don't know how." The Quincy's voice wasn't even trembling, barely showing the sliver of sorrow. "Tell me."

Isshin leaned forward and caught the smaller man’s lips in one of his soulful kisses, a slow, whispering movement that always seemed to calm Ryuken and cause him to melt into his arms.

His large, now smooth hands ran over the other doctor’s back in a soothing motion as his tongue tangled with Ryuken’s, and when he broke the kiss, he gazed down into the dull, olive eyes with burning chocolate depths. He couldn’t stand to see nothing in those magnificent where before there had been hope, spirit, and pride.

“Stop holding onto the past and look towards the future.” He whispered. Another kiss was initiated, and this time, Isshin was tugging at the Quincy’s suit jacket and loosening his tie and pulling it off completely with practiced fingers that had never forgotten his lover’s wardrobe preferences.

Ryuken let his clothes fall to the floor, unbuttoning Isshin's plain white shirt slowly, pushing it off his broad shoulders and running his fingertips over the muscle that had built up there, having to grip hold of Isshin as he was taken by surprise by a soft tweak of one of his nipples, breaking the kiss ever so slightly to whimper his delight before leaning back into it again.

Isshin was right - he had to let go of the past. But looking towards the future would mean thinking of his lover leaving him once again... so, not just yet.

The tears continued to trickle down his face, but he refused to sob, refused to let his sorrow take over him as it had done over and over again in the past, compelling him to draw the razors across his skin, to pull back the skin and stick his hands into a full bathtub, watching the water dye itself red.

And then, he'd hear his son's voice asking him what was taking him so long - and on the occasion, he'd see Isshin's scowling, disapproving face above him, and it reminded him there was still a reason to live.

There was still reasons to continue living this life, and one was pushing his clothes away from his body, kissing him like there would be no tomorrow. Which, in a sense, there wouldn't be.

Suddenly, Isshin was pulling away, leaving a lingering kiss on his lover’s lips, his chocolate eyes burning softly as he pulled his shirt back on over his shoulders. “Here’s your hope.”

He whispered. He leaned down and kissed Ryuken one more time, ignoring the confusion in the other’s eyes as he buttoned up his shirt and ran a tender hand up his beloved’s chest, admiring the pale skin.

“We will finish this someday. I’ll come back to you when you’re not even expecting it, and we’ll talk about old times, and you’ll tell me about your son, and I’ll tell you about mine.” He leaned forward and nibbled Ryuken’s ear gently.

“And then…we’ll finish this…and make love over and over again. That will be your hope, pet.” With that, he pulled back and smiled, and he exited the house, not even looking behind him, but an idiot could tell that he had a relaxed, gentle smile on his lips.

Ah, yes. That was true hope.

The door clicking shut snapped Ryuken out of his daze, and only a few moments later, he collapsed back onto the staircase, his hands delving into his pants and massaging his swollen organ, gentle gasps leaving his lips.

And minutes later, when he climaxed with a low groan, he looked down at his bandaged wrists, and then at the door. The Quincy stood and walked to the bathroom, washing the white, translucent fluid off his hands.

The water continued to run, and his eyes darted to the blades he'd put carefully out of Uryuu's reach, and he washed the dried blood off them, hating the way his wrists ached as he put them back on the shelf. Some hope that was.

An unstable truth, one that Isshin could discard and live his life as he did with his wife and children. His hands clenched, and he yanked the cold tap to full, the water spattering on the porcelain sink and soaking his chest and he took a handful and splashed his face with it, over and over again, trying to get Isshin out of his mind.

There was no hope for him - he'd always love the Shinigami, and he'd always hate himself for it.

He always had done.


AN// Hope you enjoyed this.