Theatrical Masks

Title// Theatrical Masks
Author// R. Brightside
Inspired by// Mike Ness/Chuck Palahniuk
Pairing// Iss/Ryu with references to HET, lykomg. (It’s canon considering as Ichigo and Uryuu have been created in some womb or another, and as much as I’d love to ignore it and pretend that Ryuken has a womb, I can’t x_x)
Warnings// Mentioned het (brief), mentions of drugs, violence, and a great big dose of humor that makes no sense. Oh, yeah, and don’t forget the bipolar sex.

AN// Social Distortion is my not so guilty love, as is Mike Ness. Oh, the tattoos… -swoon-

-cough- Anyway. The fact I have Morikawa Toshiyuki (Isshin’s seiyuu (amongst others) for those who don’t know) singing ‘Love me Tender’ on my playlist with a whole lot of Mike Ness doesn’t really help. (This fic was originally going to be put to Ball and Chain, but then I decided I liked this better…)

Come on, sing along! Love me tender, love me- -bricked-

Yeah, kay. On with the fic…

And before you start: HUGE OUT OF CHARACTER WARNING. I only just noticed how bad the characters are, but there you go. Have fun reading anyway, I hope?

Happy late Valentines, everybody! Enjoy this nothing.

--

Ten years, a thousand years – it didn’t seem to make much difference to the two men. One Shinigami, the other a Quincy, and it was strange how the difference seemed to change differently according to their timeline. Meaning it felt like hardly ten years to the Shinigami and a thousand to the mortal Quincy.

Friends, then ‘friends with benefits’ (or ‘sex friend’ as Isshin had put it, quite vulgarly) , and then finally the both of them had collapsed into the pit of ‘lovers’. A vulgar pit in which everyone had their own little bubble of ‘love’ that stank of something different. Theirs, his and Isshin’s, in particular smelt like fermenting roses and the same bleach that Ryuken used for their bed sheets.

Although, if he stepped out of his bubble for just a minute (still drenched in the stench of it) and took a moment to observe other’s bubbles, he would smell different things for different people.

Some smelt like congealed blood, others smelt like sweat, and others smelt sweet and dandy. They were always the ones that hid something – he vaguely remembered the smell of his bed just after vigorous sex (it was never, ever ‘lovemaking’. The word sickened him to the depths of his stomach, which is why Isshin chose to use it so often with him in conversation) with his wife, and he remembered that theirs had smelt like… melted chocolate, mixed with a pungent smell he liked to think of as urine. But, no, it was the compost that their cleaner had hidden under the bed out of spite of them. And masking it all was the not-so-blissful smell of sweat.

It was then that Ryuken was jerked back into reality, and he winced at the throbbing of his nose (which he distinctly remembered being punched with a broad hand), and tried to tug on the empty bottle of alcohol that rested between them.

They knew they were getting odd looks.

They would have been surprised if they hadn’t been getting any, for that matter. After all, it’s not every day you see a pair of full-grown men glaring at each other over the neck of an empty bottle of gin with blood staining their faces from the nostrils down.

Especially not in Karakura town – bloody noses and glaring insomniac eyes were for the younger half of their community, hardly for men in their forties as Isshin and Ryuken were – and hardly for men in their forties wearing expensive suits.

But that was the last thing Ryuken was pissed about.

This was the third time that Isshin had broken his nose during their relationship. Two of these were Isshin punching him. The first was when Isshin pushed his head far too forcefully into the headrest of the bed – Isshin had laughed about it at first, and then hadn’t at all when Ryuken had punched him directly in the face.

If he remembered rightly, they had glared at each other for the rest of the night in exactly the same fashion as they were right at this moment.

It was always him that crumbled first, however. It was always him that would yank Isshin forward by the tie, their lips connecting over a bottle that shattered between their chins digging miniscule shards into their skin and flesh.

And then they would pull back from their kiss with another glare, pulling the glass out of each other’s chins, laying the bottle down, and then resuming their kiss, making up (and out, as Isshin would chortle with his odd, mutated sense of humor. Ryuken had once said ‘odd and mutated, like your face’, and that had been the cause of his second nose breakage, thanks to one too many fucking alcoholic drinks. Ryuken could trace almost all of their relationship problems back to beer, fine wine, vodka, daiquiri, or one too many glasses of spiked punch. Their wives were not an alcohol, however, so they could not blame everything on drink alone) silently with the exclusion of the wet sounds of their tongues slipping against each other, and their lips sliding with drunk precision off the other before a hand would hold the other’s jaw in place so that the slightly lesser drunk would not have to follow the other drunkard towards and away from the table and onto the floor.

However, once everything was done, the other would say something stupid, and the table would go flying and they’d launch themselves at each other like coiled springs, hissing and spitting blood at the other’s face whilst snarling insults and obscenities, legs flailing and fists flying at each other’s stomachs and faces, hoping that an already-broken nose could be broken twice.

However, there is one weak spot that both men have – in fact, all men do. And Ryuken is the first to dig his knee hard enough to bruise between Isshin’s thighs, kneecap grinding against the tender organ hidden in fabrics of underwear and heavy trousers.

They both fall back into their chairs, Isshin clutching his damaged appendage with a pained expression on his face and a groan on his lips, panting gently as he tried to recover his dignity.

“Fuck…” He glowers at the Ishida sitting in front of him, who glares back with the renowned Quincy attitude. However, Ryuken seemed to get his attitude more from his son than from his father.

Dear God did that boy have an attitude that could stone a deity – and get away with it.

“You always did have strong legs.”

The two glowered at each other for minutes longer, and then Ryuken began to snicker, holding a hand up to his mouth and covering his smile as he broke into fits of laughter, Isshin following suit until they had collapsed over each other, hands on each other’s shoulders as they fell into what felt like endless mirth.

It was then that the bartender decided that now would be the best time to ask them to leave.

And even as they were pushed outside, the two men didn’t stop laughing, tears streaming down their faces and their faces contorted into impossible smiles, like theatrical masks. Easily slipped off and then on again.

Anger – switch.

They’d launched themselves at each other, rolling on the gravel as the one tried to punch the lights out of the other, permanently or temporarily neither seemed to care.

“You fucking asshole!”

“Ass-licking Quincy!”

“Cock-sucking Shinigami!”

They paused.

Mirth – switch.

They were ontop of each other giggling again, rolling about once again with their eyes streaming. There wasn’t any reason, for anything. There was just them in this old parking-lot, just them struggling for their dominance, struggling for their sanity that was so quickly fading away.

With the image of stoicism, Ryuken got by his co-workers and son, convincing them he wasn’t truly being pulled apart by his depression. The spiked cigarettes always helped – although, he knew that some of his employees were wondering about the distinct bitter smell lingering around his ashtray.

And Isshin, with his wide grin and almost constant giggles, made him convincing enough. He had always been concerned upon being convicted as insane, however. He wasn’t – not yet, anyway. Thank god for the supplies of anti-depressants.

But what they were high on wasn’t a drug – not now, any more. The alcohol, it contributed, but they found that the feeling fucking up their brains wasn’t the roll-ups they shared from back in their college days, or the adrenaline from post-coital glow.

They were in fact high on each other.

Well, amongst the above listed. But, predominantly, it was the other.

And suddenly, they were in a car, Ryuken’s hand forcing Isshin’s foot further down on the pedal, both of their faces split with a grin.

Well, it wasn’t their car that they were in. So they had just the right amount of adrenaline to be giggling like fools as they drove this car around town, getting driving tickets for this poor sod owning this fucking ugly car that smelt distinctly of piss and shit air freshener.

They left the car upside down, rammed into a lamppost, and ran off in their fits of mirth with blood faces and sprained muscles, too high off the adrenaline to know anything better of themselves.

They were young again.

Ryuken’s hair hadn’t greyed from stress, and Isshin… well, Isshin stayed Isshin. But that didn’t stop them from cartwheeling down the street and not caring for the glass shredding their palms, or the state of their bloody, fucking expensive suits as they skidding on their knees just for the fuck of it.

It hadn’t taken them long at all for them to burst through the Ishida household door and tumble against walls and the stairs that they clambered up on their hands and knees.

They didn’t get all the way up, however-

Lust – switch.

They were plastered to the stairs, not caring for the sharp wood digging into their backs or for the fact that the Teen Quincy Terror may just wake up from his teenage nest of books and discarded lovesacks.

(They had long since forgotten what condoms felt like, ever since that one day Isshin had been too fucking lazy to get up and get a foil packet from the drawer filled with them. Naturally, Ryuken left them there, and one morning, they had disappeared.)

And appear did the outraged younger Quincy, just in time to see Isshin sticking his tongue in Ryuken’s mouth and hear the long, reverberating moan from his father’s throat.

“Oh dear god that is so fucking GROSS!”

“The fuck, Ishida? It’s 3 in the fuck- Oh sweet JESUS.”

The two teens looked in horror at their fathers, despite the fact that Teen Terror Ishida made a suspicious wet noise an awful lot like tubed lubricant when he shifted and Teen Terror Ichigo had a bit of foil stuck to his face, helpfully with ‘sefuti seku’ (the rest cut off) printed on it.

“Oh, morning, children.” Isshin was quite bright, rolling off the older Ishida to grin up at his son and the shocked younger Quincy. “Looks bright and wonderful, outside, doesn’t it? See, Ryuken and I were just retiring to bed for the night, sorry to have disturbed you.”

“In so many fucking ways, dad. In so many fucking ways.” After a momentary pause, Ichigo took a closer look at his father, and then at the elder Quincy, still giggling and sprawled across the staircase. “…What the fuck happened to you?”

“Car crash. We’re fine, though, don’t worry about us.”

“You look like you’re bleeding out of every fucking orifice.”

“Not just yet.” The older Quincy retorted, taking a small break from his mirth.

However, the small break didn’t last very long, as both men collapsed into their laughter, and Ryuken slid downwards several steps, laughing hard enough not to care he’d just opened another wound on his forehead by doing so.

The teens looked at each other and disappeared back into Ishida’s room, muttering something about what freaks their parents were.

Not being in the least offended, Ryuken straightened himself up and strode up the stairs, disappearing into his bedroom and beginning to strip himself of his suit, only to find strong hands helping him out of his pants, power arms wrapped around his waist and a wide grin pressed against his ear.

“Your bed’s gotten bigger.” Isshin murmured, sweeping Ryuken into a bridal position in his arms and then laying him down on the bed that seemed much larger since the last time he had been here.

“It’s been 8 years, Isshin. Of course I have a new bed.”

Ryuken was being quickly stripped of his clothing, but remained still, which was certainly unlike him, especially when the buttons on his shirt were flying around the room, several of them zooming off the walls and colliding with each other.

“It’s been 8 years, but you haven’t changed your cologne.”

“That’s because I like this one.”

There was a pause in which the two held a stubborn gaze. Isshin broke it, resting his forehead against Ryuken’s chest and snickering gently.

“You wear it for me, didn’t you?”

Ryuken’s face flushed, and he looked away, an almost-pout on his face. Only alcohol and Isshin could do this to him – it was a considerably dangerous combination.

“And so what if I do?”

Isshin shrugged and looked up, pulling the shirt from Ryuken’s shoulders and busying himself with creating a hickey on the pale expanse of skin, over ones he had already created within the past few weeks.

“I think it’s… endearing.”

“For fucks sake, Isshin, do not use that word. You know it pisses me off.” Ryuken groans, his head rolling back as Isshin’s lips graze over the sensitive part of his neck, making his hips arch up off the bed in search for contact. Isshin looked surprised, as if he didn’t know it was there.

“That’s a new one.”

“Oh for the love of-“

Annoyance – switch.

“Isshin, if you suck on my neck like you expect blood to start seeping through the pores, it gets sensitive, you dumbass.”

“Hey! What’s with the pissy attitude all of a sudden! I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re being you, Isshin.”

“So, what, I piss you off?”

“You do.”

Anger – switch.

Isshin launched himself at Ryuken, smothering his yelps of pain with his mouth, rough and commandeering hands tearing off remaining clothes and fingers rammed deep into the Quincy’s mouth, making his gag and his eyes water. He grips Isshin’s wrist, trying to push the fingers out of his throat, but they were unrelenting, and Ryuken was forced to suck on them until they were slick. As Isshin yanks them back out again, and then between his legs to delve into a scarred opening, Ryuken gasps and yelps his teeth gritting together.

This is the sex he wanted. He’d taken all night to provoke it, and now it was happening, and he felt so complete, so whole, that tears streaked his face, gentle hiccoughs of pain and ecstasy pouring from his lips and Isshin proceeded to stretch him wide, carelessly enough to break him, but with enough sense not to.

Ryuken screamed too loud for even Isshin’s liking if he was broken – it almost disturbed him to have a masochistic lover. Ever if he did give him what he wanted.

Lust – switch.

Isshin pulls his fingers out deliberately slowly, enjoying the feel of the inner walls contracting and shivering around him in reluctance of his leaving. Ryuken sits up and lies on his stomach, lips parted slightly in an invitation that Isshin takes up gladly, pushing his blood-hardened cock past those perfect, thin lips into blissful heat that caressed his organ in such a way that his anger begins to fade, the tongue caressing his cock slow and teasing in just the right manner to calm him down.

“You were always good at this, pet.” He purrs softly, and he makes note of the tensing of Ryuken’s body, his hips pushing upward and a low moan running along the length of Isshin’s cock. That was certainly new.

Both his hands wind their way into the thick white hair, deep groans leaving his lips and soft whispers of approval, names for the beautiful man sucking bodily fluids from him tumbling from his mind and mouth, and he feels Ryuken’s tongue shivering with moans at certain few, and others he tensed with disapproval of, although Isshin could barely tell which ones he liked and disliked through his haze of arousal.

He pulls Ryuken’s mouth away with utmost grudging, but Ryuken looked up at him with hazed-over eyes, glazed with the certain look he had when tasting Isshin just the correct amount of time. Tonight was going perfectly.

Isshin switches their positions so it’s him who is lying down, holding Ryuken over his erection, so the tip just brushed against the stretched opening, and he took his time, hips moving back and forth to create wonderful friction between the Quincy’s perfectly rounded buttocks, his fingers teasing the devil’s dimples in the flesh, snickering at the annoyed noises pouring from Ryuken’s mouth.

“Say it. Come on. Tell me.”

“Isshin, stop…”

“Tell me what you want!”

“Isshin!”

“Just say it, pet. Let it out. You know you want to.”

Ryuken’s face flushed bright red like that, Isshin can’t help but snicker softly as his lover speaks in needy, breathy words, the Quincy’s opening once again perfectly aligned with Isshin’s erection.

“…I…” He pauses, a whimper and a shudder leaving his lips, eyebrows drawn together in disapproval. “…I need you…” He looked down at Isshin, who quirks a brow.

“I’m here.”

“…Inside me, for fucks sake, inside me!” He hisses it out, reluctant to say it louder.

“I can’t hear you. Come on.”

“Inside me, please!” Ryuken begs louder, not loud enough.

“Louder.”

Ryuken’s face flushes darker, but he doesn’t care. He needs it, filled with such simple desire that he doesn’t care his son can very likely hear him screaming.

“FUCK ME!”

The scream continued, wordless, as Isshin pulls him down to be seated without pause until Isshin’s hips are grinding into Ryuken’s ass mercilessly, drawing moans from the beautiful man as he was finally lifted by powerful hands only to be pulled roughly back down again.

It’s what they both needed. Ryuken needed the pain for his release, and Isshin needed so badly to vent his anger of his wife’s death on somebody, needed someone to scream for him, just for him, like she used to do.

Ryuken puts his hands on Isshin’s chest, beginning to set the rhythm the way he wanted it, fast enough to make him shiver and rough enough to make him moan. It was just the way that Isshin wanted him to be, so without thinking, he obeyed, like a puppy to it’s master.

Although, the Quincy would never admit to being someone’s pet, but it continued to arouse him beyond his rational thought, to the point he’d scream and whimper and tremble with a mere touch to his slick, heated skin, no matter where fingers or lips traced, leaving a mark that Ryuken would feel for hours even if it could not be seen. He’d feel the saliva burning into his skin, or the perfect outline of a finger or hand, and be able to trace it’s exact movements.

“I-Isshin…”

“What’s that, pet?” The larger man replies, his hips and hands moving with Ryuken, knowing he was giving everything but one essential to the Quincy.

“Harder…” Ryuken groans out, loud enough for Isshin to hear, he knew.

“Like this?” Isshin flips them around, and digs his thumbs deep into the well-formed thighs as he forces Ryuken’s body to bend in on itself, making the Quincy scream in utter bliss as he was forced deep into the mattress, loud cries leaving his lips with each thrust into him – each thrust that felt like it would shatter his skin.

Post-coital bliss – switch.



AN// Read it? Grood! Review, please :D