Lithium

Title: Lithium

By: Kokuchou Kayou Studios (BrucesGirl and R. Brightside)

Warnings: Incest, UST, Hotness of the naughty type….

A/N: Yes, this is Kurosakicest. There wasn’t any, and so…we gave you some. Enjoy! ^_^

Lithium

Ichigo came home well after his curfew, lip bleeding and split, his stomach bruised and torso cut from where a knife had been drawn across the tanned skin, drawing bubbles of now dried blood to the surface.

Shit.

He wouldn't even have time to clean up before no doubt his dad would come charging through. At least his sisters were in bed. He dumped his torn up bag on the floor, wiping his lip with his blazer and hissing from the pain that shot through his nerves.

He took off his shoes, fully intending to go upstairs rather than eating as he should have, his stomach too bruised and surely not enough acid left to digest it. That was what he felt like, anyway - and his throat protested horrifically. He swore under his breath, helping himself up the stairs one leg at a time, both hands on the banisters to assist.

Isshin was generally quiet in the evenings. He was bored and fairly restless, tossing in his bed until his Shinigami son entered the house, and he'd promptly greet him the only way he know how - with violence. It was end up in bickering, and Isshin would end up pouting in his room...much like a teenager would.

His chocolate brown eyes would close, and he would dream of nights when he didn't sleep in his bed by himself. This night, however, Ichigo's steps were different. They weren't the usual light clomps of his feet on the floor, and they weren't the butterfly steps of his Shinigami sandals on the window sill.

They were heavy, and if he hadn't known any better, he would have said that Ichigo was limping. He rose from his bed, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the orange haired boy lean on the banister to help himself up the stairs.

With a huff, he exited his room, and with no small amount of gentleness, he grabbed Ichigo's arm and began dragging him back down the stairs, words muttered from his lips each step.

"Ichigo... you get into so much trouble. Too much trouble." Then louder. "Don't you know how to walk away from a fight, boy?"

"Ow! Fuck! Cut it out! That fucking hurts!" Ichigo protested all the way down the stairs, stumbling on his bad leg and toppling into his father at the end of the stairs, hissing a breath through his teeth at the pain.

"I know how to walk away from a fight - with fucking dignity." Ichigo snapped, annoyed by the fact his father had seemingly deliberately caused him more pain than he was due. "And that's what I did. When you can't fight back, take it like a man and walk away with your pride intact."

He leant back against the banister, scowling at his dad, and lifted his foot, inspecting the swelling. "...Shit." He gingerly pressed at the bone, and winced, rather humiliated that he'd walked home with a broken ankle and made it worse in the process, no matter how intact his pride remained.

Isshin growled. It was rare that he actually became angry with Ichigo, and it was even rarer that he actually showed something else to the boy besides his usual dumb tendencies to attack his son. But now, he turned on his son, chocolate eyes flashing as he flipped on the light to the entrance way into the clinic.

“You think that walking away with a damn limp gives you pride?!” Isshin’s voice was close to a roar. “Look at you! Broken foot and bleeding all over my goddamn floors.” He stepped closer and stood nose to nose with Ichigo, eyes blazing.

“You’re fifteen years old. You’re not supposed to walk in at three in the morning. Dinner is at seven, and your sisters wonder where you wander to!” He grabbed Ichigo again and began to drag him towards the clinic door. “Get in here so I can save my carpets from getting stained.”

"Fucking hell, I can walk by myself, dad!" Ichigo beat away his father's strong grip and limped his way surprisingly fast for a boy with a broken ankle, not wanting to be assisted. He had enough bruises for his pride to be damaged too, after all the trouble he'd put into getting home without putting too much pressure on his foot.

He sat down almost gratefully on one of the hard beds they provided for the patients, hissing in pain as he lifted his foot gingerly up onto the mattress, head hitting the wall as it finally touched on the softest it had felt for the past hour and a half.

"S-shit..." He swore under his breath, his hands fisting in the cotton sheets as he fought the pain of his foot being moved, and then relaxed once it faded to a dull throb, having not once allowed himself to shout in pain.

Isshin looked to his son in worry, and like it had been in Soul Society, his ability to heal came naturally to him as he wrapped long, strong fingers around Ichigo’s ankle and pulled his sock away, revealing the row of perfect toes that Masaki had been so proud of when the boy had been born.

He sighed as his fingers detected nothing displaced, and he reached up to Ichigo’s face and traced the split in the lower, pouting lip and the bruise that was beginning to form on his cheek. All the power in the world, Isshin realized, and Ichigo wouldn’t use it against simple thugs.

Of course not.

Isshin’s dark chocolate eyes went heated as he concentrated on peeling away Ichigo’s shirt carefully to reveal his beautiful body, and he sighed as he looked at the knife cut. Slowly, he ran his fingers along the seam of the cut, checking the depth. Hopefully, it wouldn’t need stitches.

“And you’ve achieved Bankai…” He murmured it so low that Ichigo most likely couldn’t hear it over the sound of the AC running in the clinic.

Ichigo hissed in pain as his father tested the bruises and cuts that littered his skin like thrown paint on a canvas, his one good foot curling it's toes. However, his father said something under his breath that roused something, like Isshin knew the secret he'd been keeping from his family.

"Wha'd'you say?" He hadn't actually seen his father so serious in all the times he'd known him, aside from in front of his mother's grave. He'd never been so... concerned before. But then again, he'd never been so beat up before. Never once had he come home with a knife wound and a broken foot - only bruises. The fingers on his lips had unsettled him enough to shift, and he hissed as his foot shifted with him.

"Fuck..."

“Stop moving, baka.” Isshin’s voice was a little more than a growl as he shifted Ichigo carefully back where he could wrap the broken ankle carefully. His fingers were tender along his son’s skin, his intense chocolate eyes watching what he was doing.

When the world was full of hurt people, Kurosaki Isshin was the happy doctor in the tiny clinic that everyone loved to see, but when Ichigo was concerned, Isshin was serious and worried. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t go with his son on his trips to Soul Society… or to Hueco Mundo for that matter.

As he wrapped Ichigo’s ankle, he decided to let out an earth shattering secret to his son, in the form of a discreet, quiet question. “So how’s Byakuya-kun doing? Last time I saw him, he was still an Academy brat.” Isshin finished wrapping Ichigo’s ankle and looked up at him. Yes, this would be interesting.

Ichigo didn't get the question the first time, and began to answer it. "Still a brat, probably, under all that--" He froze in shock, looking down at his father. "W-what?" He choked on his words, and shifted again, flinching.

"...How do you know Byakuya?" Suddenly, everything was piecing together. The fact he had Shinigami power, the reason he could see ghosts so well, his father's constant exaggerated behavior... it all made complete sense.

"You!" He gasped out, too shocked to truly express it. "You're a Shinigami."

“Hmn.” Isshin didn’t deny it as he reached up and began to dab disinfectant on Ichigo’s lips, his dark eyes intent on his purpose. “Kurosaki Isshin, Captain of the Ninth Division.” He glanced up to Ichigo finally, his gaze going goofy again. “You didn’t think you just got a freak ability, did ya?” He grinned brightly and pointed to himself, a beaming happiness in his face.

“You’re so awesome ‘cause your old man made every girl in Soul Society swoon at his presence!” He paused for a moment, and then looked up at Ichigo, his face going serious and concerned.

“You got no idea what it was like…watching you walk out of this house every night, assuming I couldn’t see you in those robes. Every night I’d see you come back bleeding and hurt.” Isshin looked away, his strong face uncharacteristically sad. “I worry about you. All the damn time.”

Captain. His father was a Captain. He hissed slightly, grimacing in pain at the disinfectant on the open cut. "W-why..." Ichigo shook away his shock, and then scowled at his father. "Why didn't you tell me? Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" He was almost choking on his words by then, stressed beyond belief at the pain, and his back arched, breathing rapid.

"F-fuck... Fuck you." He gasped out, his teeth gritting as the Hollow attacked, trying his hardest to get to the surface. When he wanted advice, he had no-one to get it from. When he simply wanted someone to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him to shut up, there was no-one for him, because his father simply would understand. Or, so he had thought.

He put his hand on his head, winding his fingers into his hair and only just managing to suppress the Hollow, much to Ogichi's annoyance. And he was, hoping to throw a few punches at a captain.

Isshin’s chocolate eyes didn’t narrow, and he didn’t take on a look of worry or annoyance that his son was angry. Instead, he pulled Ichigo’s hand from his hair and tilted his chin up, watching the black bleed into his eyes, and very slowly, he ran a broad hand through the thick, orange locks, and he spoke softly, his voice deep and oddly soothing.

“It’s alright. Just calm down.” That same broad hand pulled the boy to his chest, and Isshin’s eyes closed. He was oddly emotionally affected by seeing Ichigo so beaten down, and it occurred to him that this was the first time Ichigo had never fought back.

He’d let the thugs beat the hell out of him and didn’t retaliate for fear of hurting someone with his massive power. Isshin sighed and buried his nose in Ichigo’s hair, much like he used to do when Ichigo was a child in the throws of a nightmare.

“He can’t hurt me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. It was true. Nothing would hurt him here…least of all his son’s Hollow.

Ichigo gripped his father's shirt at the shoulders, eyes closed tight and taking deep, slow inhales of his father's cologne, the scent strangely calming. It had been too long since he had been held, too long since he felt calmed in this manner, and he simply couldn't help the tears that welled in his eyes.

He didn't want to help them, really, but they slipped down his cheeks anyway. He didn't care for much, any more. Everything had gone wrong since he'd found out about his father, but he couldn't help what he was. He was a savior to ghosts that would be devoured by senseless Hollows, and he was proud of it, no matter the pain he went through to hold himself up as a substitute Shinigami.

Quietly, Isshin rubbed his son’s back, his eyes closing as he took in the sunshine and strawberry scent of the orange hair that he loved so much. Slowly, he pulled Ichigo fully against his body, and he began to rock him slightly, a soft ‘shh’ escaping his lips as Ichigo’s tears rolled down his cheeks.

He’d spent many a night like this, soothing away the boy’s fears and his nightmares, and each night had been the same, Ichigo falling asleep in his arms. Isshin marveled at the changes. Ichigo was no longer a child, and instead of soft, boyish skin and curves, Ichigo’s body was now hard and lean, muscles stretching the tight clothes that Isshin had always secretly admired on his boy’s figure.

Isshin shushed him a bit more before he sighed and began to speak, his voice low and soothing. “Forgive me for putting this on your shoulders. I didn’t know that you’d get the ability to see spirits like a Shinigami. I thought you’d be human…like your mother.”

His mother. The one thing Ichigo wanted to say he knew he'd never forgive himself for, so he held it back, biting his lip as the sobbing broke loose, shaking in his father's arms.

Ogichi had wrapped his arms around him, too, as it felt, holding him from behind and whispering gently into his ear. Just a bit more soothing... you'd always wanted something to take away the pain.

Ichigo took a few shuddering breaths, rapid and panicked, and with one more word of encouragement from Ogichi, Ichigo leaned up to kiss his father, their lips crashing clumsily together, the redhead inexperienced, but not unknowing to the feeling of a kiss.

To say Isshin was shocked was a bit of an understatement. He jerked back suddenly, his eyes widening. He looked down on his son, the haziness in his eyes, the edges barely turning black from the hollow’s interference, and Isshin suddenly understood.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “It’s alright.” He held Ichigo close against him, his eyes filled with confusion. A kiss? A kiss? He sighed deeply into his son’s hair, but the kiss had set his body on fire, and he was trying to will the effects to go away before Ichigo noticed and became disgusted with him.

Isshin wasn’t like that… he’d never let someone so horrible happen to his son. He fought himself. Didn’t want to fall into the wondering of what Ichigo’s true, passionate kiss was like. His lithe, long fingers tilted his son’s head up, chocolate eyes meeting chocolate, and he sighed softly. “Baka, why’d you do that for?”


"Forget..." Ichigo murmured, his eyes diverting and his cheeks having gone a very light pink. "Just for a while, I wanted to forget." It was so television cliché, so much like a fan fiction plot for some manga or another, which he felt embarrassed saying it. Maybe he would have been better off saying nothing at all after that.

He should just limp back to his room, curl up and wait for the Earth to swallow him up. He should, but his father was blocking the way, much to his dismay. "S-sorry..." Ogichi was taking over bit by small bit, his eyes itching as the black began to swim over his vision, the Hollow taking that liberty from him as he wormed his way into his body. The only problem with having a cruel alter ego, he supposed.

Isshin was quiet for a moment. His eyes tenderly looked into his son’s face, thoughts warring inside of his gaze. He wanted to comfort Ichigo…but a kiss? Ichigo was his son. His flesh and blood. Yet, the wrongness of the situation seemed to not matter at the moment as Isshin’s long fingers stroked back the strawberry locks of the boy curled against him in his lap.

He tilted Ichigo’s chin back towards him, and he pondered for a moment, the usual goofy look in his eyes replaced with a dead seriousness that he very rarely displayed. “Gomen, Ichigo,” Isshin murmured, “I didn’t know it had been so hard on you.”

Then, he leaned down, and his full intent purpose was to make his son forget. Forget the pain and the misery. Forget his responsibilities. Forget his powers. For just a night. Isshin’s lips covered Ichigo’s slowly, a tender, deep, passionate kiss that Isshin would only afford the boy. He hadn’t even been this tender with Masaki…

Ichigo's fingernails, bitten down from the teen's constant nerves being jumped, dug into his father's shoulders, the feeling of his skin rolling back from the nails odd and slightly painful but not unwelcome, the tender, chapped lips against his likely able to distract him to anything.

He felt light-headed, maybe from the blood-loss, but it was likely that pang from the kiss, that shock that went down the back of his throat and sped up his breathing, making him part his lips ever so slightly to allow the air a better way out, even if they were inhibited by his father's lips, Ichigo's inexperienced kisses allowing even less room.

He'd learned from TV, he'd learned from his sister's romance manga, he'd learned from things he'd seen on the streets. And yet, he wasn't flushed with embarrassment at the thought of being so naive to what a true kiss was like, and was hardly reddened at all. Whatever his father was doing, it was working.

He wasn't a Shinigami, he wasn't a high school student, he was just a boy with an older man, in a room where it felt like they couldn't touch the floor from the experience he was having. So different, and so... arousing.

What… what the hell was he thinking? Isshin pulled back, his chocolate eyes hazy and confused as he stared into his son’s eyes, depths that were so much like his own. This was his flesh and blood, his life that he’d raised and loved with all of his soul, and now, Isshin wasn’t sure whether he felt sick to his stomach or powerfully, wrongly aroused by Ichigo’s desire and blind affection.

“God, what are we doing, son…” The gentle name for his Ichigo rolled off his tongue like a beautiful mantra, reminding him of just how wrong this all was…and yet so right. “You…You’re my son… hundreds… thousands of years younger. My own flesh and blood…”

His big hands reached out and shakily caressed down Ichigo’s body, his thick, heavy breaths coming in pants, so close to Ichigo that the boy could probably smell the faint smell of cigarette smoke, something Isshin only did when he was worried or at Masaki’s grave. “What…the hell are ya doing, Ichigo?” He demanded softly. “I’m your damn father.”

Ichigo was hardly listening, having blocked everything out with that kiss, and when he finally came to reality, it was a shock to him, almost eliciting a gasp from him as he jolted back to reality, as if he'd just jumped off the roof of their house and landed on his feet, the force reverberating through his body and suddenly, he was too aware of what they were doing.

His father's hands stopped on his thighs, and he gripped their wrists with aching force, meeting his father's gaze with a confused one, the Hollow not seeming to have retracted, his left eye half covered in the blackness that was so obvious. I started it, Ichigo ached to say, but his throat simply wouldn't form words for him. I started it, but you went along with it. He didn't want this conversation.

He wouldn't feel regret, and as selfish as he felt like being, he couldn't care less if his father was. He'd endured through much worse, he was sure. Thousands of years of lifespan, and Kurosaki Isshin had not touched a single woman or man he simply couldn't touch? He couldn't believe that at all. This was his father he was talking about. He twitched, his hands slipping off of his father's, and his thighs parted willingly. His eyes spoke the words he needed to say, and his body language was more than obvious. He just wanted to forget, no matter what it took.

Isshin groaned as those long, lean legs parted, the bulge against Ichigo’s pants apparent against the fabric. Isshin tried to remind himself, he was just a tool. He was a blinding tool to Ichigo’s pain and stress, and Isshin couldn’t bring himself to balk from it or to feel any less loved by his son. His smooth hands splaying lovingly over Ichigo’s torso, tracing the lean muscles there, so much like a Shinigami that it made Isshin’s heart hurt in his chest.

“I’m sorry…” His voice was barely a noise in the still room of the clinic. He could do this here, on the cold examining bed in the middle of the clinic because it smelled clean, sterilized. His own scent and soap was not permeated into these covers, nor was Ichigo’s scent rubbed against the pillow that Isshin had touched and laid his head on so many times when Ichigo had been gone to soul society, his gigai death still inside of Urahara’s little shop.

A gigai.

That’s all it was. Ichigo was no more human than he was, and that thought made Isshin’s hands grasp sharply at the orange locks and tug Ichigo forward in a brutal kiss, apologies pouring from his lips as he broke and kissed Ichigo again, over and over. He could do this here in the clinic…he was healing Ichigo, after all, taking away his pain and hurt, if just for a night.

It wasn’t in his bed where he’d remember it every night, and it wasn’t in his son’s bed where he’d want to go in the middle of the nights when he wondered if Ichigo touched himself to the memory of their joining. “Ichigo…” Isshin whispered roughly. “Tell me you want me…”

Ichigo felt the words catch in his throat again, so he let his father kiss him roughly, to the point that his lip split open again, mingling the semi-pleasant taste of his blood into their open-mouthed, oral embrace. His erection was throbbing between his legs, begging for attention as it tried so desperately to point to the ceiling, his only indicator of which way was up after what felt like the departure of all rational thought.

"I..." The words almost stumbled over each other as they tried to get out of his mouth, and as he reorganized them correctly, he spoke them in a slur of lust and confusion. "I want you." Rough, coarse, and ladled with thick lust that would have been impossible to ignore no matter.

"I want you." He wove a hand into his father's hair and gripping hold of it, he pulled him down for another one of those delicious, pain-giving, pain-relieving kisses. They tore his lip open wider, leaving their saliva dyed pink as they both pulled back. Incestuous and wrong, and yet so separate and right. Opposites that had intertwined until they simply made no sense, mirrored and flipped and rotated until no real sense could be made out of it.

Isshin wasn’t seeing the situation anymore. Control… precious control that he’d kept over himself. Over his reiatsu, over his power and desire came tumbling loose as he pinned Ichigo to the bed beneath him, his russet eyes burning with nothing but sheer lust and love for the one creature that he’d based his life around. He was obsessed with Ichigo, watching his every move from the shadows, knowing what power he held in his hands, knowing that if ever he were to face his son in battle, he would lose.

That thought alone made Isshin’s hands tremble as they brushed over his son’s body, fingers stopping shakily over the button of expensive pants that he was willing to rip away if not just to see the proof that this isn’t all just a dream. He pulled the clothing away from his son’s body, along with the boxers, the only part of Ichigo’s clothing that was not meant to be tight, although the cotton was stretched tightly across the boy’s erection.

Isshin gasped softly even before he touched his son intimately, not willing to admit to himself that it was really happening. He looked up into those hazy, confused depths that seemed to be watching him in a daze, and he whispered, wanting familiarity…wanting… something. Something that demanded this to be real. “Here, Ichigo? Or in my bed?”

Ichigo swallowed without thinking, his head rolled back and thighs trembling, knees drawn ever so slightly together in his arousal, toes curling and uncurling. He had to think about this, though. The cold bed beneath them, or the warm, comfy depths of his father's bed? The latter was more appealing to him, but was it the smartest choice?

A few moments of thought, and Ichigo's selfish side took over, and after he cleared words from his throat, he spoke, the words thick with what seemed like tears, but it couldn't be. That haziness in his eyes was the Hollow. "I want you in your bed." He blinked, and felt wetness roll down his temples, and in his own confusion, lifted his hand to his temple to wipe at the foreign-seeming water that had made its way on the bed.

He didn't understand - people cried when they were frustrated or overwhelmed or pained, but he felt none of that to such an extent. He had a coiling gut feeling and a lightheadedness that made him blink several more times. He swallowed again, his eyes clearing up and his eyebrows unfurrowing, showing his father his awakened, relaxed state. He was ready. He felt no regret. Those tears were some fake Shinigami thing, they had to be.

Isshin was deaf to anything else that Ichigo might have said. In a flurry of movement, he ripped Ichigo up from the bed, hauling him against his body, not even picking him up as he shoved the boy backwards through the house, down the hall. In no uncertain movements, graceful and yet brutal, he pushed his door open and very nearly dragged Ichigo into his room, shutting the door with his foot.

His room was dark, quiet, and the moonlight streamed through his window, casting an eerie light on the both of them as Isshin ripped his shirt over his head from his powerful body, showing off the beautiful physique of a Shinigami captain, smattered with silken dark hair, matching the deep chocolate hair that spiked out around his head in a dark halo. His eyes were hungry, insane, and yet, compassionate for everything that Isshin was.

Then, his body collided with Ichigo’s, his strong fingers snagging in the boy’s hair, tugging his head back, exposing the expanse of golden, silk skin that he had secretly wanted to touch for so long. Isshin’s scent permeated the room, a mixture of soap, subtle cologne, and clean clothes right from the dryer. Isshin ravenously attacked his son’s throat, teeth, lips, and tongue tasting the skin that was forbidden to him and yet offered like a gentle, sacrificial lamb on an altar of stone and responsibility.

He shoved Ichigo roughly into the bed, the comforter still messy from Isshin’s earlier unsuccessful attempts at sleeping, and the mattress dipped under Ichigo, soft and worn. Isshin didn’t want to think that this was the bed that his son was conceived in, but in the odd, fucked up recesses of his mind, it was arousing that he would have ownership...just for a night…over his firstborn, his creation. His life.

Ichigo was caught up in a whirlwind of emotion and feeling, his legs clamped tight around his father's hips as he struggled to grip reality, losing hold of the tears and not letting go, his father's marking and claiming sending warnings and pleasure along his nerves, his brain getting everything mixed until he gave up on reality, blanketed in sweat and human warmth until he was flushed from everything, the moonlight hitting each high curve of their skin, defining every muscle in each separate body, but it's eerie white light bleaching them the same color, shadows the only way to tell them apart.

Two separate entities, yet so close to each other, and it was driving him slowly, pleasantly insane, with each wince a gentle upturn of his lips and the closing of his eyes for only a few, fleeting moments before they snapped open again with some other sensation that sent his toes curling and his back arching. He had given in to this surreal feeling, but he couldn't remember anything, now.

Either Ogichi was stealing his memories, or his dad was doing just as he'd hoped and making him forget, just for a night, all of his responsibilities. When people thought of incest, they likely thought of brothers and sisters left in the house for too long and conceiving devil-children. But this... was different. It simply was, in the manner that here, in this bed, his father wasn't his father.

He was a man he held close to his heart who was prepared to feel the guilt for making him forget in the most sinful manner surely either of them could think of. It could never happen again, but it would be nice for the short time it would last.

The moonlight glinted off of the magnificent body that Isshin had always hidden and yet left in plain view for Ichigo, all the years that he’d raised him. The sinews of his back shifted as he pinned Ichigo to the bed, his strength showing through finally, a heavy, sickening burst of reiatsu exuding from his lithe body, stronger than anything Ichigo would have ever experienced. Isshin was old…One of the first that had entered the Academy, and now, that ancient Shinigami was caressing his son’s body, chasing away all the fear and pain that he could, trying to convince either himself or the boy that there was no sin in this shameful act they were about to take part in.

Isshin’s hands, softened from years of being a doctor, rubbed down the perfectly defined abdomen beneath his touch, and then, he crossed the invisible barrier between reality and their own nightmarish dream, wrapping his long fingers around Ichigo’s erection, pausing just to look up into that face, the beauty of the boy’s expressions sinking into his entire being.

For years…it had been years…Isshin had been painfully lonely, walking through his life in a sleeping daze, not wanting to leave, but not exactly staying. Until one night, he felt his son awaken to what he was…truly. Inside of himself, Isshin hated the fact that he’d put such a horrible, unrelenting responsibility on Ichigo’s shoulders, but the fact that the boy bore it with dignity…and bore it well…made Isshin love his son that much more. With a slow, experimental stroke, Isshin pressed his warm, kiss swollen lips to Ichigo’s throat and rasped seductive words into his ear, eyes sliding shut as he spoke, afraid to wake the boy from his dream.

“Tonight… tonight you’re mine.”

Ichigo couldn't decide if he dreaded those words or not, but he didn't have a choice, not now. "I'm yours tonight." He repeated robotically, his voice gentle as if he were speaking to himself, but now he was arching under his father's touch, looking up at the ceiling, the beams painted an ever so slightly different shade of white to the rest of the ceiling.

The trim of the room was burgundy, and the rest of it was a richer red. Distractions - where ever he looked, he could find one - the spider carefully weaving it's web in the corner, the rustle of the bed sheets beneath them at their rhythmic movements as his father's hand moved faster over his erection, driving a low, cracked moan from his throat.

He couldn't help himself but to rock his hips upward and moan softly in need. He was on a see-saw of decision, even the sub reality he'd dissolved himself to not helping. This gigai was constricting, not feeling as free as he needed to feel, but he couldn't help that, not now. He didn't know what to say.

He wanted to moan a name, but to call his father by his name would be blasphemy, and calling him 'dad' would awaken them to the reality of this situation, so he stuck to nameless, wordless admissions of his pleasure, as vocal as he could be without waking his sisters, grasping hold of one of the pillows and pushing it over his face to muffle his sounds, panting hard enough to make his chest shiver as he breathed, but that may have been the feelings. Without Ichigo's face in view, it could have been those fake tears again.

Isshin was suddenly displeased with his son’s actions, and he didn’t like the fact that the dream he was in was not starring Isshin himself. Slowly, his free hand reached, and he forced Ichigo to look at him, and he repeated his words, the hand on his son’s arousal stroking firmer, faster with each uttered, perfect word. “Tonight, Ichigo. You are mine.”

He looked directly into his son’s eyes, making it both a reality and a dream, wanting to know that tonight, he’d be the only thing on the boy’s mind. Isshin’s animalistic instincts kicked in, and slowly, he ran his tongue across Ichigo’s neck possessively and he paused at his ear and nibbled there, remembering something that he’d once seen in the hall when Ichigo had been kissing one of the boys from his class…that breath over his ear made him arch in pleasure. Then, as if he could read his son’s thoughts, he whispered his own name and a staunch command, uttered in the voice of a caring, seductive Shinigami captain.

“Isshin. Say it. Whisper it. Scratch it into my back. Ichigo, call it out to me so I know that I’m the one you see!” Isshin’s voice was thick with lust, and he paused in his ministrations to Ichigo’s arousal to brush the pad of a gentle finger over the entrance to his son’s body. “When I’m buried there, it will become a reality…and you’ll have to see me as I am.” It was a warning. Millennia of wisdom shown in his eyes as his free hand brushed over Ichigo’s cheek.

Ichigo swallowed nervously, this intimacy too strange to him, and yet so real that it made him shiver. "I... Isshin." He whispered it first, not trusting his voice going above that level, and wrapped his arms first loosely around his father's chest, and then tightening them with a gasp as his father's fingers brushed over the sensitive opening to his body.

He would have to face the reality of it, eventually. The single digit was his first jolt to reality, and he knew he was going to have to face so many more of them. The boy was shivering, his toes curling and legs drawing up ever-so-slightly as breath ghosted over the delicate shell of his ear, closing his eyes tightly and then opening them once more, tilting his head away from the feeling, and then towards it, finding that his lips were directly under his fathers as he did so, and tossed his head a bit more, in a state of unrest.

He couldn't decide where to leave his head, not wanting to have to face any more intimacy than he had to, and this was far too intimate as it was. "Isshin..." He closed his eyes once more, simply tilting his head back into the pillow and leaving his throat exposed. It was as much as he was willing to give, he reasoned. He could offer this much for intimacy.

Indecisive and scared. That was something Isshin wasn’t accustomed to seeing in his son. The strawberry locks caught the pale blue moonlight, turning them to fire in the dim light. Isshin couldn’t help but marvel at how much the boy looked like Masaki, the soft curve of his lips, the strong set of his jaw when he was angry, but Isshin was there too.

In the chocolate depth of his mournful eyes, Ichigo shown out everything that Isshin was in his youth, and the older Shinigami marveled that this was his son. Slowly, a large hand wrapped into the thick locks of Ichigo’s hair, and he pulled his lips up to his. Without breathing a word, he let his lips slant over his son’s, the kiss slow, brutal, and passionate.

There was nothing about the kiss that was mechanical. It was emotion pure and raw, pouring through him like a waterfall that had been caught in a dam for too long. Isshin’s other hand wasn’t still as it once again wrapped around Ichgio’s cock, stroking it slowly in time with the movements of his tongue, the single index finger brushing over the boy’s entrance on every downstroke.

“Doesn’t your body feel constricting?” Isshin’s reiatsu raised its level in the room to nearly stifling. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like to just…let go?” That finger that was rubbing with each stroke suddenly pushed into Ichigo’s body dryly, not tearing the skin, but definitely painfully. Isshin purred quietly in his son’s ear. “Let it go.”

Let it go.

Ichigo didn't know what it meant, to all the extents that it could. Release something, orgasm, shed his gigai... The painful intrusion of one of his father's fingers rattled his mind, and without thinking, he did all three, letting go of his father and releasing as his soul jumped out of his body, the shock of everything leaving his without his body, which he ended up lying ontop of, the back of his robes smeared in his body's release.

He lay dazed for a few more moments, his body still refusing to accept him back. Without thinking, he reached up to clutch at his father's shoulders, slowly waking from the daze of orgasm as he realized just what had happened, able to feel his own body beneath him and his father's above him, the pleasant feeling of being half-accepted into his gigai washing through his body, relaxed entirely as he was gradually accepted back, a breath of life coming to the body in a low, shuddering gasp.

A deep purr from Isshin’s throat filled the room, and he lay down on the side of his son’s body, his massive warmth pouring through them. Masaki had always mentioned that he was a furnace in bed, always keeping her warm when everything else around them was freezing cold.

His large hand ghosted over the beautiful, lithe muscles that caught shadows in the moonlight with their definition, and he traced them slowly, his chocolate eyes trained on his son’s face.

“You don’t have to stay here if you want to go back to your room.” His eyes averted, anxiety clear on his handsome, strong features. His long fingers curled against Ichigo’s taught stomach, lightly scratching at the bronze skin. He was a beautiful boy, lithe, strong, and amazingly sensitive…Isshin wondered what he’d done to deserve such beautiful perversion.

Ichigo swallowed almost nervously, the heat of his father's body inviting, as was the door that led to the hallway. He was torn, unsure of which to choose, but utterly exhausted, there was only one real option for him, and that was to relax and fall asleep where he lay, no matter the distractions his father might present him with.

"I..." He wanted to say something, anything that didn't relate to what they'd just done. It was taboo, and they shouldn't have, but that hadn't stopped it from feeling excruciatingly good. "...Good night."

Ichigo couldn't help but curl against his father, his eyes closing as he attempted to get to sleep, his breath evening out but his raging mind preventing unconsciousness from swamping him. He didn't know what he wanted, nor did he know what to do with what he had - but, surely, that would come in time.

OWARI

Edit 5/30/07 Typos that were bothering BG-sama.