Shinigami

Title: Shinigami
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki/Asano Keigo
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, mostly PWP. Surprise Bonus Ishida. Light exhib/voy.
Status: One-shot, unbetad and needs Japanese-picked.

It wasn’t something Ichigo imagined himself doing when he was fifteen, not in a million years. Truth be told, in a million years, he imagined himself fossil fuel. That was beyond the point, and useless to think about right now, with Keigo’s curiously manicured fingernails digging into his coarse orange hair and yanking. Keigo let out a particularly loud whimper that began somewhere in his chest and came out his nose, slow and wanting. Ichigo moved to swat sharply at the hand in his hair, his yukata sliding further down his shoulders.

“Quiet,” Ichigo instructed. He wasn’t in his body at the moment, which meant that he couldn’t be seen or heard by ninety-nine percent of the student body. It may have been Keigo’s idea and Keigo’s pleading face that landed them squashed into a bathroom stall, cocks throbbing; nevertheless, Ichigo still considered it a personal duty to not let the majority of his close personal friends make complete asses of themselves, especially if that involved Keigo getting a firm reprimand for jacking off in the men’s bathroom and generally being a deviant and a bad influence to his kouhai.

Keigo covered his mouth firmly with the palm that had just been forcibly removed from Ichigo’s bright head, digging his incisors into it with a nod of acknowledgement. They could still hear and see Keigo, after all, even if Ichigo was off the radar. It gave Ichigo the chance to grasp Keigo by the side of the head. He ran a calloused thumb across the brunette’s firm cheek and reached down to yank at Keigo's tie. The silky knot gave Ichigo more trouble than it was worth. In defeat, Ichigo yanked the white button-up off of Keigo’s abdomen, gathering it somewhere underneath his clavicles. “Hold it,” Ichigo muttered, satisfied when Keigo complied. It meant that both of the boy’s hands were otherwise occupied. It kept them out of Ichigo’s short hair, and poked at something deep inside his mind which (generally and specifically) approved of the idea of prostrate 18 year olds. Ichigo licked his dry lips when the muscles in his upper thighs gave a needy twitch.

The Shinigami yukata finally slid down Ichigo's other shoulder, black silk making an inviting hiss as it moved to pool around his waist. Keigo’s-- typically languid --chestnut eyes lit up appreciatively at the show of lightly tanned, lightly scarred skin.

It suddenly seemed weird to Ichigo, that he and Keigo had been friends since they were kids, showering together after P.E., naked in the onsen, completely uninterested in one another’s bared flesh. Time changed things. Ichigo would leave for months on multiple occasions, to Soul Society or Hueco Mundo. For the majority of the time, Keigo stayed back in the living world with Tatsuki, both of them like wartime fiancées, waiting for the return of Ichigo, of Orihime, from whatever peril they faced in far-away, unimaginable lands. Each time, Ichigo came back a little stronger, a little more cut, and a little less normal. Each time, he carried his shoulders a little higher. Each time, Keigo's bright eyes lingered on his form a little longer when they finally met up again.

Eventually, Ichigo stopped blushing in front of the very idea of naked women and realized he blushed becuase he didn’t care. It was contrary and telling. Eventually, Keigo came out to Ichigo. They did what any young boys did, upon realizing the advent of what seemed (at the time) strings-free sexual pleasure. They enjoyed mutual handjobs in a local bamboo field. I'll tug yours if you tug mine.

The time Ichigo came back from Soul Society after their mutual sexual revelation, was the most recent. This time, the bamboo field was gone because the plants generally grew too well. It was taking over the neighbour’s lawn. He realized that maybe the handjobs and blowjobs and murmured encouragements weren’t completely strings-free. He Liked Keigo, with a capital L, and the feelings were decidedly mutual. They still hadn’t said anything about their kinda-sorta boyfriends relationship to Orihime, or even Chad (who Ichigo was fairly sure did not have a thing for him). They continued the friendly and enjoyable blowjobs.

This led them to where they were now, having sex in the bathroom of their senior high school.

Keigo slid toward Ichigo on the closed toilet seat, hooking his foot behind Ichigo’s knee as well as he could through the mass of expensive-feeling fabric. Ichigo wobbled dangerously, turning his full attention back to the light, warm blush running across his friend’s freckled chest. He’d been lost in his own thoughts. Ichigo leaned in, latching onto and sucking the smooth muscle that ran along the left side of Keigo’s torso. He knew the name-- his dad must have told him it at once points. He didn't care enough to think about it. Ichigo rolled his tongue in circles across the goosepimpling skin as Keigo’s breath hitched against the palm that was still pressed against his pretty mouth. He hoped there was a mark left, after they were done. One that would last on Keigo until the next chance they had to sit around, half-naked.

Ichigo hoped he left a hickie the size of a fucking sand dollar.

Disinterested in the slicked skin now that he'd gotten his point across, Ichigo left it in favor oh his friend’s shiny, attention-grabbing belt buckle, surprisingly having much better luck with the mechanism (he was working under hard-on conditions) than he'd had with the tie. Keigo involuntarily dropped his shirt, which didn't quite make it the whole way down his belly again. He moved the hand that was formerly holding the shirt to the already-purpling bruise on his side, wiping the cold saliva off to get rid of the gooseflesh. Keigo rubbed it off on the seat of his slacks, which Ichigo was busily working at yanking down to meet his ankles. Keigo lifted his legs as much as he could to assist. It was difficult, one of his hands occupied and the other not particularly coordinated at the moment (also working under hard-on conditions). Frustrated by other boy’s lack of speed as Keigo tried to avoid pressing the small of his back into the public toilet’s exposed flushing mechanism, Ichigo muttered ‘shit’ under his breath and shoved his head into the open space between Keigo’s thighs. The pants and shoes still trapped Keigo’s legs together at the ankles, and the something in his mind roared its' approval. The belt slid out of the slacks and to the ground, weighted by the buckle.

Leaning forward, Ichigo moved Keigo’s hand away with a rough push from his nose, grabbing soft lips with his own overheated, chapped pair. Keigo was wearing lip-balm in some girly sort of flavor. Vanilla icing, maybe. Ichigo's tongue lingered on the taste before it forced its' way in, running around Keigo’s mouth. The vanilla clashed inside with the remnants of karipan, Ichigo's tongue pressed roughly against the smaller man’s canines until Ichigo was sure he must have been bleeding. The pressure gave him a chance to forcibly silence Keigo as Ichigo finally reached long, deft fingers into Keigo’s ridiculous green bikini-briefs and wrapped around his confined cock. Keigo’s mouth opened wider against Ichigo's, moaning, and Ichigo took it as an invitation to latch his mouth even more firmly onto Keigo’s, quickly and gently sliding the foreskin down and giving the red, hard organ two rough tugs. Keigo coughed for breath and Ichigo seperated his mouth from the brunette's with a final tug on his lower lip, running a strong thumb along the twitching vein on the underside of Keigo's erection, hand still warm and comfortable in his friend’s underwear.

“You drooled like, all over my face,” Keigo objected in a whisper, voice breaking in the middle. “You don’t taste like anything right now." He panted heavily. "You're so warm, but you taste like sweet air."

“No shit?” Ichigo smirked at his friend, searching around for one of Keigo’s hands. Was one of them free? Sex was difficult like that. It was almost like suddenly having four extra limbs to control, all of them uncomfortably warm and looking for something to grab and squeeze. Spotting the hand, he retrieved it and shoved it slowly into the inky folds of his hakama. Keigo got the picture, snaking around to find the gap that would be at Ichigo’s hip on either side of the period costume. Ichigo ran a hand up and down Keigo’s abdomen, still enjoying the way it felt different than his own in its' smoothness; a swimmer’s build. Keigo liked to swim, Ichigo remembered, working the hand still wrapped around Keigo’s cock up and down again slowly, preferring friction to the feeling of precum dripping gradually down his knuckles. In the meantime, Keigo had finally delved enough into the hakama to scrabbled at Ichigo’s underwear, light brown eyes opening wide as he brushed aainst tell-tale loops and yet more silken fabric.

“Ichigo,” Keigo forced out under his breath, girlish amusement evident. “You’ve got fundoshi on under there.”

“Fuck you,” Ichigo said, drastically speeding up the pace of his movement along the shaft in his hands. He tugged Keigo’s hand away from his hip with his free one, placing it on the side of his neck. He could wait for a return-service handjob until later, Ichigo decided, if it meant not dealing with a whispered conversation about unfashionable, outdated undergarments during the tail-end of his lunchbreak. Keigo gave a soft, deep giggle, playing with the downy sprays of red-blond hair over the center of Ichigo’s chest and along the top of his pectorals. The feeling was strangely comforting, even if Ichigo had always been slightly bothered by the fact that he was unusually hairy for a Japanese boy. Of course, origins now in question, it was a bit more understandable. Renji would probably be a bear if he didn’t shave, he reasoned.

Thinking about Renji while giving Keigo a handjob wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but at the same time, it brought to attention some very obvious facts he had somehow forgotten in the shuffle. They were having sex in the bathroom of a school and break would be over anytime now. His Shinigami form might have arrived armed and dangerous, but it did not come standard with a watch. With a gutteral grunt, he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Keigo’s erection, hand still pinning the foreskin down lightly. Keigo leaned his head back until the crown of his skull met the pale blue tile behind them, groaning loudly before Ichigo gave him a reminder in the form of a gentle nip. Keigo got the point quickly enough, giving one loud, shuddering breath before covering his mouth with his palm again. So they'd come full circle.

Ichigo moved his head languorously, fairly aware from previous experience that a decent blowjob would finish Keigo off in a hurry. He managed to repeat the motion six or seven times before Keigo came hard, drawing blood from his own palm. Ichigo swallowed carefully, his adam’s apple bobbing. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his arm and grabbed Keigo's bleeding hand, giving it a good lick. Keigo attempted to gather his wits, shaking his head. Ichigo thought for a second that it might not have been safe to clean Keigo up that way for a number of reasons, but then again, Ichigo was technically dead at the moment anyway, he hadn't contracted anything after being showered in the stuff in Soul Society, and besides— nobody wanted a suspicious bloodstain on Keigo’s school uniform.

Ichigo slowly disengaged himself from the brunette, helping Keigo pull his slacks back up and buckle his belt-- his hands were still shaking slightly. Ichigo pushed one sleeve of his yukata back over his shoulder as Keigo ran a hand through his sweaty hair, mussing it quite spectacularly. Ichigo moved to open the stall door. The metal was pleasant against his burning palms. He narrowed his eyes at the sight before him, sure it was his nervous mind playing tricks.

“Oh, for Christ’s* sake, Kurosaki, on top of a toilet? Have a little breeding.”

“Ishida? What the fuck.” Ichigo reached around and scratched at the feathery hairs at the base of his neck in an attempt to disguise a startled jump. He cleared his throat. "I uh, I didn't hear you come in. How long were you around?"

Keigo’s eyes shot open, an unceremonious "What? Why?" resounding in the tiled bathroom. Ichigo's ears started a slow burn towards a violent shade of red.

Ishida Uryuu calmly rubbed the water on the lenses of his glasses between thumb and forefinger a final time, before shaking them off and wiping them on the edge of his buttoned sleeve. He replaced them; they settled onto the fine-boned bridge of his nose. Ishida cleared his own throat and reguarded both boys coolly.

"Long enough."

Keigo walked over to the sink and turned it on, more than a little stiffly. Ichigo leveled his best shank-you face on Ishida, daring the Quincy to tease Keigo, who was, as far as Ichigo was concerned, a cultural innocent in his contest of emotional barbing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I met your father once; ignore the breeding bit. Your body is still on the roof-- better get there and back to class before it gets shat on by a pigeon, Shinigami. You have no idea how many pathogens those things carry.”

Ishida turned on his shiny black heels and left the bathroom.

Keigo, hands pink and freshly washed, pulled the other arm of Ichigo’s yukata firmly over his shoulder.

Ichigo stared at the door, fisting his hands until his knuckles cracked, considering the best way to get the last word in with the archer.

"I agree, Ichigo" Keigo said, matter-of-factly.