Heaven Can Wait

Title: Heaven Can Wait
Pairings: Gin/Ichigo
Rating: M
Words: 6,809
Warning: boysmut, spoilers, AU/AR
Series: Prequel/Side-along to “Just Rewards”.
Description: This is his punishment, but somehow, Gin feels more like it’s the reward.

Dedication: For rowenstar, who was the 33333rd visitor to my fanfiction homesite and who requested a Gin/Ichigo with equal parts fluff, smex, and plot.


Meet Ichimaru Gin. Former captain of the third division. Former traitor to the Shinigami. Former successor to Aizen Sousuke’s throne. Former double-agent.

Current lover of Kurosaki Ichigo.

Gin had never considered himself a lucky man. Truth be told, growing up in the seventy-third district was only the first in a string of bad luck. After that, came the Academy with its stuck-up students and their mocking words, the teachers who sniffed at the sight of a Rukongai rat and never expected much of him.

Of course, Gin showed them all by graduating ahead of his class and immediately finding placement in a division. His misfortune in that, however, was being selected by Aizen Sousuke.

To anyone else, that sort of happenstance was the best kind of luck. Aizen-taichou was so smart. Aizen-taichou was so handsome. Aizen-taichou was so kind. Rainbows and sunshine sparkled out of Aizen-taichou’s ass.

Aizen-taichou was the biggest fake in all of Seireitei. But of course, only Gin came to learn this very valuable piece of information.

Somehow, he’d caught the man’s eye. Somehow, Aizen-taichou had sensed in Gin a kindred spirit. And maybe they were. In some vague and disconnected way, if Gin opened his eyes and peered into the blackness wrapped around his mentor’s heart. Sometimes, he saw echoes of himself in Aizen-taichou’s madness. Sometimes, he wanted to thank Aizen-taichou for helping Gin to avoid that same dark path.

It wasn’t long before the captain had enticed Gin with promises of power and glory and a future where all those same stuck-up students would one day bow before him. Begging for forgiveness on bended knee.

In the beginning, Gin had been swayed. It was hard not to be. Aizen-taichou’s words had touched everything desperate inside his heart. Everything starved and frantic for recognition.

Gin became Aizen-taichou’s right hand. His piece de resistance. The man who would stand at Aizen-taichou’s side and hold his trust, what little of it he had to spare for another. And Gin couldn’t think of a greater honor. He thought he’d finally experienced a stroke of luck, the stroke of the clock that would turn his life around. The final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place with a defining, resonating sound.

And then, he heard the name Kurosaki Ichigo. Whispered at first because no one knew what to think of this boy, this ryoka with Shinigami powers and an insane talent for surpassing every boundary set upon him.

Their first encounter was brief, eyes meeting across a wide space, an open gate between them. Ichigo had been fiercely protective of a guy he’d just met, and Gin had been fascinated by this child who had forged into Seireitei with nothing more than a gaggle of human teenagers and talents he didn’t fully understand.

He hadn’t killed Ichigo.

Aizen-taichou hadn’t given him any orders regarding the kid. The Gotei 13 hadn’t wanted the ryoka dead yet, and his captain was Gin’s master first. Gin had taken matters into his own hands. He wanted to see just what Ichigo could do.

Gin hadn’t been disappointed.

Ichigo had stormed into Seireitei, changed everything, surprised everyone. He hadn’t been enough to stop Aizen-taichou from taking the Hougyoku, but his determination had rallied something inside everyone. Had rattled something inside Gin. Rangiku’s disappointment in him might have inspired his apology, but the sight of that one ryoka boy trying to take on the entirety of Gotei 13 had made Gin wonder.

What if Soul Society wasn’t as broken and unsalvageable as they thought? What if there was something worth saving? What if Aizen-taichou was wrong?

The thought clung to the back of Gin’s mind like a song stuck in his head, playing over and over at the most inopportune moments. It nagged at him. Crept into his conscience when he lay awake at night in a bed piled with blankets because it was bitterly cold in Hueco Mundo and staring out a window that had nothing to show for itself but black skies and empty desert. The very same thing Aizen-taichou wanted to create in Soul Society.

He stood by and watched as Aizen-taichou created those Hollows, the Arrancar and the Espada. He watched experiment after experiment, never flinching. All the while in the back of his mind, he wondered. He questioned.

What was he doing here? Why was he doing this?

“Someday, Soul Society will bow to me,” Aizen-taichou had said, a strange and frightening gleam in his eye as he cupped the Hougyoku. Reiatsu rising around him with such strength that made Gin himself fight to keep from staggering. “Someday, they will know a fear unlike anything they have ever seen.”

Those words, spoken so coldly and without a hint of emotion or inflection, had struck Gin to the core. The man, once so eloquent and inspiring, was being corrupted by the power. Being tainted by whatever revenge he desired. Aizen-taichou never called it that, but even Gin could see it. Whatever had urged Aizen-taichou to craft this plan had been born and bred in revenge and seeded with violence and blood.

It was only then that Gin had realized the puzzle piece wasn’t as perfect a fit as he thought. It now better resembled the best example of round peg, square hole. The colors were wrong, the edges shoved into a shape that didn’t fit. It threw off the rest of the picture, making it look worse than if Gin had left the piece missing.

Aizen-taichou was pulling Gin into his insanity, and Gin didn’t like how cold and black it felt. How it wrapped around his heart, refused to let go, and tried to drag him down into the same abyss. He didn’t like Aizen-taichou’s methods, even if part of him believed in the man’s plans. He didn’t like the idea of sacrificing thousands of innocents because Aizen-taichou had a burr up his ass about the way the world worked.

Gin didn’t much like Soul Society either. Or it’s residents. They’d always been less than friendly, less than accepting.

But he never wanted to watch the world burn. There was a madness in Aizen-taichou’s eyes, a deranged and damaged piece of his soul that clearly wanted to see everything laid to waste. Stripped to ashes. Scattered until there was nothing left for him to rule but a dead world.

Perhaps Aizen-taichou wanted to remake everything into his image of a perfect life. Gin wasn’t sure because he didn’t fully understand the man who had led him to his path with promises of more and better. None of those were false, but Gin wasn’t certain he wanted any of those things anymore. Suddenly, all the power he could bear and a respect born of fear didn’t sound so appealing.

He had watched someone like Ichigo, no hero, but still desperate to protect everything. And Gin felt just a bit like an asshole. Like the worthless piece of Rukongai scum everyone had always thought him to be.

He’d asked himself how he could betray everyone. How he could turn his back on Rangiku. Who yeah, maybe was a slut and didn’t understand the depth of his feelings for her but genuinely considered them friends. How he could abandon Izuru, the boy who grew into man under his careful eye.

Gin had stopped, physically stopped, and looked at the black sky of Hueco Mundo with its single moon all empty and cold. He’d felt the tug of a weak breeze, always carrying the faint stench of death and decay.

He’d blinked and wondered, ‘What the hell am I doing? Why am I here?’

The seed of doubt had grown and grown. Tendrils rooted in Gin’s innards, spreading out to each limb, locking thick vines around his heart and soul. He couldn’t shake them free, and a part of Gin didn’t want to. He reveled in his doubt, picked it apart, examined it, and finally accepted it.

And one day, when Aizen-taichou was distracted by playing his twisted little mind games with his Espada, Gin wandered into Karakura and showed up at the Urahara Shouten where it was largely known Kurosaki Ichigo could easily be found.

Their second encounter lasted much longer, and this time, he was able to truly taste the boy’s resolve and the bite of Zangetsu. Gin felt the breadth his power as it swept across his body, vibrating over his skin. He caught the glint of Hollow behind those determined brown eyes.

And Gin wondered why he’d ever thought Aizen-taichou was the one who deserved his loyalty. To be followed to the ends of the earth.

“Ya want ta stop ‘im,” Gin had said, placing Shinsou at Ichigo’s feet, his eyes for the boy alone and not the faceless others that surrounded him. “I can help ya do it.”

“Why?” Ichigo had demanded as he trembled with fury. Understandable, of course, considering that just a few days prior, Aizen-taichou had worked his manipulative magic on sweet Hime-chan.

Gin couldn’t explain why. He couldn’t put into words what had caused the changes inside of him. He couldn’t voice the darkness that even now was trying to pull him under.

“‘Cause,” Gin had said.

Memories peppering in his mind like an out of sync staccato. Images of Aizen-taichou and Rukongai and Rangiku and Soul Society and Izuru. Memories of all the things he’d abandoned and was about to abandon again.

“‘Cause power’s not enough. Fear’s not enough. And I don’t want to watch the world burn.”

Ichigo had looked at him, something strange swirling in his brown eyes. He hadn’t twitched, hadn’t removed his grip on his zanpakutou. He’d stared at Gin as though looking right through the twice-cursed traitor. As though peeling away the layers of clothing and flesh and bone, to what Gin really was beneath.

“You would’ve killed Rukia,” Ichigo had shot back.

And Gin, considering honesty to be the best policy when dealing with someone like Kurosaki Ichigo, had nodded.

“Yes,” he’d said simply. “I’d have done whatever Aizen-taichou asked of me.”

“And now?”

Gin’s eyes had flashed. “I’ll be the first ta stab him in th’ back, if ya don’t mind.”

Gasps of surprise and murmurs of disgust rippled from the faceless many who backed Ichigo. Ready to tear Gin to pieces if he looked like he’d so much as spit in the kid’s direction. But Gin hadn’t cared about any of them. His gaze had been for Ichigo alone, for the decision the boy would make and how everyone else would listen.

Aizen-taichou could only pray to have that kind of charisma. Could only wish to be that liked and adored. Kurosaki Ichigo was a boy… a man to be feared. And not for the power he wielded. But for the respect and loyalty he gathered. Without demand, command, or question.

Ichigo had stared at Gin for several long moments after, his brown eyes burning, before he nodded once, sharply. Much to the dismay of his followers who vocalized their own protests, none of which Ichigo seemed to hear. Or if he did, it was only to argue with them later, out of Gin’s earshot.

“Stay if you want to help,” Ichigo had said. “And if it turns out this is just a trick…”

He trailed off, but no elaboration was necessary. Gin had understood perfectly well.

And now, Aizen-taichou was dead. Stabbed by Gin’s own hand when the man would’ve least expected it. Gin could still remember the look in Aizen-taichou’s eyes. The surprise of betrayal, the fury of being defeated, the bitter taste of loss. Gin sometimes still felt the hot splash of blood on his fingers, the taste of it on the air. The feeling of broken power when the tip of Shinsou burst right through the Hougyoku embedded in his former captain’s chest and shattered it.

But all these memories were years ago.

Ichimaru Gin was a changed man now, a different man, a collared man. Voluntarily cowed by the Shinigami who couldn’t quite trust a former traitor. Shinsou was effectively sealed within Gin until he could only hear her voice as a soft whisper. There was a brand on his lower back, like a tattoo but less permanent, a seal to contain his power. Which was better than the alternative and wouldn’t quite piss Ichigo off so much.

He no longer called Seireitei home, banished for the extent of a human’s lifespan. Or to be more precise, Ichigo’s lifetime. They’d effectively made Ichigo his babysitter, not that either of them minded. Gin couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be.

They lived here in Tokyo, sharing this apartment, and Gin couldn’t be happier. He was, in effect, a house-husband. Something that Ichigo had teased him over many times and Urahara-san found particularly amusing.

The world was peaceful, quiet, whole.

Sometimes, especially at night, Gin dreamed of what could’ve been. Of Aizen-taichou’s success and the utter madness the world could’ve had. The blood that never stained Gin’s hands, and the guilt that never followed. All he had upon waking from those nightmares was a great sense of relief that he’d prevented that apocalypse by his very own hands. A relief that was punctuated by the feel of Ichigo’s body pressed to his, Ichigo’s steady breathing, and the comforting hum of Ichigo’s reaitsu against his skin.

But the sound of keys cut through Gin’s musings, and he paused in the midst of slicing the daikon for tonight’s oden. He focused and concentrated just a bit, and the edge of his Shinigami senses identified Ichigo. Not that Gin expected anyone different.

His eyes flickered to the clock. It was just after six in the evening, Ichigo’s usual time for returning home. Gin had apparently been that lost in thought.

He set down the knife just as the door opened with a muffled curse – it tended to stick in the winter. And he heard Ichigo shuffle through.

“I’m home!” his lover called out.

There was a thump as he set his briefcase atop the hall stand and threw his keys alongside it. Then came the rustling of his winter coat as he shrugged out of it and kicked off his shoes.

“Gin?”

Sweeping his hair out of his eyes, Gin backed a few steps out of the kitchen. Popping his head out of the kitchen to catch a glimpse of his lover.

“In here.” And he popped back in to return to his preparations.

“You know, one of these days, you’ll have to let me make dinner,” Ichigo commented as he strolled into the kitchen. Removing his glasses, only to rub his fingers over the bridge of his nose where the nosepiece had left an imprint.

Gin privately thought that the glasses made Ichigo sexier. Not that he could convince his lover of that, even if Hime-chan had echoed his opinion.

Gin grinned, slicing quickly and neatly through the radish. “Then what use would ya ‘ave fer me?” He glanced at Ichigo and noted that his lover looked tired.

“I can think of a few things,” Ichigo returned and leaned in for a quick kiss to Gin’s cheek, eyes sweeping over the various ingredients spread out over the counter. “Oden?”

“Got it in one,” Gin replied cheerfully and turned his head, catching Ichigo’s lips in a much more satisfying kiss than the peck to the cheek.

Ichigo made a sound of surprise but quickly returned the kiss, tongue sweeping over Gin’s upper lip before diving into his mouth. Ichigo tasted of green tea and those candies he often ate while enduring the commute by train home.

The knife once more clattered to the cutting board as Gin dropped it in favor of curling one hand around Ichigo’s waist and drawing him closer. He pulled his lover against him, curling long fingers in soft orange hair. Gin deepened the kiss, humming in appreciation when Ichigo returned it fully.

Ichigo’s arms slid around him, pressing against Gin’s back, forcing their bodies together. They were nearly the same height now, and they met in all the right places. Gin could feel Ichigo pulse within his slacks, and his own arousal rose in greeting. Just the sight, the taste of his lover was enough to fill Gin with a hunger that couldn’t be sated with food.

Slicing the daikon fluttered to the far edges of Gin’s mind. As did the dinner that waited completion. He wanted Ichigo, wanted to feel his lover slide against him, taste him on his tongue. Gin wanted to massage those knots of stress out of Ichigo’s back, feel him melt, watch brown eyes darkening with arousal.

“Long day at th’ office?” Gin asked. Both serious and teasing as he nipped at Ichigo’s lips. Backing his lover toward the kitchen table until Ichigo’s hips hit the edge and stopped.

Ichigo rolled his shoulders. “It’s better now.” His hands fell against the tabletop and fingers curling around the edge. “Provided you keep doing what you’re doing.”

Gin didn’t have to think twice, fingers already working at Ichigo’s pants as he undid the belt and pulled down the zipper. His palm stroked over a groin, an answering pulse meeting his touch.

“Ya really look like ya could use some stress relief,” Gin commented, drawing out Ichigo’s length and giving it a firm stroke that made his lover arch his back. “And here I am, all too willin’ ta provide it.”

Ichigo nudged his hips forward. “You’re too good to me,” he said, eyes slipping closed as he let Gin work his magic.

“I can be even better,” Gin purred with a parting nip to Ichigo’s lips.

He drew back, dragging his eyes over Ichigo’s appearance. Cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, breathing quickening.

Ichigo looked so sexy like this. Dressed like a professor with his pressed, black slacks and his button-down, white shirt. His tie was a dark navy color, and buttoned over it was a sleek black vest. Gin wanted to eat him up then and there. And his mouth watered at the possibility of it.

Gin lowered himself to his knees, putting him at perfect height to eye Ichigo’s arousal, already beading fluid at the tip. He traced his fingers over skin before blowing gently across the head.

Ichigo groaned, fingers firmly gripping the edge of the table. “Stress relief normally doesn’t involve teasing,” he said tightly.

“It’s not teasin’; it’s a promise,” Gin retorted and promptly mouthed Ichigo with his lips, tongue flicking out over the leaking slit.

The younger man sucked in a breath. A strangled sound trapped in his throat.

“Ah… that’s good.”

Gin chuckled, vibrations traveling over the length in his mouth as he sucked Ichigo deeper. His tongue circled the thick shaft, loving the feel of Ichigo throbbing on his tongue. His lover groaned and pushed his hips forward. And Gin promptly relaxed his throat, allowing the thrust.

Ichigo hissed, fingers flexing on the table as he rolled his hips, pushing himself into Gin’s mouth. Gin curled his tongue, lips adding a perfect pressure that made Ichigo shudder. They’d been together long enough that he knew all of the little tricks that would pleasure Ichigo the most.

He lifted a hand, fingers cradling Ichigo, and gently tugging. The other man sucked air through his nose as Gin’s mouth worked him, warm and wet, seeping over Gin’s tongue. Ichigo’s hips took up a gentle rhythm, rocking in and out as low noises spilled from his lips.

“Damn,” Ichigo breathed, and when Gin glanced up, he saw that Ichigo had closed his eyes and let his head fall back as his fingers clenched restlessly against the edge of the table. “Best welcome home I’ve ever received.”

A grin teased at the corners of Gin’s mouth as he focused, tightening his lips around Ichigo’s length and flicking his tongue against the sensitive head. Ichigo shivered, a rumble rattling in his chest as he arched his hips forward, pushing deeper into the moist heat of his lover’s mouth. Gin tugged gently on Ichigo’s balls before sliding his other hand up. Palm ghosting across the sensitive flesh of an inner thigh, bared as the professor’s slacks sagged toward the floor.

Ichigo shivered, skin goosepimpling. But no more so than when Gin teased at the juncture of hip and thigh. Ichigo was so sensitive, and it showed.

Gin stroked his tongue along Ichigo’s arousal, feeling mouth slithering from slit. Ichigo was close; it wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge. Already, his breath came in rapid pants. And Gin briefly slipped the finger of his free hand into his mouth, letting the pad of his forefinger stroke along Ichigo’s shaft. The dual sensation made his lover shiver before Gin withdrew with an audible pop.

Ichigo’s eyes slitted open. And he looked down at Gin, their eyes meeting as Gin pushed the now slick finger against the cleft of Ichigo’s ass. Teasing him before slipping inside. Desire drenched brown eyes, but he didn’t look away. And the fact that their eyes were locked on one another as Gin sucked Ichigo farther into his mouth made the whole scene more erotic. One of Ichigo’s hands abandoned its grip on the table, tangling in silver hair, fingers near-trembling as he hovered on the cusp of release.

Gin encouraged with his gaze, willing Ichigo to come as he crooked his finger with shallow, rhythmic thrusts. He curled his tongue, sucked hard, and was rewarded when Ichigo gasped. A body clenched down on Gin’s finger as liquid heat spattered into his mouth.

Gin sucked him down greedily, savoring the salty taste as it spilled across his tongue. He loved the feel of Ichigo’s pulse on his tongue and gently traced the contours through the last of his lover’s tremors. The Vizard shuddered at the teasing sensation, hips falling back against the table as he sagged and panted softly.

Drawing back, Gin rose to his feet. His own arousal throbbed within the confines of his pants. He purred, lazily dragging his tongue over his lips, a motion that he noticed still occasionally made Ichigo blush.

“Ya know, I don’ think we’ve christened this table yet.”

Desire-drunk eyes returned his gaze. Ichigo shimmied out of his slacks before lifting one leg, hooking around Gin’s waist and pulling him closer.

“A mistake that should be immediately rectified, don’t you think?” he said, leaning back on his elbows with a sultry invitation that Gin would have to be stupid to ignore.

The ex-captain leaned forward. His palms pressed against the cool, polished wood of the tabletop, cradled between Ichigo’s thighs. His mouth was mere inches from another, breath ghosting across the professor’s lips.

“I always knew ya could be naughty when ya wanted ta,” Gin teased, tongue slipping out to trace Ichigo’s lips pointedly.

“If it’s anyone’s fault it’s yours,” Ichigo countered. Cheeks flushing even as he pointedly tilted his head back, giving Gin room to mouth his bared throat.

The older man chuckled. “I’ll gladly take th’ blame,” he retorted and nipped over Ichigo’s throat.

His hands moved to the hem of Ichigo’s boxers, teasing the elastic before drawing it away from Ichigo’s skin. His lover shifted on the table, helping Gin as best he could. Skilled fingers aimed for the buttons of his shirt as Gin’s other hand crept upward. Loosening Ichigo’s tie so his mouth could devour more of the professor’s throat.

Ichigo shivered beneath him. His hands lifted to Gin’s own shirt. The former traitor smirked against his neck and nipped his way back to Ichigo’s lips. Licking over the plump flesh.

“In a hurry?”

“I’d hate for your oden to be ruined,” Ichigo put in with a smirk. Lust darkened his eyes as Gin shoved off his shirt, and the warm air of the kitchen washed over his pale skin.

Gin snorted. Fingers tickling at Ichigo’s sides and smoothing over an abdomen that had lost some definition since the war but not all of it. Ichigo was by no means soft; muscles still rippled on his belly. And Gin wanted to taste them.

“I’d consider it a sacrifice worth makin’,” he murmured as he shoved up Ichigo’s under shirt and lowered his head, licking hotly over bared skin abdomen.

Ichigo groaned, tugging at his own tie and throwing it somewhere behind him. “That’s because you’re a pervert.”

Gin chuckled. No argument there. Nibbling at Ichigo’s belly, he tugged pointedly on what was left of the younger man’s clothing.

“Off,” he demanded, breath warm and moist over Ichigo’s flesh, making his lover shiver.

“If you insist,” Ichigo said and shifted around, pulling off both shirts and tossing them to the floor in a rumpled mess. Thank the gods for dry cleaning. And that tomorrow was Saturday.

“I do,” Gin responded.

But it was more a murmur as he stood back. Admiring the inches of skin that were revealed, darker than Gin’s own and more defined with muscle.

“You know,” Ichigo began as he ran a hand through his own hair and curled one leg around his lover, the heel of his foot sliding up the back of Gin’s thigh. “These things work much better when both of us are naked.”

“I don’t know,” Gin retorted and cupped Ichigo’s sides. Dragging his fingers up and down, tracing the faint outline of ribs with his hands. “It would be kinda hot to do it like this.”

Ichigo shivered. Gaze deepening with desire as he reached out and tugged on the hem of Gin’s plain shirt.

“And maybe I just like seeing you naked.”

How could Gin resist such a demand?

He reluctantly drew back from his younger lover and reached for his own clothing, disrobing with a speed scattered it in all directions. Gin also took the chance to stretch out an arm toward the nearest counter, where a bottle of olive oil sat waiting for his eventual cooking needs. Here, however, it would serve a much better purpose.

Gin returned to the feast waiting for him on the table. But he nearly squawked when a hand shot out, grabbing his arm and pulling him down. Ichigo wasted no time in dragging him in for a steamy kiss, teeth biting at Gin’s lips before his tongue pressed hungrily inside. The bottle of oil slapped to the tabletop as the ex-captain curled one arm around Ichigo’s waist. His length, already half-hard from sucking Ichigo off and all the playful banter, throbbed as it hardened completely. He leaned forward and deepened the kiss, the head of his arousal brushing against the inside of Ichigo’s thigh.

Gin’s free hand smoothed a palm across Ichigo’s abdomen before skating upward, finding the flattened discs of his lover’s nipples and rubbing over them. The younger man shivered beneath him, tongue pushing into Gin’s mouth as he curled one leg around his hip. A sound of need, more like a growl, reverberated in Ichigo’s throat. Gin broke off the kiss, tonguing over Ichigo’s throat where he knew his lover to be sensitive.

“Gin,” Ichigo moaned, hand dragging down a pale back and fingers pressing into skin. “Get the damn oil already.”

Chuckling, Gin stretched out his fingers for the olive oil and holding the slim bottle carefully.

“Impatient, lover?”

“You could call it that,” Ichigo countered and then broke into laughter of his own when he caught sight of the bottle in Gin’s hand. “Extra Virgin? Somehow that strikes me as inappropriate.”

Gin’s amusement echoed Ichigo’s as he hastily poured some of oil into his palm. Wetting his fingers and pressing two to Ichigo’s puckered muscle.

“Ya know me,” Gin purred as he pushed inside, watching as his lover groaned and spread his legs wider to invite him deeper. “Corruptin’ the innocent and all tha’.”

Ichigo sucked in a breath, pushing his hips toward Gin’s fingers. “I’m hardly innocent.”

“Not anymore ya aren’t,” Gin leered before grazing his teeth over a collarbone and soothing the scrape with a wet swipe of his tongue.

“I never was,” the professor countered. And there was an edge of something that spoke of a dark and unhappy past that didn’t belong in the present or in this moment for that matter.

Gloom threatened to invade, chasing away the playful atmosphere, but Gin refused to allow that. The past was past. The war was over, years over. And he wasn’t going to let it defeat them any longer.

He dragged his mouth back to Ichigo’s and kissed him slowly, gently. His lips moved against Ichigo without any tongue, more a caress than a kiss. Ichigo responded, palms sliding across Gin’s back, encouraging him to continue. Their breath mingled as Gin traced Ichigo’s lips with his tongue and carefully slapped some of the olive oil over his own length. Wanting to be inside Ichigo with a sudden, desperate need.

Gin positioned himself, moving both his and Ichigo’s limbs about until they were both comfortable without breaking off the kiss. Instead, he deepened it. Slipping his tongue into Ichigo’s mouth and stroking it across Ichigo’s own. His lover’s legs curled around Gin’s waist, and he felt himself nestled against Ichigo. Cradled against the warmth of his lover’s groin and inches away from pushing inside.

Gin felt fingers press into the skin of his back, wordlessly demanding that he stop delaying. Gin could only obey. He rocked forward, the head of his length nudging the entrance before sliding. Ichigo gasped into the kiss, and his heels shoved against Gin’s lower back, forcing him deeper.

Groaning, Gin paused the moment he was buried deep inside of Ichigo. There was slick, clenching heat. The taste of Ichigo on his tongue. The harsh press of fingers into his skin. The warmth of Ichigo’s body. All of the familiar things that were home to Gin.

Ichigo broke off the kiss with a gasp, head nearly knocking against the table. “Gin. Move,” he growled.

His hips shifted beneath Gin in a motion that pulled a gasp out of the older man before he could stop himself. The table creaked, a groan of protest that both men ignored.

“What if I break th’ table?” Gin asked, though it was more joke than objection. “Then we’d hafta eat on th’ floor.”

Ichigo’s eyes narrowed. He clenched down, making a shudder travel down Gin’s spine and center heat directly in his groin. He moaned, sweat beading his body as lust radiated through him.

“Fine,” Gin ground out, though he would have liked to enjoy the sensation just a bit longer.

He pulled back until just the head of his length remained. Then, he thrust in one deep, penetrating roll of his hips that made Ichigo arch and groan. His fingers dug into Gin’s back encouragingly as he rose to meet the next thrust, demanding more with his body.

“Yes,” Ichigo hissed through his teeth.

The table made various noises of protest as he pulled Gin against him, urging their bodies into a satisfying rhythm. Gin tried to breathe as Ichigo all but took over, pushing and pulling Gin to meet his own desires. Gin snaked a hand between their bodies, wrapping long fingers around Ichigo’s length and stroking his rigid arousal. Ichigo made a sound that better resembled a whine in his throat and arched into his lover’s hold, caught between the pleasure of Gin’s fingers and Gin’s length.

Fingers flexed on Ichigo’s hips as Gin deftly stroked his lover with his other hand, fluid slickening his motions. Ichigo pushed himself down to meet each thrust, and the feel of Ichigo grinding against him made Gin pant. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.

“Harder,” Ichigo urged, despite the ominous creaking of the table beneath them. “So close,” he added on the edge of a pant.

Gin watched, fascinated, as Ichigo started to tweak and twist his own nipples. Making his back arch with pleasure. The sight shot arousal straight through Gin and sent a lance of heat directly into his groin. He throbbed, and Gin groaned and pushed deeper. His lover arched into the thrust, heel urging Gin to keep up the fast pace.

The older man cursed, determined to watch Ichigo come before he did. Gin thrust forward, gasping as Ichigo clenched around him. He forced himself to breathe deep, to hold back. He gently squeezed Ichigo’s length and swiped his thumb over the sensitive head, using every trick he knew to drive his lover to distraction.

Ichigo was intoxicating like this, body in motion atop the table as low sounds of pleasure spilled from his lips. He was twisting and pinching his own nipples, and the jolts that must have shot through his body echoed in his clenching of Gin’s length.

Gin groaned, struggling to hold himself back. He twisted his hips, changing the angle of penetration. And was rewarded when Ichigo moaned and shivered erotically. Ichigo pulsed in Gin’s grip, hovering on the edge of orgasm. The older man pushed himself deeper and felt his own lust triple as Ichigo’s eyes opened and met Gin’s own.

Need and longing darkened Ichigo’s eyes until they were almost black, and the depth of emotion in his gaze made Gin’s insides tighten. The eroticism of such a simple act struck through him until he couldn’t hold back. Not even if he tried. Gin gasped, feeling heat shoot through his veins as he thrust into Ichigo and felt release rip through him.

Gin spilled inside his lover and heard Ichigo moan as he followed after, his inner muscles rippling around Gin’s sensitive shaft. Warm release splattered his fingers, and a small whine of pleasure was pulled from Gin as the sensation squeezed a few more droplets out of him.

The former traitor panted, entire body thrumming. He opened his mouth to speak, say something, when Ichigo suddenly reached up and snatched his arms. He dragged Gin down, and Gin all but slapped his palms against the tabletop to keep himself from crushing his lover as their lips met in a hasty, hungry kiss.

Ichigo arched up against him, sticky skin pressing against Gin’s equally sweaty body. His lips were hungry, urgent as he shoved his tongue into Gin’s mouth. The other man didn’t even mind the fact that the table would have to be cleaned later or that it groaned unhappily beneath their combined weight. Not when Ichigo was hot against him, body overheated from their exertions

Hands tangled in silver hair, Ichigo kissed him thoroughly. Gin purred low in his throat. If Ichigo kept that up, he’d be ready for more, recent activities aside. Sometimes, his hunger for his lover surprised and worried Gin. Other times, he was utterly thrilled that Ichigo returned the sentiment. He never could’ve thought himself to be this lucky. Not after Rukongai. Not after Aizen-taichou.

Teeth playfully nibbled at Gin’s bottom lip before Ichigo drew away from the kiss. Pointedly licking his lips.

“If we don’t move, we might actually get stuck together,” he joked, shifting his hips pointedly.

Even Gin could feel the stickiness between them. “That might not be so bad,” Gin said with a little rock of his hips that sent a light flush of heat through his body.

At this rate, they’d never get to eat dinner.

Ichigo laughed and untangled his fingers from Gin’s hair. Smoothing down the disordered strands with one hand.

“Maybe for you. But I’m hungry,” he stated. “For food,” he amended when he caught the look in Gin’s eyes. “Specifically, the oden you promised.”

Gin slanted a look at the half-chopped, slightly wilted daikon that graced the counter. “So now, I’m being tossed aside fer oden?” He pulled back and studied the flushed, sweaty mess that Ichigo had become. Quite the alluring picture.

“Gin, I’ve been dealing with a bunch of stuck-up college students all day. Most of whom can’t be bothered to put any effort into their papers, and then they whine when I don’t give them passing grades,” Ichigo answered with a smirk curving his lips as he sat up on the table, which gave a small wobble in protest. “Food is now the only thing I lack on my way to relaxation.”

Shaking his head, Gin grinned and turned away. Swiping a hand towel from one of the drawers and wetting it with some hot water before returning to Ichigo.

“You’re a man of simple wants,” Gin teased, swiping the towel over Ichigo’s sticky belly and groin, taking great care with his lover’s sensitive flesh.

“I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”

Chuckling, Gin swabbed the towel over his own extremities and watched as Ichigo slid down to the floor, snagging his slacks to slip back into them. He also fished around for Gin’s abandoned pants. Handing them over as the towel was tossed into a corner of the kitchen to join the rest of the clothing accumulating there from their excursion.

“Thank you, lover,” Gin murmured, snagging Ichigo’s arm to drag him in for a quick kiss before watching him push the rest of their dirty laundry into on central corner. Gin would gather it all later.

Ichigo bumped foreheads with him and then slipped out of Gin’s hold, shirt dangling from one hand. The older man smirked to himself and turned back toward his meal preparation, the daikon half-sliced and lonely on the countertop.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Ichigo shoving his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It was such as shame to cover up all that. But not even the passing years could completely eradicate Ichigo’s modesty. Gin hadn’t managed to convince his lover to wander around their apartment naked.

“You know, I’ve always wondered who taught you how to cook.” Ichigo asked, moving toward the stove and examining what Gin had set aside for the broth. He took it upon himself to get it started. “Was it Matsumoto-san?”

“Rangiku?” Gin laughed out loud. “Rangiku lives off take out, sake, chocolate and the souls of the men who lust after her.”

“Okay then who was it?”

Gin’s laughter faded as he thought about it, memories cropping up in the back of his mind. And fond memories at that.

“Some of it I taught myself. And some of it Izuru showed me.”

Ichigo idly turned the spoon, though the broth didn’t actually need to be stirred. “Do you miss it?”

“Soul Society?”

“Yeah.”

Gin became more thoughtful as he chopped through the last of the daikon and reached for the carrots and the potatoes. “There’s nothing left for me there.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ichigo commented and let go of the spoon, taking a step back to lean against the counter with one hip, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked sexy standing there. Slacks hanging low on his hip. White shirt unbuttoned and open.

Gin looked over. “What do ya mean?”

Ichigo shrugged, rubbing a finger under the nosepiece of his glasses. “You’ve got more friends than you think,” he said and dragged a hand through his hair. “Besides, we can’t stay in the living world forever. I’ll eventually die.” A smile curled his lips.

“We could be like Urahara-san. Stick around fer awhile in gigai,” Gin suggested, but honestly, he didn’t care either way.

Soul Society or Tokyo or America or wherever the hell they were, Gin didn’t care. He had abandoned his ties to Soul Society when he betrayed everyone with Aizen-taichou. And he had completely burned them to ashes when he agreed to stay in the living world with Ichigo. There was only one place Gin wanted to be now, and that was by Ichigo’s side.

Some could probably accuse him of trading one master for another. But who would argue trading an evil mad man for a hero like Kurosaki Ichigo? Gin would let them talk as they willed. He’d made his choice. And given the chance, he’d do it all over again. Just the way things had happened.

Arms slid around Gin from behind, a chin settling on his shoulder. He nearly startled, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realized Ichigo had moved. But Gin quickly relaxed into the embrace. Ichigo’s body was a welcome warmth against his back.

“Whatever you want,” Ichigo murmured, fingers of one hand pressing against Gin’s bare, flat stomach. “Either way, it’s better than being locked up in a cell.”

Gin made a sound of agreement in his throat and then picked up the cutting board, prepared to dump the sliced ingredients into the broth.

“Anywhere with ya’s fine with me.”

There was a moment of silence where Gin heard Ichigo breathe, felt arms tighten around him, and then a flutter of a kiss pressed to the back of his neck. Ichigo’s answer.

And Gin smiled.

He really was the luckiest bastard in the world.

* * * *

a/n: This series (does two make it a series? lol) demands fluff. I don't know why. Also, am particularly proud of my Gin in this one. His tone is especially amusing.

I do hope you enjoyed! Comments and criticisms are always appreciated.