characters property of Kubo Tite
"Do people actually read this shit?"
A week ago, he would have lifted his head from his homework to answer, or at least take a look at whatever Renji had pilfered to flip through today. Now, he just turned a page in his textbook and set to the next problem. "Obviously, someone bought it, didn't they? Unless you're snatching stuff from newsstands now."
"Nah, it was in that Ishida guy's desk. Look at this, c'mon." There was abruptly a full photo spread a few inches from his nose. Ichigo reeled back, tossed a glare over his shoulder at him, then gave up and looked.
The first thought that came to mind was simple- why on earth did Ishida have a bridal magazine in his desk, with pen scribbles in the margins indicating measurements? Then, wisely enough, Ichigo decided he really didn't want to know and returned his mind to the matter at hand. The photo was of a man and a woman, evidentally posed to be just married, the bride swept up in the man's arms to be carried over a non-existant threshold.
"What's so weird about that?" Ichigo pushed the magazine out of his face and returned to his work. "People use those t' plan weddings and receptions. They're probably advertising that dress."
Renji shrugged, just visible out of the corner of his eye, and flipped the page. "Guess so... just seems a little stupid, the guy swingin' her around like that."
"It's tradition." Ichigo tapped his pencil on the paper, trying to concentrate. "Don't you all have that in Soul Society?"
"Well, sure we do. It's still stupid." Renji dropped the magazine on his desk, stretching out over Ichigo's bed like he owned it. "What's it supposed t' accomplish, carrying someone who can walk on their own?"
"What're you askin' me for?" he muttered, then gave up and closed his book. "It's- I dunno, I guess it's supposed to be like carrying them into the future or something. Symbolism."
Renji laughed, a short, rough sound. "Yeah? I always thought it looked more like draggin' 'em in- you know, goddammit, I paid for this wedding, you ain't gettin' away now."
Ichigo opened his mouth, about to remind Renji exactly how he'd carried Rukia away from the Soukyouku, then thought better of it. "I guess that's what it'd look like if you didn't have any sense of romance, sure."
"What, you sayin' you do?" There was a wide grin of amusement on his face.
"No- no, I'm not sayin' I do!" Ichigo snapped, embarassed. He pushed back from his desk, stalking over to the door where he'd left his schoolbag, replacing his book and work. For someone who hadn't actually known him that long, Renji had a real talent for getting under his skin.
"You sure? Definitely what it sounded like."
"Shut up," he muttered venomously. "Get your ears checked."
"Well, then, what's it look like t' you?" There was still laughter in his voice, but he sounded interested.
"Maybe-" He hesitated, but then pushed on stubbornly. "Maybe somewhere between. Y'know- I'm gonna carry you into this future with me, and I'm not lettin' you get away."
There was silence for a few moments, and he busied himself with arranging things in his bag, ears hot.
"...Yeah, I like that." Renji suddenly sounded a lot closer. He was halfway through standing up when suddenly his feet weren't on the floor anymore.
"You- you sonuva-!" Ichigo kicked wildly, grabbing onto Renji's shirt to keep from falling on his head. "Put me down! What the hell are you thinking?!"
Renji's arm held him tightly over his shoulder, soft grunts escaping every time a kick landed. "Stop- hold still, dammit!" The floor creaked under their combined weight- he was walking, carefully, making sure not to drop him.
"Put me down!!" he protested again, heart in his throat. Where was- where was he going? No. No, he wasn't-
"No," Renji said easily, and he was grinning up at him, a starving alley dog who'd just found dinner. "...I'm not lettin' you get away." Ichigo stared down at him, mouth agape, all too aware of the flush spreading down his neck. Renji just looked pleased, and deposited him easily on his bed, catching his legs before he could kick him.
Ichigo struggled, fighting desperately at the hands that slid firmly up his legs, trying to force back a shiver, teeth closing hard on the inside of his cheek. "Cut it out," he growled, glaring, something quivering violently in the pit of his belly. "I don't know what you think-"
"I think you're breathin' pretty hard," Renji observed, leaning over him, one quick shove of his hands knocking Ichigo's legs apart. "And- just maybe-" One palm slid fast up the inside of his leg, moving to where he both least and most wanted it to be. "I think-"
"Fuck you!" he spat out, but not before succumbing to instinct and pushing up into his hand. The shudder that jolted down his spine was electric- his fingers were pulsing back and forth, curling between his legs and palm squeezing against him, and oh fuck it felt good. Any form of protest was really nullified by how suddenly, desperately hard he was under his touch, but that didn't mean he would stop trying. A man had his pride. "Renji- stop it-!"
"I don't think you really want me t' do that." His voice was low, rough, eyes damnably knowing. Ichigo just swore in answer, jerking up when his fingers squeezed. God. God. For a moment, Renji's hand lifted, and he struggled- if he stopped now, someone was going to die- but he just ripped the zipper down instead, yanking the button open and shoving his hand past the stiff fabric to grab firm hold of him.
It was embarassing how eagerly he arched up into his hand, how he panted desperately for breath, the quick, hard strokes making him shake and shudder. Renji leaned over him, forehead pressed to his- he could feel his breath on his face, it was almost as quick as his own. His heart was pounding in his throat, throbbing behind his eyes.
Renji pressed a hard kiss against his mouth, not allowing for his feeble protests when he pushed his shirt up, not bothering to unbutton it. The hand that wasn't relentlessly jerking him off rubbed over his stomach, strangely soothing, then yanked Ichigo's pants down to his thighs, teeth closing hard on his lower lip. The sound that escaped his throat was almost a whimper, a mix of surprise and guilty enjoyment. That- that felt too good.
The air was cold over his legs, but he followed the insistent tug and kicked his pants off. He'd be embarassed later- no, he'd be imortified/i- but now, now... the way Renji was watching him, stray strands of hair falling in front of his eyes, hands clenching on his sides, hunger and desire dark in his face... He nudged him with a knee, urging him on. If they stopped now, for any more than a second, he'd have to think. If he had to think, he'd start questioning his own decisions and that would take him days to sort out.
Renji's weight between his thighs was welcome, the push of his hips making him struggle and gasp. Renji's mouth curled in a sharp grin, and Ichigo could feel one of his hands working at his belt, then his pants. Ichigo bit his lip, breath starting to come shakily. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was coming, what he wanted, but- how was he supposed to handle this?
A finger pressed flat against his lower lip, pulling it from his teeth, and then was pushing into his mouth, followed by another. Renji was saying something against his ear, something that almost sounded gentle, tender, but he couldn't concentrate enough to hear him. He sucked hungrily at his fingers, if only for something to ground himself, and made a low sound of complaint when he pulled them away.
"Here," Renji said roughly, and pulled some of the sheet up from the bed, dropping it on his face. "Bite down."
"Wha-" He blinked up at him, chest heaving.
"Do it," Renji warned, and he was glad he did when one of those fingers prodded slowly at his ass, as though investigating before suddenly pushing in- fuck, inside, and it stung like a bitch. Ichigo squirmed, curses muffled into the sheet, trying to breathe. The other hand smoothed over his hair, distracting him while his finger moved slowly in and out, until the stabbing pain became something more like a dull ache.
Renji laughed roughly, and then he was pushing in another finger, and it didn't hurt so bad this time. Ichigo just hissed, gnawing restlessly at the sheet until he could relax, even a little. He was watching him, eyes taking in every single move, and the moment his face relaxed, they were pushing open, stretching him, wringing a gasp from his throat. His fingers worked in farther, curling back and forth, and then-
"Shit!!" Ichigo cried out, glad beyond words for the fabric still bunched between his teeth. What the- what the fuck was- It took him a moment to calm enough to remember that there was a reason people did things this way, and that throbbing spot had to be it. He could feel Renji grinning, damn him, and his fingertips moved over it again, making him shudder and moan before he got control. And then again, God. He couldn't breathe.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Renji was pulling his fingers out, seeming to relish the little gasp of complaint. Ichigo tugged the sheet away from his face to breathe more easily, glaring up at him, knowing full well he had to present quite a picture- flushed and trembling, hand wound into the sheet and waiting impatiently for whatever was being thrown his way next. Renji's hands dug into his ass, lifting him up, and then fuck, he was splitting him in two, his heels digging into the mattress for some kind of purchase.
It felt strange, but the hands holding him felt hesitant, almost gentle, and he was barely moving- in fact, only shaking, leaning down against his cheek, waiting. Ichigo moved his hips slightly, biting his lip, trying to get accustomed to this, to being so goddamn ifull/i, and it wasn't so hard- it wasn't so bad, and it barely hurt when he did move, just a little sting when his legs pushed, and then- Ichigo jerked with a gasp, the same blinding pleasure exploding somewhere in his gut.
"Ichigo-" His voice was strangled, shaking. "Can I-"
"Yeah," he said fervently, eyes squeezing shut. And Renji took him at his word, pistoning in and out, in and out of him slowly at first, shaking with the effort of restraint, then faster, breath coming in harsh gasps against his neck. Ichigo lifted an arm to grab onto his shoulder, arching blindly against him, steadily losing the battle against the low cries rising out of his throat. Heat was curling around every nerve, making it impossible to stop moving, his knees gripping Renji's sides and holding him close. The world was melting, and Renji was saying his name, low and hoarse and desperate, and that was enough to knock him right over the edge.
Tomorrow he'd have to fix his shirt, and it would hurt to sit down for days. Dinner was in an hour, and there was no way in hell his homework was getting done now.
But this was the future he'd been carried headlong into, so he'd have to deal with that.