A/N: PWP, M, BL. Urahara x Ichigo, which you know since it's a continuation, and this is it for the Mint Sauce short fic :)
"Finally!" Ichigo threw down his bag in the study and collapsed on the daybed that they bought from Ikea a month ago. "I feel like dying."
Urahara grinned and put away the plans for an extension to the shop. "You exaggerate."
Ichigo wrinkled his perfect nose at his lover. "I hate finals."
"They're over, so it's good," said Urahara, going over to the daybed and pecking a light kiss on Ichigo's forehead. The redhead caught Urahara's arm and looked up with a small pout. The blond shopkeeper smirked. "What?"
"I want," Ichigo purred suggestively.
"Oh no, it's my turn to cook dinner," replied Urahara, "and the kids are coming over tonight."
"But we haven't for the entire month, and I miss you." The pout was a blatant plea now; Ichigo even fluttered his lashes to maximize his adorableness.
The shopkeeper was unmoved. "Dinner. I do NOT wish to traumatize the kids with a visual of what you intend for me to do to you."
Ichigo huffed irritably. "Fine."
By the end of dinner, Ururu had grudgingly allowed that Urahara's cooking had improved, Jinta was herded by Ururu into the kitchen to help with the washing up, and Karin pronounced herself 'stuffed to the gills'.
"What, are you sharing characteristics with Yuutsubame now?" teased Ichigo.
"You are insufferable," Karin stated before she picked up her empty plate.
Her brother grinned lopsidedly. "You and your two-dollar vocabulary. What are you doing, memorizing the dictionary?"
"Just because you're in university doesn't mean you've inherited all the brains," retorted Karin.
"Just admit that you're in no way better than I am in language."
"And you just love playing big brother-"
"-that's because I am your big brother, lil' sis."
Yuzu shook her head and sighed as she told Urahara that she thought the bickering between Karin and Jinta was bad enough. "She just gets worse and worse – the other day she picked a squabble with Tatsuki-chan."
"No idea." Yuzu frowned, her mouth forming a cute pout reminiscent of her brother's. "I think she misses Toushiro-kun."
Urahara smiled and patted her hand. "I'll drop a discreet word."
"I needed that," Ichigo admitted after Jinta and the three girls had got on their bicycles and rode off. "I missed them."
Urahara ruffled his lover's orange hair. "I thought you did."
"Thanks, Kisuke. That was thoughtful of you." Ichigo leaned on Urahara's shoulder and inhaled deeply. "I've missed your scent too..."
Urahara smiled and pressed his mouth to Ichigo's brow. "We have dessert."
"Mm-hmm." Urahara took Ichigo's hand and led him up the stairs. "Special dessert, made by yours truly for the hardworking, dedicated man."
The redheaded young man linked his fingers through Urahara's and followed him. He had an inkling what was about to happen, and he was ravenous for it.
"Wait a minute."
"But you said dessert for a hardworking, dedicated man."
"Yes you did!"
"Who did you think I meant?"
Urahara Kisuke smirked wickedly. "You know, I distinctly recall a blond, handsome shopkeeper who kept away all intruders, visitors and disturbances for four weeks, three days, seven hours and eighteen minutes until a certain young orange-haired bully headed for his final final paper. That handsome blond shopkeeper was made to do all the chores, cook all the meals, and keep himself entertained for the four weeks, three days, seven hours and eighteen minutes, not counting the time the bully allowed the handsome blond shopkeeper some pleasurable company."
Speechless, Ichigo glared at his lover.
Urahara grinned and licked his lips. "Bon apetit, honey."
Ichigo groaned when Urahara started undressing him. Clever fingers undid a gray shirt, oh-so-carefully brushing fingertips over dusky nipples; soft lips trailed down a flat stomach, lingering over well-defined abdominal muscles and tongue flicking over the slight depression of the belly button; teeth and tongue worked the jeans button loose; teeth which then latched onto a zipper and drew it down. Urahara nuzzled into the soft curls thus exposed before sliding the tight pair of denim jeans off lean, toned legs. He didn't forget pressing kisses into the slender but strong ankles, and stroked up the backs of the legs until his hands cupped a firm ass. Urahara slipped out of his pants and rubbed his own arousal along Ichigo's inner thigh.
"Kisuke, please," Ichigo hissed. "I need more than this."
"Patience, lover." Urahara licked his dry lips. He then uncapped a new jar. "I made this for tonight. Smell?"
A gentle hint of citrus wafted into Ichigo's nostrils. The older man liberally applied the gel to Ichigo's cock and as his hands moved, the arousal hardened. Ichigo hissed again, wanting desperately to feel Urahara.
The blond licked up the underside of Ichigo's erection, making certain his young lover could see him take the head into his mouth and his cheeks hollow as he sucked hard. His tongue rolled about the head and he began kissing up and down the shaft, tongue tracing around to lick up the citrus sauce.
"Kisuke, please, if you want me to beg-"
"Hush, Ichigo, shush. Let me enjoy dessert." Urahara's gray-green gaze darkened and he opened another jar, this time one of chocolate. Fingertips slicked chocolate over Ichigo's chest, Urahara happily fingerpainting on his lover's body. "Did you know chocolate literally makes people happy? Cocoa encourages the production of endorphins."
He tasted his fingers. "Mmm. Heaven." His lower lip caught in his teeth, Urahara eyed the lines of chocolate sauce all over Ichigo. "Heaven spread before me."
Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut. It was hell.
Urahara got to work, getting rid of the chocolate on firm, slightly damp skin. His mouth closed over Ichigo's left nipple. Ichigo's breathing picked up pace as Urahara nibbled on the nub with his lips and played his tongue over it.
"Urahara Kisuke, if I have to kick your ass to get you to fuck my ass..." Ichigo's voice was a raspy growl now. The older man chuckled. He could hear the desperation: even the inner hollow was out to play.
"Patience, patience." The blond cleaned off the chocolate smeared on his own cheeks.
The shopkeeper hummed a recent pop hit under his breath as he slicked lubricant down Ichigo's arousal, past the silky sac and behind. His slender fingers disappeared and he pumped his hand slowly. One finger; two; three, each probing and twisting and scissoring to ease the way for later activities.
"Kisuke!" Ichigo was practically salivating now.
Urahara decided he had had enough fun. Ichigo's knuckles were white on the bars of his cage from watching Urahara do whatever he wanted to Ichigo's corporeal form. The older man unlocked the reiatsu cage he had trapped Ichigo's shinigami form into.
Ichigo could not jump into his body fast enough; the second he had merged he shuddered violently. "Oh good lords... oh god." The tension from his being forced to watch and the state of arousal his body was already at combined to smash his nerves into wrecks. "How-how did you know- oh gods."
"Arousal is an involuntary response to stimulus, my love, and does not require higher brain functions to happen," murmured Urahara, applying his hands to more useful duties while he kissed Ichigo's neck. "As for how I know..." he squeezed his hand lightly and Ichigo cried out. "I experimented. And thus... the accumulation of sensation until your soul is present to enjoy it."
Ichigo gasped air into his failing lungs and clutched at Urahara's shoulders. "Now," he demanded. "Stop t-teasing and fuck me now."
"Ask nicely," commanded Urahara, tonguing Ichigo's jaw and ear as his hips pushed forward. His hand slipped behind and a long finger traced the cleft that led to where Ichigo wanted Urahara to be.
The redhead's plea was breathy and soft, but the need was as obvious as the sun. "Kisuke, I'm beggin' you, please, I can't, I need – please, Kisuke, please."
Urahara couldn't resist. "Please what?"
"Fuck me. Please fuck me." Ichigo's whines turned into a sharp cry when Urahara complied.
The slick, satiny heat enveloped Urahara and he shoved himself deep. He had needed this, as much as Ichigo. If not for the fact that he wanted some payback for tiptoeing around Ichigo for the past month, he would have stripped the young man the second he got home from his exam and not allowed him up from the bed for a week.
The latter part could still be arranged, Urahara thought hazily, his mouth sucking hungrily on the base of Ichigo's neck. Ichigo was rocking back and forth, thrusting his hips into Urahara's and impaling himself deeper and deeper. His throaty cries were becoming increasingly urgent; Urahara came first, desperately pushing forward into his lover, and his fist tightened about Ichigo's cock. The redhead followed, his back arching up into Urahara's body, tensing so much about Urahara that the blond himself hissed.
When the aftershocks ebbed away, Urahara carefully slid out of Ichigo. "You owe me at least three more days and nights of this," he informed the young man when they had both caught their breaths.
A corner of Ichigo's mouth curled up. "Only three?"
Urahara raised an eyebrow.
With a glint in his eye, Ichigo shifted to lie on his side. "I can raise more than that, Kisuke."
The blond looked down. Then he smirked. "I see."