Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Minutes to Midnight ❯ A Toppling Mistake Part II ( Chapter 25 )

Title: A Toppling Mistake (Part II)

Characters: Hueco Mundo cast, Ichigo/Gin, Yoruichi

Rating: M

Warning: Graphic (and I do mean graphic) and bloody violence, Language, boy/boy lemony smut

Words: 7965

Description: Aizen and Urahara plot out Soul Society's demise, while Gin doesn't take threats to Ichigo's health lightly.

 

 

He met with Ichigo just outside their shared room, his lover's face twisted with a scowl of annoyance. One hand was brushing at the sleeve to his outfit, as though trying to wipe up something dirty.

 

“I don't know what the hell Ishida's thinking,” Ichigo grumbled to himself, his other hand moving to run through his hair as he also fidgeted with his obi. “Stupid Quincy.”

 

That the two of them weren't the closest or the best of friends wasn't new knowledge to Gin. They would fight for each other and watch each other's backs, but trying to make either of them get along was useless.

 

Gin didn't care about the Quincy boy. His eyes were for Ichigo alone. He looked at his lover and found himself unable to imagine what he would do if Soul Society did do something as foolish as try to take Ichigo from him. He realized that they were in a war, and that sometimes battles happened. That there was always the chance there was someone stronger.

 

He knew that he should be prepared to lose Ichigo at any time, to any sort of accident or fate. But that didn't mean he wanted to. In fact, he didn't even want to begin to fathom such a thing. Half a year didn't seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, but when he hadn't felt that loneliness for six months, it was a lifetime to Gin. He didn't want to return to it.

 

“Gin?”

 

Brown eyes looked at him with concern. “Did something happen?”

 

He shook his head to clear the unwelcome and unnecessary thoughts. “Nah, jes Ki-kun babblin' on as usual.”

 

Ichigo watched him as if he didn't fully believe. He was pretty sharp when it came to that. And though Gin was withholding the truth, he didn't consider himself wrong for doing so. He didn't want to alarm Ichigo with a mere possibility.

 

Reaching for the door, Gin turned the knob and entered, Ichigo following him.

 

“They had something important to say though, right?” the teenager question. “Otherwise, they wouldn't have bothered waiting until everyone left.”

 

“Just wanted ta warn us again about the attacks,” Gin answered with both truth and lie. Ichigo would be furious if he knew he was being protected, his sense of independence as strong as his stubborn streak.

 

The younger Vizard grunted in understanding, though some suspicion still lit his eyes, and moved past Gin into the room. He watched as his lover began to bustle around, very obviously looking for something.

 

“Whatcha doin'?”

 

Ichigo frowned, one more of frustration than anger. “Looking for the med kit that Hanatarou sent me last month,” he explained, pulling open one of the dresser drawers and digging noisily through it. “Stark said something about sparring, and Ishida stuck his nose in about watching.”

 

The sudden, irrational urge to ask Ichigo not to go nearly strangled Gin. Urahara's warning washed through his mind, prompting the strange desire and he had to shake it away. He couldn't stop his next moves, however, just wanting to hold onto what was his.

 

He drew up behind Ichigo and wrapped his arms around his lover's belly. His chin rested on Ichigo's shoulder as he turned his head and pressed his lips to Ichigo's neck, breathing in his scent. Relief spread through him at the faint shiver he detected from the action. Gin knew from experience that his lover was sensitive behind his lobe and subjective to the sound of warm and wet air breathed across his ear. Holding back a nearly lecherous chuckle, Gin proceeded to do just that, attempting to entice Ichigo into staying with him rather than sparring with Stark.

 

“Gin,” Ichigo groaned, voice filled with the stirrings of desire. “You're distracting me.”

 

He smirked, feeling victorious. “Tha' was my intention.” He accompanied his response by drawing Ichigo more firmly against his body, one hand sliding up to rest against Ichigo's chest.

 

“Stark's waiting,” Ichigo reminded him, but the effect was lost as he pushed his hips backwards, against Gin's clothed groin. His own hands were still in the drawer, but the searching had long since ceased.

 

Gin curled his tongue around the shell of an ear, lowering his other hand to the front of Ichigo's hakama. “I think he'll get th' picture when ya don' show up soon,” the man purred and nuzzled into the warmth of Ichigo's neck. He pressed his palm over the burgeoning arousal.

 

He heard a quick intake of breath and felt Ichigo's arousal leap against his palm. Gin's own need was beginning to grow hot and heavy in his hakama. He lowered his lips, mouthing the juncture of neck and shoulder, which had long proven to be another erogenous zone for his younger lover. The judicious application of teeth in certain intervals only helped matters.

 

Ichigo rolled his head to the side, a wordless request for Gin to continue. His hands left the drawer, closing it behind him, and moved to the edge of the dresser. One gripped wood as the other dropped to his obi, tugging on the rather loose knot.

 

“Five minutes,” the teen mumbled, hips seeking more of Gin's teasing touches. “That's all I'll give you.”

 

That was his declaration, but Gin knew that it would inevitability end up as far more. But for right now, he just wanted to touch. To taste and to feel. He couldn't explain it; he just knew what he wanted.

 

Pleased by Ichigo's acquiescence, he grabbed the teen by the hips and whirled him around. Pressing him back against the dresser, something unidentified fell from the top and crashed to the floor. Gin paid it no mind as he pressed their lips together, sealing their mouths.

 

The kiss was deep and probing, claiming every inch of Ichigo's mouth. Ichigo gave in at first but then fought back, his tongue pressing forward with his own determination. A move that always proved to make Gin's blood boil.

 

One hand on Ichigo's hip jerked their pelvises together, even as a hand reached up and tangled in silver hair. It gripped tightly, keeping their mouths sealed. Gin's heart picked up in rhythm, and a growl echoed in his throat. So this was how Ichigo wanted to play it. Fine with him.

 

He rolled his hips against Ichigo's, felt the answering hardness beneath the layers of Ichigo's clothing. The grip in his hair tightened just a bit as Ichigo's tongue thrust into his mouth, always a battle, never simple acquiescence. Pleasure peppered in sharp staccato, setting his senses aflame. He had to have him. And now.

 

Growling in his throat, Gin tightened his hold on Ichigo's hips and started walking backwards, pulling his lover with him the short distance to the bed. Resistance was minimal as the kiss deepened, Ichigo pressing his tongue into Gin's mouth as though trying to taste every inch of him.

 

The moment he felt the back of his legs touch the edge of their bed, Gin broke off the kiss. His eyes gleamed an amber-red through narrow slits as he pressed his lips towards Ichigo's ear.

 

“Hands and knees on the bed,” he purred as he slowly turned them both until they were facing it. His tongue slid out of his mouth to curl against Ichigo's ear. “Indulge me, ne? I-chi-go?” Each syllable was carefully punctuated to produce the maximum effect.

 

“Pervert,” Ichigo muttered as Gin's hands busily moved to strip him of his clothing, dropping it to the floor with little regard for later wrinkles.

 

Gin chuckled, skating his hands over darker skin as it was bared, fingers tracing over whichever scars he found in his wake. “S'that a yes?”

 

In answer, Ichigo lifted a knee and placed it on the bed, a look that could pretty much be translated as “come hither” thrown over his shoulder. Well, it was really a scowl, but Gin had learned how to read them all too easily in the past months.

 

“It's a get the hell on this bed,” Ichigo responded, though Gin wasn't really paying attention, gaze caught by the sexy sight his lover made. “Five minutes remember?”

 

Five minutes, like hell.

 

Quick, efficient movements sent Gin's own clothes tumbling to the floor, baring his slim form to the cool air of the room. He wasted no time in chasing away the chill by pressing himself against Ichigo's warm body, toppling him forward onto the mattress. The teen's hands shot out to catch himself, putting himself in perfect position. Gin's arousal rubbed against him, and the older man shivered, desire spreading through his body.

 

He nuzzled against the back of Ichigo's neck, his hands roaming incessantly. “Hand me the oil, lover,” he murmured, knowing that there had to be at least one bottle shoved into the disarrayed covers somewhere.

 

“Give me a minute,” Ichigo muttered, and it wasn't one of irritation but of distraction because Gin had his fingers wrapped around a nipple, gently tugging and rolling the nub. Ichigo's breathing quickened, his own desire rising.

 

Gin chuckled, leaning down to lick at one of Ichigo's ribs, making him rise back against him. He watched as Ichigo stretched out one arm, causing the muscles in his back to ripple attractively. After groping around in the blanket layers, he finally produced a small bottle and chucked it over his shoulder in Gin's direction. He caught it with ease.

 

Placing a final kiss to Ichigo's spine, Gin pulled back and admired the view in front of him. Uncapping the liquid and pouring it over his fingers, he dropped it to the side. Palming the ass presented to him, he was struck with an idea. A slightly messy but very, very arousing idea.

 

One hand on Ichigo's hip, he pressed his slick fingers between his lovers legs, slathering it all over the inside of his thighs. He could practically feel Ichigo's confusion in his reiatsu and also curiosity mixed with a heavy dose of aroused anticipation.

 

“What are you doing?” Ichigo asked, merely interested.

 

Gin made a sound in his throat that could have been construed as a purr. “You'll see,” he promised in a low tone and pulled Ichigo's hips back towards him, nestling his length in the soft crease of his legs. “You'll like it, too. I'll bet.” And just for being a good sport, Gin easily slid a hand around to run his still slick fingers over Ichigo's arousal.

 

He heard his lover suck in a breath, rocking into the touch. Despite his earlier protests, minor though they were, Ichigo was rock hard and dripping. And that had just been the build-up.

 

When Gin drew back his touch, Ichigo growled low in his throat. “You're driving me crazy,” he grumbled, throwing a glare over his shoulder that was lessened in effect due to the pinking of his cheeks.

 

“Don't want ta be limpin' durin' a spar, right?” Gin murmured, draping himself over Ichigo's back and idly mouthing at the bone of Ichigo's shoulder. “Though it migh' be a bit messy.”

 

“I don't care,” Ichigo moaned, arching his back in a very attractive fashion that highlighted the sleekness of his muscles. “Just fuck me.”

 

He clucked his tongue chidingly, teeth and mouth sliding across the back of his lover's shoulders and neck. “Such a dirty mouth,” he purred, one hand locked on Ichigo's hip as he began to rock into the warmth of Ichigo's legs where he had applied the oil. “Aizen-taichou'll say I corrupted ya.” He could feel his arousal brushing across Ichigo's scrotum, and it was somehow very erotic.

 

“Don't... talk about Aizen right now,” Ichigo muttered pushed back against him as Gin dropped his hand from his hip to curl around Ichigo's front.

 

Gin chuckled to himself. Ichigo was still such a prude.

 

“Fine, I won't,” he responded, sliding slickly between his lover's legs. “Tighten your thighs,” he murmured in Ichigo's ear, accompanying the command with a curl of his tongue.

 

Ichigo did so with little protest, and Gin groaned with the added friction, his grip tightening around Ichigo's length and pulling a moan from his lover. He heard the teen suck in a deep breath as Gin rocked against him, arousal sliding against Ichigo's skin and making his entire body tremble with want.

 

His mouth traced the long line of his spine, even as his eyes devoured the sight. Ichigo's fingers clenching against the pale white of the sheets. His muscles straining and glistening with sweat. His body in motion, every movement fluid as he rolled his hips in time to Gin's thrusting.

 

Unlike himself, Ichigo was darker, skin tanned from the sun with limbs sleek and defined. He was power packed into every muscle but not overly bulky. Ichigo was always warm, as if a furnace was behind his flesh. And damn if Gin couldn't stop staring.

 

It took all of Gin's control not to explode from desire, the fierce fire building in his belly burning brighter at the sight. How Ichigo could be so effortlessly sexy was beyond his understanding. The teen seemed to radiate a sensuality in everything that he did.

 

Gin's tongue slipped forward, licking across Ichigo's mouth where the salt-tang of sweat greeted his taste buds. He felt Ichigo shiver beneath him and followed up the motion with a gentle scrape of teeth. In response, one brown eye peered at him over a shoulder, eyes dark with desire.

 

“Gin,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Quit teasing. What happened to five minutes?”

 

He couldn't help but chuckle as he worked his lips back from Ichigo's head and nibbled on a shoulder. “I can't 'ave more?” he asked, punctuating the request with a firm roll of his hips. He gasped himself, the motion drawing more fire through his veins.

 

He watched with hungry eyes as Ichigo's head dropped, accusing stare lowered. The teen groaned, shifting backwards to meet the next thrust.

 

“Stark's going to be even worse after this,” Ichigo panted, but he didn't really sound like he cared. In fact, Gin was going to interpret it as an encouragement.

 

Rubbing his thumb over the head of Ichigo's arousal, he stroked his lover with increasing strength, soaking up every pleased moan his actions produced. He curled his tongue around Ichigo's ear and whispered things designed to make his him hotter with each passing moment.

 

“Don' think about Stark righ' now,” he murmured, thrusting into the tight warmth between Ichigo's thighs and feeling his length brush against Ichigo's scrotum with each push of his hips. “Jes think 'bout me. Only me.”

 

It was a possessive thought that ran through Gin in that moment, not wanting to hear any other name from his lover's lips. Just like he didn't want Soul Society thinking they could do whatever they wanted with Ichigo's life. This warm body in his arms, this happiness he had found, it was his. And he was going to keep it.

 

Below him, Ichigo shifted his weight and tightened his thighs even further in the process. The added strength and the slickness surrounding him was more than Gin could take, coupled with the erotic sounds pouring from his lover's mouth. His restraint faltered as he came, spilling himself against Ichigo's skin and lips clamped on Ichigo's shoulder. He heard Ichigo hiss at the sharp sting and mentally apologized.

 

Body still quaking from the joy of his release, Gin pulled back and grabbed Ichigo by the hips. With little effort, he flipped Ichigo over to his back, almost amused by his lover's shout of surprise. Ichigo's protest immediately ended, however, when Gin dropped his head and wrapped lips around the teen's straining length. One hand's grip nearly tore the sheets as other fingers tangled in long strands of silver hair. The sound of Ichigo breathing his name was nearly enough to make Gin want to come again. It didn't help that the both of them were aroused by the slightest edge of aggression.

 

Stroking his tongue along Ichigo's arousal, he slipped one hand forward and slid his fingers through the remnants of his own release. Slickening up the digits, he gently pressed them against Ichigo's entrance. He heard his lover's quick intake of breath before carefully pressing two inside, knowing that the frequency of their activities negated the necessity for slow and careful. Skilled fingers quickly found the perfect spot, and Gin swelled with pride as Ichigo moaned.

 

He gripped Ichigo's hip with his free hand, preventing his lover from thrusting too deeply into his mouth, as he concentrated on bringing Ichigo nothing but pleasure. His fingers twisted and pressed, a constant stimulation as his tongue stroked diligently over Ichigo's shaft. The teen gasped, hips straining upwards against Gin's hold. He was close; Gin could taste the slickness of precum on his tongue.

 

Ichigo moaned, his body tensing with desire. Gin could feel the clenching of inner walls on his fingers. And it made him want to stir back into want. The taste of Ichigo was on his tongue, sharp and bitter, but nothing he couldn't survive.

 

Hips rocked beneath his firm grasp, and the fingers in his hair tightened, the only sign of Ichigo's pending orgasm. A shudder rippled through Ichigo's body, and then, he was spilling into Gin's mouth, a low groan falling from his lips. Gin swallowed it down, despite disliking the taste. He only did so because it was Ichigo, and he would always take whatever Ichigo had to offer him.

 

As the final tremors racked his lover's body, Gin let Ichigo slip from his mouth and crawled up his body, planting kisses in his wake. Arms wrapped around his shoulders before their lips met, and Gin was hungrily kissing the younger man. He could never quite enough of those kisses. Mouths open and hot, Ichigo fighting as much as he gave in and the feel of Ichigo's body sliding warmly against his.

 

When they broke apart, Gin couldn't help the wide grin stretched across his lips, sincere and not just for play. “Still wanna go spar?”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his lover. “Manipulator,” he accused and rubbed his palms down Gin's bare back.

 

“Evil, remember?” Gin countered, echoing their usual banter.

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Ichigo murmured and kissed him again, reaching up card his fingers through long strands of silver hair. “Not that I'm complaining, but what brought this on?”

 

For a moment, Gin was reminded of that conversation and the fear it had struck inside of him. The trembling emotion he had been trying to fight with little success. The look must have shown on his face because Ichigo's brow furrowed, eyes filling with concern.

 

“Gin? Are you alright?” Ichigo's voice was soft but worried. “You're acting strange. Sure nothing's going on?”

 

He didn't want Ichigo to worry, the only reason he kept the possible knowledge to himself. “It's nothin', Ichigo.” He smiled and dragged his fingers down Ichigo's side, still feeling stirrings of arousal in his body. “Nothin' cept me wantin' to keep ya here just a bit longer, ne?”

 

Brown eyes searched his expression before he gave a suggestive shift of his hips. “I suppose I can comply with that,” Ichigo teased. “But if Stark asks, I'm blaming you.”

 

Dipping his head to lick at the lines of Ichigo's collarbone, Gin hid his smirk of victory. “Fine by me,” he purred and languidly rolled his hips against Ichigo's upper thigh.

 

When Ichigo arched up to meet him, he just knew that his lover wasn't going to be leaving the room anytime soon. Which was just fine with him.

 

- - -

 

Later that night, Gin felt it the very second it occurred, a foreign reiatsu on the edge of his senses. It was tightly contained, the intruder obviously skilled at reiatsu manipulation, but Gin had already been on alert thanks to Urahara's warning. Nothing would have slipped by him.

 

He woke with a start and peered into the darkness of their shared room; the arm wrapped around the sleeping Ichigo tightened in concern. He couldn't see anything, but he knew they were there, that something was there. And it definitely wasn't friendly. His instincts sluggishly surged to the surface, and there was a soft brush of fabric, a light step barely heard against the bare floor.

 

Beside him, Ichigo stirred into wakefulness, likely sensing his lover's sudden tensing. “Gin?” he murmured sleepily.

 

Gin didn't respond, too busy concentrating on what he thought he had caught in the dark. A flash of something, just a glimmer really. A blade catching a thin stream of moonlight from the window.

 

Without thinking, he reacted. A fierce shove sent Ichigo tumbling gracelessly to the side as Gin rolled to the other edge. A blade ripped into their bed, right where Ichigo would have been as he toppled to the floor. Images of Ichigo's blood splattered across their shared bed ignited in Gin's mind. He snarled, reiatsu surging to life and snapping through the room.

 

Paying no heed to the disarrayed nature of his nemaki, he rolled to his feet and threw a kidoh blindly, sensing that Ichigo was still crouched on the floor. A spray of sharp, flame-tipped darts shot through the room. A pained grunt was music to the ears as one target went down in a blaze of kidoh-induced fire. Gin paid that one hardly any attention as he whipped around, fingers searching for Shinsou.

 

The room was still dark, and he couldn't see his foes. But that didn't matter to Gin. He didn't need to see them to kill them. And they were most certainly going to die; he was going to be sure of that. Nothing threatened Ichigo and survived.

 

His reiatsu flared, the reaches of it sensing the others in the room. Four standing, one on the floor. Two were approaching him, and a third seemed to be backing towards the door. The damned coward. The fourth was just standing by, seemingly observing.

 

A growl building in his throat, Gin leapt over the bed and encountered the two attacking head on. He ducked under the first swing of his assailant and jabbed Shinsou upwards, ripping through black fabric and into the soft belly of one of the assassins. The man gurgled unattractively and toppled to the floor, barely through with his swing before Gin had gutted him. Gin doubted the man had seen anything of his movement but a blur.

 

Ignoring the sharp scent of blood in the air and the sound of Ichigo fumbling for Zangetsu in the dark, Gin was already diving at his next opponent. He blocked the fierce swing of a small blade, twisted to avoid a high kick, and slammed his elbow into the other assassin's face. The crunch of a nose smashing was a satisfactory noise.

 

The attacker stumbled backwards and coughed as he choked on his own blood. Gin gave him no quarter, fury coloring his emotions and somehow making him faster. He only wanted to feel their deaths on his fingers, his anger heightened by the fear that had struck him. This close... he had been this close to losing Ichigo.

 

With a snarl, Shinsou ripped through the air and sliced cleanly across the assailant's throat and well into his neck. He felt warm blood splash onto his fingers, nearly decapitating the man. He dropped to his knees, and even in the dark, Gin could see him scrabbling at the wound, a purely reflexive action. He had no mercy to offer the assassin, and with a hard kick into the man's chest, Gin sent him flying backwards into a dresser with enough force for his head and body to detach.

 

The sound of blades clashing drew his attention, and Gin whipped around, heedless to the spatters on his person. Ichigo was grappling with one of the assassins but was already gaining ground on the man. A fierce downswing defeated his opponent. Which left only one other standing, the one heading for the door.

 

None would escape. Not a single one.

 

A snarled “Ikorose” sent Shinsou slicing through the air, catching the man in the back before he could even take a single step beyond the door's threshold. The blade poked through his chest on the other side as the fleeing man was effectively speared. Eyes thin slits of bright blue and black, Gin recalled his zanpakutou and let the body slide off his blade.

 

And then, it was suddenly silent, except for the sound of stuttered gasping. The one he had felled by kidoh was still alive, clinging to failing breaths.

 

Fingers wrapped around Shinsou's slick hilt, Gin stalked towards the surviving assassin and found Ichigo there already. The look on his face, shadowed thanks to the lack of light in the room, was contemplative. He lifted his eyes to Gin, and there was hesitancy behind the brown irises.

 

“He's still alive,” Ichigo explained quietly, watching his lover and wondering what Gin planned on doing. He could still see Gin as the rampaging storm, taking out the attackers in the span of a moment, if that.

 

He had never even realized that his lover was this powerful. Gin must have really been holding back in their spars. Even he could see that more was simmering beneath the surface of tightly contained reiatsu, brimming with a cold and hateful fury.

 

Gin's jaw twisted. “Not fer long,” he muttered and stood over the assassin with Shinsou dangling in his grasp. “I didn't mean ta miss.”

 

“Gin--” There was something in Ichigo's eyes, something almost childlike.

 

“They were goin' ta kill us,” he answered before Ichigo could say another word. “In our sleep. A dagger through th' hearts. Like cowards. Given the chance, they'd do it ag'in.”

 

Even so, he could see the battle on his lover's face. He loved Ichigo; he honestly did. More than the teen would ever know. And he was fond of the naiveté that Ichigo sometimes carried. The sense of innocence that had yet to be tainted. But this was war, and Gin was protecting what was his. He had no room for mercy, not when Ichigo was in danger.

 

He knew that Ichigo understood that much, but the teen still wasn't at that level. And Gin cherished that in his lover, which was why he never tried to teach Ichigo different. He had seen the boy have leniency for his enemies, attempt to save the very things he was trying to defeat. And he was glad Ichigo could still think optimistically like that.

 

Biting his lip, he curled his fingers around Shinsou's hilt. “I'll make it quick,” he promised, his one concession. It was despite the urging of his Hollow to make it painful and messy, to draw it into something that was a bit more torture than anything.

 

He didn't wait for Ichigo's agreement, simply stooping to slit the man's throat, getting no sense of satisfaction from that death. It wasn't the same as fighting the assassin down, even if they were all pitifully easy to defeat. He wondered if he was simply that much stronger of if the quality of the Onmitsukidoh was really that low these days. Soul Society was either underestimating the abilities of their foes or overestimating their own.

 

“That can't have been the only ones,” Ichigo suddenly said, as he tore his gaze away from the sight of the dead men on his bedroom floor. His eyes widened. “Aizen!” he realized at the last moment. “They're going after Aizen, too.”

 

Heedless to the way his nemaki draped off one shoulder, Ichigo was already heading towards the door. Damn hero complex. But Gin stopped him before he could get too far, snagging his arm with long fingers. Confused, Ichigo whirled back to him.

 

“Gin... what...?”

 

He silenced him with a firm kiss, a deep kiss. It was as much reassurance as the warmth of Ichigo's body pressed against his and the familiar scent of his lover washed over him. This close. If he had woken any slower, if his senses hadn't been so attuned... If Urahara hadn't warned him to be careful...

 

So many “ifs,” and all of them were scant inches from him having lost Ichigo forever.

 

His heart gave a lurch in his chest, and he pressed even closer into Ichigo. Wrapped his arms that much tighter. Ignored the not-so-faint tremble, just as he ignored the sudden burning behind his eyes.

 

“They were after you tonigh', Ichigo. Not me,” Gin whispered as he ended the kiss, pulling away to look him in the face. “You. Not me. Not us. Just you. I was collateral. Please… jus' humor me. Just this once.”

 

He pulled Ichigo against him, letting Shinsou slide to the floor. Tilting his head down - not so far a distance as there used to be - he kissed Ichigo again. If his arms were just a bit too tight around his lover, Ichigo didn't complain.

 

The teen realized if a bit belatedly that Gin had been afraid for him. That his behavior earlier and now was all because of fear. And he returned the kiss, deepened it with tongue, and squeezed Gin's upper arm to assure him.

 

“I'm still here,” the gesture told him. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

When the kiss ended, he smiled reassuringly at Gin, though it could hardly be seen in the dark. “I'm fine. These types of guys couldn't take me down.” When he squeezed Gin's fingers, he felt the stickiness of blood. It should have made him ill; it didn't.

 

At the worry etched into Gin's face, a thought occurred to Ichigo. He paused and reconsidered, mouth pulling into a frown.

 

“That's what the meeting was about, wasn't it? Aizen knew this would happen.”

 

“He suspected,” Gin corrected, hoping that Ichigo's suspicion wouldn't turn to anger at not being informed. “Which means they're prob'ly after Ki-kun at this moment.”

 

Ichigo's eyes widened. “The geta-boushi!” he blurted, concerned for his mentor. “Then, we should--”

 

He couldn't even manage an escape from Gin's arms.

 

“Aizen-taichou's not helpless, ya know,” the ex-captain reminded him, glad that concern had outweighed any potential irritation. “They're fine. We should see if they tried ta get Kuchiki-hime.”

 

Inclining his head in understanding, Ichigo remained distracted. Though logically, both the geta-boushi and Aizen were more than capable of defending themselves. He still didn't like knowing that assassins had been able to get so close to him without any sort of warning. He didn't like his life being threatened in such a cheap and cowardly manner, but he really should have known considering what Soul Society was going to do to him before.

 

Gin kissed him once more, if only to wipe away the worry that shadowed his expression. Nothing was going to touch Ichigo; he was going to make sure of that. It was Aizen's job to watch out for Urahara, and he was just going to have to remind Sousuke of that so Ichigo wouldn't worry.

But first, to check on the princess.

 

- - -

 

The wind from the stark, white desert was unchanging in its chill, just like the landscape it emerged from. Cold and lifeless, it carried no warmth to Aizen's balcony. Yet, he relished the coolness brought by the breeze, keeping it as a reminder of what Soul Society had done. More fuel to the flame as it were and more reason for him not to make their same foolish mistakes.

 

“We have to consider how many divisions will actively fight against us,” Sousuke mused aloud, gaze focused on the map of Seireitei that was spread out across the table in front of him. The edges were held down by small figurines, replicas of Hollow masks.

 

Across from him, Kisuke inclined his head as he too pondered the schematics that his spies had taken great pains to pilfer and provide. And if he were bothered by the lack of warmth to their location, his dear friend didn't show it.

 

“Undoubtedly, we face no opposition from the third and the fifth, as neither are in any position to form an attack.

 

“The sixth is also lacking in leadership at the moment,” Aizen added, bringing his tea cup to his lips and breathing in the strong aroma. Legs crossed in front of him, he presented the perfect picture of ease. “Their third-seat is not capable of leading them to battle. And according to Yoruichi, we have nothing to worry about from the eleventh.”

 

Reaching for one of the many pastries that had been brought with their tea, Kisuke frowned. “Yamamoto knows that the lower ranks will not be strong enough to handle any of our forces. Will he throw them at us anyway to serve as a distraction, or try to cut his losses by keeping them out of the fray?”

 

Aizen's eyes narrowed into thin slits of cold distaste. “It is the soutaichou, Kisuke, which do you think?”

 

“We'll deploy some of the fraccion to keep them at bay,” the shopkeeper agreed with a disappointed sigh. “Yamamoto will make it difficult for us to keep the loss of life to a minimum.”

 

Sitting back in his chair, Sousuke looked up at the black sky, so utterly devoid of anything even resembling stars. “That is because he foolishly believes that my aim is to destroy Soul Society in its entirety. The senile fool understands nothing.”

 

“Of course not,” Kisuke responded with a scoff, shadowed eyes shooting Sousuke a fond but knowing look. “It would be impossible to guess the mind of Aizen Sousuke. Even I had given up centuries ago.”

 

Aizen arched one brow in his dearest friend's direction. “As if the mind of Urahara Kisuke were any easier to comprehend.”

 

He tapped a finger against his forehead. “This is mainly scientific calculations and--”

 

“--perversions,” Sousuke filled in for him with an amused smirk.

 

Rolling his eyes, Kisuke sniffed. “--and battle tactics,” he defended with a stern glance. “Clearly, those are all easy subjects to comprehend. You, however, can still prove to be quite the challenge.”

 

He sat forward in his seat, eyes taking on a gleam that bespoke of new inventions or discoveries. “There were times I wondered if you were really trying to save the world or destroy it.”

 

“And sometimes,” the lord of Hueco Mundo returned, tapping his fingers on the arm of his throne. His gaze, captured by the single moon, seemed almost distant. “It just may be a bit of both.”

 

Kisuke grinned and touched the brim of his hat with one finger. “And that, dear Sou-kun, is precisely why you're incomprehensible. But don't worry; I've not given up on the mystery. I'm still determined to make sense of you yet.”

 

A smile tugged at Sousuke's lips, a mixture of fondness and bemusement. “I am relieved,” he replied drolly. “I can now rest easy.”

 

In response, a strange ringing began to fill the air, not unlike the happy chip of a cell phone. And it was coming from the direction of Urahara's new Hueco Mundo outfit. Or to be more precise, the seat of his hakama.

 

Aizen lifted one brow. “Kisuke,” he began carefully. “Your ass is chirping.”

 

“What? This?” The shopkeeper asked with pretend innocence and withdrew a small device from the folds of his clothing. “That's just the sensors I placed alerting me to our uninvited guests.”

 

“How soon?”

 

He leaned back nonchalantly, shoving it back into his pocket. “Oh, I suspect they're already on their way to attack Ichigo and Gin-chan. We should see them any minute now.”

 

“I see.” Sousuke waited a moment and then rose to his feet with a luxurious stretch. “Then, we should prepare for their arrival, no?”

 

“You read my mind, Sou-kun,” Kisuke responded, dropping his hand to his zanpakutou. “Though I wonder how we should greet our guests?”

 

The soft sound of feet dropping to the ground behind them met their ears.

 

Aizen smirked, sliding fingers through his hair. “With our manners intact, Kisuke. We can't be considered rude.”

 

“Of course not,” the shopkeeper replied, keeping up the banter as he elegantly drew Benihime from her sheath. “Appearances are important, after all. As are first impressions.”

 

Something hard flickered across the ex-captain's expression, Aizen's senses estimating the distance between the targets approaching his back. “Even the epitome of evil must be polite,” he agreed, and his body dissolved into thin air as the assassin sliced a blade through where he had been standing.

 

“Really, you should be sure of your target before attacking,” Kisuke informed him sweetly. Benihime sang as she slashed through the air.

 

Behind him, a startled shout and the following gurgle was all the proof he needed that Aizen had already taken down the member of the Onmitsukidoh who had sneaked up behind Kisuke, intent on stabbing him in the back. One hand lifted to the brim of Urahara's hat as he stepped towards Aizen's side, blood dripping from his blade to the floor. The steady plip-plop was slightly unnerving in the otherwise silence. The lord and master of Hueco Mundo drew a handkerchief from his pocket, idly wiping down his own zanpakutou.

 

The air surrounding the two of them was very casual, despite the fact they were even now being encircled by the enemy. At least a dozen of the Onmitsukidoh had landed out on the balcony. And one, who was so obviously the leader considering he had a different face mask than the others, was standing at their forefront.

 

“Do you think you can handle them?” Sousuke asked, speaking to Kisuke and fully ignoring their would-be assassins.

 

The leader gestured towards them threateningly, intent to kill laced in her tone. “Aizen Sousuke. Urahara Kisuke. Former captains of Soul Society--”

 

Kisuke smiled cheerfully. “I don't know,” he replied, fingers running lovingly down Benihime's blade. “Might be difficult if there was one more.”

 

“--have been accused of treason and conspiracy--”

 

“Then, I shall just have to take care of that one,” Sousuke responded in kind and then without warning, threw his hand out towards a section of surrounding assassins.

 

A spray of lightning and fire intertwined shot from his finger, catching three of them in one blow. They had been surprised by the lack of incantation and were slow to react. A flutter of white fabric on the edge of his vision followed by the distinctive clack of geta, and then, Kisuke was leaping past him.

 

Tap. Kisuke spun and his zanpakutou broke through one of the assassin's blade and bit deeply into his chest. He gurgled and stumbled backwards, still alive but spilling blood. His hand batted ineffectually at the wound, as though trying to shove his own life's fluid back into himself.

 

Tap. The shopkeeper sprinted the short distance in all of one step and finished off another attacker with an equally quick uppercut. The two fell, one right after the other, bodies nearly crossing each other.

 

Tap, and Kisuke was at Sousuke's side again, frowning at the dots of blood that he had caught on the edge of his white clothing.

 

“If Tessai were here, he could get out the stain,” he said, lips pulled into a pout as he glanced over at his friend.

 

“I've found that Ulquiorra has some skill in that avenue,” Sousuke replied pleasantly, never taking his own gaze off the assassins, who were treating them with a greater respect and distance. In the span of thirty seconds, five of their own had been dispatched. It was perhaps the first wise decision they had made.

 

Kisuke brightened at the thought. “I might have to borrow him, though he won't obey me as well as he does you.” His grin turned mischievous as he leaned in closer towards the lord of Hueco Mundo, voice becoming a low purr. “I think that Ul-chan might be a little jealous.”

 

A bright blue streak shot past the two former captains, neatly impaling one of the assassins that had been circling behind them. Another quickly followed, nearly clipping Urahara's hat is it sunk into the chest of a second assailant. Blinking, they followed the trajectory to find Ishida perched on the railing of their balcony, already prepping another arrow on Ginrei Koujaku.

 

“This is hardly the time for flirtations, wouldn't you agree?” he suggested in his usual arrogant tone, face lighting blue as another arrow glowed to life on his bow.

 

Urahara chuckled, shaking a few more drops of blood from Benihime. “Ishida-kun, how nice of you to offer your aid.”

 

One arched eyebrow twitched before the Quincy smoothly shifted his aim and released a single arrow, though fully capable of shooting more than one at once. He was giving them opportunity to dispatch their own enemies.

 

“One might almost think you were fond of us,” Sousuke added, sharing a look with Kisuke before darting forward in a blur. Two quick swipes of Kyouka Suigetsu and two more of the Onmitsukidoh tumbled to the ground, staring blankly at the shattered remnants of their weapons.

 

“If you want to see it that way,” Ishida replied blandly, gleaming glasses hiding his eyes. “I just don't take kindly to intruders.”

 

Any further conversation was then hampered by the concerted attack of the remaining assassins, who threw themselves at the three men with little concern for their own safety. Two went after Ishida, throwing projectiles his direction to force him to dodge and hopefully upset his aim. The remaining four leapt at Aizen and Urahara.

 

Aiming at Aizen, they were again swinging for empty air, weapons aimed at what had been a rather effective illusion. Urahara smirked at the sight of it and concentrated on his own opponent. He parried the high slash of one enemy and easily sliced down the one next to him, watching blood spray against the white of Aizen's balcony. Such a mess.

 

Lightning crackled on his fingertips as he prepared a kidoh to throw at the other opponent, when he felt the sharp prick on his neck. It threw him off balance in his surprise for a moment and rather than dispatching the second assassin with grace, he executed a clumsy throw that was debilitating rather than deadly. The assassin crumpled, clutching the blackened injury at his side as the remnants of the energy crackled against the balcony rail.

 

Frowning, Kisuke reached up with his free hand and grasped at the side of his neck. Something small and cold met his fingers, and he jerked it free, feeling the small trail of blood resulting from the wound. Surprise registered quickly as he eyed the dart, whatever had been contained within it now injected into his bloodstream. He never even noticed when a blue arrow shot by him to impale the perpetrator of the attack.

 

`This can't be good,' his mind supplied for him, even as he examined the dart. Poison or something sopiferous most likely. However, he wasn't too concerned. He was immune to most of the agents that the Onmitsukidoh employed and had a good tolerance to the rest of them. Standard procedure for the second division, after all. Or at least, it had been before the practice was outlawed. It had been quite the necessity for the third-seat, whose side responsibilities required a lot of physical strength and stamina.

 

“Kisuke?” Aizen's concerned voice appeared near his ear.

 

Urahara blinked, realizing that the battle had ended in the span of time it had taken him to contemplate the dart.

 

Bodies littered the balcony including the one he had only injured, though their map remained thankfully undamaged. Ishida-kun was wrinkling his nose in disgust as he dismissed Ginrei Koujaku, and Aizen had already sheathed Kyouya Suigetsu, looking perfectly composed.

 

Shaking his head, Kisuke flicked the dart aside. “It's nothing,” he replied with a dismissing shrug, unconcerned. “But that was too easy. The soutaichou cannot possibly believe they could have effectively dispatched us.”

 

“No, you are right.” Sousuke glanced at the corpses littering his balcony and inwardly reminded himself to get the lower Arrancar to clean up the mess. “There must have been another purpose. Reconnaissance, perhaps.”

 

Urahara inclined his head, following Sousuke as they headed off the balcony. The silent footsteps of the Quincy trailed along behind them.

 

“Do you think that we missed one, then?”

 

“Undoubtedly,” Ishida replied in a bored tone and pushed his glasses up on his face, “they were only trying to determine whether or not the Kuchiki siblings and Abarai were actually here. If they managed to assassinate one of their enemies in the process, then it would be a bonus.”

 

Kisuke frowned, the scent of freshly spilled blood still making his nose twitch. Really, he had been away from the battlefield for too long. He was getting soft. He took a step and then stumbled, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. His body wavered and he slumped.

 

Before he could fall, however, Sousuke caught his arm. “Kisuke?”

 

Inside, the shopkeeper was cursing himself for being so naïve and perhaps just a touch too arrogant. “Ah, it appears that whatever was in that dart is affecting me, after all,” he said with a faint chuckle, mind beginning to spin rather unpleasantly. “Kurotsuchi's been b--”

 

Brown eyes widened, and Sousuke was quick to support his friend as his knees abruptly buckled beneath him. He could feel Kisuke's heart racing wildly, far too fast for it to be normal. Sousuke caught him as his legs completely gave out.

 

“What do you mean?” the lord of Hueco Mundo demanded.

 

Kisuke shook his head and then regretted the action when it gave him a sense of vertigo. “Poison,” he mumbled, words beginning to slur. “Or something. I don't know. I'd... have to get... lab t'see.” He waved vaguely towards the balcony, feeling his extremities beginning to tingle. “I left the dart out there. You'll... need it.”

 

And then, everything went black, sending Kisuke into blessed unconsciousness.

 

Alarmed, Sousuke shifted the dead - not dead, just unconscious - weight in his arms and carefully turned Kisuke's head. He found the small wound at the base of his friend's neck, blackening around the edges like a burn. His senses discovered flickers in Kisuke's reiatsu as well, distortions that were nowhere near normal. This wasn't good.

 

“Aizen-san?”

 

He shook his head. “Find Gin,” Sousuke ordered, scooping the unconscious man into his arms with relative ease. The hat fell off blond hair, but he left it for now, though Kisuke would only pout about it later. “Tell him to get Szayel and come to lab five. He's likely in the residential area where your room is. I'm sure you remember the way.”

 

The Quincy's gaze seemed locked on the unconscious shopkeeper, for once breaking his stoicism to see a glimmer of concern beneath. Though he would normally balk at such an obvious order, this time he would obey.

 

“I will.”

 

His response was said to the former captain's back as Aizen was already hurrying down the corridor, looking less like the lord of Hueco Mundo and more like a frantically worried friend or brother. If only Soul Society could see him like that, Ishida remarked to himself. Utterly human in so many ways considering the villain they were trying to paint him as.

 

Shaking his head, he turned and went in the opposite direction to find Ichimaru and Kurosaki, hoping to kami that he wouldn't find them in a perverted position.

 

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