Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Misguided Manipulation ❯ What Truth They Admitted ( Chapter 4 )

Title: Misguided Manipulation

Pairings/Characters: Stark/Ichigo (eventually)

Rating: T

Warning: Language, spoilers

Words: 6318

Description: Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.

 

 

Chapter Four - What Truths They Admitted

 

Despite being an Arrancar and an Espada to boot, Stark didn't really like Las Noches and Hueco Mundo by default. It wasn't like he had a choice to live there, more like the decision had been made for him. In all honesty, he despised the place. There was nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. White sand and black sky and dead, twisted trees and a single moon that never changed.

 

It was a world where Hollows killed each other to survive, and strength meant everything. It was a lonely, empty place dragged down by its despair and monotony. Why would anyone enjoy being here?

 

In contrast, the living world was much brighter. Alive and constantly in motion. And Stark found himself drawn more and more to Karakura, even outside the necessities of his mission. He no longer sought the entrapping white walls of Las Noches for a nap but a high place somewhere in the city, where the sun warmed his skin and a faint breeze brought all sorts of sounds to his ears. Definitely different from the austere silence of Las Noches.

 

This was one of his favorite locations, a high building that wasn't far from a gently flowing river. Perched on the edging of the roof, he could see for miles around. And on a cloudless day like this, the sky stretched above him in an endless vista. Aizen's fake blue ceiling couldn't possibly compare to the reality of what was above him.

 

Folding his arms behind his head, Stark settled in comfortably, drawing his reiatsu tightly around him. Not that he expected any of the Shinigami would sense him and attack. To them, he might as well have been invisible.

 

Four months, give or take some weeks, that was how long he'd been attempting to win Ichigo to their cause. And Stark knew by this point that it wasn't going to happen. Aizen hadn't been pressing him for updates and seemed distracted by some other plot of his, so Stark was pretty much free to do as he wished. That didn't really explain why he still stuck around the teen though, teaching him things, becoming his lover.

 

He never would have expected that. But as he'd suspected, there was something gravitating about Ichigo. Something that couldn't be ignored and drew one in without giving a choice in the matter. And Stark had been effectively snared so to speak, just as Urahara had warned.

 

Of course, Stark wasn't sure if he should term it “snared” at this point or simply very interested. He found himself time and again in Karakura, seeking out Ichigo and not for the sake of his so-called mission. Certainly, spending nights in the teen's bed was well outside the necessities for Aizen's plan. He did it anyway.

 

There was nothing quite like waking up---

 

What the hell was that?

 

Stark shot upwards, eyes popping open as two bursts of reiatsu surged and collided on the edge of his senses. He was on his feet within seconds, perched on the railing of the roof and peering into the distance. He could see nothing, but with the way his senses were buzzing, it was definitely a battle.

 

Frowning, Stark concentrated, only to suck in a sharp breath. Ichigo. Definitely. He'd recognize that reiatsu anywhere. And the second one was an Espada. Not just any but Barragan, the second. And judging from the feel of their rippling reiatsu clashing with Ichigo's becoming more and more rattled, they were fighting. What the hell was he doing here?

 

Worry crashed over Stark, and he quickly leapt from the roof and over to the next one. He let his instincts guide him, each step a quick burst of sonido. Barragan shouldn't have been anywhere near the living world! The old bastard hated leaving Las Noches for anything less than sheer destruction. And he despised taking orders from Aizen, especially for any sort of lowly mission. What did he think he was doing?

 

The fact that Ichigo was no match for Barragan, even in his current state, was a worrying buzz on the back of Stark's senses.

 

Barragan wasn't even trying, reiatsu expenditure pitiful compared to the effort Ichigo put forward. The Vizard was already in bankai - the first surge of reiatsu Stark had felt. And he suspected at any moment, Ichigo would resort to his Vizard abilities. That was troublesome as he still wasn't under complete control of them. There was no telling how long he would actually last.

 

Stark put on a burst of sonido, taking huge leaps across Karakura as he tracked the two fighters. He knew he was close when he passed through a haze of dust and smoke and heard the rumble of things crashing. There was another sharp, frantic spike of Ichigo's reiatsu; he was desperate. Stark forced himself to hurry.

 

A few seconds later, he arrived on a rooftop to find himself surrounded by crumpled buildings and the sharp smell of released reiatsu in the air. Ozone like a sky split by lightning. And below him on the street, Barragan had Ichigo by the face, massive palm gripping the teen's head with a dark cero building in his fingertips. Ichigo looked to be barely struggling, body covered in blood that dripped down to the pavement.

 

Anger unlike anything Stark had ever felt before invaded his very being. And he didn't think; he just reacted. A burst of sonido and he blurred in the air. He grabbed Ichigo out of Barragan's hold and lifted one hand, deflecting the powerful cero all in the same instant. It careened off into the sky, a dark display of reiatsu that exploded somewhere in the distance.

 

Ichigo groaned in his hold, stirring faintly but otherwise limp against him. Stark cursed under his breath, the smell of blood that much stronger around his senses. He angled his body so that it was between the two and found himself glaring at the second Espada. His palm tingled beneath the glove, blackened around the edges from the force of Barragan's cero.

 

“Stark,” the old bastard growled in surprise, drawing back. “What the do you think you're doing?”

 

His fingers unconsciously tightened around Ichigo. “I should ask you the same thing,” Stark replied, tone utterly cold though still deceptively polite. “The boss wanted him alive.”

 

Barragan snorted derisively and cast a disdainful look in Ichigo's direction. “We don't need a brat like him. It's better to kill him now.”

 

His anger burned brighter, forming a cold pit in his belly that was slowly hardening with resolve. “No.”

 

The second Espada was startled, bushy eyebrows raising in surprise. “Are you stopping me?”

 

“The boss won't approve--”

 

“To hell with that!” Barragan slashed a hand through the air, eyes narrowing as reiatsu began to ripple around him in obvious threat. “You're protecting that kid! Are you siding with the Shinigami now, Primera?”

 

It was a smooth move and well calculated for Barragan to remind him of his rank, as much as he loathed to admit it. Stark hadn't known Barragan had the craftiness within him. Yet, he should have known. Barragan's aspirations had always been higher than his skill, and he had always despised Stark for his position. Frankly, the other Espada questioned whether Aizen had sent him at all.

 

He hesitated for an instant searching for a response. And was surprised when the answer came to him with no prompting at all. Falling from his lips as though it were as natural as breathing, echoing a sentiment he had heard so many times before.

 

“I care nothing for the Shinigami,” Stark replied harshly because it was the utter truth. He despised the Shinigami and Soul Society. And yet... “I'm only protecting what's important to me.”

 

And that was just the truth of it, wasn't it?

 

In the end, all he cared about was this new relationship, which had somehow gotten under his skin. Ichigo who was so naively honest and independent. Determined and resolute. He couldn't just stand there and watch Barragan kill him, orders or not. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

 

Stark realized with a dawning sense of clarity that he had just crossed a line. And all without every knowing he had been treading it. A fence of indecision, hovering in dubiety between one side or the other. Except there wasn't a side for him. There was just Ichigo.

 

“I knew it,” Barragan hissed, something like triumph glimmering in his aged gaze. “And Aizen knew it, too. Why else would I be here?”

 

He felt himself freeze, the feeling of being enclosed within the clamped jaws of a trap stirring around him. “Aizen--”

 

“--suspected things weren't going quite to plan. And he thought this might draw you out.” Barragan sneered and tipped his head to the side as he gave Ichigo another disgusted look. “Looks like I was right. We'll be needing a new Primera.”

 

“And you serve to benefit the most,” Stark commented snidely, figuring that would be the only reason Barragan would obey Aizen without any sort of protest.

 

In his hold, Ichigo twitched, a small groan leaving his lips. Stark momentarily glanced down at him, alarmed at the sight of blood that was dripping to the ground and staining the white of his own clothing. A hand reached out to grasp onto Stark's arm with surprising strength.

 

“M'fine,” Ichigo slurred, trying to peel open his eyes. “I can still--”

 

“Shut up,” Stark muttered, both loving and hating Ichigo for his determination. Dammit, why couldn't the kid see when it was time to cut his losses and live to fight another day?

 

Reiatsu rippled dangerously from Barragan's direction, the other Espada through with talking. “It will be my pleasure to remove you from Aizen's service,” he snarled and leapt at Stark, another cero burning in his hands.

 

Stark didn't think, just reacted. Throwing Ichigo over a shoulder and leaping backwards. He cursed the situation, where he was distinctly at a disadvantage. Barragan was no easy match for him, even at full strength, and now, he was worried about protecting Ichigo, who needed medical attention. And fast.

 

A roof shingle crunched beneath his foot, but he barely had time to rest his weight before he was dodging again. Something exploded in their wake as the weight of Barragan's reiatsu crashed into the building. One of Ichigo's hands clutched at the back of Stark's clothes, gripping tightly. He could feel the warmth of Ichigo's blood seeping into the fabric. Dammit! What had Barragan done, ripped out his side?

 

“Kurosaki-kun!”

 

“Ichigo!”

 

Stark whirled at the familiar voices and nearly fell from the rooftop. He caught sight of Ichigo's friends but was forced to abruptly turn and block Barragan's next attack. His arm rung from the force of the blow, and the roof cracked beneath him.

 

That big-chested girl and the big guy were running their direction, and not too far away, Stark could sense the Quincy brat, too. Never had he been happier to see Ichigo's friends than he was now.

 

Tightening his hold on Ichigo briefly, Stark aimed a high kick out at Barragan, catching him in the shoulder. It would only give him a second's pause, but it would be all he needed. In the next moment, Stark had hefted Ichigo and tossed him down to the big guy, who gave a look of surprise but caught Ichigo anyway.

 

He wasn't under any illusion that he could defeat Barragan easily. In fact, Stark only wanted to drive him off. Ichigo's safety was all that mattered to him, and boy was that an eye-opener.

 

“Take care of him!” Stark called out and threw himself at Barragan, the force of the tackle sending them careening over the edge.

 

- - -

 

Ichigo when injured was pathetically easy to track down or maybe it just seemed that way to Stark. Besides, he could have guessed where his lover was, even if he wasn't losing control of his reiatsu and sending out beacons. Why wasn't Urahara doing anything to conceal that? He should know at least that much.

 

Frowning, Stark slipped to the building next to the shouten and dropped silently into the front yard. He winced as the landing jarred a still healing injury, something he hadn't been able to treat as he couldn't return to Las Noches and didn't exactly have a bevy of friends located in Karakura. Stark had wrapped a stray piece of cloth around it, which had slowed the bleeding somewhat. The rest would have to heal on its own, but for now, he wanted to see Ichigo.

 

Or to be truthful, wanting didn't really describe it. He had to see Ichigo, needed to see him. The last time he'd seen his lover, the Vizard was dripping blood everywhere, barely conscious. He'd been on the edge of death, and Stark hadn't been able to do anything for him.

 

Pulling his reiatsu tightly around him, effectively concealing his presence, Stark walked right up to the front door. Urahara recognized him at this point anyway. And so did all of his employees. He might as well be--

 

Senses screaming, Stark took a step backwards, easily avoiding the zanpakutou that had tried to decapitate him. He pressed a hand against his side, where a jab of pain shot through him, and wisely backed up another pace until he stood in the yard once more. He'd nearly forgotten how protective Ichigo's friends could be.

 

“What the hell do ya think yer doin' here, Espada!” the pineapple-headed moron - Abarai - demanded as he stepped out of the Shouten. It was he who had attacked Stark, unsurprising as he was the most hotheaded of Ichigo's loyal following.

 

Things would have been so much easier if he could just smash his way through, but unfortunately, no doubt there was a line-up of protective friends just behind the idiot. Ah, and there went one now.

 

“I didn't think Aizen would be so bold as to send his lackey here again so soon,” a petite, girl announced, stepping out from behind the pineapple. This girl's name he actually knew - Rukia - because Ichigo mentioned her frequently. Well, he'd probably named the busty chick, too, but Stark pick and chose what he wanted to remember.

 

It really sucked that Ichigo wouldn't appreciate him beating the crap out of his friends. It would have been that much simpler to get to him if he didn't have to wade through the over-protectiveness of the boy's companions. And he wondered if the truth would have any effect or if they'd even believe him.

 

Drawing up straight, despite the pain it caused the rip in his side - Barragan really enjoyed tearing off pieces of flesh - Stark affected a lazy nonchalance. “If I wanted to harm Ichigo, I would have done it weeks ago.”

 

And look! More were making an appearance! What luck! The tall kid loomed out of the shadows behind the two Shinigami but didn't do anything more than stand in the doorway, seeming menacing. Stark sincerely hoped that the Quincy brat wasn't anywhere nearby. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Things would have been a lot easier if he hadn't gotten attached to Ichigo, Stark realized.

 

The Arrancar, watching the Shinigami closely, noticed as the redhead's hand tightened around the hilt of his zanpakutou.

 

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Abarai snarled.

 

“I came to see Ichigo.” Honesty was the best policy, especially since it resulted in such an amusing shade of anger to take over the redhead's expression.

 

Rukia bristled, eyes narrowing coldly. “Why?” she demanded and looked to be reaching for her own blade as well, though significantly more cautious about it. She was very obviously the brighter of the two. More calculating. More dangerous.

 

“So you can kill him in person?” the other Shinigami inserted with another jerky step forward, restrained only by the touch on his arm. He was holding back but just barely, body trembling with desire to attack.

 

Admirable but foolish. Stark would have wiped the floor with him and left a tacky, red stain behind. Honestly, he could've taken all three of them - even with the Quincy kid - on at once and walked away with a few scratches at the worst. Not that it would be fun or anything with his gushing side and all.

 

He sighed. This was getting really annoying. And the pulsing in his side wasn't helping. Stark could feel the blood seeping through his bandages, dripping down his side beneath his clothes. Soon, it would bleed through the white, betraying his weakness to all of them.

 

“Listen, kid,” he began, gathering patience from an infinite well he had accrued and using the same tone one would with a particularly belligerent child. As he'd often used with Grimmjow in fact. “I mean Ichigo no harm, okay? And even if I did, you couldn't stop me.”

 

It was amusing to watch the colors shift across the redhead's face. From white to pink and then to full blown crimson with fury. He growled like a caged tiger in his throat.

 

“You little--”

 

“Stark.”

 

His name said in a weary tone of voice and very nearly sounding like a command floated from the entranceway behind the tall kid. Who obediently offered an arm out for help that was declined.

 

“Quit goading Renji.”

 

Ah, so that was the redhead's other name.

 

Relief like nothing Stark had ever felt swept through him as he watched his lover stagger out of the shouten, though he carried himself with pride. His upper half was swathed in bandages, the lower half wearing nothing but hakama and tabi. A few squares of white were patched to his face, and his jaw seemed like it was going to have a nasty bruise later, but he'd never looked more beautiful to Stark than in that moment. He'd been two steps away from dead when the Arrancar had seen him last.

 

He ignored the way Ichigo's friends were gaping at him, and a smile slipped onto his face, reserved for his lover alone. “But it seems like so much fun,” he drawled. Mushy words were far from his style.

 

Behind Ichigo, footsteps hurried down the hall. “Kurosaki-kun!” The busty chick emerged out of the shouten with a harried and concerned look on her face. “You should be in bed. Your injuries--”

 

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, which flickered through his hair, still crusted to one side with his own blood. “I'm fine, Inoue. You're the one who healed me.”

 

The girl, in the midst of protesting once more, blushed to the roots of her ginger-colored hair. She nodded mutely, stammering something along the lines of acceptance. Really, how could Ichigo not know she was hopelessly in love with him?

 

Renji chose to ruin that moment by whirling towards the Vizard, caught in indecision. “Ichigo, you know this guy?” he spluttered, unable to comprehend the situation for himself.

 

“Not guy. Espada,” Stark corrected, a bit miffed at the casual dismissal of his presence. “Stark… to be more precise.” It was ironic though, considering he hadn't bothered to remember their names.

 

The redhead twisted back towards him, fixing Stark with a furious glare. He was like a dog with its hackles raised, growling to protect personal property. Seriously. How could Ichigo not see just how much these people cared for him?

 

It baffled the mind.

 

Stark seriously couldn't help the smirk that slid onto his lips, an unusual bout of possessiveness touching him in that moment. “And of course he does,” he added. “We're lovers.”

 

Stunned silence followed that admission. You could have heard Szayel's pants drop in that moment. There was a strangled sound that could have been a gasp come from someone; Stark couldn't make out who. But several jaws dropped in shock, and Renji… well, he went white as a sheet.

 

Ichigo, however, was not amused. “Stark!” he growled warningly, taking a step forward and wobbling just a bit. Tall kid grabbed his elbow and steadied him. But Stark didn't mind him so much.

 

“I'm just telling them the truth,” he replied and caught his lover's gaze as he shrugged. “They might as well know.”

 

“It's none of their business!” Ichigo returned, and the pink taking over his cheeks had nothing to do with anger but more with pure embarrassment. It was rather cute. Stark wanted to tackle him then and there, injuries and audience aside.

 

Rukia, who had been quietly watching the proceedings, chose that moment to capture Ichigo's attention. “He's telling the truth?”

 

“But… I... Kurosaki-kun… I don't...” the busty chick - Inoue, dammit, why couldn't he remember? - stammered in the background, looking very hurt.

 

And for a moment, Stark regretted the rather callous outburst. It had been meant to piss off Renji. But in the process, he'd inadvertently broken a young girl's heart.

 

Ichigo squirmed under all the attention, unwilling to lie, a bit embarrassed of the truth, and none too fond of airing his personal business to everyone. And he was dropping, very obviously not completely healed. Come to think of it, Stark was feeling just a little exhausted himself.

 

“I think,” a voice announced from behind all of them, causing the whole crowd gathered in front of the shop to turn around. Urahara stood in the doorway, the look on his face a cross between amusement and gravity. “That we should take this inside. You all are drawing attention to my shop. And well, it's not of the good sort.”

 

“Ah, I'm sorry, Urahara-san!” Inoue was quick to apologize, the hurt in her eyes unchanged as she rushed for the house. Likely seeking any escape.

 

The shopkeeper inclined his head, stepping aside to let her pass. “And it appears Primera-san is in need of some medical attention.” His gaze found Stark's, flickering briefly over his frame.

 

“It's just a flesh wound,” Stark replied glibly, despite the numbness that was beginning to attack his extremities. He didn't dare look down, not wanting to know just how much blood he was dripping on the ground.

 

“You idiot.” Ichigo made a motion as though he intended to move forward, but his body wouldn't quite support his intentions. “Get your ass in here and get Inoue to heal you.”

 

Stark winced. “I don't think--”

 

A fan mysteriously appeared in Urahara's hand with a loud snap as he popped it open. “Oh, Tessai's free. He'll look after it for you. Sado-kun, take Kurosaki-kun back to his room before he collapses.”

 

The tall kid - Sado, he had a name, too! - grunted in acknowledgment of what was pretty much a command and hauled Ichigo with him back into the shouten. Ichigo sputtered and protested the whole while, and the door almost closed on his annoyance.

 

Shadowed eyes then pinned themselves on the Shinigami. “Abarai-san, Kuchiki-san, I would appreciate it if you didn't begin any fights on my property.” His words were polite but cautionary, and even Stark could feel the subtle reiatsu prodding that accompanied the request.

 

“Che.” Renji snorted and sheathed his zanpakutou, tossing Stark another warning glare for good measure. He warred with himself for several long minutes before turning on his heel and stalking back into the shouten, large shoulders drawn with anger.

 

Rukia cast Stark an appraising glance, her, blue eyes betraying nothing before she turned and followed Renji. Stark highly suspected that she was saving her words for later, when she would actually have freedom to speak without being bulldozed by the redhead's reckless and loud protests.

 

With his front lot mostly cleared of tension, Urahara snapped his fan shut and eyed Stark from beneath the rim of his hat. “Well, Primera-san, if you would follow me...?”

 

He really didn't have much else of a choice; Stark had nowhere else to go. He faked a strength he did not have and forced his body to take the necessary steps forward. He ached, and he felt a little light-headed, but that was to be expected considering the blood loss. His right waraji squished as he walked; no doubt from the liquid that had accumulated there.

 

“I do have a name,” he reminded the shopkeeper as he stepped by the man and into his shop, pausing momentarily to wait for Urahara.

There was a click as the door shut and a lock slid into place. “I know,” Urahara replied, and his cane tapped against the floor as he moved around Stark, successfully navigating the front portion of his store.

 

For all intents and purposes, it actually looked like a regular candy shop here. The sickly sweet smell of sugar and confectioneries was strong. And colorful pieces of candy were arranged neatly in their cases.

 

“You've never used it,” Stark pointed out, mostly to keep conversation and not look pathetic by passing out in a heap of blood and cloth on the floor.

 

Urahara's lips quirked into a smile. “That I haven't,” he returned and headed towards the door in the back of the shop. “Follow me, Primera-san.”

 

The bastard was doing it on purpose. Stark ground his teeth and decided not to make an issue of it. He still had no proof, but he was certain there was something dangerous about Urahara. He couldn't be sure he'd emerge alive from a scuffle with the man or even fully intact.

 

He followed Urahara though he was quite familiar with the layout of the shouten and was led to one of the first doors on the hall. It was one that was usually empty, but at the moment, Tessai was within and waiting for them.

 

“Tessai will take care of you, Primera-san.” Urahara gestured for him to enter.

Stark paused in the entryway, leaning to glance down the hallway. “Where's Ichigo?”

 

“Injuries first, the rest later.” His smile was tight, polite but restrained. “You dropped quite a bombshell on them, Primera-san. Let Kurosaki-san explain things first.”

 

He thought about protesting, but a wave of dizziness chose that moment to sweep through him. It took every effort to simply remain standing and not betray his weakness. So Stark merely inclined his head. Urahara did have a point.

 

Stark stepped into the room and lowered himself down to the mat at Tessai's insistence, trying not to wince as large, yet gentle hands helped him carefully work off his clothes. They were sticking to the gouge, despite the bandages he had applied.

 

“Ah, this is a nasty wound.” The large man clucked his tongue in disapproval.

 

The floor creaked as Urahara shifted position in the doorway, watching them closely. “Yes. Luckily, I anticipated such a thing and already researched the best way to heal an Arrancar.”

 

Stark grimaced as the last of the blood-soaked cloth peeled away with a gummy noise. “Come now, Urahara-san, I doubt luck had anything to do with it.”

 

“Perhaps.” The shopkeeper tipped his head and turned away from them with the soft sounds of bare feet padding over a wood floor.

 

He left Stark there, not that he was worried about his safety or anything, and a comfortable silence fell in the room. Stark pondered as Tessai poked and prodded at his side, cleaning it first with the tingling warmth of healing quick to follow. The silence was fine with him as he didn't feel like talking, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear bits and pieces of the conversation in the next room. Ichigo's reiatsu was finally calming to an extent, though it was a bit frazzled at the moment.

 

Stark found himself in a unique if not difficult situation. Aizen had washed his hands of him; that was clear enough. He highly doubted that Barragan was lying, though it wasn't beyond the second Espada's capabilities. It wasn't his style. But why would Aizen just send Barragan? Surely, Aizen would know that Barragan alone wasn't enough to kill Stark. Unless, of course, he had ordered more but Barragan in his pride had left the help behind. Or worse, he was only after Ichigo, assuming that the Shinigami would do him a favor in disposing of Stark.

 

That was a nasty thought right there.

 

He had no intentions of letting the Shinigami destroy him nor did he plan on joining them against Aizen either. Let them fight their own war. Stark cared nothing for it. What he did care for, however, was sitting in the next room over. And Ichigo was going to be fighting. Stark highly doubted he could convince his lover to sit out; Ichigo was rather stubborn like that. Which meant he would have to stay by Ichigo's side. The kid was powerful, yeah, but throw him at Ulquiorra - possibly even Nnoitra - and he'd get ground into mincemeat. Proof of that was how easily Barragan had nearly killed him.

 

Stark's hands curled into fists, eyes narrowing angrily. He should have killed the bastard when he had the chance. That Barragan had escaped into a Garganta pissed him off thoroughly. Causing Ichigo to bleed, wounding him that badly, Stark should have ripped him apart. He should have done more than the few broken limbs and gashes he had left the second Espada with. Cowardly creature had fled before they could finish their fight, probably regretting the help he'd dismissed.

 

“Stark-san, please be still,” Tessai's reprimand cut through his dialogue, and only then did Stark realize he was shaking with anger.

 

He forced his hands to uncurl, taking a deep and steadying breath. “Sorry,” he murmured and shoved his hands onto his knees to keep them from clenching once more.

 

“I am almost finished,” Tessai added, even as Stark felt the prickle-tingling of his wound gradually pulling itself together.

 

Stark sighed. “That's a relief.” He resolved to be still, even as he strained his hearing to eavesdrop on the next room.

 

Ichigo's reiatsu was troubled, a bit strained but determined and resolute. The others held a jumbled mélange of confusion, disbelief, dismay. There were a few broken hearts in there. Though Stark doubted Ichigo would even be able to tell. His lover was adorably blind in that regard.

 

No doubt they were cornering him, demanding the truth. Asking if it was his choice or if Stark had forced him into it. No doubt they were trying to change his mind, to convince Ichigo that he had made a bad decision. An Arrancar, even one as strong as an Espada, was hardly suitable for their precious Ichigo. Well, Stark didn't care. Ichigo was his, and he wasn't letting go anytime soon.

 

Ever.

 

The feeling of a warm reiatsu against his skin abruptly vanished, leaving him with a faintly cold sensation.

 

“I am finished, Stark-san,” Tessai rumbled and shifted away as he gathered his medical supplies.

 

Stark rose to his feet, nodding appreciatively at the complete lack of pain. He bowed his head to the other man in thanks. For some reason, he felt like a Shinigami but certainly didn't look like one. Not that the Arrancar cared as long as Tessai didn't try to skewer him.

 

“I appreciate it,” Stark replied because although he didn't like Shinigami he still knew when to offer a polite thanks. Besides, Tessai and Urahara might have been Shinigami once upon a time, but they certainly weren't on Soul Society's favored son's list.

 

The older man gave him a look that couldn't easily be interpreted, expression hidden by the glint of his glasses. “Take care of him,” was all that Tessai said as he gathered his supplies into his arms.

 

It was pretty self-explanatory, really.

 

“I will,” Stark returned, but it was said to an empty room, the busy assistant already bustling down the hall.

 

Scratching at his goatee, Stark cast around the room for his shirt, but Tessai must have taken it with him or something because he couldn't see it anywhere. Oh, well. It wasn't in the best condition anyway, being tattered and blood-stained. It wasn't as if he had any modesty either. Shrugging, Stark abandoned the rather bare room and padded quietly down the corridor, determined to seek out Ichigo.

 

He followed his lover's annoyed reiatsu and the sound of voices, all talking at once so that they were an indistinguishable chorus of noise. He distinctly heard “Aizen” and “Hollow” several times, as well as a few choice curse words that were peppered by jealousy. And Ichigo's irritation was rising higher, colored a deepening crimson. Stark arrived at the door just as the Vizard's wavering patience reached an abrupt end, his already barley contained reiatsu rippling at the walls of the shouten.

 

“You guys are pissing me off!” Ichigo shouted.

 

Stark nearly collided with him at the door, his lover in the midst of storming out of it. Fuming, Ichigo ground to an abrupt halt at the Espada-shaped obstacle in his path. He blinked, eyes widening in surprise.

 

“Stark?”

 

The first Espada should have said something witty. Instead, he was filled with this great sense of relief and want. So instead, he kept his silence and reached up with a still-gloved hand, grasping Ichigo's chin gently. Lowering his head, he kissed the teenager with little warning, the gesture soft but claiming.

 

His tongue swept across Ichigo's lips, which parted in his shock, allowing Stark entrance. He tasted surprise and blood, but beneath it all, the inherent, intoxicating flavor of Ichigo himself. Something indescribable. The teen made a noise in his throat, tentatively returning the kiss before seemingly forgetting the audience and participating wholeheartedly.

 

This, Stark realized, this was the reason he had thrown himself between Barragan and Ichigo without a second thought. This was why he had turned his back on Aizen in that one swift motion. Ichigo - this teenager, this Vizard, this Shinigami… this whatever he was that didn't really matter because he was only Ichigo to Stark.

 

He ended the kiss with a parting nip to Ichigo's lips, pale eyes sliding past his lover to sweep appraisingly over those gathered in the room. “Ichigo is mine,” he stated challengingly. “Whether you like it or not.”

 

Collectively, several jaws dropped, faces flushing with anger. Renji appeared to be barely holding himself back, and Rukia's eyes were narrowed disapprovingly. Inoue stared at the ground, as though willing it to swallow her completely, and gnawing on her bottom lip. And Stark couldn't read the expression in Sado's face, the tall kid too stoic for his own good.

 

Ichigo subtly tugged his face free from Stark's hold, his cheeks burning with realized embarrassment. “Stark!” he hissed, but it was the most chastisement he could manage.

 

The Espada shrugged offhandedly, returning his gaze to his lover. “Las Noches is no longer my home. This war isn't mine to fight.”

 

“He's a Hollow, Ichigo,” A voice bit out tightly, and Stark belatedly recognized it as belonging to Rukia, the female's hands tightly clenched on her knees. She was hurt as well, much like Inoue, though she hid her pain much better. “I don't understand.”

 

“And I have one in me,” Ichigo retorted, though it galled him to have to explain his own choices to someone else. “What's the difference?”

 

The words dropped heavily and weren't easily digested. The humans seemed more comfortable with Ichigo's decision, though Inoue still struggled with her own emotions. The Shinigami, however, wanted to argue.

 

“So what,” Renji inserted belligerently. “You're gonna fight for us now?”

 

Stark snorted, the very idea laughable. “Hell, no. I'd rather gouge out my eye than fight for the Shinigami.” He sneered.

 

“Then--”

 

“I have my own reasons, which are none of your business,” he interrupted, growing rather tired of their queries himself. He needed sleep, and he wasn't planning on doing so alone. Ichigo too was wavering on his feet.

 

It was plainly obvious that his answer was not sufficient for them, but before anyone could stage a protest, a voice poured into the room from behind Stark. It shocked the hell out of him because he hadn't felt anyone there, and it took all of his control not to leap two feet in the air. As it were, he barely managed a casual glance over his shoulder.

 

“I think that is enough questioning for the day,” Urahara stated, smile coolly polite as he inclined his head. “It is getting late.”

 

“A wise idea,” Stark intoned solemnly, and before anyone could react, he grabbed Ichigo's hand and pulled his lover after him. “I'll just borrow this room, if you don't mind,” he threw over his shoulder and headed for the one he had used earlier.

 

“Keep it,” Urahara replied after him. “I've gotten used to freeloaders.”

 

There was an indignant sound from behind them, likely from Renji. It was the last that Stark heard as he pulled Ichigo into the room and slid the door shut with a quiet snick, finally giving him some peace with his lover. Really, it was all that Stark wanted.

 

“I'm yours, huh?” Ichigo commented, sweeping his gaze over the sparse room. Despite his fatigue, there was a hint of amusement in his expression.

 

“Didn't we already establish this?” Stark rubbed his fingers over the inside of Ichigo's wrist, which he had yet to relinquish.

 

With a sharp tug, Ichigo pulled Stark towards him, surprising the Espada with the abrupt motion. “It's news to me.”

 

A tongue snaked out, touching briefly against the remnants of Stark's mask, causing a shiver of want to creep up his spine. Warm breath ghosted across his collarbone. He tipped his head back, despite his fatigue, giving Ichigo more room to work with.

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmm.” Teeth nipped at his exposed throat. “We both know it's the other way around.”

 

Stark chuckled. “If you say so,” he replied and dragged Ichigo into a possessive kiss.

 

- - - - -