Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ One Last Time, Proud Quincy ❯ One-Shot

One Last Time, Proud Quincy

by debbiechan

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach, nor the characters of Yoshino and Ishida. I do like saying YoshiIshi over and over, though.

Description: As promised, I’ve written more Yoshino and Ishida smut to go along with the anime filler. Nothing has been more foreshadowed than Yoshino’s death so if she doesn’t die by episode 79, I’ll eat my green striped hat. Even if she doesn’t, I think that episode 78 spelled it out very clearly that this time was the couple’s last occasion for any sort of closeness. This fic takes place mostly after Yoshino bends over to kiss Ishida’s forehead and there’s a cutaway to a vase of cherry blossoms….

Warnings: Sentimentality. And sex. Oh yeah.

By strange luck, they were alone together again. The Shinigami shopkeeper’s place this time. Thin washi paper doors separating them from others sleeping there. Children’s voices just outside the window. The mod-soul screeching: it’s the middle of the night!

The last thing on Ishida’s mind should have been how much he wanted to touch the woman lying in the futon next to him. The sweet tea the shopkeeper’s assistant had given Ishida as part of a "healing treatment" was soporific, laziness-inspiring, bone-melting. Ishida had been floating in and out of consciousness for some time.

"Does it hurt?" he asked Yoshino. What he really wanted to say was May I get up and lie closer to you, press against your bandaged skin, against that fragrant long hair?

From the moment the teacup had been pressed to his lips, Ishida had been suspicious of this "treatment," insisting that his head wound was better and not bleeding anymore, that someone should please look at Yoshino’s burns first. But the shopkeeper had only nodded at the giant mustachioed assistant, and a giant palm had come to rest on the top of Ishida’s skull. "His brain is damaged," the assistant had pronounced gravely. "I will give him a special healing treatment."

My brain is not damaged. Ishida’s limbs were heavy inside the thin kimono. They’ve drugged me because they don’t want me to get away?

Inoue-san had not offered her healing sevices, and Ishida had wondered why. The last one to leave the room, the light-voiced girl had whispered, "Be well, Ishida-kun. Don’t run away from your friends again. Everything is going to turn out alright--you’ll see."

**

Words were being whispered again. Yoshino’s sad and low voice. Ishida’s soft responses. The two lay motionless, side by side like stiff-armed dolls on a child’s shelf, and spoke with the intimacy of lovers about purpose and pride. As Ishida closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep, Yoshino felt her own eyes widening and her awareness becoming sharper.

It makes sense now, Yoshino thought. The Quincy is right. If I can hold onto even a tiny bit of pride, I will not lose myself.

She rose up with every intention of saying goodbye forever. She rolled up her futon and slipped out of her short pink sleep kimono. The tea-scented "medicine"-soaked bandages came off next. Yoshino’s wounds had healed easily already; she had not bothered to tell Ishida about how Bound recovered, painfully but thoroughly, from all physical impairments. The boy had been so concerned about her getting medical attention.

Yoshino dressed. Someone had washed and pressed her old slacks and vest. She looked at the sleeping boy on the floor lit only by moonlight and wondered how it was that someone so young, who fell several centuries behind Jin in experience and knowledge, could have come to matter so much to her. And in such a short time. And the Quincy had made her consider the passing of hours and minutes in such a different way….

This will be the last time I see you.

She only meant to kiss him, chastely, on the forehead, as she had the first time they had been alone together, with no acknowledgement of a deeper attachment, but her lips lingered on his skin, and he woke up. His dazed eyes met hers and before Yoshino could protest, he was kissing her on the mouth. His hands rose to cup her face, and there was a surprising ferocity to his touch--as if more than the sweet tea medicine had been holding him back from her, as if he had been trying not to touch her like this because he thought she was too injured.

His teeth scraped her upper lip. His tongue pushed against hers. He wasn’t the blushing boy of only days ago; this was the man who had saved her life, who was changing her life, who was … going to allow her to finish her life.

Her hands were sliding down his neck into the thin kimono when he put his hands on her shoulders and, startled by the blouse fabric, he pulled away. "You--" He stared at her. "You got dressed. Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," she lied. "I am completely healed. I was going to get some water and look at the moon. I…" She kissed his mouth again. "I won’t leave you."

His hands reached for her again, and those slender fingers quickly undid the same clothes she had worn the first, the second, the last time they had kissed this way.

One tug of her finger at his obi and his kimono fell off. His body was so different from Jin’s--or the many Jin lookalikes she had pressed against on lonely evenings. The Quincy’s arms, almost ethereal in their slenderness but muscled, wrapped around her. Her fingers found his waist. Her thumb stroked the wide, smooth space under his hipbone. Her own hips were wider than his and swaying with a growing urgency.

She pressed her crotch against his and felt that he was soft.

What? He has no reiatsu to overcome the medicine but he has the will to rise to his knees and take me in his arms?

Yoshino decided to leave the lower part of his body alone, brought her hands to his shoulders and concentrated on kissing him.

Just kiss him goodbye. This is enough. He’ll fall back asleep soon.

And yet little murmurs from his throat--arising not from sexual need but from an apparent desire to express something like affection--made Yoshino only want him more.

She dropped her face to his thighs, seized his warm buttocks and, feeling her elbows sink into the futon, she took his soft shaft whole into her mouth.

**

Ishida heard himself gasp at her first hard, insistent suckings. She was rolling his flesh against the insides of her cheeks. People were sleeping nearby; it was wrong and wildly exciting and he promised himself that he would not make a sound.

He grew inside her mouth.

A fogginess in his head caused him to slump over Yoshino for a moment, but then he regained his bearings and pulled himself up straight, pumping against her tongue to the very back of her throat.

Dawn was a thin blue-gray band in the window as Ishida maintained an urgent rhythm. Morning was far away. Maybe the shopkeeper’s assistant would come in to check on his patients? Ishida’s fingers started to roll against Yoshino’s scalp.

He wanted her totally. It was impossible and it made no sense and he had never thought about how it would work but he shouldn’t have to be hiding from anyone; he was Ishida Uryuu, after all, and he had his pride.

"Stop."

With one languorous motion he pulled himself out, felt the incredible slight pressure of her lips trying to hold him. She looked at him with eyes that, even when hazy with lust, were mournful, and she rolled onto her back, her nude length a dark shape in the dark room. Ishida could not make out all her beauty, but he knew how to summon it. Beauty was a wild hopeful feeling inside her. He would never tire of reaching towards it.

She raised her knees and opened her legs in invitation, but Ishida, leaning over her body, rolled her onto her stomach again with firm hands. He positioned himself the way she had showed him once. His fingers parted the slick lips between her legs. Once inside her, he moved urgently again--one hand cupping a breast, the other kneading the wet folds near his thrusting, his mouth open on the back of her neck.

Deep. If only time would hold them both here, going deeper and deeper instead of forward into the morning….

**

Yoshino would feel the pulse of time between thrusts as relief from the absurd closeness she felt to the boy. She dreaded coming. She wanted release. Her hands fisted into the futon, and the boy made no sound but drawn-out sighs among heavy, regular breaths. Now… no, not now… please… Then she seized with anguish, and the way the Quincy caught her by the shoulders felt like an odd foreshadowing. Or was it just the memory of being held by him as he carried her away from Jin’s burning mansion?

It was so strange to trust someone again, to trust him utterly. He was right and pure and proud. He continued to move inside her as she recovered her breath. He stroked her hair as if she were the young one and not the other way around.

And dawn had risen to a blue-grayness covering half the window by the time he finally exhausted himself against her.

He slid off her back, unconscious. He had not made a sound, not one little moan.

Yoshino smiled. So much grace and control and pride. He will make someone a beautiful partner one day.

She wiped warm semen off his thighs with her own discarded clothes. She patted his brow and the head dressing now drenched with sweat and moved stray sticky hairs away from his face. She looked at him for a long while, at his nakedness made elegant by the soft blue light of approaching morning. She touched his shoulder, she touched his bony ankle, she pressed her hand against his chest and knew by his breathing that he would not wake up. Then she dressed him in his sleep kimono and positioned his limbs so he looked exactly as he had before she had knelt to kiss him goodbye.

And then she kissed him goodbye.

End

A/N: Thank ye, IshiHime shippers for enduring my YoshiIshi obsession. I swear this one is the last one.