Fic - Untitled

[fidelitas]

Title:  Untitled (I'll come up with something when I'm not exhausted)
Pairing:  One-sided Ukitake/Kyouraku
Rating:  M for a boy and his hormones and imagination.  Nothing too explicit, but there is still a penis.
Summary:  Ukitake has unrequited feelings.  And sometimes he just can't help himself.
Disclaimer:  I am not Kubo.  I can't draw worth a crap.  I just play with his characters and put them back generally in one piece.
A/N:  So, a friend of mine wanted me to write this.  And I tried.  And I apologize.  He isn't very tsundere, either, whoops.

Kyouraku’s futon was empty.  Again.  

 

This wasn’t a new sight to young Ukitake, of course.  His roommate was notorious for spending his nights in rooms not his own.  He even recounted some of the experiences to Ukitake later, though the more inappropriate details were thankfully left veiled and Ukitake tried his best not to listen too closely.  He didn’t want to hear about how Amaya-chan’s chest could barely be contained by her kimono, or how Kana-chan giggled oh so prettily behind her hand at Kyouraku’s whispered words, or even how Mizuki-chan had the longest and silkiest hair.  Ukitake didn’t care.  In fact, he felt sorry for those girls, who probably humored Kyouraku more than felt any real attraction to him in the long run.  He tended to go too far in his flirtations and rightfully earned their scorn.

 

Every time he came back to their room with a bright pink handprint on his cheek it didn’t exactly make things difficult to figure out what happened.

 

And so that night he was gone again, undoubtedly waxing poetic at another victim of his.  Ukitake wasn’t sure who the current flavor of the week was, but he was certain Kyouraku probably wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.  And if he did, Kyouraku would probably be reeking of alcohol and barely notice a thing, if he even made it back to their room and his bed.

 

Tired eyes glanced over to that empty futon, left unmade yet again, and Ukitake considered, for just a moment, leaving his bed and slipping into his roommate’s, just for a little while.  He would press his face into the pillow, inhale the flowery scent of his friend’s shampoo that had surely seeped into the fabric.  He would smell that familiar scent that was just Shunsui, laced with a little sweat from the day’s labors and the scent of sake that always seemed to follow him.

 

Ukitake’s hand moved lower under the sheet, fingers slipping past the opening of his bedclothes.

 

But curling up there would be silly.  What good would it do?  If anything, he would become even more infatuated with his friend and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.  Kyouraku didn’t even look at him like he looked at girls, a lazy smile on his face, eyes bright with interest, wistful sigh escaping his lips.  Ukitake was just his roommate.  Nothing else.

 

His hand made its way under his fundoshi and fingers lightly trailed over his growing length.

 

Ukitake wasn’t female, for starters.   He had no heaving breasts that would attract Kyouraku’s always-wandering eye, nothing to fill his friend’s big, rough hands, nothing to up there to fondle.  Hell, his own body wasn’t very attractive, just thin and pale, emaciated by his illness.  But the thought of having Kyouraku touch him often plagued him.  To have his friend run those hands over his chest, play with his nipples, adore his skin as he probably did with those girls would surely be satisfying.

 

The other hand reached up and under his clothes to tweak a nipple, eliciting a quiet whimper as he loosely wrapped his thin fingers around himself and stroked, slowly at first, then a little faster as he grew harder.

 

And he certainly didn’t laugh off Kyouraku’s indecent statements, especially if they were announced where anyone could hear them.  Ukitake had the patience of a saint sometimes, and being Kyouraku’s friend more than challenged his patience, but even he couldn’t let some things slide.  How many times had he frowned at Kyouraku and elbowed him (hard) in the ribs when his friend declared interest in doing somewhat unspeakable things to a woman who had just walked by?  Even if he wasn’t always sure Kyouraku would go through with it, the chance of being overheard was still embarrassing.

 

His breath hitched as the thought, and one that was hardly new, passed through his mind of Kyouraku saying those things to <i>him</i>.  Or perhaps it was the way his hand squeezed, twisted just right at that moment, his hips beginning to buck slightly as his body reacted appropriately to his own touch.

 

He had imagined it before, Kyouraku in his mind leaning over his shoulder, the heat of his breath hitting the shell of Ukitake’s ear, sending a shudder throughout his body, as he whispered such naughty things.  

 

How he wanted to touch every inch of Ukitake’s skin.  How he wanted to take Ukitake.  All those glorious mysteries in between.

 

And sometimes, on a good day, how he wanted Ukitake to wrest that control from him.

 

His thumb flicked over his moistened tip, a strangled cry easily escaping past parted lips.  Forcing Kyouraku onto his back would surely be…

 

But it was never going to happen, he was sure of it.  His hand on his chest clumsily moved to his hair, tangling in the short strands as he grasped what he could, distracting himself from reality.  Ukitake wasn’t beautiful and he didn’t have perfect, dark, long hair to pull and tug and wrap around whatever Kyouraku desired, but he could pretend.  He could pretend he didn’t keep his hair short so blood wouldn’t splatter onto the strands when he had a fit.  He could pretend it was black again, as black as his eyebrows, and not the dull, colorless white he would have to live with for the rest of his life.  He could pretend that his hand was replaced with Kyouraku’s, holding him steady as his other hand moved and moved, the pressure of his grip increasing.

 

Oh, what he would give to have just one experience, to have Kyouraku’s hands everywhere, holding him down, holding onto him for anchorage, exploring his body, pleasuring him, getting him so, so close, so close, more moremoremore and it wouldn’t even have to be his hands, but anything, just as long as Ukitake was the main attraction in his friend’s eyes and in such a state like right now where nothing else mattered except Kyouraku and Ukitake’s desperate need to let go and-

 

The door slid open.

 

Shit!  His hands stopped, the sudden neglect making his body throb painfully, although he couldn’t stop himself from taking gasping breaths to try and calm himself.

 

And, of course, Kyouraku stared at him from the doorway, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, amusement, and (was it even possible?) a little embarrassment.  But a moment later, he collected himself and slid the door shut, seemingly for Ukitake’s benefit, which was appreciated, even if he said nothing to the effect.

 

Ukitake, instead, had moved to his side facing the wall.  His face was hot to begin with, but he could feel the blush heating his skin even more.  And he so desperately wanted to finish what he had started, but with Kyouraku’s appearance and the fact that Ukitake had been caught doing something so private out in the open between them, his body had rapidly lost interest.

 

…Dammit.

 

“Ah…should I give you a few minutes?”  At least Kyouraku had the decency to ask.

 

Ukitake could have said yes.  But he pulled his blankets farther up over him, mumbling his response.  “No.  I’m done.”  No thanks to you.<Why did he have to talk so openly about this?

 

“Mm, I see.”  The sound of the door clicking locked echoed around the room for a few moments before Ukitake heard his roommate slip into bed nearby.  And then, there was just the sound of their breathing, Kyouraku’s steady and patient, Ukitake’s slightly erratic and slowly coming down from the high-turned-surprise.  When it seemed they would end the night in silence, Kyouraku’s deep voice spoke up.  “Thinking of a girl, were we?”

 

That sent a frown to Ukitake’s face.  Did everything come back to women with him?  “Yeah.”  But it was an easy answer, and one that hopefully wouldn’t open up the way for more, but with Kyouraku that would be a miracle.

 

“Well, go on, who is it?”

 

…That was it.  Growling deep in his throat, Ukitake sat up, grabbed his pillow, and threw it forcefully at Kyouraku’s head, only feeling satisfied when he heard the successful whump of contact with his target, followed immediately by a muffled “Ow!”  Then he laid back down, using one arm as a makeshift pillow because he wasn’t about to demand it back.  He could get through the night just fine without it. “That’s none of your business!”  Idiot.

 

How would he ever react if he knew the truth?

 

“All right, all right, I get it.”  And, thankfully, Kyouraku said no more, just quietly waited for sleep to overtake him.  Ukitake, usually so quick to succumb, needed a little more time before he, too, finally drifted off.

 

When he woke the next morning, arm asleep and numb from the awkward sleeping position, he noticed right away that Kyouraku had already gone for the day.  But next to his futon was his pillow.  He figured it wasn’t so, but for that moment, sleepy and hazy as it was, he imagined that Kyouraku had returned it with care and done so as a sort of apology.

 

Ukitake pulled it to him, holding it close.  When he pressed his face to the fabric, he smelled the faint scent of Kyouraku on it.

 

--

 

Some years later their hair had grown longer, Kyouraku’s in an attempt to look more dashing, Ukitake’s in the hopes of attracting the other’s attention.  It was during a sakura viewing at the Kuchiki Manor when Ukitake tugged nervously on Kyouraku’s sleeve and pulled him under a lone tree, its petals gently falling around them.

 

 He confessed.  

 

Kyouraku thought he was joking at first, but when Ukitake met him with silence, and thus offered shocked silence in return, Ukitake mumbled an apology and disappeared, dealing with his embarrassment and hurt in solitude.

 

They never spoke of the incident again.

 

Some things just weren’t meant to be.