Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
"Ouch, damnit that hurts. Can't you be a little more gentle?" "Well, it's not my fault you got ideas above your station." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "Hold still, Kurosaki, you idiot." Ichigo bit back a curse and winced for the nth time that afternoon. He tried not to wriggle or flinch, but the pain... it burned like hell! The fact that Renji was practically sitting on top of him did nothing to help, only made him feel pinned down like an insect on a collector's board, unable to escape the jabbing sting of discomfort. Using scrunched-up balls of cotton wool found in the bathroom cabinet, Renji swabbed antiseptic lotion over Ichigo's bloody wounds. His dark red eyebrows were lowered in a frown; he was completely focused on his task, and had apparently not even noticed that he'd let most of his weight settle on Ichigo's abdomen as he worked. He had a steady hand, but damn, he had either drowned the cotton buds with too much lotion or he was pressing harder than was necessary. Ichigo could not contain a shudder or hold back a hiss of breath at the sting. The Hollow bite itself hadn't hurt this much, for Christ's sake. "I keep telling you not to go storming in before you've assessed the situation, you dolt." Renji's eyes never left the thankfully shallow lacerations dotting up over Ichigo's collarbone from where the Hollow had latched onto him, but that didn't make his reprimand any easier to swallow. Renji was being really unhelpful, come to think of it. Ichigo wondered why he'd agreed to let the Shinigami treat him in the first place. He could have taken the antiseptic and saved himself the insults. "What's taking so long?" he said, between clenched teeth. "For your information, I'm trying not to get blood all over your nice white bedsheets," said Renji. There was a little bite to his tone. "What would your dad say if he found blood all over the place next time he did a wash?" "Ehh." Ichigo couldn't really complain about that - Renji kind of had a point. He curled his fingers in his sheets and squeezed his fists, which at least gave him an anchor for the pain. "The thing about these cuts," Renji continued, his fingers brushing Ichigo's chest as he went for a clean cottonball, "is that they're not really deep, just wide." Dropping the older, red-stained ball on top of the growing pile on Ichigo's bedside table, he picked up a fresh one and dampened it from the bottle of lotion. "Thanks for that diagnosis, Dr Abarai," Ichigo grated out, trying to ignore the way Renji's free hand came up and curled high over his good shoulder, his thumb rubbing lightly against Ichigo's neck twice before settling. Ichigo wondered if that was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but then he scrapped that thought. Not from Renji. Surely not. "Stop complaining." The higher the wounds ran, the closer Renji leaned down to concentrate on them, until he was tending to the one closest to Ichigo's neck and Ichigo could feel the soft rhythm of Renji's breath against his skin. His palms were sweating; the sheet was growing damp from where he was holding it so tightly, although he could not let go yet. "Almost done." Renji reached for some plasters they had found stored in the bathroom, and began tearing the packets open. He stuck a plaster down over each wound, one by one, leaning closer still. Soon, all Ichigo could see were the violent red spikes of Renji's ponytail above him, reaching out like the blades of zanpukutos straight after a battle. He closed his eyes. His chest, shoulder and neck throbbed, the wounds so raw he could barely feel much pain any longer. "Kurosaki," he heard, soft against his ear. The fabric of Renji's clothes slid against his bare stomach, so light it could have been silk, and his muscles automatically twitched, growing taut. The moist heat of Renji's breath tickled his damp hairline, and Ichigo clenched his hands so hard in the bedsheet they started to turn numb. "A-are you done?" he managed to say. There was a brief, heavy pause, then the hand supporting the other side of his neck finally released. As Renji let him go and sat up, his fingers brushed Ichigo's collarbone, then dusted in towards the centre where they stopped, pressing gently against him. A shiver ran through Ichigo, unwanted and uncomfortable and embarrassing. Renji could no doubt feel how clammy his skin was by now. He still did not open his eyes, not wanting to see Renji's face, not knowing what Renji's expression would tell him. "They sure look bad," the other man said in an unfamiliarly soft voice. He cleared his throat, then spoke louder. "But you'll live." Then, the fingers lightly touching his chest were removed, and the solid weight of Renji's body eased off him, before disappearing entirely. The springs in Ichigo's mattress creaked lamely as Renji got up, like tinny laughter. They'd never sounded so loud before. He finally released his fists, and now sure the coast was clear he also opened his eyes. Tentatively sitting up, Ichigo winced again and looked down. Shit, Renji was right - all the plasters and damaged skin looked terrible, like he'd been involved in a much worse accident. Ichigo just thanked God he could cover it up with his clothes. He ghosted his fingertips around the frayed edge of one of the four plasters hiding the crescent moon-shaped bites. The scars would mar the top of his chest, his collarbone, shoulder and part of his neck, but that was all right - they would disappear eventually. The bleeding had stopped, at least, but now the marks had started to swell and the area around them looked almost fake, too stark against his pale skin, like someone had spilled red ink under there. Renji cleared his throat and Ichigo let his hand drop. "Thanks a lot," he said, and glanced up to meet Renji's gaze. A frown flickered across Renji's brows, as if he was trying to figure something out, but Ichigo didn't care to ponder what. His eyes appeared darker than usual, too - hooded and intense. Or maybe it was the fading afternoon light outside, as the sun crept down beyond the skyline. Ichigo thought about making a jibe, something to snap the awkward mood, something to turn the heated look in Renji's eyes to exasperation or anger, but no jibe was forthcoming. "I appreciate it," he said instead, and looked away. "No worries." Renji retrieved the bin from the corner of the room and started sweeping the used cotton balls into it with his hand. "Just get rid of these, and for fuck's sake be more careful next time." His tone held no real ire, but he was being totally serious, Ichigo could tell that much. It made him strangely warm; something not unpleasant curled inside him, but he didn't want to identify it or know why it was there. "I don't wanna have to baby-sit you every time you sense a group of Hollows. I've got real work to do." That sounded more Renji-like. Ichigo silently thanked him for doing what he could not. "Sod off, if it wasn't for me we wouldn't have reached them in time and that kid might be-" "Yeah, yeah," Renji waved in an offhanded manner and then hitched up his hakama. "Save it, hero. I've gotta get going or Kuchiki-taichou will have my guts. That man hates tardiness more than Hollows, I swear." He hopped up onto the edge of Ichigo’s bed, and paused. Ichigo looked up, the earlier warm flex in his stomach making a reappearance. Renji offered him a grin and patted the top of his head like he was some stupid puppy. "Get off!" Ichigo swatted his hand away, but couldn't stop his mouth from curling. He looked down at his lap to hide it. The window latch clicked, and a cool gust of wind swept into the room, making his blinds clack against the frame and the papers on his desk rustle. Ichigo counted to three, then dared to look. The window was empty, and outside the sky was a deep purple colour. Renji was merely a dot disappearing over the Karakura town rooftops, fading like the day. Ichigo briefly shut his eyes to quench the urge to follow, and then carefully got up to search for Kon.
~Fin~
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