Title: Bookmark
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Ishida Uryuu/Kon
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, part character examination, part pr0n.
bleach_15 Theme: #12, Parting Ways/Meetings
Status: Part 1/10, word count 3400

Kon likes sex. Ishida likes Kurosaki. Set sometime between the Soul Society and Arrancar arcs. Kon POV with intentionally confused proper nouns and personal pronouns.




Kon sighed, drawing lines in the thin, dusty dirt at the edge of the park in Karakura Town. He was no artist, especially when bored. It irritated him, in the small and essentially petty sort of way that slowly builds up, day after day, week after week, until it royally pisses you off. He shouldn’t draw, because drawing only reminded Kon that he really didn’t have many skills.

Sure, he could run really fast. He could jump twenty feet in the air, and it felt impossibly good. He could kick you in the face, if you really deserved it. Having powerful legs used to make Kon feel special, when he first got out. Now it was a Reminder.

The only reason Kon was intelligent and literate was because he was made that way by people who might –still- kill him if they had the chance. Kon was clever because, in general, stupid people who can’t read or write are detrimental to have alongside you on a battlefield.

Kon had a personality, of course. He put on airs when he was inside that stuffed animal, because really, even Kon couldn’t take Kon seriously when he was a talking fluffy lion. When Kon was a person, he was vegetarian, never considering himself as having the right to take life away from ANYTHING, Happy To Be Alive Kon.

But he would do anything Ichigo told him to do, because Kon was made to listen to orders, and to take things from one place to another very fast and not get caught doing it. He was a mod-soul made—emphasis on the made—to be a courier.

It was all very depressing, really. Kon strongly disliked depressing, and having had his fill of being cerebral and depressed for the night anyway, Kon snatched up the stuffed lion that was his default spongy body. He shoved it roughly into Ichigo’s messenger bag, the only thing he had on him that could hold it. He didn’t want to have to run through town carrying a stuffed animal. This meant, essentially, that he didn’t want to have to run through town carrying -himself- around.

A noise from behind Kon caught his attention and he whirled his head around to see what it was. Not Ichigo, who he was expecting at about this time, but nothing threatening either. At least, not a Hollow.

It was Ishida Uryuu. The one that had been a non-presence since Ichigo returned from Soul Society. Nobody had seen him outside of school, and everyone had been asked except Kon. Kon was rarely asked, even if he was made for spying. Presumably he would not be asked in the foreseeable future. It stopped bothering him weeks ago.

Ishida, having noticed Kon staring at him, looked visibly startled. Kon was afraid he was about to launch into a verbal fit for a second, before realization came to set up camp on Ishida’s face. The dark-haired boy pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “Good Evening, Kon.”

He eyed Ishida with an open expression. “How did you know?”

Ishida leveled a ‘was that question strictly necessary?’ sort of glance on Kon, walking up next to the mod-soul in his semi-colleagues' body. Kon mentally instructed his legs to remain still. He wasn’t in any danger.

Really.

“Your reiatsu is a different level and quality than Kurosaki’s. It’s as simple as that. Additionally, you don’t move like you’re fighting a war against gravity, afraid you’re about to lose.” Kon considered this. Ishida settled his weight on one hip, swinging a plastic bag full of something from a notions shop to rest in front of his waist, clutched in both hands. “Kurosaki has power, but he has no grace.”

“Oh,” Kon said, supposing he understood for the most part. He was mostly shocked that someone like Ishida Uryuu (who at one point put a fair portion of his free time into sewing the plush that embodied Kon’s soul into frilly fuschia dresses) would care to remember who he was.

“Why have you been avoiding Ichigo?” It was as good a time as any to move right in for the proverbial kill. After all, candid and innocent was Kon’s M.O.

Blue eyes narrowed behind their rectangular frames. “First of all, it’s complicated. Second of all, it’s not of your business.” Kon expected Ishida to continue walking the way he was going, but he didn’t. He just kept his eyes focused on Kon, staring-- his chest, his waist, back up to his face. It felt a little like he was memorizing Kon’s form; rather, Ichigo’s.

“Did you and Ichigo have a fight?” Ishida snorted.

“No. This situation is not, actually, Kurosaki’s fault. If it’s anyone’s fault I’d have to say it was mine, but instead of shifting blame or shifting topics, I will simply state that I am an idiot, and Kurosaki is an idiot, and neither of us can help being born who he was, respectively.”

“Hm,” said Kon brightly, in a voice that was not at all like the one that usually came out of the body he was occupying, but still recognizable. “That didn’t explain anything at all, but it was kind of deep anyway.” Ishida was moving along the sidewalk again, slowly, as if waiting for Kon to catch up. Kon followed him compliantly.

“Really,” Ishida muttered, dripping sarcasm.

“Yep,” said Kon, ignoring the sarcasm, having gotten quite enough of it from Ichigo; pouring water on a duck and all. They walked in silence for a moment, before Ishida cut back in.

“I’m going to assume from your…appearance, that Kurosaki is out working right now.”

Kon didn’t like the way Ishida said ‘working.’ Like Ichigo had gone out to deliver newspapers or something, rather than out to protect innocent people, who were currently enjoying a good sleep seeing as it was close to or maybe even past go-to-bed-o’clock. “He told me to wait for him in front of the park, but I was leaving anyway. I’m really bored.”

“Ah,” said Ishida.

“Do you hate Ichigo?” Kon easily looped around Ishida’s side, sidling just enough to walk and face him at the same time. “You act like you do.”

Ishida’s arm shot out with surprising speed, grabbing Kon by the shirt Ichigo was wearing. ‘Speaking Is Not Communicating’, it said, as if clairvoyant, and Ishida grinned wryly at the ridiculous slogan. The fabric bunched roughly in his fist and he pulled Kon forward. Kon braced for a punch that never came. Instead of knuckles, Ishida Uryuu’s front teeth rested gently on the flesh of Kon’s cheekbone, his tongue slowly working its way up to meet them. He paused, warm breath on Kon’s already blushing face, before pulling away.

The mod-soul wasn’t upset—not particularly. He was surprised. “Oh,” Kon said, suddenly getting the point. “Oh.”

“Kurosaki is still an idiot.” Ishida carefully made his way past Kon, giving the redhead’s round shoulder a sound thump with his own. It was physically suggestive.

“I didn’t know you were, you know…”

“Gay?”

“I was gonna say it with a few more words and things, but yeah.”

“No, I act this way because I want girls to think I’m completely not on the market.” More defensive sarcasm.

Kon knit his brows together in confusion, ignoring the last remark. It was a strange topic for him, not necessarily because he felt one way or another about it; simply because Kon was, in essence, genderless. A mod-soul (a gikongan by any other standard) could be placed in any body, male or female. He was essentially more masculine in personality than, say, Chappy the Bunny (for one, he did not pyon), but psychological gender was one thing and biological gender a different thing altogether.

Kon liked ladies with lungs, sure-- huge, bouncy, matronly tits. Ishida was pretty fine himself, in Kon’s opinion, in his ice prince-y way. Chad was pretty much born to be desired. In fact, Kon was generally attracted to anything and anyone that was healthy, alive, and sexually mature. There was a perfectly decent reason he spent most of his waking hours, when given the chance and privacy, masturbating.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to him, then?” Kon’s face was serious, thin lips drawn tight.

“Why? Why do you think. It may possibly be the fact that Kurosaki hasn’t even figured out yet that getting in the last word doesn’t really mean he wins some non-existent fight, let alone figured out his own complex sexual hang-ups.”

It held a little bit of sense to it; a lot of sense, actually. After all, Ichigo still fled the room whenever Rukia-nee-chan mentioned anything about panties, as well as periods and pretty boys she went to academy with. Had Ichigo been in this body at this time, he probably would have strangled Ishida.

Telepathically, while running away screaming.

Kon lifted a hand to cup at the cheek Ishida had kissed without ceremony, just a minute ago.

“There you are! What the hell are you doing?” Kon whirled to peer into Ichigo’s cranky eyes. The shinigami rubbed his shoulder, swinging his arm loosely at his side.

“I—“ Kon glanced over his shoulder. Ishida had already flown the figurative coop, somehow. It wasn’t the first time Ishida had made a speed of light exit to stage left, though. It more than likely wouldn’t be the last one. Kon gave Ichigo’s cheek a final rub with the back of his hand, making sure it wouldn’t be suspiciously wet. Surely, Ichigo would want his property back. “I was just worried about you. I was gonna come give you excellent Kon backup.”

Ichigo shook his head at Kon and muttered ‘weirdo’ under his breath, but there was fondness in his voice. It didn’t make the situation any less uncomfortable.

“Open your mouth,” Ichigo sighed. “I’m pretty tired.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time Kon saw Ishida Uryuu was two weeks or so later, he hadn’t really thought to count (time was different when you were a toy). They saw one another at about the same place, at about the same time as it was the last time, which was slightly past midnight as it turned out. The two were once again right beside Karakura Town’s small park, and Ishida was headed in the general direction of Away From The Hospital, which was where Kon had by then seen him leaving from the taller buildings in the city and had assumed was where Ishida was coming from, so late at night. Kon wasn’t going to push for answers from the Quincy, though. When you pushed for answers, people stuffed you into the sock drawer.

This time, he noticed the way Ishida’s well-tailored white shirt had a blue cross running along the left side like some color-reversed Swedish flag (Kon recognized it from the stitches on the back of his own plushie head and from the pattern on Ichigo’s sheets). The shirt fell pleasantly over Ishida’s thin, wide shoulders.

“Hi,” Kon called, a little shyly.

“Good evening, Kon,” Ishida cleared his throat softly, coming over in Kon’s direction and once again not passing him by. It was a good sign, Kon hoped. He hadn’t done anything to piss Ishida off, yet.

“What’ve you got in the bag?” It was a good way to start a conversation, and Kon was, in part, nosey. Sewing was one of those skills, like cooking and drawing, that Kon wasn’t made to have. He attempted to peer into the small, white plastic sack.

“Just…leftover kimono silk squares,” Ishida said, surprise evident in his voice. “I’m going to attempt a quilt.” He tipped the bag over so that Kon could see the contents—soft, shiny looking fabric in shades of white and blue with various natural and geometric prints. One bit of light blue fabric had silver cranes on it, and Kon thought it was fitting. They were pretty.

“That sounds like it’d be beautiful,” Kon muttered. Ishida seemed confused.

“I mean, you know, you put so much work into it and stuff.”

“Oh.” Ishida shook his head almost imperceptibly, bangs swaying back and forth for a second. “I’m sorry. You just looked like Kurosaki momentarily and—“

“He would never say something like that to you or anybody else. Right.” Kon wondered if he should apologize to Ishida momentarily; but was there really anything for him to apologize for? He hadn’t actually done anything but borrow somebody’s face.

“I apologize,” Ishida said, finally breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings or your situation. As it were.”

Kon was only sort-of paying attention to what the Quincy was saying. He caught himself staring at the dark-haired boy’s face. Ishida enunciated everything carefully— every sound pointedly made with his lips and every syllable distinct. Kon had never really cared for diction before, strangely—it just was, and Ichigo’s wasn’t very good. Now Kon could feel his face heating up as he stared down at his shoes with great faked interest.

Ishida Uryuu was slowly turning into a huge Kon turn-on.

Ishida dropped the bag of fabric to the ground, careful even when spontaneous, and stepped into Kon’s rigid form. Impossibly long, nimble fingers pressed against the broad chest which was cultivated in Soul Society and began rubbing rough, concentric patterns over the nipples as they hardened beneath the cotton fabric of Ichigo’s bright t-shirt. The shirt loudly proclaimed to anybody who cared to look, ‘GET KILLED. GET NOTICED.’ Kon hadn’t noticed the slogan before in the short hour he’d been inside of Ichigo’s body already that night. Realizing what the text said, it was ironic enough to make Kon shake with a silent laugh. Ishida captured the bottom of Kon’s ear and a portion of the neck below it in his well-formed mouth. He moaned against the red-head to get his point across. Kon’s eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the feeling of wet heat against his artery. He liked the sound of the tendons in the Quincy’s hands snapping occasionally as they roamed across flesh, pinching a stiff nipple.

It was nice to be carnal.

“Why did you laugh?” It was a rhetorical question from the sound of it.

Kon rolled his shoulders in a non-chalant attempt at a shrug, pressing into Ishida’s touch. He wasn’t about to explain the shirt thing right now. Kon didn’t have the patience, and his desire was focused on something else entirely.

“Doesn’t matter, keep kissing.”

“Are you absolutely, one-hundred percent sure?” Honesty was evident in the Quincy’s voice. Kon gave a tenor growl of dissatisfaction.

“I’m sure. I like it, and you started it. So finish it.” Kon stole his hands up the tailored white shirt he had been admiring earlier, following the dips and planes of the Quincy’s abdomen by touch and lingering on the dip beneath the ribcage. Ishida was built better than he looked—not that Kon particularly cared one way or the other. Mostly, Kon just liked being physically capable of being turned on, cock starting to throb beneath a pair of black boxers. He circled Ishida’s bellybutton with the tips of calloused fingers as Ishida moved to tangle the dainty fingers that Kon liked more than he ought to amongst short-cropped orange hair. He shoved Kon’s head down almost politely. Kon stared.

“Can you get on your knees? Would you suck me off?”

Kon stared some more. He wasn’t completely abject to the idea of giving a man a blowjob—he’d never done it before (obviously), but he might have imagined it, lying in Ichigo’s bed at night. It was certainly not imagined with Ishida Uryuu in the equation.

Kon had also never imagined uptight Ishida Uryuu using phrases such as ‘suck me off.’

“Okay. Sure.” Kon obediently moved to his knees, slowly. Shakey and almost as unsure as Kon was feeling, one of Ishida’s pale, porcelain hands moving to support Kon by his armpit. Once on the ground, Ishida began unfastening his own belt-buckle with surprising, worrying efficiency. Kon’s eyebrows shot up in an attempt to tryst with his hairline.

“I’m an archer,” Ishida explained. “I’d have a steady hand even if you were threatening to stab me with something big and pointy.” The grunt of effort that left the Quincy’s pink lips made obvious that the innuendo was intentional. “This is nothing.” He illustrated what this supposed ‘nothing’ was by slowly, laboriously sliding his zipper down. Really, Ishida should have gotten into adult films.

“Uryuu,” Kon said, finally actually focusing on the stretch of strained white fabric revealed beneath the flattering black slacks’ zipper.

Ishida bristled only slightly at Kon’s complete lack of formalities.

“Why are you wearing a jockstrap, Uryuu?”

“If it shuts you up…“ Ishida paused to inhale sharply as Kon moved large hands—ungracefully-- over the arousal, finally managing to press the white athletic-wear down to expose Ishida’s hard-on to the night air. Ishida coughed. “I’ve been doing some training with my father.”

Kon never managed to inquire further, suddenly daunted by the reality of giving Ishida Uryuu, who dressed Kon up in frilly doll clothes and liked it, a blowjob. The naked cock bobbed a few times in front of Kon’s face, the muscles in Ishida’s abdomen twitching. Kon could see veins running down the sides of Ishida’s unnervingly thin hips, an unsettling blue under the pale skin. It was strangely attractive. The hand in Ichigo’s orange hair shuffled around for purchase.

Finally, Kon figured he could make up for technique with gusto (it worked for other people), and so he wrapped a hand fully around the shaft, giving it a slow tug. It must have been a move in the right direction, because Ishida’s knees shook. The other boy leaned over Kon slightly, lips parted and blue eyes dark.

Kon removed his hand from the organ and licked it slowly, covering it with an acceptable amount of saliva. He replaced it and continued rhythmically pumping. Ishida’s erection was different than Ichigo’s—he was circumcised, for one. The head was bigger. It was a little longer, a little thinner.

Just as hard and silky.

Experimentally, Kon leaned forward and drew his tongue along the length, the vein on the underside pulsing noticeably. It was impossibly hot—there was a musky smell, but he didn’t disagree with it. Ishida placed one fisted hand on either side of Kon’s wide shoulders and gave a shrill whine, eyes drawn tight.

Kon steadied himself on the ground with both hands and, after one false start, suddenly deep-throated Ishida. The Quincy made a strangled noise above him.

“Move. Now. Please.”

Kon did as he was told, bobbing around the erection, pulling it in and out of the cool air. He would pull out until he just had the head, sinking back down until Ichigo’s pointed nose brushed against the straight, dark pubic hair.

“Faster?”

Kon did as he was told, glans rubbing at the sensitive skin on the roof of his mouth. His own cock throbbed under Ichigo’s boot-cut jeans.

“God. K-Kurosaki,” Ishida managed before coming with an unusually non-descript ‘nnf.’

Kon choked momentarily on the thick fluid and slid off of Ishida, swallowing for lack of a better idea and hiding the evidence down his own throat. He shoved himself back to sit on his tailbone, forcing down an oncoming coughing fit.

Ishida eyed him guiltily. “I didn’t mean it.” One hand moved down to his plaintively hanging belt to redress as well and quickly as possible. The other hand tucked long, black bangs behind his ears. They didn’t stay for long, dislodged after a few seconds by his glasses.

Somewhere in the background, a treefrog giggled at them.

“I don’t care,” Kon muttered in a tone of voice that seemed disturbingly familiar to both of them. “It isn’t a, you know, a thing. But you’re a bigger idiot than me if you think I’m going to sit around and be a placeholder until both you and Ichigo get over yourselves.”

Ishida gave a final, harsh tug at his belt, buckling and pulling the excess into the loops. He made a vain attempt to make his shirt straighter than it already was.

“I’m not caught up in myself, I—“

“You are,” Kon said, with less force than he had intended. He grabbed for the nearby messenger bag, snatching Ichigo’s water out of it and drinking the entire thing in one go. He swished and spit.

“Kon, are you alright?” Ichigo was back, trying to hide concern that was all the more obvious for his effort. Kon glanced to the side—Ishida had pulled his Houdini act again.

“Right as rain,” Kon chirped, standing and brushing some dust and dried leaves from Ichigo’s butt.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you’re a little, you know. Like. Your face is pretty red. Were you just crying?” Ichigo looked awkward, head tilted, effort-flushed body swimming in his shinigami robes.

“Seasonal depression, you know,” Kon lied pleasantly. “Lack of sunlight and stuff.”

“Sure,” said Ichigo. “Open your mouth.”