So with new ffnet policies, I've moved all my M-rated fics to my livejournal, which as to link you can find on my profile page. All stories on this account in the future shall remain under T. So if you still want to read my smutty stories, please follow me on my livejournal :) thank you

So in sync with that, this story has been bumped up to a rating T for suggestive material during this chapter, but there is no, and will not be, sex in this story. It is of course heavily implied, but the best I can now post here is a lime (petting/kissing). Still read and enjoy please? :) I needed to write something and post it after an absence.

~x~

Hear but don't listen

You listened…

Have you and me become we?

Look at us now

~x~

The freedom was glorious. It still tasted best coming from Ichigo's mouth of course, but sitting on Ichigo's physically tangible bed and staring out the window he had seen a million times but this time with his own eyes, was still utterly sweet tasting. Shiro was quite content to just be here now.

Ichigo sat at his desk, distractedly doing his homework but majorly failing at his attempts because his ochre eyes kept being drawn back to Shiro on his bed. It was a tempting visage, only prompted on by his dreams. But Ichigo was content to watch because Shiro was content to watch, and that was really okay. Contentedness. Something he hadn't really felt in a long time since this relationship with his inner Hollow had really progressed into its current state.

Their simplicity was something he had quickly learned to crave after all the complicated mess of things of even being a shinigami. It was an odd thing to think about really; that the only reason he had this beautiful bout of simplicity was because he'd been immersed in complications. Shiro giving attention and receiving Ichigo's attention just because they wanted to and because they could without any judgments or barriers to stop them was just so freeing- such a relief.

Ichigo was rambling on in his mind again, but that was somehow now a normal thing when he thought about Shiro and him. It was simple, and that was why all these thoughts could now make themselves known because complications weren't there to overshout them. And wasn't that just beautiful? Shiro certainly was. Did that make him a narcissist? Probably.

Shiro's lips curled upwards at one corner. Beautiful narcissist he was.

"Yer thoughts are confusin' me, Ichigo."

"Sorry." He wasn't really, not when Shiro smiled (kind of) like that. Ah- there, now he was really smiling.

The pale Hollow turned from the window and slid down the wall lazily to lay on his side in the bed, briefly closing his eyes. "S'nice."

"Mmhmm…" Ichigo was agreeing before he even knew what he was agreeing to, eyes so fixated on Shiro's relaxed, beautiful body. "Wait, my thoughts or the day?"

"Hmm…" Shiro hummed lazily, opening one eye to gaze at Ichigo with affection in its gold depths. "Jus' you."

Ichigo shamelessly abandoned his desk and crawled into the bed alongside his soul's partner (a legitimate claim to soul mates really). He slid one arm around Shiro's ribs and flattened his fingers to the middle of the Hollow's back, pulling himself closer to his cool warmth.

Shiro shifted his weight onto his shoulder and hip, sliding one arm under Ichigo's head so his bicep could pillow the orange head of hair as the other rested on Ichigo's side so his fingers could burrow into that very hair. He pulled in soft, deep strokes; petting and enjoying the texture of simple affection.

Ichigo sighed under the gentle sensation, loving every millisecond of it. "I love you."

Shiro hummed and brushed his lips over Ichigo's mouth, could nearly taste the freedom he actually now had (in an entirely different way than he had originally always thought). "We're th' same soul. Of course ya love me. But sokay, I love ya too."

Ichigo laughed a lazy hum, actually it just being exhaled puffs of air in mimicry of laughter as his mind prompted that a nap sounded glorious right now. "That so?"

"Course it is."

Shiro's touch was gentle, soft and sweet. His skin was rough, worn from handling their shared zanpakatou- strangely unlike Ichigo's hands whose were miraculously still somehow soft. But Ichigo's touches tended to act rough, instead of being rough. He couldn't help it. Once he had something, he never wanted to let it go. Shiro's skin was rough, but his touch was soft because he knew that he was never going to be let go of. It was a compliment to each other. Favorable, if it made any sense to anyone else. It made sense to them, that's what mattered.

They shared air for a while, exchanging tastes of tongues for even longer, stroking and caressing in a lazy affectionate way of wasting the day away but gloriously spending the time happily. They'd already progressed that final boundary days ago, inside Ichigo's mind because a possessive streak had risen within Ichigo and he hadn't wanted anyone else to see his partner in the throes of passion but him. No one ever would.

Unlike before, Shiro found himself loving the possessiveness- the fact of being claimed by another, his King and Ichigo. His real true aibou. It satisfied everything inside of him that had wanted Ichigo before, because he now had him in this way. He mattered to Ichigo. He mattered a lot. He didn't need to take Ichigo's body, he was given it. In an entirely better way.

Then it had been tentative, like blowing air onto embers in the hopes that the tinder would catch to build a fire. And just like a fire, when the embers caught flame, it burned hot and fast. It was rougher than it should have been for a first time for either of them, they still bore the bruises of too tight hands but that was alright. Just like how it all started, it had come naturally.

Now it was sweet and slow the whole time. Before they had taken and given whole heartedly, without reserve, so now there was time to appreciate what each other now had. Now they could explore and experience the finesse of one another's touch, and it was a slow burn of patient lust. Each touch was another slow burning log to the fire that would last and warm them through the night.

But enough with the poetry yeah?

Shiro was sleeping on Ichigo's bare bicep now, his breath deep and fluttery on the skin of his neck where his pulse still occasionally jumped by the exhilaration of bare skin pressed all together. The sheet was cool against his shoulder, the heavier blanket having been kicked off the end of the bed to ward off their own physical heat soaked in. Dinner would be served downstairs soon, and the setting sun was a bit too bright for his eyelids, but Ichigo didn't mind.

Their imperfection was his perfection.

Enjoyed?