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This is so boring, Ichigo complains to Zangetsu, resisting the urge to groan out loud.
He’s in yet another Lieutenant meeting—third one this week—and his brain is long past the ability to take in all of Kyōraku’s new law amendments. Ise is going through each new decree in a monotonous voice, listing them off one-by-one, stopping to explain the exact effect of the changes they’d bring.
There’s probably some important stuff among all the bullshit bureaucratic jargon, but Ichigo simply cannot make himself pay attention, no matter how much he tries—there’s only so many ways he can hear Ise say, “Captain-Commander Kyōraku has passed an amendment to article VIII-73(b)/834, which shifts the responsibility to evaluate the emergency status to Gotei 13. As per the new amendment, the Captains will hold the vote when the six-month period runs out,” before he mentally checks out and starts counting the wooden tiles on the floor. He gets to number 45 before his mind wanders elsewhere and he loses the count.
Zangetsu’s presence barely even stirs in the back of Ichigo’s mind, which is a testament to how mind-numbing the meeting is. I’m falling asleep here, King, he replies with a yawn. Maybe I’ll take a nap or something.
Traitor, complains Ichigo. At times, he envies Zangetsu’s ability to disappear into the inner world. Very convenient. Can’t believe you would leave me alone like this.
He can almost feel Zangetsu’s eyeroll, when the zanpakutō replies, Oh boo-hoo, you big baby. You don’t need me to get through this meeting.
No, but I’ll be even more bored without you. Come on…
Zangetsu responds with the mental equivalent of a sigh. Fine. I’ll entertain you.
He’s about to tell Zangetsu he appreciates it, when Renji kicks him under the table. Ichigo frowns, slightly annoyed—what is his problem?
“You’re supposed to sign this,” Renji points to the attendance register sitting in front of him on the desk. “Gave it to you three minutes ago, but you never noticed. What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing, I—” His breath catches in his throat, when the head of his cock twitches suddenly, causing a jolt of pleasure spark in his groin.
What the fuck? Why is he getting hard?
“Kurosaki, Abarai,” calls out Ise from the head of the table, where she’s adjusting the stack of papers that she’s reading from, taking the paper sitting at the top of the pile and putting it all the way to the back. “Is there anything that needs to be shared with the rest of us? Perhaps regarding the recently revised definition of eligible candidates for the service in Gotei 13?”
The sensation continues to get more and more prominent. Ichigo shifts his position, putting his legs closer together. He hunches lower, hoping that the shrimping position and loose Shinigami uniform will hide his hard-on under the table.
“Sorry,” he says, looking away. He feels his face get warmer, sweat covering his forehead. He probably looks red as a tomato. “I was just gonna—”
Shit.
It’s getting more difficult to control his breathing.
“—sign the paper,” finishes Renji, shooting him a curious look. “I told Ichigo he should get on with it.”
“R-right,” he mutters, trying to ignore his current predicament, “lemme do that.” He picks up the brush and quickly signs his name before sliding the paper to Hisagi sitting by his left. Hisagi sends him an unimpressed stare, but doesn’t comment further.
“Of course. We can now proceed to the next amendment…”
Ichigo stops listening right there. He nearly blanks out when he feels a wet warmth swallow his cock whole, letting out a surprised gasp that he quickly muffles with his forearm, closing his eyes shut. A realization hits him like a full-speed truck—Zangetsu?
The sensation on his cock finally relents. Who else would it be, King? Zangetsu purrs. Are you entertained enough?
You little shit!
Hmm, I think you like it, he says and then returns to sucking him off.
The worst thing about this whole thing is, Ichigo does.
He likes it more than he should—the risk of being exposed, the thrill that comes with successful execution of his self-control, the pleasure intensified by forcing a lack of reaction—all of it. And Zangetsu knows it—can feel it through the bond. He knows what Ichigo likes even when Ichigo himself doesn’t want to like it.
It’s insane how good his mouth feels—warm and wet and Zangetsu’s tongue curling around the underside of his shaft. Now that Ichigo recognizes the sensation, he can feel the head of his cock hit against the back of Zangetsu’s throat, and Ichigo is clenching his fists so hard that his nails are digging into the palms of his hands. He would have thought that the pain would be enough to disrupt his focus on the pleasure sparking through his cock, but it’s not nearly as helpful. At some point, he stops breathing entirely, because he’ll be damned if he lets out a pathetic moan during an official meeting.
When a hand—an actual physical hand—touches his shoulder, it causes him to jolt upright from his fetal position. “You okay, dude?” asks Renji, staring at him with a mix of concern and interest.
To Ichigo’s horror, Zangetsu starts sucking even harder. If only he materialized, Ichigo could see the way he’d be moving up and down along his length, cheeks creasing in. He would feel the inside of them as they touch the sides of his cock. Zangetsu would probably be looking up at Ichigo with a coy expression on his face, eyes half-closed with satisfaction that he brought Ichigo to the brink of his self-control. And those lips… Gods, Ichigo can almost see how nicely they would wrap around his cock, the filthy sounds that mouth would make when Ichigo started fucking it rough, letting the saliva drip from the corner of it, and—
Stop imagining him on his knees, Ichigo scolds his traitorous brain, as the pleasure in his cock builds further. A droplet of sweat slides down his temple and disappears into the crook of his neck. He bites his lip to bring himself back to reality, hard enough that he can catch the metallic aftertaste of blood on his tongue.
“Migraine,” Ichigo forces out through gritted teeth when he remembers that Renji is still waiting for his answer. He knows it’s not convincing, but it’s the only excuse he can offer to explain his dishevelled state without embarrassing himself even further. A part of him registers that the meeting has halted and now there are 11 pairs of eyes watching him with concern and whatever else that Ichigo is too distracted to comprehend.
Oh, Zangetsu is so going to pay for this later…
That a promise? Zangetsu asks cheekily, dropping a soft kiss on the head of Ichigo’s dick.
Fuck off, Ichigo growls out—all silent, of course—tightening the muscles around his calves in order to prevent his legs from shaking. His only saving grace is the fact that they’re having the meeting in the administration room, where they sit at the desk wide enough to accommodate all Lieutenants and then some, instead of the usual meeting hall, where they would be standing up in the line, where he wouldn’t stand a chance of hiding this.
As you wish, replies Zangetsu and swallows him whole once again. Then, barely a heartbeat later, Ichigo feels soft fingers cup his balls. Zangetsu plays with them for a moment, then moves his hand further down to squeeze the sensitive strip of skin behind them. He shuts his eyes close once again, clenching fists and gritting his teeth to stop the full-body tremor that threatens to wrangle through his body.
He’s vaguely aware of the tears that are forming in his eyes, but he refuses to let out a sound, or otherwise show what’s happening to him.
Zangetsu, please, he’s not even sure what he's begging for. Maybe he’s pleading for it to finish already, for the sweet release he’s so close to achieving. Or maybe to never let it end, and stay forever blissfully tortured. Both options sound equally appealing and equally terrifying at the same time.
Come for me, Ichigo, Zangetsu murmurs, and the sound of his name is enough to push him over the edge, as he struggles to contain his climax. His throat closes up, mortification washing over him and settling deep in his gut, right above where warm stickiness in his crotch is soaking its way through his boxers. He hopes it won’t show through his hakama.
Fuck. He never came this hard before in his life.
Slowly but surely, his heartbeat winds down. He stops holding his breath, relaxes muscles and unclenches hands. His energy levels hit a full time low.
He reaches out with his mind, Zangetsu?
Here, King, Zangetsu whispers, reaching back to him. You did so well for me. Ichigo can feel his phantom touch shift to cover the palms of Ichigo’s hands, holding them far too gently. The pressure stays there for a moment, as if to offer Ichigo reassurance that his spirit is still with him—and close. Then there is a sensation of warm lips pressing briefly to his cheek. Fingers running through his hair.
Real-world awareness hits his senses next. The smell of wood in the air. A chilly breeze ruffling his hair and the sleeves of his shihakushō. Someone must have opened the window?
Then—sound. The murmur of voices blending together at first, before his brain starts picking them out individually.
“... should probably let him go back to his quarters.” Renji’s voice.
Right.
He just creamed in his pants in front of his colleagues.
His cheeks burn hotter.
He needs to get out of here—quick. Preferably outside, to dig a hole and die in it.
“You’re right, Abarai. You can go with him to make sure he gets there.” Ise.
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
He opens his eyes, straightening his back. “No,” he says, voice hoarse and catching in his throat. He coughs. “No need.”
“Damn, you look rough, dude. Must be a hell of a migraine." Ikkaku says, a concerned frown written all across his face. He turns to his left—addressing Kiyone, sitting several seats away. “You sure he’s gonna be okay?”
She nods, all solemn. “If it becomes recurring, we’ll have to look for a cause, of course. But otherwise...”
They don’t know, he realizes, incredulous, as relief flushes over him.
You didn’t let out a single sound. Pretty impressive self-control you have there, quips Zangetsu lightly.
Oh, I’ll deal with you for that later.
Can’t wait~
“You sure you don’t need me to go with you?” Renji asks, squeezing his right shoulder. “Wouldn’t mind getting out of that meeting too,” he jokes.
“Oh, nah,” Ichigo shakes his head. “Wouldn’t want you to slack off.”
By evening, Renji stops by his quarters to check on him. “Back to normal, huh?” he asks with a lazy smile, but Ichigo can tell that he’s still worried.
“I told you I’m fine,” he grumbles. He doesn’t like people worrying about him, least of all for something that didn’t even happen.
“Well, sue me for being concerned,” Renji rolls his eyes, then shrugs, as if to say ‘whatever’. “By the way, Ise told me I should keep you in the loop, since you probably missed like half the meeting yesterday.”
Try all of it, Zangetsu snorts, clearly amused.
And whose fault is it, huh? Ichigo asks pointedly.
The bond is suddenly flooded by a faux-innocent feeling from his partner, which Ichigo assumes is the mental equivalent of a ‘Who, me?’ shrug. Right.
“Fine,” Ichigo says, already resigned to his fate. “Hit me with it.”
“Basically the only two things that matter, is that we’re finally resuming the routine missions in The World of the Living and getting more paperwork.”
Ichigo blinks at him. “The fuck?” More? As if they don’t have enough already.
Oh, beautiful, Zangetsu’s laughter booms through Ichigo’s head.
“Yeah,” Renji grimaces, scratching the back of his neck. “Now we’re supposed to do most of the paperwork that used to fall to the Captains.”
“Bet Ise was excited about that,” Ichigo comments dryly.
“Oh, she was fuming,” cackles Renji. “But we can apparently also bother our 3rd seats about it—Kyōraku gave them more clearance.”
“Of course he did,” he sighs. He already knows he’s not going to bother with Sentarō and whatever weird beef the guy has with him. The 3rd seat gives him a headache every time Ichigo tries to talk with him. “At least she didn’t make me sit through another one of those boring meetings.”
“Told her it’s bad for your health.”
Ichigo snorts, Zangetsu also chuckling along in his head. “Well. You’re not wrong.”
“And there was more stuff, but it was all just useless shit, like, oh, we need to change the definition from ‘Soul’ to ‘Spirit’ because apparently, that’s racist—for some fucking reason.” He makes a face.
“Huh? Aren't they the same thing?” Literally everyone in Soul Society is a soul, a spirit, a ghost—it’s the afterlife.
“That’s what I said too!” he exclaims frantically, waving his hands around like a mad man. “You make me feel less insane, man,” he says, then trails off. His gaze, still fixed on Ichigo, softens. “I think I’ll leave you to rest and bother you another day, though. Glad you’re not dying anymore—or whatever.”
Ichigo blinks, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Renji.”
“Anytime. Later.” Renji lifts a hand in a lazy wave as he steps out, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft thunk. His spiritual pressure fades down the corridor, and then in the familiar direction towards Squad 6 grounds.
Ichigo tracks his reiatsu for a moment, then leans back in his chair with a sigh. He stares at the stack of paperwork on his desk. His mortal enemy.
“…Screw this,” he mutters to himself, then reaches out for the familiar reiatsu signature residing within his soul and yanks.
Zangetsu appears out of thin air, with a slight frown on his face and arms crossed on his chest. “What now?”
Ichigo shoves half the paperwork in his direction. “You're helping.”
“Hey! That’s not fair!”
Ichigo slaps the stack onto the desk in front of him. “You owe me for yesterday!”
Zangetsu groans, glaring at the stack like it might spontaneously combust if he scowls hard enough. “I’m a zanpakutō spirit, not your damn secretary.”
“You could be,” Ichigo shrugs, then lets a smirk spread across his face. “Or are you scared you’d suck at it?”
Zangetsu groans, “I know what you’re doing,” he points a finger at Ichigo, “and I hate that it’s working.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Give me those papers.”
“There you go.”
Zangetsu snatches it with a dramatic sigh. He drops down onto the floor with crossed legs, the pages already rustling as he starts filling them out. It’s a bizarre sight to see, and Ichigo only barely manages to contain a laugh.
Now they’re even.