Thy Holy Bow

Closed RP blog affiliated with The Soul Pantheism for Ishida Uryuu

A multifaceted interpretation with a myriad of storylines.  Loved by Vix Multiship/Multiverse and NSFW friendly Originally established 2019 for the ABRP group Currently affiliated with TSP group since 2022

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He holds the erlenmeyer flask in a gloved hand, and while he trusts Nemu, he still isn't completely comfortable with the fact that he's in a laboratory. Her laboratory. The one that she works in. In the 12th.

"You always think you know what you're doing, but you're too slick for your own good. Some day you're going to find it out."

All right!  Getting back to this Sunday series.   This past year has just been grueling. 

Masturbation

“I got something nice for my father’s birthday...but I thought you might like to help me with a different gift.”

He opens the top and lets Ichigo look at them.  

He’s feeling kind of unsteady, so he sags back against the counter. “Okay…” Those words are— They aren’t suffocating, but there’s a lot of pressure suddenly to both know what the right thing to do is in this situation and to trust himself to do it. And what if what he has to give isn’t what Ishida wants? Ishida isn’t asking for flowers, he’s asking Ichigo to take responsibility for an emotional state.

Ichigo doesn’t know if that’s okay if he can’t promise it won’t end badly. He’s indelicate. Rash. Ishida would pick their relationship apart with tiny tools. Ichigo would use a hammer to smash the damn thing open. They’re different people.

He thinks if it were just him, he’d be alright to risk it. If he was the only one paying for the mistake. But he’s not that only one he’ll hurt.

“I haven’t — I don’t… I wasn’t a good pretender in the first place. I like what we’re doing.” Wait a second, “If we’re not screwing around to mess with your dad, then why are we standing here with the door open?” Fucking shit. He shoves at it, swinging it shut as his pants are dragged down.

“Whoa.” His breath hitches as much at the cool air and counter as at being manhandled, which might be fucking hot. Then both hands push into Ishida’s hair, so Ichigo can tug his gaze up and maybe shake him while he’s got a good grip. “Don’t say that and then put my dick in your mouth. Of course I’ll agree.”

He exhales all at once and pulls a hand from soft, black hair to grip the edge of the counter with a short curse as Ishida slips between his legs. “Fuck. We’re still going to talk about that. You have terrible timing.” Uryuu clearly has his mind made up about this, and Ichigo can’t blame him. He wants it too. Then Ishida closes his mouth around Ichigo, leaving him to draw in a sharp breath. It’s hot and wet, and Ichigo shocks himself by having immediate preferences about how his dick is sucked. And then surprises himself again by throwing them out the window because it’s already better than he expected it to be. And there’s no part of him willing to pull Ishida off his cock or stop him from exploring.

Uryuu listens.  He’s surprised with the way that Ichigo acts. He hadn’t meant those words in any metaphorical way.  He doesn’t need his first time to be Hollywood style special or with his sworn soulmate or something.  He just needs to know that he’s *wanted*.  He’s never felt wanted here, or anywhere and for so much of his life. “I didn’t mean it like a big issue,” he says, trying to deescalate. “I just would rather do that when not pretending its for an audience.”  He sighs. “That’s all.”

But then he hears what it s he needs to hear.  “I like it too.”  Ichigo closes the door, and now that Uryuu knows what he wants to do, he pauses, reaches back and locks the door as well.  Then, he continues with a much more passionate onslaught.  He’s not pretending anymore, and he doesn’t bother to hide the deep-seated well of lust that he feels.  He wants more than *anything* for Ichigo to feel wanted.  Even if this is all he gets, he wants it, and he wants Ichigo to know that he wants it.  

Ichigo propped up and held in place, the reaction is positive.  It’s honestly a very fun power that he didn’t expect to feel.  He’s enjoyed being pursued, Ichigo grabbing him for the odd tryst in the hallway, intrigue, but right now, he has him pinned and at his mercy.  

“I plan to get to it,” he says.  “But I’ve always wanted to do this.”  

She couldn’t help smiling a little at the man’s awkwardness in conversation. She couldn’t help being sympathetic. After all, she herself wasn’t much of a talker either. Most conversations she entered were started by others, scientific discussions, or all the above when it came to her father. She wasn’t entirely sure of the answer on the friend question when it came to her father, so she’ll address that later. Now what else does she need… She has plenty of almost perfect baking apples and since she’ll be using the Ishida kitchen she can assume more than likely that things like butter, milk, eggs, and flour will be covered.

“All I need left is sugar, almonds, vanilla extract, cinnamon, baking powder, and baking soda if you don’t have those things already.” She states calmly to him.

“I don’t know! That’s what you said.” The idea that Ishida wants to prepare better like an absolute bookworm both irritates him and makes his toes curl. Ishida’s a perfectionist, there could be a lot of attempts before he felt like he got it right.

“I could… I mean, sure. If you want. “ He licks his lips. “Do you want flowers?” It sounds like Ishida wants flowers. This is a lot like being in a car he has no control of while it drives him into the country to put him down. Even his heart sounds like the pounding of nails sealing his coffin.

Ahhh! It’s so much worse to hear when it’s explained! There’s always been something about being told he’s singular or special that makes him baulk. It doesn’t mesh well with what he’s knows to be true of himself. Even for something like this. He’s just an a idiot bumbling through. Higher expectations seem like they’ll lead to catastrophic failure.

And then he’s freaking out because that’s a lot of pressure. It sounds more like Ishida is trying to plan out how to get it right the first time. Like he thinks they won’t have another chance. Ichigo isn’t a perfect kind of guy. “We could just… work at it and see how it goes?” Because it’s not a biology experiment. It’s fucking.

Except his eyes lift when Ishida recoils, and Ichigo blinks.

“Uh…. Uh.” He swallows and that cold perspiration is back. There’s a pain in his chest he’s pretty sure means he’s supposed to be breathing and taking air back in. Instead of worrying about that, he decides there’s literally nothing worse Ishida could’ve chosen to pick up on  just now. He gasps, sucking in a lungful. “That was… “ He wheezes. “A TURN OF PHRASE! Why are you such a nerd!? Of course I don’t care! You’re welcome by the way.” 

He takes a deep breath.  “It’s not exactly the flowers, more or less.”  Words.  WORDS.  Uryuu has no idea why they’re so hard, but he’s going to try.  “But, that I’m worth giving something...that’s not pretend.  At least, I’m finding that I’m not pretending and I don’t know if that's okay with you.”

There.  These are words that convey his feelings.   Even though they similarly say nothing concrete.  Ichigo doesn't even have to really say much.  Uryuu just wants to be sure.  He wants to know what to think before he ends up with Ichigo sheathed deep within him, and they’re feeling very different things, and not just the physical sensation.  

He has no idea that Ichigo thinks what he does of himself.  That they’re more similar than they think.  But, he’s done with the awkwardness from this.  He just wants to protect himself, and care for Ichigo. 

But now...he’s okay with not thinking or talking or things that they both seem to be shitty at.  His cool returns and his gaze refocuses.

“Fine.  I’ll look things up later.  It’s not rocket science.  It’s a dick.”

He pushes Ichigo against the sink and undoes the button and zipper of his pants.  He pulls everything halfway down his thighs, and then lifts just the inch it takes to rest him on the ledge, something solid.  He remembers how hard it was to just enjoy the pleasure he was given while also trying to remain balanced or at the very least not fall down and bring Ichigo down with him.  

He blinks hard. “Uh, hey. Hey! Is that any way to talk to the guy that just had your dick in his mouth!?” 

That mouth is the same one that drops open. It— He— How Ishida talking to him like this!? Who the fuck flipped their dynamic around? He’s the one that gives Ishida shit, and Ishida is the one that stammers and spits. And he likes it that way. Never mind Ishida saying it so damn soft and with that look. He huffs and looks away. 

His brows go up. “Way to not answer the question… Nothing to read into there. Nothing there to keep me up at night.” 

He tenses at that touch, just because he’s not expecting it and shoots a look to Ishida in the mirror to find the archer watching him back. It felt good though, he’s discovering he likes being touched. 

But alright, Uryuu gets around to answering that question a bit more thoroughly and Ichigo nods. He can accept that. He’s not sure what answer he expected, but the response to his question leaves him realizing he wants to hone this particular ability. Like hell he’s going to be lame at sucking Ishida off. 

He freezes and turns. “Now? Here?” Not that it’s worse than the hall. The older Ishida could walk in on them here just fine. “Yeah, sure.” 

He feels the start of a cold sweat break across his skin. Probably because now he’s thinking about his cock surrounded by Ishida’s mouth. Fuck. This is moving quick. “More…?” said numbly, because he’s feeling somewhat disconnected. Ishida says it so simply. Ichigo could do it all day and never manage to talk about it once. “Now?” Alright, he’s lost, but enthusiastic. “And… you don’t want… food or flowers or…” What the fuck did people take to sex partners? It’s not a gift exchange, but still seems polite. He feels like maybe the assurance he gave Ishida about knowing what he’s doing isn’t being displayed to its full capacity. 

It is interesting, the push and pull of their minds and personalities.  He touches Ichigo and he recognizes him tense, but he doesn’t move away.  When he speaks of how it was, he’s glad that his answer is accepted, but truly, he’s not exactly sure what Ichigo was afraid of.  Clearly he enjoyed it.

He’s speaking in hypotheticals, but again he realizes.  He’s thinking.

Now he’s back to stammering, in a mirror image.  “Wait..what?”  He looks around.  “Now?”  Things are indeed moving quickly.  “I mean, are you sure you don’t want me to spend some time researching before?  Like...I know there’s tips out there and stuff..or something.”  

He looks away.  Why did he even say that?  I mean...he was going to do that eventually.  He always figured that he’d be looking up some things, you know, putting your best foot forward or whatever it is anyone does before the first time they suck someone off.  

“Just because I said it, it doesn’t have to happen now.  Unless..well..”  He’s not saying no either.  He’s very confused about the dueling natures of wanting to be meticulous and prepared, and throwing caution to the wind. But the the next part, he knows he said it, but the other stuff that Ichigo says...he’s not realized that it would...no, could apply to him.  “You’d give me flowers?” he asks, in a bit of a softer surprised way.  “Not that it matters. but....”  He takes a deep breath.  He will think now.  He will advocate for himself.  He’s starting to understand how he is within himself.  

“With that one, its not exactly like I want it to be transactional or anything.  But I suppose I’ve always assumed that it would be somewhat special.”  He takes a breath  “At least...I’d find letting you do it special.”

Uryuu looks up, not really sure how any of this is going to be taken.  Ichigo knows he’s a virgin.  So it can’t come as a complete surprise.  It’s certainly not a confession either.  It’s not a public label on something.  But if he lets him, its not exactly something he wants taken without some level of caring.  

But then he backs up, remembering something that Ichigo said to him that was completely different entirely.  

Finished, he shuts off the water, feeling the shirt pulled from his hands. Except he stops, frozen with sudden uncertainty when he spots Uryuu. He was a little rough. A little careless. 

“Uh… no. That’s not it. I didn’t… think it through to the end.” His neck and ears are starting to burn.

He blinks at the washcloth, because it seems less accommodating for what he’d had in mind than his shirt, but…okay. Ichigo takes it. He glances up then just sort of runs it over his tongue before handing it back. It leaves his tongue covered in fuzz. 

“I’d should be cleaning you up.” Which he says and then realizes just how true it is. He glances away.  “Was that okay?” He’s not really sure he wants to ask that question or maybe he’s not sure he wants the answer, so he presses on.  

“Next time—” He’s not sure what he’ll do about that next time. “Maybe we’ll try it in the shower.“ Or the kitchen. Beside the sink. Or he could learn to get over it. 

“You didn't think it through to the end...”  Uryuu frowns. “Do you ever!?” he snaps.

He sighs.  He can’t be mad.  He’s frustrated...but right now, he just can’t be mad.  He leans into the wall, trying to think about what to do.  But in a way he’s reached an epiphany.  Maybe in dealing with Ichigo...he just shouldn’t try to think.  It’s a novel concept....and he’s not sure that he can do it.  But...for him, he’ll try.

His tone becomes softer.  “You don’t need to clean me up.  You’ve already done that pretty well with your mouth in the first place.”

He reaches a hand to his back, slightly towards a shoulder.  His thumb runs over the ridge of Ichigo’s shoulderblade.  If words are a thing that they struggle over, perhaps he needs to try something else.

“I came, didn’t I?” he asks.  

He lets his hand run over his back before letting it drop.  Affection is something he struggles to show, but he likes *touching* him.  He crosses arms over his chest.  

“I have nothing really to compare it to, but it felt good.”  He thinks on it.  “Sure, if you think that would help.”

He pauses.

“I’d like to try it for you.  I can’t promise that I’d be any good.  But I mean...I know the basic concept.  And I have one, so its not like I can’t imagen what might feel best to you.”

He looks into the mirror, watching him wash, then looks away.  

For @reservedhealer Urgh. Sorry I'm just now getting to this my dear. This year past year has been deeply unkind to me.

Does your Muse like getting gifts or detest them?

He does like getting gifts, but he's not really sure how to express his appreciation. He struggles deeply with communicating feeling in a concise and/or direct manner. But it's very easy to make him feel thought of in the tiniest ways, as he's deeply starved for acknowledgement that's real and not performatve.

Is there a special meal that your Muse likes to save/eat for their birthday only?

Chad quietly slips into bed as he waits for Uryuu to get himself ready. It does feel nice to finally be laying down, and their room is a littler cooler than both the car and the beach were. He hadn’t seen much of the beach yet, mostly glimpses as they drove by. But it looks beautiful and he can’t wait to get to see it closer tomorrow and to swim.

He’s still contently imagining the water and the fresh air when Uryuu emerges from the bathroom. As is his habit, he looks over when he hears sounds to make sure everything is how it should be. Once he confirms its Uryuu he is able to relax again.

“I don’t mind having the tv on,” Chad answers. It can be calming as well as help the unfamiliar room feel a little more like home.

Chad looks over when he notices that he’s gotten on the bed, and it’s strange.  He feels somehow safe, even if there’s nothing about this room that is at all unsettling.  The need he had earlier to be around nobody in silence is fully quelled.

They seem to have some of the same preferences.

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV on.  News...not something he want to see before going to bed.  He flips the channels.  Advertisements.  Infomercials.  But finally he settles on a gameshow.  Its’ mindless, may even be funny.  Certainly much better than everything else that’s on at the time.

It’s for the best that the young man stoops to help Jūshirō pick up his strewn flowers, because Jūshirō’s hands have grown terribly unsteady thanks to the force of this undeniable shock. He manages a genuine smile and an earnest “Thank you” when he rises again, but inside, he can still feel his startled, overwhelmed, overjoyed heart racing.

But for all that, Jūshirō only knows relief, big and deep and nearly palpable, when the young man grasps his hand. He grips it tight, and Jūshirō squeezes it in return. His shoulders drop, and he feels himself grinning broadly as he stares into the young man’s bespectacled eyes – cool, careful, but deep, and in their own way, beautiful, too.

My son! Jūshirō thinks, and it is with a monumental effort that he keeps himself from trembling all over with joy and awe. But then – no. Easy, Jūshirō, he urges himself. This boy has a real father of his own somewhere, no doubt. Or if he doesn’t now, then he did once. You mustn’t overstep, no matter how excited you feel.

The young man introduces himself. Jūshirō blinks. It’s a common enough surname, of course, but it’s one he’s certain he’s heard in some weighty way before. Jūshirō scarcely has time to draw his own inferences before the young man – Uryuu – does it for him.  He even has the grace to offer Jūshirō a clear, courteous window for reply by identifying Jūshirō as a Shinigami, rather than forcing Jūshirō to admit to any history of enmity himself. Jūshirō cannot help but be remarkably impressed.

“…Captain of the Thirteenth Division, in fact,” Jūshirō answers, gently as he can. “Our symbol is the snowdrop, you know – a flower that doesn’t mind going against the grain of late winters and blooming in adversity. And our guiding principle is hope.” He leaves the rest unspoken. I hope, Ishida Uryuu, that you don’t run away just because you and I are different. I hope that you’re too young to have heard of the worst of it. I hope that you understand that I am not my organization, and that different people defend balance and peace in different ways. I hope –

And then, with perhaps the most unexpected words yet, Uryuu asks a question.

Jūshirō does not hesitate.

The flowers fall to the ground all over again, but Jūshirō does not mind. He strides forward and folds the young man in close, wrapping his broad arms around Uryuu’s thin frame with as much strength and as much warmth as he dares.

Jūshirō holds the young man in silence for a few moments. Then, without letting go, he raises his head just a little so that his words will not be muffled by their embrace. “…for what it’s worth,” he says softly, “there’s no such thing as just a human – no matter who you were before, or who you seek to become after. Perhaps this simply means it’s time for you to carve a new path…” He pauses. “May I call you Uryuu?” he asks. “You… you can call me whatever you like! Whatever feels right.” He tilts his head sideways, trying his best to find those cool, careful, deep eyes again. “Your instincts haven’t led you astray yet, after all!”

His hand is taken with an exuberance that makes him feel like a child again.  Like this man, who feels like so many of the others here, made with ancient power, is somehow weirdly younger than him.  The flowers he’s picked up for him a strange metaphor...of someone who is oddly like himself, of a more frail and thinner frame, but not at all weak.

He’s drawn to Jushiro.  He’s almost not sure that he can put him in the same category as those he’s seen so far.  He’s disarmed in a way that’s confusing, but he figures that this flows both ways.  

“The 13th,” he says.  He vaguely remembers some of the things his friend has said.  “I have a friend who I think has spent time in your division.  But her life here wasn’t something we talked much about.”

He hears the words in the voice he’s heard all of his life.  There’s no way I could leave here without settling my curiosities.  I’ve been...told so many things my whole life that I don’t know what is safe to believe.  That’s part of protecting people too--knowing where your own ignorance lies.

The flowers drop again and Uryuu begins to panic but before he can move, he’s pulled close and he can’t help but immediately reciprocate the hug.  His arms wrap around the man’s back and before he can even think, his fingers scrabble to grip the cloth and body below, now not willing to let go.  

There’s silence as both of them take the meeting in, being held safe unlike anything he’s ever felt anywhere.

Ishida is so damn responsive. Ichigo can’t help sliding palms up his legs to grip the flesh at the back of his thighs, nails rasping, kneading skin and muscle while he finishes. 

He wants to get his mouth on Ishida’s before the archer starts talking again, but he’s stuck, looking up, pinned by uncertainty. 

And then he panics. He might be fine having Ishida’s cock in his mouth, but like hell is he swallowing. He didn’t agree to that and he doesn’t know what to do with it. There’s a distressed sound trying to make its way up his throat, except having pulled off, mouth firmly shut, the noise has nowhere to go except through the back of his nose like some pathetic whine.  

Bathroom. That’s where a decent person would spit. He needs a sink.

Ichigo nearly drops Ishida to get there, hand groping for the tap, grasping the sink, cleaning his mouth out under the facet and nearly choking into the sink. Fuck. That’s something to think about the next time he tries that. Shit. At least he can breathe properly now. He lifts his shirt to swipe the water from his mouth, and yeah, he should probably check on Ishida.

Uryuu is spent and he’s trying his best to reorient himself to his surroundings.  His knees are still somewhat weak, and from what he can tell...his partner who was easily holding his weight before...is shifty.

He looks down, and what he sees, if he was more with it, he’d have laughed, but now, he just more or less has a confused expression on his face.

Ichigo races off and he stumbles forward.  Now he’s very aware of his lack of clothing from waist to knee...the saliva that was warm hitting air and now its cold, very cold in a place very uncomfortable to be cold when he’s this sensitive already.  Quickly, with much less grace than he’d have liked, just the same as he’d gotten this way in the first place, he pulls up and zips his pants.  

Catching up, he finds Ichigo practically gagging in the sink.

“Are you kidding me...”

Now, Uryuu doesn’t feel so awkward.  He’s certainly mor put together than this.

“I’m not that repulsive to you, am I?”

He leans in the doorway, not really sure how to parse what he feels.  But then he steps forward and takes Ichigo’s shirt down, replacing it in his hand with a washcloth.