urahara kisuke x sosuke aizen • sfw • 800 words
ao3 link • based on and written for this beautiful fanart here, please go check it out, it's beautiful.
He wasn't one to normally care about sensations or temperature; such things were associated with weaker creatures who couldn't brave temperatures and therefore needed to register them to survive, but Muken was cold. Hueco Mundo as well; Kaname had once mentioned it in one of their first of many endeavors to the realm.
But the coldness in Muken was different—it claimed you all at once, and the bone-seeping sensation wrapped around you tightly like vines. The seals didn't help either, covering every inch of his body so that he was deprived of all his other sensations, movement, and the energy to resist the coldness of the prison. Sosuke had no choice but to succumb to it.
The lips on his were warm.
So warm. Sosuke felt it soaking eagerly into the joints of his body.
The flower wilting away in Muken was slowly being reawakened by the warmth of the sun.
The stubble belonging to the same face with the warm lips scratched Sosuke's own skin pleasantly, his nerves tingling at the new sensation he was finally experiencing after years of hard leather pressing in on his face.
His lips were now doing something that he couldn't remember permitting them to do, gasping for air as if he hadn't breathed in ages. He hadn't. He didn't need to. He had the Hogyoku; breathing was secondary for someone who had ascended as he did. But his treacherous, still human body gulped down the air greedily as Urahara's lips continued their attack on his, now focusing on Sosuke's lower lip, biting down.
It stung. Then it was alleviated almost immediately by Urahara's gentle tongue cooling down the bite, and he could taste the smoke. No doubt Urahara had indulged in that vice before coming down to visit him.
Sosuke was grateful that it stung; however, at least it proved that he wasn't a hollow shell of a man, that he could still feel some semblance of pain. The last time he had felt anything akin to this was when he had been sealed; when the red crosses of the man kissing him had impaled his chest and left him with searing pain that was not only physical. But that was something Sosuke had refused, in his two years of coldness and numbness, to evaluate further.
"Aizen-san…" Urahara rasped, the sound of his voice tingling in Sosuke's ears.
Ah, he thought, I can finally hear again.
No more of his attempts at discerning whether it was Kurotsuchi's reiatsu coming in to make sure his seals were still in place, or one of the guards simply doing their daily checkups.
No, now he could hear Urahara's voice, neutral as ever, not betraying a hint of emotion.
Or perhaps he had gotten rusty at detecting emotions in voices.
The other man's hand had come up to Sosuke's face, his haori rustling, presumably fidgeting with one of Sosuke's seals, or perhaps just coming up to cup his face. Regardless, he could smell Urahara with how close he was. And there it was, smoke again, though he could smell it this time rather than taste, and something else that was deeper, earthy, that was part of Urahara himself, coated by the faint scent of lavender laundry detergent.
Human world, his brain supplied; laundry at his house.
Before he could delve any further into the implications (yes, there were implications), Urahara's hand had seemingly found something. He heard a click and—
His eye blinked immediately as he adjusted to the sensation, finally able to observe the world around him again. The first thing that came into view was Urahara himself, the close-ups of his face: the wrinkles from countless nights up, most likely devising new plans for who knows what. Sosuke hadn't known what he had been up to for a while and had, admittedly, been curious and jealous at times. Had hoped that Urahara wouldn't find another opponent like him, that there wasn't someone out there that had intrigued Urahara or challenged him enough to make him forget about Sosuke, but now, with his lips on his, Sosuke's jealousy was temporarily quelled.
"Here you are." The shopkeeper murmured.
He took in the sight of Urahara greedily, almost as greedily as he had gulped down the air earlier, grey eyes finally staring directly into his own, filled with a myriad of emotions Sosuke wasn't able to decipher yet. Wouldn't be able to decipher it anytime soon because Urahara was a continuous, tangled web of emotions and complexities, and Sosuke had his own complexities that unfortunately repelled Urahara's like two magnets of the same direction.
He had felt Urahara's lips on his.
Had tasted the cigarette smoke that clung to his mouth.
Had heard his voice murmuring Sosuke's name.
Had smelt the laundry detergent on his haori.
Finally, he had seen the undiscernible emotions swirling in those grey eyes.
Urahara's presence had opened up his five senses once again as the sun would open up the five petals of a wilting flower; patiently, warmly.
