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Ikkaku doesn’t remember who asked him first.
Probably one of the former 11th division recruits who most likely transferred elsewhere shortly after, not able to handle the new course the division took under Kenpachi.
Ikkaku doesn’t remember the face but he remembers the question.
Do you have a soulmark?
The word is unfamiliar and he lets out a confused huh that prompts the guy to explain it to him.
Ikkaku takes it for one of those fancy Academy shit that he doesn’t care about. No one speaks of this on the streets of Rukongai, and the streets taught Ikkaku everything he knows. Figures the fancy ones that live their whole lives in the prosperity of the Seireitei would have some concept slash legend to match.
Who else would have enough free time on their hands to muse about the souls destined to be together ― the soulmates.
It is a rare thing, apparently. Either there are not enough shinigami to have a match for everyone, or they are mostly just that incompatible with each other, but the only soulmates couple in Seireitei that Ikkaku learns about is Ukitake-taichou and Kyoraku-taichou, and the geezers have been around for a millenia or even more, so perhaps this soulmates stuff is not even a thing anymore.
So Ikkaku shrugs the idea off and goes on with his new life in the 11th.
It is after some time and a few nights of drinks with his new buddies that someone, inebriated enough to go into nonsense territory, brings it up again.
Soulmarks, the tattoo-like marks that appear on a shinigami’s chest against their heart in a form that best represents the shikai of their shinigami soulmate.
What if my soulmate is not a shinigami, Ikkaku asks.
His drinking buddies just shrug. Just hafta fall in love in a regular way then, they say. Shinigami soulmates are rare as fuck anyway.
Ikkaku doesn’t think that he has to fall in love, a regular way or not. Ikkaku is not even sure what this in love even feels like or whether he even needs it.
He has never been one for romance. Sex, sure, good sex is as good as a good fight in his book, and is almost as good to scratch that itch in his veins that he has carried for as long as he could remember himself. Desire to fuck resides in him somewhere near desire to fuck someone’s face up. It usually fades into the background after a good fight, but only flares up hotter after the fights that go wrong.
But the concept of love has never been in his scope, especially when he was still in Rukongai, where he was too busy trying to survive through the constant hunger and fury that boiled his blood making him fight everyone who looked at him in a way remotely funny.
He didn’t know what love was. He knew hunger and anger and one seemed to fuel another.
He was in that world alone and went through it alone for decades before he met Yumichika.
Yumichika was the first person to stay by his side. They didn’t talk about it, but it was surprisingly easy to fall into step with someone, even though Ikkaku had never done it before.
Yumichika made more money for food and shelter than Ikkaku did, that, with his delicate looks and long silky hair. And at first this was how Ikkaku explained to himself the reason he stayed with the other man: regular meals to sate his hunger and regular sex to cool his blood.
Of course he hadn’t had the lack of the latter before, however Yumichika took it to a whole new level that Ikkaku hadn’t known was possible. Yumichika knew what he was doing. After all, he had managed to even afford a whole room under a roof with an actual bed that had clean sheets on it, something that Ikkaku couldn’t even dream of before.
It was Yumichika’s job, to give men sex that they wouldn’t forget, and Ikkaku respected those willing to do honest work in that shitty world. So after the first time they fucked, Ikkaku went outside, found someone with money and beat them up. He gave the money to Yumichika. It was the first and the last time he attempted to do so, and the first time he learnt that the other man was not carrying that katana just to scare off the most cowardly thugs.
And Ikkaku thinks this was his second and real reason why he stayed. Respect was not so easily earned in Rukongai, and Ikkaku was not giving it easily either, but Yumichika could have all of it that Ikkaku was capable of.
And really, no one just walks off the sex like that…
But it wasn’t love or romance, not in the sense that those fancy Seireitei’s locals would give it.
Not that he has ever given it a thought. It has been simply a given for decades, him and Yumichika, going through life together. Yumichika is a friend and the only family that Ikkaku has, and that they sometimes have great sex is simply a bonus to the familiarity and comfort of having the other man around.
He surmises that it would make sense for them to be those so-called soulmates, but he thinks he wouldn’t care if they weren’t, it would hardly change anything.
However, there is a part of him that is curious. He has never looked at himself during the release of his zanpakutou, he usually has more pressing concerns at times like that rather than stare at his chest. And Yumichika has never mentioned anything of the sort, although the man has seen Ikkaku fight topless on many occasions. So the chances are slim, but Ikkaku is curious and very drunk, and a little bit annoyed at this topic being raised again, as if he can bother with this mushy crap.
He might tell this to Yumichika. His partner would love this, Ikkaku is sure. He would probably find the idea beautiful.
Ikkaku stops on his track where he has been stumbling through the dark streets toward the 11th division barracks. He pulls his zanpakutou out of its scabbard and stares at it. He has probably drunk too much because the blade doubles slightly in his vision, and Ikkaku grunts through his teeth in irritation. Has never stopped him before though.
He takes the scabbard in his other hand and connects the kashira with the scabbard mouth.
“Grow, Houzukimaru!”
The middle of the street and the middle of the night is probably a shit place and time for his shikai experiment, and the released reiatsu has most likely woken up those most sensitive to it, but the thought comes and goes, when Ikkaku looks down and pulls at his kosode to see his chest better.
There is a mark the size of an apple on his chest. It is upside down, but it is simple enough to be recognizable.
It is a blue flower. It is a flower, and Ikakku dismisses his shikai and watches the mark fade against his wildly beating heart.
The flower is gone and Ikkaku realizes that for some reason he thought it would be something different. For some reason he hoped it would be something different.
It makes him angry. He is not sure what he is angry about. The stupid mark on his chest that doesn’t fit his warrior looks. The stupid mark that doesn’t resemble a sickle that he, apparently, hoped to see. Himself for hoping it would be a sickle. Yumichika for clothing himself up to his chin and never taking his kosode off when he fights. Yumichika for never breathing a word about this mark to him, and why?!
Yumichika for apparently having someone else as their soulmate because if Yumichika is not Ikkaku’s then Ikkaku is not Yumichika’s, right?
Himself again for making it matter.
That shinigami who told Ikkaku about it, who made it matter for Ikkaku even though he has never given it ― them ― a second thought. They just are. Ikkaku and Yumichika.
They don’t call it love. They never say the words. They never talk about whatever it is they have.
It doesn’t matter, it has never mattered.
Only that now it apparently does.
And Ikkaku is not familiar with the concept. He has never had the chance. But here now he finds himself wanting for Yumichika to be that one soul that is his . That soul that his own one can belong to. Yumichika is his , and he is Yumichika’s and it has been so for decades, and he doesn’t give a damn about the words and concepts, or so he thinks. Because this flower on his chest means that Yumichika is not his , but possibly someone else’s , and it makes Ikkaku’s vision red and blurry.
It is nauseating, all these sudden thoughts and unexpected disappointments and ruined hopes that he hasn’t even been aware of up until this moment.
Perhaps it is the saké in his veins, or perhaps it is just Ikkaku being Ikkaku, ill-directed anger fast to boil his blood.
His vision sways when he stumbles through the door to the room he shares with Yumichika. He doesn’t think he is drunk anymore, that, with how fast his anger has burned through the alcohol in his veins.
But he is almost shaking with unresolved something, and this at least is familiar, and he pushes all the questions and self doubts deeper and focuses on the tension of fight or fuck that he at least knows how to deal with.
Yumichika rolls over in their bed and opens one sleepy eye at him, when Ikkaku climbs on the bed and hovers over him.
Yumichika sees something in Ikkaku’s face, or smells his desire, because he smiles knowingly, opening his eyes fully, as he stretches almost lazily under Ikkaku with a soft groan, waking up.
“Thought I felt your reiatsu flare up,” he says, freeing his hand from under the covers and wrapping it around the back of Ikkaku’s neck. “You stink of saké by the way,” he mumbles, with a small wince, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling Ikkaku down.
It is all Ikkaku needs to let go of his last thin reserves.
Their kiss is tongues and groans, Ikkaku’s hands on Yumichika’s shoulders squeezing possessively, angrily. It would leave bruises, but Yumichika only moans, and tugs the covers down, arching into Ikkaku.
Their sex always borders on violent, with bites, bruises and scratches lingering long after they reach their release. For Ikkaku it is simply the way he lives, it is his nature and his strength. For Yumichika it is something that is the opposite of him outside their room, something that he would probably call unbeautiful if he could look at them from the side at these moments. And Ikkaku knows he wouldn’t agree with him.
There is nothing that is not beautiful in the way Yumichika’s muscles shift under his skin when he uncoils in pleasure under Ikkaku’s hands and pushes himself into Ikkaku’s thrusts. There is nothing not beautiful in the flush that covers his face and chest, in the red of his lips, swollen with arousal and bites and kisses. Yumichika’s silky hair in Ikkaku’s fist, drops of sweat on his temples and his chest and along his spine. Heat that radiates from his skin and the moans and gasps and Ikkaku’s name that fall from his lips. Slim fingers tugging at the sheets, trimmed nails scratching Ikkaku’s shoulders. The red and blue of Ikkaku’s fingerprints on Yumichika’s hips, blood that trickles from the spot on his shoulder where Ikkaku sunk his teeth in him. Haze of arousal in his eyes and a wicked smile with drops of blood on his lips from the bites he leaves on Ikkaku’s skin in return.
He might not be beautiful in his own eyes in these moments, not in the way he is so well put together in other times, but he allows Ikkaku to ruin this beautiful and make it into something more.
Their sex is almost primal, with always something possessive thrown into it, but this time it reaches new heights, and something burns in Ikkaku’s chest, in the place where his soulmark ― curse it! ― appears. And he holds Yumichika tighter, and thrusts in him harder, and his eyes are wild, he knows it, because the smirk falls from Yumichika’s lips, and his eyes bore into Ikkaku’s with heat and a question that Ikkaku doesn’t know how to answer.
He growls and pulls Yumichika’s hips down and pushes himself in harder, like he wants to reach even deeper, like the way they are already joined is not enough.
“Ikkaku…” Yumichika moans, bites Ikkaku’s lip until they both taste blood.
Ikkaku growls again, a hand around Yumichika’s throat, squeezing.
The moan Yumichika lets out is obscene, his eyes glazed, and Ikkaku thinks if the world starts dissipating around them he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t stop.
“Mine… Tell me you are mine!” It is a roar through his teeth, the sound that comes from deep inside his chest, where the blue flower planted something that he hates.
Fear, he realizes, watching Yumichika gasp in pleasure, hot and tight against him and around him. Fear is what he feels. Fear is what he hates.
“Tell me!” He releases Yumichika’s throat and grabs his hair instead, tugging at it. “Tell me!” he demands.
“Yours…” Yumichika moans, eyes unfocused, chasing his release.
Ikkaku tugs at his hair again, makes him look at him, because it is not enough, somehow it is not enough. And Yumichika sees it, or feels it, or smells this on him, Ikkaku doesn’t know, but he sees the effort his lover makes into focusing his eyes on him. Yumichika is flushed and hot and sweaty and so tight around Ikkaku’s cock in him, that Ikkaku knows he is close.
But whatever it is Yumichika sees in Ikkaku’s eyes makes him stave off his release, and he kisses Ikkaku deeply, more tongues than lips, heavy hot breaths mixing into one.
“Yours― Ikkaku!” he breathes out and then throws his head back with a moan when Ikkaku growls and thrusts up into him hard. “Only yours― always, forever…”
Ikkaku sinks his teeth in Yumichika’s neck, and Yumichika spasms around him and gasps and then stills, his whole body taut when he comes between their bodies. And Ikkaku thrusts up once, twice, against the pressure of Yumuchika’s walls around him, and he spills his release inside his lover with guttural cry.
The world is quiet afterwards, with only their heavy breaths to disrupt the silence of the night.
They are tangled together in a tight embrace, hot sweaty skin cooling off slowly. Ikkaku’s face is in the crook of Yumichika’s neck and he breathes in the scent of him, his skin hot and soft and so familiar. Yumichika draws lazy fingers up and down Ikkaku’s back, the back of his neck and the skin of his head. He lets out a satisfied sigh, deflating in Ikkaku’s arms.
And usually at this point Ikkaku would pull himself out of the heat of his lover’s body, and roll to the side, fruitlessly fighting against the lull of sleep. And Yumichika would be shuffling around cleaning Ikkaku and himself and maybe mumbling under his breath about the mess they created.
But this time is different, and the soft caress of Yumichika’s fingers is reassuring, and Ikkaku doesn’t know how Yuichika knows that this is what he needs right now, but he is happy he does. And just that, happy.
“You silly bear,” Yumichika whispers tiredly, but there is a smile in his voice. He kisses Ikkaku’s temple and mouths gently at his earlobe. “I’m yours and you’re mine,” he says then, and there is so much calm and conviction in his voice, that Ikkaku believes him.
Ikkaku believes him and never questions it. Not even when the blue flower mark blooms on his chest the next time he uses his shikai and he risks a glance at it, not any time after.
Ikkaku believes Yumichika, and there is no more doubt and no more fear.
And perhaps this is what others would call love, but they never say the words, because what they are is something more and something different and Ikkaku doesn’t need to give it a name.
And years later when the circumstances force Yumichika to finally let Ikkaku see his true shikai, and one of the blue flowers floating down lands in Ikkaku’s outstretched hand, he looks at his soulmate and the fear in his purple eyes and he throws his head back and laughs gleefully.
And then he turns to Yumichika again, and repeats the words that he said to Ikkaku years ago.
“I am yours and you are mine.”
And fear dissipates in Yumichika’s eyes just like it did in Ikkaku’s soul.