Chapter Text
For the first time since Kisuke initiated their ‘relationship’, Ichigo doesn't try to flee the moment he wakes up.
Kisuke has the pleasure of watching his beloved open his eyes, loose-limbed and gorgeous. He sees the moment realization hits, when the boy draws some distance from Kisuke's hold. The scientist doesn't try to tighten his embrace, and Ichigo stops pulling away at arm's length.
Gold-flecked brown eyes meet his, bleary but alert, slightly wary and resigned. Devoid of the panic Kisuke has come to expect.
Of course, waking up naked in someone else's bed with another – fully clothed – man by his side warrants a degree of caution. Kisuke counts himself fortunate that the lad doesn't bolt.
“Good morning, Ichigo,” Kisuke greets him with what he knows to be a besotted smile. He can't help it; something about Ichigo emerging from sleep is just so achingly soft and precious…
The boy stares at him some more before offering back a mumbled “‘morning,” and nothing else.
“I'll bring you your breakfast in bed – don't worry, darling, I won't cook it myself,” Kisuke supplies before the lad can raise any objection. “The bathroom is just beyond this door, if you need to freshen up.” He sends a pointed look at Ichigo's crotch – where the covers can't quite hide a tent – before he leaves the bed.
Kisuke divests himself of his sleepwear to put on his day clothes. The same green samue as ever, with a dark haori on top. His beloved's attention weighs heavily on his bare backside, before he covers it up.
When he turns back to Ichigo, the lad's head faces the other way, but his cheeks glow apple red and one of the bed's fluffy cushions found its way on his lap.
Cute.
Tessai is in the kitchen frying eggs when the scientist makes his way there to cobble up some breakfast with what he finds. Ichigo wouldn't appreciate his unique approach to cooking, so ready-made it has to be.
The other man watches him open cupboards and pull out a tray; Kisuke knows Tessai enough to read the silent judgment and disapproval there. His housemate is aware of the visitor in the shop owner's bedroom.
He doesn't care. Everyone can think whatever they want, Kisuke never gave much stock to others’ opinion of him.
Still, Tessai is nothing but helpful (or maybe he takes pity on Ichigo, given the only solid food Kisuke found so far are jerky and a suspiciously dusty box of corn flakes), so he splits some of his eggs onto two more plates and places them on the tray without a word. He also unearths two clean glasses and some orange juice that hasn't gained the green tinge Kisuke found in the other jar of juice waiting behind the fridge…
The kitchen has never been his domain; most of the food he eats is either ready-made, delivered (like the first breakfast he served Ichigo) or prepared by his housemates. Kisuke has a tendency to… experiment, to not pay much attention to what he puts in his mouth or how long it stays on the stove and to ignore consumption dates. As a result, nobody trusts him to cook more than microwave meals.
Not that it could endanger the other inhabitants of the shoten – Kisuke built his damn gigais better than that, thank you. But he's been told that the taste of his attempts at food leaves much to be desired.
Still, sprinkling a healthy layer of crushed Hollow mask on one of the plates falls well within his limited culinary range. Ichigo needs his nutrients, after all, and he won't be in any state to hunt them down himself any time soon. That is, if Kisuke lets him find his own sustenance once his powers come back, instead of catching it for him. Despite his lacking abilities in the kitchen, Kisuke finds he revels in the intimacy of purveying his beloved with what he eats. Of choosing exactly what passes through those pretty lips. Over that sinful tongue. Down that slender throat…
Oh, barely a few minutes apart, and he already misses his Ichigo so badly…
A quick thankful nod to his colleague, and Kisuke skips back to his bedroom.
Ichigo isn't there when he arrives, but the patter of water tells Kisuke all he needs to know. No doubt the boy is tending to his morning wood – hopefully by indulging rather than through a cold shower.
Kisuke could have taken care of that for him, of course, but how else is Ichigo supposed to understand he needs the shopkeeper than by occasionally going without? Just to cast the contrast and the gap in pleasure in a sharper light. Nothing is ever as blatant as absence.
Should Kisuke desire to keep Ichigo captive, mollified and tamed over time by exquisite pleasure, he could. It wouldn't even be hard, considering the boy's powerless state and the conspicuous lack of his former entourage. Chances are that only his sisters would notice, and there are so many ways to silence them, plenty of which don't even involve physical or mental harm…
But while a part of Kisuke undeniably yearns for that kind of control, for Ichigo's world to begin and to end with him, the greater part acknowledges that this would be a terrible waste.
Kisuke has long considered his character to be composed of two sides: the scientist and the assassin. One that likes to unravel things, to see what makes them tick only to rebuild them better, be they objects or people. Another that rejoices in the flawless execution of a plan, in blood-shedding and the occasional fight that pushes him all the way to and beyond his limits.
Meeting Ichigo unearthed a heretofore unknown third aspect: the teacher. He suspects it only really applies to one specific individual, but since he took the lad under his wing, Kisuke has discovered that he enjoys imparting knowledge. Enjoys nurturing potential. Enjoys molding the mind and the body of an oh-so-promising student. Of course, Ichigo is a model pupil in all the disciplines Kisuke wants him to learn, which only increases the pleasure he finds in teaching.
While the assassin and the scientist would both delight in a trapped Ichigo, always at his disposal for a rump in the sheets, a bloody spar or a session in the lab, the teacher would lament the wasted potential. Kisuke would always wonder how much his beloved could have grown, if he wasn't restricted by the bars of a gilded cage.
So no, he won't imprison the boy, no matter how much the fantasy appeals to him. Instead, he will leave the door open, and show Ichigo both the uncaring cold of the outside world and the cradling warmth of Kisuke's side, until his beloved always returns to him. The scientist will let him fly out, spread his wings into the open skies with the assurance that Ichigo will choose to come back to his cage.
And that means leaving him to deal with some minor issues on his own every once in a while.
Besides, the cameras in the bathroom are recording Ichigo's ‘alone time’; Kisuke will have his own fun later.
He's still entertaining those lustful ideas when Ichigo exits the bathroom. Or well, when Ichigo's head and a shoulder pop out of the door in a cloud of steam to shoot him a suspicious scowl.
“Getaboshi, I don't see my clothes anywhere.”
That might be because Kisuke threw out their tattered remains the moment his beloved fell asleep. Who knows? He isn't in the habit of drawing hasty conclusions. “It's fine, Ichigo. You won't need any clothes for what I have planned today.”
Hard to tell the main emotion in Ichigo's eyes. Accusing annoyance or long-suffering apprehension, maybe? Both answers have their merits.
The boy visibly mulls over his reply, before deciding on a dry, slightly reluctant “And what have you planned today?”
“Well, I do need to take some new measures from you,” Kisuke admits with a cheerful grin. “And I'm sure we can double that with a lesson in self-care.”
Ichigo frowns. A fat drop of water slides from his half-heartedly dried hair, all the way down his neck until it disappears behind the door frame; Kisuke tracks its path for as long as he can.
The urge to lick it off Ichigo's skin almost distracts him from the lad's reply. “I don't need self-care lessons. What I need are clothes.”
“I'll be the judge of that,” counters Kisuke sternly. Not unkindly, but with enough force to make his point. “I can do whatever I want with you while you're under my roof, remember? Well,” he points upwards with his fan and a smirk, “what you see over your pretty head is my roof, so it's my rules. And my rules say you're learning self-care today, and that you don't need clothes to do so.”
They stare each other down; Ichigo, mulish as ever, and Kisuke, unwilling to yield. Unable to, really. If he fails to establish his authority inside the shoten, even once, he loses control over the boy. That's not an acceptable outcome, so Kisuke holds his ground.
It takes long, long minutes, but Ichigo eventually averts his eyes in defeat. He sighs, full of frustration but no longer anywhere near as rebellious. “Fine, we do what you want. But you're sure I can't keep my clothes on for it?”
“Positive.” Kisuke regains his earlier cheer, now that his beloved has acknowledged who calls the shots here. “They’d get in the way of my tests. That, and I quite enjoy the unobstructed view.”
Ichigo's cheeks turn bright red at the saucy comment – under the neck, the blush vanishes behind the doorsill, which is a terrible shame. Kisuke wants to see how far it reaches. But the lad still finds the will to argue, however weakly. “Not even my briefs? They can't get in the way of medical tests, can they?”
“Yes, they can, which is why you won't have them.” Their back and forth is amusing, but Kisuke finds it will soon grow tedious. “Besides, darling, I've already seen everything.”
He hadn't thought it possible for Ichigo's blush to deepen, but there it is. The boy is so adorable, Kisuke wants to kiss him. Or bite him. Or chain him to his bed and subject him to the most wicked, most blissful torture…
Patience, Kisuke needs to exercise patience. Even when Ichigo unwittingly provides the sweetest, most excruciating temptation.
The lad finally steps out of the bathroom, naked except for the towel preserving his modesty. It will soon have to go, and the light green color doesn't flatter Ichigo, but right now, it emphasizes his slim waist and wide hips most beautifully. Kisuke takes note, for future outfits.
The blush actually extends all the way to Ichigo's chest, fading into creamy white just above the nipples, as if to draw the eyes on them. Ichigo didn't take the time to dry himself properly; trails of water sluice down all over him, from his dripping hair to his toes – curled on themselves in an endearing display of nerves.
One such drop of water somehow found its way to a nipple and decided to stay there. It hangs precariously from the fleshy bud, like the most sinful ornament.
Kisuke feels so parched. Surely that insolent little drop would be enough to soothe his aching throat. He just needs a taste-
No. No, no, no, no, no, Kisuke, control yourself. Patience. All will come in due time.
It takes all his willpower to tear his gaze from Ichigo's wet chest. Thankfully, the boy still isn't looking at him, too overcome with shyness to notice Kisuke's lapse in control.
Placing his food tray on a nightstand, the scientist gives himself another moment to gather his fraying wits before he steps closer to Ichigo. His beloved shifts to watch him from the corner of his eyes, still red as a cherry and wary of what is to come, though he makes no attempt to stop Kisuke's advance.
Whatever he braced for, Kisuke defies it by making his way to Ichigo's back.
Although his next action of removing the offending towel probably falls straight into the boy's expectations.
“I said no clothes; that includes towels,” Kisuke chastises as he unravels the knot. “But that doesn't mean you shouldn't take time to dry yourselves. We wouldn't want you to catch a cold, sweetheart.”
Ichigo startles when the shopkeeper places the towel over his head, only to start massaging the water off.
Kisuke takes his time, carefully drying each lock when he isn't pressing his fingers into Ichigo's scalp.
The boy's hair is a wonder all on its own. The color, of course, draws the eye first; that shade of orange simply isn't natural. Too vibrant, too violent, at least for the human world, or even for Seireitei, that does display strange hair colors, but nothing as striking. Only in Hueco Mundo can you encounter such vivid hues.
Masaki had been worried about it upon Ichigo's birth – another proof that the gene doesn't come from her family tree. Neither does it come from the overwhelmingly black-haired Shiba side.
It caused Ichigo some grief from teachers and punks alike for his ‘dyed hair’ (which was ridiculous, considering all of Ichigo's hair are various shades of the same orange, including his eyebrows and his long, slightly darker eyelashes), but Kisuke doesn't think anybody ever connected the otherworldly color to Hollows.
At least the slander from jealous neighbors about Masaki's imagined affair with a foreigner faded quickly as Ichigo grew up to look so much like his father. One didn't need to know the entire Shiba family to see the resemblance between the boy and Isshin.
But back to the locks under Kisuke's fingers. In addition to their peculiar color, the scientist can't help but marvel at their softness and their gloss. Especially when he knows the only product Ichigo uses outside of the shoten is cheap shampoo.
Yet more surprising is the complete absence of defects. Ichigo, in his depressive state, hasn't been taking proper care of himself and failed to cut his hair in over two months; by now it's about as long as when he faced Aizen. However, in spite of the lacking attention, Kisuke can't find a single split or broken strand.
His best hypothesis is that Ichigo's healing factor extends to his hair, which he finds oddly funny.
“You should grow your hair out,” muses Kisuke out loud. Not quite an order, not quite simple advice either. “It would look good on you. I know I'd love to see you with long hair.” He cards his fingers through the locks for emphasis and makes a mental note to buy a comb.
Ichigo takes a moment to answer, and when he does, his voice sounds a little odd. A bit chocked. “... Goat Face wouldn't like it.”
Ah, yes. Isshin and his idiotic views about anything feminine. Although if he considers long hair effeminate, he's even more of a fool than Kisuke expected. After all, Isshin comes from Seireitei, where long hair is common for both genders. And nobody ever accused, say, Shinji, Ukitake or Kenpachi of being woman-like…
“If Isshin takes offense, I'll deal with him,” he promises. Kisuke hopes it won't come to that, though, not because he doesn't dream of unleashing Benihime’s wrath on the man, but because he doesn't want to tip him just yet on his burgeoning relationship with his son. Isshin's death or maiming remains out of bounds as long as the twins live under his roof, making any confrontation an exercise in restraint. “And I thought I told you not to hide your instincts from me, darling.”
Ichigo startles. “I- I don't know what you're talking about.”
Kisuke must add lessons on lying to his program; this is just pitiful.
“Really? Then you're not monitoring your breathing and voice in an attempt to stop purring?”
“... No?”
The shopkeeper sighs, more fond than annoyed. “Ichigo.”
To his credit, the lad doesn't try to argue further. Instead, a rumble surges up from his chest, deep and low and strong enough for Kisuke to feel the vibrations from where he's carefully drying Ichigo's hair.
Better.
“Good boy,” He praises, and the purring grows just a little louder. It draws a smile out of Kisuke as he lets go of orange locks to drag the towel on Ichigo's bare skin.
The rumbling can be felt all over the boy's body, but it's especially strong on his chest. Kisuke guesses it comes from around his lungs, and makes a mental note to investigate the organ responsible later.
Kisuke's drying is not technically anything sexual. Intimate, sure, but not inherently arousing, and he makes no effort to turn his actions lascivious beyond gentleness.
But Ichigo is sensitive, and conditioned to expect sex when naked under Kisuke's care. The only reason his cock goes half-mast instead of full-on hard is that they took care of the pent-up need last night and Ichigo wanked not a minute ago in the shower.
The plug still stretches his ass and pokes out of his buttcheeks. Kisuke intentionally avoids prodding it, no matter how much he wants to tease the boy. If they are to build a true relationship, he needs to prove he can take care of Ichigo without falling back on sex every time. They also need moments of platonic intimacy for it to work.
“There, all dry!” Kisuke throws away the towel from Ichigo's legs and finally goes around to see the boy's face. Cherry red and shifty-eyed, as expected. “We'll head to the lab once we've eaten. A growing boy like you can't skip breakfast!”
Ichigo doesn't struggle when the scientist drags him to the bed again, or when Kisuke sits next to him, a long line of heat connecting them from shoulder to ankle, with only one layer of cloth in the way.
The tray finds its place between them, over a thigh each so they both have access. Despite his nerves, Ichigo digs in immediately, no doubt enticed by the powdered Hollow mask on his eggs.
His purring doesn't stop, and seems to ebb and crest depending on various stimuli. Kisuke is already taking mental notes; he'll decipher that new language, the same way he intends to study everything else that pertains to his beloved.
Soon, the plates are cleared and the tray is abandoned on the nightstand to be disposed of later. No second servings this time; Kisuke’s plans require the lad's stomach to still have room.
Ichigo hesitates a little when Kisuke guides him to the lab but at no point does he protest, so Kisuke takes it as a win. His nakedness is no issue, since the shopkeeper built his place to connect directly to his workshop, which the boy knows – nobody will see Ichigo wandering through corridors without a stitch of clothes.
The lad does, however, stumble when he sees the backroom prepared especially for him.
Usually, Kisuke doesn't worry about the comfort of his test subjects; most of them are already dead, or so close to it that restraints have no point and the cold, harsh surface of the dissection table matters little.
On the other hand, Kisuke would like to keep Ichigo alive and well for as long as possible, and preferably comfortable enough that he doesn't try to argue every time they go to the lab. So he built his beloved a special room.
For one, most tools there are hidden to prevent Ichigo from freaking out at the sight of them. The Ichigo-corner, as he dubbed it inside his head, is the best ordered part of Kisuke's space by far. He doesn't know if he can keep up with the tidiness in the long run, but he'll certainly try.
It doesn't mean the place is empty or uncluttered, though. Various sensors, scattered around the room to cover all angles and connected to a row of monitors all aim at a sort-of reclining chair. The centerpiece of the room.
Unlike the standard dissection table next door, Kisuke custom-made the half-bed, half-chair himself. Ichigo will spend a considerable amount of time strapped on it, so he paid close attention to comfort and maneuverability. All surfaces are reinforced and padded with a soft, burnished red material and he added straps all over, thin enough not to harm or even chaff the subject while cutting off any chance of escape. The chair was designed to accommodate Ichigo on his back, his front of his side, with independent articulations for each limb in order for Kisuke to position him as needed.
He used all the measures taken on Ichigo to make sure the examination chair is just right, while allowing some room to adapt for a growing boy.
“Before you take a seat,” Kisuke says while the lad tries to regain his bearing, “there's just one more accessory to add.”
Without leaving Ichigo any time to reply, he slips behind the boy and places a blindfold over his wide eyes.
That draws a reaction out of his beloved. Ichigo startles, tenses, and immediately raises his hands to tear the thing off his face. Kisuke catches them before they make contact.
“I'm afraid I can't let you remove it just yet. Visual input might tamper with the test results, so the blindfold stays on until I say otherwise.”
“Kisuke, I don't-”
“It stays on, Ichigo,” the shopkeeper commands with a light squeeze of the wrists in his grip. Miraculously, the lad yields. There's really something about getting ordered around when he has no escape – and no one to protect – that gets Ichigo all pliant. Even the tension in his shoulders has minutely lessened.
Who could have guessed that bull-headed, charismatic and assertive Ichigo has such strong submissive leanings? Not that Kisuke minds. Quite the opposite.
“Good boy,” he praises, just to hear the purring pick up again after almost stopping from nerves. “You know I'll take care of you, don't you, sweetheart? You know you can trust me to do what's best for you, right?”
Ichigo makes an only vaguely assenting noise, but allows himself to be laid on the chair, face up. Kisuke tightens the straps, and the boy barely tests the give before settling.
“Such an obedient darling,” the scientist croons, because Ichigo always reacts so well to positive reinforcement. One day, when the lad inevitably rebels against one order or another, he'll also test the results of punishment, for comparison.
Taking a step back, Kisuke allows himself a moment to take in the fruits of his efforts.
Ichigo lies in the chair, nervous and shy, but not panicked. Still purring softly, adorable as ever with his blush and his splayed limbs. The enforced position exposes his crotch – he can see the boy's cock hardening from arousal. A reaction to vulnerability, no doubt, that the scientist diligently takes note of for later testing.
It's a shame to obscure Ichigo's pretty face and expressive eyes, but Kisuke spoke the truth when he said seeing – or rather not seeing – could impede his experiment. Plus, he rather enjoys the power he has over a blind Ichigo, as well as his beloved's evidently submissive attitude the moment he feels vulnerable before Kisuke.
Anyway, since Ichigo's face has to be covered and will probably have to be again many times in the future, Kisuke went the extra mile. Instead of a plain blindfold, he crafted a sort of domino mask for his beloved. With thick garnet linings and pitch black eyes to completely obscure vision, it curves and rises to fit snugly on Ichigo's face. Twin elastics hold it on his head, more comfortable and easier to place than knotted ribbons.
Hardly the most glamorous of masks, but Kisuke has more pressing projects to run and it's still better than a simple blindfold. Although once Ichigo has regained his powers, the shopkeeper will use his free time to devise a more fitting adornment. Nothing but the best for his beloved.
“Comfortable?” He asks, just to remind the lad that he cares. Of course the chair is comfortable; Kisuke devised it specifically for him.
Ichigo shifts, adjusting his position as best as he can. “Kind of. It would be better without the straps or if I could see.”
Aww, even the way he tries to bite back is cute. “I’m afraid that’s not on today’s agenda, but I’ll keep it in mind the next time I’ll tie you down.” Kisuke ignores the boy’s splutters to sort out all the equipment they’ll need. He wants to perform two main tests today, although he’s not against branching out a little if he finds an interesting avenue. A scientist has to keep an open mind, after all – even more so in the face of such an enticing specimen as his Ichigo.
“So, what are we doing?” Ichigo demands testily after his patience runs out. Kisuke can’t even blame him; he took his sweet time preparing everything just to drag out that very reaction.
He’s sure Ichigo can hear the smile in his voice and makes no effort to hide his giddiness. “Today, darling, we’re testing how much you can eat.”
“... What?”
Ichigo doesn’t truly seem to think he’s misheard. Even the blindfold can't hide the deepening furrow between his brows and the downward curl of his lips. He’s so much fun to rile up.
“You heard me! So open up wide and say ‘ah’ for me!”
“You fucking… Listen, Getaboshi, if you think I’m going to waste time with your games and keep letting you tie me up every time you want a laugh, you're in for- for-”
The boy’s impassioned rant derails the moment Kisuke unseals the first box he pulled out of the lab’s fridge. Personally, he doesn’t smell anything, but the way Ichigo’s nostrils flare and he leans forward as much as his bindings allow implies that’s not the case for everybody.
“I take it you find my experiment to your taste after all?”
Ichigo doesn’t reply immediately, too busy gulping down the saliva that keeps pooling in his mouth. It’s almost too bad; Kisuke wouldn’t have objected to seeing him drool. “... What’s that?”
“That, sweetheart, is the first course of your meal.” As he speaks, Kisuke moves the box all over the room, just to see Ichigo’s nose follow. The lad has quite the keen sense of smell; he moves his head with unerring accuracy and speed every time. “Now, are you still sure you don’t want to open up for me?” The leering tone and thinly-veiled innuendo draws a blush out of Ichigo, but he seems too preoccupied with his food to offer his usual bluster.
Three more gulps and one enthralling lip licking later, Ichigo gives in. He pries his jaws open, first shyly, then wide, exposing his gleaming teeth and fully extended, dripping tongue. Dead in the direction of Kisuke’s box.
“So obedient,” the shopkeeper coos, still shifting his lure to see tongue and nose follow not a beat later, “yet you didn’t seem so amenable a minute ago, did you? In fact, you sounded quite defiant if you ask me. Perhaps I shouldn’t give you your prize after all. I wouldn’t want to reward mutinous behavior…”
Even masked, Kisuke can read the panic flashing over his beloved’s face – he must be more desperate for his treat than the scientist dared to hope. An ingratiating little keen spills from his open mouth, quickly followed by more when Kisuke doesn’t relent. The purring also picks up – Kisuke can’t tell if it’s another attempt at mollifying him or an honest reaction to a bit of denial play.
So many routes to explore in the future; Kisuke already expects so much from his beloved student, yet Ichigo still manages to exceed all his predictions.
“Alright, you can have your treat. But next time I won’t be so lenient.” Underneath his levity, he makes sure Ichigo catches the core of gravitas. The boy won’t always get away with his bouts of disobedience, short-lived as they may be. “Be sure to chew before swallowing.”
The groan that Ichigo makes the moment the food touches his tongue could make a porn star blush. The wet muscle drags over Kisuke’s fingers, ensnares the treat in its coils, licks the residue over the scientist’s skin and slowly, sensually pulls back with its stolen prize. It takes all of the scientist’s considerable self-control not to betray his raging arousal with a whimper of need.
Beautiful, naive, sinful Ichigo. More than a Shinigami-Quincy-Hollow hybrid, the boy should have been born a succubus. Or maybe that’s precisely what he is. Maybe the mixing of all these species was always meant to create a demon of lust.
Or maybe that’s just Ichigo himself, with a bit of assistance from Kisuke.
Ichigo takes his time chewing and savoring his food, and Kisuke watches him intently all the while. Half of it is the perverted delight of seeing his beloved enjoy the treat straight from his hand, but the other half is the need to ensure Ichigo can safely take said treat. For now, none of his sensors report any ripple in the lad’s soul; Kisuke, however, stays vigilant. All the more so since this is but the first in many delicacies he hunted down.
Because the treats Ichigo is salivating over are the results of Kisuke’s trips in Hueco Mundo: strips of raw, bloody Hollow meat, carefully selected and sorted by the varying strength of their former owners and preserved with kido until the moment he thought Ichigo well enough to diversify his diet of crushed Hollow masks.
Don’t get him wrong, the powdered masks are helpful, but ultimately, they’re not enough. A homeopathic dose to stabilize the boy’s wreck of a soul long enough for him to get started on more potent – but thus more dangerous – medication. The real meal his body obviously craves with his keen nose and his shiny sharp teeth: spiritually rich meat.
So Kisuke went hunting. He targeted all kinds of Hollows – everything from the weaklings that linger in the Living World to Vasto Lorde haunting the sands of Hueco Mundo. Even an Arrancar or two, for flavor. Now, Ichigo’s fractured soul isn’t well enough for the richer treats just yet, but Kisuke figures he can handle a taste of the leaner samples.
And it seems he can. Kisuke’s monitors give him the all clear – Ichigo’s body is safely and completely digesting the chunk of basic Hollow meat, reiryoku and all. First test: conclusive. Kisuke can move on to a heavier morsel.
A slightly stronger Hollow, but still not a Menos rank. Ichigo’s attention abandons the first box the very second Kisuke opens the lid to his new treat. It seems his hypothesis was correct: Ichigo’s sense of smell is attuned to the spiritual more than the material.
The boy’s tongue greedily claims its new snack. All of Ichigo’s reservations and anger has been throw through the window; Kisuke’s beloved keeps his mouth wide between bite-sized morsels and moans his bliss every time the scientist rewards him with another sample. He needs this, and the only reasons he hasn’t realized that before are his formerly dominant Shinigami characteristics and that he never had a taste of Hollow. Kisuke makes it his life’s work to remedy that gap in his student’s education.
Bite after bite, they reach the rank of Menos. Since all his monitors still shine a bright, healthy green, Kisuke tries feeding Ichigo a tiny bit of Gillian. A weaker specimen, yet much, much stronger than a basic Hollow. His eyes only leave an enraptured and groaning Ichigo to check on the screens and readings.
The strip of meat goes down as smoothly as everything else, so Kisuke keeps picking up richer and richer samples. By now, two thick lines of red-tinted drool have escaped the corners of Ichigo’s open mouth to run down his neck, but the boy is far, far beyond caring, wordlessly begging for his next treat.
He’s never sated his hunger, realizes Kisuke. The Hollow side of Ichigo has never gorged itself before, never filled its belly – if not its gouged heart – with the flesh of strong prey. It is an instinct, a need that the boy has never indulged, if only because he wasn’t aware of it.
Well, no more of that now. Ichigo has had a taste; he’ll never be able to return to innocent ignorance any more. The crushed masks have whetted his appetite, but today’s feast has fully awoken the Hunger. His beloved will need regular meals from now on.
“Do you have any idea what I’m feeding you, sweetheart?” Kisuke murmurs in the lad’s ear, basking in the power he has over Ichigo. After all, who else could provide the hybrid with what he yearns for? He waits long enough for the boy to understand the next morsel isn’t coming and for Ichigo to desperately grasp for his wits in an attempt to get the treats rolling anew. Only then does Kisuke speak up again. “Do you have any clue as to what you’re putting inside your mouth? What you’re taking inside your body?”
Ichigo groans and shakes his head. His drawn tongue retracts a fraction and lols vaguely with the motion, but Ichigo doesn’t close his mouth or hide his hunger. Good boy; he should know by now that there is no point trying to conceal anything of himself from Kisuke.
“Do you want to know?”
A small hesitation. Even bound, blinded and almost deliriously ravenous, Ichigo isn’t stupid. But because of that, he also knows the right answer to Kisuke’s rhetorical question. The only one that will bring the treats back. He nods.
“Hmm, in that case, I suppose I should enlighten you. What you’ve been devouring so gluttonously are none other than chunks of meat I cut off from still-living Hollows, just for you.” Bound in his seat Ichigo freezes, his tongue at last fleeing back behind his suddenly clamped teeth. Kisuke smiles fondly at him – what he wouldn’t give to see the emotion in his beloved’s eyes right now.
But he can’t remove the mask. Not until the entire experiment is over. Because even with his eyes free, Ichigo wouldn’t see the strips of meat.
As with most sentient species and individuals, eyesight is Ichigo’s most prominent sense, and he relies on it enough that it might overrule any other. It wouldn’t matter if his nose and his tongue agree that there is something there or if Ichigo rationally knows of the morsels. As long as his eyes say that Kisuke’s hand and boxes are empty, the lad might no longer be able to perceive the chunks of meat anymore, in spite of the perfect condition of his senses of smell and taste, even on a spiritual level. Such is the power of the brain over the mind.
“Now, darling, do you want the next bite?” As he asks, Kisuke opens a new box, full with bloody chunks of Adjucha. To Ichigo, the smell must be tantalizing. “I promise they didn’t come from anyone you know.”
The temptation had been strong to hunt down one of Ichigo’s surprisingly many Hollow acquaintances and feed them to the boy, but Kisuke had opted against in the end. Not out of a misplaced sense of honor or ethics or such nonsense, but because the idea of any part of his rivals entering Ichigo’s body repulsed him. Random, insignificant Hollows don’t matter, but only he has access to Ichigo’s holes – mouth or otherwise. Not any of his other, lesser would-be suitors.
That, and even Kisuke can’t predict his reaction should Ichigo ever learn he had consumed one of his ‘friends’.
The shopkeeper only dares to share the nature of his treats because he knows Ichigo has already eaten sentient meat – a comrade’s finger apparently – and by his own unwitting admission felt more shame at others’ reactions than anguish at his own actions. Ichigo’s reluctance towards eating Hollows, or even cannibalism in general, derives from his mother’s instructions more than from quintessential revulsion.
The only reasons it hasn’t awakened his appetite would be the prey’s poor spiritual value and thus the lacking taste of the meat and – maybe – his slightly more prevalent latent Shinigami powers muffling his Hollow instincts. Or they did, until the moment he lost his powers and satisfying said instincts became vital for his own health.
So Kisuke waits for Ichigo to give him the go ahead, the box of Adjucha meat in his hand. Given how ravenous his beloved has shown himself to be – the consequence of a lifetime of oblivious privation – it’s only a matter of minutes until Ichigo yields to his instincts.
Once more, Kisuke is proven right. It takes long moments of consideration, but Ichigo eventually unclenches his jaws again. His lips split, his teeth draw apart, and his tongue slithers out in the direction of the box of treats.
The uneasy furrow of the boy’s brows vanishes without a trace as soon as Kisuke brushes the chunk of meat on Ichigo’s tongue. In its stead, the feverish moans and intense purring pick up again. This sample still had a bit of bone inside, and the crunch of it breaking under teeth joins the beautiful orchestra of Ichigo's snack time.
As with the Gillian morsels, Kisuke slowly increases the spiritual density of his samples. His monitors still show nothing amiss with Ichigo’s soul, and the boy himself doesn’t look the least bit negatively affected by the heavy amounts of reiryoku he’s consuming. He should, though. All of Kisuke’s calculations agreed that Ichigo’s tattered soul should have reached his limits long before getting to the Gillian, let alone the Adjuchas.
Kisuke still has chunks of Vasto Lorde and of Arrancar in his fridge; he briefly considers pulling them out before thinking better of it. The gap in power between Ajuchas and the higher evolutions is vast. Vast enough that, even though Ichigo can take the leaner meat without a hitch, he might not be able to stomach the richer samples.
It's not a risk Kisuke can take, not if it can destabilize his beloved's soul. Any escalation in the potency of his treats will have to wait for a complete spiritual checkout – he’s almost overplayed his hand with the Gillian and the Adjuchas already.
“That's it for today,” he announces as he closes the empty box of Adjuchas meat and throws it into the sink to clean later. “I'm all out of samples, so you'll have to wait until next time for your treats.”
Ichigo groans, but doesn't argue. His tongue slowly retracts, giving him time to gather his scattered senses as it licks the trails of bloody saliva all the way down to his collarbone. The drool continues on a bit lower, but that’s out of his tongue’s reach. Only once he’s done does Ichigo ask “What now, then? You're gonna let me go?”
Before answering, Kisuke uses his thumbs to wipe off the twin remaining trails of pinkish saliva from the boy's torso. His fingers immediately lodge themselves in his own mouth for a taste. A hint of sweetness underneath the metallic taste of blood. Curious, but not wholly unexpected by this point.
“No, not yet. I still have one experiment I want to run, and your lesson in self-care isn't complete. You've just learned how important it is to treat yourself on occasion,” he ignores Ichigo’s derisive snort as he prepares his accessories for the next test, starting with a bottle of oil. “Now it's time I show you the value of unwinding. You're too strung up all the time, darling.”