Bleach fanfic - False Alarm
Title: False Alarm
Author: Akuni
Universe: Bleach
Genre: Romance, Humour, WAFF
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ichigo/Urahara
Spoilers: SS arc
Word Count: 1198
Summary: Ichigo can't get a minute's peace with Urahara around.
A/N: Oh my goodness, I did it! conjure_lass and I challenged each other to write against our happy ending natures for the Halloween “Come As You’re Not” event. We promised to write each other gratuitously happy and fluffy OTP fic to console ourselves and make it all better. We wibbled and we wept but in the end, we both succeeded (will be posting mine tomorrow!). So, this is Cherry’s reward.
Mosh was tremendously helpful, offering suggestions to help me punch up the humour, and keeping me motivated by snickering her head off at all the right places while she was reading it. ^_^ I’d be utterly lost without her assistance and support.
Darn you, Cherry! I still don’t ship it, but while writing this I could suddenly see how hot it could be. :P
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, I'm just borrowing it for a while.
Distribution: This is just for conjure_lass, so no. :) Crossposted eventually to ura_ichi, kurosaki_clinic, asterisk_plus, and bleach_yaoi.
Dedication: For Cherry, because she totally earned it. :)
False Alarm
“How the hell did you do that, you slippery bastard?” Ichigo pointed Zangetsu’s tip straight toward the figure leaning casually in the doorway of the Urahara Shouten. “I know it had to be you.”
“Does it matter?” Urahara unfolded his arms and pushed away from the door frame. Taking a step toward Ichigo, he poked up at his hat with one finger and peered out from under the brim. “Are you going to stab me?” His smile was just a hair shy of being an outright leer.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Ichigo grumbled, letting Zangetsu’s wrap twine itself around the broad blade and settling it in place on his back. “My last set of exams is tomorrow, and you hacked my substitute shinigami license to fake a Hollow attack because…?”
“I thought you might need some help relaxing~.”
Ichigo sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Kisuke…”
“See, there, you’re tense.” Warm hands slid up Ichigo’s arms and began squeezing his shoulders.
“I’m tense because I’m tired, Geta-boshi.” Dropping his head so his chin rested on his chest, Ichigo leaned into the massage, wincing when strong fingers worked at the knots.
The old nickname was met with a low chuckle and a stronger squeeze. “Come inside, Ichigo.”
Ichigo hesitated, debating with himself. Part of him nagged that he was technically on duty, and that he had an early morning, but he wanted to give in, wanted to let himself just relax and enjoy Urahara’s company.
It hadn’t been very long since his drunken confession revealed the feelings he’d hidden so carefully. Or so he’d thought. Bad enough that he’d let Renji and Shuuhei get him roaring drunk one night to celebrate the end of classes - worse was finding out they’d already known Ichigo had developed a thing for the enigmatic shopkeeper, and had matched him drink for drink to get him to the point where he thought telling Urahara he wanted to lick him from head to toe was a terrific idea.
He supposed he should be grateful that they didn’t talk him into tattooing his face while they were at it. It hadn’t been all bad, in retrospect, and Ichigo thought perhaps he’d been a bit harsh with his friends the next day. Waking up to such intense mortification that he’d wanted to bury his head in his blankets and stay there for the next year hadn’t put him in a charitable mood, though. Not to mention feeling as if a wrecking ball was cheerfully smashing around inside his skull when he’d yelled at their hastily retreating forms.
When Ichigo had gone to the Urahara Shouten in the afternoon to beg forgiveness, he’d barely begun when Urahara had interrupted his stammering apology.
“Are you sober yet?” he’d asked, eyeing Ichigo shrewdly. Ichigo had nodded, looking at his feet as he felt his face heat with shame. He’d just had time to register the flurry of movement - he still swore up and down that Urahara had used shunpo - before he was being thoroughly kissed.
“I really shouldn’t…” Ichigo quirked the corner of his mouth up regretfully, but he didn’t move away; instead, he reached out and rested one hand on Urahara’s hip, smoothing his thumb over the comfortably worn fabric.
A slow grin spread across Urahara’s face. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t want to encourage you to do something you shouldn’t.” He ducked his head just a little, his hat sliding back down to shade his eyes once more. “Come inside, and we’ll play ‘naughty shopkeeper and the eager young schoolboy’.”
Lowering his arms and stepping away from Ichigo, Urahara spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my shop, Kurosaki-san~!” he sing-songed, then cocked his head toward the door.
Shaking his head, Ichigo laughed and followed as Urahara led him into the shop and down the hall to his private quarters.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Ichigo was ready. “Oh Urahara-san,” he piped, forcing his voice unnaturally high, “you said you’d give me a special treat if I helped you sweep the shop steps.”
“You’re a very lucky schoolboy,” Urahara practically purred, swinging his hips as he stalked toward him.
Ichigo couldn’t take it anymore; he burst out laughing at the comically lewd expression on Urahara’s face. Urahara tittered, producing his fan from somewhere Ichigo still had yet to determine and fluttering it with mock-coyness below his nose.
Still laughing, Ichigo shot one arm forward with all the speed he could muster, catching Urahara by the wrist and pulling him unresisting into an embrace. The fan snapped shut and vanished with a twirl of Urahara’s fingers as Ichigo pressed closer and leaned in.
His lips met paper. Ichigo blinked, and the folded edges of the fan came into focus. “Funny.” Snatching the fan, he pitched it across the room without looking as he mashed his mouth against Urahara’s smirk. Eager lips parted under his, and Ichigo fastened their mouths together properly.
Urahara’s wickedly clever tongue swiped over Ichigo’s, tracing slick patterns. A soft hum rumbled from his chest as Ichigo wound his arm around his neck and dug his fingers into the tousled blond hair. Catching Ichigo’s upper lip between his teeth, Urahara sucked and nipped just hard enough to tantalize.
Deep need was just beginning to stir low in Ichigo’s belly when the kiss slowed and Urahara pulled away. Licking his lips, Ichigo was pleased to see the flush of arousal darkening Urahara’s neck and face.
“Stay the night,” Urahara offered. “I’ll wake you in time to get home to your body before your exams.”
Ichigo considered it for maybe a second before drawing Zangetsu off his back and propping the blade in the corner. “All right.” He began shucking his clothes, taking off all but his white under robe and leaving the rest in an untidy heap next to Zangetsu.
“You need to be wearing less.” Ichigo tugged at the strings of Urahara’s loose pants, growling when Urahara slithered away and tugged him toward the futon instead.
“You said you needed to sleep.” Plucking his hat off with his thumb and forefinger, Urahara tossed it with uncanny accuracy onto the bureau against the far wall. “You’d just get mad at me tomorrow if I kept you up all night.” He flipped back the covers and settled himself beneath them. “Room for two~!” he declared, patting the mattress extravagantly.
Ichigo groaned as he slid under the blankets beside him. “You’re a tease, yanno that? Get me over here, get me all worked up…” Despite the wanting ache in his groin, Ichigo felt his mind going fuzzy around the edges, and he yawned noisily into the pillow. “Later,” he promised, flinging his arm around Urahara’s waist and moulding himself against his back.
The room was quiet and still for several minutes. Ichigo was only half awake when Urahara wriggled and pushed back with his rear, for all the world seeming like a man simply getting comfortable in his bed, but Ichigo could almost hear the scheming mental wheels turning.
Sighing, Ichigo resigned himself to a night of torture as his traitorous hips pressed forward in reply, entirely of their own will.
END