Comfort (Ichi/Hitsu) 2/?
Alrighty, here's the unfinished chapter 2 of "Comfort." It's nowhere near ready to post on ff.net yet, but just cuz I lurve you guys so much, I'll post what I've got so far here. Keep in mind this is the rough draft, so things are subject to change. ^^
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Matsumoto sat cross-legged before a long, low table. Stacks and stacks of paperwork sprawled all around her, weighing down the table and taking up much of the surrounding tatami. She scribbled furiously as she filled out forms and reports in rushed, sloppy kanji. She had brush strokes of ink smeared across her face, hands, and hair.
The answer to why was settled in her lap. Hitsugaya’s head rested on Matsumoto’s legendary breasts and his slender body was engulfed in a pale pink yukata that was several sizes too big. His eyes were closed, but Ichigo could hear the fluid rattling in his chest as he breathed. His naturally pale skin had a ghostly white tinge to it, and his baby cheeks were flushed cherry blossom pink with fever.
Feeling his enormous reiatsu as he approached, Matsumoto was already expectantly watching the doorway with a relieved grin when Ichigo entered. “Ah, Kurosaki-kun! Shiro-chan’s right here, waiting for you- Taichou! I’m never gonna get this stupid paperwork finished!” She wailed, raising her writing arm up out Hitsugaya’s reach.
As she spoke, Hitsugaya’s eyes cracked open and between his thick black eyelashes, teal eyes glittered bright with fever. He moaned something unintelligible and reached for the writing brush in Matsumoto’s hand. The sleeves of his yukata were too long, leaving his hand well buried, but he still managed to grab the end of the brush, which she had just dipped in her ink well. As she brought the brush up out of his reach, it slipped from his weak, cloth covered grip, and another swipe of ink smeared across her face.
Ichigo just stared at the sight before him. Part of him wanted to laugh at Matsumoto’s face, but a bigger part of him was worried about Hitsugaya. The young taichou wasn’t lucid at all. The biggest thing Ichigo felt was shock. Matsumoto, willingly doing paperwork and even scolding her captain for not letting her. That was a total role reversal and something Ichigo thought he would never see even in his wildest dreams. Then there was the pink yukata Hitsugaya was wearing. Lastly, there was his little lover, who looked so weak and sick Ichigo just wanted to scoop him up into his arms and hold him until he was better.
Feeling his stare, Matsumoto turned her attention back to him, motioning him forward with one hand as she set the brush down on the table. Ichigo picked his way through the field of paper piles and sat down across from her.
“I found him collapsed on the floor and burning up with fever this morning in the office. He never went home last night.” She shook her head. “I told him he was going to make himself sick working so much.” She sighed heavily, looking down at her delirious taichou, “I told you and told you paperwork was bad for your health.” Hitsugaya’s lashes fluttered and his head lolled to the other side, resting on one huge breast and Matsumoto raised her gaze back at Ichigo.
“I rushed him to Unohana and she gave him a pain killer, antibiotics, a decongestant, and something for his fever. Soon as he regained consciousness, he insisted on going back to work. He refused to stay in the infirmary.” Her expression grew tighter. “No matter what we did, we couldn’t keep him in bed. After the tenth time of carrying him back to his room, I gave up and sent for you.”
Her sour face turned into a painful, long-suffering grimace. “You know how stubborn he is. At least if he’s in your world, he can’t get to his precious paperwork. Then maybe he’ll actually rest and recover.”
While Matsumoto explained the situation to Ichigo, Hitsugaya squirmed in her lap, still intent on getting the brush. He lurched forward, both hands hidden in the deep folds of the yukata. Through the cloth, his fingers were splayed, reaching for the brush on the table.
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Matsumoto sat cross-legged before a long, low table. Stacks and stacks of paperwork sprawled all around her, weighing down the table and taking up much of the surrounding tatami. She scribbled furiously as she filled out forms and reports in rushed, sloppy kanji. She had brush strokes of ink smeared across her face, hands, and hair.
The answer to why was settled in her lap. Hitsugaya’s head rested on Matsumoto’s legendary breasts and his slender body was engulfed in a pale pink yukata that was several sizes too big. His eyes were closed, but Ichigo could hear the fluid rattling in his chest as he breathed. His naturally pale skin had a ghostly white tinge to it, and his baby cheeks were flushed cherry blossom pink with fever.
Feeling his enormous reiatsu as he approached, Matsumoto was already expectantly watching the doorway with a relieved grin when Ichigo entered. “Ah, Kurosaki-kun! Shiro-chan’s right here, waiting for you- Taichou! I’m never gonna get this stupid paperwork finished!” She wailed, raising her writing arm up out Hitsugaya’s reach.
As she spoke, Hitsugaya’s eyes cracked open and between his thick black eyelashes, teal eyes glittered bright with fever. He moaned something unintelligible and reached for the writing brush in Matsumoto’s hand. The sleeves of his yukata were too long, leaving his hand well buried, but he still managed to grab the end of the brush, which she had just dipped in her ink well. As she brought the brush up out of his reach, it slipped from his weak, cloth covered grip, and another swipe of ink smeared across her face.
Ichigo just stared at the sight before him. Part of him wanted to laugh at Matsumoto’s face, but a bigger part of him was worried about Hitsugaya. The young taichou wasn’t lucid at all. The biggest thing Ichigo felt was shock. Matsumoto, willingly doing paperwork and even scolding her captain for not letting her. That was a total role reversal and something Ichigo thought he would never see even in his wildest dreams. Then there was the pink yukata Hitsugaya was wearing. Lastly, there was his little lover, who looked so weak and sick Ichigo just wanted to scoop him up into his arms and hold him until he was better.
Feeling his stare, Matsumoto turned her attention back to him, motioning him forward with one hand as she set the brush down on the table. Ichigo picked his way through the field of paper piles and sat down across from her.
“I found him collapsed on the floor and burning up with fever this morning in the office. He never went home last night.” She shook her head. “I told him he was going to make himself sick working so much.” She sighed heavily, looking down at her delirious taichou, “I told you and told you paperwork was bad for your health.” Hitsugaya’s lashes fluttered and his head lolled to the other side, resting on one huge breast and Matsumoto raised her gaze back at Ichigo.
“I rushed him to Unohana and she gave him a pain killer, antibiotics, a decongestant, and something for his fever. Soon as he regained consciousness, he insisted on going back to work. He refused to stay in the infirmary.” Her expression grew tighter. “No matter what we did, we couldn’t keep him in bed. After the tenth time of carrying him back to his room, I gave up and sent for you.”
Her sour face turned into a painful, long-suffering grimace. “You know how stubborn he is. At least if he’s in your world, he can’t get to his precious paperwork. Then maybe he’ll actually rest and recover.”
While Matsumoto explained the situation to Ichigo, Hitsugaya squirmed in her lap, still intent on getting the brush. He lurched forward, both hands hidden in the deep folds of the yukata. Through the cloth, his fingers were splayed, reaching for the brush on the table.