Bleach - [Oomaeda/Ikkaku] + whispered
Written for 15minuteficlets, based on the prompt 'whispered'. Pairing inspired by tsukishine~
Originally posted here
Ikkaku didn't mind vice captain meetings. Stuffy, boring, and not much got done, but it was a good place for a nap if nobody caught you doin' it. Which was what he *had* been doing when a voice broke over the meeting.
"-And unlike those in Rukongai, nobles can manage to stay awake and perform their functions as is expected of them."
Dark eyes flickered open, narrowing on the offender. Oomaeda's superior face beamed back at him. The fucker. The righteous fuck. So what if he wasn't a noble? He could still do the same damn things. And even if he didn't like all the pomp and circumstance that came in the Seireitei, well that was damn fine with him. Who was the pudgy vice-captain of the second division to tell him any different?
"What was that?" Ikkaku sneered, rising from his seat, ignoring Hisagi's hissed urgings to shut up.
"What? Did I say something?" Oomaeda asked, lazily, finger plunging into the depths of a large nostril in search of a mutant green treasure from the deep.
"You know damn well what you said," Ikkaku breathed.
Isane cleared her throat nervously, "U-um... You... You two? M-my re..."
Ikkaku blushed a bit, "Sorry." He slumped back in his seat, glaring at the vice captain of the second. After the meeting was best. Oomaeda wasn't even looking at him anymore. He cracked his knuckles as he waited, causing Isane to lose her place, fumbling with the sheets as she tried to make it through her last report of the day.
The meeting seemed to grind slowly onward until it finally was called to an end. Ikkaku grinned, "Oomaeda, you an' me. Right now. Outside."
---
Oomaeda nursed the bruise on his cheek (and the dangling front tooth that had been displaced during the encounter), staring after the retreating form of the eleventh division's third seat.
It was odd, he thought. He had never considered writing poetry to anyone but himself. But, just this once, he was tempted to compose an ode to Madarame Ikkaku.
"I think I love you," he whispered to the sandy air.
Originally posted here
Ikkaku didn't mind vice captain meetings. Stuffy, boring, and not much got done, but it was a good place for a nap if nobody caught you doin' it. Which was what he *had* been doing when a voice broke over the meeting.
"-And unlike those in Rukongai, nobles can manage to stay awake and perform their functions as is expected of them."
Dark eyes flickered open, narrowing on the offender. Oomaeda's superior face beamed back at him. The fucker. The righteous fuck. So what if he wasn't a noble? He could still do the same damn things. And even if he didn't like all the pomp and circumstance that came in the Seireitei, well that was damn fine with him. Who was the pudgy vice-captain of the second division to tell him any different?
"What was that?" Ikkaku sneered, rising from his seat, ignoring Hisagi's hissed urgings to shut up.
"What? Did I say something?" Oomaeda asked, lazily, finger plunging into the depths of a large nostril in search of a mutant green treasure from the deep.
"You know damn well what you said," Ikkaku breathed.
Isane cleared her throat nervously, "U-um... You... You two? M-my re..."
Ikkaku blushed a bit, "Sorry." He slumped back in his seat, glaring at the vice captain of the second. After the meeting was best. Oomaeda wasn't even looking at him anymore. He cracked his knuckles as he waited, causing Isane to lose her place, fumbling with the sheets as she tried to make it through her last report of the day.
The meeting seemed to grind slowly onward until it finally was called to an end. Ikkaku grinned, "Oomaeda, you an' me. Right now. Outside."
---
Oomaeda nursed the bruise on his cheek (and the dangling front tooth that had been displaced during the encounter), staring after the retreating form of the eleventh division's third seat.
It was odd, he thought. He had never considered writing poetry to anyone but himself. But, just this once, he was tempted to compose an ode to Madarame Ikkaku.
"I think I love you," he whispered to the sandy air.