Bleach: And Now For Something Completely The Same
Perpetrators: One Abarai Renji and one Kuchiki Rukia.
Time of Incident: Pre-series.
Damage done: Vaguely R-rated. Mostly just stupid.
Suspected Motives: Rukia is a scary little control freak. Except when she's not.
When he made noise, Rukia gathered herself proudly over her notebook:
“It’s not as though I wanted to do it,” she said.
“The Woman’s Association needed someone to manage the preparations for the festival,” she said.
“And Ise Nanao couldn’t do it this year,” she said.
“So.” She finished, tapping her pen importantly. “That is why I am doing it.”
“Right,” said Renji. He was stretched out over the floor across from her, arms behind his head and paused in mid yawn. “Won-der-ful.” He reached over to scratch the bare knee rising out of the folds of his yukata. “And. When the hell did I ask?”
Rukia felt a muscle jump somewhere near the corner of her mouth. She returned to writing. “I should not have expected you to understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Renji grinned at her sidewise. “You’re all excited ‘cause you finally get to run things-I just don’t care.”
The point of the pen went through the paper. A stream of ink jetted from the great rupture. When Rukia spoke, which was eventually, with a hastily produced and obnoxiously pink handkerchief dabbing at the side of her face, her voice had raised several octaves: “That is not it at all. You do not know what you are talking about.”
She smoothed her hair back and folded the handkerchief. “It is a complete and utter bother.”
A fresh pen was produced from the mysterious space down her kimono front. “I do not know why I humor all those crazy women.”
Renji said: “You get to pick the stupid designs on the lanterns this year.”
“…a small benefit.”
“That right?”
Rukia glared.
“Ff. I like I said. Don’t care.” Renji yawned again, widely. He rolled a shoulder, once, twice then, aparently dissatisfied with that, unfolded his arms and gave a stretch. His chest rose off the floor. He gave his neck a crack and settled down, tucking his elbows back. He shot her a glance. “So have fun with your power games. Or something.”
He closed his eyes, breathed out a final grumble somewhere deep in his throat, and went still.
Rukia leveled a hard, considering gaze that ended up somewhere around the proximity of his toe. “Oh, I see,” she said, smirk coming slowly to her lips. “You doubt me.”
Renji didn’t move. “…eh.”
“You do not think I am capable of managing this.”
“What.”
“You would see me fail.”
“What the hell.”
“Wouldn’t you Renji!”
“What the fucking hell!”
Rukia put the notebook down and, quite primly, launched herself at him. Renji snapped his eyes open, caught her by the shoulders and, quite kindly, obliged her current need to be airborne. He took all the momentum she’d put into her spring and threw her into the opposite wall. She impacted with a squawk.
“Fool,” she bit out in outrage, injured pride, and a sore rear.
Renji rolled over.
She was slow on the second approach, waiting a good half minute before she fixed her sleeves and edged over on hands and knees. She came to a stop at his side, examining him. The smirk returned. Delicately, she unfolded a leg and, just as delicately, toed him in the flank.
“Renji,” she said.
“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” she said. “I feel I should state my concern.”
Rukia leaned in. “…after all,” she finished, worriedly, “Those tattoos had to decide to become parasitic eventually--”
Renji grabbed her ankle.
She grabbed his crotch.
This particular maneuver took a moment to process. Renji opened an eye. “Hey,” he said, giving her leg a shake.
She didn’t take the hint. “Hey,” he said again. “…hell are you doing.” He opened the other eye.
Rukia’s voice was low and amused, she laughed. “The hell’s it seem like.” She glanced at him.
They were at something of an impasse. Renji looked at her, curling his lip-showing teeth. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled. “You.” She came willingly enough. He growled, into her face: “Make up your damn mind.”
The smile fled her face. She tipped her head off to the side, eyes gone pale, lips pursed. “No. You.” she said, in a brittle voice, her hand creeping up his chest, catch in her breath. “Do it for me.”
Renji fingers dug into her skin. He rolled over her, slamming her shoulders the floor. She arched readily, and he pushed a leg between her thighs.
“Bitch,” he snarled.
“Quiet, Renji.”
“Bitch.” He pulled her kimono up.
“Quiet,” she hissed, bit his chin, then his bottom lip and, when he dragged his leg down, she slid her tongue into his mouth.
Time of Incident: Pre-series.
Damage done: Vaguely R-rated. Mostly just stupid.
Suspected Motives: Rukia is a scary little control freak. Except when she's not.
When he made noise, Rukia gathered herself proudly over her notebook:
“It’s not as though I wanted to do it,” she said.
“The Woman’s Association needed someone to manage the preparations for the festival,” she said.
“And Ise Nanao couldn’t do it this year,” she said.
“So.” She finished, tapping her pen importantly. “That is why I am doing it.”
“Right,” said Renji. He was stretched out over the floor across from her, arms behind his head and paused in mid yawn. “Won-der-ful.” He reached over to scratch the bare knee rising out of the folds of his yukata. “And. When the hell did I ask?”
Rukia felt a muscle jump somewhere near the corner of her mouth. She returned to writing. “I should not have expected you to understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Renji grinned at her sidewise. “You’re all excited ‘cause you finally get to run things-I just don’t care.”
The point of the pen went through the paper. A stream of ink jetted from the great rupture. When Rukia spoke, which was eventually, with a hastily produced and obnoxiously pink handkerchief dabbing at the side of her face, her voice had raised several octaves: “That is not it at all. You do not know what you are talking about.”
She smoothed her hair back and folded the handkerchief. “It is a complete and utter bother.”
A fresh pen was produced from the mysterious space down her kimono front. “I do not know why I humor all those crazy women.”
Renji said: “You get to pick the stupid designs on the lanterns this year.”
“…a small benefit.”
“That right?”
Rukia glared.
“Ff. I like I said. Don’t care.” Renji yawned again, widely. He rolled a shoulder, once, twice then, aparently dissatisfied with that, unfolded his arms and gave a stretch. His chest rose off the floor. He gave his neck a crack and settled down, tucking his elbows back. He shot her a glance. “So have fun with your power games. Or something.”
He closed his eyes, breathed out a final grumble somewhere deep in his throat, and went still.
Rukia leveled a hard, considering gaze that ended up somewhere around the proximity of his toe. “Oh, I see,” she said, smirk coming slowly to her lips. “You doubt me.”
Renji didn’t move. “…eh.”
“You do not think I am capable of managing this.”
“What.”
“You would see me fail.”
“What the hell.”
“Wouldn’t you Renji!”
“What the fucking hell!”
Rukia put the notebook down and, quite primly, launched herself at him. Renji snapped his eyes open, caught her by the shoulders and, quite kindly, obliged her current need to be airborne. He took all the momentum she’d put into her spring and threw her into the opposite wall. She impacted with a squawk.
“Fool,” she bit out in outrage, injured pride, and a sore rear.
Renji rolled over.
She was slow on the second approach, waiting a good half minute before she fixed her sleeves and edged over on hands and knees. She came to a stop at his side, examining him. The smirk returned. Delicately, she unfolded a leg and, just as delicately, toed him in the flank.
“Renji,” she said.
“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” she said. “I feel I should state my concern.”
Rukia leaned in. “…after all,” she finished, worriedly, “Those tattoos had to decide to become parasitic eventually--”
Renji grabbed her ankle.
She grabbed his crotch.
This particular maneuver took a moment to process. Renji opened an eye. “Hey,” he said, giving her leg a shake.
She didn’t take the hint. “Hey,” he said again. “…hell are you doing.” He opened the other eye.
Rukia’s voice was low and amused, she laughed. “The hell’s it seem like.” She glanced at him.
They were at something of an impasse. Renji looked at her, curling his lip-showing teeth. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled. “You.” She came willingly enough. He growled, into her face: “Make up your damn mind.”
The smile fled her face. She tipped her head off to the side, eyes gone pale, lips pursed. “No. You.” she said, in a brittle voice, her hand creeping up his chest, catch in her breath. “Do it for me.”
Renji fingers dug into her skin. He rolled over her, slamming her shoulders the floor. She arched readily, and he pushed a leg between her thighs.
“Bitch,” he snarled.
“Quiet, Renji.”
“Bitch.” He pulled her kimono up.
“Quiet,” she hissed, bit his chin, then his bottom lip and, when he dragged his leg down, she slid her tongue into his mouth.