Bleach- "Layers"
Title: Layers
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: hot, human world clothing.
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
Character/Pairing/s: IkkakuxYumichika-ish? Kind of? IDK.
Warnings/Spoilers: RANDOM.
Word Count: 1,475
Summary: Ikkaku is wearing gay clothing. And it’s too warm.
Dedication: one of juin’s requests on my holiday fic meme! I figured that I should try something new. XD
A/N: daskl;jasdf I know RebornxLambo was your first choice but I still am behind on the series so I don’t actually know the mechanics behind adult Reborn yet? Like, at all? I WILL THOUGH. I WILL.
Disclaimer: No harm is meant by this!
Ikkaku’s armpits itch.
Well, his ass itches too, but right now, his armpits itch more.
“Damned sweater vest,” he curses to himself, and thinks it’s not even that cold outside, why the hell is Keigo’s batshit sister dressing him up in argyle. Pink and gray. Pink and gray.
On the other hand, Yumichika doesn’t seem to mind borrowing said batshit sister’s girly clothes, gamely sporting a cropped plum jacket and jeans that make his ass look like the perfect curve off of the tops of a pair of fresh baked melon pan.
“It’s too hot,” Ikkaku mutters to himself darkly for no particular reason, and shoves his hands into his pockets while staring down some street punks who clearly want to laugh at the bald guy who is wearing the stunningly badass argyle sweater vest and skinny jeans. His vaguely murderous look convinces them to do otherwise.
Yumichika, sparkly scarf thrown over his shoulders but not actually wrapped around his neck, stops as they pass a large storefront window and studies his reflection with great interest. Again. “Humans are odd,” he murmurs to himself thoughtfully, and does a little pirouette so that he can see himself from the side and from the backside as well. Again. It draws a few strange looks in their direction, and a few appreciative ones, and a few jealous ones all at once. The fifth seat doesn’t fail to notice. He smiles a little. “These are fine for outside considering the season, I suppose, but the moment we go inside and the stores’ heaters are going full blast, it just becomes painful and awkward and a little smelly for everyone.” He kicks up his heels, examines the fur-trimmed boots that his jeans are tucked into. “I do look good, though.”
“Stop admiring yourself, you look like a girl,” Ikkaku mutters back, still hunched over with his hands in his pockets. “Now c’mon, that crazy bitch is going to chew my ass out if we don’t get back in time for dinner.”
Yumichika gives him a look and sniffs. “One would think you liked her, for how obedient you’ve suddenly become,” he murmurs, and Ikkaku fights the urge to give up on grocery shopping altogether so that he can spend the time wiping the judgmental look off of Yumichika’s smug, judgmental face.
“Just c’mon already,” Ikkaku mutters instead, because apparently the pansy clothing has suddenly made his balls retract up into his body or something. He pulls the shopping list out of his pocket when they get to the market a street or two down the sidewalk later.
“Eggs, beef, negi, enoki, shitake, carrots, eggplant, and harusame,” the bald shinigami reads out loud, and heads through the door of the grocery. “Let’s make this fast.”
“Yes sir, Ikkaku, sir,” Yumichika drawls, and follows him inside at his own leisure.
“Fuckin’ humans,” Ikkaku mutters a second later, when they discover that entering the grocery also means coming in contact with a blast of concentrated heat, right into their faces. “Goddammit.”
Yumichika looks displeased by the assault as well but doesn’t say anything about it out loud; he takes the scarf off from around his shoulders and ties it around his waist instead, so that he can shrug out of his jacket and sling it over his shoulder while they shop.
The sparkly stuff in the scarf’s material glitters under the fluorescent lights; Ikkaku can see it out of the corner of his eye when Yumichika walks, in a series of fluid left-right swishes. “You look even more like a girl now,” he feel the need to point out, though he grudgingly accepts the hand basket when Yumichika wordlessly shoves it at him anyway.
They spend the next twenty minutes shopping for produce and getting laughed at by old women and housewives, particularly when Yumichika starts picking up industrial sized mushrooms and examining their firmness for quality control purposes.
Ikkaku watches, and starts to sweat in his sweater vest a little bit. He figures it’s because it gets hotter the deeper into the store you go or something. Yeah.
“Hurry the hell up, would you?!” he demands out loud suddenly, when Yumichika is paying way too much attention to a rather swollen-looking American eggplant. “Get that shit away from your face. You’re not gonna eat it right now, are ya? Goddammit.”
The smaller shinigami eyes him. “Is something the matter?”
“No! I’m just dyin’ of heatstroke over here while you pitter around touching all the fruits and vegetables like it’s the funnest thing in the world. Nothing’s the matter.”
From the other side of the produce isle, some more grannies and soccer moms twitter at the two of them. Ikkaku thinks he hears the word cute, but wants to pretend that he doesn’t, because he’s not going to sock nobody’s grandma in the nose, no matter how big of a bitch she might be.
Yumichika is unfazed by Ikkaku’s bad humor. “If you’re hot,” he suggests to his friend calmly, “maybe you should just take some of your clothing off.” Then he turns around in those too-tight jeans, bends forward deliberately, and reaches for an oversized eggplant at the very top of the pile. When he grabs it, he runs his fingers over the surface and declares loudly, “This one’s good.”
Ikkaku promptly holds out the hand basket. “I’ll be outside,” he says.
Yumichika takes the basket and tells him-sweetly-to please behave.
“Stupid human clothes,” Ikkaku mutters to himself when he’s outside, squatting in front of the store entrance like a delinquent. A delinquent from prep school. He wants to choke himself with his own scarf. Or Yumichika, if only to stop his inappropriate tittering laughter and his even more inappropriate fascination with large eggplants.
Even outside, Ikkaku still feels unpleasantly hot when he thinks about it. Annoying, So goddamned annoying.
Ten minutes later, Yumichika finally comes outside with his arms full of grocery bags; he promptly pawns them all off on Ikkaku. “Congratulations on not getting arrested,” he chirps in greeting, when he sees the dark look his friend has on his face while he squats outside the market. “It must be the sweater vest. Very respectable.”
“Fuck you,” Ikkaku barks, and is just relieved that they can leave.
Some of the grannies and housewives from inside the market come out right as they’re heading off, and there is more twittering. Yumichika turns and gives them a fluttering wave over his shoulder as the two of them walk off; the old grannies and the housewaves happily wave back. When one of them winks at Yumichika, Ikkaku twitches on instinct before increasing his pace; he reminds himself that he doesn’t punch old women in the face no matter how annoying they are. Yumichika is still up in the air.
On the walk home, Ikkaku realizes that Yumichika hasn’t put the scarf back around his neck yet; it’s still sparkling and swishing down around his hips, and now it’s catching the eye of everyone who passes by them on the street, whether they want to notice it or not.
Ikkaku feels heat coming up under the collar of his pressed, ¾ sleeve dress shirt. He blames the sweater vest. And the stupid humans, and their stupid clothes in general.
He feels like beating the shit out of something. Maybe Keigo will do. Sometimes when Keigo screams he sounds like Hisagi and that amuses Ikkaku, makes him want to hit the wimp a little harder.
Except when they get back to the Asano household, no one is home.
There’s a note on the fridge from their psychotic hostess that says, “You took too long so we went out to eat nabe instead. Punishment when I get back!”
Ikkaku hits his head on the doorframe a few times. “Fucking hell.”
Yumichika just shrugs and drops the groceries off in the kitchen before untying the glittery scarf from around his hips and shrugging out of the plum jacket.
“What are you doing?!” Ikkaku sputters. “You can’t just…you can’t just do that here! What if they come home?!”
“It’s too warm inside,” Yumichika replies blandly, and lets his hand linger on his own collar for a moment, as he searches for the buttons keeping the front of his shirt closed.
Ikkaku wipes beads of moisture from his forehead.
Which makes Yumichika arch an eyebrow. “You’re still sweating,” he reminds the third seat around a smirk, “don’t you want to get out of yours too?”
And then, he casually finishes shrugging out of his shirt. “Mmm, that’s nice.”
Ikkaku makes a gargled noise in the back of his throat and storms upstairs to the bathroom the moment Yumichika’s fingers ghost down to the front of his girly jeans.
He dunks his head under a spray of cold water and hates how hot these gay, stupid, gay, human clothes make him.
END
EDITS.
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: hot, human world clothing.
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
Character/Pairing/s: IkkakuxYumichika-ish? Kind of? IDK.
Warnings/Spoilers: RANDOM.
Word Count: 1,475
Summary: Ikkaku is wearing gay clothing. And it’s too warm.
Dedication: one of juin’s requests on my holiday fic meme! I figured that I should try something new. XD
A/N: daskl;jasdf I know RebornxLambo was your first choice but I still am behind on the series so I don’t actually know the mechanics behind adult Reborn yet? Like, at all? I WILL THOUGH. I WILL.
Disclaimer: No harm is meant by this!
Ikkaku’s armpits itch.
Well, his ass itches too, but right now, his armpits itch more.
“Damned sweater vest,” he curses to himself, and thinks it’s not even that cold outside, why the hell is Keigo’s batshit sister dressing him up in argyle. Pink and gray. Pink and gray.
On the other hand, Yumichika doesn’t seem to mind borrowing said batshit sister’s girly clothes, gamely sporting a cropped plum jacket and jeans that make his ass look like the perfect curve off of the tops of a pair of fresh baked melon pan.
“It’s too hot,” Ikkaku mutters to himself darkly for no particular reason, and shoves his hands into his pockets while staring down some street punks who clearly want to laugh at the bald guy who is wearing the stunningly badass argyle sweater vest and skinny jeans. His vaguely murderous look convinces them to do otherwise.
Yumichika, sparkly scarf thrown over his shoulders but not actually wrapped around his neck, stops as they pass a large storefront window and studies his reflection with great interest. Again. “Humans are odd,” he murmurs to himself thoughtfully, and does a little pirouette so that he can see himself from the side and from the backside as well. Again. It draws a few strange looks in their direction, and a few appreciative ones, and a few jealous ones all at once. The fifth seat doesn’t fail to notice. He smiles a little. “These are fine for outside considering the season, I suppose, but the moment we go inside and the stores’ heaters are going full blast, it just becomes painful and awkward and a little smelly for everyone.” He kicks up his heels, examines the fur-trimmed boots that his jeans are tucked into. “I do look good, though.”
“Stop admiring yourself, you look like a girl,” Ikkaku mutters back, still hunched over with his hands in his pockets. “Now c’mon, that crazy bitch is going to chew my ass out if we don’t get back in time for dinner.”
Yumichika gives him a look and sniffs. “One would think you liked her, for how obedient you’ve suddenly become,” he murmurs, and Ikkaku fights the urge to give up on grocery shopping altogether so that he can spend the time wiping the judgmental look off of Yumichika’s smug, judgmental face.
“Just c’mon already,” Ikkaku mutters instead, because apparently the pansy clothing has suddenly made his balls retract up into his body or something. He pulls the shopping list out of his pocket when they get to the market a street or two down the sidewalk later.
“Eggs, beef, negi, enoki, shitake, carrots, eggplant, and harusame,” the bald shinigami reads out loud, and heads through the door of the grocery. “Let’s make this fast.”
“Yes sir, Ikkaku, sir,” Yumichika drawls, and follows him inside at his own leisure.
“Fuckin’ humans,” Ikkaku mutters a second later, when they discover that entering the grocery also means coming in contact with a blast of concentrated heat, right into their faces. “Goddammit.”
Yumichika looks displeased by the assault as well but doesn’t say anything about it out loud; he takes the scarf off from around his shoulders and ties it around his waist instead, so that he can shrug out of his jacket and sling it over his shoulder while they shop.
The sparkly stuff in the scarf’s material glitters under the fluorescent lights; Ikkaku can see it out of the corner of his eye when Yumichika walks, in a series of fluid left-right swishes. “You look even more like a girl now,” he feel the need to point out, though he grudgingly accepts the hand basket when Yumichika wordlessly shoves it at him anyway.
They spend the next twenty minutes shopping for produce and getting laughed at by old women and housewives, particularly when Yumichika starts picking up industrial sized mushrooms and examining their firmness for quality control purposes.
Ikkaku watches, and starts to sweat in his sweater vest a little bit. He figures it’s because it gets hotter the deeper into the store you go or something. Yeah.
“Hurry the hell up, would you?!” he demands out loud suddenly, when Yumichika is paying way too much attention to a rather swollen-looking American eggplant. “Get that shit away from your face. You’re not gonna eat it right now, are ya? Goddammit.”
The smaller shinigami eyes him. “Is something the matter?”
“No! I’m just dyin’ of heatstroke over here while you pitter around touching all the fruits and vegetables like it’s the funnest thing in the world. Nothing’s the matter.”
From the other side of the produce isle, some more grannies and soccer moms twitter at the two of them. Ikkaku thinks he hears the word cute, but wants to pretend that he doesn’t, because he’s not going to sock nobody’s grandma in the nose, no matter how big of a bitch she might be.
Yumichika is unfazed by Ikkaku’s bad humor. “If you’re hot,” he suggests to his friend calmly, “maybe you should just take some of your clothing off.” Then he turns around in those too-tight jeans, bends forward deliberately, and reaches for an oversized eggplant at the very top of the pile. When he grabs it, he runs his fingers over the surface and declares loudly, “This one’s good.”
Ikkaku promptly holds out the hand basket. “I’ll be outside,” he says.
Yumichika takes the basket and tells him-sweetly-to please behave.
“Stupid human clothes,” Ikkaku mutters to himself when he’s outside, squatting in front of the store entrance like a delinquent. A delinquent from prep school. He wants to choke himself with his own scarf. Or Yumichika, if only to stop his inappropriate tittering laughter and his even more inappropriate fascination with large eggplants.
Even outside, Ikkaku still feels unpleasantly hot when he thinks about it. Annoying, So goddamned annoying.
Ten minutes later, Yumichika finally comes outside with his arms full of grocery bags; he promptly pawns them all off on Ikkaku. “Congratulations on not getting arrested,” he chirps in greeting, when he sees the dark look his friend has on his face while he squats outside the market. “It must be the sweater vest. Very respectable.”
“Fuck you,” Ikkaku barks, and is just relieved that they can leave.
Some of the grannies and housewives from inside the market come out right as they’re heading off, and there is more twittering. Yumichika turns and gives them a fluttering wave over his shoulder as the two of them walk off; the old grannies and the housewaves happily wave back. When one of them winks at Yumichika, Ikkaku twitches on instinct before increasing his pace; he reminds himself that he doesn’t punch old women in the face no matter how annoying they are. Yumichika is still up in the air.
On the walk home, Ikkaku realizes that Yumichika hasn’t put the scarf back around his neck yet; it’s still sparkling and swishing down around his hips, and now it’s catching the eye of everyone who passes by them on the street, whether they want to notice it or not.
Ikkaku feels heat coming up under the collar of his pressed, ¾ sleeve dress shirt. He blames the sweater vest. And the stupid humans, and their stupid clothes in general.
He feels like beating the shit out of something. Maybe Keigo will do. Sometimes when Keigo screams he sounds like Hisagi and that amuses Ikkaku, makes him want to hit the wimp a little harder.
Except when they get back to the Asano household, no one is home.
There’s a note on the fridge from their psychotic hostess that says, “You took too long so we went out to eat nabe instead. Punishment when I get back!”
Ikkaku hits his head on the doorframe a few times. “Fucking hell.”
Yumichika just shrugs and drops the groceries off in the kitchen before untying the glittery scarf from around his hips and shrugging out of the plum jacket.
“What are you doing?!” Ikkaku sputters. “You can’t just…you can’t just do that here! What if they come home?!”
“It’s too warm inside,” Yumichika replies blandly, and lets his hand linger on his own collar for a moment, as he searches for the buttons keeping the front of his shirt closed.
Ikkaku wipes beads of moisture from his forehead.
Which makes Yumichika arch an eyebrow. “You’re still sweating,” he reminds the third seat around a smirk, “don’t you want to get out of yours too?”
And then, he casually finishes shrugging out of his shirt. “Mmm, that’s nice.”
Ikkaku makes a gargled noise in the back of his throat and storms upstairs to the bathroom the moment Yumichika’s fingers ghost down to the front of his girly jeans.
He dunks his head under a spray of cold water and hates how hot these gay, stupid, gay, human clothes make him.
END
EDITS.