Mercy Street AU- Master List (2/4)
Title: Blushingly
Characters: TetsuxIzuru
Timeline: NA
Rating: PG-15
Summary: Their meeting in stages.
The first time he’d met Izuru he’d laughed a little bit, at how surprised the blonde had seemed.
“You… you wouldn’t mind just…helping me?”
“Naw, ‘course not! Least I could do for bumpin’ into you like that, right?”
And then Izuru had looked up at him and Tetsu had been the one to be really surprised then, because the smaller man had smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear- out of his face- blushing pink right across the bridge of his nose. Tetsu remembers thinking how pretty he’d looked, just like that.
“O-okay! Thank you!”
The second time they’d met it was a day or two later, when Izuru had invited Tetsu back for lunch as a thank you, for helping him get that unwieldy dresser up the stairs and moved into his apartment.
And Izuru had opened the door for him when he’d come up-the apartment had smelled real good-but Tetsu remembers for a minute, forgetting about food when he’d seen the blonde man in that cute little plain blue apron with the pocket in the front, an oven mit in one hand and his hair tied up by a red-and-white checkered bandana.
“Aah, Tetsu-kun! You’re early… or wait. I um, or maybe I’m late. Am I late?”
Tetsu had laughed, put his sunglasses up on his forehead so he could look at this guy better.
“Nah, you ain’t late. I’m a little early, ” he’d admitted with a crooked smile.
Kira had smiled back, that pink blush splashing across pale cheeks again, and Tetsu had thought that he really didn’t mind seeing it all that much.
The third time they’d met up had been when he’d finished having a little dinner with Yumi and he’d found the blonde passed out and shuddering in the alley outside the building, almost having made it home last night but not quite.
He’d freaked out at first, had been bent on calling the cops or something until a thin hand with long fingers dripping blood had reached out and tugged on his sleeves, big blue eyes looking up at him full of sadness and worry and regret.
“No, please don’t…just… help me?”
He’d only been able to swallow and nod and say, ”Okay,” before lifting the other man up-light as paper-and carry him up to his apartment.
He hadn’t asked what happened, and he thinks Izuru had been relieved. Just got stuff together and patched him up best he’d known how. When he’d finished he’d moved to leave, but there’d been a tugging on his sleeve again and a quiet, almost silent, ”Don’t go,” from pale lips, that delicate pink spreading over flawless white skin one more time.
Tetsu hadn’t been able to say no to that either, though he’d probably had a blush to match when Izuru had tugged him down onto the bed next to him and shaking, rested a tired head on Tetsu’s chest.
Izuru had probably been able to hear his heart racing a mile a minute at that moment.
He’d fallen asleep anyway, cheeks flushed and beautiful.
The fourth time they’d met it was when they’d both opened up sleepy eyes and found themselves looking at each other.
Kira’d blushed again, and Tetsu hadn’t really been awake maybe, but he remembers thinking that those pink cheeks were going to be his undoing for sure as he’d leaned forward and gently pecked petal soft lips.
The blonde had blinked then, those big eyes going bigger, fingers instantly going up to surprised lips.
Then Tetsu had woken up a little more, blushed himself. ”Er….sorry,” he’d started, awkwardly. ”I uh… I…”
Kira had cried a little bit then, and wrapped his arms around Tetsu and sobbed for a bit, and Tetsu had been so surprised that he’d forgotten his own embarrassment for a second, had hugged the other man back and petted his hair and tried to soothe him from whatever it was he’d been freaking out about.
Some bastard named Ichimaru, apparently. Tetsu doesn’t know the details still, doesn’t think he will for a while yet, but he will, is determined to get Izuru to open up about what happened one day.
The last time the two of them had met it was for Easter Brunch and Izuru had greeted him at the door in that same cute apron and that same oven mit and bandana get up, cheeks flushed as he’d made a little comment about being late, or being early.
Tetsu hadn’t really paid much attention, just stepped up through the threshold and kissed him, saying, “Happy Easter,” as he’d shut the door behind him and delighted over the soft pink blush that had spread its way down Izuru’s cheeks right after, as predicted.
They’d had a nice meal together and afterwards, Tetsu had grinned and set about making the rest of Izuru flush to match his face.
END
Title: Strays
Characters: ShunxJyuu
Timeline: NA
Rating: G
Summary: Shunsui and Jyuushirou find some company on the walk home.
A/N: For Shelly for winning the chat question a couple chats back! Her request was “Shun, Jyuu- Puppy.”
They find them on their walk back to Shunsui’s from dinner together, a nice Brazilian restaurant with dancers in grass-skirts who Kyouraku flirted with all evening. Jyuushirou lets the other man hold his hand regardless though, and they walk side-by-side with fingers laced while Shunsui hums beats reminiscent of the ones they’d heard while dining, Jyuushirou listening to the other man’s voice and marveling at how quickly Kyouraku can remember a song.
In a mood like that, engrossed in whatever music is playing in his head, Shunsui is highly attuned to sounds that aren’t part of that mental score, and so, when he hears a whimper somewhere a ways down the street, it’s as loud as if it had been right in his ear.
He pauses at that, and Jyuushirou, who hadn’t heard the noise, notices the movement and pauses too. Because as attuned as Shunsui is to rhythms, Jyuushirou is similarly attuned to Shun.
“Shun?”
“Hmmm,” Shun responds, brow furrowing slightly as he steers them away from the sidewalk.
Jyuushirou follows with a mixture of puzzlement and bemusement, and when they stop in front of an alleyway behind an apartment complex lined with trashcans, he blinks and looks questioningly at the other man again.
“Shhh,” Shun urges before Jyuu can voice his concern, pointing to a box stuffed between a dumpster and a can. Jyuushirou watches it for a moment, and then notices that it’s shifting on its own a little. The white-haired man listens more carefully then, and can hear a mixture of snuffles and scratches and something almost melancholy when he does.
“Oh, Shun,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly at the other man before releasing his hand and padding over to the box. “Oh my,” he echoes a moment later, when he kneels down for a closer look.
There’s two puppies huddled together pathetically in that wet cardboard box, one trying to sleep as it shivers and the other, somehow, finding the energy to bite its companion’s ear anyway.
Shunsui pauses behind Jyuushirou then, looking down into the dogs’ flimsy home and clucking disapprovingly to himself. “Maa, how cruel,” he says, before bending down and reaching out to stroke one of the puppies’ heads.
The playful one very playfully bites his finger, not hard enough to hurt, and utters a little yap by way of greeting.
Shunsui feels his lips quirk at that, and he reaches over to pet the quieter one next. It lets out something like a sniffle when he pats its back.
“I don’t think that fellow’s feeling very well,” Shun remarks then, sympathetically.
Ukitake nods and they share a look for a moment, before wordlessly coming to some sort of instant agreement.
Kyouraku picks up the sickly one and cradles it close to his chest. The momentary separation has its companion barking in something akin to distress, though it’s quickly soothed when Jyuushirou picks it up too, holding it in front of his face for a moment.
It licks his nose and he laughs and eyes Shun. “Almost the same as when I met you,” he can’t help but quip, before nestling the pup more firmly in his arms.
Shunsui grins. “I dunno, I thought I was a little more subtle than that, Jyuu-chan.”
Jyuushirou smiles back. “You would think that.” Then, more seriously, “How’s that little guy?”
“Cold, I think,” Shunsui responds. “Best to get him someplace warm…give him something to eat, ne?”
Jyuushirou nods, and when he speaks this time, it’s a little more thoughtful. “That one’s a bit like me, maybe.”
Shunsui smiles lopsidedly. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a bit too out of it to know if he adores me or not yet, I think.”
The line makes Jyuushirou chuckle a bit, helplessly, and that said, they walk out of the ally together, arms too full to hold hands anymore, but shoulders bumping anyway.
Halfway back, Ukitake’s charge pees down the front of his coat.
“Definitely like you,” he drawls, when Shunsui starts laughing at him.
“Aw, Jyuu-chan, I find more charming ways of marking my territory, don’t you think?” he asks, turning his head.
Jyuushirou rolls his eyes at that, but accepts Shunsui’s kiss against his cheek regardless. “Only slightly, though,” he can’t help but add after a moment.
Shunsui pouts at him, and despite being peed on, Jyuushirou can’t keep the smile from his face the rest of the walk home.
END
Title: Wrong
Characters: GinxKira
Timeline: NA
Rating: R
Summary: Kira throws off Gin’s perspective of the world.
He doesn’t know why he agrees to this, doesn’t know why, when Izuru calls him and that small voice on the phone asks if he’d like to have dinner sometime this week, Gin says yes more often than no.
It’s that impulsive yes that gets him every time, makes him cringe to himself and feel the need to do something violent to someone to get the disgusting feel of warm-and-fuzzy out of his system.
Sometimes he doesn’t show up to the appointed dates like he says he will, does it to snub the blonde and whatever it is about him that makes Ichimaru act idiotic. And those times when he doesn’t show up, Izuru will call after a while and in that same small voice, ask, “I-is everything okay?”
And Gin will smirk at the tone and throw his head back and say, real casual like, “Yeah, blondie, everythin’s fine. Just uh, didn’t feel like comin’ out, I guess. No hard feelin’s, yeah?”
The first time he’d waited for Izuru to rage, to maybe cry too, but all he’d heard was an, “I-I’m glad you’re okay then. Maybe next week, ne?” and there hadn’t been a single accusation in any of those words, not a hint of annoyance. There had even been something like genuine relief. He could practically hear the kid smile on the other end, and when Gin had hung up afterwards, he’d found himself not feeling superior in the least.
Like a couple of sweet words had knocked him down more than a peg or two.
He finds himself showing up more and more now though, always hours late and wondering if barging into the door will get him the tears and frustration he’d wanted when he hadn’t been showing up, if suddenly walking through the door before Izuru has had a chance to compose himself on the phone will reveal the blonde as the fraud he is. As everyone is.
But when he gets there three hours late and lets himself in (he took the spare keys without asking one day), the sight that greets him is a cute little blonde kid in a blue apron with a pocket in the front, sitting at a homely, but warmly decorated table and smiling up at Gin’s sudden appearance, shyly and through his bangs.
“I-I’m glad you could make it tonight, Gin-san.”
Every time.
Not a question, not tear. No “I put so much work into this for you!” or “Where have you been?” or “Don’t you care about me at all?!” on the other man’s lips. Just that smile, just that genuinely happy look and a blushing, “L-let me reheat the food.”
Nothing else.
Gin thinks it’s driving him a little bit crazy, that one day he’s just going to wrap his hands around that pretty white throat and choke the life out of Izuru, because he can’t be real. There’s no way someone like Kira Izuru can exist in the world. This world.
It throws everything Gin’s ever known out the window.
And he hates Izuru a little bit for that, wants to find a way, any way, to prove that he’s right, that there’s something dark and selfish and cruel lurking in the blonde like there is in every other person on the face of the planet.
And every time he finds himself proven wrong it drives him just a little bit crazier.
He really will kill Izuru one of these days he thinks, will step forward and instead of throwing the blonde over the table the moment he steps through the door and fucking him right on top of the food with his apron still on, Gin will kill Kira instead.
Any day now.
“Aaaghn!!!!”
Gin shoves his hips forward at the thought and there’s lettuce and lukewarm spaghetti sauce everywhere, Izuru writhing on his stomach atop the table and Gin slurping tomato and ground beef off the smaller man’s back and thighs as he takes him right there, irreparably staining his tailored suit in the process though he could give a shit right now.
Kira shudders and comes first, unbelievably, and Gin feels himself following on the next forward thrust, cursing to himself and inwardly vowing that he’s going to kill this bright, beautiful boy one day and never look back. Just end him and everything that he throws off in Gin’s previously balanced universe.
He’ll do it. He will.
And then Kira sighs and rolls onto his back with a happy, disbelieving sound, covered in every part of the dinner he’d made besides dessert and not mad in the least as he looks up at Gin, skin flushed and eyes glowing. He sits up gingerly- a mess- and carefully leans forward, touching Ichimaru’s cheek with his fingertips and smearing salad dressing on it as they kiss.
And Gin thinks he’s got to kill this blonde kid soon, that he will just like he’ll one day find that selfish part of Izuru that makes him just as disgusting as every other lowly human being out there.
But so far, all Kira Izuru does is prove him wrong time and time again.
It’s driving him crazy.
END
Title: Outsider
Characters: ShuuheixYumichika
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: And he finally feels like he’s part of something important.
A/N: I blame emo Yumi. This was supposed to be short. -_-;;
He’s only ever been an outsider his whole life, the kind of person who skirts the edges of things, who’s given the ability to peer in but never quite gets to push all the way inside and be close to someone.
With his parents he’d really been nothing more than the trophy heir, the contractual obligation provided by his mother upon marrying his father in exchanging a mediocre high class life for a fabulous one. He’d married because he’d needed a successor and she’d provided him with one, simple as that. The fact that their son had certain tendencies that took after his father couldn’t be blamed on her, and they expected that despite those tendencies, the boy would realize his responsibility in years to come and force the production of his own heir as well, as his father had before him.
So Yumichika had grown up on the outside of a real family life, a boy there to impress other socialites (and the press) with whenever the Ayasegawa Corporation was featured on any news of importance to stockholders. In the meantime he saw very little of his parents in a private setting, what with his mother constantly shopping or running off with well-muscled young men she met in nightclubs (in the end, Yumi supposed he took after his mother just as much as his father in certain ways) while his father was always busy at work day in and day out, the only real thing he claimed to honestly care for in the world his job (though Yumi had his suspicions about his father and that handsome young junior vice-president the old man was constantly going off to “talk business” with late at night).
On the other hand, in his home growing up, Yumichika had been treated very kindly by his household staff. They’d taught him things that perhaps, his parents might have taught him if they’d cared enough (or had known themselves). The chef showed him how to cook, the maids to launder (and to observe, always observe), while the chauffer… well, the chauffer had provided a hands-on experience into the world of the birds and bees. From there, his tutors and fencing instructors and kendo masters taught him everything else he needed to know between the over-paid lot of them.
But in the end he wasn’t their family, and came to realize that the reasons they did anything for him weren’t because they loved him. He was a bright, friendly child of course, but the title of bochamma would never escape him, and that boundary remained distinct between he and them. He skirted the edges of their confidence in this manner, was a precious person to them and at the same time, one potentially to be feared, for he would be master one day. Liked, but never completely accepted.
When, after he’d run into Ikkaku in that dark alley one summer evening three years ago, he’d been allowed a deeper look into how relationships with other people worked, had been privy to the apartment’s three inhabitants and the way they treated one another. And for a while, how they’d treated him. Tetsu was always very kind, gentle for his size and friendly, open. Renji was polite to a point, though there was always something in his eyes that told Yumichika that the redhead didn’t trust him, not completely. Ikkaku was stupidly honest all the time, a refreshing change from the lifestyle Yumichika had known. For a time, he could always count on Madarame to tell him exactly what he thought about something, exactly what the bald loudmouth felt. For the first time in a long time, Yumichika had thought that maybe he was pushing in, past looking through life via the picture window outside and actually taking part of it too. Becoming someone important to other people.
But even still, there are certain boundaries that can’t be broken just like that, he’s found. And there are some he wouldn’t want to. Ikkaku, Tetsu, and Renji have a sort of bond he would feel wrong to try and intrude too deeply upon, one that’s impossible for an outsider like himself to find equal footing in. So while he knows he’d been let into that happy hearth some years back, the fact that he’d gone from watching them from the outside to watching them from the kitchen is admittedly, different, but not terribly so.
Some people were meant to never change in certain ways, and watching the three of them be like brothers is one of them.
They know it too, he thinks. Place him on an outer circle again, if a closer one. Family, lifelong friends, and then whatever it is Yumi counts as. He’s heard them use the term “bros before hos” before, and he’s not quite sure which category he falls under (if either). He does know, however, that if any one of them dared to call him the latter to his face the reprisal would be swift, painful, and exacting.
For a long time he’d been content to live on that outer edge with those three, felt that he should be thankful, given that he’s known many people like him who have never broken past that threshold their whole lives, who have never tried, at that. And it had been fun, to be the one who mystified Tetsu, the one who could infuriate Ikkaku, the one who confused Renji.
It had been more family than he’d ever had before.
But, at the same time, Yumichika was learning that he’s never going to be the type who was easily satisfied.
He’d discovered more, and then it had suddenly become not enough.
He and Shuuhei had found each other in a dark, smoky nightclub one rainy evening in late winter. Shuuhei had had something like strong distaste for him at first, disapproval maybe, maybe confusion, maybe even intrigue. Yumichika had noticed him, maybe thought about how fun it might be to take a handsome man like that home with him for a night or two, and didn’t think about it too much afterwards, when Shuuhei had clasped his shoulder briefly, thanked him, and left without another word.
He’d come back, a week or two later, and some of that distaste had been gone, though disapproval, confusion, and intrigue remained. Yumichika remembers liking his eyes because they seemed thoughtful.
That was the first time in Yumi’s life that someone had been interested in breaking into his inner circle that he knows of, and not even in the perverted way either. For a while he wasn’t the one looking in from the outside. They’d been gazing at each other through that window at the same time, maybe, Yumi liking those thoughtful eyes and Shuuhei boiling down in stages to just confusion and intrigue, and then, with time, maybe just intrigue.
And then Shuuhei had looked at him with those thoughtful eyes one day, and Yumi had sensed that maybe there was something beyond pure thought going on in there, but hadn’t been given the time to figure it out because the other man had kissed him suddenly, maybe impulsively, maybe just because he’d been intrigued.
Yumi had kissed him back before he’d known what he was doing, and oddly enough, it’d felt like he’d never kissed anyone before, until that kiss.
Maybe because all the people he’d kissed before had never put so much thought into what he’d assumed was a simple, almost meaningless action.
Given his life, Yumichika had never really believed in love. He’d believed in mutual pleasure and affection, but love seemed a distant thing to him, a kind of far-off sort of fantasy that really just meant “hurting someone” or “ignoring someone” or “playing the crowd” in disguise. For a long time, he’d much preferred a simple, honest exchange of mutual pleasure-- sex and laughter being two things he very strongly held faith in.
It’s a bit cliché to say that one kiss can change everything, but he supposes it’s fitting in any case, to let that statement stand.
For the first time, since that kiss, Yumichika feels almost like an integral part of someone else’s world.
He hopes he is, anyway. It’s a heavy responsibility to be sure, but there’s something nice about feeling that you’re important to someone else, to maybe speak of need between the two of them though no mutual words of love have been returned to him as of yet.
“Mmmm…baby, what’re you thinking this late? Go to sleep.”
Yumi smiles when Shuuhei blinks blearily up at him, the taller man shifting onto his side to squint tiredly at the pretty host, who’s propped up on an elbow… just watching him.
“Not too sleepy yet,” Yumi whispers, reaching out to brush Shuuhei’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Lay down anyway then,” Shuuhei murmurs, unconsciously leaning towards the smaller man’s hand. “C’mon…snuggle with me a bit,” the Arrancar urges, something like a wry smile on his sleep-tousled features as he says it.
Yumi laughs a little at that, but complies, nestling down and letting Shuuhei pull him close, letting him tuck his head under his chin because they both like that. “Did I wake you?”
“Naw,” Hisagi replies, closing his eyes and absently stroking Yumi’s bare shoulder under the comforter. “Reflexes woke me. Or maybe instincts. You thinking about stuff you shouldn’t be thinking about again?”
Yumi pauses at that, can’t help but wonder if his lover is right about what he’d been doing. After a moment he asks, “Ne…Shuu?”
Frowning at the tone, Shuuhei opens his eyes again; shifts so he can look down at the big brown ones that make his heart go all stupid. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“You know I love you, right?”
Shuuhei looks at him. Feels something like a small, goofy smile tugging threateningly at his lips. Lets it come after a moment, because he doesn’t really see a need to hold back right now, when they’re like this. “Yeah, baby, I know,” he whispers back, touching smiling lips to Yumi’s forehead. “I really do.”
Yumi smiles back at that, tilts his chin up to catch Shuuhei for a real kiss. “Good.”
That said, he snuggles back down again, burrowing his face against Shuuhei’s chest before closing his eyes. The arms around him tighten then, and as he begins to drift off, he feels fingers gently running through his hair.
He falls asleep warm and with a full heart, thinking of Shuuhei’s smile just now and admitting to himself that it’s nice for once, to finally be on the inside.
END
Title: Believe
Characters: GrimmxUrqui
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Ahaha I’m going to hell.
“He believes in me, he believes in me, he believes in me…”
Grimmjaw chants it under his breath over and over again, thinks of how Urquiola had looked when he’d told him so earlier, as dry and calm as the arrogant little twerp had been. The memory of that makes things a little bit easier to bear though he’s in the most pain he’s ever been right now, worse than multiple bullet wounds and that time he’d gotten stabbed right in the gut.
It downright burns and all he can do is repeat “He believes in me, he believes in me, he believes in me…” through clenched teeth to himself and do his best to inch forward moment by moment, to get from beginning to end and not go completely crazy somewhere in between and expire from the sheer effort of trying to keep up.
No one’s ever believed in him before, after all. And maybe with good reason -- he’s never given them cause to.
But Urquiola had said it to him earlier tonight when Grimmjaw had wanted to back out, when he’d wanted to shy away from this suicide mission and tell the little guy there was no way in hell, that it was downright impossible for a guy like him to do a thing like this.
“I believe you can do it, Grimmjaw.”
And like the sucker he’s really starting to believe himself to be, Grimmjaw had caved. Just like that. A few measly words.
They mean the world to him all of a sudden, and even though he thinks he might go crazy from the strain of what he’s got to do tonight, what had seemed utterly impossible to him mere hours ago is suddenly not so far off, maybe.
“He believes in me, he believes in me, he believes in me…”
The man sitting next to him throws him an odd look when he catches wind of Grimmjaw’s mantra, and while the Arrancar turns and glares a bit insanely at the wanker, he manages to bite back the automatic, “The hell’re you lookin’ at, you panty-waist fucktard?” that's on the tip of his tongue and grunts a stilted, angry, “’scuse me,” instead.
From across the table Urquiola looks at him encouragingly with his eyes, though he doesn’t stop talking whatever fancy talk he's talking to their rich-ass client for the night.
Nope, not even a hitch in the convo. The runt is all smooth and professional like as they eat fancy (tiny) steaks and funny-shaped potatoes from big, gold-trimmed plates, all of them using their third forks for the evening.
Grimmjaw’s only ever needed one of the damned things for any meal before, but who knows what the hell these yuppies think when they're putting their fancy little schmoozing opportunities together?
Clenching his teeth, Grimmjaw chews his filet mignon (or whatever) slowly, keeps from fidgeting with his damned tie, and even manages not to down wine like it’s the only thing worth looking twice at out of the spread here.
This whole formal dinner thing is definitely worse than multiple bullet wounds, he thinks.
But Urquiola is sitting across from him looking all calm and composed and seeing that, all Grimmjaw needs to endure this whole fiasco is the knowledge that the little twerp believes in him.
So he lowers his eyes to the plate and chants “He believes in me, he believes in me, he believes in me…” a few more times before turning to his neighbor and managing to say, “er, pass the bread….please,” without straining anything too badly.
END
Title: Punching Bag
Characters: Ikkaku, Kira
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I couldn’t help myself?
So this is the gym Tetsu’s been workin’ out at lately, huh?
Ikkaku takes a look around and figures that it’s no wonder the doof can afford it on his pittance-ain’t really all that impressive.
But all Madarame needs is a solid sandbag and some gloves and he’s good, figures that if this is the cheapest deal in town to get that, then hell, he’s willing to pay.
And his friend had even talked about a cute blonde thing working the desks in the early evenings as an added perk, and well, if that’s part of the deal Ikkaku isn’t gonna pass that up either.
So he ignores the rundown (for a gym) sort of feel of the place and pushes into the doors, heading to the front desk to sign up with a little anticipatory look in his eye.
The blond that looks up at him from behind the counter isn’t the one he’d been expecting.
But he supposes that’s his own fault.
It’s a pretty looking blond boy that blinks owlishly at him when he strolls up, managing a quiet, sort of withdrawn, “w-welcome!” when he sees Ikkaku stop in front of him.
The bald bartender grits his teeth and figures he’ll give Tetsu a nice talkin’ to later about things like this. Just ‘cuz he’s explorin’ his newfound bisexuality or whatever doesn’t mean he’s gotta leave out important things like this when he’s talkin’ to people who aren't.
“Er…” he manages, after getting past his surprise. “Here to sign up for a membership? Referred by a friend who just signed up not too long ago.”
The blond nods. “Oh! Okay,” and offers a sheepish smile before moving to get the appropriate forms.
Ikkaku signs them and with a sigh, looks around and maybe wonders if there aren’t some other cute blonde’s around here, and Tetsu’d been funnin’ him about the bein’ behind the counter thing.
Though, lookin’ at the guy, Madarame supposes wouldn’t be too far off from Tetsu’s type-likes the cute ones, all skinny and pale and sweet lookin’, Ikkaku thinks. Yumi got to him (another one?) and all that.
He goes to get changed and comes out when he’s ready, warms up even a bit, and ignoring the like, two other guys that’re workin’ the weights right now, heads straight for the sandbag. Probably too much to hope that there’s someone on staff here to brace the thing for him, but he can deal with that, doesn’t plan on going all out right now anyway, since he’s gotta work later and the last thing he needs is to either be too tired (tends to make him pissy, tends to start fights at the Brigand) or too buzzed (tends to get him energized, tends to start fights at the Brigand) tonight, not when boss is gonna be in-house.
So he moves to the sandbag after stretching, pretty intent on having to go at it on his own.
Except that skinny blond suddenly shows up again, has his hands wrapped and has taken off that hooded sweater he’d been wearing, the one that had looked like it was daddy’s and he’s just a little kid playin’ dress up when he’s got it on.
“Um… I’ll hold for you,” the guy says, softly again, so that Ikkaku’s gotta strain to hear it.
And the bald man can’t believe it, because even with this featherweight holding the thing it’s not gonna make much of a difference, judgin’ on how strong he (doesn’t) looks. “Oi, don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” he says.
“Gym policy that I do this,” Izuru states, hoping that this customer doesn’t get mad at him about that. “It’s an old bag and…well, just to make sure it doesn’t come off the chain or break or anything…”
Ikkaku arches a brow. “Sure you ain’t gonna be the one to break?"
Kira blinks at that, because no one has ever really cared about that before. “E-eh?”
Ikkaku stares. Can’t really believe the guy. “Um. Nevermind. Just sayin’… don’t look like you’re up to this sorta thing, is all.”
Kira offers a smile, a little more geniuine than the one he’d given at the counter. “I’ll be okay.”
Well. Whatever. Ikkaku supposes he ain’t got the liberty to be tellin’ other fellas what’s good for ‘em and what’s not (knows better after bein’ friends with Yumi, after all), and that said, he gets in position on one side of the bag, lets the blond get on the other. “You ready?”
“Y-yes!”
Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Ikkaku sighs at the scared-puppy response and decides that he’ll give a good right straight off the bat, maybe intimidate the guy into giving up early on so he doesn’t end up regretting it when he gets knocked over later.
And that’s exactly what he does. Throws a hard right and it slams into the bag, hears the satisfying thunk, the smack of his glove on the material, feels the sand displace, the bag swishing back like expected but…then, then it stops. Doesn’t go half as far as he’d planned.
“V-very good!” the blond says at that, when Ikkaku pauses to stare a bit incredulously. “Um… maybe… shift your hips a little more so you have a better rotation when you step in?”
Ikkaku wants to scratch his head, but he doesn’t got the fingers right now. Stares at the blond guy a little bit more instead, before, very slowly, sayin’ “Like this?” and doin’ it again. Harder even, this time.
Same result.
“Yes! Like that.” The blond nods encouragingly, and hell, he even looks a little bit pleased at being able to help.
Well shit.
Suppose that’s somethin’ Ikkaku can get behind. He grins. “’m Ikkaku.”
The other man's turn to blink this time, like he never expected anyone in the world to go ahead and give him their name.
Ikkaku smirks. “What, you don’t got a name for yourself yet or somethin’?”
“Aah! Sorry…Izuru. I’m…Izuru.”
“Well, pleased to meetcha, Izuru. And pardon me for underestimatin’ ya, but I ain’t gonna go easy from here on out, got me?” he demands, pointing with his glove and grinning anticipatorily.
Izuru smiles back, and it looks ten times better’n any of the ones Ikkaku’d seen from the kid earlier. Like he was waitin’ for this sort of challenge all day or something. “Alright!”
Ikkaku finds himself laughing a little at that, before bending his knees, drawing his gloves up, and getting back to work. As he does, he can't help but think that hell, maybe Tetsu was a little bit right about there bein’ a cute blond workin’ the counter at this dump after all.
END
Title: Three Hundred and Sixty Five Days
Characters: AkonxMayu
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
A/N: For Shini’s second (or first, technically) request on my lj! ^^ Prompt was: “Occasion.” I SUCK because the OOC BURNS.
He goes to work like it’s any other day (because as far as he’s concerned it is) arriving half an hour early for his shift and making a fresh pot of coffee for himself before heading to his office and preparing for the day’s workload. He pointedly ignores the little calendar on his desk that marks today’s date, even manages to forget about the electronic post-it-note that moron had somehow managed to leave on the desktop of his computer (hacking again, no doubt), the damned reminder flashing obnoxiously and making a weird series of irritating noises whenever Mayuri clicks on it and tries to delete the confounded thing.
He mutters to himself for a moment about it, but is (sadly) long since used to such idiocy from his younger coworker such that it doesn’t get to him too much. Once he succeeds in turning the sound off so that the more annoying of the note’s features ceases to exist in the world of his office, he proceeds to open his data program and get to work instead, effectively blocking out that and all other particularly irritating reminders of today’s date.
He works in blissful silence for a good hour and gets a satisfactory amount of paperwork done before another figure bursts into his office without knocking, late for work (unsurprisingly) and full of energy from the extra sleep his tardiness allowed for.
“Good morning, darling!”
Mayuri frowns at the disgustingly tasteless farce of a moniker, and Akon, smirking at the reaction, doesn’t need anything more than that to prepare him for the work day.
Better than coffee, really.
“You’re late. And knock before you enter, you insolent little…”
Akon is obviously in too good a mood to rise to Mayuri’s bait today, stopping beside the older man’s chair and leaning down to kiss his cheek rather enthusiastically. “Happy…”
“Would you stop interrupting me? I…”
“…anniversary!”
Mayuri twitches at the verbal acknowledgement of what today signifies, words dying in his throat. He glares a little and turns back to his computer screen. “Go to your own office.”
Akon grins and plops down into the extra chair instead. “So,” he starts conversationally, “what’d you get me?”
“A free lobotomy,” comes out of Mayuri’s mouth before he can even think about it properly and he pauses at that, horrified at the fact that his response sounded more like something someone else would say than something he would.
Akon simply chuckles in a highly amused, pleasantly surprised manner and leans back more comfortably in his seat. “My.”
The older doctor scowls and resumes typing, with more purpose now. “Leave.”
Akon clucks. “Three-hundred-and-sixty-five-days is all it took, hmmm? Why, I do believe we’ve achieved what one would call a breakthrough, Kurotsuchi-sensei. You, my dear friend, have just demonstrated that you indeed have a sense of humor.”
Mayuri ignores him.
Akon keeps talking anyway-he never can be agreeable, the little bastard.
“You must feel a sense of displacement, I’d imagine-it’s only natural for first timers who begin these processes at your age. But we’ll work through them with a bit of stamina and lots of electroshock, I’d imagine…”
Mayuri sighs as Akon goes into a prolonged explanation about treatment and the psychological consequences, strain on already aging and dying brain cells, etc. etc. etc.
He reaches into the top drawer of his desk and grabs the box he knows is sitting there. The one that, consequently, fits perfectly into his palm and contains something heavy enough to be considered a satisfactory projectile.
One hand still working the mouse over his spreadsheets, the older doctor flings the object at Akon’s nattering face.
Akon, perhaps having been waiting for that exact action all this time, catches the package before it can bop him on the nose.
“There,” Mayuri grunts, noncommittally. He gets back to work. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Leave.”
Akon looks down at the obviously store-wrapped box in his hand, the ribbon and paper too professionally done to be something Mayuri might put together, and really, this sort of thing is definitely not anything the old bat would bring to Nemu ever.
He reaches into his coat pocket and draws out an envelope then, putting it on the desk and sliding it over towards his companion. “There,” he echoes, sounding satisfied.
Mayu eyes it, but doesn’t move to touch it. “Leave.”
Akon grins and stands, heading towards the door in an act of surprisingly easy compliance to Mayuri’s request, but at the same time, still feeling like he’d won the round anyway. “Dinner!” he announces halfway out of the room, like it’s exactly that and not the request it ought to be phrased as. “I’ll wait for you out by your car-my turn to pick the restaurant.”
Mayuri ignores him.
Akon, still smiling, leaves for his own office, present tucked-unopened-under his arm.
END
Title: Ambitious
Characters: TetsuxYumi
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
A/N: For Tsuki’s request for the lj drab meme! ^^ Request was: “study habits.” AGAIN I SUCK SO MUCH I FAIL.
“Mmm… electrolysis?”
“Very good!”
Ikkaku cringes as he walks out into the living room to what is beginning to (unfortunately) be a very familiar sight, the bald man studiously averting his eyes as he heads for the kitchen in search of sustenance. The attempt to see no evil is completely moot though, because he can still hear the smack of lips against lips as Tetsu is happily rewarded for his latest right answer.
Not too surprising, but the big idiot can be pretty astute when he’s got the right motivation, or something.
Ikkaku supposes sex is a good enough motivation-- can understand that part at least-- but dammit, why the hell do they gotta study in the living room?
Yumi pulls back just as it’s getting interesting though, laughing and touching his nose to his lover’s. “Next question!”
Tetsu groans and tries to steal another kiss, but is promptly blocked off when Yumi raises the textbook between their faces and squeals in protest.
“Ah! No cheating, Tetsu!”
“But we haven’t for like, two weeks and…”
“Finals!” Yumi reminds him, poking the larger man’s ribs where he knows he’s sensitive. “You are going to ace your finals.”
Tetsu sighs, though he can’t really argue with Yumi’s methods considering the last time they studied together he totally kicked ass on his organic chemistry midterm.
Now, time for the final.
“Fine, fine,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around the smaller man and pressing a kiss to the side of his throat anyway.
All in the name of good grades, right?
Hell, even Ikkaku had been suitably impressed with the results of his last tests, though Madarame would never admit it.
To be honest, Ikkaku’s almost even proud of the big lunkhead. It’s the agony he has to endure during the studying that’s the problem, really.
“Nnnngh, well, if you’re that eager… give me a correct definition of what a cycloalkane and I might be inclined to help you sleep a little easier tonight…”
“Chemical compounds with one or more carbons that’re attached to hydrogens.”
Even Ikkaku has to pause at how quickly that response gets fired off. Was it even right?
“Mmmm, that’s my boy.”
“Sweet.”
The bald bartender cringes. Apparently, it was right.
“And for extra points towards oral, tell me which cycloalkanes are organized into which categories!”
Ikkaku makes a face at that particular bribe and hopes to god that Tetsu doesn’t get the answer right, if only to preserve his sanity later tonight, when he’s trying to sleep while the two lovebirds are next door.
“Um…categories are… small, normal and large. Cyclopropane and cyclobutane’re the small ones, cyclopentane, cyclohexane, cycloheptane are the normal ones, an’ the rest are the bigger ones- generally called cycloparaffins.”
Ikkaku gapes.
Yumi beams and draws Tetsu down for another long, slow kiss.
Vaguely dazed, the bald bartender wanders back into his own room, the quest for snacks forgotten.
At the rate they’re going…
…Tetsu’s gonna be a fuckin’ doctor.
END
Title: In a Family Way
Characters: Ikkaku, Kenpachi and um… her. (Mentions of IkkakuxRan)
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: For Virgo and Mei for guessing that only I could write creepy GinxKira pron and honestly try to work fluff and love and fuzzy feelings into it. XD The prompt was: “Kenpachi, Ikkaku- Semi-father/son moment.”
A/N: Technically Mei requested the other prompt, but I figure since she has to write the same one I won’t overlap with her so I don’t feel outdone. XD Though I sort of hate this either way. Meh.
He plods back into the Brigand half-dazed and blank-faced, fist clenched unconsciously at his side as each step brings him closer to home.
It’s late enough that the lights should be off but they’re not, and with a vague sort of dread he realizes Kenpachi is probably waiting in the wings to kill him good and proper after having missed his shift tonight.
He never thought he’d say it, but work seems to be the least of his worries.
Positive.
It came back positive.
He’s not ready for this.
He’ll never be ready for this.
And today is just not his day maybe, because it seems like it’s just one thing he’s not prepared for on top of another. Couldn’t even get cut a break and hope that Kenpachi would be too fed up with his idiocy to stay up waiting for him. Figuring he’ll just have to deal-seems like that’s been his life’s broken-record refrain lately-- and steeling himself, Ikkaku closes the door behind him with an air of decisiveness and waits for the first blow to land.
It’s usually accompanied by the sound of a cigarette being lit, but he hears the general sound of infant-discontent instead and right now, right now that’s worse.
He forgets sometimes, that boss has got someone else to look out for now, that it means Ikkaku’s gotta act old enough to take care of himself.
Nothing like failure to kick you right in the gut just when you thought you were pulling your act together.
“Tch, just got her to sleep to,” Zaraki’s voice starts, mildly perturbed as Yachiru fusses in her basket.
“Sorry,” Ikkaku murmurs, automatically. “I’m just gonna head up and…”
“The hell you are. Take responsibility for your dumbass actions’n c’mere,” Kenpachi instructs instead, deftly picking up the baby girl he’d found a few weeks ago like he’s been doing it for years.
Yachiru makes an inquisitive sound as Kenpachi holds her.
The larger man’s words are too painful an irony to be a coincidence and as he makes his way tentatively over, Ikkaku can’t help but wonder who Kenpachi’s been talking to, what kind of suspicions his surrogate father might have.
“Here,” Kenpachi grunts, handing Yachiru over. “Make sure ya hold her head up. Thing’s so damned big probably weighs more’n the rest of her.”
Ikkaku protests even as he finds himself with an armful of curious baby. “Er, I don’t think I should…”
Yachiru promptly shuts him up by sticking two small fingers rather forcibly up his nose, the little girl making a general burbling noise of question in the back of her throat at being held by someone other than Zaraki.
“Ack.”
Kenpachi grins-bastard looks positively proud-when that tiny, questing fist follows up the assault by bopping Ikkaku pretty damn solidly on the underside of his jaw.
“Huh,” Ikkaku grunts, forgetting his earlier protests. “She’s how old?”
Zaraki leans back, looking relaxed. “Dunno, exactly. But she’s gonna have a hell of a punch.”
Ikkaku feels something akin to smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like.”
He moves to return the inquisitive bundle (who’s now tugging at his might-be-clean shirt and wrinkling her nose) then, but Kenpachi stays him with just a look.
“Think you’re off the hook that easy you got another thing comin’, dumbass,” Zaraki grunts, standing up.
He stretches, and Ikkaku really hopes he’s not gonna get beat while holding the baby.
Instead, Kenpachi moves to exit the bar, cracking his neck and shoulders in that way that’ll never stop being intimidating to Ikkaku no matter how old he gets.
“You woke her up, you get her back to sleep. “m headin’ upstairs.”
“But…”
“Better get to work rockin’ or singin’, or whatever… yer pullin’ double shift tomorrow.” At that he grins, shark-like and smug. “Some penitence’ll do you good, ya damned brat.”
“I…”
However, before he can voice his protests, Yachiru promptly smacks him in the face with a small, open palm.
Then laughs at him as the door closes decisively behind Zaraki.
Ikkaku sighs and looks down at her helplessly. Sees two big, smiling eyes looking right back up at him, unapologetic.
“Waah!” she says after a second or two, and it sounds suspiciously like some sort of demand.
“Huh,” he says back, just because he feels like he ought to respond.
She giggles.
At that he’s got to admit-she’s kinda cute.
You know, for a sadistic, evil, man-beating little thing.
After a moment, Ikkaku mutters resignedly to himself (not charmed by the little brat, nope, not at all) and hefts her higher against his shoulder before proceeding to very awkwardly attempt to rock her back to sleep as fast as possible.
He figures-in a dread-filled way-that he could probably use the practice.
Yachiru lets him know she appreciates his efforts by very promptly soiling her diaper.
END
Title: Karmic
Characters: AkonxMayu
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Mayuri daydreams.
A/N: For Sid! I’m so out of practice, I’m sorry. ;_;
He thinks it would be nice to wake up one morning and not have another form flumped haphazardly all over him, pushing him to skirt his side of the bed dangerously close to the edge.
He also thinks it’d be nice if the alarm wasn’t right next to his ear because of that, so when it goes off promptly at 6:30am and Akon automatically flaps his wrist in a universal motion of seeking the snooze button, Mayuri wouldn’t be smacked in the face as often as he is.
And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have whirlwind Akon not burst into the kitchen after hitting snooze a few too many times, scarfing down toast and eggs like a beggar at a soup kitchen before smiling, haphazard and winningly, at Nemu in thanks for the meal before grabbing Mayuri-usually before he’s done with his own meal-by the collar and dragging him out to the car.
“I wasn’t the one behind schedule,” Mayuri hisses on those days and Akon smirks when he hears that, usually ends up throwing the both of them into the backseat for a good twenty minutes just so he can have the satisfaction of making the older man late.
It makes Mayuri twitch whenever he thinks about it, and for the first time in a long time he thinks he might be wishing for something different to come along, if only to regain some trace of the tranquility his former life had held, before an obnoxious brat stormed into it and decided that regular sex for his boss would make him more agreeable.
As a result of this sudden and unwanted shift Mayuri finds himself daydreaming-disgusting word-more than he ever had before, absently stirring his coffee at work and imagining happy situations that involved Akon getting transferred, Akon getting hit by a truck, Akon choking on his vacuumed-down toast and eggs.
The images bolster him on the worst of days, though he more than anyone else knows by now that fantasies are just fantasies and reality is a thousand times removed from what a person might wish it to be, no matter how fervent.
The transfer papers Mayuri submits on Akon’s behalf week after week are simply twittered at by the majority of the hospital staff (cooed over how cute they are), Akon hasn’t choked on anything (well, fatally) yet, and the last time Mayuri tried to nudge him into traffic the bastard had grabbed his hand before stepping off the curb, just in time to hail the attention of a passing taxi.
They’d had a ride to a passable Italian restaurant that night, but no splatter of insolent remains all over the concrete like Mayuri had anticipated.
“We don’t always get what we want,” Akon tells him on occasions like that, like he’s reading Mayuri’s mind (it makes him feel dirty just thinking that), and he growls and grumbles and snaps, “I know that, imbecile,” to the younger man’s smug declaration on reflex.
Akon smirks at that usually, tightens the knots pinning Mayuri’s hands to the bedpost above his head and cups the older man’s chin almost tenderly. “But you can trust that most of us, Kurotsuchi-san, will get exactly what we deserve.”
That said, he smiles into their kisses and Mayuri is always left wondering what heinous crime he committed in the last life to deserve this.
END
Title: Establishing a System
Characters: AkonxMayu
Timeline: N/A
Rating: PG-15
Summary: Akon is a study in chaos theory.
A/N: For some reason AkonxMayu is giving me much greater joy than the things that ought to lately.
Mayuri likes his eggs over-easy and well done to solidity all the way through, doesn’t like the yolks to still be liquid soft when he eats them because it makes a mess if he punctures them unwittingly, causing the yellow insides to bleed all over everything else and thus make the separation of tastes and quantity imprecise, an uncontrolled variable. He likes the ratio of white-to-yolk at a comfortable two-to-one per bite. No salt, no pepper.
Akon eats his sunny side up and always punctures his yolk with the fork before grabbing the ketchup bottle and squeezing a nice big blob right on top. Soy-sauce and pepper promptly follow, and Mayuri has to clench his teeth a bit so bile doesn’t rise in his throat as he looks at the vile mess on the younger man’s plate every morning, sopping wet and perfect for buttered toast to be dipped right into.
Mayuri likes to leave exactly thirty minutes before he’s due to check in for work because it takes exactly fifteen and a half to get to the hospital from his apartment by car in standard weekday morning city traffic. He listens to Tchaikovsky during the drive and thinks about what he will need to do first once he arrives at St. Camillo’s.
Akon is still eating his breakfast in the car on the way to work because Mayuri silently got up and pocketed his keys before the younger man was even halfway through, causing him to grab two more slices of toast, fork his dripping egg concoction between said slices and hastily wrap the bottom half of his makeshift sandwich in a napkin before grabbing the tumbler of coffee Nemu has already prepared for him just as he likes, the spiky-haired surgeon grinning and winking to her as he slips out the door after her father and slides into the passenger seat of the car before Mayuri can lock him out. During the ride he hums to the music even though he doesn’t know the tune and does it all around mouthfuls of slimy egg-and-toast sandwiches or coffee. Once in a while he attempts to switch the station when he thinks Mayuri isn’t looking and when he does, usually only succeeds in getting his hand very sharply and methodically slapped by the older doctor’s.
Mayuri parks in his spot exactly fifteen minutes and thirty seconds after he leaves the apartment, getting his briefcase out of the backseat while he tries to ignore the fact that he might see a crumb or two of toast left on the floor of the passenger side. He never wants to get into it with Akon that early and simply makes a mental note to have the freeloading slob clean up after himself come the weekend. All he wants at those moments is to get into the hospital and start his fourteen minutes and thirty seconds of pre-work time so that he can meet the day fully prepared for what is expected of him.
Akon likewise gets out of the car but has to stop to lick some remnants of drippy yolk and ketchup off of the back of his hand where it oozed down while he was eating before he grabs his own worn briefcase and follows after Mayuri. He checks in the minute he steps in the door (because he’s here) though he knows the other doctor won’t check himself in until his shift officially starts, on the dot. Checked in or no he’s still got fourteen and a half minutes to do as he damn well pleases, so Akon follows Mayuri to the older man’s office and ignores the weary look of distaste Kurotsuchi shoots him when he manages to slip inside before the crotchety old bastard can lock him out.
Some days he’ll just plop down in the chair opposite the senior physician’s and nap for fifteen minutes while Mayuri works, Akon mentally cued to the familiar pattern of sounds the other doctor makes when he gets up to go check in officially so that he’ll know when he’s got to be up and in his own office. It’s his signal to go and get some work done maybe, though more often than not he officially waits for however long it takes for Mayuri to kick him out successfully before leaving.
On other days he’ll be too awake to nap for those extra minutes and Mayuri’s surly look will bolster his good humor even more, causing him to hop spryly over the desk in a spectacular show of youth and plop down on Mayuri’s personal chair instead of the extra one, smirking up at the other man’s irate expression before pulling Kurotsuchi down into his lap and going about getting for himself, everything he might need to prepare for the day in the next fourteen minutes (or more, sometimes he needs lots of preparation).
Mayuri’s been late to work all of three times in his entire life and all three times have been due to the same reason.
Disruption of the system.
“You’ve ruined my life,” Mayuri will hiss, mustering up enough bad-humor to glare up at Akon even though his cheeks are high with color and he’s squirming at (not quite away from, mind) the hand on his ass.
“Murphy’s Law,” Akon will toss back casually, thoughtlessly, concentrating more on digging through Mayuri’s top right desk drawer with his free hand in search of lubrication.
Approximately fifteen-to-twenty minutes later Mayuri will storm out of his office to go check in and find something he can use to wipe his desk off with, flushed and glowering and just the tiniest bit disheveled.
Behind him, Akon will lean back in Mayuri’s chair and stare up at the ceiling, thinking about whether he ought to go to his own office or not, yet. More often than not he’s laughing.
Mayuri eventually returns and has composed himself, demanding Akon leave him to peace so that he can get some work done.
Usually Akon’s got stuff to do himself by then, and he’s in good enough spirits after the fact to comply with his grumpy bastard’s orders, smugly pressing a winning kiss on Mayuri’s cheek right against the bridge of his nose before strolling out of the room, whistling loudly and cheerfully enough to drown out Kurotsuchi’s threats of having him transferred to the morgue.
Akon works with varying levels of concentration up to about lunch time, in which case he gets up to refill his coffee tumbler and reheat whatever bento Nemu-chan has packed for him today: usually something different for every day of the week because he likes the variety.
Mayuri will be in the break room already when he gets there and in the middle of preparing to eat his box of precisely four gyoza, one half-cup of rice, four ounces of broiled, salted salmon, and European style salad with no dressing.
Akon will plop down beside him, steal a gyoza, and ask him if he wants to try the neat-looking crab-and-pork-and-scallion-and-glass-noodle steamed bao his daughter had made for his lunch today.
Mayuri will promptly say “No,” in which case Akon would take a bite, chew, swallow, and kiss him so he’ll have to at least get a hint of the flavor.
Other hospital workers may or may not be in the break room with them when he does this.
Mayuri is beginning to just sigh and try it upon the initial offering, if only for the fact that he’s tired of the nurses all giggling and clustering inside the small room while he’s trying to eat lunch, the lot of them expecting to get to see something.
They finish lunch and Mayuri intends to get right back to work whether he’s finished eating one minute early or thirty.
Akon follows him, intent on extending the lunch whether they’ve still got thirty minutes or one minute left.
Sometimes Akon wins and Mayuri has to endure his work being put off for a while longer, has to endure kisses that taste like food he doesn’t want to eat and hands that have other things to do but are more often than not, too busy undoing his belt.
Sometimes Mayuri wins and he slams the door shut and locks it behind him, the wood smacking the insolent little brat on the nose and the click of the bolt both superbly satisfying sounds.
They work separately until the day is over and when Mayuri steps out of his office at six-thirty pm Akon is waiting outside, looking relaxed because he’d spent the last twenty minutes loafing around beside the door.
They end up checking out at the same time anyway, and by then Mayuri’s too tired to try and lock the imbecile out of his car, too tired to remember the toast crumbs from this morning, and too tired to slap Akon’s hand away from the dial when he changes the radio stations (four or five times during the course of the trip) on the way back to the apartment.
They get home at around six-forty-five and dinner is warm and waiting. Akon talks to Nemu animatedly about the day while Mayuri tries not to look at the mess the younger man has made of his dinner, how all the dishes and side dishes on his plate are touching and even to some extent, mixed together. Corn inside his mashed potatoes, Roast-beef gravy swirling unapologetically with steamed green beans, crumbs from his dinner roll falling carelessly on top of his meat.
They finish and Akon helps Nemu with the dishes while Mayuri goes to read the paper.
He sends Nemu to bed at a reasonable hour and ignores Akon’s questions as to six-letter-words-for-anal-bastards while the younger doctor works on today’s crossword.
He gets up silently to go wash up for bed around eleven and slides into bed twenty minutes after the hour, grateful for the day’s end.
Akon slips into bed an hour later and grabs Mayuri’s ass.
“I’m sleeping.”
“You’re not sleeping if you’re talking about sleeping.”
“I’m ignoring you.”
“That’s acceptable. It's easier if you don't move anyway.”
“Augh, stop it, you insolent, inconsiderate, idiotic…”
“Alliteration, very impressive, Kurotsuchi-sensei.”
“Argh will you…”
Akon usually shuts him up with a kiss at that point, rolls them so he’s on top and smirking down. “I definitely will,” he promises solemnly before resuming his work.
Afterwards, when Akon is absently cleaning the two of them up, Mayuri groans and asks, “Why do insist on doing this every day?!”
To which Akon grins and lays his head down, tired but sated as Mayuri sulks beside him.
“Out of concern for you, of course,” he responds cheerily, cheekily, lazily, daresay, happily. “I know how much you love routines after all.”
Mayuri sometimes feels like he has no one to blame for this but himself.
END