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They Didn't Get the Memo	By : gypsygrrl420 Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1503 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make any money off of this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-They Didn't Get the Memo
- 1
This was written in response to a challenge by the lovely Ichibanseiken over on LJ. It's pure and unadulterated crack, and I hope it gives everyone a laugh. Grimmjow, Starrk, and other Espada have been reborn into Soul Society and serve as shinigami in the Gotei. Shuuhei is now captain of the 9th. I took some liberties with Shuuhei's bankai, but I hope I can be forgiven. Please read and review!
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The dark-haired captain wasn’t one to accept smuggled contraband from the Living World, though over the years since the ryoka invasion and the end of the Winter War he’d found himself mightily tempted by some of the rare goods making their way through the Senkaimon on a regular basis as Kurosaki and his friends (once Kurosaki had regained his shinigami powers, that is) came and went freely, splitting their time between the human world and the spirit world.
Electronics that, though still primitive compared to the technology found in the 12^th, were more easily accessible to common shinigami (meaning no stacks of form to fill out, no dealing with the scary Kurotsuchi-taicho, and more importantly, didn’t cost a body part to requisition); exotic fruits that could usually only be found in the wealthiest of noble kitchens tempted the palates of unseated officers; Western-style clothing that embodied the height of Living World fashion could be seen on more than one off-duty officer thronging the streets of the Seireitei and Rukongai.
No one was quite sure which shipment of contraband first introduced the flat-bodied, stinking-to-high-heaven-when-killed little insects into the Spirit realm; all anyone knew was that the little fuckers thrived in Soul Society’s temperate climate, and all too soon could be found lurking everywhere.
The first time Shuuhei had laid eyes on one of the disgusting creatures, he’d been seated behind his desk while his sixth seat droned on and on about requisitions forms and supply closets. It had been an unusually warm day—warm enough that Shuuhei had taken off his haori and draped the white garment over the back of his chair—and the increasing heat in the office was making him drowsy.
Starrk, seated at the desk catty-corner to his own, had already dozed off, a neat stack of completed reports serving as his pillow.
Grimmjow had yet to stop by with lunch for the three of them, but Shuuhei knew that the former Espada would appear sooner or later; Zaraki had a bad habit of trying to get the blue-haired 6^th seat of his division to spar with him right before lunch time, to “work up an appetite” as the mountain of a man put it, and nine times out of ten managed to coerce the hot-tempered ex-Arrancar into fighting him before letting him finally escape to the 9^th to spend a pleasant hour or four with his “pack”.
Distracted by his sleepiness, stomach just beginning to protest its emptiness, and looking forward to both food and curling up with Starrk and Grimmjow on the futon in the next room for a nap after lunch—a rather new part of his daily routine that Starrk had instilled even before they started sharing a bed at night, and one that Shuuhei had quickly come to appreciate—he didn’t notice the insect creeping across the edge of his desk—but his sixth seat did.
The skinny officer shrieked, startling Shuuhei so badly that he nearly feel off his chair, and swatted at the small bug, squishing it flat against the shining mahogany surface, just as Starrk’s head jerked up from the stack of paperwork it had been resting on and Lilynette’s barrel was suddenly aimed at the perceived threat to one of his lovers, and the door to the office slid open to reveal a panting, sweaty, manically-grinning Grimmjow carrying three bento boxes.
The squashed bug gave off an awesome, nauseating stench that quite killed Shuuhei’s appetite—in fact turned his stomach—and he scrambled away from the vile odor so fast that his normally graceful figure almost hit the floor as his chair shot out from under him.
The sixth seat that had killed the bug gagged, his eyes watering, and clapped a hand over his mouth, backing away from the desk fast, nearly knocking into Grimmjow, who was already retching as the stench overwhelmed his sensitive nose.
Starrk too had his hand clamped over his nose and mouth, eyes streaming tears as the foul odor hit him, and Lilynette wavered in his hand.
“Shit!”
Shuuhei scrambled away from his desk as the kido fired, coughing as the little bug was incinerated along with paperwork, reports, and most of the antique piece of furniture that had served several captains before Shuuhei had taken the white coat representing his position as head of the 9^th division.
He glared at the ex-Primera through tearing eyes, and Starrk at least had the grace to look abashed as he tucked Lilynette back into his obi.
“Sorry?” the long-haired man offered, rising from his chair to help Shuuhei to his feet, earning an even fiercer glare from his captain, who nonetheless allowed his lieutenant to brush dust and debris from his uniform and pick splinters out of his ebony hair.
“Guess your officers didn’t get the memo about the damn stinkers, huh?” Grimmjow asked calmly, eyes gleaming with laughter and something else as he watched Starrk’s gloved hands card through midnight locks carefully, and it was his turn to receive a fulminating glare from the pretty poison-green eyes that were a permanent side-effect of Hisagi’s bankai, obtained only a year before.
“Shut. Up.”
Grimmjow grinned, dropping the neatly wrapped lunches on Starrk’s desk, and he sauntered further into the room, intending to seal that snarling, sexy mouth with his own—and a quite ‘crunch’ filled the air as his sandaled foot came down on yet another one of the pests that had so recently infested Soul Society.
“Damn it!”
Shuuhei covered his mouth as the stench wafted up around them, eyes tearing and yet still promising retribution, and all three bolted for the door and the promise of fresh, stink-free air, any and all thoughts of lunch, naps and other, more erotic activities quite forgotten.
- 1
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They Didn't Get the Memo