Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Romance and Rivalries	By : Kinnikuman Category: Bleach > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither author owns or holds any rights to "Bleach". No profit is made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter Eighteen
By Rachael
There were some days at the office, where it seems like centuries have passed, rather than a few measly hours. Today sucked… perhaps just in comparison to the day before. Yesterday had been a wonderful day; their break from the office had been taken up by going out with Grimmjow to beat up some kid. It had been explained to him during his last five minutes before lunch; the blue haired man came in, royally ticked off about something, but he had this creepy Cheshire cat style grin on his face, and Stark was with him. It had been something to do with the guy who kissed Grimmjow’s little squeeze in high school. He was in from the phrase ‘Teach him a lesson’… though in fairness, he’d have been willing to help because it was Grimmjow; they bonded over mutual hatred of Luppi. It was the best lunch break ever; they’d followed Kurosaki Ichigo and his friend with really long red hair who Grimmjow called ‘that little bastard’. Anyway, it had been one hell of a fight, they sent Stark around to head them off and get them talking. God, the red-headed kid nearly shat himself when him and Grimmjow came out, Stark held down Kurosaki Ichigo, who didn’t half flail around, fairly useless though. He’d let Grimmjow lay in the first punch, the kid put up a bit of a fight – not enough for his liking, but it made it seem fairly fun. Nnoitra was a nice guy, always willing to help his friends, especially when it involved beatings… It was truly an excellent day… unlike now.
Nnoitra groaned as he reread the case before him… it was very dull… Some guy had lost… something… Tossing aside the part of him that was a professional, the man in him, wondered at times why he should care about these people? Some guy doesn’t fix a door handle in properly and his roommate falls down the stairs when the doorknob comes off, breaks his ankle… Why should he care? The defendant was a tightwad who didn’t want to pay out for a professional D.I.Y. person to come and fix in his doorknob. Should being a tightwad, really be a punishable offence? Clearly, the law thought so.
Today his case as a particularly dull one, and the office environment was wrong. As much as he hated to admit it, it was probably due to the fact Grimmjow wasn’t here… and Luppi was. The stupid little bitch had gathered quite an uninterested crowd, and was yapping away about some poor unfortunate he’d been screwing the other day. The only sane company around him was Stark, who’d once again snuck away from his duties, to nap around the lawyer’s staff room. Mind you, since it was the largest with the best heating… he couldn’t really blame the older man.
“It was the most amazing sex I’ve ever had. He was so sweet too, rang me as soon as I got home. He bought me dinner the other day too, I told you, right? Its destiny,” Luppi was chatting away happily, “True love, I think he’s a keeper, you know?”
God, that brat pissed him off. He thought of texting Tesla to tell him to hurry up collecting their coffee, though most likely all that would achieve would be the blonde man spilling it, and then apologizing meekly for having done so (for the next three hours).
Some of the women in the office were asking questions about Luppi’s ridiculous story… sounded like a load of bull to him from what he did hear. The guy would have to be a mental patient to call Luppi (after all, the little freak would then have a number to ring him back on…), or desperate to take him out to dinner. Theoretically, what should have been Luppi’s type (he’d heard Halibel saying one time) were desperate aging rich nerds, who’d be flattered by his attention and go to great lengths to give him what he wanted. Unfortunately, Luppi had told her he was grossed out by types like that, he liked good-looking guys who had big muscles and liked to have fun. One of the irritated things about working hard at your job is that you learn a load of stupid office crap about your fellow workers.
“I wonder if he’ll cheat on you, Luppi-kun.”
A couple of people chuckled at that; Stark opened an eye to see if Luppi would respond by blowing his lid… Nnoitra knew he wouldn’t, he’d know that voice from anywhere. The perhaps, only person Luppi would never talk back too. Nnoitra looked up and turned his head to see his former lover heading into the staff room, passing the now rather quiet Luppi, who’d reclined into the large sofa, a finger playing with the spine of his mug; like a dog with its tail between its legs.
He’d never known anyone like Szayel. He looked masculine and feminine in small ways; he had a clear bone structure, calculating pink eyes, long lashes, a firm jaw line and muscular shoulders. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ignored Nnoitra’s eyes on him, as he went to open the fridge door.
“Well, actually,” Luppi seemed to have recovered his nerve, “I don’t think he will cheat on me.”
Szayel didn’t dignify him with an answer; he made a small sarcastic sounding affirmative, standing up to pour himself a glass of strange looking liquid. As someone who used to be a medical researcher, Szayel was fanatical about his health; he was always taking things a little compulsively.
“He won’t cheat on me,” Luppi continued, “Because he’s marrying me.”
A couple of people looked up at that, even Stark, who sat upright in interest. It was a ridiculous notion – who the hell would marry Luppi? What a load of horseshit! The room had gone completely quiet. Then the women began to come closer, asking him a long series of questions, which the little fucker jumped to answer, now yapping away cheerfully about how he was going to start wearing the ring… “When it’s alright for him, my fiancé has such an important career; he didn’t want a big show yet!”
Szayel rolled his eyes, putting the flask in the sink and turning towards the back door of the staff room. Cautiously, Nnoitra reached out and touched his wrist, feeling the material of his white lap-coat, a hint of the soft white skin between it. Touching Szayel had been… an incredibly rare thing ever since…
“Hey, stay a little longer,” he said it commandingly, as he said everything, though his tone was softer than normal. “It’s been a while.”
He tugged his arm out of his touch, eyes hardened and narrowed, “I have work to be getting along with.”
“Err, what sort of thing?” It was sort of a dumb thing to ask; when they dated, he once leant over his lover’s shoulder to peer at the documents on his desk. None of it made the slightest bit of sense; having barely passed his high school chemistry, it sort of blew his mind. But it might mean he stayed just a little longer…
“Not that it concerns you,” he folded his arms across his chest, “But Aizen-sama wants me to test out a load of medicine from this series of research documents. It’s all proof for his case against Ishida-san. It’s quite fascinating actually, all of it is accurate and legitimate, but it’s a brilliant compound, I’d never have thought of it myself.”
There it was, the way his eyes would light up when he talked about his work. It was such an attractive quality, even if he wasn’t much of a fighting man. Szayel was beautiful in a way nobody else ever had been before.
“Wow, you must have your hands full.”
“Aizen-sama does want it all taken care of as soon as possible. I’d like longer to study it. Mayuri-san gave me my first job out of college. Though before the lawsuit, we were competitors in research. He worked heavily with Urahara-san, strangely enough; a lot of the theories seem like his old work.”
“Suppose that happens when ya work a lot with the same person, ya learn from them and stuff.”
“Quite,” he looked back at him for the slightest moment, their eyes met, and then Szayel looked away, “I should be getting back to it. This research needs to be 100% proven safe and accurate before Aizen-sama can call upon it in court.”
“Right,” he stiffened up a little, “Of course… err… good luck.”
Why did things have to be so awkward? At first he’d said sorry a lot, he kept saying it, but it meant so little in comparison to what he’d done. Szayel was angry, angry because he’d cared a lot, angry because the person he thought adored him had gone and slept with Luppi of all people. The last time he’d touched him, kissed him, on a bed in a hotel room on a business trip to Hong Kong with Aizen-sama; Szayel had stopped him, and he’d pushed him back and said it didn’t feel the same anymore. It hurt to hear it, but that was the way it had to be.
“God, you look rough,” Stark commented, leaning back and sipping his tea, “You’re not over him, are you?”
Nnoitra shot him a look, “You’re makin’ me sound like a fucking woman.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t my intention,” he closed his eyes, stretching his shoulders slightly, his neck made a sharp sound when he tilted it. “I’m just saying… it’s a shame, he was good for you.”
“Whatever.”
People always said that. He was good for you. Nobody ever said the same thing in vice versa to Szayel, because that guy didn’t need anyone. He was strong and passive regardless, he was calm about having his life’s work taken away by court order, when they’d first met, and he was calm when his brother was shot in a gang fight. He just said, ‘Oh’ when Nnoitra told him he’d cheated on him. Tousen-san said something to him about it, he hadn’t wanted the emotional reaction to get in the way of his work, and Szayel had laughed his calm clinical laugh and said, “Not at all, in fact it will give me a lot more time for my work.”
If he hadn’t seen him bleed, he was sure Szayel would have wires instead of blood.
“So what’s this guy’s name, Luppi-san?”
“Hirako Shinji.”
“Hirako Shinji… like, the guy from Vizard?”
“Aizen-sama’s Hirako Shinji?” he’d heard Stark mumble suddenly.
Nnoitra hadn’t thought anything of it, until Stark jerked upright and spat out his orange juice like it had been replaced with urine or something. His eyes were wide and his face pale.
“Jesus Christ, man! You got your fucking juice on me!” he cried out-raged, then more so as Stark completely ignored him.
“Luppi-san, where did you say you met this guy?”
“Oh I knew you weren’t listening!” he scowled, pouting, before smiling brightly again, “We’ve met a few times, just casually. To tell you a secret, he’s visited me at work before.”
Nnoitra didn’t like the way he said visited… he glanced at Stark, who scribbled it in his notebook, the tiny thing he kept in his jacket pocket… it had a pink cover, as it had been bought as a gift from Stark’s daughter, Lilinette who was ten-years-old and very dynamic in comparison to her father. Then without another word, the older man was walking out the back door, muttering something about having to see Aizen-sama.
Good God, what the fuck was that about?
“What the fuck was that about?” Luppi rolled his eyes, crossing his legs before saying happily to his small audience, “Anyway, he has the most amazing tongue! It’s pierced and it can do all kinds of wonderful things!”
A few women blushed at his boldness, he noticed a few other people, mostly men, who really didn’t need to hear, wincing and going quiet.
And on that uncomfortable moment, Tesla entered the office, his hands full, his back to everyone as he manoeuvred himself to shut the door behind him, calling in a singsong voice, “Hey Nnoitra-sama, I hope you’re in the mood for cookies, because they were on special offer with the coffee!”
There were just some moments in life where a cheerful disposition wasn’t anyone’s bag.
After storming out and into his office, followed by an apologetic Tesla, he accepted the cookies, and coffee, and the documents he’d forgotten to pick up, but evidently, his assistant was prepared for this… and closed his door, sitting at his desk and firing up his laptop. At times he’d forget how lost he’d be without Tesla; the one week he’d had off, Nnoitra had been unprepared for everything… he’d overslept, he’d forgotten a client’s name, he’d gone without all the drinks he wanted, and when he had them they weren’t just the way he liked them. All of these things had put him in a horrible mood. He’d always remind himself of this when Stark would say pleadingly, “Can’t I have him, Nnoitra, he’s so brilliant!?” so he could respond with, “No, fuck off.”
The difficulty with being alone in his office was that he was still incredibly bored by the case in front of him. When it was something interesting, he’d jump at the chance and have it done in hours… things like this seemed to drag on forever. It was enough to make a man cry. That and everything seemed to serve as a distraction to him. Days like this, with the rain outside, Grimmjow on his day off, and nothing better to do, he’d find himself thinking about Szayel.
First he’d think about when they were together, the teasing, playfulness, the sexual creativity, and the small but incredibly quirky things that made it the most meaningful relationship he’d ever had. It was the first time he’d liked someone so much, he’d been cautious of making a move. The first time his heart beat fast without being in combat, when Szayel reached over and placed a hand on his inner thigh, for the very first time and whispered, “I want you,” in his ear.
It was a rush of emotion, a rush of touching and kissing, sucking and squeezing. They dated for three years, and in that time life just seemed to dance by them. A rush of kisses and firm hands, dirty games and whispers… God – and it ended the way it did. It wasn’t like he was even unsatisfied with what he was getting… he didn’t even know why, it was a temporary loss of control, almost animalistic… like two fucking dogs fucking in the dirt… not like people… nothing compared to Szayel. It meant fucking nothing but it ruined everything.
The main thing he remembered about the night before, were the drinks in front of him; bottles that varied in size, glasses (some made of glass, some of plastic) and a few shots. Although he couldn’t remember having any, the taste of cigarettes was distinctive in his mouth.
Nnoitra rubbed his temples, irritated – what the hell had happened last night? This was definitely his bed, recognizable only because he could feel his gun under his pillow. His room was a mess; still wearing the t-shirt he’d gone out in, although the severe lack of pants… or anything else was worrying. He struggled to sit up; his knees pulled to his chest, an aching rush to the brain met him swiftly. When the room was once again, itself, the sound of someone in the shower became his biggest concern.
At first, it clicked – shower, lack of pants, Szayel must be staying over. Some random couldn’t just break into your home and use the shower. His mother used to say it was the height of bad manners to use the shower at a stranger’s home.
With his head returning to normal, Nnoitra smirked, getting out of bed, his mind all set towards an early morning fuck… until the stranger in the shower began to sing. Panic rushed through him like wildfire – someone was in his shower! There was an intruder in his apartment! His hand shot back under the pillow for his gun, eyes widening in horror as he noticed the head was… sticky, glistening with something – too agitated to stop and see what it was, he tossed it aside, instead grabbing a hold of the baseball bat propped against his desk.
Flashes of the previous night popped into his present memory like shooting stars, as he crept towards his bathroom. He could remember drinking… drinking one hell of a lot, Stark stood beside him pelting out song lyrics… Szayel telling him he was going home, shortly after arriving (which didn’t surprise him, as the pink haired man never saw the point in getting drunk)… fighting in an alley-way with someone... singing and dancing in a club… an empty wallet, dancing around a pole on a stage to some American song.
A hot flush spread across his face as he remembered holding a head of silky soft short hair down against his crotch, rocking his hips forward to get his aching member into that hot sweet mouth – his other hand sweaty against the taxi window.
Shit! That was definitely not Szayel! His lover was all for kinky sex, in fact as far as fucking went he was filthy… But he knew it wasn’t him. As he pushed the bathroom door open, the memory of his headboard banging against the wall, a thigh against his chest, his own hands holding a rather small foot against his shoulder, yelling out repeatedly at he pounded into a boy lying on his side – Shit – shit – shit! He wanted to cover his face… how the fuck was he going to tell Szayel? What was he going to tell him? And fucking hell… he didn’t even know how his lover would react!
He couldn’t face the stranger in the bathroom… Nnoitra turned his back, groaning; thinking about ringing Tesla, who would, as normal, know how to offer him some comfort. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Listen, I – ” He spoke up, ready to tell the man from last night that he’d made a mistake… he was sorry… something like that. But then he recognized the grinning face that met him.
“Good morning, your showerhead is broken by the way,” Luppi declared, stepping past him, just handing him a damp towel, and walking naked to where a small pile of clothes lay on the floor.
“Y-You!”
“Yes, me; who did you expect? Last night was really something by the way: Lucky, Szayel… or not.”
He remembered feeling so consumed with fear and guilt at this point that he retaliated in the only way he really knew how: he’d gone crazy. He’d punched Luppi in the face; he’d got him on the floor and tried to strangle him, he’d been so angry he couldn’t form complete sentences. And he could remember fucking everything! It was so dirty… he’d been so drunk and Luppi hadn’t been, he could remember him saying he wasn’t drinking tonight, to Stark, when he’d arrived late, because it would mess up his medication. He could remember that fucking voice in his ear, whispering, “Does it feel as good as your boyfriend? Bet it fucking doesn’t.” He fucked him in his bed, fucked him with his gun…
He wanted to be sick.
Luppi’s face had been bloody, his eyes were all wide… he remembered letting go of him and screaming at him to get the fuck out.
What was worse was that fact that Luppi didn’t really give a shit that he’d broken up a three-year long relationship. In fact there was a rough sort of glee in his eyes when he saw Szayel pass Nnoitra without even a glance in the corridor. The little bastard… they’d all warned Grimmjow, but that guy was always too much of a fucking hot head.
It was infuriating… before Szayel; he’d coupled how men are biologically meant to couple… casual sex with a lot of different people. Well, when he said a lot, he actually meant three … but nobody needed to know that. It wasn’t like he got a lot of attention while his hormones were racing, at school he’d been the skinny weedy little kid who looked like he should be the class victim, but was remarkably stronger than he looked. Any sexual experience was purely coincidental. The only time he’d felt any real passion in the bedroom was during his gap year while he worked at a Fight Bar in the back streets. It was a good job, serving drinks and watching guys fight in ‘The Cage’, that was when he first saw Zaraki Kenpachi. That night was amazing, he’d watched him take on about 30 guys, he didn’t get scratched, he’d didn’t even fall down when they clonked him with the chair. He was massively tall and so crazy; he wasn’t like the others, putting it on the line for quick hard cash, he was doing it because he loved fighting. He even laughed out loud when he got to take on three guys at once. Nnoitra got scolded about twelve times for ignoring customers and watching with wide eyes. It was the first time he got such a rush and wanted someone, not just to have sex, but to feel them. More than anything else, he wanted to fight him. It was an incredible and indescribable feeling. He’d waited until the others left and it was just Kenpachi Zaraki sat in the cage before he approached. They needed no words. They just fought. For the longest time, they were evenly matched, his punches were met and his desire for a worthy opponent purring in his chest. It was almost disappointing when Zaraki over-powered him, he’d jerked him down and kicked him in the stomach, then pinned him to the wall of the cage. There were no words between them, he wanted it, and Zaraki did too… perhaps it was conveyed as they fought or something. He’d never been taken by a guy before… and it was a bloody good place to start; gripping those big firm shoulders, legs locked at the ankles around his firm waist, letting out loud gasps and grunts of pleasure as those erratic thrusts drove him over the edge…
That was a long relationship in terms of what he’d had to compare it to back then. Two months of just sex, just training… it didn’t even end badly. Zaraki was doing well for himself these days, training delinquent brats, had a kid of his own, a little girl.
He’d met Szayel for the first time when Aizen was working against him. That was in his early days at the firm, he’d watched over his Boss all the time, determined to be a good lawyer, feeling rather pissed off by Halibel who was higher ranked and on better pay… even as a PA. He’d watched the court case when Szayel was being stripped of his rights to his own work, some genetic experiments. Afterwards, he’d waited at the door and listened in with Stark, as the Boss asked Szayel to come and work for him instead.
It was the most compelling relationship he’d ever had… he’d wanted him all the time, sometimes not even to fuck him, just to look at him, talk to him, listen to his voice as he chattered away about… DNA or something. Every bit of him just made it harder to distance Nnoitra from what they had. It was painful to think something like Luppi had come between them.
This couldn’t do… he was getting too fucking depressed… “Tesla!” he bellowed, banging his fist on the table, “Tesla, get your ass in here! I want you to get me another coffee!”
There was a pause, followed by a happy call of, “Right away, Nnoitra-sama!”
* * *
There were sometimes he felt fairly grateful that Kisuke liked him after all. He’d been stern with Renji as to the reason why Grimmjow beat him up… but he took his side, he was very caring. In fact, he woke up late the next morning and realized he was late for school… but then Tessai came in with a tray and breakfast, telling him to rest up. It was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, lying comfortably in bed, watching a DVD, thinking about the rest of them slaving away in school… Of course, it wasn’t completely relaxing, as he kept worrying about Kira. Ichimaru-Sensei had been over at the house yesterday, he felt so riled up every time he saw that bastard! And Izuru was being so quiet about it… even when he had those love-bites on his neck… It pissed him off.
Worse than that, he’d been going through the paper when he saw an advertisement for a clothing range… and who would be modelling these over-priced garments… none other than Yumichika. That cocky bastard probably enjoyed having his face all over a page, he’d thrown the paper to one side and prayed the antics of Ultra Man would keep him from thinking about Izuru or Yumichika… or even Grimmjow. It wasn’t exactly how most young men would spend their days off; Renji’s day just seemed to skip past him. He’d just put on an episode of Power Rangers, considering going downstairs and seeing if he could get a snack… when the door opened and who should come in, but Uryu Ishida.
“Hey, never pinned you for the type to skip class.”
“School ended twenty minutes ago, Renji,” he said simply, taking a seat at his bedside, “I see your day has been productive.”
He blushed a little, scrambling for his remote and switching off Power Rangers rather abruptly. “Whatever… don’t talk bad to a sick man, Uryu? It’s bad luck… Anyway, I didn’t think you’d actually turn up to check on me. I mean, your dad asked you a favour.”
Uryu rolled his eyes, “Do you really think I’m childish enough to not do something only because that man asked me too?”
“Err… not really.”
It sucked – working at the hospital together had made them lose the sort of momentum they used to have. Perhaps it was that kiss that triggered him off… but now he’d get really weird and shy around fucking Ishida! The other day at school when their legs touched in assembly, Renji had gone all dark. Not only that, but the other night whilst masturbating… where his fantasies would vary from Ichigo sneaking into his room at night and under his covers, (which would probably be blocked from his head due to fear), Rangiku-san comforting him by letting him put his head in her chest… once he’d thought about Rukia wearing a tight black dress… which had scared him afterwards… more often than not, he’d think about Yumichika because it was easier to imagine, having actually happened. Anyway, the other night he’d been jerking off… and thought about Uryu.
“Anyway, how are you feeling?” he leant in a little closer, “Anything… unusual? Headaches, migraines, blurred vision? Anything like that, Renji-kun?”
He shifted nervously, feeling his cheeks darken considerably, “No… no, and no. I’m fine, just a little sore.”
“You took quite the beating. I never got the full story… you were attacked by two guys?” Uryu asked dismissively, his hands elegantly folded on his lap, “One of them was Grimmjow-san, correct?”
“Err… yeah, that’s right.”
Uryu smirked, “So he was probably taking revenge for your conduct at my party?”
Now that was annoying… Renji shot him a glare, “What about you, Uryu? Has Daddy forgiven you for your… conduct at your party?”
The dark haired boy rolled his eyes, “You sound bitter about it.”
“Well – well!” he protested, flustered, “Look what it did to my reputation! Now everyone thinks I have a thing for four-eyed sewing freaks.”
“Nobody thinks that. And you could do a damn sight worse than ‘four-eyed sewing freaks’.”
“Like hell!”
Uryu pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “It’s probably an improvement. Everyone thought you were just shallow before.”
“Nobody thinks I’m shallow!” He felt his ears burning, “How am I shallow?”
“Did you never notice that Ayasegawa-san is attractive, but he’s about as warm-hearted as Antarctica?”
He shifted awkwardly in his chair, “Well, I suppose I… hey, that’s not the point, knock it off, Uryu!”
“You were the one who began this feeble banter.”
Renji sighed hard, leaning back in his chair, “There we go again. I gotta wonder if you even know how to relax, you’re always on the offence, anyone even says something vague to you and you go off the handle.”
Uryu went quiet, he shrugged his shoulders: “Well… it’s not like you’re any better.”
He liked looking at the other from a distance, like their seats in class. Uryu sat just a little in front of him, in the next row. He was so slender, his hair cut short, giving just a little flash of the white skin on the back of his neck, before it met the collar of his school shirt. And he had the most slim, artistic fingers, the kind a fucking pianist has. Sometimes he’d look back to pass something over, paper, to Tatsuki, who sat behind him… and Renji would find himself watching those eyes, they were so damn blue… you didn’t really notice because of his glasses, but once you did, they were always all you could notice.
God – why was this happening? He was getting sappy over Ishida?! Ishida – of all people!
“I bought this over too,” he said suddenly, opening his bag and dumping a book on his lap, “Homework… Ichimaru-Sensei wants you to redo the essay on Hiroshima… and Kuchiki-san drew you up a card.”
Upon opening the first page of the book, there was a card placed in, with a large Chappy the Rabbit drawn in what appeared to be highlighter pens… and crayon. He felt a soft smile come to his lips. Rukia could be fucking adorable.
“Thanks, Ishida.”
“Yes…” he looked back suddenly, “And err… the Japanese didn’t bomb Hiroshima… but you could have quite the career as one of those conspiracy writers.”
He wasn’t sure… but was that a joke? Did Ishida just try and make a joke? Renji let out a throaty chuckle, his lips drawn into a smile, “Oh, thanks, I guess.”
Uryu’s face had gone slightly pink. It was a very attractive look for him actually. Renji felt his ears burn with shame as his mind tracked back to the other night, imagining Uryu all flushed up, lying on his back on a dirty floor, wearing a fucking white bathrobe…
“Err, yeah, thanks for dropping this off, Ishida. I should be back in school real soon, okay? Most likely tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” he stood up suddenly, picking up his own bag, “I’ll let you rest. Good luck with your recovery.”
As the other boy whipped around the corner, Renji was sure he was blushing… he almost wanted to call him back before he left… His hand rose and touched his lips, his memories lingering back to that kiss. God… maybe Uryu had been thinking about it too. Maybe…
**
There was something incredibly right with his life. It had something to do with the huge billboard just across the street from his apartment block. Yes, a huge billboard with him on it! Irritatingly enough it was photograph taken by that dreadful Charlotte Cuuhlhourne, but it was a stroke of genius at that. The perfect sight to wake up too in the morning…
Unlike the day before… Yumichika had returned from his photo shoot to find Ikkaku sat on his doorstep looking rather cheerful. He’d asked him who died, and the younger man produced a huge tooth from his pocket, opened his mouth wide and gestured to a nasty looking hole where the tooth had been, whilst cheerfully saying, “Lookie!”
He’d nearly been sick.
It sort of killed the mood for anything. Ikkaku tried to kiss him and all he could think about was accidentally putting his tongue in that toothless hole. At times, Yumichika was a very immature sort of man.
But tonight was something different entirely. He’d come home to find three huge guys at his door. Naturally, being the narcissist he was, Yumichika wouldn’t live just anywhere… so hoodlums at his door was hardly acceptable. For the slightest second he felt something run down his spine in fear… God, had he been discovered? Then rationality took over… who the hell had Ikkaku pissed off? They were really big guys too, one of them had long electric pink dreadlocks, and another with short spikes and a third was a skinhead with a nose piercing. They were simply repulsive men.
The skin-head looked up and saw him coming, he nudged the largest man, the one with dreadlocks; who nodded and called out, “Hey, are you Ayasegawa Yumichika?”
He wanted to say no…
“Who’s asking?”
The spiky-haired man reached out and put his hand down at the door frame, “You’re the princess fucking Madarame Ikkaku, aren’t cha?”
How disgraceful… talking to him in such an unsightly manner.
“Oh, aren’t we well informed?” Sarcasm around guys like that would make someone like Kira-kun pass out.
One of the men, the skinhead looked furious at that, leaning in to grab at him. But the larger man put a hand in front of him to break the distance between them.
“We want ya to give him a message, think you can handle that, faggot?”
“And what message would that be?” he asked icily.
“Tell him that Raavi’s gang ain’t happy with how he treated our leader. We intend to make him pay.”

“Through you, if that’s what it takes to get to him,” the pierced man leant in, squeezing Yumichika’s shoulder threateningly from behind him.
“Get your disgusting hands off me-!” He turned around and elbowed the man behind him hard in the stomach, knocking him back against the door frame.
The spiky haired man jerked a hand forward and took Yumichika’s chin in his hand, “You know, he’s as pretty as a girl. Hey, man, maybe we should put some bruises on the queer’s face. To show Madarame we mean business.”
The man with dreadlocks smirked, “You know, that ain’t such a bad idea. What’s the code to get into your front door?” he asked, addressing Yumichika, leaning his head down, gesturing to the access code needed to get in, as well as the key.
Yumichika glared at them, he reached into his pocket, clasping his key between two of his fingers as a makeshift knife, “My access code? Oh I don’t think so.”
“We weren’t asking.”
He felt a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing slightly; threateningly… the hand smelt dirty… like he’d never washed them… simply disgusting.
“Oh, in that case… the code is,” he raised his hand, but the dread-locked man slapped it away.
“I’ll type it in, pretty boy. You just stay there.”
He remained silent for a moment, gathering himself together, stopping when the man squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter, “Well – get the fuck on with it!”
“Yeah,” he straightened his back, “It’s… 1 – 2…” he jerked the hand with the key upright, catching the dread-locked man across the face with the key, he saw a flash of red, hearing the skin rip, “FUCK YOU!”
The man holding his neck went to slam him forwards, but Yumichika slammed his foot against the side of the skinhead’s ankle with enough force for a nasty clacking sound to be heard. The man yelled out in pain and toppled down against the door. He spun towards the spiky haired man who took a threatening lunge forwards, he dived onto the ground, rolling onto the floor, passing under him almost perfectly… the man’s foot caught his ribs, before the pierced son of a bitch bashed against his door. Yumichika got to his feet, holding his side in pain, his fingers bleeding from how hard he’d been gripping his key.
“You little bitch!” The dread-locked man cursed, gripping the side of his bleeding face, “You and your faggot boyfriend are dead! You hear it, fucking dead!”
“Ayasegawa-kun, is something the matter?”
He looked up as he saw the dark skinned security guard stood in the hallway, his hand instinctively on the gun holster at his hip.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, turning to stand beside him, “This trash was just leaving.”
When he was young, too young to really, he liked to fight. He liked to kick things, he liked to win, he loved the adrenaline rush, he liked to use his fists until they ached and his knuckles were red. He liked fighting nearly as much as he liked photography… Anyway, on nights, he’d sneak out of his room and go find trouble in the streets; he’d wear a hockey mask, or a scarf around his face, always taking a little Stanley knife, or a gold club… sometimes a baton or a baseball bat. It was all pent up aggression; he never got into any real trouble. The only time he had, was when he was fifteen, around the time he started… dropping all this fighting shit. In his time, he’d broken his ankle, his toes, dislocated a shoulder, broken his arm, very, very nearly broken his nose (Thank God!), broken his fingers and his knee; he’d been bruised all over. He’d stopped all that shit, but he was still lonely. Yumichika couldn’t relate to any of his classmates, after school he’d drive home with a woman in her twenties, a woman he’d probably call his best friend despite they’d spend hours just bitching at each other. Guys would ask him eagerly how he knew Rangiku-san, and he’d say, ‘That old hag?’ She was probably the only person who knew he used to go out and fight, when he broke his knee, he’d crawled back to her apartment. Sometimes when she was drunk she’d joke about Yumichika and a hockey mask, and he’d go completely pale if Ikkaku was around.
God, that was so long ago.
Ikkaku would be so pissed if he found out he was such a bloody hypocrite. Well, if today he’d learnt anything, it would be that Ikkaku had to fucking stop pissing off gang leaders, those guys had meant business. And, he could also fight in healed shoes, tight jeans and a designer feathered jacket.
- 17
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Romance and Rivalries