Pairings: ShinjixRenji, UraharaxIchigo, ShinjixUrahara (past)
Warning: afterwar, spoilers, AU-ish, boysmut, kink, foul language, OOC, crack
Description: On a surprise visit, Shinji runs into Renji and finds himself intrigued. A chase ensues.
Dedication: For mandalee1013 on her birthday, which I’m late for. *shame face*
a/n: This fic is pure fun. If you’re looking for something angsty with a deep, fulfilling plot, you’ve come to the wrong place. *laughs* This is pure, smutty fun.
It was the rise and fall of aggressive reaitsu that had intrigued Shinji in the first place. While his original intention in visiting the shoten had been to catch up on old times with a certain blond shopkeeper, Shinji found himself sidetracked by the power that practically radiated from the floorboards. He knew that Kisuke had one of his special underground training facilities beneath his shop and curiosity had always been one of Shinji’s downfalls.
He followed the siren’s call of reiatsu to the basement, where an explosion of dust and power radiated from the far end, all but calling to him. Shinji didn’t need to get closer to identify the fighters, though a closer look was certainly warranted. One was most definitely Kurosaki Ichigo. It was hard to miss the peculiarities in Kurosaki’s reiatsu – human mixed with Shinigami mixed with Hollow and even a little something else just to round things out. Yeah, definitely hard to confuse Kurosaki Ichigo with anyone else.
The second reiatsu, however, was a bit harder to pinpoint. There was a sense of familiarity in the hot metal taste and aggressive force of it. It was definitely Shinigami, not Kisuke, but a familiar force of power from the war. The fact that it was an appropriate level for bankai and there were few Shinigami capable of bankai who could be found in Karakura limited the pool significantly.
Abarai Renji. Shinji pondered as he dropped to the ground and approached the dueling duo, curious to the core. Currently vice-captain of the sixth division, under one stoic and uppity Kuchiki Byakuya who hadn’t grown out of his stubborn and arrogant phase, no matter what anyone tried to tell Shinji, and wielder of a rather impressive bankai. Abarai was better known for his flame-colored hair, vibrant tattoos, and an insane drive to make himself strong enough to beat his captain one day.
Shinji snorted. Good luck with that. No Kuchiki would ever allow himself to be beaten by a mutt from Rukongai. But then, this particular Kuchiki had suffered defeat at the hands of a strange kid from the Living World, so perhaps Abarai had a chance after all. Only time would tell.
Still, Abarai’s determination was admirable, if foolish. Shinji remembered seeing him on the battlefield a couple of times, and remembered Kisuke mentioning something about the redhead being a constant visitor to the shoten. But Shinji had not met him in person yet. Today was to be the day, it seemed.
Shinji approached the building cloud of dust and debris, swirling in an agitated storm of reiatsu with both brows raised and a whistle of appreciation on his lips. Ichigo was in full Hollow-mode, cackling as he streaked across the sky in a blur of black and red. And chasing after him was a snake born of bone and power, fanged mouth agape.
Shinji whistled again. “Impressive as always,” he murmured to himself, ignoring the rattle of Sakanade at his hip, very interested in joining the two boys in their game.
“Three years later and I still understand so little about him,” a voice inserted behind Shinji.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Kisuke approaching, a mischievous smile on his lips as Benihime tapped against the ground. “Though the mystery is only part of the appeal.”
“Of course,” Kisuke said, eyes twinkling despite the shading of his ever-present hat. He tipped his head to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Shinji spread his hands, his tone falsely innocent. “Can’t a guy just visit his old friend? Catch up on old times?”
One ash-blond brow arched inquisitively. “Why am I finding that so hard to believe, Hirako-san?”
Shinji sniffed, turning away from his old friend to watch the two young men trying to beat the living daylights out of each other. The dance of powerful reiatsu over Shinji’s skin was a sensation he couldn’t ignore. And, well, the view wasn’t too bad either.
“Hirako-san?” Shinji repeated, trying to sound wounded as he lifted a hand, pressing it over his chest. “Kisuke, I’m hurt. I thought we were closer than that.”
A kidoh split the air, poorly aimed, but well executed, creating a brilliant, powerful flash of white-blue lightning. Shinji wasn’t sure who had cast the spell, but suspected it had been Abarai. Ichigo’s kidoh skills were beneath mentioning, unless, of course, one wanted to be amused. Then again, from what Shinji had heard, Abarai’s weren’t really that impressive either.
Kisuke stepped up beside him, watching from the corner of his eyes. “You always were a drama queen,” he said, with a quirk of his lips, fingers rolling over the head of his disguised zanpakutou.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Shinji said dryly, and watched as two zanpakutou clashed, or to be honest, Ichigo’s black sword collided against the bone of Abarai’s bankai whose name escaped Shinji at the moment.
Dust made it difficult to see the two fighters, but Shinji’s senses were acute. He could feel the teasing buzz of reiatsu, thick in the air.
“So…” Kisuke prompted, lifting his eyebrows at Shinji.
“You never answered me.”
Shinji’s lips curled. “Maybe I’m just here to admire the scenery,” he said, Sakanade vibrating at his side as the taste of reiatsu in the air grew stronger and more vibrant. Sometimes, Shinji truly did miss the rush and flurry of battle.
“And which would that be?” There was a hint of jealousy and possessiveness in the shopkeeper’s tone, enough that Shinji chuckled, amused.
“Don’t you worry, Kisuke,” Shinji reassured, his eyes flitting from Ichigo’s black-clothed form to the Vizard’s sparring partner, one Shinji hadn’t had opportunity to examine up close and now regretted that fact. “I was referring to the pineapple. I know better than to ogle strawberries.”
Kisuke grinned, winking at Shinji. “Maybe you do. But you can’t help but look.”
His lips twitched as Shinji returned his attention to the dueling men, who finally looked as they were tiring. The fight itself, also, was getting closer. “You’ve got me there. You ought to share your good fortune.”
“Not a chance,” Kisuke sniffed without meeting a beat.
“Selfish prick,” Shinji said without any heat behind the words.
“You didn’t seem to mind it – whoa!”
Shinji abruptly darted to the side, using a burst of shunpo to grant him extra speed as Ichigo came barreling past him, the open maw of Abarai’s bony bankai right on his heels. Kisuke, too, had leapt out of the way, one hand on his hat to hold it in place. Ichigo might have tossed an apology over his shoulder, but Shinji couldn’t hear it over the whipping wind, crunching rock, and whirling reiatsu.
Kisuke was laughing despite getting a face full of dusty wind, proud as ever of his powerful lover, while Shinji was just a smidge annoyed. Ichigo must have seen them. Couldn’t he have tried to avoid them maybe?
It took several seconds for the warning to filter through Shinji’s senses – by the gods he’d been out of battle too long – and he moved too slowly, like a man moving through a thick swamp. He turned just in time to see a blur of black and red before it crashed into him and knocked Shinji clean out of the air. He and his attacker – he assumed it to be Abarai – tumbled head over heels, entangled together as they slammed into the ground in a gigantic cloud of dirt and debris.
At first, Shinji was too surprised to do much more than lay there, half-covered by something much larger than himself, and then his brain caught up with the circumstances. A stream of profanity slipped past his lips. He struggled to untangle his limbs from Abarai’s, annoyed by the armful of young Shinigami, until he realized just how pleasant his armful actually was.
Well, not at the moment, because Abarai himself was furious and spitting curses, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. He had dissolved his bankai, leaving less for them to untangle, and his hair was a tangled mess of scarlet over his shoulders. Quite an intoxicating shade at that, Shinji mused inwardly. He’d love to get a good grip on it and pull. Judging by those tattoos, he had a feeling Abarai would like it. Hell, he’d probably beg for more.
Abarai was fighting to get free, and Shinji took his time in doing so, taking the opportunity to “accidentally” get a grip on well-toned arms, thighs, and even a glancing slide of his palm over Abarai’s rump. A nicely shaped rump at that. Shinji was grinning by the time Abarai had managed to untangle himself and stumble to his feet, face streaked with dirt and sweat, looking rumpled and disordered.
“Ichigo!” Abarai roared, obviously blaming his mishap on said Vizard. “You bastard! You did that on purpose!”
Ichigo, having returned to the scene of the crime once he realized he'd lost his pursuer, wasn’t ready to take the blame. “It’s not my fault you weren’t watching where you were going,” he shouted, getting nose to, well, chin since he wasn’t as tall as Abarai. Which made their whole argument all the more amusing.
Shinji took his time in rising to his feet, brushing dust and dirt off his clothes and trying to look nonchalant over the whole deal. His inner thigh was aching from where Abarai’s knee had collided with it, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He watched as Ichigo and Abarai started bickering like a couple of children, taking the time to admire the nice contrast of tanned skin with dark tattoos.
“Uh oh, I know that look,” Kisuke said, arriving at Shinji’s side with a loud tap of geta on compacted dirt and stone.
“What?” Shinji asked with fake innocence, brushing tiny rocks off his sleeves and adjusting his tie from where it was pulled haphazardly from his vest. He made it a point to dress with impeccable style.
Kisuke rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his reaction. “Innocence doesn’t suit you, Shinji,” he said. “You're setting your sights on Abarai, aren’t you?”
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, Shinji sniffed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The way you were playing grabby-hands with his ass, maybe?” Kisuke retorted, his voice rich with amusement. “Not that I blame you. He is rather attractive.”
“Plays for both teams, does he?”
The look on Kisuke’s face was full of mystery, eyes once again shaded by the brim of that hideous hat. “My sources say yes.”
Shinji absently licked his lips, watching as Abarai and Ichigo seemed to have given up on their verbal altercation and stalked off in opposite directions, muttering under their breaths. Abarai was heading for parts unknown, but Ichigo had veered toward Kisuke and Shinji.
“What else do your sources tell you?” Shinji asked.
Kisuke’s grin was mischievous and taunting. “That you and he have a lot of things in common,” he said, and then turned toward his approaching lover, effectively changing the subject. “Looking good, Ichigo.”
The teen snorted, idly wiping drying blood from his forehead. “What were you and Shinji whispering about?” he asked, immediately suspicious and foregoing all pleasantries.
Shinji rolled his eyes. “Well, hullo, nice to see ya too, Kurosaki. How’m I doin’ today? Why, fine and thank ya fer askin’. And you?” he said with a wide grin and a vague gesture of his hand that made Ichigo’s eyebrows twitch.
“You two are plotting something, aren’t you?” Ichigo said, again ignoring the hint that he could stand to be a little polite somewhere in there. Shinji knew Masaki had raised him better, though goodness knew having Isshin as a father probably didn’t help matters.
Kisuke’s lips drew into a mysterious grin, his fan appearing from the fourth dimension to hide his expression from his suspicious lover. “Why, Ichigo? Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, accompanied with a guilty chuckle.
Ichigo twitched again before turning abruptly away from both of them, stalking off with a burst of reiatsu. “Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it,” he said, and then lower, muttering under his breath, “damn, mysterious blonds.”
Kisuke chuckled and turned back toward Shinji. “Oh, he’s just pretending to be annoyed.”
“I honestly don’t wanna know,” Shinji said, still not sure he understood the dynamics of the relationship between master and graduated student. Sometimes, he was certain Ichigo was going to kick Kisuke’s ass and be done with him. Other times, Shinji was convinced they were inseparable. Though he supposed that came with the territory when dating a man like Kisuke. Shinji should know, after all. He’d been there, done that, bought the ratty old t-shirt still stuck in the bottom of his closet.
The fan disappeared, vanishing back to the mysterious fourth dimension, and a smile curved Kisuke’s lips. “Not even if it means a chance to get into Abarai’s hakama?”
“I think I manage that on my own,” Shinji said with an imperious sniff. “So you’ll be invitin’ me to dinner, won’t you?”
“I even think Abarai’s stayin’, too,” Kisuke replied slyly.
The two blonds laughed.
A plot was born.
“Does he always do that?”
Ichigo, in the midst of stripping out of his shihakushou, scowled. “Does who do what?”
Twisting his jaw, Renji pulled his hair into a loose bun on top of his head. He’d have to wash it properly later. “Hirako,” he said. “Does he always jes pop up outta nowhere?”
“How should I know? It’s not like I live here,” the Vizard said, and dropped down into the heated water with a mild splash, instantly burying himself up to his neck in the healing spring.
Renji’s brows shot toward his hairline. “Don’t ya?” he retorted with a grunt, fidgeting in the water as the minerals washed over his healing cuts. “I’m surprised Urahara-san hasn’t forced ya to move in.”
The teen’s face reddened, though to be fair, Ichigo wouldn't be a teenager for much longer. “Yeah, well, there’s a complication in that.”
Ichigo didn’t answer, splashing water over his flushed face and wiping away the blood and dirt gathered there. It was all the answer Renji needed, really.
Renji snorted. “Figures,” he said, and leaned back against the rim of the spring.
He closed his eyes, soaking up the heat, letting it wrap around his aching muscles and his bruised limbs. Ichigo never held back, which was a good thing, but often left him sore all over. Which meant he should sleep really well tonight. Or, to be honest, as well as could be expected when under constant threat of one of Urahara-san’s usual pranks. That man was a complete sadist.
Then again, he also had the most unusual taste in friends. Renji felt his cheeks heat as he remembered colliding with Hirako-san. That had been embarrassing. Renji could have sworn that the Vizard had felt him up too, but then again, Renji could have been mistaken. They had landed in a tangle after all.
Ichigo cracked open one eye. “What?”
“Hirako,” Renji began, wondering how to say this without sounding like an idiot. “Is he always so… touchy-feely?”
Ichigo blinked. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Che. Nevermind,” Renji muttered, and scrubbed a hand over his cheek, turning to climb out of the healing spring.
He was probably just imagining things anyway. There was no reason to think Hirako had… groped him of all things.
“Whatever,” Ichigo said and went back to splashing around in the healing spring, dunking his head under the water. “You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you, Freeloader-san?” The edge of Ichigo’s lips curled into an irritating smirk.
Renji rolled his eyes. “Hey, I haven’t freeloaded in a long time!” he said, pulling on his tattered shihakushou. It would be enough until he got upstairs and could borrow something clean from Tessai-san, who was the closest to him in size.
Ichigo just laughed. “But you are staying for dinner, right?”
Without dignifying that with an answer, Renji burst toward the ladder in a flit of shunpo, Ichigo’s laughter following him the entire time. Damn bastard just had to grow a funny bone after the war, didn’t he?
Climbing up into the shoten, Renji had a lingering thought that maybe he should forego dinner this time, if Hirako was going to be in attendance. There was something about the blond Vizard that set him on edge. To be fair, Hirako was stronger than him – Renji wouldn’t mind sparring with the guy one day. And he was attractive, but also weird. Just like Urahara-san. They were two Shinigami in a shihakushou, that was for sure. A pair of blond bookends trading seductive secrets.
Renji sighed, scrubbing a hand through his tangled hair. He was acting like an idiot. Hirako was just a crazy Vizard and Renji wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. Not at all. He was going to eat his dinner, stay the night, and find some way to enjoy his vacation in the morning. No reason to change his mind just because of one crazy blond.
Nope. No reason at all.
a/n: This is most likely rife with OOC and moves WAY too fast, but it's meant to be good, sexy fun so I hope you all enjoy anyway!