Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Geek In The Pink ❯ Chapter 1
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: jamaicensis 
[Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite/Studio Pierrot/FUNimation. "Geek In The Pink" belongs to Jason Mraz.]
Silly, pr0ntastic songfic. Ishida/Ichigo washing machine sex.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.03.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 1.5K | Status: Completed
[Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite/Studio Pierrot/FUNimation. "Geek In The Pink" belongs to Jason Mraz.]
Silly, pr0ntastic songfic. Ishida/Ichigo washing machine sex.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Hentai | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.03.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 1.5K | Status: Completed
"Damnit!"
Ichigo swore out loud as he nearly dropped his laundry basket for the third time. It wasn't the weight of the thing - that would never really be a problem - but the fact that it was so large and cumbersome and he was having to carry it down so narrow of a staircase. Back at home, Yuzu had done all the washing. Now that he was off in college...
Well, the thing wasn't packed too full.
He finally reached the laundry room and thumped the huge pile of clothing down on the floor in front of the one available washer. Rooting through his pocket for his sock full of change, he counted out the proper amount and proceeded to shove as much of his dirty laundry into the washing machine as possible. He didn't have a whole lot of white, so he started with all his bright colors first. As he was moving, he caught a whiff of his own underarms and decided the shirt he was wearing could probably do with a wash too. He left it on, however, waiting for the white load.
Ichigo inserted his money into the slots on the machine, dropped in a huge capful of detergent, and pressed the button. Nothing to do now but wait.
As magnetic as his personality seemed to have been back home, Ichigo hadn't made a whole lot of friends since moving out on his own, so he didn't really have anyplace to go, no prior commitments to draw him away from his steadily rumbling load of laundry. He didn't really know what it was - okay, that was a lie. Ichigo knew exactly what it was. He just wished he didn't.
Ichigo hadn't really been planning on going to college at all. He wanted to travel, see the world, especially America and parts of Europe. But his father had been adamant that he attend a school with a good medical program and become a doctor so that the family clinic may survive when Isshin "finally rejoined his beloved Masaki in the great featherbed in the sky." Ichigo had finally caved in, partially to avoid more speeches like that...
And partially because he knew for a fact that Ishida Uryuu would be attending the same school.
Ichigo's current relationship with the Quincy was strained at best. Though they had united well enough in their efforts to save Rukia and all the subsequent hooplah thereafter, when everything returned to a relative normal, Ishida had been quick to distance himself again. Ichigo couldn't really identify any reasons he might have had to isolate himself like that, and it had hurt. It had hurt more than seemed logical. And that's when Ichigo had started wondering if maybe his feelings toward the Quincy were more than just rivalry-ridden friendship.
Of course, as soon as he had started entertaining these thoughts, Ishida had been the subject of new thoughts, of a much more interesting variety. And not long after that, Ishida had become the subject of Ichigo's dreams. They were often very awkward, because as much deep-seated emotion as Ichigo contained toward the other boy, the physical side of the attraction was probably lacking. Ishida was just too big of a dork for Ichigo to ever consider him...hot. Just thinking about it was weird.
It had made Ichigo distinctly awkward, however, and he had yet to speak to Ishida since the start of the semester. He wasn't even sure if Ishida knew they were at the same college. He just kept telling himself that he had to work up the nerve, and that eventually he would.
Eventually.
Lost in thought, Ichigo had barely noticed how much time had slipped by, and was only jerked back to reality by the buzzer on his laundry going off, telling him that it was done washing and ready to be dried. Ichigo lugged the giant armful of wet clothing across the room and into a vacant dryer, setting it spinning and returning to the washing machine to load in his whites. Recalling the stench of his current shirt, he reached up to begin removing it, only to have a small button at his collar pop off and skitter around the corner at the edge of the row of machines, out of sight.
"Shit," mumbled Ichigo, and he finished stripping off the shirt before crossing to where the button had last been seen and dropping onto his hands and knees in search of it.
While he was down, Ichigo heard another pair of feet shuffle into the room, accompanied by a softly humming voice. The voice sounded hauntingly familiar, and sure enough, when Ichigo peered back around the edge of the washers, he found himself looking at none other than Ishida Uryuu, last of the Quincies and object of his rather strong desire. Quickly he turned back around and out of Ishida's sight, desperate to remain hidden. It was only with great caution that he allowed himself to peer just beyond the edge and watch as the Quincy loaded up his laundry. It was a load of whites - rather large, because white was the color of most of Ishida's clothing - and he tossed it right into the washing machine that Ichigo had just used. If he noticed any familiar articles of clothing in the dark green basket left alone in the middle of the floor, he said nothing, and merely slipped in the required money and started up his wash.
Ichigo, convinced that Ishida was done and was going to leave, nearly sighed in relief, only to notice that not only was the Quincy sticking around, but he had hopped up onto the washing machine to sit and now had a book propped open across his lap as if he intended to study. At that, Ichigo nearly groaned. Now he was stuck back in this little corner, between a row of dryers and an ironing board, shirtless and a little bit cold, and praying that the one person he wanted the most to notice him wouldn't find him, laugh at his (admittedly laughable) situation, and leave, never to speak to him again.
He found that he couldn't look at Ishida and turned to face the wall with an inaudible sigh.
Minutes rolled by and Ichigo was still stuck in the corner, counting the various cracks in the wall's paint job and wondering just how long Ishida planned to sit there and pore over his studies. Ichigo was just about to start doodling on his forearm - or maybe his jeans - with a pen he had found in his pocket when a soft noise came from the Quincy and he shifted around to look.
Ishida's book and notes had been discarded, dropped into his own laundry basket atop his darker (mostly blue) clothing. The Quincy himself still sat perched on top of the washing machine, but now...
Ichigo swallowed a gasp. Ishida had reclined backward a little onto one hand, propping himself up while the other reached down between his slightly spread legs. In time with the steady rumble - the steady vibration, Ichigo realized - of the washer, Ishida stroked at himself through his dark gray slacks, his head lolling backward just a bit, his eyes slipping shut behind his glasses, his mouth slightly open. It was absurdly erotic and Ichigo almost had to do a double-take. This was the supreme dork, the Queen of Handicrafts all through high school! How in the world had he gotten to be so attractive, so - so sexy?
Ichigo felt horribly voyeuristic, but he couldn't bring himself to turn away - especially as Ishida got more daring and began gasping a little harder, spreading his legs a little farther. When his slim, strong fingers reached up to unfasten his pants at the waistband and then roll down the zipper, Ichigo spasmed a little - his blood, uncertain of whether to rush to his head or his crotch, was swirling around a little just below his sternum, and it was a quite unpleasant feeling.
His blood decided for the latter when Ishida freed his erection and let out a soft, low-pitched moan. Ichigo remembered another unfortunate side effect of pushing back laundry day: he wasn't wearing any underwear, either. His own cock scraped irritatingly against the rough denim at the front of his jeans.
Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured a scene even close to this one. When Ichigo fantasized about the Quincy, it was usually either heavy making out, with the occasional daring grope, or else abstract sex, hands and voice and cock without the extraordinarily dorky face. Now, with this sight presented to him in the flesh, Ichigo found that he couldn't, could not if his own life depended on it, turn away from Ishida, who just sat there on top of the vibrating washer, elegantly - if such a thing could be done elegantly - jerking himself off. Ichigo had to press a few long, hard strokes to his own aching cock through the denim, just to keep himself from ruining all of the clean clothes that he had left.
And then suddenly, the whole scene changed direction, and it was all because of just one simple word slipping carelessly from Ishida's lips:
"Ichigo..."
The redhead's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Surely he hadn't heard that correctly! Surely he was not to blame - to thank? - for this amazing, erotic display the Quincy was unknowingly offering up?
And yet...
Somehow it made sense. If Ichigo thought back about it, every stupid thing that Ishida had done to push himself away could just as easily have been...exactly what he was doing right now. Avoiding the other boy. Unable to even approach him because the desire was too great. Hell, how often had they seen each other without various articles of clothing, in a fight or healing after one? Every piece of the really freaking confusing puzzle fell into place, and suddenly it all seemed to click.
And so suddenly it snapped.
Ichigo sprang out from his hiding place and rushed over to Ishida, coming to stand between his spread legs practically flush against the washing machine. Its rumbling did agonizingly good things to his straining erection, but not nearly as wonderful as when he yanked off Ishida's glasses, grabbed him by the back of the skull, and covered Ishida's lips with his own lips and Ishida's working hand with his own hand. It was unbearably hot and they both came almost instantly, panting into each other's mouths and gasping out each other's names, or at least a strangled "I..." apiece.
When they could both finally form coherent thoughts again, Ichigo was the first to speak. "I never knew - "
"You weren't supposed to," panted Ishida. "Not until now."
Ichigo was kissing at his neck, and continued to do so for a few seconds before it sank in. "Wait - you knew I was - "
"Of course I knew you were back there!" Ishida said, suddenly standoffish. "Even without my glasses I'm not that blind. Your reiatsu was all over the place. As usual."
"You little exhibitionist bastard," Ichigo murmured with little malice, starting in on his neck again. Ishida's only answer was a soft growl of pleasure, but he pushed back at the redhead's shoulders.
"Don't start in again," he said. "We'll end up having to do more wash. Besides, the thing has stopped. I need to unload." Sure enough, the rumbling of the washing machine could no longer be felt. Ichigo lifted Ishida up off the washer and set him back down on the ground, an action that earned him a withering glare from the Quincy as he zipped and fastened his slacks back up.
Ichigo had turned and was heading over to check his dryer when Ishida's outraged squawk reached his ears. "Pink?!"
He turned to see Ishida holding out a long-sleeved tee, which had presumably once been white but which was now stained a disgustingly feminine pink color. "You musta screwed up your washing," Ichigo teased.
"Hardly," Ishida scowled back. "I know enough about fabrics to avoid that mistake, thank you very much. It must have been whatever idiot used this machine before me."
Ichigo froze. Unable to turn away, he watched as Ishida fished through his laundry and produced a dilapidated pair of dark red boxer briefs, dangling them by one finger.
"I'm assuming these are yours, Kurosaki?"
"Er, whoops?"
"Great. Just great. I'm going to have to make so much new clothing now it's not even funny."
"What's wrong with the old stuff? Pink doesn't look that bad on you."
"Surely you're joking."
"I am surely not," Ichigo said with a grin. "Besides, you're already gayer than anything. Who cares if you're known across campus as the geek in the pink?"
"Well, if you're content to be known as the guy who's screwing the geek in the pink, then I suppose I'll just go right ahead," Ishida said with a roll of his eyes.
Ichigo raised one eyebrow. "Is screwing? Present tense? As in, again?"
"Well what did you think?" Ishida smirked at him.
Ichigo wiped the smirked away with a hard, heated kiss, and for a few more moments, they decided the laundry could wait.
Ichigo swore out loud as he nearly dropped his laundry basket for the third time. It wasn't the weight of the thing - that would never really be a problem - but the fact that it was so large and cumbersome and he was having to carry it down so narrow of a staircase. Back at home, Yuzu had done all the washing. Now that he was off in college...
Well, the thing wasn't packed too full.
He finally reached the laundry room and thumped the huge pile of clothing down on the floor in front of the one available washer. Rooting through his pocket for his sock full of change, he counted out the proper amount and proceeded to shove as much of his dirty laundry into the washing machine as possible. He didn't have a whole lot of white, so he started with all his bright colors first. As he was moving, he caught a whiff of his own underarms and decided the shirt he was wearing could probably do with a wash too. He left it on, however, waiting for the white load.
Ichigo inserted his money into the slots on the machine, dropped in a huge capful of detergent, and pressed the button. Nothing to do now but wait.
As magnetic as his personality seemed to have been back home, Ichigo hadn't made a whole lot of friends since moving out on his own, so he didn't really have anyplace to go, no prior commitments to draw him away from his steadily rumbling load of laundry. He didn't really know what it was - okay, that was a lie. Ichigo knew exactly what it was. He just wished he didn't.
Ichigo hadn't really been planning on going to college at all. He wanted to travel, see the world, especially America and parts of Europe. But his father had been adamant that he attend a school with a good medical program and become a doctor so that the family clinic may survive when Isshin "finally rejoined his beloved Masaki in the great featherbed in the sky." Ichigo had finally caved in, partially to avoid more speeches like that...
And partially because he knew for a fact that Ishida Uryuu would be attending the same school.
Ichigo's current relationship with the Quincy was strained at best. Though they had united well enough in their efforts to save Rukia and all the subsequent hooplah thereafter, when everything returned to a relative normal, Ishida had been quick to distance himself again. Ichigo couldn't really identify any reasons he might have had to isolate himself like that, and it had hurt. It had hurt more than seemed logical. And that's when Ichigo had started wondering if maybe his feelings toward the Quincy were more than just rivalry-ridden friendship.
Of course, as soon as he had started entertaining these thoughts, Ishida had been the subject of new thoughts, of a much more interesting variety. And not long after that, Ishida had become the subject of Ichigo's dreams. They were often very awkward, because as much deep-seated emotion as Ichigo contained toward the other boy, the physical side of the attraction was probably lacking. Ishida was just too big of a dork for Ichigo to ever consider him...hot. Just thinking about it was weird.
It had made Ichigo distinctly awkward, however, and he had yet to speak to Ishida since the start of the semester. He wasn't even sure if Ishida knew they were at the same college. He just kept telling himself that he had to work up the nerve, and that eventually he would.
Eventually.
Lost in thought, Ichigo had barely noticed how much time had slipped by, and was only jerked back to reality by the buzzer on his laundry going off, telling him that it was done washing and ready to be dried. Ichigo lugged the giant armful of wet clothing across the room and into a vacant dryer, setting it spinning and returning to the washing machine to load in his whites. Recalling the stench of his current shirt, he reached up to begin removing it, only to have a small button at his collar pop off and skitter around the corner at the edge of the row of machines, out of sight.
"Shit," mumbled Ichigo, and he finished stripping off the shirt before crossing to where the button had last been seen and dropping onto his hands and knees in search of it.
While he was down, Ichigo heard another pair of feet shuffle into the room, accompanied by a softly humming voice. The voice sounded hauntingly familiar, and sure enough, when Ichigo peered back around the edge of the washers, he found himself looking at none other than Ishida Uryuu, last of the Quincies and object of his rather strong desire. Quickly he turned back around and out of Ishida's sight, desperate to remain hidden. It was only with great caution that he allowed himself to peer just beyond the edge and watch as the Quincy loaded up his laundry. It was a load of whites - rather large, because white was the color of most of Ishida's clothing - and he tossed it right into the washing machine that Ichigo had just used. If he noticed any familiar articles of clothing in the dark green basket left alone in the middle of the floor, he said nothing, and merely slipped in the required money and started up his wash.
Ichigo, convinced that Ishida was done and was going to leave, nearly sighed in relief, only to notice that not only was the Quincy sticking around, but he had hopped up onto the washing machine to sit and now had a book propped open across his lap as if he intended to study. At that, Ichigo nearly groaned. Now he was stuck back in this little corner, between a row of dryers and an ironing board, shirtless and a little bit cold, and praying that the one person he wanted the most to notice him wouldn't find him, laugh at his (admittedly laughable) situation, and leave, never to speak to him again.
He found that he couldn't look at Ishida and turned to face the wall with an inaudible sigh.
Minutes rolled by and Ichigo was still stuck in the corner, counting the various cracks in the wall's paint job and wondering just how long Ishida planned to sit there and pore over his studies. Ichigo was just about to start doodling on his forearm - or maybe his jeans - with a pen he had found in his pocket when a soft noise came from the Quincy and he shifted around to look.
Ishida's book and notes had been discarded, dropped into his own laundry basket atop his darker (mostly blue) clothing. The Quincy himself still sat perched on top of the washing machine, but now...
Ichigo swallowed a gasp. Ishida had reclined backward a little onto one hand, propping himself up while the other reached down between his slightly spread legs. In time with the steady rumble - the steady vibration, Ichigo realized - of the washer, Ishida stroked at himself through his dark gray slacks, his head lolling backward just a bit, his eyes slipping shut behind his glasses, his mouth slightly open. It was absurdly erotic and Ichigo almost had to do a double-take. This was the supreme dork, the Queen of Handicrafts all through high school! How in the world had he gotten to be so attractive, so - so sexy?
Ichigo felt horribly voyeuristic, but he couldn't bring himself to turn away - especially as Ishida got more daring and began gasping a little harder, spreading his legs a little farther. When his slim, strong fingers reached up to unfasten his pants at the waistband and then roll down the zipper, Ichigo spasmed a little - his blood, uncertain of whether to rush to his head or his crotch, was swirling around a little just below his sternum, and it was a quite unpleasant feeling.
His blood decided for the latter when Ishida freed his erection and let out a soft, low-pitched moan. Ichigo remembered another unfortunate side effect of pushing back laundry day: he wasn't wearing any underwear, either. His own cock scraped irritatingly against the rough denim at the front of his jeans.
Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured a scene even close to this one. When Ichigo fantasized about the Quincy, it was usually either heavy making out, with the occasional daring grope, or else abstract sex, hands and voice and cock without the extraordinarily dorky face. Now, with this sight presented to him in the flesh, Ichigo found that he couldn't, could not if his own life depended on it, turn away from Ishida, who just sat there on top of the vibrating washer, elegantly - if such a thing could be done elegantly - jerking himself off. Ichigo had to press a few long, hard strokes to his own aching cock through the denim, just to keep himself from ruining all of the clean clothes that he had left.
And then suddenly, the whole scene changed direction, and it was all because of just one simple word slipping carelessly from Ishida's lips:
"Ichigo..."
The redhead's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Surely he hadn't heard that correctly! Surely he was not to blame - to thank? - for this amazing, erotic display the Quincy was unknowingly offering up?
And yet...
Somehow it made sense. If Ichigo thought back about it, every stupid thing that Ishida had done to push himself away could just as easily have been...exactly what he was doing right now. Avoiding the other boy. Unable to even approach him because the desire was too great. Hell, how often had they seen each other without various articles of clothing, in a fight or healing after one? Every piece of the really freaking confusing puzzle fell into place, and suddenly it all seemed to click.
And so suddenly it snapped.
Ichigo sprang out from his hiding place and rushed over to Ishida, coming to stand between his spread legs practically flush against the washing machine. Its rumbling did agonizingly good things to his straining erection, but not nearly as wonderful as when he yanked off Ishida's glasses, grabbed him by the back of the skull, and covered Ishida's lips with his own lips and Ishida's working hand with his own hand. It was unbearably hot and they both came almost instantly, panting into each other's mouths and gasping out each other's names, or at least a strangled "I..." apiece.
When they could both finally form coherent thoughts again, Ichigo was the first to speak. "I never knew - "
"You weren't supposed to," panted Ishida. "Not until now."
Ichigo was kissing at his neck, and continued to do so for a few seconds before it sank in. "Wait - you knew I was - "
"Of course I knew you were back there!" Ishida said, suddenly standoffish. "Even without my glasses I'm not that blind. Your reiatsu was all over the place. As usual."
"You little exhibitionist bastard," Ichigo murmured with little malice, starting in on his neck again. Ishida's only answer was a soft growl of pleasure, but he pushed back at the redhead's shoulders.
"Don't start in again," he said. "We'll end up having to do more wash. Besides, the thing has stopped. I need to unload." Sure enough, the rumbling of the washing machine could no longer be felt. Ichigo lifted Ishida up off the washer and set him back down on the ground, an action that earned him a withering glare from the Quincy as he zipped and fastened his slacks back up.
Ichigo had turned and was heading over to check his dryer when Ishida's outraged squawk reached his ears. "Pink?!"
He turned to see Ishida holding out a long-sleeved tee, which had presumably once been white but which was now stained a disgustingly feminine pink color. "You musta screwed up your washing," Ichigo teased.
"Hardly," Ishida scowled back. "I know enough about fabrics to avoid that mistake, thank you very much. It must have been whatever idiot used this machine before me."
Ichigo froze. Unable to turn away, he watched as Ishida fished through his laundry and produced a dilapidated pair of dark red boxer briefs, dangling them by one finger.
"I'm assuming these are yours, Kurosaki?"
"Er, whoops?"
"Great. Just great. I'm going to have to make so much new clothing now it's not even funny."
"What's wrong with the old stuff? Pink doesn't look that bad on you."
"Surely you're joking."
"I am surely not," Ichigo said with a grin. "Besides, you're already gayer than anything. Who cares if you're known across campus as the geek in the pink?"
"Well, if you're content to be known as the guy who's screwing the geek in the pink, then I suppose I'll just go right ahead," Ishida said with a roll of his eyes.
Ichigo raised one eyebrow. "Is screwing? Present tense? As in, again?"
"Well what did you think?" Ishida smirked at him.
Ichigo wiped the smirked away with a hard, heated kiss, and for a few more moments, they decided the laundry could wait.