Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Reminiscence ❯ 05 -- Blemished ( Chapter 5 )

Title: Reminiscence

Memory: 05 -- Blemished

Author: La Loba de Mibu

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Ikkaku and Yumichika

Warnings: Waff?

Summary: Over the years, Ikkaku's eye markings became his namesake; and it was Yumichika's secret pride that he was the one responsible . . .

Note: The number of the chapter does not reflect the chronological order of the present storyline, rather the flashback portrayed therein.

Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Previous Memories ~ Series Index

 

::Memory 01::Memory 02::Memory 03::Memory 04::

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FYI:

Kakeshu means “gambling master”

Tsukikubi means “moon head” - moon refers to Ikkaku being bald

Madarame means “blemished eyes”

Okama: (in this time/context ) a rude term for an effeminate gay man

--Loba

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Yumichika lay relaxed on the futon, head pillowed on a folded arm, as he lightly traced indistinguishable patterns with the pads of his fingers over the expanse of supple tan skin within his reach. Ikkaku was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, so over the years “Ikkaku tracing” had become one of Yumichika's favorite past times as he lay beside his lover in the early mornings waiting for him to wake.

 

The only sound in the dim room was their soft breathing as Yumichika's fingers gingerly traveled over Ikkaku's bare hip, slipping down to dip into his belly button, then upwards across the hard planes of his abs, detouring to circle a dusky nipple before caressing the long jagged scar nearby, sliding over the collar bones, and gliding over his neck to brush tenderly across a strong jaw.

 

Ikkaku's only response was a long deep sigh as he shifted onto his back. Yumichika moved as well, propping himself up on one elbow, and resting his head in his hand, while continuing his tracing of Ikkaku with the other.

 

His hand now moved over the other's face, delicately traveling across the sensitive skin in reverence, over thin lips, across high cheek bones, down a sharp nose, along a relaxed brow, and finally ghosting over delicate lids to trace the red ink at the corners of Ikkaku's eyes.

 

He loved those tattoos. During their years in Rukongai, they had become Ikkaku's namesake; and it was Yumichika's secret pride to have been the one responsible for their existence . . .

 

 

“Hey shere beautiful,” the man slurred, breath reeking of alcohol, “How'sh about we get ta know eash other a lil' better?”

 

Yumichika nonchalantly thrust the hilt of his kodachi into the man's diaphragm, and walked away as he doubled over out of wind, quite used to the drunken men who constantly mistook him for a woman, and even the few who approached knowing he was a man.

 

They were presently inside a filthy Gambling house in South Rukongai, where Ikkaku was winning them a hefty sum of money with that ridiculous luck of his, much to the ire of the House's master. Yumichika found no enjoyment in gambling, and seldom participated in the games with Ikkaku, instead choosing to wait patiently by the cleanest wall, or sitting area he could find until his companion cleared out the house.

 

A sensible man would know that after a certain amount of winnings, the House would start to begrudge the gambler's luck, and either kindly ask them to leave with their winnings for the night and not come back, or more often, accuse them of cheating and escort them to the back room to “negotiate” the situation. Therefore a sensible man would make his earnings quietly and leave before he attracted too much attention.

 

Ikkaku did not attract crowds by being loud and obnoxious about his repetitive conquests of the various gambling tables because he lacked sense per se, but rather he was precisely looking to instigate a problem with the House Master and his usual posse of burly thugs, as it never failed to provide a good fight; walking out with all the money was simply an extra perk.

 

Finally, Yumichika saw the Master approaching from the back of the room, flanked on either side by huge muscle men. He left his spot at the wall, skirting another drunkard intent on talking to him with an idle thack of his scabbard, and reached Ikkaku to tap him on the shoulder lightly in warning. Ikkaku grinned at him before turning to face the approaching Master.

 

“Well, well, well. Look who's finally come to honor me with a visit,” Ikkaku drawled rudely, “What can I do you for?”

 

The short pudgy oily faced man made Yumichika want to bathe, and he suppressed a shudder of further disgust when the man became twice as repulsive as anger twisted his features.

 

“How dare you speak to Kakeshu-sama that way, you insolent—” one of the guards growled, stepping forward but stopped when his master raised hand.

 

“So you are the one they call Tsukikubi Ikkaku,” Kakeshu with a cool confident air.

 

The saké cup Ikkaku had been holding cracked into pieces. Yumichika snickered quietly behind the sleeve of his kimono as Ikkaku was once more barraged by the nickname he'd gained from the gambling cartels as he'd become infamous for his unnatural amount of luck. The man absolutely hated it, as it threw in his face his most distinctive physical feature; and if there was anything Ikkaku did not want to be known for, it was his bald head. Still, it was hilarious to see how the veins at his temples twitched as the crowd of spectators started to murmur the name amongst themselves, finally making the connection between it's associated urban legends and the bald man they'd been watching.

 

“Oi, bastard. That. Is definitely. Not. My name,” Ikkaku bit out, the air around him practically crackling with anger; some spectators were wise enough to step back.

 

“Don't deny it, you cheat. All the pieces fit our information. Very tall with unbelievable luck, bald, and,” Kakeshu then pointed at Yumichika, “Accompanied by an okama.”

 

Yumichika, who had been incessantly sniggering behind his sleeve, suddenly stopped with a mild choking sound. He recovered quickly with a furious screech, and in a manner most unlike their usual Gambling house confrontations, was the first to attack. A guard slipped in front of him just before his kodachi came down on the ugly master of the house, and Yumichika could hear Ikkaku follow him into the fray immediately.

 

For several minutes, there was chaos; tables breaking, glasses shattering, cushions flying, games being abandoned, men cheering or bellowing, prostitutes screaming or fleeing, and house employees trying to get out of the way of the swordsman before they too were cut up in the skirmish.

 

When the dust settled, the House Master and his stooges lay in heaps around the room, dead, dying, or maimed, while Yumichika and Ikkaku cheerfully collected Ikkaku's winnings from the vault, before allowing the vultures still hanging around after the fight to indulge in their own pickings.

 

“Che,” Ikkaku spat at the house's sign and grumbled as they exited, “What is it with these bastards, and calling me Tsukikubi, eh?”

 

“Well,” Yumichika answered in amusement, “It is your most defining characteristic.”

 

Ikkaku's glower only served to make Yumichika laugh, so the man promptly tripped him with a flick of his sword. Yumichika let out an undignified yelp, but caught himself before he hit the ground, and turned on Ikkaku with growl.

 

“This is precisely why you're known as a bald headed bastard!” he accused hotly pointing a finger at Ikkaku's head.

 

“Quit calling me bald!” Ikkaku snarled back, indignantly covering his head with a hand.

 

Yumichika couldn't help but find the self-conscious gesture endearing, and it quickly melted through the irritation at having been tripped. He smiled slightly and shook his head as he started walking backwards in front of Ikkaku.

 

“You know,” he said thinking out loud, “All you'd have to do is get something else that would attract people's attention more.”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Ikkaku complained.

 

Yumichika tapped his lower lip as he thought, seeming to have reached a solution a few moments later when he suddenly clapped his hands together.

 

“A tattoo!” Yumi practically squealed in delight, and he could tell from Ikkaku's contemplative expression that he didn't consider it a bad idea.

 

So it was the next morning they headed into the market and found a tattoo artist. Ikkaku insisted that for the plan to work, he needed something huge and eye-catching to cover his chest or maybe his arms. But Yumichika couldn't help pinching his face at everything Ikkaku picked out. He could tell Ikkaku was getting seriously aggravated as he shot down drawing after drawing, but it was all just so gaudy, and boorish, and ugly.

 

“How bout this one?” Ikkaku was on his last thread of patience, Yumichika recognized it by his tone.

 

“Unnn . . .” knowing the other was near his boiling point, Yumichika stalled for minute before finishing with an uncertain tone in an attempt to make his criticism sound less harsh, “It's hideous, but . . . not as much as the others?”

 

He could see Ikkaku's jaw tighten as he ground his teeth, “If ya find tattoos so damn ugly, ya shouldn't have suggested it in the first place.”

 

With that the taller man stalked away towards the counter with the drawing in hand to show the artist. Yumichika sighed, knowing Ikkaku had a point. He just hadn't expected everything in the shop to be so unattractive. It didn't help that Ikkaku wanted the thing to be as big, loud, and obvious as possible; Yumichika realized now that it was just going to mar his beautiful body. Just what had he been thinking suggesting this?

 

He dejectedly flipped through several pages of elaborate drawings depicting everything from cadavers, to legendary beasts, to clan and cult symbols, to great battles. He paused on a large painting of a battle scene as he noticed something peculiar about the warriors depicted within. They all had small elegant red markings around their eyes; a detail so subtle in its beauty that rather than be overlooked, made one turn back for a second glance. Yumichika stared in awe.

 

“Ikkaku!” he called excitedly, taking the drawing with him as he headed towards the man.

 

“What?” Ikkaku turned with a sour face.

 

“Look at this!  This is what you need.”

 

Yumichika pointed out the eye markings, reasoning why it was so much better, and more attractive then anything else in the shop. Ikkaku looked dubious at first, but as he studied the drawing and listened, his frown slowly faded.

 

“You sure this will be enough?” Ikkaku asked still a bit uncertain.

 

“It will be the perfect thing,” Yumi answered earnestly, and clapped his hands together in delight when Ikkaku handed the drawing over to the artist.

 

They left within the hour, Ikkaku's eyes newly branded in red ink. It had been extremely painful to have the work done in such a sensitive area, but Yumichika recalled how Ikkaku withstood it without so much as a peep. Although his eyes had been swollen and tender for several days afterward, of which he complained excessively about. In the end, when they stopped at a bathhouse after everything had completely healed and Ikkaku could take a good look at himself in a proper mirror, the smirk he bore told Yumichika he was quite satisfied.

 

The next time they went into a Gambling house, they followed the usual routine. Yumichika found himself a seat as Ikkaku started racking up the wins, calling a waitress over after some time to bring him a drink. As she was setting his sake on the table, a raucous cheer and simultaneous groan resounded from Ikkaku's table as he won yet again.

 

“That man over there, he certainly has luck on his side tonight doesn't he?” the waitress made small talk as she poured his sake before adding conspiratorially, “And he has the strangest markings around his eyes. All the girls are absolutely beside themselves about it!”

 

Yumichika chuckled, looking over at Ikkaku, “Ahh yes. He is probably the one they call Madarame.”

 

“Madarame?” she glanced at Ikkaku as well, “ . . . How fitting!”

 

With a small smile she bowed and left to attend other tables. Yumichika couldn't help but hum in delight to himself, knowing that the chatty girl would soon have the new name milling about the Gambling house. It was no surprise to Yumi that it stuck.

 

After that night, Madarame become the title affixed to the man with inconceivable luck and a unforgiving blade that had all the Gambling cartels at their wits end . . .

 

 

Over two centuries later, Yumichika now traced those markings with feather light caresses, waiting for the tickle to wake Ikkaku up. When his brow started to furrow, Yumichika bent his head down so his lips were right by Ikkaku's ear.

 

“Madarame~” he drew out the syllable very softly, still tracing the red ink, “Madarame~”

 

He suddenly laughed softly when fingers tickled his sides, and a pair of arms encircled him to drag him down onto Ikkaku's chest. A hand ran through his hair as it did every morning before Ikkaku addressed him groggily.

 

“Why do you have to wake up so goddamned early?”

 

Yumichika's only response was to chuckle furtively and kiss the red inked corners of Ikkaku's eyes.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~*Owari*~