Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Safe Sex ❯ Jokes ( Chapter 11 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates.

 

(A/N: Several things to say about this really random fic.

 

1: I completed it in about two hours.

 

2: I got the idea from reading a manifesto on livejournal about IchiHime. My friend, who's trying to lessen my Inoue hatred—for those of you who know my abject hatred of Inoue this will come as a surprise. It's actually kind of succeeding; the all out wish-she-were-run-over-by-a-train feeling has gone down to an I-still-want-you-to-die-but-in-a-less-painful-yet-quick-way. Anyway, I read it and I thought of this fic.

 

3: The characters are a bit OOC.

 

4: I like Rangiku Matsumoto, I just know that people can say a lot of stupid things when they're drunk.

 

5: Please feel free to review. I hope you guys like this installment. But keep in mind I made it in about two hours!

 

ENJOY AND REVIEW!!!)

 

 

 

 

Safe Sex

 

Jokes

 

By Tituba

 

They said it was a joke… what we had between us, that is. It was just a big, fat, laughable joke. They said that it wouldn't last, that we were too different, that it wasn't right, that there was no way we could ever be together.

 

Yeah… ha ha ha… very funny.

 

So why were they the only ones laughing?

 

Why were we the ones to stand in complete silence, watching them as they mocked us? Why did we have to smile blithely and bite our tongues when all we wanted to do was hit them over the head with mallets and tell them to take us seriously?

 

Well, okay, maybe he didn't… but I did.

 

But I couldn't. I was Rukia Kuchiki, princess extraordinaire, Rukongai rat turned royalty, royalty turned Shinigami, Shinigami turned captive, captive turned hero, hero turned warrior, and warrior turned legend.

 

Then there was him. He was Ichigo Kurosaki, anomaly and superpower; human turned Shinigami, Shinigami turned traitor, traitor turned hero, hero turned back to traitor, traitor turned back to hero, and hero turned famed Captain.

 

But apparently, none of that mattered.

 

They took one look at us, when we were in our first, tentative steps of something called a relationship, and burst out laughing. We had to wait until their laughter subsided before asking what, exactly, was so funny. It was then that we found out the truth, and the truth hurt.

 

They said that we didn't fit properly.

 

At first I was confused. Were they making some sort of argument against my height? Or was it Ichigo's height they were after? He was abnormally tall, and all that, but still. If they were making some sort of crack on my height I would most definitely find some orifice in which to stick my foot. But no, they weren't talking about that. When I asked them to explain—and when Ichigo threatened them on penalty of getting their asses kicked—they still didn't say anything other than that `we didn't go.'

 

It wasn't until a few years later, when I was out drinking with Rangiku—water for me, of course, since it was earlier decided that someone in our little group needed to be able to hold a sword properly if we got attacked by thugs on the street—that I found out what people were really saying.

 

I took another sip of my water and passed a sidelong glance at my drunken friend. Her nose was as red as a ripe tomato and her cheeks were just the shade to match. Her breasts were practically popping out of her shihakusho and she was woozily crooning out some bawdy song she had learned a few weeks ago from one of her squad-mates.

 

I kept one eye on her as I snuck a look at the Squad Thirteen papers I had brought with me. The barkeep looked at me as if I weren't right in the head—for bringing work to a bar—but I just shrugged it off. If I was going to sit here all night and watch one of my girlfriends get drunk then I might as well get some work done.

 

It was only after a few moments of lazily sipping water and signing sheets that a young man from my division—couldn't remember his name even if I tried—came and plopped down onto the seat next to me.

 

This, in and of itself, wouldn't have been an unusual occurrence. After all, I often sit with members of my squad in order to keep up a sense of camaraderie. However, this time was different, mostly because as soon as he was on the stool, his arm was around my shoulders and his lips were pressing firmly against my cheek.

 

I practically squawked when I felt his disgustingly wet lips smear against my face. I felt like gagging and vomiting at the same time—if that was even possible. Although in the back of my head—somewhere far, far, away—I realized that I shouldn't hurt this man too much. After all, he really was completely drunk and it really wouldn't be fair of me if I went and cut off his noogies like I normally would for someone who did this sober. I knew that he was under the influence. So I'd be merciful…

 

I'd sic Ichigo on his ass later.

 

I was about to elbow him in the place where the sun don't shine when he was instantly yanked off of my body.

 

I looked up towards my momentary hero and prepared myself to thank him or her in a manner that clearly said, `I appreciate what you did but really, I could have handled it myself.' But when I looked up, all I saw was a very drunken Rangiku Matsumoto.

 

“Paws off,” she shouted, pointing a wobbling finger at the man who was now lying prostrate on the ground. “This here w-woman belongs to Ichi—hic—go Kuros… shhhakeee.”

 

I winced at the lisping and slurring pronunciation of my boyfriends' name and immediately prayed that not everyone in the bar heard what Rangiku said.

 

They did.

 

“Rangiku,” I murmured, patting the now-empty seat beside me with obvious intent, “Why don't you take a seat. I'll get the tab and then we can—”

 

“You know,” she muttered, a little burp coming from her mouth as she spoke, “I never really understood what you guys—hic—saw in each other.”

 

My hands froze in my shihakusho as I started to pull out my wallet.

 

“I mean… you're always so… mean to him, ya know? Always kickin' him and punchin' him and being all nasty,” she waved a hand in the air and took another swig of her drink. “I don't see how he puts up with you.”

 

Anger soon replaced that stabbing sensation of pain inside of my heart.

 

“B-But then again,” she slurred, “He yells at you—hic—all the time too. He calls you sh—hic—ort and always gets in your—hic—way when you fight. I don't see how you put up with him.”

 

I still didn't say anything.

 

But Rangiku wasn't even starting. “When you look at all the… all the… all the…um, people, yeah! People, in Soul Society, who are… um… you know… with the ceremony and the rings and the—the—party after?”

 

“Married?” The barkeep interjected, oblivious to the glare I was giving him for listening in on our conversation. Well, it wasn't really a conversation, more like a rant given by Rangiku. But I wasn't going to interrupt. Even though it was painful I wanted to know what people said about us behind our backs.

 

I wanted to know.

 

“Yeah! Thanks sugar! You're cute!” She giggled at him and then swiveled back to me. I took one look at the bartender and realized that Rangiku must have been far more shitfaced than I'd originally assumed. The man was fucking ugly.

 

“When you look at other people in Soul—hic—Society who are married,” she pulled the word out of her mouth with great care, as if she was proud of herself for remembering what it was, “You see them being all quiet and respect—hic—ful towards each other. I mean, your brother and his chick… Hi… uh… Hisa… whatever her name was… I saw them when they got together.”

 

I raised an eyebrow, this wasn't something I'd heard before.

 

“They were always so quiet together. In public, she never said a word to—hic—him and he never said a word to—hic—her. I mean, you knew they—hic—loved each other and stuff but it was just the—hic—quiet love. You and Ishigoo don't have—hic—that.”

 

I winced when she slurred his name but kept silent, my hand in my shihakusho still gripping my wallet.

 

“You know… I always thought he'd go for the red-headed chick,” she mused, swirling her glass around and sloshing some sake onto the bar. “With the boobs that are almost as perfect as mine,” to emphasize her point she cupped said breasts and jiggled them generously, making every man in attendance whip out their video phones and press record.

 

“Ori—hic—hime,” she said, “That girl… damn, loved him like the—hic—dickens! She was always so quiet about it too. The soft, respect—hic—ful love that you see with… uh, with people like your bro and his wife, or! Or with Kaien and Miyako!”

 

I felt myself nearly on the brink of tears. Why, I didn't know, but I was.

 

“Orihime would have been the—hic—respectful, loveable, and cute one.” Rangiku let out a bawdy laugh and continued, “You know, once, she told me she was jealous of you? Jealous! Imagine that! All because you made Ishi—hic—goo all happy again before she was carted off with the Arran-hic—car. Boy, but did she love you for bringing him back. She was so proud of you. She wanted to be just like you, you know, all strong and brave and stuff. I think she called you… uh… amazing, yeah! That's it!”

 

My hand was shaking and the barkeep was looking at me funny. I didn't like it.

 

“I told her—hic—at that time, that Ishigoo was just a kid and that he—hic—needed both of you. But I guess I was wrong. Looks like he needed you—hic—more. Although… I still don't see it.” She grunted and downed the last of her beverage before turning back to me and grinning like a fool.

 

“You and Ichigo… you're just not serious. Always hitting each other, keeping—hic—each other from fights, calling each other—hic—names. No one in the Seiretei takes you two seriously. It's like… it's like…” she waved her hand in the air and frowned, “Like he's with you because he owes you something… like… for making him a Soul Reaper, I guess.”

 

Oh God… why was my chest feeling like it was going to implode?

 

“Then there are—hic—technicalities,” she went on, her head drooping to the counter and her voice becoming lower, “Tall and short, black sword and—hic—white sword, brawn and brains… you two are just so… off.”

 

Why did she have to point out all of the flaws that I thought made us perfect for each other? I would have asked but it was then that I knew I was going to cry. Even though I didn't want to. Even though I knew that if I did I would be officially letting this discussion deeply wound me. Even though I knew that if I cried… that would mean there was some truth behind her words.

 

My heart felt like it was bleeding. It felt like Rangiku was purposefully locating all of the scabs I had from my old wounds and picking them open one by one. Tears burned at the back of my eyes but I didn't let them fall.

 

She didn't know anything about us… about me. About how horribly guilty I felt about dragging him away from his normal life. About how I wished that I had never allowed that Hollow to take me down in front of his house. About how I wanted to take back my single sword-thrust through his heart. About how I desperately dreamed of him, being normal, being happy… not fighting everyday to stay alive. About how I had begged him, when he finally came to be a Captain in the Soul Society, to go back to Earth and live a normal life.

 

After all, if I had never come along… he probably would have been happy. He would probably have found a nice girl to marry and have children. It could have even been Orihime for all I know. He would never have been tormented, tortured, and tried on my behalf.

 

I pushed myself away from the bar and immediately exited. I left Rangiku—so drunk that she had already passed out on the counter—behind and moved as quickly as I could to the Third Squad Barracks. I knew that Ichigo would be in his office or in his room. He was probably doing paperwork or reading Shakespeare, as he liked to do on nights like this. I just prayed he wasn't already asleep. I didn't want to have to wake him up if he was tired from a day with the squad. I tried to calm down but nevertheless I trembled as I shunpoed, kicking up more dust than I should have. My brother would have been ashamed of me.

 

I found him lying on his bed, his chest naked and damp from a recent shower, he had a book in his hand and a light on near his desk. I couldn't see what it was he was reading but then again, I didn't really care either.

 

The minute I appeared in his room his eyes were on me.

 

“Hey,” he said, setting the book down by his side and gently sitting up on the bed. “What're you doing up so late? It's nearly two in the morning.”

 

I blessed the Gods for the dark shadows I was currently standing under. If he could see my face he'd know what was going on.

 

I struggled to contain myself and began berating myself mentally for coming here on a whim. It was stupid. Ichigo and I had been seeing each other for nearly fifteen years—a short span of time by Shinigami standards—and over those years we had—repeatedly—discussed his would-have-been life.

 

He's told me at least a hundreds of times that he would never trade the way he was living—dying?—now for a life on Earth. He's told me at least a thousands of times that without me and, subsequently, without hollows and Shinigami and evil men attempting to take over the world, that his life would be fretfully dull. Plus, he's told me at least a million times that he'd never, ever, trade what has happened to him for anything resembling normalcy.

 

My eyes—which had gone dry during my shunpo—watered once again and I quickly strode over to the bed. Ichigo took one look at my distraught face and tensed up immediately. I knew he wasn't wigging out because I was crying. No, he wanted to know who'd hurt me just so he could go and kill them.

 

So even though we're not the type of `serious' couple, as Rangiku put it so eloquently, and even though I'm sure Ichigo would have rather kicked/punched some sense into me rather than coddling me, I'd have to say that we do have our moments.

 

This was one of them.

 

Ichigo immediately moved to the edge of the bed, swung his legs over, and pulled me into his arms. I sat across his lap instantly and pressed my head on his clavicle. He smelled so nice… so warm and masculine. I breathed in deeply and tried to savor this tranquil moment in our `non-serious' relationship.

 

“What's the matter?” He asked me, a hard edge to his voice that I knew meant trouble for the person who was making me feel like this.

 

“Nothing,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “Can I just… stay here… tonight?”

 

I could practically see him frowning as he tightened his hold around me. He nodded once—I felt it against my head—and slowly pulled us back into his large bed. His upper body rested against the headboard while one of his arms propped me against him. He rubbed his other hand against the full length of my arm and allowed my legs to tangle with his.

 

After several moments just lying down like this, he hesitantly brushed a light kiss over the top of my head. My heart fluttered at the touch. Normally, Ichigo wasn't the most affectionate of people, moments like this—when he would break down the tough barrier around his mind and let me see the real him—were rare indeed.

 

“Don't shut me out, Rukia,” he murmured, his breath displacing a few hairs on my head. “If someone upset you… tell me so I can kill them.”

 

That alone made me chuckle dryly. I snuggled in closer to him and sighed heavily. After a moment I finally chose to speak. “It just gets so… tiring, sometimes.”

 

“What does?” He leaned down a bit in his bed and took me with him. Now I was lying flat with him, his arm around me, his hand stroking my hand.

 

“Defending,” I murmured, staring at a spot on the wall, “Defending us, defending our relationship, having to explain to people why we are the way we are… I'm just getting… tired.”

 

Ichigo stiffened underneath of me and I heard a low growl emanating from his chest. “Who was it?”

 

I snorted and allowed a finger to swirl around the expanse of his exposed bellybutton. He shuddered lightly at the touch. “I don't think Hitsugaya Taichou would take too kindly to you murdering his fukutaicho.”

 

“Rangiku?” He was clearly surprised.

 

“She was drunk.”

 

“Ah, that's all the explanation needed.” He nodded against me and then held me tighter, “She gave you the `you're-not-serious' and `I-thought-you-were-better-with-Orihime' spiel, didn't she?”

 

I frowned at that and immediately sat up, leaning my body on the bed so that I could look him in the eye without any difficulty. He raised an orange eyebrow at me and I raised one at him. “You've heard it before?”

 

“Five years ago,” he said, stroking my back with one of his large hands, I fought off a shudder, “At a party—and I use that term loosely since your brother was there, hey! Don't hit me! It was for the Taichou's and the fukutaichou's to get better acquainted.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, “Trust Shunsi to bring the sake, even though it was supposed to be a dry event. She got so fucking plastered she rattled that speech off to everyone in the room. Needless to say, about everyone in the room actually agreed with her—your brother included—and I left before I could decapitate anyone.”

 

My jaw dropped, “B-But… you never told me!”

 

Ichigo furrowed his brow into that lovely scowl that I like so much and nodded, “I didn't want to upset you… and besides, it's not like it's any of their business.”

 

“B-B-But…”

 

Ichigo sat up on his elbows and silenced my senseless muttering with a soft kiss to my lips. I moaned instantly and placed my hands on his cheeks. The passion between us sizzled softly as our mouths gently danced. He cupped the back of my neck and slowly teased me while I became squirming putty in his capable hands. I always loved it when we kissed like this. It was so soft and moving and beautiful that I almost felt like crying.

 

After a few moments, he pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. I was panting lightly but he was not—a fact for which I cursed him—and he smiled gently at me.

 

Oh how I loved that smile.

 

“Rukia, I love you, I think I've loved you since before I even knew what would happen to us. Over the years those feelings have not gone away and I don't think they ever will.”

 

There were several thoughts running through my head all at once when he said this. One of them was: Oh my God… is he actually communicating with me? Should I film this? As well as: God I love him. And even: Well… he must be under the influence to actually be talking about his feelings with me.

 

I didn't care.

 

“The point is,” he said a bit more loudly than before, perhaps sensing that my thoughts had momentarily drifted. I snapped back into attention immediately and stared into his gorgeous eyes. “I know that we don't have to explain ourselves to anyone. We don't have to hide how we feel. Our relationship is our own. We shouldn't feel guilty because we have these feelings for one another. We shouldn't be ashamed to let people know it. We're not going to pretend like it's not there or stay away from each other just because we're a bit… unorthodox. And we definitely shouldn't listen to what other people think, because they're always going to think differently about us. They don't know how we really work, how much we love each other.” He stopped to smile at me and pressed a kiss to my nose.

 

Do I still exist? Because I think I just melted.

 

My stunned brain couldn't even get a signal out to my mind to start working. I didn't say anything. For once, Ichigo was the one who did all the talking.

 

He pressed another kiss to my lips and murmured. “Got it?”

 

I only nodded, incapable of doing anything else.

 

We settled back onto the bed and he held me tightly in his arms. I curled up against him and gently squeezed his body so closely to mine that not even air could pass between us.

 

“I love you, Ichigo Kurosaki,” I murmured, tightening my hand in his.

 

He grunted as he turned off the light and pulled a small blanket over us. “Che, I know.” He paused and I grinned at the return of `normal Ichigo.'

 

“Don't expect something sappy like that whenever you come to me crying,” he muttered, “I must be lightheaded or… or… drugged or whatever. `Cause you know I don't ever say shit like that.”

 

I tried to suppress a giggle. It didn't work. Ichigo bristled beside me. “I know,” I murmured, gently feeling myself being tugged into the nether regions of sleep.

 

Before I slipped off, I heard Ichigo mutter, “Love you too…”

 

Or maybe I was just imagining it.

 

Ichigo rolled over on his side and gently wrapped an arm around my waist. I sighed happily and stretched in the sheets as he pressed his warm and naked body against mine. He brought his mouth to my ear and nibbled the lobe for a few moments. His morning shadow scraped against my cheek and I sighed at the sensation. Everything felt so good that I began to get squishy all over again.

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured, dragging his tongue up the shell of my ear while his hand started to explore the already mapped territory of my left breast.

 

I sighed and turned until my mouth was near his. We faced each other and I grinned when his fingers didn't stop their journey up my soft mounds. I sighed into his hands and murmured, “The night I went drinking with Rangiku.”

 

His face immediately took on a look of annoyance. He raised an eyebrow and started kissing my neck. “Why would you think about something like that?” He muttered, “Especially post-sex.”

 

“The term is post-coital,” I whispered, groaning a bit when he began plucking at my nipple, “And I was just remembering what you said afterwards.”

 

“I didn't say anything,” he stoutly disagreed. I grinned and raised my eyes to the ceiling as he pleasured me. I knew that he did remember. He was just pretending not to. He liked to do that whenever I brought up that night. He always hated it when I reminded him of how mushy he got.

 

“Sure you didn't.” I said, giggling when he noted the sarcastic disbelief in my voice and instantly raised his head from my neck. I grinned at him and he smirked back.

 

“I didn't.” He said, his eyes narrowing dangerously but with a happy glint inside of them as well.

 

“Sure,” I sighed nonchalantly, rolling my eyes and then turning away from him.

 

“You don't believe me?” He said, his clipped tone now becoming lighter. “I'll show you not to believe me.”

 

With that, he launched himself on me and began to tickle me in all the right places. My laughter was instantaneous and nearly uncontrollable. I rolled around the bed and sought to also find the spots I knew were ticklish on him. He warded me off the best he could but in the end, I succeeded. Laughing, we finally took up each other's pillows and began throwing them about, tossing them at each other until all that remained of them were strewn feathers and empty bags.

 

We laughed long and loud, no doubt waking up the other members of our squad. We didn't care though. We were having fun.

 

At last, I thought that if all of our relationship was just a joke… then, who's laughing now?