Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Seireitei Monogatari ❯ What the Fox Dragged In ( Chapter 100 )

Title: What the Fox Dragged In (And Subsequently Kept)

Pairing/Characters: Gin/Ichigo

Rating: M

Warning: Male/Male kissing, language, OOC like woah.

Words: 1,518

Description: Ichigo discovers Stockholm Syndrome at its greatest.

 

Dedication: For Teslyn, who wanted a sequel to Can I Keep Him? Umm, I think I at least managed to keep the same level of crack? Enjoy!

 

 

Ichigo woke slowly, unable to remember the last sixteen years of his existence. That might have seemed like an exaggeration, but due to the pulsing of his skull, he could hardly recall more than his name. And thinking any deeper than that hurt like a bitch.

 

He made a mental note to getsuga tenshou whichever Espada it was that ran him over.

 

Peeling his eyes open, he found himself staring at a white ceiling. And he meant white. It was practically blinding in its brightness. Blinking, he tipped his head to the side and glanced around the room. Definitely not at home.

 

The walls around him were the same stark color as the ceiling, though there were pictures tacked up here and there. They looked to be like finger-paintings and were brightly colored, depicting various scenes. A window on the right wall was covered in thick red curtains. There was a door on the far side of the room, closed. And at that distance, he didn't know if it was locked or not. Zangetsu was propped up against a chair near the bed and within arm's reach if he strained.

 

He couldn't help but wonder just where in hell he was. He couldn't remember what had happened last. It was just this big blank spot in his mind. He recalled trying desperately for something. Looking for someone? Trying to save... someone?

 

Orange. Fairies. Large and jiggling assets.

 

…Someone?

 

Gah, his head hurt.

 

Ichigo groaned and placed a hand on his forehead as he rose upwards. Swinging his legs over the side of the rather comfortable bed, bare feet settled on a cold floor. His entire body ached with the movement, tugging at wounds beneath his clothing, and he hissed in pain.

 

Pressing one hand to his side where he could feel bandages beneath cloth, he realized something was off. Ichigo looked down, and his eyes widened. His clothes had been... changed? What the hell? Where was his shihakushou? And why was he all in white?

 

Scratch that.

 

Who the fuck changed him while he was unconscious? And sweet kami, now that he was paying attention, where was his underwear?

 

Something like a blush began to stain his cheeks at the thought of a stranger stripping him down and redressing him. Clearly, he had to get out of here soon. Wherever here was. Which meant that he had to make every effort to get up... As soon as his legs stopped wobbling beneath him.

 

The sound of humming floated to his ears in a low, masculine tone. Ichigo turned towards the door very slowly, watching as the knob moved, and it literally creaked open. In stepped a white-clothed figure carrying a silver tray covered in dishes, some happy little song that suspiciously sounded like the wedding march being hummed under his breath.

 

Ichimaru Gin.

 

Ichimaru Gin was walking into Ichigo's current residence as if there was nothing wrong about it. And the smile on his face seemed to widen as his entire face brightened.

 

“Kurosaki-kun!” Ichimaru chirped at him like they were long-lost friends and not, you know, mortal enemies. “Yer awake!”

 

Brown eyes widened impossibly large, and to his mortification, Ichigo flailed. He nearly swallowed his tongue as he scrambled backwards on the bed, at the same time trying to reach for Zangetsu and ending up with this three-legged thumping crawl with one arm waving wildly in the air.

 

“Ichimaru!” he declared indignantly and angrily and other such words that described a teenager surprised to find himself in the lion's den and changed out of his normal clothes.

 

But before he could even wrap fingers around Zangetsu, the grinning man was between him and the zanpakutou. And Ichigo was flailing at the white of his clothes. He promptly backpedaled, instantly suspicious.

 

“Ya mus' be hungry,” Ichimaru continued as though Ichigo hadn't said anything, or even reacted really. He thrust the tray in Ichigo's direction, plates and cups rattling. “Here. I had Stark-bo whip it up fer ya. He's great in th' kitchen.”

 

Blinking, Ichigo took the tray without really knowing why. A flavorful scent floated to his nose, causing his stomach to rumble appreciatively. When was the last time he'd eaten?

 

And yet, his eyes still flickered to his zanpakutou, wanting Zangetsu in his hands rather than over there where he couldn't reach him.

 

It was all so surreal. And Ichigo had the sudden and almost absurd thought that maybe it was just a really weird dream.

 

Yeah, that was it. He was at home or at the geta-boushi's, getting his wounds treated by Orihime, and he was suffering from a really bad dream. Ichigo decided to go with that. He picked up the chopsticks. Might as well not starve since it was just a dream and all.

 

Ichimaru just smiled at him, as if pleased by his decision, and plopped down on the bed next to his new friend. Ever-so-subtly inching away from close contact, Ichigo picked at his food. After several moments of uncomfortable silence and the feel of his injuries throbbing, he decided to humor his dream.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” the teenager demanded, really, really wanting Zangetsu again. He wondered if he could dive for his zanpakutou before Ichimaru managed to skewer him.

 

“Now why would I do something like tha'?” Ichimaru asked logically. “Aizen-taichou gave ya to me after all. It'd be a shame ter lose my pet.”

 

“Oh… well, that makes sense.” He took a bite of perfectly cooked rice and then promptly choked.

 

Ichigo swiveled his head towards Ichimaru so quickly that he nearly got whiplash. “Wait. Pet?” he demanded and swelled up with indignation. “Like hell!”

 

Reiatsu began to surge from his body in an angry whirl. And even Shirosaki was just this side of displeased.

 

Ichimaru bopped him on the nose, causing him to drop his chopsticks in shock. “Behave,” he scolded.

 

And then, he kissed Ichigo. Just like that, no warning whatsoever.

 

Ichigo thought his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets. He went absolutely still in shock, mouth falling open with surprise. Which Ichimaru took full advantage of. The benefits of being evil, he supposed.

 

His first thought, however, wasn't anything like he suspected it would be considering his present situation.

 

Rather than “Shit! I'm being kissed by the enemy, and once more, he's a man!”

 

It went more like, “Wow, his lips are surprisingly soft for being so thin.”

 

And then, “He tastes like strawberries.”

 

Lastly, he thought, “This really isn't a dream. Is it?”

 

He didn't even realize he had said the last aloud until Ichimaru chuckled at him.

 

Those eyes slitted open just enough to give him a glimpse of bright cherry-amber, twinkling with bemusement. “Nope,” Ichimaru replied cheerily and then patted him on the head like one would a dog which did something very well. “Now, eat yer dinner. Ya don' wanna get sick,” he added rose to his feet with a squeak of bedsprings.

 

Ichigo was surprised to find his face flushing to the very roots of his hair. He could feel the burning on his cheeks. He stared as Ichimaru puttered around the room and then easily lifted Zangetsu's weight into his hands.

 

“I'll just take this fer now,” he stated casually.

 

And well, that was all it took to get Ichigo to rise into action. He leapt from the bed with an angry shout, only to promptly feel his knees buckle beneath him as he slumped back down onto the bed. Okay, so maybe he wasn't fully healed at all. In fact, he just felt several of his wounds reopen, and now, his head was spinning fuzzily.

 

“Ya should probably get some sleep, Ichi-kun,” Ichimaru said happily, ignoring Ichigo's rather pathetic attempt at escape. He wrapped those long fingers around the door knob and turned it, preparing to step into the hall. “Don' worry. I'll be back ta play wit ya later!”

 

And then, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him with a sound that definitely implied some sort of lock sliding into place.

 

With a groan, Ichigo threw himself back onto the bed and splayed against the covers. He had the feeling that it was useless to get up and check the door. Or the window. He doubted Ichimaru would make it that simple to escape. And he wouldn't leave Zangetsu behind anyway.

 

He couldn't believe it.

 

Trapped. Kidnapped really, if he wanted to look at it that way. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He wished he had taken those kidoh lessons that the geta-boushi had wanted to give him because he was pretty damn helpless without Zangetsu.

 

And what had Ichimaru meant by “play,” and why did his body not seem disinclined towards it?

 

Ichigo wondered if anyone was going to come save him for once. After all, it seemed he was going to be stuck here for quite some time until someone got off their lazy asses and organized a rescue.

 

After all, Rukia and Orihime and that snot Ishida all owed him one.

 

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