Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ The Complements ❯ The Junkie ( Chapter 6 )

 

The Junkie

 

 

Poetry simply wasn't going to work tonight.

 

I felt the energy subside and Ichigo's arms wrap around me. What a foolish, reckless boy. How could he let his energy fly around pell-mell where it could harm others- specifically me? But then again, an ounce of trust rose from my subconscious to remind me that Ichigo would never purposely hurt me. He was too much of a knight who couldn't use that power of his for evil. I settled my head against his collarbone, fisting my hands until my fingers stopped trembling. Then I pulled away, slowly, and looked at him.

 

“Kurosaki-“ I began, then stopped myself. Don't distance yourself with your tone, Uryuu. Make an effort. “Ichigo,” I corrected myself laboriously. “You really smell.”

 

It was the truth. And I, mind you, have a thing about cleanliness. Dirt is my mortal enemy. All that becomes apparent when you wear white every day.

 

Ichigo's face twisted in a delicious matter of ways before bursting out, “You jerk!”

 

A laugh rose to my lips and I reached down to tug up on Ichigo's t-shirt. “I'm only being honest,” I reminded him.

 

“Who cares if you're being honest? You're still a jerk- hey! What's this about?” he argued. By the time he realized my intention, I had already yanked it high enough to pin his arms over his head. His shirts were always so damn tight. Ever since I met him, I've been under the impression that he shops in the girls' aisle.

 

Finally succeeding in tearing off Ichigo's shirt, I delicately folded it over the back of my working chair. “You might as well give me your pants since you've ripped them,” I reminded him. “I can give you a pair to go home in.”

 

This carefully established fact- that Ichigo was not going to engage in any kind of romantic sleepover- was made clear by my careful phrasing. If he picked it up, all was well.

 

“You actually think that I'm going to fit in your pants?” Ichigo questioned. Apparently, he had not gotten my little hint.

 

I turned around to answer him but found myself only staring. Each day of fighting Hollows and freeing spirits had accounted for the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. The strong muscles of his chest blended aesthetically into his arms and down the cords of muscles to his boxy hips. With the fine sheen of sweat, he glowed like an underwear model. I was hooked.

 

“My god, Ichigo, I want to rip all your clothes off and lick your lips and bite your nipples and suck you until your screams shatter all the windows of my house!” At least, that is what I wanted to say to him. Instead, I told him, “This should fit you.” And with that, I gave him a towel and walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

 

My jumbled mind at first forgot the basic function of a shower and I fumbled with the knobs as steam billowed out of the bathroom and into the hallway. My glasses immediately fogged up and I groped on my hands and knees for the lever that would switch the flow from the faucet to the showerhead. A mist of hot water set droplets on my hair that dripped down to cling at the tip of my nose. Giving the lever a good yank, the showerhead sputtered on and hit the floor in a rush. Oh, how familiar this was.