Author's Notes: For Dragon Faere. A little light fun.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and am making no profit from this fan fiction.
"I think that's...dangerous."
"It's not." To prove her point, Yoruichi lifted the long-stemmed glass and took a long sip of the beverage to which Uraharu referred. The even series of swallows that followed set her throat flashing, and she was fully aware of her friend's expression transformed from dubious to mesmerized in a matter of seconds.
In the dimly-lit snug booth they had to themselves, the atmosphere was delectably private. At almost three o' clock in the morning, there were only a few other customers in the establishment now that the restaurant had closed and the bar was preparing to follow suit. The martini Yoruichi held, olive bobbing, was the last drink sold that evening. She shared one side of the booth with Urahara, who had opted for loosening his tie and collar about an hour after Ichigo and Rukia had left; something about it being a school night, if she wasn't mistaken. And now, if she were perfectly honest, the former shinigami looked rather sexy, all disheveled as he was.
A similar thought must have occurred to him because he leaned over to move his lips close to the column of flesh that her dress left tantalizingly bare. Distancing the glass rim from her lips, she shifted toward him, and Urahara immediately straightened, meeting her softened gold eyes with his overly attentive ones.
"Pink," he said, although the word sounded strained.
She had to blink a couple of times – if he were going to say anything, that had not been what she'd expected. "What?"
"Your martini is pink," clarified Urahara. "That's how I know it's dangerous."
They liked this game, she reminded herself. The whole distraction thing. It gave them a challenge, wit versus hormones. "That's not the drink. The glass is pink, see?"
Urahara spared a glance at the shining glass holding the too-expensive cocktail but quickly returned his full mindfulness to her, the way her hair played in waves over her shoulders, curved at her cheekbones. "Oh. Well...isn't that ingenious?"
Yoruichi helpfully tilted her head back so that the angle she offered him could not possibly be misinterpreted. And he smilingly began to comply before shifting as she had and facing in the other direction. If she hadn't been holding the martini, the princess might have driven her fingernails into his thigh.
"That musician is pretty dreadful," said the shopkeeper casually while the woman beside him experienced a hurried slip of control. "If I wanted to hear some bad music, I could have stayed home and listened to Tessai sing in the shower."
That particular mental image threatened to dissipate any heat remaining. Yoruichi quickly looked at the tired-looking pianist playing a grand piano, lacquered ebony gleaming. She had hardly noticed the melody before now. At any rate, she wasn't at all interested by it.
Setting the empty glass aside with a decisive clink, Yoruichi reached for his shoulder. Ready for her, Urahara turned in the same moment and slid a palm over the left side of her head, slim fingers threading through her hair as their lips met almost feverishly in the shadows of the plush seat.
When they broke apart, Urahara managed to get the breath to ask, "What were we celebrating?"
She rattled her brain. "Ichigo won or something," she mumbled before they came together for a second kiss. Once they disentangled again, she grinned at him, at catlike as could be. "Maybe we should get out of here."
His smile considerably widened when she ran an ankle up his leg. "Your right. That poor man probably has to play that damn thing until we leave."
Reaching into her glass, Yoruichi took a second to pop the olive in her mouth before allowing Urahara to lead her out of the booth.
"I like pink martinis," he told her, having had his taste.