Gah, Urahara… Ichigo… why the hell couldn't you've written your own damn love story? This was hard! I hope you loyal fangirls and fanboys enjoy, because my fingers almost fell off!
I Am Midnight: Seriously, chica, this took all of my willpower to have them NOT shag each other. Nevertheless, I hope you really like this.
I don't own anything. But I can still hope… C:
"I can't believe you would do this to me!" Urahara squeaked the sentence out dramatically. He held out the remains of his favorite hat in despair. The crooked green stripes that normally dazzled Ichigo with their happy dance now struck a chord of fear in his adolescent heart. He had been staying over for a few weeks, trying to help Urahara Shop with its many loads of clothes to be washed.
Tessai and the kids were taking a break for summer, which meant Urahara was left alone when his dryer broke down, and he was forced to hang all of the clothes outside on clotheslines. Yoruichi had conveniently disappeared shortly after the breakdown to a place even Urahara didn't know.
Unfortunately, they still managed to be finding dirty sheets and clothes all over the house. His only help could come from the previously idle substitute shinigami. It would be another week until Tessai came home, even after the blond had rung him up and told him of the disaster.
"It was an accident," he held up his hands, glowering at the melodramatic blond. Grey eyes, rimmed with ridiculous tears, tore into the copper-haired man as a pale hand shot toward him. He swerved and blocked the angry fingers from choking the life out of him. Ichigo's other arm jolted down to cover his crotch from a geta attack, and he frowned.
"Yes it was," his voice shook on the last word. "This is the thanks I get for buying you that cute new pair of socks? They were a thank-you present for helping me!" Said socks had fallen from the clothesline with the dramatic wind that billowed Urahara's dark cloak. With the spring air stinging his nostrils drifted in the cool scent of sakura, and the unshaved man shook his head to cover his face with a blond mess. By now, he had retreated to the other side of the cloth wall.
"Those didn't even fit, asshole!" He would soon get wrinkles on his forehead if he kept this scowling up. He couldn't help that the older man had been exceedingly annoying today.
"Yes they did," snorted the man, disappearing between sheets and pieces of clothing. "You just needed to pull them on harder!" Ichigo feverishly swiped the interrupting objects from side to side, trying to find the tricky man. A loose pair of pants fell into his face, effectively blocking his vision for a few moments. He sputtered and clawed at the distracting material, throwing it to the ground and spinning around quickly.
"Bullshit, you piece of scum! That color was ugly too!" Only drying clothes surrounded him, but he felt a hot breath pierce down his neck, and whipped around to glare at the mystical man in front of him.
"You really did like them," Urahara ducked to avoid the punch, instead tripping the youth with his cane and skittering away on his sandals. A crooked smile adorned his face and he winked playfully.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you! I HATED THEM!"
"Then, why did you throw them in the washer with my clothes?"
Ichigo pushed himself up into a crouching position, trying to sense the ex-captain. The corner of a white sheet rubbed against his shoulder, but it didn't distract him from the bigger motive. He had a feeling in his gut, in fact, that the whole thing had been part of Urahara's plan since he first came to assist the crazy shopowner.
These past few weeks they had spent with each other had been great for learning patience. The blond man was childish when he wasn't being creepy, and it was useful. Although it had been difficult to convince his father it really was work, and trying to persuade Karin to stay at the house, it had been worth it. Maybe a hundred thousand years from now, he would finally understand just what the hell was going on in the scientist's mind.
"I think," the voice was right behind him, again, but he made no attempt to turn. "You did it on purpose as a juvenile attempt at revenge. Or, maybe you wanted to steal a pair of my panties?"
"You'd be wrong. I was hoping the washing machine would eat them," the snort Ichigo gave sounded happier than it should have, and the bearded man took this as a hint to face the teen. Brown and grey eyes clashed, and the older man let out a loud laugh before pouncing backwards into the sea of sheets. They were closer to the Shop now, but it seemed as though the sheets had multiplied. Had he not been paying attention?
Or was this an illusion? A trap, set up by the tricky blond… that's exactly what it was. Slicing a hand through to push more of the rapidly increasing sheets, Ichigo hissed in irritation.
"You're overthinking again, Ikkun," the voice danced from a few meters away, bringing a twisted smile on the teen's face. Urahara was probably right, as he always was, but that didn't mean he was going to go down without a fight. He jerked to a halt, trying to listen to the any noises he might have otherwise missed. He closed his brown eyes as well, and listened as closely as he could to the rustling of cloth all around him. The wind had picked up just a tad, blowing the leaves in the trees and the scraps of litter in the dirty lot in front of Urahara Shop.
Ichigo had just noticed how peaceful the day was, how light the air felt, and how playful the already hyper shop owner was. Even after these grueling weeks spent together, hunched over the table waiting for the clothes in the washing machine to finish their cycle, the two men hadn't spoken much. Urahara would usually be muttering to himself and scribbling notes on his arm or the closest scrap of napkin or paper, and Ichigo would recess into the depths of his mind to have short discussions with Zangetsu. They would share a few cups of tea, a simple dinner, and then retreat to their rooms to sleep until the next morning when they began a silent training session in the basement. The one time Urahara had tried to start up a conversation, the orange-haired teen had politely shot him down with, "Don't talk about dirty things when you're eating, pervert."
A sudden weight pushed him back and down onto the ground, effectively knocking the wind out of him with a heavy grunt. A wrinkled white mess was smothering him, and two pale hands were latched on his wrists. Urahara's ankles pinned his own down onto the grass as well, and their faces were almost touching. The blond laughed loudly, almost deafening the confused oranget.
"Waaaa," grey eyes burst open happily, and Urahara cackled while wickedly rubbing noses with Ichigo, who felt his chest twitch. "Sooooo soft, Ichigooo! Feel how soft they are!" Their bodies were pressed together tightly, with the upper man wiggling with excitement. The teen cringed at the near contact; it was giving him strange shudders all over his body. He felt the small spasms spread to his face, which heated in response. A handful of fabric was rubbing against both of their cheeks, and it was indeed a very delicate and fluffy sort of feeling. This feeling was making him immensely uncomfortable, so he shoved Urahara off. Unfortunately, he fell with him backwards, burying the teen's face into the pale neck below him, which was still shaking with giggles. Honestly, the man with the cane was plotting something evil, and the teenager couldn't do a thing to stop him.
Maybe, if Ichigo kept pretending he wasn't feeling what he was, it would go away quietly. The blond blew a piece of hair from his face, laughing and easily rolling out of the other man's grip.
"Okay, okay, little Ichi; it's tea time!" His voice was ridiculously cheery, and the teen wondered if the same things were happening to the man with the stubble. Had he, too, felt those tremors and heat flashes?
He was annoyed for two reasons. The first of which was the punch-drunk Urahara daring to use such a stupid nickname at that moment. The second was the fact he had no idea if it was all part of his plan, or if he was winging it.
"Oh, and could you please clean up your silly mess?" Urahara waggled a finger in shame before disappearing inside.
"Damn you!" Ichigo rolled onto his stomach and stood up, looking around at the fallen clothes. Some that had been clean before were now soiled, and he fumed at the thought of spending more time than he had to here at this crazy shop. He scavenged the articles that were clean enough to hang back up, and clipped them accordingly. The sheet that had been shoved into his face was now blowing in the breeze, shining a pretty, clean white. There was a bright green K in the corner, with an embroidered smiley face hanging off the last stroke of the letter. So, the old man had grabbed his own sheet from the same load as his hat.
And it was white. Ichigo stopped swiping a hand over the smooth fabric to think. The sheet was still white, but the hat had been dyed cruelly pink by his ugly red socks. That could only mean one thing. The teen held in his rage as he walked stiffly into the store and plopped down at the table.
"Ichiiii!" Urahara sang his new pet name happily, wandering out with two cups of tea. He handed the frowning human one steaming cup and sipped from his own as he plopped down. One of his hands was rested on a knee, which was brought up to rest his cheek on.
"What did you do to your hat, Urahara?" The solid question almost broke the cheery facade, and Ichigo noticed the flicker in those impossibly deep grey eyes.
"I might have spilled some wine on it…"
"Okay," Urahara sighed, waving a hand as he avoided the icy glare. "Maybe it was a good bottle or two." The hard stare didn't waver, and the old man pressed his lips into a firm line before raising both of his eyebrows innocently. He still had a mischievous air about him, and Ichigo scoffed before downing his entire cup of tea.
"You're ridiculous, you know that?" But it wasn't a question, and the teen almost snarled as he jabbed a finger into a cloaked shoulder. "Wasting all of that time… we could have finished so many loads by now."
"It wasn't wasting," was the sincere argument from the shinigami. "We were having so much fun! At least, I was." Unwilling to admit he might have enjoyed it, the scowling carrot top angrily stood to return to the drying clothes. There were still a few that needed shaking out, and without a sane helper, it would take longer than it needed to.
"Aww, Ichigo, don't be like that!"
"Don't be like what," he snarled, stepping onto the wooden deck and facing into the breeze. The blond rested his forehead on the rigid shoulder he walked out to meet.
"Don't pretend you didn't have fun with meeee."
"You're crazy," he sighed. With the tip of Urahara's nose on his arm, he felt a tiny circle of heat swirl madly around his stomach. It was starting to make him sick, so he pulled away after a few moments. Every time he got close to the odd man, the same uncomfortable wave of warmth shot through his abdomen to his throat, tightening it painfully and making it hard to form coherent sentences. Hands in pockets, the teenager wandered out into the field of clothes. A sleeve of Ururu's dress waltzed across his elbow as he hunted for different items of clothing to inspect.
"You think I haven't heard that before?" The coy tone popped out from behind a pair of brown socks.
"I know you've heard that before," Ichigo huffed, picking up an empty laundry basket to bring back inside.
"Are you mad?" The hook of a cane snatched onto the rim of plastic, effectively stopping him. Urahara tugged, forcing the other man to turn and look at him.
"I'm annoyed. Keep this up, and I'll be mad," he snorted. The edge of the cane slid up the side of the basket, hooking around his elbow. The blond stood closer, looking up at Ichigo with stony eyes. Standing so close was making him queasy again, and he felt his heart lurch when suddenly, the basket that he had been using as a shield disappeared. The face was now even closer, bending the soft bubble of Ichigo's space. For once, his brown eyes looked down at the pale lips. Even with the serious, hard line they were making now, he could imagine a wry smile hiding just below the surface. They looked soft, almost velvety smooth.
Within a few breaths, their faces had become sleekly close, daring to touch noses as they had earlier. But unlike that time, there were no words, no laughter. Ichigo felt every muscle between his knees and his ears spasm wildly as he felt Urahara place both hands on his chest. The hot fingertips were burning his skin through his t-shirt, and his heart was like a trapped bird in a cage. It hurt to breathe, and he felt an unquenchable thirst build up in his stomach. His mouth became very dry, and the teen licked his lips slowly, trying to rehydrate them. He wasn't entirely stupid; he knew what would happen now.
But Urahara was gone, slithering away with the laundry basket. He didn't bother look back, just tilting his head enough to call out.
"That's good! Let's get back to work," the voice was cheery, and Ichigo growled and unclenched his sweaty fists. His feet led him to Urahara's back, and the older man stopped to turn around. With an innocent tap of his cane against the basket behind his back, he tilted his head cutely.
Ichigo put his hands on the hips in front of him, sliding them down to free the pale hands from the cane and basket. Interlocked fingers were moved to rest on a green lower back, folding in the curve gently. Two foreheads pressed together, and a pair of very angry, very embarrassed brown eyes were carving holes into Urahara.
"I'm mad now."
An evil smirk spread over the pale lips right before Ichigo kissed him. The devastation of the impact almost stopped his heart, but he screwed his eyes shut and pressed his clumsy lips deeper onto Urahara's. His flushed face was starting to warm the one below his, but he was focused deeply on the feeling evaporating from his body.
That tension coiling inside every fiber of his being was dissipating into thin air, as if it was never there. He only pulled away to inhale quickly before kissing Urahara again, desperate to drain all of that strain into the atmosphere. The hot lips were now pressing back, albeit awkwardly, and the soft friction of their lips was instead building a strange excitement in Ichigo's body. His arms were contracting wildly, pulling Urahara in closer and kissing him with a sloppy urgency. He pulled away, satisfied with the feelings now circulating in his system. Urahara, dazed, stared off into space with a slightly gaping mouth.
His lips were slightly swollen from the strength enforced by the confused teenager, and he blinked slowly before honing in on Ichigo. The grinning copper-haired boy was shivering with energy, and he almost expected tiny sparks to emit from his red ears. His face, a shade of brushed pink, matched the hat that sat forgotten in the living room.
"Waaaa," he drawled, looking up at his new specimen. "Human emotions are so fascinating."
Kakaka, shitty ending. Whatever. I thought this was a thrill to write. Hope you guys were entertained. Please, leave a review if you liked it. Oooh please leave me a cute little smiley face, too. Those really brighten my day. SUPERBOWL HELL YEAH! XOXOXOXO