Disclaimer: Happy birthday, Kisuke!. This is for you – a hapless, spluttering, insanely hot redhead! Otherwise, not mine; this is a one-shot, unconnected to my other stories.
Rub a Dub Dub
The tub was nothing less then a work of art.
At first glance, it didn't appear to be anything particularly spectacular. Appearances, however, are deceptive, and any onlooker foolish enough to dismiss it as plebian was obviously in need of a serious lesson in elementary observation. Though the western-style bath was not particularly grand or imposing, it was equipped with a variety of special features normally reserved for obscenely expensive hotels. Jacuzzi pipes jutted from the curves of white plastic, and intriguing features such as self-regulating temperature gauges, steam vents, and various other attributes dotted the sides of the tub. Several of the instruments might, technically, have been classified as illegal in certain countries; the owner of said bath, after all, was particularly well known for his… selective approach to morality.
Urahara Kisuke sighed in pleasure, a decadent groan of sheer delight escaping his throat as the hot water enveloped his lanky form. Aching muscles unclenched, surrendering to the sheer luxury of unrivaled heat as he sank downwards, a frothing mass of scented bubbles just brushing the stubbly underside of his chin.
Sharp grey eyes flickered open, mouth splitting into a lavacious grin as the shopkeeper eyed the figure standing to the side of the ornate bathtub.
"Oh, Kurosaki-kun!" A skinny leg emerged from the mass of heaving foam to poke vaguely at the ornate taps. "The water's getting cold." His voice held a definite hint of a pout.
Kurosaki Ichigo stomped forwards, mouth twisted in a homicidal snarl of utter rage as he stalked towards the nozzles at the end of the tub. His red hair rippled in the gusts of steam as he bent to his task, expression reminiscent of a thundercloud as he jerked one tap open.
Kisuke moaned at the sudden rush of raw heat, bubbles swishing as he abandoned himself to the luscious promise of the fragrant water. Ichigo turned at the sound, ochre eyes briefly tracing the exposed planes of the shopkeeper's chest and shoulders; the teen swallowed before jerking his gaze to the side, a furious blush complimenting the scowl decorating his features. Kisuke eyed the change with detached delight, his own smirk growing as he complimented himself on a job well done.
It really had been one of his better ideas, and Ichigo - to put it bluntly - had it coming. The teen had been displaying signs of increasingly erratic behavior over the past few months; his friends had commented on his frequent propensity for fidgeting and drastically shortened temper. Even Isshin had remarked on his son's moodiness, complaining, at length, about Ichigo's increased irritability.
Kisuke had surmised that Ichigo, simply put, was going stir-crazy. The teen hadn't known a moment's peace since his abrupt introduction to the world of the shinigami and all their attendant concerns. Forced into increasingly hazardous situations, he'd long since grown accustomed to the dizzying rush of adrenaline and the sheer thrill of the fight. The demands imposed upon Ichigo as one of the strongest shinigami on record had driven him to the limit and beyond. The teen, however, had prospered, somehow managing to thrive amidst conditions that would have shattered lesser men, displaying a terrifying propensity for adaptability.
Winter, however, had finally melted into spring, and the gates of Hueco Mundo had been forcibly re-sealed. Ichigo had refused the offer of captaincy extended by a grateful Seireiti; he'd been determined to resume his normal life, and Soul Society had abided by his decision. Little was asked of him these days other then the occasional hollow patrol, a duty he adopted with an uncharacteristic relish.
The past few months, conversely, had seen Ichigo hanging around the Urahara-shouten, continually pestering the blonde for a spar, for news, for something – anything – to break the utter monotony of his days. Though Kisuke rather enjoyed the redhead's presence (perhaps a bit too much, actually) even he had his limits. A quiet investigation of the Kankura gang had revealed a rash of similar incidents, leading Urahara to the conclusion that the teen simply had no idea as to how to handle peace-time situations.
Ichigo, in a fit of utter frustration, had even gone so far as to challenge his various nakama to a hollow-hunt. Ishida, apparently, had flat-out refused, Chad had been far too busy to indulge his friend, and Orihime simply wasn't an option. (There days, Ichigo twitched at the mention of her name. Kisuke hadn't thought it wise to inquire as to the circumstances leading to this development.) Though Urahara had been none to pleased at being Ichigo's choice of last resort, he'd jumped at the chance to teach the brat a well-deserved lesson.
"Why, certainly, Kurosaki-kun! But let's make it a bit more interesting; how about the winner gets something… special?"
It was testament to the teen's boredom that he'd actually agreed to the shopkeeper's terms.
Kisuke viewed it as a learning experience. After all, Ichigo should have known better then to bet against him. It was practically his duty, as the youth's sometimes-teacher, to strip him of these little failings, and the current lesson was an explanation as to why it was never prudent to wager against an older, wiser, and considerably more experienced individual.
Urahara liked to win. And he'd taken steps to make that clear to the younger shinigami.
The look on the redhead's face had been priceless when the realization of his loss sank in, and Kisuke had taken a moment to savor the expression before demanding that Ichigo fulfill his side of their bet.
Ichigo's subsequent reaction had been uniquely rewarding.
As such, the redhead was currently dressed as a particularly fetching french maid, complete with various accessories. Kisuke was quietly appreciative of the benefits of the costume; the sheer fun he'd had forcing the teen into the outfit (feeling that long, lanky frame writhe against his own) was well worth the subsequent bruises. The shopkeeper's eyes fixed happily on the teen's exposed derrier as he bent over the taps, a smile splitting the older man's features as he raised one soapy hand.
"Oh, Kurosaki-kun!"
Ichigo spun, his skirt flaring in a whirl of black lace as he faced the shopkeeper. "What now, you perverted fucker?!"
"That's not very nice, Ichigo." Kisuke pouted. "Shouldn't you be calling me 'master'?" The older man smirked, savoring the flush creeping over the teen's cheeks.
One fist raised in a threatening gesture. "You moron – "
"Ah ah!" Kisuke raised a finger, his face a study in studious innocence. "You lost fair and square, Kurosaki-kun!" He leaned backwards, eyes slipping closed as he sank even deeper into the frothing water. One grey eye cracked opened to peer at the fuming redhead; Urahara relished the teen's glare of important rage. "Twenty-four hours as my personal servant. Or maid, if you prefer."
"You rat-bastard, I know you cheated somehow!"
"Now now, would I do something like that?"
"Yes!"
Actually, Kisuke hadn't even needed to cheat. Another lesson to teach the strawberry at a later date - never pass up a bet on a sure thing.
"Ma, Ichigo – more bubbles!" Kisuke changed the subject with the ease of long experience. "This lot's wearing thin." He blinked mournfully at the sudsy remains of the mass of foam.
The teen growled as he stomped to the countertop, snatching up the pink bottle Kisuke had carefully selected from his assorted bathing supplies. Cinnamon eyes glared pure death as the redhead roughly unscrewed the plastic cap, dumping a liberal amount of vicious pink liquid in the steaming water. Foam bubbled up almost instantaneously; the resultant steam bore a distinct fragrance.
Ichigo's eyes widened in recognition before narrowing; he glanced down at the bottle in his fist, eyes searching out the brand name. Kisuke slid backwards, carefully hiding his mirth as he braced for the explosion.
"'Strawberry Surprise'? KISUKE…." The teen's face, ironically enough, was a perfect imitation of his namesake.
"It's my favorite." Kisuke confirmed cheerfully. "I like strawberries!" He wiggled slightly in the bathtub to prove his point, sighing gleefully at the sensations provoked by the resulting ripples.
Ichigo didn't respond to the blatant barb. Kisuke frowned slightly at the unexpected silence, cracking his eyes open to peer at the teen's face.
There was… a confused longing in the eyes staring down at him, tracing the planes of his face in helpless need. Desire and despair chased their way across the teen's face as Ichigo swallowed, adam's apple bobbing as he looked to the side. A strange mixture of frustrated pain and resignation crept across his features as he bowed his head, shaggy hair obscuring his eyes.
The blond grew suddenly very still as several miscellaneous observations suddenly clicked into place. Ichigo's presence at the Shouten, the incessant pestering that had been driving Urahara half mad with annoyed affection; the teen's increased attempts to get his attention… Ichigo had come into full maturity on the battlefield, of course he wouldn't know how to deal with the sudden upsurge of hormones… The sheer desire blazing across his features, illustrating his face in an expression of hopeless want…
It was an expression that the shopkeeper had seen in the mirror all too often as of late.
Ichigo was staring at the bubble mix in his hand, an unidentifiable emotion washing over his features. No – that was jealousy plastered all over that adorably expressive face.
Kisuke eyed the redhead critically for a moment.
Half the contents of the bathtub were abruptly transferred to the floor as the blonde surged upwards, grabbing the teen's shoulders and cramming those surprised lips against his own. Ichigo stiffened for a moment before melting into his touch with a groan, arms wrapping around the shopkeeper's wet back even as he kissed back frantically. His mouth was hot and desperate, the sheer vivacious sensuality sending a rush of heat through the blonde's groin.
So. Kisuke mused in some detached corner of his mind (the rest of him was happily engaged in sliding the skimpy black dress off of Ichigo's torso). My little strawberry is bored? His smirk widened as he pulled the lanky form of the naked redhead down into the bath with him, savoring the choked-off yelp as hot, eager skin slid against his own.
He'd simply have to introduce Ichigo to - a different kind of stimulation
Alternatively:
"Ack!" Ichigo sank beneath a thick layer of bubbles, eyes wide. "H-hat and clogs? What the hell are you doing here?!"
Kisuke smiled. "Why, I wanted to see you of course, Kurosaki-kun!" He chirped brightly, eyeing the lines of hard muscles with appreciation. The teen blushed and tried his best to burrow beneath the heaving foam, arms ineffectively trying to cover his chest.
"You –what are you doing?" Ichigo's voice rose in pitch.
"Hm?" Kisuke looked up from where he's been undoing his collar. "Isn't it obvious, Ichigo-kun?" The inversed haori slithered to fall at his feet; his hands casually began to work at the fabric of his hakama. "I'm going to join you of course!"
"Like HELL you are!" One soapy fist raised in defiance, only to cower backwards at the shopkeeper's amused grin.
Kisuke stepped into the bathtub, water rippling as it adjusted to the sudden presence of a large body. Ichigo scuttled to the other side of the tub, eyes wary. Kisuke ignored him for the moment, turning his attention to the bathwater. He raised a glistening hand, never breaking eye contact with the teen as sniffed his palm. "Strawberries, Ichigo-kun?"
Ichigo shuddered, eyes glued to that hand. "They – they were a present…" Kisuke licked his lips as he leisurely made his way to the teen's side.
"Hm." Bright grey eyes languidly slid closed as a pink tongue delicately lapped the faint traces of sweat trickling down the teen's forehead. "Strawberries." His eyelids slid open as lips curled into a sensuous smile. "My favorite." He pounced.
Ichigo managed to get out a single eep before he was dragged under.