Sex
Disclaimer: Kubo-sama owns the sexiness of Bleach. I only pervert it to my evil will.
Pairings: IchiRuki
Summary: Ichigo's on the couch again.
"Ruuuuuukiaaaaa."
Silence.
"RUUUUKIAAAAAA."
Owls hooted mercilessly outside the window.
"RU! KI! AH!"
A squirrel bounded across the dimly lit street and shot up a tree to hide in the branches.
Ichigo sighed and rolled over, resting his chin on his arms. An annoying spring poked into his stomach, causing him to think dark thoughts about a certain dark-haired Shinigami. But whenever he tried to sit up, the whole couch tended to tilt to one side and he usually managed to land right on his face. Which, for some odd reason, was not appealing to him.
He wasn't quite sure how he had offended her this time. In fact, he should have been the one to be offended. Honestly, how many times does a guy have to call "Woman! Make me a sandwich!" before his hunger can be sated? His stomach growled noisily at the thought. He was still hungry, dammit.
With another forlorn sigh, the 22-year-old ran a hand through his spiky orange hair. He would not think about his nice, cozy bed, or his big fluffy pillow, or even his warm comforter. And definitely not about Rukia in his nice cozy bed, sitting in her nearly-transparent silken pajamas, reading a book in the dim lamp light. Probably laughing at how clever she is., too. Bitch. And he most certainly would not think about what she looked like underneath those see-through pajamas, or how she- oh, shit.
Ichigo suddenly found himself in a rather uncomfortable position. Growling curses under his breath, he made the valiant attempt to ignore it and go to sleep.
Huh. Might have been easier if there wasn't a goddamn spring sticking up his chest.
The woman is always right, he recalled Isshiin saying suddenly. He had been about 5 at the time, and hadn't really paid much attention to the words seeing as how it had been a particularly tragic experience for him back then. Shit, it still gave him nightmares now. Never again, he shuddered. Never again would he open the door to his parents room without knocking first, even if only Isshiin slept there now. That man was stock full of surprises that Ichigo didn't want to contemplate.
But, traumatic experience or no, the advice was sound, Ichigo decided. Or at least sound enough to get him his sex life back. But how to express that sentiment to his wife? Since he obviously wasn't going to get any sleep anyway, Ichigo pondered the thought for the rest of the night.
"GOOD MORNING, MY SWEET AND FAIR WIFE! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS THIS MORNING?"
Rukia shot out of bed, heart thundering loudly in her ears. "What the hell-?"
She froze at the sight of Ichigo's face looming in front of hers, apron tied neatly around his waste. Her mouth dropped open slightly. "What. The. Hell," she repeated.
Ichigo looked at her expectantly.
"...Ichigo, you're wearing a pink apron," the Shinigami pronounced slowly. He nodded, looking a little apprehensive. Trying to clear her features of disbelief at his obvious awkwardness, she fished her mind for something to ease the tension. "You, um... look very..." effeminate "...pretty?"
He beamed.
She smiled, satisfied. "Now get the fuck off my bed," she told him, shoving his lanky body to the floor. His expression immediately returned to his usual- if pained- scowl.
"Oooowwww..." he complained, glaring. "Rukia, why d'ya have to be such a bit-"
Rukia sat back in the bed and crossed her arms. "Ah, ah," she interrupted sweetly. "You know, I was almost considering letting you come back to bed with me tonight, but after you woke me up at six in the morning, nearly gave me a heart attack by being way too close, and called me a bitch, I think you might actually like some more time on the couch. Like, oh, I don't know, another week? That good for you?"
Ichigo's face crumpled, then suddenly lightened. "It's fine with me if we get to do it doggy-style tonight," he agreed easily.
Next thing he knew, a series of kidos were thrown at him and he crashed through the wall into the living room, landing hard on the brown, torn couch.
Damn straight, Rukia thought.
Flowers are the way to a woman's heart, Ichigo thought to himself, shifting uncomfortably. So lots and lots of flowers must be the way to her clit.
Zangetsu's bemused voice suddenly popped into his head. I'm not sure it works that way, Ichigo.
Yes it is, Ichigo shot back stubbornly.
Zangetsu gave a mental shrug. Hard to argue with logic like that. Let me watch?
No. Fuck off, old man.
I will, and a lot more than you will tonight.
Ichigo paused to let that thoroughly disturbing thought register. You have sex in my head?
No answer.
Old man! Hey, old man, you don't really... do you?
Ichigo suddenly froze as he heard the sounds of his wife's dainty footsteps make her way down the hallway to their bedroom. This is it, he thought nervously, licking his lips. He quickly shifted his weight to hastily scratch at his left thigh. Hopefully this won't leave me with blue balls. Again.
The steps came to an abrupt halt outside the door. He tensed as the gleaming door handle clicked, twisted, and the door began to push open. Rukia was looking down as she walked in, so she didn't notice at first, but a very naked Ichigo covered only by flowers that spilled from the bed onto the floor was kind of hard to miss.
Rukia stared. Then, very slowly, she backed out the doorway and slammed the door shut.
Ichigo guessed that the flowers could be used in the funeral for his dick.
Rukia slipped uneasily into her gigai and straightened her clothing. Random gifts for no reason were enough to set her on edge, but random gifts from Ichigo had her practically pissing her pants in fear. Hesitantly, she lifted the lid of the giant box and peered inside.
She frowned, confused. Another box? Must be for protection, she decided. With a sigh, she reached in, pulled it out and began unwrapping the second box.
He would.
Of course he would. Inside the box was- you guessed it- another box.
Being a Shinigami, however, Rukia chose to believe there was some greater purpose to all this, and so, with a glare that could melt stone, she unwrapped it and pulled out the fourth box.
This went on for another several boxes, until she had a box about the size of a book in her hands. At this point she was nearly tearing her hair out in frustration, so she was glad to find that instead of a box, inside this box was a bunch of tissue paper which she hoped hid the real present beneath. Drawing a breath, she dove a trembling hand into the papers and pulled out...
Her face twisted. I am going to kill that child. And then, very uncharacteristically, a pretty blush spread across her face as she shoved the item back into the box. After I burn this. With a lot of fire. And possibly kido.
With that, she grabbed a lighter, went outside and watched the motherfucker burn.
That was the first and last time she had ever held the "Naughty Maid" costume, along with whip and your very own do-it-yourself bondage kit.
Ichigo had had enough.
His back ached from the hard couch beneath it. Whenever he tried to roll over, the spring stuck into his stomach. He had a constant crick in his neck from the lack of pillow. Dark bruises sagged under his eyes now, accompanying the constant yawning, general stiffness and bloodshot eyes. And worse still, his libido was about as stubborn as Rukia and had not once given up hope for some doggy-style nooki. Which he could not see happening in the immediate future, sad as it was.
And so, it was with a great sense of defeat that the lanky 22-year-old dragged his feet into the kitchen one early morning with a precious bundle hidden neatly behind his back. His Shinigami wife looked up with some surprise. It was only 7:00 am, and according past experience, modern science, and several religions, Ichigo's presence at the breakfast table simply could not be.
"What." was the monotonous reply to this phenomenon.
Ichigo sighed and plopped down into the chair next to Rukia. "I'm sorry I was an ass about the sandwich thing. And the waking-you-up thing. And the calling-you-a-bitch thing. And the randomly-showing-up-naked-on-your-bed thing. And the jerking-off-in-your-room-while-you-were-having-a-shower-over-your-zanpakutou thing. Please take me back?" he said, scowl twisting into what he hoped was an expression of regret.
"Yeah, sure- wait what? You masturbated over Sode No Shirayuki?"
"I was deprived!" he replied plaintively. "See what a week without sex can drive a man to do?"
Rukia's nose wrinkled. "That's really disgusting."
"It's instinct!"
The Shinigami sighed, placing her dainty hands on her hips. "Ichigo, masturbation is not instinct. The reproductive cycle is. Masturbation is just what humans do because they are incapable of controlling their sexual urges."
"Which is why your vibrator is purple and currently hiding under the couch."
"...for experimental purposes." Rukia shifted uncomfortably, turning an awkward shade of pink. "On the... um, the easiest way to kill a Hollow."
"With a vibrator?"
"...Yes."
(awkward silence)
"You, um... want to do some more experimenting? With... maybe, I don't know... the real McCoy?"
"Yes. And I can't believe you just said 'the real McCoy.'"
"Shut up."
This next scene is censored from the reader for no apparent reason. LOLOLOLOLOL.
One week later, Ichigo and Rukia stood on the sidewalk where a Hollow had recently been killed. The former looked from the empty space, to Rukia, to the object in his hand, and back to Rukia. In the dead silence of the street, there was only one thing to be said.
"...Holy shit it works."
:Owari: