Disclaimer: Do not own Bleach or anything else in relation to Bleach.
Warnings: ByaKen (duh)
AN: Wrote this really quickly this afternoon. Sorry for any errors. Thanks for reading!
He was standing in the middle of a crowded shop in the Rukongai when the realization dawned on him. In one of his massive and muscular hands he held a stupidly expensive calligraphy brush and in the other a container of the spiciest pepper flakes offered in the Soul Society. He slowly looked from one hand to the other and back again. He would have repeated the movement but at that moment his fukutaicho popped up and waved something in front of his face.
"Can we get this, Ken-chan?" Yachiru held up something that was probably sweets and was looking at him with wide begging eyes.
"Yeah yeah, sure," Kenpachi waved her away. He had only noticed that which was in his hand because he had needed to free said hands in order to inspect the silk floral-print yukata in front of him. Since when did he buy silk anything? Since when did he inspect floral yukata? His eye twitched. A cold rush of fear, fear that he had not known even in his days in the Zaraki district, washed through his body. His throat muscles clenched turning the simple act of swallowing into a slow-motioned torture. Cautiously he took a step backward sure that if he turned his back the yukata or perhaps one of the ridiculously priced obi's nearby would lunge at him wrapping its prideful self around him and bring him to his knees in the process of strangling the life from his body simply for sadistic purposes.
He let out a shrill yelp when his wrist brushed against the sleeve of a protruding kimono. He drew his arm closer to his body as if it had been burned and scurried as fast as he could, still never turning around, out of the aisle until he found himself with his back against the store's large glass window front. He panted. The cool glass behind him fogging slightly as his perspiration and body heat collided with it. He leaned his head against the window trying to calm himself down. It was just a calligraphy brush. Just some pepper flakes. Lots of people liked pepper flakes. Lots of people did calligraphy. There was nothing unmanly about either. In fact, he loved spicy food, loved it! He really did. He always had. It was okay. It was perfectly normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror his body went rigid. How long had it been since his hair had been done up in its customary spikes? He couldn't remember the last time he had spent his morning gelling his hair upwards. In fact during the hours he normally spent doing his hair he recalled that, at least for the last few mornings, he had been nuzzling with a bratty noble instead. If we were to get into an epic fight now he wouldn't have the handicap that was in his opinion a brilliant cure to the dull fights most of his opponents offered. The next day he would have to resume his morning routine if only for his own pride's sake. But, hadn't Byakuya had said the spiky look wasn't appropriate if they were to run into one of his Kuchiki relatives especially one of the elders? Yet why should he freaking care about them? He was no clan man! He was his own! He was Zaraki Kenpachi the fierce and feared demon of the eleventh division! His hand clenched determinedly around the calligraphy brush he still held. A gasp escaped his lips.
No matter what crossed his mind it didn't change the fact that he was in possession of a calligraphy brush and contemplating the purchase of a floral yukata in a store that had a large glass window front. He had never even thought about stepping foot into such an establishment before yet here he was panicking while his daughter no doubt ran around collecting as many over-priced sweetened products as she could carry so as to take advantage of his obviously weakened state. Weak. He was weak. At some point he had become a weakling! His hand shook and as he looked down at them he noticed with horror that he had perfectly clean fingernails. There was absolutely no dirt under them. None whatsoever. He suddenly felt like crying. He always had dirt under his nails. It wasn't that he particularly liked having dirt there but it was just a result of his lifestyle. His lifestyle which was no more. Why? Why?!
"Why is there no dirt under my fingernails!?" He suddenly bellowed with a force that rattled the glass behind him. The entirety of the store's population swung their heads in his direction. Some widened their eyes in shock of seeing such a large and frightening man screaming in terror others quickly busied themselves with their own shopping lest the man take out his insanity on them.
The pink haired girl who had ransacked the candy aisle popped up startling those in her vicinity and knowingly and with remarkable accuracy said, "that's because Byakushi said, 'no being with dirty fingernails is sitting at my dinner table' remember, Ken-chan?"
Byakushi said. Byakushi said. There were no words. No explanations. No time for any thoughts for the next second Kenpachi found himself hurdling through the streets of the first district and towards the Seireitei (though he had been hoping to run in the other direction). The merchandise previously in his hands dropped somewhere along the way. He needed some sake. Some warm sake and not that prissy floral aroma tea he had been forced to drink as of late. Nobody forced Zaraki Kenpachi to do anything especially not an idiot with a holier-than-thou attitude.
He was so blindly headed toward his division's barracks that he nearly ran straight into the noble heathen that had corrupted his entire way of life. Kenpachi stopped abruptly, almost falling over in the process, and looked down at the smaller man in a mixture of dismay, disgust, and sudden arousal.
"You did purchase a new calligraphy brush, did you not?" Byakuya said not bothering to greet his lover or address the fact that he had nearly been plowed down.
"No." Kenpachi said. He would put his foot down once and for all. He didn't want to be in that stupid calligraphy club and even if he did indulge his boyfriend by showing up he most certainly didn't need a 'proper' brush.
"No?" Byakuya tilted his head ever so slightly and eyed him dully. At least to an outsider it would seem like a dull look but Kenpachi knew that it meant so much more. A weird sensation of uncertainly filled Kenpachi's body and he suddenly felt very sorry indeed for having not purchased that which had been in his hand earlier. Then again it probably wouldn't have been 'satisfactory' to the noble prince anyway.
"I-I mean not. I didn't find one that was good enough." He lied lamely; so much for pride.
"Oh." Byakuya seemed satisfied with the answer. "That's fine. I'll send one of the servants out to buy one for you. By the way I agreed that we'd be having tea with Ukitake at noon today. Don't be late and do wash your hands."
"Ye-yeah." Kenpachi grunted.
As he watched his noble walk away he had the urge to call out his zanpakuto. Unfortunately, he didn't know his zanpakuto's name and even if he did it's not like putting the stuck up prick in a coma would get him out of having tea with Ukitake or attending the calligraphy club meetings. He sighed miserably at the thought of his lost youth and freedom. He no longer had a say in his own activities, he no longer could stay out all night drinking reveling in all the flirtatious girls, or even let the dirt beneath his fingernails linger there for a day but at least he had sex on a regular basis. On a very regular basis.
Kenpachi grinned in triumph as he turned and strode towards his barracks to wash up for tea. In the end he really was the winner. Byakuya's little quirks, the high-maintenance of the relationship, and even the times when he was the one on his knees hips in the air were definitely worth it because the sex, after all, was really good. Really really good.
The end.