Notes: A belated cross-post, originally for Renji's Birthday Bash over on AO3.
It starts with a rumour, as these things tend to do. In an organisation like the Gotei 13, rumours spread fast; a quiet whisper from one mouth can easily reach every gossip-prone ear in Seireitei in less time than it takes the speaker to regret their disclosure. Not that Kuchiki Rukia is liable to regret her words on this occasion - she actually doesn't remember speaking them, having consumed a large quantity of sake shortly before their utterance and having been, in any case, in the company of only a few trusted fellows from the Shinigami Women's Association. As far as Rukia is concerned, she's the last person who has anything to do with the salacious whisperings currently spreading through Soul Society like wildfire.
Yes, that's what I heard. All the way down!
But surely no-one would agree to…
...must really have a pair to undergo such a…
Oh, huge, apparently! I mean, can you imagine?
But have you seen it…?
They're loud enough to reach the Captain-Commander, who furrows his bushy brows and declares he's never heard such a lot of nonsense in his life.
They're loud enough to reach the secluded abode of the Central 46, who spend almost half of their daily session debating the news with wide eyes before they realise it's not an official item on their agenda.
They're certainly loud enough to reach the sharp ears of Matsumoto Rangiku, who is the first person amid the resounding buzz of curious excitement to be bold enough to get up and do something about it.
And there aren't many things Rangiku can't achieve, when she puts her mind to it.
"Look, Rangiku-san, I'm just trying to get this paperwork done. Not that I wouldn't love to come help you, but the captain's been riding me real hard lately and I-"
"Oh, has he?" Renji isn't sure what's gotten into Rangiku, but there's something really odd about the way she's reacting to him today - giggling girlishly at everything he says, and leaning steadily further forward over his desk until her ample breasts are threatening to spill out from her low-cut uniform. "I'd love to be a fly on that wall...but surely Kuchiki-taichou can share his toys for just a little while?"
"Uh…" There's not much Renji can make of this statement so he just blinks, slowly, and stares down at his paperwork and racks his brains for a gentlemanly way to warn Rangiku of her impending wardrobe malfunction. "You know, I don't think the captain's actually all that big on sharing-"
"Lovely!" Before Renji can protest further, there's a hand encircling his wrist and dragging him up, and he knows a lost cause when he sees one. Once Rangiku gets an idea in her head, there's no putting her off until she's achieved what she set out for. So he goes along with it, figuring whatever she wants is sure to only take a few minutes, and hopefully he'll be back in his office and hard at work before Taichou even notices that he's gone.
Although he's got to admit, when the door of the cupboard swings shut behind them, he's starting to wonder what the hell kind of favour Rangiku is even out for. And he doesn't wonder for very long, because she's already pushing him back against the dusty shelves and advancing on him, lips moist and slightly parted, gazing up at him through lowered lashes as her hands flutter down towards the tie at his waist.
He catches her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, fighting to keep the stammer out of his voice as he speaks. "Rangiku-san, what are you doing?"
Rangiku simply laughs, a light, fluttery sound that tickles his ear as she leans in closer. "I'm fact-checking a rumour," she purrs, wedging one shapely thigh between Renji's legs, pressing her body up against him until he can feel the soft weight of her breasts impacting on his chest. He tenses, torn between chivalry and his own primal instincts, and Rangiku sighs and catches his hands, squeezes them reassuringly, draws them up until they're resting square on her breasts. "Have you heard the rumours about what I can do with these?"
Primal instinct wins.
'A few minutes' doesn't end up covering it.
Long shadows are stretching across the ground by the time Renji leaves the office. After his unexpected afternoon break, it's taken him until well after usual office hours to get his day's assignments done. He's tired of being inside the division walls, and still abuzz with warm, afterglowy confusion, and so without really thinking about it he finds himself wandering towards the eleventh division with the vague idea that maybe some of the guys will be free to knock down a few beers with him.
Perhaps the immediate, suspiciously expectant reception he gets from Yumichika should be a warning sign that all's not quite right. Certainly Ikkaku's arrival moments after, already carrying a full keg ("It's on us tonight," he grunts by way of explanation), should tip him off. But if there's one thing life has taught Renji, it's that you never turn down an offering of free beer, and so he allows himself to be steered around the back of the barracks to the open lawn that's served as the division's official drinking place since forever and pushed down on the ground with a brimming mug and two bright-eyed, weirdly attentive drinking companions looming over him on either side.
He chugs his beer and decides it's better not to ask.
And it's a winning strategy for the first little while. It's been ages since Renji last stopped by the eleventh, so there's plenty to talk about - things in Zaraki's division never stand still for long, and he downs five peaceful beers while catching up on the vast backlog of fights, promotions and assorted calamities the guys have been storing up to tell him about since his last visit. By the sixth beer, Yumichika has edged up so close to him that their legs are touching, and through his haze of burgeoning tipsiness Renji starts to get this weird suspicion that there's something going on.
Right on cue, Yumichika leans in, and a shiver runs down Renji's spine as warm breath tickles his ear. "Enough about work," Yumichika purrs. "There's something Ikkaku and I have been meaning to talk to you about, Renji."
"Oh...uh, yeah?" There's a hand on Renji's thigh now as Ikkaku moves in closer as well - and Renji's not stupid, he knows a seduction effort when he sees one, but the guys have never been like this with him before and he's so confused by it that he's not even convinced he's reading it right. Maybe what they're drinking is stronger than the usual swill and they've all just had a bit much.
"Rangiku came by earlier." Ikkaku can't quite pull off the same suggestive purr as Yumichika, but there's something husky and raw in his voice that Renji finds...weirdly attractive, in a way he's not sure he's ready to process when it comes to a guy he's seen butt naked and halfway through a wide range of bodily functions too many to count. "She had some pretty interesting stuff to say about you. Reckon you'd have been kind of flattered, actually."
"She wouldn't tell us the full story, though," Yumichika adds, and oh god is that his tongue tracing the rim of Renji's ear? "That's why I want to hear it straight from you, Renji. Don't hold back now." Yep, it's definitely a tongue - and unless Renji is much mistaken, Ikkaku's hand is starting to inch higher up his lap. He drains the last of his beer in one gulp, and it doesn't really help. His heart's still beating faster than it should be. "Is it true that your tattoos go all the way down?"
Renji isn't sure how he's expected to answer the question with Ikkaku's tongue immediately invading his mouth - but when Yumichika's flutter to the ties of Renji's hakama, he decides he'll figure it out later.
Yumichika, of course, is a masterful secret-keeper.
Ikkaku...isn't, and that's how the chaos begins in earnest.
"I'm sorry, but I can't right now. No, seriously, I'm already running late..."
It's 2pm on a Friday, almost four days since his encounter with Yumichika and Ikkaku, and Renji is ducking and weaving his way through the post lunch-hour crowd towards his appointment at the fourth and his only hope for any reprieve from the dizzying mess his life has become.
It's not like he minds the attention, or anything. Renji has always been a little on the shy side, too flustered and stammery to be of any real use in the mating game - so honestly, the fact that everyone's decided to come to him all of a sudden is fine in his book. It's just that...well, the fact that it's everyone, all at once, is starting to get a little bit weird. With unexpected admirers lurking around every corner, he's having trouble finding time to complete all his work duties. He hasn't slept in three nights, and it's starting to show in the dark bags under his eyes and his scattered concentration. He can't look half his friends in the eye, he's getting sore, and he thinks he might have sprained his wrist during that last incident with Ise Nanao.
And it might be a little easier to deal with if he at least knew why all of Soul Society has spontaneously become obsessed with getting inside his hakama.
He's tried asking. The problem he keeps running into is that there's really no way of phrasing the question without sounding either appallingly arrogant or shamelessly suggestive, and so his attempts at finding an answer so far have yielded only a few contemptuous glances and a few more fumbling, furtive scrambles towards the nearest vacant storage cupboard (respectively). He thought Hisagi-senpai might have helped him, but almost two hours of aggressive student-teacher roleplay left him with no more understanding than he'd had before. Kira, when he'd brought up the issue, had retreated into a jealous sulk, which Renji had taken as sincere until Kira had followed up his complaints by dropping to his knees and suggesting plaintively that Renji should punish him for his inadequacy. Hinamori had been full of bright, bubbly promises of assistance, but the prominent inclusion of body paint in her problem-solving strategy admittedly hampered its effectiveness more than a little. Even Kyouraku-taichou, who'd caught him sneaking back out of the fifth division and taken a most kindly concern for Renji's state of dishevelment, had little more to offer than an expression of blatantly insincere sympathy and a consolatory dinner invitation which Renji politely declined.
Some judicious use of shunpo carries Renji the rest of the way to the fourth's gates. He's out of breath when he gets there, but to his immense relief, the first thing he sees is Yamada Hanatarou waiting for him in the lobby, wearing a placid expression and no outward sign of impatience at Renji's lateness. Brushing off his breathless apology, Hanatarou ushers Renji into the first vacant examination room and begins the inspection of his injured risk with detached, clinical precision.
"It looks like you've fractured it," he announces, and Renji is immensely grateful he doesn't ask how the injury was obtained. "Not to worry, I'll have it healed up right away. If you'll please just hold your arm out here, like this…" Renji holds the position obediently, and in moments he feels the dull ache ebb away as warm healing kido washes over the injured limb. "There we go. Try not to do anything too athletic with it for a while, alright?"
"Yeah, fat chance," Renji snorts. He imagines trying to explain to his captain that he has to bow out of the afternoon's training session due to a minor injury he got during an acrobatic sex romp with the eighth division's lieutenant. The thought is enough to make the blood drain from his face, and Hanatarou instantly widens his sharp healer's eyes and peers up at Renji in sudden concern.
"Why, Abarai-fukutaichou, you're not well," he says, and before Renji can object he's already snapping on a pair of disposable gloves and rummaging inside the neck of his outer coat to withdraw the head of a long stethoscope. "Before you leave, I'd better give you a proper check-up!"
"I'm fine, really-" Renji eyes the stethoscope with mild apprehension. He can't remember ever having seen a member of the fourth use such a thing before - and gloves, seriously? Where does Hanatarou think he's going to be putting those hands? "Thanks for fixing up my wrist and all. As for the rest, I'm just tired - nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
Unmoved, Hanatarou catches him by the elbow and steers him firmly towards the patient's seat. "It will only take a minute," he assures him. "You must be long overdue for a check-up, in any case."
"Actually, just last month I-"
"Oh dear!" Pressing the stethoscope briefly against Renji's chest, Hanatarou widens his eyes in an expression of exaggerated concern and leans in closer. "Your heartbeat sounds very fast. I'd better listen more closely…" A hand slips inside Renji's shitagi, and the cold metal head of the stethoscope brushes across his nipple, and Renji cottons on with a dull thud of exasperated realisation somewhere in the back of his head.
"Hanatarou." He catches the kid's wrist, and stares flatly up at him. "This isn't a health check-up."
Sure enough, colour floods Hanatarou's face, and he withdraws his stethoscope and casts embarrassed eyes to the ground. "Well, I...I, uh...the truth is, I thought maybe...maybe a little medical roleplay…"
Huffing impatiently, Renji shoves Hanatarou's hand aside and rises to his feet. "Right," he says, "well I don't have time for that. I dunno what's gotten into you people, but I have work to do and I don't think the captain's going to give me time off for medical roleplay."
Hanatarou looks crushed, but Renji has had enough. He's out of here. Making for the exit, he manages to get his hand on the door handle before desperation propels Hanatarou to give up on his slow-burn roleplay schemes in the face of imminent defeat and leap forward with an exclamation that stops Renji in his tracks.
"Abarai-fukutaichou, just so you know, I...I have no gag reflex!"
Irritated or not, there are some things you just don't argue with. Renji will worry about his excuse later.
Things only escalate over the weekend. Admittedly, that's more than partly Renji's own fault: he's bemused, and desperately curious, and even though he doesn't find the answers he's looking he still finds...lots of other things. Like that Kotetsu Isane, for all her shyness, likes to be watched. Or that members of the twelfth division are capable of finding creative uses for even the most mundane household objects. By Saturday night, he's feeling so swollen with confidence that he briefly considers taking up Kyouraku on that dinner invitation after all - but then Matsumoto shows up on his doorstep and announces that she has a few friends she'd like him to meet. By the time he staggers home from that, he's too drunk and exhausted to do anything more than collapse fully-clothed on top of his mattress and keep his eyes firmly closed until Sunday lunchtime rushes forward to meet him.
By the time he's staggered out of the shower, nursing a sore, aching body and a vicious hangover, the giddy enthusiasm has worn off somewhat. He's back to feeling disoriented, and frustrated by the fact that he still doesn't know what's causing the onslaught of interest from everyone around him.
He spends the rest of the day at home, and turns away all visitors at the door.
When Monday dawns, Renji seriously considers calling in sick for the first time since he joined the sixth. And he nearly goes through with it, but even as he rolls over to go back to sleep he feels something tickling his nose, and opens his eyes to find an agitated hell butterfly fluttering just over his pillow. He's wanted in at work immediately, and Kuchiki-taichou sounds so impatient that all Renji's plans of a nice long lie-in go straight out the window. He makes it to the office in record time, flying into shunpo to duck past any potential detainers on the way, and only when he's outside the captain's office does he slow down to catch his breath before bowing his way in.
Once inside the door, it takes him about two seconds to figure out the reason behind the mystery summons.
Never in his life has Renji seen the room in such disarray. Piled high on the couch are several dozen bright bouquets of flowers, filling the air with their scent and spilling loose petals across the floor in front of them. Packages of all shapes and sizes line the walls, and off to one side a large gilded cage holds several live, happily chirping birds. Towering piles of letters obscure the desk, and behind all this stands Kuchiki-taichou, mouth set in a grim line, and he doesn't even greet Renji as he steps into the room. Just looks at him, in a way that tells Renji he's one bungled explanation away from getting the earful of his life.
He doesn't have to ask who the packages are for.
Stomach plummeting to the region of his knees, Renji swallows thickly and scrambles for a way to fix the situation. "Uh, sorry about this, Taichou...I really don't know what's going on, but I can, ah-"
"Your office," says Kuchiki-taichou coolly, "was already full by the time the latest mail delivery arrived. Apparently, it was deemed best to bring the overflow to my office to await your collection."
"Right." Renji has no idea how he's even going to transport all this stuff, or where else he's going to put it, but he'd better think of something fast or he's going to have a lot more to worry about than a few stray letters. "I...god, I'm sorry, Sir. About the mess and all. If you'll give me a minute, I can go clear some space in…" in somewhere, but his mind's drawing a blank and all of a sudden he's so fed up with this whole ridiculous thing that he thinks he'd happily give up sex for life if only people would leave him alone…
"Don't worry about that," says Kuchiki-taichou, and despite the stern expression his voice is unexpectedly gentle. "I've already called someone over from the estate to deal with the mess."
This pulls Renji to a screeching halt midway through his fervent mental avowal of lifelong celibacy. "You...have?" he echoes slowly, mouth falling open as he tries to process Kuchiki-taichou's mysterious lack of ire at the state of his office. "But...if you didn't call me here to clean up this mess, then what are you-"
"From the state of my office," says Kuchiki-taichou, "I can surmise that there are a number of candidates for your attention right now." He takes a step closer. Renji's mouth is suddenly very dry. "I didn't want you exhausting your stamina before coming to see me."
"...oh." He knows he should say something - something suave or dismissive, something disinterested or encouraging - but his mind is drawing a blank. Kuchiki-taichou hasn't moved any closer, he's just watching Renji expectantly, and Renji seizes on the only sincere reaction he can pull out from the flurry of confusion that his captain's proximity is stirring up in his mind. "Taichou...er, why?"
Kuchiki-taichou blinks. "Why do I want you to have stamina?"
"Why are you interested? Why is everyone interested?" Renji's shoulders slump as he stares pitifully around at the tottering piles of courtship gifts. "I don't know where any of this came from. One minute I'm just going about my business, nobody's looking twice at me - then all of a sudden I can't turn a corner without getting pounced on. What is even going on? Is everyone playing some kind of prank on me?"
The captain tilts his head and considers this. "Do you really think I of all people would be joining in, if it were a prank?" he asks, and it's such a fair point that the wind goes out of Renji's sails all over again.
"Fine," he mumbles, tearing his eyes away from the chirruping birds to stare up plaintively at his captain. "Why, then? What's the story?"
"Well." To Renji's surprise, there's something like a smile curling the corners of Kuchiki-taichou's mouth, and his eyes are bright and good-humoured. "Word has been travelling around Soul Society of certain...skills you possess. Just this morning I've heard no less than three people independently vow that you're the best lover they've had-" Renji starts to splutter at this point, his cheeks turning crimson - "and I think it's nonsense, of course. So I'd like to check."
Renji gulps. Kuchiki-taichou steps in a little closer again.
"Is that all right with you?" he prompts, and Renji scrunches his eyes closed briefly and takes stock of the various aches and pains attendant after almost a week straight of constant sex. He's not in the best shape right now.
But when he opens his eyes and looks at his captain, something bubbles up in him that clears away the chafing and soreness like a balm. "Yeah," he manages, and quirks his lips into a reciprocal smile. Nobody's pranking him, and nobody's gone insane. It's just Soul Society's gossip mill at its usual work, and this time it must have caught wind that he can handle himself okay in bed. And hey, if the past week says anything, it's that he's done a pretty good job so far of defending the claim. He's got this. "Yeah, I guess that's alright."
He'll help the captain overcome his skepticism if it's the last thing he does.