"Get out!" The door slammed in his face, and he smiled lightly as the resulting draft made his hair fly back. Surely, this was a joke. Chuckling, the brunet looked up, waiting for a reaction. The voice lashed out again. "What?" The sour tone muttered. "It's funny how you think an inch of wood can stop me from talking to you." Smirking, he could almost see a vein throbbing in his boyfriend's head. "If you're trying to fluster me, Hisagi-san, that's not going to work." Was the irate answer. Frowning, the ninth division lieutenant pouted. "Aw, Kira, don't be like that. Can't we put this all behind us?" Unfortunately, the older shinigami's voice spiked up too eagerly, with an unsubtly concealed want for something else. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he was in for it. "See? That's the reason why we're in this situation in the first place. I'm surprised you're not more worried for yourself." The blond's muffled speech made gray eyes widen in panic. "Someone could step into this wing at any moment." Hisagi's face stretched into a barely controlled grimace. He didn't think that Kira would actually leave him here. "Please, love, let me in. I'm sorry, really. Don't do this." A small hmph could be heard. A nervous peal echoed down the hallway. "Ah… you're going to make this a monologue, are you?" No response, only angry breathing from the next room. The brunet exhaled, running a calloused hand through his spiky hair. Today had gone downhill since the moment he had whispered something even Shunsui Kyouraku would've thought dirty to an exhausted and cranky Kira, who did not think "Everyone has needs" a sufficient excuse for the constant 'attacks' Hisagi attempted to carry out through the course of the day. He supposed his lover was tired of that title, perhaps was looking for something more cute… Despite the fact his junior could not see him, he smoothed the front of his hakama before mustering up the most endearing voice he could manage. "Ki~ra!" He practically sang, wincing at how instead of cute he sounded like a Yumichika with strep throat. Um… "You know that I love you! Pretty please forgive me? I…I'll be uuuber sad if you don't!" His voice cracked again on the German word, and he shut his eyes at the hoarse sound while listening hopefully. For a horrified moment, he thought the younger shinigami was sobbing, but then he heard pained laughter through the choking noises. "D-dammit, Shuu, why… why must you say things like that? So…stupid…" Hisagi grinned, triumphant, imagining Kira doubled over while trying to hold down mild seizures. "So… amnesty for past crimes?" He chirped, confident. There was silence as the other man regained his composure. "Nope." The blond simply said. "What?" Comical tears flowed past tattoos and scars. "Don't be cruel, Izuru!" He wailed, almost hearing a faint blah blah blah behind the door, knowing his kouhai was probably tuning him out. Again with the cold shoulder. "Maybe you should try not to attract so much attention to yourself," Kira's voice was unnaturally loud, as if he was temporarily deaf. "so people won't notice!" The tattooed man wildly looked about while this stentorian comment was issued. "Come on!" He hissed, frantic. "People will definitely hear if you talk like that!" "Whaaaaaat?" The bellow had a trace of mocking innocence. "Sh-" Voices were echoing from an intersecting wing. At this point, Hisagi had nothing else to lose. Pounding on the door, he yelled and cried and begged for pity. "Don't do this to me!" No sympathy. He could sense Kira hadn't even budged. Bet he was enjoying this. Sometimes, he darkly thought in this moment of despair, Kira can be as wicked as Kazeshini is. His frantic thoughts turned to the rapidly approaching speakers. Was that Iba? And shit, was there a girl with him? Is it Nanao? Should I break down the door? No, Kira would never forgive me… Oh crap, crap, crap… Squirming, he leaned against the doorway. "A towel, at least?" One last chance. A small intake of breath - deliberation - then an defeated sigh. The door swung open as a washcloth flew out, and Hisagi released his strained pose to grab it, just when - A scream echoed down the hallway, and there were scuffling sounds. The obvious tension and awkwardness made every second worse as the normally dignified shinigami attempted to arrange the scrap of a towel in some humility-saving fashion. Slowly, he peeked over his shoulder to see sunglasses glinting while their owner shook in disbelief and rage, a slender figure hiding behind it. Great. It is Nanao. The unfortunate by-passer not shielding herself gaped at the almost-nude man, who smiled shiftily at him. "Hisagi, for god's sake, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!" Iba's mustache twitched as he muttered, "I don't care what you've been doing with Kira-fukutaichou, but please, there are," He coughed, glancing at the still-cowering eighth division lieutenant, "there are-" "Eh… about that…. Sorry. Yeah. Um… could you guys … maybe …" The brunet mumbled, crimson in the face, vaguely jerking his head towards the end of the hallway. The shock took a minute to wear off. "Ah! Yes, we'll be going. But none of this anymore." A warning note lingered, but the situation was too inappropriate to let it draw out longer. Flustered, the other man turned around, promptly crashing into his girlfriend. She yelped, whirling around so fast her hair whipped across Iba's face. With an uncharacteristically high-pitched "Sorry, Hisagi-fukutaichou!", she flash-stepped from the mortifying scene faster than Yoruichi Shihoin. "Nanao, wait!" And the near-naked man was alone again. He sighed, scratching his head with his free hand. "You win. But seriously now, let me in, before Renji or… or someone like Ikkaku comes in here. You'll be no better than Aizen!" And with that, the door swung open, half-lidded blue eyes staring in exasperation at the sight. "Okay, Shuu. But remember, seven is far too early after a whole night of-" Tired of lectures, the older man tempted a kiss before hurrying into the room, declaring he was never so glad to see his uniform. Rolling his eyes, Kira shut the door behind him. Buildings away, a demanding call alerted a young woman. "Mayuri-sama?" Her low voice inquired, green eyes peeking out from under black hair. Nemu blinked, watching her father ogle the screen with interest. Squinting, she tried to get a better look. Who was yelling? Was that Iba-fukutaichou? "Save me this security tape." A devilish grin spread across the captain' powdered face.