Shunsui's Best Dream Ever
Nanao felt sick. A wonderful, bone deep, flesh fevered, muscle clenching sickness—but sick nonetheless. How else could she explain her earlier actions or what she was contemplating at this moment?
The day had begun as normal: she had rose at her usual time already mentally going over the paperwork that would be carried over from yesterday, sipped at her breakfast of lemon tea, then clipped up her hair and gathered her belongings for a bath. The cool water was comforting, and, instead of invigorating, seemed to soothe the no-nonsense fukutaicho, who leisurely stroked a wet cloth over her arms and belly, bringing it up to her nose as a pleasant scent wafted across the water. Not having poured in any oils, Nanao dismissed the thought as psychosomatic to her good mood. She watched droplets fall from her fingertips, listened to the subtle plinking, and found herself drawing one short nail around the nipple of her left breast.
Shaking her head distractedly, Nanao stood up, water sliding down her softness in rivulets as she wondered where the time had gone. She wasn't someone who lingered over her bath, or appearance, or anything really besides her constant piles of paperwork, and an hour had surprisingly gone by while she lounged languidly against the curve of her round tub. Another surprise as she suddenly shunpoed to her bed, unexpectedly wanting to feel something soft underneath her tender flesh even if it was only her sleep-rumpled sheets. Goosebumps blossomed over her shoulders and down her sides as she stretched, reaching up to release her fine inky tresses and smooth them down over her damp arms. Nanao's hands continued down her stomach, down her thighs; there was a warmth crawling up from between her toes and up her calves and Nanao just wanted to reach down and drag it up over her like a rosy blanket.
Rosy?
A hand began to knead her breast and Nanao looked down with a sigh to see it was her own. They weren't the spectacular balloons that Rangiku possessed but as she continued to caress and pinch Nanao abruptly began to muse how they would fit perfectly within the hands of one bearded, brown-haired, sake-loving taicho, how he would completely dominate the bed with his bulk and body heat and…Oh! Fingers slipped inside easily as one hand kept rolling a pebbled reddened nipple; thumb and forefinger sliding her slickness up and around her rapidly aching clit. There had always been dreams and quiet looks and insufferable periods of time waiting for his lazy…ass…to come…to the office—
There was a slam and Nanao shot up in bed, fingers curling hard inside and forcibly sending her over the edge, dropping her back on the pillows as her climax boiled over and a high-pitched keen escaped through clenched teeth. She was back to the bathroom in seconds, hands shaking as she washed them, splashed freezing water on her sweat-dabbed brow and flushed cheeks, licking it off her bitten lips while running a cloth gently between her legs. This was inexcusable! There was work to be done! She shouldn't be—shouldn't be taking personal time at this hour, not when there were forms to be filed and training to oversee and she should really stop touching her chest right now and pick up her glasses instead.
There were beige papers strewn over the threshold of her room—door more than ajar much to Nanao's embarrassment—the ink smudged on several of them with small fingerprints around the edges; but as she read them and let the message sink in, the shock still couldn't dispel the sensations quivering over and inside her body. Dressing as quickly as she could, redoing her hair with some starts and stops as she'd discovered a smooth spot beneath her ear that made her want to curl her toes, Nanao Ise-fukutaicho was running through an oddly quiet Eighth Division knowing she had to find her taicho and alert him to the danger that she herself had stumbled into.
Pacing outside Kyoraku-taicho's door however, Nanao was struck with the possible impropriety of the action she was about to undertake. Her captain enjoyed his sleep; this was a well known fact. He also enjoyed his sake—a vast understatement if ever she had heard one. But unlike their office where both taicho and fukutaicho had seen the other sleeping and the rest of the seireitei where Nanao had to hunt her taicho down, Nanao had never intruded on Kyoraku-taicho's bedroom. Touching the doorframe on her tenth pass the troubled vice-captain was at a loss to explain why this was again.
With a creak from the door and an almost-jump from Nanao, the dark screen slid open to reveal a bleary-eyed gently smiling captain, a black kimono tied loosely around his waist and showing too much broad chest to be decent enough for his vice-captain's current state of mind.
"Arrrrr my Nanao-chan, what are—"
"There's trouble sir."
She pushed one of the water pamphlets up under her taicho's nose and then followed through on the urge to enter his bedroom, only a tinge of a blush crossing her cheeks as far as she could tell. His smell was everywhere and Nanao had to force herself to stand up straight. Yes, yes, it was only a room. "The paper was left in my room sir. It resembles Unohana-taicho's script so I do not doubt it's reliability. She has obviously been trying to alert the Gotei as to the circumstances."
"But Nanao-chan, why would Retsu-san just leave this for you to find? Wouldn't she wanna chat with…Nanao? My Nanaooooooooo-chan! What are doing?"
Nanao slowly opened her eyes, exhaling a deep satisfied breath and lowering the thick pink haori from her nose. The fabric was warm between her fingers and it had only been laid over a sagging wicker chair and OH KAMI! Nanao dropped the haori as if it was on fire, mouth opening in horror before clamping shut hard enough to hear the clack of perfect white teeth, then began a litany of stone faced babble, ignoring Kyoraku's attempts at interruption.
"The problem cannot be poison, I'm sure of it; otherwise I would not be as aware of my body as I am now. I have already consumed water taicho—"
"Nanao!"
"I have also had a very long bath," one prim finger rose to push glasses further up her nose, "and I have not been maimed or scarred."
"Are you sure Nanao-chan? Your beautiful face is flushed." Two worried chocolate orbs looked down into her own near black ones. He had an interesting nose, broken maybe once or twice but after a thousand years those sorts of things hardly seemed to matter. There was a large, useful hand massaging the back of his neck, rubbing over his jaw and soft brown beard, and it would probably look even better on her hip…His mouth was lush, wide, supple…
"Do you care to make sure?"
"…What?"
"That I am not maimed or scarred. Do you care to check for yourself?"
There was no response. Nanao watched as Kyoraku brought his own hand up to tap against his temple then reached down to pinch his hairy wrist.
"Am I still dreaming?"
"Permission to take off my clothes sir?"
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Unohana was silently reciting medical oaths to herself as she watched Kurotsuchi-taicho direct his staff around the Twelfth Division laboratory. It was the politest way to describe the vicious gestures and scathing remarks that the creatively obscene captain was throwing at any member of his division who came within three feet of him or any personnel who didn't appear to be following any and all orders to the letter. She felt terribly awkward, out of place, aroused, and not at all comfortable about those facts, especially given present company.
After leaving Hinamori-fukutaicho, Unohana had attempted a straight line towards the Twelfth. There were limitations to what her own division could accomplish and while they may be few and far between Retsu had known immediately that the best hope for a cure lay within the minds of those scientists who occupied the distinguished position of being a part of the Shinigami Research Institute. Of course it would also help if the 'disease' hadn't infiltrated any of those illustrious minds and so her steps had been expeditious.
Not quick enough, unfortunately, to avoid one hyper vice-captain.
Yachiru Kusajishi-fukutaicho had approached boldly—literally jumping into Unohana's arms, gleefully explaining how she had trounced four members of her division this morning and had plans for the rest after Ken-chan got through with training…and did Braid Lady have any candy because Baldy-chan stole all of hers (which Unohana hoped fervently was not a euphemism and that the young fukutaicho meant each and every word she said literally). It was decided then and there that Unohana couldn't leave Kusajishi-fukutaicho alone despite her strength and speed, that the guilt she would feel if anything happened to the diminutive vice-captain was worse than anything Zaraki-taicho would undoubtedly do…but Unohana really shouldn't be thinking about him either. Not in this condition. So convinced with bribes of confetti candy and the idea that a scientist should surely be able to mass produce whatever her taste buds desired, Yachiru merrily escorted Unohana to the Twelfth and was gassed unconscious by Kurotsuchi-taicho as soon as Kurotsuchi-fukutaicho led both officers into her father's presence. The pink-haired speed demon was currently sleeping in one of Kurotsuchi-taicho's apparently many cells.
It was for the best.
Unohana and Mayuri had spoken briefly before the real work had begun. She had sat calmly and explained in unembarrassed detail the symptoms experienced after consuming even such a small amount of water found in a cup of tea. There was no need to feel any shame, she had no control over the matter as it stood after all, but describing her tingling flesh, the sensitivity of her nipples against her heavy wardrobe, the increasing feminine ache between her thighs, the irregular rhythm of her breathing, and having questions shot back without a doctor's delicacy was not helping said symptoms.
"Kurotsuchi-taicho," she gently repeated an earlier question to the masked captain went it seemed his own had finished, "you are positive you have not ingested any water yourself? No tea? Not even freshly washed fruit?" His sneer was evident even through the grate of his disguised voice.
"Woman! My faculties are in perfect accord. Just because you cannot control your own base functions does not mean that I—"
"Is that why you have been scratching your chest through your uniform for the last fifteen minutes Kurotsuchi-taicho?" Mayuri abruptly stopped scratching; one lone long fingernail trailing down his slightly splattered haori to rest against Ashisogi Jizo. Unohana tilted her head, her gaze sympathetic. "You could have removed your internal organs correct? And saved yourself the debilitating affects. You've performed that operation before I was—"
"I had a shower!"
Unohana had sent Nemu to find help after that.
888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Rangiku Matsumoto had awoken to the taste of Death Butterflies building seaweed homes within the crevices of her mouth. Yep, she concluded. That's exactly what it tasted like. Her usual icy blue eyes were dry and not quite focused enough to dependably help her off her futon and into the bathroom. That would explain why the floor came up to meet her so fast and how she ended up crawling to worship before the wooden bucket. Haineko was whining about standards and dignity and how she felt very unappreciated half-hidden under the mattress as it were, and Rangiku may have cared if she hadn't been busy violently regurgitating. She felt as if Yamamoto-san was directing his entire supply of rieatsu into the center of her skull—and it didn't give her the sensation of sunbeams and rainbows that she had always imagined it would. This was torture!
She adjusted her top and scarf with a groan, grabbed an open sake bottle to swish a swig around her mouth to kill the aftertaste of her earlier prayer, pulled her zanpukuto out from the covers and headed to the door. It took ten minutes of pushing to remember she'd used kido to lock herself in and another five to realize she would have to recall each drunkenly made incantation one at a time if she ever hoped to escape her apartment.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh!" Ran sobbed dramatically, pressing her forehead into her colour-changed wall. "Shiro-chan is gonna killllllll meeeeee!" The golden fukutaicho brokenly looked around her front room.
"…What happened to my plants?"
