On the subject of clothing: Complications and Distractions
Rukia could see the panic settling in the lines of his face as her small hands grasped the lip of her – his shirt and she began to peel it over her head. She allowed herself a small smile as the fabric passed over her eyes. She could just picture his face. He really was getting quite worked up about something so trivial, and she rather liked that panicked look to his eyes, the slight flush to his cheeks. Normally, he was stern and uptight, frowning and unmoving. Now, however, he somewhat resembled a frightened animal, wide-eyed and a bit... twitchy.
Having such control over him was exhilarating. Rukia hated to admit it, but she was in almost every other way completely powerless compared to Ichigo. His spirit pressure was intense, even daunting; she often felt she had to struggle just to keep from being overwhelmed, like she was a tired swimmer gasping for air in a strange and wild sea. He also knew everything about the modern world and she knew next to nothing. With this knowledge, Ichigo held a certain power over her, as she was nearly helpless when faced with a problem of modern technology. Often, she would have to sit and wait until he explained or did it for her. (His explanations were invariably longer and more boring than necessary, so much so that afterward she would be forced to show him how he could have explained it much better, with a diagram.)
But there was to be no waiting for him or his explanations today. Tasting that rare bit of control over Ichigo, Rukia reached down and, as casually as she could, began to remove his shirt. He stood there, mouth flapping and gasping like a washed-up fish, unmoving in the middle of the room and still holding her dinner and milk in rigid hands. She could have predicted his reaction down to every sweat drop; he was so naïve underneath that "tough man" exterior, completely inexperienced. While Rukia had not exactly lived a sheltered afterlife, she was fairly inexperienced with this, too. It was best to take these things slowly, she figured, best to savor them. She certainly savored Ichigo's boyish discomfort.
Her luxurious pace afforded Ichigo the time to stutter awkwardly, "What are you doing?" before he turned automatically to face the door, quickly averting his gaze. Better safe than sorry.
"Exactly what you asked," she responded, enjoying herself immensely.
Either he didn't understand the implications of her response or his mind was still in shock, because his voice sounded dazed as it floated over his turned back. "Good, because for a second there it looked like you were about to take off my shirt right there in front of me - "
Rukia's mischievous chuckle was abruptly interrupted by an urgent beeping noise that emanated from somewhere on her body. Ichigo immediately tensed into an alert stance, his hands tightening their grip and his spirit aura flaring palpably. He began to spin around to face her, swearing under his breath.
Rukia had already pulled on her red glove. Where does she hide that thing? Ichigo wondered vaguely as he caught a glance of the skull logo out of the corner of his eye before she slammed her palm into the back of his head a bit harder than was necessary. He flew away from his collapsing body as a gamut of familiar sensations washed over him. There was an easy, unrestrained feeling to his movements, almost of weightlessness, and he suddenly felt quite confident that he could handle anything that got in his way. Though he never let it show, Ichigo enjoyed his time as a shinigami, enjoyed this freedom and power. It gave him the ability to protect people, to finally be able to fight against the cruel world to which he, his family, and his friends were subject.
CRASH! The tray of food and the glass he had been holding spilled their contents across his bedroom floor as his now lifeless body fell to the ground, landing face-first in a pile of milky rice. Shit. He'd forgotten about that. This was a cruel world, indeed. Well, that would just be another thing to tend to after dealing with the Hollow-
- like getting Rukia some proper clothing. Ichigo opted to continue ignoring the working part of his brain, instead using the momentum of Rukia's push to turn to face his bedroom window. He braced one arm against the sill and cradled the small of his back with the other, preparing himself for Rukia's familiar weight to land lightly at his shoulders. Despite all appearances, this was an everyday setup, and the pair routinely worked together smoothly and flawlessly. Indeed, even in the beginning, they had synced with nearly miraculously rapidity, falling into a rhythm of fighting, working, and simply living side by side. There was nothing either could do about their situation; fate had forced them together and continued to thrust them into danger together time and time again. And yet, it was a comfortable cooperation so perfect that neither consciously noticed their dovetailing behaviors, behaviors like the way his gaze automatically fell to her height or the way she tracked his movements out of the corner of her eye when they were in public. Or like the way they played into each others' arguments every time, bickering for no good reason and not really caring about it, either. Though neither Ichigo nor Rukia realized that they felt as if this was the way things were meant to be, they had both all too clearly felt the pain of each others' absence in the past. Upon Rukia's return, they fell back into their familiar pattern like they were coming home again. Everything was renewed, from the childish squabbling to the smooth teamwork. It was like the old times, except now they had each made a silent pact to themselves to never let the other down, to never leave the other again.
Except maybe for right now. Rukia left Ichigo hanging, head bowed as he hunched over awkwardly at the window. He stood there for a second, unmoving, waiting for her. The second stretched on, but still he did not hear her jump smoothly onto his back or feel her weight settling on him. He maintained his position expectantly, growing impatient.
The cell phone rang again, clear chime piercing the silence. What the hell was she doing, waiting for an engraved invitation? Ichigo's mind raced furiously.
Ms. Kuchiki Rukia is cordially invited to:
"tag along as Ichigo bashes in the brains of some stupid Hollow."
The beeping had already died off. Still no movement from Rukia.
Place: nearby.
Normally, she was even more anxious than he to get to the Hollows. Something was seriously wrong with that girl tonight. Not that there wasn't always something seriously wrong with her.
Time: right now.
Ichigo's forehead knotted angrily; if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was waiting helplessly on the sidelines.
Mode of transportation: Ichigo-taxi
Ichigo snapped. "Argh! Enough already! Rukia, what the hell are you waiting for!" He roared as he spun around to face her. "We've got to go get that Holl-"
"-ow..." the last syllable died on his lips as he gaped at her, wide-eyed. She hadn't moved from her spot. The closet door stood half-open, forgotten. In her left hand, limply positioned at her side, she held the communication device. Its front panel was flashing blue moodily but they didn't seem to notice. In her still-gloved right hand, held to her chest, she clutched his shirt possessively.
No one ever claimed that Kurosaki Ichigo was quick on the uptake, but even fewer were willing to get into a fight with him to assert quite the opposite, either. Right now, he settled for the middle ground between rapid response and slow, well-rationalized thought: rapidly expressing a few poorly rationalized thoughts.
"Gu- gu-", for example.
Also, tried to point at her as if to emphasize his very urgent conclusion, but wound up simply waving his arm around in her general direction, flinging his other hand across his face to shield his eyes from her starkly bare figure.
Rukia glared at Ichigo, who, for at least the third time this evening, was struck by the need to sputter incoherently at her. Really, she sighed mentally, it wasn't as if she were naked.
Finally, something clicked. "Gah! Put that thing back on! You're not supposed to change in front of me!" He yelled, panting as if he had just exerted himself extremely hard. Living with her was surely enough to drive him completely insane.
Ichigo again turned to face the wall, tapping his foot impatiently. They had a Hollow to go kill and here she was stripping down to – what was that thing she'd been wearing, anyway? A mental image bubbled up inside him, recalling exactly what he had just seen. Rukia was wearing some kind of wrapping. A bandage? No, she was completely uninjured. Besides, the way she was wearing those strips of fabric made him think of something else entirely. It was like one of those undergarment wraps from the Samurai period. Exactly like that.
Which effectively meant that Ichigo had just seen Rukia her bra. Her bra and his boxers. The room seemed to grow quite warm all of a sudden. Ichigo broke out into a nervous sweat; his uniform, normally so free, felt tight and restrictive. His breathing became shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to force out the reality of his memory, but all he could picture was Rukia, standing in his darkened room, wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers and a tight wrapping that clearly defined the outline of her body. Rukia, bound by long strips of fabric...
Despite his natural tendency toward modesty, it was not the first time Ichigo had seen something of the sort. He was a teenage guy living in the age of computer technology, after all. He'd seen a woman naked. Yoruichi, for example.
Oh, god, not that. Now Ichigo began to feel truly uncomfortable as he remembered the naked, dark-skinned woman standing boldly before him, as casual as if she were buying a pint of strawberries at the market. The way she looked all wet in the steam of the hot spring, or when she sat in front of him cross-legged. Strangely, as the images blurred through the mounting panic of his muddled brain, Ichigo realized that it wasn't Yoruichi he was picturing. Hell, it's hot in here. Instead, his mind was, ah... replacing... Yoruichi with -
Rukia coughed lightly. "Are we going or not?" she asked irritably.
"Ah... right" Ichigo managed, staring intently at some point over and to the left of her now-clothed shoulder. Rukia arched an eyebrow at him slightly; she had been expecting more of his usual banter.
"Are you going to open the window?" she suggested sternly when he still did not move.
"Ah... right" was all he said. She's wearing clothes again. Just get your mind on the Hollow-hunting. No remembering what she looked like. He slid open the window with a strong hand, a hand that could just as easily -
A rush of cold air billowed in Ichigo's face, knocking him out of his reverie. He shook himself, slightly appalled and still more frightened that he could possibly be thinking of Rukia in that way. Hell, why did she have to go and start with my favorite shirt?
"Ichigo!" Rukia called and he again realized he had been daydreaming. "Your hands?"
"What? Oh...right" Apparently, he had been idly fingering the white fabric bow tied about his waist.
"Do you expect me to just jump on your back if you're not going to catch me?" she snapped from behind him.
"I'll always be here to catch you, Rukia" Ichigo whispered instantly, without realizing what he was saying until the words were already out of his mouth. His voice was calm, confident, but his back stiffened after a few seconds of silence.
Rukia stared at his back as he positioned his hand to catch her. Somehow, tonight was different. She had been teasing him earlier, deciding to wear his shirt on a whim (she had discovered it folded neatly in the top of the closet). But now, looking at his back as he waited patiently, she realized that her previous actions had said more than she had meant them to, had spoken of a longing she had not recognized she had. And, by opening up to her just now, Ichigo was offering more of an invitation than either of them realized. This time, clamoring on to his back would mean more than just agreeing to go slay a Hollow.
Ichigo's palm grew sweaty as he waited for her. The thought of her pressing herself against his back, grasping his strong shoulders with her small hands and lightly breathing directions into his ear as he jumped from housetop to housetop was strangely stimulating. His body seemed to remember in the finest detail all the times they had done this before, but he was now remembering it in completely different light. So many possibilities... He wasn't quite sure what would happen when she climbed on this time.
But there was a Hollow out there, not waiting on his petty discomfort. Even if he had to fight through his raging hormones first, Ichigo was determined to protect innocent souls. Whatever happened when Rukia jumped on him, whatever new complications to their relationship were coming, well, he would just deal with them as they came. They had a job to do.
"Let's go, Rukia," Ichigo murmured, "let's do this."