On the subject of clothing: A happy ending (Gravity made me do it)
Ichigo again stood facing the window, ready to receive Rukia, but her resolve wavered. What is going on with me? she chided herself. You've done this all before. You've got to get to work. Yet Ichigo's broad back and finely-chiseled hand, though only meters away and easily within her leaping distance, suddenly seemed kilometers away. As far apart as life and death.
Rukia did not move. She pondered his invitation and its myriad meanings. He would always be there to catch her... A pang of longing welled up in her chest, sullied only slightly by regret. "Ichigo..." she murmured, breath hardly reaching past her own lips.
A single, pleasant chirp cut through the air, seizing the moment. Rukia's decision was now unnecessary; the cell phone was alerting the pair that the situation had been resolved. Ishida or Orihime or Sado had dispatched of the Hollow while they were arguing.
Ichigo stood up straight, still facing the open window. The light breeze played with the tips of his hair. It was late autumn, now. More than three months had gone by since he had come to save her. Rukia continued to stare at him, trying to read emotions in his motionless back. She wondered what he saw out there in the darkness. She wondered what he hoped to find. She could see no more of him than bright hair and folds of draped black fabric, and yet somehow the staunch, confident silence of it all seemed to ridicule her. She had been so childish, teasing him about his favorite shirt. They were partners, that was all. No matter how much she had enjoyed that brief, unorthodox moment, he was right: she shouldn't let anything interfere with work. She couldn't afford to let her guard down with Hollows appearing more and more frequently.
"We should go make sure they're not injured" he said after a silent moment of gazing out the window, low voice monotone. It was unlikely; Orihime and Ishida were both too smart to get involved in a fight at a disadvantage, and Chad's steely body could shrug off all but the most grave injuries. However, there was always a possibility they were hurt. Ichigo wasn't the kind of guy to not check up on his friends when there was even a chance of danger.
"Aa," she agreed evenly, taking a hesitant step toward him.
"But first," - he still would not face her - "you have to change."
This again? Perhaps that crazy father of his had addled his brains as a child. "Idiot," she responded immediately, "Blood won't stain your precious shirt if the Hollow's already been defeated!"
"No, Rukia, don't you be stupid: you can't go outside in my clothes! Especially not in my boxers! What if somebody sees you? They'll recognize my shirt on you and they'll think – they'll think," he was suddenly caught up in a mild fit of coughing.
Rukia thought this was a lot fuss for nothing. It was mildly amusing, the way his cheeks were shot with crimson and his voice was unsteady, but really, what was the big deal was about these "boxers" things? They seemed like regular shorts to her, but softer, without pockets, and with a funny set of attachment mechanisms in the front. Snaps, she thought they were called. Boxers are comfortable, she mused, even if they were too big and threatened to slide off her lithe hips with any unexpected movement.
"What will they think?" she asked teasingly, more amused than anything. He had turned to face her when had spoken, trying to be grim but losing his harsh look as his words faded away into coughs and a blush.
Now, he had recovered. "Nothing. They won't think anything because you won't be going out in those clothes," he said with an air of finality. "Just change already. In the closet," he added quickly as she again reached for the lower lip of the shirt. For good measure, he sat down heavily in the chair at his desk, crossing his arms and staring fixedly at his alarm clock. The red numbers stared back, glowing indifferently. If this was going to be a staring contest, the inanimate object would most likely to win. However, Ichigo seemed determined to give it a run for its money, brows furrowed intently. The evening breeze continued to drift in through the window.
Oh, screw it. He stood up again after a moment and began to angrily pace a small swath of carpet along the edge of his bed, eyes on his feet. He was so busy trying to force unwelcome - but quite interesting - images out of his mind that he had not noticed she had yet to leave.
"Can't you make up your mind?" Rukia snapped angrily. She was annoyed, but not exactly at him. She couldn't figure out why she had actually obliged his earlier request that she take off the shirt. It had been obvious he did not mean for her to do it then and there. Why did he have to go and start by baiting me like that? she thought angrily ... and why did I have to fall for it? Stripping just to spite him, to manipulate his emotions, no longer seemed the adequate explanation it had been at the time. It was beneath her as a member of the Kuchiki clan, honorary or no. Yet, she had been so damn giddy about his slipped-up invitation. "Do you want me to wear it or not?" she blurted. Her hand flew to her lips in surprise. Did she just say that out loud?
Ichigo froze in mid-turn, gulping at the unexpected question. Did she just say that out loud? An equally unexpected, totally ridiculous answer roared within him. Just because you saw her in her bra-wrap thing, he chided himself, does not make thoughts like that okay. He tried to push back the startling images his brain continued to create unbidden, but each was replaced by something even more scandalous. He mumbled an incoherent response, his eyes now glued on the mess of food on the floor between them. Neither of them was making any move to clean it up, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He somehow knew that even a glance of her pale, smooth skin, her intense violet eyes, or her dark hair, with the peculiar lock that always fell in a graceful curve across her face, would send the monster within him, newly awoken by having seen her so scantily clad, into a flying rampage that he was not sure he could quench. Even stubborn Ichigo could only disobey his hormonal drives for so long, and he definitely was not immune to certain... side effects that Rukia's previous actions had had on him. So, instead of meeting her hard look, he watched his uninhabited body with unprecedented interest.
He shifted uncomfortably. It's bad enough that I have a Hollow inside my head; now I have to have a demon inside my pants as well? Ichigo thought bitterly, unable to erase the burning memory of Rukia standing before him in his boxers and a bra. She is beautiful, his mind murmured. The demon could only agree.
"Ichigo!" Rukia scolded sharply, "I'm tired of you not looking at me and not answering me when I'm addressing you."
"I can look wherever I want." He said it in his most offhand manner, the way he knew infuriated her. Maybe irritating her would distract him from his own discomfort. Maintaining a steady gaze on his body, he realized that he had never seen his own butt from that angle before...
Ichigo did not see Rukia narrow her eyes in a distinctly dangerous expression. He did not register her movements. He only saw her ankles sway briefly as she shifted her weight.
"Hmm..." she said in her most awful, artificial saccharine voice as she worked, "whatever shall I do with this? I know! Perhaps Kon will have a good idea."
Ichigo's mind was jerked away from its daydreaming. Kon never had good ideas. Ever.
"Rukia, what the hell are you talking abou- Gah!"
She was shirtless again, but she did not appear meek and startled like before, when she had been thrown off balance by the sudden orders for the Hollow. Now, she was ready for him. She swung his shirt around on the tip of her finger idly, right hand planted confidently on her hip and eyes wide in her best impression of innocence. "What's the matter, Kurosaki-kun? Are you alright?" she trilled.
"Dammit all, Rukia!" He was pissed at her for startling him with that move again. However, the novelty was beginning to wear off as anger took over. He stretched out his hand. "If you want to strip down like a floozy, that's fine with me. Just do it somewhere else and give me the goddamn shirt."
"Why don't you come and get it?" There was that mischievous gleam in her eyes again. Man, she sure was being weird tonight...
"Oh, please," he said, feigning a lack of interest. Really, his interest was climbing to a peak. For parts of him, anyhow. "Such childish words won't tempt me."
Though something about your body does the trick nicely, he couldn't help but think. At this point, Ichigo had given in to the idea that Rukia aroused him. He had no willpower left to fight it. Finding other things to think about was too exhausting to feign any longer, especially when he knew she was standing there in front of him, beautifully close to nakedness, bound up neatly by that bandage-bra and wearing boxers that looked like they were about to fall off of their own volition. He could not get the image out of his mind.
"Oh, that's right, I forgot: We all know Ichigo has to use bankai just to be fast enough to play with the big boys; he'd never be fast enough to catch me" she taunted, snatching his shirt away as he made an awkward grab for it, sparked into action by her infuriating words. "Now, now. That just won't do, will it?"
"Rukia, dammit. Just give me the shirt!"
"No... I think Kon will have much better uses for it. Maybe I'll go sneak into your sisters' room and get him right now..." She began to saunter past the mess on the floor and toward the door, smirking at him over her shoulder. Ichigo's mind was swamped by horrible thoughts of his sisters waking up to find Rukia in their room, stealing their toys and wearing his clothes. He froze in his tracks momentarily, shivering at the thought. Oh, god – what if they screamed and his father came in? No matter how good an explanation they managed to come up with, there would be no end to the nudges and winking over breakfast, there would be constant prompting to invite his "girlfriend" over for another, more formal, evening over. In short, his life would be over. He might as well be dead if his family meet Rukia that way.
With such desperate thoughts racing through his mind, Ichigo reacted with his own desperate response. It was swift, smooth, sudden, and without mercy.
He tackled Rukia from behind.
That had been the plan, anyhow, if one can call Ichigo's two seconds' worth of frustrated scheming a plan. The problem was, his body had something different to say about the idea. As he launched himself toward the mischievous girl, the toes of his right foot caught between the crook of his elbow and the side of actual, currently uninhabited body on the floor.
In the same instant, Rukia twirled around, intent on planting her feet wide in a victory stance and showing him her most triumphant, sparkling face. She would demand that they leave the house now, with her wearing whatever she wished.
Ichigo pitched forward. His arms were flailing, grabbing at midair. His leap had enough momentum to carry him halfway to Rukia. She was halfway through stepping backward.
The next second seemed to play in slow-motion.
Ichigo's hand contacted the side of Rukia's leg just at the edge of the boxers. His fingers curled around the fabric instinctively as he tried to catch himself, thrusting his other hand forward between his face and the carpet. He had landed awkwardly, with one knee on ribcage of his body and the other burrowing into the small of its back.
The knee of Rukia's other leg made contact with the unexpectedly harder-than-air surface of Ichigo's forehead and Rukia lost her balance. Hoping to check the wild swing of her body, she rammed her hand downward on the top of his head just as he managed to brace his palm, fingers spread, against the carpet.
For the slightest fraction of a second, they pair was motionless, breathing heavily. Ichigo stared down at the carpet, his ears roughly level with the knee of Rukia's contorted leg.
Then Ichigo's knee slid off the side of his body, causing his braced arm to buckle. Rukia locked her grip on his hair, lurching backward. Ichigo cursed and tried to twist away, but his foot was still tangled up with his body.
Ichigo's hand slid down and Rukia's leg pulled back. The boxers were rapidly descending and Rukia threw all her effort into grabbing them before a Very Bad Thing happened. When Ichigo realized what was happening, he tried to leap backward. Unable to twist his spine any further, he could only endeavor to again brace himself on the floor, pushing away from her thigh and descending panties with is other hand.
Rukia managed to grab the upper lip of the shorts between her thumb and two fingers, but was not expecting to be pushed. She toppled forward as Ichigo finally let go of her leg, mid-way through rolling to his side, shaking his entangled feet free of his unconscious body's arms.
In an instant, Rukia had fallen on top of Ichigo. The cell phone flew from her hand and landed with a soft thud in the corner of the room, lit with the calm green of "all clear." Just this one time, Chad, Orihime, and Ishida could be allowed to take care of themselves. Her other hand clutched at her hip, pinning his shirt and the corner of his boxers to her side.
Ichigo registered the situation in waves. He was flattened into a very awkward position on his side, one hand trapped between their perpendicular bodies and the other curled beneath him. Most of the weight was on this arm, as she had landed with her shoulder on his upper chest. His legs were roughly crossed, one still caught up with his body somehow. He couldn't be sure of what exactly was holding him; it was dark in the room and he was dazed from what felt like a knee blow to his forehead. His scalp hurt from where Rukia had yanked on his hair.
Wait a minute, Rukia was lying on top of him!
He scrambled backward, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor as she simultaneously shoved his shoulders away. Nearly simultaneously. She was a split second late in her timing, and, with his legs finally jerking free, they merely managed to realign themselves, neatly flipping Ichigo over in the process. Ichigo's left shoulder pinned Rukia's right side to the floor. Quickly pushing himself up on one hand and the opposite knee, Ichigo arched his back, staring downward. He paused.
Ichigo had been near Rukia on many occasions, but this was the first time that they weren't standing up, fighting, or trying to fit on the packed train. She had certainly never been underneath him before. Dammit, why does she have to be so small? Had the light been on, her body would have been almost lost under the shadow of his. From this close, he could see she that the fine hairs on her arms were raised on little mounds, possibly because she was startled, possibly because cool air continued to flow into the room, floating over their nearly-touching bodies. She smelled faintly of the earth after a light spring rain, or perhaps like the woods right before it snowed. He could hear her shallow breathing.
Rukia could feel the fabric of Ichigo's top brush the bare skin above her collarbone lightly as he breathed in and out, the folds falling across her chest. The front panel was nearly open to her at this angle; she could see the smallest amount of his muscular chest before the rest of the expanse disappeared into the dark cavity of his clothing. His skin was smooth and glistened with the slightest sheen of sweat.
Ichigo started. She was staring down his shirt. Isn't that a little backward? I suppose not, seeing as she's no longer even wearing a shirt. He grimaced to be reminded of that fact. Poised as he was, he was practically straddling her small frame. He would have never imaged himself in this situation with anyone, nonetheless Rukia! It was embarrassing and compromising and if he had any sense, he'd get up straight away before she kneed him again, this time in a very sensitive, currently extremely unprotected area.
But Rukia's face betrayed not the slightest intention of lashing out, or even of moving. Instead, her deep eyes gazed up at him with a sort of wonderment; their softened glaze reflected no hint of mocking, no mischievousness, and no fear. She suddenly seemed very young. Ichigo was overwhelmed with the urge to protect that innocence, forever. Her eyes were so different, so clear, when filled with trust.
For a still moment, neither figure moved, drinking in the forbidden closeness. Ichigo was the first to stir, slowly becoming more and more tense as nervous thoughts began to flit through his mind. Things had gone further than either of them expected, and his shifting of weight seemed to snap them both into an acute awareness of the awkward position. They backed away from each other, rapidly, automatically, severing the intimate connection that had been cemented through proximity.
Rukia began to busy herself by kneeling on the floor, attempting to clean up the mess of her dinner and mumbling something about being hungry. Ichigo bent to help her by lifting his body into a sitting position against a nearby wall. "Che" he muttered as he wiped food off his forehead. Once satisfied and without turning to look at Rukia, he leaned into the lifeless form, feeling a slight, familiar tingling as he realigned with himself. He stood, brushed his hands on his thighs lightly, and retrieved the trash can from under his desk.
As Ichigo and Rukia worked side by side, their movements were stiff, deliberate. They were careful not to look each other in the eye, not to let their hands brush as they worked. Neither was sure they could handle any more closeness just then, without things really getting out of hand. Ichigo pondered the night's events and the feelings it had stirred in him. She had stepped even deeper into his heart before either of them had realized it. He wondered what had triggered it all. He stood to survey their work. As his gaze fell upon a dark lump at Rukia's side, he remembered that it had begun with an unspoken rule. He smiled despite himself. So much for drawing a line she couldn't cross.
"Next time," he said, snatching away his precious shirt to then carefully fold it, continuing to avoid her glance, "just ask me before wearing my clothes.
"And, on second thought, ask me before taking them off, too."