Apologies. Being an adult sucks: really struggling to get back to my passions due to work and a mountain of other excuses. Shit's about to get real with this story though, I think. Have a slight idea where this is going, so hopefully finish it up soon. -TPP
Tipping The Scales
Chapter 6: He Sells Sea Shells
Kenpachi cussed under his breath as he heard his phone vibrating from somewhere in the room. Wherever his pants had landed, that's where he'd find his goddamn phone.
It took some maneuvering to get out from underneath Kisuke who's head had been on his collarbone, dead asleep. Kenpachi wished he was too: he wasn't so young anymore that four rounds of sex didn't threaten to put him in a coma.
He finally managed to slip out, Kisuke rolling over, his legs hopelessly tangled in sheets.
Kenpachi stumbled in the dark towards the buzzing, grabbing the damned technology before he threw it out the window.
"What?" he barked, careful of the volume of his own voice. He usually didn't give a fuck if business disturbed his past partners, but Kisuke looked so good passed out, snoring like a freight train.
"Sorry to disturb you, buchou, but I have pressing news."
Kenpachi was immediately more awake as the soft yet powerful voice projected through the speaker, "Yeah? What'cha got, Kuchiki?"
"We ran one of the scrambled codes through a new upgrading system Szayel has been working on. We have a general area to begin canvassing, although an exact location is impossible with the amount of data we recovered."
"So this Aizen fuck is still in the wind," Kenpachi finished for him, tugging on his jeans and fixing his belt.
"In a manner of speaking. However, we may be able to track down one, or more, of his moles. Apparently whoever Aizen hired to hack us was a bit of a narcissist: if he'd been even a tenth of a digit more careful, we would still be blind."
"Get on it, then," Kenpachi hummed, buttoning his shirt up, his piece going to the small of his back. Thankfully he'd disrobed himself tonight: he didn't want to think about how Kisuke would react to him being strapped all the time.
No need to scare the man more than necessary.
"Does this require a meeting, buchou?"
"Yeah. I want you and the pink freak to meet me at my penthouse in an hour."
"Shall I arrange for a team?"
"What is this, The Avengers? Get Nnoitra's ass out of the casino. I'll call Red and Blue myself."
"Of course, buchou."
"And Kuchiki?"
"Yes, buchou?"
"Order in. I'm fucking starving."
Kenpachi hung up and texted Gin to pick him up immediately. That done, he went to the bed and sat on the edge and rubbed Kisuke's shoulder until he started wiggling and blinked his eyes open.
"Mm – wha? What time…ugh, Kenpachi, it's three in the morning," Kisuke mumbled as he looked at the nightstand's neon clock. He didn't like being woken from sex comas, his body already protesting in soreness as he became more aware of his physical self.
He shifted again.
"Oh my god," Urahara grumbled into his pillow, feeling humiliated at how much his lower back hurt, his ass absolutely on fire.
"Sore?" Kenpachi murmured, one big hand beginning to knead at Urahara's lower back, making the man moan.
"Y-yeah."
Kenpachi hummed, rubbing more at Kisuke's sore backside, "Sorry."
Urahara turned his head on the pillow to try and look back at his…what? Lover? Official lover?
Potential BOYFRIEND?
"What's funny?" Kenpachi asked.
Kisuke must've snorted at the thought. He shook his head, "Nothing. Um, I mean, why are you up? It's an ungodly hour."
"Duty calls. Was gonna sneak off, but I didn't want you getting ideas," Kenpachi answered honestly, both of his hands kneading at Kisuke's back now.
"Mmm…you missed your calling as a masseuse," Kisuke sighed, enjoying how his heart felt too big at the thought of Kenpachi worried about Kisuke thinking of the man fucking and running.
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm. So…good and…gentle," Kisuke said, trying to keep his eyes open as he felt those warm, calloused fingers relaxing him back to sleep.
Kenpachi shook his head, watching his lover close his eyes, his breathing rhythmic and slow.
That was the first time anyone had ever said he was good, nevermind gentle.
He waited a couple more minutes, knowing for certain the blonde was asleep again before he leaned over and kissed Kisuke on his shoulder blade before getting up and leaving the room.
Now to deal with business.
He closed the door behind himself, effectively shutting Kisuke away from the shark that smelled blood in the water.
Starrk bit at his bottom lip again, a moan ripping out of his chest despite his efforts, his legs spread wide to accommodate a certain blue-haired yakuza's tongue.
"Ssssshhhhhhiiiiit," he groaned, throwing his head back against the back of his leather couch, the blue-haired younger man letting go of his dick only long enough to look up at him and smirk before performing more magic on his pounding erection.
"Nn, Grimmjow…"
"S'okay. Cum in my mouth."
Starrk's hips popped up at the words, Grimmjow's mouth barely closing over the head again before Starrk erupted.
He was sweating so bad he doubted he'd be able to pull his body away from the leather of the couch, which was ludicrous considering he was still wearing a light grey tank top. He was breathing like he'd run a marathon. He'd never in his life been this tired after a blowjob.
Fuck, that hadn't been a blowjob. That had been a mind fuck of epic proportions.
Just 'cuz the kid was young didn't mean he didn't know what he was doing.
He must've said it out loud because Grimmjow chuckled, grasping at Starrk's knees to hoist himself up from the floor, the front of his shorts tented severely in the front.
Starrk licked at his own lips, distracted by the thought that he had gotten so wrapped up in his own pleasure he hadn't thought of Grimmjow's. Obviously the hour and a half of hanky panky hadn't paid off for the blue-haired yakuza.
"You liked that, huh?" Grimm said saucily, standing to his full height and stretching his hands above his head, his tank top riding up just enough to expose defined hip bones and a thin trail of baby blue hair.
Starrk licked over his lips again and then was confused when Grimmjow wandered to the kitchen and grabbed a beer, popping the top and shaking it at Starrk, "Want one?"
"Sure."
What was going on?
Grimmjow grabbed another beer and plopped down on the couch beside Starrk, handing it to him before turning his eyes to the television, a woman letting out a loud scream as she was cut in half by a katana.
Starrk hadn't even remembered them watching the movie to begin with. He'd been a little distracted.
He eyed Grimmjow's crotch. Yep, Bulge Mountain was waving hello, but Grimmjow made no move.
He was leaned back, relaxed, sipping at his beer and watching the mayhem unfold on the TV screen.
This time a hot young man got his head chopped off, blood spraying in oozing rivers.
"Nah, it wouldn't happen like that. It'd spurt at first, little baby spurts. It wouldn't start oozing until the body hit the ground, starts coagulating," he said off-handedly, sipping at his beer again, "And the chest slashes? Vicious attacks like that, the blood pattern on the walls would be totally different, heavier. Movies like this piss me off."
Starrk looked at Grimmjow. How the hell had he forgotten that he knew next to nothing about this kid? He'd let a killer blow him on their first date.
Grimmjow made eye contact with him, his face serious, "Scared yet? 'Cuz that's the reality. Sometimes I disappear for days, sometimes weeks. My phone rings and I'm out the door most times. All that said: I'm serious about you."
He put his beer down and lifted his tank top, exposing the intricate scar work along his sides and the one extremely brutal looking one that Starrk had noticed at the beach that was across his whole chest, dark and puckered from age. Jesus, the scar was obviously years old, but if the kid was only 23, how old had he been when he'd been given such a brutal memento?
He dropped his shirt, "There's gonna be times I can't tell you anything, but you already know that, so let's skip the bullshit: I'm already feeling possessive of you, so you better know that if you're with me, you're mine and mine only. You'll figure out quick I get jealous."
Starrk just stared at him. Well, this was the most unconventional first date ever, but a part of him appreciated Grimmjow's bluntness.
It was almost cute.
Grimmjow was giving him a choice to walk away before he got invested, and that told Starrk that the yakuza could be a killer but he did in fact have emotions and feelings.
The other part of Starrk was curious, was appalled, was all kinds of worried over Grimmjow's past, of how many people he'd hurt or killed, but the intensity of Grimmjow's eyes at that moment told him that he was being quite honest.
Grimmjow got up from the couch, cracking his back and pulling his phone out of his pocket as it started to go off. He didn't answer in Japanese: Starrk had only ever heard French in movies. He was surprised: what Japanese mafia spoke French?
"Oui," Grimmjow finished, sliding his phone back into his pocket, "Gotta go. If you don't call, I get it."
He headed for the front door. Starrk's stomach rolled like he was going to throw up.
"Be careful."
Grimmjow threw him a smirk as he closed the door behind him.
"Bye, cupcake."
Starrk tried not to think about the fact Grimmjow hadn't made any promises.
"S'won't take long," Gin said with a smirk after hearing Byakuya and Szayel debrief the current situation, "Money talks, and the streets ain't so wide anymore: people network, dippin' fingers in other gangs where they don' belong."
"Let's just do this. Sooner we nab the fucker sooner you get to play with their brains," Nnoitra grumbled, stubbing out a cigarette as he stood up from the table.
Kenpachi wasn't surprised to see the notorious gambler with another stupid eye-patch, this one a deep blue satin. He was tall and lanky and covered in about as many scars as himself, but he was sharp with money and was second-in-command of the group's casino. He was the only one in the penthouse wearing a tailored suit.
"Mah, le's go, then," Gin said, getting up from his place at the table as well.
His partner Renji nodded. His throat was healing nicely, but he didn't talk much since the accident. The doctors said his vocal chords had survived the attack, but Kenpachi suspected the incident had left Renji with mental scarring as well.
"Arite, you're driving," Grimmjow mumbled, swinging a black bag over his shoulder Kenpachi knew carried capable guns with silencers and additional ammunition. Everyone had been instructed to bring their 'business bags' with them. Most didn't bother with actual luggage anymore considering they had the money to buy whatever clothing or toiletries they needed when sent out like this.
"Mah, we'll take turns," Gin decided, his own bag swung over his shoulder as he grabbed Renji's hand, "Le's roll, then, ne?"
"Don't call me until you've caught a rat," Kenpachi ordered, stubbing out a sweet-smelling cigarillo, "Don't bother transporting him back here."
Grimmjow, Gin, and Renji nodded once: a silent acceptance of the unspoken command.
"This Aizen ass hole is smart: don't go knockin' 'em all off until we got more information," Kenpachi finished, rubbing at his eyes, "Red and Blue only come out to play if shit goes south, got me?"
Gin smirked and nodded, knowing that his red-haired lover was too recognizable from his tattoos, hair, and reputation. Same went for Grimmjow, although he tended to keep a lower profile when demanded. Good thing they had Kuchiki and Nnoitra, two of Eleventh Division's smoothest talkers to get the waters stirring without bubbling the pot over.
"Yeah, we got this, boss," Nnoitra said, lighting a cigarette before throwing the door to the penthouse open. The gang flowed out behind him silently, Gin the last to close the door with nothing more than a promising grin.
Urahara sighed, wiping at his sweaty forehead, ignoring the bit of paint that had gotten on the front of his apron. The sign for the shop was now a bright, obnoxious green, sure to draw attention to the once dull-colored shop.
Jinta helped him break down the ladder and move it back to the storeroom, Kisuke surprised the red head had been willing to come in on a Saturday to help his old man out.
"No plans today, Jin?" Kisuke fished, taking one of the clean work towels and wiping his face clean of paint and sweat.
Jinta shrugged, "Nah, not really."
"No parties? No hootenannies? No delinquent shenanigans?"
Jinta raised a pierced eyebrow, giving his father that dubious look that was all Starrk, "No, not feelin' it today."
Kisuke smirked, "So in other words, Di Roy's busy."
Jinta shrugged again, tugging on one of his gauges.
Kisuke sighed, "Wanna tell me what's going on between you two? Are you fighting or something? You've never gone a day without that lil' braces brat tagging with you: how have you managed a week?"
Kisuke didn't want to admit that he himself was feeling a bit lonely. It'd been almost two weeks since Kenpachi had left his apartment. They'd shared a few texts, even a quick phone conversation when Kenpachi had a weekend business trip in China, but Kisuke hadn't physically seen the yakuza in so long he'd had to resort to whacking off in the shower like he was a teenager again.
Jinta leaned against the front counter, his eyes suddenly a bit more passionate, "He – he started going out with this – this total TOOL, a SENIOR. He's an ass hole, dad. I can't stand him."
"Oh," Kisuke said, noting how Jinta's face was red either from anger or embarrassment, "um, well, have you tried getting to know him a little better?"
"He doesn't want to be friends. He doesn't even want me to be around Di. I told him 'ta go to hell, which got Di upset. Whatever: if he can't see that dude for what he really is, there's nothing I can do about it."
Kisuke grabbed a pack of sour candies from the bin on the counter and threw it to Jinta. He caught it, staring at it.
"You've always been by his side, always protected him, even when he's made stupid decisions. What you need to decide is if it's worth it to continue to stay by his side as you always have, or if the relationship needs to change to fit the feelings."
"Fit the feelings?"
Kisuke sighed, "Jinta, I have no doubt in my mind you're in love with him."
Jinta's face was beet red as he practically snarled, "What? No I'm – I can't be, not like that. Of course I love him, he's my best friend, practically my brother, but I'm not…he doesn't…"
"Maybe this kid is a tool; maybe he's not, but whatever happens, I know that you're not going to let a lifelong friendship get destroyed over some senior who might be a player. Di means way too much to you for that."
Jinta ripped open the pack of sour treats and popped some in his mouth, cracking them with his teeth, "I don't wanna fight with him anymore, dad. I hate it. Being at school is suffocating with that kid hanging all over him, it's like…I just wanna rip his throat out."
Kisuke smiled at his son, his head resting on a hand, "Oh Jinta, can't you recognize jealousy? It's Di's first relationship, the first person to ever come between you and Di. Taking up Di's attention, his time…and I'm assuming Di is happy?"
Jinta shrugged, "Dunno. He talks about him so damn much, and I just get so mad, and then we end up fighting the rest of the day. I guess so. I mean, if he wasn't happy, he wouldn't be with him, would he?"
Kisuke wished he could just knock his son's head into the countertop a few times until he understood, "What does Di say about the boy?"
Jinta scratches at his temple a second, "That he's funny, and good-looking, and that he never thought he'd ever get a boyfriend, and that he can finally get over his crush he's had for a long time, but that's what we end up fighting over, 'cuz he's never told me who this crush is, and I wanna know, 'cuz he's gotta be better than the douche bag he's dating now. I'll even help him, I swore I would, but Di just tries to change the subject and it gets me all mad and then…we just fight some more, and I'm sick of it."
Urahara sighed, rustling Jinta's hair, "You know, for a genius, you're pretty dumb."
Jinta swatted his hand away, "Whad'ya mean?"
Urahara rolled his eyes, "Go talk to him, and I mean really talk. Then listen: that's the important part you tend to skip."
Jinta rolled his eyes, grabbing his skateboard from behind the counter, "Alright, but seriously, dad, I'm gonna end up punching him if he says one more gooey thing about his…boyfriend."
"Uh-huh. See you later," Urahara waved, the door tinkling as his precious son took off into the teenage angst abyss.
"Mow."
Urahara raised an eyebrow at Yoruichi, "What? That was perfectly sound parental advice and you know it."
Yoruichi flicked her tail and tilted her head before rubbing between his legs in a figure 8 pattern, "Meeeeeow."
"Yah, well, you'll understand when you have your own kittens," Kisuke said, picking her up gently to accommodate her growing belly, "More mouths to feed, oh joyous day."
Yoruichi purred as Kisuke lavished attention behind her ears and under her jaw, perfectly content with her favorite crazy shopkeeper.
But when the doorbell tinkled, she tensed in his arms, making Kisuke take in the human who had upset Yoruichi.
He was pretty average: taller, a bit wider in the shoulders, a mop of brown hair, glasses.
"Good afternoon," Kisuke said, setting Yoruichi down on the countertop, "and welcome."
"Good afternoon," the man replied, his voice a whispered chocolate silk. Goosebumps erupted on Urahara's neck and arms. Yoruichi hissed.
"I've heard many good things about your shop," the man continued, strolling closer to the front desk and plucking a lollipop from one of the display bins. Urahara's eyes immediately fell on the man's gold watch: designer, diamond inlaid points. Retailed anywhere between 1,500,000 and 2,000,000 yen, which was in stark contrast to his bargain bin white collared button down shirt and slacks. His shoes looked to be Italian leather, imported. Pricey.
Tan line from a pinky ring.
Extrovert. Powerful, articulate, someone who knows how to pull strings.
Kisuke immediately was wary of this man: who spent that kind of money on accessories and not their clothing? He was no office worker.
The man smiled at him: Kisuke had to admit it was charming. The man oozed it.
"I'm not very well disguised, I see. So much for my power of illusion," the man said with a chuckle, leaning against the counter.
"Can I help you, sir?" Urahara replied, hoping he kept the tension out of his voice. He didn't keep a gun in his store: he'd never had trouble before, had never thought he'd ever need one.
For the first time in his life, he was thankful he had gotten bored in college and earned a few black belts.
The man smiled again, his arms loose at his sides, unthreatening, "You're already helping me plenty, Urahara Kisuke."
"Do I know you?"
The man smiled again, "Of course not, although we have a…mutual acquaintance. He's becoming a bit of a nuisance for me, you see, a challenge. It's delightful; it barely ever happens anymore these days," he said, unwrapping the lollipop and taking a bite out of it, cracking it and chewing, "but he seems like a hard-headed man, a rough man. But he isn't rough with you, is he?"
"I think you had better go," Kisuke said quietly, shifting back a step, his feet planted in a defensive position. Yoruichi had already disappeared, thankfully, "I don't want any trouble."
The man cocked his head slightly, "You know, at first, I didn't either. Things were going smoothly, but now things are starting to look ugly. His little ants are poking around my termite piles, and I'm sorry for that."
The man took off his glasses, wiping at the lenses with the edge of his cheap white shirt. He kept his eyes on his task as he said, "I'd like for you to deliver a message to him for me."
In the time it took Kisuke to blink, the man's arm had shot across the counter, anchoring into the front of his shirt, pulling his head into the counter so hard the sound made his ears ring. Disoriented, he fell back, managing to catch himself on his hands as he fell backwards. The man walked around the counter, staring down at him as he backed up, getting to his feet, falling into one of his preferred defensive positions.
"Tae Kwon Do," the man mused absently, running a hand through his hair, slicking it back off his forehead. Somehow, it made him look more regal, "This should be interesting."
Again, the man moved. How he moved so fast, Kisuke had no idea. He felt sluggish, his mind moving too fast for his body. Something was wrong.
"I never take chances with pets," the man said as he placed a small syringe on the counter, "they tend to bite."
Urahara stumbled back against the counter, his legs sliding out from under him, the muscles beginning to spasm in his legs. It tingled up his sternum and into his arms.
All he could think about was Jinta, that Jinta was safe. Jinta was away.
"Impressive, isn't it?" the man said, getting down on his knees in front of Kisuke and beginning to unbuckle his belt, "one of the fastest-acting paralytics in the world: completely paralyzes the muscles, although it doesn't dull pain or pleasure receptors. Fascinating, isn't it?"
Kisuke thought he was going to be sick. He was breathing heavily, but all he could feel was his heart pounding insanely fast in his chest, his lips, fingers, and toes feeling like they were imbedded in snow.
He tried to talk, but it was garbled nonsense.
"Oh come now, you're used to this," the man said, working at Urahara's belt and lowering his pants before pulling him into his crotch, Urahara's legs spread out over the man's strong thighs, "this is what you were bought for, pet."
Kisuke closed his eyes at the sounds he was making: they weren't quite screams. His windpipe felt tingly, wet, like it was bleeding. He could do nothing else as the man forced himself inside him unprepared, the ache so terrible he knew the wetness was blood.
"If Zaraki continues to pursue my people, my toys…" the man huffed between thrusts, "I will break every…single…piece…of you. Do you understand? I…will...skull fuck…your son…in his sleep."
The man finished: it was warm. Urahara wanted to die.
The man pulled out of him roughly. He reached forward and wiped the tears from Urahara's face, "Tell Zaraki that Aizen sends his love."
The man stood, adjusted his shirt, put on his glasses.
He pulled out his wallet, dropping a small yen note on the counter, "For the lollipop."
Urahara listened to the man walk around the counter, open the door. The bell tinkled.
Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it wasn't. Urahara closed his eyes, counting his heartbeats.
It took nearly half an hour for him to regulate his breathing. It was the only thing he could do as he waited to regain movement in his limbs. The pain in his ass was almost blinding, but he escaped to that part of himself, deep inside his brain where nothing could hurt him, where he was in complete control.
With his eyes closed, he catalogued his attacker. He re-drew his face over and over again: the exact color of his hair, his eyes. No dimples. Straight teeth. White teeth, the kind of white one gets from excessive whitening treatments. Pronounced nose, large hands. No tattoos or scars. No freckles. Slight accent. Italian, maybe. A half-blood.
International mafia warfare?
Urahara opened his eyes. His hands were flexing in and out, in and out. He tried wiggling his toes. They still felt cold, but they were beginning to burn. Circulation. Good.
He slowed his heart, continuing to catalogue, to process. He regulated his circulatory system through the power of his mind alone, shutting his emotions in the steel box he had crafted years ago.
He needed to move. He needed to heal.
He couldn't think of Kenpachi right now.
He was shaking. Good.
He closed his eyes and drifted, replaying the man's words over and over again.
Word for word. Delicate, precise. The tone, the subtle nuances.
The deadness of his eyes. A sadist and potential high-functioning psychopath.
Dangerous, demanding, vengeful.
And Kisuke had been thrown directly into his path.
