Kira opened his eyes, with the realization that he must look incredibly cowardly with his lids squeezed tightly together.
He took in some much needed air as the Eleventh Division Captain hauled the condemned man towards him by violently tugging at his obi.
“What’s this?” Kenpachi roared as the noble lolled on his shoulder with his eyes closed “I’m not making out with a fucking corpse. Help me get ‘im to a bathroom. Splash some water on his face. Should do the trick.” Ikkaku moved to help his Captain, only to recoil, a hand held to his cheek as blood seeped through his fingers. The obstacle removed, Yoruichi focused her full attention on Kenpachi with death dancing in her eyes. It was enough to chill the blood but Kenpachi only smiled as he gave the interloper the once over.
Ikkaku swung back towards them in some misguided attempt to aid his hero, but a tap to each knee dropped him, as Soi Fong came forward to stake her claim.
Kenpachi let got his prize and Byakuya dropped gracelessly to the floor, unmoving, as the three combatants eyed one another over the living trophy. Though of course, Soi Fong had every intention of sharing him with her former superior, to get into her good graces, or if one wanted to be vulgar – and Kira had had just enough alcohol to do so – get into her panties.
They flanked him, circling, as they maintained the same distance between each other. He did not appear to care too much as he stood immobile.
They both moved at the same time, whether by design or chance, Kira really couldn’t tell.
Half your weight supped in sake has a tendency to slow one’s speed – as Yoruichi found out to her own displeasure. She moved well... sluggish. Goddess of Shunpo no more as all eyes watched her with ease.
Kenpachi executed a small but energy loaded jab to her solar plexus.
Soi Fong stopped in her assault, to gawk at the sight of her beloved now crushed underfoot. Not a man to waste an opportunity, Kenpachi lunged slightly to his left, with his right foot remaining stationary to keep Yoruichi pinned. Soi Fong, mesmerised by Yoruichi, did not see the arm that wrapped around her waist and dragged her to his side. She, too, had been drinking and was in no condition to be fighting.
The angle was too much to negotiate, with the pretty girly squirming by his side so he switched tactics, letting his leg swiftly fold under him, his knee coming down full force onto Yoruichi’s back, allowing him to steady his grip upon Soi Fong.
“Now then ladies. I’m all for a threesome. What d’ya say?”
Shuuhei burst out laughing. The gaggle of girls around him took up the chorus.
Soi Fong struggled uselessly under his arm, her own consciousness attacked by the poisonous vapours that were leaking from his armpits.
Yoruichi, held down by the knee crushing her spine, was faring little better and with a quick tap on the floor to signal her defeat, she rolled away from him and began wheezing.
“That’s settled then,” Yamamoto said amiably, “Byakuya goes to Kenpachi. Now if everyone would like to turn their attention back to the remaining vic – I mean contestants. Let’s keep bidding. It’s all for a good cause, after all.”
Damn and his heart was just beginning to slow too.
For the next ten minutes of bidding, Kira tried his damndest to remain as stationary as possible despite the protest of his legs. A chair would have been nice.
The same could not be said for the rest of the room, as chairs were abandoned in favour of much pushing and shoving. The most vociferous of them all, was the usually timid Hinamori, who had to shout down a similarly boring group of girls to win her Captain. It all seemed a bit pointless really. Didn’t she see enough of him already? Obsession was an understatement.
Ukitake was up next and he looked as amiable as ever as he waved at the swooning men and women. Kira, however, had been in the infirmary enough times, courtesy of his Captain, to know the outcome. Sure enough Unohana emerged victorious with Ukitake draped upon her arm. No one dared to bid against her, because alcohol aside no one was that stupid.
Now it was his turn, last man standing and all that.
A small woman moved towards the General and standing on tiptoe whispered into his ear. What was going on?
He recognised the figure, and only wished he could hear what was being spoken. Yamamoto had a sparkle in his old eye, and it could not and would not bode well for him. After a few seconds of suspended silence he held up a hand to gesture for quiet – which was odd. Maybe his antiquity was finally taking hold?
“Kira Izuru is already taken by this lovely lady here,” his hands exploring more than was appropriate as he whispered into her ear before continuing, “so auction is over, everyone. Back to the party!”
A couple of disappointed people turned away. The lights dimmed and music began to play once again
Kira shook his head, baffled. What just happened? There was something that demanded his attention; an unnamed fear that was nagging at him. There was definitely something wrong with this picture; something very very wrong, but what?
At that moment Kenpachi decided to rise from the floor, where he had spent the last fifteen minutes intermittently trying to rouse his victim, whilst enjoying the spectacle of the remaining ... slaves being sold off.
Kira watched as he barged past with Byakuya held under one arm; Ikkaku and Renji in tow.
“I thought you didn’t like him?” He questioned as Renji drew close.
“Yeah, well,” a scratch of his head, “I can’t beat him if he,” a thumb jerked towards Kenpachi, “beats him first.”
“But...” Renji had already moved from his side, trailing the Captain and his third seat. The crowd recoiling to allow him passage.
“Umm,” he looked at his surprising date, who stood a few feet away with her eyes trained to the floor. This was awkward. She was quiet, pretty and petite – just what he liked but (and this was a big but) this was Nemu Kurotsuchi. He slowly moved away from her, a small part of him registering how rude he was being.
He bobbed and weaved around a few more people, brushing aside his fringe to better espy refuge. He was going to put the unpleasantness of last time behind him, in the hopes that ... lighting doesn’t strike twice? With a glance all around him, fearing Gin, and finding the coast crowded but clear he quickly dropped to his knees and crawled under a welcoming table, steadfastly ignoring the sticky surface. Alcohol is all it is, he had to keep reminding himself. No other substances coating this floor, no, definitely not. No need to sniff, no. Don’t erase all doubt or you may regret it. Just lay down. Close your eyes. That’s it. Go to sleep. Soon be morning.
He was awoken from his doze by excited voices overhead. He cautiously sat up, careful not to bang his head on the low ceiling.
“I like this picture best. It looks more real.”
“Yeah. It’s not glossy or anything. Know what I mean?”
“You can really see his skin without the shine.”
“Never mind Nemu.”
Matsumoto sighed dramatically before edging past the woman, although she used that term loosely.
“I don’t know,” Isane said fretfully, “I think he could do with a touch up.”
“Who you working on?” Matsumoto asked as she barged forward with the help of her breasts.
“Touching up in what way? He’s perfect as he is.”
“You can’t really see his skin.”
“That adds mystery.” Unohana said peaceably.
“Yeah, he doesn’t need touching up.” Soi Fong said dispassionately.
“Except by me. If I could only get my hands on him.”
Kira was really beginning to regret his table of choice. He was beginning to feel scarred by the designs the women had on the men. Was, did they have photographs of them all? And, more importantly, when were they taken? If he wasn’t ... (his mind was a little scrambled and his thinking lacked coherency) and none of the other men weren’t either, aware of this illicit and underground ring, then just when exactly had he been caught unawares? Heat rose to his cheeks when he contemplated his ‘sessions’ in the shower – but they wouldn’t would they? Would they? His confidence, a rather small thing, remained silent.
Shit! He just put that girly voice to a face, and the face wasn’t female, although under the right lighting. Oh fuck! God help you buddy. God help you!
To his immense relief that voice faded into nothing but he had had enough by this time and was seriously panicking now. He edged out from the table only to brush into Shuuhei who was being led, though dragged would have been a more appropriate word, by Yumichika. He darted back under the table and listened to the exchange before they passed out of earshot.
“She seems really nice,” Shuuhei said stupidly.
“Of course she does. We can all be nice when we put our minds to it!”
God was obviously not listening.
Shuuhei, can’t you see the warped logic in that? Can’t you apply that rule to the very man dragging you to your doom? Apparently not. Oh well, not his problem really.
He had missed much of the conversation but with his head tucked under his knees once again, the words found him.
“It’s all about variety,” a woman purred.
Ah, well that explained the presence of Soi Fong at least.
“I don’t like him in a suit!” Matsumoto barked, ever the over emotional drunk.
“Just when did your opinion matter?” Yoruichi continued smoothly.
“Ladies,” Unohana said calmly in the obvious hopes to diffuse the situation.
Kira, for once in his life, was disappointed. He rather fancied that Matsumoto attack Yoruichi. It’d be sure to be as hot as earlier, if not more so given the relative differences in stature. He could feel his groin ache with the mere thought of it.
“I don’t care what he’s wearing. It’s all coming off if I get him anyways.”
The table shook and his excitement rose, only to be waylaid by a familiar voice accompanied by the quick shuffle of feet; his own dear sweet Captain. He chanced a peek with everyone seemingly focused on the ruckus. This is what met his eyes.
Gin was gently leading Matsumoto away with a noticeable absence in his smile. He looked, well sober – which had to be the most frightening face of them all. Yoruichi meanwhile was being held against her will, to stop her from pouncing on the now smiling woman who turned in Gin’s arms to offer her a challenge. Her face communicated one thing, and one thing only – this isn’t over. Kira doubted she’d be so battle eager when the alcohol left her system. It was definitely time to go. This would, after all, be a bad time to be discovered. Yoruichi was still vibrating with unchecked anger and he didn’t put it past her to vent on the next person that so much as glanced at her. Kira was hoping for a mirror, because Yoruichi was another woman who scared him.
He scrambled from out of his hidey hole and quickly straightened, eyes fretfully glancing from left to right before he moved forwards, once more, into the throng. He made a beeline for the General Commander, what safer place was there, after all? As he drew nearer, he realised that he was not alone but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Should it?
Byakuya was attempting to keep General Yamamoto’s attention, which wasn’t easy with a pouting Shunsui by his side, eyelashes a flutter as he fought to engage the old man.
“Pouts should have a shelf life,” he muttered before he moved closer to listen in.
His speech was a little slurred but he was managing to get his meaning across all the same. Sadly his meaning was being ignored in favour of a feel of soft brown curls, as Yamamoto stroked Shunsui’s head, and the lecherous Division Eight Captain made cooing noises in response. Kira felt the bile rise within him. He put a hand over his mouth just to be safe. He wanted to move away, but his feet were obviously enjoying the spectacle. Yes that was it; his feet were enjoying the spectacle. Not him, no. Kira Izuru was most definitely not enjoying Byakuya’s repeated attempts to buy out Kenpachi’s blank cheque.
Still, it was a little hard to hold onto your dignity when you’re tightly held in another man’s arms, clearly pissed and half your body is showing. Still he tried, had to hand it to him for his determination. Kenpachi smiled all the while, his hold never slackening even as he tipped the tankard of beer into the maw he called a mouth. The image was the stuff of nightmares.
God, it seemed, had forsaken Byakuya. He turned to move away, his good taste scoring a minor victory over his own fascination with the suffering of others, a rather nasty habit picked up in his tenure as Gin’s Lieutenant, only to suddenly halt; much like a hare in the grass as the eagle flies overhead. He too had been forgotten by God. Of this he was sure as he looked on that monstrosity they called a Captain. Nightmare was too weak a word.