Pachinko-Head
“Pachinko-Head? Does that count? It’s two words.”
“Pachinko—I’ll kill that pink-haired brat! I said I didn’t feel like playing!” Ikkaku Madarame’s indignant voice instantly signals you as to who you got. Working up your courage, you smile at him.
“Come on, Ikkaku—will you please play? Otherwise I have to sit out.” You pout as best you can, channeling Rangiku.
Ikkaku flushes to the top of his head. “Uh—________, you’re playing? I, uh, didn’t know.”
Yachiru pounces to his side. “I knew you wanted to get Miss Pretty-Magic alone, so I put a card in for you!”
Ikkaku is so red by this point that you can’t even discern the two crimson markings on his face. “Captain Zaraki, why do you let her do this?” He looks appealingly at his captain, who, with a booming laugh, just sends him on his way.
You wait by the door, watching him navigate the other Shinigami. Having somewhat regained his composure, he reaches for the knob. You reach at the same moment, and his hand closes over yours.
You gawk at each other.
“Oh, hurry up and get in there already!” Gran, semi-recovered from her alcohol-induced stupor, slaps your linked hands off the knob, rips the door open, and shoves you both in. The next moment, a resounding bang and sudden, violent blackness announce that the ten minutes have begun.
You manage to get up onto hands and knees, leaning over Ikkaku, who is calling your grandmother every foul name he can think of. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay! That old broad and that pink-haired menace are gonna die when I get out of here!” He slams his fist against the floor. “Sorry.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Hmph.”
“What’s pachinko?”
Ikkaku growls. “You’d better not be teasing me.”
You glower down at him. You doubt he can see your face in the dark, but glowering makes you feel slightly better. “I’m serious. What’s pachinko, and what does it have to do with your head?”
Sighing loudly, Ikkaku all but shoves you off him. “Pachinko. It’s a betting game, sort of like pinball. Yachiru thinks it’s funny that my head’s shaved, so she calls me Pachinko-Head to piss me off.”
Something hits your leg as he gets up. “Did you bring your zanpakuto in here?”
“What? You know I never go anywhere without it.”
You sigh heavily, as loud as, if not louder, than Ikkaku had before. “Madarame-san, I swear…” You search out his form in the darkness and find him, a crouching shadow across from you. Ikkaku, while violent, fight-mongering, and slightly unstable, is also loyal, brave, and stronger than anyone you know besides Kenpachi himself.
During the battle with Aizen, Ikkaku had tried to help you—he’d even ended up getting slashed shielding you from one of the Espada. “I never got to thank you for saving my life,” you say, rubbing your upper arms.
“Pah, I don’t need to be thanked. You just happened to be behind me when that guy got me, that’s all.”
You flush. He hadn’t meant to save you. He was only fighting, and you’d gotten in the way. “Thank you… anyway.” A kiss on the cheek—that’s all you want to give him—and you crawl to him and press your lips to the side of his face.
Well, you would have, if he hadn’t turned his head at just that moment. Your lips brush and Ikkaku’s eyes widen, then close, as he cups the back of your neck and kisses you back. The calluses on his hands are rough but pleasant on your skin as his tongue searches out the seam of your lips. When you won’t open your mouth, Ikkaku tweaks your backside, and, when you squeak in surprise, plunges his tongue in. Yours and his tangle, stroking, as you slide your arms around his neck and Ikkaku loosens his belt. Suddenly he is naked to the waist, all hard muscle and incredibly smooth skin.
His stomach is completely, marvelously, flat and firm, as discovered by your curious fingers, guided by Ikkaku’s free hand. His other is tight on the back of your neck, pressing you more firmly to him. Sweeping your fingertips up his chest to dance across his powerful arms, you tilt your head, allowing his tongue to slip even deeper, to plunge again and again.
Propping himself with one arm, Ikkaku keeps the other on your neck, teasing the hair of your nape, as he scatters nipping kisses down the side of your throat. You arch your neck into the contact, and Ikkaku, pleased, bites down on your shoulder and begins to suck. Balancing himself carefully, his second hand comes into play, sliding under your top and lingering on your belly. Your palms push against the hard wall of his upper body, nails scraping gently, as your mouths savage each other.
Ikkaku catches your wrists. “That was an accident.”
“It didn’t feel like one.”
“Let me finish,” he growls. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, but I’m glad it did. Don’t expect romance…” His eyes dart to the side, then back to yours—“often, but I’ll make you happy.”
“What do you mean?”
He kisses you ferociously. “I mean I want you, I need you, I—I—love you, and you’re coming home with me tonight.” He smirks, and you catch the smugness.
“You’re lucky I’m not mean,” you laugh. “I could say no just to spite you.”
He nuzzles your chin. “I’m going to wipe that grin right off that pretty face of yours when we get back to my place.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, as you get up and walk out, tossing a saucy smile over your shoulder.
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