Uryuu was exhausted. Why did he always get stuck with the female opponents? But it wasn’t even Cirucci that was the problem. No, dealing with her had been the easiest part.
But putting up with Pesche’s stupidity? It was like being partnered with an amalgam of Asano and Honshou Chizuru. A thought most shudder-worthy.
Pesche flitted around him, rejoicing in their – Uryuu’s – victory. Performing his stupid little dance of joy.
Annoying. Supremely so.
Strained and stressed, Uryuu gathered himself together, determined to continue their quest. He pushed tiredly past the Arrancar, wishing for not the first time that he had listened to Ryuuken, bastard though his father was. Associating with Shinigami was proving to be a not-good thing. Not good at all.
What happened next seemed to occur in all a rush and yet in slow-motion as well.
Pesche clamped a hand down on Uryuu’s shoulder, laughing loudly. And Uryuu turned to remove the offending touch. His foot slid in some remnants of Ultimate Slick, and he stumbled. His other foot shot out for balance and skidded across a piece of banana peel, which had mysteriously placed itself on the floor.
Arms pinwheeled. Uryuu scrambled to catch himself and grabbed hold of Pesche, entirely by mistake. The Arrancar – holding little grace himself – tumbled forward, pulled down as Uryuu’s feet slid out from under him. They collapsed atop each other in an ungainly heap. Uryuu somehow sprawled atop the thin Arrancar.
And in a more startling conclusion, their lips collided. And Uryuu opened his eyes to find himself kissing Pesche.
It was mercifully brief as the moment Uryuu realized his predicament, he tore his lips away and threw his body to the side, never minding that he was rolling across all kinds of dirt and debris. Scrabbling to his feet, Uryuu furiously scrubbed his hand over his mouth, unable to wipe away the feeling of Pesche’s lips against his. The strangely warm bone of his mask and the hardness of his body.
“Ichigo!” Pesche called him by the wrong name yet again. “I didn’t know you cared!” He leapt to his feet in a startling display of agility, throwing out his arms wide. “Come to my embrace. We can be bosom buddies!”
“Mouthwash,” Uryuu yelped, backtracking so quickly he almost tripped on his own feet. “I need mouthwash.” He frantically looked around. “Does anybody have any Listerine?” He felt a little desperate.
It didn’t help that Pesche continued to advance. Uryuu swore that hearts danced above the Arrancar’s head. It was the sort of thing that wasn’t supposed to happen in reality. And where the hell had that banana peel come from? It was like there was some god out there, laughing at Uryuu, gleefully delighting in his mortification.
Uryuu fled Pesche, hoping inside himself that the Arrancar would not follow. Would not ask again for Uryuu to accept his… well, anything really.
There were days that Uryuu truly felt he lived in a bad shoujo manga. He was surrounded my men – most of which he could admit were attractive to a certain degree and even more that were effeminate. And what few women he associated with were all in love with the same dumb, blind, and most likely gay idiot.
But this… this had stepped into shounen-ai territory. And Uryuu was having none of it.
He ran. He ran, and he never looked back. And when he collided with Abarai and Dondochakka, Uryuu had never been more grateful to see the pineapple-headed moron in their entire association.
Later, Uryuu blamed it on the random appearance of half-consumed produce. Pesche claimed that it was fate. That it was their destiny.
And Uryuu countered with a strident desire to forget and never, ever remember again.