His hands smoothed down the fall of the haori, one shifting to adjust the tie of his obi. The haori fell perfectly over his shoulders, as though custom made to do just that. It was long-sleeved as he’d requested, and there was something about the whiteness of it in contrast to the black of his shihakushou that was rather appealing.
Stark looked into the mirror, admired his change in appearance, and felt the eyes behind him, doing much the same.
“It suits you,” his lover said, voice low and husky… admiring. “Better than it would suit me anyway.”
Chuckling, Stark tugged at his sleeves, which hung just below his wrist and then turned to the side, his zanpakutou barely visible beneath the fall of the robe. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
Stark turned around completely, catching sight of Ichigo where he sat in a chair, looking amused as Stark fidgeted with his new outfit. “I’m pretty sure the next one they hand out will be for you.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes, propping his chin on his knuckles. “They can try. Doesn’t mean I want the responsibility.”
Licking his lips, Stark abandoned his fidgeting and swiftly crossed the room, leaning forward to place his hands on the arms of the chair and box Ichigo between them. “Why not? I think you’d make a fine taichou.”
Brown eyes looked at him, darker in their desire. “What? I’m no good as a mere substitute?”
“There’s nothing mere about you,” Stark said, and before Ichigo could say anything else, he leaned forward and captured the Vizard’s lips.
One hand came up, fisting in the collar of Stark’s shihakushou and wrinkling the carefully arranged fabric. But when a deft, slick tongue pushed into his mouth tasting of chocolate and oranges, Stark found he couldn’t care less. Sure he was about to be announced to the rest of the Gotei-13 as the new captain of the ninth division and his appearance was supposed to be pristine.
Considering the circumstances, he couldn’t expect to be wrinkle free. And if anyone disapproved, well, obviously they’d never been kissed by Kurosaki Ichigo.