Title: Flutter
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Ichigo/Keigo
Rating/Warnings: PG. Pre-slash.
bleach_15 Theme: #8, Butterflies
Status: Can be read alone or as a precursor to Ship Is Going Down. word count 1084.




The feeling started a week after their small group of friends graduated from junior high school. Keigo had recently turned 15, catching up with his only slightly older friends. Mizuiro (the smallest, though the oldest) started going on dates with progressively older girls, much to Keigo’s extremely evident chagrin. Tatsuki got serious about her goal to become the strongest girl in Japan, and Inoue Orihime, pretty thing that she was, went wherever Tatsuki was going at the moment. It would have been the longest, worst break in the history of school breaks under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, these were no normal circumstances.

It was even worse than Keigo had ever theorized it would be.

The fluttery, warm feeling started without warning or context, like butterflies in his stomach, tickling his abdomen and floating slowly down into his groin. He would be at Kurosaki Ichigo’s house, hanging out in the family room and watching Anpan-man or some other early afternoon summer vacation-timeslot children’s show (which Keigo secretly liked, but wasn’t going to let on) with Ichigo and Karin (the uncute sister, who was uncute in Keigo’s mind because he was convinced she hated his guts). Ichigo would get up, leave the room to do something while Karin glared daggers at Keigo, and return. He would brush against Keigo’s shoulder as he sat down and Keigo would notice. A lot.

The butterflies would explode from their resting spots and swirl, like a swarm of monarchs on a seasonal migration.

The feeling made Keigo nervous until he figured out the butterflies made him nervous because he liked them, at which point it made Keigo even more nervous. This was that point which brings us to the current.

Ichigo stood from the over-stuffed couch in the Kurosaki household’s family-room with a brush against Keigo’s bared, purple-tanktop-wearing shoulder. Keigo flinched away bodily, the butterflies shuffling restlessly inside of him at the feel of Ichigo’s hot, hard forearm.

“Problem?” Ichigo queried.

“No. I um—are you going to the kitchen to get something to drink? My throat’s feeling…kind of dry.”

“Yeah.” Ichigo sounded more than a little bored by the television program.

“Bring me back one?”

“You’ve got a pair,” Ichigo drawled. “Use them and come with me.”

Keigo had a pair. He should use them and come with Ichigo.

Wait.

Keigo’s eyebrows shot up, hiding amongst the forest of his bangs in horror. He shifted uncomfortably in the couch’s clutch, ignoring the feeling of dozens of tiny wings.

“W-what?”

“Legs,” Ichigo clarified. “You’ve got a pair of legs. Walk your own ass to the kitchen with me if you’re thirsty. Do I look like a maid to you?”

No, Keigo’s mind thought, waging an emotional war on Keigo’s conscience, you don’t. But I’d like to see you in the uniform. The butterflies gave their silent approval. Ichigo was looking at Keigo with pointed irritation in his sharp features as Keigo finally stood up, following his friend into the kitchen and reaching for a clean, clear drinking glass in the dishes-rack. After pulling a jug of pineapple-orange juice from the refrigerator, Ichigo handed his own cup to Keigo, which Keigo took. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but he took the cup anyway.

Ichigo pointed at the nearby set of stairs, which lead to the second floor on which was Ichigo’s bedroom. Keigo cleared his throat.“I appreciate you helping me brat-sit,” Ichigo finally said, “but if have to watch one more second of Pocket Monsters, I will throw myself from a window. So I’m gonna go upstairs and get something to read. You fill these up, and I’ll be back in two.”

Seconds, Keigo hoped. He was a little worried Karin might eat him, if Ichigo didn’t come back soon. She was small and frightening. As he filled the glasses, he realized somewhere in the back of his brain that there was the sound of liquid spilling, and not the kind of liquid-spilling he was looking for.

Oh.

So the glass was full and he was subsequently pouring the contents all over the white formica kitchen island. Possibly because he was staring at Ichigo as he retreated up the stairs, muscles in his shoulders stretching and bunching, denim stretching over Ichigo’s…

Over Ichigo’s…

Keigo swallowed hard. He wiped the Ichigo’s-hair-orange liquid up from the table with a rag and tossed it into the sink, grabbing the plastic jug and shoving it back into the sink.

He was not staring at his best friend’s ass. The one that was not at all totally hot.

“Oh, shit,” said Keigo, as his train of thought was suddenly and violently de-railed. “He’s a guy.”

Karin stared at him around the corner, peeking in from the family room. She glared, amusement visible in the corners of her serious blue eyes. Keigo narrowed his eyes at her in what he thought was a threatening way. It was either entirely unthreatening, or Karin was used to threatening looks. Knowing her brother intimately—and oh, what a terrible choice of word for his thought process to engage—Keigo would have bet the farm on the later.

“You so like him,” she said, voice bubbling into a misanthropic sort of snicker.

“Do not. Shut up,” Keigo said, childishly.

“Do so.” Karin simpered.

“Oh, whatever.” He dared not say anymore to the girl, as she grinned at him and whispered a sing-song ‘Asano likes Ichi-nii’ before disappearing from whence she came. If he did, there was a strong chance Ichigo’s kid sister could totally beat the crap out of him. But nevertheless. Nevertheless. Asano Keigo was not…

“What was that all about,” came a gravelly voice from behind Keigo. Keigo jumped as Ichigo took the last two stairs in a graceful leap, heart-rate spiking, brown hair falling over his eyes.

“Nothing!” Keigo squeaked girlishly.

“Whatever,” muttered Ichigo, taking his now-full cup of juice before giving Keigo a sideways sort of glance. “Let’s go back to the living room. I checked on Yuzu. She’s finished playing and she’s about ready to make something for supper. I think she said it was gonna be pork gyoza. You’re staying?”

“No.”

“You like gyoza.”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Ichigo patted the stack of manga he’d retrieved from his room against his hard chest, making a hollow noise. “I’m gonna go catch up on this stuff, while I have a chance and some peace and quiet.”

Ichigo walked back into the other room, stopping to stare at Keigo over his shoulder, searching for some obvious reason for Keigo’s strange behavior. Keigo, for his part, watched Ichigo leave, eyes trailing slowly down Ichigo’s broad shoulders, his limber back, svelte waist, round, sexy…

The butterflies twitched anxiously.

“I like guys,” Keigo informed them, dumbfounded.