Simple arithmetic, but it all adds up to yaoi.

This takes place about the time Ichigo and Rukia forge a working relationship, and some time after Shuuhei's defeat at the hands of one Yumichika Ayasegawa. When, as a Sixth-year instructor to first-year Soul Academy students Izuru, Renji, and Momo Hinamori, among others, Shuuhei went into battle against Hollows with the cry, "I love you, Yumichika Ayasegawa!"

This was not permitted to become part of the animé which reached American shores, the US of A being far too puritan a country to tolerate same. I don't know if it made it into the Japanese version (get off my case, I may have been introduced to "Bleach" by the animé, but I'm limiting myself to reading the manga lately so that I won't get confused by what is canon [manga] and what is not [animé]. Exception: the Zanupakuto arc, which unlike many other animé-only segments, emphatically does not suck. Even if Senbonzakura therein looks like she shaves daily).

Master Kubo's, not mine, not for profit, either.

"But he's only a fifth seat. How did it happen?" Izuru Kira asked Shuuhei Hisagi. Renji Abarai, across the table, nodded soberly.

This was an illusion. All three of them were in the state sometimes known as "nicely thank you." They had had just enough saké. More would be too much. Before they had that last one, they hadn't yet reached "nicely thank you."

But, when it came to saké, all three believed that there was no such thing as "too much," at least right up until the point where you passed out, and your friends who were still conscious made sure you didn't fall face-first into your saké bowl and drown. All three added to their bowls as the jug passed.

It was going to hit Izuru hardest, as he was the shortest and slightest of the three. And if he were not more nicely thank you than the other two, he wouldn't have asked that question.

Shuuhei shook his head, and the coarse blue-black hair flopped back and forth. "I don't know how it happened. He just stood there gettin' all shiny, smilin' at me, and suddenly all of my energy just ... ran away like water down the drain. Weirdest thing I've ever felt."

"That don't sound like him," said Renji. "An' you gotta remember, he's really the fourth seat." He'd been fukutaichou of the Sixth for what, seven, eight weeks now: but before that, he'd been the Eleventh Division's sixth seat, just under Yumichika Ayasegawa, who had handed Shuuhei this defeat.

"I could understand it if he'd used his sword, but he didn't," said Shuuhei. He had some more saké, in the hopes that this would clear his thought process. "I mean, I've seen him do drills and sparring, and yeah, the guy's really good. Really, really, good. Prolly better'n you are, Renji."

"No doubt about that," Renji said. "I'm a lot bigger'n him, got the reach on 'im, an' I still can't touch Yumi. Ikky either."

"Ikky I could understand," Shuuhei said mournfully. "I kinda like Ikky, ya know? I mean, most people do. But Yumichika Ayasegawa! I lost to Yumichika Ayasegawa, and he didn't even break a shw - a sh - a sweat."

The other two exchanged glances. When Shuuhei lost his ability to enunciate the letter "s" he was about done. And Shuuhei's capacity was legendary. He was always the last man standing. Sitting. Lying. The last one to have the last drink, anyway, before he carried passed-out comrades home, occasionally two at a time.

"I am never gonna feel good about this. I am never gonna feel good about anything ever again. I got beat by a fourth seat. I got beat bad by somebody I love." Shuuhei flopped forward dramatically, forehead to the table, fortunately missing his saké bowl.

The other two stared at each other. Then Renji rushed into speech: "Sure you will, sempai. You'll feel good again. The hangover won't last forever. You know that."

"Ain't the hangover, baka." Shuuhei turned his head far enough to focus on the redhead and the blond, more or less. "'S the unrequited love."

"You don' know that it's unrequired - unrequiet - unrequited," said Izuru. He could feel the saké bowl under his hand, but left it on the table for now. 'S was an impotent - important conversation t'have with Shuuhei.

"'Zzz that all you got to make me feel better? You guys got nothin'. Nothin', I tell ya, nothin'." Shuuhei sat upright again, but wished he'd been slower about it, as his head spun. He focused on Izuru with difficulty. "'ll bet neither one a'ya's got anythin' at all to make me feel better. An' aspirin don't count."

Throughout Seireitei, Renji Abarai was reckoned to be quite good at battlefield tactics, and supremely lousy at common sense. He demonstrated this now: "Yeah, we do, but you gotta take us to yer quarters ta make it work." He made eye contact with Izuru, and attempted to wink at the blond. At this stage of the game, for Renji this involved closing and then opening both eyes.

The redhead transferred his attention from a blond who was trying to decide if the redhead were or were not flirting with him, and said to Shuuhei, "I'll betcha three bottles'a' saké. I'll buy 'em, you gotta drink 'em."

Izuru, who had a lot of faith in Renji, said promptly, "See your three, raise you two."

"Ha." Shuuhei managed to sit up straighter. "I'll see yer five an' raise ya one more."

"That's six," said Izuru. "Just to be clear, we fail, we each buy you six bottles of saké, which you then drink. You get happy, you buy us each six bottles of saké, which we then drink."

"Oh, I'm gonna drink 'em, all right," Shuuhei said with a smirk. "You two can bathe in 'em for all I care, because you're gonna lose. It's a bet."

"No, we ain't," Renji said. He smiled over at Kira. "You're forgettin' simple arithmetic. Three and six can always make nine, buddy."

Just to be on the safe side, since none of them were on duty the next day, they all bought the six bottles of saké necessary, and three more each to be going on with, before adjourning to Shuuhei's quarters.

Shuuhei staggered inside, followed by the other two, and struggled to get his key out of the door. All of the saké made its way to the kitchen table, and so did Shuuhei, but Renji intercepted him.

"Nuh, uh, sempai," he said cheerfully. "You sit down here." He grabbed the collar of Shuuhei's shitagi and the seat of Shuuhei's hakama, and steered him to his own sofa.

The brunette sat/fell where positioned. "Okay, 'f you two are gonna plot 'gainst me, I need a bottle'a saké."

"Not a problem." Renji whipped out of his kosode sleeve the bottle he had placed there just prior to intercepting Shuuhei, knowing sempai's habits well. "You enjoy this. You need another one, you let me know."

Shuuhei was quite happy to cooperate with this program, as saké was involved.

The conspirators retired to the kitchen table. Shuuhei's quarters, like those of any shinigami in Seireitei, were not large, and this distance did not remove them entirely from his sight or hearing.

Izuru pulled from his own sleeve the notebook he kept there, to write down passing inspirations about poetry, the whichness of what, tactical ideas, next week's grocery list. He also had a Living World writing implement in there, the highly radical idea of the pen which contained its own ink, this one called a "ballpoint."

What competitive scoring and testicles had to do with it Izuru did not know, but he was quite happy with the portability of ballpoints, compared to that of brush, ink, inkstone, waterpot(s), and rice paper scrolls. You'd walk bent to one side if you shoved all that crap into one of your sleeves. With this Living World gizmo, though, and their notion of a scroll, called a "notebook," you were unimpaired, and could fight unimpaired while your sleeve carried all the writing implements and supplies you might need.

Yes, this and rhyming dictionaries made Izuru a very happy consumer of Living World goods.

Renji, watching Izuru prepare himself by laying the notebook open on the table and clicking the pen into "ready" position, said conspiratorially, "Okay, he likes ... " and then the dropped his voice.

Shuuhei shut his eyes, the better to hear, but that only made the living room pivot around him quite unpleasantly. He opened them again, to peer suspiciously at his co- (or perhaps anti-) conspirators.

Some minutes later, Izuru raised his head from intensive note-taking, and said, "But not when he was with me! That worked less well than - " and he looked in Shuuhei's direction, and dropped his voice as well.

Renji's rumble in reply wasn't understandable. Then Izuru piped up again. Renji, Izuru, Renji, Izuru, mumble, mumble, mumble.

At this point, the part of Shuuhei's brain that was still functional (Kazeshini) said, You are going to be very sorry you agreed to this.

Won't either.

I shall not argue with you, the wolf replied, and went off somewhere to howl at the moon, until the rope marks faded and the hangover was gone.

Rope marks? Wait - but it was too late. All Shuuhei could see was a bushy tail disappearing into dark conifers, leaving behind wolf tracks in the snow.

Hisagi came back into his own living room to see Izuru raise his head to Renji and say in tones of extreme doubt, "He likes that?"

"Yep," Renji said, and gave the blond a grin that Shuuhei categorized as "extremely cheese eating."

But, there was another issue to be addressed. "Hey, I need s'more saké!"

Renji popped up and brought it to him. "Here ya go, nice'n'warm."

"Works faster f'it's warm. Whatta good friend'j are, Renji."

"You bet," the redhead said, with suspicious good cheer. He returned to the kitchen table.

Some minutes and some mumbling later, Renji said, "You kidding? I could never get that to work!" in tones of great envy.

"No, it was easy," Izuru said, in tomes of calm assurance. "All you do is get him to ... " and annoyingly, with a cut of his eyes to and then away from Shuuhei, he dropped into unintelligibility.

At this point, had he been less well-marinated, Shuuhei might have begun to worry. He bypassed that opportunity to have some more saké, and surfaced from a lovely day- night? -dream of Yumichika Ayasegawa to hear Izuru say, "Okay, if we're agreed on that course of action - you want to see the list?"

"Sure," Renji said. He scanned the menu the two had apparently concocted. "Looks good to me." The redhead handed back the notebook.

"Okay, then, here's what we'll need."

Time passed.

... "Thirty feet? That's all?"

"Should be enough. But y'know what ... I've got several piles in there, get three or four. Better too much than not enough."

Time passed.

... "The big ones or the small ones?"

"I've got three sets of the big ones. That ought to do. Get all of the small ones. They have other uses."

"I like the way you think. You busy next Saturday?"

Time passed.

... "They're beside my bed."

"You sick fucker."

"Why thanks."

Time passed.

... "Wouldn't it be best for you to go get all the stuff from both our houses, and then come back here while I go get ... the essential ingredient?"

"Sure. Or ... you could start the proceedings, while I get my stuff, and then I'll keep things going while you get yours, and then you could, um, carry on, while I go get that essential ingredient."

"Ooooh. I like that better."

At this point Shuuhei, who had seriously misjudged the effects of misery when combined with saké, passed out.

Shuuhei Hisagi recovered consciousness (hungover consciousness, mind you, but consciousness) in his own bed.

"Unnnhhh ... " he moaned.

Renji Abarai popped right up from beside the bed. "Hey, sempai, how ya doin'?"

Shuuhei shut his eyes against the fuckin' awful brightness of that red hair, and the fuckin' awful brightness of that cheerful countenance. "Not so loud, oaf." He reached for his aching head ...

Renji (probably) had quite thoroughly tied down both of Shuuhei's arms, using the legs of the futon to anchor sempai's hands ... and feet.

"You want some water, sempai?" Renji said, at lower volume but, still, obscenely cheerful.

"Water, aspirin ... untie me, kami damn it."

"No, no, sempai. Not for a while yet. Gotta win or you lose th' bet, you know."

Bet? What bet - ohhh, crap. A quick raise of his head to survey himself proved to Shuuhei that he was stark naked.

"Ohhh, crap. Water, aspirin."

"Comin' up." Renji obliged with good cheer, for which, if he were free to do so, Shuuhei would have throttled him.

The dark-haired shinigami flopped his head back onto his pillows. "You let me loose, I'm going to kill both you and Izuru."

"Nah, you won't," Renji said, with a wholly, Shuuhei believed, unfounded optimism. "You're gonna have such a great time you're gonna thank us both."

"Kick your asses from here to breakfast."

Renji laughed at him, and despite Shuuhei's best efforts otherwise, slid a blindfold over his eyes. "Sure, sempai."

Izuru, polite to his core, knocked at the door of Shuuhei's quarters, and let himself in. "I got all the stuff from your place," he said, setting down a box whose size would have worried Shuuhei if he had seen it. "You ready to get the last ingredient?"

"You bet," Renji said cheerfully. "I sent the Hell butterfly already."

"Great. I haven't got a lot of time, then."

"Nope." The door slammed.

Footsteps approached Shuuhei. Izuru said, "Sempai? How are you doing?"

"Let me loose. I'm gonna kill you both."

"You're just saying that," Izuru Kira said, with the same suspicious glee displayed by Renji, "because you're going to lose this bet. Want some more saké? More water?"

Shuuhei hesitated, and then said grudgingly, "Water first. Then more saké."

This accomplished, Izuru commenced to do ... something ... to Shuuhei's shins and thighs immediately above and below both knees that tickled. Then, abruptly, the pressure on one ankle was released, but with equal speed the pressure on shin and thigh was increased, this was repeated on the other leg, so that both of Shuuhei's knees were flexed, and held so.

He struggled as much as he might, but Izuru was expert in shibari, the uniquely Japanese art of bondage, and shortly Shuuhei's big toes were bound together. After that, his ankles were harnessed.

"Let me go, ka-graanmph!"

A gag ended Shuuhei's protests. Well, it ended intelligibility; Shuuhei continued to comment, but Izuru was untroubled by whatever it was he was trying to say. Izuru still had things to accomplish.

Izuru patiently began to tickle Shuuhei's arms, above and below the elbow. Knowing now what was coming, Shuuhei dis-cooperated so much as was possible ...which wasn't enough. Izuru bound his hands palm-to-palm, and then, careful not to cut off circulation, tethered Shuuhei's arms in flexed position.

After that, he spent a little time in making things ... interesting for Shuuhei.

Then he flipped Shuuhei over onto his belly, and repeated the whole process ... and last, he plugged Shuuhei's ears.

Sempai throughout this process resembled the volcano in the corner of the living room. You can hear it rumble and you are pretty sure that someday it will explode and eradicate a large area, starting with you and working outward, but in the meantime, you just get on with what you want to do.

Renji, picking up Izuru's politesse, knocked on the door of Shuuhei's quarters, and escorted in a blindfolded Yumichika Ayasegawa. Izuru rose from his job, flipped the Shuuhei-pancake again, and went to the door of Shuuhei's bedroom.

Yumichika said, in a voice that would have worried anyone who knew him, "I swear to you, Abarai, if this is some kind of rotten practical joke, you'll suffer!"

"Nope," Renji said cheerfully. "It's not a practical joke at all." He looked over at Izuru. "You ready in there?"

"Yes, all prepared."

Renji pushed Ayasegawa before him into the bedroom, and stopped the slight shinigami just before he barked his shins on the bed. "Okay, Yumi, take off the blindfold."

Yumi pushed up the beautiful scarf he had chosen as blindfold, and went suspiciously pink around the cheeks and ears. "Oh my kami," he said, "what have you done?"

"'S a silly thing to ask," Renji said. "We learned half of it from you."

"Oh my kami," Yumi said again. "What a picture." He took in the bindings, the blindfold, and the gag (the earplugs being largely invisible) decorating a wholly naked, except for those things, Shuuhei, and said plaintively, "He did agree to this?"

"He agreed to the bet," Renji said. "He didn't know this part was coming. Want some saké?"

"No, I don't believe so," Yumi said, absorbed by the spectacle before him. "I don't believe so at all."

"You'll give him a good time?" Izuru asked anxiously. "He really needs one."

"He is never going to forget this night," Yumichika said, "for the rest of his life. And neither will I." He smiled at the two shinigami who were now exchanging high-fives, knowing themselves to have won the bet. "Now get out, and leave it to little Yumi."

He slid the shoji to, and waited to approach the bed until he heard the door to Shuuhei's quarters lock behind them.

"Will you do this with me again sometime?" Shuuhei said, tracing lazy circles on Yumichika's bare belly.

"Of course. As often as you like, Shuuhei. When did you have in mind?"

"Twenty minutes or so ..."

Yumi smirked. "Nothing on my calendar," he said.

"Good," Shuuhei said. "What about tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that?"

"Fine."

"What about all the tomorrows?"

Yumi half-turned to him in bed. "It's a little early for that, isn't it?" he said gently, tracing Shuuhei's chin with one hand. "But we can see how many tomorrows we can string together, ne?"

"Great," said Shuuhei, who was now, like Yumi, wholly naked even of bindings. "When do I get to tie you up?"

Yumi's eyes started to shine. "When you can get me drunk enough," he said.

Shuuhei laughed, and wished he hadn't. Used saké still sloshed around inside his skull like last year's red tide. "I'll work on that a bit later."

"Fair enough." Yumi reached across to kiss him. "Wanna go again?"

"Sure." Shuuhei half-turned away from from him after taking his arm from around Yumi's shoulders, to reach over to the bedside table, and use the box of matches there to light a bedside candle - this despite the fact that the sun was up, poking shiny fingers through the rice-paper shade over his bedroom window. The room was alive with gold-lit motes of dust.

"What's that for?" Yumi said. "We can both see."

Shuuhei blew out the match and dropped it into the saucer-like base of the candleholder. "I like to light a candle each time," he said cheerfully. "Then, at the end of the evening, or morning in this case, I count the matches."

Yumi huffed a laugh through his nose. "Come here, then," he said. "Let's go for some more matches."

Shuuhei's skin was cool against Yumi's warmth, and cool-toned to go with his hair. Yumi was cinnamon-colored, mostly, pale and cheap (he would have been disappointed to know) cinnamon-color under his clothing, but as sweetly spicy as the good stuff. He even tasted faintly of cinnamon, Shuuhei realized some time later. He smiled, and nestled a little more closely into Yumi's arms.

Some time after that, Yumi wondered what Shuuhei tasted like, and ran a number of tests to find out. Results were somewhat inconclusive, and Yumi happily postponed the quest for another night ... or day. Or both.

Sometime later, the sun no longer shining directly into Shuuhei's bedroom window, "I'm hungry," Yumi said to Shuuhei.

"You want me to cook for you, or shall we go find Ikkaku and have a meal with him?"

Yumichika Ayasegaawa was so shocked he sat upright in bed. "With Ikkaku? Don't you love me enough to eat with me alone?"

Shuuhei, who was lying back with both hands behind his head, said simply, "Of course. But Ikkaku's probably worried about you, isn't he? I don't know what time it is, but ..."

Yumi realized he was sunk. If his current boy-toy, whom he happened to like very much, thank you for asking, in ways with which he was not familiar (because if there was one thing Yumichika Ayasegawa approved of both in principle and in theory, it was the one-night stand), wanted to have lunch with him and his best friend ... Yumi's free-range days might be over.

This bothered him much less than he might have earlier believed it would. But then earlier, Shuuhei Hisagi had not been involved.

The peacock showed up in Yumi's head, his tail spread wide. I want the wolf.

Matter settled. Yumi said, "Let's get dressed, then."

Izuru Kira's front door jumped; Izuru did the same, the noise causing the hangover of the night before to echo through his aching skull.

"Urngh?" he said, squinting into a morning that seemed to have been lit by a madman with three or four extra suns to use up.

Shuuhei Hisagi grinned at him, and shoved a sack full of saké bottles and rope into his chest. "Your math proved out, kohai. Three an' six can always make nine."