Title: Sharp Dressed Man
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: Yakuza in suits! (So obviously part of my Yakuza AU.)
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing/s: Kenpachi, Byakuya
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers; AU.
Word Count: 775
Summary: Byakuya enjoys shopping (of course he does). Kenpachi, not so much.
Dedication: The first comment fic that I wrote for juin! Kenpachi+suits gives me a serious case of the dokidokis just thinking about it.
A/N: Even after not writing Bleach for what feels a really long time, my love for Kenpachi has not abated one bit.
Disclaimer: No harm or infringement intended.

Kenpachi sighs as he plops down in one of the three empty chairs at the tailor's shop and glares perfunctorily in the general direction of the store's two exits and four windows, daring any challengers to attack while they're out in the open and vulnerable like this. A big part of him hopes that they will.

Byakuya professionally ignores his bodyguard's menacing irritation and takes a straight line path to the suit racks displayed to Zaraki's immediate left instead, deftly sliding past anything lighter than a charcoal grey without pause and pulling the hangers of the jackets he deems most acceptable from the rack without glancing at the price tags.

Kenpachi is pretty sure all the ones that are "most acceptable" are somewhere upwards of two thousand US a piece. He remembers a time in his not-so-respectable youth when that same amount would have been enough money on the street to get an enemy offed in a fight by a semi-professional under the cover of the night. And still have enough for a hot meal afterwards, at that.

Rich people, he is discovering, are good at throwing cash away on things that Kenpachi is just going to get bloody and ruin in a few days anyway. Which, he supposes in wry retrospect, is not all that different than the people who'd paid him to off their enemies under cover of night, way back when.

He loosens the knot of his Outlet Store Brand tie and slouches menacingly in the seat to wait out the princess's shopping spree, making the nervous Italian guy Byakuya is speaking to cringe and shudder a little, while his skinny blond assistant hides behind the counter, pretending to sort receipts and straighten measurement tapes.

"Zaraki," Byakuya intones coolly a moment or two later, just when Kenpachi is getting comfortable, head tilted back and single eye roaming the room occasionally as he mentally catalogs the cuts and bruises—all satisfying ones—that he'd received during this morning's sparring session with Kurosaki.

"What?" Kenpachi answers with a puff of air through his nose. He doesn't bother looking at Kuchiki; the princess probably wants him to go bring the car around front or hold his purse for him while he tries on all his new dresses to make sure they don't make him look fat or something.

But then, suddenly, Kenpachi has an armful of exquisite jackets and matching trousers thrust unceremoniously into his arms. He catches them just because the part of him who was a kid growing up on the streets with nothing knows the real value of what someone like Kuchiki is casually throwing at him without a second glance.

"What, you'll just take them all?" he grunts, while the little Italian tailor looks on in abject horror to the way his goods are being treated, squashed awkwardly in Zaraki's bumbling arms.

"Try them on," Byakuya intones imperiously, with a slight edge to his voice that means he realizes his new bodyguard is a dumb animal, but that he expects at least a certainlevel of understanding. "Emilio will supervise. I will choose ties for you in the meantime."

Kenpachi stares, because he had not been expecting this in the least.

After a moment of silence, he recovers with an irate, "What the hell's wrong with the ties I got?" And his suits, for the matter. They may be inexpensive, but he knows he looks fucking great in them.

"They're tasteless," Kuchiki answers drolly, without missing a beat. Then adds, "And most of them are stained with blood."

Kenpachi grins. "Badges of honor, sweetheart."

Kuchiki is not intimidated or impressed. "I think," he begins, as he goes to the tie display to begin perusing its contents, "that perhaps the real badge of honor would be to become skillful enough a fighter that you could defeat your enemies withoutleaving obvious signs of it behind afterwards. It would show a marked amount of professionalism. Pride in one's work, even."

Kenpachi's eyes narrow as he stands, the pile of suits casually getting thrown over his massive shoulders in the process. "That a challenge, princess?"

"An observation," Kuchiki replies, tone dry as he picks out a pewter blue and gray striped monstrosity from the display with a decided glint in his eye.

Zaraki makes a face before turning to head into the fitting room in the back. "Yeah we'll see," he mutters, hackles clearly raised as he marches defiantly down the hallway.

Byakuya allows the corner of his mouth to twitch upward only once he's certain Kenpachi is gone.

He picks out a pale pink tie next. Yachiru will probably like it very much.

END