"Kira," comes a dual singsong from the doorway to the third's head office.

"Whatever it is, no," Kira says, without looking up.

"Kira, you're coming out with us," Abarai says, in a wheedling tone that has never sounded particularly convincing on him.

Kira glares at the both of them, Hisagi leaning in the doorframe like this is all perfectly reasonable. "Do you see the work I have to finish? What will Taichou say if it's not done? Don't tell me you think that blaming you two lunatics will get me anywhere."

Abarai swaggers forward. "Work will still be there in the mornin'. Besides, Ichimaru-taichou's gone out, right? Can't blame you for doing the same."

Kira privately thinks that Ichimaru can and often does chastise Kira for the rare occasions when he isn't immediately available. Kira stubbornly turns back to his work, resolving to ignore the two of them.

Hisagi sighs. "That's it. Plan B."

Kira freezes in his seat. There were plans? As in multiple?

"I'll get his feet, you get his hands?" Abarai confirms, and before Kira knows it, he's strung between the two of them like some bizarre rag doll.

"Abarai-kun, put me down or I'll kick you," Kira says between clenched teeth.

"Can't put you down, you have to come out with us. It's the party, Kira, the big one. What kind of friends would we be if we let you miss the eleventh's big festival?" Abarai says.

"Obviously, the kind of friends whose asses I'm not going to kick the second you put me down," Kira says, starting to struggle as they exit the office.

"Woah, watch it, Kira -- I almost dropped you," Hisagi says in his ear, and Kira nearly yells in frustration -- people who think that Hisagi is all upright and honorable are clearly insane, because this hijink has Hisagi Shuuhei written all over it.

They continue to carry him with only a few odd looks from passersby, mostly because Kira has stopped protesting. He isn't going to make more of a fool of himself just because his two idiot friends have gotten it into their heads that he's antisocial.

"You know, you're not all that heavy," Abarai says, peering down at Kira. "Knees are damn sharp, too."

"Good, hopefully they'll hurt more when they make contact with your tiny balls," Kira retorts, and he can feel Hisagi's chest shake with laughter.

Abarai looks offended. "Ain't no call to be hittin' below the belt like that. Just 'cause you've got a skinny girly body ain't no reason to get huffy."

"Oh my god, I'm going to kill you," Kira says, sulking. His figure isn't girly. It's willowy. Ichimaru said so just the other day.

"Sure you are," Hisagi says soothingly. "But since we're almost at the party, you might as well enjoy yourself and kill Abarai-kun later."

They must be getting close, since he can hear voices and measured drum-beats. "What makes you think I'm not going to kill you, too?" Kira demands.

"Because I'm the guy who's going to make sure you don't take all your clothes off after we get you drunk," Hisagi says.

"Don't hafta go that far," a new voice says. "Geez, did you carry him the whole goddamn way?"

Kira twists his head as much as he can to see Madarame Ikkaku leaning against the gate to the eleventh, a huge bottle of booze in one hand.

"Yeah, and he ain't even drunk yet," Abarai says cheerfully.

Ikkaku gives Kira a smirk. "C'mon, blondie, I bet you're the only guy who's ever actually been dragged out to a party. Time to get liquored up and dance!"

Abarai and Hisagi set him down and give him a good shove in Ikkaku's direction, making Kira stumble into Ikkaku. "We'll leave it to you!" Abarai says, and then he and Hisagi run off like the crazy bastards they are.

Ikkaku steadies Kira with an arm around his waist. "Thought you weren't drunk yet," Ikkaku says.

"I'm not," Kira says, cross.

Ikkaku gives him a smartass grin. "Hell, darlin', you gotta catch up. You're like, twelve drinks behind."

"Don't call me 'darling'," Kira snaps.

"Mmm, feisty," Ikkaku says with a happy sigh. "You really strip when you're drunk?"

"Oh, give me that," Kira says, and snatches the bottle out of Ikkaku's grasp.

He dances, mostly because everyone's dancing and the eleventh can hold a drum beat even when they're wasted. At one point he sees Zaraki Kenpachi in front of him, stamping his feet and swinging a giggling Yachiru in the air.

"Surprised you're not fighting," Kira gasps to Ikkaku beside him.

"Hell no, that'd be bad luck!" Ikkaku says. "This is the festival for good luck in battle, can't be fightin' during it."

That might actually make sense, or Kira could just be drunk. He thinks he's drunk.

The party-goers clap their hands and stomp their feet and howl at the moon, and it's lively and infectious and actually pretty fun. When he stops to catch his breath (and drink more, at Ikkaku's insistence), Abarai comes over and plops down next to Kira.

"See? Having fun now that you're here, aintcha. Always such a pain in the ass, pissin' and moanin' until you get where you're goin'," Abarai says, giving Kira a friendly whack on the back.

"You wearin' lucky red, Abarai?" Ikkaku asks belligerently.

"Hell, my hair's red, ain't it?"

"Dunno if that counts," Ikkaku says suspiciously. "Kira, where's your red?"

Kira belatedly realizes that if it's a festival for luck in battle, of course everyone will be wearing the color of war. And when he looks out over the crowd, he sees flashes of red everywhere.

"Maybe he's wearin' it underneath," Abarai suggests, giving Kira a filthy grin before taking a swig off the nearest bottle.

Kira yelps when he feels Ikkaku go for the hem of his hakama. "I'm not!"

Ikkaku abandons his attempt to determine the color of Kira's unmentionables and says, "Well, that ain't right. Here ya go." He brushes his thumbs at the red paint at the corners of his eyes, and then carefully smudges it on Kira's eyelids.

"I dunno if it's him," Abarai says, after studying Kira for a moment.

Ikkaku throws an arm around Kira's shoulders. "Shut the fuck up, he looks great," Ikkaku says.

Kira decides he'll just have to take Ikkaku's word for it, and sticks out his tongue at Abarai.

Much later, Kira says into Ikkaku's shoulder, "Think I'm drunk."

"Been drunk for hours, darlin'," Ikkaku says, his hand coming up to rub between Kira's shoulder blades.

Maybe it was all the dancing and all the alcohol, but Kira's starting to feel a little warm. "It's hot," he sighs, tugging at his collar.

"Woah there, let's not give everyone a free show or nothing," Ikkaku says, pulling Kira's top back into place.

"Not everyone," Kira corrects, feeling bold. "Just you."

Ikkaku's eyes widen. "You are so damn drunk," he says.

"You are too," Kira says, vaguely aware that he sounds petulant. "Didn't you tell me to have a good time?"

"I think I told you to get drunk and dance," Ikkaku says, sounding a little strangled.

"Mmm," Kira says, and then leans in to give Ikkaku a kiss to convince him.

It starts off soft and teasing, and then quickly gives way to passionate and messy and so good that Kira barely registers that Ikkaku has bent Kira over his lap. Kira makes pleased little sounds into Ikkaku's mouth, his hands clutching at Ikkaku's muscled shoulders and biceps. Ikkaku's tongue spars with his own, but this is a battle Kira wants to win, and quickly. He slides his hand inside Ikkaku's top, his fingertips drifting along skin until he reaches one hardened nipple. "Wanna go somewhere?" Kira breathes.

Ikkaku gasps when Kira's fingers tug gently at his nipple. "I don't sleep with people I have to carry to bed," he warns.

"I can still walk," Kira promises. "Think I could even dance."

"It's really red," Kira says, laughing breathlessly as he pulls at Ikkaku's fundoshi.

Ikkaku unties Kira's plain white one while licking at Kira's nipples. "'Course it's red," he mutters. "It's for luck, and I'm a damn lucky guy."

Kira snickers. "Not yet, you aren't."

"Workin' on it," Ikkaku says, reaching up to kiss him again on the mouth. Ikkaku's weight on Kira feels good -- he feels solid and strong, and when he gets rid of the lucky red fundoshi, Kira gasps as their cocks rub against each other.

"Mm, I want--" Kira says, and then moans in Ikkaku's ear when he feels Ikkaku's hands stroke down his sides and grasp his hips.

"Anything," Ikkaku says, eyes half-lidded so that Kira can see even more of the smudged red warpaint.

"In me," Kira whispers, thrusting his hips up in emphasis. "Please."

"Don't gotta beg," Ikkaku says hoarsely. "Told you, anything you want." The moonlight shifts over the muscles in Ikkaku's back as he turns around to get something, and Kira finds his mouth almost dry at the sight.

He watches Ikkaku open a ceramic jar, but he's impatient for Ikkaku to touch him again. "Hurry," he says plaintively.

Ikkaku swears and then settles himself between Kira's legs again, stroking Kira's cock with something slick once or twice before his fingers wander downward. "Done this before, right?" Ikkaku says.

"Not lately," Kira says, sucking in a deep breath when Ikkaku pushes one steady finger inside. "Too much -- ah -- work."

"Damn shame," Ikkaku says, his voice thick with arousal. He gives Kira another finger, thrusts them and twists them inside until Kira turns his head to the side and makes choked little whimpers into the pillow.

When Ikkaku finally takes his fingers out and presses his cock inside, he goes slow and careful and nearly makes Kira crazy. Kira isn't going to break, and dammit, he wants this.

So Kira wraps his legs around Ikkaku's waist, and says, "Is that all you've got?"

Ikkaku pulls back a little and looks at Kira for a minute. And then he says, "Better hold on tight, then."

Kira links his arms around Ikkaku's shoulders, and Ikkaku proves to him that fighting and dancing aren't the only things the eleventh does with hedonistic glee.

Kira wakes up and has no clue where he is. It looks like a seated officer's quarters, but it certainly isn't his. More to the point, he is terribly hungover, and judging from the degree of sun pouring in the window, he is terribly late for work.

"Oh god," he moans to himself, picking up his clothes off the floor and trying to dress without being sick. There's no time for a shower, so he makes himself as neat as he can and hopes that this will be one of those mornings when Ichimaru comes in later.

He makes his way over to the third as quick as he can, even though he still feels horrible and has vague recollections of wanting to kill Abarai and Hisagi for literally dragging him to that party. When he gets to the division, he asks a junior seat to make some strong tea and bring it to him, and then edges carefully into the head office.

It is blissfully, miraculously empty.

He takes out a brush from his desk and runs it through his hair quickly, before rummaging around for one of those hangover remedies from the fourth that he isn't convinced actually work, but it's worth a try. When the junior seat brings in tea, his eyes averted -- he must really look like death warmed over, this morning -- Kira feels he can start on his paperwork and no one, especially not Ichimaru, will be the wiser.

Ichimaru wanders in about half an hour later. "Morning, Izuru," he says, yawning a bit into his sleeve.

Kira says automatically, "Good morning, Taichou," and then continues to work.

But instead of hearing Ichimaru pad quietly across the room to his own desk, he stops mid-step and advances toward Kira's.

"Look at me, Izuru," Ichimaru says softly, and Kira isn't so new to the job that he doesn't know that tone means trouble.

So he looks up, and Ichimaru studies his face for a moment. Kira tries to stay calm -- hopefully he won't be disciplined for coming in hungover, he really hadn't meant to.

He swallows when Ichimaru reaches out one long finger and wipes carefully at the corner of Kira's eye. It comes away smudged a fierce red, and Kira doesn't know who is more surprised -- he or Ichimaru.

"Izuru," Ichimaru says slowly, "I don't think it suits you."

Kira remains very, very still. "I'll go wash it off," he offers, trying to look collected even though memories of last night are flooding his mind.

Ichimaru looks at Kira for a moment longer, then tucks his hand back in his sleeve and waves Kira off.

Kira does not run to the washroom, even though he is almost shaking in the knowledge of how close he'd come to incurring Ichimaru's displeasure. He walks normally, carefully, and when he gets there, he looks in the mirror and sees the mussed remains of Madarame Ikkaku's handiwork.

'Course it's red. It's for luck, and I'm a damn lucky guy.

When he gets the chance, Kira vows, he'll have to thank Ikkaku properly for sharing some of that luck with him.