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20th Century Fashion
by afrai

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The zipper was something of a puzzle, and the fate of a button was a chancy thing at Renji's hands. He took to the trousers after some initial distrust, but the clothes still felt strange. The collar strangled him and everything was cut too tight. No wonder Rukia couldn't fight in these, he thought, discreetly getting rid of another button.

"Aren't you done?" said Rukia, nudging open the door. Renji looked around and found himself immediately reconciled with modern clothing. All of it. Everywhere.

"What?" said Rukia.

"Is that," said Renji, and if his voice kept doing that, Rukia was going to suspect something. He tried again. "Is that all of it?"

Rukia looked puzzled. "All of what?" She was fiddling with some kind of stupid ribbon around her neck. When she was done, she knelt and pulled up a sock. Her kilt slid down the slope of her thigh.

Renji's mouth went dry.

"Your brother know you're going out looking like that?"

"My brother is fully cognisant of this mission's ... oh."

She was pulling up the other sock. Renji stared.

"You," said Rukia evenly, "are such a pervert."

Renji tore his eyes away from the crumpled grey piece of fabric (there had to be more of it; there was no way that was the right size; they must've ordered in something extra small out of a passion for economy). He sputtered. "The fuck are you talking about, you vain bitch? I don't – "

But she must have been training, because he'd barely registered the fact that she'd moved before she was on him, legs wrapped around his torso and heels digging into his back. And sure, she'd caught him off his guard, but she wouldn't have been able to do that two months ago and fuck, he really liked the socks.

"Don't you," said Rukia dreamily. Renji put his hands under her skirt to support her. Support. Right.

She didn't seem to be objecting.

"Yeah, okay," he allowed. "Maybe I do."

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