Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie, Strictly Business. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!
Pairings: Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings.
WARNING: Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP).
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo is the owner of Bleach, and the idea of Strictly Business is purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi).
Strictly Business
Were you tested positive for HIV? …NO
Were you tested positive for AIDS? ...NO
Were you tested positive for any other STD(s)? (If so, please list alphabetically.) …NO/NE
Seventeen year-old Ichigo sighed as brown eyes reviewed the waver in his left hand. The faintest blush dusted his scowling face as he ran his right hand through the spiked orange locks that crowned his head. Man, he never thought he'd ever have to fill something like that out for a summer job. But then, he already knew this gig would present a lot of other—worse—things he'd have to do that he'd never done before. Like having to publicly have sex with a guy.
Right, like he was even gay in the first place.
Ichigo was currently weaving his way through the dimly-lit halls of the movie studio. Groups of extras, he assumed they were, were crowded along the walls. Many of them were sipping coffees and chatting loudly about nothing at all, as if it were a competition among the various posses to see whom were the most unnecessary. There were couples making out here and there, which made Ichigo's face heat every time he had to creep past them, seeing as how most were boy-on-boy. And of course, fangirls were littered everywhere. Gushing, squealing, giggling, nose-bleeding fangirls whom Ichigo knew must have felt in paradise upon seeing the public displays of affection. He couldn't help but wonder: if they responded that way while viewing action among extras, how would they react when watching Ichigo in action from behind the scenes?
After all, he was playing the movie's lead seme.
The orange haired teen followed the glow-in-the-dark arrows on the floor that pointed toward the core of the building, where he figured the main set was located. Taking note of the neon arrows and candle-light hall lighting, Ichigo was becoming highly suspicious of the studio manager's personality. There was even a faint scent of incense hidden beneath coffee and perfume. Was this setting just to add to the exotic atmosphere? Considering the types of movies that were filmed here, that was probably the case.
Ichigo didn't notice that the buzzing crowd was thinning until he turned a corner into a much shorter hallway and realized all voices were behind him. And without all the conflicting odors, the calming aroma of incense was freely absorbed by Ichigo's senses. Without people blocking the view of the walls, he now saw that they were completely bare and painted a dark color that looked black in this lighting. Yeah; the studio manager definitely either had a strange taste for décor or a night-club-complex.
Ichigo rubbed the back of his head as his roaming eyes fell on the lone figure at the end of the hallway. The man was tall and tan and, well, buff, Ichigo decided as he approached the guy. His black hair was cornrowed and his mustache connected with face-framing sideburns. The man's bulging arms were folded as his appraised the nearing orange-haired teenager through a set of rectangular-shaped glasses.
"State your business, young man." The taller man spoke in a gruff voice. "Only the main cast and crew are allowed beyond this point."
It was then that Ichigo took note of the double doors behind the guard and how the path of neon arrows on the floor ended at the threshold. Well, at least he'd finally made it here. But then, that meant he was that much closer to what he was about to do. And he wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that.
Don't get him wrong; Ichigo knew exactly what he'd be getting himself when he first considered answering the ad in his dad's newspaper. And it had taken him a week—seven nights with little sleep—of debating whether or not he was up for the job. The cons: 1. He had no acting experience. 2. He'd practically be selling his body—except on a movie set rather than a street corner or the hotel room of some pervert with a camera—and 3. He'd never even considered being gay, so how the hell was he supposed to have sex with a boy on camera? The pros: With that much money, he could help pay for his and his sisters' school tuitions, no problem. He'd even surprise his widower father by paying some of the bills. (Yes, he was a blue-blooded altruist when it came to his family.)
When he looked at it, the money would be worth it. Besides, it's not like he really had a problem with the script. Though he was a virgin, he'd seen and read plenty of porno in his teenage life. He was a quick learner, so 'doing the deed' wouldn't be a problem. And doing it with a guy would definitely be different—not to mention very awkward—but it was just sex. It's not like this turned him on to guys. Besides, he doubted anyone who would see this movie and then see him in person would come right out and address his actions, because they'd be just as guilty for watching such a movie in the first place. Yes, Ichigo figured he'd go out for this role, collect his money, and put this gig behind him.
That's why now, in front of the guard, Ichigo relaxed and allowed a small sheepish smile to play on his lips.
"My name's Ichigo Kurosaki. I play Akio Morita in Strictly Business." Ichigo replied, standing at attention with the waver by his left side and his right hand up to his forehead in a salute.
The guard once again sized up the teen before him. He looked to be around 5'9". He was wearing black slacks and a white v-neck with a vertical black stripe down the middle. Over this, he wore a candy-apple-red jacket, whose outer halves of its sleeves were white with tiny black polka-dots. He wore black, white and red-embroidered converse. The guard noted the boy's drawn eyebrows and, of course, his spiky shock of orange hair. What would you even call that shade, ginger? Carrot?
"Ah, so you're the strawberry Urahara told me about. You don't see that colored hair on many young lads in Karakura." The guard commented. He unfolded his large arms and adjusted his glasses. Then he stepped to the side, grabbed the door handle nearest him, and effortlessly pulled the heavy door open. "You're actually a bit early, but a few people are already here, so go on in. Just follow the signs to get to the director's room."
"Thanks a lot." Ichigo said as he bowed his head in respect before passing.
Once inside, the door swung shut behind him. The first thing Ichigo registered was the overhead fluorescent lights that had him squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change in brightness of his surroundings. The reflective, white painted walls didn't help. But when he did adjust, Ichigo took notice of the other major differences between this hall and the previous. Like how, for example, there was now black carpet beneath his feet rather than ceramic tile. And how, also, this much longer hallway was lined with doors on either side, ending with another set of double doors. Ichigo glanced at the names on each sliding door as he passed, and he couldn't help but notice that even he—who wasn't much interested in the media—had heard of some of them.
Oh, how he felt like he didn't belong…
Ichigo shook his head slightly to put his thoughts back on track and resumed following the signs overhead that stated whose rooms were located between there and the next sign. Finally, Ichigo came to the end of the hall. He was mildly confused—thinking he missed the director's name—and was about to turn back when he noticed the nameplate on the double doors in front of him.
"Urahara Shōten."
Ichigo rubbed the back of his head as he scrutinized the nameplate. The director's room was a…shop? What kind of shop was in the middle of a movie studio? Deciding this place was only going to get stranger, Ichigo shrugged to himself before reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.
"Um…hello! Anyone in here?" Ichigo called just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to potentially startle someone.
No matter though; he didn't receive an answer. His brown gaze wandered the room that was void of any life but packed with rows of shelves. It was indeed just like a gift shop. And at the back of the room, Ichigo could see, was another door that he guessed the director was hiding in.
The frown on the teen's face deepened. This was it. He was going to meet Kisuke Urahara, the man people only dared to whisper about in the halls of Karakura High if they felt no qualms about revealing their sexual lives. Urahara was known on the down low for his sex toys, erotica novels, and explicit magazines. His work was actually considered illegal in some areas, one reason being that his movies were the only films in which "actors" actually engaged in intercourse rather than feigning movements. Nothing like getting into character, right? And yet…perhaps the government was filled with more perverts than people thought, because Urahara had never been arrested. Rumor had it that the director used to be a government official who "entertained" his colleagues in his spare time, and that's why he was let off the hook so easily.
Ichigo couldn't fathom why he'd signed up for this.
Oh right, he needed the money.
Oh, the things people do for money….
As Ichigo headed for the back of the shop, the nervous scowl on his face morphed into an expression of disbelief and embarrassment. Stocking the shelves were anything the actors needed, he supposed, to "get motivated". Dildos. Vibrators. Magazines. A suggestive assortment of handcuffs, chains, and blindfolds. Lubricant. And, of course, Urahara's secretly famous condoms that, he'd heard, felt as if nothing was there. The rest of the shelf space was occupied by items that Ichigo had never seen before. He had no idea as to what their purposes were, but he blushed when his imagination rushed to make up for the lack of information.
Face burning; Ichigo finally reached the back door whose nameplate simply read "Director". From inside, Ichigo could hear muffled voices. He would feel rude for interrupting: maybe he could just come back later.
No, best to get this over with…
Ichigo took a deep, reassuring breath before raising his hand to tap the door with his knuckles. The conversation from the other side quieted to silence, and Ichigo briefly felt the impending doom that horror-flick characters feel when being approached by their to-be-murderer.
No! Don't go in there! Run away!
The door handle clicked as a lock slid out of place, and Ichigo froze. The door swung open to reveal Mr. Hat-and-Clogs, himself. Kisuke Urahara.
"Why, hello there Kurosaki-kun!" the man greeted loud enough to make Ichigo flinch. Urahara pulled a paper fan from somewhere on his person and opened it to conceal his wide grin, but Ichigo had already seen it. What's with that creepy enthusiasm? He was totally poker-faced back at—
"—the interview!" Kisuke spoke suddenly, and Ichigo almost jumped in surprise. Was this guy just— "—reading your thoughts? No, no, sorry to disappoint you, Kurosaki-kun! I'm just your average movie director. Actually I was going to apologize for my façade at the interview. You see, I wanted you as soon as you walked in the room, but I had to put on a professional face in front of every possible 'Akio' because, as you know, this whole gig is strictly business. Eh, eh? You see how I slid that one in there? Clever, right?"
"U-um, yeah…right." Ichigo chuckled politely. But he rubbed the back of his head, trying to reign in his slight confusion and utter embarrassment. He wondered if Urahara was conscious of his own sexual innuendos or if he was just too conscious of his surroundings and read too far into the dialogue. Realizing that he was tensing up again, Ichigo diverted his thoughts to…
To what? He was surrounded by sex propaganda; the very reason for his anxiety in the first place. What else could he distract himself with…? Ichigo blinked before sparing a glance down at the director's wardrobe. Just like his persona, his outfit was the polar opposite of his appearance at the interview. Back then, he'd been wearing a crisp black suit, complete with dark green button-up and white tie. But now, he was dressed in loose-fitting, traditional-style clothes: dark green pants and shirt adorned with a black, robe-like coat. On his feet were traditional Japanese wooden geta, and crowning his pale blonde hair was a green- and white-striped bucket hat. Compared to Ichigo's initial impression, Urahara now struck him as a professional bum.
"Hmm? What's this…are you checking me out, Kurosaki-kun?" His arch of eyebrows was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, but his tone expressed obvious amusement. Urahara's grin didn't disappear. In fact, it seemed to widen.
"W-what!" Ichigo sputtered, visibly jumping a bit. His eyes were wide with horror, trying to meet Urahara's gaze to see if he was serious, but the man's eyes were also overshadowed. Ichigo stuttered his objections to the idea, completely appalled. "No! Of course not! Why would I be…what makes you think I'd…No! Absolutely not! I would never—"
Urahara laughed heartily, waving his fan in dismissal at the flustered teen. "Relax, Kurosaki-kun, I was just kidding." Ichigo's cries of indignation trailed off and he sealed his mouth with a deep scowl. Urahara barely resisted the urge to chuckle at Kurosaki's reaction and made a mental note to tease the boy more in the near future; while he was still sensitive about his innocence. "For now, why don't you join us in the back?" the director continued, gesturing behind him. "You're right on time."
"Oh, really? That big guy out front said I was early…." Ichigo narrowed his eyes in apprehension. Could you blame him for being suspicious? He didn't want to say that he distrusted his employer, but he also couldn't say that he felt entirely comfortable around the older man. As a matter of fact, he didn't feel comfortable at all! What had that been just now?
As if sensing Ichigo's trepidation—or reading his thoughts after all—the director spoke again. "Tessai was right; you're early for the meeting. That's in an hour. But you're right on time to meet your co-star! We were just talking about you, actually. I was hoping the two of you could meet without all the others around. You know: introduce yourselves, get to know each other, see how compatible you are…Ah! I see you've brought the waver!"
Ichigo opened his mouth to refute Urahara's apparent role as match-maker, but that damned case of nerves had returned to clog his throat. He was reminded of who he was talking to (undoubtedly the biggest pervert in Karakura), where he was (the source of innumerable sexual films), and what he was doing here (to become the newest poster child of the pornographic black market). Would the money really be worth it? He'd been dreading this moment, and he was now just seconds away from meeting his "co-star": the person with whom he would practically be living for the next several months; the person to whom he'd be getting closer than he'd ever been with anyone before in his life; the man with whom he'd agreed to have hours of sex without any emotional attachment. For money. Ichigo felt sick.
Because what do you even say to a person like that? Hi, my name's Ichigo Kurosaki? I'm being paid thousands of dollars to act gay and fuck you over and over until it looks right on camera? I'm looking forward to working with you? I hope we can be friends?
Like hell!
"Kurosaki-kun?" Urahara's grin was starting to dim. Kurosaki hadn't even blinked, but he could tell that the strawberry's anxiety was increasing. It was tangible in the space between them. Not being a total sadist and having some mercy on the youth, Kisuke decided to spare the rookie for the moment. His playful smirk all but disappeared. In a much quieter, much more serious tone, not unlike the one he'd used back at the interview, the director said, "Calm down, Ichigo. Nothing's happening today. Besides, I already promised you that we'd never force you to do anything you couldn't handle. You could always leave now, rip up that waver, and forget you were ever here."
Ichigo blinked. His brown eyes locked on Urahara's gray ones, which were now visible and gazing right at him. "No," he said firmly, "That's alright. I'm just…I've been looking forward to meeting him, is all. Let's get to it." The teen held out the white waver in offering and rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand.
The director continued to stare at him calculatingly for a few moments longer, but then his eyes vanished into his hat's shadow, and his overzealous grin reappeared. He accepted the waver and Kurosaki's silent declaration of dedication and determination that came with it. "Well, that's just marvelous! Just follow me, Kurosaki-kun. He's been waiting to meet you as well."
And Ichigo did follow. Oh, he was still nervous. He'd never been tenser about anything in his life. But Ichigo Kurosaki had never been a quitter, and he wasn't about to start now just because he had a case of cold feet. So what if this—he glanced back out at the shop before closing the door—wasn't his usual terrain? If he thought about it, tackling this job would be just like another match with his friend and karate expert, Tatsuki Arisawa. No matter what, he wouldn't run away. He would see this through to the end, and if nothing else, he would have the experience.
Besides, once he'd handed the waver to the director, turning back was no longer an option.
The former government official led Ichigo down a short, dimly lit hallway that ended with a doorway on either side. The left, Ichigo glimpsed, was a dark storage room. He followed his employer to the right, but whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been to walk into, well, an ordinary lounge.
On the wall corresponding to the doorway was a flat screen TV, and below it was a stereo system with shelves and shelves of CDs. Along the left and back walls of the room were two long, identical futons. Along the right wall was a small kitchenette, and in the middle of the room was a rug, on top of which sat a low, circular coffee table surrounded by cushions. Ichigo was not only surprised at the lack of extravaganza, but also at the completely neutral color scheme. His eyes had been abused by the ever-changing lighting and myriad of colors that adorned the movie studio, so this change was a great relief. He smelled the vanilla-scented candles that burned quietly in the corners of the room. Soft classical music floated out of the surround-sound system overhead.
Everything about the haven promised peace and shelter from the insanity that lies in wait just outside the Director's door. But Ichigo could do anything but relax.
For why was a child in a place like this?
No, Ichigo was not referring to himself. Rather, he was staring quite pointedly at the other youth who'd already been occupying the room.
He was curled up at one end of the futon at the far wall—directly opposite Ichigo—with his knees drawn up to his chest. He was texting on his cell phone, and was clad in a black golf shirt with gray pants. Ichigo took note of the neatly aligned kicks in front of the futon, which meant the boy's hidden feet were either socked or bare. But more importantly did Ichigo note the boy's hair. He wasn't sure which was more surprising: its shade, or its apparent defiance of gravity? The boy's head was fully topped with silvery white tresses that spiked out in all directions to form a crown of snow, and a tamer group of stray tresses obscured the left side of his face as a bang. Ichigo, himself, couldn't count the number of times he'd ever been asked whether he dyed or gelled his hair to achieve its orange spikiness, so he couldn't even begin to imagine how many times this kid had been asked the same thing. Ichigo almost pitied the boy.
And why the hell was he there?
Ichigo was only getting a side-view, but this kid looked to be about his sisters' age. And there was absolutely no freaking way in hell that he—let alone his dad—would ever allow Karin or Yuzu within even a mile of this whole building. So why was this snow-haired middle school student all comfortable on the sofa in the back room of a sex shop in the middle of a pornographic movie studio? Ichigo was usually a laid back guy who couldn't give a crap about what other people did, but looking at this boy now, all he could see was one of his sisters in his position. And that was enough to set Ichigo's big-brother-blood on high alert. He shifted to demand an explanation from the smiling director.
"Urahara…" The man's name was echoed. Kisuke smiled wider behind his paper fan.
Slightly thrown off by the second voice, Ichigo's attention shifted to the source of the calm echo. The boy's head raised and his eyes moved from his phone's screen to focus on the two people standing by the doorway. The orbs drifted from the perky blonde to the orange-haired, and Ichigo found his gaze immediately locked on the most wondrous pools he'd ever seen. And he wasn't exaggerating in the least when he dubbed them as such. The boy's eyes were big, and their coloring was even more peculiar than that of his hair. From here, Ichigo could tell if they were blue or green or…what? Turquoise? Teal? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that they were unlike any he'd ever seen before, and that such eyes could never belong to a child…at least, they shouldn't. They were too…too…
"Urahara, is this him?"
The voice once again took him off guard, as Ichigo hadn't expected the pubescent pitch to come from the young looking male. But indeed, the white-haired had spoken, and after reflecting over the question, Ichigo realized that the boy had somehow been expecting him. Those eyes were probing his face, where Ichigo felt his reflexive scowl forming under the strange intensity of the stare. Who was this kid? Ichigo thought Urahara was going to introduce him to his costar. Instead, he was being scrutinized by a guy whose clipped voice contradicted his casual appearance, and Ichigo couldn't understand why he was suddenly being wordlessly criticized.
"Yep! This is our Kurosaki-kun." Urahara chirped, proudly indicating to the waver in the hand that wasn't holding his fan. The director beamed behind the pathetic excuse for a lid on his excitement as he awaited the approval he knew was coming.
The boy didn't respond right away. He snapped his phone shut before sliding it into his pocket, and then turned to face Ichigo. His feet slid out to reveal white socks, but he ignored his shoes when he stood up and began to approach the orange haired teen with his arms folded, never breaking eye contact. Ichigo's shoulders involuntarily tensed and resisted the urge to break the connection. He felt slight relief when the kid looked away first, but the feeling was short-lived; for instead of his face, the turquoise magnifying glasses started roaming Ichigo's entire body. The teen rubbed the back of his neck feeling slightly self-conscious. He had the distinct feeling that he was being sized up, but he found this ironic, considering the guy was a full head shorter than him. Granted, the boy's hair made him seem taller, but the effect was lost as Ichigo could only point out more childlike features facing him head-on.
The guy's face possessed more roundness than Ichigo's did, and there were no blemishes to the naked eye. His skin looked pale and smooth, like porcelain, except for the furrowing of his white eyebrows as he continued to stare. His arms, exposed by the golf shirt's short sleeves, were just as pale and obviously on the lean side. The rest of his body seemed just as petite. Ichigo could have easily passed the guy off as a child, if not for the power in the boy's turquoise eyes, and the tone in the next words from his mouth.
"I suppose he'll do." The boy apparently concluded. His eyes finally glanced away; to Urahara. "How much time do we have?"
"Enough time." The director answered vaguely, smirk never faltering.
"Enough time for what?" Ichigo arched an orange eyebrow, flipping through his memory of the last thirty seconds to see if there was something said that he'd missed. Not recalling anything but the classical music, Ichigo scowled, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, and waited to be answered.
A piano solo was the only response he received.
Urahara left Ichigo's side, passing the white-haired male, who nodded in silent understanding. Ichigo watched in mild confusion as the man went to do something over at the kitchenette, and then turned his attention back to the younger one in front of him. A brown eye twitched when it once again met turquoise. The boy had been staring at him again and Ichigo was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable. He forgot why he'd followed the director back here in the first place and instead was trying to remember what he'd done that could've caused the boy to eye him in such a way. Unable to recall anything reprehensible, and unable to ignore the weighty stare any longer, Ichigo decided it was time to speak up again.
"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did but—"
"Take off your clothes."
What? Ichigo blinked, taking a few moments to replay the words. The tone had been nonchalant, and for a second, he thought that his unasked question had been answered—this place was apparently crawling with mind-readers. But…"take off your clothes"? That didn't answer his question, did it? Why would the boy be staring at him because he was wearing clothes? That would mean the guy wanted him to strip for some reason. Oh, that was it. The guy just wanted him to strip, that's all, Ichigo concluded. He wanted him to take his clothes off….
He wanted him to take his clothes off?
"W-wait, what!" Ichigo jumped back a bit upon reaching the revelation and stared at the shorter man incredulously. "What did you just say?"
The boy sighed, sounding tired for reasons unknown to Ichigo: the reason being that Urahara had promised; no more idiots. Was this strawberry just slow? "I said, take your clothes off."
"Why the hell would I do that?" Ichigo snapped in a voice pinched by embarrassment. Thinking about stripping or anything related to overly exposed skin reminded him of where he was and what awaited him just outside and he was trying very hard to maintain his composure. So, in attempt to distract his own mind, but mostly because he really wanted to know, he asked, "Who are you anyway? And why are you here?"
The guy wasn't fazed by the spontaneity and answered almost automatically, "You will address me as Hitsugaya..." He arched an eyebrow. "And I would've thought the reason for my being here was obvious."
"If it was, I wouldn't be asking, now would I be?" Ichigo countered just as coolly. He already didn't like the guy's attitude, and they'd barely exchanged a few sentences. He shot a glance at Urahara, whom had settled down at the coffee table with, what he assumed to be, a cup of tea. The director was lifting said cup of tea to his lips when Ichigo directed at him, "Urahara-san, who is this kid?"
Kisuke froze with the cup just an inch away from his mouth. The song that had been playing now ended, and while the stereo automatically shifted in search of the next disk, a hush settled over the lounge. Was it just Ichigo, or did the room's atmosphere suddenly feel even tenser…colder?
"Excuse me," Ichigo almost flinched under the icy glare, and he realized that this unsettling feeling was emanating from the person in front of him. If he wasn't absolutely sure before, he was now: those eyes definitely didn't belong to a child. They were too…cold. The kid's frost-colored hair didn't do anything to lessen the effect. The shorter continued.
"But first of all, I believe I said you will address me as 'Hitsugaya'. Not 'kid', not 'shrimp', not 'shorty', or in any form of the familiar. Hitsugaya. Secondly, since you obviously haven't done much research before showing up today, I will be acting as Yuki Takahashi in the movie. Now. Do you have any more pointless questions, or may we get this over with?"
As soon as it finished thawing, Ichigo's brain rushed to process the new bit of information. This kid; guy—Hitsugaya—was playing Yuki Takahashi…? The teen mulled over the names thoughtfully, knowing they sounded vaguely familiar. He'd never been very diligent with remembering names, but something about the two names together made him feel that they held real significance. Think, Kurosaki. Takahashi, Hitsugaya…Takahashi, Hitsugaya…Takahashi…Hitsugaya…
Yuki Takahashi, as played by something Hitsugaya….
No way, had he really forgotten that? How was that possible? He'd spent the nights of the restless weeks prior tossing and turning with those names clouding his thoughts. He'd read them as words on a page for days, trying to mentally restrain the nauseating bubble of nerves in his stomach that he was still working to suppress even now. Why did the innocent lettering distress him to the point of uncharacteristic hesitation?
Because in the movie, Akio Morita would be topping Yuki Takahashi.
And in real life, Ichigo would be topping Hitsugaya.
Beneath tanned skin, the blood drained from Ichigo's face, and his eyes widened in something akin to horror. Brown locked on turquoise, shining with regretful realization. Hitsugaya's gaze was flat, though that only served as confirmation.
"You mean you're the one I'm supposed to…" Ichigo noticed he was gaping and, after a moment, his hands flew up to cover the involuntary mortification scrawled all over his countenance. His voice dropped, talking more to himself now. "Fuck! I can't do this. I really…I really signed up for this?"
Kisuke Urahara, whose trained ears had heard even over the current piece's violin, finally chose to answer a question—which was, ironically, rhetorical, but he didn't let that stop him. He held the cursed binding waver above his head with glee. "Yes, you did, Kurosaki-kun."
"And so, seeing as how you've turned in the contract," Hitsugaya elaborated without missing a beat, "you are now obligated to follow through with the requirements. My requirements. And the first thing I require you to do," he continued on sounding bored, still staring at him, "is to strip, Kurosaki."
A/N: I honestly can't remember how I came up with this idea, but I hope you enjoy my first attempt at serious slash (yaoi)! Farfetched plot, but hey, I find it fun to write.
Sorry if this first chapter was a little rushed, and I've written farther than this, but I decided to cut it there and ask for your thoughts before offering a naked Ichigo. I think you all have a basic idea of how this series would play out. So what do you think? Something you'd be interested in reading? Share your thoughts in a review! :D
~'Taku786 ^^
