Disclaimer: As usual, I have forgotten who owns Bleach, but it definitely wasn't me.

AN: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful, amazing KitsuneDragonHeartLove, who was the only person to answer my call on New Year's Eve, when my bf had accidentally locked me out of the hotel room, wouldn't answer the phone (I thought he'd fallen asleep. He was swimming in the pool. And there was a mysterious pile of clothes in front of the door that belonged to nobody we can think of.), when my mother wasn't available for a call either and dad was in Switzerland. Thank you, KitsuneDragonHeartLove! May you enjoy this chapter that I shall re-re-edit after I'm done with re-editing just for you, since you deserve it extra good.

I've also edited the first chapter and now it's about twice as long.

(Oh, and I got inside the hotel room eventually.)

Chapter 4: Isshin, Ichigo, Insatiability

(or: How Urahara Kisuke Could Have Been Murdered, But Wasn't, Because the Story Would be Boring Otherwise)

(or: The Plot Appears. Because There Has Been a Plot All Along, Actually, Lurking, Waiting to Come Out.)

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.

Sweep ... Sweep … Sweep.

Urahara walked slowly through the shop, moving the dust around in long, slow motions. One, two, three. One ... two ... three. He had a rhythm. A slow, comfortable rhythm that was meant to keep him in a quiet, relaxed state for a long time.

It was all moving quite quickly. He'd started the blackmail on Saturday, got Ichigo to agree and snog him thoroughly on Sunday and now he had to wait while the boy finished his classes this Monday. It felt as if time had somehow expanded, that it was weeks between each event, that each moment lasted days. What were the risks of this stunt, anyway? Inoue was, according to his logic, not in much danger. If they'd have wanted to kill her.... No, she was probably alive and well – the question being what they wanted her for. They'd already done most of the work to ensure the safety of Karakura, the rest was up to Mayuri.... He'd worked a bit on the gigai, but had decided he didn't really want to delve into that sort of work for awhile.

So, 2 hours until Ichigo finished, then he'd probably come straight there. At his current rate of sweeping, of 3 movements every five seconds, he would have 36 movements per minute, 1800 per hour, allowing for a ten minute break and a need to change locations more drastically than the one step at a time pace, 3600 per two hours, about 3800 before Ichigo could get there, therefore he would be able to sweep his entire property at leisure.

The door to the shop opened and Urahara's mind promptly announced that delays were included in the sweeping calculations, since his shop required fewer sweeps, anyway. He raised his head and genuinely smiled at the visitor. He hadn't seen the man for a very long time, even if they were something along the lines of close friends who don't talk often, but get along well when they actually do chat.

"Isshin-san!" he said with genuine cheeriness. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Ichigo's father didn't seem quite as happy to see Urahara as vice versa. He had a dark, no nonsense attitude and a frown to match his son's. In fact, he looked like a man who had just discovered something that he didn't particularly like in his shopping basket and suspected that the salesman had tried to slip something among his chosen goods.

"Urahara. Have you given my son a hickey?"

Urahara realized that this was the exact sort of moment one should have a fan for, so he propped his broom against a shelf, took out his fan and placed it in front of his face. He considered an answer, then allowed some surprise and remorse to show on his features.

"Ah. Oops. Yes."

There was a short silence as Isshin tried to find the words he had been searching for ever since the idea of this possibility had occurred to him.

"I will kill you for daring to touch him," Isshin explained, frowning darkly. "I will tear you apart limb by limb and kill you. I will torture you...."

And then the phone rang.

"Hold that thought, will you?" Urahara said, pleasantly, behind his fan. "I think this call is something important."

"This isn't funny, Urahara. And I am not kidding."

"I know. Please, give me a chance to explain after the phone call."

The shopkeeper picked up the receiver, thinking that if it was going to be something as stupid as a person ordering a batch of expired lollipops or something as odd as Ichigo calling to whisper sweet words in his ear, he'd be in a bind. This thought was confirmed by a sword appearing seemingly out of nowhere and resting gently against his neck.

"So, talk, then," Isshin urged him, stepping so close to Urahara that at any other time he'd have wondered whether by seducing the son he hadn't somehow done the same with the father. "And then I want to know why one of my old friends is toying with my son. Because I know you, Kisuke, and I know you're toying. I know the way you are, sleeping around, never really caring, never really getting involved, except...."

Urahara swallowed and concentrated on the receiver. "Hello?"

"Kisuke, finally."

"Yoruichi," Urahara acknowledged her and felt the sword's steel pressing into his skin. Isshin didn't appreciate being interrupted in his monologues – not generally and certainly not when he perceived there was something wrong going on between his old friend and his son. "So? Please, speak quickly."

"Well, Seireitei is acting exactly as you have anticipated. I'm worried. You know the decision they've reached and I guess you don't like it any more than I do. Jeez', this is so messed up. Anyway, Byakuya is keeping an eye on Rukia and Renji to make sure they won't run to the real world any time soon, because that would get them all in a lot of trouble, but Bya will try to smooth things out."

"I see."

There was a pause as Urahara wondered whether to tell her about the situation he was in at the moment. Isshin's breath was loud, rasped, mad, raising the hair on his neck, where it touched him. He was, he had to admit, slightly afraid.

"About Ichigo," Yoruichi continued, "I really don't like what you have in mind for the boy, don't think I don't know that you've started that little thing of yours and.... Are you alright there?"

Isshin was leaning a bit too much against him and the sword's pressure against his neck was getting painful. He'd given a tiny whimper in desperation, he realized now. This was not the way he'd pictured dying. He didn't think this was the way anybody pictured dying.

"Isshin is currently holding a sword to my neck and I fear my conversation time is running out," he explained, not quite managing to keep the rising worry out of his voice.

"What?!"

"Goodbye, Yoruichi. Thank you very much for the information."

"Kisuke! Dammit, don't get murdered!"

Urahara put the receiver down and swallowed. Isshin's breath on his neck and was like a dragon's murderous, scalding fire. He could try a demon art, but he wasn't sure it was a good idea. How sure was he there wouldn't be an accident – painful for Isshin, deadly for himself?

"So. What do you want with my son? I'm giving you a chance to explain because you're my friend and didn't have the cheek to lie me in the face, but you had better have a good explanation."

Urahara wondered how quickly the "I want to fuck him and make him like it" reply would get him killed. He touched Isshin's zanpakuto gingerly and decided that it would be very, very fast indeed. So, instead, he lowered his hand and sighed. Might as well take out the ace from his sleeve and wave it around frantically, hoping it would save him. He only had that one card, but it was pretty good – good enough, he hoped.

"I have a special status with Soul Society," he explained, slowly, trying to make Isshin catch the idea.

"I know." He hadn't caught it. The shopkeeper wondered how much more pressure he could bear on his throat before the sword drew blood.

"And Ichigo also has a very, very special status with Soul Society." Get the point, Isshin. "Some would say that he not only broke the rules, but that his very existence is a breaking of the rules. Important rules. Unbreakable rules. That concern Hollows and Shinigami."

The sword's pressure decreased ever so slightly. He was starting to get it – at least the latter part. And, luckily, Isshin wasn't the sort of person who rushed into murder. Give him something to think about and you might survive.

"I don't see any connection, Kisuke. You have no sway over Seireitei. Don't go around pretending that you do."

"No. No sway. Yoruichi has no sway, either. Nor Byakuya. Nor Zaraki. The might of two noble families and the might of, well, just might, is not enough. They've tried and tried, but frankly, they stood no chance from the beginning, when this matter was raised."

"If they couldn't do anything...."

"I can. Let's sit down, Isshin. There's things we need to talk about and very little time before Ichigo gets here."

So they locked the shop and went to the kitchen, where Urahara fidgeted surprisingly little before closing his eyes and starting to tell a tale that, he knew even know, actually would end with, "so you see, what I really want with him right now is to sleep with him and have him enjoy it. The rest, all the rest, is not something he needs to concern himself with." And he hoped it would save his life.

But it began with, "The point is, I think, that I am sorry and that I will do this. Do you understand? If we must, we'll fight over it, but I think you'll come to see my point. I will sleep with your son, hell, I might even make him miserable, but it's something I must do. I will try to.... To bear him in mind as much as possible. But Soul Society is going to the dogs – and I have a very special status within it."

When Ichigo came by the shop not much later, Urahara was sweeping. There was no trace of Isshin and even if there had been, he would never have suspected that he'd come there with a killer intent. Or that he had been so frustrated, so upset and so sad that he had taken out all his anger on a tea set Urahara had in the shop and had threatened to castrate the man if.... not even Isshin had known what. Or that he had, in the end, reluctantly left Urahara to do whatever he willed, that he had seen his point, for the same reason that Yoruichi had left him to his design.

'I am an evil, evil man and nobody can touch me,' the shopkeeper thought. Probably neither of them really understood him and that was why he could pose as a nice person. As an altruist of sorts. He knew however that he was, despite all other implications, a pervert who wouldn't be denied his prize. Not now that he had Ichigo in sight. Not even if his alibi were to collapse to pieces. He'd have the boy. And he'd make it damned good for both of them, if possible.

Although he was suddenly starting to wish that Ichigo discovered very quickly that he had a passion for having it rough.

"Hello, Ichigo!" he greeted him with a cheerfulness he didn't really feel. Yoruichi's message meant that they had less time than he'd thought. They needed to finish here – now. Soon. No slowing down, he thought. They had until.... Probably until the next day or the day after that.

"Urahara."

"Lock the door to the shop, will you?"

Ichigo hesitated just for a second before doing just that. Urahara thought that he'd have preferred to wait some more, toy with him, as Isshin had put it – even if he'd meant it as an insult –, teach him slowly, satisfy his own fantasy of gentle seduction. And now, today, it was different than yesterday. Today the victim locked himself inside. Today they'd go fast. Today he wouldn't stop and masturbate so that he wouldn't harm, so that he wouldn't move past a shifting limit.

Urahara let the broomstick down, abandoning his work which would be doomed to be done another day. Kurosakis tended to mess things up, apparently. Then he led them back to his bedroom, to the scene of the previous evening, where he noticed, once the boy's shirt was down, that the hickey was entirely too visible. Because Ichigo had, for no apparent reason, abandoned his shirt almost as fast as they stepped inside.

„Hot, isn't it?" Urahara asked softly.

„I figured it might get in the way," Ichigo explained, then blushed with embarrasment. „I shouldn't have done that."

„No, no, it's alright. You should know that the secret to this sort of thing is to do whatever you want as if you were entirely certain that it's right and yet be polite about it."

„Am I polite?"

„If I told you to put it back on, would you?"

„Yes."

„Then you are – no, don't actually do it. It was in the way. And you look better without it. But perhaps, in other company, it would be best not to start throwing clothes around the moment you go through the door, eh?"

Ichigo sat down on the futon and put his head in his hands, looking disgruntled. Urahara sat down on the floor next to him, waiting to be told what the issue was before making a move. They had this much time, at least, to ease the mind before uneasing it entirely. The young man wasn't the sort of person who'd keep it all locked up inside when he had a question. He was straight to the point, not exactly timid and not intruding either – it was all a part of him. Urahara loved that about him, the straightforwardness, the easiness with which he could be convinced to do something good. And here he was, a dirty old man seducing him as best he could, for his own dirty fantasies and backed up by an infernal situation that kept people off his back with respect to morality.

„Urahara, why don't I hate you?" Ichigo finally asked. „I should, shouldn't I? And yet, I find that I can't. Even if this is blackmail, you act as if it weren't. Why do you get that look in your eyes?"

„What look, Ichigo?"

„That pained one. The one you're wearing now. You hate this. Why? It was your idea."

Urahara tried to throw on a cheerful smile and brush it off with a laugh. As he did it, he realized with a pang that it was coming out natural. Too much practice at it, probably. He could fake his own laugh perfectly. It was something he usually enjoyed being able to do, yet now he found himself suddenly wishing that the boy would see that it was a fake. That he felt like dying on the inside with the number of answers. Half-truth, he decided suddenly. He didn't want to say a complete lie. He couldn't lie. He wanted to stop lying.

„Because I am a perverted shopkeeper and despite my handsomeness, this is my only chance to bring the object of my desires to bed." Truth. Yes. Half of it. He'd focus on himself, his own dirtiness, not admiting that he'd have wanted Ichigo to be free to experience, to learn all with somebody he loved. Rukia, perhaps. Or somebody his own age, Orihime, or.... Or somebody who deserved him. Somebody whom he wanted. Somebody who would make this memorable because it was fumbling, trial and error, fresh, new, exciting. Because he was in love and air-headed.

„Urahara...."

„May you never know why I'm doing this and how I feel, Ichigo. Let's leave it at that."

„Urahara...."

„Just a handsome shopkeeper seducing you, Ichigo! Think no more of it, right? My, my, you worry too much." Please worry some more. Please see beyond the mask.... Please run.

There was a silence. The older man wondered how to change the subject, how to get them on the right track, because this was the night when it would happen. It had to. And then the blackmail would be at an end, and Ichigo would leave and Urahara would be.... Still there, he supposed, doing research, making those gigai for Zaraki and Ukitake, taking care of the same things as always, meeting Yoruichi. And never having another chance, he supposed.

"Urahara.... I just want you to know.... It's alright. I didn't expect it to be, but it is. I.... People expect me to be so … so mature, really, because of all this shinigami shit, but actually I never knew exactly what to do and whom to ask about this sort of thing. And I always thought I'd have to suck badly with whomever I tried to date first, that I'd screw up, fail, not know what to do. In my fantasies, I just never.... Well.... There's a sort of idea there, but I couldn't.... My imagination just failed after awhile, I guess. What if I suck in bed, Urahara?"

"You worry too much, Ichigo."

"I just didn't know who to ask, that's all. Or how. The stories never really explain why a man's a better lover than the next. I'd never go to Renji, Ishida's a prick.... I have no clue what Chad knows. And dad's an idiot."

Urahara winced. Isshin was not an idiot. Nor was he a weak, chipper sort of person. But, well, that was an entirely different can of worms and something the two Kurosakis had to talk about together. He'd have to make a note to talk of it to Isshin, to get him to tell his son.

"I just want to say thanks, I guess," Ichigo mumbled. "Not for the blackmail part. For teaching me."

Ichigo missed the second wince just as he'd missed the first one. Just when the shopkeeper had thought that there was no way in which he could have been worse to the kid, Ichigo just had to go and get one of those abuser-victim complexes. He just had to thank him for doing something like that – he had to prove to understand nothing about what had been taken from him, about how this old man had used his tricks to get him to do things he'd never have considered in a thousand years. It had been his age and timidity that had allowed the older man to seem so nice and open. Urahara found himself wishing he'd get punished for this, that somebody would see that he wanted this like a lecherous old man. That he would take what he wanted like a lecherous old man. Because he couldn't and wouldn't stop himself tonight. He wouldn't take it too easy. His nature was like a dam, building up energy when something really preoccupied him. And too much energy, badly managed, tended to explode. Today there was no time for him to manage it well, to smooth things out, to hold back, to tease and caress. He wanted it too damned much.

"I'm using you," he said, in a burst of sincerity. "I am tricking you into it, Kurosaki-san. Please don't consider me to be any better than I am."

"I'm grateful you're not worse, eh, Urahara? And what's with the names again?"

The older man leaned over the boy to silence him with a kiss, not wanting any more talk. They might as well both enjoy this now. And set the kid right later. Unlike the previous night, however, he didn't take it slowly, nor did he stop to teach. He focused solely on Ichigo's pleasure. He licked and nibbled his neck, dragging his teeth and mouth against the boy's shoulders, considering another hickey and then deciding against it. He took control, demanded, wanted, touched the boy everywhere he'd ever dreamed of, biting an arm gently, pining him down when he buckled too much. He mapped the other's body until he overwhelmed him and didn't leave room for struggles. Urahara was strong – people kept forgetting that, but he was strong and willful and prone to conquering by passion as well as by wit.

As for Ichigo, he shivered under him, gasped and moaned at leisure, losing himself and knocking Urahara's hat off almost accidentally. He caught the other man's hair in his fist, the thought that perhaps he should do something in return flickering on and off, remembered and then forgotten again as what Urahara did felt too damned good for him to care anymore. The shopkeeper would later tell him that much of a lover's skill had to do with their reactions and Ichigo got that pinned down perfectly. The older man's tongue darted here and there across his body, hot, wet, caressing, bringing with it white-hot pleasure, pure floating above the world.

There was a short break as Urahara took his clothes off and removed Ichigo's remaining clothes with expert hands and speed that were a tribute to his prowess as a shinigami. When they were both naked, the older man threw himself on top of Ichigo again, his hair falling softly on the boy's face, his eyes shining with the sparks and inflexions of lust, deep, profound, real, from the very core of himself. He murmured in a rough voice against the boy's ear, "I'm sorry, Ichigo. It will have to be tonight. I tried, but I can't wait anymore." And thankfully, he noticed that the younger man's expression was one of both surprise and desire, having also gone beyond the point of squeamishness and fear.

Urahara didn't want to wait for an actual answer, so he captured the other's lips with his own again and reached for a bottle of lotion he'd hidden conveniently amongst his fallen stack of books next to his nightstand. Ichigo was still and tense for a second – Urahara would have loved to have taken it more slowly, to tease him forever until the boy just melted against him, but.... - and then the boy seemed to remember himself and relax. The older man wondered if Ichigo was tempted to ask him to go slow or to stop or to ask if it was going to hurt. Maybe remind him that he was still a virgin, demanding some sort of mercy in front of the unknown. But he did none of those, just waited, kissed in reply, nibbled and sucked at Urahara's own throat as the man spread the lotion on himself and then on his hand.

When his index finger touched Ichigo's opening, the boy jumped against him, instinctively trying to get out of reach. It was too fast, Urahara thought, cursing the fates. He hadn't gotten him used to the idea, even if he had turned him on enough. He pinned him down again and kissed him thoroughly and hotly – lesson number 11 from the night before, a stray thought said.

"Relax, it's gonna be good," he promised and swore to himself he'd make it so.

"'ts ok," Ichigo answered, breathing hard, trying to make it so by stating it. "No problem."

Urahara slowly inserted the first finger, feeling the boy squirm uncomfortably under him. He leaned down to capture the other's lips again and soon Ichigo was pretty much neglecting the intrusion and growing lustful again. The second finger went in easier. He didn't bother with a third, but replaced them with himself, needy, lost in his own little world of desire, knowing that even if the boy cried quits now, he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd rape instead of take what was half-willingly given.

It was tight and hot and everything he'd imagined, better even, a fantasy that turned out to be much more satisfying in reality than his mind had promised it to be. Ichigo gasped under him and jumped slightly, shaking, attempting to go away again, but then returning of his own will. Urahara caught down his body with his own and moved. He moved in him slowly, swinging almost all the way out, then back in again, trying to keep his pace steady, pleasant for the other, but he soon faltered and increased it, concerned with his own pleasure, biting down on a shoulder, holding the boy tight against his chest, burning, dying with his own desire, his own happiness, his own selfish, selfish lust. And he loved every second of it, he wanted more, needed more, shivered, couldn't help but feel that he essentially devoured the boy, had every fiber of his being dissolving into his own.

He whispered mad things into Ichigo's ear and felt the other answer to them, but not in fright, not trying to run off, but hanging on, after a short while attempting to move with him and failing, since Urahara didn't really have a pace, but molten fire through his veins, growing incessantly until it became all consuming and had him crying out loud with the sheer force of it, the sheer overbearing power of lust coming to its close, heart pounding madly, mind awash with brightness, eyes squeezed shut since sight was for now an overrated sense.

And when it was all said and done and he was lying next to Ichigo, consciousness returning, he found he could not be sorry enough for anything to apologize. His inner demon had been let loose and it felt, right now, thoroughly satisfying. They lay there, on their backs, not really looking at each other, lost in thoughts, sleepy, but unwilling to sleep. He was both spent and exuberant, a part of him doing an inner victory dance, basking in the afterglow of having had what he'd wanted for too long for comfort. He wasn't sorry. He knew he should be and would be soon, he knew he hadn't treated the boy as he'd have wanted to, but right now, in this very instant, he just couldn't give a damn about what he should feel and simply felt absolutely astonishing.

Selfish, his mind said.

Fuck you, he replied.

"Did I hurt you?" the older man asked, finally.

"Not much."

"Hm."

"Will I be like that?"

Urahara looked at him and his eyes became softer, his usual consciousness returning and saying that not having hurt him much was slightly worse than having not hurt him at all. But the afterglow.... He gave a small smile to Ichigo, which suddenly became sad as reality poured in and he realized that right now the boy had absolutely no reason to be sticking around and none to let the older man have his way with him again.

"Probably not," he answered. "I'm not really like this, either. I tend to lose it when.... When desire goes past a certain limit and it becomes all or nothing. The first time is like an explosion. Then … it mellows. Becomes refined. I have my own demons, Ichigo. Such as this one." And then, because he finally felt some remorse, he added, "I'm sorry for my lack of control."

Ichigo threw him a smile. "Nah, don't be. It was.... it was good. I think. Definitely not my thing, but.... Wow. So. Err. I guess I'm not a virgin anymore."

Urahara was unable to figure out that tone, it wasn't amazement, nor was it disgust or hatred or even realization. Or perhaps there was a bit of amazement, that was directed at Urahara's own outburst. The older man could remember his first time and how pleased he'd been when the woman had reacted quite wildly to him. How amazed and surprised and delighted – did Ichigo feel anything like that? He'd delighted in the power to bring Urahara to his knees by kissing. Would the satisfaction of knowing he could make him lose it compensate for the fact that it hadn't been as pleasant as it could have been, for the fact that, as Urahara realized with a pang of panic, the older man had entirely forgotten about the boy's own pleasure and hadn't made him come?

Damn it, orgasm was supposed to be a given for men.

But, judging by Ichigo's expression, it was perhaps a statement that was meant to bring out the realization with it, to make him feel his new status. And, the shopkeeper knew, it would take a bit more than that awkward first – that hadn't even made him orgasm – to get the point through. But Urahara wouldn't be the one supplying those experiences.

Ah well, he thought philosophically, the boy would be fine. He'd find somebody else, realize after a very short while that the shopkeeper was a bastard and move on. He wasn't scarred for life by his experience, just bewildered, not hurt, Urahara could tell. He'd be fine.

And as for the shopkeeper.... What a fool he was, he thought. An idiot. He'd known he'd lose it and he'd definitely done it. Well, that one time would have to be enough to satisfy him. He hated the fact that they'd have to close the subject, because Ichigo wouldn't understand what he meant to apologize for now and would hate him later, when he would get it.

One time wouldn't be enough, but....

Damn, better than nothing.

Thinking that he was entirely too selfish and right now too selfish to care about it, Urahara finally felt that he could, eventually, sleep that night. Ichigo was starting to drift off against him and.... well....

He was a bastard and he'd lose him.

It was all in the great scheme of things.

AN: The next chapter, in which Ichigo decides to do something the shopkeeper doesn't expect and Urahara realizes he's about to have another and very embarrassing discussion with Isshin will be posted in the near future. Hurray! :D

Please review. I love it when you do. It also makes me write with more enthusiasm!