Disclaimer: BLEACH and the brands mentioned below belong to me not not not.

…

Chapter 13 – Greetings, Schiffer Residence!

Monday came quicker than intended, and Kurosaki Ichigo found his treacherous finger atop the red buzzer, circling it, wondering if he had made the right choice by coming to the snobbish Ulquiorra Schiffer. He was offered assistance! It made him wary, and fearful of being 'sweetcorn-ed' twice by the same mastermind. Though he had the keys, he decided against using them. Who was he anyway, to intrude into a stranger's house? He might not be the most polite man, but he still had some basic manners left in him.

So he waited.

The longer he waited for Ulquiorra to answer the door, the greater his suspicion of said man planting a bunch of dynamites by the door. They were set to explode into fireworks when he stepped in.

Ichigo's brain worked in strange ways, and when the door opened with a loud click, he jumped. It was miles high. He thought explosives were raining down on him and firing away at his feet. But it never happened. He was a master of baseless imagination, contrary to his expressionless co-star.

"You," said Ulquiorra. Iterating in a flat tone was his way of issuing morning greetings. "Come in."

His pale face was devoid of makeup, his midnight black hair was slightly mussed from sleep. He however was clad in neatly pressed clothes—a white dress shirt tucked into a gray V-neck cashmere pullover, replete with slacks of the darkest green possible. He looked picturesque, and Ichigo half expected him to launch into a pose anytime. Which Ulquiorra didn't. He wasn't stupid nor showy. He was impatient with his co-star, who seemed transfixed and muted by his domestic appearance.

So he cleared his throat, and set his gaze hard. He didn't like being looked at unduly, much less being 'admired' by talentless runts showing up at his doorstep early in the morning. Never mind the fact he was the one who invited Ichigo.

Ulquiorra Schiffer had even extended his hospitality by giving Ichigo the keys to his house.

"Is there a need to dress so nicely in your own house?" asked Ichigo, choking back a snigger. He was dressed in a graphic tee and jeans. Simple and casual. "Over the top behavior, as expected of someone like you."

Naturally Ulquiorra dismissed the insult with blankness, and moved aside to let him in. But Ichigo's feet chose to grow roots, and he craned his neck about like a periscope. It was a curious sight. He was checking for blind spots and detecting potential dangers. He sniffed around for unwelcoming scents, and noticed his green eyed co-star smelled anything but repugnant. He smelled of a crisp autumn scent, and he smelled good.

"You enjoy standing at the doorstep, don't you."

"What?" Ichigo exclaimed. "No—I'm just checking out the surroundings! The luxury of living in a famous neighborhood. Ha, and the air outside is fresher anyway!"

"Unlike many, I simply do not possess the leisure and luxury to spring homosexual traps on you," Ulquiorra replied, and discarded a bored glance at his co-star.

"H-Ho...mo..." Ichigo grew frighteningly red as he spluttered out meaningless syllables. "O-Of course I wouldn't worry about that, stupid!" Which then meant he worried tons about that.

Ulquiorra was an astute reader of minds, and wouldn't mind treading on the carrot top's toes just for sadistic joy. He knew his comments unnerved the younger man, and perhaps, for people of his kind, riling them up and keeping them on their toes was the only feasible method for marked improvements. He could give it a try, and he was rather sure it would bear fruit.

…

"You...you live..." Ichigo was a hopeless stammer with popped eyes. "In t-t-this p..place?"

By this place, he meant an absurdly spacious apartment, no, make that a penthouse suite, fit for a family of ten or more. It had two stories, and employed a squarish but open concept. Clearly his co-star adored simplicity—the interior design was regal but never overdone. It was tasteful for someone with poor makeup skills and personal style. The walls were painted a slate gray, the furniture laden with earthy tones, polished beige marble for the floor, and the lined curtains drawn. It made for a dim atmosphere, unnaturally cozy and welcoming. Then there was the home entertainment system with state of the art features. And there was Wii.

Good old fun Wii!

Ichigo had expected the likes of his co-star to dwell in a crammed studio apartment with only a bed that doubled as a sofa, and a computer for interaction. There would be no TV, no stereo, because it would be deemed as 'trashy' entertainment, and there would be shelves of books. They were a reflection of Ulquiorra's character: deep, introspective, unfathomable, thick, frigid. Maybe one day in his sleep the books would topple from the shelves and crush him silly.

But this, was too much. A penthouse suite at the top level of a condominium estate in the middle of Roppongi Hills screamed all but frugality. The rental cost could easily worked up to millions of yen, and then there were the furniture. The furniture! Staidly, sturdy wooden structures for the settee, soft cashmere rugs on the seats, and oil paintings of famous landmarks, fabled and actual alike, hanging from the walls, encased in transparent glass frames. It lent an emphasized flourish to the minimalistic décor, and looked as refined as a 5-star hotel lounge. That was what it was—impersonal; there were no personal touches, no traces of who could have resided there. No photographs, no mementos, no keepsakes. Not a magazine out of place, not a speckle of dirt discovered on the surfaces. It was functional and easy on the senses, for visiting passengers and no more. Even if Ichigo were to dig through layers of brick and mortar, the house probably was soulless at its core.

Much like its owner actually, Ichigo smirked, cold, heartless cad.

"I seldom come down here," said Ulquiorra, as if reading his co-star's thoughts. "It doesn't look very lived in, does it?"

Ichigo whirled around to face Ulquiorra, who stood a little too close for comfort. The tips of their noses touched, and both stepped away from each other with gazes widened in veiled shock. Ichigo leaped backward, Ulquiorra spun the other way. It was the day's first awkward moment.

"Where's the rest of your family?" asked Ichigo, red faced, as he continued to scan masses of space with a keen eye. There could be traps lying around, and Ulquiorra Schiffer had already proved his value as a devastating liar. All actors are, especially the award winning ones.

"I live alone."

"No way!" Ichigo was an open book. "Then why do you need such a huge ass apartment for? To store your appreciating ego?"

Ulquiorra nearly rolled his eyes. "I don't know how else to spend my money."

"You didn't rent it?" Ichigo choked, and his eyes bulged. "How can you not rent it?"

"Paid the full amount," Ulquiorra's lips curled. "Up front."

"R-Really..." Ichigo's curious mouth was itching to ask the answer. He too earned quite a sum, but when compared to his co-star, he felt like a dwarf walking amongst giants. "How much do you earn in a year?"

"More than you can ever fetch," said Ulquiorra, and Ichigo swore he caught the man sneering. It was most distasteful.

"Big deal!" he huffed. "So what? Money comes and goes. As long as it's enough, what gives?"

"You asked for it," Ulquiorra rebutted, and whipped a piece of paper off the designer coffee table. He slammed the paper against Ichigo's forehead. "Read this, and make sure you adhere to them. If you don't, show yourself out the door. One more thing, when you're done, go through the discs in the box. Only when all's done do you knock on my door, and I repeat, when they're all thoroughly done. My room is upstairs. I'll be busy."

Ichigo refrained from retaliation, and sported a contrived attempt to smile. "Busy with perfecting your horrible makeup techniques? Sure, sure."

"I mean it."

That caught the carrot top off guard. "Eh? No—aren't we supposed to work on this together?"

"I'm already providing a free service to you," said Ulquiorra. "What more do you want?"

"You can't just throw me here with this paper and that box?" Ichigo was frantic. "And what discs are we talking about?"

"Watch and learn, fool. If you want to be considered as my co-star, work for it."

And naturally Ichigo was incensed. Like a stray mongrel fizzing with rabies, he barked:

"I'm no slag, I'll tell you that! Oi, you listening? Hey you rude—"

As would a stray mongrel lurking by the drainage, he was left with nothing but air and howled at nothing but the moon, for Ulquiorra could never shake off his habit of walking away while someone ranted their hearts out at him. It was chronic. Anything considered a waste of his time shouldn't be entertained.

…

As it turned out, Ulquiorra Schiffer's list was no good thing. It read like The Ten Commandments, only worse. It was far more unreasonable, and way too absurd. There was nothing religious about the list too.

It went like this:

Letter Of Agreement

1. If you do not agree to any of the following, place this back on the table, and leave silently. Do not kick up a fuss. I have a katana in my room.

2. I hold sole ownership of this property. Any disagreements will be judged in favor of yours truly.

3. Should you visit the washroom, place the seat cover down after use.

4. Remember to flush (very important).

5. Switch off all appliances after use.

6. Put all items back into their place after use.

7. If you wish to stay for lunch, prepare my share too.

8. You are not allowed to stay for dinner, or anytime after 6pm.

9. All additional charges will be incurred by you, and made payable latest by the next afternoon.

10. Be punctual.

11. You are liable for any delay in progress.

12. Nicknames of any sort are unacceptable.

13. This contract is valid for 3 weeks, starting from today. Once signed, there is no termination.

14. Should you flagrantly or persistently fail to observe and perform any of the stipulated tasks, the program will immediately be terminated.

…

Ichigo laughed out loud at Ulquiorra's ridiculous mentality, and thought he might suffer from Obsessive-compulsive Disorder. What was he on when he typed this?! So he laughed even louder, and re-read the list to squeeze out more humor. He was walking on water. Then abruptly he stopped in mid-laugh, remembering with bleary unwillingness he was at his co-star's mercy. Within seconds he had made a round trip to Heaven and back. He now felt like a domestic helper, and he brought this onto himself. So he signed above the line, sighed like a defeated warrior, cursed his luck, sighed some more, and depressed the paper before chucking it onto a random chair. The paper sailed for a while before settling in some random corner, and he felt pleased for littering in Ulquiorra's house. Already he had began his rebellion, albeit of the tiniest measure.

Finally the mysterious box on the coffee table caught his fancy, and he began to sift through it. Chucking the lid aside like a Frisbee (his second littering act), Ichigo gaped at the contents, which were tidily laid and labeled. He had expected sheets and sheets of paper detailing various methods to 'masterful acting', and perhaps a supremely tiresome tape or two. The jury was still out on the latter. What lay in the box were several DVD-Rs, each slotted into a jewel case, and as expected of Ulquiorra, there was an instruction sheet lying at the bottom. It told him to view the discs in order: strictly the first three, and only the first three. He was to re-watch them until he was sorely familiar with the content.

Ulquiorra's expensive stereo system allowed for a maximum of six discs to be placed in the tray, and happily the orange haired man lay three discs there, glad he wouldn't have to get up every now and then to have the discs switched. He pushed 'Play', but the TV screen indicated nothing. He tried again, and obtained the same result. No way could it be his lack of understanding regarding technological products, so it had to be Ulquiorra's fault, hands down.

"Hey corpse fac-Ulquiorra!" Ichigo called from where he was. He sometimes forgot how loud he could be. "Oi!! Your sleek DVD player ain't working! Bet you paid a fortune for it eh? Got ripped off, ha!"

The door upstairs swung open with an annoyed grunt. "Have you turned on the main switch?"

"Obviously they are coated in invisible paint," said Ichigo, dryly. He hadn't, and he wasn't going to be found out.

"It's there—45 degrees left of the cabinet, and always has been there."

"No, you dirty liar. Where—oh." Ichigo noticed the switch was right under his nose. No way was he going to admit his dire lack of observational skills. "Found it. You sure know how to make life easy for yourself," he added nastily.

The door whammed shut in response.

…

The first disc was an introduction to expressing oneself via body language, and it expended two morning hours with ease. Ichigo smirked throughout, and gave himself forty winks when he was certain Ulquiorra wouldn't pop by any given minute. Not that he was afraid of the green eyed man, but the repercussions if he were to be caught slacking this early. He knew his demanding co-star would never go easy on him, and there could be unknown traps lying about the house. He had to be on his guard, so he woke up in disgruntlement to play the second disc.

Sadly it was no better than the first, and was a colorless prolongation. Ichigo's head began to lop about dizzily, and he folded himself up like a mattress, arms wrapped around his knees, and fell into a dreamy slumber. He dreamed he was honored with Best Actor at the 2010 Japan Academy Awards, ahead of Ulquiorra who appeared glum even in Ichigo's phantasmagorical world, and all the other faceless men who sneered at him during the audition. He gave a breathtaking speech, was awarded with standing ovations, and a million bulbs flashed in his face. But he minded them not; he was perched at the top of the world, punching the air with a victorious shake of his statuette, and made a few well-crafted jokes at his co-star's expense. Everyone laughed along with him, and at Ulquiorra the pathetic loser. They shook his hand and pleaded with him to participate in their next big project. They promised him greater stardom, fatter salaries, better packages, hotter women, faster cars. With a humble shake of his head, Ichigo denied the world he was to be given, and said,

"Thank you for your generous offers, kind Sirs, but I'd like to embark on a journey of self-discovery. Not just as an actor seeking a path, but as a human being, too."

"What about fame then? You can't possibly give it up now, don't you? Strike while the iron's hot!" they urged with money signs flashing in their eyes.

"The worst thing that can ever happen to an actor is fame," Ichigo answered with a sagely nod. "He who is without trivial pursuits shall attain Nirvana."

All was good, and none suffered.

No sooner was the soundly asleep Ichigo jolted back to reality with a heavy tap on his shoulder. Being delirious he shrugged it off, and pivoted to the other side. Ichigo figured if he kept up with his pretense, perhaps the irritating taps would go away. He knew who it was, since there was hardly anyone else in the house. He also understood what might happen, but he couldn't care less. Sleep was dominant, and sleep made him slobber.

But Ulquiorra persisted, and as he continued to tap away, his jade gaze grew more ferocious. Still nothing happened. So he resorted to the last strategic maneuver.

A kick.

He launched a mild kick at Ichigo's abdomen, sufficient to alert and not hurt. Ulquiorra was never one for violence, unless absolutely mandatory. This was the time, and these were his feelings. He was more than infuriated, and he didn't invite Ichigo to his house for a nap.

Ichigo must have had nerves of steel, for he not only treated the kick as a gentle nudge in the navel, and more so, latched onto Ulquiorra's foot like a bolster. The green eyed man tipped forward, a pendulum ticking away, and for the second time in his life, he found himself sprawled atop his co-star. Unwanted stances aside, their legs interlocked with each other, and Ulquiorra wound up stumbling onto Ichigo again. They were cheek to cheek, with the younger man pinned under, unable to move. He was now fully awake, what with Ulquiorra slamming into him twice and having that small mouth hover above his.

It was the day's second awkward moment.

"I want my lunch," said Ulquiorra, before untangling himself from the bedlam, and let his bashful co-star wriggle free. "After which, we'd begin work on our parts."

"Can't you do it yourself? I'm not a servant!" Ichigo cried. "And—"

"I am busy," Ulquiorra dumped two packets of instant ramen on the younger man's lap. "This is our lunch for today."

…

They ate lunch in silence mostly, and at shockingly fast speeds. Ulquiorra was starving, and ravished his bowl of instant ramen with aplomb. He wasn't counting on Ichigo to do as he said, but the younger man did, and prepared two bowls of steaming ramen. Ichigo had set them neatly on the table. On the side was a pair of chopsticks perched above colored stones, and as a bonus for getting through the morning, Ichigo cracked an egg each to go along with the soup base.

"Never knew you eat like a vulture," Ichigo snickered. "Is it that delicious?"

"I was hungry, but now I'm alright," Ulquiorra spooned some soup into his mouth, and slurped it down quietly. He made a mental reminder to prepare his ramen as Ichigo did the next time.

"What are you really busy with?" Ichigo set his chopsticks down and assumed a grave look. "I mean, really. Stupid jokes aside."

"If you really are interested to know, I suggest you—"

"Look. I'm being absolutely serious and don't you try to snipe at me. I may forgive," Ichigo frowned and wagged a finger, "but I don't ever forget."

"I won't," Ulquiorra nearly smiled. Ichigo's bark was way worse than his bite. "I'm just engaged in some project."

"Can you get any more cryptic?"

"I can try."

Ichigo was suddenly reminded of the cat he never saw. "Where is it," he demanded with mettle. "You're too old to have an imaginary pet."

"You'll see her if she feels the need to grace you with her presence," said Ulquiorra, as he got up and carried his plate to the sink. Instead of washing it, he took a porcelain bowl from the cupboard, filled it with milk, and brought it upstairs. Minutes later, the bowl was brought down, soundlessly left in the sink, and a grumbling Ichigo washed them all. He wasn't told to do so, but somehow his domestic responsibilities hit him hard. He truly felt like a maid, minus the Dutch Lady-esque apron and head scarf.

…

Come Tuesday was when Ichigo finally had the rarest of chances to meet up with Ulquiorra's legendary pet kitty. It was a normal incident. Both actors were in the living room, going through their lines with dramatic dazzle. Because it was any given morning, they had to trade the usual banter. Ulquiorra with his underhanded criticism, Ichigo with his dauntless counterarguments. Somewhere inbetween was work actually done. And sometime inbetween Sakana made her fervently anticipated entrance.

She trooped down the stairs like a pageant queen, obviously spoiled by Ulquiorra. Her tail hung high as she forged a way to her owner, then sniffed at the orange haired intruder with diffidence.

"Trash, meet Sakana," Ulquiorra scooped the cat into his arms. "Sakana, meet trash."

"Go to hell, you! And, Sakana?" Ichigo asked with great incredulity. "Says a lot about its owner. An owner who names his pet after food!"

"Well," the usually placid Ulquiorra was touchy when it came to Sakana. He felt the need to defend their pride—both his and his pet's. "It was the first dish she had."

Ichigo bowled over in laughter. "Cats eat fish, and that's a god given right! You can't expect it to yap around for pork ribs! And what if it does? What are you gonna call it? Porky Rinds? Kiss my ass!"

"Do not insult Sakana," Ulquiorra snapped, "a dog is nothing compared to her, and I hope a dog bites your rear one day. For good riddance."

…

Indeed all was good, and none suffered. The status quo assumed its steady maintenance, and stayed so after lunch. Then everything escalated downhill, and some suffered. Ichigo, bloated with homemade bento, dozed off a few times when Ulquiorra was upstairs in his room, being the busy bumblebee he was. He slept through the next two discs, read a bit of Autumn Chrysalis, made some notes, scribbled on the script, and went back to nurse his head, swollen with sleep. His best friend in the residence was now the Bottega Veneta quilted cushion. He hugged it lovingly as he slumbered. It was the coziest thing since the aged pillow from his childhood days.

The next thing he knew was waking up to not Ulquiorra planting a foot in his stomach, but a ginger cat pawing at his thigh, before purring skittishly and lifted a hind leg. In a blur Ichigo's mind failed to register anything. What he felt was moisture garnering on his cult label jeans, which his skin absorbed and parried into the nerve system.

His brain zipped awake.

"The fuck?" Ichigo swiped haplessly at the wet spot on his jeans, and looked on with hysteria as the spot grew in circumference. "What the fuck has just happened?"

"She has taken a liking to you," Ulquiorra hid a smile at Ichigo's swift misanthropic conduct. "Consider it an honor."

…

Ichigo emerged from the toilet reeking of cat piss, and it pissed him off further. He couldn't possibly remove his jeans in someone's house—and it had to be Ulquiorra Schiffer's. What was he going to walk around in then? His boxers? That was too much; too provocative. He still wasn't absolutely sure of Ulquiorra's true character. For all he knew, the latter could be a closeted homosexual with undisclosed desires. Until today Ulquiorra Schiffer's endeavors behind the door remained a mystery.

His jeans weighed him down, as denim soaked in soap and water typically did. The moisture seeped into his skin too, and his thighs were growing wrinkly. He felt utterly miserable, and it wasn't even Thursday yet. He couldn't scream 'Thank God Friday's Coming!' from the window. He wanted to thrash Ulquiorra's house for no particular reason. Then he remembered any damages would be borne by his check book.

"Change into this," Ulquiorra held out a clean, dry pair of beige slacks. "You'll catch a cold, and disrupt the schedule like the trashy prick you are."

The younger man could sense those invasive pink plumes swirling in on his co-star, and quickly he shook his head to dispel them.

"You don't want them? Fine." Ulquiorra couldn't had been more mistaken.

"No," Ichigo's hand shot out to grab the other's wrist. "I want, I mean, err, the slacks."

"For a moment I thought you were out of your mind as usual."

By then the carrot top's legs were shaking, and he waited no more for the denim to cling onto his skin like frostbite. He unbuttoned the top of his jeans, slipped them off in such a hurry that his boxers nearly joined in the cascading fall down his legs. It escaped Ichigo's notice, but nothing could steal away from Ulquiorra's watchful gaze. The latter frowned imperceptibly as his co-star's boxers continued to linger dangerously on the hips, threatening to slide free anytime. The elastic band seemed loose too. It disturbed him greatly.

"I disallow obscenity in this house," Ulquiorra proffered a helpful finger at Ichigo's misbehaving boxers.

"What?" Ichigo's teeth clattered, but his cheeks puffed in temperature. "It's not as if you haven't seen me almost naked before." He hastily pulled up his boxers and stepped into the offered slacks. Instantly he felt safe and warm. But! This was Ulquiorra's garb, he reminded himself, and no way in flipping hell was he going to feel as he rightly felt. Shrugging off the overriding waves of comfort, Ichigo welcomed the heat creeping back into his bones. The source of the heat unsettled him.

"You overestimate yourself," Ulquiorra replied stiffly, before picking up Sakana and together, they left for the living room.

…

Wednesday proved to be challenging, as Ulquiorra declared, by the power of his schedule, they were set to tackle the thorny issue: their appalling lack of comfort with each other. Going through dialogues and appropriate facial expressions was a mild sea breeze compared to this. To Ulquiorra, a thorny issue equated a bundle of troubles, and anything that couldn't be resolved with a direct blow spoke of unending knots.

It was so knotty that Ulquiorra hadn't a proper clue himself. Not that he wasn't able to handle the subject with his chilly flair, but the very unpredictable nature of Kurosaki Ichigo worked up a storm in his head. There were many factors to consider, and he was frank to admit he didn't wish to forge a conducive working relationship with Ichigo, only to have him replaced by a foreign entity. He had to be cautious; not to save Ichigo's skin, but his—and that was his main preoccupation. Although, he would very much like to see the brash young man blossom into the actor he could become. That he kept it hush-hush. No one but Sakana knew.

What were his plans then?

Should he go all out in the first practice or take it slow? Should he nurture their physical comfort with each other or disregard it completely? To start with a peck, or a full-blown make-out session? Which of them? They were both guys, and there shouldn't be any problem in the first place. They were both guys, and that was where the problem arose.

Alas Ulquiorra had only one brain, and it wheedled away at him to be fastidious. However, it didn't make him any more informed. He would have to scrape existing schedules and create new plans as they went along.

…

Both actors began by viewing discs five and six, which for their innocent mirror-like bodies displayed images entirely of a different bearing. Ichigo was as naïve as a lamb, but Ulquiorra knew otherwise. After all he had created the discs for educational purposes—they were to be used for negative teaching examples.

So Ichigo figured he was watching just another love movie, given the soft imagery of the film's introduction and soaring notes crashing against mellow undertones. When it opened with two naked men squirming in the dark, moaning and grunting in released pleasure, did Ichigo know he was in for a real treat.

"What do you think of it?" Ulquiorra asked halfway through the movie, his cool jade eyes firmly fixed upon Ichigo.

"W-W-What do you mean by what do I think of it?" Ichigo countered, and bravely returned the stare. It was his first time watching a gay romance movie, and his companion was now looking him up and down like they were in an interrogation room. He felt like a suspect; he felt like he deserved a list of criminal charges to be filed against him for stammering.

"I ought to have placed it in simpler terms for a simpleton. Say, what do you think if we were them? In the movie, that's what I'm saying."

Ichigo turned his attention back to the TV screen. The two lovers were stripping and making out on the bed for the trillionth time, but he felt it lacked something. And definitely it had to lack something because he wasn't averting his glance. He watched them getting all over each other like a National Geographic documentary. There was nothing remotely sexy about it.

"I think we'd do...better?" he offered tentatively.

Ulquiorra cocked his head. "You observed something was sorely amiss in those scenes too?"

"Yeah, who doesn't?" Ichigo snorted in faux alarm. "If you want to do a love scene you have to do it right! Passion is the key! Without it you'll just look like those...them...bland and constricted, and, then what's the point? I mean, there's no logic in rubbing two dry twigs together and hoping it could catch fire, and," he halted when he realized he got a little too descriptive, "no no no. That wasn't what I meant. It's like going through the motions, like a routine, y'know? But I'm sure someone as bloody smart as you can understand. If you don't, then too bad. Sucks to be you."

"That description was unnecessary," Ulquiorra bristled. "Completely and entirely."

"Because you have such a dire lack of imagination, I'd have to throw that in!" Ichigo laughed scornfully. Inwardly his guts stretched into messy ribbons. "By logic, good old logic, when you make love with someone it shows how willing and desperate both are for each other, right? Simple."

"As peanuts?"

"But of course," Ichigo lifted his head. He was embracing his declaration of being earnest. "This time I mean it. I'm absolutely serious! There's no way I will allow for something as blindingly easy as physical scenes to get me kicked out. Not even you can do that!"

"Glad you understand," said Ulquiorra. He loved it when people incorporated the use of 'logic' into their words. It showed they were thinking, and not just speculating wildly. Never mind the implied insult at the end. He was better than that.

Slowly the corners of Ulquiorra's large eyes crinkled, and he crept from his seat to where Ichigo was at. He wondered if his co-star could walk the talk. He placed himself near the younger man, and lowered himself so they became level with each other. And then he moved even closer, warm breath beating down on Ichigo's left cheek, and trickled to the tip of his chin. It grew denser as Ulquiorra drew nearer, until Ichigo could feel the flicker of his co-star's thick lashes upon his dewy skin.

One flicker. Two flickers. Three, four, five. Six flickers. Seven, eight, nine, ten.

Ulquiorra's blinks had the sprightly tremble of a hummingbird's wings; a rush of wind and, nimbly like a tender heartbeat.

Ichigo didn't flinch an inch; he knew it was a test, and he wanted to ace it. Surely he had gotten hang of Ulquiorra's eccentric habits by now, and he wasn't going to succumb to them like an unsuspecting bunny. He wanted to prove he was much above that, and he wasn't going to lose in this unofficial competition of whatever Ulquiorra had deemed to be. He already had fallen victim many times over.

The orange haired man leaned forward, brown orbs brazen with competitiveness, and stared his co-star down. If he hadn't jerked while he shifted himself into a more comfortable position, he wouldn't have tipped Ulquiorra's balance, and the green eyed man wouldn't have keeled over backwards on the cashmere rug. And they wouldn't be squashed up against each other's bodies like a bottle of trapped flies, bug-eyed and vulnerable.

When he went down as if gunned by a sniper, Ulquiorra wished he had taken up yoga or gymnastics as a child. That way he could cease the endless tumbling onto the ground with Ichigo. They were a see-saw in the playground; one minute he was up and Ichigo was down, the next minute he was stranded beneath the latter.

Could this be retribution? Ulquiorra sighed, and if that were the case, then he was due another tumbling blocks session with the carrot top.

"Ha!" Ichigo scoffed wildly. "I dominate!"

Ulquiorra's eyes mirrored his understated shock at the brash one's choice of words. "Do not use that word when we are in such a...a..."

"Never knew you stutter, Ulquiorra Schiffer, King of Eloquent Cut-throat Insults. What would the world think of you now?"

"I didn't," Ulquiorra denied. "Just don't use that word in any situation, moron."

"Why not? You lost the eyeball challenge, corpse—ay whatever, and to say I dominated wasn't any wrong! If anything you're jealous that I won a pisscake game," Ichigo hadn't realized he was almost straddling his co-star's hips. He was over the moon with his debut victory, and nothing else hammered his senses, "of which you started."

"If only you could shut your trap and open your eyes, imbecile, you would realize you're making this situation extremely uncomfortable for one of us. The one who is aware that is," said Ulquiorra. He was having difficulty in speaking from where he lay. "And unfortunately that person isn't you."

Ichigo, being a wee dense in the head, had sense knocked into his head at last. Pretty words did nothing to dent his armored brain, but lofty affronts did. They were in a position so awkward, that should Ichigo's butt twitch he'd inevitably give his uninspired co-star a good, dry case of the humps.

Thankfully none of that happened, and unlike Ichigo's sudden self-awareness, Ulquiorra's mind was free from crazy voyaging. He carried on as though nothing happened, viewing the next disc—of far superior quality than its predecessor, and analyzed every single lovemaking aspect to death. From the fiery sensuality of the LCD screen, it transgressed into the most mundane of actions. It was even drier than Ichigo's analogy of two twigs rubbing against each other.

Meanwhile at the other end of the living room, Ichigo grew as scarlet as a ripe tomato. He was there for the picking.

…

A/N: Hope you guys had fun reading. I can't stop writing this. I know I'm neglecting the other stories, but! It's hard to press pause. It's really fun! Review, if you kindly would. Thanks, thanks, thanks for everything. As usual I'm behind schedule, but life's been a burden lately. Growl.

P.S. I believe it's most apparent that Sakana is the Japanese equivalent of fish.

P.P.S. Expect chapter 14 to be up in 2-3 days' time. Because I chopped this huge chunk into two.