Disclaimer: The usual applies. I own only the plot, yep, that meager thing. And I've been addicted to Bad Romance for weeks already. Shakes head.

…

Chapter 14 – Luv Luv Luv

Love was not in the air when half of the week flitted past stretched fingers. Love was nowhere near, not the most paltry blooming of flowers even. Love was not to be spoken of between Ichigo and the metallic bedpost his arm crashed into.

That night he dreamed an extension of the glorious mirage three days before, only to have it replaced by a winged demon chomping it into bits. His legs carried him as far as they could, beyond the reach of the demon, and beyond the edge of darkness. Sand crumbled beneath his feet and suddenly the ground opened up. He headed for the longest fall in his life, and halfway he saw Ulquiorra waving at him. The latter flew away to safety in a flashy red parachute. Ichigo continued to plunge towards a nameless destination with arms flailing and legs shaking.

Love escaped Ulquiorra when the play pen he constructed for his pet collapsed into a heap of wood work and shavings and nails. It was near completion, alas cats have no wish to be entrapped by borders. Sakana refused to go near it, and Ulquiorra resorted to painting the pen orange, thinking it complemented his pet's fur. It worked—sort of. Sakana wandered into the pen at last, and Ulquiorra in his stony eagerness tried to pat his cat in gratefulness. As for the aftermath it was history. A history that needed no love of memory.

…

Thursday was when Ichigo thirsted for bacon, and tasted Ulquiorra's lips puckered upon his. It happened when he was at last granted access to his co-star's room, and Ichigo, born of nosy genes, peeked about the room as though he was a visitor in a tiger's fearsome cage. There was no tiger but a ginger cat, stretched imperiously across the scattered debris formerly known as a play pen. She yawned, waved a lackluster paw, and leaped onto Ulquiorra's bed, then promptly dozed off under the charcoal gray sheets.

"So this was what you were busy with?" Ichigo asked, amused by his co-star's unsuccessful endeavor. "Good going, Sakana!"

"Evidently she prefers it undone," Ulquiorra stroked his cat and arranged the pillows to make her more comfortable.

If Ulquiorra's living room held the solidarity of a graveyard, then his bedroom was a monochromatic wonderland. His bed was of a classically decorated Park Avenue four poster design, the comforter black with an inner lining of white. Under the bed was a pair of bedroom slippers. On the bed were four pillows of a muted brown, cushy and snug. The headboard had four by four square cushioned panels, black, and contrasted with the cream wall. It was a great looking combination of form and function, with a intricate focus on style. Beside the bed were two table tops in leather and profiled in matte gunmetal, their intrecciato weaving screamed Bottega Veneta. That Ichigo could tell instantly. Being cooped up in Ulquiorra's house for three consecutive days had him up his education in contemporary home design.

Ichigo hated to admit this, but Ulquiorra's room oozed a distinct flair that exudes understated beauty and class. The tawny carpeted floor, the furry ivory rugs; each of them was a factor. Then there was the autumnal scent wearing itself subtle on its owner. The longer Ichigo stayed in there, the more pleasant he found it.

"So I can now postulate the stage of readiness you are in," said Ulquiorra. "Since you've completed the discs, I suppose we can commence on what you severely lack in."

"I think I need to lie down," Ichigo strode over to the maroon couch. "Or have bacon. Or eat bacon lying down. That sounds like fun."

Ulquiorra grabbed the younger man's knapsack, and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud. "No consumption of food here. Do it downstairs, in the dining area. You can lie down on the floor and wipe it with the back of the shirt, if you wish."

"I bet you still haven't got over the fact I puked all over you once," Ichigo quickly unzipped the knapsack to check for food spoilage. There was none, much to his relief. He turned to Ulquiorra with a glower. "What are you gonna do if the food spills out? Charge me for lunch? Petty ass."

"I did fine to acquit myself with the unforeseen circumstances," Ulquiorra sniffled. "Need you not worry for me, but more for yourself. As for the food, yes, I will credit it to your name accordingly."

"Go ahead, stingy. I may not be the richest man around, but I'm a man of my word," Ichigo bounded for the bed and took a hard bounce on it. The pillows jumped in tandem, and the orange haired man reached for one, before taking another calculated bounce. He wanted to test the springiness of the mattress. If it was elastic enough, he might consider getting one for himself.

Ulquiorra saw the fiendish act as a signal that he was ready, and prepared himself likewise. Gravitating towards Ichigo, his arm snuck around said man's waist, and reined him in.

At the unforeseen contact Ichigo resembled a frightened deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, and progressed into a fatal victim of hit and run when Ulquiorra swooped in to plant those thin lips on his. Because his nerves had torched and died, he couldn't react. He lay in the green eyed man's embrace, frozen, and inadvertently found himself pressed against the pillows, their plushness buckling under pressure and left the poor man sinking in. He offered zero resistance, brown eyes agape in horror when Ulquiorra hadn't let go.

Luckily Ulquiorra knew when to stop—it was up there on the billboards with tiny garish lights flickering, hollering at him to cease the futile kiss. And so he did. He pulled away, almost disgusted at Ichigo's inability to handle what he had promised prior.

"So you've made little headway after all," Ulquiorra dabbed at his lips with clean tissue. "For that, I'd expect more of you tomorrow. If not."

"If not..." Ichigo repeated in a daze. "If not..."

An assassin's lour lacerated across Ulquiorra's face. "If not."

…

Thursday left and Friday knocked on the door with love. So did Ichigo, when he ruptured his co-star's eardrums by pressing on the doorbell nonstop. He was a man with a vengeance for Saturday to come, and he brought with him several Tupperware. They contained his post-breakfast snacks, his lunch, and his afternoon tea. Ichigo figured though his soul may suffer, he couldn't allow the same predicament for his tummy. And it was Friday for feck's sake! After which he could enjoy the weekend, free from the bothersome Ulquiorra, free from piss spilling ginger cats, free from soul sucking DVD-Rs, free from being holed up in a lovely house.

"So what we are doing today?" asked Ichigo. Sakana sprung to the settee from where she napped, and daintily sniffed at the carrot top's leg with soft mews. Ulquiorra shot his beloved cat a traitorous glare.

"Come here, Sakana," he gestured. The cat purred and continued to nuzzle Ichigo's leg in feline affection.

"Nobody loves you, Ulquiorra Schiffer," Ichigo grinned, and bent down to scratch the ginger cat's head. It evoked a purr of satisfaction. "Everybody hates you, na naa na naa, and it's Friday! Seems like Sakana-chan here has grown attached to me in the space of days, and seems like you're green with envy. Aside to that, can we have a game of Wii later? I'm certain your game set is rusting from an avalanche of dust."

"Not a chance," said Ulquiorra. He walked over and picked his cat up, and placed her at the veranda. "Stay here until lunchtime, you hear me? Otherwise don't blame me for being merciless."

"Whoa," Ichigo gasped in mock astonishment. "You're mean even to your pet! Need you be so vindictive? Can't a kitty spread some love around? She must be crap bored, facing you the whole day. So when I show up and she displays an ounce of joy, you whack it right out of her paws. Tsk tsk. So Ulquiorra bloody Schiffer's a wet blanket, and a dastardly, possessive spoilsport."

To this Ulquiorra issued a laconic reply. "She isn't exactly reciprocating either."

…

Ulquiorra Schiffer held great importance in hygiene levels, and spared no expenses when the situation called for it. His ridiculously big house was spic and span, and everything was in its place. Mess was something he tolerated not, and that included those microscopic bacteria in existence.

"I clean during the weekends," said Ulquiorra, as he placed two pillows side by side.

"Liar," Ichigo countered. "You hire a housekeeper and refuse to pay her wages. You made her sign one of those stupid contracts too, right? Right."

"It was specially drafted for you."

"Yeah yeah," Ichigo flapped a loose hand. "Seriously speaking, and with all seriousness I'm giving this matter, how can you not hire a housekeeper? That is, if you are as wealthy as you claim to be. You a second generation scrooge?"

"I will not entertain the likes of strangers entering my personal abode."

"Ooh, touchy. But here I am! I am here! And guess who beseeched me to pop by? Care to furnish me with an explanation? Or..." Ichigo trailed off with a sneaky glint to his eyes. "Sometimes the vivacity of my imagination runs away with me."

"Because..." Ulquiorra began, fumbling for a reason. If he were to say what was on his mind—that he reckoned Ichigo to be a gunnysack of potential, it would undoubtedly up the latter's ego levels. People with attention grabbing hair colors tend to fall victim to self-aggrandizement.

"Because...?"

"Because."

"What the heck is that supposed to be? Just because negative and negative equate positive, it doesn't necessarily mean anything else. And definitely not because and because," Ichigo shook his head. "Two because don't equate a justification."

"Because," Ulquiorra answered firmly. "That is all there is to it."

"I see. I think I finally get it...." Ichigo mimicked his co-star's faltering tone. "Suppose..."

"Suppose what?"

Ichigo's mouth transformed into a wicked smirk. It was his turn to create an indecipherable gargle of words. "Suppose you're growing fond of me? But ay, because you're such a typical cold jerk you act all weird towards what your heart says, which then again you don't have to act a single scene because you are born with eccentricities in your blood. Eccentrics do incomprehensible things and I suppose, that's where I can find some appropriate speculation for your behavior. Stuffs like that can keep me up all night, just so you know. And that is to mean, unless you tell me why, I may or may not put forth my best foot. Because I haven't got sufficient sleep."

"Open your mouth, keep it shut, and stick your tongue out," Ulquiorra commanded in the most dismissive voice. "There's something I need to inspect before we exchange 98% water, 2% electrolytes, mucus, antibacterial compounds and various enzymes."

"You mean saliva," Ichigo said. He understood he was getting no response from the green eyed man. "We're not having a biology class, y'know. And you are no professor nor doctor."

"So you know," Ulquiorra gripped the younger man's jaws and forced them open. "You've upgraded from unworthy garbage lying by the roadside with no sweeper willing to take you in, to litter in a bin."

"Hooray!" Ichigo mocked through squeezed jaws. "The son of a doctor has finally proved his worth to a premed dropout!" His tongue slid out cheekily in response, and Ulquiorra grasped the chance to examine Ichigo's tongue. The carrot top failed the stringent test he was admitted into.

"Go to the washroom. There's a bottle of mouthwash on the cabinet above the basin. Gargle and rinse it out before you speak to me again."

"What?" Ichigo squawked, and huffed his breath into enclosed palms. "I don't have bad breath! You really are nuts, bloody pasty face! What's there to nitpick?"

"The ends of your tongue are thickly coated in white," Ulquiorra recited. "It is a possible indication of digestive trouble and retention of food."

"So? It's my problem," Ichigo argued. He was sensitive about his oral habits and would accept no feedback—positive or negative, with regards to them.

"Your brain demonstrates its gross incompetence, I believe," the green eyed man wiped his hand with tissue, then discarded it. "I wouldn't want to be infected with what is acknowledged as your very own problem. I like my meals, thank you very much."

…

"Do you have any causes for concern?" asked Ulquiorra, as Ichigo spat the mouthwash into the wash basin.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Ichigo cupped both hands over his mouth and exhaled. It was minty. "Causes for concern? As in? Are you gonna get off on my so called 'bad breath' again? Or what? Digestive problems? O Great Doctor! Remind me to stuff my face with garlic and onions the next time we do this. I guess I'd enjoy seeing you passing out, and duh, your reaction to ammonia salts. It'd be priceless, no? And I'll have my camera in hand to file that away, ha ha."

"What I really mean is," Ulquiorra sat on the edge of the bed, and slipped his feet in and out of the bedroom slippers carelessly. "Putting it in your language—are there any no-go areas? For example, actions not accepted by you, beyond your principles, or specific erogenous zones you'd prefer me to not touch."

"Err," Ichigo exercised his verbal facility. "I'm OK with it. Anything. Just do it."

"Are you sure?" Ulquiorra's questioning tone made Ichigo raise a brow. "There's no going back on this once we begin properly."

"Hey—" the carrot top began to panic when he realized it was due time to swap copious amounts of spit with Ulquiorra. "No tongue!"

"That's one. Anymore?"

"Yeah, let me think will you? Sheesh," said Ichigo, "oh, and do not! Do not go anywhere near here!" He motioned at his crotch, and glared at Ulquiorra, ensuring he got the point. "And wait, there's more!"

"How can one be so indecisive is quite beyond me. Seconds ago you were agreeable, now you're blowing smoke into a soap bubble. What's your decision?"

"Quit yapping, corpse face! I'm trying to think, alright? I wouldn't want to be wrongly molested—tell me, is that a crime?" Ichigo protested.

"It would have been fine if you haven't changed your mind like a woman before a staggering shelf of shoes," Ulquiorra retorted, and referenced his mother's irresolute habits.

"You instigated me to do so. You questioned my staunch belief, damn it!" Ichigo argued. Already he was having trouble determining the most sensitive areas in his body, and his co-star had to ignite a squabble at the most opportune moment.

"And here you are, resorting to time wasting tactics." Ulquiorra was getting crosser with every tick of the second hand. "Do you not understand your perilous stand in this matter?"

"Yeah, I don't. So? Explain why I'm here in your house then! In your bedroom, with you sitting there and demanding I go rinse my mouth before we begin. And it helps, yeah it certainly helps a bunch that you're as trustworthy as a snake and who's to know you won't be up to anything funny? On top of that you keep up with that apathetic face of yours!" Ichigo didn't know when to stop once he started the ball rolling. "Keep going, ace. Just go ahead and mar my innocence."

"Am I expected to give you emotional support?" Ulquiorra chastised. "This isn't an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and neither did I disallow you to make homesick phone calls to your girlfriend."

"G-Girl..." Ichigo sometimes cast the existence of the fake relationship to nowhere. "I'm not a baby, you stupid idiot."

"Then I presume this puts an end to our conversation. Let's start now," Ulquiorra got up and pulled Ichigo to the bed. He turned the younger man around, and inspected the cleanliness of his attire. Only after when all was done with great care, was Ichigo permitted to get onto the bed with Ulquiorra.

"Why the bed?!" Ichigo cried. "Bed?"

"I see that you prefer the floor."

"No, no. It's OK. The bed."

Ulquiorra gesticulated to a spot beside him. "Come here then."

"Don't go overboard," Ichigo warned as he backed against the tall, paneled head board. "I'll sue you for sexual assault if I have to."

"Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately?"

"Y...You—!" his outburst was cut short by Ulquiorra claiming his mouth without permission. "AFGHSDFMADSJDFJMDSWEF—" he cried muffled cries, and his tonsils battled tirelessly for oxygen. But the green eyed star wouldn't let him have his way. He plunged deeper into the impromptu kiss, his straight nose squashed against Ichigo's, his wet tongue flicking over the other's teeth, prodding to break down the stonewall defence. Soon as he did that, he was pushed away by a timorous Ichigo.

"No tongue, I said!" Ichigo gasped, complexion ruddy and breath spasmodic. What the hell?! Too fast! "Never knew you're such a breaker of rules, Ulquiorra goddamn Schiffer."

"No good," Ulquiorra replied. Nothing could break his unfazed self. "And well, by tongue, I took it as no usage of it over other areas, save for the mouth. So you're offended by it—the tongue plundering your mouth, am I right to say?"

Ichigo had been kissed before, but to partake in a game of tonsil hockey with another male was something he had to think twice over. It wasn't just any other male, too. They did not have frustrating pink plumes forming part of their aura. "Yeah, but..."

"Bear in mind it's no longer about you, but the character you're set to play. I can understand if you were to state other claims, or if you were a woman. What you have, who's to say I do not, too? Thus this, your invalidated statements, is intelligence in its infancy."

"It's my mouth still," Ichigo hit back childishly. "And who's to say you can't kiss passionately without having a tongue stuck down your throat?"

"Have you forgotten what we've watched previously?" Ulquiorra's patience was running thin. "Cupping your lips over another pair and pretending to be involved in it is what it means: a showing of disconcerted effort. We're playing a pair of lovers who would at anytime, never see each other again. We need to capture the romance, the forbidden sort, and in its context of a tumultuous period. It is a bittersweet tragedy as you had written in your notes. It is no redundant high school drama, neither are we doing chaste scenes as would teenagers basking in puppy love. Allow me to clarify that, if you still, are suspended in disbelief."

"You insinuating I'm delusional?" Ichigo was up for a fight anytime now.

"In short, you're a coward who can't give it up. An insufferable coward who tries to fly before he can even walk. If you can't handle the physicality required, why did you sign up in the first place? For laughable reasons, if I were so much to hazard a stab in the dark? In the end, you only bottle it."

"I'm not!" Ichigo burst out. "None of that! What do you know about me anyway? I'm up for anything. I repeat, anything!"

"You can't say things like that without having sound proof to back them up. Otherwise you're a victim of your own failings."

"Fine then! Whatever you wanna use, just use them all." Ichigo took the bait without qualms. Ulquiorra's comments were no derogatory bullshit, but he hated being labeled a coward when all he had was unthinking ebullience and a lion's all consuming courage. "But if you're gonna do some other, well, stuffs, at least warn me beforehand. That's the minimum I can ask of you. Fair game?"

"I did, but you're finally talking some sense, brainless ape. And before we are disrupted midway by any of your prudish exclamations, let me remind you that, in both the novel and screenplay, my character is the aggressor in the relationship."

"Who doesn't know?" Ichigo's mind was immediately filled with carnal literature. "Even a blind man can see that."

"That means you'd have to follow my lead."

…

They didn't get off to a congratulatory start, a tale seemingly written in the stars. Nothing between them ever began on the correct foot, nor was a step progressive in the designated direction, and for that many amendments were made. They couldn't find the mood—the lovey-dovey type. They couldn't do it right either. Whenever one was set to build up, like a castle of cards it was ruined in quick succession. One frequent fidget granted by Ichigo, and a topping of Ulquiorra's incisive critique easily exceeded their control span. A story of mutual, unsaid, tragic love suddenly became an abusive relationship gasping for a restraining order.

"Don't clam your mouth shut when we're kissing, doofus," Ulquiorra muttered for the eighth time that morning. He was smooching an unwilling wall, and was close to exhausting his vocabulary reserved for errant idiots like Ichigo. "Open it wider, will you."

"I'm practically eating your face like a biscuit, and I'm not a frigging alligator please. My jaws don't hang on a hinge and neither are they strings manipulated by a puppet master."

"I'd like to know your instrument for measurements, Kurosaki Ichigo."

The orange haired man held up a finger. "There! My mouth is opened this wide—practically the length of my forefinger, and you can't stop complaining. If you wanna make out with someone that badly, dial up anyone in your 'Bat Boy' affiliation. They will be more than willing to line up at your doorstep, those tasteless dumbasses. And they'll be waving Maybelline eyeliners like they're light sticks! As a show of support! Way to go, people. Oh, and my dad's a massive fan of yours. Care to sign some DVDs? Wouldn't want to disappoint an old man, won't you? Oh of course you would. You care shit for anyone."

"As anticipated, we do not connect well," said Ulquiorra, determined to ignore his perplexing co-star. How one's talent could fluctuate so ludicrously was something else he had to work out in his spare time. "We need an atmosphere to induce the need for rapport and, intimacy."

"A bedroom is more than enough," Ichigo grinned twistedly. "What more do you want? Red wine and rose petals? Silk sheets? A harpsichord and a plate of spaghetti with meatballs in the back alley?"

"Music."

"B-oring," said Ichigo. "Your madcap cousin's right. You really are one hell of a boring bastard."

The impenetrable Ulquiorra stretched over to the bedside table, where his iPod stood plugged to a Bose sound deck system. He ran a thumb over the click wheel, selected a playlist titled 'In The Mood', and hit the round silver button. Soothing strands filled the room immediately, and rich vocals warbled outlandish declarations of ardor.

"Love songs?" Ichigo sniggered. "What's going on? Ballads and you certainly don't go hand in hand. Unless..." he alluded slyly. "So who's the poor soul you've got all locked up in your cold, dark dungeon?"

"None of that sort," Ulquiorra repositioned himself on the bed. "They are all preparations for the movie."

"Preparations," Ichigo echoed. "Do you always do these stuffs? For a movie? For your other co-stars? Nah, I don't think so, eh? Given the lovely comments they've awarded you. Ha."

"Correction. It is for the role," Ulquiorra plainly stated. "Your role is your problem, not mine. But now, your problem has affected my performance. It is detrimental to my reputation. Your problem traverses through boundaries and into mine, so that's where the problem lies. It is contagious indeed, no matter how I keep it at bay."

"Aha! Nice way of pushing the blame onto others. Though I admit, begrudgingly because I loathe you so," Ichigo disclosed, "we do have some issues to iron out. I'm not the source for each and every single one of them though! And the music, ah the music, isn't this by Sarah McLachlan? Not bad. I listen to her occasionally too, other than the usual rock tunes. You listen to rock?"

"Sometimes."

"Really? I thought you'd have considered the genre as your favorite noun—trash. Always reckoned you to be some avart garde freak. Either that or some random uptight classical music prick."

"Look at me," Ulquiorra ordered. He had decided for a change in approach. Instead of stimulated coercion, he was going to whet the other's appetite. Big time.

Ichigo made a big show out of enlarging his stare. "There!"

"What do you see?"

"An asshole."

Ulquiorra squandered a large amount of effort to not kick Ichigo off his bed. "Be serious."

Ichigo wiped the devilish smirk off his face. "I am."

"Because I'm now Takamatsu Soujiro, tedious fool, so look at me with as much intensity as would Murakami Yoshihito."

This time, surprisingly and to Ulquiorra's relief, Ichigo did as he was told. Garnering whatever energy he had left, he condensed them into balls of adoration. Using these balls for moral support, Ichigo peered deep into his co-star's limpid depths, unblinking. The pink plumes gradually resurfaced and clouded his vision, and sometimes Ulquiorra's green eyes glowed through the smog like a lighthouse's bulb. Other times they were lost in the hazy vapor, and became chockablock with smoke.

The unwitting Ichigo came closer and closer, until Ulquiorra took the initiative and let his lips ghost over the younger man's. Each time Ichigo jutted forward to make contact, the raven haired man vaulted away as if he was a phantom shying away from sunlight. The furtive action gnawed at Ichigo—he hadn't any idea what Ulquiorra was playing at now. He was one step behind again.

Ulquiorra continued to toy with his co-star, bordering on kissing him but not, and left dreamlike trails along the side of his jaw. His breath grew warmer with every exhalation, and left the hapless Ichigo guessing when he would take action. Knowing the impertinent younger man and his temperament, this would work fine. It would provoke him into spontaneity and invoke a reaction when the deed was finally done.

"Oi, what are you trying to do? Do it already," Ichigo grumbled, but he preferred this to diving into the kiss headlong. Perhaps he liked being teased, and closed his eyes while immersing himself in the role. His role yes, his role as a conflicted man who harbored romantic sentiments and sexual desires for his equally troubled friend.

It'd be alright, he thought, it's just acting. And as of now, I'm in love with this bastard before me, and yes, I am in bloody love with him.

"Do what?" Ulquiorra's nondescript voice sounded husky with sensual ballads straying in the background. He's getting into it, he mumbled tiredly. At last.

"Plunge your tongue down my gullet, or whatever you deem fit," Ichigo said, and turned his head so he wouldn't be caught like the budding virgin he was again.

"And you point out my analysis of lovemaking scenes was a drone." Ulquiorra angled his posture to match Ichigo's. Bit by bit those green eyes torched into life. "Do words ever travel through your brain before you dish them out?"

"Yah yah, they don't. So it turns out that I don't have a brain, happy?" Ichigo found his back up against the head board once more. He was holding in his breath all this while; who knew his stoic co-star could smolder like that. "Sorry to interrupt your thunderous exhibition of verbal talent, but shouldn't we recite some dialogue while we're at it?"

"When we get through this session without a hitch, we will," Ulquiorra replied, and without a second word, his lips settled on Ichigo's soft ones.

It didn't end there.

It was supposed to, after a brief exchange of kisses, but Ichigo thought otherwise. He wanted to give this round his best shot. Because it's only acting. He needed to see how far he could take this without shying away. This is only the beginning. And it'd be grand to let known his enthusiasm for the project, despite his impending fear of being all sexed up by Ulquiorra. If he can get into this without restrictions—and knowing how pleasant he finds me, why can't I do the same too? He couldn't picture himself being turned on in any way by the man with skin so pallid he could easily be mistaken for a jumping zombie. And, there was a significant detail obliterated: he was straight.

It's on!

Ichigo refused to let the older man pull away, and clung onto him like a driftwood out at sea. With every slant of the head, with every increased voltage in their lip lock session, with every ironclad grip of their shoulders, Ichigo twirled Ulquiorra round, and round, until their positions were exchanged.

Ulquiorra had his back pressed against the headboard, and shot his eyes open to spy an indulgent Ichigo smooching him to no whereabouts. The younger man's hands released their hold on his blades, and wandered south. They crawled all over Ulquiorra's back, and were packed in strength. He was wrongfully in control, but he paid no heed. He continued to kiss Ulquiorra hard and fast, till the latter's head dived into cushy pillows.

It was now Ulquiorra's turn to be confused. Ichigo was trying hard to intensify the kiss, not that he was horrible in the art of some mouth to mouth action, but the mere materialization of the carrot top striving to make things work made the green eyed man somewhat pleased and irate at the same time.

At least he isn't trying to avoid it, Ulquiorra returned the surging passion by lashing out with his snaking tongue, but has he forgotten his character's the more passive party in the scenes?

Panting for breath, Ichigo stopped his unintended invasion of Ulquiorra's mouth. It was perfect timing too, the latter's gums were beginning to ache. What the orange haired man lacked in finesse he made up for it in drive. Overpowering, excessive drive.

"Listen," Ulquiorra licked his gums in discomfort. "It isn't too weak an effort, but."

"But what?" Ichigo breathed in stops and starts. He couldn't believe how distraught he looked and how unaffected Ulquiorra was. He ought to try harder, and he didn't know why. Maybe a hidden side of him desired to see the cool man all riled up. Again he didn't have an answer to that, and he wished it could remain unknown. Whatever the rationale behind such thoughts was, it had to be unmentionable. It had to be pushed to the back of his head.

"I thought it was pretty good?"

"As I said, you need to follow my lead," Ulquiorra fluffed his pillow, "and you didn't listen. You have to, because."

"Because what?" Ichigo raised his volume at the older man's one worded justification behind everything. "Because Takamatsu's the more active party? Tch, I know that. We were just practising, so don't be fussy, Mr. OCD!"

"When you practise, that's because you aim for perfection in what you do. Hence you have to do it accurately, not whichever that is to your fancy. Sole dependence on one's emotions doesn't suffice. Hence I'll decide when to do what." Ulquiorra turned a deaf ear to the OCD remark.

"Yeah as usual you're damn spot on. So acting is like speculating on the stock market. You think you can eradicate all traces of emotion involved, and be wholly rational," Ichigo tucked his legs beneath him. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Speaking of which, it is time to sell those Luxor shares on hand," Ulquiorra slid off the bed and sat before his computer, and logged onto a stockbroking platform. A few deft clicks of his mouse and he was done with a complex sell trade. Behind him Ichigo watched in discreet amazement. He often wondered how was it possible that Ulquiorra could make so much. The green eyed man had no known endorsements nor did he attend VIP parties for the luxurious goodie bags and generous appearance fees. The mystery was solved! So his additional income came from stocks trading, and again, he had proven his point with solid, convincing evidence.

"There, see that?" Ulquiorra pointed at a monetary value indicated on the screen. Ichigo squinted to see many zeroes and some commas. It was a big sum by commoners' standards.

"I don't do any of those confusing stuffs," said Ichigo, referring to the trading of shares. "I'm satisfied with what I have, unlike you."

"Don't slobber all over my furniture then."

"Tyrant. Overbearing tool. Tyrant."

"You and your arsenal of kindergarten insults are proving to be bearable entertainment," Ulquiorra cracked a scarce smile. "Do inform me the thesaurus type you subscribe to, even if they are outlandish in their make."

Ichigo humphed and sulked by the side of the bed. He couldn't look at his co-star now, and especially not when the most obscure of smiles graced his unpainted face—the pink plumes zipped in fast and furious.

…

They had lunch in a jiffy, and this time Ichigo was spared from domestic duties. They had homemade sandwiches—courtesy of Yuzu, and the younger man had no intention of sharing them. Ulquiorra saw it as his given right to have them. They were in his house, and so, as stated in the contract signed by both men, he had the final say. And happily he ate them, one at a time. And irascibly Ichigo ate his too, two at a time. He tried to finish the miniature sandwiches before Ulquiorra could lay his ashen hand on them, but the latter was quite the speed master. It ended up in a tie.

Both had sixteen sandwiches to their names.

…

Shortly after lunch they were back in Ulquiorra's room. The drawn curtains cast a lazy afternoon glow over the furniture, and the tendency to have a nap after food consumption hit Ichigo. Before he could make the couch his nest, he was hauled to his feet by Ulquiorra, who then dumped him in the washroom with a bottle of Listerine.

"This time, do as I say, understand?" Ulquiorra demanded. "Make sure your senses are receptive, and learn. Learn to control your strength when handling a lover, and I don't suppose you hold your girlfriend as roughly as you do to me."

"What I do in private is frankly none of your goddamned business. She's a girl, so that goes without saying," Ichigo fibbed and rubbed his bleary eyes. The afternoon heat was getting to him. "As for you, you prolly deserve it. And throw in a good knock on the back of your head. Watch out for it!"

"Will I?" Ulquiorra maneuvered through the younger man's twaddle and pushed himself up against him, effectively closing the vacuum between them. "Don't dismantle the frail opinion I have of you."

"W-Wait!" the carrot top placed a hand on his co-star's chest, giving them some distance. "Can't you do some sort of countdown? Each time you come right up like this you scare the hell outta me! How am I supposed to function when I'm in inertia?"

"You should always be ready. The moment you enter this house you ought to be."

"So basically you're saying I might be jumped whenever I come here?"

"I don't jump people."

"You startled me more than once!"

"You were given four days to brace yourself for this, and the grace period has now expired. I expect to see results. Tangible results. So, if we were to speak in your terms, yes, you might be 'jumped'. Because I may test you any moment."

"T-T-Test what...?" the carrot top's mind was ever the gutter.

Ulquiorra returned Ichigo's embarrassed stutter with a blank stare. "The screenplay?"

…

The afternoon was languorous, and everywhere in the exquisitely designed room stood as immobile as though it was night. Ballads flowed stirringly from Bose speakers, and elsewhere in a forgotten corner of the room a ginger cat watched what unfolded before her auburn slit pupils with great interest. Before this she lounged languidly on the couch, and purred a few times to garner Ulquiorra's attention. She was duly dismissed, so being as nonchalant as would a cat, she halted her mews and focused on what was happening.

It was her owner and the tantalizing orange haired man swooping at each other on the bed, the first few tries forced and obviously fake. As the minutes ticked forward, so did the levels of passion. They gradually escalated up the scales, and in the Law of Averages, after lows come highs. And their high was coming. A high witnessed by none but Sakana the ginger cat, perched on top of her fallen wooden empire.

Frank Sinatra's rendition of Moon River came on, and for an elapsed duration of time the screen lovers were two drifters, stranded on a float, with the inescapable crash of mountain high sea waves eluding them, if not ephemeral. Tenderly Ulquiorra traced the pursed outline of Ichigo's lips with a digit, Murakami Yoshihito's lips, to and fro, forth and back, giving the other man ample time to drown himself in role portrayal. Then he launched into a mellow kiss, taking his time to taste his co-star. Previously he rushed into the act; a man overly swift in his undertaking, and failed to appreciate the scenery. Now he took it slow, and suddenly, many things began to crystallize. The colors grew more vivid, the sounds more sonorous, and the feelings more scintillating.

Ichigo was flat out against the paneled headboard, hands gripping the back of Ulquiorra's head, clutching at those onyx strands and mused them reflexively. He hadn't an idea what he was really doing; more so he was allowing his instincts to take over, instincts he concluded Murakami Yoshihito would possess when serenaded by the man he loved. The soaring keys aggravated them, and he desired to do more. No longer could he stave off these urges. Not that he had to, in the first place.

Again, the stolid man was correct. Music was an effective aide. Or was music an effective reason? That both couldn't tell.

Further swayed by the increasingly sensual ambiance, Ichigo buried his lean fingers in Ulquiorra's hair as the latter pushed more intensely into the kiss. Tongues swirling and hands roaming across fabrics, both refused to pause what they presumed was the proverbial injection in their working relationship. They pulled apart briefly, breaths worn ragged, admiring the beguiling mess they made of each other—especially an accomplished Ichigo, before reaching toward each other for a second solicitation.

Sakana could only view unblinkingly as her owner got down on the orange haired man, bringing a wan hand up to stroke his heated cheek. A tinge of pink streaked across the initiator's visage as he tugged at Ichigo's jacket, finding it a hindrance, and unzipped it. Jerking the offending material off the younger man's shoulders, Ulquiorra left the jacket dangling midway at the elbows, before he decided to send it on its way. With a hearty flick of his wrist the jacket sailed across the room and landed on a spot near his bedroom slippers.

"Hmmm...?" Ichigo mumbled incoherently. Did he just hear something flop onto the ground? He was too engrossed in smooching Ulquiorra to retain his observational prowess. His co-star's hands were down to his sides now, swimming in circles and enthralling him with touches that emitted fiery fondness. Whoever knew Ulquiorra Schiffer, no, Takamatsu Soujiro, could make his toes curl and grapple with the bedsheet like that? It was true he did find Ulquiorra's rendition of the book character attractive, but it hardly meant anything. Anyone could admire anyone else, and this had to be no different, had it be not? Such was the mystery of life, better left unsolved.

"Mmmmpf..." a soft moan escaped his lips when the green eyed man angled himself to delve deeper. That damned corpse face is quite some kisser. So what does that make me? A mmmpf apprentice in the art of on screen make-out scenes mmmpf...oh shit, did I just go all mmmpf? Twice? Thrice? No I didn't—mmmpf...

Amid the feigned tempestuous sitting and internal torment the blasted phone rang. It went unnoticed initially. Both actors were too submerged in each other to spare some room for a miserable phone. So the phone retaliated. It rang off its hook repeatedly, the screeching beep busting ear canals.

"Stop," Ulquiorra withdrew from the searing caress he had Ichigo in. "I need to answer the phone."

"Eh? Oh, go ahead," the orange haired man got up in a stupor. He couldn't remember where was he and who he was now. He hadn't trained to Ulquiorra's level yet, the skilful switching on and off of characters whenever necessary. He had never been soundly kissed like that. Not even in reel, neither so in real. All that played in his mind was them diving into each other as would a pair of lovelorn swans. Ichigo felt a little lightheaded at the memory, and the air in the room got colder. Goosebumps rose on his forearms, and he realized his jacket was no longer on him. It was somewhere on the floor, strewn aside by Ulquiorra in his haste.

He watched his green eyed co-star pick up the phone from its stand, lips a cherry red, and muttered a few syllables into the receiver. The caller must be someone important to him, Ichigo thought. That would justify the abnormally courteous and respectful tone behind his replies. It was a quick conversation, and Ulquiorra rounded off the chat with a blissful expression. It radiated off him and into the room.

"So...who was that?" Ichigo probed, a little infected by the sudden jubilation. Still, the sight of a smile adorning the otherwise cold gaze unnerved him. It unearthed something buried in the cranny of his tummy. Something foreign, and should be disregarded entirely—better left unsaid, unsolved.

"Someone."

Someone! Great answer. Someone he holds in high regard, obviously. Who? Didn't he mention he isn't seeing anyone? Then who? "You seem...joyous," Ichigo said hesitantly. He was sure he wasn't being the brightest bulb in the room by stating that.

"Be properly attired," said Ulquiorra. He retrieved the yellow jacket from the floor and passed it to Ichigo, the guarded smile plastered on his lips smothered. He was Ulquiorra the Expressionless again.

"Huh? We're done already?" Ichigo groaned, only to discover a hint of disappointment rose in his words. He had to cover his tracks wisely. "Not that I...not that I care."

Ulquiorra spread his comforter neatly across the bed and waddled into the bedroom slippers. "My mother is at the door."

…

A/N: Geez I'm flying away with my imagination. Excuse me if you think the story sucked ass to date—I know how lovely my slash writing skills are :(. I welcome all feedback. Once more, thanks for reading and staying with this (heh) fic. And reviewing! There's more to come. Next chapter to be up say...next weekend?

P.S. I had a hard time thinking how Ulqui's room should be like. Hope it fits. Lala.