Summary:Ichigo Kurosaki somehow found himself on the set of X-rated movie,Strictly Business. Hey, he needed the money. But the teen soon discovered he may be in for more of a challenge than anticipated when meeting his more experienced co-star, Toshiro Hitsugaya. And as Ichigo's character, Akio Morita, begins to see past the icy exterior of Yuki Takahashi—Hitsugaya's character—Ichigo finds himself relating to his character in more ways than one…How did he end up falling for that frigid child prodigy? This was supposed to stay professional!

Pairings:Ichigo/ Toshiro and other minor same-sex pairings.

WARNING:Contains profanity and strong male-on-male sexual content. Not suggested for minors (though I'm still one myself XP).

Disclaimer:Tite Kubo is the owner ofBleach, and the idea ofStrictly Businessis purely a result of my perver—ahem—overactive imagination. Any similarities to other media are only coincidences, as I have not watched pornography or anything of the sort myself (unless you count yaoi doujinshi).

Strictly Business

The end would not come quickly enough.

Hitsugaya chewed on the stick of his twelfth lollipop, the last of the dozen sent by Urahara. He wasn't sure if he'd been supposed to eat them all, but it was too late now; he'd just finished the round flat green one. Watching a single large cumulus cloud inch ever so slowly across the width of the glass ceiling, he figured the drugs were responsible for the sudden slowing of time…because, surely, he'd been sitting in that chair for a couple of lifetimes now, but the sun hadn't budged at all.

Hitsugaya fingered the thin sticks on the table in front of him, stirring them around in the jar absently and not really thinking about anything in particular. Urahara was still talking, but he'd stopped trying to understand the dialogue by the seventh lollipop. The people around him ceased to exist by the tenth. There were now just him in the chair, the jar on the table, and the cloud passing over his head. Yet at the same time, he was obtusely aware of everything around him, as if he was seeing the rest of the entire world from the inside of a large, drug-induced bubble. He asked himself more than once if he was high, but he guessed that he wasn't since he still felt too there; too bored and very much aware of the fact that he didn't want to be there. He wished, more than once, that there was a switch somewhere to turn everything off, because he really just wanted the world to disappear. He wanted to disappear.

No, actually, he just wanted to sleep, if only to pass the longwinded time. But he was prevented from doing so by the poison hot wiring his brain, and he couldn't really do anything about it. He didn't feel like doing anything at all, anyway, as nothing else seemed to matter at this point. He was bored.

The cloud continued to crawl at its agonizingly slow pace. Hitsugaya briefly wondered what time it was, instinctively trying to recall where the clock was, but he was feeling too apathetic to actually care, and he easily brushed off the thought. Where there weren't clocks to mark the time, time didn't really exist, and so everything sort of stood still. Besides, he was too absorbed in his lonely bubble of self-existence to bother noticing anything besides his self, the chair, the lollipop sticks, and the cloud. Urahara's voice was barely more than a whisper at the back of his consciousness, and it was otherwise quiet in his bubble. Calm…relaxing. Actually, if he got past the boredom and inane drone of existence itself, it was really kind of peaceful; not having to worry about work for just a couple of lifetimes. He could even stay there for eternity, unfeeling and uncaring and uninterested in anything outside, completely content with being just as he was: without that insufferable, omnipresent longing that he still couldn't understand….

Would it ever go away?

Ichigo wondered at the indescribable feeling that rose from his stomach and up to his throat via his chest every time he caught himself staring at Hitsugaya. He once again tore his gaze away from the boy's profile and instead zoned in on the clock across the room above the door. It had only been a minute and a half since the last time he'd checked; since the last time he'd had to remove his eyes from the white haired male's form, and he groaned inwardly. That was, like, the tenth time in fifteen minutes. This was getting ridiculous.

Ichigo reluctantly turned his attention back to Urahara, who was still standing at the opposite end of the table. Reluctantly, because for the past fifteen minutes, Urahara had been describing each and every piece of 'merchandise' available in his shop, which was apparently open all day, every day. Apparently, it wasn't uncommon for the new actors especially (i.e. Ichigo) to need some 'motivation', and so the shop was made conveniently available for whenever one might need it. With every adult toy that Urahara rattled off in disturbingly educated description, the teen grew a smidge more uncomfortable. And then the man went and mentioned that every actor was required to use certain equipment as a (perverted) sort of daily 'exercise' to discipline their restraint for when on camera. The hell kind of homework was that? This place was totally insane; how did he even get here? Scanning the relatively normal faces surrounding him, he wondered how any of them had ended up there.

There were fifteen seats around the table, and he didn't even bother to count the people along the perimeter of the conference room. Directly to his right, at the end of one arm of the 'T' shaped surface, was a petite looking female with black hair cropped into a bob that hung about her face, one strand hanging between her eyes that reminded him of the young girl from before. This woman, though, possessed a maturity in her face that was focused in her violet-colored eyes, and her expression was hard; serious, her thin dark eyebrows were drawn together ever slightly. Her rigid posture, however, was unimpressive compared to the man that sat beside her.

Both possessed a smooth, pale complexion, and although Ichigo couldn't tell the color of the male's eyes – as they were closed to the conversation (Ichigo wondered if he was trying to block out the lecture as well) – he pegged the two as related, if not siblings. His back was almost impossibly straight, and his entire appearance – from his long, expertly swept black hair, to his chiseled facial features and lithe, business-casual fitted physique – screamed regality. He was the kind of perfect, well-carried man that Ichigo couldn't see ending up in a place like this, and the woman's presence alone disturbed Ichigo, because the thought of women being exploited for money just didn't sit right with him.

Next to tall-dark-and-handsome – Ichigo insisted he wasn't gay, damn it, but he had to admit the guy was decent-looking – was another raven-haired male, but this guy's shorter and messier hair was starker in comparison with his almost deathly pale complexion. Ichigo noticed, too, that this man also had a bang down the middle of his face; was that the style here? He was also considerably shorter, slimmer, and younger in age, probably around Ichigo's. And although he was just as poker faced as the taller dark haired, the shorter exuded more of a gothic aura than royal. His upper lip was painted black; his lashes and eyebrows were thick. His eyes, in the depth and complexity of their startling forest green, actually reminded Ichigo of the peculiarity of a certain white haired boy's turquoise…

The seventeen year old blinked away the image and resisted the urge to look over at the boy in question – his fists tightened in his lap, where they'd finally managed to relax minutes prior – before continuing his assessment of the table. (So not going there, he had to remind himself.)

Next to the shorter dark haired was a tall, obviously tanner man, whose bald head reflected the morning light that shone down from the glass ceiling. Small and atypical red markings decorated the outer corners of the man's narrow eyes, and his practically nonexistent eyebrows scowled with a strange intensity. His arms were folded across his chest.

Next to him was a curvaceous woman with long, oddly colored blue-green hair, her bangs obscuring her forehead, and a crimson tattoo stretching from one side of her face to the other over the bridge of her nose. Her bright hazel eyes were wide and between her mature features but childish expression, Ichigo couldn't tell how old she was. So far, she seemed like the friendliest person there…but what was she doing there? She was like an overgrown child, and it was just as disturbing as the little girl who walked in on him and Hitsugaya when they were – when he was…damn it, he wasn't going there!

Anyway…next to her was an equally curvaceous woman with skin not quite as dark as Yoruichi's, jade green eyes, and thick blond lashes that Ichigo could see even from the opposite end of the conference table. Her blond hair was short and messy, with the exception of the bang down the middle of her stoic countenance (would Ichigo have to like, restyle his hair or something?), and a deep blue lightning bolt framed each side of her face. Her arms were also folded, beneath her breasts.

Across from the dark skinned blonde was a guy who almost made Ichigo shiver. He was tall and lean, and Ichigo wasn't sure which of the guy's features were the sharpest – his facial features, or the color of his silver hair that once again reminded the strawberry of a certain boy (…Shut up, brain!) and maybe the guy needed glasses, because Ichigo hadn't once seen the man's eyes open wider than thin slits since he'd first glanced over at him. But what really disturbed Ichigo was the man's grin. It also hadn't changed, or even faltered in the slightest, despite how long the meeting had been in session, and despite nothing funny having ever been said. Either the guy was mentally replaying some extremely funny joke, or he was born with his face twisted into such a snake-like expression. And either way, it was kind of creepy. Apprehension settled deeper into Ichigo's gut, and he willingly moved his gaze.

Next to the creepy-grin-guy was exactly the kind of male Ichigo had expected to see in a place like this. Preppy, slightly androgynous, and most likely narcissistic. The guy's skin (he was a guy, right?) literally glistened, albeit a bit less shiny than the bald man's scalp. It had to be the number of beauty products the dude used. He was perfect, like tall-dark-and-handsome, but in an obviously more feminine way; his jaw-length, jet-black hair was expertly manicured and bore a violet sheen. His eyes were also a purple color, and his right eyebrow and lashes were adorned with colorful feathers. Ichigo had never seen a male so well groomed, and he wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or not that Hitsugaya looked the way he did. Not to say that Hitsugaya wasn't kind of pretty in a way…And also not to say that Ichigo thought the white haired was pretty or anything. And alsonot to say that Ichigo was still thinking of the boy…or anything like that.

Anyway, next to pretty-boy was a taller guy with long, stark crimson hair pulled into a high ponytail and a black bandana covering most of his forehead, although Ichigo could still see his oddly sharp eyebrows. His sideburns boldly framed his face, his eyes were narrowed, and his arms were folded across his broad chest, much like the bald guy that sat across from him. Now that Ichigo looked, it seemed as though the two were having a staring contest while Urahara talked, both scowling in misplaced concentration. Huh.

Next to the red head and across from the young gothic boy was the bluenette, Grimmjow. Observing him more closely, the man's eyes were a matching blue, and the green markings beneath them were not unlike the bald man's red ones. Grimmjow also seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with the gothic, green eyed boy across from him, but it became apparently entirely one-sided. The dark haired boy paid no attention, instead focused on Urahara. This seemed to be pissing Grimmjow off. His chin was propped in his right hand, his elbow on the table, as he stared at his opposite intensely, probably trying to telepathically command the latter to look at him already. Somehow, this exchange was different than that between the red head and bald man, but Ichigo couldn't put his finger on the difference. It was charged with…something. A peculiar kind of tension.

Beside Grimmjow was Yoruichi, who was smirking while she observed the former's aggravation from the corner of her eye. Andon her other side was, well, pretty much every high school boy's definition of a porn-star. (In fact, he was sure Keigo brought a magazine to school once that had this exact same lady on the cover…)

This female's assets were even larger than Yoruichi's and the women's at the other end of the table. They were definitely larger the small black haired girl's next to Ichigo, and unlike Inoue, this lady was a woman. Her blond hair was long and wavy, her skin was tanned, her eyes were crystal blue, and the ideal beauty mark was located under the right side of her full, glossed lips. Her overall appearance – amplified by the cleavage that she shamelessly revealed with an illegally low-cut pink top – should have been enough to reassure Ichigo of his sexuality. Should have, would have, if the woman hadn't happened to look back at him right then.

Ichigo felt his face heat, and he averted his eyes, praying furiously that she would not reach across the table and smack him. He hadn't meant to ogle, honest he wasn't. But when he glanced back, he noticed that there was neither disgust nor resentment in her eyes. Instead, they seemed to sparkle with…amusement?

And she was…smiling?

Now, that wasn't right. The woman held his gaze for a couple of moments, glanced away for a second, looked back at him, and then glanced away again. Then she looked back at him, the smirk still there, and tilted her head ever so slightly to her right before her eyes flickered in the same direction. Was she…flirting? No way, Ichigo thought. There was no way a woman of her caliber was flirting with him, the teenage newbie. Ichigo wasn't aware that he was still staring, trying to figure it out, until she met his eyes once again and quirked a perfectly arched eyebrow, tilting her head further. Her eyes moved to her right again. Insistently.

Purposely.

Oh, Ichigo thought dumbly, finally taking the hint and following her line of sight. He wasn't even given time to feel any hint of disappointment at the not-flirting before he stiffened, his thoughts stalling. He'd unintentionally followed her gaze right to Hitsugaya, who sat adjacently to her side of the table; two seats over from Ichigo.

And he'd been doing so well at staying away from there, damn it.

Hitsugaya was staring absently up at the ceiling, chewing on a lollipop stick. His eyes were flat, as cold as when Ichigo had first met him, but even so, Ichigo couldn't help the resurfacing of the image that he'd been trying so hard to block, and had been successful in doing so for an impressive twenty minutes. But all of a sudden, there it was again, perhaps even more vividly than before.

He was unbearably hard. He didn't know exactly what was happening; the music, the erotic panting of his partner, and the smell of vanilla were overwhelming. "A-ah…!" Hitsugaya moaned heatedly, arching into Ichigo and squeezing his clothed erection between them as he gripped the taller male's shoulders in desperation. More… please, more… one of them thought. He rolled his hips forward lithely, clenching his legs tighter around Ichigo's waist. The pressure was miraculous. "Uh…Ku—nnn…"

Even in the candlelight, Hitsugaya's pale skin was visibly flushed, breathy exclamations trickling from his parted lips with every constrictive movement. Panting…moaning…why was it so hot? Thick lashes framed his hooded, lust-glazed eyes of teal, and Ichigo could feel the boy's every breath shake. They were so close to each other; Hitsugaya's face was just breaths away from his, and his mouth looked oh-so edible. He trembled with desire. He wanted Ichigo – so much so that it was hard to breathe. It was almost too much.

"Ku…nn…Kurosaki…a-ahh!" He heaved as he practically licked his body against Ichigo's, craving – needing the delicious friction. It felt so freaking good…and it was too hot. He was going to drown in the liquid fire pulsing through his veins if he didn't…didn't…oh!

"Yes…oh, yes Kurosaki, there…right there…oh…f-fuck! Ahh-hah –!"

And, oh. The petting sensation was too much. He bit his lip and mewled in pleasure, thrusting more frantically. "I-Ichigo." Oh…oh crap he was going to…. "Ugh, Ichigo…Ichi…ah, Ichigo…I-chi…gah! Ah! Ichi-"

"Moving on!"

The loud snap of a fan made Ichigo jump out of his fantasy quite violently, causing several to glance at him when he swore lowly.

He didn't notice the blonde woman's full-blown, knowing grin.

Discretely nursing his right hand, and hoping a bruise wouldn't form after its sudden contact with the edge of the conference table, Ichigo glared at the offending surface. Shit! Go away! Ichigo hissed wordlessly. But he was not addressing the table (because that would just confirm his crazy). Rather, he was mentally trying to strangle his imagination. Because that was totally not how it happened…and he was also trying (and failing) to psychically eliminate the tent in his slacks.

That wasn't how it happened, damnit! Ichigo silently but urgently insisted to himself. How had his brain even come up with something like that? And why the hell couldn't he get Hitsugaya's sensual expression out of his head already? Ichigo was this close to banging his head down on the hard table repeatedly just to knock out his insane thoughts. He was going insane.

"I have a surprise for you all." Urahara continued in a tone that was obviously and suspiciously merry, not giving any acknowledgment to the strawberry's not-so-subtle outburst. The room perked up and slowly began to refocus on the director, half of them excited, half of them weary, all of them curious. (Well, except for Ichigo, who stared resolutely at the table, and Hitsugaya, whom still stared blankly at the glass ceiling.) Most of them knew that their director's 'surprises' were either to be greatly dreaded, or greatly appreciated.

Urahara hesitated, making eye contact with his assistant down the table – whose lips curved into a feline smirk – before going onward.

"As you all know," he said, "There have been numerous…complaints about the past living arrangements. We've been getting calls about monotonous banging on the walls, incessantly loud bouts of shouting, and disturbing amounts of audible profanity." He made eye contact with a few members of the audience in particular as he said this, but he was smiling, and there were several knowing chuckles in response. "Today," he continued, "I am happy to inform you all that my lovely assistant, Yoruichi, and I have been spending the past few months making some…adjustments.

"And so, as of Monday, the filming of Strictly Business will be moved to another location, as will your assigned living arrangements."

There were two beats of silence: one in which Ichigo, being the newbie, tried to comprehend the meaning of what had just been said as he rubbed his (yes, it would definitely be sporting a bruise) hand…the other in which the large cloud passing overhead finally disappeared to one edge of the room, and a pair of teal eyes blinked lazily up at the clear blue sky, thoughts behind them faraway. Then, there was chatter. This was obviously one of Urahara's better surprises, and the stirring of excitement and curiosity buzzed throughout the room as people turned to their neighbors to ask the question that none knew the answer to, but felt the need to voice anyway.

"Where do you think it's gonna be?"

"I don't know, but I hope it's a really fancy hotel this time. Have you ever been to that one over on that street?"

"Which one, the one or the other one? Oh, and have you been to the one with the whole night club and everything? I love that one!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know the one! But hey, where do you think we're going this time?"

"Not sure. Maybe someplace with a Maid service?"

"That would be cool. Doesn't that one place have Butlerstoo?"

"Yeah, dude, it was totally hot that one time I went with – oh my god – him. Have you seen the way he goes down? He fuckin' burned that place!"

"Oh I know! I can't wait to see our room assignments; if I can't be there, I at least wanna hear through the walls. You know, as like…a 'learning' experience."

"Yeah, totally. Hey, you know that one place with the sound proof walls? You don't think we're going there, do you?"

"I don't know; I hope not. But then, they do have those big-ass windows, so it'd be sweet if we got rooms across the garden and the curtains were open. But I don't really know, man. Where do you think we're going?"

And so it went, similar conversations circulating in search for 'where' as people asked questions and offered opinions that didn't really pertain to the point of the conversations, all the while seeming to forget that the one who held the answer was still standing at the foot of the conference table, smiling silently. Patiently, Urahara waited for the conversation to naturally die down as attention turned back to him for explanation and people began to "shush!" each other without any prompting. And then, when a terse silence was finally achieved, Grimmjow's gruff voice rang out.

"Well?"

Kisuke grinned. He reached into his robe with deliberate slowness, pulling out what appeared to be a brochure just as leisurely before holding it up for the room to see. It took less than three seconds for most of the audience to recognize the tell-tale black and white cover. The picture of a waxing-crescent moon stark white against a jet-black background was the signature logo of the highest rated hotel for slash lovers in all of Karakura – the crescent symbol a beacon to those who roamed the city streets in the dark. The white castle in the background promised paradise for crawling creatures of the night, in search of a wild time. The room's response was, again, explosive.

"What? Really?"

"We're going there? You're serious? No, like, seriously? Oh my god."

"What the freaking what, for real? We're actually going there? Yes!"

"…I think I just died."

And so it went, acknowledgment of their director's leg-pulling nature somewhat overshadowing their elation, shock, and pleasant surprise.

Urahara eventually assured them that yes, he was serious this time, which sent the crowd into an even more excited frenzy. The girls swooned together while the guys nudged each other, grinning conspiratorially and making dirty jibes. Pleased by their reactions, the Director left them to it, sparing a glance up at the glass ceiling. The sun was almost directly overhead, which meant it was nearing lunch break. Ah. He should probably go open the shop now.

"Wait, what about the room assignments?" Someone called out above the noise of the crowd. Grimmjow again. Abrupt silence, right before another flood of questions and speculations were thrown about.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Urahara grinned and spoke, his voice clearly heard despite not raising his voice. "Now, now, everyone, I'm sure you'll all be very satisfied with your room assignments, and I'll be sure to get those to you as well as the hotel's brochures for those who haven't been there (i.e. Ichigo), later. For now though, I do believe you all are allotted for some fun now, right? Some of you must be hungry by now, no?"

There were some trailing complaints, until half of the people realized they were actually a bit hungry, while the other half realized they were in fact hungry. There was collective acquiescence to wait until later for the missing info to be revealed, and the director finally dismissed them with a "you all know where to find me~" and a wave of his fan before disappearing.

Similarly to how students would immediately react to a bell, the occupants of the room broke into action as soon as Urahara was out of sight. They bent over to gather their purses and empty latte cups, patting their selves down to make sure they had their wallets (Grimmjow) and otherwise essential items. Torrents of questions, gossip, and opinions that had been withheld and accumulated over the course of the meeting were exchanged. Not-so-hushed whispers charged the room's air with a murmuring buzz, and a single loud bout of laughter was heard distinctly over the hum. There was jeering and jostling and promising to meet up for lunch and other partaking as the majority of the crowd filed out of the room and dispersed in different directions once in the hall, taking most of the noise with them.

"Hey, Ichigo. Hang back for a sec." Yoruichi was still there, and the small black-haired girl who'd been sitting to his right hadn't moved either, but everyone else was gone. At least, Ichigo assumed. He'd sort of tuned out the last bit of the meeting because once he remembered…that, it hadn't been so easy to forget again. His erection hadn't disappeared. He wasn't willing to look up from the table in case he should find himself staring at Hitsugaya again ended up cumming right there in his seat.

But when Ichigo glanced as subtly as he could to the floor on his left, he didn't see Hitsugaya's socked feet idly tapping the floor. He was gone too.

Ichigo dared to raise his head and look at the door. A glimpse of white; Hitsugaya was just leaving, and he wasn't looking back – he wasn't looking anywhere, actually, just sort of staring blankly up at the ceiling. Ichigo still had no clue what had been up with those lollipops, but they must've seriously screwed with the kid's brain. (Just like the kid was screwing with his brain, from afar. He had to be. Because it felt like Ichigo was floating or something and was only weighed down by the clenching in his stomach.)

The curvaceous strawberry blonde woman was the one ushering Hitsugaya forward and out the door – she cast a last, baffling mischievous smirk over her shoulder, catching Ichigo's eye, before vanishing from view.

Ichigo wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or extremely skeptical. He was leaning heavily toward the latter, apprehension and a strange (longing?) feeling settled deep into his gut, when Yoruichi called him back to attention.

"Ichigo," she said as she stood. The little black-haired woman stood too, but Ichigo didn't move because even though he had left the room, Ichigo's penis apparently wanted to follow, and standing up was the single thing he just could not do right then. Sorry, manners. Ichigo tried to look as earnestly attentive to the women as he could by way of apology. "This is Rukia Kuchiki."

But even as 'Rukia' began to introduce herself as Ichigo's stylist or personal assistant or whatever, Ichigo's mind wasn't fully there. Instead, it was outside the conference room, traveling through the studio halls, following a head of white hair and hazy teal eyes as they were propelled by a busty blonde woman toward Urahara's Shop.

"You have to tell me all about it once you're sober, Captain." The blonde was giggling as she guided the smaller body around a corner. "But I've been dying to ask you the whole meeting…what did he taste like? I have to say that was one delicious looking Strawberry, and you must've been starving with the way you devoured your candy." And teal eyes blinked. There were no clouds on the ceiling anymore, but that was okay, because the drugs had passed him into a phase of contentment. In about forty eight hours, reality would come rushing back in a storm of hard truth and fruitless searching for…something, but for now, he was just content.

A short, thoughtful eternity passed, before a muttered reply came. "Like…a lollipop. He tastes like a lollipop. Only…sweeter."

A/N: This chapter was conceived nine month ago, and I have to say, I do not miss the midnight-writers' block. Named after a song by Fall Out Boy, weighs 4.6K, and is completely healthy with touches of smut, angsty!Ichi, and possiblyhigh!Toshiro.

Hope you all enjoy my baby.

~…What? ('Taku786 ^^)