Lupe Fiasco just released his newest album "Lasers" on the 8th. This week (which I could otherwise describe as hell on toast) just got infinitely better, lol. Also, your reviews were hilarious and amazing, and helped me cling to the shred of sanity I still have left.

Chapter Two:

He initially thought home would be a safe place to hide out, but that hope is crushed about a minute after he arrives—frigging shun-po, Ichigo thinks furiously, racing up the stairs two at a time.

"Whatever you do," Ichigo snarls in warning to his bemused father over the loud pounding of fists against their front door, "don't answer that."

Naturally, his father answers it.

Ichigo then spends the following ten minutes being chased all over his goddamn house, Rangiku at his heels and whining at the top of her lungs, "WE'RE ONLY TRYING TO HELP, KUROSAKI-KUN!" and his father in hot pursuit, sobbing joyfully about how "preciously innocent, my innocently precious son is!" Not to mention the arrival of Ikkaku and Yumichika (nose bleeding heavily from its encounter with Tatsuki's history book) about halfway through, a fairly windswept Orihime pinned between them, and Renji, who apparently decided to tag along as well and who, it seems, hasn't yet recovered from his laughing fit.

This day, Ichigo decides, as he dodges another flying tackle from Rangiku, cannot possibly get any worse.

He is, of course, dead wrong. He just doesn't know it yet.

However, thanks to a well-placed fist in his father's face during an attempt to smother Ichigo in a bizarre cross between a round-house kick and a bear hug, Ichigo finally has an opening to bolt—which he immediately seizes, tearing out of his house and down the street. He's even more thankful when he realizes that, for the moment, they're not following. Ichigo doesn't stop running, though, not until he's gasping for air and sweat's broken out across his forehead.

Not until he skids to a stop outside the Urahara Shoten. Jinta and Ururu race past in the front yard, Ururu squealing as Jinta swats her mercilessly with his broom, and Ichigo hesitates, biting at his lower lip.

At this rate, he needs to get out of Karakura for awhile until this all blows over, without worrying about Rangiku and the others being able to follow and continue to harass him. The only means of escape he's got available to him is a gate into Soul Society, and that wouldn't be a problem if it didn't require going through Urahara first. Going through Urahara means an explanation will be required, no doubt about it; and fuck if Ichigo wants to do that, because honestly, despite Rangiku's "mission", he would rather take on all ten of the Espada with his bare hands, waltz naked through Seireitei, and spend an entire week locked in the same room as his father before admitting that he's a virgin to his crush.

A faint edge of Rangiku's reiatsu tugs malevolently at his consciousness, reminding him that she's on the move and that he doesn't really have a choice in the matter.

Ichigo sighs grimly and trudges forward, cheeks already tinged an embarrassed red. Yoruichi's on the front porch in cat-form, coiled up in a patch of sunlight; her black fur is warm and dusty, but she lifts her head as he approaches.

"Ichigo," she observes in her gravelly voice, and he grins awkwardly, nodding to her.

"Hey. I was just…um…is Urahara here?"

A shadow of a mischievous expression crosses her feline features, and Ichigo raises an eyebrow, but a moment later she gets to her feet and stretches lazily.

"Follow me," she instructs him briskly and trots into the Shoten, Ichigo at her heels. They find Urahara and Tessai brooding over several containers of expired candy behind one of the Shoten's many shelves, and Ichigo fights down a nervous smile when Urahara glances up.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san!" he exclaims in surprise, and then, catching sight of Ichigo's troubled expression, frowns. "Is something the matter?"

"Um…" Ichigo mumbles uncomfortably, acutely aware of Yoruichi hovering closely nearby, and of Tessai, looming silently over them. He gives a slight cough, and Urahara seems to take the hint, as he turns abruptly towards the other two, fan aflutter.

"Tessai-san, would you mind preparing some tea? Yoruichi-san, if you could excuse us for a moment… I think Kurosaki-san and I have some business to discuss."

Yoruichi's eyes narrow, her tail twitching in irritation; Tessai only politely murmurs, "Certainly, Owner," and bows low, before heading for the kitchen—probably has learned by this point to just not bother asking questions. Urahara winks slyly from beneath the brim of his hat (Ichigo feels himself melt, just a little) and ushers him briskly into one of the many side rooms, sliding the door shut behind them.

"Now," Urahara says brightly, when they've settled around the small, round table, and fixes Ichigo with an expectant look. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Ichigo takes a slow breath and opens his mouth; closes it again after another moment, and bites nervously at his lower lip. He's trying to figure out how, exactly, he ought to phrase this without utterly humiliating himself. It's not an easy task.

Across the table, Urahara tilts his head curiously to one side, a slight, patient smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Did you forget?" he teases, and Ichigo gives a laugh that's strangled with anxiety, half-wondering if it's too late to go sprinting from the Shoten like a total loser.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, "no. I, uh…I'm just…" He stares at his lap for a moment, fiddling nervously with the hem of his t-shirt, and a brief, awkward silence lapses between them. He's well-aware of Urahara watching him closely, and his skin prickles a little at the thought.

"…Was there something you wanted to tell me?" Urahara presses, perhaps a little too innocently, but Ichigo barely notices, the tips of his ears beginning to burn.

Yes, he thinks quietly. Yes, there is, actually. And it has nothing to do with Rangiku's fanatical crusade, and…and everything to do with the deep gray color of Urahara's eyes; the way his voice switches so easily between hard steel, and a gentle, lilting drawl; the small smile that does what no enemy's sword, or harsh words, or wicked schemes can ever hope to accomplish in a million years—render Ichigo completely and utterly helpless.

A pause, and Urahara leans forward, elbows braced against the tabletop.

"Kurosaki-san?" he prompts quietly, and Ichigo glances hesitantly up. Their eyes meet, and he's pinned.

"I—I just…" he stammers, and is it only his imagination, or is there an eager, almost desperate glint in Urahara's gaze? "I wanted…"

In that precise moment, the door is flung open with a bang—Ichigo twitches violently—and Yoruichi enters, human again, and wearing shorts and a tight tank-top that barely covers her midriff.

"So sorry," she exclaims airily, and plops down on one of the dark green pillows placed neatly around the table. "Couldn't find a bra."

She says this, of course, for the express purpose of watching Ichigo squirm; much to her surprise, however, the kid's already a brilliant red, staring intently at the dirt under his fingernails as if it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. Yoruichi lifts one eyebrow; she glances questioningly at Urahara, only to find him glowering at her with a mix of immense aggravation and disappointment.

"What?" she says simply, hands raised defensively. "You said excuse you for a moment. I did that!"

Urahara shakes his head; shoots her a final glare that promises swift and violent retribution later on, and then clears his throat and smoothes his expression back into one of careful indifference.

"What were you going to say, Kurosaki-san?" he asks, and Ichigo shrugs, struggling to get his thoughts back in order, remembering just how little time he actually has.

"I, well…I need help," he admits, and then runs a hand nervously through his hair (missing, in the process, the way Urahara's fingers twitch with yearning, and the dawning realization—and subsequent smirk—that flitters across Yoruichi's face.) "It's, uh…it's kind of hard to explain, I guess."

"Ah," Urahara chides, snapping his fan open. "Come now, it can't be all that—"

Rangiku's reiatsu collides again suddenly, violently against his own, and the words burst free before Ichigo can stop himself.

"Everyone's-obsessed-with-the-fact-that-I'm-still-a virgin-ever-since-Rukia-not-so-accidentally-let-it-slip-and-so-now-Rangiku's-probably-going-to-try-and-get-people-to-sleep-with-me-and-I-don't-want-them-to-so-I-was-thinking-about-escaping-to-Seireitei-for-a-bit-can-you-help?" he explains in a rush of breath.

Urahara and Yoruichi blink.

Stare, first at him, then at each other.

And then immediately collapse into fits of hysterical laughter.

There's a vein pulsing in his forehead, but Ichigo grits his teeth, struggling to remain patient. He'd been hoping (however unrealistically) for a slightly more sympathetic reaction, but luck, apparently, has decided to just screw him over for today. He waits instead, fingers drumming irritably against the tabletop, and tells himself over and over again (as Yoruichi keels over, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Urahara slams a hand over his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle his laughter) that losing his temper and punching both of them is something he'll only regret later on.

It's not a particularly convincing argument.

Three minutes later, however, when they still haven't let up, Ichigo thinks it may be about time to say something.

"Are you finished yet?" he snaps, as Tessai, peering around the corner with his tea-tray, hesitates and glances warily between Ichigo's fierce scowl and Yoruichi as she lets out a series of disturbingly loud snorts. By this point, though, Urahara has managed to regain some semblance of composure, and he clears his throat several times, eyes twinkling in amusement.

"I'm—I'm very sorry, Kurosaki-san," he says with an almost-straight face. "I didn't—that is—" Urahara struggles furiously with himself (doesn't help at all that Yoruichi is now currently beating the floor with her fist and gasping for air, while Tessai continues to eye her with increasing alarm) and somehow succeeds in suppressing another wave of laughter. "You said you wanted to go to Soul Society?"

"As soon as possible," Ichigo grumbles, and Urahara, getting to his feet and stepping over Yoruichi's convulsing form, gestures for him to follow.

"I am sorry," Urahara says again a few minutes later, as they stroll quickly across his enormous basement, faux-sun beating down on the backs of their necks.

"Doesn't matter," Ichigo grumbles under his breath, "you aren't the first one who's laughed."

A flash of what could be guilt crosses Urahara's face, and Ichigo feels his resolve waver a little—only a little, though, because he's getting pretty fed up with the way everyone he knows seems to find this whole situation hilarious—so he only folds his arms defensively across his chest. Waits and watches in disgruntled silence when they reach the correct area, and Urahara begins to bustle about, preparing to summon forth the Senkaimon. The earth rumbles beneath their feet, sending up clouds of sand and dust everywhere (Ichigo wrinkles his nose and holds his breath) and the gate slowly appears, dark and ominous as ever.

"Take it as an apology," Urahara remarks, as the ground gives a final tremor and then falls still. He gestures towards the Gate with one hand, as he sweeps flyaway hair out of his eyes with the other, and grins. "Since I am truly sorry, Kurosaki-san."

Much to his utter infuriation, Ichigo can feel his earlier anger fading with the urge to return Urahara's earnest smile, and he stubbornly rearranges his expression into one of rude apathy—because really, dammit, when did he get this pathetic?

"Whatever," he growls dismissively, and then scowls at the deep chuckle he receives in response.

"Guess I'm not forgiven after all," Urahara jokes, and his tone is casual, but that doesn't keep Ichigo's stomach from swooping in apprehension, when Urahara steps a little closer.

"You're a hard man to impress, Kurosaki-san," he continues easily enough. Ichigo shrugs tensely and already he can feel his throat constricting, can feel the ability to think straight slipping through his fingers.

"There must be some way that I can make it up to you."

He's standing less than a foot away now, but Ichigo can barely make out Urahara's words over the shrill ringing in his ears. Stop it, he thinks furiously, stop it, I've got to get a grip, I've got to get a grip...

A callused thumb brushes, unexpected and warm, across his cheekbone, and Ichigo's breath catches in his throat. Something hot, almost molten, unfurls in the pit of his stomach, and it's an effort just to lift his eyes, to meet that steady, kind gaze that always sends his head spinning.

"Why—?" he begins unsteadily, and that can't be his voice, it doesn't sound anything like him.

"Eyelash," Urahara explains softly, and wait a minute, waitaminute, why are they so close…?

"Oh," he replies stupidly, because he has no idea what else to say. There's a deep, dark blush crawling up his neck, and he hates the fact that his brain has completely shut down on him, that his mouth has gone abruptly dry.

"Weren't you going to Soul Society?" Urahara prompts, and Ichigo nods wordlessly. He can barely speak, and his heart, already pounding violently in his ears, skips several beats when a hand slides over his hip.

Oh shit.

"Wh-what are—?" he stammers idiotically, and Urahara's lips curl in the tiniest of knowing smiles, as he pulls his hand back to dangle something in front of Ichigo's face.

His shinigami badge.

Right.

Ichigo's is blushing furiously by now, but they're standing close… So close, that Ichigo can feel Urahara's own uneven breath, fluttering in short, hot bursts across his cheek. So close that maybe, if Ichigo steps the rest of the way in, and tilts his head to the side…

The same thought seems to have occurred to Urahara, and they both hesitate, before, little by little, Urahara begins to lean forward. Oh God, Ichigo thinks faintly, thrilled and terrified and astonished all at once. His head is spinning so fast, and he's shaking so bad, he's afraid that his knees are going to give out before their lips can even touch. Oh God, oh God, oh God—

"OWNER!" Tessai bellows down the basement hatch, and the two of them jerk apart, Ichigo stumbling over his own feet. Urahara, looking considerably flushed as well, clears his throat once, twice, and then makes his way over to the ladder to stare up the hatch.

"Y-yes, Tessai-san?" he calls back, and Ichigo doesn't miss the way his voice faltered.

"Owner, we have visitors," Tessai informs him. "They're looking for Kurosaki-dono…should I let them in?"

"Crap!" Ichigo hisses, and wastes no time in slamming his badge against his chest, soul bursting free and body reeling backwards to hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Not quite yet, Tessai," Urahara shouts back, and then quirks an eyebrow at Ichigo, who's paused, hovering at the threshold of the Gate.

"You might want to hurry, Kurosaki-san," he says, and Ichigo wants to cringe at that stiff, polite tone, but instead only jerks his head in the direction of his unconscious body.

"Uh," he begins, and then hesitates, embarrassed. "You wouldn't, um…mind watching that for me. Just in case, you know, Rangiku tries to…"

He doesn't finish the sentence—and he doesn't have to, as Urahara gives a brisk nod, and then gestures for him to go already. That's all the permission that Ichigo needs, and he flees through the Gate, a slight blush lingering in his cheeks.

Urahara waits until the doors clang shut, and then sighs and strolls over to Ichigo's body, hands on his hips. Stares miserably at mussed orange hair and tan, muscled arms, wondering how the hell, for being the supposed genius that he is, he wound up in such a complicated situation as this. Urahara kneels down beside Ichigo's unconscious body, and before he can stop himself, reaches out to run his fingers gently through tangled hair. Unconscious, Ichigo's typical frown has faded, his expression now uncharacteristically gentle.

Vulnerable.

Young. Too young.

Just a boy, Urahara thinks wearily, and forces himself to pull his hand from Ichigo's hair. He should know better than this, than to fall for a stubborn, and foul-mouthed, and…and fascinating, beautiful, fifteen year old brat.

Urahara holds back a groan of rueful exasperation and quickly slings Ichigo's unconscious body up and over his shoulder, trudging back toward the ladder.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, "I'm in over my head…"

Ichigo manages, somehow, to crash-land within the walls of Seireitei this time: a good thing because he doesn't have to battle any demented gatekeepers or get launched via giant cannon again, but also bad because he finds himself facedown and spluttering in a puddle of mud outside the eighth squad's barracks.

"Ow," he mutters blearily under his breath and struggles to his knees, slime and muck dripping down the front of his shihakusho as several shinigami nearby giggle and stare.

Not quite the smooth landing he'd been hoping for, that's for sure.

The sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears and Ichigo cringes and braces himself for a squad of guards to surround him, or maybe Yamamoto himself, wrinkled old face twisted in disapproval and a harsh lecture about irresponsibility already rehearsed and prepared.

Instead, however, there's the edge of a flowery pink kimono swirling before his eyes and a hand extended towards him. Ichigo raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to meet Kyouraku's typical, cheery expression.

"Looks as though you could use some help, eh, Ichigo-kun?" he remarks good-naturedly, as he helps him to his feet. Ichigo grimaces, and shrugs, trying to ignore the way a few shinigami—mostly women, he notes irritably—continue to hang about, snickering and muttering amongst themselves; one or two of them even flutter their eyelashes and grin invitingly at him, despite the fact that he's covered in blotches of mud.

"So much for rigorous training and discipline," Kyouraku observes wryly, and Ichigo snorts and nods in silent agreement, swiping at his dirty face with his sleeves. "Speaking of which," he continues, and if Ichigo wasn't so preoccupied with trying to simultaneously clean himself off and avoid further embarrassment, he might have picked up on the note of false curiosity in Kyouraku's voice, or the spark of mischief in his eyes. "Since you're here, I've been meaning to ask: how are Hitsugaya-kun and the others holding up in Karakura? Captain Yamamoto's been curious lately."

Ichigo twitches.

"Oh," he begins awkwardly, "uh… they're fine…?"

Kyouraku chuckles kindly and thumps him on the shoulder.

"That bad, eh?"

"No," Ichigo says quickly, albeit feebly, and Kyouraku raises a skeptical eyebrow. "I mean…it…it could be better," Ichigo finally relents, and Kyouraku nods and laughs again.

"I had a feeling they might give you a hard time. They're quite a crowd, those little rascals!"

"Little rascals" are not quite the words that Ichigo was thinking of—something much more around the lines of "sadistic bastards"—but before he can say this out loud, an arm slings itself firmly around his shoulders, effectively pinning him to Kyouraku's side.

"Now, now, Ichigo-kun," Kyouraku assures him, and begins to steer him away from the barracks. "Why don't we go sit and have a drink or something? You can tell me all about why you're here."

"Ken-chan!"

Despite it being nearly noon, Kenpachi's still asleep when Yachiru comes hurtling through the window of his bedroom at break-neck speed, giggling and singing at the top of her lungs, and begins bouncing up and down on top of his sleeping form.

"Ken-chan!" she cries out in sing-song, hopping from foot to foot. "Ken-chan, wake up! Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Kenpachi merely swears under his breath, gives a tired grunt, and tugs the blankets up even higher. Despite whatever protocol Yamamoto expects him to follow as a captain, after a night of heavy drinking, Kenpachi has absolutely no intention of getting up while the sun is out. His head is pounding so hard, it feels as though it might split down the middle, and Yachiru—currently twirling pirouettes on top of it—is doing absolutely nothing to help ease the pain he's in at the moment.

"Ken-chan, you're so silly! Wake up, wake up! We're gonna play!"

"Piss off," he grumbles, swinging one fist in a hapless attempt to knock her across the room. Yachiru dodges easily and heaves a mournful sigh, as she starts prodding his forehead (buried beneath the covers) with one small finger. At least she's stopped jumping.

"You're no fun, Ken-chan. Don't you wanna play with me?"

"Later," he snarls into his pillow. He should know better than to challenge Unohana to a drinking contest…he's yet to win against her once…

"But it'll be fun. Let's play hide and seek. Do you wanna do that?"

Quite frankly, he feels like impaling someone on his sword and hanging them out his bedroom window, so that he might watch as they slowly bleed out—and if it were anybody but Yachiru, he'd have one hand already on his sheath. Instead he hums tunelessly under his breath, and then yawns widely. The air outside is pleasantly warm, promising it to be a good day. When Kenpachi's ready to get up, he might even revisit the 80th District, go looking for a few fights, drink some more. Things have been depressingly boring in the 11th squad since Ikkaku and Yumichika left on duty for the material world.

"Ken-chan?"

"Later," he says again, more sternly this time. Yachiru squirms unhappily.

"But," she says brightly at length, and Kenpachi could scream, he really could. Except he won't. Not at Yachiru. Won't do it—coming close, but he won't. So instead he waits as patiently as he can, fingers drumming on his mattress, the blankets rising and falling as he breathes in and out through his mouth.

Yachiru waits, squirming a little more; keeping him in suspense, the little brat, and with a groan of defeat, he finally sits up, eyes bleary and slightly crossed as he glowers at her.

"What?" he demands gruffly. She only beams up at him in response.

"If we ask Ichi to play too, will you get up?"

Kenpachi blinks a few times, as the words sink sluggishly into his brain—before it clicks together, and he feels a fiendish delight creep over him.

"Ichigo's here?" he repeats carefully, and Yachiru nods. Kenpachi double-checks, to make absolutely sure: just as she says, there's a flood of reiatsu streaming through Seireitei, so strong and powerful, and achingly familiar that Kenpachi honestly can't believe he didn't notice it sooner.

"Now do you wanna play?" Yachiru asks, almost slyly, and then giggles and claps approvingly as Kenpachi launches himself out of bed, headache be damned. He's dressed and ready in less than two minutes and then he's at the windowsill, pausing only so that Yachiru can take her usual spot on his shoulder, before he drops down into the grounds below.

"Which way is he?" Kenpachi demands eagerly, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword. Yachiru thinks for a moment, and then points authoritatively to the right, and Kenpachi takes off in that direction.

"So they've been chasing you all over town, harassing you?" Kyouraku concludes, tutting sympathetically. Ichigo laughs wearily and nods, slumping on his stool. Kyouraku's brought him to a small bar near the eighth squad barracks; it's nearly empty at this hour, aside from one unconscious member of the eleventh squad who's slumped and unconscious at a table in the corner. The whole place smells like stale body odor and booze, and Ichigo wrinkles his nose as he drums his fingers idly against the bar counter.

"Basically," he says. "And the worst part is that everyone else thinks it's so damn funny. Nobody's telling them to leave me alone, or help me get away, or…"

"Well, but…someone got you here, though, didn't they?" Kyouraku points out astutely, and then notes with interest Ichigo's faint blush in response. "Somebody in particular?" he adds, with only an edge of teasing in his voice.

Ichigo scowls.

"Doesn't matter," he grumbles firmly. Kyouraku smiles to himself but doesn't press the issue, as he raises a hand to get the barkeep's attention.

"Can I get a few drinks over here, please?"

About fifteen minutes later, Ichigo's startled to realize he's already polished off a second glass, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning slightly.

"What'd you say this stuff was?"

"Sake," Kyouraku replies, and then grins widely when Ichigo looks uncertain. "Now, now, Ichigo-kun. It's just alcohol, nothing too bad, I promise."
"…Don't normally drink," Ichigo admits after another moment of hesitation, trailing one finger around the rim of the glass and glowering darkly at the remaining liquid pooled at the bottom. "Been a shit day, though, and I guess this stuff doesn't taste as bad as I thought."

"Your tastes mature as you do," Kyouraku says brightly, and slides a new, full glass down the bar towards Ichigo, who stares suspiciously at it.

"Doesn't taste that good, though," he remarks dryly, and pushes it aside. "M' fine, I've had enough."

"There's no need to be polite," Kyouraku insists, and pushes the glass back towards him again. "Really, Ichigo-kun, I'm buying. I don't mind."

"It's not the money," Ichigo starts to say, but Kyouraku waves aside his words.

"Nonsense! Don't insult me, Ichigo-kun! Keep drinking!"

Lightweight, Kyouraku thinks fondly, as he trudges through the streets, hefting Ichigo's unconscious body a little higher on his shoulder. Only took about four or five glasses to knock him out—a good thing too, Kyouraku adds mentally as he turns a corner, making his way back toward the eighth squad's headquarters, because he's practically broke.

He certainly hopes Ichigo appreciates the sacrifice he's making to help the kid out.

Kyouraku's about halfway through the maze of the thirteenth squad's headquarters, whistling lightly and listening with interest as Ichigo mutters dreamily about dragons or something, when there's a light cough, and a voice calling out curiously to him.

"Shunsui?"

Kyouraku turns, grinning broadly; Ukitake's seated in the front garden of his captain's quarters, on a bench overlooking a small koi pond. A blanket's been pulled tightly around his shoulders (no doubt by order of Kiyone and Kotsubaki) even though the weather's been consistently mild and Ukitake hasn't had any relapses as of late.

"Afternoon, Jushiro!" Kyouraku cries cheerily. Ukitake returns his wave, though rather bemusedly, as he gets to his feet and makes his way to the front gate of the garden.

"Hello, Shunsui," he says again, when he's a bit closer, and his frown has deepened. "What are you doing out here? And who…who is that you're…? Wait…is that Ichigo-kun?"

"No worries, no worries, Jushiro," Kyouraku answers brightly, oblivious to Ukitake's dismayed expression, and pats Ichigo's unconscious body affectionately. "It's all part of my plan! Poor boy's a bit of lightweight. A couple drinks and he's gone! I don't envy his hangover…"

It takes Ukitake a minute or two of generally astonished spluttering before he can remember how to form fully coherent sentences.

"Shunsui," he begins, speaking as slowly and as meaningfully as possible, since it seems that Kyouraku has finally, completely lost his senses. "Shunsui, you got a fifteen year old drunk. What do you mean, 'no worries'? And—and what plan?"

"To help him lose his virginity," Kyouraku says simply, as if the answer is obvious. "He's saved Soul Society multiple times. I thought I'd repay the favor."

By this time, Ukitake really cannot speak, much as he wants to; the sound that escapes him is caught somewhere between a burst of hysterical laughter and scream of horror, and is followed by a bout of harsh coughing that summons Kiyone and Kotsubaki immediately to his side.

"There, there, captain," Kiyone says soothingly, with a polite nod to Kyouraku, as she tugs Ukitake back toward his quarters. "I've got you—"

"I've got you," Kotsubaki cuts in, shoving her out of the way. "Let's get you back to bed to rest, before you exhaust yourself."

"No," Ukitake grits out between hacking coughs, trying (uselessly) to free himself from their combined clutches. "You—you don't—don't understand—"

"No need to be noble, captain," Kiyone says with a gentle smile, simultaneously kicking Kotsubaki in the shins as hard as she possibly can, and swoops in to take his place as she folds her arms around Ukitake. "You don't always have to be the strong one, we understand."

"It's not—" Ukitake gasps indignantly, but they've already ushered him to the front door of his quarters, Kotsubaki hobbling all the while and hissing curses at Kiyone under his breath. Even though he's short of air, it takes the two of them a few good, hard yanks to finally dislodge Ukitake from where he's clinging by his fingernails to the doorframe.

"I'll see you later, Jushiro!" Kyouraku calls, mistaking Ukitake's helpless struggles as a (rather violent) wave goodbye. He waits until his friend is sealed away in his quarters again, and then continues his hike back to his headquarters.

"We went the wrong way," Kenpachi says flatly, staring down yet another dead-end, one eye twitching in irritation. Yachiru only thrashes excitedly on his shoulders, giggling and batting at the bells in his hair like a tiny, mad kitten.

"Ken-chan's not very good at hide and seek, I guess!"

"You told me to go this way," he replies as evenly as he possibly can, and then shakes his head to free one of his spikes from where her hands are fisted around it.

"No, I didn't," she insists, now tugging gently at his ear. Kenpachi gives a long-suffering sigh and turns on his heel, reaching out to catch a trace of Ichigo's now faint reiatsu as he races down another corridor of Seireitei.

Kyouraku reaches his barracks at roughly about the same moment that Ichigo begins to wake up again, semi-conscious and fairly bewildered to find himself hanging upside down and being bounced around on Kyouraku's shoulder—both of which do nothing to help his splitting headache, or the strong urge he has to vomit.

"What…?" Ichigo croaks, his mouth dry aside from the sour aftertaste of alcohol. "The hell's going on, Kyouraku? What did you do to me?"

He receives only a casual, almost patronizing chuckle in response.

"Never fear, Ichigo-kun. Just trying to help you loosen up. Should make it easier to resolve your little…shall we say, problem?"

Ichigo had, up until that moment, been staring weakly at the ground, desperately willing himself not to puke, no matter what. Kyouraku's words, however, rip him from his thoughts and he hesitates as a trace of horror stirs within his chest. This seems…uncomfortably familiar.

"What 'problem'?" he forces himself to ask, dreading the answer. Kyouraku gives another carefree laugh and shakes him a little—Ichigo slams his eyes shut and braces himself in anticipation for the words he knows are coming next; that, and silently willing his gag reflex not to begin spasming at the sudden, jerking movement.

"Your virginity, obviously."

In all honesty, Ichigo isn't sure what to be more terrified of: the fact that, somehow, even Kyouraku knows, or the idea that Kyouraku might be expecting to take care of said "problem" himself. The idea makes Ichigo even more nauseous, if possible. Before he has the opportunity to start kicking and screaming in protest, though, the sound of a door sliding open reaches his ears, a split second before he's dumped unceremoniously onto the cool, wood-paneled floor of one of the barracks.

When Ichigo's seeing straight again, he realizes that Kyouraku's standing over him, smiling serenely.

"You take good care of him," he says, to the room at large. "Do your best to help him."

"Yes, sir," a chorus of voices reply cheerfully. Female voices, Ichigo realizes, as a numb fear begins to spread through him.

"Go get 'em," Kyouraku hisses, and winks mischievously at Ichigo, before sliding the door shut again. It takes a good minute or so before Ichigo can will himself to get unsteadily to his feet (a combination of nerves and being fairly drunk) and take a deep breath. He's fought various captains and vice-captains of the Gotei 13; battled deranged, bloodthirsty Arrancar; he trained with Urahara, for crying out loud, and crush or no crush, that's still been one of the more brutal moments in his life that he's managed to survive.

He can handle whatever Kyouraku's thrown at him.

Right?

Ichigo takes another breath and slowly turns.

The room before him is painted bright pink, and filled with various futons, across which several (Ichigo counts at least ten, with dawning horror) women are sprawled. Most of them are half-dressed, the fronts of their kimonos pulled open to expose their cleavage, and the fabric pulled up to mid-thigh, showing off long legs. They're all incredibly beautiful, which Ichigo would be more than happy to admit if one: he weren't petrified; two: if he hadn't just been dumped in the middle of what he can only assume is Kyouraku's own private harem; and three: if they weren't all eyeing him eagerly, the way a pack of lions might as they surround their prey.

Ichigo takes a wary step back towards the door, and then another. He thinks about pleading, but it seems his throat has swollen shut.

The apparent "leader" gets to her feet, a tall, thin brunette whose outfit is practically see-through (Ichigo glances uneasily between her and the floor, not wanting to stare, and yet unwilling to take his gaze off her, in the case she might lunge in a surprise attack); her lips quirk in a half-smile, her eyebrows raised.

"You're pretty cute," she remarks, and crooks a finger teasingly at him. "Shall we?"

If Ichigo gets out of this alive, he's going to tear Kyouraku to pieces, right after he's finished with Rangiku.

Kenpachi skids to an abrupt halt, surprised by a sudden spike in Ichigo's reiatsu; he's close, Kenpachi realizes with a burst of excitement—as does Yachiru, who wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes, giggling.

"I can feel Ichi nearby!" she sings, and Kenpachi nods, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he turns another corner; with every step, Ichigo's reiatsu gets stronger and stronger, and Kenpachi finds himself licking his lips in anticipation. He hasn't had a good fight in ages, and he can feel his sword screaming with the need to taste blood.

"Hey, there, Captain Zaraki."

Kenpachi glances about bemusedly, and finds Kyouraku sprawled on across the steps outside one of his barracks, sipping from a half-empty bottle of sake. He didn't even realize he was near the eighth squad headquarters.

"Good morning, Captain Kyouraku!" Yachiru chirps. Kenpachi gives a grunt of acknowledgement, to which Kyouraku grins and raises his bottle in mock-cheers.

"What brings ya out here?" he slurs politely.

"Business," Kenpachi replies shortly, too focused on trying to identify which direction Ichigo's reiatsu is streaming from. He's close—so close, Kenpachi swears he can practically smell him, he just can't figure out where…

"Business? With me?" Kyouraku asks in mild alarm. His free hand flops out lazily, reaching for his sword—not realizing in his semi-intoxicated state that he left his sword lying under his bed earlier that morning. Kenpachi rolls his eyes, ready to continue trudging onward and abandon the conversation, but Yachiru, dangling from his neck, chooses at that moment to cry out: "We're playing hide and seek with Ichigo!"

"Oh…really?"

Kenpachi has never been one for subtlety (either in attempting or recognizing it), but the way Kyouraku tries and fails to hide a sly grin at the mention of Ichigo's name is enough to give even Kenpachi pause.

"Yes," Yachiru continues, oblivious to Kyouraku's rather (now that Kenpachi really thinks about it) evil smile. "He's 'it.' He doesn't know yet, but he is. Have you seen him?"

"Around," Kyouraku admits, and chuckles to himself, as if at some private joke. "Here and there, maybe…" Kenpachi isn't really listening, however—not anymore. He's preoccupied with the way Ichigo's reiatsu is now pulsing in frantic waves, almost enough to overwhelm Kenpachi himself. Kyouraku seems to sense this too, because he turns his smirk on Kenpachi and waggles his eyebrows in a lewd sort of way.

"Must be having fun, wherever he is."

Kyouraku's whole demeanor leaves Kenpachi feeling distinctly unsettled. He's about to turn away and continue conducting his search somewhere else (somewhere far, far away from the eighth squad headquarters, preferably), when there's a loud thud from within the barracks that Kyouraku's sitting in front of.

"The hell was that?" Kenpachi demands. Kyouraku's mouth opens again, probably to make yet another cryptic-yet-oddly-suggestive remark. Kenpachi will actually never know for sure, because at that exact moment, the door to the barracks flies open and Ichigo stumbles out, red-faced and sword held high, his shihakusho half-torn off of him.

"Ah, Ichigo-kun!" Kyouraku cries cheerfully. "Did you enjoy—?"

The rest of his words are lost, muffled beneath the foot that Ichigo sends crashing into the side of his head.

"You son of a bitch!" Ichigo snarls, as Kyouraku crumples to the ground with an unimpressive whimper of pain. "What the hell were you thinking? I should—" he makes several violent, threatening gestures with his sword, and then settles with giving Kyouraku another hard kick, this time in his side.

"Ichigo," Kenpachi growls, unable to hide his glee as he unsheathes his sword and straightens up in what he hopes is an intimidating manner (not at all helped by the delighted squeal that Yachiru lets out at Ichigo's appearance.) "I've come to—"

"—could have DIED in there, asshole! Dammit, don't you understand? I don't—"

"Oh, Kurosaki-kun?"

Both Ichigo and Kenpachi freeze, as a tall, slinky brunette wearing barely any clothing appears in the doorway of the barracks, pouting disapprovingly. "Why did you leave so soon?" she demands, one hand braced on her hip. "We didn't even get to the good part!"

If Kenpachi had eyebrows, they'd be up to his jagged hairline by this point.

Despite being curled on the ground in the fetal position, cowering under Ichigo's wrath, the sigh that Kyouraku lets out is one of utter exasperation.

"Kurosaki-kun," he grumbles, voice somewhat hard to hear, as he has both hands curled protectively over his face. "Don't be so difficult. I was only trying to help with your virginity—"

"We don't bite…much," Slinky adds with a teasing smirk.

"Ken-chan," Yachiru hisses in his ear, bewildered. "Ken-chan, what's 'the good part'?"

Kenpachi doesn't answer her, though, as the full weight of Kyouraku's words have just hit him. He whirls around toward Ichigo, who's glancing between the three of them, his expression twisted in a pained sort of way, as if he hasn't quite yet decided whether to be mortified or enraged.

"You're…a virgin?" Kenpachi repeats, not sure he heard right. Ichigo's face goes beet red—mortified, then—and Kenpachi blinks one, twice, trying to wrap his brain around this new information.

"Why don't you come back?" Slinky purrs, crooking her finger in a tempting manner. "I'll make it worth your while…"

"Go for it," Kyouraku says, with an encouraging thumbs-up, and gets another foot in the face for it.

"Ken-chan, what's a virgin?"

Kenpachi doesn't answer this question either. A new idea has just occurred to him, one that perhaps, for the first time in his life, is more appealing than fighting. Kenpachi sheathes his sword again, ignoring the unhappy noise that Yachiru makes in response, as well as the openly confused look that Ichigo shoots him.

"You're…you're not gonna attack me?" he asks, stunned. Kenpachi smirks, and lets his gaze trail thoughtfully up and down along Ichigo's body. The kid's chest and stomach are flat and toned, clearly visible despite Ichigo's best efforts to hold his robes closed. His legs are long; his forehead wrinkled in a frown that Kenpachi would hesitate to call adorable; deep brown eyes flash at him in angry confusion. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Kenpachi stares long and hard enough, until Ichigo suddenly gets the point: his embarrassed flush vanishes in an instant as the blood drains from his face, and he takes a stumbling step backward.

"Holy shit. You've gotta be kidding me," Ichigo says weakly, his voice cracking on the last word. "You're…you're not…you're gay?"

"Are you?" Kyouraku asks Kenpachi with considerable interest, back in the dirt and feebly attempting to stem the blood trickling from his nose with the sleeve of his pink kimono.

"Not really," Kenpachi replies, continuing to stroll leisurely in Ichigo's direction, who looks as if he's on the verge of fainting. "But you're not bad-looking, and…" Kenpachi grins wolfishly, and Ichigo goes even paler, if possible. "You know me: I like a good struggle."

"Are you gonna have fun, Ken-chan?" Yachiru interrupts excitedly, and this time Kenpachi responds to her question with a dark, rumbling laugh.

"Something like that."

A distinctly terrified squeak (something he'll hate himself for later) escapes Ichigo at those words. He's temporarily saved, however, by Slinky, who drops her coy demeanor in an instant and storms in between the two, shoving roughly at Kenpachi's shoulder.

"The hell you are," she snaps angrily, and crosses her arms firmly across her ample chest. "Me and my girls are all the way from the 65th District, and we need to get paid. Back off."

Kenpachi snarls, ready to reach for his sword again, when a loud, clanging noise catches his attention. Both of them whirl around to watch as Ichigo (his clothes barely clinging to him) clambers up on top of the barracks and takes off across the roofs of Seireitei, cursing and muttering frantically under his breath.

"Now see what you did?" Slinky growls in frustration, and gives Kenpachi another rough shove.

"A race!" Yachiru cries suddenly, practically beside herself with delight (and the only thing that keeps Kenpachi from unsheathing his sword again as he stares down the woman.) "Ichi wants it to be a race! Whoever gets him first is the winner!"

Slinky and Kenpachi contemplate one another for a moment; then, with startling speed—and a ferocity to rival Kenpachi's own, he has to grudgingly admit—she whips back around toward the barrack and screams out: "Girls! You want your money? Get him!"

"Go, Ken-chan!" Yachiru shrieks as Slinky and her gang burst from the barrack (trampling over Kyouraku), hot on Ichigo's trail. Kenpachi cackles, draws his sword again, and leaps onto the roof as well (one of his feet punching a hole through the ceiling in the process), reaching out mentally to track Ichigo's reiatsu and get whatever advantage he can.

"Wait," Kyouraku cries, lurching to his feet and staggering off behind the rest of them, taking special care to grab his bottle of sake before he leaves. "Wait! Can't we all just…calm down and have a drink?"

"I suppose we should do something," Yamamoto remarks wearily to his five remaining captains, as they watch Ichigo go flying across the rooftops, clutching his shihakusho closed with both hands; followed closely by Zaraki (brandishing a sword), Kyouraku (brandishing a bottle of sake), and an entire horde of women (brandishing an assortment of bras and underwear.)

"Should we?" Soi-Fon mutters wryly under her breath.

"Perhaps," Unohana replies mildly, eternal smile in place.

A hysterical scream, far in the distance, and the captains exchange bemused glances.

"I didn't know Kurosaki-kun's voice could go that high," Komamura remarks.

"A virgin," Kurotsuchi muses aloud to nobody in particular. "A pure sample. Perhaps he'd consent to breeding with Nemu."

Everyone else makes a subtle point of edging away from Kurotsuchi. Byakuya, expression stony, tosses his head in an arrogant flourish and turns away from the chase they're watching intently.

"This is a waste of my time," he announces and leaves. No one makes an effort to stop him, which Byakuya actually, sincerely appreciates; because the instant he shuts his office door behind him, he claps a hand to his mouth and doubles over in a fit of silent laughter at the mental image of Ichigo's terrified expression.

To Be Continued…

I feel like I should be stoned, or at least have some other legitimate excuse for writing this thing. Alas, I…don't. It's just my brain.

Please review! It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, lol.

—Rebel