Romance and Rivalries

Chapter Eight
by Rachael

Not every man could say, hand on their heart, that they were screwing their childhood idol. Despite the lack of interest in sexuality at ten-years-old, every boy had some sort of woman he was obsessed with for reasons unknown to him. It ranged from peeking up the skirt of the Barbie, belonging to his sister, Wonder Woman, or underwear mannequins in a department store. It is most acceptable for a young man to be obsessed with someone or something. Of course the whole sexuality thing doesn’t kick in until the boy is twelve or into his teens (a late bloomer). Sometimes the fascination with the underwear mannequin isn’t regarded as a crush until the sexuality element kicks in during the teens and a boy is forced to face the fact that his first crush was on an inanimate object (lace panties or not).

Shuhei Hisagi had a few first loves during his childhood. Growing up in a children’s home, he’d been of the daring older boys who’d dare approach a grown-up man and ask him to purchase a dirty magazine for him with his allowance. He and the two other boys his age (his cronies) used to sit around in their tree house and flick through the magazine. Had they been maybe four years older, they might have taken turns to have ‘alone time’ with the magazine (which would probably end up rather sticky in the end), but at eight or nine, they’d just stared in mild adoration at the photo’s of breasts and spread thighs.

Another first love was found in the woman who lived across the road. She would be in her late thirties now, but at the time, she was in her late teens. Her name was Kukaku Shiba, she and her family only lived across the street from them for a few months before they moved again, but those months were the best of his young life! There hadn’t been a challenge like sneaking onto the Shiba Family’s yard, climbing up the tree which faced Kukaku Shiba’s bedroom and peering in at her. Of course, did she catch you, you were a dead man. But if she didn’t, you got to live to dream of her tight underwear, her heaving bosom, luscious cleavage… Shuhei was never caught, but one of his cronies was (Yama), not by Kukaku herself, but by her brother, the elder brother, Kaien, who was possibly the nicest man in the world. He’d ruffled Yama’s hair, and told him if he ever caught him out there again, then he’d take him upstairs to tell his sister exactly what he’d caught him doing. But he didn’t tell the old man who ran the children’s home, and he certainly didn’t tell Kukaku.

Finally, his deepest obsession was found in a man. Until he was about sixteen, he hadn’t thought of it as anything more than admiration. The man’s name was Kensei Muguruma, he was pretty much everything Shuhei dreamed of becoming as an adult. He was strong, self-confident, powerful and respected. Muguruma-san had saved his life when he was a child. He was about nine-years-old, when a man in a suit had snatched Yama’s spray can, Shuhei, being a bold little snot, had started cat-calling abuse at him… The suited man unfortunately was some sort of head-case gangster, who pulled Shuhei into an alleyway and started trying to strangle him. Muguruma-san had spotted the scene as he left a bar, and had rescued him. Of course afterwards, Shuhei was unable to display his thanks; the shock had him bawling his eyes out like a baby… though he tried to cut that part out of his pleasant little flashback.

From that day a deep-routed adoration and obsession was born. He’d followed the man around, trying to make it up to him. He wanted to be just like Muguruma-san, who tolerated him out of… well, it was probably amusement. He remembered being completely crushed when the older man travelled over seas with Vizard Media. He remembered days, of being ten years old, and lying flat on his back in his bedroom, pining like a lost puppy.

To skip from that moment, gazing out of the bedroom window and wondering when he’d see his childhood idol again, to where he was now… it seemed a little… To be honest, he’d begun to think of himself as incredibly blessed, if a little warped.

Shuhei Hisagi was panting hard as he felt a roughened hand slide up his sweaty chest, fingers closing around a pert nipple. He gasped and leant his head back a little as the other man tweaked at it almost tauntingly. Shuhei was aware of his hands clasping onto the bedpost for support, his head moving from its place leaning against the wall. He was on his knees, slightly bent over with his legs spread; he couldn’t focus on much right now, barely aware of his senses. The room had the strangely familiar smell of rough love making, his hazed vision on the wall in front of him, in his ear he could hear the grunts and panting of his lover, mixed with his own whimpers and gasps, he could feel the dirtied sheets beneath him, the stickiness between his thighs, and most of all, the deep burying pleasure in his entrance as his lover ground inches away from his prostate almost tauntingly. Shuhei let out another moan as he felt his lover’s tongue sliding across the back of his neck, to his earlobe, which he took between his teeth and nibbled.

“Mm, you like that, Shuhei?” Kensei growled; lowering his other hand to rub him smoothly, his grip was firm, showing off every bit of power he had over the younger boy. “You like me playing with your pretty little nipples, don’t ya, ya little slut?”

He couldn’t help but arch into the touch, it was almost too much for him. He’d been told, by Kensei, that he was very vocal in bed, but that knowledge had made him self conscious about it. He was only ever self-conscious about two people, one was the man buried inside him at the moment, and the other was a certain busty barmaid who never failed to take his breath away…

“Come on, what did I tell ya ‘bout being quiet?” he bit his shoulder a little roughly, changing the position of his hands, one settled on his hip, the other fastened around his chest as he increased the crippling speed of his thrusts. He could feel the harsh impact of Kensei’s hips smacking against his backside, the slap of his ball sack on his skin.

Shuhei yelled out, unable to hold back his cries as he felt Kensei crash against that spot which made him see stars; it was an automatic reaction to grind his own hips back against the powerful thrusts, arch his back and cry out for more, more of this! That was how Kensei made him feel; desperate and hungry for more. Not just when they were like this, in every aspect of their life together. He made him expand upon his limits until nothing shackled him. Unless you were opposed to homo sex, then it’d be safe for him to say that the older man brought out the best in him.

“Come on, you wanna cum, don’t ya?”

Kensei was breathing harder, he must be getting close; Shuhei yelped as he felt the other picked up the pace, he went to lower his head, to press it against the wall so he was more bent over. The harsh slapping noise was getting louder and louder – his teeth were clenched together, tears streaming down the sides of his face, pale cheeks flushed dark pink in pleasure. The tattooed male cried out as he felt Kensei’s hand suddenly grip into his thick dark hair and yank back his head from the wall.

His lover chuckled darkly into his ear, despite his breathlessness, he licked along the shell of his ear, sucking on his neck, “Little Shuhei,” he purred, “You want to cum, you’re gonna have to beg – Aahh!” he grunted hard as Shuhei clenched around his throbbing length tauntingly. A familiar spark flickered into the silver haired man’s eyes; he bit down harshly on his shoulder, “You tryin’ t’ tease me, Shuhei?” he stopped his thrusts, half to work towards goading the boy into begging, and half because if he kept thrusting while Shuhei was constricting like that, he was so painfully sure he’d cum. “Get your hands up!” he snarled, spanking the back of his thigh hard, “Right up against the wall,” he hummed to himself as he watched his arms raise, shaking a little from the pleasure dancing through his body, begging Kensei to spark it off into that blissful place… Shuhei placed his hands shoulder length apart on the wall; he was breathing hard, his eyes on the bed below him.

It was too hot when the boy would take charge like that, or at least tried too. Shuhei Hisagi was approachably good looking, he was charming in his mannerisms (so much so it was easy for Kensei to get a little jealous), and he was pretty sexy too… When they’d started seeing each other, Shuhei had tried to imply he was so grown-up now. Brats come out of university thinking they’re so grown-up… He could remember his words like it was yesterday, ‘You don’t have to look out for me anymore, Muguruma-san; I’m an adult now.’ The younger man had tried to insist when they began to get… intimate; that he had a lot of experience, but it became evident fast that it was just talk. But now, after four months, Shuhei had the experience, he knew all sorts of ways to drive Kensei insane; he never thought he’d be the sort of man to fall so easily for the touches and whispers of someone nearly twenty-years his junior. It was cute if anything… And it did seem strange that this was the same child who’d irritatingly followed him around, dangling from his every word… now in his early twenties, Kensei’s tattoo on his cheek, inked up, and so handsome. He wasn’t sure when he stopped thinking of the damn kid as a damn kid into a potential bedmate. He knew there was a time he didn’t and a time he did. But the line between them was almost indistinguishable. He’d always been… aggressive in bed, or so he’d been told, but this… boy, had him wanting to do things he hadn’t since he was an unemployed tough guy for a gang putting his seductive energies into trying to woo different barmaids.

Kensei purred a little into Shuhei’s ear, “Now, you wanna cum, Shuhei Hisagi, you beg me for it, you work for it,” he whispered, sucking on his neck, “and you wanna cum, don’t ya? You made such pretty sounds yesterday mornin’…”

The dark haired male began to pant louder. He couldn’t take it. It was a rare thing, even when he loved it, for him to loose all self-control, but Kensei Muguruma tipped him over the edge, transforming him from a calm and distinguished young man, into a moaning, writhing deviant. He could only imagine the look on his face, flushed cheeks, his eyes half lidded and glazed over with lust.

“P-P-Please – Please, Kensei! Kensei, let me cum – make me cum –!” He barely recognized his own voice, so consumed with pleasure, aching with need and longing… “Make me scream – Fuck! Fuck – Kensei!”

It was difficult for a man like him to lose himself like this, but the pounding of his heart, that unbearably good sensation spinning round his body, telling him that soon unimaginable pleasure would come him. Oh God – he didn’t want to stop!

And he did scream, he threw back his head and screamed out as Kensei picked up his old pace, grasping his hips and pushing in and out, back and forth, stretching his inner walls and sliding against his prostate. Shuhei could feel the satisfied and longing in his lover’s moans into his ear.

“Y-You’re damn good for me, Shu,” he grunted, clenching his teeth closed to suppress his own cries. A roughened hand reached down and clasped onto the younger male’s aching member, leaking with sticky white droplets of pre-come. Kensei moaned into his ear, feeling the long firm erection twitch a little in his hand at the sound, he began to stroke him roughly, pushing his hand from the thick base, just above his balls, to the leaking head, stood to attention against his stomach.

It was too much, and Shuhei could feel it, he could feel it burning inside him, he couldn’t see, it was like his vision had been consumed with a blinding white light – he had to close his eyes, and scream out the name of the man giving this to him – and Oh God – could he give it to him?! Shuhei sobbed out in bliss, his orgasm racking through his veins like a deliciously addictive drug, coming to his release and ramming down his hips against Kensei on sheer impulse.

In the back of his head, he could hear Kensei panting and moaning out, getting closer and closer, until he grunted loudly, his head bowed against Shuhei’s arched back as he exploded inside his lover. Shuhei could feel him fill him, he could feel his hot seed aching inside him, sliding down his thighs, yet all he could do was pant and press his sweaty forehead to the wall, his arms lowered slightly against the pillows, listening his heart beat, and Kensei’s beating against his back.

This was one of those moments were he thanked his lucky stars for taking Izuru seriously when the blonde said ‘You need to study now, sempai’, instead of goofing off with Iba in bars.

***

Jushiro hadn’t been to hospital in a while when it was about someone else. So it was sort of nice to sit in the waiting room, humming to himself and glancing around at the others there. It could be so depressed to sit here, wondering when the Doctor would see you… wondering how serious the situation was, what had this blood test revealed about your increasing poor health? Not today! And although he was very worried, he couldn’t hold off the feeling that he was happy to be sitting here as an observer and friend, rather than as a patient himself.

The white-haired male glanced out of the window. He liked the hospital gardens… when he’d been here for three months he had a room on the fourth floor, it had the most spectacular view out of the window. In the gardens of the hospital they had a row of sakura trees, a reassuring sight when you’re at Deaths Door. He remembered thinking that if he were to die alone while the doctors and nurses were gone, and Shunsui was at work, then he was lucky to have that view as his last sight…

“Hey, Jushiro, please don’t look so depressed,” Shunsui murmured in a small voice, “I’m sorry I dragged you here.”

“Oh no, I’m not depressed,” he smiled gently at his lover, putting a hand on his knee for reassurance. “It just feels a little strange being here for someone else.”

It was a little silly actually, the reason why they were there. Shunsui had been messing around in the kitchen, while Nanao was out buying Jushiro his paper (she’d insisted). Anyway, he had, through no fault of his own, set the dinner on fire, and the long sleeve of his yukata… Nanao returned to find their kitchen alight and her boss very distressed (I mean you can’t fall, duck and roll in your own kitchen). Nanao being the sensible sort of person, put out the fire (Jushiro was sleeping in the next room and napped right through this), only for Shunsui to attempt to throw his arms around her in relief, and in leaping away from him, she’d broken her wrist on the counter-top. Jushiro had been woken to Shunsui running into the room, holding his screaming (for him to put her down) secretary bridal style, his eyes horrified, asking if Jushiro would come with him to A&E for Nanao-chan.

So here they were.

Shunsui wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed his soft white hair tenderly, “Count your blessings then,” he whispered in a low voice.

“Are you ready for class tomorrow?” Jushiro asked, peering up at his face. Ever since their talk last night, he’d been eager to keep things as happy and positive as they could. Even if it was avoiding the issue, he didn’t want to talk about his remaining time; he didn’t want to talk about death.

The dark haired male blinked, and then smacked himself in the forehead, groaning, “I do believe I had essays to mark.”

Jushiro laughed a little, “How about when we get home I mark half of them? I’ve missed marking,” he admitted, “I really have.”

It was one of the worst things about being sick; he’d had to give up teaching. And he’d loved being a teacher, he loved guiding young minds into their future, he liked being there for his students when they needed him, he liked seeing the joy on their faces come results day. He liked being recognized by former students six years after he’d taught them, to see how they were getting on. It was an honour to have made your mark on a young person’s life.

“You’ve missed marking?” Shunsui laughed loudly, “You’re mad, Jushiro, I’ve always said it,” he stroked his arm gently. Turning to attention as a nurse began to make her way towards them.

“Shunsui Kyoraku-san?” the young woman asked, holding her clipboard in front of her. Jushiro pretended he didn’t notice the way Shunsui’s eyes travelled along the young woman’s slender form, she had nice legs, slim, curvy thighs… and such a short skirt. It was easy to see why Shunsui was undressing her with his eyes, maybe imagining her playing doctor with him. It made him feel bitter, a tiny part in him, the only part, was unable to understand that it was just Shunsui’s nature.

“Yes, that’s me,” he smiled brightly at her, rising to his feet, though he kept a hold of Jushiro’s arm, as his white haired lover rose with him.

“Your secretary is just fine,” the nurse said, glancing down at her clip board, “We’ve bandaged her wrist and we’re just filling out some forms. Miss Ise will be with you in just a moment.”

He bowed his head politely, “Thank-you for taking such good care of Nanao-chan.”

Jushiro smiled at the woman, he noticed how she was staring at them a little confused. It probably did look confusing; Shunsui and him gave off every sign of being a couple, they were like a married couple without the wedding and title… But Shunsui often talked about Nanao as if she were his girlfriend or wife. In there time, people had nervously asked if Nanao was a surrogate mother, if the three of them had a weird threesome going on, or if Jushiro was ‘sure Shunsui wasn’t a little too… friendly with his secretary’.

“Not a problem, sir,” the girl bowed and turned to hurry back off behind the ward.

Shunsui smiled relieved, “You know, I met Nanao when she was eight years old? Lisa-chan brought her round one day. She thought I was an idiot then too,” he chuckled to himself. “She’s going to hit me with her good arm when she comes out.”

“Only you could avoid a fire, and injure someone in five minutes,” Jushiro laughed, elbowing him playfully, “I’m just glad Nanao-san is alright.”

A few moments later Nanao returned to them, wearing a white bandaged cast on her wrist, glowering at Shunsui, she bowed politely to Jushiro, “I’m sorry for the trouble,” she said, nodding her head, “I could have taken myself here, Ukitake-san.”

“Nonsense,” he laughed, “is your wrist going to be alright?”

“Yes. It should heal up in a few days,” she flexed it, wincing a little, “I called Lisa-san, she said she’d come and pick me up, the two of us had lunch plans so there’s no need for me to hinder your day.”

“It’s no hindrance at all, just take it easy,” he patted her gently on the shoulder. “Enjoy your lunch.”

She smiled back, brushing her hair out of her face, “Thank-you, Ukitake-san,” she turned and shot Shunsui one of her looks, “As for you, you… remember to mark those essays!”

As the two men left the hospital, Shunsui whispered in a small teasing voice, “I think she’s mad at me.”

***

Izuru flushed a little, he was stood in front of his locker, gazing at his reflection. It must be true about what people said about sex being good for the skin… for some reason he didn’t look quite as pale today. He also noticed that he couldn’t quite get that smile off his face. Last night had been the best night of his life so far; he’d woken up this morning feeling excited instead of nervous and edgy.

To be fair he’d woken to his Sensei, Ichimaru-Sensei, Ichimaru Gin, Gin, sleeping beside him, bony arms wrapped around Izuru’s head, listening to the soft beat of his heart. It was everything he’d dreamed it would be. His lips tingled for more of those tender kisses, those pale long fingered hands running along his back, teasing his chest, stroking down every inch of his body. He’d felt exposed without his clothes, naïve and stupid… but Gin had brought him into a state where he had forgotten his natural self-consciousness and didn’t try and hide his moans or cover his nudity. Last night was the best night of his life so far!

Lowering the collar of his shirt, the blonde boy blushed a little as his gaze fell upon a dark purple hickey blossoming just below the cut of his shirt. Gin had been just as passionate as him, instructing too, as Izuru’s closest experience to real life sex was a little… ridiculous (he’d fallen asleep on a bed at a party and woken in the middle of the night to Hisagi-sempai nailing some girl in the bed beside his, though in honesty, Izuru had embarrassedly hidden under the blankets with his hands over his ears, only peeking to look once). Though he was sure he couldn’t be right, it seemed like Ichimaru-Sensei… Gin, didn’t have a lot of experience either… More than ever before, he couldn’t wait to get to class, his heart beating away in his chest like a drum, he saw the colour rising in his cheeks in his reflection and had to cover his face in a vain attempt to calm down.

“Hey, Izuru,” a hand smacked him on the back of his head, making him stumble a little, and the blonde spun around to see Renji grinning down at him.

“Ow,” he rubbed his head irritably, “Good morning, Renji,” Izuru smiled brightly at his friend. Even Renji roughening him up couldn’t bother him today.

“Jeez,” the redhead whistled, leaning in to inspect him closer, he turned Izuru’s head a little, taking a hold of his chin to look at his ears.

Izuru gasped and attempted to push him off, “What? What is it?”

Renji shook his head, still smirking from ear to ear, “Since when are you so cheerful? And it’s Monday morning? Are you Izuru Kira or some sort of alien who hasn’t bothered to study his behaviour before probing him? If so, Izuru is always miserable,” he teased, ruffling his soft blonde hair, laughing loudly.

“Oh very funny,” he rolled his eyes, straightening himself up and turning back to the mirror just to make sure his shirt covered the love bites… It was a good thing he didn’t have P.E until tomorrow, he could do something about them tonight. Or just change in the toilets and wear tracksuit bottoms instead of shorts on Tuesday? It was manageable; nothing was going to bother him today.

“I am curious though,” he admitted, “What’s gotten you so happy?” Renji moved to his own locker, opening it up and wincing at the mess it was in. It was filled with scrap paper… sweaty gym clothes, some of Jinta’s comic books (he’d stolen them to be mean), and on the door was a photograph of him, Rukia and Ichigo from a photo booth. His locker had… character, or that’s what he’d argue ever time a staff member tried to tell him off for it. It was a real contrast to Izuru’s (which had all of his folders neatly staked, his timetable stuck to the mirror, there was a photo booth photograph of Izuru, Renji, Momo and Hisagi-sempai when they were all in middle school together), and more so to Momo (also a bit of an organization freak when it came to her folders, however she had blue-tacked photo’s all over hers, most of kittens, herself and her little cousin, herself and Rukia wearing traditional kimono’s, and rather a few of a man called Sosuke Aizen (whom she adored)). Ikkaku’s locker would be as bad as Renji’s, if he made any effort to keep up with his schoolwork.

“I erm, had a good nights sleep last night, I guess,” Izuru mumbled, taking out one of his books from the orange folder and slipping it into his bag, “That and it’s a lovely day. I don’t always have to be miserable.”

Renji shrugged, “I guess not. So, you, erm, had a good weekend?”

“Actually, yes, I saw Hisagi-sempai briefly,” he brightened up a little in that memory. Renji wouldn’t be annoyed or anything if he told him that he’d seen Hisagi-sempai with a man, who looked like they were… boyfriends or something; but he felt it was something the older boy would tell him in person, so Izuru left it out.

“Wow, really,” Renji laughed, looking happier at the mention of their sempai; “Ever since he got that job at Vizard we never see even an inch of him! You’re like a bird spotter, Izuru!”

Izuru laughed, swinging his bag over his shoulder, “He said he’d be up for going drinking with us some time soon?”

“Aw, that’d be awesome. I’ve missed having him around,” he picked up his backpack, testing the weight a little. He hadn’t remembered to take out his English books, and he couldn’t fit them in his locker, which meant he’d be going around with a really heavy bag… It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because Ikkaku was looking buffer than him these days, and Renji certainly didn’t want to look as weedy as Izuru, so carrying around something heavy would be good for him… but it was a pain in the ass no less.

The blonde brushed back his hair, “Come on, slowpoke, we have to get to class!”

“You’re too eager to get to that tyrant’s class! Don’t you remember what he did to my pants? And my free time – and yours, for that matter…” he rubbed his chin, “Wasn’t he meant to be at yours for that, tutoring thing?”

Damn… he was hoping to avoid this whole area. He was going to have to put off a lot of obvious ‘we spent the whole night making love’ kind of aura he was prone to give out… Renji finding out would be a HUGE mistake!

“Erm, yeah,” he shrugged, “It’s not too bad, you hate him, but he’s a good teacher,” he shuffled his feet nervously; “I’m pretty ahead with my studies now, I’ve finished all the stuff on the American West.”

Renji groaned, “Urgh, I still haven’t done that damn essay!” He straightened up, “It’s fair enough, I guess. I also wouldn’t want Ichimaru-Sensei in my house,” he shuddered, “Bet you liked it though – bet you made him a cute little dinner and dressed in a kimono to try and seduce him,” the redhead teased him, wriggling his hips tauntingly.

Now his face did go red – how almost close to the truth that was… Renji would be a great detective one day if he weren’t such an idiot.

“Hey, Izuru,” he teased, “Let me guess, you’re all covered with love bites from Sensei,” he was joking, but if he only knew how close he was too the truth! If Renji saw them, then it’d all be over. He wouldn’t be able to pass them off as having barged into something stupid… because he remembered Renji dating Yumichika… the two of them must have had a fetish for it or something because they were both covered.

“Don’t be gross,” he said curtly, brushing past him as he made his way up to the classroom, almost begging that someone would appear to distract Renji from his sudden interest in his weekend.

Luckily this fortune came in the form of Ichigo, whom Renji leapt onto. Ichigo cried out in horror and Renji dangled from his shoulders, his feet scraping across the floor, hanging off him, almost making the orange haired boy fall from the strain of taking Renji’s weight.

“Hey, good morning, Ichigo!” he grinned in a singsong voice into his ear, nipping at it teasingly. Ichigo retorted in a rather well deserved elbow to the chest, causing Renji to grunt and land face-first on the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Renji, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t like you climbing all over me! I’m not a damn climbing frame!” There was a flush on his cheeks, telling both Renji and Izuru (who was watching nervously from the foot of the stairs) he had something to hide.

Renji rolled his eyes, brushing back his hair, “You told me, Ichigo, I just don’t remember listening,” he stuck out his tongue, stretching out, “So, did you do the homework or were you too busy doing something else?” he rocked his hips in a humping motion.

Ichigo coloured up pink, clashing horribly with his hair, his eyes narrowed angrily, and Izuru tried hard not to blush with him. “What’s that supposed to mean, ya moron!”

He began walking ahead towards the classroom, glancing over his shoulder at Ichigo, winking at him to try and rile the other boy, “Oh I’m sure you can guess… How is Grimmjow-san this morning?” He emphasised the syllables on the blue-haired man’s name, his smile spreading across his cheeks like a wild fire when he saw the shiver travel across Ichigo’s body. Did that mean they’d done the deed? Or that they’d gotten a little friendlier in the whole intimacy area?

It couldn’t be the former, because knowing Ichigo; he’d have gotten a lot angrier with Renji, had he guessed correct. Instead the orange haired boy bit his lower lip, stuck out his hips a little and brushed past him, glancing back he said rather coldly, “You have a dirty mind, Renji. You must be feeling real lonely these days or something.”

Ouch…

Renji rolled his eyes and ran past Ichigo, smacking him hard on the butt before diving into the classroom, laughing with boyish glee. Ichigo hissed and ran after him, cursing and threatening. Izuru just smiled to himself and began to follow the other two slowly into the classroom, relieved the topic was off him. If he got really, really lucky then it wouldn’t be mentioned by Renji again for a while (hopefully long enough for him to stop blushing like an idiot!)… Fortunately for him, as he reached the scene in the classroom, Izuru was relieved to realize that the topic definitely wouldn’t scoop back to him again today. He dropped his bag on his desk, Sensei wasn’t here yet… But there was quite a gathering around Uryu Ishida’s desk, something that was quite rare on its own (considering Uryu was cold-natured and disliked being surrounded by people); each of the people seemed to be discussing some sort of event rather excitedly.

“So you’re throwing a house party, Uryu?”

Now this was strange, Uryu Ishida (as well as being cold-natured and anti-social) was a straight-laced A-grade student, devoted to his pretty stitching, skilled sketching and archery-club; and he was throwing a house party… Izuru didn’t think he’d ever seen him at a party… or at a bar?

“Yes,” he said stiffly, “It’s at my father’s house.”

“Hey, I’m invited, right, Ishida?” Renji asked, puffing out his chest, a hand leaning onto the slimmer boy’s desk. “I mean, you couldn’t throw a party without me.”

“What makes you so certain you’re the life and soul of anyone’s party?” Uryu answered back coldly, his eyes narrowed, “But yes, I had intended to invite you.”

Izuru had heard a rumour that Uryu lived separately from his father as the two of them didn’t get along. He wondered what that must be like, and what the two of them had fought over.

Renji laughed aloud, beaming brightly, “Hey! So who else is coming?”

“Renji-kun, we all talked about it before you arrived,” cut in Tatsuki, taking a small step forward from her place at the side with the other girls. Orihime was beside her, chatting to Chizuru happily about the rather… strange smelling breakfast she’d bought with her (Izuru thought it smelt vaguely of strawberries… and fish?).

“Well I wanna know,” he frowned a little, sitting on Ichigo’s desk, “Ichigo is coming right?”

“That’s up to Ichigo,” Uryu sighed, brushing back his hair from his eyes, “Anyway, tell whoever you want. I don’t mind who comes.”

Tatsuki took out her phone, “I doubt Ikkaku-san is coming in today, so I’ll just text him the details? Your father’s house is three streets down from the hospital right? The big white one, I think its number 14, right?”

Uryu nodded; he was rude to everyone, but he seemed to have a softer spot for kind-hearted people. For example he was always very decent to Orihime-chan, and not for the reasons most guys were. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said politely, beginning to put away his sewing.

He noticed the excitement vanish from Renji’s face… Of course if Ikkaku-san was coming, he’d invite Yumichika-sempai along with him, which would mean Renji wouldn’t have any fun, or he’d drink himself stupid and vomit outside after pissing everyone else off.

“Does your father know about the party?” Ichigo cut in suddenly. Izuru recognized the look on his face as… disapproval.

There was a slight flush to Uryu’s cheeks at that comment, he seemed to dismiss it, shrugging his shoulders, and there was a definite sneer in his tone as he said, “Why should he? I’m a teenager, teenagers throw house parties.”

So that explained it… he was out to get revenge on his father after some sort of fight. Izuru wondered whether or not he’d attend… It would have to depend on whether or not he was spending time with Gin. Out of the two he’d rather see Gin, then go and supervise Renji getting wasted and making an idiot out of himself… (Izuru had been there when Renji discovered Ikkaku and Yumichika together, and despite having good reasons for his actions, Izuru and Momo had a really tough time getting him home that night, especially with Renji cursing and sobbing quite a lot…)

“Yeah, that sounds real mature, Uryu,” Ichigo snapped, rolling his eyes and leaning forward on his desk.

“Oh, who are you to lecture me about maturity? And why do you insist on calling me by my first name? The two of us are not very close acquaintances.”

Ichigo chuckled and leant back on his chair, about to respond when the classroom was interrupted by Keigo Asano (or as Izuru remembered him, the class idiot), who lunged through the door, greeting everyone rather loudly, before becoming openly horrified that Uryu was the centre of attention, babbling something ridiculous about it being the beginning of a terrifying new world where nerds were considered the alpha male… the normal rubbish Izuru was against listening too, for the sake of his mere sanity.

Izuru turned to look out of the window, feeling a little agitated that Gin wasn’t here yet; he was excited, actual excitement in his chest, waiting for the mere presence of the other man!

“Uryu is throwing a party,” Ichigo interrupted Keigo, “Pretty much everyone is going.”

“Why would an anti-social guy like Uryu throw a party?” Keigo gasped in surprise, staring at Ichigo like some would a deity statue or a various other being holding all the answers. Naturally the other neglected the fact that Uryu sat perhaps three seats from Ichigo, and Keigo was easily one to forget to use his indoor voice.

“How in the hell should I know?” Ichigo snapped back, shooting Keigo one of his looks, “Anyway, the whole class is going.”

“Am I invited?” he asked a little hopefully.

Before Uryu could duet Ichigo’s ‘no’, the door crashed open revealing the student body president, or Keigo’s older female alter ego. Now here was the most terrifying woman in the world… Even the likes of Renji were taking a nervous step backwards… Kyoraku-Sensei kept his distance.

Mizuho Asano strode into the classroom, her hands on her hips, “Good morning, Class 1-A, I’m here to speak to Keigo,” she beckoned for her brother to come to her. Even Izuru (who couldn’t stand Keigo) felt bad for the guy as he shakily walked towards his sister. She seized his shoulders, muttering something about ‘Is everyone here?’

He nodded his head.

“Then where is Ikkaku-kun?”

Oh right! Izuru had almost forgotten – the most terrifying woman in the world had a thing for men with shaved heads. Her preferences seemed to include tough, proud-natured men with shaved heads, so Ikkaku-san (despite being bald, which he’d deny he was anyway) was pretty much on the top of her list. Recently Mizuho-san had become somewhat obsessed with the idea of snaring Ikkaku away from Yumichika and the rumour was she intended to marry him one day.

“I-I, erm, I don’t think he’s in today?”

One of her hands curled into a fist, “What do you mean? My darling isn’t present? Is he sick?”

“I don’t know?”

“Alright, Keigo,” she turned and pointed dramatically at Renji, who had been attempting to cower behind his desk (unsuccessfully, considering he has bright red hair). “Renji-kun, may I borrow your cell-phone?”

“What do you want with it?” He mumbled, though he already taking it out of his trouser pocket.

Her smile was a little too terrifying, a slight vein flashing on her forehead, “I’d like Ikkaku-kun’s number. As student-body president, it’s important I investigate his absence, I’d hate for an innocent student to be accused of truanting.”

Nobody in the whole world would believe that. Izuru wondered a little why she didn’t just say ‘I’m going to take his number and stalk him a little more than normal’, nobody would have argued with that.

“Oh, erm, right… Here you go,” he handed over his phone instantly.

Of course she wouldn’t point out that he shouldn’t have his phone in school. Seeking out her beloved came first after all… He watched her carefully adding Ikkaku’s number, feeling sorry for the bald man already. Izuru pondered on whether or not Mizuho would track down his location and attempt to nurse him back to health in a Stephen King’s Misery sort of way.

After the crazy women left, Keigo let out a sigh of relief and flopped into his seat, “Poor Ikkaku,” he grumbled, “She’s going to be on the phone all day now.”

“Yeah,” Renji was smirking a little, despite himself, “Poor, poor Ikkaku.”