Aesthesia

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Ichigo was flustered. It had been a few days since… that thing in the room beneath Urahara’s shop. Fucking lesson four. The blonde bastard had left him there on his knees, still panting, climbing the ladder to his shop without a word.

Despite the offer for food, Ichigo knew he couldn’t make himself sit at the table with the others, all but running out of the shop in his embarrassment.

It had taken all of his will power to return for extra training, but Urahara seemed to have forgotten all about the incident. He had expected lewd smirks at best and at worst another grope session. At second thought, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst—

Ichigo shook his head, not entirely liking where this particular train of thought was taking him. Recently, though, this sort of thing was hardly uncommon. Every wet dream he’d had since featured the man. That was embarrassing enough in itself, but even when he’d been jerking off one night when he couldn’t sleep, picturing one of the blonde centerfold babes featured in a magazine he’d smuggled from his dad’s stash, he couldn’t help but remember Urahara’s breath ghosting along the side of his face. And once the fantasy started he just couldn’t stop it.

Biting his lip, he recalled Urahara’s tongue swiping across his neck and imagined the sting of teeth at his throat. With a groan he wrapped his hand tighter around his cock, wishing that the shop owner was there, watching him. What would Urahara say if he saw the orange haired shinigami like this? It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine; Urahara had said plenty of things that, whenever Ichigo found himself remembering them, never failed to leave him hard and wanting.

“My, my, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara would say, “what do we have here?” His eyes would be shadowed by that ever present hat, but Ichigo would still be able to feel the heat from his gaze searing across his skin. “I like boys to come for me,” he’d said.

And with that Ichigo was coming, the image of Urahara standing over him with a smirk all he needed to send him over the edge.

He’d lain there in bed, a flush creeping over his skin. He’d never be able to look at Urahara again.

But here he was, outside of the shop. He still had practice to attend to if he was going to save Rukia. Taking a deep breath he entered the shop. He heard Jinta shouting from somewhere further inside, but other than that, the shop seemed pretty quiet.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun!” a voice said from behind him, startling him nearly out of his skin. He spun around quickly, recognizing that voice and not trusting Urahara at his back. “You’re later than usual.”

Ichigo gave the man a blank stare. “Are you kidding me?” he asked after a few moments of awkward silence. At Urahara’s politely confused look, Ichigo pressed on, getting angrier as he continued to speak. “Oh, Kurosaki-kun!” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “I’m going to smirk at you from behind my girly fan and act as though nothing has happened!”

Urahara did indeed have his fan held in front of his face, so that Ichigo could only see his eyes watching him sharply. It was hard to guess what he was thinking—no surprise there—and Ichigo wondered if maybe he had just said something he would later regret.

Snapping the fan shut abruptly, Urahara smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kurosaki-kun.”

Eye twitching, Ichigo figured he hadn’t said nearly enough. “No idea!” he shouted. He heard the voices in the other room cease abruptly and felt himself blushing. “Don’t think for one second I’m going to believe that!” he stage whispered furiously.

Urahara was still smiling brightly, tapping his fan against his chin as if in thought. “Now really, Kurosaki-kun, you don’t have to be so disagreeable.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. That… that thing,” Ichigo said, searing for words that would make his point without embarrassing himself. “L…lesson four.”

He knew how red his face had to be, but Urahara thankfully didn’t draw any attention to it. He had however, lost his characteristic smile. “Oh?” he said, all trace of humor gone from his voice. “Is that what this is about? Though I suppose is does explain your behavior over the past few days.”

Ichigo was nearly struck speechless. Nearly. “M-my behavior!? You think you can just grope me and then act like nothing happened?”

Urahara was smiling again. “It was merely a lesson. Why bring up this one, but not the others?”

“It bloody well was not just a lesson, you pervert!”

“You still haven’t answered my question, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara said with a smirk. His smile widened when Ichigo didn’t respond. “Ah, yes. I see.”

Ichigo stiffened at the strange tone that Urahara’s voice had taken. It was not unlike the tone he’d use while hissing into Ichigo’s ear just a few days ago. “See what?”

“That you’d like for it to happen again, of course!” He continued despite the shocked look on Ichigo’s face. “Kurosaki-kun, you ought to have said something earlier, I’d be happy to oblige you.”

Ichigo couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of such a ridiculous suggestion, though he snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he must look like, standing there with his mouth hanging open.

“Well, but this really isn’t the place… Perhaps we should take this to my room, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Woah, hey,” Ichigo said, holding his hands up as Urahara moved closer. “That’s not what I—”

Urahara had him up against the wall before he could blink. “Not what you want, Kurosaki-kun?” His hand found its way to Ichigo’s cock. Truthfully, Ichigo had been hard from the moment he had entered the shop and seen Urahara. The blonde man just had that effect on him recently. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Just say yes,” Urahara said with a squeeze that forced a startled gasp out of Ichigo, “and we’ll take this elsewhere.”

“Yes,” Ichigo said with a groan as Urahara stroked him through the fabric of his school uniform.

Urahara grabbed his elbow and led him through several unoccupied rooms until they reached one that seemed to fit the shopkeeper’s liking. Urahara pressed Ichigo up against the wall once more, but then abruptly stepped backwards. Ichigo opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when Urahara shook his head.

“Strip for me, Kurosaki-kun.” He sighed when Ichigo remained still, the teen’s eyes gone wide. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Ichigo tried to keep his hands from shaking as he raised them to the zipper of his school uniform. Nervous and embarrassed as he was, he was still unbearably turned on. No dream he’d had of the man could compare to this, the reality.

Closing his eyes he let the jacket drop to the floor before resting his hands on his belt. Taking a deep breath to steady himself he pulled the hem of his shirt free, apprehensive as he tugged the fabric over his head. He didn’t dare take another look at Urahara, not wanting to lose his resolve, and bent to remove his socks. Nervous hands worked at his belt. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both trousers and boxers, he tugged them down and stepped out of them awkwardly.

He once more pressed his back against the wall, exposed and achingly hard; but the feel of the cool wood on his bare skin helped center him as he tried to regulate his breathing.

With his eyes still tightly shut, he felt rather than saw Urahara come closer.

“Very nice, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara said and Ichigo found himself strangely warmed by the compliment. “Now touch yourself.”

Ichigo’s eyes flew open in disbelief, but he still moved his right hand down towards his cock. Urahara grabbed his wrist.

“Not so fast, Ichigo,” the shopkeeper said, surprising the orange haired teen with the use of his given name. “Make it good.”

Ichigo had never blushed so hard in his life. He closed his eyes again and turned his head slightly, hands roaming over his chest. He wasn’t expecting for Urahara to grab his face, turning Ichigo to look at him once more. “Look at me while you touch yourself, Ichigo.”

Ichigo moaned in embarrassment and opened his eyes but the only reason he didn’t stop touching himself was the roughness he heard in Urahara’s voice. It seemed the man wasn’t as unaffected as he’d wanted to appear.

As difficult as it was, he forced himself to keep his eyes locked to Urahara’s. Taking yet another deep breath he set one hand on Urahara’s wrist, not to push the man away, but to anchor himself. Ichigo lifted the first two fingers of his other hand to his mouth to suck on them before letting them circle one of his nipples, pinching and teasing. He groaned as he continued to work his nipples into stiff peaks, rocking his hips without being able to stop himself. Maybe now Urahara would let him…

With Urahara’s eyes locked on the actions of his fingers, Ichigo allowed himself a small, breathy moan before bringing his hand back up to his mouth. He laved his tongue across his palm this time and brought his hand down to his achingly hard cock, waiting for Urahara to stop him.

The store owner said nothing, eyes still fixed intently on Ichigo’s hand which was now firmly wrapped around his cock. Ichigo moaned and started stroking himself, keeping his movements as slow as he could stand.

“That’s it, Ichigo,” Urahara said encouragingly. “Let me know when you’re close. I want to see your face when you come.”

Ichigo let out a shaky breath and sped up his motions, knowing he wouldn’t last long. He tightened his grip on Urahara’s wrist, noises he had absolutely no control over spilling from his lips.

“God, oh! I’m… Ah! Urahara, I’m—”

He felt Urahara’s free hand grip the one Ichigo had on his cock and with one last stroke, Ichigo was coming all over their joined hands with a shout.

Legs weak, he sank to his knees, Urahara joining him on the floor, running his hands along the smooth expanse of the teen’s back while Ichigo caught his breath.

“Perhaps a shower, Kurosaki-kun,” Urahara said, lips soft against the shell of Ichigo’s ear, “and then we can commence with your training.”

Ichigo nodded, beyond words. He felt unsure about what he was getting himself into, but the feel of Urahara’s breath ghosting along his cheek and the feel of lips pressing against his own made doubt the farthest thing from his mind.

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