_debbiechan_ (_debbiechan_) wrote in bleachness,

New Fic: "Final Score" IchiIshi oneshot NC17

But first some speculations about pornography:

Porn and literature, literature and porn. Porn AS literature, literature as masturbatory material. The relationship of reader to audience. The relationship of pointy things to slitted things. Everything's legal in print. Not everything's legal in RL. The balance of power between reader and writer is maintained only when writers have enough to eat. Preferably Nachos. All structures collapse, all meanings flourish in a garden of chaos. Meanwhile, in Texas....

I was too sick to write an entry but I was thinking about the above things and how to present them in a two or three paragraph ramble. Sometimes I like reading just the notes in my head. The whole stories are too boring.

Still trying to write sex, obviously.   An NC17 Warning,children, for boysex.

Final Score
by debbiechan

Kubo Tite invented Ichigo and Ishida.

: NC17 Why not another “first time” story? IchiIshi. Comedy, virginity, boysex, all that.

This fic is based on a doujin scanned by sublimeparadigm. I regret never having copied it because the art and story were very nice.

Ishida dropped to the floor on his knees, and Ichigo took him by the upper arm.

“Get up. I know you can walk to the bed.”

Who would’ve have guessed that a Quincy couldn’t hold his liquor? After all, on other occasions, Ichigo had downed as much sake as other partiers, and he had never felt more than a buzz. He figured a Shinigami couldn’t really get drunk. He figured his dad pretended to be a boozer for comedic effect.

So, Ishida was human after all.

“Get up. I’m not going to carry you like you’re a girl.”

Ishida rose to his feet. “So many girls were in lovth with me.”

“Yeah, yeah, girls like guys in glasses. Here we are. Just sit down.”

“Renji thaid the glasses make a guy theem approachable.  He tried sunglasses but they didn’t work. Apparently….” Ishida tried to focus his eyes on Ichigo’s face. “Girls don’t go for Renji much.”

Ichigo put his hands on Ishida’s shoulders. “You’re in my apartment. You’re going to sleep here. If you hiren--wako, yako whatever out of here, I’ll catch you and bring you back.”

Ishida dropped back on the bed like he had no intention of going anywhere. “Why doesn’t Renji have a girlfriend?”

Why don’t you have a girlfriend? Why don’t I? We’re nineteen-year-old super-hero virgins. When are we going to admit the obvious?

“Renji’s tho good-looking.”

Renji. Ichigo knotted his brows at the mention of Renji. Ishida was always going on about Renji and how cool he was. This struck Ichigo as fundamentally unfair--he was the stronger Shinigami. He was way cooler than Renji.

“You know whath so cool abouth Renji?”

Here we go.

“He’s impetuous but he’s not dumb. If he sees something he wants, he takes it. But…”
Ishida paused to hiccup. “He operates within a moral center.”

What the hell does that mean? Ishida talks fancy even plastered.

Renji and Ishida rarely saw one another because the Shinigami didn’t travel to the Living World much. But when Renji did, he notified Ichigo, Chad and Ishida, and the four went to a restaurant and made Ichigo pay. Last time Ichigo couldn’t go because his dad needed an extra pair of hands at the clinic and….

Ichigo had suspected something for a long time.

He’s drunk. You may as well ask him. He’s not going to remember anything.

Ichigo was getting out of his jeans. Just being around Ishida was exhausting sometimes. They still played that one-up-manship game. Who could drink the most sake, who could pee the quickest. One was alert to other’s presence at all times.

“Ishida,”  Ichigo said. “ Did you and Renji … do … you know, something sexual?”

Out of Ishida’s throat came what was a rare little laugh. It sounded child-like and always surprised Ichigo when he heard it.

“Kurosaki, you’re jealous.”

ignore it. Just….  Ichigo was aware of his heart thumping faster. “Don’t throw up on my bed, alright?”

“Quincy do not throw up.”

“What do they do? Regurgitate with honor?”

Obviously Ishida could not move beyond where Ichigo had laid him, so Ichigo told himself that the dire and difficult task of undressing Ishida was necessary. It wasn’t like anything could happen with Ishida this wasted.

Just make sure he’s comfortable.

First, he took off Ishida’s glasses and set them on the bedstand. Ishida was blinking as if a lack of glasses, more than the alcohol, blurred his world. Then his eyes focused on Ichigo’s face.

Ichigo didn’t hold Ishida’s stare. Ishida’s eyes were imposing enough behind glasses. Without the glasses, Ishida looked like could read minds.

Ichigo lifted Ishida to a sitting position and when their faces were close together, Ishida touched Ichigo’s cheek with a forefinger.

“I’m trying to take your weird shirt off, so help me here.”

The forefinger ran down Ichigo’s face and stopped at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you trying to give yourself the Am I drunk test? You missed your nose by a long ways.” Ichigo managed to yank Ishida out of the weird jersey shirt. “You missed my nose too.”

“I’m sobering up,” Ishida said, and he dropped to the bed again.

Ichigo had seen Ishida’s sleek, almost concave belly before but from this horizontal view, it looked … more naked.

“You smell like a bar.” Ichigo couldn’t just throw Ishida’s hand-made things to the floor, so he folded the shirt neatly and lay it on the floor instead. “You’re going to be mad at me tomorrow morning because I didn’t wash and press your clothes or something.”

Stop it with this stupid nervousness. You got, like, one chance in a million that he’s going to make a pass at you. And even if he does, it won’t count because he was drunk.

Ichigo unbuckled Ishida's  weird belt. He pulled down Ishida’s weird pants.

Fuck, he wasn’t wearing any underwear!

“You don’t wear underwear?”

“What kind of dresser do you think I am,” said Ishida from his lying position. “Of course I … oops, I don’t feel them.”

Ichigo placed one hand on Ishida’s knee. He felt a long hard kneecap. The rest of the leg had to be softer.

“I wonder where I left my drawers?”

Ichigo wondered too. Ishida hadn’t been out of his sight at the bar. “You must have forgotten to put them on before you went out.”

“That’s it! You’re not an idiot, Kurosaki. I must’ve been too preoccupied re-stitching that hem. How base of me. A Quincy should know better. A man should always wear drawers.”

“Were you drinking at your apartment?”

“Hmmm. Maybe I had a little bit to see what it was like before I drank at the bar.”

“You have alcohol in your apartment?”

“The finest. One never knows when one might have company.”

“Was Renji there?”

“Why should he be?” Ishida lifted himself on one elbow. “I’m getting a headache.” He rose to a sitting position and leaned very close into Ichigo’s face. “You drank more than I did, didn’t you?”

“Score one for Ichigo,” said Ichigo. “I’m not drunk.”

“I think you’re drunk, Kurosaki. Alcohol can free your hands, you know.”


“Because when you’re drunk, you’re likely to do things you’ve never done be--”

Ichigo took Ishida’s shoulders and pushed him, a little roughly, back to a lying position.

“Look.” Ichigo didn’t know if it was anger or lust heating his ears and neck. “If I fuck you, it’s going to be because you wanted me to. Not because we were conveniently drunk.”

Ishida didn’t say anything. He looked genuinely confused.

Ichigo didn’t try to figure out the expression. He was focused on Ishida’s crotch, the fine black hairs over a reclining penis. His thighs had to be very smooth.

They were. Ichigo stroked the inside of Ishida’s thighs for a while.

“What are you doing down there?” Ishida’s voice was unperturbed now, as if every day Ichigo’s face examined his crotch.

There’s a point of no return in situations like this one, and Ichigo felt that he was there.

He took enough penis into his mouth for even a drunk guy to feel. Blow. He was supposed to inhale? Damn it, what was he supposed to do? He knew he’d be successful if he merely went up and down. And Ishida’s penis grew larger in Ichigo’s mouth right away.

Ichigo keen senses didn’t see the fist coming.

Damn, that hurt.

Had Ishida really punched him in the face? Ichigo put his hand to his cheek.

“Ishida! That’s dumb.”

He didn’t hit me very hard, though.

“Why are you doing this?” Ishida sounded alarmed. “I didn’t know you were such a pervert, Kurosaki.”

Then run away, you moron.

Ichigo knew Ishida could do that Quincy flash-thing. Ishida had done it on the way home from the bar, and Ichigo had found him on a rooftop, talking at the pigeons.

He could run away.

He could take on Ichigo in a fight for this terrible trespass, and together they’d destroy buildings.

If he wanted, his reiatsu could knock Ichigo through a wall and clear into the hallway.

“Fuck you, Ishida.”

Ichigo rose from his kneeling position, grabbed Ishida by the shoulders, and threw him down. On the bed, of course. Near the middle of the bed.

Ichigo walked on hands and knees until he was over Ishida’s body. The lights were on, and Ichigo cast a shadow. Nonetheless he could see Ishida’s face and it looked wary…one might say scared.

Renji takes what he wants. He operates within a moral compass.” Why the motherfuck was Ichigo remembering that now? Renji hadn’t gotten to Ishida first, though. Ichigo could tell by the look on Ishida’s face that he’d never been fucked before.

Ichigo took off his shirt and twisted it into a rope.

Wide-eyed, Ishida watched.

“Just don’t hit me anymore,” Ichigo said.

He tied the hand that had punched him. The he looped the rest of the rope around Ishida’s thigh, parting his legs.

“Why are you doing this?”

Ichigo tied a hard knot.

Ishida’s lips parted but he didn’t speak. His face, already flushed from alcohol, paled and then flushed a pink purple. The same color swept across his chest and upper arms. His nipples darkened and stood erect as the cock that demanded attention.

Look at him. He wants it.

There was no sense in worrying about hurting him. The guy had been sliced by a sword. He’d been whipped with a giant whip. He’d had all parts of his body bloodied in battle.

This is ridiculous. Go for it. Your standing over him like that is weirding him out.

Then Ichigo remembered that there was some step he was missing.
There was this thing that people who had sex used. People had said that it was requisite for your first time, but Ichigo hadn’t been paying attention. Condoms? Lubricant? What was Ichigo’s mind doing all those times he’d imagined kissing Ishida, embracing Ishida, making love with Ishida?  Why hadn’t he planned for actual sex?

Ichigo and Ishida looked into one another’s eyes.  It was the one-upmanship thing. It was about--what? Possession? This was not the way it was supposed to be, but fuck it, Ichigo wanted to fuck Ishida and Ishida wanted to be fucked.

Ishida closed his eyes. “Go ahead,” he whispered in a resigned voice.

And so Ichigo did. Without trepidation and as deep as he could go. Had Ishida forfeited in the game that had gone on too long? Ichigo lost the thought. He wanted to plunge his whole body into this victory. He wanted to be inside Ishida forever.

Ishida had made a tiny noise in his throat when Ichigo entered him. Ichigo was sure he’d heard it. A soft and raspy expression of hurt. To look at Ishida now, though, you’d think that he had done this a million times. He looked fearless. He had that I’m a Quincy look.

When Ichigo moved, it was at a frantic pace. He couldn’t help it. It felt good, great, greater. It was like masturbating except with the added stimuli of warm thighs against your ribs. It wasn’t like masturbating because every time he looked up there were Ishida’s intense blue eyes.

Ishida’s wide-open mouth didn’t guarantee that he was enjoying it, but the sight excited Ichigo anyway.

It’s happening.

He lowered his head and pushed hard, harder. He felt the muscles of his ass tighten and release without relenting their strength.

He huffed loudly. He took the hand of Ishida’s that wasn’t bound and held on it, squeezing the fingers. As if he were drawing energy from Ishida’s hand.

He wasn’t. That wasn’t a Shinigami talent, but Ichigo needed to hold onto Ishida’s hand anyway.

He heard Ishida’s voice saying, “It’s alright. You’re not a bad person, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo grimaced so that his teeth hurt. He let go Ishida’s hand and, taking Ishida’s lower torso with him, rose to a kneeling position.

With some effort, Ishida tried to lift himself up by the neck and shoulders, but Ichigo covered Ishida’s face with a broad palm and pushed him down.

“Stop that,” Ichigo said.

Through the gaps between his fingers, Ichigo could see Ishida’s eyes. He felt Ishida’s lashes flutter against his palm.

“This is mine,” Ichigo said, not knowing what he meant. “You’re mine.” And he took his hand off Ishida’s face.

“I’m not anybody’s,” Ishida protested. But he made no attempt to struggle or pull away.

Ichigo held Ishida’s thighs and fucked and fucked. He turned his face to the ceiling and shut his eyes. It was delicious dominance. He’d never had Ishida like this--down, here, sweet between his legs.

Ichigo’s thrusts slowed as he got closer. Slowed but didn’t decrease in power.

Take that, you stuck-up--
And that, you little liar.
Fuck you, you didn’t tell me.

, you didn’t tell me that you wanted me.

It could’ve different.

At that moment Ichigo caught Ishida’s staid expression. As if he was adding large numbers in his head.

But then Ichigo came, and he saw Ishida feel it.

There you go. I fucked you.

The air got cooler and the whole world was different. Ichigo felt a rivulet of sweat between his shoulderblades. And an itch there.

It was then that Ichigo noticed that Ishida didn’t look like he’d been fucked. No heavy breathing, sweat, look of immeasurable satisfaction--that stuff.

He knew that Ishida was slight but the hips against Ichigo’s felt tiny. He lay Ishida’s bottom down and saw that the tie around his leg had come undone. It was wrapped tight around his wrist, though, and what hung from there was no longer a binding but a very wrinkled shirt.

Embarrassed, Ichigo undid the knot around Ishida’s wrist. “Did it hurt?”

“Do you care?”

“Did you come?”

“No, but I will the next time.”

Ichigo looked up in time to see Ishida do a very un-Ishida-like thing--smile broadly--and then Ishida’s arms were around his neck.

“You’re still drunk.” Ichigo’s voice was amazed.

“I’m not.”

This was the greater intimacy. This display of affection. Ichigo was wondering if he should attempt to kiss Ishida when a horrible thought occurred to him and he pushed Ishida away.

Like a drunk person, Ishida lay where he fell.

I took advantage of a drunk person.  I raped a drunk virgin. Ishida’s going to kill me tomorrow. Maybe his dad is going to kill me tomorrow.

“We’re not even,” Ishida said. His voice was not blurry, not intoxicated.


“Even if we never speak of this night again, we’ll always know that you came one more time than I did."

Ichigo’s heart fell a little at the “never speak of this night” part, but he understood the rest too well.

He lay next to Ishida and rubbed circles against the hairless chest. It was a proprietous thing to do. Ichigo felt proprietary.

“Tell me how,” he said in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own. It was … a sexually experienced voice? “Show me how to make you come.”

Before Ishida could answer, Ichigo had kissed him full on the mouth. An interlude in sex required that, and Ichigo hadn’t forgotten. It was a fine deep first kiss. Then Ichigo pulled away, lay little kisses on Ishida’s neck and waited for the response.

But Ishida didn’t say anything. He guided Ichigo’s hand to the hole that was spilling semen and blood.


“It doesn’t hurt. It’s like getting your knee scraped on the sidewalk.”

That hurts,” Ichigo said.

Ishida pushed Ichigo’s middle finger inside, only up to the knuckle where it was soft and messy.

“There’s a place….”

Ichigo moved the finger around and around and felt nothing.

“I’m just going to blow you off,” he said, and then he felt it. A bump round as a button. He pressed it.

Ishida’s eyes watered.

“Feels good?” He should try this out on himself. He’d heard about it but…. Ichigo was distracted by the throaty ugh Ishida made with each press of the button. The wincing faces he made. The rapture that flooded over his eyes, nose, and mouth.

Ichigo was turned on again. The guy really did have a beautiful sexy face. Ichigo felt like fucking it, like shoving his cock past those pretty lips, but he remembered the agreement. Things had to be even.

Manipulating the inside of Ishida’s hole was getting awkward. Ichigo’s finger felt like it was in the wrong position for this, and so he pulled out. Ishida didn’t protest. He threw his head back as if he expected Ichigo to know a whole repertoire of fancy tricks.

Ichigo didn’t have them. What he did have was a desire to force every part of this lean white body into a big, gorgeous, shivering orgasm.

Ichigo trailed kisses down Ishida’s body.

Even if Ichigo had given way to his inner Hollow, he would not feel a more precarious, possible loss of control and consciousness.

He’d imagined this act before. He had wondered if taking Ishida into his mouth would be nauseating or stimulating. Now his lips brushed the warm underside of the blood-engorged organ. It felt soft, a little wet from pre-come.

“Don’t hit me,” Ichigo said.  He swallowed the head and remembered what it was he was supposed to do. Suck. So he sucked as if he were pulling the last bit of juicebox juice through a resistant straw.
Ishida startled. His thighs pressed Ichigo’s ears, and he let out a soft cry.

That’s right. This is the first time he’s feeling anything like this.

Ishida had been near releasing even before Ichigo’s mouth. Ichigo could taste salt, taste the impatience. Ishida clutched the bedsheets, raised his arms above his head, lowered his arms and then raised them again. These strugglings made for a bumpy rhythm against Ichigo’s lips. Ichigo held Ishida’s thighs down to keep him from bucking right out of the blowjob.

Ishida couldn’t bear this impediment. He grunted and came. His hands pulled Ichigo’s hair and with two sharp grunts, his pelvis thrust twice more into Ichigo’s mouth, and then everything was still.

The night was still. No partying students could be heard from the courtyard where they congregated. Birds, asleep. Everybody, asleep.

Ichigo didn’t care if Ishida wanted to or not, but he had to kiss him. Ishida’s lips seemed slack, exhausted. Ishida didn’t kiss back right away.

Then he did, and both boys made moans in their throats as their tongues discovered one another. Ichigo’s new arousal was smothered between their bodies.

When he could, Ishida breathed the words on Ichigo’s cheek, “I’m not drunk. I have to remember this.”

“I know. You have to.”

“Even if it involved alcohol and pigeons, it still counts.  It will be one of our most important times.”

Ichigo couldn’t remember pigeons. Oh! The ones Ishida was wooing on the rooftop.

Ishida parted his lips as if to say something else but then closed his eyes and fell perfectly asleep with his chest on Ichigo’s chest and his tiny pelvis on Ichigo’s erection.

Ichigo rolled him over.

He would take a shower. He would finish himself there. He would never forget a detail of this night.


The smell of something roasting woke Ichigo up.

“All you had were instant breakfasts so I fried some garlic, roasted some tofu, and cranked up what appears to be a virgin rice-boiler. You never make even rice, Kurosaki?”

“Aren’t you the perfect housewife.” Ichigo sat up. There was feeling of great happiness and satisfaction in his chest. Like the last piece of a puzzle had been pushed into an empty space.

“You’re a boar if you can’t cook for yourself, Kurosaki. It’s a skill required of civilized people.” Ishida was wearing the clothes he’d worn to the bar and seemed fine about the bar smell.

“You didn’t have to cook for me.”

“You didn’t have to offer your place for me to stay.” Ishida was test-tasting the rice. “I would’ve been fine with the pigeons.”

Ichigo felt lively. He looked around for his boxers. “You didn’t have to have sex with me.”

The chopsticks fell out of Ishida’s hand.

“You don’t…?  Ichigo panicked. He’d lost his lifetime lover to alcoholic amnesia. He was going to be charged for non-consensual something or other with a minor. Wait. Ishida wasn’t a minor.

Ichigo turned his frantic face to Ishida’s unexpressive one. “We were both under the influence,” he began. Might as well tell the story before Ishida noticed that his ass was hurting. “We were these … two drunk guys in a bed.”

Then Ishida smirked.

“You’re so easy, Kurosaki.”

Score one for Ishida.

Ichigo would have thrown a pillow in the direction of the kitchen except for the fact that breakfast was there and he was hungry and he didn’t want to spill the rice.

“You’re one to talk about easy, Ishida. Your legs were in the air so fast that I thought all the blood was going to rush to your head and make you explode!”

Score one for Kurosaki.

Ishida set some dial on the stove. Ichigo had never used those dials. Where did people learn these things?

Ishida came over, took Ichigo’s face in his hands and kissed him.

And Ichigo didn’t know which one of them to score that for.


Got the requests and presents coming along folks.

1. bleach flashfic
2. Urahara/Unohana for Cal
3. Gin/Ulquiorra the mice will play when the cat's away fic/drabble/gratuitous sex scene
4.  Vizored Legacy sort of thing
5.  Ryuuken wife story
6. A/U IchiIshi
7. IshiHime based on Orin pic
8. Camera kink IchiIshi for bordge
9. RenIshi that is nothing but pure sex word for word
10. I want to write a fic that gets Ishida out of dire straights in "First Steps" because I hate leaving characters like that. Call me superstitious. I don't know how the hell I can make a getaway work, though.
11. Rewrite some of "Diaspora" that's a big chunk of incomprehensible

Tags: final score, ichiishi, yaoi
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