"Crap," Ichigo sighed, dropping his head against the edge of his nightstand. Half the contents of the top drawer were now either on the table top or strewn beside his bed, but he hadn't found what he was looking for; what he so very desperately needed.

"What's wrong?" chirped the girl sprawled on the bed beside him. Misa—no, wait, maybe it was Nisa – pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking in the green light from his clock radio. She was naked except for the lacy panties still encircling one knee, and her pert nipples glistened where Ichigo had been tonguing them.

"I'm out of condoms," Ichigo groaned, rolling back onto the bed and blinking up at the ceiling, the same direction his dick was pointing.

"Shit," Nisa – or maybe it was Misa – pronounced. She didn't sound pleased. "Only a real bastard would show me something like this," she said, prodding his erection, "and not let me have it. That's cruel, Kurosaki."

"You think I'm happy about it?" he asked, probably not as gently as he should have. Nisa – yes, it was definitely Nisa – was in his freshman biology study group. They'd shared notes a couple of times and griped together about the trick questions the instructor put on the first test, but that had been the extent of their relationship until that evening when they were the only two students to show up at the review session. Really, who schedules a review on a Friday night, anyway? They had started chatting while waiting for the others to show, and when no one else did, decided to continue the conversation over coffee.

First it was just about the class, then about adjusting to university life and being away from home, and finally, after two lattes each and a plate of biscotti, they'd started griping about their love lives. Or rather, their lack of same. How they knew it wasn't smart to get involved with someone during your first year at university because you needed to focus on classes, but how it still sucked not having someone to get off with.

At that, there had been an uncomfortable moment of silence while they stared at each other, then looked down at their plates, then started to laugh. After a brief discussion of whose apartment was closer and who had fewer roommates, they walked back to Ichigo's place and let things take their natural course.

A course which had now reached an unfortunate impasse: both of them aroused and wanting to sample what the other had to offer, but unable to do so.

"Hang on," Ichigo said, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed. He grabbed his shorts off the floor and wrestled them on over his erection, told Misa – iNisa/i, damn it – to stay right there and slipped out his bedroom door to the bathroom.

After rifling the medicine cabinet and pawing through every drawer without finding anything, Ichigo leaned against the sink, contemplating the insistent bulge in his shorts and debating the possibilities. Sex without a condom wasn't an option. He grimaced at the idea of running down to the all-night convenience store. It would be just his luck to endure the looks and eyebrow-wagging he'd be sure to get from the clerks and other customers – especially considering his current state of arousal – only to return and find his erstwhile bed-partner no longer in the mood. That left only one alternative. With a sigh of resignation, Ichigo steeled himself and went to see if he could snag a condom from his roommate.

It shouldn't have been that big a deal. Most people he knew borrowed stuff from their roommates all the time – shampoo, towels, money for the soda machine, and yeah, even condoms. Most people, however, didn't have Ishida Uryuu for a roommate.

"He'll probably make me fill out a requisition form," Ichigo grumbled as he padded across the living area toward Uryuu's room at the other end of their apartment. "It's gonna be like that damn granola bar all over again." He'd been in a rush one day and grabbed one of Ishida's energy bars for lunch. He'd replaced it right away, too, but it hadn't been the right ikind/i of energy bar, and he'd had to listen to Ishida go on about how his had been green tea flavored, not chai flavored, and it had five amino acids, not three, blah blah blah ad nauseum. Ichigo could only imagine how much worse borrowing a condom was going to be.

"Probably be some weird, hard to find brand," Ichigo muttered to himself. "Specially formulated for Quincy dicks, or some shit like that." Of course, replacing the borrowed item properly might be the least of Ichigo's worries. He'd also have to put with Ishida's eye-rolling, the inevitable teasing, or maybe worse. Hell, knowing Ishida, he'd probably want to give him a lecture on proper condom use and safety before even handing one over. It was enough to make Ichigo rethink the whole idea. Trotting down to the store with an obvious hard-on wagging in his shorts was starting to sound preferable to dealing with Ishida.

Maybe he's not even here, Ichigo considered as he crept up to Ishida's door. Maybe he's out. While that wasn't going to net Ichigo what he needed, at least he wouldn't have to embarrass himself in front of Ishida. He felt a brief flush of hope that was immediately quenched when he heard music coming from Ishida's room.

"Fuck," Ichigo muttered. Ishida never left even a radio going when he wasn't home, so he was definitely there. Ichigo would have figured his roommate was studying – except for running out to fight Hollows with him, studying seemed to be all Ishida ever did – but Ishida always played classical music when he was buried in his books, and this stuff wasn't classical. Ichigo didn't recognize the song. It was some kind of alternative stuff: melodic, but weird and deep and sort of trance-like, as if someone had taken a Gregorian chant and put it to a dance beat. Ichigo wondered if Ishida was into mediation or something, and when he saw that the bedroom door wasn't quite closed he nudged it open a bit further, just enough to look in and make sure he wouldn't be disturbing the guy.

Ichigo froze with his hand still on the door. Ishida was definitely not meditating. Or studying. And he wasn't alone, either.

Ishida's desk lamp must have been on, because there was just enough light for Ichigo to see the two bodies moving together on Ishida's narrow bed. Enough light to see the sheen of sweat on Ishida's pale skin and the silver refraction off the dark hair swaying around his face as the guy behind Ishida fucked him with a slow, rolling motion. They were facing away from Ichigo so he couldn't see the other guy's face, but Ichigo could tell he was big, tanned and muscular. His hands looked dark against Ishida's pale skin as they roved over his back and sides, sliding down to curl around his hips and then under his belly. The guy must have done something there because Ishida, who was on his knees and elbows with his head hanging down, arched his back and made a sound like Ichigo had never heard him make before: a brief, shuddering groan that reached right into Ichigo's gut, grabbed and twisted.

Ichigo knew he shouldn't be watching this; that he should have backed off and hot-footed it back to his room the minute he saw what was going on, but he couldn't. He stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move or look away.

It wasn't that Ishida was screwing a guy – hell, he'd known Ishida was gay since back in high school, everyone had – it was the way they were screwing. Ichigo had always figured two guys going at it would be rough and crazy, more like a fight than a fuck. But this—he'd never imagined it would look like this.

Or that Ishida Uryuu could look like that.

Even as he tried to wrap his brain around the idea that the sleek, sweating body bent under that buffed up jock was his dorky, uptight roommate, Ishida's partner leaned over and murmured something. Ichigo couldn't hear Ishida's groaned response, but he saw one slim hand grip the edge of the bed and heard his soft grunt as the other guy picked up the pace, holding onto Ishida's hips as his strokes got longer and faster.

Ichigo felt his mouth go dry, felt the pressure in his groin ratchet up at least three notches because the guy was really starting to pound Ishida, and it seemed like that was just what Ishida wanted. Ichigo knew he needed to get the hell away from the door and stop watching this because it was wrong, wrong, wrong. The air felt hot and close around his head, and it was getting harder to breathe, but still Ichigo didn't move. He didn't move because Ishida had started making these small, rough sounds – part grunt, part groan – at every thrust, and just the idea that Ishida would allow himself to make such noises kept Ichigo transfixed, listening and waiting for more.

He didn't have long to wait. With an impatient grunt, the other guy hoisted up Ishida's hips and started thrusting into him at a different angle. If Ichigo had been surprised at the sounds Ishida was making before, it was nothing compared to this as Ishida threw his head back, cried out "Ah! Fuck, yes! There!" and then collapsed onto his chest with a long, wild moan, clutching the covers and whimpering as his partner slammed into him.

Ichigo grabbed the doorframe to hold himself up. He couldn't believe what he was hearing or seeing. It couldn't be real, could it? Ishida with his back arched like a cat in heat, moaning and saying words like 'Fuck' in a voice that sounded like Ishida's, only lower, darker, needier?

That same voice was still groaning and murmuring when Ichigo refocused, and the other guy was panting out something, too, but Ichigo couldn't hear what they were saying. It must have been good, though, because Ishida moaned what sounded like 'ohgodfuckyes' and the next thing Ichigo knew, the guy pulled out of Ishida and flipped him over like he didn't weigh anything at all. The sight of Ishida sprawled across the foot of his bed – hair tousled, stomach heaving, cock stiff and straining – took Ichigo's breath away. When his partner lifted Ishida's hips with a growl, thrust into him again, then closed his fist on Ishida's dick and started jerking him off while he fucked him, Ichigo thought he was going to pass out. His head swam, his vision grayed, and something wrenched deep inside him, right behind his balls, threatening to send Ichigo to his knees.

That was the moment Ishida lifted his head from the mattress, the moment he would have seen his roommate gawking at him through the half-open door, except that Ichigo's reflexes took over where his brain was failing him utterly. Just as he registered the look of desperate abandon on Ishida's face, Ichigo's body broke from its stupor. Pushing away from the doorway, he flattened himself against the wall, only then realizing he was breathing like he'd just run a 5 minute mile and that his heart was banging against his chest like something that wanted out. There was another, equally insistent throbbing between his legs, but Ichigo didn't dare think about that. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, trying to banish the images of Ishida—god, Ishida—wild and panting and hard, but even if he couldn't see what was happening any longer, Ichigo could still hear it.

Go!, his sputtering brain told him. Now! Go! Get back to your room before he hears you, before he finds out! but Ichigo stood rooted to that spot. The sounds coming through the door over the music hypnotized him: the creak of the bed, the slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythmic grunts of Ishida's partner, and most compelling of all, Ishida's escalating gasps and moans.

Oh god, he's coming, Ichigo realized, eyes widening, fingernails gouging the drywall. Ishida's about to fucking lose it, and I'm standing here listening to it happen! What the hell is wrong with me? Obviously, somewhere between the bathroom and Ishida's door, Ichigo had turned into some kind of creepy pervert, but even that realization didn't make him leave. Hell, nothing short of an Arrancar invasion or Aizen showing up for tea and cookies could have driven him away; not while he could hear Ishida's breathless moans reaching a frantic crescendo.

"Oh! Oh! Ohh!"

Three rising syllables, the last one a keening whimper before it turned into a wrenching groan of release. The sound of it washed through Ichigo like water that was so hot it seemed cold at first, like something that stole his senses or turned them inside out.

"Fuck, look at you," a different, deeper voice panted, no igrowled/i through the other noises. "Look at you—gorgeous—coming all over yourself."

Look at you.

It was too much. Ichigo tore himself away and fled down the hall, not even caring if they heard him. His legs were shaky, his every breath sounded like ripping cloth, and his head was clogged with images he didn't want – no, fuck no, he'd swear he didn't – because even though he hadn't looked, all he could see was Ishida's head lashing against the mattress, his body arching up, and his cock shooting white streams over his stomach and chest, again and again. Which was exactly what his own cock was just about to do.

He wasn't going to make it. Ichigo clenched his teeth and willed every muscle in his body to hold it back, but he wasn't going to make it. Not back to his room, maybe not even out of the hallway.

"Bathroom!" he gasped as he came to the door and hurled himself through, grabbing the edge of the sink for support as he fumbled with his zipper. Wet, his mind groaned. The front of his shorts was wet and his fingers felt too thick and clumsy to deal with buttons and zipper. With a sound that was too much like a sob, he shoved his shorts down without unfastening them and grabbed his rigid cock when it popped free.

"Fuck!" Ichigo grunted when he took himself in hand because his dick was so swollen it was like touching a bruise. Just tugging at his foreskin was a kind of agony, but it didn't matter, it couldn't. Nothing mattered but pumping his fist up and down on his cock as fast, as hard as he could because it felt like there was a demon crawling inside his balls, inside his head, and he had to get it out.

He came so suddenly it was like a gun going off, like a trigger clicked in the back of his brain and semen exploded from his cock. The pleasure, no, the irelief/i of it struck him like a recoil and when he opened his eyes, he was staring at himself – gasping, red-faced and wild-haired – through a wide splatter of white fluid on the mirror. Ichigo saw his own eyes widen, amazed at the sheer amount of what had burst out of him.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?"

For one horrifying moment, Ichigo thought that Ishida had followed him to the bathroom to confront him for his perverted behavior, but when he swung his head around, he saw the petite figure of Nisa standing in the doorway. She had put her bra and panties back on, but it was the look on her face that told Ichigo those articles of clothing were not coming off again. Not in his presence, at least. To say she looked offended didn't go nearly far enough.

"N—Nisa!" he stuttered, too stunned to even take his hand off his dick.

"I thought you went to look for a condom!" the fuming girl reminded him, jamming her fists onto her hips. "I thought you were coming right back. So I wait like an idiot, and now I find you jerking yourself off? You really are an asshole, Kurosaki!"

"Nisa, wait!" Ichigo stammered as she turned and marched back to his bedroom. He started to follow her but was hobbled by his own shorts. He tried to yank them up, but they were still zipped and buttoned, and by the time he'd made himself decent and hurried into his room, the girl was already dressed and shoving her delicate feet into her sandals.

"Nisa, don't go!" Ichigo begged. "I—I can explain!"

She paused, eyeing him coolly. "Oh? Fine. Let's hear it."

Ichigo opened his mouth. What the hell was he going to say? That he'd been spying on his gay roommate? That what he'd seen had gotten him so hot and bothered he had completely forgotten there was a naked girl waiting for him in his bed?

"Okay," he sighed, "I can't explain. But I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that, I just—!"

"Couldn't wait?" his classmate snorted. "Well, guess what? Neither can I." With that, she slung her purse over her shoulder and pushed past Ichigo and out of his bedroom.

"Nisa! Nisa, hold on!"

"What?" she snapped, stopping and looking at him like he was the lowest, most disgusting insect in creation. Which was exactly what he felt like at the moment.

"Look," he sighed, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'm really, really sorry about this, Nisa. At least let me call you a cab, okay?"

"Kurosaki?" The icy timbre of her voice surprised him so much that he pulled his hands off his eyes. When he saw her expression, he took a step back. "My name," she growled at him, "is MISA!"

With that, she turned and stalked out the front door, slamming it so hard that the sound was still reverberating even after her footsteps were gone.

Ichigo stood there in the living room, staring at the front door. When the echoes faded, the only sound he could hear was the low, sinuous beat of the music still coming from Ishida's bedroom. The memory made Ichigo want to cringe. He looked down at himself and saw that the front of his shorts was still damp and that somehow, his cock was still hard.

"Crap," Ichigo muttered, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He went back to his room and threw himself face down on his rumpled, empty bed, ignoring his wet shorts, his hard cock, and the bathroom mirror that needed to be cleaned. He tried to remember what the girl had looked like when she wasn't glaring at him like he was a worm, but the only image that rose behind his eyelids was of Ishida, gasping through parted lips and writhing in pleasure.

"Crap," he whimpered into his pillow, then flopped over onto his back and threw his arm across his forehead. He lay like that, staring at the ceiling and straining to hear the faint notes of music from Ishida's room until he fell asleep.