Dancing Lessons Redux

A/N: This is second-order fanfiction— an alternative version of Kelsey L Leigh's remarkable and nosebleed-inducing Dancing Lessons, that picks up after her first five chapters.

I'm certain I'm taking it in a very different direction than she is, but hey, that's fanfiction for you.

This story is dedicated to Kelsey L Leigh for inspiration and for graciously granting permission for me to publish fanfic of her fanfic that twists her story line beyond all recognition. Thank you, Kelsey.

Characters: Ichigo, Aizen, Ichigo's inner hollow, Orihime, Keigo, Tatsuki.

Pairings: Aizen x Ichigo, implied Ichigo x Orihime.

Note: This story has been edited to comply with FFnet's content guidelines. If you are interested in the original, uncensored version of this story, it will be posted on my private site.

Warnings: yaoi, lemon, drug use. Do not read if you are under 18 or do not like yaoi. Multiple lemons and yaoi smut in this chapter and the chapters to come. You have been warned.

Summary: This is an alternative version of chapter six of Dancing Lessons, where high school student Ichigo wakes up in bed with his teacher Aizen, the morning after he lost his virginity to the older man. In this chapter, Ichigo (figuratively) borrows Light Yagami's sled, riding down the slippery slope…

Why has Aizen taken an interest in Ichigo? (I mean, other than for the amazing sex. ;) What sinister plans does Aizen have in store for Ichigo and his nakama, and why is he pretending to be a high school teacher?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters are 18 years or older in this story. I do not condone illegal drug use.

(Originally posted 2/8/2011.)


Someone was kissing him.

Ichigo made a noise in his throat, his mind still sleep-fogged, as he realized that warm lips were on his, an insistent tongue intruding into his mouth—

He opened his eyes and saw Aizen's deep brown eyes only a few inches away. They were lying on Aizen's huge bed, naked, limbs intertwined, the dim half-light of a single candle flickering over the walls and drawn window shades of the large room. The memory of last night (earlier this night?) came flooding back and he could feel the flush burning his face and creeping down his neck. The older man smirked and pulled away. Ichigo looked at the clock and groaned. It was only a few minutes after four a.m.

"Awake at last?" Aizen asked in a mocking tone, trailing one hand lightly over Ichigo's chest, across his nipples, along his throat. "It's morning; time to get up if you want to make it home before dawn."

Ichigo groaned. He ached all over and was especially sore in an area he had never thought much about. But feeling Aizen's body pressed against his, those fingertips caressing his skin, seeing those full lips curled in careless amusement— a rush of desire passed through him again. He moaned and pushed his hips forward, moving his body against Aizen's.

He shouldn't be feeling this way. He should be getting up and running away, putting this disgraceful episode behind him. Guilt flooded him along with desire.

Aizen smiled his dark smile as Ichigo forced himself to turn away, regret and shame overwhelming him. He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes, refusing to look at the other man. There was a pause, and then he felt the bed shift under him as Aizen rolled over and away from him. He opened one eye a crack. The older man was gracefully sliding out from under the blood-red sheets and walking to a closet. He extracted a white satin robe and slipped it on, tying a maroon sash around the waist.

Looking back at Ichigo, he smirked again. Ichigo quickly shut his eyes. He heard a chuckle.

"Now, Ichigo, pretending won't make it go away. But fortunately, I have something to… assist you with those treacherous feelings of yours." His teacher sat on the bed again and Ichigo heard a match being struck, smelled the sulfur as it flared. He opened his eyes. The brown-haired man was holding a small pipe to his lips, the match above the bowl as he drew in the flame, then exhaled immediately. When the pipe was lit, he held it out to Ichigo, that subversive gleam in his eyes again.

Ichigo shook his head. He had never even gotten drunk, much less tried any illegal drugs.

Aizen gave him a mischievous smile. "It will make you feel less… conflicted, Ichigo. Cannabis has medicinal properties that have been used to soothe the body and mind for hundreds of years." He held the pipe out to Ichigo again.

When Ichigo turned his face away, the man's eyes narrowed. "What did I say to you about disobeying my orders?" he said. "The consequences will be severe if you defy me any longer. You must learn to realize that I, and I alone, know what is best for you now, Ichigo." His intense brown eyes bored into Ichigo's, and slowly, unwillingly, Ichigo's hand came up to take the pipe. Why did he always feel so mesmerized in Aizen's presence? It seemed that his will was paralyzed and dominated by the older man's. A part of him thrilled to that realization… the same perfidious part of himself that lusted like a beast after the older man. Ichigo did not understand it; what was this alien creature within himself?

Aizen nodded with satisfaction as the younger man lifted the pipe up to his lips mechanically, inhaled automatically. The hot, acrid smoke burned Ichigo's throat and lungs and made him want to cough, but he held it back. "Good," Aizen murmured, watching him carefully. "Now hold the smoke in your lungs, that's it… hold it… All right, you may breathe out now." Ichigo let his breath out with a gasp, coughing. Aizen put one arm around his shoulders, stroking his back.

"Again," Aizen commanded, holding the pipe up to Ichigo's lips. The younger man repeated his actions, feeling again the burn along his throat, and now, a new feeling inside his body, a heavy rush of pleasure as though he were tingling from inside. He looked at Aizen, whose lips were curving in dark amusement at Ichigo's expression. Aizen set the pipe down on an ashtray on the bedside table and captured his lips in another deep kiss.

Ichigo sighed as the other man pushed him back on the bed carelessly and began ravaging his mouth. His lips felt odd; it was as though every touch of Aizen's was magnified, as he lay helpless under the older man taking his pleasure in Ichigo's mouth with a lazy, lingering tongue. Ichigo moaned, no longer able to protest, losing himself in the powerful sensations.

"You see," whispered Aizen in between kisses, as he stroked the younger man with his long fingers and Ichigo moaned and writhed under him, "it's not so bad, is it, to be corrupted with sex and drugs?" He laughed again as Ichigo's only answer was a groan of desire as Aizen's expert fingers reached beneath him.

He leaned over the younger man, the curl of brown hair dangling in between his dark, seductive eyes. "Knowing you're betraying your young, innocent girlfriend with illicit sex with a much older man… that just adds spice to the experience, does it not?" Aizen's lids were heavy, but Ichigo could see the lust burning in his eyes underneath them, his dark satisfaction at Ichigo's bending to his will.

Ichigo shuddered under Aizen's hands and nodded numbly. His guilt was gone, burned away in a rush of utter pleasure that swirled inside him. He tangled with Aizen on the bed, tearing away the robe and diving into the older man's elegant body, burying his face in the soft brown hair as he licked and kissed him. The other man laughed in his throat and tugged Ichigo's hair roughly, mashing the youth's face against his body.

Ichigo could no longer think. Here he was, breaking the law, shattering the personal moral code he had lived his entire life by, yielding in abject surrender to a man who clearly had no principles whatsoever, and all he wanted was to give in to the intense, dark pleasure of it all. All he wanted was more. He wanted Aizen all over him, deep within him, touching him, taking him, leading him down whatever murky path the older man chose.

And Aizen was right, he thought. The fact that it all was so wrong, in every way, only made the pleasure more extreme, more utterly delicious. He moaned with mixed lust and agony as Aizen reached for him one more time.

Aizen's eyes glittered with wicked desire as he held the younger man. "Oh yes," he breathed into Ichigo's ear, curling his fingers around him until the youth whined with delight. "Imagine what your lovely young lady would say if she could see you now. Or your father, so proud of his boy, seeing him ravished by none other than the teacher he entrusted his care to, now defiling his innocence and using him as a plaything." He laughed in the back of his throat as Ichigo moaned again.

The pain and pleasure were intertwined like fire in his core, the intensity rising up and catching him by the throat until he could take it no longer and he exploded, clutching at Aizen as though desperate, desperate with long-buried lust, finally giving way to the animal it seemed he had always known was inside him. The older man gripped him in return, winding his fingers into Ichigo's hair and throwing his head back with unreserved abandon.

Aizen took his lips again in a possessive kiss as they lay against one another. "You belong to me now," he murmured. "Utterly and completely. Isn't that right, Ichigo?"

Ichigo sighed, mind still hazy with pleasure. "Yes. Always. I am yours... absolutely and without reserve…"

The brown-haired man chuckled at Ichigo's submissive words. He brushed Ichigo's hair back from his face and traced his features with his slender fingers. "Ah… I can see you will be a good student…" he said in his low, rich voice, soaked with lazy delight. "I have some truly delicious plans prepared for you, Ichigo. You will serve my purposes well."

Rather than being alarmed at these words, Ichigo felt entirely relaxed and comfortable, his skin vibrating with warmth, basking in the thrill of being in Aizen's bed. He rolled over to drape his arm around the older man, feeling his thoughts go dim, dropping himself into the pit of pleasure so he could once again savor the sheer bliss he had experienced at Aizen's hands. He sighed and felt himself slipping into sleep.


"Time to get up and go home, Ichigo," the deep voice murmured in his ear. Ichigo sat bolt upright, shaking his head to try to clear the cobwebs out of it. The dim half-light of dawn was tinting the window shades.

Aizen, fully dressed and immaculate in black pants and shirt, was holding out a cup of coffee to Ichigo.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he took the cup. The warm liquid soothed his sore throat. He was sore everywhere. He drank the bitter coffee eagerly, feeling its warmth spread into every fiber of his being, gradually clearing the fog and exhaustion from his mind. Aizen was watching him, his deep brown eyes sharp and amused.

"I'll be driving to school shortly. Do you want me to drop you off at, or near," he said with a brief chuckle, "your house?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Ichigo muttered. He found his clothes on the floor and pulled them on.

God, how was he going to sneak back into the house without waking Yuzu and Karin? He glanced at the clock. It was just before six. He supposed if he hurried, he could still make it to school as though it were a normal day. Somehow… it just didn't seem to matter so much anymore. He followed Aizen silently as the man picked up his briefcase and walked out to his car.

Aizen dropped him off a block away from the Kurosaki Clinic. The streets were still deserted, luckily. Ichigo ran over the damp grass, reached the drainpipe beneath his bedroom window, and shinnied up it quickly, wincing, as he still felt a bit sore. He placed his palms flat on the window pane and slid it upwards. Gasping, he flung himself over the windowsill and into his room. Then he paused, trying to breathe quietly, listening for any noise or movement in the silent house.

He pulled off his clothes and slipped in between his cold, rough sheets. He couldn't help but compare his empty, plain bed to Aizen's warm and luxurious one. Against his will, Aizen's beautiful face swam before him, those lush, full lips with his tongue darting out to lick them… Punching his pillow in frustration, Ichigo rolled over in the bed, smashing his face into the pillow.

He had about half an hour before the alarm went off and he wanted to sleep.

But instead he lay awake, feeling helpless desire once again. At least his guilt and shame seemed to be gone, replaced by intermittent thrills of hedonistic glee at the events of the night before. All he could feel was dark excitement… and the insane hope that it would happen again.


Ichigo grinned to himself as he walked briskly in the front doors of Karakura High, his book bag slung over his shoulder. It had all gone quite smoothly this morning. No one in his family had suspected anything, it seemed; although goat-face had made some inane comment about Ichigo getting in late last night, he hadn't really seemed to care.

Surely he didn't realize how late Ichigo had been out, or have any inkling what his son had been doing. Ichigo remembered Aizen's whisper, "What would your father say if he could see his virgin son being ravished by his teacher?" and the pleasure crawled through him again, shot through with all the appeal of the forbidden. His lips curled in a smirk. He felt liberated, oddly at ease at last, after all those years of misery, of trying, and failing, to conform to an unbelievably burdensome moral code. He felt almost relieved that it had all happened so suddenly, so effortlessly, that his life had changed so irrevocably under Aizen's hands, that his emotions today were so different from yesterday.

It probably also had something to do with the mix of psychoactive substances now coursing through his bloodstream. After he had finished his coffee, Aizen had informed him with an impish smirk that it too had been laced with exotic additives. Ichigo knew he should feel betrayed or angry with the older man for coercing and tricking him into taking illegal drugs. But instead the thought only induced a languid thrill of pleasure deep in his core. Indeed, the thought of obeying any of Aizen's commands still turned him on beyond belief. He felt a shameless smile curving his own lips as he strode up to his locker.

"Wow. What happened to Ichigo?" Keigo said in a loud voice. Ichigo spun to see Mizuiro, Tatsuki, and Keigo grinning at him from a few feet away. "He's smiling."

"That never happens," said Tatsuki in mock surprise.

"What happened, did you get laid, Ichigo?" asked Keigo, grinning more widely. "Did you and Inoue get it on last night?"

At that, Ichigo scowled ferociously, but before he could do anything, Tatsuki's fist had slammed hard into Keigo's nose.

"Ow!" cried the black-haired teen, jumping backwards and rubbing his nose, glaring at Tatsuki.

She had her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare say anything like that about Orihime." She glared at him, her eyes flashing. "She deserves respect, do you hear me?" With one last glower at Keigo, she turned back to Ichigo. "But seriously, Ichigo, why are you in such a good mood?"

Ichigo was frowning again at his three friends, taking refuge in his usual taciturn scowl. "Oops. Looks like he's back to normal." Mizuiro laughed.

Tatsuki still looked expectant, but fortunately for Ichigo, the bell rang, and he was saved from the need to think up some cryptic statement or downright lie. He grabbed his book bag, and followed the others down the hall as they all hurried off to class.


Ichigo sat in history class, staring up at the clock. He had been unable to concentrate on any of his teachers' lectures. Somehow it all seemed so unimportant now, memorizing dry, pointless facts, none of which had any real meaning. The only meaning in his life was now Aizen, and the intense pleasure that pierced him when he merely thought about the man, his beautiful body, his deep voice whispering seditious phrases in his ear… Ichigo groaned inwardly. His uniform pants were feeling tight again. He couldn't go on like this… but what choice did he really have? He was caught; well and truly captivated by the older man. Against all rationality, he knew he would do anything to continue the illicit relationship, regardless of the cost. He gazed out the window and drummed his fingers idly on his desk.

Chemistry class today had been agony. Unable to stop himself from staring at Aizen, who had reverted to his schoolteacher appearance, brown eyes mild behind square glasses, his casually tousled hair combed over his forehead again, Ichigo's discomfort had been painful and constant throughout the class. He didn't remember a word of chemistry, only Aizen's eyes and the single glance he had given Ichigo, a glance full of ironic knowledge and amusement, before he had turned away and was once more the dedicated teacher again.

Ichigo looked up at a disturbance at the front of the history room. A student had entered the classroom door and given a note to the teacher. The man looked up at Ichigo. "Kurosaki Ichigo, you are to go to room 371 at once. Here is your hall pass." Puzzled, Ichigo gathered up his books and picked up the pass.

Room 371 was up on the third floor, in the science wing. Ichigo's heart suddenly beat faster and he quickened his steps.

He pushed open the door. It was one of the chemistry labs, now empty, sunlight gleaming over the rows of lab benches, three lab stools neatly arranged at each bench. Ichigo advanced into the room and scanned it more carefully. There was no one here. He looked down at the slip of paper, checking the room number. Yes, it was correct. Mystified, Ichigo sat down to wait on one of the lab stools.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and Aizen entered. Ichigo's heart began to thud in his chest. The brown-haired man smiled as he locked the door behind him and advanced on Ichigo. Light glinted off his glasses under his thick bangs.

"I thought I would put you out of your misery, Ichigo," he murmured as the teen stared at him. He chuckled. "You really seemed to be suffering in chemistry class."

"I—" Ichigo began, but the words died in his throat.

"No. No talking," chastised his teacher as he seated himself gracefully at the desk at the front of the room, swiveled the chair sideways. "Now, come here, Ichigo."

Mesmerized, Ichigo walked forward slowly, knowing what was coming. He couldn't believe this was happening here in school, right in one of the classrooms, at the very desk where Kurotsuchi Mayuri used to give his rambling, deranged lectures… surely the other teachers had keys and could walk in on them any time.

Aizen was smiling his sinful smile again, eyes lidded and gleaming with anticipation and lust. "Kneel before me, Ichigo." His legs were spread as he leaned back in the chair.

Ichigo, heart thudding, complied. Knees bent beneath him on the cold green tiles, he unzipped the other man's pants. Aizen sighed with pleasure, long fingers threading themselves through the youth's hair, holding him in place. Ichigo felt unbearably aroused at the thought that he was… servicing this man, his teacher, his lover.

Aizen took his head in his hands and pushed him away. "Enough. Stop," he commanded. Ichigo blinked up at him, bewildered. Aizen's eyes were hazed with lust. "On the lab bench. Now," he ordered huskily.

Ichigo, confused, looked back at the lab bench. "You mean, on top of the table?" he asked.

"You heard what I said." There was irritation in Aizen's eyes. "What did I tell you about hesitating to obey my orders?"

Obedient and heart thrilling once again, Ichigo hitched himself up until he was sitting on the top of the lab bench.

"Take off your pants," Aizen commanded.

With a nervous glance at the door, Ichigo complied, sliding his school uniform pants and boxers off until they were down around his ankles, his bare ass against the cold, smooth material of the lab bench.

"That's good enough." Aizen smiled. Without taking any more of his clothes off, he pushed himself up gracefully onto the bench and positioned himself over Ichigo. The younger man groaned. He couldn't believe that his teacher was going to do him right there on one of the chemistry lab benches. He was even more turned on than before, as he obediently allowed Aizen to move his body into position.

It did not take long until it was over, and Aizen's weight was pressing Ichigo painfully against the hard surface of the table, one hip jammed into a tap. But Ichigo didn't care about the pain. He wanted Aizen, desperately, agonizingly… he felt he could never get enough of him. It seemed that every time they had sex it only made him hungrier for the older man. He was panting, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, as Aizen pulled himself up and away from him, pausing to take one long, lush kiss from the younger man's lips before he climbed off the table and stood up.

He looked down at Ichigo still spread-eagled on the lab table, and smiled. That had been delightful, and so much more gratifying than grading papers during his free hour. He would have to arrange it more often. He looked down at himself, and made a brusque gesture to Ichigo.

"Up," he commanded, relishing the expression of confusion on Ichigo's youthful, perfect features.

Understanding dawned in the teen's face, and he hastened to obey, kneeling on the floor before his teacher. Aizen leaned against the lab bench and sighed with satisfaction as he gazed at the youth crouched before him on the hard floor. The young man had exceeded his expectations; he was even more enjoyable than Aizen had anticipated. He took a long, savoring breath, stroking his fingers through the spiky, bright hair, and feeling the young man shiver at his touch. He laughed low in his throat. All was going even better than he had hoped. It would not take long until Ichigo's conditioning was complete, and he would be prepared for the next phase of his plan.


Ichigo was at his locker, shoving books into his bag, annoyed at the fact that he had to waste his time with school right now when there were so many more compelling experiences waiting for him, when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Ichigo." It was Orihime, looking at him with a tentative, almost frightened expression. His heart almost stopped.

"Orihime," he began, waiting for the guilt to pour over him as he saw the hurt in her eyes. She knew, somehow, he thought, that something had come between them. He gazed at her, her large, beautiful grey eyes, her generous lips, that long, luxurious hair spilling over her shoulders… it always seemed to be inviting his fingers to stroke it. She was beautiful. He found himself reaching for her hair, stroking it, weaving his fingers into it, and then tracing them downwards… over her ample bosom swelling under her school uniform. He noted her sudden gasp, her sidelong, embarrassed glance down the hall at his public display… but she did not pull away.

Suddenly he realized that he did not feel guilt, only lust. A dark desire began to grow in him. He had already learned much from Aizen. Why did he need to comply with any codes of honor or morality any more? His smile grew dark, an expression he suspected mirrored his teacher's, and he leaned forward to kiss those full lips, burying his hands in her thick, warm hair.

His kiss was confident now as he took Orihime's face into his hands and delved his tongue into her mouth as Aizen had done with his. He tasted and explored her mouth, feeling her hesitation turn to willingness, then joy as her arms encircled him; the soft noises she made in her throat shifted from surprise to pleasure. When he finally released her she was smiling, happiness shining once more in her eyes.

Looking at her, he realized that all his hesitation with her, his tentative kisses and touches, had been foolish. She would allow him to do anything he wanted, he suddenly knew with a deep, dark knowledge. She had been in love with him for years. He had been worried before, had not wanted to go too fast with her, had not wanted to hurt her feelings or make her nervous. But now he knew that had never been necessary; she wanted him. A wicked thrill coursed through him as he made a quick decision to indulge his own desires— he would take her today in her apartment. He knew she would give herself to him; he could already picture her shy compliance, her willingness to please him. Indeed, it would make her feel happy to be wanted by him, much happier than she had been recently, thinking he was losing interest in her. And why should he give her up just because he had found another lover? That was simply another limitation to discard.

He smiled at her, and her expression faltered for a moment at the darkness in his glance. Then her eyes brightened once more at the thought of his interest in her.

"Orihime," he said breathily, toying with a strand of her hair, his lips brushing her ear, "can I come over this afternoon and study with you?"

She smiled and lowered her eyes shyly. "Why, yes. That sounds like a wonderful idea, Ichigo."

He laughed inwardly. It was all so easy. To think of all the years he had wasted, making himself miserable, agonizing over what was right or wrong… when all he had to do was reach out and take what he wanted.

Yes, he had learned a great deal from his teacher.