Kurosaki Ichigo: Seireitei Gigolo

By Andrew J. Talon and The EroSennin

Based upon an idea by byakuryuu

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. Bleach is the property of Noriaki "Tite" Kubo, Shonen Jump, Viz and others. Please support the official release.

Author's Note: This chapter written by Warai Kitsune. Due to the length of time it's taking to get the Nanao and Rangiku chapters done, I decided I didn't want to leave you guys hanging.

Great, I'm doing filler. Someone shoot me...

This...this was going far enough. Hell, this went BEYOND far enough.

Ichigo stared at the almost mechanically neat hand-writing on his latest request for a special. It wasn't that there weren't lines he wouldn't cross, there were (only taking on the requests of females, for example). Hell, on the surface of it, this wasn't even all that bad, really. Not entirely unlike some of what he'd done before, even.

Re-enacting some of the more...dramatic moments of his life as viewed through a porn-fiilter? Odd, but not necessarily bad...kind of...fun, actually. Putting himself in role-playing situations? Sure, why not? Hell, even dressing up as Aizen to be Momo's 'punching bag' hadn't been all that unpleasant (she'd devoted more of her energy to bawling him out and demanding service than actually trying to inflict pain).

But this...this crossed a line.

Grumbling, he flung himself on to his bed, struggling to figure out how to deal with this one. He couldn't turn down a commission; that would be BAD for business. Not to mention likely get him shot or stabbed or incinerated or...well, you get the idea.

Frowning, he read through it a second time...and paused. If you looked at it one way, it was a simple enough request. On the other hand...there was room for...

...unorthodox interpretation.

Ichigo grinned.

And this way, he even got a bit of revenge in the process.

It might have worried him a bit more if he'd realized he was actually playing directly into her hands.

Ishida groaned as consciousness returned. His attempt to rub his forehead came to nothing; it generally did when said hand is currently in chains.

That was enough to jump-start his memory, what there was of it. He'd been walking home, his mind more or less clear from a pleasantly boring day when something had hit him. He hadn't had time to react; a sudden, burning flare of familiar reiatsu followed by a spike of pain from what he was guessing was a blunt instrument to the back of the head...

...and he woke up here. In the dark. Chained to a slab.

Stark naked, if the draft was any indication.

It had been shinigami reiatsu...he forced down a momentary spark of terror as he imagined the most obvious circumstance that would lead to this.

At which point, Kurotsuchi Nemu stepped out of the shadows, her normal miniskirted shinigami uniform replaced by a nurse's outfit so tight that it appeared to be painted on.

The tailor in him was quick to note that there wasn't ANY cloth, not even in soul society that would behave like that. It was followed by the desperately repressed pervert in him realizing that it didn't seem to be painted on, it WAS painted on.

He would later regard that while a blush would have been embarassing enough, the actual...location of the redirected blood flow embarassed him quite a bit more.

At which point Nemu pulled on a long rubber glove, making sure to snap the elastic band as it reached her elbow. "I apologize, but the last of the Quincies...it would be a crime NOT to examine you as...completely as possible.

A mix of shock, terror, blind lust, and illogical rage swept Ishida. Those dim, mechanical portions of his psyche that were still working under the emotional fervor noted that his abilities hadn't been restrained, and that the dramatic tesla-coil-looking thingies were an absolutely perfect source of free, high-energy reishi.

It was the work of a moment to blast himself free from the slab, knocking Nemu off her feet and into a conveniently-placed puddle of paint solvent...among other things.

At which point Ishida...

Matsumoto giggled as she shared a round with Nemu. "So, you finally decided to take advantage of Kurosaki's services?" She leaned forward, grinning conspiratorily. "Come on, I want ALL the details."

Momo, Rukia, and Isane leaned a bit back. They might not...actively oppose what he was doing, but somewhere deep down, each wished that the things he did were afforded a slightly more...exclusive nature.

Nemu carefully sipped at her own warmed sake, her body breaking it down long before it could inebriate her. "I manipulated Kurosaki-san into kidnapping Ishida Uryu, and putting him in one of the more overly-dramatic, least functional labs in the 12th's grounds. After adminstering a border-line overdose of aphrodisiacs to him, I put him into an overly elaborate, easily escapable situation, and tempted him severely." She sipped at her sake again, the absolute, disturbingly Unohana-esque serenity on her face completely at odds with the shock on everyone else's. "He gave in. Rather enthusiasticaly, though it will require further observation to determine if that is in his nature, or merely the effect of the psychoactive chemicals he was at the time under the influence of."

"...how was he?"

MUCH staring.

Momo clapped her hands to her mouth. "...I wasn't supposed to say that out loud..." she whispered.

For once, Nemu's composure broke as she unconsciously blushed. "...again, I think it would be premature to make any judgments without further...experimentation. However, I will say that he is very...skilled, with his hands."

Patrons at the bar started and turned to watch as Matsumoto rolled on the floor, howling with laughter.

Ichigo sweated nervously as an irate Uryu stared down an arrow at him. That might not have been such a problem, except that Ishida had had the foresight to send his substitute-shinigami-badge flying with his first shot.

And unfortunately, Ishida could use his powers in a normal body. Ichigo couldn't. "Um..."

Light frosted over Ishida's glasses ominously. "I suppose on some level I ought to be grateful for what you provided me."

"...er, right..."

"However," he continued in that same maddeningly calm voice, "I really would have preferred it to have happened in a slightly less...contrived situation." After a further few moments of thought, he continued. "It occurs to me that even if I DID kill you for this, that would actually put you in a situation to better retaliate, though I suppose that long before you had the opportunity, I'd have to deal with your...customers."

Ichigo had never before been so glad to be a man-whore.

"...on the other hand, non-fatal, non-permanent injuries...ones which do not interfere with your...business practices would not only allow me some small measure of revenge, as well as spare me the worst of their wrath, but it would also put you in a position where you'd have to continue those business practices. To say nothing," he added, smirking, "of those favors that your imminent nurses will no doubt demand."

Ichigo had never before wished so badly he wasn't a man-whore.