Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Bleach and this is based on the Yaoi manga Tight Rope. This was written almost two years ago, which means I'm really not up to writing fics these days and am only uploading dusty random crap from my equally dusty hard drive. This is hardly edited so expect errors along the way.

…

Kurosaki Ichigo and I first kissed during his first year in middle school… okay, we didn't kiss per se; rather I stole his first kiss. I don't remember having gained anything good out of it, except the knowledge that he could really punch the lights out of a human being. Let's cut the story short by saying he ended up stuffing a fist in my mouth. By the time I arrived home, mother was so appalled by my appearance I daresay she was well on the verge of cardiac arrest. "Who did that to you?!" She asked. Because I was sure of nothing except that I had to lie for Ichigo's sake, I answered, "Myself." Obviously, everyone who would be willing to buy that was either a cow or a cretin. Since my mom was neither of those, she cried, "Don't you lie to me, young man!" And that settled the matter. In those days I could hardly get past talking to my mother without sputtering a few baloneys here and there.

Moving on, everyone thinks he is inferior to me in strength. To set the record straight, the opposite is true. Many have assumed he is sticking to me for protection just because I can kick legendary amounts of asses, whereas he is like a magnet to thugs who don't know any better. Kurosaki Ichigo is one year younger than me and is my childhood friend. To be clear, I have never once won against him in a sparring match. Ever. To further my vexation on that respect, he is using his advantage in strength to deny me access inside his pants.

"If you manage to pin me down on my back I'll have sex with you." He has more than once said, perhaps thinking nothing else could've been more impossible.

Well, fat fucking chance for me, since I can't even armlock him for more than two seconds to save my fucking neck.

On the other hand, some say he is using me to gain access beneath the skirts of women. Well, this would make more sense if I weren't a virgin. As it goes without saying, he can charm undergarments off women if he so much as raises an eyebrow. In sum, to say that he is my equal in virility as much as in awesomeness is a big fat lie. That is because Kurosaki Ichigo is an all-around badass. And maybe I am too, except that I'm a virgin.

We are now attending a boarding school. At sixteen years old, Ichigo has a maturity that can rival a college student's. And what about me? It's possible I have no business attending high school and am better off doing macaroni paintings in some kindergarten center. Or maybe I ought to be still sucking my mom's titties. Really, I don't know. But right now there's a pressing matter at hand. Ichigo has just enrolled in my school and has been appointed a room in the dorm. It pretty much means I would do everything— and I mean fucking everything—in my power to get him to share a room with me in the hopes of living happily ever fucking after. Too bad I have a wisecracking bloke for a roommate.

"Hey, Shinji, why don't you start packing your bags and shove off for, like, a year or two?" I propose.

"Whoever says I'm moving out?"

"You hate me, right? So what's stopping you from throwing yourself out this room?"

"Know what, Grimmjow, if you're so fond of jumping to conclusions, why don't ya jump off a fucking bridge too? That should solve both our problems."

"Look, what are the chances of you trading rooms with Ichigo?"

"What are the chances of you sucking my dick?"

"Zero." I answer flatly.

"Exactly."

If truth be told, there's no true hatred between Hirako and I, and we often get along. In fact, Shinji is one of those few people who can pluck solid laughter from me. Now, chances are, I'm beginning to understand that my bucket list kinda includes wringing this dude's neck. But in the meantime my desperation is starting to take over me, entirely,

"Dammit! Okay, I'll suck it."

"You a fucking moron, Grimmjow? Or am I the moron for allowing ma self to listen to ya for more than two minutes?"

"Just desperate."

"Okay, you're in love with this freshman brat—"

"—W—wait, wait, dammit, who the hell said anything about love?"

He sighs. The blank expression on his face best shows how weary he is of this elliptical conversation. Resignedly, he answers,

"Well, I don't know, really. Like, I'll slit my fuckin' throat if ya can name a day when ya didn't rave about the dude… listen, can we stop pretending here and just be honest? Why ju want him to move in with ya?"

"He's my best friend."

"Best friend my ass. Why d' ja have to waste spit on four words when three fuckin' letters could've answered it best? The answer is sex. S-E-X. Live with it."

"Shinji, for fuck's sake, Ichi and I are just friends!"

"Liar."

"Fucking fine. What do I do?"

"You're head over heels, right? Tell him straight that you mean to demolish his virginity. Simple as that."

"WTF? He ain't a virgin."

"The question is, is he a virgin in the rear?"

He winks. I'd be horsing around if I were to say I have never in my life fantasized about screwing Ichigo that way. In fact, the fulfillment of that one lone fantasy pretty much accounts for my ultimate goal in life.

"Right—you're right. Tips?"

"A hustler like me giving an infant like you tips? My, ain't you underestimating me? Allow me to tell you; what I do is way beyond the comprehension of innocent little virgins. I suggest you ask Szayel or some other newbie for techniques. I expect he and Starrk have gone beyond first base."

"Fuck you."

"Preferably by Sosu…"

Shinji's sentence shrinks inside his throat, and right then I know how the rest of his speech goes like.

"I knew it, you incorrigible slut. You're screwing Aizen-sensei."

"Well, shit, Grimmjow, it's not like I've been given a fantastic range of options to begin with."

"Like hell I'll believe that. Should this so-described shortage of options include the voluntary spreading of your legs?"

"Can't be helped. I understand why a professor naturally has to look presentable but who the fuck asked him to be so handsome, know what I mean?"

I am not able to shoot down his logic, or lack thereof, because someone starts to knock on the door.

"I'll get it." I offer.

It's Kurosaki Ichigo himself.

"Speak of the devil." Shinji mutters, heaving himself from my bed.

"Wassup, Grimm, Hirako-san?"

"Need anything?" I ask.

"Shampoo. But I'll sit around for a while if you don't mind."

This is one of those days when I get this urgent need to get injected with sedatives. Fists in his pockets, eyes lazy and half-closed with boredom, he can just drop dead of sex appeal overdose. Without awaiting invitation, he sits on my bed. Shinji, for his part, grabs his jacket, draws near me, and pulls me by the head to whisper,

"No offense, but it seems to me like you're the uke. Just sayin'."

"Dafuq is uke?"

"As always, I have to draw a fucking picture for the chaste li'l virgin that you are."

"Dammit, get straight to the goddamned point." I hiss.

All the long while, Ichigo has been watching our suspicious exchange with little to no interest. As a matter of fact, his eyes are starting to close on their own. But Shinji smiles even wider, if that's even possible, as if to say 'challenge accepted', before turning to Ichigo,

"Well, catch ya later, Kurosaki-kun. I'll be gone for three whole hours. So take yer time and help yourself with my personal items and other goodies right there inside my desk's bottom drawer. See ya!"

Without allowing me or Ichigo to digest what he has just said, Shinji marches out of the room. By the time the door slams shut, Ichigo and I are staring at one other. Soon, Ichigo rises and darts toward the desk.

"Where are you going?"

"Desk. If I understood Hirako-san correctly, he meant to lend me his shampoo."

The more intelligent part of me is insisting Shinji was as far from referring to toiletries as he is from managing to keep his cock from misbehaving. For all I know, the grin he was wearing when he mentioned 'personal items' foreboded anything other than decent. Shampoo is a decent thing, along with other toiletries, which pretty much translates to there being no fucking anything remotely resembling a shampoo in the drawer. Before my misgivings transform into reality, Ichigo pulls the bottom drawer of my roommate's desk. And, of course, the items that greet him are exactly the type which ought to be banned from a minor's sight.

"That fucking bastard." I mumble low enough for only myself to hear.

"Condoms? He said 'bottom drawer', didn't he? And what are these?" Ichigo is muttering, examining the vile things in the fucking drawer with hardly any interest.

His conduct betrays not a trace of embarrassment. Come on, even in a world completely without sexual tension, I'd dare to say this dude is completely lacking in sensitivity. As a matter of fact, there can't be any likeness in our reactions now except that we both have no fucking idea what has gone on in Shinji Hirako's mind when he recommended his collection of lubes, condoms and what probably was an assortment of sex toys.

"Ichigo, shut that filthy drawer before you contract something nasty."

"Might as well help myself."

Ichigo shrugs. If a fucking unicorn had told me this is how teenagers behave just so to appear cool nowadays, I'd believe it without fucking contesting. Hell, I'd even worship that unicorn. And then he slips in his pocket three packets of condoms as if that action has no consequence whatsoever. The consequence, however, is clear; he has just made me wanna see red. Really, if he has the fucking time to show me he plans to get laid tonight, perhaps he should also use that time to look for a nice burial ground.

"Hey, what the fuck is the meaning of that?" I inquired angrily.

"Of what?"

"I just saw you sneak three condoms somewhere in yer pants, bastard."

"Oh, no worries. I'll leave some for you. This drawer is loaded, man. Dig in."

"Dammit, Ichigo, are you acting stupid again?"

"What's your problem?"

"As if you don't know."

"I don't know. So do you want me to leave a packet or two for you?"

"Only if ya let me use it on you." Says my mouth before I can stop it.

He scrutinizes me. They say everything happens for a reason. So when Ichigo advances toward me until we're standing only a foot apart, I sure am wishing he has a good reason to be so close as to make me nervous. And horny, for that matter. But knowing him, at best I'm hoping to get zero to half a stolen kiss from him tonight.

"Are we tackling that issue again, Grimm?"

"If you must know, there's only one way to settle that issue."

"And that is?"

"For the love of god, stop horsing around."

"Best friends don't sleep with each other."

"What are you, a chick? It's not like I'll get ya pregnant or something!"

"You really are one heck of an idiot."

As of now, my brain has a lot going on to be compelled to imagine anything other than the possibility of sex. Because I am unprepared to think straight, let alone act sensibly, my face tilts over only to eventually pull brakes when our lips collide. Even I am surprised with what has gotten over me. I mean, sure, from time to time he allows himself to be kissed, out of maybe resignation, as he has long ago grown tired of resisting. It has in fact become a natural occurrence between us. But right now, he has condoms in his pockets and there are lubes in the drawer. The circumstances are just so overwhelmingly perfect for a good fuck that I find myself panicking, pulling away and gasping,

"Crap. What the hell was that about?"

"That's my line, fucker. You go about jamming your tongue down my throat and you have the balls to ask me why you even pull that shit?"

"Why do you allow it?"

"Grimm, lemme ask you; how many times have you grabbed my behind, forced your tongue inside my mouth and shoved your palm inside my fucking boxers? With all those pranks getting pulled on me basically every day, what can hurt me now? Certainly not a freaking kiss."

And here he is again, making light of something that ought to be fucking serious. To be quite honest, the fact that he is endlessly cock-blocking me is driving me nuts. Come on, is he blind or what? I'm like the hottest dude in this freaking school and, to top things off, I am dead fucking serious about him, so serious I refuse to sleep with anyone other than the heartless jerk that he is. Suddenly, my anger is swelling. Until this very day, never for an instance have I thought of doing something atrocious to Ichigo. But now it's too late to play nice. So I walk past him and kneel down Shinji's drawer. I ransack it for that one object I most need at the moment. The faggot has to have it, right? But, alas, my shitty luck is telling me this day will end without me going as far as sticking my dick anywhere near Ichigo's skin. And so it seems Shinji Hirako has learned that stuffing your drawers full of adult paraphernalia is perhaps the best way to conceal the mediocrity of your sex life. Just what was that damned prick thinking, hailing himself a sex god while I am greeted by a total lack of narcotics or anything potent enough to knock anyone unconscious?

"Shit." I snarl, frustrated.

"What are you looking for?"

"GHB. Duh."

"What's—wait a fucking sec. Rape drug? You can't be serious."

I am fucking serious like the pope. GHB is one of the many prescription drugs creeps use for drug-assisted sexual assault. And, hell yeah, I am in dire need of one right this moment, exactly at this moment when I can as much avail myself of it as I can fucking forget about breathing. But the bewildered look on his face is one proof among many others which state he could not have foreseen how far I'm willing to go just so to get him to do it with me. Well, how about I say I would fucking kill for it? Unfortunately for him, I am the type of person who, once he gets his mind on a particular idea, makes everything bend toward it, for better or for worse.

He then backs away, perhaps dreading to be raped. I take his discomfiture as a signal to charge at him. Having been caught off-guard, he receives the tackle with hardly any preparation, and so he is now pressed on his back…

Wait. A. Damn. Fucking. Minute.

Does this qualify as pinning him down?

All things considered, it fucking does!

If you manage to pin me down on my back I'll have sex with you.

There's a god after all!

So fucking glad I was born!

"I win. Now pull your pants down." I declare, hoisting myself off him. Instantly, he assumes an expression which cannot be anything other than confused.

"Huh? Who the hell says I'll do as you say?"

"By decree of what we first agreed on, once upon a fucking time in your bedroom some two fucking years ago, you are gonna get laid right here, right now. In other words, you've repeatedly promised you'd have sex with me if I ever pin you down on your back."

His jaw hangs open in mortification. Appalled, he proves himself to be the very reverse of the reserved person he has always been.

"I never meant that to be…"

"To be what, serious?"

"It was all meaningless provocation, dumbass. Besides, this ain't fair."

"Oh, I once steadfastly believed you were a man of your words, Ichigo. Is it possible I was gravely mistaken?"

Contrary to the usual course of things, where he'd be ever so prone to kicking me in the shin or stuffing his knuckles in my tummy if I so much as begged for sex, he sighs and scratches the back of his head. And then, utterly defeated, he says something that will stupefy me,

"Fine, but don't go overboard."

I have to gather my wits after hearing that. I waste no time to rummage Shinji's drawer to pluck out whatever items which may assist in what I am about to dive into. I am so much in heat there's no room for embarrassment. Indeed, the thrill of finally doing it is overthrowing all else that's laying around in my mind. Before long, he is groaning, his legs over my shoulders, my fingers inside him. The fact that Shinji's assortment of lubricants is top-class does little to make things smoother for Ichigo. He is tight, and is not ready for penetration.

"Hey, I'll enter slowly."

By the time I get half my dick inside, he winces about, saying nothing. And yet when I manage to jam the whole of me deep inside him, he starts to curse up a fucking storm, as if nothing in the world can be more painful…or pleasurable. Because I can't tell precisely which one is more accurate, I thrust about in a moderate pace—until he mutters one word that will shove my self-restraint out of whack. "Faster." he says. While it doesn't necessarily mean I have to push harder, there seems to be no way to follow his command without conducting things in a rougher manner. And so I lose myself, perhaps busting arteries here and there, until he blows his load on me. I come soon afterwards.

Lying motionlessly now, panting with heavy breaths, I know nothing can exceed this satisfaction. I wish the same is true with him. But just when I am growing sure no comment about what has just occurred will ever come out of his mouth, he asks through the wordlessness,

"Will you always be that good?"

"In bed? Er, yeah. I suppose so." I answer, uncertain.

"Then you don't need to beg all the time."

END