Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Misguided Manipulation ❯ The Lessons They Learned ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Misguided Manipulation

Pairings/Characters: Stark/Ichigo (eventually)

Rating: T

Warning: Language, spoilers

Words: 4501

Description: Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.

 

 

Chapter Two - The Lessons They Learned

 

The lessons were going as well as could be expected.

 

“I can't do this anymore!” Ichigo growled, brushing off Stark's hand and stalking away from the Espada with an aggravated clip to his steps. “I'm tired.” His reiatsu, not as widespread as it had once been, rippled on the edges and betrayed his fatigue and irritation.

 

Stark watched him go, briefly running a hand over his own hair to clear out the grit and dust that had gathered from their lesson. “You're giving up?” he questioned with an arched brow.

 

A hand waved dismissively at him. “Don't start that shit, Stark. I just need a break. You're not goading me into keeping this up again,” the teenager retorted, already in the midst of peeling off his outermost layer as he strode in the direction Stark knew held the hot spring with its miraculously healing water.

 

When Ichigo had first brought him to this place, the Urahara Shorten with its strange and uncertain reiatsu, Stark wasn't sure what to think. He had avoided entering the place on purpose. He didn't believe that Ichigo would lead him into a trap or anything. That wasn't the kid's style, but he didn't really trust the place either. And the people in charge of it - from the weird geta-boushi, his overly large and accommodating assistant, the timid girl with a fierce punch, and the red-haired kid who looked like he could be the pineapple's brother - Stark was sure he had never met a crazier bunch. And he worked with the Espada, who included pink-haired fruits and two-headed creeps in tanks like Aaronierro.

 

Now, he still didn't know what to think, but he wasn't outwardly uneasy either. He just accepted the location for what it was, a place to train without others interfering, and let the rest slide off his shoulders. He would worry about potential threats and odd people when he had less to accomplish. Less on his mind.

 

When Ichigo was a far less distracting student.

 

No sooner had the thought passed his mind than he saw Ichigo strip down to barely anything, revealing all that flesh, even-toned and covered with faint scars. It rippled over burgeoning muscles, giving him full view of what helped him wield that big-ass sword. Stark was someone who appreciated beauty in any form, and Ichigo was something of a work of art. It really wasn't fair to swathe that sort of package in such surly wrappings. It made someone that much more determined to peel back the layers.

 

Stark shook his head, resisting the urge to slam his forehead into a wall. This was really counter-productive to the mission. Admiring just how appealing his student was would not give him any brownie points with the brat. He was supposed to convince him to join Aizen, not fuck him into the floor.

 

Though the latter didn't sound like such a bad idea. And damn, there was no way that kid was just sixteen.

 

Forcing himself not to stare, no matter how much his eyes seemed drawn to the tanned lines of Ichigo's back, dipping down towards--

 

Stark hastily stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the mineral waters, almost too hot for his cooling skin. There was a faint splash as Ichigo dropped into the other side, ducking his head beneath the water only to come up and shake like a wet dog.

 

“Why do you side with the Shinigami?” Stark abruptly asked, leaning against the water-smoothed rocks behind him. “You're a Vizard. They'll kill you for that.”

 

Ichigo eyed him briefly as he scrubbed his fingers over his hair and made it spike up. “Why are you following Aizen? He used to be a Shinigami.”

 

He distracted himself by watching the superficial wounds across his body vanish with a faint, itching prickle. “The boss is different.”

 

Ichigo snorted. “A man can change his clothes, but that doesn't make him a different person.” He splashed water onto his face to wash away gathered dust and grit. “As far as I can see, he's just as guilty as they are.”

 

“If you don't agree with them, then why are you fighting on their side?”

 

Stark didn't understand that. For all he'd been able to see, Ichigo was pretty independent for a Shinigami pet. He never really did what he was told.

 

Deep brown eyes practically burrowed into Stark's head, until he couldn't look away. “Get this straight . I'm not on anyone's side. I'm just protecting those that are important to me. That's all I care about, Stark. Nothing else.”

 

There was a steely glint in that expression, one that could not be dissuaded. A determination as strong as any vow.

 

“Like your family, amigo? And your friends, right?” Stark pushed, not alarmed by Ichigo's expression so much as intrigued by it. “Your crazy father. Your sisters. That busty chick--”

 

“--Inoue,” Ichigo corrected without missing a beat.

 

Stark dismissed that as though he had never heard it. “The Quincy,” he continued, listing all those he could remember from his observations. “The big guy. Your Shinigami friends including that pineapple. All of them, right?”

 

For a moment, he was treated to the sight of Ichigo's mouth dropping in surprise before his lips twisted into his favorite expression, a scowl. “How long have you been following me?”

 

“Long enough.” Stark waved a hand in encouragement to get back to the point. It wasn't as if he had kept his stalking - for lack of a better word - a secret. “What do you think they're going to do when they find out?”

 

For all of a moment, he caught Ichigo as his casual motions stalled abruptly. Yet, when it came to an answer, the boy was all nonchalance and dismissal.

 

“I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Besides, some already know, and nothing bad has happened yet.”

 

Stark arched one brow. “Yet,” he repeated knowingly.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo leaned back against the edges of the rather small pool, his hair a flat, orange mop against the top of his skull. “Aizen's not exactly man of the fucking year either. What makes him so worthy of your loyalty?”

 

“I wouldn't exactly call it loyalty,” Stark replied loftily and tilted his head back to look at the faraway ceiling, painted bright enough to resemble some sort of sky. A lot like Las Noches in fact. “Respect for the better man perhaps.”

 

Ichigo tilted his head to the side. “A man who used to be a Shinigami.”

 

Amused, Stark smirked. “You seem stuck on that point.”

 

The water rippled as Ichigo lifted his hand to make a vague gesture, half-swatting away the steam rising from the pool. “I sort of thought the whole Shinigami versus Hollow thing would have caused some kind of hatred.”

 

The kid had a point. It defied all logic that the Hollows and Arrancar of Hueco Mundo would follow someone like Aizen, who had once been a Shinigami. Respect of another's strength was not enough. Nor was fear. There had to be something else. Perhaps that same unnameable something that drew others towards Ichigo. A charisma that couldn't be easily matched.

 

Stark wasn't even entirely sure why he followed Aizen. True, the man had helped him realize his potential in some way, shape, or form. And thanks to him the Shinigami were finally getting their comeuppance. But that didn't mean Stark actually liked the guy. In fact, sometimes he swore that Aizen was only playing war games with them, sending them out to die for the sake of his own amusement. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that Aizen cared little for his subordinates save that ass-kisser Ulquiorra.

 

The former Shinigami really did mean little to Stark. In a sense, he did respect Aizen. The man was ridiculously powerful and didn't look down upon the abilities of his Espada. He had intelligence and ambition, both potent weapons. And most of all, he had declared war against the Shinigami, who were avidly hated by any and all Hollows. So he had reason to respect Aizen. But that didn't mean he thought the man was his reason for existing.

 

“The boss is not other Shinigami,” Stark finally answered. “After all, he's accepted the Hollow within him.”

 

That bait was sure to snag Ichigo's interest, to learn that he wasn't the only one might help snare him.

 

Ichigo lifted his brow. “Aizen's a Vizard?”

 

“Oops, did I let that slip?” Stark grinned.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo abruptly ducked back under the water for a brief moment and resurfaced. A hand scrubbed over his hair before he turned and reached for the edge, pulling himself out of the rock-lined pool.

 

Stark didn't bother to look away; he just stared this time. Watched as the water ran down Ichigo's skin in rivulets, tracing paths that fingers could easily follow. Damn, but his student was hot. For all his surliness, Stark would bet that Ichigo was a tactile person inside, just begging to be touched. His hands clenched beneath the water; this really was just a tad unfair.

 

“We're not done yet,” he called after Ichigo as he watched the boy reach for a towel and rub it briefly over his skin.

 

The flat cotton scrubbed over his hair. “Gotta get home,” he replied shortly, slipping easily back into his shihakushou without wasting any motion. Such a shame, to cover all that. “I promised Yuzu I'd help with dinner.”

 

In the meantime, the Arrancar was not getting out of the water anytime soon. Luckily, the steam was a good concealer, but he didn't think Ichigo would appreciate seeing the evidence of Stark's lust. In that moment, the Espada was really cursing the boss for putting him on this assignment. What with tempting, orange-haired and surly brats.

 

“And the doting older brother makes his appearance.”

 

Ichigo immediately scowled, a tint catching his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the water. Charming.

 

“Shut up,” he snapped, retrieving Zangetsu and returning the zanpakutou to his back.

 

“Same time tomorrow, amigo?”

 

“Whatever,” Ichigo returned and waved him off over his shoulder.

 

And then, he was gone in a flit of shunpo, no doubt heading for the absurdly large ladder that was the exit to this massive space. Not for the first time did Stark wonder how in the hell something this large existed beneath a candy store.

 

Chuckling to himself, Stark settled back against the side of the pool. He willed his body to calm. He was too old to be losing control like this. Cupping water in his fingers, he splashed his face, trying to erase the images from his mind. Not that it did him any good. He didn't understand it. Ichigo blushed and spluttered at just the hint of a naked woman but didn't blink twice at disrobing in front of a man. But then, he was young. Such a shame that.

 

Feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, Stark suddenly knew that he was no longer alone. And it wasn't Ichigo. The boy still couldn't hide his reiatsu that well, and he was too in tune to Ichigo anyway. No, this individual was hiding himself well. Were it not for Stark's instinct, he wouldn't have even known someone was behind him.

 

Nonchalantly balancing his arms on the edge of the pool, he addressed the stranger. “It's rude to stare, you know.”

 

“A man can't admire a bit of beauty?” a voice returned guardedly, and as Stark glanced over his shoulder, he recognized his visitor.

 

The man who had always unnerved him just a bit was standing there, hand on his rather atrocious hat. The other was curled around the head of a staff that even Stark could tell was just a form to hide the true shape of his zanpakutou. Everything about this man had always screamed Shinigami to him. Captain, to be more precise. Which was why he tended to steer clear of the blond. Ichigo's master or not.

 

Instantly on his guard, Stark put off a playful smile. “Not without introducing himself.”

 

The hand lowered itself from the brim of his hat and brushed disinterestedly at his haori. “And here, I thought you knew me,” the man replied airily. “It is, after all, my training grounds that you are utilizing.”

 

Stark understood in that moment what this truly was. And he knew how to play these games just as well. Lucky for him, words were just as much his strong point as everything else. Poor Grimmy would have drowned.

 

“Ichigo never made the introductions. Poor manners, that kid.”

 

“Not so. I happen to know for a fact that his mother raised him well.” He tightened his hold around the staff, a gesture that was almost threatening for all its subtlety. “Urahara Kisuke, at your service. And you?”

 

It wouldn't hurt to speak the truth. There was no obvious play for his life, though Stark did feel a bit disadvantaged being naked and all. With his own weapon several feet away on his stack of clothes. Not that he needed it to be dangerous or anything.

 

“Stark.”

 

“Just Stark?”

 

He grinned. “Primera Espada, too, if that's what you were looking for.”

 

Urahara tipped his head to the side, giving Stark a glimpse of the gray-green eyes hidden mostly by the shadows of his hat. “I gathered as much from the lovely little black marking on your hand.”

 

He resisted the urge to hide it; the shopkeeper giving him that same unusual feeling of uneasiness. This was no mere Shinigami; he was powerful in his own rights. He had to find out what the man wanted and quickly before he found himself in a difficult situation. And he doubted Ichigo would appreciate Stark harming his master. No matter how much he bitched about the man.

 

“Well, then, Urahara Kisuke, now that we are acquainted, we can get down to business.”

 

“My, am I so transparent?” Urahara smiled, but it was a slow stretch of his lips. Geta clacked against the training ground as he circled around the pool so that Stark would no longer have to strain to look at him. “I'd ask what you are doing with my student, but knowing Sousuke, I think I can guess.”

 

“Sousuke, hmm?” Stark grinned and followed Urahara's movements carefully. “So that's his name. Wouldn't Ulquiorra love to get that little tidbit?”

 

Those eyes, shadowed by that damn hat, watched him with interest. It was damn unnerving, that's what it was.

 

“I'm not sure this - whatever it is you are doing - is what Sousuke had in mind, however. Ichigo will not be swayed.”

 

“You never know until you try.” Again, Stark resisted the urge to hide himself and therefore betray a weakness. “You're not going to try and stop me?”

 

The smile widened into a smirk. “Hardly. He is more than capable of taking care of himself. And even if he isn't, well...” He trailed off, leaving that open for translation, though the way his fingers rolled across the top of his staff left little room for confusion. Along with the fluttering of red power that curled around it.

 

It was nothing short of dangerous, and Stark realized that he must tread carefully. Urahara was not offering acceptance, as it might seem, or even support. He was very cleverly threatening him with violence of an unrecoverable kind should he harm one precious hair on the boy's orange head. And there it was again, that unflappable loyalty Ichigo seemed to inspire in those around him.

 

“I only intend to snatch him away,” Stark countered because he'd be damned if he let this hidden Shinigami intimidate him.

 

Urahara made a vague gesture with his free hand, as if giving him leave to do as he wished. “And you are welcome to try. I do advise you to be careful, Primera-san; things aren't often as simple when it concerns Kurosaki-kun.”

 

“You're advising me?” Stark lifted a brow, wondering what exactly the catch was for this piece of necessary advice.

 

“Common courtesy.” He was treated to a second even smile, which for all intents and purposes seemed genuine. “I would hate to see you... ensnared by your prey.”

 

Pale eyes watched Urahara as Stark lifted a hand, scratching one finger over the scruff on his chin. “In all honesty, Urahara-san, I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“I think you might.” He rapped his zanpakutou on the ground with a single, sharp noise. “No matter. I simply wanted to see for myself what sort of man you were.”

 

“Espada,” Stark corrected without missing a beat.

Urahara made a noise, like a cross between derision and amusement that Stark wasn't sure how to interpret. “If you say so.”

 

With an offhanded shrug, Urahara shifted as though he planned to leave. Only to pause mid-turn, lifting his hand back to his hat. It was tugged down an inch, completely hiding his gaze from Stark.

 

“By the way, Primera-san, he has a fondness for Shakespeare. If you were looking for such information.” And with that, the man was gone with a burst of shunpo, blurring out of Stark's sight with nary a single glimpse of his reiatsu.

 

Stark blinked at the man's abrupt exit. What the hell was that about? One minute he thought the man was intending to warn him away from Ichigo; the next, he couldn't help but believe Urahara was attempting to encourage him. It didn't make any sense. And he highly doubted that pondering about it was going to make any difference.

 

Rolling his neck and hearing bones pop, Stark glanced at his fingers with a faint frown. He was getting pruny; time to get out of the water. And by proxy, the basement of the shouten. Things were too damn weird here.

 

- - -

 

It was still pathetically easy to hide himself from Ichigo. That was never more apparent than in this current moment as he sat perched into the boys window without Ichigo even realizing he was there. It was almost amusing, were it not for the fact Stark had been working to make him more aware of the reiatsu presence around him.

 

Ichigo could hide his own reiatsu a little better now. At least, he wasn't broadcasting to the whole universe just how tasty he was. It was still easy for those nearby to sense him, and he occasionally lost his concentration, but it was much, much better than before.

 

Stark indulged himself for a few moments as he watched Ichigo rummage around his drawer, dressed only in a pair of tight-fitting boxers. His hair stuck up from his head, still faintly damp from the shower. And little droplets of water clung to the back of his neck and to the sides where he'd only half-heartedly toweled off. Stark realized that he was becoming a pervert because he was disappointed that he'd only arrived now and not right after Ichigo had gotten out of the shower.

 

Yes, a pervert indeed. He didn't think this was what Aizen had meant for him to do at all. But Stark had long since pushed the mission to the back of his mind. Now, it was pure curiosity that drove him. A need and a crazy desire to understand Kurosaki Ichigo and just why he was so damn valuable.

 

This distinctly stalkerish behavior really had to go.

 

In the nature of propriety, Stark very kindly let a small bit of reiatsu slip. Just enough to let Ichigo know he was there.

 

In the midst of snapping his pants shut, Ichigo whirled around, blushing brightly. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed, snatching up a shirt and hurriedly sliding it over his arms.

 

Grinning, Stark gave a vague gesture and leaned against the frame of the window. “Was in the neighborhood.” He idly wondered where that Shinigami who disguised herself as a human was, as she could normally be found within five feet of Ichigo's location.

 

“Just casually taking a stroll down the streets of Karakura,” Ichigo growled and stalked towards the window. “Like I'd believe that.”

 

Stark grinned, still admiring that bright red dusting Ichigo's cheeks. So all the bravado from before was just that. He did blush in the presence of men. Charming.

 

He shrugged offhanded. “Okay, so maybe I just wanted to see you. Thought I'd give inviting you to join our side another chance.”

 

“First thing in the morning?”

 

“What better time?”

 

“Che.” Ichigo snorted and turned his back on Stark, searching around for his school shirt and belt. “My answer hasn't changed.”

 

Stark hadn't expected that it would, but he thought he'd throw it out there anyway. “Can't blame a guy for trying, ne?”

 

Ichigo made a noncommittal sound in his throat, carefully working the strip of leather through his belt loops. “Be quiet. I don't need my sisters knowing you're here.”

 

“I wouldn't hurt them.” The answer was genuine and honest. Stark wasn't into hurting little girls. Or anyone who couldn't fight back for that matter.

 

“I know that.”

 

To be honest, Stark was surprised that Ichigo did. Anybody with knowledge of the spirit worlds would have been worried about their family with a fearsome Espada nearby. Did Ichigo trust him that much? Or was he just that certain of his own abilities to protect them?

 

Fingers carefully flipped buttons through their respective holes. “I just don't want to answer difficult questions.”

 

“Hmm. Or maybe you just want to protect them. Isn't that what you told me? No sides, just protecting everyone?”

 

Ichigo grunted. “If you heard me so well, then why are you asking again?”

 

“Because I can.” Stark tilted his head to the side, considering all that he had observed from Ichigo. One fact stood out in his mind, and he thought to stir things up a little. “You know, you're important to them, too.”

 

Brown eyes cast him a look, demanding explanation. Stark had to admit that the statement was pretty vague.

 

He reclined in the window, trying to get comfortable despite the faint bite to the morning's air. What the hell was it with getting students up at the asscrack of dawn anyway?

 

But Stark simply shrugged. “That girl loves you, amigo.”

 

“What?”

 

Searching, Stark tried to remember a name. However, as they had never actually met, he couldn't recall at the moment.

 

“That busty chick,” he tried instead.

 

“Inoue,” Ichigo corrected, carefully tucking the tails of his shirt into his pants. “What would you know about her anyway?”

 

“I see things,” Stark replied. “She watches you all the time. She and that redheaded pineapple.”

 

Ichigo blinked out of sheer surprise, jaw dropping. “Renji?”

 

“You're a regular Casanova.” Stark grinned, knowing that perfectly oblivious Ichigo probably hadn't even noticed just how closely he was being watched by his friends. There was some serious one-sided affection going on there, and more than that, some serious lust. Stark knew it when he saw it.

 

The kid recovered from his surprise quickly enough. Though it was difficult for Stark to tell since Ichigo had shown him his back, rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk.

 

“And you've been watching too much TV. What? Not enough destruction and death to go around in Las Noches lately?” Ichigo tried and failed to deflect.

 

But Stark took mercy on him. “I'm wounded, Ichigo. My heart, it bleeds. Aren't we friends?”

 

“Hardly.” He sniffed, but it was halfhearted, more for the sake of arguing than anything. “You're more like my unwanted tagalong.”

 

Stark tried not to be offended. After all, he had thrust himself into Ichigo's life without the boy's permission. At least, Ichigo didn't know how much of a stalker he was.

 

“Join us.”

 

“That again?” the teen glanced over his shoulder, looking a bit exasperated. “You just asked me. I don't join sides, Stark. I thought you understood this.”

 

“You're fighting against Aizen.”

 

Really, there was nothing more amusing than bantering with Ichigo. It was like the boy was incapable of dishonesty, only able to candidly answer each demand and question.

 

Ichigo sliced a frustrated hand through the air. “He keeps attacking my friends!”

 

“He wouldn't if you joined us.” Which was true enough.

 

A growl of annoyance rasped in Ichigo's throat, rattling a bit through his reiatsu. The objects on his desk shook a little, and the boy absentmindedly caught a cup of pens and pencils before it jumped off the top.

 

“Why do you follow him then?” Ichigo countered, throwing him off a little. “What makes you think he won't betray you like he did the Shinigami?”

 

At the sudden question, Stark was thrust into silence. He had no answer for that because he honestly didn't know. It made sense. Aizen had betrayed his former allies once; why wouldn't he do it again?

 

“You're just a means to an end for him,” Ichigo continued as he shoved the cup further onto his desk. He reached for books and papers, shoving them into his school bag. “Fodder in his war against the Shinigami. And I'm not interested in becoming fodder.”

 

“And you're not just fodder for the Shinigami against the Arrancar?”

 

Ichigo glared, though it lacked heat. “I don't let myself be used.” He threw a hand over his hair in an attempt at doing something with it. “I'm not going to join Aizen. And nothing you can say will change that.”

 

Shrugging, Stark smiled, effectively hiding the strange stirring of thought that Ichigo's provocative statement had produced. “A mind can change, amigo. It wouldn't be the first time.”

 

“Take your boss for instance,” the Vizard snarked in return, displaying just a hint of malice. “He turned his back on his allies for his own purposes.”

 

“Harsh, Ichigo. Talk about hitting where it hurts.”

 

The brat waved him off and tossed the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “It's the truth, isn't it? Now, stop bugging me; I have to go to school,” he added, turning the knob to his door and stepping out of the room. It closed behind him, leaving Stark alone. Really, the kid was too trusting.

 

A part of him was beginning to realize just why Aizen wanted Ichigo on his side. And he was also starting to realize exactly why that would never happen. Which put him in quite the difficult situation. He wasn't going to be able to accomplish his mission. Yet, Stark wasn't disappointed by that. It simply meant more time to figure Ichigo out. Which wasn't exactly a trial.

 

Despite himself, Stark found he was actually growing to like the young Vizard. Strange in itself but true. Though he'd be damned if he knew why, lusting after Ichigo's flesh aside.

 

Thumbing his chin one last time, Stark shook his head and dropped back out of the window, heading for the nearest rooftop. He still had work to do.

 

- - - - -