Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

Note: Sequel to 'Back with Vengeance'. I wasn't really planning on a sequel because the conclusion is pretty tricky to plot what with the guys standing on equal ground. But I'm very easy to persuade. This is unedited so feel free to point out mistakes; I'm writing this in the office so this is kinda rushed.


Surely, the last thing Kurosaki Ichigo would want to be labeled as was 'inconsequential'. As of the moment, no amount of his vexation could extend to a certain Arrancar's notice to push the latter to awareness. And to think that the only thing that was separating them was an inch of a fluctuating and frustrated gap, none of his current circumstances was faring along fine.

Earlier that evening, for some gravely important reason, a matter of my-reputation-is-on-the-line concern in fact, the substitute Shinigami proposed a deciding challenge, if only to assert his own, er, manhood. So he and Grimmjow were to sleep on the same bed, a task whose number of risks spoke for itself. Whoever was to make the first move would lose. Ultimately, it was a fight against temptations, against carnal promptings to be precise, if not strictly an experiment on their capability, or lack thereof, of suppressing...lust. But, above all, it was a little too cleverly plotted; at least for someone who had a highly secured motive. Whatever the motive might have been, the nature of the proposal was enough to steer the minds of many to some grand, otherwise lecherous intent. Perhaps the mental capacity of the one who proposed the challenge did not allow for a more efficient way of veiling the lasciviousness that was gnawing at him. Maybe.

So there he was, lying stiff and rather uncomfortably on his side, with nothing to orient his face to but the wall. Beside him was the last person one would expect to be in bed with him. Yes, this other person would be the last in the list of many possibilities granted that the observant happened to be uninformed about the latest episodes in Ichigo Kurosaki's life. More realistically speaking, no one would have been more likely to share his little bed than his nemesis, Grimmjow Jaggerjack. For sure, he knew what he was doing, or he wished he did.

Apart from killing anyone that came his way, some of the few things that Grimmjow was indisputably efficient at were annoying the hell out of anyone, taunting people, and seducing them out of pure malicious pleasure. Right now, he had mind enough to persecute this three lines of expertise, all at fucking once, over a single person, who happened to be the one sleeping, rather, trying to sleep beside him. But no matter how much both hoped to make a solid expression of their own tenacity, neither of them was apparently willing to bend. This was because defeat or forfeiture was never in their list of options nor was there any possibility in the near future of it being enlisted. In the distant future, perhaps there would be an unprecedented hope for condescension but, for now, let all hell break loose, to give in would have meant quitting life altogether. By the way, distant future could actually mean 20 minutes later.

"Your bed sucks big time." Grimmjow complained, sounding as though he was going through a lot of stress trying to determine which position to assume.

"Stop complaining; you're the one who's taking comfort from hospitality, mine in particular." Ichigo answered, and he himself wasn't faring so well either with what little space on his bed was provided for him.

"You really can be a baffling dumbass sometimes, huh? You're the one who fucking thrust this dazzling proposal and, if you'd have been any less overt to ask me out privately instead, we wouldn't be flocked up like a pair of conjoined retards like what I might officially call us now."

"Shut up and stay put; I'm trying to sleep. And, just so you know, there's no way in hell I'm making the first move, so you might wanna chuck your hopeful aspirations out the window and rethink your vain efforts to hold yourself back—"

"Tryin' to sleep, are you? What difference would that make when you dream of me when you're awake, asleep, half-asleep, and half-dead—"

"Well, it's kinda in one of my greatest dreams to watch you bleed to death. I swear.." The Shinigami corrected.

"So that you'd come and rescue me again? A knight in shining armor, is that how you see yourself? I have to say, your propensities to delusion is somewhat exceeding my high expectations—"

"Will you move your goddamn arm away from my friggin' spine? You're nudging me up this wall so far up I might as well be making out with it." Ichigo snapped in utmost irritation. Indeed, the Espada's arm was pressed against his back, unsparingly pushing his weight against the wall.

"You're one to complain, aren't you? When the whole of this is your fucking idea."

"Well, this idea would have remained a mere idea if you hadn't the shameless guts to assure me that this would be the best night of my effing life. Now look where you got us into; this is no damn better than being stuffed in an infant's coffin with an idiot. And that's not mentioning you won't shut your trap."

"Yeah, I agree. I was fucking wrong about this being your best night as of yet; in fact, this has to be your worst to date—"

"You're darn right about that—"

"Imagine, here we are, so close and cramped, yet your ego and misled pride are restraining you from satisfying your greatest, I mean, major carnal fantasies—"

Ichigo grabbed the Arrancar's arm and sent it flying over its owner's chest.

"What the fuck was that for?" Grimmjow snarled.

"Your arm is taking up too much space—"

"Well, your stupid bed can use a helluva lot of resizing!"

"So can your brain, FYI." Ichigo retorted.

Grimmjow sat up with the suddenness of an alarm before shooting the other a murderous glare.

"Sure, so can your cock." The Espada replied and sank back to the bed. As soon as his back retouched with the futon, the Shinigami bolted straight up in a manner that caused the bed a good deal of violent creaking.

"We don't tolerate that kind of language under this roof. And, just for you to be informed, I happen to be a plus-size." Ichigo was speaking so vehemently that it wouldn't have been any surprise if smoke started to lift from his ears.

Grimmjow was staring at him with a pleased, mischievous air.

"Indeed? May I see it?"

"Nice try, asshole."

"You're all talk. What would you do without a goddamn mouth? I'm kinda disappointed in you, Shinigami." The Espada said in a calm voice that reeked so much with honest dismay; he was a very good actor.

"You're not tricking me into removing my goddamn pants and that's it." Ichigo answered resolutely.

"I'm not trying to do anything funny, but if you wanna put it that way then be my guest. In any case, that just leaves me with nothing but the posibility that your thingy is indeed a weeny little feller." Grimmjow said. He, again, roused from his back, landed on the floor and, slowly, in full view of the orange-head, started to pull the hem of his shirt over his head, and off it went on the floor sooner than Ichigo's scandalized remarks assaulted the room.

"What—why are you taking your friggin' tee's off?!"

"They're fucking uncomfy, and it's like a stinkin' oven in your room, man. Don' cha have a cooling system or something? Las Nosches was way—"

"It's in the middle of December! Are you insane or just a plain pervert? It's practically freezing outside; just get dressed, you bast—"

"You're making a ruckus, Jesus. Over this? This partial nakedness? If you're gonna wake the whole goddamn neighborhood—"

"I don't give a rat's ass! I'm not sleeping with—I mean—beside some scantily clad lewdness incarnate—"

"Then go fetch me the fucking Antarctica or have me launched there—"

"Jesus Christ! Next time, if you're gonna use the goddamn weather for some fucked up excuse to disperse your damned tendencies, make sure it conforms—"

"If it bothers you so much, you can follow my lead and take off yours too. To be quite honest, I wouldn't have gripes about that—"

"Go to hell. I hope you freeze right over and die. Yeah, that's right, take everything off; I'm effing sleeping." Ichigo said in his last attempt to protest.

"For one thing, it's literally smokin' hell in here; for another, am I hearing that right? Are you sure you can handle me once I start stripping this thing down?" Grimmjow asked, pointing at the pair of boxers he was wearing. At the sight of the tiny clothing article, the Shinigami's eyes balled up to a pair of perfect circles.

"Who in bloody hell gave you the permission to wear my stuff?!" Ichigo exclaimed at the sight of the familiar pair of underwear.

"What, you'd rather I had my Hakama on? I've had it for ages and it now stinks like hell, but, hey, these ones I have on look stunning on me, don't they?"

A very skimpy pair of boxers it was. In fact, it looked as though Ichigo was already way past the stage of having use for it. He might have just been keeping it for sentimental reasons. All the same, the Arrancar's unblemished and slender legs loomed radiant under the moonlight. A harassing invitation to lust they were, if nothing else.

"I don't give a flying fuck what looks good on you. What this goes down to is, you ought to keep your damn paws off my stuff—"

"As you wish."

The Espada straightened up. He then held the boxers by the garter, bent low on his waist, and started pulling the garment to his ankles' direction, a direction which boded that one very consequential sight that left nothing to the imagination.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Keeping my paws off your stuff." Grimmjow answered coolly, the boxer shorts travelling lower and lower down his legs as he spoke...

"That's not what—you completely miss the point—"

"The point is, Ichigo," The Espada intervened, which, thankfully or maybe unfortunately, suspended his undressing. He continued, "you just wanna see me with nothing on."

Ichigo froze. Before long, he found himself bereaving the bed of his weight.

"I'll sleep on the floor; you take my bed." He said in a very low voice. It was impossible to tell if his sudden reverence was due to embarrassment or extreme annoyance.

"Ha ha ha...so, you're chickening out? I told you, you can't win this—"

"It's fucking stupid! You and me on the same bed! I never would've proposed something as shitty as that in the first place! As we're both grown men, we'll never be able to sleep a damn blink if we get on with this shit, so just forget." The Shinigami lashed out, and just then a considerable level of panting ensued.

Grimmjow still had his fingers around the boxers' garter. At the moment he was doing nothing save that he was examining the Shinigami with a pensive glance, thereby sending discomfort irrigating through the latter's body.

"Hmmm… basically, it's one of those pubescent problems that betray you when you get sexually frustrated. Ha ha ha. You're simply fascinating. Nevertheless, it's your call; we'll sleep separately if it pleases you. Not my loss."

"Yeah, sure." Ichigo muttered.

"No problem."

"Same here."

"Fair enough."

"I guess so too."

"I think so as well."

Ichigo dumped his pillow on the floor before brushing past the Arrancar. He produced a thick futon from his closet and spread it on the floor. The Espada, on the other hand, sat on the bed and was watching the Shinigami with faint traces of amusement.

"Goodnight." Ichigo said as he settled himself on the floor.


"Sleep well."

"You sure you don' wanna give me a goodnight kiss or something, for consolation?" The Espada's offer sounded sincere and peculiarly enticing.

"And that would make me, what, the loser who made the first move?" Ichigo answered.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that." Grimmjow said, and there was an apologetic ring to his voice. Oddly enough, he truly sounded as though the challenge had already escaped his remembrance.



There was an awkward silence that had certainly nothing to do with their bodies demanding sleep.

"You know, there's one way we can both spend the night comfortably up there; something that does not require sleep." Ichigo started suggestively.

"Yeah, I suppose there is." Grimmjow agreed.



"That's weird, I mean, you and I thinking of the same thing at precisely the same time…" Ichigo said as he helped himself up.

"Yeah…bizarre. So, who gets to be on top?" Grimmjow inquired in a casual tone; he might have been asking for the time.

"Me. You're heavier; you'd squeeze me breathless—"

"Yeah, yeah, you're one smarty pants, aren't you?"

"I sure am. And Grimmjow, keep your paws off my stuff." Ichigo said with a grin as his gaze slid down the pair of boxers, the only garment left covering Grimmjow Jaggerjack's body.


Note: That's just about it. My imagination has completely deserted me. I didn't want to go into details of the bed scene because I write like crap and attempting lemon or slash would just render me the biggest moron. I should've handed this follow-up to someone else but, there you have it. No one lost, obviously; they just both desperately have the hots for each other.