Mixed Signals

"I just wanna rip your heart out," Grimmjow practiced in the mirror.

His reflection leered back at him menacingly.

"I wanna trail my fingers down your back and bring them out all bloody." He licked his lips, watching the effect. Yeah. That'd do it. "I wanna get my claws in you deep. Real deep."

No. That was a bit too obvious.

"I wanna pin you down and fuck you. Into the ground."

Yeah. That was more like it. A bit of implication was good. He flexed his stomach muscles and admired the way that it made his hole twitch.

He leaned into the mirror, grinding his groin against it. "I just can't fucking wait to fight you, you bastard."

Even the most frigid ice-assed moron would have to be moved by that one.

"I wanna release on your hot ass," he breathed huskily into the glass.

Oh yes. Kurosaki'd go all weak-kneed at that, he was sure of it.

"You're the only one for me," he groaned. "I've never wanted a fight so much before. I can't sleep for thinking about you. You give me the cold sweats. When I grab myself, it's you I wanna grab. There just isn't no way I can let this go on without trying to kill you."

Maybe it was a bit flattering, but what the fuck, he had to let go sometimes.

He flexed his fingers. "Get ready for the biggest fucking blast you've ever had."

A little worm of doubt suggested that all this sweet-talking meant he was going soft. But he stomped on it. A man had to do what a man had to do in order to get what he wanted. He didn't think that Kurosaki'd find it soft. Kurosaki'd take it the way it was meant. Bloody. Violent. Murderous.

He pulled back from the mirror, and smiled at it, tilting his head to show off his teeth and muscles.

No damn way Kurosaki'd be able to resist him.