Warnings: AU, yaoi, het, humor

Pairing: GrimmIchi, some GrimmOthers (for work mostly)

Chapter Rating: T

Disclaimer: Owned by Kubo Tite, et al.

Summary: A prudish incubus finds himself unwillingly bound to an internationally famous porn star. Things get messy. Then they get really messy.

A/N: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that zie hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing zir upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank you most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit in the form of a review. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.

::Oh! Honey Honey::

Ah, she's going to miss the kid. Nobody else can turn so many fascinating shades of red in such a short amount of time.

"I wouldn't have to do this if you weren't such a prude, Ichigo. Who's ever heard of an incubus starving to death because naked women scare him," Yoruichi says, letting just a hint of a smirk curl at the corners of her mouth.

"It's—It's not… I'm not…" At a loss for language, the orange-haired demon gesticulates wildly, nearly knocking the black and white photographs off her office walls in an agitated backwash of demonic power. The smell of burnt persimmons fills the room.

The flush staining his cheeks shifts from cherry-red to firebird vermillion.

"You can't even handle a partially unclothed woman without getting flustered and panicky." Which she, personally, finds priceless and has tormented him with on many occasions. For a demon of lust he is just so ridiculously pure when it comes to a bit of fanservice. The purple-haired, golden-eyed woman has lost count of the number of time he's run like a blushing bat out of Hell upon catching her changing clothes.

If he stays in the human world like he is now, though, Ichigo will starve to death and fade into shadows. However, if she terminates the contract and sends him back to Hell, he'll still die. There's a war brewing down there, and he'll soon find himself on the wrong end of it if he's allowed to return. Nothing to do then. She's already promised Kisuke that she'll keep his reckless apprentice here in the human world where he'll be safe—mostly.

Slamming a blue leather-bound album down upon the marble-topped desk before her, she leans forward and smiles in a way that has him dropping into a defensive crouch, sleek leathery tail lashing angrily at the air. "It's time for some shock therapy."

"What do you mean?" Slit-pupil, brown eyes dart warily between the slim album under her coco-skinned hand and the predatory smile seated fully upon her face.

"This person is going to be your new Contractor," she purrs, flipping the album open to reveal the glossy photograph inside. The incubus's brows furrow into a deeper-than-usual-frown as he edges closer to peer inside.

"The fuck? That's a man. What's he supposed to do for me?"

"Oh ho, were you hoping for some busty, voluptuous babe? Maybe there's hope for you yet, naughty boy."

Ichigo gargles something inarticulate and probably quite offensive if the jumble of vowels and consonants had actually been arranged with any degree of coherency. He stalks away from her desk muttering demonic invectives and arranges himself as far away from her, and the album, as he can while still staying within the office. He starts a staring contest with the carpet.

"Screw you," he finally says, cutting her resentful glances in between his perusal of the floor.

"Well, I had offered." Sultry grin.

More incoherent sputters from the other end of the office.

Ah, tomato-red this time.

She can't hold back the rich, throaty laugh building up in the back of her throat. She really is going to miss bullying him like this. He's such a sweetheart beneath all the gruff; a real live tsundere type. But this is for his own good, even if he can't see that yet.

"Like you'd really do this," he says in a huff, flexing clawed toes against the plush gray carpet.

"He's already signed the binding contract, albeit unknowingly. All that's left is for me to add my seal."

The demon's eyes widen in surprise and the look of hurt that flickers there dampens her humor a bit. Hellspawn shouldn't have such expressive, emotive eyes. Everything he feels is always too clearly writ there, no matter how hard he tries to hide behind a constant frown.

He must see the sympathy in her gaze because he sharply turns his head away and glares at a faux fern in the corner like it has done him some grievous wrong. The plastic fronds sag a little.

"Everything will work out, kid. Besides, it's only temporary. He hasn't given up blood."

A small growl of feigned indifference leaves Ichigo's mouth at this pronouncement even as some of the tension leaves his hunched shoulders. The fern receives a less vitriolic regard.

"You just need to have one or two good meals and then I'll whisk you back here so fast you'll get whiplash."

"Whatever. I don't care. Glad to be rid of you, witch." He sniffs haughtily and crosses his arms tightly over his toned chest. His tail twitches. She waits patiently. He casts a furtive glance at the open album and fidgets a bit, weight shifting restlessly between each foot. "So… Why him?"

Yoruichi hums as if in thought as she delicately toys with the tiger seal carved from old jade set close at hand atop the desk. A blue-haired, blue-eyed foreigner smirks wickedly up at her from the photograph. The man wears confidence and arrogance with a predatory style that probably has women dropping their panties before they even know what's what. Yes, a good mentor for her terminally prudish little incubus.

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, twenty-six." A delicate pause. "Porn star."


"Quite famous, too, if I'm not mistaken. How fortunate that he's just signed a two year contract with Las Noches Studios here in Japan. I imagine he didn't read the fine print, though." Or else he hadn't thought it serious—that part about contracting with a demon from Hell. That's all on his head now. Never underestimate the Fine Print. The devil's in the details, after all. Literally.

Ichigo turns to face her fully, incredulous and outraged, and cute as a button. Sorta like an enraged, rain-drenched kitten. "You have got to be kidding me. You're saddling me with a pervert?"

"Yes. And I hope you learn a thing or two."


She taps the seal against the blank page opposite the photograph and watches as elaborate script bleeds out across the cream colored surface.

The contract whisks Ichigo away before he can finish speaking.

She really will miss the kid.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, internationally renowned porn star, is just about to take a relaxing morning shit, the first run of today's paper spread over his thighs—opened to the business section, one might be surprised to find—when a body falls from the gray granite tiled ceiling and lands at his feet.

"—way in hell, you witch!" the body, or rather teenage guy, roars as he scrambles up.

Grimmjow blinks rapidly and then says the first thing that comes to mind, "Is that a fucking tail?"

Well, isn't this rainbows and goddamn sunshine?

"Don't touch my tail," Ichigo growls at the human again, showing off two full rows of sharper-than-normal teeth, and continues to pace around his Contractor. The infuriating man gives him a lopsided grin and lets his hand drop down upon the back of the couch he's sprawled across as he continues to wait for his manager on the other end of the cell phone to dig up that stupid contract Yoruichi doctored.

For having a demon nearly land on him while taking a dump, the blue-haired man has been surprisingly unfazed about the whole thing, accepting the existence of demons and witches and magic with a laconic shrug. Even when Ichigo tried to leave—only to find himself rubber-banding back into the man's chest, and getting a nose-full of his citrusy musk—the human hadn't done more than laugh like a freaking maniac. Apparently, Yoruichi has added a little something special to make sure the incubus can't escape.

Five feet. Five. Feet. Five.

That's how far Ichigo can go before the contract's magic flings him at Grimmjow. The stupid bastard has had a lot of fun jerking him around the spacious apartment all morning while getting ready—what kind of guy spends fifteen minutes deciding exactly which identical tight black shirt he's gonna wear?

And on another note, why does the bastard keep trying to fondle Ichigo's tail? That's just creepy as hell.

"You found it? Well?" the man demands in slightly accented Japanese to the squirrely person on the other side.

The demon perks up and risks inching closer. Grimmjow's expression vacillates between thoughtful and darkly amused as he listens to his manager. Frustrated at being kept out of the loop—and maybe if he actually hears the terms and conditions binding him to the bastard he can find a way to break it—Ichigo shuffles closer to the back of the white leather couch and the head of electric-blue hair lolling indolently against it.

He'd rather starve to death in the human world than learn anything from this—

The windows rattle in their panes and several pictures slip from their hooks, fragile glass shattering in wide, glittering arcs upon the hardwood floor, as the demon roars in surprise at having the base of his tail firmly squeezed by a large, calloused hand. Every hair on Ichigo's body stands on end and every muscle goes rigid as the hand then proceeds to jerk determinedly on his precious only tail.

"I guess it ain't a prop," Grimmjow says with a wicked, wicked smirk, releasing his captive, and narrowly dodges the blow Ichigo aims at his face. "What was that?" the human directs to the phone still in his other hand. "Nothing. Just a passing truck."

"I'll kill you. You're dead," the demon says through gritted teeth, hands protectively cupped over his violated appendage. He'll scoop out the human's soul and tear it into dripping, screaming strips. See if he won't.

Grimmjow has the balls to laugh at him. "Bring it on, bitch."

"Fuck me sideways, it is there," the blue-haired man says as his fax machine spits out the last few pages of the contract.

The hellspawn snatches the sheets away, nearly taking Grimmjow's hand off in the process with diamond-glister claws, and crouches down on the floor—tail wrapped firmly about his trim waist, and out of reach—to read it over exactly five feet away. It's rather obscenely adorable how defensive he is about the stupid thing. Makes Grimmjow want to jack on it some more. His expression had been a fucking riot, like Grimmjow had shoved his fist up the demon's ass and not diddled with his tail a bit.

"Two years? That can't be… Unless…" The orange-haired demon begins muttering under his breath, an occasional strange, liquidly resonant word passing his lips—and Grimmjow'd give his eyeteeth to know what language that is because it sounds hot as hell. It's the kind of foreign tongue you'd want a lover to slide into your mouth like a piece of melting spiced chocolate, warm and slick and so good.

A moment later, he realizes that the boy is actually using it to cuss. Nice.

Ichigo stares at the impressive array of breakfast foods spread out across the counter, each one mouth-watering and perfectly prepared to suit even the harshest food critic. He frowns a bit more and shifts on the bar stool, ever mindful to keep his tail close. Never know when that pervert might strike again.

"It's not gonna bite you, ya know," the human says with wicked amusement while systematically demolishing the plates of decadent breakfast-y goodness closest to him on the other side of the counter island. "I just have to feed you, right? Then this whole demonic contract thing is done."

"I don't eat human food."

Grimmjow gives him a skeptical once over; then he grins, feral and supremely self-satisfied. "If it's virgins, then I don't know any anymore."

"I—You—! It's not like that. Not exactly. Just shut up. Stop laughing. Argh." He grinds the heels of his palms into his closed eyes, then brings them down forcefully upon the counter—narrowly missing a platter of rice omelets and a jar of lemon marmalade—and levels a cold glare at the bastard. "If it wasn't for that contract I'd kick your ass right now."

"You'd try," Grimmjow says, all teeth and coiled intensity behind an innocuous cup of black coffee.

"I'd win."

The look the human sends him nearly has Ichigo out of his seat and in a defensive crouch. It's like Ichigo just asked him for a hot, wet, dirty fuck over the counter and not threatened him with an ass kicking. What the hell his wrong with this man?

Why isn't he freaked out about all this? Ichigo is a demon. They've been bound together in a contract at the expense of Grimmjow's soul, albeit only temporarily. Is he touched in the head, or what? These aren't things humans accept blindly in this day and age. Where is that vaunted twenty-first century secularism?

"Are you strong?" the blue-haired human demands, eyes glittering, pupils dilated, breakfast entirely forgotten.

Ichigo shifts subtly upon the stool, bracing his clawed feet against the floor, lowering his tail to counterbalance any sudden movements he might be forced to make. He's only got five feet of leeway if things get crazy.

Then an all too familiar and disconcerting force flows over him, like fire-warmed honey, like raw silk over sex-flushed skin: lust. But it's not like any desire that Ichigo has encountered here in the human world. It's thick and hard and hot, and so deeply, brutally tangled with violence that he can't even really call it lust. His mouth goes dry and then floods with saliva as Grimmjow's presence settles like a solid thing upon his tongue. Musky. In his throat. Choking.

"Yeah," Ichigo says in one short breath. One of the strongest in Hell.

"Yeah," Grimmjow echoes, sounding drugged out of his mind and grinning like a madman. "Fuck, I want to see that."

Ichigo's heart rate shoots up.

Grimmjow nods to himself and then returns to eating his breakfast. The tension vibrating hungrily in the air flat-lines. Aborted.

Ichigo is left to feel ridiculous and, inexplicably, deflated.

Chapter End

Chapter Two Preview: "Orgasms. You eat orgasms?"

After Note: Strange things happen in your brain when you watch the "You Spin Me Round (like a record)" music video by Dead or Alive. So much hair. So much purple. Then watch "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell for dessert. Anyone else miss the 80s?

Fic title, though, comes from The Archies song "Sugar Sugar". Bubblegum pop: learn it, love it, live it. Er, maybe not the latter...