So, surprisingly, this story won in the poll, when I thought "Captivate Me" would. Oh well, no matter. I will still be writing Captivate me, but this will take up most of my time. This will not be your typical GrimmxNeko!Ichigo story. Ichigo won't be found in a alley or pet store or whatever. Some ideas were taken (with permission) from my lovely dear, Racey. There will be talk of past torture, but nothing too descriptive, at least I don't think so. Also, Grimmjow is a total MANWHORE in this story. He sleeps around...A LOT. Well enough rambling, on with the story. Thank you again to my Beta, Racey.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or Kid Rock's song "American Bad ass".

Chapter 01

"Aaah, Grimmjow, there," the man beneath the blue haired man screamed. Grimmjow gripped the back of the man's knees, pushing his legs wider and closer to his chest, trying to get deeper as he pounded into him. He was so close, just a few more thrusts and he was there.

I'm an, American bad ass. Watch me kick,

you can roll with rock or you can suck my dick.

I'm a porno flick, I'm like amazing grace.

I'm gonna' fuck some hoes after I rock this place.

Grimmjow groaned, pissed that someone was interrupting him as he was getting his dick wet. He tried to ignore it and continued to work his hips harder, making the other man whimper.

Super fly, livin' double wide, side car my glide,

so Joe C can ride,

full sack to share, bringin' flash and glare,

got the long hair swingin', middle finger in the air.

"Fuuuck, not now!" Grimmjow roared as he pulled out of the man, letting his legs flop against the dark blue silk sheets below. He slid off the edge of the bed, letting his feet hit the cold, hardwood floor and stalked over to the desk where his cell phone was, before grabbing it.

"Talk to me," he spoke. He ran a hand through his hair and stared down at his raging hard on still covered with the shimmering latex. Pulling at the condom, he started to roll it off. He knew he wasn't going to be able to finish fucking anything now.

"Jag, we got work, get a move on." Then the line went dead. Sighing, he threw his phone down and grabbed his pack of smokes from the desk, pulling out one and putting it between his lips. Throwing the smokes back down, he reached for his lighter, flicking it against the end of the cancer stick. He stared out the large pane glass window, watching the fire flicker in the reflection before he released the latch and threw it back onto the table. He took a long drag before pulling the cigarette from his lips and letting the smoke fall from his nostrils.

He felt slim arms wrap around his waist, hands moving down and fingers running through his course, blue pubic hair. He felt soft kisses being laid across his lower back. He hated clingy partners, more than anything. He jerked away from the touch, taking another drag from the cigarette and made his way to his bathroom.

"Get ya shit and get out, I got work to do," he said and then the bathroom door slammed close. He could hear the man yelling at him, but he wasn't having any of that. He had better things to do.


"Where the fuck is Jag? He shoulda' been here an hour ago."

"You know he's always late, Nnoi. It's the norm," a lazy voice responded.

"Fuck that shit. We got work ta do and if his ass makes us lose one cent, Imma knock his block off. Fuckin' alley cat."

"Calm yourself, Nnoitra. Though I do not enjoy Grimmjow's late fashion, either, we still have some time to spare." The voice was deep and monotone, sounding almost bored, but it seemed to calm the man, Nnoitra, down a bit. The three men were sitting in an airplane hanger waiting for their friend and comrade, Jag, to arrive. A few more minutes passed before they all heard the screeching of tires then a door slamming closed. They could hear the crunch of gravel beneath footsteps before a door to the hanger was thrown open.

The man standing there was tall, around 6'3". His teal locks were tossed into a chaotic, but spiky style. His eyes were a deep, sparkling blue, his nose was perfectly proportioned to his face, as was his plump lips and his jaw was strong. He was wearing a white wife beater, hiding under a black leather jacket and clad in low rise, light stonewash jeans that disappeared into black, leather, military style boots. On his right hand, his middle and pinky fingers were adorned with silver embellished rings and his hips were wearing a black, leather belt, fashioned with a metal oval shaped buckle.

Fixing his giant Louis Vuitton duffle bag in his right hand, he smirked at the three men as he made his way over to them. "Yo! Ya'll look bored as fuck."

"Fuckin finally! We've been waitin' for yo ass. It's been over an hour, Jag. What da' fuck?" Seeing that smug look on the blunet's face made Nnoitra remember how pissed off he was. He hated how arrogant and cocky the man in front of him was. No matter how many people said they were alike, the blue haired man was still an asshole.

"Sorry man, the bitch I had at my place wouldn't leave on his own, so I had to kick him out. Shawlong was nice enough to take his whiny ass home. Poor bastard." Grimmjow snickered at the thought of the petite, clingy man beating on his friend. "Anyway, what's the job?"

A stoic, pale man rose from his seat upon a crate and grabbed at the small stack of files next to him. He approached each of the men, giving them a file before he started to speak. "We are going to Hueco Mundo, Japan. There is a man, Sōsuke Aizen, who wants us to take care of an important package. Once we arrive in Japan and retrieve the package, he will give us the destination where it needs to be dropped off. The package is classified and valuable and we are in no way meant to inspect or damage it."

"How much did he pay?" Grimmjow wanted to know how much this mission was worth. It was ridiculous that the bastard just couldn't take care of it himself.

"One million US dollars up front. We will receive five hundred thousand when the package has been delivered safely." Grimmjow whistled. It must be a very important package.

"So…when are we leaving?"

"Right now."


Grimmjow gazed out the small, rounded window as the jet descended into Japan. They had been in the air for a little over twelve hours and he could tell Nnoitra was getting fidgety. The man didn't do well in airplanes. He always liked to keep his feet on solid ground. Starrk was probably the most relaxed than anyone else on the plane, being that he slept the whole way there. Ulquiorra had been working on his computer most of the time and didn't glance away from it, even when the turbulence was bad.

They were mercenaries, a group of men that did pretty much anything for the right amount of money. Killing, smuggling, drug deals, anything that their client needed them to do in the most discreet way. It was something they had been doing for a little over 4 years and didn't think they would fit in well with the rest of society. They could never see themselves as real life businessmen or something of that nature, though they used those positions as a decoy every now and then. They thought they had a nice gig going and didn't think they could have any other job sweeter than theirs.

Nnoitra was a man of great stature, towering over the rest of the group at a whopping height of 7'1". He had long, obsidian hair that was always styled simply, hanging over his shoulders. Sometimes he would extravagantly pull it in a low ponytail, but that was only on special occasions. He was the man with the edge, dealing with anything sharp: Knives, swords, even going so far as to work with forks. He was the connoisseur of knives and knew everything about them, how to throw them, how to use them, even the best knife to cut a thick, juicy steak with. In high school he was nicknamed mantis, which stuck to him for a large part of his life. His speed of throwing knives was quite fast and sometimes it looked like he was throwing from six arms. From his obvious obsession, he received quite a few scars including one that ran down the length of his left eye. He was immediately blinded from it, but he still refused to put down a knife.

Starrk, also known as Coyote, was considered the laziest of them all. He seemed to have some kind of narcoleptic tendencies, sleeping at inappropriate times and falling in to deep slumbers randomly. The rest of the guys just thought he was doing it on purpose, because when the time came to fight, he was alert and ready. He was the handgun master. Whether they were big or small, he could work them like a simple remote. Just point and click. Before becoming a mercenary, he worked for the military. He mostly dealt with the creation and distribution of distinct firearms for the army, but he was laid-off for unknown reasons.

He had finally come back from his patriotic duty, only to find his home filled with bullet holes. Obviously, the military didn't think it was a good idea for such a lethal man to stay alive. Everything that had mattered to him had been destroyed, including his little sister, Lilynette. Though they were only adopted siblings, he still loved her as any family member would. She was all that he had left and now that she was gone, he felt he really didn't have anything to live for. He tried to kill himself one night, but he was stopped by Grimmjow, who had been minding his own business. He had seen the brown-skinned man ready to jump in a river, in the middle of a very cold winter. From that night on, they had been good friends.

Ulquiorra or the robot as Grimmjow had dubbed him was a tech geek. He used to work as a hacker for an underground company that dabbled in various cybercrimes. They would steal valuable information or secrets from large enterprises and sell it to competing companies. The man had a cold exterior and mostly kept to himself. He could create viruses, programs and even had a knack for creating computer games. He was a whiz at anything electronic, being able to disassemble and reassemble things in a quick fashion. Like some little inventor, he was good with his hands, being able to create handy things from scratch. He was really like a robot.

And last was Grimmjow. He had claimed himself as the leader, but the others always did their own thing. Though the man had good leader skills, he would fly off the handle a little too frequently. He liked to jump the gun and fly into battle without a serious plan most of the time. There were occasions where he thought things through carefully, but he was someone who acted on instinct. He was a master of hand-to-hand combat. He could use swords and guns, but he liked to depend on his hands and feet more so than anything else. He knew military style combat, martial arts and was well known in boxing, kickboxing, wrestling and street fighting. His hands and feet were far more lethal then him using any kind of man-made weapon. He was also a sprinter, being inhumanly fast and he had the reflexes of a cat.

All in all, their team was pretty badass and they weren't to be fucked with.

"Man, I'm beyond happy we are finally here. Ready ta get off of this fuckin' jet," Nnoitra said as he stood and stretched his lanky body. He scratched at his long hair, looking down at the snoring Starrk. "I'll neva understand how he can sleep through anything." Nnoitra kicked at the brown-skinned man's legs, making him fall out of his seat and jerk awake.

"Fuck, I need a smoke. Hey Ulquiorra, what time are we supposed to be meeting this jack-off?" The dark haired, green-eyed man glanced up from his laptop before looking down at the paper next to it.

"His name is Sōsuke Aizen and if you must know, we are meeting him for breakfast at 6:30, tomorrow morning." Grimmjow frowned. Why the hell so fuckin' early in the goddamn morning? And tomorrow? Shit doesn't make sense. It's already morning now. Grimmjow didn't want this mission to drag on more than it already had to. He loved traveling as much as the next person, but he was horny and tired. He wanted to sleep in his own bed and maybe get a little ass to enjoy. I guess I could find me a little Japanese honey for the night. The blunet smirked at his lecherous thoughts of making a petite Asian woman scream his name all night, preferably one with bright hair. He had a thing for red heads. He would get it on with anyone with a pretty face, but red heads seemed to turn him on like no other.

Stepping out of the jet, they descended the stairs. It was hot and humid, making their shirts stick to their skin and it was only 9:00 am. Grimmjow noticed a black Cadillac parked out front with two men in white suits standing near it. They all made their way down and one of the men stepped forward.

"Are ya tha Espada?" A man with short, silver hair asked in Japanese. Grimmjow frowned at the dialect, but was glad he at least knew Japanese.

"Yes, that is us," Ulquiorra responded.

"Ahh, Aizen-sama is very glad you were able ta come in such a short time frame. He won't arrive until lata t-night though. You will be staying in his hotel, Las Noches, during ya time in Japan."

Grimmjow didn't like this man. He seemed a little sneaky with his permanent smile. The dark-skinned man next to him didn't seem any better. He really hoped Ulquiorra knew what kind of people they were getting involved with.

They slid into the back of the bar and took in the surroundings as they moved throughout Hueco Mundo. The place was seriously lacking spunk. It was eerie and just so dead. It was nothing compared to Tokyo or Osaka and it looked like a place where people went to die. Grimmjow thought the place suited Ulquiorra fairly well. After driving through the semi-deserted streets, they pulled up to a tall, chalky looking building. The big metal, lighted sign said Las Noches, so Grimmjow guessed it was their hotel. For a place to look so boring, there were a large amount of cars in the valet area.

Their car pulled up to the curb and people in white suits rushed over to take care of them. When the four men stepped out, a small blonde male rushed to Grimmjow and tried to grab his duffle bag.

"Nuh uh, that ain't happening, squirt. Keep ya paws off my stuff." The petite man just gazed up at the blunet with wide, gray eyes and tried to reach for the bag again. Grimmjow growled in his throat and repeated the phrase in Japanese, hoping to get the little bugger away from him. The little man frowned, but backed off. "Why couldn't we go to Germany, Spain or even Mexico? At least a place where the language came second nature to me."

"Stop complaining, Grimmjow. Just remember to speak in the language and you will be fine." The blue haired man glowered after the green-eyed robot before following him and the rest of his comrades up the stairs and into the hotel.

The place was huge and much more elegant inside than it was on the outside. Though it was white, everything was in pristine condition and looked very expensive. High-class people walked about, chatting and socializing, while some were having their bags carted around by various people in white suits. They were finally able to get their room keys and quickly made their way up, refusing to have any help with their bags.

Getting out of the elevator, they walked down the long carpeted corridor, noticing only a few doors on the floor. They reached their room and Ulquiorra slid the key card into the slot and watched as the light above blinked green and heard the click to open the door. He grabbed the knob, turned it and pushed it open.

"Holy hell, this place is the shit!" Nnoitra exclaimed from behind the petite, dark-haired male. Grimmjow just grunted. He didn't care if it was Buckingham Palace; he wanted to get this shit over and done with. Pushing past everyone, he headed over to the white leather couch situated in the middle of the room, dropping his bag to the floor on the side of it. He flopped down onto it, kicking his feet up and placing them on the glass coffee table in front. He removed his jacket and pulled out his cell phone, before scrolling through it. "What are ya so pissed off about?" Grimmjow looked up to see Nnoitra walking over to him before sitting down at the couch on the opposite side.

"We haven't even been here for a few hours and I already have a bad feeling about this. I mean, we flew fourteen fuckin' hours just to deliver some package. That doesn't seem a little fishy to you guys? I mean, I know we get a lot of jobs, but there is just something iffy about this one. Why couldn't this Aizen guy just deliver it himself or have one of his many lackeys downstairs do it. To top it all off, we are staying in a dead city like Hueco Mundo. There ain't even shit here! Where are the bars, the clubs? I need some ass."

"Must you always think with your lower head, Grimmjow. We are getting paid well, so what's the problem?" Ulquiorra asked in a dull tone.

"Well, sorry for not being a twenty-three year old robot, but I love sex. And just because we are getting paid doesn't mean I can't complain. At first I thought this would be okay, but the more I really think about the situation, the more it just seems all kinds of funny."

"…The alley cat's got a point. Are ya sure about this guy, Quarto?" Ulquiorra pressed his lips together in annoyance. He hated when people second-guessed him.

Sighing, he responded. "He's known for working closely with the Prime Minister of Japan. He's worked side by side with some of the top governments in America. He's legit. There are no criminal records or pending investigations against him. He's clean and trustworthy. He's an intelligent businessman that needed someone to deliver a package in the most discreet and safest way possible. He asked for the best and he received the best. Any other questions?"

Grimmjow could tell the robot was peeved, but he still wasn't convinced. Why would a so-called legit businessman want a package delivered discreetly enough to hire mercenaries? Grimmjow's brow furrowed as he ran through a mental list of contents of this "important" package. It could be drugs or illegal weapons and it just screamed jail time. Not to mention, they were in another country. Those things didn't really bother him, but this Aizen seemed more than just fishy, he seemed like bad news.

He glanced out the floor to ceiling window. He just hoped Ulquiorra knew what he was talking about.


"You called for me, Aizen-sama?"

"Ah yes, good evening, Tousen. I wanted to know how our very special guests are doing," a brown haired man asked, standing from behind his desk. He had a few files spread across it and was looking through one situated in his hand.

"They are getting accustomed to Japan very well, sir." Aizen smiled at the dark-skinned man.

"And the blue haired one?" Tousen frowned. He didn't care much for the Grimmjow fellow. He was loud, obnoxious and very rude. He had to send one of Aizen-sama's employee's up to keep the man from causing any ruckus. He just hoped Halibel could keep him preoccupied. When Aizen didn't hear a response from his assistant, he glanced up, noticing the frown upon the man's face. Chuckling lowly, Aizen continued, "I take it you are not very fond of the kitty. Nevertheless, he is the perfect one to take care of the package."

"Ai-Aizen-sama, are you sure? He's way too brash and he's a barbarian. The package must be taken care of with the utmost safety and I think-"

"Tousen, Tousen, calm down. I think the package will be in very good hands on its way to Seireitei. Though it doesn't matter, since I have already gotten what information I need from it. I think that Grimmjow would handle the package with the utmost care, even if he does seem a little…reckless."

Tousen glanced away and nodded, silently agreeing with his boss. Aizen looked back down at the file in hand. A set of papers with detailed information printed on them and on the opposite side, a polaroid of a man who was oblivious of the camera. Blue locks, bright cobalt eyes and a cigarette between his lips. Yes, he's the perfect man for this job. Aizen smiled to himself. Perfect indeed.


Hope everyone enjoyed the informational first chapter. Review please and see you next time. :D