Author: BeTrueToThyself / Folly's Fortune (my lj account)
Summary: Hollows eat souls. Grimmjow is no exception, but he's found a… renewable resource, shall we say. And Kurosaki sure is tasty. One-shot. Grimm POV. Warnings: language, S&M, yaoi, lemon. Fluff, too.
Word Count: 4,732
A/N: Most of my stuff should probably be on adultfanfiction(dot)net instead of here, but whatever. Consider yourself forewarned: this is a heavy M!
Grimmjow's stomach had long passed growling discomfort and reached the point of pain – maybe a whole day ago now. There was no room in his head left for anything else. All that he could think of was how damn hungry he was. . . and that thrice-damned Shinigami. Just the thought of the brat made Grimmjow start to salivate in pointless anticipation. The Arrancar ran his hand back through his bright blue hair and paced endlessly, nigh-literally wearing a path down through the white stone floor of his room in Las Noches. But no, no, he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to Kurosaki, not so soon. Heh, fair. Since when did an Arrancar think about fairness? What had happened to him? When had it happened?
Aw, but fuck if that Soul Reaper wasn't delicious.
He licked his lips again. Add the taste of a powerful human soul to a Shinigami and a Hollow and out came Kurosaki - a cocktail of pure power that slid down Grimmjow's throat like fire and filled his stomach like no other soul he'd ever eaten. And God, he was hungry. He was starving.
But – but. There was still that. Still fucking that. Maybe. . . no. Ugh! Grimmjow threw up his hands. Maybe he could just try again to hunt something down in the desert. Sure, another Hollow wouldn't be all that great, taste-wise, but if it had enough reiryoku it'd fill his stomach all right. It would hold him 'til later – if he could find anything powerful enough, that is, and that wasn't all too likely. Hollows avoided Las Noches and all the Arrancar like the plague – made it fucking difficult to get anything real to eat around here, never mind Aizen and his damned tea.
He sighed, his mind returning inevitably to the object of his desire. He remembered when the obsession with Kurosaki first hit him: it rode on the wind with his reiatsu and his scent. Ah, hell, the scent. And then he'd caught sight of that violently orange hair and eyes aflame with resolution. And then the fight. He shivered. Blood had sprayed across his face and he'd licked it from his lips. . . best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.
This hunger was eating him alive. Hell, his stomach had a hole through it! No wonder he was always hungry. Maybe it would soon turn around and start eating itself like a broken Chain of Fate. Sure as hell felt like it would.
Grimmjow groaned. Every time he started trying to shift his thoughts from his stomach, well, first of all, it never made it very far, and then shifted right back anyway. He couldn't even sleep because of the damn hunger pangs. He couldn't take it anymore! Kurosaki would understand, once he explained how bad it'd gotten. (He would, right? What would Grimmjow do if the Shinigami refused?) With gritted teeth, the Sexta tore open a Garganta right there in Las Noches and stepped through it. Oooohhh, that was going to piss Aizen off. Ha, good! He lived to usurp authority.
Within moments, he arrived within the Living World. Another second later, and he had pinpointed Kurosaki's location. Easy as pie. Definitely tastier. He took off toward the blazing neon sign of spirit power, and then Grimmjow was there. He noted several humans' heads snapping toward him, but he had eyes only for Kurosaki.
There was the Vaizard, sitting in a classroom as plain as day on the other side of the glass. The Espada's grin widened to shit-eating proportions. There he was! Aw, fuck, he could taste the reiryoku from here.
His grin faltered as Kurosaki and half a dozen of the brats shot to their feet, the same six who'd been instantly alerted to his presence. His teal eyes narrowed. He vaguely recognized them as Kurosaki's friends from pictures the Shinigami had shown him: Keigo, Tatsuki, Sado, Inoue, Ishida, and… Mizuiru? He thought those were their names. Eh, whatever. They'd just better not try to stop him. Look at their fists clenched at their sides and their eyes blazing, as though they'd even taste any good, much less offer a fight with those sad excuses for reiryoku. They paled in comparison to his Shinigami.
Grimmjow felt a pulse of power off in the distance. Heh, Shinigami on patrol. Couple of 'em, felt like. That could be a problem. Kurosaki didn't want anyone to know about his. . . whatever-this-was with Grimmjow. Maybe this whole pop-up-out-of-the-blue thing hadn't been his best idea, but he couldn't regret too much, not while he could still smell the other's power on the air. Besides, Kurosaki was the forgiving sort – though the fury in those brown eyes did more to make him hesitate than anything else had.
Even as Kurosaki glared unblinkingly back into his own teal eyes, all the other kids were freaking out – just look at them – and the oldest one (teacher, probably) was waving her arms and shouting – all inaudible to him, but probably quite the din in there. Still the seven stared at him, unmoving.
Well, Grimmjow did have some concern for the Vaizard's cover, if only because Kurosaki might walk away altogether if the Espada blew it. He'd just have to pretend he was here to fight, and hopefully keep a rein on his hunger-aggravated temper. First step, then: break the window – get 'em riled. A quick swipe of Pantera was all it took – a tinkle of glass, and more than a few satisfying screams. Too bad none of them were Kurosaki's. He really did love that sound – though maybe not when it was honest, just when they were messing around and Kurosaki was obliging him. No, don't think of it; he was supposed to be here for a battle.
"Come on, Kurosaki. Fight me!" he taunted, stepping aggressively forward onto the sill. "Drop that gigai and fight me!"
Good, there he was, the real Kurosaki, with his giant sword and his black, fluttering clothes. Grimmjow grinned. The others were shouting about the teen's suddenly unconscious body, but not those half dozen. No, it looked like they wanted to fight, too, most of 'em. Too bad. This was three floors up.
Kurosaki was his.
Their blades clashed, and the Vaizard's scowl pressed mere inches from his. Grimmjow inhaled his scent, intoxicating and heavy with power.
Kurosaki hissed, "What are you doing here?"
Grimmjow's gaze raked over the teen's attractive features, tight with anger, and couldn't manage a response. God, just give him a taste; he'd do anything for a taste.
The teen's lip lifted in a sneer as he shoved Grimmjow backward, running across air with their zanpakutou still locked. The Arrancar let his feet slide over reishi as far as the other wanted – what did it matter to him, anyway? Once they'd gained some distance from the Shinigami's human friends, Kurosaki finally stopped and stepped back a pace or two. They stood gazing at each other. Grimmjow just about quivered with the force of his hunger; he was distantly amazed at his self-control, but he couldn't feast now. Soon, though, very soon, he reassured his stomach. Can't scare off the prey before it's time, or there'll be no meal at all. The Vaizard looked from one of his teal eyes to the other and must have read something of his need on his face, because the teen's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Already?" the Vaizard demanded. "You're hungry already?" He let Zangetsu fall to his side. His free hand lifted to clasp protectively over the bend of his right arm, bite marks still unhealed. (Can't exactly go to Inoue for healing when it's a secret – especially since she can sense any lingering reiatsu in wounds; and wouldn't that just give it the hell away?) Reluctance slowly replaced Kurosaki's anger as his gaze continued to shift across Grimmjow's face.
Grimmjow closed his eyes briefly and finally let his need spread wholly across his expression – as close to a "please" as he'd ever get. When he opened them again, Kurosaki's expression had softened further into sympathy, then abruptly tightened.
"Fine," he grunted. Teal eyes lit up, and he took a step forward. The Vaizard cut in, "But we have to make this look good first. After that. . ." Kurosaki shrugged. He sprang back a good twenty feet, took his pose and hollered, "Bankai!" A swift swipe of his hand later, and his Hollow mask bled across his face.
The blast of power blew Grimmjow's hair back and swirled into his nose, deadening his sense of smell to anything besides Kurosaki. He let out a joyous laugh. "Fuck yeah!" God, just smell that! With a roar, he released his zanpakuto and it dissolved in his hands. He flexed his newly reformed claws. Soon now, soon.
But the instant Grimmjow took his own stance, he felt the two other Shinigami that he had sensed flicker into existence just behind Kurosaki. "Fuck," he muttered. God, and one of those stupid brats, too, dressed all in white. What was the name, Ishida? The fucking Quincy? It was enough to make his blood boil and his stomach to scream in protest at yet another delay. Supposedly patient predator or no, his endurance was at an end.
"Kurosaki!" the red-haired male Shinigami yelled, followed by a quick, "Ichigo!" from the short female.
His Vaizard only glanced at them and said nothing.
Ha, good! He wasn't going to allow the distraction to delay them. The Espada licked his lips.
Grimmjow smirked and attacked, easily blocking the quick flurry of the Vaizard's flashing blade. The Vaizard feinted to the left, then shunpoed behind Grimmjow, but the Espada read the movement and whirled to parry. He let out his own barrage of attacks, forcing the teen to block furiously. Kurosaki flash-stepped several yards away for a quick breath, but the Espada recognized that tactic, too. Kurosaki wasn't really trying. Well, fuck this, then. Show's over. The Arrancar sonidoed next to Kurosaki and slammed both feet into the Vaizard's back, sending Kurosaki tumbling head over heels toward the street with a shocked expression. The boom was rather spectacular.
Then he spun on air to face the nuisances. Now, he just had to get rid of these three, and Kurosaki was all his. Grimmjow beckoned them onward with a crooked finger, baring his fangs. They happily complied and rushed toward him, weapons raised.
Okay, now watch this.
He sonidoed down to street-level, right beside Kurosaki who was just staggering upright. Ripping open a Garganta with one hand, he hefted the Shinigami over his shoulder with the other and darted through, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at the shocked three still in mid-air.
Ha. They'd had no clue. He puffed out his chest. Didn't expect Grimmjow Jaegerjacques to be clever, did they? Well, he could be. When it suited him. When he was hungry.
But he was so busy gloating that he sort of forgot that the Shinigami over his shoulder was pissed. A bellow into his ear and some violent struggling were his reward for carelessness. The Espada stumbled, cursing under his breath. He tossed the brat onto the half-crumbling, reishi pathway in front of him (a damned annoying necessity for crossing the halfway world, but there you go.) Kurosaki leapt immediately to his feet and into a battle stance, still clutching Tensa Zangetsu.
"What the hell, Grimmjow?" he demanded, voice still distorted through the Hollow mask. "My friends saw that! How am I going to explain this?"
Grimmjow inwardly winced. Come on, come on. It's unimportant – just a taste, that's all he needed. "Keh, come on, Shinigami. You already said yes." Grimmjow's fangs flashed in the swirling dark as he grinned anticipatorily. "So there's no problem."
The Soul Reaper swiped a hand across his face, dissolving his mask. "Hell yes, there's a problem!" He released his Bankai, sheathed Zangetsu across his back and stalked forward in one smooth movement; he snatched a fistful of Grimmjow's long hair and yanked the Espada close, hissing, "This is supposed to be a secret! I thought you understood that."
Grimmjow scowled. "I do. I get it, okay?" Yeah, he understood, even if it caused a twinge of hurt he'd never, ever acknowledge. Anger and need quickly flooded over that twinge and he tore Kurosaki's hand away from his hair, clutching it in a clawed fist. "But it's already done so deal with it."
The Vaizard yanked his hand out of Grimmjow's grip. "Fuck you."
"Anytime," the Espada retorted with a smirk.
Kurosaki tossed him a glare, grumbling half-heartedly, "You still didn't have to fucking toss me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes." His fine-boned knuckles loosened from their tight fists.
Finally, Kurosaki was easing up – wasn't going to be outrageously pissed if he fed. "More like a fresh kill," Grimmjow snapped back, stalking right up to Kurosaki and grabbing him around the waist with clawed, fierce hands. The other grunted with the force of it and staggered, but Grimmjow only yanked him closer. With barely a breath of air between their bodies, he sniffed along the Vaizard's left shoulder up to the pulse point in his neck, where hot blood pumped just beneath the surface. This close, he could hear the other's heartbeat speed up, feel his breath come just a little faster. He smelled like prey – that potent mixture of fear and reiryoku. He inhaled Kurosaki's scent shakily. Grimmjow sank his fangs into the carotid, bursting the hot, power-laden blood into his mouth like the sweetest of candy, the most nourishing of foods, the most addicting of drugs. Kurosaki cried out and began to struggle, but Grimmjow clamped his arms around him like a vice. No. Need more. As if in response, his prey's heart beat faster and faster, slamming the cocktail of power into Grimmjow's mouth. He sucked the nectar from the vein, gulping it down and down. Finally, the pain in his stomach began to ease. Fucking delicious. Ah, yes, just a bit more. The body in his arms began to sag, struggles growing weaker – and he couldn't care less.
Until Kurosaki let out a long, pain-filled moan. The Espada's eyes, which had closed in bliss, snapped open, and he came to himself for the first time in ages. Carefully removing his fangs, he pulled back and pressed a hand across the wound pumping precious blood.
"You okay?" Grimmjow asked hesitantly, searching Kurosaki's face.
Orange-eyelashed eyes blinked slowly, and the Shinigami grimaced, muttering, "Fuck." Taking his weight back onto his own feet, he brushed aside Grimmjow's bloody hand and pressed his own onto his neck. "Could've given me some warning." He swayed, sinking to one knee. His eyes scrunched closed, and again he murmured with feeling, "Fuck."
All too aware of the blood smeared across his chin and hands, Grimmjow nonetheless refused to voice the apology that sprang to mind.
After a long moment, Kurosaki staggered upright again. He lowered his hand from his now-clotted wound (thank God for high reiatsu), inspecting the bloody palm. "Well," came the teen's voice at last, "I guess you really weren't kidding about being hungry."
The casual, yet shaky tone broke Grimmjow's trance. Teal eyes widening, he whirled and stalked away down the reishi path that unfolded before him, fists clenched.
Confused and slightly hurt brown eyes lifted to watch the Arrancar stride away.
"Come on, then, Shinigami," Grimmjow called back, injecting a calm he didn't feel into his tone. "Don't have all day." Come on, don't turn and leave. Don't be angry.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Kurosaki hurried to join him.
Closeted in Grimmjow's private room, Kurosaki seemed at last to relax – smack dab in the enemy stronghold, yet still he felt safe enough with the Sexta to lose most of his tension. (Probably had nothing to do with Grimmjow's presence , oh no – only the fact that he knew Grimmjow had installed that reiatsu-suppressor for the room, hiding his pulsing spiritual power from Aizen and company.) Sprawled naked on his side across Grimmjow's bed, head cradled in his left hand, Kurosaki casually watched the Arrancar shed his Resurrecion and then his white clothes like it was normal to do these things with a Hollow of the same gender. Once undressed, Grimmjow simply stood there for a moment, gazing back. Kurosaki with his lean body, tanned skin and sunset-orange hair was a blot of much-needed color in that blank room, that white, white palace. A splash of life, of humanity. Those warm, honey brown eyes that softened like butter. . . Shut up, Grimmjow.
His stomach growled. Ichigo lifted an eyebrow, expression saying clearly, Still? Well, come on over here then.
The Arrancar abruptly grinned and leapt playfully across Kurosaki like a big kitten, causing the teen to let out a girly squeak that he'd surely later deny. As the bed settled, Grimmjow gently pushed the Shinigami onto his back, and then lifted a knee over his smooth hips, hovering above the teen's growing erection. After a guilty glance to the other's mottled, encrusted neck and bandaged elbow, he leaned in and rubbed cheeks with him, whispering into his ear, "Where?" He settled his hips onto Kurosaki's and rolled them, brushing their groins together.
Kurosaki gasped, and then grunted incoherently, "What?" Before the Arrancar could reply, he shoved Grimmjow back far enough that their erections weren't touching and he could think. Ignoring the Espada's frown, after a moment he muttered, "Somewhere hidden. No joints. Fuckin' hurts with all the movement." A pause for further muddled thought, then, "No major arteries. Easily bandaged."
Grimmjow sat back onto the teen's thighs, raising his eyebrow. "That doesn't leave a whole lot," he grumbled.
Kurosaki shrugged. "Take it or leave it."
The Arrancar thought about it a moment before suggesting, "Forearm?"
Kurosaki made a face. "I guess."
"What?" the Espada interjected. "Meets all your damn requirements."
The Vaizard only hummed and lifted his hips, pressing erection against erection once again. Grimmjow grunted and rocked obligingly, rubbing their dicks together. Kurosaki groaned wordlessly and closed his eyes, breaths coming faster. He tossed his head back, exposing the smooth, if bloodied, line of his throat. Muscles twitched, presumably with the ache. Grimmjow smoothed it away by running a hand up Kurosaki's chest, tweaking his nipples: a gasp. Soon the Shinigami lifted a hand to Grimmjow's muscular chest, pressing it flat. Teal eyes lifted from their task to find chocolate. The teen nodded, murmuring, "Ready."
Grimmjow immediately rose up onto his knees and swung one leg over to kneel beside Kurosaki's hips. Lowering himself onto his stomach, he pulled the teen's right arm out flat against the bed, grip tight on the bony wrist. Pressing his mouth against the warm flesh of the forearm, he rolled his eyes up to watch Kurosaki's face. He then lifted his own right arm over the teen's thigh and closed his fingers one by one around the Shinigami's erection. Honey brown eyes fluttered as Grimmjow began to stroke. Moments later when the Vaizard was moaning and thrusting his hips into Grimmjow's hand, the Arrancar closed his teeth around Kurosaki's arm and simultaneously brushed a thumb across the head of the other's erection.
The Vaizard gasped, and thrust his hips harder into Grimmjow's hand. Kurosaki (fan of Shakespeare as he was) described it once: Senses overloading with endorphins, the sharp pounding mingled with the need building in his groin, generating an inimitable erotic thrill that throbbed throughout his body. Liquid heat pooled in his loins, an exquisite thrum that pumped in time with his own heartbeat, the thrust of his hips, and Grimmjow's hand and mouth. He rolled his lower lip beneath his teeth and threw his head back, moaning. His expression twisted with that carnal edge of too-much-too-much, hovering on the brink of mere pain without desire – making it perfect. "Ah, yes," he groaned. "Fuck."
Kurosaki's addicting reiryoku flooded the Arrancar's senses for the second time in under an hour, and he groaned into the Shinigami's arm. Lean muscles tensed under his mouth, fighting between drawing away and pressing yet closer. Grimmjow's erection hardened, if that was possible, and he thrust mindlessly against the bed. A hand fisted in his blue hair, turning Kurosaki's whole body toward him. Coppery sweet sustenance flowed down Grimmjow's tongue and nestled inside his stomach, filling it with heat.
Yet even as the Espada sucked up that priceless spiced nectar, he maintained enough attention on his hand to keep it moving over Kurosaki's erection. Velvet-covered steel slid up and down in his loose fist. The Shinigami moaned and panted, "Hmm, fuck, Grimmjow, just like that. Ah, ah!" The Sexta thumbed back and forth across the head in his grip and Kurosaki groaned, eyes flying open. He pushed his forearm tighter against Grimmjow's teeth, and the Arrancar sucked harder in response. Grimmjow's nostrils flared as he fought for fast breaths around the teen's arm. Melted garnet offered itself up to the Hollow, and he swallowed convulsively. The heat from his groin swirled all the way down into his toes.
Their pace increased, losing its smooth synchronization. Kurosaki's heartbeat accelerated and Grimmjow lost the tight seal his lips had made around the wound. Precious blood slid down the teen's forearm and around the Espada's mouth, dripping onto the white bed sheets. Grimmjow grunted a protest, swirling his raspy cat tongue into the bite, desperate to get as much as he could. Kurosaki groaned; his eyes threatened to roll back into his head – whether in pleasure or pain Grimmjow doubted even the Shinigami knew.
The Sexta found it ever more difficult not to ravage at the teen's arm, not to open his jaws wide and burrow his powerful fangs down into the bone, searching for the marrow. Tension hummed down his jaws and neck, bulging out veins. The Soul Reaper must have sensed the internal battle in Grimmjow's tightening grip for his heart spiked with instinctual fear, as though it was trying to flee the cage of his ribs and save itself. Yet the fear only fed more lifeblood down and out his arm into Grimmjow's mouth.
Their movements sped up, faster and faster until orgasm hit them both like a freight train, bursting white lights across their closed eyes. The Sexta's grip on both wrist and erection tightened, and Kurosaki cried out, "Grimmjow!" The Shinigami thrust violently in his grip, spurting across Grimmjow's hand. The hot thrill was enough to curl his own toes, and he groaned into the Soul Reaper's arm, digging in deep at last with his long fangs. Rapture poured through them. The Arrancar sucked hard on the muscled forearm, sending fast jerks up and out the teen's hips. It felt as though the longer he fed, the more the orgasm would cycle; over and over the pleasure gushed over them. He sucked, and the teen pumped his hips, again and again and again. The sweet friction and the heat grew to be almost too much. They danced together a few more times before at last settling into the bed, panting and sweating.
Grimmjow let his cramping hand fall lax at the base of Kurosaki's wilting erection. He then more reluctantly removed his aching jaw from around the teen's flesh, resurrecting through post-coital haze the memory of violent experience: as the euphoric high faded, Kurosaki's pleasure-pain died a miserable death. He'd vehemently protest having fangs embedded in his arm then. Besides, the Espada's stomach was full to bursting. Fucking finally, he was full. Dropping his head sideways onto the teen's uninjured wrist, he tiredly wiped his semen-smeared hand on the mattress before pressing it across the fresh bite mark. He had a line of sight up Kurosaki's arm: a single wincing twitch of the cheek was the only response from the exhausted Vaizard.
For several long moments all either of them could do was pant together and exult in the mind-blowing aftermath.
"Damn, that was good," Grimmjow finally muttered.
Kurosaki huffed a laugh, breathing, "Yeah."
The Arrancar raised his head again, blinking sluggishly up at the teen. The Vaizard rolled his head to the side, blinking back once before letting his eyes slide shut. He gave a weary smile without ever reopening his eyes. "I'm fine," he sighed, answering the Espada's silent question.
Grimmjow let out a shaky breath of his own before dropping his head back onto the teen's wrist. Kurosaki grunted, "Ow." Grimmjow grunted wordlessly back.
Great though the sex had been, the continuing silence started to grate on the Arrancar after a while. "Yo," he said, propping himself up on an elbow and tapping Kurosaki's cheek with his free left hand. "You awake in there?"
The teen grumbled, opening his chocolate eyes just far enough to glare at him before letting them slip closed again.
"Oi!" Grimmjow protested again. "You can't sleep here, remember?"
Kurosaki sighed, slitting his eyes up to half-mast. "But I'm tired," he slurred with a frown. "Really . . . tired. . . ." And he slipped toward sleep again.
"Shinigami, hey!" When tapping his cheek got no further response, Grimmjow's brow furrowed with frustration; he got up on his knees and leaned his weight onto the Vaizard's wound – not yet clotted, by the way, which was not a good sign.
Kurosaki's eyes snapped open on a gasp, and he surged up, struggling to pull his arm free. Grimmjow jumped and let go. The Shinigami curled into the fetal position around his arm, breathing hard. Watching and waiting with a twinge of guilt, Grimmjow sat back on his heels. After Kurosaki's breathing settled, the Vaizard slowly levered himself to a sitting position and struggled backward until he could prop himself up against the white headboard. Legs stretched out in front of him and arm clutched to his chest, he finally managed to growl, "What the fuck was that for?"
Grimmjow crossed his arms and looked away. "I told you, you can't sleep here."
Realization flashed across the Vaizard's expression – reiatsu suppressor or not, this was still Las Noches, enemy fortress. Kurosaki cursed and thudded his head back against the headboard. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge and slipped off the bed, still clasping his now doubly injured right arm to his chest – and swayed.
"Hey, hey, Shinigami," Grimmjow exclaimed guiltily, leaping off the mattress and rushing to stand in front of the Vaizard, blocking the way to the door. He grabbed the teen's shoulders to hold him upright.
Kurosaki twisted out of Grimmjow's grip, but then swayed backward until he ended up propped against the bed. He glared up at the Arrancar. "Look, you're the one who said I can't stay. You got what you wanted, so just let me get back."
Shit, Kurosaki was always so crabby and touchy with blood loss. "No," Grimmjow refused, folding his arms and standing rooted like a mountain – quite the contrast with the limp-as-a-noodle Shinigami.
Kurosaki's tight shoulders dropped, and he rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. "You suck."
The Espada grinned. "You'd know."
Kurosaki snorted and let himself slide down the bed to sit on the floor. He blinked vaguely when his clothes abruptly landed in his lap. "Here. Get dressed." Half-focused chocolate eyes lifted to stare at Grimmjow. "Go on or you'll catch a cold or something, human."
When Kurosaki only gave a long, slow blink, Grimmjow cursed, "Fuck." He knew it; this time, he really had taken too much – and on top of the earlier wound, too. Shit. He'd better stay fucking sated for a long time after this.
~ Bleach ~
Bandaged and drowsy, Kurosaki only roused once he was settled back onto his own bed in Karakura. As Grimmjow turned to go, the teen grabbed his forearm. "Wait," he rasped, voice thick with restorative sleep. "Before you go. . ."
Grimmjow grinned and leaned down, indulging the sleepy Vaizard with a slow, lingering kiss. Kurosaki let his arm slide out of his grip as the Espada straightened, granting Grimmjow a gentle smile that softened his whole face. His eyes fluttered shut. The Arrancar smirked and turned away, calling over his shoulder, "Sweet dreams, Shinigami."