κεφάλαιο επτά

In Which There are Symptoms


You know how men are. They think "No" means "Yes" and "Get lost" means "Take me. I'm yours."


Grimmjow Jaegerjaques never believed himself to be the type of man that spent more than thirty seconds trying to seduce someone, never had to try, actually. That was one of the many benefits of being a demigod, one that inherited some of his mother's powers and his father's infamously good looks. The best benefit, at that. He can say confidently that he's knocked boots with more people than Giacomo Casanova, Hugh Hefner, and Gene Simmons combined (granted he's had two thousand six hundred and twenty six years to do so. )

And usually he wouldn't care, or even notice, if someone didn't want some of his fine ass, because let's face it, there's practically a line around the block of people willing to sell their soul to get it. He doesn't have to go after anyone, they flock to him like sheep to a shepherd. And before you start to call him a man whore, or selfish, or thoughtless, or any other less than kind adjective, you should know that Grimmjow was raised with the belief that sex is a beautiful part of nature and that there's really nothing wrong with a quick fuck here and there (or several times a day, whichever.) Oh and nudity's perfect fine too, the human body is art so really he isn't a man whore at all, more of a...connoisseur of sorts...

Yes, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques is a connoisseur , an appreciator of art, and he dares you to tell him any differently. Seriously, just try it.

Anyway, back to the original point, being that he never had to actively pursue anyone for his entire (very long) life.

Well, that was until Ichigo.

There was something that made that adorably beautiful orangette different, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. But perhaps it was the way Ichigo's eyes sparkled like chocolate diamonds, every bit as decadent and luscious. Perhaps it was the tousled locks of bright sunset orange hair, the ends looking almost golden in the right light, that held spikes that defied the laws of gravity though the ends brushed the perfectly broad enough shoulders. Perhaps it was the straight nose that slightly turned up at the end and defined cheekbones that were dusted with just the right amount of nearly invisible freckles. Perhaps it was the lithe and slender, but toned body covered in flawlessly sun-kissed skin, a body that he just knew was as flexible and pliable as gum that had been in your pocket for the entire day, a body that he wanted to get just as sticky.

Perhaps it was the mile-long legs that he had felt wrapped around his waist or the long vermilion lashes so dark they almost looked black or the elegant curve of that long neck or the peachy skin that showed right about the waistline of his skintight jeans when the boy bent over or the lips that turned impossibly full when he pouted or had been kissed thoroughly or the warm smile that seemed to brighten the entire room the few times Grimmjow had seen it. Perhaps it was even that firm but malleable ass the orangette possessed.

But perhaps it was because Grimmjow found himself incredibly turned on by Ichigo's dichotomous personality, blushing virgin and hot-tempered hellcat at constant war in that beautiful boy's psyche. One second he was looking shyly down at the floor, face flushed, and the next glaring at him with blazing Coca-cola colored eyes.

Perhaps it was because it seemed that no matter how much he turned on the charm, smiled, shook his ass, etcetera, Ichigo didn't seem to want him. And that just about killed him inside.

Not to mention bruised his overly inflated ego.

Grimmjow was world-renowned for his sexual prowess (if you couldn't tell) and yet when he was with Ichigo that time during the party, he had screwed everything up, and not in a good way. He had come in the poor boy's eye for Zeus' sake.

But he wasn't known for giving up, either. Anything that didn't relate to the sexual world he had had to work for, and therefore he wasn't about to be discouraged by the challenge Ichigo Kurosaki presented.

In fact, he was very, very excited by it.

It was why he had seized the opportunity to land a job alongside the orangette when he had seen it. If Ichigo could see how utterly sexy he was in a pair of rollerblades and that tight blue uniform, then he was sure to give in. Plus, maybe this would keep that prat Ulquiorra off of his ass. The apathetic bastard hadn't been able to shut up about his lack of employment for four decades now, but Grimmjow was glad he had held out for this job.

Currently he was leaning against the malt bar, waiting for an egg creme some customer had ordered, roller skate clad feet crossed as he surveyed Ichigo from across the room with an expression that rivaled the one rather robust patron's when he looked at the double bacon cheeseburger with extra...well, everything. Drumming his fingers against the plastic countertop, he saw the orangette in question look around from his position between two booths, as if he knew he was being watched from somewhere.

When those mocha latte brown eyes met his, Grimmjow smiled rakishly, enjoying the view as Ichigo blushed brighter than a stop light, that crimson stain on his bronzed skin looking ever so enticing even when those eyes narrowed in irritation and the boy skated away jerkily, muttering something under his breath, most likely an elaborate plan to kill him.

Oh yes, Grimmjow was very glad. And he could feel his new tight uniform pants growing even tighter by the second.


Ichigo had always believed hate to be a very strong word. Though he was brash and sometimes had a little bit of a temper, he was always very reluctant to say he hated someone. The number of people he could say he truly hated he could count on the fingers of one hand. And Ichigo could very honestly say he reserved the middle one for a certain blue-haired, perverted, possibly insane bastard (one that he had come this close to willingly handing over his virginity on a silver platter to.)

Oh yes, forget what he said previously about liking the man, demigod, whatever. He hated Grimmjow Jaegerjaques with every fiber of being...and then some. The freaking jerk thought that he could just waltz into Ichigo's place of business and get a job handed to him on a silver platter by a hostess who was basically rendered into a mindless zombie at the sight of anything remotely male and attractive. And then he thought he could strap on a pair of roller skates and skate around and wait on tables like he was born to!

Well...maybe he could do it after all, because he was in fact doing all of that, and very sexily if Ichigo were to be honest with himself. But that wasn't the point! It had taken weeks for Ichigo to nail turning on roller skates while carrying a tray full of food and Grimmjow could just do it, just like that. It wasn't fair.

And the fact that the blunette kept sending him those to-die-for winks from across the dining hall, reducing Ichigo to a pile of quivering mush for several moments? Yeah, really not fair. Seriously, he could die a happy man just for a look from those hungry sapphire eyes. And that couldn't be healthy, especially since he was trying to stay far, far away from Grimmjow.

He had never had his heart broken before (if you didn't count the time that he had found out that Joe Odagiri was, in fact, not gay)...but he could imagine it hurt very much. Probably something similar to what he was feeling right now as he realized that he couldn't jump into a relationship with Grimmjow, no matter how much he wanted to. No, no, that wouldn't do at all. The sex god only wanted to use him for just that, sex. And while the idea of it sounded actually rather wonderful, Ichigo knew he couldn't risk his heart like that.

There's something so tragic about someone like him, who would give his heart away in a second to someone he thought loved him (really loved him, not obsessively stalked him and tried to make his life miserable like some people) and yet he never would, because, well, Ichigo pretty much believed that no one, especially someone like Grimmjow, could ever truly love him. He was too...distant.

Sure, he was nice to people (if they were nice to him, that is) but the only person he had ever really had a close relationship to was his father. It had been just the two of them when he was growing up and though he had had friends, none of them were really the real, true best friends he had always heard about. And that was his fault, he didn't open up to people. He didn't let them in.

Just like he wouldn't let Grimmjow in, he was far too afraid of being rejected, of being hurt.

And then of course, you have to throw on top the fact that he was a mother loving demigod. Yeah, he could imagine how a first date would end up if he told his companion that little tidbit of information. Most likely, in a mental hospital.

"Hey, do you think we could get our mozzarella sticks anytime soon?" a snide voice knocked Ichigo from his reverie and the startled orangette looked to his right to see a group of four young men whom had to be incoming freshmen to Karakura University. They had that look to them, backwards baseball caps, cargo shorts, and t-shirts with not so funny slogans emblazoned across their chests. The one he assumed had spoken was looking at him with a jeering grin, a self-assured gleam to his beady eyes.

"They'll be right out," Ichigo answered automatically, a complete reflex from having worked at Shunsui's for so long now. Before the customer could say anything else, he skated away towards the counter where two plates of burgers and fries were waiting for him to pick up. Tucking the tray under his arm, his eyes scanned the diner and catching amongst the faded, retro decor, a piercing gaze that made his heart seize.

Grimmjow was watching him from where the blunette was standing by the malt bar, a lazy stance looking completely at home on his toned, perfect frame. If Ichigo hadn't been so pathetically entranced by the demigod's allure, he would've seen the heart-shaped eyes of the other patrons that looked on with absolute adoration at the new server (they all collectively had agreed they would come to Shunsui's much more often.) But as it was, the orangette felt a colossal blush overwhelm him and he forcibly tore his gaze away.

"Stupid sex god, looking all sexy like that like that's natural. It can't be, it should be fucking illegal," Ichigo muttered to himself as he glided right up to the counter. He set his tray down in order to pick up the two orders of burgers in their respective small red baskets.

The burgers were made to order, customized to be loaded with all the toppings the retro diner had to offer, including several sauces and condiments that spilled over the meat patty and over the bun to make for a particularly unappetizing liquidy mess that blended with the fries that had been upgraded to be topped with melted cheddar cheese and the specialty chili. But whatever, Ichigo wasn't going to judge that someone would actually eat what looked like a heart attack on a plate. He himself was planning to make a special trip to the convenience store in order to buy some more Ben & Jerry's Half-Baked as soon as he got off of work that day.

Turning around in a rather spectacular display of roller skate skills, the college student headed to where the couple whom had ordered the mess of burgers he was holding was sitting in a booth near the front. Almost subconsciously hoping that Grimmjow had seen him showing such athleticism, he spared a glance to where he thought the sex god was still standing by the malt bar, only to see seats full of customers and the place completely barren of any beautiful blue hair and eyes.

And that was his mistake, because as Ichigo's eyes were completely consumed with the task of searching for Grimmjow, he didn't notice that as he was skating through the aisle of booths that an all-white Nike Air Force One (he was unaware they even still made those) was suddenly thrust out into his path. For only being a sneaker and approximately a size seven, the shoe was surprisingly hard and firm as it caught the tip of Ichigo's right skate, instantly making the orangette's foot invert to the left as he lost his balance. There was a brief sensation of a sharp pain in his ankle and something hot and aqueous coming into contact with his chest and face before he hit the ground hard, his hands too preoccupied with holding the baskets of food to stop him from doing so.

Shock coursed through his system as a second passed, a ringing in his ears filled the silence that followed his faceplant into the tiled floor until mocking laughter broke out, laughter that made his face heat up with both embarrassment and anger. Slowly, he let go of the now crushed baskets food (which he now realized was the cause of the burning liquid on his face and the front of his uniform shirt) and pushed himself up to his knees. Not only did his face feel like it was on fire, but his right ankle did as well as it throbbed and pulsed inside of his snug roller skate.

Ichigo raised blazing chocolate brown eyes to see the obviously freshmen boys from earlier (the ones concerned about their precious mozzarella sticks) and glared heavily as he took in their cheerful expressions as they laughed heartily at his expense. He wanted to tell them off, so badly, wanted to stand up and throttle them until they thought twice about crossing him, Ichigo Kurosaki (a freaking demigod for fuck's sake.) But he couldn't, he was so mortified by all of the eyes he felt on him and so angry at being tripped like he was in grade school that he couldn't think straight, couldn't come up with anything remotely acceptable to say. Not to mention he couldn't stand up because he was pretty sure he had just sprained his ankle.

Despite that last face, Ichigo came to some of his senses and grabbed the closest chair and went to pull himself up, only to suddenly feel something warm wrap around his upper arm and tug him against something solid and onto his feet. Well, foot anyway. His right protested rather painfully as the wheels on his roller skate scraped against the floor as he was pulled up and so he reflexively lifted it a few inches off the ground.

"Just what the fuck are you little pussies laughing at?"

Ichigo's chest constricted and his heart stopped at the sound of that voice, like rough velvet, just a few inches away from him. His eyes flitted up to see the outline of what looked to be a very pissed off sex god. One with infuriated sapphire orbs and a snarl that looked like it belonged to a jungle cat.

The freshmen boys stopped laughing immediately.

However, the one who had so rudely asked about his mozzarella sticks earlier, and was presumably the one whom had tripped Ichigo considering he was the only one wearing white Nike Air Force Ones, still kept that cocky look to his extraordinarily average face.

"Chill out bro, it was just a joke," he said, rolling his eyes. Looking back to Grimmjow, Ichigo saw that the blunette was not about to chill out. He looked positively murderous, like steam was about to start blowing from his nose like a bull as he stared down the toreador's red flag and there was a vein ticking in the temple on Ichigo's side. It kind of reminded him of a time bomb and his embarrassment and anger temporarily forgotten, he really hoped that Grimmjow or the customers didn't start a fight. Something told him that the other man's fighting style may just border on insanity if that close call in the library was anything to go by.

The hand that wasn't still encircling Ichigo's arm, holding him steady as he teetered on one skate, slammed down onto the table, rattling the glasses of soda and making a sound so abrupt and loud that the customers around the diner that weren't already looking on at the scene turned their heads immediately. The freshman who had spoken gulped audibly, his arrogant look vanishing to give way to a wary, wide-eyed stare. However, Ichigo couldn't even find any joy in his expression, as he was too dumbfounded by Grimmjow. The demigod was so irreverent, even easy-going, with a mass amount of perversion and lasciviousness. Sure, he could be a bit aggressive, but the newly turned immortal demigod had never seen the blunette so absolutely...well, mad before.

"Well then, want me to show ya somethin' I find funny?" Grimmjow smiled maniacally down at the boy, eyes sparkling sadistically. However, before he could answer or the sex god could do anything, another large figure broke onto the scene.

Standing at an extremely impressive six foot seven, Chad Yasutora not only made a good fry cook, but also handy to have around should situations like this one arise.

"Is something wrong here, Ichigo?" he asked in his deep, slightly accented voice. Thickly muscled arms folded across his grease-stained Hawaiian shirt. The orangette turned to him with big toffee-colored eyes, silently begging for help in order to stop a fight from breaking out. He would so be fired, and then how would he pay for his Ben & Jerry's? He would have to dip into his new camera fund!

"I...I," Ichigo sputtered, subconsciously placing a hand on Grimmjow's arm that was closest to him and trying to tell him to back off.

"No problem here, they were jus' leavin'," the blue-haired sex god grinned, straightening to his full height and stepping away from the table, his free hand going to grip at Ichigo's wrist and pull the slimmer man's arm over the expanse of his broad shoulders so that he could support the other. He must have noticed that Ichigo had injured his ankle when he had tripped over that hideous, outdated shoe.

Apparently getting the message the freshmen boys tossed a few crumpled bills onto the table and nearly ran each other over in their haste to get to the door as Ichigo watched with wide eyes. Had Chad really scared them that badly? No, he couldn't have, he hadn't done anything but stand there. And he himself had only pathetically been perched perilously on one foot while being supported by Grimmjow.

It had to have been the blunette that had frightened them so badly that they left in such a hurry. And for some reason, Ichigo was rather proud of that fact, but for all of the world he couldn't figure out why. Was it because Grimmjow had done so on his behalf? Had apparently rushed over from his side of the diner to scare away the big, bad collegians...for him?

However before the young student could become too infatuated with the idea, he reminded himself that the sex god was obviously a master of seduction, and that was a classic move. You know, two guys go to a bar together, they spot a hot chick, one goes up to her and acts like an asshole and the other one chases him off? Yeah, that one. Grimmjow had just been lucky enough to have had real assholes to seiza an opportunity with.

And just when Ichigo was about to swoon and fall into the blunette's strong arms and thank him for saving him.

Okay, not really, the orangette's pride would get in the way of that happening, no matter just how tempting it was, thinking of how he could melt into the other's embrace, that warm, solid chest pressed firmly to his, their faces just inches apart as they stared into each other's eyes and then they would lean forward and-

Ahem, anyway.

Ichigo was brought back to Earth by the sound of Grimmjow's gravelly silken voice in his ear.

"Let's go fix you up, yeah?"

He didn't respond, just let himself be half-carried across the dining hall, several patrons watching the uncommonly-colored pair curiously as they passed by on their trek to the break room. The throbbing, pulsing ache in his ankle was increasing, sharp pains shooting up his leg whenever his roller skate accidentally brushed against the ground.

Grimmjow took his hand off of where it had been wrapped around Ichigo's narrow wrist in order to push the door open, immediately leading the younger demigod to the closest (and only) chair next to the table where employees ate their meals. The orangette could have almost whined at the loss of contact as he was slowly lowered onto the metal folding chair, the arm that had been around his waist disappearing along with the warmth it brought as Grimmjow knelt before him, thin blue brows furrowed. The blunette took Ichigo's still skated foot in his hands in a surprisingly gentle grip, so soft the orange-haired male didn't even feel it.

"This is gonna hurt a bit," Grimmjow warned before gripping the roller skate's laces in his fingers and unlacing them with a nimbleness Ichigo would have never suspected the former could possess. If he hadn't been looking at the other unlacing his skate, he wouldn't even have known the laces were being undone.

However, all too soon, the teal blue skate was as loose on his injured foot as it was going to get and Ichigo bit his lip hard at the premise of the pain that was sure to come as Grimmjow was most likely going to take his skate off of his foot in order to look at it.

And no, he was not a wimp, thankyouverymuch. He just didn't like pain. And, really, who does? Well, except for masochists, that is.

"Hey," Grimmjow's voice was uncharacteristically soft, and not just as in it was quiet. It had lost most of its edge, its tone that was dripping in cockiness and mirth like a popsicle drips brightly colored juice on a hot, July afternoon. It was soft, almost...tender. "Look at me."

Ichigo obeyed, and so hypnotized by those aquatic depths was he that he was only aware the skate and the sock that lay underneath was being slipped off of his foot was when he felt the air-conditioned cool air hit the bare skin of his toes. He started a little, breaking away from that too intense baby blues to stare in amazement at his now exposed foot.

How in Hades had Grimmjow managed to take off his roller skate without him even feeling it?

Super special demigod powers, surely.

The sex god ran the tips of his fingertips over the tops of Ichigo's foot up to the slender ankle, which was already swelling, the skin flushed and inflamed. Now that the orangette wasn't put into some sort of trance by the other's immortal superpower magic whatever the heck, he hissed in pain as Grimmjow gripped his heel and turned it slightly.

"That hurts, asshole!" he yelled, clenching his hands into fists in order to refrain from cuffing the blunette upside the head. But Grimmjow paid him no mind, that same uncharacteristic, almost contemplative frown on his face as he observed Ichigo's injury.

"Looks just like a sprain. Once you get into your true form, it should heal," he murmured, looking up to see Ichigo's confused expression, and decided to answer the orangette's unspoken question. "You pick some things up when ya've been around for over two K."

The orange-haired student's jaw dropped, his macchiato-flavored eyes enlarging until they looked like they might pop right out of his head.

"You're two thousand years old?" Ichigo sputtered incredulously, because, let's face it, Grimmjow looks damn good for being over two millennia.

Actually, let's just say he looks damn good for any age.

"Two thousand six hundred and twenty six, if ya want to be specific." The sex god's smirk was back on his face. "Don't look so shocked, Ichi. One day ya'll be even older than that."

Ichigo was speechless. The concept of someone being so old, ancient practically, was astounding to him. And now that he was immortal, he would grow to be just as old and then some.

He imagined that the gods must have run out of good birthday party themes by now.

"Now come on, Ichi, arms up," Grimmjow said casually and Ichigo went to do just that, still stunned by the revelation of the other demigod's age, but as he had just raised his arms past his shoulders and felt hands tug at the hem of his shirt, he squawked indignantly and jerked away, wincing when his ankle was jarred from the movement.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, wrapping his arms around himself. Grimmjow just raised an eyebrow at him, an amused look passing over the other male's too beautiful to be real face as he stood from his crouched position.

"What, ya wanna stay in that shirt all day? For Zeus' sake, Ichi, ya've got ketchup and chili and...I don't even know what tha' is, all over it."

"Oh," Ichigo said quietly, embarrassed. Yes, he knew that Grimmjow wanted to sleep with him but he didn't think he was vain enough to assume that the blue-haired sex god would want him so much right then and there that he would jump him in the break room.

"Yeah, and ya've got some on yer pants too." Ichigo looked down to see the blunette pointing to his pant leg, right above his left knee, where it was completely clean. "Maybe ya should take those off too."

Okay, scratch that. It wasn't that he was so irresistible that Grimmjow had to fuck him in the break room, it was because the sex god was insanely perverted and couldn't stop thinking about sex for just one minute (and apparently also liked to make Ichigo's life resemble the deepest pit of Hades.) It probably didn't even matter whom the man screwed around with, as long as he got a tight hole to thrust himself into.

Romantic, right?

Please note the sarcasm, because there is no way that Grimmjow Jaegerjaques could be romantic even if he tried. Ichigo was sure of this.

Upon seeing the orangette's less than amused face, Grimmjow chortled mirthfully before swiping some napkins of the table. Ichigo didn't have time to move out of the way before the other male was rubbing at his cheek with the things, clearing his face of the offending food items that had been splattered across his normally flawless bronzed skin.

He squirmed almost immediately, trying to knock the other's hand away from his face but Grimmjow gripped his chin in his large hand, holding his face. Ichigo hadn't felt more ridiculous since he had been in high school and had been told when he had been invited to an American-style Halloween party that it was all the rage to dress up in a chicken suit.

Yeah, not so much.

Grimmjow was apparently enjoying his attempt to escape because the blunette grinned and chuckled as he continued to wipe away the ketchup and mustard that dotted Ichigo's face. The latter was just about to curse the other into submission when the door swung open, revealing a girl with long, burgundy pigtails and a face that would have been pretty had it not been screwed up in rage.

"Ichigo! Why aren't you waiting tables out there, damnit! I just sat a party of nine in your section, so stop screwing around!"

Riruka was really a much nicer person when she wasn't working, really. Not nice, but nicer.

"Gimme a second," Ichigo said as Grimmjow released his face after a brief second. "I have to change my shirt."

The hostess looked like she was about to yell some more, as she was wont to do, but she never got the chance as the blue-haired demigod that occupied the room spoke first, commanding her attention. Riruka's eyes immediately snapped to the man's face, which was sporting a broad smile at the moment that was positively dazzling. Seriously, try to look at it without feeling all dizzy and lightheaded. It's just not possible, especially if you're a female that literally drooled when she first saw him because she can't control herself around things she considers 'cute.'

"Actually, Ichigo's going ta go home early today. He sprained his ankle, so I'll be taking 'im home. That alright with you, cutie?"

For some reason, Ichigo felt his blood pressure rise and an ugly tendril of irritation curl around his insides when he heard Grimmjow call Riruka 'cutie.' The sex god truly had no shame in his game.

But it worked because Riruka's eyes widened and glazed over as she clasped her hands under her chin.

"Of course it's alright! You're such a sweetie, taking care of Ichigo," she giggled, the fingers of one hand covering her mouth while the others combed through her long hair. "Your girlfriend is very lucky."

Ichigo stuck his tongue out in a mock gag behind Grimmjow's back. Honestly, this whole display was just sickening. Absolutely disgusting.

"Actually at tha moment, I'm single." Ichigo watched as Grimmjow leaned against the wall, smirking down at the burgundy-haired girl. "But I think ya knew tha'."

Riruka tittered again, and Ichigo was seriously reconsidering his entire relationship with the girl, coworker and friend. Did she seriously think that was attractive? Grimmjow certainly wouldn't find it to be.

Would he?

"A girl can only hope," she giggled, looking up through long lashes to the sex god, batting the mascara-coated things as if she had gotten dust in her eye. The blunette just grinned at her, his whiter than white teeth and phosphorescent blue eyes making Riruka sway in place.

"Right, so I'll be takin' Ichi home then, but...I'll be back," he said the last part in a whisper so low, Ichigo almost couldn't hear it. But he did and it made him grind his teeth together audibly. Not that he cared of course that Grimmjow wanted to hit and quit it, move onto the next thing, which apparently was Riruka. No, in fact, this was a good thing because it meant that the sex god would finally stop bothering him.

"Okay, come back soon," Riruka said huskly, winking before spinning on her heel and flouncing out of the room, the door closing behind her in what she obviously thought was just an oh so smooth move. Ichigo rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, managing to suppress the urge to call out "whore!" among many other things after the hostess.

"Change yer shirt so we can get back to the KAL house," Grimmjow said suddenly, tossing Ichigo the clothes from his earlier from where he had put them in his locker. The orangette was silent as he did so, quickly, as he very pitifully was embarrassed by the idea of being shirtless around the blue-haired demigod, even though just a few days ago he had had the other's cock in his mouth.

"Why are we going there?" Ichigo asked a little suspiciously as his head appeared through the neck hole of his t-shirt. As soon as he did, he was greeted with the sight of Grimmjow in his underwear, pulling on his own shirt, and all of the blood in the new demigod's body shot straight to his groin.

Seriously, Grimmjow was perfection. Every last angle and plane and line of the man's body was just right. The muscles were never too much or too little, and he his chest looked to be completely hairless, except for when you looked very closely at his sternum, where some fine baby blue hairs were laying. His nipples were a dark pink, like the rain dampened petals of a Queen Elizabeth rose and his skin was the perfect color of tawny, not too light as if he never got outside and not dark enough to look like he was one of those tanorexics that were regularly featured on MTV.

It was the body of Ichigo's dreams, the one he would have created if he had been given the chance to design his ideal partner.

"Did ya hear anything I said?"

The orangette actually shook his head to snap himself out of the daze Grimmjow's body had put him into, the blunette's face swimming into his vision. The other's voice had sounded irritated, but those sapphire orbs were sparkling with entertainment, obviously having caught Ichigo staring. If the sheer humiliation at being caught didn't twist his tongue, Ichigo would have protested that he was just appreciating the gods' fine work on Grimmjow. It would have been rude not to do so.

"Tha's what I thought," the sex god said smugly, folding his arms as he was now fully dressed. Ichigo himself had only been able to change into his shirt as his ankle prevented him from putting on his jeans and he was certainly not going to ask Grimmjow to do it for him. "I said tha' I still need ta show you the do's and don't's of your true form. Plus-" If it was possible the man looked even more the cat who got the cream at that point, his smirk widening, "Ya left your camera in my room tha last time you were there."

Ichigo's heart stopped.

"Shit!" he hissed, his eyes falling closed and his head bowing forward to rest in his hands. His ankle throbbed painfully and he felt like he may just die right then and there.

"Ichigo?" Grimmjow's voice came from somewhere above him. "Is it your ankle?"

The orange-haired male shook his head pitifully, not even bothering to look up. He felt so utterly stupid in that moment; how could he have possibly forgotten?

"Forgot what?" Grimmjow questioned, making Ichigo realize he had spoken aloud. Making sure to mentally curse this time, he lifted his head out of his hand and surveyed the blunette. He still didn't completely trust the other, but...

"I work for the school paper. I gotta have cover story material, with pictures by...shit, tomorrow," he said dejectedly. He would never find anything worth publishing, at least to Rukia's standards, by noon the next day. Not with any pictures, at least. It was impossible.

Just as he was about to slump in his chair in utter depression, two strong arms encircled him, one around his back and one under his knees. He let out a decidedly unmasculine yelp as he was hoisted into the air, his feet, one completely bare and one still donning his roller skate, hanging in the air. Ichigo turned blazing hot chocolate eyes on the blunette that was carrying him as if he was a damsel in distress from an old storybook. Though he wouldn't deny that Grimmjow fit the picture of the handsome prince. Looks wise, that is. Personality wise, not so much.

"W-what are you doing?" he demanded, indignant. Grimmjow just rolled his eyes, walking out of the break room and into the crowded dining hall where all of the customers stared at them yet again. Ichigo felt his face flush a bright scarlet.

"Taking ya to see the oracle. He can help, little chit love to gossip."

...

"The what?"


A/N: Please do forgive me for taking so long with this chapter! I love you guys for sticking with me, though and for all the kind reviews on the last chapter. :D And a lot of you were asking from Grimm's POV, and I figured since this isn't like a professional novel or anything I could put it in here. There shall be more to come!

Also, if any of you like Harry Potter, I've just started a new story that's basically a GrimmIchi Harry Potter style, called Epoximise. I'm really rather excited about it. : )

Quote at the beginning is from the Disney classic Hercules. It was my absolute favorite as a young girl, and obviously kickstarted my love of Greek mythology.