Ichigo always led too rough and dull of a life. The only thrilling moments of his life are the strange visions of a beautiful blue-haired man who may just be a creature of the night. AU, yaoi, oneshot, lemon.
Warnings: AU, yaoi, lemon, occult themes, blood.
A Grimmjow /Ichigo AU One-Shot
There is a star in the sky
Guiding my way with its light
And in the glow of the moon
Know my deliverance will come soon
I'm waiting for the night to fall
I know that it will save us all
Ichigo was lying in bed, eyes closed, hand over his unclothed, flat stomach, head turned to the side, his breathing even and deep, chest expanding with each and every breath of fresh night air drafting in from the open window. He wasn't asleep, not yet, he was still waiting for blessed unconsciousness to take him away from the world.
It's the very end of summer, fall so close you can taste it in the air that's tinted with just the lightest shade of bitter chill. It feels divine against his exposed skin as he lays there, knowing what will come within the hour, when he finally succumbs to sleep. It was what has happened every night ever since he was but six years old.
The delicious dream of something, someone, so ethereal and sinful it's very easy to believe that it was just that, nothing but a dream, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, that those dreams he'd been having for ten years now were more, were real. He'd give everything if it meant that he wasn't insane, wasn't imagining the only person that had ever been there for him.
Opening his eyes, Ichigo turned on his side, staring out of the open window into the night, where the picturesque street he lived on was calm and still, the only sound being the last of the season's crickets chirping away. It was pleasant, quaint, but undeniably boring and he deeply ached for something...more. He had always done so, mentally pleaded to finish high school as soon as possible so that he could leave this place and finally be able to breathe without that ugly, invisible pressure always suffocating him, finally be able to live.
Like he did in his dreams, when he had a reprieve from dull reality.
The relative peace Ichigo had been enjoying was disturbed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room from down the hallway, steadily getting louder and louder. He shut his eyes tightly, mentally preparing himself. The footsteps stopped and then the door swung open and the orangette could swear a burst of cold air filled the room.
In the door frame stood an older man in a fine business suit that had once fit him well but now hung off of his now leaner frame haggardly. He had once been a relatively handsome lawyer, successful and determined; that had been why Ichigo's mother had been attracted to him in the first place, the reason why she had married him only five years after the teenager's father had died. And then she had passed away; her death's two year anniversary would be that winter. Ichigo didn't grieve for her anymore. She had been too enamored with her new husband to ever concern herself much with her son.
His stepfather didn't even bother to give any sort of acknowledgement before he stepped into the small bedroom, going towards the dark hardwood dresser that held all of Ichigo's belongings, and immediately pulled the first drawer open in a violent action, nearly taking the thing off its track as he desperately searched for what he had come from. The orange-haired boy watched as the man pushed aside his favorite t-shirts and CD's until he came to an old pair of socks, unfurling them to reveal a few twenty dollar bills and one hundred. The orangette snarled quietly as he sat up, watching the man's malicious grin spread across his face, rubbing the money between his bony fingers before pocketing it.
The older male had taken the death of his wife hard, and when things had started to go under at his firm he apparently found that a little white powder made everything better. Ichigo remembered when his stepfather had only been cold and distant towards him, distaste apparent in his eyes every time he looked at his wife's son, hating the way the boy looked at him with the same kind of loathing.
But now? Well let's just say that Ichigo had learned to keep that bundle of money in that drawer, just for the man to come in and take once a week, when he most needed his fix, lest there be a nice black eye the next day to go along with his two chocolate brown. He had money stashed elsewhere, of course, he wasn't stupid and he didn't work his ass off when he wasn't in school to pay for his stepfather's cocaine addiction.
He'd learned not to fight back, not to run away, as the drug dependent man only had to make a quick call to the police and Ichigo would end up in the back of a squad car. He'd learned self-control, discipline and it felt all kinds of wrong. Somewhere underneath the surface blazed an unquenchable wildness, something that was all-consuming and untamed and feral, something he had struggled to stifle nearly every day. Going through life like this wasn't really living at all, and he longed to unleash that power to control his own life, to break away from the invisible chains that imprisoned him here in this godforsaken place.
His stepfather walked over slowly, a leer apparent on his face, smug and self-satisfied. He was just so clever, finding the money Ichigo put there for him to find so that he wouldn't destroy half of the things in the teenager's room looking for cash to support his life-threatening habit. The orangette didn't say anything at first, just glared at the older man, lip curled in a silent snarl and eyes turning a dark ochre with the rage that swirled in their depths. He didn't have to say anything, the hate was crystal clear, unadulterated.
"Such a good boy," the waste of a man said, entangling his fingers in the younger's bright tangerine hair in a mocking imitation of affection. Ichigo jerked away, suppressing the urge to wince at the pain in his scalp as his locks of sunset orange were pulled harshly before being released.
"You got what you wanted, now get the fuck out," he growled, letting just a little bit of that muzzled hellcat out. Unusual, considering his bite was so much worse than bark, and he didn't realize his mistake until his head had jerked to the side, a stinging pain blossoming on his left cheekbone. He could taste the coppery, metallic flavor of blood in his mouth and he spat the crimson liquid out, spraying it over his light blue bedsheets.
Ichigo trained his eyes back on his stepfather, seeing the man take a step back. He must have seen in those deep espresso orbs the promise of retaliation, no matter the consequence, and for one sober moment in his coke high, he retreated, sneering down at the younger male.
"Whatever," he snarled, before stomping out of the room, slamming the door so hard the whole house shook.
The teenager wiped the residual blood away from his lips and laid back down, shutting his eyes against the pain, the dull ache that was physical and mental, the kind of suffocating heaviness and throbbing that comes with such a life. He shut his eyes against the world, and sank into blessed unconsciousness.
Everything was alive here. There was no false tranquility, no irritating stillness, and there was a heartbeat that thrummed throughout everything, pulsing, living, the heavy bass line of the music playing making it even more apparent, like you could feel the earth itself's heart beating. The sound, the feeling, vibrated in Ichigo's very core, rattling his bones in the sweetest of ways.
It seemed like dull grayness had been banished from this place; exiled, excommunicated. The sheer amount of color nearly overwhelmed him, it bordered on that line of being too much, the contrasts of deep purple, electric green, neon orange, scarlet red offset by the black and white background of the place he was in.
Surely it was no earthly, mortal place. Around the edges, beyond where all of the bodies were entwined like writhing snakes, it was frayed and blurred, like the world he was in stopped existing at that point. In fact, it probably did. Ichigo felt that if his own personal heaven were to exist, it would be this place. It had always been the only place he had ever found salvation.
He walked through the throng of people, all too beautiful to be real, as they parted just for him. They didn't look at him directly, just cornered their hungry eyes to the side in order to slyly drink in the sight of the boy, the one so ethereally gorgeous and so unaware of it. It was almost amusing, but they didn't dare laugh, didn't try to reach and touch him, grasp his arm and pull him into their arms to dance together for an eternity.
No, Ichigo Kurosaki would never be theirs; he had been claimed years before that night.
The orangette finally caught sight of the center of the dancing crowd, the raised pedestal allowing those who stood on it to see everything this place had to offer. He was ignorant to those around him, and their surreptitious, lustful glances, because he only had eyes for that pedestal in the very center of the room, the one holding the three people in the room with the most power by far, and as he approached the black marble stairs that led up to them, the guards letting him by with ease, all of their gazes immediately snapped to him.
The one closest to him was a woman of indiscernible age, as she looked to be only a few years older than him, but had a kind of split personality that went from grave adult to precocious child in mere moments. Despite this, she was very pretty, as they all were, her hair a sea-foam green and full of gentle waves that suited her wide wheaten eyes and tall, hourglass figure perfectly.
Ichigo thought he owed Nelliel his life, for it was because of her that he was even able to visit this place in his dreams due to some power she held, as it had been explained to him quite vaguely. So he offered her a small, close-lipped smile which she returned with a bright one of her own, so grateful she was for the uncharacteristic gesture. Sharp canines caught the undulating lights as she did so, but he never faltered.
Next to her was a seemingly younger boy, whom with cautious crystal aqua eyes and shaggy chestnut hair looked to be only around fifteen, but Ichigo knew better than to think that, or to believe that Tensa liked him even a little bit. It was clear how much the other male despised him from the glare coming from those narrowed blue-green eyes.
It didn't matter though, and the blunette was completely oblivious to this because next to the aforementioned and reclining on a plush, ebony armchair was him.
The name fell from his lips without a second thought. It wasn't in his nature to be breathless or dramatic, so he didn't sound like such...or at least that's what Ichigo told himself.
Grimmjow was, in every sense of the word, beautiful, and like sex personified, like some sort of angel and demon hybrid, all of the divine beauty and sinful charm practically clinging to him like a heavy perfume. His skin was the color of light bronze, flawless and perfect, and Ichigo knew from experience that it felt like silk, lying taut over defined muscle.
His hair was a bright turquoise, electric blue, contrasting nicely with his skin as it lay over his shoulders and ran down the expanse of his shirtless form, but still stopping a good amount before where the waistband of his black leather pants . Around his face, the rebellious strands spiked out and upwards, forming a kind of pseudo halo for that roguish grin and hypnotist's eyes.
Oh, his eyes.
They were like whirlpools, every bit as tempestuous and blue, a deep indigo compared to his lighter colored locks. How many times Ichigo had lost himself, his very soul inside of those eyes. In fact, he didn't know if he'd ever got it back.
He obeyed, the rarity being that he didn't mind, but he so needed to be close to the other at that moment and the teenager didn't know how long he had left until he was forced from this place and into his small, dull room once again. Sometimes he had stayed for hours, other times for only minutes.
When he nearly collapsed into the ebony armchair, Grimmjow moved ever so slightly to the side so that they could both fit but still remaining close enough that their legs immediately intertwined, Ichigo loving the feeling of the other's powerful, leather clad legs against his own clothed in soft flannel. He didn't waste any time before letting his forehead rest against Grimmjoq's, a long, suffering sigh escaping from between his parted lips. The blue-haired man then brushed fingers his fingers over them, trailing upwards until he reached Ichigo's left cheekbone, on which was already a bruise, aubergine and indigo, surrounded by fuchsia. The orangettedidn't even pull away despite the slight pain associated with the action.
"I'm going to rip his throat and intestines out and then crush his skull with my bare hands."
Grimmjow was like that, like black coffee with lots of sugar. Dark, but sweet.
Ichigo didn't even know how he knew about his stepfather, he'd never told Grimmjow anything about that, but somehow he knew everything there was to know about the boy's life. It would be unnerving if he didn't still somewhat believe that all of this was inside of his mind, twisted by the droll and yet harsh thing that was reality.
"Don't do that, idiot, just change me," he said rather boldly, and if he were aware of anyone other than Grimmjow, he would have heard everyone within earshot gasp. He wouldn't have understood why, though, he'd only asked that every time he'd been visited by Grimmjow in a dream, he'd even demanded it the first time they'd ever met.
He'd been six years old, and his mother had just remarried, had just wedded herself to the man that now spent all of his free time making Ichigo's life miserable. He remembered that had been the last time he'd ever cried, not doing so even when his mother had died almost two years ago, and he had fallen asleep in his bed, small body curled into the fetal position, but when he opened his eyes again, he hadn't been in his new room in the house he hated, he'd been in a meadow, one with lavender flowers and tall grass.
At first he'd been frightened, but when Grimmjow had appeared from seemingly nowhere (looking just as he did now, eleven years later), for some reason he still couldn't comprehend he had stopped being scared, feeling somehow more safe than he ever had in his young life. And when Grimmjow had introduced himself, saying that Ichigo never had to cry again because he would be there for him, the orange-haired boy hadn't been confused, he accepted it the way only a child could, wholeheartedly and without question. He'd begged to be taken away from his life.
And when Grimmjow had shown him his fangs, sharp, deadly, phosphorescently white, Ichigo had pleaded with the nlue-haired male to please make him the same way. Obviously the answer had been a resounding hell no, and hadn't changed in all the time that had passed, no matter how often the orangette simply demanded that Grimmjow do so.
Tonight was different.
Grimmjow let his lips ghost over the human's, pale over rose red, in the lightest of kisses, the kind that is so simply erotic and spine-tingling in its gentleness, and as Ichigo leaned in to deepen that kiss, unable to bear it, Grimmjow moved to give the teenager's bruised cheek the same treatment, smirking slightly at the shuddering reaction he garnered, before his lips were then at the other's ear.
"I'll be waiting for you at the fun house, tomorrow night. Nine o'clock."
Ichigo's eyes widened and he pulled away to stare up into Grimmjow's unique, enchanting eyes, deep sapphire speckled with cobalt and indigo sparkling with some kind of emotion he didn't really have a word for.
"Fun house? What are you-"
"Goodnight, Ichigo," the other male said, laying a finger over his lips and silencing him.
The last thing the orangette saw was Grimmjow's uncharacteristically serene expression on his lovely face before blackness consumed his senses.
For a few seconds, he had no sense of being; everything was dark and silent, empty. Then his eyes flew open to reveal the dawn light filtering in through the window of his bedroom, and his question was answered without words.
Ichigo hated the fair, he really did. When he was much younger, his mother had brought him to one along with his stepfather for his seventh birthday, though she spent most of the time sitting under the shade and complaining of how hot it was. His stepfather had said that he had motion sickness and couldn't take the child on any of the rides, so most of that damned afternoon had been spent looking at his half-eaten corn dog until he'd finally asked if they could go home, the adults immediately agreeing.
Grimmjow had been the one to run his hands through his turquoise locks and listen to him complain about how much he had hated it that night after he had fallen asleep, when the married couple had left the house in order to attend some business dinner with his stepfather's firm partners, had been the one to make him feel as if someone out there in this world loved him.
It just wouldn't be fair if he weren't real, if Ichigo was standing here on the abandoned fairgrounds because he was so crazy as to have an imaginary friend at seventeen years old. It wouldn't be fair at all, pun intended.
The fair had only just closed the very night before, when he had been blissfully asleep, and so there was still trash littering the ground below him, the carnival game booths still set up, the rides frozen in place, but very much there. It was eerie, considering it was so dark and quiet, but Ichigo supposed it was fitting for the place he may just meet Shiro for the first time in his waking hours.
He walked through the row of booths, their stripes and lights bleak as only the moon lit them, empty styrofoam cups and flyers and pieces of plastic crunched beneath his feet as he made his way to the looming structure at the top of the hill.
The fun house.
To be completely honest, Ichigo had never been in a fun house before, but he had seen them on television, and he knew from the grotesque clown's face painted on the front, that it was undoubtedly 'the fun house.' Reaching the entrance in a few long strides, he pushed aside the rubber ribbons and saw that the inside of the thing was extremely dim, so much so that he had to squint as he made his way across the floor that was apparently supposed to slide and move when turned on.
After that he came to a tunnel he had to crawl through, muttering to himself about how Grimmjow had better be waiting for him somewhere inside of this place, considering it was already a little past nine o'clock. He hadn't wanted to be late, but he didn't have a car. Mostly because a good amount of his money went to pay for his stepfather's habit.
As Ichigo landed on the other side of the tunnel, he found himself to be in what was most likely the darkest part of the fun house, and decidedly the most unnerving. Mirrors lined the walls, he could make out that much in the near pitch black, the kind of mirrors that make you very tall or short or wide or thin. However, with no light source besides the moon's rays filtering through the cracks in the wooden structure, all he could make out was the occasional flash of tangerine orange in them as he walked down the hallway, hands outstretched to make certain he didn't trip and fall over something.
Grimmjow was here, he had to be. Ichigo could feel it in every fiber of his being, a feeling that couldn't be false, couldn't be derived from his own mental instability. He wasn't crazy, Grimmjow was real.
The disembodied voice was so familiar, Ichigo felt his knees buckling at the sound. But as soon as he steadied himself, he was whipping around to search for the light in all of the darkness, Grimmjow's bright hair sure to contrast with everything around him.
And then something so shockingly blue appeared from behind one of the last mirrors in the row to his left, that it immediately caught Ichigo's eye and a wide grin burst onto his face, lighting up the entire room.
"It's you," he said almost reverently.
Grimmjow only smiled softly, cobalt eyes twinkling in the shadows. Slowly, he walked forwards, his footsteps silent as he approached the orange-haired teenager until they were but a hand's breadth apart.
"Were you expecting someone else?"
"Mmm, I may just have to remind you whom you belong to then."
Pale lips covered his own in a searing, soul-splittingly, mind-numbingly passionate kiss, their most heated one to date. Ichigo's eyes closed as he felt Grimmjow's fingertips brush over his face, first his forehead, then his eyelids and the bridge of his nose, his bruised cheekbone, his sensitive jawline, and then down to the column of his tanned neck, locating the pulse point, pressing it lightly and yet still making Ichigo feel dizzy.
They broke apart, the younger male panting slightly.
"Mine, always mine," Grimmjow whispered against the skin of the blunette's neck. "You were always meant to be mine."
When the blue-haired man pressed their lips together for the second time that night, he gently bit Ichigo's lower lip, but even still the razor sharp canines he possessed sank into that delicate flesh and made two pinkpricks of scarlet appear. Grimmjow didn't hesitate before swiping his tongue along where he'd bitten, the most delectable and sweet flavor flooding his senses. Unknowingly he moaned and molded their bodies even closer, but Ichigo was far from protesting.
"Are you going to do it, then?" he asked after a few moments of relishing their closeness. He could feel his heart thrum loudly and rapidly in anticipation of what could finally happen that night. Just maybe he could leave behind the life he so hated and start the one he'd always wanted with Grimmjow.
"I am to assume you've thought about this?" Grimmjow asked, trailing one hand down Ichigo's back to rest on the piece of skin there that was exposed by his pants slipping down his hips. The warm flesh on his ice cold fingers reminded him of just how very human the other was.
"Only every day,"Ichigo murmured, looking away from those hypnotizing eyes to stare into the darkness, his hot chocolate eyes already clouding over with ghosts of memories he's rather forget about. The other placed his hand under the orangette's chin and forcibly made those ochre eyes look at him once again.
"And it is what you want? To forever leave that life behind you?"
Ichigo jerked his face out of Grimmjow's grip, bringing his hands up to entangle themselves in cotton candy blue colored hair.
"Yes, you idiot, so just hurry up and do it already."
That seemed to convince the older male, because he smirked devilishly. And "this will hurt," was all the warning Grimmjow gave before leaning in ever so slightly and sinking his elongated canines into the juncture where Ichigo's shoulder met his neck, like a steak knife through butter. The teenager groaned in pained pleasure and clutched at the other man like he was the only stable thing in the entire world.
It was such a funny thing, to know that he was dying that night just so that he could live.
He gasped when Grimmjow started to suck, started to pull his life force right out of him, crimson dripping down his neck and staining the other man's lips so that they were a deep blood orange when he finally pulled away, the contrast the color had with the blue of his eyes and hair made for a divine sight. Grimmjow's tongue darted out to lick the residual blood from his lips and chin, his predatory grin spreading across his face.
Suddenly Ichigo felt very dizzy and swayed on the spot, falling into Grimmjow's stone-like chest heavily. He would have slid to the ground if it had not been for the blunette wrapping his arms around him, holding him up. There was a slight burn in his neck where Grimmjow had bitten him, and his heart was beating rather fast, much too rapidly for comfort, making his chest feel full and like he couldn't get any air into his lungs.
Ichigo thought his heart may explode as it kept thumping along, faster and faster, one thousand beats a minute. He was barely aware of Grimmjow whispering something in his ear, something like "just hold on a little longer." And the suddenly, his body started to convulse and the burning in his neck got worse, and if he could see it he would see deep indigo lines start to spiderweb from the bite mark, forming a bold number six on his skin.
The organ in his chest was now beating so fast, the boy couldn't even register the separate beats. Instead it just felt like his heart was full of air, too full, like the tissue couldn't hold any longer as it stayed in that expanded state. A broken gasp escaped from his lips and Grimmjow closed his eyes, muttering something more to himself than to the orange-haired male.
"It will all be over soon."
And just when Ichigo thought he may finally go insane from the pain, everything stopped.
Seriously, his heart just stopped.
But his relief at the feeling overwhelmed the fact that technically he shouldn't have even been alive and he slumped in Grimmjow's arms, completely boneless. Large, cool hands brushed through his sunset-colored hair and there were whispers in his ear, but Ichigo paid no attention to what was being said, the sound of that voice, like hell silk, was music to his ears, lulling him into a breathless state of content.
The smoldering wildfire that had always been inside of him, waiting for someone to free it from his cage, spread throughout his body, warming every bit of him, and he tightened his embrace around Grimmjow's waist, and sighed, resting his head on the blunette's shoulder and kissing his pulseless neck.
Ichigo thought to be dead was probably the best feeling in the world.
"Thank you, Grimmjow," he whispered, smile never faltering even when they pulled just the slightest bit apart. Sapphire orbs captured his own now sparkling golden-brown, the inner fire now physically apparent. "I didn't ever think I could be this happy...I love you."
This kiss was much different than all of the others they had ever shared, because despite their deathly cold lips, it was full of heat, their tongues like flames as they intertwined. And Ichigo's now pointed canines returned Grimmjow's earlier favor, biting down on the male's tongue so that the taste of wild blackberries and dark chocolate that was underneath the familiar coppery flavor filled his mouth, making him moan and grasp Grimmjow's face in his hands, pulling him so close they practically melded into one another.
And when they finally did part, Grimmjow smiled lazily down at him, blue eyes somehow in his lust simultaneously getting brighter and darker at the same time, like the deepest part of the ocean lit by a searchlight. He noticed that Ichigo's bruise had disappeared, leaving only the light tawny skin he so loved.
"Mmm, but I have always known that I would be, here with you. You were always meant to be mine," Grimmjow repeated for the second time that night, cradling Ichigo's cheek with one palm, and if it could, his heart would have throbbed wildly at the blissful expression that passed over the orangette's face. "And we will be together always."
"Always," he said with a light amusement, resting his forehead on the younger boy's, deep, soul-seeing gazes locking.
"I like the sound of that," Ichigo murmured. "But if I could just ask for one thing?"
"Anything," Grimmjow promised.
The look of surprise in the older male's beautiful eyes had Ichigo biting his lip, hastening to explain. "It's just I've been waiting so long to be with you, and I know I'll never want anyone else, and like you said, we'll be together always, so I thought-"
Grimmjow's mouth sealed over his silenced the orangette's rambling and he let himself melt into the kiss; he would let himself melt into Grimmjow's very soul if he could, to be one and to never be apart, not ever. The blunette pulled away and then pressed his lips to Ichigo's forehead.
"I would like nothing better, but right here, in this carnival house? Ichigo, I never knew you could be so...kinky."
Before the orange-haired male could protest, Grimmjow took a hold of his wrist and was fairly dragging him through the dark hall of mirrors and through the rest of the seasonally abandoned fun house.
"Come. I know a place," the blue-haired male shot over his shoulder, a feral grin making its presence known as they ran through the threshold of the exit, the moonlight very bright in comparison to the pitch black of the structure they had just left and illuminating the still empty, trash littered fairgrounds.
Ichigo thought it was rather funny how everything looked so different now, like he could see the beauty in everything as he was led through the place, the only sound being their quiet footsteps as they moved with a pace far too fast for a mortal to keep up with. He didn't even take time to remark on that, it was all so natural.
Grimmjow abruptly stopped in front the one fair tent that wasn't brightly striped, instead being made from fine tan canvas, giving it an old and weathered kind of look. One thin, orange eyebrow on Ichigo's face peaked and he turned to Grimmjow, whom was looking down at him with a heated stare.
"This is the fortune teller's tent," Ichigo pointed out, wondering just why the other man had brought him here.
"I know," was all Grimmjow said, before lifting the flap of the tent and stepping inside, the orangette close behind. As expected, it was very dark, but not like the hall of mirrors. Instead, everything was nicely lit by the moon's rays of light seeping in from the opening at the top. There was one small round table in the center, holding a crystal ball and a stack of tarot cards, and around it was a vast assortment of throw pillows in deep burgundies and blood reds. Ichigo didn't have a moment to react before Grimmjow had forcibly dragged him to those pillows, having him land to straddle the blunette's lap as they hit the soft things.
"I love you, Ichigo," Grimmjow uttered into his ear, grazing the shell with his sharp teeth and making the boy shiver uncontrollably. He replaced his teeth with his mouth, something so cold and yet making Ichigo feel so very warm. The larger male trailed open mouthed kisses down the column of the other's neck, making sure to lave his tongue along the number six now imprinted on Ichigo's skin. How he loved to see his mark there, the only mark that would ever be visible on Ichigo ever again, because after this he would make sure to pay a visit to the house the orangette had formerly lived in, and then he would never let Ichigo leave his sight for the rest of forever.
"Mmm, yeah...me too," Ichigo whispered breathily, causing Grimmjow to chuckle before sliding his hands over the younger's denim clad thighs and up over his backside, which he gave a light smack and earned a gasping moan in return. Then his palms traced the curve of Ichigo's spine, dipping under his shirt to feel the soft flesh underneath, and the sounds that the orange-haired boy was making were almost enough to make him completely lose control. "G-Grimmjow, hurry up."
He would have laughed at Ichigo's impatience, if he weren't feeling exactly the same, and not hesitating for a moment, he ripped the shirt off of the orangette with his bare hands, the tattered fabric falling to the ground in shreds. Having the expanse of flesh that was Ichigo's chest and abdomen exposed to him had Grimmjow growling in distinct pleasure and his large hands ran over the toned flesh and dusky pink nipples. Those seemed to be a hot spot for the other because as soon as the blunette brushed his thumb over one, Ichigo cried out, eyes closed and mouth open, and entangled his hands in locks of turquoise, pulling none too gently.
The orangette could say this was truly the best experience of his young life, the slight high he still had from tasting even just that little bit of Grimmjow's blood making it all the better. He could feel himself getting hard as he'd ever been, grinding into the blue-haired male's similar condition, loving the friction, the way Grimmjow's fingers deftly plucked one of his nipples, the bud stiffening under the attention. He gazed down through hooded eyes to see the blunette staring up at him with a lazy, arrogant smirk but the same kind of lusty affection swirling in his sapphires for eyes.
When Ichigo decided that he certainly couldn't allow Grimmjow to all of the work, he reluctantly slid away from his position so that he was lying directly on top of the gorgeous man, who quirked a sky blue brow up at him. Ichigo only smiled bashfully, feeling a flush that shouldn't belong to someone like him spread over his face, unaware of how utterly lovely he was when he did so. He splayed his hands against Grimmjow's characteristically shirtless form, running them down his ribcage and to the waistband of those leather pants that had plagued him with surely sinful thoughts in his waking hours just as much as the time he spent asleep.
"May I ask what you're doing?"
Ichigo's blush heightened, staining his youthfully pretty face with a deep rose color. Despite that, he said exactly what he was thinking in a rather bold move.
"Y-you've done so much for me, let me do this for you," he stated, his voice quavering the slightest bit and for a reason he couldn't quite yet fathom, Grimmjow's gaze softened and he caressed Ichigo's cheek with the back of his knuckles. The orangette didn't quite understand the extent of the former's loneliness in his very long life, and that he was also foreign to the feeling of being loved.
He watched as Ichigo fumbled with the button of his pants before just ripping the blasted, small silver thing off to land somewhere on the other side of the tent. Grimmjow propped himself on his elbows, shoulders shuddering in anticipation as his leather pants were then pulled down his long, muscular legs to reveal a painfully erect manhood that had Ichigo's flushed cheeks worsening and the blunette grinning.
With an innocent fascination that made Grimmjow lick his lips in lust, Ichigo wrapped his hand around the base of his erection and the man hissed through his teeth at the contact. So far Ichigo had barely done a thing, and yet it had to be the most intense pleasure he'd ever experienced, and when the orangette lowered his head to trace the tip of his tongue along the slit, he was wondering how he hadn't completely lost all control at that point. Surely it was only because of Ichigo; he wanted his lover's first time to be everything he could have wished for.
Ichigo made a sort of startled moan at Grimmjow's flavor. Yes, it was briny and musky, like a man should be, but it had the very slightest aftertaste of the blood he had tasted earlier, wild blackberries and dark chocolate, and it was something that made his tight jeans even tighter and he could not help but to open his mouth and take in more of the other's manhood. He had only heard about one was supposed to do in this kind of situation in snippets in his high school, so he was mostly following instinct as he bobbed his head up and down, alternating between laving the sensitive flesh with his tongue and sucking, and he could hear the sound of Grimmjow's pleased grunts and snarls, which only spurred him on to go faster.
However, a hand fisted into his sunset orange hair and pulled him away from his treat and up to meet the blunette's lips, tongues immediately darting out to entwine with each other and Ichigo wrapped his arms around Grimmjow's strong neck as he pulled him into his lap once more, fingers entangling themselves in the long strands of hair the color of the sky.
Grimmjow felt for Ichigo's jean's button and zipper, but then decided to imitate what he'd done earlier, he shredded the denim with his hands, the dark blue fabric falling away from Ichigo's lithe thighs and pelvic area to reveal that he also had gone without any undergarments that day. It wasn't very unusual, considering the tightness of the pants they both wore.
"Ah! Grimmjow..." Ichigo cried as the blunette reached between them to fondle the orangette's erection, rubbing his broad thumb in circles over the head and used his other hand to reach beyond that to the soft sac of skin that he kneaded lightly. The younger male shuddered in his lap, whimpering as his head fell against the shoulder in front of him and Grimmjow's searching fingers traced across his perineum to the puckered entrance that rested there.
The blunette took his hand away from Ichigo's manhood before sticking his fingers in his sinful mouth, making sure to get them suitably wet before reaching back around to press them to that hole, the other hand holding one globe of flesh aside for better access. He circled it a few times before pressing the tip of his index finger inside, the intrusion of the digit making Ichigo yelp before Grimmjow swallowed the sound with a soul-melting kiss. Considering they didn't need air to live, he kept them pressed together as one, two, then three fingers stretched the virgin entrance. He would suck every little sound of discomfort Ichigo made into himself, he would take away all of his pain.
Ichigo had to admit he'd been really rather worried about this part of their lovemaking, afraid it would hurt, afraid he wouldn't like it, that Grimmjow wouldn't like it. But as his lover's digits entered and spread him, he couldn't deny that he was enjoying every second. He'd always had a high tolerance for pain, for hurt, but it was like whenever he was with Grimmjow he was incapable of feeling pain. There was no such thing when the blunette was by his side, and now he would be there not only in the midnight hour, but every hour, and so Ichigo was in heaven.
When those fingers disappeared from inside of him, he felt strangely empty until the blunt tip of Grimmjow's erection was pressing into him. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, eyelashes fluttering as he looked into the other's tempestously smoldering indigo orbs, ones that had haunted him every night since he'd been six years old and now were no longer a dream, but living in his reality just like he'd always known in the very core of his being.
At first his muscles gave a a bit of resistance, but once that ring allowed for Grimmjow to slip inside, the rest of that thick length filled him easily, but so very slowly. Ichigo gasped, screwing his eyes shut at the feeling of fullness, at what was supposed to feel unnatural but instead felt so very good, like Grimmjow belonged inside of him, was always meant to be there. Perhaps that sounds trite, but to be perfectly, Ichigo couldn't care less what others thought of him. No one else had ever been there for him but Grimmjow, always Grimmjow.
It was a few moments after the blunette was full seated inside of him, that Ichigo latched onto the other's neck, sharp fangs piercing the flesh there, liquid scarlet pooling in his mouth. Copper and then wild blackberries and dark chocolate. Grimmjow grunted and bucked his hips at the action, causing Ichigo to moan as his new favorite flavor washed over his tongue, making his head spin in the most delightful way. It was almost too much, the physical pleasure combined with the high he got from drinking Grimmjow's blood.
But when the other male began to thrust in and out of him, and found this place inside of him that had stars and lights flashing before his eyes, Ichigo released his hold on the former's neck, moaning and sighing and nearly screaming as that spot was brushed blissfully by the head of Grimmjow's manhood that buried itself to the hilt inside of him over and over. It did not take long at all, the orangette only having time to grasp Grimmjow's long, turquoise hair and give one particularly loud cry, before the other had wrapped his hand around his own neglected erection and gave it two pumps before he was suddenly still, muscles tensing as white, pearly strands shot up to land on the both of them.
Grimmjow followed not even a moment after, repaying Ichigo by sinking his own razor sharp canines into the silken flesh of the younger's neck, his own surprisingly warm seed spilling inside of Ichigo, whose toes curled at the feeling as he fell into Grimmjow's arms, boneless and completely exhausted for the second time that night, because the man he loved would always be there to catch him. Always.
A/N: Wow, I am so very sorry about having to upload this twice, but I wake up this morning to see that I didn't upload the finished version last night. : (((((
A million apologies, lovely readers!
Originally this was written as ShiroGrimm, and that version is up on my deviantArt, but entitled "Somnabulation." They are basically the same plot-wise, just different people, and this one is much smuttier. I just couldn't resist doing both, because, come on, after I'd written it I realized that I would die for it if it was GrimmIchi. :3
Violator - Depeche Mode (this album so used to remind me of vampires when my mother played it in the car when I was little, so I think it fits.) Also, "Nothing's Impossible" off of their Playing the Angel album and "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" by Emily Browning.
Lyrics are from "Waiting For the Night."