Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...



Ichigo gritted his teeth and let his fists work. His temples throbbed and his eyes stung with unshed tears, but he refused to let it deter him from letting off much needed steam. The group of no-named assholes surrounding him started dropping like swatted flies and it felt so fucking good.

Idiot to his right that thought green and pink was an acceptable combination of clothing colors, stumbled backwards as if his foot had slid over a rolling pin. Ichigo grinned, knowing the guy's sudden lack of balance could be attributed to the elbow he'd taken to his beaky nose. Three more clowns pressed in around him and as if Ichigo was the Hulk himself, a burst of pure energy surged outward from within, startling his attackers and making their eyes go comically wide. Almost as if they could see the anger that Ichigo had transformed into fighting spirit.

A stream of blood trickled down the left side of his face, even as his breath came in labored gasps. He ignored it. He could tell from the looks on his attackers' faces that his eyes were alive, dancing with all the rage and fury he'd been suppressing for the past four years. He welcomed the feeling, the overwhelming of his other senses. He relished and savored the moment he lost all control of his emotions, letting them spring forward with all the force and urgency of a punctured dam.

"He's crazy," one of the teens stated, dark brown eyes round as saucers, his body slowly edging away.

"He's a fucking bully! Thinks he can say whatever he wants and get away with it!" another shouted, his green eyes glittering with hatred as he alone stepped forward.

Ichigo smirked, lowering his head as it shook sympathetically. "A bully, you say?" He supposed the quiet tone of his voice made him seem even more lethal since the boy that had been moving forward paused, his frown hesitant. "Why? Because I'm not a coward? Because I don't bite my tongue? Or could it be because I'm not phony, smiling all over people, just to stab them in the back later on?" Ichigo snapped, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

The teen narrowed his eyes, the result making them appear as tiny slits of forestry. "You can't just talk to people like that! You're a troublemaker; you live for confrontation-"

"Nah. See, that's where you're wrong," Ichigo interrupted. "I don't live for it and I'm not a troublemaker. I stand up for what I believe in. I don't sit back and allow people to walk all over me. I won't. I tried and it got me nothing but more pain, more assholes thinking it was OK to keep treating me like shit. Smiling in my face, pretending to be friends, then turning on me when the mood moved them. Fuck that. You're damned right I'm going to speak my mind on things now. And confrontation? Just because the majority of you cowards are so scared to be told the truth, doesn't mean I'm the same!" Ichigo ended in a roar.

He was sick and tired of being made to feel like an outcast because he no longer hesitated to tell it like it was, without sugar-coating things and beating around the bush. He wasn't the same Kurosaki that would tolerate that conformist bullshit. It baffled him to no end to see an entire group of people so scared, so terrified of confrontation, of being told the truth. How did these people become politicians if they were too afraid of a debate? How did they survive in a world - that didn't hesitate to strip a person bare - if they were afraid of a raised voice? And why, for the love of all things holy, did they think it was OK, think it was perfectly fine to sit on both sides of the fence? Lie and pretend not to have a clue what you were confronting them about? How could they one day love and praise you, only to turn and shun you the next? It confused him and pissed him the fuck off to the point where he'd decided to cut all communication with people, save his family. It wasn't worth it.

The green-eyed kid studied him silently, his blond hair swaying in the breeze as he tilted his head to the side. It didn't seem like he had much of a response and Ichigo found his assumption to be correct when the teen turned and ambled away, glancing over his shoulder back at Ichigo every now and then. Ichigo huffed, unsatisfied. Anger still sang in his bloodstream like a squeaking piece of glass. His heart thundered in his chest and adrenaline made it extremely difficult to sit still. He needed an outlet; he needed to get rid of the piss and vinegar sticking to his insides.

Shit, it hurt not having a place to put so much fury and hatred.


Grimmjow watched the orange-haired teenager named Kurosaki slice through a handful of boys like they were nothing but whipped butter. He sat perched on a fire escape against a brick building in the dank, dirty alley Kurosaki had managed to get cornered into. His chin rested in his palm, elbow braced against his exposed knee. The jeans he wore had certainly seen better days, but he liked them ripped and worn beyond repair.

The air was sharp and cool, making the gray hoodie he wore necessary. He didn't zip it, but the thick lining kept his skin from breaking into goose bumps. The black tee he wore underneath read "Get Sum" and was wrinkled to the point of permanent creases, but he didn't much care about that. He didn't much care about anything, actually. Except that kid down there. Kurosaki. Grimmjow had never seen such conviction before, especially not in the bunch of sheep they attended high school with. Kurosaki had been right. The other teens seemed to single out and outcast those they felt didn't "fit in" with them, leaving trails of hurt in their wake. He and Kurosaki were different, though. They didn't show how being treated like lepers hurt in the traditional manner, like most of the other simpering teens. They exploded like fireworks on the fourth of July. They lashed, they fought, they cursed, they rebelled. They were blunt to a fault and didn't hesitate to speak their minds, another reason Kurosaki appealed to Grimmjow. He licked his lips and watched as Kurosaki seemed to wait until the other teens had disappeared before gathering himself, which Grimmjow could see had been an unsuccessful endeavor, considering the red head was still trembling with rage.

He grinned. Kurosaki was damned intriguing when he was pissed. Not to mention handsome. Deciding now was as good a time as any, Grimmjow rose from his perch and gracefully hopped down the ladder of the fire escape.

"Yo, Kurosaki!"

Kurosaki started, his shoulders twitching before he turned to face Grimmjow, hardened brown eyes narrowed. "What?"

"That couldn'a been satisfyin'," Grimmjow drawled as he sauntered closer to the orange-haired male.

Kurosaki was shorter than him, but a little stockier. Grimmjow wasn't afraid to admit that. Hell, Kurosaki did a lot more fighting than he did these days. Didn't mean he was stronger, though. Another thing Grimmjow noticed about Kurosaki was that the teen's eyes were like hard-wood floors, gleaming with a fresh finish. Kurosaki smelled like blood and sweat, musk and moisture. Grimmjow found the combination interesting, but surprisingly fascinating.

"What are you talking about?" Kurosaki snapped.

Grimmjow arched a brow and stepped even closer, making Kurosaki's shoulders tense and his back stiffen. "Ya know 'zactly what I'm talkin' 'bout."

Then he pushed Kurosaki against the brick wall of the building behind him. He smirked smugly when Kurosaki's brown eyes widened as the air left his lungs. He knew it would take much more to ruffle the tough teen, but he was proud that he'd managed to catch him off guard. Kurosaki's eyes narrowed again as he recovered, but Grimmjow gave him no chance to make any moves. He positioned himself right in front of him, crowding Kurosaki's space and pressing against him. Kurosaki lifted his arms, but thought better of it and left them limply at his sides.

"What do you want, Grimm-jow?" the red head sneered.

A shiver of annoyance swept over Grimmjow, but he disguised it with a sneer of his own. He recognized the action as a defense mechanism that Kurosaki adapted when he was thrown into an unfamiliar situation. "I c'n help."

Kurosaki frowned. "Wha-"

"I c'n help wit' that residual anger yer dealin' wit'," Grimmjow murmured in the red head's ear, using his low pitch to ghost across the fine, bright orange hairs along the side of Kurosaki's neck.

Grimmjow knew that what he was doing was a gamble. He had never encountered any indications of Kurosaki's sexual preference, but Kurosaki intrigued him - in all ways. The fiery anger he displayed, the righteous way he stood up for himself, his body, his mouth...his eyes. Grimmjow would admit he was mildly obsessed with Kurosaki's eyes. In the beginning it had been based solely on disgust. Kurosaki had seemed to look down on him, over him and through him, like Grimmjow didn't even exist. It had pissed him off and made him follow Kurosaki around, if only to find a way to prove to the red head that he wasn't fucking invisible.

Then, he'd started seeing things that changed his perspective on the teen. Kurosaki was like a thousand piece puzzle, broken into tiny, complex bits, but Grimmjow was determined to fit them together until they made sense - no matter how long it took. Luckily, Kurosaki had presented him with the perfect solution. Grimmjow hadn't failed to notice that no matter how hard Kurosaki fought, no matter how much energy he spent, Kurosaki would always maintain a haze of outrage. Grimmjow knew a way to get rid of it that would also get him closer to the fascinating red head. He just hoped Kurosaki wouldn't reject him. Grimmjow glanced down into wary brown eyes and grinned.

He so loved a challenge.


Ichigo glared at the blue-haired teen invading his personal space. He didn't know what Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was up to, but he didn't appreciate the mocking, knowing gaze he was being pinned with. Not one bit. Ichigo had seen Grimmjow around before at school, of course, but they had rarely crossed paths and never exchanged words. The closest he'd been to the other teen was during Chemistry where Grimmjow took up air in the back of the class, his feet kicked up on the desk beside him.

He was usually silent as a tomb, his hard, cold blue eyes revealing nothing under the surface except occasional mockery and disinterest. He wore a permanent sardonic smirk that would sometimes morph into a full-blown, scary as hell grin. For someone with such a devil-may-care attitude, Grimmjow had a perfect set of dazzling white teeth. Grimmjow never seemed to give a shit about his wardrobe, either, which mostly consisted of ratty jeans, worn tees and hoodies. He was never seen without a pair of low-top Converse Chucks that were more than eligible for the trash. All in all, Grimmjow was less than impressive.

But then he would latch onto you with eyes the color of blue fire and just as intense, a wicked smirk tilting the corners of his mouth. And his hair. Strangely, it seemed to be the one thing Grimmjow cared about with his appearance, aside from his TV perfect teeth. It was always shining and immaculate, bright blue and chaotic. He let his sideburns run wild, but the overall effect suited his style.

Ichigo stared into the boy's endless blue eyes, ignoring the way Grimmjow's deep, gravelly burr made the hair all over his body rise. Instead, he focused on the words the taller, thinner teen had previously spoken. "What do you mean by that?"

Grimmjow tilted his head, one large hand coming up to feather down the slope of Ichigo's neck. Ichigo felt his eyes bulge. Was Grimmjow hitting on him? Was "Ya know what I mean, Kurosaki. Or are ya askin' me ta show ya?" the blue-haired teen finished with a low murmur.

Ichigo frowned. "I'm not asking you to-" his words were cut off by a sudden sharp intake of breath.

Grimmjow laved his pulse with a warm, wet tongue and his big hand had found its way underneath Ichigo's sweatshirt. Teeth grazed the tendon in his neck as Grimmjow's fingers found and pinched his left nipple. Blinded by sensation, Ichigo could do nothing except tilt his head back and breathe quietly, eyes wide and distantly focused on the other side of the alley.

He wasn't gay, but he would admit that what Grimmjow was doing to him felt good. Really good, in fact. But it made his gut hot with apprehension and suspicion. What did Grimmjow want? Why was he coming onto him like he was starved for affection? And then Grimmjow's wandering hand made its way beneath the waistbands of Ichigo's sweatpants and boxers.

"Ungh!" he grunted in surprise and arousal.

Grimmjow moved his fiery mouth and tongue to Ichigo's collarbone, nipping, licking, sucking. When his slightly rough hand wrapped around Ichigo's still sleeping member, his back arched away from the wall a bit and his length filled almost immediately.

"See?" Grimmjow mumbled against Ichigo's Adam's apple, breath hot and torturous as his hand squeezed and stroked Ichigo's fully awakened shaft. "I c'n make ya get rid a'that anger, Kurosaki. Jus' let me. It'll benefit us both."

Ichigo crashed to Earth at the mention of anger. Somehow, he found the strength and will to push Grimmjow away, freeing his erection from the teen's eager grasp. "Why?" he snapped, frustration and confusion at Grimmjow's statements returning. "Why would you wanna help me? We aren't even friends."

"No, we ain't, but that don't mean we can't use each other as means to an end. Tell me yer not that stupid?" Grimmjow retorted with a sarcastic eyebrow arch.

"Fuck you. I'm not gay anyhow."

Ichigo could practically hear Grimmjow's smirk as he fixed his clothes and hair. His body was still very much ready to delve more deeply into the things Grimmjow had been doing to him and it affected the way he slowly walked to the mouth of the alley.

There he paused and glanced back at Grimmjow. "Stay away from me, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow narrowed his blue eyes but remained silent and strangely serious. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he watched Ichigo leave the alley. Ichigo decided not to read too much into it. He had a lot of other shit to think about.