A/N: Story first, overdue explanations later.

Disclaimer: I don't own Grimmjow or Ichigo, or anything Bleach related. Only my own twisted insanity - and even that's out on loan!

Hi-Ho, Silver~

.:Beautiful Lie:.

~Part One~

There were times in life – sometimes too few and so far between – when one could let out a breathy, outdrawn sigh of true contentment. You know the times, when nothing is bearing down on you; no prior commitments, no work deadlines or assignments already a week overdue, those few fleeting hours where your mind is completely free to indulge in an activity you actually enjoy, where you can kick back with your feet up, a cold beer in one hand and your favourite book in the other. Only then would you ever hear that brief and oh so ethereal sound of pure satisfaction.

For twenty-two year old Architectural Engineering student Ichigo Kurosaki, the little hum of relaxation was so unexpected, and indeed vacant in his everyday life, it actually startled him somewhat to hear it pour so effortlessly from his own lips. Still, he supposed it wasn't entirely disconcerting, especially considering his current state of mind.

He guessed it around eight o'clock in the evening by now, though he hadn't bothered to check in quite a while, and was presently lounging on the three-man fabric sofa in his spacious two bedroom flat. Kitted out in dark grey sweats and a purple polo shirt, he was cosy and warm, his second glass of Pinot Grigio sitting within arms reach on the oak coffee table to his immediate left, neglected for the time being in favour of slightly more favourable actions, what with his left hand occupied holding a fairly worn-out copy of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, and his right busy languidly scratching through the silky soft strands of the one currently applying a comfortable and thoroughly familiar pressure on his stomach.

There was a slight rumbling coming from said pressure, one that was lightly vibrating against the his abdominal muscles and causing a fond smile to tilt the corners of his mouth skyward. If Ichigo didn't know any better, he'd say that the noise was almost like a lazy purr. But alas, he knew better than to comment on as much out loud and hence decided to keep the opinion to himself.

All in all, it was safe to say that Ichigo was ridiculously tranquil right now, the harmonious and serene atmosphere that had settled down around him seemingly impenetrable as he turned the page of his book and let loose yet another contented sigh.

"Fuckin' hell, Kurosaki. Quit all your damn sighin' already, am tryin' to watch this."

Ichigo frowned down at the being sprawled out between his spread thighs, stilling his fingers from petting through the mane of electric teal tresses atop of the head nestled into his stomach. Grimmjow freaking Jeagerjaques. Well, if anyone was going to ruin the peaceful ambience settled down around them, it was bound to be him.

The twenty-three year old qualified mechanic, dressed in loose fitting green khakis and a light grey thermal, was horrifically loud in just about every aspect of his life, whether it was partying, fighting, fucking, or even attempting to belt out his favourite rock ballads in the shower. Also, rather unfortunately for every living being in the free world, he had absolutely no hint of a brain-to-mouth filter, so anything the older man was thinking, Ichigo – and every other poor sucker within a five mile radius – was bound to hear about it.

His one saving grace, if you could really call it that, was that the man was quite simply drop-dead gorgeous. With piercing orbs the colour of deep Caribbean waters, tousled teal locks constantly sporting that 'just out of bed' look, and a sinfully chiselled body that'd make any modern-day Adonis green with envy, Grimmjow definitely had the looks to back up his rather aggressively capricious nature – and boy did he ever know it.

"Well, it was a happy sigh," Ichigo stated at long last, rolling his eyes in disdain at the shattered tranquillity. "But now that you've effectively ruined that mood, you won't have to worry about hearing it again." Resuming his leisurely petting through the blunette's hair, he huffed when he realised what the older male was watching on their 50" plasma. "I don't see what you're getting so pissy about anyways; you're following the highlights of a game you watched, what, three hours ago?"

Scowling, the blunette tilted his head to lock crystalline blue eyes with the other. "Yeah, so? Yer readin' some book that ya've probably read, oh I dunno, like a hundred times over by now."

"'Some book'? Grimm, Lord of the Rings is one of the greatest novels of all time. It's sold like a hundred and fifty million copies!"

"Whoop-de-fuckin'-do, Berry," Grimmjow deadpanned, turning his attention back to the flatscreen. "It could'a sold a billion copies, but that ain't ever gonna change the text on the inside. I don't get how ya don't bore yerself stupid readin' the same bullshit over an' over again…"

Ichigo shrugged, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I guess I just have the brain capacity to enjoy the grander things in life. I wouldn't expect a Neanderthal like you to understand."

A low rumble reverberated deep within Grimmjow's throat at the sarky insinuation that his intelligence was subpar, the action vibrating against Ichigo's stomach and causing him to squirm. Grimmjow paid this no mind, having found out quite some time ago just how ticklish the younger could be.

"Call me whatever the fuck ya like, Strawberry, but at least I know I'ma manly man – which is a helluva lot more than can be said about you."

Grimmjow couldn't help the mirthful chuckle that poured from his lips when slender fingers fisted harshly in his hair, the body beneath him practically thrumming with rage. Fuck, it was so incredibly easy to rile up the fiery younger male it almost wasn't fun anymore.


"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ichigo groused, ochre eyes narrowed in contempt as he glared down at the snickering older male.

Carefully resting his near-empty bottle of Budweiser on the floor, Grimmjow reached one large, callused hand up to disentangle the peachy digits from his hair before propping himself up on his forearms, one resting on either side of Ichigo's slim hips so that he could better watch his reactions.

He and Ichigo had been the best of buds since their Junior High years, the rather unlikely bond forming during a minor scuffle wherein pride, honour, and outrageous hair colour had been called into question. Having had each other's back without even needing to ask, and silently admiring the other's physical duress, the budding seed of camaraderie had been firmly planted.

Forget that that little seed had blossomed into so much more for a certain blue haired male, that whenever Grimmjow got the chance to be alone with the younger he simply devoured every single detail of that beautiful being; those stunning ochre eyes always so open and warm, that head full of luminous orange spikes as soft to the touch as a kitten's fur, that long, lean body sculpted into athletic perfection and all neatly wrapped up in delicious peachy skin.

Yeah, forget all that. Because, with the vixenish Strawberry never available for consumption for longer than two fucking seconds, Grimmjow sure as hell had to.

Pushing all depressing thoughts of wanting what he couldn't possibly attain to the side, Grimmjow instead focused on the moment at hand, grinning devilishly at the sight of orange tinted eyebrows knitting together in obvious offence. When beautiful ochre orbs tightened, glittering a dangerous honey-gold, Grimmjow could feel his blood simmering in excitement. If there was one thing he loved about the orange haired male, it was that volatile temper of his. He was so goddamn quick to anger, and even quicker to cut loose and throw the first punch. Grimmjow positively adored that about him, and was constantly encouraging said behaviour through a series of timely antagonistic remarks, or a much needed physical shove when that didn't quite pan out.

"What it means is; I," Grimmjow jammed a thumb against his chest, "enjoy manly things – like soccer, and beer, and even the odd set'a melons if they're big enough. Whereas you," here he threw an accusatory finger in Ichigo's direction, "my dear Berry, have spent so much time on yer knees suckin' cock, ya've forgotten that ya have one of yer own."

Grimmjow barely had time enough to blink, let alone defend himself, before he suddenly got a face full of Tolkien's epic fantasy – and you better believe that sucker hurt. Ichigo had the Collector's Edition!

"You're such a dick, Grimm," Ichigo growled, his features twisting into a dark scowl even though he had thoroughly enjoyed assaulting the blunette. It always proved to be rather therapeutic.

Rubbing tentatively at his abused forehead and nose, Grimmjow returned the icy glare. "And yer a temperamental bitch, Kurosaki. Guess we've all got our follies."

Ichigo merely scoffed, putting up a hardback barrier between himself and the blunette. "Whatever, asshole. Just shut up and watch your stupid match."

Curling his lip at the blatant brush-off, and yet finding himself much too comfortable right now to kick up a fuss, Grimmjow begrudgingly complied, polishing off his beverage with an indignant "Tch" before settling his head back onto Ichigo's toned stomach, the beckoning warmth and alluring scent of which had him forgetting he was ever ticked off in the first place.

The next half an hour or so passed in relative silence for the two young men, the only interruptions being the odd ream of expletives from Grimmjow toward the television when his team foolishly disregarded his incessant 'council', and the barely audible sound of printed pages turning during the rare moments it was actually quiet enough to hear such a thing. The whole "you don't own a functioning cock" debacle had been well and truly brushed aside in favour of a lazy evening with minimal conscious thought.

Oh, yes. Order had been restored, and all was pleasantly calm and lethargic…

…until Ichigo started fidgeting.

Grimmjow, being one to irk at the touch of a button, could only take so much of his personal body pillow's constant, irritable twitching, before he invariably flipped his lid.

"Christ all fuckin' mighty, Kurosaki!" he snapped, giving Ichigo's side a harsh pinch in reprimand. "Ya got ants in yer pants or fuckin' what? Stop squirmin'!"

"Ow, bastard!" Ichigo growled, flicking the blunette hard right between the eyes in retaliation for the nip. "And maybe I could stop squirming if my foot hadn't gone dead, ya fat fuck!"

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes dangerously. His body was a fucking temple, thank you very much. "Muscle weighs more than fat, bitch. I can't help it if I'm a fuckin' stud."

Ichigo didn't even bother trying to hold back a derisive snort. "Yeah, right. Try 'ass', ya narcissistic jock." Giving a firm shove to the blunette's shoulder, he attempted to free his poor limb currently sandwiched between Grimmjow's side and the back of the couch. "Move it, fatty! Preferably before you cut off the circulation completely!"

Grumbling under his breath, Grimmjow petulantly resisted, curling his arms around the small of Ichigo's back and burying his face against his abdomen. He was quite the happy camper given their rather intimate proximity, and he wasn't prepared to give that up just yet. Not without a fight! The orange haired youth was stubbornly persistent, though, and eventually Grimmjow had no choice but to concede. It was either that or risk a fucking concussion with the amount of blows he took to the head during Ichigo's relentless barrage and energetic struggling.

"Grahh, fine!" Grimmjow finally admitted defeat after a too-close-for-comfort call involving Ichigo's knee and his prized jewels. "Yer such a goddamn woman sometimes," he huffed as he extricated himself from the younger male, tetchily fixing his shirt as he stood up and glared down on the gleefully sprawling Berry. The little shit. "Yer lucky I got'a unleash the dragon, otherwise yer ass'd be grass, Kurosaki."

Ichigo chuckled at the empty threat as the blunette made for the bathroom, sighing contentedly as blood started flowing back into his still tingling foot. "Don't you mean salamander?" he called after the retreating Grimmjow.

"I heard that, fucker!" was the muted retort.

Ichigo gave an impish grin. "It wasn't supposed to be a secret!"

The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut was his only reply.

In the bathroom, after having relieved himself, Grimmjow was somehow managing to smirk and frown at the same time. His emotions – and facial features, apparently – always seemed to be at odds with each other when it came to the fiery redhead. And, even after all these years, he still couldn't figure out whether or not that was a good thing.

"Mouthy lil' punk-ass," he griped to his own reflection, glowering as he tried to smooth out the mussed-up look Ichigo had unconsciously created when playing with his hair. "Thinks he knows it all. God I'd love to put him in his place…"

The rather erotic mental image of Ichigo panting, flush-faced, and writhing in ecstasy sprang unbidden, though not entirely unwanted, into Grimmjow's mind. Sharp cerulean eyes bled slowly to a heady, midnight blue, his heart giving a spastic flutter against his ribs as the lewd vision seared itself into his brain. Gripping the edges of the porcelain sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Grimmjow clenched his jaw and hung his head.

It wasn't fair. Why did so many others get to experience Ichigo in ways that he could literally only dream about? Why was he always left dawdling on the sidelines; forever ensnared within the infuriating limbo that was the 'Friend Zone'?

Grimmjow knew he could make the hot-blooded redhead happy, and that he'd do a much fucking better job than all the fainthearted losers that had come before him. In spite of what he'd said earlier, he and Ichigo weren't always so contradictory, they did like some of the same stuff. For instance, uh…classic rock, and um…spicy food! They even enjoyed the odd turn at a good old fashioned shoot 'em up on the PS3. And, as an added bonus, they got along for the most part. Sometimes. Kind of…

The point is; he knows Ichigo. How to make him smile, laugh, cringe, blow his fucking fuse. Hell, he'd even made him cry a couple of times! Through laughter, of course, because honestly? For all his faults, Grimmjow just didn't have it in him to ever seriously hurt his Strawberry. Mentally or physically. Sure they wouldn't be the textbook definition of 'perfect', but shit, Grimmjow genuinely couldn't think of a single motherfucker in existence he'd rather be with.

It just wasn't fair.

"God damn it! Why in the hell did I have to fall for that satsuma headed brat!" he demanded of himself, baring his teeth angrily when his reflection offered no explanation on the subject. Pushing away from the sink, Grimmjow rolled his shoulders, snorting at the image staring back at him. "Keh. Who the hell asked you anyway, coward?"

When Grimmjow returned to the living room, Ichigo was just how he left him – a lard-ass dork reading his stupid fucking wizard book. Or goblins. Or elves… Fuck! Whatever the hell it was about! None of that shit mattered. All that was important was that Ichigo was one effin' sexy dork…

Damn it.

"Hey, Grimm…? Were you, ah, talking to yourself in there?"

Grimmjow faltered mid-step at the somewhat delicate question, before quickly righting himself and sneering at his friend. "What're you, high?" he groused as he slumped down onto the couch. "Shut the fuck up an' quit bein' so damn weird."

"Well excuse me…" Ichigo drawled, draping his legs over Grimmjow's thighs as soon as the man looked relaxed in his position. "At least this 'weirdo' doesn't have one-sided conversations with himself."

Lip twitching, Grimmjow snapped his head toward the younger. "Look, I already told ya I– Oi! What the fuck is that?"

Blinking at the abrupt change in subject, Ichigo cocked a slender brow. "Huh? What's what?"

"That," Grimmjow replied, pointing in the general vicinity of Ichigo's face. When the highly confused redhead merely raised his eyebrow higher, Grimmjow deadpanned. "In yer mouth, idiot. What're ya eatin'?"

"Oooh. Why didn't you just say that in the first place, moron?" Ichigo chastised, scowling quite typically. "It's gum."

As if to prove the authenticity of his words, he took a moment to blow a bright pink bubble, before popping it loudly and resuming his chewing. Grimmjow glared at the display.

"And you call me fat…" he quipped, holding out his hand expectantly. "Gimme a bit, ya greedy douchebag."

"Can't," was Ichigo's haughty response, a teasing smirk ghosting over pink lips as he playfully knocked the beseeching appendage away. "That was my last piece."

Grimmjow felt an agitated tick flaring up in his right eye as Ichigo blatantly baited him, that infernal bloody grin stretching wider and wider as he chewed noisily, the icing on the cake the constant 'pop, pop, pop' as he blew viscid bubble after viscid bubble.

Rumbling low in his throat, Grimmjow was surprisingly undeterred. He would never admit defeat, damn it! No matter the cost…

"Don't be a cunt, Kurosaki. Share."

Ichigo frowned. "I told you, Grimm, this is–"

"Yer last piece, yeah, I get it," Grimmjow interrupted with a dismissive wave. "I meant share what ya got there."

"You mean this?" Ichigo asked dumbfounded, indicating his working jaw. Grimmjow simply inclined his head in the affirmative. "Okay. Just to be absolutely clear, you are talking about the gum that's already in my mouth? The same piece I've been saturating with my own saliva for about, oh, five minutes now?"

Grimmjow furiously fought back a pleasurable shiver at the mention of Ichigo's saliva. Christ if he hadn't wondered what that tasted like since fucking high school.

Swallowing thickly, he strived to seem as impassive as possible. "Yeah. What'sa matter, Kurosaki? Afraid you'll give me cooties?"

"What? No! It's just I… I mean it…" Ichigo could feel heat rising in his cheeks as he struggled to articulate himself. "It's so gross, Grimm!" he eventually snapped, his nose scrunching up in a grimace. "Why would you want something I've slobbered all over?"

Repressing yet another a shudder, Grimmjow opted to roll his eyes instead. "Oh grow up, ya fuckin' ponce. We've shared food loads'a times an' ya never threw a hissy fit before."

Blushing rather hotly now, Ichigo sputtered. "Y-Yeah – but that's different! It's not like we've ever, y'know…eaten directly out of each other's mouths…"

Not that Ichigo hadn't ever thought about such a thing before. Not necessarily the whole cuisine aspect of it, but rather what it would be like to kiss the sinfully handsome blunette. What? He's only human, for Christ's sake – give him a break!

"Don't be such a whiny baby, Ichigo," Grimmjow badgered, slowly angling his body toward the flustered redhead. "I'm only askin' for gum, not one'a yer damn kidneys! Now, hand it over."

Ichigo defiantly clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head in the negative as he backed away from the advancing blunette as much as the couch would allow. This did nothing but goad Grimmjow on.

"I ain't askin', brat," he stated, a certain gleam in those captivating cerulean eyes putting the younger male on edge. "Either spit it out willingly, or I'll make ya cough it up. Dealer's choice…"

When Ichigo gave a bullheaded glare, wordlessly refusing to obey either option, Grimmjow couldn't help but smirk. So his little Berry wanted to play, ey? Heh. Game fucking on.

"Hardball it is then," Grimmjow practically purred, his blood humming excitedly at the prospect of the upcoming hunt.

Catching the feral, almost predatory aura suddenly emanating from the older male, Ichigo quickly sprang into action, only just managing to execute a basic tuck and roll manoeuvre before Grimmjow pounced. Landing with a not so graceful thud upon the wooden floor, Ichigo scrambled to find his footing, cursing himself to the depths of Hades and back again for bothering his arse to wear socks.

Grimmjow, noticing the younger's desperate attempt to find any sort of traction on their polished flooring, made a reach to grab him by the back of his sweats before he could make his getaway. But alas, his juicy Strawberry was a slippery little bugger and, after a minor tussle, he was off like a fucking whippet. Smirk tugging exponentially wider, Grimmjow leapt up from the couch, adrenaline pumping thick and hot through his veins whilst abnormally sharp canines glinted savagely under the lights.

Let the hunting commence!

Aa. This really was an overly awkward slash supremely intimate position to find oneself in with a man you have no romantic connection to…

Ichigo, cheeks dusted with pink and breathing ragged after the 'epic' chase around their apartment, presently found himself pinned to the wall by their front door, the blunette finally having seized him after a sneak attack when he'd made a break for the kitchen. With his back pressed flush against the papered drywall, his chest heaving against Grimmjow's with every breath, and his wrists held in a firm yet merciful grip by his head, he knew he wouldn't be making a bid for freedom any time in the foreseeable furture.

Truth be told, Grimmjow was in no better condition himself. In fact, he would go as far to say that he had it much worse. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and neck due to his over-exertion, a balmy warmth cascading over his whole body making him feel altogether light-headed. Of course, it also didn't help that he had his body moulded so snugly against Ichigo's, that said male was panting and blushing and positively radiating heat, that their faces were scant centimetres apart…

Swiping his tongue across his suddenly too dry lips, Grimmjow flashed an arrogant smirk to his cornered prey. "Well… Looks like I caught ya, Kurosaki."

Ichigo, avidly following the movement of that pink, moist muscle – before immediately catching himself on and snapping out of it – tried his best to sound nonchalant. He was pretty certain he failed, though.

"Yeah, only because you cheated, asshole."

"Don't be a sore loser," Grimmjow chuckled, senses on high alert and all too aware of every single area where his body brushed against the other. "It's not very becomin'."

Casually leaning forward, and reducing those scant centimetres to mere millimetres, Grimmjow couldn't help but feel an excited burst of carnal pleasure when Ichigo's breath hitched and ochre eyes widened.

"Now, to claim my victory…"

Panicking just a tad, Ichigo tried in vain to free his hands. "Grimm – wait! I-I… I don't have it!"

Pausing his advance momentarily, Grimmjow arched a blue-tinted brow. "Eh? Have what?"

"Uhh, the gum…?"

Grimmjow started. Fuck, that's right – the bubblegum. That's how this whole thing kicked off. Needless to say, Grimmjow honestly couldn't give two shits about that anymore. But still, got to keep up appearances…

"Well where is it, then?"

Ichigo hastily averted his gaze off toward the door, a furious hot pink pooling around his neck and into the tips of his ears. "I, um…kind'a swallowed it. Like, ten minutes ago…"

Oho? So the delectable Strawberry had kept up pretences even after the original object of desire was long gone? Heh. This little titbit of information made Grimmjow exceedingly happy – and suddenly very ravenous.

"Is that so?" he drawled, a wicked grin threatening to split his face in two. "How do I know yer not lyin' to me, ey? Y'know, holdin' out on the goods?"

Ichigo felt an involuntary groan bubble up his throat when the older male applied more pressure against his body along with his last word. Sheer willpower and determination alone saw it strangled before it could issue forth and make his current predicament any more compromising than it already was.

"I c-could show you," he offered, his voice entirely too breathy for his liking.

Grimmjow was becoming more and more turned on with every passing second. If Ichigo didn't stop acting so damn fuckable, and soon, then they were both in serious trouble.

"Mmm, that's not good enough, Ichi," Grimmjow purred, unable to control the surge of hormones currently dictating his actions. You can only push a guy so far, after all. "Ya could be hidin' it in there somewhere. I won't be satisfied until I check for myself…"

Ichigo pressed himself hard against the wall, his head colliding painfully with the solid surface in his efforts as the blunette drew closer still. His heart was completely spazzing out, his brain functionings threatening to short-circuit and his palms sweating – god help him, he didn't know what to do! On the one hand, Grimmjow was indeed a very attractive man; all rippling muscle, flawless tawny skin and bucket heaps of swagger – who wouldn't want to explore that? But on the other, vastly more logical hand, Ichigo was very, very unavailable, and betrayal was just so incredibly wrong. It went against everything moral code he stood for!

Absolutely racked with indecision, and with Grimmjow's hungry eyes cutting through to his very core, Ichigo – and his damnably traitorous body – chose to leave it up to fate. At least in her hands he couldn't be held accountable for his actions…right?

Eyelids fluttering closed when the blunette's face drew too close to properly focus on without going cross-eyed, Ichigo let go of his morality, his ethics – his very sanity – and simply gave in to the maddening pull of animalistic instinct.

Grimmjow couldn't quite believe it when he felt Ichigo's body draining of all previous tension, the boy becoming soft and plaint in his arms as he gently brushed their noses together. Was this it? Was Ichigo really giving up; giving in? Christ, he'd been dreaming about this day since the seventh grade. He couldn't rush this. He had to take his time and make this golden opportunity count. This was his chance to show Ichigo that they could work, that they could be happy together as so much more than poxy roommates.

Taking a brief moment to drink it all in, knowing it could be his one and only shot before Ichigo suddenly regained his senses, Grimmjow curled his arms possessively around the redhead, one draping across his shoulders and the other winding about his waist, as he buried his face in silky orange spikes and drowned himself in Ichigo's bewitching, citrusy scent.

Quietly brushing his rough lips over a warm, peachy cheek, Grimmjow felt a genuine smile grace his mouth at the soft breath Ichigo exhaled directly by his ear. Everything was perfect; the mood, the setting, Ichigo…

Nothing could ruin it now.


Absolutely nothing.


Not a single thing.

'I'm going to kill him. I'm going to rip his balls off with my bare hands, blend them into a fine paste, and shove it so far up his ass he'll hack up his innards. And then I'm gonna kill him some more. That interfering, cock-blocking, wank-stained cunt of a motherfucker…'

These were some of the more articulate, and surprisingly less colourful, thoughts currently warring through Grimmjow's head.

The explanation for such a dramatic turn of events, as well as Grimmjow's unprecedented fury, could be summed up in one simple word; Shūhei. God, the name alone left a nasty acidic taste on the tip of Grimmjow's tongue, even when uttered within the confines of his own damn head.

Shūhei Hisagi was Ichigo's playboy boyfriend of the past eight months or so, and hence Grimmjow's mortal enemy. He couldn't stand the bastard. Not that stupid spiky head of raven hair, or his pretty-boy features, and especially not his 'I'm such a badass' attitude. Che. As if a few measly scars and a pathetic tattoo or two was enough to validate such a statement. Just who in the hell was he trying to impress with that ridiculous '69' tattoo inked right on his fucking face of all places? Damn he pissed Grimmjow off just by breathing. Even more so now that he'd interrupted the single most important, cataclysmic event that would surely ever happen in his life! There he'd been, ready to suck the very existence from Ichigo with a soul-searing kiss the likes of which would have had the Berry melting into his arms – and, good fortune permitting, his bed – when that brainless fucking moron had suddenly swept in unannounced and fucked everything up six ways from fucking Sunday!

As could only be expected, Ichigo damn near had a fucking cow when he heard the door being unlocked from the outside, shoving Grimmjow away from his person with the kind of strength the elder didn't even know he possessed. Stumbling back from the sheer force of the extraction, Grimmjow slammed into the opposite wall hard enough to lose his breath just as Shūhei had strolled in, the man all beaming smiles and candy-toned, "Honey, I'm home~!"

Turns out, as a glorious little surprise for his vibrant haired lover, Shūhei had booked an earlier flight than originally anticipated from his two week vacation with the lads to Europe. Obviously he hadn't told Ichigo, hoping to be reunited with his precious 'Ichi' in splendiferous fanfare worthy of the climax to those sappy romance films.

Ugh. What a fucking douche.

And now here they all sat, one big, dysfunctional fucking family. Ichigo was seated in Shūhei's lap on the black leather La-Z-Boy recliner, the two lovers catching up on lost time, whilst Grimmjow was left to stew in his own venomous rage on the couch he'd been blissfully lounging on with his Berry not an hour earlier.

Where was the justice?

"Everythin' okay over there, Jeagerjaques?" Shūhei suddenly inquired, his deep baritone instantly grating on Grimmjow's raw last nerve. "You're glaring at me harder than usual. I didn't interrupt somethin' when I came in, did I?"

'Too fuckin' right ya did, asshat,' Grimmjow snarled internally. He refrained from saying as much out loud, however, not after catching sight of pleading ochre eyes silently beseeching him not to go off on one and accidentally reveal what had happened.

Sorry. What had nearly happened.

"Don't be ridiculous, Romeo," Grimmjow replied, his voice thick with biting sarcasm. "I'm so fuckin' happy to see ya I could just shit."

Eyes the steely grey colour of an angry storm narrowed in Grimmjow's direction, clearly unimpressed with the blunette's sledgehammer wit – not that Grimmjow could possibly care any less. Even though he'd never breathed a single word to a any living soul of his passionate interest in the orange haired male, Grimmjow wasn't so naïve as to believe that it wasn't painfully obvious. To everyone except Ichigo, that is. That simple-minded boy wouldn't see his own goddamn hand coming until it smacked him square in the face. As such, Grimmjow would be willing to bet the big bucks that Shūhei knew all too well of his true intentions toward his lover, and henceforth their immediate and unyielding animosity toward one another.

"Well, as glad as I am to hear that," Shūhei began, a devious smirk tilting his lips in a way that promptly put Grimmjow on edge, "I hope you don't mind if I monopolise our little Ichi-kins here for the rest of the night, ne?"

"The hell?" Ichigo protested, glowering down at his raven haired lover from atop his fleshy perch. "Don't call me 'Ichi-kins', ya ballbag!"

Grimmjow grinned, genuinely elated that Ichigo had snapped at the older male. However, his temporary flux in emotion soon came crashing down alongside Shūhei's next words.

"Aw don't be like that, babe," he simpered, turning on the charm as he wrapped strong arms around the smaller's trim waist. "I've just missed ya, is all. That brute's had your undivided attention for a whole fortnight, and now it's my turn." Grimmjow had to physically turn away when Shūhei leaned up to place a heated kiss upon Ichigo's lips, his murderous intent fluctuating wildly. "C'mon, Ichi. Let's go get…reacquainted, hn?"

Grimmjow felt sick to his stomach at the salacious insinuation, sharp teeth gnawing at his bottom lip until he tasted copper on his tongue when he heard the leather from the recliner creaking as Ichigo and his bastarding beau stood up. Keeping his scathing gaze religiously downcast, Grimmjow could only wince when a slender, peach hued hand settled on his shoulder.

"G'night, Grimm," Ichigo said, his honeyed baritone airy and chockfull of an emotion the blunette didn't particularly want to place. "I… I guess I'll see ya later."

"Sweet dreams, Jeagerjaques."

And with that, the couple was gone.

Knocking on the varnished green door harder, Grimmjow audibly growled. His rapidly waning patience was so not in the mood to be kept waiting right now.

As soon as Ichigo and Shūhei had retired for the night, Grimmjow had made a snap decision, and, after procuring his favourite leather jacket, got the fuck out of the apartment. Like fuck he was going to sit around all night listening to the amorous consolidation of the two lovebirds in the next room. Hearing his luscious Strawberry moaning out any name other than his own would only be such agonising torture – and he would know.

Seriously, what was Ichigo thinking? Didn't he know that Shūhei wasn't good enough for him? And no, that wasn't just Grimmjow's own biased prejudice speaking. Grimmjow knew this to be hard, stone-cold fact, knew with every fibre of his being that Shūhei was nothing but bad fucking news. How did he know, you might wonder? Simple. Because – although he absolutely loathed to admit it – Shūhei and he were exactly the same. Feral, brash, unafraid of taking anything they wanted.

Shūhei was a predator through-and-through.

Fierce. Proud. Hungry.

Just like Grimmjow.

Curling his hand into a fist, Grimmjow proceeded to pound at the apartment door in front of him instead, little flecks of paint shaking loose under the brutal punishment.

"Open the fuck up, dickwad!" he hollered, not caring a jot that the noise was loud enough to disturb the neighbours. "I know yer in there!"

"Hold yer fuckin' horses!" came the muffled reply from inside, a long series of bolts, chains and locks coming undone soon following before, finally, the blasted door was wrenched open. "I swear, someone'd better be dy–! Oh. It's jus' you."

Leaning against the side of the door, with a none too enthusiastic look upon his face, was the one and only Tsukishiro Kurosaki – Ichigo's slightly older twin brother.

Known simply as Shirosaki to friends and family, the young male stood an inch or two taller than his sibling, and was the polar opposite to Ichigo in nearly every conceivable way. With menacing orbs of molten gold glittering against a haunting obsidian backdrop, a head full of silvery locks sitting in a disarray of choppy spikes long enough to obscure his vision and brush along his shoulders, and a lithe figure encased in alabaster skin as smooth to the touch as polished marble, the man was like a demonic, bleached-out version of his younger brother.

Other than tempers more explosive than live dynamite, the Kurosaki twins had but one visible similarity; they were both unlawfully sexy.

Letting his eyes rove over the delectable little morsel, discreetly of course, Grimmjow gave a mental groan of approval. Shirosaki wore nothing but low-riding leather pants – that might as well have been painted on – and black nail varnish. His torso was completely bare, showcasing a nicely toned stomach, firm pectorals, and a lightly protruding collarbone. A snowy left eyebrow was adorned with two silver bars, the right corner of his bottom lip pierced with a black hoop, several earrings of varying luminous colours hugged each ear, a silver ring was skewered through his left nipple, and a belly-bar depicting a shining jade cannabis leaf was punctured through his navel. A silver cross hung loosely around his neck on a thin chain, the symbol coming to rest neatly between his pecs, and, although you couldn't tell just by looking, Grimmjow knew the little Snow White minx also had his tongue pierced.

Snapping himself from the hypnotic trance Shirosaki always managed to weave over him, Grimmjow completely bypassed any phoney pleasantries and barged his way into the humble abode with a mumble of, "'Bout fuckin' time, Snowbell."

"Oh please, do come on in, Grimmjaw. Make yerself at home," Shirosaki replied sardonically, rolling his eyes when it was clear the blunette was ignoring him as he slammed the door shut behind them.

Shirking his jacket, Grimmjow made his way into the small, sparsely furnished living room, the musty aroma of weed assaulting his nostrils and already irritating his eyes. That was hardly surprising, though, considering that Shirosaki was one of the biggest stoners he'd ever met. Had been ever since their middle school years. What was surprising, however, was that they weren't as alone as he would have liked.

Orbs of liquid gold and shimmering amethyst swivelled in his direction upon entering the room, one set bleary and unfocused, quite indicative of being absolutely trashed, whilst the others were slitted and calculating. 'Probably at that insanely paranoid stage,' Grimmjow mused to himself.

Both occupants were slim figured, with fresh, youthful features and long, slender limbs. One had scruffy black hair, complete with braided ponytail, and the other a sleek raven bob. In spite of soft looking facial traits, the one with the braid was quite clearly male, as was highlighted with a black muscle shirt and ripped denim jeans. The other Grimmjow wasn't so sure about. 'Pretty' immediately sprang to mind, which didn't help matters. Couple that with a ridiculously long-sleeved zip-up overcoat and junk-constricting skinnies, Grimmjow knew they were either dealing with an overly feminine dude, or an unfortunately average female.

Paying no further heed to either, Grimmjow instead turned his attention to the snowy-skinned male shimmying past him.

"Lovely party, Casper. Pity I wasn't invited."

"Fuck up, retard. Like I'd ever invite yer loud-ass trap anywhere," Shirosaki snorted, throwing him a one fingered salute before addressing the two figures sprawled out on the floor. "Alrigh' ya fuckin' potheads, time ta get lost."

"What? Why the fuck for?" demanded the golden eyed male, slouching back further in the beanbag seat he'd commandeered. "We were just gettin' started."

"I agree," the androgynous one concurred, words slurring as he rose to his knees from his position between the others legs. "The night's still young, Shi-baby~ And I for one certainly wouldn't object to Big Blue here joining in the festivities."

Grimmjow reeled back slightly at the lascivious glint in the smaller male's lavender eyes, his lip curling in obvious distaste and perhaps a little offence. He liked his men as just that – men. He wouldn't ever waste his time on someone who couldn't even make up their mind as to which gender to assume. He liked a fight, a challenge; someone with a little bite. This young male simpering at his feet like some bitch in heat looked like he would physically brake if subjected to the kind of brutal treatment a lust fuelled Grimmjow could dish out. So yeah – no fucking thank you.

Catching the look of utter contempt and repulsion on his good friend's face, Shirosaki wisely chose to intervene before Grimmjow got blood stains on his carpet. Again.

"Back off, Luppi. He ain't interested."

With a full-lipped pout worthy of any young schoolgirl, the one dubbed Luppi sat back once more. "Spoilsport…"

"Trust me, kid," Grimmjow added with a carnivorous grin. "Ya wouldn't be able to handle what I've got to offer."

Amethyst eyes lit up. "Ooh really? Care to test that theory?"

Before Grimmjow could utter another word, Shirosaki quickly butt in. "Oi! Didn' I tell you two fucks ta get the hell out already? Get yer shit tagether an' scat. You too, Vega."

Luppi obediently staggered to his feet, an inebriated smile curling his mouth as he swayed precariously on the spot. The other male, however, obstinately refused, crossing thin arms across a narrow chest as he glared at Shirosaki. Growling low in his throat, Shirosaki stepped up to the silent threat.

"I wasn't askin', Ggio," he stated calmly, that echoic voice of his giving the words a viciously menacing edge. "I ain't got no problem physically removin' ya if I haf'ta. Wouldn't be the first time, either – an' you an' I both know how tha' lil' fiasco panned out last time…"

Standing passively on the sidelines, Grimmjow was amused to witness a miniscule twinge of fear pass through the slightly more masculine Ggio's eyes, his jaw clenching and hands balling up on his knees. Grimmjow couldn't really blame him, though, knowing firsthand that Shirosaki's outward appearance was considerably deceiving. When it came to achieving his goals – and even more so when protecting his younger brother – the alabaster male could be a fucking maelstrom of destructive power. Grimmjow had seen the guy take down men at least three times his own body weight without breaking a sweat – hell, he'd even taken a knock or two himself over the years. He was tangible proof to Shirosaki's undisputable strength.

With an exaggerated huff, Ggio finally backed down, the small male baring pearly white teeth as he awkwardly freed himself from the beanbag.

"Fine," he bit out, throwing on a grungy green army jacket. "Have it your way, Shiro. But just remember, you owe me."

Shirosaki, now that the heavy atmosphere had subsided, gave a lazy wave of dismissal. "Yeah yeah, don' sweat it, Tiger. I'll hook ya up tomorrow."

This seemed to appease the youth somewhat as he nodded his consent, and, after seizing hold of the happily psychedelic Luppi's wrist, left the room. When the sound of the front door clicking shut resounded throughout the cosy apartment, Shirosaki let loose a weary sigh, scratching absently at his stomach as he turned to face his newest guest.

"So…" Grimmjow began, staring distractedly as black varnished nails raked over marbled skin. "Friends'a yers?"

Snapping his fingers a couple of times to regain the blunette's diverted attention, Shirosaki smirked when stunning pools of cerulean slowly trailed back up to his face. Though not before making several pitstops along the way.

"Naw, not really," he answered when he'd successfully attained the pervert's focus. "They mostly come round fer gear. Though tha's not ta say they don' have their uses."

Grimmjow arched a brow. "Fuck buddies? Really? They look like chicks…that Luppi character especially."

"I'll admit tha', independently, they're a pretty lousy lay. But together… Well, ya know wha' they say; strength in numbers." Shirosaki gave a flirty wink. "An' besides, ya know I like 'em all petite an' defenceless."

"Uh-huh..." Grimmjow droned, neatly folding his arms. "And that would make me…?"

"Ha!" Shirosaki barked, those alluring eyes brimming with mirth. "As if ya can trick me inta feedin' tha' monstrous ego'a yers, Kitten. Nice try, though."

"Oh, so that skinny fuck Vega is a man eating tiger, but I'm a pitiful little kitten? The hell! That's fuckin' favouritism!"

Shirosaki gave the seething older male a devious grin as he leisurely closed the distance between them, his golden eyes flashing wickedly as he fisted Grimmjow's thermal and pressed sensually up against him.

"Sorry, Grimm," he purred coyly, dark lashes fanning out over milky cheekbones. "I fergot ya much prefer Pantera, ne?"

Settling his large hands on Shirosaki's hips, Grimmjow bit back a growl. "Don't try me, Snowflake. I'm in a very ravishy mood right now."

Shirosaki chuckled, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips over the blunette's jaw. "Aa. Mah lil' Ichi-King provin' ta be too much of a temptation again?"

"Not quite," Grimmjow rumbled, pulling the younger flush against him. "Fucking Prince Charming came home early…"

"Ah. Mr. Double-Fellatio?" Nipping harshly at the elder's throat, Shirosaki suddenly banished him from his person with a firm shove. "An' suddenly yer bein' here makes sense."

"Ack, shit. Don't be pissy, Shi," Grimmjow protested, his features set into a dark scowl. "Fuck knows I got plenty enough of that for the both of us."

"I can imagine," Shirosaki muttered, the eye roll implied in his tone. "Yer pathetic, Grimmjaw, ya know tha'? Pinin' over someone ya can't have, then seekin' solace in the next best thing when it's rubbed in yer face. Che. Yer lucky yer such a fantastic fuck, otherwise there's no way I'd ever put up with even half a'yer shit."

"Hey," Grimmjow snarled, his previous anger and frustrations suddenly redirecting their focus. "Cut that shit out. It's complicated, an' you know it."

"Oh cry me a fuckin' river," Shirosaki countered with a harsh glower. "Am so sick of hearin' the same shit over an' over again. If ya would jus' suck it up an' grow a pair, an' actually told Ichi how ya feel, then who knows? He might jus' return yer feelin's, an' ya could have a real shot at happiness. But no. Yer so chickenshit tha' he might possibly reject ya tha' ya don' even fuckin' try!"

Grimmjow clenched his jaw and looked away, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. "Ya make it sound so easy."

"Well it ain't like it's rocket science, Einstein," Shirosaki scoffed, stuffing his own hands into the absurdly tight back pockets of his leather pants. "An' bonus, if y'all got together then I wouldn't be left fuckin' dealin' with yer horny carcass tryin' ta bust down my door every other day. Win win." Turning on his heel, he made for the kitchen, pausing at the door to ask, "Beer?"

"Do I look like I'm in a beer mood to you? Gimme somethin' that burns, and lots of it."

"Well it's either tha' or fuckin' tap water, ya ungrateful cunt," Shirosaki frowned.

A look of absolute incredulity plastered itself all over Grimmjow's face. "The fuck? Where's all yer booze at?" Shirosaki without a liquor store worth of alcohol was practically unheard of.

"Don' lecture me, Jeagerjaques," Shirosaki sighed, running a hand through his ashen locks. "I ain't left the apartment in like, I dunno, three days straight now. I've been so hopped up on pills an' tabs I couldn't'a told ya mah own mother's name at gunpoint. A trip ta the store wasn't exactly a high priority."

Grimmjow could only roll his eyes at the drug induced antics of the younger male. "God damn, Shiro. Yer such a fuckin' waster."

"Don' gimme tha' bullshit," Shirosaki glared as he pushed away from the doorjamb and waltzed out of view. "Ya sound jus' like Ichi."

Ichigo… Grimmjow wondered what the tempting sunshiny male was up to right now. Probably being fucked raw into the nearest available surface by that tattooed douchebag he called "sweetums".

Grimacing at the disturbing images roiling through his brain, Grimmjow clutched a hand to his chest, feeling the slow, agonising burn that always came with the notion of Ichigo wrapped up in another's arms. Shit, it hurt so damn bad…

Stalking into the kitchen like a man on a mission, Grimmjow found his Berry's older twin reaching up into a high cupboard, mumbling incoherently to himself as he rummaged around. Two bottles of chilled Corona sat perspiring on the table to his left, but Grimmjow couldn't have cared less about that right now if he tried.

Stepping up behind the unsuspecting other, Grimmjow wound his arms around that beautifully toned torso, pulling Shirosaki from his foraging as he settled his mouth close to a metal riddled ear.

"Forget the drink," he husked, biting down on an earring-free space near the tip. "I ain't so thirsty anymore."

"Mm. I can tell," Shirosaki replied breathily, grinding his hips back against a fairly prominent bulge. "Hungry are we, Pantera?"

With a low, throaty growl, Grimmjow whipped the alabaster youth around in his arms and dipped his head, capturing pale lips in a truly ravenous kiss. Shirosaki hummed at the almost desperate contact, throwing his arms around a corded neck and fisting handfuls of thick teal hair. Grunting when the small of his back collided painfully with the countertop, he obediently parted his lips when prompted, purring his approval when the older male's tongue made short, keen work of exploring his mouth.

Rubbing down over deliciously soft skin, Grimmjow let his hands wander to a firm, leather-clad backside, giving both globes a hearty squeeze and using the leverage to mould Shirosaki tighter against him. Capturing the small metal nub pierced through the younger's tongue between his teeth, Grimmjow groaned when the little minx hitched a leg over his hip and rubbed up against him like a needy kitten just begging for attention.

Not one to ever disappoint where he could help it, Grimmjow hoisted Shirosaki's other leg up around his waist, rolling his hips hard as he deposited the panting male on the kitchen counter.

"Ah, fuck," Shirosaki moaned, locking his ankles around the small of the blunette's back as the man took to ravishing his throat. "I cannae remember the last time we had kitchen sex. Mmn. So fuckin' hot."

Grimmjow smirked, drawing back from his treat to look up into heavily hooded orbs of molten gold. "Oh no? Well I do remember, an' I got'a say I'm tryin' real hard not to blow my fuckin' load just thinkin' about it…" Gripping alabaster hips with bruising force, he caught the boy's lips in another searing kiss. "Ya don't happen to have any of that strawberry dessert stuff left, do ya?"

Shirosaki merely smirked.

Brrr, brrr… Brrr, brrr…

With a grouchy groan of disgruntlement, hazy ochre eyes blearily fluttered open at the loud noise suddenly cutting through the peaceful calm of the room. Damn it. He'd only been asleep for what felt like five minutes, and he really, really didn't want to get up.

When the sound ceased, Ichigo sighed contentedly through his nose, cuddling closer to the wonderfully firm body emanating heat lying next to him. Smiling stupidly when wiry arms curled tight around his waist, he tangled his legs with Shūhei's and settled down comfortably to rest.

Shūhei's unexpected arrival tonight had certainly been a pleasant surprise, and something of a blessing in disguise. God knows what might have happened between him and Grimmjow had the raven haired male not interrupted when he did. Ichigo shuddered to think.

'How could I let myself cave like that?' he berated himself. Sure he found Grimmjow attractive – who in their right mind wouldn't? – and they'd been best friends since they were, what, thirteen? They knew each other inside and out. The good, the bad and the ugly. But shit, that didn't justify pawing all over one another like fucking animals in season! They could have put a detrimental hitch in their friendship with an idiotic stunt like that, and Ichigo honestly didn't know what he'd do if Grimmjow ever left him. He wouldn't be able to take it. He'd rather have Grimmjow as a good, platonic friend than not at all.

In Ichigo's own humble opinion, exploring other avenues with the blunette just wasn't worth the risk.

Okay, so he'd be lying if he said he wasn't morbidly curious as to what might have happened had Shūhei not arrived back until tomorrow as scheduled – as it was, he couldn't stop replaying the scene by the front door over and over again like some kind of broken record. What would it be like to kiss Grimmjow? Ichigo had always imagined him to be a rough kisser, the kind that left you bleeding and breathless and begging for more. Would it have stopped there? After the first taste would the blue haired Adonis demand more? Would Ichigo have given it, given himself, over willingly?

Urgh. Bad train of thought, Ichigo…

Giving himself a good mental shakedown, Ichigo pressed himself closer to his lover's warmth, breathing in the natural aroma of naked flesh and sex. After numerous rounds of ardent lovemaking, wherein he'd come so many times he'd lost count, the peachy skinned youth was so dog-tired he could easily sleep for a entire week.

Brrr, brrr… Brrr, brrr…

Before the alluring tendrils of slumber could successfully drag him back under however, the same irritating noise sounded out again, keeping Ichigo suspended in an annoyingly drowsy limbo.

Pinpointing the sound as Shūhei's mobile vibrating on the pinewood bedside table, Ichigo gave his lover a shake, gently trying to stir him awake. "Shū? C'mon Shū, wake up. Your phone's ringing."

Shūhei twitched a tad, but otherwise remained completely dead to the world. Ichigo could only roll his eyes, his lover being one of the heaviest sleepers he'd ever met in his life, Grimmjow included – and that man could sleep through a fucking earthquake! Ichigo would know, he'd seen it happen.

Quietly disentangling himself from the KO'd raven, Ichigo tentatively sat up, his lower back screaming out in protest, before carefully reaching over Shūhei's body to grab the infernal contraption.

Blinking furiously against the harsh light of the screen, Ichigo saw that all the fuss was over two received messages. Biting his lip as he pondered on what to do, he decided to have a quick skim of the texts, just in case it was something important. After all, it was already well past midnight; surely it was urgent enough if it couldn't possibly wait until morning – right?


With a curt nod at his own inner reasoning, Ichigo hit 'OK' and opened up the first message.

A/N: Whoa, check me out - I'm not dead! Go figure.

I realise I've been 'off the scene' fer quite some time, inexcusably so. A few of yah out there are privy as to why, whereas most of yah will not be. Don' worry; I'm not gonna bore y'all with details as ta where I've been this past while - I don' exactly believe in burdenin' others with ones own problems, especially not all you wonderful readers who don' even know me. All I can do at this point is apologise profusely. It wasn't my intention to abandon you, I do so hate to let anyone down. Such a horrid feeling it is.

Heh. It's funny how connected you can feel to people yah haven't ever met before - but there yah have it. I'm so sorry everyone.

On the bright side'a things, one of the less soul destroying distractions I've had as of late is a collaboration piece with our good friend, an' fantabulously talented authoress; caribouandcake. We've made a joint account fer anyone interested, called; toribelle615. I've been workin' rather studiously toward our combined goals, an' hopefully our first fic Errare Humanum Est will be up soon enough~ Fingers crossed, ne Belle?

Okay, back to business. This little storyette will be a TwoShot. I can say this with a fair amount of certainty given I've nearly completed Part Two already. I wrote this up fairly quick jus' ta let you guys know tha' I still care, tha' am still a diehard GrimmIchi fan an', hopefully, ta appease yah all fer such a long wait.

Please do enjoy if yah wish, mah sweets~ Know tha' I love you all for yer patience.



P.S. Mah delicious Apple an' minxy Isty - I have not fergotten about yahs! I love you guys muchly, please wait fer me~!