Disclaimer: Do I have ta say it? Really? Not even if I-
Yes. Right, okay... I own Bleach and all of its wonderfully sexy characters~
Psyche! I actually don't own (minus plot) a chuffing thing. For serial.
Oh, God. Please don't sue.
"Oi, Shiro. Lemme bum a smoke… And by that I mean a cigarette, ya big dope-fiend."
Shirosaki yawned, rolling over on the mattress to present the other with his naked back. "Piss off. Smoke yer own."
"Don't have any left," Grimmjow replied from his position resting against the headboard. "Smoked the last of them last night after Ichigo got out'a the shower an' his towel slipped."
Shirosaki gave a humourless chuckle at that. "Fuckin' pervert… I got a pack on the nightstand there, ya moocher."
Grinning, Grimmjow stretched across the sated alabaster body beside him, procuring a ten deck of Marlboro Red and small purple lighter from the aforementioned location. Opening the pack, he expertly gripped a single stick between his teeth and lit up, tossing both items on the bedside table closest to him. Taking a long drag, he exhaled the bluish-gray cloud in a satisfied breath.
"Aah, fuck yeah," he rumbled, his heavy lids sliding closed. "That really hits the spot. Nothing quite like a post-fuck smoke, ne Snowbell?"
"Hmm," was the drowsy, noncommittal hum he got in return.
A gratifying smirk snaked its way across Grimmjow's lips, his cerulean gaze settling on the milky skin of his bedmate, the soft, glowing rays of the moon filtering in from the open window pooling over the flesh making it practically iridescent. He may not be Ichigo, but Shirosaki had been right when he claimed to be the "next best thing". Apart from the glaringly obvious, he looked just like the Berry. With that much help, it wasn't too taxing to picture orange and peach in place of alabaster and silver.
Ahh, thank the gods for twins.
Taking another greedy draw of the glowing cigarette, Grimmjow chewed pensively on the butt. "Yo, Shi?"
Shirosaki gave an aggravated sigh. "Whaddaya want, Jeagerjaques?"
"D'ya think Ichigo an' that shithead are done fuckin' yet?"
"Uuuugh, not this again," Shirosaki groaned exasperatedly, burying his face into his pillow.
Grimmjow shoved his shoulder. "C'mon, I'm serious. I wanna go home, but not if I have to listen to Berry mewlin' like a bitch."
"How the fuck would I know?" Shirosaki almost whined, propping himself up on his elbows to aim a withering glare at the pissy blunette. "Am 'is fuckin' brother, numbnuts, not 'is bloody wet nurse!"
"Keh," Grimmjow huffed, returning the steely glower. "Can't ya use that weird telepathy thingie all twins are supposed to have?"
"Fuck me sideways… We only told ya tha' freshman year ta mess with yer head, ya dumbass! There's no such thing!"
"God yer useless," Grimmjow sneered, tearing his gaze away from those eerie golden eyes.
"Guilty as charged," Shirosaki hummed, letting the insult slide right off his back. The older male could get exceedingly puerile and crabby where the subject of his younger brother was concerned. He'd learned a long, long time ago to just nod along and agree with everything hurled his way. It was much less aggressive that way.
"I should go shower," Grimmjow stated, scratching idly at his stubbled jaw. "Don't wanna go home reekin' of sex an' eau de you." Pausing in mid-thought, a wicked grin settled across his lips as an idea suddenly struck him. "Or, better still, maybe I shouldn't bother. Maybe I should just walk in an' declare that I don't give a rat's ass about who he wants to screw, that he can do whatever and whoever the hell he likes 'cause I've been fuckin' yer tight ass all night long."
"Not a good idea, Grimm," Shirosaki was very quick abolish, sitting up to face the blunette. "Ya do realise tha' King would flip his fuckin' shit if he ever discovered the real reason ya come here, right?"
"Yeah, so what?" Grimmjow scoffed. "I don't give a flyin' fuck."
"Well I do! I dunno about you, but I like mah testicles where they are thank ya very much." Plucking the rapidly depleting cigarette from the elder, he took a deep drag before adding, "If ya wanna go on a suicide mission, then by all means, be mah guest. Jus' don' go draggin' me down with yer retarded ass."
Grimmjow grinned wide enough to show a sliver of strong, white teeth. "Yer such a pussy, Shi."
Gold on obsidian narrowed. "Ya'll be sayin' tha' on the other side'a yer face if Ichi ever finds out."
"We'll see about that."
Snatching the cancer stick back, Grimmjow stubbed it out on the nightstand before fisting silvery tresses, angling Shirosaki's head back for optimum access to pale lips which he promptly eclipsed with his own. Shirosaki hissed at the rough treatment, but otherwise allowed it, indulging in the fiery kiss with relish.
When Grimmjow eventually released his prey, he was satisfied to note those exotic eyes falling to half-mast and glittering with lust. Smirking, he sucked the younger male's bottom lip into his mouth, giving it a playful nip that had Shirosaki growling with approval.
"C'mon, Belle," Grimmjow purred when they surfaced for air, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Let's go take an ironic shower."
"How many times have I told ya not ta call me tha'?" Shirosaki groused, permitting himself to be hauled from the comfort of his bed by the eager blunette.
Grimmjow barked out a laugh at the piqued tone of the other, giving a small shrug to show his indifference as he directed their naked forms toward the bathroom. "About as many times as Ichigo's griped at me not to call him 'Berry' I'd guess. Not that I'll ever stop with either."
"Bastard," Shirosaki snapped, shouldering past the older man to take the lead. "Jus' fer tha', I'm kickin' yer ass out. Afterwards, a'course," he was quick to add.
Grimmjow chuckled. "Of course."
Ichigo honestly could not recall a time, not in the entirety of his life, when he felt more angry than he did right now. Having opened the first message on Shūhei's mobile, he was immediately faced with this;
'Shuuuuu baby~! How could u leave early and not even tell me :( U naughty boy~'
He felt his heart skip a beat, his eyes wide and disbelieving as an icy cold feeling of dread flooded throughout his veins. He forced himself to read on, hoping, praying, that it wasn't what it seemed.
In hindsight, he should have known better than to assume that life could ever be that kind – especially to him.
'I can't stop thinking about our time 2gether. All those nights spent locked away in our room with nothing but our sweaty, naked bodies 4company.. Mmm, the images are making me wet as we speak ;) I'm sending u a little something that should keep u going until we meet again~ Miss u already babe! Giku xxx'
Ichigo felt physically sick, his grip constricting on the small device in his hand so hard he was seriously surprised it hadn't shattered into a million pieces already. Who the fuck was this 'Giku' slut? Better yet, why was she texting such vulgarity to his boyfriend?
Body positively thrumming with white-hot fury, Ichigo could do nothing but stare at the bright screen, his dinner threatening to make a comeback at any second as his breath escaped in harsh bursts through his flaring nostrils. He knows he shouldn't look, that it was only going to make matters so much worse than they currently were, but damn if his morbid, illogical sense of curiosity wasn't slamming into him with the catastrophic might of a runaway freight train.
He couldn't help himself. He had to see it.
Mouth dry and fingers trembling, he opened the picture message.
Hardly surprising, and yet still enough of a shock to force the air from his lungs, Ichigo felt tears of earth-shattering betrayal pricking hotly in the corners of his eyes at the image in front of him. There, sitting up on her knees in the middle of a bed, was a very voluptuous, very naked young woman. With long, wavy strawberry blonde hair and sultry blue eyes, she was blowing a kiss toward the camera, her pouty lips shimmering with pink gloss. A dainty pair of black French panties was the only item of clothing shielding her dignity, leaving ridiculously huge breasts and miles of creamy skin bare for the eyes to feast upon.
The icing on the fucking cake was the little message tacked on at the bottom; 'Use at will~ ;)'
Rage reaching dizzying new heights and swiftly boiling over, Ichigo clutched the phone securely within his palm, drew his arm back as far as it would go, and, without a second thought, pitched it forward with startling strength. The mobile soared soundlessly through the air, hurtling toward the far wall before making contact and promptly exploding into several pieces.
Nowhere near satisfied, Ichigo then directed his all-consuming wrath toward the completely ignorant and blissfully unawares Shūhei. Wrenching the duvet back and off of the raven haired elder, Ichigo delivered a devastating kick to the cheating bastard's midriff, knocking him right off the bed in one go.
Landing in an undignified, bare-assed heap on the cold floor, Shūhei let out a hiss of pain, gingerly sitting up to scowl at the vibrant haired youth currently glaring the fury of Hell at him.
"The heck, Ichi?" he griped, clutching his side in a pathetic attempt to ease the ache of what could very well be a fractured rib. Fucking kid could kick like a mule. "What was that for?"
"Don't call me that!" Ichigo snapped, his eyes blazing a furious honey-gold. "You have no right to call me that, you two-faced sonuvabitch!"
"Whoa, there! Let's back it up a bit. What the fuck's gotten into you?" Shūhei frowned as he made to get up, wincing when his ribs violently protested the action. "Shit. I think ya've done some real damage there."
"I wouldn't start complaining just yet," Ichigo stated in the kind of calm and collected tone that let Shūhei know he'd entered the eye of the storm. "'Cause I'm only warming up…"
Oh yeah. He was definitely in deep shit.
Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Grimmjow tucked his exposed and reddening hands under his armpits. The night was unbearably cold, his every breath visible in little white clouds as he made his way home. Thank Christ Shirosaki only lived a block down the road from their own apartment, otherwise he'd have marched straight back in and outright demanded to stay until morning.
He tried his best not to think, feeling much too tired for such a taxing process, but alas the fates were conspiring against him – a favourite pastime of theirs, apparently – and he found thoughts warring through his head a mile a fucking minute.
Rather unsurprisingly, about ninety percent of said thoughts revolved around a certain orange haired temptress, and it was driving Grimmjow to absolute distraction. He wanted nothing more than to storm into their shared space, to sit the boy down and tell him every sordid little detail of his midnight trysts with a certain alabaster sibling of his. He wanted to let Ichigo know that he didn't spend every waking second of the day thinking about him, that he had his own life to live and people to screw. But, more than that, he wanted to see the peachy-skinned male upset. He wanted to see those beautiful fucking eyes simmering with anger and betrayal and hurt…
…because at least that way he would know he cared.
Did he really have it in him, though? Could he honestly tell the damn brat something he knew was only going to pain him in some way? Was he man enough to look Ichigo in the eye and risk throwing away everything they had ever built together?
Rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose, Grimmjow dully realised that he was now standing right outside their door. Resting his forehead against the painted wood, he sighed noisily, keys in hand and poised to go in. He really ought to sleep on this, or at the very least think about it more thoroughly. After all, he was gambling their very friendship with a stunt like this.
God damn it was hard to think straight with all that racket, though.
Frowning, Grimmjow straightened himself up. How in the hell had he not noticed that until now? The sound of yelling, arguing and general distress could be heard quite clearly, the animated bickering filtering out into the calm of the hallway – and it was coming from his apartment.
Only just resisting the urge to put the door in with his foot, Grimmjow quickly unlocked the door and barged inside, armed and ready with his own two fists should he need to protect his Berry. Had some punk-ass thief tried their luck whilst he was out of the house, perhaps thinking Ichigo an easy target on his own? But then, where the hell was Shūhei? Fuck, if he let anything happen to Ichigo he'd–
"Argh, Jesus!" Grimmjow cursed, quick reflexes the only thing saving him from a nasty clout on the side of the head with a…was that a fucking stapler?
Turning wide cerulean toward the source of the unexpected projectile, Grimmjow could only raise an inquisitive brow at the sight of an evidently outraged Ichigo, the young male standing in nothing but olive green boxer briefs and already equipped with further ammunition in the form of a paperback novel. Well, he wanted Ichigo with passion in his eyes and emotion painted all over his face – and by god, did he ever get it!
Grimmjow, putting both hands up in a placating manner, tried the tentative approach. "Okay, Kurosaki… I think ya need to chill the fuck out before someone–"
But it was clear that Ichigo wasn't paying even he slightest bit of attention when he suddenly hurled the book toward him, Grimmjow only just managing to duck out of the way before impact.
"You lying fuck!" Ichigo snarled, his tone livid. "Get the fuck out before I beat ya black and blue!"
I'm sorry, a lying what now? Grimmjow could only furrow his brows in utter confusion. What in the name of holy good hell was he supposed to have done exactly? Something was definitely amiss here…
"Babe, if ya'd just gimme a second to explain!"
Grimmjow whipped his head round at the unexpected voice, scowl etching deeper into his features when he caught sight of Shūhei cowering behind their couch in a pair of black sleep pants. Ah, okay. He got it now. Ichigo hadn't been talking to him at all, and wasn't trying to take him out with his makeshift missiles – he hadn't even been aiming at him. Shūhei was the true target; he'd just gone and accidentally stumbled into the middle of the fucking war zone.
"No! No more excuses!" Ichigo snapped. "I don't wanna hear any more of your lies!"
Ichigo was trembling, Grimmjow noticed, that taut body quivering with a fury so potent and raw he could swear he could taste it. That wasn't what concerned him, however. Not in the slightest. It was the torrents of heartache Ichigo was obviously trying to mask with his hysterical anger that really bothered him. Grimmjow knew the boy was trying his damnedest to hide it, but he could see straight through the shoddy disguise, could see the cracks forming and the anguish dulling those breathtaking orbs. It was enough to make him sick with fury.
No one hurt Ichigo.
"The fuck is goin' on here?" Grimmjow demanded, darkening pools of cerulean pinpointed solely on Shūhei.
Stormy gray eyes flickered toward him, albeit briefly. "Butt out, Grimmjow. This is none of your concern."
"None'a my concern?" he growled, eyes constricting to slits and teeth flashing. "Yer in my home, hassling my roommate – ya'd better believe it's my fuckin' concern."
"He may be your roommate, but he's my boyfriend," Shūhei bit back, his attention now fully focused on the blunette. "Keep your nose out of my fucking business, Jeagerjaques. Or else…"
Well, that was certainly one sure-fire way of getting Grimmjow's back up.
"Oho, what's this?" he quipped, a truly bloodthirsty grin snaking across the width of his mouth as he took a challenging step forward. "Little Prince Charming wants to play with the big boys, ey? Well, c'mon then! Come an' have a go if ya think yer man enough!"
Easily rising to the bait, Shūhei matched the step, his hands balling into tight fists. "Listen asshole, I–"
"No you listen, ya mouthy piece'a shit–"
Grimmjow and Shūhei both snapped their mouths shut at the fierce outburst, orbs of crystalline blue and steely grey begrudgingly pulling away from one another to face that of stunning ochre. Ichigo was burning out, the drain on his emotions over the past hour or so leaving him weary and exhausted. He just wanted it all to be over.
Turning to his blue haired friend, Ichigo gave a wan smile, though the sentiment was unnervingly absent from his eyes. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Grimm, but I don't need your help. I can fight my own battles. And you," he spat, turning his focus to the raven haired male, "I believe I told you to leave. Now pack up your stuff and go, before I change my mind and let Grimmjow here off his leash."
Cracking his knuckles threateningly, Grimmjow gave a savage grin, silently promising a whole fucking cosmos of pain if he didn't comply. Setting his jaw, Shūhei averted his gaze from either one of them and humbly stalked out of the room, pausing only briefly by his heartbroken lover before a sharp warning growl from Grimmjow swiftly had him rethinking any move he might have made.
Left in the awkward aftermath, Grimmjow chanced a glance at Ichigo, only to find the boy staring listlessly off into the dead of space and gnawing his bottom lip raw. Compelled by something he couldn't hope to name, Grimmjow covered the distance between them in three large strides and promptly wrapped the trembling Ichigo in his arms.
Ichigo didn't move a single muscle at first, his entire system on mental shutdown from emotional overload, but the familiar, welcoming musk of the blunette soon permeated all the sorrow and grief and pain, flooding his whole body with such wonderful comfort and protection he couldn't help but physically cling onto it, onto him.
When slender fingers fisted the back of his thermal in a desperate clutch, Grimmjow breathed a soft sigh of relief, believing for a second there that Ichigo had slipped into the recesses of despair. Tucking those radiant orange spikes beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms tightly around narrow shoulders, allowing Ichigo to take as much solace as he could physically stomach from the consoling embrace.
Discreetly scanning the chaos that was their once fairly tidy living room, Grimmjow scrunched up his nose in a fine mixture of concern and contempt. With shards of glass and china littering the floor – undoubtedly the figurines that had once resided on the bookshelves – various different items strewn about haphazardly, and even the coffee table askew as if thrown out of the way, it looked like World War fucking Three had kicked off within their home. Ichigo had certainly gone all out. He was surprised, and admittedly somewhat disappointed, that Shūhei remained relatively unscathed.
"What happened, Kurosaki?" Grimmjow asked, his voice as gentle as he'd ever heard it.
Ichigo winced, the emotional turmoil still coursing like acid through his veins. He couldn't hold it in much longer; it hurt so fucking much. "I-I…Shūhei, he… Oh god, Grimm, he…"
"Ah, shit," Grimmjow cursed under his breath when he felt the younger trembling in his arms, the flood gates obviously wearing precariously thin. Quietly shushing the boy, he folded him tighter against his body, cocooning his vulnerable Strawberry protectively. "C'mon, kid. Don't start pussyin' out on me." Cupping Ichigo's face in his hands, he felt his heart clench miserably when faced with beautiful ochre eyes bleary with unshed tears. "You're stronger than this, Kurosaki. I know you are."
"Eight months…" Ichigo choked, his face twisted in anguish as he grasped feebly at Grimmjow's wrists. "Eight fucking months, wasted. And for what? A cheap thrill with some two-bit, busty tramp." Blinking in defeat, he felt hot tears of humiliation roll freely down his cheeks. He desperately wanted to hang his head in shame, if only to escape the penetrative cerulean gaze currently piercing to the core of his soul, but strong hands prevented him from doing so. "Did I really mean so little to him? I…I honestly thought he cared…believed him when he told me he loved me. I'm such an idiot."
Gently wiping the tears from beneath his eyes with the pads of his thumbs, Grimmjow felt the unbearable vice around his heart constrict that little bit further. How could anyone find it within themselves to crush such a spirited being? How could anyone forsake something so perfect in its own rights? It was unfathomable, twisted. Downright despicable.
"Yer not an idiot," Grimmjow stated with the utmost authority, the absolute sincerity glossing his eyes making it impossible to deny his claim. "Ya put yourself out there, an' yeah, ya got taken for a ride, but that doesn't mean that yer to blame. Ya exposed yer heart, an' that bastard took advantage of it. If anythin', he's the idiot, not you."
Pressing a chaste kiss to Ichigo's forehead, Grimmjow crushed him into another fierce embrace, both arms locked tight about slender shoulders as one hand tangled softly in luminous orange spikes. Ichigo gladly accepted the gesture, his face buried deep in Grimmjow's muscular chest as his arms wound around his back, his hands balling firmly in the material covering his shoulder blades.
"I'm so sorry, Grimm," Ichigo mumbled into the folds of the grey thermal, his fingers gripping that little bit tighter. "I never meant to drag you into any of this…"
Grimmjow furrowed his brows. "Ya don't need to apologise, not to me. It's not like any'a this is yer fault." Permitting himself a greedy inhale of the younger's glorious scent whilst he had the chance, he let a warm smile curl his lips before adding, "Even if it ever was yer fault, ya know I'd still be battin' for yer side. I've always got yer back, Ichigo."
Ichigo blinked, drawing back just enough to peer up at the elder. "You called me Ichigo," he stated, the winning smile gracing his lips stealing Grimmjow's breath away.
Making a show of rolling his eyes, Grimmjow forced Ichigo's head back against his chest. "Yeah, well…don't get used to it. Brat."
Chuckling softly, Ichigo could only shake his head, his fingers slackening in the blunette's shirt so that he wasn't so much clutching as he was simply returning the comforting gesture. Trust Grimmjow to go ahead and insult him, and yet still manage to make him feel so safe. He truly was amazing.
"Well, well… Isn't this cosy?"
Grimmjow growled at the intrusion of the tender moment, slanting his eyes towards the source of the nuisance to find Shūhei, now fully dressed and with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, leaning casually against the corner of the wall. Ichigo tried to step away from Grimmjow, but with the blunette's thickly corded arms refusing to let him go, he could only awkwardly twist his body to at least face his now ex-boyfriend.
Chuckling darkly, Shūhei pushed himself off of the wall. "Couldn't even wait five fucking seconds before swooping in, ne Jeagerjaques?"
"Are you still here?" Grimmjow retorted icily, his lip curling in distaste.
"I wouldn't go gettin' too attached there, Ichigo," Shūhei continued like he hadn't heard him, those dark grey orbs swirling with malicious intent.
Cerulean pools narrowed. Just what in the hell was the conniving little prick up to now?
"Look, I have no idea what game you're playing," Ichigo said sternly, eyeing the raven haired male suspiciously, "but you can just save it. I have no interest in what you have to say."
"You heard 'im," Grimmjow smirked, jutting his chin toward the door. "Go on. Get lost."
"Really?" Shūhei asked of Ichigo in feigned curiosity, again blatantly ignoring the blue haired male. "Not even if I was tell you that, from what I hear, our dear Grimmjow here isn't exactly a free agent?"
Grimmjow felt his heart plummet somewhere into the depths of his gut, his body going ramrod stiff. No fucking way. The fucker had to be bluffing – there was just no way he could know…
Ichigo frowned in confusion when he felt the blunette tensing around him, his keen sense of perception alerting him to the fact that something was off – very off if the way in which Grimmjow was acting was any indication.
Interest now well and truly piqued, Ichigo turned his attention to the cruelly smirking Shūhei. "Is there a point to any of this? Because frankly, I think you've wasted quite enough of my time already…"
"That all depends, I guess," Shūhei replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
"On what?" Ichigo asked, unable to help himself from falling for the lure.
"I've had enough of this run-around bullshit," Grimmjow hastily interceded, clasping a large hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "I think it's high time ya threw the fucker to the curb…"
Shūhei could practically taste the blunette's budding fear and desperation, the combination mixing together for quite the bittersweet flavour against his palate. Oh yes, this would be quite the devastating blow.
"It all depends," Shūhei began, positively savouring the moment, "on whether or not ya think the fact that Grimmjow here has been fucking your brother is of any importance."
Ichigo baulked at the words, his ochre orbs growing wide in disbelief. "Wh-What?"
Grimmjow, on the other hand, snarled viciously at the spiteful raven headed bastard. "Ya jammy lil' dickweed," he glared. "How the fuck do ya even know that?"
"You mean it's true?" Ichigo gaped, whirling round to face the blunette with eyes brimming in hurt.
Grimmjow hemmed at the look of utter betrayal, his throat suddenly parched. "I-Ichigo, listen to me, I–"
"That's right, Jeagerjaques," Shūhei simpered heinously. "Try an' dig your way out'a that one."
Jaw clenching alongside his fists, Grimmjow rumbled low in his chest, snapping his attention to the scheming bastard. "Ya know what? This no longer concerns you. It's time to take out the trash."
Fisting a large, callused hand in the collar of Shūhei's shirt, Grimmjow forcibly hauled the shit-stirring scumbag outside, Shūhei spitting curses at him and fumbling over his own two feet as he was 'escorted' from the apartment. The door had barely slammed closed behind them before the tattooed male found himself shoved up against the wall, the breath knocked violently from his lungs and a snarling blunette baring absurdly pointed canines mere inches from his face.
"Ya noxious little punk," Grimmjow seethed, his knuckles digging harshly against Shūhei's sternum. "Ya just couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya? Ya know you can't have Ichigo, so, what? Ya wanna make sure no one else can either? Is that it? Ya miserable fuck, ya make me sick."
"Get a fucking grip!" Shūhei growled in return, his hand grasping tight at Grimmjow's wrist when he realised he couldn't physically remove the man's hand from his shirt. "Don't act like this isn't what ya've always wanted!"
"What're ya harpin' on about this time?"
"Oh please," Shūhei snorted. "It's not like it isn't pathetically obvious that you're in love with Ichigo! And now, with me out of the picture and Ichigo a broken mess, what better time than for you to come striding in to save the day like some sort of knight in shining armour!"
Shūhei barely had time enough to blink before a sizeable, tanned fist socked him square between the eyes. Unprepared for the brutal attack, the raven haired male reeled back, losing his balance and falling flat on his ass, his legs sprawled out as he clutched his bleeding and, in all probability, broken nose.
"Ya ever call Ichigo a 'broken mess' again, an' I'll do much worse than a black fucking eye," Grimmjow snarled down at the pitiful lump of human by his feet, his chest heaving and cerulean eyes alight with hatred. "If I ever see yer slimy carcass sniffin' around Ichigo, I'll make sure ya live to regret it, ya hear me? Now get the fuck out'a my sight before I really let ya have it."
Gingerly picking himself up off of the carpeted floor, Shūhei wiped the back of his hand under his nose, his lip curling at the sight of his own blood staining his skin and those stormy eyes constricting to slits. "This ain't over, Jeagerjaques."
Grimmjow snorted, throwing his arms out by his sides. "Any time, dipshit. Ya know where to find me."
Gritting his teeth, Shūhei straightened out his shirt and scooped up his duffle bag, aiming one last scathing glare in the blunette's direction before stalking off. Grimmjow watched him leave, fingers trembling and blood rich in adrenaline as the lust for battle saturated his every cell. It was only after the tattooed fucker rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, disappearing from sight, that the invigorating rush began to dissipate, allowing Grimmjow a deep, cleansing breath through flared nostrils.
With a weary sigh, he collapsed back against the wall by his apartment door. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he reached into his pocket, fishing out his mobile as he slowly slid to the floor. Before his backside had even made contact with the carpet, he already had the cellular device flipped open and held against his ear, the monotonic dial tone on its second sequence by the time he made it to the ground.
For a stagnant moment Grimmjow thought the other line would never pick up, but luckily he knew if he just kept at it, then eventually the person he was trying to reach would get pissed and would–
"Oh fer the love of– If this isn't important, am hangin' up right this fuckin' second…"
There we go. Mission accomplished.
"Gosh, it's so nice to hear from ya too, sweetheart," Grimmjow droned, tracking a hand irritably through his hair. "Listen; we've got a problem."
"When do ya ever not have a problem, Grimmjaw?" Shirosaki gave a dramatic sigh. "Well go on then, what is it? I've got a packed bong with my name on it, an' mah bed is callin' out ta me like a top-dollar whore, so this'd better be worth my while…"
Clicking his tongue, Grimmjow mentioned the one word that was guaranteed to capture the alabaster male's full and undivided attention. "It's Ichigo."
"King? What about 'im? What's wrong? Did somethin' happen?"
See? Worked like a charm every damn time.
Gathering his mental wits about him in preparation for what he was about to unleash, Grimmjow sucked on his teeth. "He, uh… He found out, Shi."
"Ey? 'Found out'? What the hell're ya–" A pregnant pause, and then; "Jesus titty fuckin' Christ! Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me? Ya mean ya actually told 'im about us? God damn it, Grimmjaw! I thought ya were fuckin' jokin'! This is… I mean… Ack, shit!"
"Calm the fuck down, Snowdrop," Grimmjow snapped, bringing the mobile back to his ear after having removed it during Shirosaki's colourful tirade. "I didn't tell him jack shit, alright? It was that fucking asswipe Shūhei… He an' Ichigo had a fight, an' the fucktard told him about us before I could toss him out."
"Sixty-niner?" Shirosaki echoed, his tone heavy with bewilderment. "How the hell does he know? An' whaddaya mean 'fight'? What the fuck did'e do ta King?"
"Fuck if I know how he found out," Grimmjow replied evenly, his blood heating up at the mere thought of the playboy douchebag. "But that's hardly important at this point. An' I mean 'fight' as in it looks like a nuclear bomb just detonated in the middle of my fuckin' living room! Ichigo's okay…uh, I think. That's why I'm callin', actually – ya need to get yer ass over here, like pronto."
Shirosaki promptly burst out laughing, causing Grimmjow to shy away from the loud, echoic sound. "Ya cannae be serious…!"
"Like a heart attack," Grimmjow growled, glaring at the wall across from him.
"If ya think am comin' over there after what ya jus' told me, yer more stupid than I ever gave ya credit fer, Jeagerjaques. King'll maim me on fucking sight! In fact, am surprised tha' yer still breathin'! Unless… Ah, fuck. Yer not callin' me from the hospital, are ya? 'Cause if ya are, am packin' mah shit up an' movin' ta Mexico! Dia de los Muertos is comin' up, so it could actually be pretty fun…"
"I've a better idea," Grimmjow interrupted, a slight frown creasing his brow. "How's about ya go an' pop a few valium, chill the fuck out for a second, an' then drag that waster ass a'yers over here so that you can do the right thing for once an' take care of yer baby brother!"
Shirosaki scoffed. "Heh, listen ta Mr. Chickenshit dishin' out advice on altruism. How rich…"
"Shut the fuck up an' get round here," Grimmjow ordered. "Ichigo needs ya, Shiro. I know he won't listen to me, not with the way he's feelin' right now, but he'll at least think twice about killing his own twin. He won't make it through this on his own, and, seein' as I can't help, it's gonna have to be you." He heard Shirosaki groan and grinned. He was breaking him down. "C'mon, Shi. He's hurtin' bad. He needs his family…" A pause for dramatic effect before the finisher; "…he needs his nii-chan."
"Yer playin' dirty, Grimm…"
Grimmjow smirked. "I know."
"It's not fair!" Shirosaki whined. Grimmjow could only imagine the defeated pout undoubtedly marring the other's features. "Mah face is way too pretty ta end up on some coroner's slab!"
"Are ya kiddin' me?" Grimmjow snorted. "With yer Snow White complexion, ya'll fit right in with all them corpses."
There was a long, idle minute of complete silence, wherein Grimmjow could practically hear the younger's defences crumbling to dust. Christ, he was so predictable sometimes.
"Ugh, fine!" Shirosaki barked at long last, startling Grimmjow to the point that he flinched. "Am on mah way… But! If Ichi castrates me, then am takin' yer boys as compensation. Provided ya have any left by the time I get there…"
Grimmjow gave a dry, humourless chuckle. "Deal."
It was close approaching two in the morning when Shirosaki finally waltzed into Grimmjow and Ichigo's shared apartment. With the advantage of a spare key, he didn't have to bother waiting about for admittance, strolling in with dark features indicative of a dead man walking. He'd thrown on a black tank and a plum coloured shirt, of which all the buttons were open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His heavy combat boots – laces undone and covered in buckles – clumped loudly over the wooden floor with every reluctant, unenthusiastic step he took.
"Hey, Wilma~!" he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "I'm home~!"
Grimmjow rolled his eyes and vacated his spot on the couch, meeting the alabaster male outside the kitchen. "Took ya long enough."
"Fuck you," Shirosaki spat with venom, shoving past the blunette. "I was busy writin' mah will an' flushin' mah stash down the toilet fer the inevitable murder investigation. You get nuthin', by the way," he added sarkily over his shoulder.
"Charming," Grimmjow drawled, following the younger back toward the living room.
Shirosaki felt his brows quirk up toward his hairline as his molten gaze swept over the general carnage of the place. "Wow, ya certainly weren't jokin'… Are ya absolutely sure our innuendo flauntin' friend survived? He didn't actually die an' ya tricked me round here ta help ya hack up the body in the bathtub, did'ja? 'Cause am'a haf'ta remove mah shirt if ya did. It's dry-clean only."
Grimmjow heaved a mordant sigh. "Stop messin' around an' do yer fuckin' job, yeah?"
"Who's messin' around? I was bein' perfectly serious…" Upon catching sight of the blunette's clearly unimpressed demeanour, Shirosaki grudgingly conceded, clacking his tongue and folding his arms. "Where is he?"
"Bedroom," Grimmjow answered, nodding toward the small hallway to the left. "He hasn't come our or said anythin' in the last, oh…" he checked his wrist, even knowing there was no watch there. "Ever."
"Aa. Tha's jus' peachy," Shirosaki muttered, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, almost as if preparing for a showdown. Glancing briefly at his blue haired companion, he took his first step toward his brother's room – and his possible demise. "Wish me luck."
"Fuck that!" Grimmjow quipped testily. "I'm hordin' all the luck I can to save my own skin, thanks very much."
Glittering gold on obsidian glared over at him. "I hate you."
Grimmjow chuckled, this time with humour. "Love ya, too, Belle."
Ignoring the mirthful laughter filtering down the hall behind him, Shirosaki hesitated briefly outside his twin's bedroom door, the dark, tangible aura leaking out from beyond almost suffocating, before he bit the bullet and gave the wooden surface a tentative knock.
"Piss off!" was the hostile command from the other side. "Come in here Grimmjow, and I swear I will hurt you!"
Shuddering at the biting tone so chockfull of grim promise, Shirosaki thickly swallowed back his rising doubts and decided – against the screaming protests of his inner voice of reason – to step into the room. Closing the door behind him with a soft click, the very first thing the alabaster twin was privy to within the pitch black confines of the room was something nice and solid to the gut.
"Ouff! God damn!" he yelped, rubbing his right hand over the afflicted area on his abdomen, whilst his left arm wrapped around his head and face. You know, just in case there was more where that came from.
"What the…" Ichigo reached across from his position on the bed to turn the lamp on the bedside table on. Ochre eyes squinted against the harsh illumination, before slowly adjusting and pinning the intruder with a baffled gaze. "Shiro? What're you doing here?"
Blinking against the sudden light, Shirosaki glanced down by his feet, a snowy brow arching at the hardback copy of Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty lying by the toe of his left boot. Bending down to pick it up, he turned teasing gold toward his scowling younger brother, now dressed in red sweats and sitting cross-legged on the queen sized mattress, waving the novel as evidence.
"Shut up," Ichigo quickly defended, crossing peachy arms across his naked chest. "It's a guilty pleasure. And a classic."
"Ya read way too much, Aibou," Shirosaki commented, carelessly tossing the book aside.
"Oh?" Ichigo sniped, his brows knitting tighter together as Shirosaki took a seat on the edge of his bed. It took all his self-control not to kick his ass onto the floor. "And what have you read recently, hm? Y'know, apart from the TV guide and the backs of cereal boxes."
"Ouch," the elder replied sarcastically. "Hit me where it hurts why don't'cha?"
"What the fuck do you want?" Ichigo demanded, easily dismissing the taunt. He'd grown up with Shirosaki, shared a room with him for the first eighteen years of his life – he knew by now when he was being baited, and how to diffuse the situation before it escalated out of hand.
To this day, he didn't know whether to count it as a gift or a curse.
"Ain't it obvious, King?" Shirosaki answered. "Am here ta see ya – ta make sure yer okay after the whole fellatio-face break up thing…"
Ichigo resisted the urge to roll his eyes in dismay. Shirosaki was always coming up with new and wonderful nicknames for Shūhei. Normally he would scold him for it, but honestly, and rather unsurprisingly, he couldn't really give a toss what he decided to call the deceitful, cheating bastard. Chances are, Ichigo had already called him it himself.
"Well, that's super sweet of you and all," Ichigo began, his face pinched into a dark glower. "But apart from that blue haired prick outside, you're literally the last person on the face of the earth I wanna see right now. Except maybe Shū – but that's obviously a given."
Shirosaki rubbed guiltily at the back of his neck, his eyes cast to the floor. "Aye, I hear ya, Ichi. But jus' hear me out–"
"Why should I?" Ichigo cut in, his honeyed baritone dripping with condemnation. "As if I didn't have enough on my plate finding out that Shūhei's been whoring around for god knows how long behind my back – but then I find out that my best friend and my own fucking brother are, well…fucking! It's enough to make me fucking sick!"
"Calm down, Aibou…"
"No! I don't want to calm down, Shiro! I wanna get mad!" Shirosaki could only wince as Ichigo did just that – and with relish, too. "I wanna shout and yell and curse and break things just for the fucking sake of it! I wanna sucker punch Shūhei into next fucking week for making me look like a fucking fool! I wanna break Grimmjow's nose for daring to lie to me! And you…" Shirosaki flinched at the pure venom with which he was mentioned, his golden orbs flicking up to lock with pools of ochre, his heart panging wretchedly at the unbridled anguish shimmering back at him. "I haven't even got the words, Shi… How could you do that to me? I'm your brother. We've always been there for each other, watching the other's back; protecting him. I never, in a million fucking lifetimes, would've expected to turn around to discover that it was you stabbing me in the back, not when it was to you that I entrusted it in the first place…"
It was safe to say, after that little speech, Shirosaki felt like scummiest, most deplorable brother in the entire fucking universe. His heart had stopped dead in his chest, his stomach churning with culpable disgrace, and his gaze firmly fixated off to the side. He couldn't look at those eyes anymore, not when all that burning censure and undiluted suffering was aimed solely at him.
Ichigo was right. How could he betray him like that? Had he no fucking shame? After that near confession, it was so blatantly evident that his peachy, vibrant haired twin had deep rooted feelings for Grimmjow, and he'd gone and stomped all over them like a complete and utter–
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the fucking phone…
Whipping his head up to face the younger, Shirosaki frowned. "Did ya hear what ya jus' said, King?"
Ichigo could have decked his twin. It certainly wasn't the apology he'd been expecting.
"Is that supposed to be a rhetorical question?" he asked, confused as to where this was going.
"All right, lemme ask ya this instead…" Shirosaki said, a slow, devious smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "Why d'ya care?"
"Okay, now I know you're trying to provoke me…"
"I get it, okay? Me an' Grimm went an' fucked behind yer…" he trailed off at the scathing glare the younger aimed at him, shifting uncomfortably. "Tha' is we, uh…we…never mind! It doesn't matter what we did or didn't do – the point is it was wrong. We shouldn't've kept it from ya, an' am sorry I broke yer trust in me like tha'. But what I wanna know is why. Why d'ya care what Grimmjaw an' I get up ta behind closed doors?"
Ichigo opened his mouth to retort, only to snap it shut again when he realised that he had nothing to say. Shirosaki's smirk snaked even wider, showcasing feral canines as he crawled up onto the bed to sit directly in front of his younger brother. Pools of shining gold ensnared shimmering ochre.
"What'sa matter, Aibou? Kitty got yer tongue?" Deciding to push his luck whilst he had the upper hand, Shirosaki pressed two fingers under Ichigo's chin and angled his head up, looking him dead in the eye. "Well, I know ya don' care who I screw around with – I mean, am jus' yer brother, right? So…tha' jus' leaves our resident blue haired wonder, ne? Could it be tha' ya care about who he fucks around with because yer jealous it isn't you?"
Jerking his head out of his brother's gentle grasp, Ichigo felt heat pour into his cheeks as he stubbornly refused to make eye contact. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
"Aa, but I think ya do, mah pretty lil' Ichi-pet…" Shirosaki purred, giving a mental cackle at his twin's overly cute blush. "Why can't ya jus' admit it? It's practically written all over yer face… Heh. Ya like 'im, don't'cha?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous!" Ichigo sputtered indignantly. Perhaps a little too indignantly. "Grimm's just a friend! I mean, we've known each other since the sixth grade – we're practically family, for fuck's sake!"
"No need ta get so defensive," Shirosaki taunted slyly with a knowing, lopsided grin.
"I'm not getting defensive!" Ichigo bit back, cursing himself six ways from Sunday for blushing even harder. "I'm merely stating that I have no romantic interest in Grimmjow whatsoever, that's all. Just stating a fact. Nothing more, nothing less. Nope! No romantic feelings here at all!"
Shirosaki watched with a certain degree of giddying pleasure as his twin hemmed and hawed, furiously fighting back a bout of raucous laughter. "Yo, King – ya want me ta fetch a shovel ta help ya dig tha' hole a lil' faster?"
Slapping both hands over his uncomfortably hot face, Ichigo collapsed back onto his pillows and groaned. "Shut the fuck up and get out. I don't want to talk to you anymore…"
"Pity," Shirosaki commented, his tone blasé. "'Cause I was jus' startin' ta have fun~"
Crawling in between the younger's spread thighs, Shirosaki contentedly stretched himself out along the hardened contours of his twin's body, much like a happy cat sprawling in the sun, his arms curling around a sinewy neck and his face burying into the crook of his shoulder. Taking a long inhale of Ichigo's natural aroma, Shirosaki felt a genuine smile curl his lips as lean arms wound around his shoulders and slender fingers threaded through his hair.
"I'm still mad at you," Ichigo mumbled, even as he began petting his fingers through his brother's slightly longer, silky locks.
"Mm. I know," Shirosaki replied, pressing a soft kiss to Ichigo's neck. "Don' think ya've wormed yer way out'a this, though. We're still gonna talk about it. An' then yer gonna tell me all about what tha' dickfaced asshole did ta ya – an' where ta find 'im so tha' he can pay up with his pound a'flesh."
Already drifting off with the familiar weight and scent of his beloved twin wrapped so snugly around him, just like when they were kids, Ichigo could only nod. "Sleep now, talk later."
"Agreed," Shirosaki concurred, a wide-jawed yawn escaping before he could stop it as he nestled down on his baby brother.
There was a short bout of silence, before Ichigo sleepily inquired; "Are you going to sleep fully clothed?"
Shirosaki chuckled, yet made no move to get up. "Why, ya wanna watch me strip? Yer so kinky, Aibou."
"You're such an incestuous pervert," Ichigo rebuked, though there was little heat behind the words. "At least kick your boots off. I won't have you dirtying my sheets."
Only just fending off the petulant urge to come back with a suggestive implication to those words, Shirosaki obediently toed off the cumbersome footwear, managing to get them off and onto the floor with the absolute minimum of effort.
"Night, Ichi. Love yer face."
With a small, lingering smile, Ichigo hugged his twin close. "Love ya, too, Shi. Now shut up and sleep."
Okay, all of yah out there who believed me when I said this would be finished in two parts raise yer hand... *keeps own hand down* Yeah, I didn't believe me either. Any of yah that did - shame on you! Y'all should know by now that I cannae rein in my plots. Neither can Animal Control. I asked... They refused.
Is anybody else loving Lady Gaga's Americano song? I've had it on repeat fer like the last hour or so... I first heard it in Puss in Boots. God tha' movie was amazing! Go an' watch it if yah haven't already - for serial. Yah won't be disappointed. The music of Rodrigo y Gabriela also crops up in it, an' I freaking love them. So, yeah. Pure, hysterical aces.
I really hope tha' any and all a'yah tha' read Part Two enjoyed doin' so! I don't think anything really happened here, but at least we're all tha' little bit closer ta the awesomesauceness tha' is GrimmIchi action - so tha's a plus, ne? ^^ Writing Grimm-yums an' Shiro-sexface-saki as friends is criminally fun! Their dialect is surprisingly easy to think up, lol. They sure do like ta curse quite a lot, don't they? Naughty boys~
Oh, and before I bow out (not tha' I've ever done such a thing...) I just wanted ta say a massive an' heartfelt "Thank yah!" to all of you who welcomed me back last week. I was pleasantly surprised at the unexpected words of kindness. All a'you guys rock my fucking socks, honestly. Thanks so much (:
So, yosh! Please, do have fun reading an' enjoy yourselves if yah dare mah sweets~
Ciao fer now