Happy Birthday Racey! This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I didn't want to flake out on sexy time, so I'm making it a two-shot. I think I tried too hard to make a plot, and you know how I get with dialogue…ugh.

A Passing Grade

Part 1: The Conference

"Jinta, eyes on your own paper," Ichigo said, whiskey-colored eyes focused on the cocky redhead on the other side of the room.

Jinta looked over at his middle school math teacher, his face bored. Ichigo had his arms folded over his chest, tired of the little snot challenging his authority.

The brat currently had a toothpick in his mouth: he chewed on them every damn day. He was rolling it around now, tipping it back and forth, his eyes half-lidded, like Ichigo was barely keeping him conscious.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at the little punk, daring him to look over at his neighbor's paper again, a white-haired boy with breathtaking crimson eyes named Di-Roy. Ichigo knew the two were good friends and that Di-Roy didn't speak much (maybe because of the braces?) but Jinta more than made up for it. He was a little spitfire and it was hard to keep him concentrated on anything for more than a few minutes at a time.

They were barely twenty minutes into an exam, and Ichigo didn't tolerate wandering eyes. If Ichigo had made it through middle school, high school, and two college degrees without cheating, then he was damned set on making sure his students accomplished it too. And even though he should fail the little ass hole for even attempting to cheat, a little part of him couldn't do it. Jinta was a pain in the ass, but he was pretty sure Jinta had been trying to make sure Di-Roy wasn't struggling. Di-Roy wasn't stupid, but math was his worst subject, and Jinta, despite his rough exterior and I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude, was extremely smart with numbers.

Why did I pick middle school? Why?

Seriously, Ichigo was beginning to think he'd picked the wrong age dynamic. He'd hated middle school himself, so maybe that was part of the reason. He'd wanted to be the teacher that knew how the kids felt, had been in their shoes, but Ichigo had quickly developed a reputation for being a bit of a hard ass. Ichigo loved math, it was the one thing he'd been strong in his entire life, so he tended to go off on rants and cover the board in equations, leaving the kids drooling on their desks as they snored or had the extremely smart, straight-A students orgasming in the front row.

Ichigo took a seat at his desk and tried not to roll his eyes as he heard a few of the girls giggle.

Yeah, and there were the obnoxious fan girls too, the ones that thought their teacher was "super hot" and "so so SMART" with his unique orange hair and being the teacher who sponsored the middle school karate club. Ichigo was a third degree black belt and had jumped at the chance to be a part of the school's extracurricular program, but he was getting tired of the students who joined just to gape and gawk.

Ichigo grinned thinking about it. These little fan girls didn't have a chance in hell with him because 1) they were half his age and 2) he preferred dick, thank you very much.

Ichigo frowned thinking about the boy last year who'd had a big crush on him, following him around like a lovesick puppy and even writing him little haikus and leaving them on his desk during break times:

I love you teacher

You make math interesting

Can I suck your dick?

He'd tried to reason with the boy named Luppi, but instead of bursting into tears the boy had gotten rather dramatic and said that he felt like Ichigo had just ripped his heart from his chest and got up on his tip toes to try and slap Ichigo across the face.

And then he transferred out of the school, never to be heard from again.

Oh well. The kid was thirteen: he was probably "in love" with a new person by now.

Still, students weren't the ONLY people he had to worry about hitting on him. The world history teacher, Ichimaru Gin, seemed to tease him on a daily basis, but Ichigo knew it was because he was just a shameless flirt. Ichigo knew for a fact that his lover was the principal of the adjoining high school, a Mr. Coyote, a sleepy man that was usually found on the couch in the teacher's lounge more than at his desk doing paperwork. How the man managed to keep his job and the schools running so smoothly was a complete and total mystery with how much the man fucking slept.

Ichigo scratched listlessly on a piece of paper as he listened to the clock tick, his fingers itching for something to do. He'd finished the homework assignment grading the night before, and obviously none of the kids were done with their exams yet.

I have too much free time on my hands, Ichigo thought. I need a hobby.

His best work friend, an obnoxious P.E. teacher named Renji (who also tried to get into his pants at least once a month) had offered to take him out to a few gay bars in the area to get him out in the scene, get him to make more friends, possibly even find himself a boyfriend, but Ichigo was wary. He wasn't really a crowd kind of guy, and clubs completely turned him off. They smelled bad and he wasn't a big drinker and it was SO LOUD how did people freaking manage to communicate? Not only that, the drinks were so expensive: if he wanted to get drunk, he could buy a bottle at Urahara's convenience store and not break the bank.

I'm boring, Ichigo sighed, almost nodding off on top of his fist, I have no good qualities. Maybe I should just let Renji take me to that sushi place he's always talking about...

Ichigo looked up to see all his students bent over their desks, eyes eager or panicked, pencils scratching and erasers rubbing.

Then he glanced at Jinta. Their desks were partners (three rows of two desks, making five neat little lanes) and Jinta was scribbling something furiously onto Di Roy's paper.

Shit. Ichigo sighed before getting up from his desk and approaching them.

Jinta pulled his pencil away, Di Roy's eyes looking worried. They knew they were caught.

Ichigo picked up both boys' tests, "See me after class."

Jinta's face morphed into one of complete rage. For a second it actually scared Ichigo. Definitely a facial expression he'd adopted from a parent or something.

"Of course, Kurosaki-sensei," he sneered, kicking back and putting his muddy converse on top of his desk.

"Look, cheating is enough to get you expelled at Arrancar Academy," Ichigo sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand, "This is serious, guys. Why don't you talk to me about it?"

Di-Roy lowered his head, his white bangs hiding his face completely as Jinta sat with his arms crossed.

"It wasn't cheating. Di just fergot one'a the formulas. I wrote it right there," Jinta said, slamming his finger on the corner of the second page.

It was indeed Jinta's chicken scratch, but so were two of the answers that were circled in the middle of the page. Ichigo stared at the written out work of one of the fractional equations: Di Roy had attempted it and hadn't finished it, but Jinta had given him the numerical ending answer.

Clear as day, they cheated.

"Look, I don't want to take this to the principal, so I'm going to give you each a fresh test and separate you. I'll be contacting your parents for a short conference."

"What?" Jinta said, his voice dripping in acid, "Di Roy didn't do anything! I'm the one who wrote on his test!"

"I know you're angry, Jinta, but I can't walk away from this. You cheated: you may not think it's a big deal, but it is. If I took this to the principal, it could affect the rest of your academic career. It could stop you from being accepted to good high schools: is that what you want?"

Jinta sneered, "Don't care. I don't need school."

"What about Di Roy? You want him to get kicked out because you have an attitude problem?" Ichigo challenged, his own temper flaring, "I don't care if you gave him answers as a charity case or if he begged you for them, you cheated. You messed up. This is the real world, and there's consequences for your actions."

At the end of the rant, there was silence.

"We'll re-take the test. I'll even call my dad myself, but come on, sensei, leave Di Roy's parents outta this."

Jinta actually looked a little apologetic: the snarl was gone, and that, more than anything, clued Ichigo in to how protective Jinta was towards Di Roy.

Yeah, there was definitely some underlying feelings going on in that department.

Damn, why do I gotta be the hopeless romantic?


The end of the school day finally rolled around and Ichigo was anxious to get this conference over with. After re-taking the test, Jinta had pulled out his cell phone and proceeded to call his father. Ichigo had been surprised at how quick the conversation went, with seemingly no screaming or gnashing of teeth. Honestly, did parents even care these days?

Ichigo had never met half his student's parents. Hell, he barely ever interacted with parents at all, unless they e-mailed him about their son's or daughter's progress or something else of that nature, so for the rest of the afternoon, Ichigo found himself actually a little bit intimidated about how he was going to handle the situation with a father that probably didn't give two shits that his kid had cheated on a middle school algebra test.

Ichigo straightened up his desk, just for something to do as he waited for his classroom door to slide open at five p.m., the agreed-upon meeting time. He fixed his collar and tie, wishing he could take it off, but he was supposed to be professional in the school setting: simple black slacks, a light yellow button-down shirt, and a silky red tie. Wasn't much of a fashion statement, but it was more comfortable then the starchy-school-emblem-shirts that most of the other teachers chose to wear.

Who cares about fashion anyway? I'm a fucking math teacher.

Time ticked by slowly. Or was this ass hole just going to be late?

He got a cup of coffee. No parent.

Went to the bathroom. Returning to the room, no parent.

He built a rubber band ball from all the rubber bands he'd confiscated from Jinta and a few other students who thought it was hilarious to flick them at the backs of other student's heads and bounced it against the blackboard for a while.

Still no parent.

He was about ready to take out the deck of cards he kept in the bottom drawer to start building a card house when he finally heard the door slide.

He turned to look, and he hoped to god that his face looked impassive because, well, mentally, he was jumping around and screaming like a complete idiot.

Forty-five minutes late and Ichigo should be livid, totally ready to eviscerate this man about his excessive tardiness (and maybe even ask him if it was genetic because Jinta sure as hell never showed up on time and tended to ditch a lot.)

But that all died on the tip of his tongue because, sweet Kami in heaven, the man was fucking gorgeous.

Not like "I'm a model" gorgeous, but a "I could be a model, but I'm seemingly unaware of how attractive I actually am" kind of gorgeous. Ichigo really hoped he wasn't drooling on himself as the man walked in, his blue eyes the exact same shade as his hair. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white tee, although their seemed to be oil smudges near the collar and hemline, but that just drew attention to how fit the man had to be beneath the thin cotton material.

Then, the real crusher: colorful, twisting tattoos along the man's forearms, a personal fetish of Ichigo's. If there were two things he looked for in a man, it was confidence and ink. (One reason he had almost given in to Renji's advances).

And lots of it. Ichigo wondered if there was more that he couldn't see.

Not only that, he had on simple thick-framed black glasses that nearly had Ichigo's heart doing somersaults. Ichigo had always been a weirdo: for some reason, glasses turned him on (maybe because he'd always secretly wanted them?).

For a second Ichigo even convinced himself the man wasn't even Jinta's father because 1) he looked far too young to be a father of a thirteen-year-old troublemaker and 2) his hair was quite unmistakably blue.

Then Ichigo sighed internally. Damn. His wife must have the bloodshed red hair.

His wife. Ichigo kept chanting to himself. This man has a kid. He's probably got a wife, or two, or three. Christ, he could impregnate the world and be thanked for it.

"You Kurosaki-sensei?" the blue-haired Adonis said, his voice husky. He ran a hand through his hair, which lifted his tee just enough for Ichigo to catch a glimpse of one of the man's highway lines on the hips.

Ichigo mentally licked his lips. He LOVED those lines.

The super-highway to downtown fuck town.

"I in the wrong place?" the man said, sounding a bit agitated.

Probably cuz you're staring like a slack-jawed idiot, Ichigo chided himself.

"Oh, yeah – I mean, no, you're in the right place," Ichigo stood up from his desk and approached his student's father (he had to keep reminding himself of that) and extended his hand, "Kurosaki Ichigo. I teach pre-algebra, algebra, and geometry."

"Jaegerjaques Grimmjow," he replied, eyes traveling over Ichigo's body and making him want to shudder, "Nice 'ta finally meet one of the brat's teachers."

Ichigo couldn't help but smile before allowing his hand to drop away and making his way back to his seat, motioning for Grimmjow to take the seat prepared in front of the teacher's desk.

Grimmjow plopped down and made himself comfortable, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest, his eyes settled on Ichigo who had been studying the asymetrical and diabolic layout of Grimmjow's crazy blue hair.

It's like a mini labyrinth.

"So, my kid gonna pass this class?"

Ichigo tried not to shudder at the low purr. The man certainly cut straight to the point, no further adieu.

"Uh, well, of-of course. Your son's actually one of my brightest students."

Grimmjow nodded once, seeming to think about it, "Arite. Tha's good."

Again, Ichigo was surprised. Most parents would launch into how amazing their kid was with barely any prompting, but Grimmjow seemed to already have that quiet knowledge. Ichigo was making wild assumptions, but Jinta probably had the brains to be in high school level, possibly even college level courses already; he simply lacked the drive and focus.

"Does he have you to thank for those book smarts?"

Oh God, Ichigo, way to sound like a creepy old cougar. Why don't you just go the extra mile and shove his face in your surgery-enhanced cleavage while you're at it?

Grimmjow laughed and Ichigo had to threaten his growing erection out of existence.

"Hell no. Got his good looks and brains from his mama, the crazy bitch."

Ichigo knew it probably wasn't good etiquette to laugh about something like that, but he couldn't help himself, "Yes, that is some extremely bright red hair he's got."

Grimmjow laughed again, "Ya got no idea: toting him around as a baby, people starin' at me, ya'd think I'd stolen him outta his crib or somethin', but no, that brat's mine and he's all I've got now."

Ichigo couldn't help himself, "You're a single father?"

"Yah. Got Charlene pregnant in high school. Jinta was born only a week after my seventeenth birthday. We'd planned on givin' him up for adoption, but – shit, I made the mistake'a holdin' him and that was all she wrote."

He dug in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, "Mind if I smoke?"

Reply #1: I'm sorry, it's against school policy.

Reply #2: This is a children's classroom, dumb ass.

Reply #3: You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, as long as I get to watch you do it.


Grimmjow lit one of his cancer sticks and stared at Ichigo again, "Course Charlene gave me full custody: parents had her on the fast track to law school, but that's what she wanted. Wasn't ready for a kid. Fuck, nobody's EVER ready for a kid. My old man gave me so much shit, but the second Jinta started talkin', he turned into super grampa. Then things got easier. If Jinta's been actin' up, it's 'cuz my pops died about six months ago."

Grimmjow quietly puffed on his cigarette for a minute, and the story was seriously beginning to make Ichigo feel like a complete ass hole.

It certainly explained why Jinta had been so moody lately, perhaps explained why he had missed so much class.

"I thought maybe it was because…well, he seems very close to his classmate, Di Roy…"

Grimmjow let out a bark of laughter, stubbing his cigarette out on the arm of his chair before tossing it in the wastebasket next to Ichigo's desk, "Oh yeah, Di's real close ta' my kid. Caught 'em foolin' around 'bout a month ago in the pool."

Ichigo knew his face was as read as a tomato. Seriously? Thirteen years old and already…!

"Kids will be kids," Grimmjow said, shrugging, "Better they figure it out now then catch hell for it later, ya know?"

"B-but…they couldn't possibly be…having…"

"Sex? Nah, not yet, but they're gettin' there. Jinta turns fourteen in two weeks, so who knows? I started stickin' my dick in willing holes by that age, so I can't really judge. 'Sides, if he's gay, don't gotta worry 'bout bein' a grampa at 31, ya know?"

Ichigo didn't know whether to laugh or cry at Grimmjow's logic. He was certainly an easy-going parent, and Ichigo couldn't help but appreciate that. His own old man was…well, rather unique, if not completely bat-shit insane.

And it was obvious by the way Grimmjow spoke about Jinta that he had a lot of affection for him. Ichigo had no doubt in his mind that Grimmjow would move heaven and earth for his kid, which was all he could ask for.

"So," Grimmjow smirked, revealing teeth that looked too good for a constant smoker, "Did my young-single-dad-sob-story win over your icey teacher heart or are ya expectin' me 'ta bend over backwards 'ta keep him in this school?"

Smug ass hole.

Ichigo smiled back, "I allowed them both to retake the test, which I've graded. Of course Jinta passed with flying colors, so I expect he'll be fine to pass this year. Di Roy, on the other hand…well, I might need to tutor him a few times a week, or find him a tutor…"

Grimmjow smirked, "Oh, ya won't have ta worry 'bout that. I'll have Jinta tutor him. Di's over at the house all the time anyway."

Ichigo raised a brow: Jinta was certainly smart enough to take on the task, but it still left Ichigo wary.

"As a teacher, I can't really…well, I mean, he's your son, he can do whatever he wants, but maybe I should look into one of the school's tutors instead…"

"Nah, this way will be far more fun," Grimmjow chuckled, "Don't worry, I'll make 'em sit in the kitchen, watch 'em squirm. Trust me, this is prob'ly the only way 'yer gonna make Jinta feel like he's bein' punished."

Huh. Well, maybe Grimmjow DID believe in some form of discipline for his kid's actions. It was…a bit unorthodox, but still amusing.

"Well then, I'd say everything's smoothed out, then," Ichigo said, standing up and holding out his hand for another handshake (any excuse to touch the blue haired dad, anyway), "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Jaegerjaques."

Grimmjow smiled wide, grabbing Ichigo's hand and leaning over the desk, quite close to Ichigo, "Nah, that was my old man. Call me Grimmjow and I'll call you Ichigo, yeah?"

Ichigo tried not to choke on his own saliva, "S-sure, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow finally released his hand, smiling winningly, "I like how 'ya say it. Damn sexy, teach. I like that."

Ichigo knew he was redder then a strawberry because Grimmjow chuckled.

"Aw, look at'cha. Yer girlfriend must tease ya constantly 'bout that blush."

"I don't have a girlfriend," Ichigo nearly shouted, beyond embarrassed and SO out of his element.

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, smirking, "Boyfriend, then?"

Ichigo did choke then, "N-no!"

"…but'cha want one, ne?" Grimmjow said, sidling over around the desk and WAY too close to Ichigo for comfort, "Don't see how 'yer single, sensei. I was never any good at math, but'cher makin' me wish I'd paid attention a lil' more. I think 'yer a lil' too sexy for your own good."

Ichigo seriously thought he was going to pass out when Grimmjow dipped his head and stole a kiss from Ichigo's lips. What the fuck?

This breaks all kinds of school regulations.

Shut the fuck up! Ichigo hissed to himself, not exactly sure who he was talking to anymore.

Ichigo moaned: Grimmjow smelled like oiled leather and cigarettes and tasted suspiciously like butterscotch. How that worked, he wasn't sure. Maybe some kind of mint or toothpaste?

Grimmjow's deep chuckle brought Ichigo back to the plain of existence and Ichigo abashedly realized his hands were gripping the front of Grimmjow's tee.

"Oh, oh my god," Ichigo stuttered, pushing Grimmjow away slightly, "Shit, you're my student's father!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Grimmjow teased, allowing his thumb to tease Ichigo's jaw as he gripped his chin, "but I was under the impression we were both single. We don't work together, and I thought the school business had just ended with that nifty handshake a few minutes ago."

"So…" Grimmjow trailed off, nipping at Ichigo's bottom lip, "We're totally justified right now, yeah?"

Despite how much Ichigo wanted to just rip their clothes off and go at it like monkeys in heat on top of his desk, the voice in the back of his head kept telling him they were in his classroom, which meant they were on school property, which made Ichigo think that if they were anywhere else, he'd already be cumming several times over.

"G-Grimmjow," Ichigo almost begged, pushing the blue-haired devil dad away from his swollen lips with a hand against a scratchy jaw, "This is still your son's academy. This is my JOB, so, you know, can we pump the breaks a second here?"

Grimmjow's leer had Ichigo thinking all kinds of wrong and disturbing things so he tried not to look but he couldn't help himself.

"So, 'yer saying dinner tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. My place. I'll make lasagna. You bring the wine," Grimmjow said before pecking Ichigo quickly on the lips, "Ah, and ya don't gotta worry 'bout Jinta. I'll have him stay the night at Di's."

"W-wait, I never said-"

Grimmjow grabbed a pen from the desk and one of the many colored post-its and scribbled some info down on it while Ichigo struggled for words, his heart hammering out of his chest.

Grimmjow grabbed Ichigo by the tie and pulled him in for one more slow, extremely-satisfying kiss (HOLY SHIT! HIS TONGUE IS PIERCED!) before sticking the post-it over Ichigo's breast pocket, "Tha's my address and cell number. Tomorrow. 8 o'clock."

Another delicious smirk and then the man was leaving the class room. His hand on the door, he turned slightly, grinning ear to ear, "I think my kid needs 'ta get in trouble more often."

And then he was gone.

Ichigo practically fell into his chair, just staring blankly at the closed door for a good five minutes.

Then he smiled. He collected his things and it took everything in him not to skip through the hallways as he headed home for a well-deserved shower and some downtime in front of the television.

A part of him, the professional side, was threatening to kick his ass.

But it was true: he didn't work with Grimmjow, and Grimmjow certainly wasn't one of his students, although maybe the argument could be made (if they were found out) that Ichigo would show favoritism to a student, but seriously, Ichigo was beginning to think there really was no harm in having a little…fun with a student's dad.

Guh, why did the man have to be so incredibly sexy? He doesn't even try.

Not to mention he was an amazing kisser.

Ichigo should have worried that it was some kind of sick joke. Maybe he was closer to his kid then he thought and they'd thought it would be hilarious to get back at young gay teacher, teach him a lesson.

Nah. Those kisses were just a little too enthusiastic.

Grimmjow wanted in his pants. Ichigo wanted in Grimmjow's pants. It was mutual.

Ichigo had never had a one-night stand before, but that was probably what the blue-haired dad was offering. He was young, hot, and single: no way was Ichigo convinced the grinning devil was ready to be tied down and off the market that stretched out before him like an endless buffet.

And he wants me. For one night, he's after me.

So Ichigo started smiling again.

And he smiled and smiled and smiled for the rest of the night.

"Seriously?" Jinta said, his pierced eyebrows all the way to his red hairline as his dad stood on the other side of the kitchen, sipping a cup of chamomile tea.

"Yep," Grimmjow smirked, taking another sip, "Yer old man's got a hot date tomorrow night, so can 'ya have yerself a lil' sleepover at yer boyfriend's house so I don't scar 'ya fer life?"

"Oh my god, 'yer gonna fuck my math teacher?" Jinta practically howled before turning back to the stove where the pancakes he was attempting to make for dinner were about ready to burn, "Dad, seriously, do you have no shame? If you break his heart, he's gonna mark me and Di for death!"

"Hey, first of all, language," Grimmjow said, holding up a finger like he was issuing a decree, "And second, who says I'm gonna break his heart?"

"Oh I dunno, maybe 'cuz 'yer longest relationship lasted, what? A month?" Jinta said with a roll of his eyes, "Seriously, dad, this is a super fucking bad idea."

"Yo, wha'd I just say 'bout language?"

"You cuss all the time!"

"I'm 31, you're 13. Deal with it."

"Oh yeah? Well maybe I'll go deal with it with Di Roy! Ya know, I was this close 'ta fuckin' him in the pool before 'ya caught us last month!" Jinta raged, flipping the chocolate chip pancakes onto two big plates before dousing his own in syrup, "Seriously, dad, it's not fair how you get to run around and fuck like a rabbit but you give me all these rules! I'm almost fourteen!"

Grimmjow watched Jinta slam his knife into one of the pancakes, cutting it furiously to wear Grimmjow was beginning to fear for the plate's life.

Grimmjow sighed and made his way over to his one and only begotten son and ruffled his insane red hair, "I know, it's not fair, so I've been cleanin' up my act. Ya know I haven't been with anyone in a while, yeah? I wanna find somebody ta' settle down with, ya know? Ya deserve a real family, Jin."

All the fight seemed to drain out of Jinta as he sighed as well, chewing on a piece of pancake thoughtfully, "But does it gotta be my math teacher? That's so fuckin' awkward."

Grimmjow slapped the back of Jinta's head softly, "C'mon, man, language."

"Arite, arite! Jesus, I'm sorry."

"I know 'yer serious 'bout Di. Just…be smart, yeah?" Grimmjow said, pulling a condom out of his back pocket and placing it next to Jinta's plate of pancakes, "Do I gotta explain how messy it gets between two dudes?"

"Ugh, dad, we are NOT having this conversation right now," Jinta said, his face turning nearly as red as his hair, "WHY do parents think we want them to give us ANY kind of advice?"

Grimmjow howled with laughter before ruffling his kid's hair again, "Cuz, brat, we're usually right."

Grimmjow took his own plate of pancakes and sat across from his son at the island bar. They ate in comfortable silence for a while before Jinta finally grunted.

"Dad, if 'yer serious 'bout sensei, you better go old school."

"Old school?" Grimmjow's brows drew together. What was his son getting at?

Jinta rolled his eyes, "He's a sensitive guy, dad. 'Yer gonna have to woo him, like, pull all the gentleman shit. If 'yer just messin' with him 'cuz ya need to bump off 'yer uglies, 'ya better just bring back that dude who ya never shut up about and comes around all the time."

Grimmjow couldn't help but laugh, "KENPACHI? Oh my god, kid, are 'ya fuckin' nuts? He's my best friend and boss, 'ya lil psycho. Not only that, in what world do 'ya think that beast would ever let someone fuck 'im?"

Jinta shrugged, "Never said you'd be doing the fucking."

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes before getting up from his seat, "Ya lil' shit! Take that back! Yer dad is a sex god!"

Jinta cackled with laughter before having the common sense to get out of his chair and run as his dad came tearing around the island, tackling him to the ground in the living room and tickling the shit out of his sides.

"Stop! Oh god, stop dad! St – BWAHAHAHA AHA AHHHAHAHA!" Jinta screamed, crooning like a possessed hyena, "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Love ya too, kid," Grimmjow said, ruffling his son's hair one more time before letting him go. They just laid on the carpet for a while, catching their breaths.

"Sometimes I think 'yer the one raising me," Grimmjow finally murmured.

"Shut up. Yer a good dad," Jinta defended, punching Grimmjow on the shoulder, "Just…don't fuck up tomorrow's date."

Grimmjow sighed. Looked like he would have to make a cussing jar again. *

*Growing up my mum had a lil glass jar that, every time we said a bad word, we'd have to put a quarter in it. A dollar if it was 'fuck' or 'fucking' or anything of that nature. It was terrible. I was broke ALL the time. Mum only gave me, like, three bucks a week fer doing laundry and stupid shit around the house (see? I woulda lost a quarter right there) so you can see I hate the fucking cussing jar. I'm pretty sure all 'ya know what I'm talkin' bout, but I was surprised some'a my friends had no idea what I was talkin' 'bout, so I included this lil' note just in case yer mum wasn't out for yer hard-earned pocket change ;)

ALRIGHT! PART ONE IS DONE! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, RACEY! I'm working on part 2 so don't despair! I didn't want to leave ya blueballed, so I gave ya some father-son bonding fluff (and did'ya see that Jinta/DiRoy snuck in there? Yeah? Yeah, that was fer you haha!) I mean, all of this is for you, but'cha know what I mean. Hope 'yer enjoying it: I actually am having so much fun thinking up father/son dialogue I'd like to think Grimmjow would be a dad somewhat like this (and no boy in Bleach is cool enough to be his son 'cept Jinta, I think).