I remember when our fights, mine and the blue haired bastard's, weren't set in stone. When it was a fifty-fifty chance that one of us would end up victorious over the other. Yeah, not so anymore. After all the shit I've been through, first with Aizen and then the Fullbringers and finally the Vandenreich, there wasn't a soul in any universe who could beat me if I really tried. Not even Yamamoto or the mostly immortal Aizen. And while that brought a certain amount of comfort, it also got really damn boring after awhile. I mean, all that time learning to fight and then it's just, over? That leaves me with a whole lot of power and a shitload of instincts that I have no use for, and you can only beat down the urge to fight for so long before it explodes in your face.
Enter, Grimmjow. Powerful, violent, and sex on legs. How, exactly, we went from fighting to fucking that first time I have no idea, but it was fantastic. And that began our game. Two, maybe three times a week, I go to Las Noches and we battle it out on the sands. No bankai or mask on my side, no ressurecion on his, sometimes we don't even bother with swords. And whoever wins, tops for the night. Though, honestly, it all depends on my mood. We both know, though we carefully ignore it for the sake of Grimmjow's pride, that unless I feel like bottoming there's no way in hell that he has a chance of subduing me. I'm stronger, faster, and my stamina is off the charts compared to his. It's really-
Perhaps in the middle of a fight isn't exactly that best place for me to be reminiscing.
"Get your head out of the fucking clouds, Kurosaki!"
I scowl, eyes narrowing, and roll my shoulder to dispel the ache of the solid kick. "Fuck you!"
He laughs, grinning, and throws a punch at my jaw. "Not the way this is headed, brat!"
I duck under the blow and grab a handful of his jacket, stepping closer and through his guard. A left handed punch hits my ribs but I ignore it, hooking my leg around the back of his calf and neatly sweeping his legs out from under him. He hits the ground hard on his back, the air rushing out of him in a whoosh, and I can't contain my smirk, straightening to look down at him."Is that right?" Of course, I should know better than to bait Grimmjow.
He mirrors my smirk, and faster than I can react he lashes out with both feet, kicking my legs out from under me. I yelp, my hands jerking forwards to brace against the ground on either side of his hips to stop the fall, just barely avoiding face planting straight into his crotch. His hands are in my hair before I can recover, curling through it and pulling my head up. "Yeah, I think it is." I snort, not testing his hold, and his left hand releases me to plant itself against the ground as he pushes himself halfway to sitting. "You know, since you're down there..."
I roll my eyes. "You're a bastard." I mutter, but there's no real heat in my voice. In fact, I almost groan when he sharply jerks my head up and back, the minor pain sending slow curls of heat down my spine. Damn Grimmjow for figuring out all my kinks within days.
His hand releases its grip and slides around to loosely grasp my throat, thumb pressing against my windpipe. His voice is low, commanding, and I nearly shudder. "Get to work, vizard. Then round two."
I pull my knees under me, hands coming forward to loosen the ties on Grimmjow's hakama by touch, my eyes locked with the older man's. "Sounds good, espada." Maybe, tonight, I'll let Grimmjow win our scuffle. I'm not in a particularly aggressive mood, and Grimmjow's one hell of a top when given a chance. I smirk, lower my head, and revel in the hitch of breath and muted moan from the violent arrancar.
Honestly, I get what I want whether I'm top or bottom, whether I win or lose, so really? It doesn't matter.
I'm the victor.