A/N: Yes, I finally got around to re-uploading this! Thank you to all who messaged me, it was awesome to know that people returned to read this, and thought about my stories when they were removed.
I hope you'll enjoy having this back online (and freshly edited, mmm)
WARNINGS: Naughty words, explicit yaoi smut, smut, more smut, with slight smatterings of plot.
I can feel my eyes widening as they flicker over the text in front of me for the third time. Or is this the fifth? I really couldn't tell you. No matter how many times it's been, the words are just not sinking in. My heartbeat has picked up in my chest, and as I move to click reply, I notice my hands are shaking.
Is this really happening?
From: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
To: Kurosaki Ichigo
Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 18:06)
I'm coming to Japan.
It's so like Grimmjow to be blunt like that. No details, nothing. I feel a smirk pull at my lips. He always has liked to make an impact, and good lord, he hasn't half done that. I try to hold in the words that want to gush from my brain and into my fingers, type a reply quicker than lightening. I've always been the one to reply straight away. Grimmjow is a lot more casual - or lazy, as I often surmise - waiting hours or even days to reply. I don't know if I can wait that long for a response. Not this time.
To: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
From: Kurosaki Ichigo
Subject: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 18:10)
No fuckin' way.
So, as you might have guessed, I'm not the most literate of people when in a state of shock. Which is, by the way, what I am now calling it. Because, well, what else could it be? Grimmjow coming to Japan? Nah. That just couldn't happen. I'd never have such luck. Although I've got to admit, despite the fact that I should seriously be doubting such a statement, I can feel it. Excitement. It's pulling at my stomach and my lips, setting free bizarre butterflies and a foreign smile.
I don't need to ask myself why.
Grimmjow and I met just over a year ago. Well, I say 'met'… Don't judge me, okay? I know you hear all of these stories - people meet online, then after months of emailing and instant messaging, they meet in real life, and the undoubtedly underage girl discovers her 17/M/JP to be an inevitably gross old man - but this is different, yeah? I've seen pictures of Grimmjow. And let me tell you, he is not a gross old man. He's… Well, he's…
He's fucking hot.
Yes, I can tell this much from webcam pictures. He hardly ever takes them, but, from the few I've seen… He has got to be the hottest living thing ever. He's got this unruly as fuck hair in the strangest shade of sky blue. His eyes scream danger and insanity and promises you know he could keep, if he gave enough of a fuck about you.
He had promised we'd meet.
Alas, I'm getting off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah. I met Grimmjow a little more than a year ago. On a social networking site, if you must know. I was drawn in by his looks, as superficial as that sounds - the small picture turning me into an instant stalker of sorts - but I soon discovered we have a lot in common.
Okay, maybe not a lot. Maybe just a couple of things. Okay, maybe just one. Quite an important one, mind you. You see, we both have a tendency of ending up in shitloads of fights. You probably think that sounds normal enough - we're teenage boys with not exactly the most conformist of appearances - we're bound to get picked on. There's one thing, though, that makes it a bit weird. You see, Grimmjow and I find ourselves enjoying the fights we get into. I know, for one, that my life would be boring without them. That's not something you can just talk about with anyone, you know? It's looked down upon, mostly, as if it were a fetish reserved for the lowest, most brutal calibre of men.
We've talked about it countless times - in fact, the most animated of any of our conversations revolve around fighting - and we've actually talked about fighting each other a few times before. That thought makes me feel strange. Excited and scared and something else that I'm not sure I want to discuss right now. Anyway.
We ended up exchanging email addresses, which soon became our preferred method of contact. We started off speaking once a week, then every few days, occasionally every day. I don't mind. I don't sit there, refreshing my inbox - why hasn't he replied? - I'm always happy to wait for his emails. No matter the length of time, whenever I see his name in the list of unread mail, it literally brightens my day.
I'm not sure when it was that I realised.
Oh, gimme a second.
From: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
To: Kurosaki Ichigo
Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 18:40)
I ain't shittin ya. Got a place at K university.
Yo, I'ma need a Japanese tutor.
No way. Is this the real deal? I can't remember telling Grimmjow any details about where I live. Well, he knows I'm in Japan. He himself was born and bred in Germany - although in which specific part, I couldn't tell you. I've often thought about, and perhaps occasionally brooded over, the fact that we really don't know all that much about each other. I'd like to know more about him. More than anyone else.
I don't know how to describe it. It's like there's something there. It makes me want to talk to him, makes me crave a response. I can't tell you how many times I've panicked, pondering the possibility of never receiving a reply. I know it could happen. Grimmjow could just change his email address, block me from the networking site, and I would never be able to find him. It scares me, but not as much as the fact that I'm scared about it does.
To: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
From: Kurosaki Ichigo
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 18:47)
And you didn't think of this sooner? Why the fuck did you apply for a Japanese university if you can't speak the language? Wait… K university? As in, Karakura?
We've both studied English for quite a few years and so that's the language in which we communicate. I can actually speak a little German, although no more than a Guten Tag here and a Verpiß Dich there. I don't know if Grimmjow can speak any Japanese - I don't see a reason why he should - but then again, I don't know a lot of things about him, do I?
I still can't tell if this is one big joke or whether this guy is actually serious.
From: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
To: Kurosaki Ichigo
Re: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 19:01)
Yeah, problem? I can speak some, dumbass, I'm just a bit rusty. I'm comin in a few weeks, you gonna help or what?
So… Grimmjow is trying to tell me that he's coming to my local University. That he's moving to Karakura, my hometown. In a few weeks. He wants me to be his tutor. As in, we'd meet and I - assuming I'm not blown away by sheer shock - would teach him things. I've not taught anyone anything in my life. I don't think helping Karin and Yuzu with their homework is quite enough to give me some kind of qualified teacher status.
This is starting to feel a bit elaborate for a prank. It's a little unsettling.
But wait - Grimmjow can speak some Japanese? That must mean that he's studied it. Not only has this given me a new-found respect for the guy, but it's also made me realise that he just might be serious. What if he has studied Japanese so that he could come live over here or something? If that's the case, this must have been in his plans for a while.
He hadn't mentioned it before, though. At least not to me. And we had told each other things that we had claimed to have never told anyone - I only know, of course, that it's truthful on my side. I trust him, though. Is it strange, to trust someone you've never met? To feel as though you know someone you have never met?
To: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
From: Kurosaki Ichigo
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 19:13)
I'm starting at Karakura this year too. I actually live in the city so… Yeah, I'll help.
Even though I said that, there's a little voice grumbling at the back of my head. He must have known. Somehow, he knew. I find myself smiling. This is kind of fun - like a game. I'm almost tempted to type a smiley face but then I remember that I have testes, and such a mannerism would contest against that fact.
I'm waiting for the punch-line. The 'Yeah! I knew that hahaha I'm not really coming to Japan what an excellent joke'. Not that Grimmjow would ever write that. He'd probably just send a 'Ha.' and be done with it. I refresh the page.
From: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
To: Kurosaki Ichigo
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 19:43)
Fuck off. I thought you lived in Tokyo or some shit?
I am so gonna kick your ass when I see ya.
Butterflies. It's such an odd sensation, and one that I can honestly say I have never felt up until this moment. It's such a girly concept, really. 'Ooh he gave me butterflies'. Fuck off. Imagine that in reality - because, in reality, butterflies are fucking terrifying - winged, furry bugs with eyes on sticks taking flight in your innards? Not so girly now, huh. Urgh. I feel a bit sick.
It's starting to sink in. This is genuine. Which means that, in a few weeks, I might just meet him. I might be able to see his face, see him move, hear him talk. What would he sound like? I've imagined his voice before, of course I have. I imagine it would be deep, that he would be tall. He'd walk with a certain air and I most certainly would fall into his shadow. I don't think that would be a bad thing, though.
I try not to sound too excited as my fingers fly across the keyboard.
To: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
From: Kurosaki Ichigo
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 20:03)
Don't just assume I fucking live in Tokyo cause I live in Japan. Y'know, some people would consider that racist… Ha.
So is it just me, or is this fucking awesome?
Are we actually gonna meet irl?
Okay, so obviously, as usual, my attempt at being nonchalant has failed spectacularly. I can't find it in me to care, though. I kind of want him to know how excited I am. I wonder if he is, too. He was the one who had suggested meeting… But maybe he felt as though he had to, because he was coming to Japan? I don't know. My brain hurts.
All I can do is wait for his response. Daydream the circumstances under which we might meet. I know it could all go awry - we could find ourselves with a clash of personalities, or we could just not like each other in real life - but I still can't help but cling to the idea that this could but nothing short of amazing.
From: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez
To: Kurosaki Ichigo
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Guess what, Kurosaki?
(22 February 2011 20:10)
We're gonna do more than just meet, Ichigo.
So how about that tutoring? Do I get to call ya sensei?
I can feel a fierce blush creep up my neck - I'm so glad there's no one in the darkness of my room to witness it - and I'm quite vigilantly fighting off a nosebleed at the image that has formed in my mind. Myself in a suit and glasses - could I pull that look off? - and Grimmjow in a school uniform. Oh. But, I'm getting distracted. I think I may have missed out quite an important piece of information here.
I have, quite possibly, the biggest crush on Grimmjow.
Okay, so he's a boy and I'm a boy but we're all very accepting nowadays so I know there's nothing wrong with it. I have gay friends - but so do half the adamantly straight, I'm-not-homophobic, male species - and so it's never really bothered me. I've never thought of another guy that way myself, at least not until now. But again, it strangely doesn't faze me. I don't know if I'm gay or bi or what, but I'm pretty sure that it's not a big deal.
Plus no one knows, so that kind of helps. The only problem with that is, well, that Grimmjow doesn't know either. How are you supposed to tell someone something like that? 'Oh, hey. Yeah I know we've never met, but I kinda wanna fuck you?' I don't think that would go down too brilliantly, you know? In any case, it's true. I can admit that much.
I want to fuck Grimmjow.
There's something strange writhing in my chest as I start to wonder whether it could actually happen. Why had he started talking to me? Was it because of similar reasons to mine - an attraction of sorts? Oh, christ. I feel like I'm getting way ahead of myself. I don't even know his sexual preference. But…
"We're gonna do more than just meet, Ichigo."
What did he mean by that? Okay, so I'm going to be honest here. My first assumption is, well, you know… That we're going to do the dirty. I'm sure he meant other, far more boring, things like talking and being friends. But hey, I'm a teenage boy, my mind instantly jumps to the most satisfactory response. Which, at the moment, just so happens to be an image of Grimmjow naked.
Crap. I'm hard.
I start daydreaming again. Grimmjow and I are walking through Karakura at night. I've probably been showing him shitty sights but that's not important. We might have had a few beers, some dutch courage for myself perhaps. One of us stumbles and is caught by the other. We end up kissing. It's hot and wet and I end up dragging Grimmjow back to my place. Not here, not my family's house. I'd have my own place, I'd be sure of it.
I don't even resist the urge to run my hand down my stomach, sucking in a breath as I toy with the hem of my pyjama bottoms.
We'd practically fall through the front door. I'd tear at his jacket straight away, tell him what I wanted without words. Of course, this is my fantasy and so he is equally as eager, if not more so. He'd push me up against the door as soon as it closed, connecting our mouths again. He'd be all teeth and rough gestures, pulling my arms above my head, biting at my exposed neck. He'd ask where the bedroom was, and promptly drag me to it.
I wrap my hand around myself, let out a long breath. Slow strokes. Make it last.
He'd push me down onto the double bed, hover over me on all fours. Divest me of obstructing clothing, not slow and teasingly, but impatiently - buttons scattering, harsh tugging of skinny jeans - before stripping himself. I'd try to take in every last detail of Grimmjow's naked form. Every muscle, every hair, every almost-unnoticeable scar. He'd press that hot body against me, grinding, rutting, animalistic growls erupting from our throats.
I have to bite my lip to stop myself from making any noise. I'm leaning back in my desk chair, my eyes closed, my head tilted back as I give into temptation. Long strokes, faster, mimicking how I want him to touch me. It's not enough. My toes are curling in frustration and pleasure.
He'd move down my chest, licking, nipping - a wet trail. He'd wrap his mouth around me, and it would be hot. Everything would be surrounded in his heat. He'd suck me, right until that moment where I'd cry out, warning him. Then he'd pull back, the smirk on his features much like the one I'd seen in pictures - but real. I'd watch as he would lick his fingers, a lewd show of what he could be doing to me. I'd probably let out an unmanly whine at the lack of attention, watch his eyes darken as they took me in, undone.
I've coated a finger with my own saliva and it's hovering over my hole. I've never done anything like this before, anal play. I hadn't even thought about it until I met Grimmjow. But now I'm sucking in a breath as I circle my own entrance, wondering what it would feel like. I want to be prepared, just in case something does happen - just in case the urge to have Grimmjow ram himself into me doesn't quell.
As I imagine his fingers inside me I insert my own. It's strange, uncomfortable, maybe. It doesn't hurt but it doesn't exactly feel fantastic either. I want to push it out, but my fantasy insists I continue. Grimmjow. Focus on him. He'd definitely mock me if I made such a face in front of him. I have to be ready. I quicken my hand around myself to distract from the discomfort. Push in, pull out. I'm getting used to it, unfortunately.
As the image of Grimmjow preparing me continues, I risk another finger. I make a muffled sound in my throat as my pace grows faster. He's lining himself up, pushing himself into me, but I can't feel it because it's not actually happening and I'm panting and racing to the finish and as I come all I can think about is how I wish this were real, I wish he were here.
I'm tapping my foot as I look up at the electronic board. I'm all kinds of nervous - my heart is beating as if it's got nothing better to do, my palms are disgustingly sweaty and I'm pretty sure I'm developing a tic. I've spent weeks preparing for this exact moment, and I still have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to do. I haven't done that awkward standing-in-front-of-the-mirror-talking-to-yourself thing, hell no. I prefer to conduct experiments in my head, play out different situations. I have decided to go with the most casual option – try to be myself, without giving into these hideous nerves. Be confident.
The sentence I have been focusing on has started blinking. Mimicking it, I notice that its status has changed. My pulse decides that it's time to run a marathon. My mouth is a little dry, could someone get me a glass of water?
I know I still have to wait for him to disembark, collect his luggage etc, but holy fucking christ the time in nigh. Jesus, and other such blasphemies. I didn't think this would ever actually happen. Even though I know I've got ages to wait, my eyes are already hurriedly scanning the crowds. I watch families and businessmen and tourists with cameras speed past in what feels like double-time.
Soon. Soon I'll see him. I try to stop my hands from shaking and almost immediately wish that I smoked. No. Smoking is bad for you. Future doctors shouldn't smoke. I shake my head - am I a crazy person now? - and focus on the masses of people once more. I try not to look scared, as if I'm not panicking immensely. Try to look as though I'm not overanalysing every person that walks past.
I almost swallow my tongue as I take in the sight. He's here. Grimmjow. He's in Japan and oh god he's like ten metres away from me, I should probably pick my jaw up off the floor. He's walking in long strides, his tight black jeans clinging to his practically bursting thighs like a possessive lover. I see the gleam from a studded belt, the sunglasses resting atop perfectly styled hair. He's wearing a leather jacket that accentuates broad shoulders, some illustrated grey tee underneath.
I fear I may be dribbling. I look down at myself. Skinny, faded grey jeans, white tee, black and burgundy plaid shirt. I feel underdressed compared to the fucking god that appears to be striding towards me. I hide it well, though. I've always been good at being cocky, it's what's got me into so many fights. I look up from underneath my fringe at him as he gets closer, let a half-smirk pull at my lips.
Jesus christ, he's tall. I actually have to look up at him. Is it bad that this excites me? He's finally close enough for me to get a good look, and the first thing I notice is his eyes. Good lord, I didn't know that shade of blue even existed in nature - yet here is the proof. They're glimmering and deep and staring right back at me. I make what is supposed to be a quick glance over the rest of him, but I'm pretty sure what I actually do could be considered visual undressing. I lick my lips.
He's got this gigantic grin on his face and I can't help but copy it. He's got amazing teeth. In fact, he's just amazing. I don't know whether I expected him to secretly have some kind of deformation or what, but he's just perfect. Everything I had envisioned, fantasised about, and more. Because, well, he's Grimmjow. And he's here. This fact is only confirmed further when he opens his mouth.
His voice is nothing like what I had imagined. Mainly because I had never considered before the fact that sex might have a voice. It's rumbling and rough and he has a bizarre twinge to his accent. Then I remember I have been spoken to. I'm almost too embarrassed to reply. I wet my lips again. His eyes follow the action not-too-subtly and my words almost die in my throat.
I speak in Japanese and watch his eyes widen. Why is that? Hmm, maybe he didn't understand me? After all, learning a foreign language in your own country can never quite prepare you for it in real-life situations. I switch to English, conscious of my own twinge to the accent. Am I making sense to him?
"How was your flight?"
I'm surprised when a smirk grasps his lips. It has a darkness behind it. Will his expressions always have this much power over me? I resist the urge to lick my lips again. I don't want him to know I'm nervous and I most definitely don't want him to know that I am bordering on aroused. Then he opens his mouth and I promptly die.
"Japanese is fine, idiot. I'm just a bit slow, knackered as fuck. Yeah the flight was cool, pretty fuckin' long though. Are we going?"
I can tell that he is thoroughly pleased with the reaction he is receiving. Although a little jerky here and there, my mother tongue flows from his with relative ease. Also, how does he know so many expletives? I try not to grin too wide. This is going to be a lot easier than I first thought. I nod and turn around, leading the way without saying a word. This way I can smile without him mocking me.
We arrive at our place an hour later.
Oh, sorry, have I not filled you in properly? Well, you see, thanks to some family funding and a part-time job, I've managed to secure myself a flat. It's quite big really, at least to my standards. It's not an all-purpose one-room type deal. It has two bedrooms, a living area with a kitchen and a bathroom. However, I have the feeling it will be tiny to Grimmjow.
Who, by the way, will be occupying the other bedroom. What, you think I could afford all that on my own? Hell no. But I know what you're thinking. It is a bit risky, rooming with someone you've never met and, in some people's eyes, don't really know. But, think about it. If I had gone into university accommodation, I would have been sharing with complete strangers.
He sets his bags down outside the front door and I remove a key from my key ring, handing it to him with a smirk. He responds in kind before slotting it into the lock, twisting firmly. He pushes open the door and strides in like he owns the place - although, really, he kind of does - and I follow behind him with his bags, not at all feeling like an errand boy. We remove our shoes and as they sit side by side, I notice how big his feet are.
He looks over his shoulder at me with the most gorgeous grin. He looks excited and a little bit crazy, which does nothing to quell the attraction I feel towards him. It's only got worse since actually meeting him in the flesh. Deciding I need to cool off, I dump his bags in the living room and head for the fridge. As I open the door I feel something hot against my neck. I stiffen as Grimmjow's deep voice purrs near my ear.
"I hope you've got beer in there."
I turn my head to face him, show him I'm not scared. Show him I'm fine with such close contact. He backs away a little and I produce two bottles of lager. I wonder briefly what they drink in Germany - add it to the list of things to ask when I run out of conversation. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet. We move to the sofas, Grimmjow lounging, already seeming quite at home.
He removes his jacket, his t-shirt riding up a little as he does so, revealing a fine trail of blue hair that makes me want to moan. I don't, though. I even think I'm managing not to stare. Then something catches my attention. I'd always assumed Grimmjow to be the type to have tattoos, but he's not covered in them - at least not from what I can see. The one he does have, though, intrigues me. It's a plain black band, maybe around a centimetre or so wide, just below his elbow. I find myself asking him what it means.
"It's signifies loss."
He doesn't look sad about it, he just says it very matter-of-fact-ly. I know who he means, who he lost. His father. He's spoken about it before. Apparently his dad was a very violent man, abusive too. Apparently Grimmjow actually has a scar from one incident - he tried to protect his mother against his father, who was armed with a crowbar - although I am yet to see it. Just as I start to wonder why he would get a tattoo in remembrance of such a man, he answers the unspoken question.
"Even is he was fucking scum, he was still my father."
He fingers the band, not looking at me. I wonder if he thinks I'm being nosy. He doesn't seem to be embarrassed, and yet I can't keep eye contact with him.
"I didn't want to get his name or any shit like that. I like the anonymity of it, this band. Most people can't tell what it is straight off the bat. But I know. I don't want to forget who he was, what he did to us. It's like a reminder. Don't end up like him. That's why sometimes… With the fighting..."
I can't help but stare at him. That was a whole big chunk of personal information he just spilled. I feel kind of honoured that he would tell me all of this, even if it was just easier because we're not personally involved. He sighs, taking a large swig of his beer.
"Fuck, why'd I just say all that? You're too easy to chat shit at-"
"You're not gonna end up like him. You know that right?"
His eyes shoot up to meet mine. They're narrowed, but I can tell that he's not angry. A small smile pulls at his lips and he looks away again.
When his lips move to form the syllables of my name, I decide that I could quite happily die. My name sounds so good coming from that mouth. I think it's time to actually try to pronounce his name, return the favour. It's not exactly easy for me, you know? The sounds are all wrong. I lick my lips and smile back, the picture of confidence, or so I hope.
"I'm only telling the truth, Grimmjow."
His eyes widen and I wonder if I've pronounced it horrifically wrong. But then he regains composure and a wide smirk takes over his face. I feel myself starting to blush and will it away. Cover up the embarrassment with annoyance.
"I really fuckin' like the way you say my name."
I know I'm blushing and he's staring right at me so I take a swig from my beer and quickly change the subject.
"So, what do you want to do tonight? You must be pretty jet-lagged so if you wanna just chill here…"
"Fuck that." He lets out a short laugh and why am I not surprised? "Let's go get drunk!"
I feel my lips pulling into a smile. This could be fun.
"Okay. I know somewhere we can get served."
Oh my. I'm quite drunk.
After a quick shower each and a change of clothes I brought Grimmjow here, to Urahara's. I've known the guy since I was a kid and he thankfully has no qualms with me drinking on his premises, despite being two years too young. Apparently he finds it unjust that Japanese teenagers have to wait almost as long as Americans to 'enjoy the magic of liquor'. Umm.
In any case, it's quite busy tonight. It's good. I can feel a slight buzzing in the air, although that could be the beer. I honestly have no clue. Grimmjow seems to be enjoying himself too, thank god. He's settled in shockingly quick - adjusting to Urahara's weird and wonderful ways right off the bat, swinging back the banter as if it were second nature - and I wonder if I'd ever be able to do that.
When Urahara hasn't been about, we've just been chatting shit. What we've been up to, what we're going to do when we're at and after university, you know, your typical conversation that would be considered mundane, if I wasn't grasping onto Grimmjow's every word as if it could save my life. I swear to god, everything he says is interesting. I've never met anyone like him.
We drink and occasionally go outside so Grimmjow can smoke (I wasn't very shocked to discover that he did. He offered me one actually, but when I declined his eyes widened little and he pointed his finger at me said 'Shit, yeah. Future doctor.' I don't know why that made me feel so good and so crap at the same time) and eventually I start to lose feeling in my legs and my head feels heavy and Grimmjow drops a muscular arm around my shoulders and says we should probably go home.
I like how he uses the word. Does he consider our flat home, already? I hope so.
So we stumble out and into the barely-lit street. Grimmjow mumbles something and laughs at himself. His arm is still wrapped around my shoulders but he doesn't rest any weight on me. I don't want him to stop touching me. This is the most physical contact we've had yet, and in my tiny beer-infused mind, this is considered progress. I can't focus on anything but that arm, my legs in autopilot, but then the arm is gone and Grimmjow is stood still, his shoulders tense.
It's as if my senses all come back at once. Something is happening. Then I hear it. Footsteps, behind us. Whooping. I whip around, a snarl already in full bloom on my lips. I don't see Grimmjow do the same, I hear it. Feel it. I let a growl filter out into the suddenly still air. Familiar faces.
"What the fuck d'you want, ass wipe?"
I bite out the words and Grimmjow gives me a surprised look. I try not to be distracted. Of all the fucking times to arrive, this prick chooses now.
"Sorry, Kurosaki. Hate to break up your little homo party, but we got a score ta settle."
Seriously? Seriously. Now. Why? I see Grimmjow bristle slightly at the word 'homo' and wonder if the asshole now stumbling towards us offended him in any way. Although I'd be surprised if Grimmjow could even understand him, the douche is barely speaking literate Japanese. My eyes flicker over the red hair, the bandana, the two figures emerging from behind the bane of my fucking existence, otherwise known as-
"Oi, Ichigo. Is that-"
"Abarai Renji. An' what the fuck is your name, fruitloop?"
Grimmjow lets out a brash 'Ha!' before taking a step forwards, his stance threatening, a maniacal grin, dancing eyes. "Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."
Abarai looks as though his brain is about to explode as he tries to translate the syllables to repeat them. I laugh as he gives up. "What the fuck kinda name is that?"
Grimmjow takes another step forward and I feel myself getting antsy. That should be me. I should be stepping forward. This is mine, this fight is mine. The next sentence to fall from Grimmjow's lips flicks a switch inside of me. Ah crap, not this again. I'm so conflicted.
"The last name you'll hear, if ya don't back the fuck off by the time I get ta three."
"What the f-"
Grimmjow removes his leather jacket, tossing it on the floor, shaking his shoulders out.
"You can't be fuckin' serio-"
Grimmjow takes another step forward. Oh hell, no. I'm not going to let him get away with this. I'll show him. I don't need protecting. I see the figures either side of Abarai move forwards. Hisagi, Kira. Pathetic.
I silently slip off my jacket.
The number is roared out in that delicious accent. I see Abarai go for Grimmjow as I land a flying kick to Kira's stomach, the sick crunch of gravel underneath his weight making my breathing laboured. I can feel him, the one who resides within me, my other self. He wants out.
I might just let him.
Kira isn't making much of a move to get up and so I quickly move on, disregarding the side-glances from Grimmjow. I can feel my breath heaving from my chest, so good so good. I can't even spare a glimpse of Grimmjow, my mind too full of the blood I want to spill. I hear the crack of a jaw I briefly hope is Abarai's, approach Hisagi who is backing off like a good little punk should, his back soon hitting a wall.
I prowl up to him. His eyes are wide and he looks scared and I wonder. How should I break you? He opens his mouth, falters, breathes out words I doubt I'd normally hear. But he hears them.
I bark out a laugh. It watery and it's not my own and I can hear Abarai screaming behind me.
"Shuuhei! Get the fuck away from him! Fuck, Shuuhei!"
I'm laughing continuously now. I let my arm reach out, take a hold of Hisagi's windpipe - I can feel his pulse raging underneath my fingers and I find myself wanting to stop it, shut it up - I won't crush it, but he doesn't know that. I still have control. I slink myself against him, whisper into his ear like a seductress.
"I suggest you get out of my sight before I break you, ne?"
A small motion I take to be a nod and I'm freeing him, letting him crumple to the ground. He should stay there, if he knows what's good for him. I turn my head to look over my shoulder. Abarai is on his knees at Grimmjow's feet, blood streaming from his face, his eyes wide. He's not looking at his former attacker, though. Nor is Grimmjow paying any attention to him.
They're both looking at me.
Then Abarai is growling in his throat, rising to his feet with a speed I would never have expected him to have, had I not seen it all before. I move, eyes widening slightly, to reach him. Grimmjow is still looking at me, unaware, and I'd be damned if I let a dickwad like Abarai Renji land a punch on that beautiful face.
I still in my tracks as I watch Grimmjow grin, his hand wrapping around Renji's throat - much like I had done Hisagi's - his eyes still focused on me. He knows all about my little situtation with Abarai, and I'm thankful that he does. Anyone else would think the same as these guys, the same words Hisagi had barely whispered.
They think I'm crazy.
Grimmjow's voice sounds darker, ten times rougher, as he growls out a question. A promise I know he could keep, if I asked him to. Is this his way of showing he cares?
"You wan' me ta kill the little fucker?"
I stroll over to the two casually, my hands in my pockets, grinning maniacally at Grimmjow the entire time. This is great, this is fucking fantastic. I'm buzzing, and I know now that it's not just the alcohol in my system. That just helps. I let my lips pull further at the corners as I tilt my head towards Grimmjow. A quick motion I know he'll understand.
Then Grimmjow's hand is leaving Abarai's neck and my foot is taking its place. The little fucker's eyes are gleaming with pure terror and the mirth I feel is just too much to keep inside me. So I let it out, that laugh, as I lift my foot slightly, lean down closer to him, into his face, a dark tune parting my lips, escaping into the cold night air.
"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run…"
Then he's sprinting away, stumbling, not even looking back to check on his fallen comrades in his bid for freedom. I move to look back at Grimmjow, my cheeks straining with the grin still possessing my face, when a rough force - a foot, striking my chest - is shoving me backwards. I try to catch my breath as I feel my eyes narrow and shoot up, just in time to dodge a punch.
Grimmjow spits and I quickly take in the situation. He's rocking back and forth, constantly moving, his eyes on mine, his teeth glinting in amusement. The graceful movements associated with his favourite fighting style - one that I can tell he is rather advanced in. He moves to trip me with a leg sweep but I think I might be quicker than him. I avoid it, moving to punch him in the jaw, but he's not there any more and I feel his knee in my stomach and I can't breathe.
I refuse to crumple to the floor, but I'm standing still, bent in half and he's still moving and it's pissing me off no end. He's glaring at me as he bounces, not letting me work out his movements. I don't like the look he's giving me. I feel a growl forming in my throat, feeling pretty fucking pathetic. Who knew he would be this strong? He shouts at me - a roar that voices my own frustration.
"That's not all you've got, Ichigo! Get the fuck up!"
I flinch as he says my name, feel something flicker within me. I have to win. I have to show him that we are at least equal in strength, that I'm not weak - that there's a reason I have a reputation in this city. I need to win. He's moving closer to me, so I stay still. I wait. Then he's moving to punch me and my face is in his and my fist is in his stomach and I can feel his muscles as they tense, hear him wheeze slightly as the air is forced out of him.
He doesn't fall to the floor like I want him to, but his movements slow as he recuperates. The smile is back on his face and so mine returns too. My head rolls a little as I shake out my shoulders. I let out a laugh and his grin widens.
"I guess I'm out of practise, Grimm. It's been a while, you know that."
He spits again and I'm distracted by the strange look that he gives me - it only lasts a second but it's enough, enough to make me start to think about something other than the fight, enough to make me think about the bizarre situation we're in - and I've been caught by a sweeping kick. My legs are pulled from underneath me and I land on my face, my hands barely catching me, both ending up grazed against the gravel.
But I turn quickly, pushing myself up slightly, my leg flying out to catch his moving ones. He trips and I laugh from the floor but he's on his knees before I can blink and his hand is around my throat, forcing me onto my back, his body weight on mine, his erection straining against my thigh and his mouth covering my own. The hand around my throat doesn't leave, holds me captive in a situation I wouldn't want to escape anyway.
I've opened my lips to let in his tongue and I'm trying to push myself up to him, into him, the pressure on my throat only making me want more. His hips shift as he tries to move up my body, his free hand clawing at my side, his fingers digging into my ribs, his thigh moving against my own arousal, making me moan loudly, muffled against his mouth. Then his teeth are around my bottom lip, tugging harshly, my hips bucking against his own, a growl purring in his throat.
I can taste blood as his tongue returns to mine and I wonder whose it is. But then his head is shaking and the pressure holding me down is lifted and I feel all too light as his hand moves to hold my cheek and his forehead is pressed against mine, the harsh panting of his breathing ghosting over my still-wet lips.
I swallow - the action requiring far too much effort - as I dare to look up at him. His eyes are closed, his brow furrowed. As he moves away from me, I notice that he won't look at me, his eyes moving to the side as he moves to stand, brushing himself off.
It's then that I realise that we are still in the middle of the city.
"Shit, did we just do that in the street?"
His eyes widen - they quickly move to mine, away again - and I am completely lost as to what it is he's thinking. I push myself off the floor, joining him to stand, gulping as I look down at my shredded palms. That's going to sting like a bitch when I clean it. It was so worth it though. I am distracted from my bizarrely calm thoughts as Grimmjow's low voice cuts through the night air again.
"Shouldn't the question be 'did we just do that'?"
I feel my scowl deepen as I try to work out what the fuck it is he means. If he didn't want that to happen, why would he initiate it? He knows, more than anyone, how we get when we fight. He shouldn't have tried to trip me if he hadn't wanted it to end with us heatedly making out on the cold floor. I'm starting to get pretty fucking pissed off again. Is he screwing with me or what?
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Grimmjow?"
His eyes are narrowed as he scans my features. Then he's moving towards me - why am I backing away? - and I'm up against a concrete wall and his hands are either side of my head and his eyes are looking into my very soul. He moves his face closer to mine and I remain still, proud, holding his gaze with my own.
"What? You tryin' to tell me you actually wanted that to happen?"
He sounds disbelieving, almost angry, and I can't think of any words that would convince him that yes, I had wanted that to happen, and would also quite like it to happen again. I feel myself snarling as he moves to push himself away from the wall, still not looking at me. I grab the back of his head before he can leave, my fingers tugging harshly on blue strands as I pull his face back to mine, kiss him with full force.
He's still for a moment and I almost move away - maybe he's the one who didn't want this? - but then he's kissing back, one hand grasping my hip, the other sliding under my shirt, tracing cold circles over my skin. His tongue feels too good against mine, and I realise that I can't remember ever kissing someone like this. I feel like Grimmjow is surrounding me as his hands move to cup my ass, lifting me off the floor, making me wrap my legs around him.
His mouth is persistent and so is mine - a new battle. I'm not particularly bothered if I win this one. Just the knowledge that Grimmjow wants me the same way I want him is enough to make me feel victorious. As is the feeling of his cold hands mapping my skin, his hot tongue moving to my jaw, his teeth sinking into my neck. There are no apologetic licks or soft kisses or soft caresses here. This is raw, it's taking me over, and I wouldn't want it any other way.
I groan as his large hands unbuckle my belt, pull apart the buttons on my jeans, release my straining erection into the cool night air. His mouth is on mine as he fumbles with his own belt and I try to help him blindly. I want to feel him, more of him, all of him. Then the belt is undone, his trousers are open and he growls into my mouth as I grasp him in my hand. He's hot and heavy and bigger than me and I twist my wrist as I start to jerk him off. I know I should be jealous, but I'm just turned the fuck on.
He sucks on my tongue as he grasps my wrist, pulling my hand away from him. I almost whine into his mouth but before I have the chance to his hand is wrapped around us both and I can feel his cock pulsating against mine and in the name of all that is holy this is the best fucking thing I have ever felt in my life. I have to break the kiss to gulp in air, not even trying to hold in my cries of pleasure.
This isn't like last time; I'm not unaware of the situation. Yes, adrenaline is still pumping through my body, my heart beating at a rate I would never before have thought possible, but it hasn't clouded my mind. I know where we are, I know what we're doing, and the fact that Grimmjow is currently jacking us off in a public space has my toes curling, my mind not even ashamed that I find this so exciting. The fear of getting caught, but not wanting to get caught.
Grimmjow is cursing against my lips in his own language, the sound of it making me moan. If I thought he was hot speaking Japanese, well this is… I have no words. I can't think straight, his hand has quickened around us and my hips are bucking of their own accord. I don't know when I squeezed my eyes shut but as I peek them open to look at Grimmjow, I almost shoot my load.
Sweat is dripping down his temple, his bottom lip clamped firmly between his teeth, the muscles I can see through his t-shirt straining, bulging as his hand works around us.
He growls when I say his name, shoves his mouth hard into mine, his tongue instantly entering my mouth, demanding complete control. I'm trying to fight against him, I really am, but as his nails dig into the flesh of my ass, his teeth once again devouring my neck, I know he has already won.
I feel as though my body is convulsing as I come, shouting his name in a raw voice I barely recognise as my own. His teeth sink further into my flesh, making my cry out again, as he follows me, his hand moving languidly before slowing to a stop. His teeth release me before he licks up my neck, to my chin, into my mouth, and I can taste blood. This time I know it is my own.
We're panting, our chests heaving, Grimmjow's arms shaking ever so slightly as he still holds me up against the wall. I blow out a long breath, close my eyes, try to calm down. I hear a soft chuckle and when I look up Grimmjow is grinning, his eyes dancing with something unknown. He lets me down from the wall gently, catching me when I almost fall. I tuck myself back into my pants before shaking my legs, trying to get the feeling back into them.
I look up to see Grimmjow right in front of me, that grin still intact. His hands are in his pockets as he leans forward, his words sultry but tinged with amusement as they dance across my lips.
I can only nod, noticing he still has blood on his chin. I want to lick it off. So I do.
I find myself enjoying the copper of my own blood - maybe I have developed a taste for it? He growls in his throat. I take it as my reward, speak softly into his ear.
"Wanna go home?"
I don't know where this confidence has come from, but it's not like I'm complaining. I don't see him nod, I feel it, stubble grazing against my cheek. When I back away that manic smile is still there. I start to walk towards our place, not looking back at him. I don't have to. I know he's right behind me.
This is so much like my fantasy it's unreal. Well, if you cut out the fight earlier. Not that I'd ever want to forget that. In any case, as soon as I open the door and bend over to take off my shoes, Grimmjow is behind me, his hands snaking around my hips as he grinds himself lewdly against my clothed ass. I'm already half-hard just from thoughts of what happened earlier, but this drives me straight to twelve o'clock.
I try to stand, try to push him off me so we can at least move away from the doorway, but he refuses to budge, pushing me forwards, making my hands flatten against the wall in front of me. I open my mouth to complain but the words die in my mouth and all I can do is moan. Grimmjow is tugging away my jeans, my underwear, his hands everywhere, his mouth hot on the back of my neck.
One of his hands roams my chest under my shirt, tweaks a nipple that I swear to god has never been sensitive until now. His other hand massages my ass before it leaves, only to return in a harsh slap. I flinch, letting out a breathless sound, not quite believing that Grimmjow just spanked me. And I enjoyed it.
He chuckles against my neck as he repeats the action - harder, faster, it stings in the best kind of way - and I try not to but I yelp like a kicked puppy, my eyes watering, my dick twitching and oh god he needs to stop that before I discover that I am actually a masochist. I feel the low vibrations of his voice in my ear drum as he purrs out a sentence that promptly makes me want to die.
"You like that, bitch?"
I'm a mascochist, aren't I?
Oh well, I can't really grumble, especially seen as Grimmjow has just forced several of his long fingers into my mouth. Oh yes, I know what's happening here, and I have to say that I'm really rather enjoying it. As I suck on his fingers - wrapping my tongue around each of them, knowing where they'll soon be - I can feel his hand approaching my ass again. I flinch, waiting for the harsh contact, my muscles tensing of their own accord.
But it doesn't come. I try to swallow around his fingers - which he's now pushing in and out of my mouth, fucking it, showing me what he could be doing all too soon, but not soon enough - as I realise that he's teasing me. I know he'll do it again. I just can't guess when. It's frustrating and I want to growl but all that comes out of my mouth is a pathetic whine as I relax a little.
I swear to god that sound is far too erotic, especially when it's the sound of your own stinging flesh. I flinch again, spit out a curse. Grimmjow lets out a barking laugh. Then his hand returns to my ass, massaging the sore spot, and his fingers leave my mouth. I move my hand to wipe at my chin, my own saliva dripping down it, but soon have to brace it against the wall again, my head flying back against my will as Grimmjow plunges a long finger into me without warning.
Oh god oh god, this feels so much better than when I did it myself. His one hand is still massaging my cheek, parting it from the other as his other hand moves that finger rhythmically within me. Then there's two and it stings but, fuck me, I love it and I hear myself crying out at an embarrassing volume. I move my hand away from the wall again, ball it into a fist, shove it against my mouth in an attempt to silence myself.
Grimmjow rams in another finger and I barely manage to muffle my cries. But then he's leaning over me, the hand on my ass cheek leaving to grip my wrist painfully, wrenching my hand away from my mouth. I cry out at the rough treatment and the way my body is reacting to his sheer dominance. I want him so bad, I need him to fuck me, the sooner the fucking better.
"I wanna hear you moan like the fucking whore you are."
Oh my god.
I do as I'm told - when did I become so obedient? - setting free a loud groan, the embarrassment only making the air feel hotter, heavier, only making my arousal more unbearable. Then Grimmjow strikes something within me - something I had never found myself - and the expletives that pour from my mouth do nothing to ease the discomfort of this pleasure.
His voice is husky as he continues to pound into me with only his fingers.
My breath is coming out in pants. Is this what desperation feels like?
"Shit, I need... Urgh… Fuck me, Grimm."
I can't see him smirking but I can hear it as he leans over me, his fingers pushing as far as they can reach inside me, his lips ghosting against my skin, making me tremble.
"I don't think that's how sluts are s'posed to ask fer shit, is it?"
I'm pushing back on his fingers - they're not enough, I need more, I need him - and my hips buck as I whimper out a response. I've never begged for anything, ever. For Grimmjow, however, I'm all too willing to change that.
"Urgh, please… Please, Grimmjow…"
His fingers are pulled out of me too quickly but then he himself is pushing into me and it hurts but I need him to hurry so I'm pushing back on him, forcing him to go faster, take me, take all of me, hurry.
I hear him groan and it makes my still-untouched dick twitch. I move to touch myself, relieve some of this pressure, this ache, as my body gets used to his length, his thickness, but he snatches my wrist before I get the chance, pulls it behind my back. I whine helplessly as he does the same to the other wrist, my head dropping to rest on the floor as he takes complete control of my body.
Then he's moving and his pace is nothing short of brutal - his thrusts beyond powerful, gaining in speed, not at all jerky or unpractised - and I know that this will be forever ingrained in my memory. The hand not holding my wrists has my hip in a bruising grasp, pulling me to meet his thrusts, pulling me harder, faster, making me cry out louder.
Then that hand moves, brushes up my spine, the action almost gentle, until he is grabbing a fistful of my hair, pulling my head to the side. I try to look back at him - I want to see what he looks like when he's fucking me, what expressions does he make? - but all I can glimpse is the solid gaze his has on my face.
Grimmjow changes the angle and oh Jesus-fucking-Christ I can't help but moan his name like a mantra. He growls, tugging on my hair again, before releasing his grasp, shoving my head away. Then he's pulling out of me but I don't have the chance to ask why because he's moved me onto my back and is entering me again with no remorse, his hands on my shoulders, my back digging into the wooden floor painfully.
He's lifting my ass up and I'm trying to grab hold of something - anything that will make me feel a little more grounded - but there's nothing and so I give in, clawing at Grimmjow's triceps as his pace gains more fervour, the wet slapping sounds of our skin meeting almost deafening. I cry out and I suddenly realise that I am grateful for this new position. Grimmjow is pounding into my prostate almost continuously and I am coming undone, I swear.
My breath is shortening and I can't help but moan with every exhale, Grimmjow's grunts and growls going far from unnoticed. My spine is curving against him, I'm trying to move with him, I need to reach the finish line before my body gives up on me.
It's as if he knows exactly what I want because a large, hot hand wraps around me and I let out a whimpering groan, my breath hitching as he twists his hand sloppily around my head.
"Ugh! Yes! M'comin!"
I warn him as I come apart, my brow furrowed in concentration, my body quivering as I release myself over the two of us. I don't have any time to rest, though, as Grimmjow slams me harshly against the floor, one hand now on my stomach, the other on my hip as he pushes himself into me mercilessly, trying to find his own end. I feel him twitch within me, watch his beautiful dark expression as he roars, revealing his pointed incisors in a filthy snarl as he fills me to the brim.
He collapses on top of me - proving wrong my theory that he actually has some kind of superhuman strength - resting on his forearms as he blows hair out of his face. He grins down at me - albeit a little more tiredly than before - as he pulls out. I grimace at the feeling of his fluids leaving my body and he laughs at me. Then he's leaning over me again on all fours, his tongue darting out at my lips before his wrap around them. He kisses me slowly, almost lazily, and when he pulls away I suggest we head to the bedroom. He raises an eyebrow at me, a wild smirk blooming.
"Your bedroom or mine?"