One last update for this story before ushering in 2013! I don't think I'll have time to post the next one within the next two days. I'll be traveling starting this coming Friday, so updates will be suspended till the second half of January.
In the meantime, let's read this one! :)
"The toilet got stuck and I was helping him with it."
Somehow, I don't think anyone believes me.
It's not helping that Grimmjow is snickering behind his hand. Not helping at all.
To my surprise, it's Geta-boshi who comes to my rescue. "Ah, I knew the toilet has issues," Urahara says, nodding gravely. "Thank you very much, Ichigo, for being so helpful to our guest."
Okay, this is definitely not a rescue. I'm not sure if I want to bury my head in the ground or give Urahara a punch in the face.
I go back to my high stool and quickly wolf down the rest of my lunch. I can still taste Grimmjow's Pad Thai on my tongue, it's kind of ruining the Pad See Ew that I'm having.
I really didn't expect the whole restroom incident to happen. Seriously, I just thought that it'd be funny if I taunt him a little, you know? I knew he was staring at me. I must've gone overboard, if his reaction is any indication.
Hell, I wasn't expecting to see him here in the first place. What are the chances of Geta-boshi hiring Grimmjow's company to redo his floor? One in a million? I thought he's here to see me or something, at first. Stupid of me.
When everyone's done, I take it upon myself to clean up after them. Grimmjow and his crew move back into the front of the shop, and Geta-boshi walks with them to talk about business details.
Even from the distance, I can still identify Grimmjow's voice in the discussion. I can't make out the words, but the deep, slightly nasally voice registers in my head, and my perverted mind takes the liberty of reminding me about what that voice has said to me in the past twenty four hours.
"So...the toilet got stuck, huh?"
I drop the plastic bag filled with empty take-out boxes on the floor in surprise. Cussing, I crouch down to pick up the mess.
"Shut it, Renji," I warn.
Of course, Renji doesn't shut up. "So...is he the guy you were telling me about?" he asks.
I shoot him a glare, and he breaks into a shit-eating grin.
I have nobody but myself to blame for this one. Yes, unfortunately, I did make the mistake of telling the idiot about my crush on Grimmjow. I mean, how am I supposed to know that this will happen? At the time, Grimmjow was nothing but a smoking hot stranger whom I admired from afar. He's this unreachable object, high up there with other magical things like stars and the moon and angels and shit.
How'd I know that I'll end up pissing him off so badly by taking a goddamn shower?
My silence does not deter Renji, and he walks with me as I take out the trash through the back door. I sigh loudly in exasperation, but he just continues to look at me expectantly.
"Come on, man, details, details!" Renji urges.
I rub my temples to soothe the ticking vein there. Then I turn to my best friend and find myself staring into a pair of large puppy eyes.
"Fuck you, Renji," I groan.
I know he's my best friend and all, but boy am I tempted to knee him in the crotch right now. He knows the power of his sad puppy eyes, and he abuses it all the time. I've known Renji since kindergarten, he knows that I can never say no when he looks at me like that.
I peer over my shoulder to make sure that we're still alone in the back lane next to the dumpster. Not the ideal place to talk about the greatest sex I've ever had in my life, but it'll have to do. I tell Renji about how Grimmjow had stormed up to my apartment last night.
Renji's eyes grow larger and larger.
I skip most of the gory details, of course, but I think he got the gist of what kind of lover Grimmjow is.
"This is like your wet dream come true!" he gushes.
I roll my eyes and feel a smirk creep onto my face. Any minute now, he's going to give me a high five and congratulate me for scoring the piece of ass I've been lusting after for so long.
Then, Renji surprises me by stating quietly, "I don't like this."
"Why?" I blurt.
"He called you a slut," he says, his face serious. He brings up his hands and starts to tick off all the things he doesn't like. "He hurt you, he's too aggressive, and he doesn't give a damn about how you feel."
My cheeks start to burn.
"It's just dirty talk," I try to explain. "And I don't mind it...rough...now and then..." I trail off, feeling embarrassed talking to Renji about my preference in bed.
"Is it really?"
I look at Renji's skeptical face. I think about what Grimmjow has said to me, then I remember how tenderly he had washed me and kissed my cheek after sex. "Yes," I say.
Renji still looks unconvinced. It's funny how he's already thinking about what kind of partner Grimmjow is when I never said anything about being with the guy at all. As far as I know, he's only interested in sleeping with me.
"We're not dating, you know," I remind Renji.
"So you're just sleeping around?" Renji asks, his eyebrows arching so high that they disappear behind his bandana. "It's not like you, Ichigo. Not like you at all."
I swallow around the uncomfortable lump in my throat. Low blow, Renji.
"I know you're eager to experiment and you like him," he continues. I don't think he knows that I'm not smiling anymore. "But at least find someone who'll give you some respect."
I bite the inside of my cheeks. Way to throw a bucket of cold water over my head, Renji, I think in my head. After a second, I repeat that out loud for his benefit.
He looks a little hurt, and I immediately feel bad. I know he's only looking out for me.
"I don't know him well enough yet," I tell him, softening my voice to let him know that I'm not really mad at him.
Renji looks down at his feet.
I can't stand it when he's upset because of me. "Come on," I slap his arm and grin at him. "I can take care of myself. If I don't like what I see, I'll stop."
He lifts his head and searches my face. I widen my grin and nod. After a while, he sighs and punches me back on my arm. "Fine," he says. "Just don't make me say 'I told you so'."
We head back into the shop to find that the construction crew has left. Urahara tells us that the flooring work will start the day after tomorrow, so we have the rest of today and tomorrow to clear out the store.
Renji and I stare at each other and groan.
By the time I drag my sorry ass home, it's already past nine o'clock at night. Manual labor is tough, I don't know how Renji does it.
You see, I'm not your average convenience store clerk. I don't go to work every day to restock and man the register and talk to customers. In fact, most days I don't see customers at all. At least, not face-to-face.
Urahara may look like an idiot, but he's far from one. This brick and mortar store is only part of his revenue, the other part is his online business. That's where I come in. One of the first things I did when I started working for Urahara was to create an electronic stocking system for him. His shop is small, but he sells all sorts of shit, including things that I don't think anyone ever buys.
Then I created a website for his store. We provide online shopping, and we either ship to the customers or deliver them in person. Of course, delivery comes with a premium and only applies to orders within a reasonable radius from the shop. Guess who's the delivery boy? Hint: it's not me.
So that's my day-to-day job. I sit in the office, maintain the stock database, update the website when necessary, and take care of the orders that come in. It gets boring sometimes, but it's still miles better than manning the register.
Today, though, I'm forced to do manual labor because we need the space to be empty for Grimm—I mean, the construction crew, in two days. Between Renji and I, we've managed to pack away close to five of those massive shelves into boxes. Only fifteen more to go. I'm seriously thinking of calling in sick tomorrow.
As I enter the lobby of my apartment complex, I decide to swing by the mailbox to get my stuff.
You know that saying, "it's a small world"?
All I need is a glimpse of his hair to know who's also getting his mail. My heart jumps into my throat immediately. Inside, Renji's warning clashes violently with my raging hormones.
Renji's right. I'm not the type who "sleeps around". I've never been one to place lust before love. I've experimented a bit after breaking up with Orihime, but the furthest I've gone was kissing. I'm a firm believer that sex can only be great when it's between two people who are in love.
Well, I was.
I stand some distance behind Grimmjow as he rummages through his mailbox. Then he drops one of the envelopes.
I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open. His ass looks absolutely delectable in those old, washed out jeans. Unfortunately, I must've made a noise somehow, because the next minute, I see him peering at me over his shoulder.
"Hi," I say, clutching my keys tightly behind my back. "Getting your mail?"
He pulls himself to his full height and grins at me. "Enjoyed the view?" he asks with a wink.
I feel blood rush to my face. Shit. Caught red-handed.
"Aww," he coos.
He walks up to me and eyes me up and down. I struggle not to flee under his hungry gaze. He's not even doing anything, yet I'm already feeling a familiar heat coiling in my stomach.
I need to get a grip. I take a deep breath, then I puff out my chest to appear more confident.
"You wanna have dinner with me?" he asks.
Only then do I notice the Pizza Hut box in his hand. I act cool and reply like I don't really care. "Sure."
The corners of his eyes crease as he laughs heartily. "Cool. Go get your mail and meet me at my place," he chuckles.
With that, he turns around and heads for the elevator. I stare after him, my stomach and chest constricting with excitement. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've completely forgotten why I'm standing here in the first place.
Fifteen minutes later, I show up at his front door.
Grimmjow's teeth nearly blinds me with their whiteness when he greets me. I try not to gape, but it's hard to remain expressionless when the man's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, especially when the boxers are so low on his hips that I can see the light blue trail that leads down from below his belly button.
I follow him into his living room and take a seat on his couch. He has the TV on, tuned to the sports channel. He plops down on the floor and lets out a cheer as some guy gets tackled on the screen. I haven't the slightest clue what's going on, I just see a lot of men in tight uniforms and helmets throwing themselves on top of each other. Is this his idea of hinting what he has in mind for me later?
I feel my stomach cramp at the prospect. Seriously, I need to get a grip. I'm never this horny. What the fuck is wrong with me?
If Grimmjow notices my discomfort, he doesn't comment on it. He hands me a paper plate, and I dump two slices of Hawaiian Special pizza on it.
I chew slowly, not really tasting the food. I'm distracted by his obnoxiously loud yells and his proximity. His head is resting against the seat of the couch barely one foot away from me. If I spread my legs a little wider, my knee would hit his temple.
Wait, why am I thinking about spreading my legs?
I rub my face to wake myself up, only to realize the hard way that I have pizza sauce on my fingers.
"Fuck!" I scream.
Grimmjow's up on his feet before I can count to two. "What's wrong?" he asks as I dance around with the heel of my palm pressed against my eye.
I ignore his question and rush for the kitchen sink. I scrub my hands to get rid of the sauce and then rinse my eye out. It seriously, seriously, seriously, hurts like a bitch. I swear I'm not being a pansy.
When I finally recover and tell him what happened, his first reaction is to bite his lip. His nostrils flare and I see his eyes twitch uncontrollably.
"Fine, laugh," I huff, leaning back against the sink while water trickles down my face.
And he does, clutching his stomach and howling like hurting my eye is the most amusing thing in the world.
I turn away and sulk. I'm not hungry anymore. I hate pizza.
Then I feel a presence around me and I look up to see that he's right in front of me. He has his arms at my sides, his palms resting against the side of the kitchen counter. My face becomes hot at once.
He doesn't say anything. He has stopped laughing, and is now staring straight into my eyes, not blinking, just staring, staring... I don't know what's going on inside his head. I try to maintain eye contact, but in the end I cave and close my eyes.
The next thing I feel is his lips on my eyelid, the one that's still smarting. I flinch by reflex, but his body presses up against me and keeps me trapped between him and the counter. His lips feel warm and soft against my skin. I can feel his breath on my forehead.
After what seems like minutes, he pulls away and holds the sides of my face. He peers into my injured eye. "Does it still hurt?" he asks.
I feel my heart flutter. He actually sounds like he cares.
Take that, Renji!
"A little bit," I mumble.
To my surprise, he leans in and places another peck on my eyelid. I think my heart skipped a beat there. Or two. He's making me really confused.
Then he angles his head and moves his lips down to my mouth, and I say goodbye to my common sense.
I let him dominate the kiss. It's not that I like giving up control, it's just that he's a much better kisser than me.
His hands leave my face and slide down my torso, his nails scraping my skin through my t-shirt. He doesn't stop until he reaches the waistband of my jeans.
I don't know why, but I feel naked even though he's the one who's wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. I think it's the predatory gaze he's fixing on me.
Something tells me that he's done being gentle.
I hiss in surprise when he tugs on my lower lip with his teeth. The sting sends my pulse racing, and my stomach twists itself into a knot.
His breath is fast and ragged next to my ear, but every word he utters is crystal clear, "What does my little slut want me to do to him?"
I should be disgusted, horrified, mad, but I feel none of those. All I feel is a tremor of arousal.
"I want you to…take me," I whisper. I blush fiercely when I hear the neediness in my own voice.
"How do you want me?" he asks.
I'm struggling to breathe, but it's hard to do that when he's licking the shell of my ear. When I don't reply, he sinks his teeth into my earlobe.
"How?" he repeats huskily, sending another shiver through my body.
I feel like I've become hyper-sensitive all of a sudden. Every flick of his tongue, every breath on my skin, every touch…they're like tiny little shocks of electricity. They feed my blood and it boils and boils and flows down to pool between my legs. My pants are getting tighter by the second.
"How?" he demands. He's starting to sound angry. "Tell me, or I won't let you come."
A whimper slips out before I can stop myself. God, how does he do this to me? These things he's saying…
When he speaks again, his voice has lowered an octave and drips with malice. "I'm going to make you scream, I'm going to make you want to come so bad that you'll beg for it...but you know what? I won't let you, if you don't tell me—"
I snap. I can't take it anymore. My mind is conjuring up images of what he's going to do to me and it's driving me crazy.
"Behind," I gasp.
Before I can take another breath, I'm suddenly spun around and crushed into the kitchen counter. The edge of the counter digs into my stomach, and I yelp in pain and shock.
He starts cackling, his laughter deep and raspy. Fear grows in my gut, but at the same time I feel an inexplicable rush of desire.
Shit. I think I'm a closet masochist.
He yanks me back by my hair, and as I struggle, his fingers starts to tug at my zipper.
The thought of being taken against the kitchen sink is extremely unattractive.
"Stop! Not here!" I cry out as my legs are forcefully kicked apart.
I hear a frustrated growl behind me, then the grip on my hair tightens. Fuck, if he pulls my hair any harder, I'm going to get a bald spot.
"Where?" he rumbles.
"Your bed?" I suggest with a wince.
As soon as I say that, I feel him stiffen and fall silent.
What? Did I do something wrong?
I'm only given two seconds to wonder about his odd reaction. Without giving me any warning, he scoops me up and I suddenly find myself being carried bridal style towards his bedroom. I squirm, demanding to be let down, but he acts like he doesn't hear me.
We reach his bed, and he drops me like a sack of potatoes. I bounce on the mattress, my breath forced out of my lungs with each impact. My fly is open and my pants is hanging off my hips because of the short struggle, and he wastes no time in yanking it off completely.
I stare at him, openly ogling as he strips out of his boxers. He really is the most perfect man I've ever seen. Every plane and curve on his body is stunning. There is not an ounce of extra fat on him, I can easily see the ridges of his well-defined abdominal muscles and prominent hip bones. And then right there, between his thighs, his cock stands proudly erect. I feel like I'm looking at a marble sculpture that has come alive.
He crawls onto the foot of the bed and approaches me. His irises seem to have become even more intensely blue. I feel hopelessly trapped in his gaze. I can only sit there on my ass, shivering in anticipation as he stalks closer like a jungle cat out for a hunt.
He's a predator, and I'm the Chef's special.
He knocks me onto my back and flips me over so quickly that I don't even have time to make a sound. I lie panting on my stomach, momentarily dazed, then I'm lifted onto my knees unceremoniously.
His idea of preparation is two saliva-covered fingers. I grunt and prop myself up on my palms. The angle change eases the ache slightly, then he's thrusting in and out of me, hard and fast, not giving me any time to adjust to the invasion.
I love every minute of it.
I push back against him and feel his fingers slide in even deeper. The burning ache flares anew and I let out a choking sob. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand immediately, mortified that I'm capable of making such unmanly sounds.
"Yeah, cry for me you slut," he growls.
Even in the heat of the moment, I feel myself blush. I really must be one, because the insult just heightens my need for him.
"Grimm," I moan. "Hurry."
He chuckles. "Tch, so impatient," he chides, then his fingers leave me and I feel the bed dip as he moves to kneel behind me.
Obviously I'm not the only one feeling impatient. Without so much as a word of warning, he enters me with one forceful stroke, his grip on my hips the only thing that stops me from being shoved face-first into the mattress.
I think I screamed. I'm not sure. All I know is that my whole body instantly feel as though it's on fire. It hurts, but it hurts so good that I don't want it to stop. Does it make sense? I think I can't tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore.
After the first few seconds, my hands give out under me and I slump down onto my elbows. I bury my face against my folded arms to muffle my cries, but it's nearly impossible because my body's swaying so much.
"Do you like being fucked like an animal, Ichi? Huh? I think you do. You're moaning like a whore."
I bite my lip and force myself to swallow the pitiful moan that wants to erupt from my throat. No, I shouldn't be getting off from this. This is so wrong, so fucking degrading!
But...fuck my life, all I want to say back is "yes".
Luckily for me, Grimmjow doesn't seem to expect a response from me. He just goes on, going faster and deeper, until there's nowhere left for him to go.
By then I've become incoherent. All I can do is clench my eyes shut and sob in ecstasy. I've never had my senses stretched to such an extreme before. I think my body doesn't know how to react to it.
The tight coil of heat that has been building deep inside me is reaching its snapping point, I can feel it coming. Then, right as it's about to hit me, something squeezes around the base of my cock. Hard.
I nearly burst into tears.
"Beg for it, slut," he taunts me from behind.
I grit my teeth and shake my head. I can't. I can't do it. I won't stoop so low.
He pulls out slowly, leaving me suddenly empty and cold. I clench around him, not wanting him to leave me. I can barely feel him.
"No," I shake my head and moan.
He chuckles quietly. The sound brings goosebumps to my skin. Then, as if that's not bad enough, he runs his nails down my back and strokes my cock teasingly, just enough to let me feel it but not hard enough to give me any pleasure.
It's torture, plain and simple.
"Grimm," I choke out. I try to relieve myself with my hand, but he grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. I'm left with my shoulders and head as the only means of support for my upper body. I grunt in discomfort. My shoulders are starting to ache.
Just as slowly, he sheathes himself in me. This time I can't hold back. I let out a stream of embarrassing noises. My cheeks become hotter and hotter. I realize with horror that I'm beginning to entertain the idea of begging.
"Nooo…" I groan, more to myself than to Grimmjow. "I…can't."
"You can't what?" he asks mockingly.
I want to be mad, I really do. I want to scream at him and tell him to fuck off. But I can't.
He pulls out again, his pace excruciatingly slow. Every tiny bit of movement is amplified because that's the only stimulation I'm getting.
No. I won't beg.
He presses back in.
"Please!" I cry out desperately. I want more, all of him, every bit of him that I can get, but I'm held in place and I can't move except thrash around from side to side. "Please!"
He lets out a groan. "Please what?" he asks thickly. "Say it. What do you want?"
"Please! I want you inside of me! Please!"
I'm begging. Deep down, I feel my dignity crack a little, but when he abruptly shoves himself into me, I forget everything. It doesn't matter, I'm getting what I want. I don't care what I have to give to get it.
I don't fucking care.
"Touch me!" I scream at him.
Finally, he finally lets go of my arms, and I push myself up shakily onto my elbows once more. He closes his fist around my cock, and I lose it. I've never come so hard in my life. Never. It feels like it will never end. I shout his name. My body feels weaker and weaker, then when the final drop leaves me, I slump down onto the bed, right into the mess that I just made on his sheets.
"Slut," I hear him growl, then he thrusts back in one last time before he fills me with his release. He doesn't say my name. He just grunts; a primal sound deep from the back of his throat.
I roll to the side to give him space to lie down next to me, but he doesn't do it. I watch him numbly as he pulls away from me and starts to clean himself with the pair of boxers that he tossed aside earlier.
Then, he leaves. He just walks out of his room without a word, and I'm left lying on his bed, stunned and humiliated.
God, I've never felt so humiliated in my life. It's like getting punched right in the gut.
I give myself some time to recover my breath, then I stand up. I nearly trip over my own feet, but I manage to hold myself upright by pressing my palm against the wall. I dress myself in silence. My stomach hurts. I think I'm going to throw up.
He's out on the balcony when I step into the living room. He's wearing the same pair of boxers from what I can see. Gross.
I thought he's just going to stand there and wait for me to leave his apartment, but he surprises me by turning around and walking back into the living room. I stare at him warily, not knowing what to think. He's too unpredictable. I can't tell what's going on inside his head.
His brows are furrowed, and he's holding a lit cigarette in his right hand. "You okay?" he asks my feet gruffly.
I consider not answering, but in the end I do anyway. "I'm fine."
He lifts his head and finally meets my eyes. He looks like he wants to puke too.
In fact, he looks so miserable that my anger ebbs slightly even though I don't want it to. I have every right to be furious at him after what happened, don't I? Then I remember what I told Renji just hours ago. It's just dirty talk. Rough sex. Orgasm denial. I've read about these. People do it all the time. They're…normal.
But do I like it?
I don't know. My body obviously does, but my head—my pride—is not so sure.
I realize that I've been staring at him for at least two minutes now, so I force myself to look away. It's stupid of me to feel upset, since, you know, we're…nothing. But I can't help it. I am upset.
"C'mere," he says.
My legs move on their own, and I find myself crushed against his chest. He presses his cheek against my hair. My arms are trapped at my sides because he has his around me. His bare chest is kind of sweaty, but it's oddly comforting.
I smile. This is much better.
To be continued...
4 chapters, 4 lemons so far, yeah! Can I meet my own challenge?
On a completely unrelated note, I bought 6 Copic markers yesterday, which is what Kubo uses to color his drawings. It's the first time I'm using it, so I got just enough colors to draw Ichigo. Previously, I mostly draw and color using a tablet and a program called Sketchbook Pro, so wish me luck okay? If it turns out decent enough I'll share it through deviantart, where I store my fanart. ;)
Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year! :D