A/N: I don't own bleach & I am devastatingly late to the grimmichi party. Forgive me!
Also please read this at half-width. I like to write condensed and intense so I'm sure my story looks hideous at full length.
A+ A- A = Full 3/4 1/2
Thank you~
Where We Stand
It ended in the span of 5 seconds.
Years of tension finally reached its absolute breaking point and all the fights, all the challenges they hurled at each other, all the times they were forced to fight side by side... every damn thing came crashing down in a rain of carnage. Their long established "I'm-only-seeking-you-out-to-fight-you" dynamic lay in splinters at their feet.
Destroyed.
Irreparable.
They were sparring in Hueco Mundo, it had become a regular thing since the truce between their three worlds was established.
Grimmjow meant to shatter his opponent's mask to gorge out his eyes, but deep down he knew Kurosaki would dodge it or block it somehow. Sand was pale, the night was dark and Grimmjow didn't hold back ever.
Kurosaki meant to catch his opponent's wrist as he did dozens of times before. Maybe he was on his A-Game that day because he had 8 hours of sleep for once... maybe Grimmjow was slower because his regular hunting time was interrupted by a certain 22 year old kid looking for a fight. Blood was red, the moon above them was never full and the Shinigami's timing was always shit.
But the fact was: Kurosaki was a split second faster and Grimmjow was a split second slower and that hand that was supposed to catch his wrist caught his hand instead.
It was awkward but clearly not awkward enough because neither of them could summon the logical desire to break it off.
Then Kurosaki's mask cracked, evaporating away to reveal wide brown eyes and a furious blush.
Then Grimmjow had to stare and Kurosaki had to stare back.
It clicked- like the moment they opened their eyes for the first time and knew the name of their sword as surely as they knew their own heartbeat.
It was there, it always there-
Carried by instinct, instilled into them with every pulse, with every breath they drew.
They dived in impulsively. Fight forgotten. Allegiances abandoned.
What mattered was closing the space between them and stamping out every guilty little question they left to rot in the back of their minds. Confirming that yes, Ichigo's lips were as soft as they looked and he didn't mind having them bitten. That yes, Grimmjow kissed the same way he fought, he relentlessly exposed all of Ichigo's openings and attempted to dominate whenever he could.
"Holy shit," Ichigo panted as Grimmjow marked up his neck.
"Yeah... what the absolute fuck," was the hollow's eloquent reply before he rested his forehead against Ichigo's, taking in those raw brown eyes that sought him out every so often, those eyes that welcomed him every time he wanted a fight. He should have noticed the signs earlier. How easily the human dropped everything he was doing whenever Grimmjow turned up for a spar. How he seemed to have so much free time. How casually his romantic partners came and went.
Damn. What else did he miss?
They didn't go any further that night. It was overwhelming enough to discover their desires mirrored each other's.
The next week went by like a whirlwind. The passion between them still burned white hot but their actual progress was as tentative as tracking footsteps in the sand. They doubled back on the years past, offhandedly recalling old fights, first as enemies then as allies. Memories slowly untangled themselves and from the fog came focus.
From focus came clarity.
"The third time we fought... you taunted me about Orihime. Do you remember that?" a crumpled look flickers over Kurosaki's face, "I asked if anyone hurt her and she says nothing happened but-"
He talks as if he personally failed her.
Something deep in Grimmjow twinges like the empty snap of a bowstring, drawn and released without a single arrow to fly loose. He shoves his hands into his pocket, "She lied. I walked into two of Aizen's bitches beating her face in. I would have turned them inside out with my bare hands, but she stopped me and healed them up."
"...What?"
"Cheh. I don't know what was going through that woman's head either. They were trash."
He understands why she lied but he's together with Kurosaki now and Grimmjow's debt to the woman is fully repaid. So Kurosaki gets the full truth and she loses her secret.
There's a line in the sand and in this instance he's firmly on the Shinigami's side... but he won't always be.
"Oi, we have to set something straight."
Ichigo snaps out of his private thoughts, "Yeah?"
He's still oddly shaken over his friend and Grimmjow doesn't get it. Whatever. It was between Kurosaki and the woman now.
He meets Kurosaki's curious gaze with a piercing blue stare. He doesn't hold back because he is who he is.
"I don't consider us equals and I never will, that bullshit is for losers who're content to be losers forever. One of us is weaker and one of us is stronger. If you slack off I won't hesitate to surpass you... Got it?"
Kurosaki's almost speechless.
"... That's kind of-" the kid halts then carefully he steadies himself, "Say you're the stronger one, do you expect me to know my place and suck up to you or something?"
"What the hell?" Grimmjow's hackles rise as red hot indignation claws up his spine at what Kurosaki's implying, "I ain't your goddamn Fraccion and I never will be. When the tables turn you won't be my Fraccion either. You're thinking about a completely different dynamic."
Kurosaki's expression lifts with relief, "Alright, so what you want is open acknowledgement. That's it."
"Tch, wasn't I clear enough the first time?"
"Just making sure," he laughs off Grimmjow's snappiness and takes a step forward, close enough for the hollow to see a cheeky look flicker behind those warm eyes, "Hey… are there any other opinions you want me to be open about?"
"... Like what?"
"Whatever you can handle."
That sounds like a challenge but there's a double edged playfulness in Kurosaki's words. It sends a shiver brushing up Grimmjow neck, he had never encountered anyone who could be so bold and considerate at the same time. This was Ichigo's brand of kindness. Unique and all his own.
"Who do you think is stronger right now?" Grimmjow demands.
"Me."
The Shinigami says it like it's a fact as plain as day. North is the opposite of south, oil floats on water and Kurosaki Fucking Ichigo thinks he can come out on top no matter what.
Grimmjow's upper lip curls. (What an arrogant little shit.) "Do you think that'll change any time soon?"
He gets an indulgent hum and a smile that's too playful than it has any right to be, "I won't make it easy."
"You better not. I'll kick your ass."
"Mmhm, of course you would."
". . ." how was it possible for someone to be so patronizing and so flirty in five goddamn words?
Grimmjow wants to sink his teeth into that knowing smirk before his temper shoots a hole through the atmosphere like a Grand Rey Cero. He wants to wipe that cockiness off that stupid face and replace it with a better expression. How many times- how many ways had he dreamed of having Kurosaki at his mercy? Something in his lower core stirs. It's a luxurious yawn of desire, full of dark urges fit for a king of beasts. Oh how he wants, how he aches to pry that arrogance apart like a ribcage to intimately expose Kurosaki's inner self in ways he can barely handle.
A firm hand reaches up to cup his cheek, when did the kid get so close? Those bright brown eyes are watchful. Fixated.
Distantly, Grimmjow wonders if Kurosaki knows that he has the ex-Espada's hunger wrapped around his little finger. He probably does. He probably likes it. The kid gets off on being wanted, being needed- but this hollow wants him and needs him in ways his righteous little friends can't even comprehend.
Grimmjow wants to taste that fiery spirit, every dark lick of it. Snuff it out, coddle it, feed it and let it burn until he sees every side Kurosaki has to offer. All those uncharted territories are his to explore and no one else's because everyone just fucking loves powerful, reliable, protective Kurosaki.
Grimmjow doesn't.
He doesn't because he's strong and the strong don't pine after that shit. They'll never be equals in terms of strength, but that doesn't mean they can't stand shoulder to shoulder or back to back. In fact, they'll leave everyone else choking on their dust. Everyone else will stare at their backs and know they're weak- that their inferiority is as absolute as it is unquestionable. The distance between them will stretch open like a canyon. Impossible. Undefeatable.
He can feel it. He knows it's there: two isolated thrones sit on the horizon, just waiting for two rightful kings.
Untouchable.
Perfect.
"Come here."
Kurosaki's quiet command snaps him back to the present. A light flush colours the kid's cheeks but his gaze is dark and inviting.
He's so ridiculously transparent. (They both are.) Those parted lips look so untouched but Grimmjow is no one's dog. He simply leans in to rest his forehead against Kurosaki's, relishing how the kid's breath hitches, how it's so obvious he expects something more.
Grimmjow could follow through, make all those needy desires come true. Sweep him off his feet. Indulge him until his knees go weak.
But that would be too predictable.
Instead he takes a moment to breathe in the fresh scent of Ichigo's still-living soul. It fills his lungs and he's deeply pleased that there's an unmistakable whiff of hollow beneath it all. It's powerful and sultry with the sweet, dark scent of rot. Distantly, he wonders if anyone else had ever gotten close enough to notice it. A tug of possessiveness briefly tightens his chest but its grip disperses into sand when Kurosaki's touch slides from Grimmjow's cheek to the back of his neck. Calloused fingers comb through his cyan hair, aching to pull him down. Their owner has more than enough strength to do it but he's too kind, too civil, too soft to do it.
"Tease," Kurosaki knows he's playing with fire, his smile says it all.
"Coward," Grimmjow counters. He leans in close enough to feel the heat off Ichigo's cheeks because his quiet snarl is reserved for one person and one person alone, "Quit playing the noble hero and fucking take what you want."
He expects the kid to splutter with enough righteous indignation to grant him sainthood but the hollow's knocked off balance by the cockiest smirk he's ever seen.
Fuck.
"You sure you can handle me, Grimmjow?"
Fuck those husky words. Fuck the way it strikes through his core like a bolt. Fuck the molten way Kurosaki's voice curls around his name like he wants to savor and torture every sweet syllable again and again until he reduces Grimmjow into some unspeakable state. The grip on his hair tightens and the Hollow inhales sharply at the swift tug down. Ichigo's mouth is so warm and so firm against his own.
A beat-
A breath exchanged-
And Kurosaki's lips soften to move against his. Plush surrender ebbs and flows into demanding nips, undercut with a feisty drag of teeth. Dominance and submission sways between them, rising and retreating like the steady lap and withdraw of a tide upon a shore.
It leaves Grimmjow breathless and searching for the word to describe the pushy, considerate way Ichigo treats him. It's strangely foreign and familiar at the same time, it's something he probably experienced lifetimes ago, before he woke and found himself alone in Hueco Mundo's endless night, before his hollowfication, before his death.
Kurosaki's got it in spades whether he likes it or not. It burns, it aches, it's something meant to be shared, given, earned. Damnit, he needs to think.
(He needs to remember.)
Grimmjow breaks off their kiss to gather some surviving brain cells. He pointedly ignores the confused furrow etched between Kurosaki's brows… but he can't look away from the intense blush that clashes with that steady gaze. Damn if that wasn't a sweet contradiction. Mouthing off with big words and then turning pinker than a virgin despite all his boldness.
"Affectionate," it tumbles out of thin air and off his lips and Grimmjow can hardly believe it.
That's it.
That's the word.
"Kurosaki…" he says, "You're really affectionate."
Of all the things he's said and done, he's never seen the kid turn into such a dark shade of red. Satisfaction wells up within him. He likes exposing this side too, it's a different sort of vulnerability but Kurosaki still tries to cover it up from the rest of the world.
"Shut up," the stubborn kid is kissing him anyway, "I'm not."
"Then what's all this, huh?" Grimmjow chuckles and kisses him again and again, "Is this all bullshit?"
"Yes," Ichigo grumbles and scowls but he accepts everything Grimmjow has to give, "This is all complete bullshit. Now please, please shut up."
The hollow lets loose harsh bark of laughter,
"Make me."