Ichigo Kurosaki, recently dumped, 22 year old, aspiring artist and classic car enthusiast, was stressed. He'd always been known to be laid back, not a care in the world - who wouldn't be if they were living his life a few weeks prior? he had everything - a great bunch of friends, a huge bunch of cash saved up from odd jobs and a few sold peices of art, speaking of - his artistic career was just taking of. He'd just sold a large masterpeice to a "well funded" French man of aristocrat decent (he assumed as much from the crovat, wig, bowler hat and jade finished cane the senior sported) The peice had sold for just under £1million, and by hell, had Ichigo celebrated If the massive hangover he had the morning after was anything to go by. And his boyfriend. they had been in love. well that's what he'd assumed...They were running fine, with long romantic walks on beaches, the cuddling on the sofa in the apartment they had bought together, the mind-blowing sex.
But obviously Shuuhei felt differently. He was Ichigo's everything...But he walked out the door with no looking back. It took Ichigo weeks to move out. and even then his muse was gone, he felt blank of inspiration. His art become lifeless and unoriginal, and his friends...Rukia, Renji, Shinji, Orihime, even Chad...They'd all been friends with shuuhei - Infact Shuu was the one who'd introduced Ichigo to the guys and now it was awkward, he couldn't sit with them and muck about like they used to. It hurt. He knew then that he needed to escape for a while. to get away and forget everything. He needed to focus on his artwork. his recovery peice.
So he headed to America.
Not the most conventional choice for inspiration of artwork, well it's not his style. He prefered the rocky and natural landscapes of places such as Skye or the Large intimidating Cliffs of dover, even the elegant sweeps of the Ardeche river in France, They were soo full of life. Not the flashy lights of vegas, or the half naked people strolling the streets of hollywood or any other states known to home the fat greasy rich men. Ichigo didn't hate America, he just prefered the isolation that 'nature' brought, the natural colours that were found in even the dirtiest of places and the surrealism of mother earth. He painted the forceful acts of the earth that seemed capable of the impossible.
Yet here he was. Dressed in a simple cotton white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows baring his slightly golded lean arms, faded diesel jeans hungging his ass and legs like a glove, tucked scruffily into scuffed and well loved dark sienna boots with the laces crooked and untied, and his favourite ray bans pilot shades perched precariously onto his slightly freckled nose. Sat on the worn yet familiar leather seats of his newest scrapheap find, an azure blue 1972 chevrolet corvette stingray coupe. It was love at first sight, he recalled peeking over the wire fence of the scrap yard down his road and seeing its battered bonnet poke out from underneath an oilstained tarp. He bought it with no hesitation. It took him weeks to practically rebuild it, fixing and tweaking untill he turned the key and the engine purred into rebirth. A bloody miracle.
He was parked at the edge of the road, he'd just cut the engine after taking the turning onto the beast of a road. Route 66. A little bit cliche but Ichigo didn't care right now. He'd just sat with the roof down staring down the vast ribbon of tarmac as the wind whipped through his orange tresses, he needed a haircut, he mused as the spikey soft locks hid his frown for a moment before the wind brushed them away again. Glancing briefly into his mirror as he stubbed his cigerette out, that had been perched on slightly bitten but still soft, warm lips.(He only smoked when he was stressed, he'd been trying to quit for a while now, but as the tension pilled up, he needed to sit down, shut up and smoke.)
He hadn't seen another car for a while now, which he thought strange but didn't dare look the gift horse in the mouth as he eased the beast of a machine into life again, almost turning to goo at the sound of the engine growling Smiling softly as his CD started up again playing one of his favourites; Steppenwolf's 'born to be wild' humming through his CD player, not the best quality but he didn't care. He nudged onto the road. facing the long stratch of straight road he stopped, freeing his mind of all the worries before he punched it. Foot to the floor and his arm jutting the gearstick forward. He heard the tyres scream in protest but they were contradicted and overwhelmed by the roar of the powerful engine and all it's horses.
He threw his head back and laughed as his monster reached 180mph (he was glad he'd accepted Urahara's advice on the additon of the Nitro, and his help improving the turbo) His hands gripped the steering wheel untill his knuckles turned white, adreneline shot through his body like ice and poison. the car seemed to glide over the old tarmacs weathered tears and skipped over the everpresent and unavoidable pot holes. He was on cloud nine. sinking futher into the tattered leather as he eased into a steadier, safer cruise as all his stress seemed to be ripped from his mind as the wind did, he dropped one hand from the wheel to brush through his hair as he began to sing along with Joan Jett & the Blackhearts in 'I love rock 'n' roll'
He could sing, He knew had a good voice, so he didn't care about the looks he got as he cruised past other drivers, not acknowledging the fact he'd ended up in a small run-down town. He continued singing along as he pulled into the petrol station, not once faltering as the songs looped back onto Bon Jovi's 'It's my life' He only faltered, stuttering to a stop after he had walked out of his car, to fill up the tank and he'd only just registered the unconcious duet he'd been singing with a blue haired adonis stood opposite him, leaning oh so casually against an onyx black 1967 ford mustang, donning a pair of low hung dark jeans, tucked into soft black leather boots, with scuffed grey tips, a tight white t-shirt blared in the sun underneath an almost dusty looking leather jacket, with sleeves bunched up to the elbow and two dog tags hung on a silver chain that looped around the neck of a now grinning blue haired sex-demon.
The cheers and cat-calls seemed to fade out as Ichigo took in the man- no, the God that stood just several foot infront of him. and was rapidly making his way across the courtyard and in a few long strides the same blue god was looking down at him as he eyed the slightly dark stubbled jaw, until he tilted his head up slightly. Eye contact. Staring into those deep yet almost childish azul blue eyes. And Ichigo's brain fizzled out of existence.
Now Ichigo had known he was attracted to both genders for a while...He'd never really felt that love should be restricted by gender, call him a hopeless romantic but he wanted to fall in love with someone because of who they were, not what they were. regardless of wether that person was male, female, small, tall, rich, poor, white, black, fat, thin. If they were attractive, then that was just a bonus...but never in all of Ichigo's short life had been as toungue tied and utterly pathetic as he had been stood infront of a dream like man that had simply oozed sexual appeal.
His ears only then decided to take in the deep chuckle, that rivaled thunder with its depth, with such a noise Ichigo felt his knees tremble. Ichigo wasn't a push over though, raising a quizical eyebrow and cocking his head to left slightly he waited for the sex god to finish laughing at him before he spoke, "What the fuck's so funny blueberry?" He didn't expect the man to hum in what soundedly suspiciously like appreciation or curiosity. Only to respond with "Yer look like a deer caugh' in the fuckin' headlights" Blushing furiously, Ichigo turned his body away to the pump to put the nozzle back in an attempt to hide the red staining his face, that betrayed the cold shoulder he intended to give the man. "Oi! Don' ignor me kid, i'm jus' messin' with yer" Ichigo still facing the nozzle, heard a subtle almost shy cough, curious he turned to face the man once more "Yer good...I mean, the singin' it was...fun" Ending the confession with a soft smile, Ichigo once again felt his brain fizz. Okay maybe he wasn't a complete jackass. Blush still burning he held out his hand "Ichigo Kurosaki" The grin returned in all its glory, sharp teeth blinding, "Ichigo hmm? Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Nice ta meet'cha" Ichigo loved the way his name rolled of Grimmjow's tongue, he growled out his name.
Cursing under his breath, Ichigo began to shuffle towards the tills - He couldn't get distracted by locals, and after his break up he didn't want to jump at any opportunity he got, he didn't want a man like Grimmjow to be just a rebound. Then again... The man seemed to perfect to miss out on. He pictured driving across the states with such a man, he pictured candle lit dinners, soppy romance movies, waking up in the morning with Grimmjows stunning body, naked and almost glowing in the morning sun that streamed through motel windows. Without thinking, he looked over his shoulder to Grimmjow, who was stood, leaning against the bonnet of the silent corvette, with a cocky smirk and a spark in his eye and called out "Are you coming then?"
Ichigo can now say, 5 years later, that one simple stop in a garage, that instant decision, that meeting with the grinning blue haired man...Was the best decision of his life. As he hummed under his breath and shuffled closer into same mans bare golden and muscled chest, throwing his arm round his waist and he muttered "I love you Grimmjow" and the same thundering voice he heard 5 years ago chuckled but none the less responded with a morning groggy "love ya too Ichi" as their simple golden bands around their fingers shone in the golden american morning sun.