Rating: T - Eventually, it will get to M.
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo-sensei owns Bleach and all its characters; I only use them fer writing funtimes.
Author's Note: I wrote this on a whim, and on that note, I decided to post it. So far, I've gotten three-fourths of it planned out, so I figure I just need to schedule when to write it out. Might be a few other pairings later as side-stories throughout the chapters, but I'll see.
Azure eyes glinted, reflecting of the various colors the strobe lighting shone off into them. An almost feral grin pulled at the owner's face, a bit of pearly, canine teeth protruding at the edges.
"What'd you say, bastard?" The man sitting behind the countertop managed to speak without slurring.
If possible, his grin had actually broadened with joy.
"What? You've lost yer hearing too, old man?"
The opposing drunken male scowled, eyes glazed over from his earlier alcohol binge, and soon found that his leniency was anything but thin because of the drinks. Without a need for a further exchange of words, he slammed his glass down onto the table, before swinging up with his fist aimed towards the bartender.
"Shit, man. Just one word 'nd old bags like you get all pissy, huh?" He snidely remarked, frowning.
Although, he spoke it more to himself, if anyone else.
Barely having to move an inch to the left to dodge the sluggish punch headed his way, the bluenette male opted on allowing himself to get his own shot in the brawl. Large, bare knuckles swiftly clipped the drunkard on the right side of his jaw, his feral grin regained anew.
Barking out a hearty chuckle, pleased with the cracking sound his hit had created, he pulled back as he watched the older man fall to the ground. Barely able to cough out a groan and a glob of crimson liquid, the younger male snorted at the pathetic sight derisively, briefly, before gulping down the remainder of the other's drink.
Allowing a satisfied exhale to rip from his throat, enjoying the burn the Vodka created as it slid down his esophagus, he walked over to two other men watching the scene.
"Oi, let that be a warning. I'm feeling pretty generous tonight, so just fuck off already, alright?" He proposed, jabbing his finger in the direction of the fallen man.
His companions — although they seem more like a useless entourage of followers — nodded their heads obediently, in fright of getting hurt as well. Scooping up the man rather harshly, they limped their way out of the club, a disheartened scowl on their faces.
"Tch. Bunch a' bastards. It ain't even fucking Friday yet, and already I've got to put up with this shit." He seethed.
Managing to pick up the barstool from his side of the counter, he looked up as a tall, lanky, black-haired man walked over to him.
"Shit, Grimmjow, it's not even fucking midnight yet!"
He refrained from deadpanning at the contradictorily serious tone the other spoke in, despite the wide grin that stretched on his face.
Instinctively rubbing the back of his neck, he gave him his own prideful smirk, busying himself with the task of filling up two shot glasses with hard liquor.
"It is now."
The black-haired man eyed the drink warily, as if there was indeed a chance it had been laced with something, but the thought was fleeting as he tossed it down his throat as if it was air.
"Fuck, how do they find you attractive?" He contemplated aloud; dodging a swift fist swung his way.
"Ah-ah-ah, don't forget who gave ya yer job, GrimmKitty~." He sardonically chimed.
Despite how much it infuriated him, the bluenette knew what he said was true — not that he would ever admit it to the leering bastard, anyway — and spat out a less than half-heartened apology. His crooked, sharp grin, however, was revived as he swallowed down the Tequila himself.
"Fucking bitch. How much longer are ya gonna rub that in my face?"
The other male's grin broadened, teeth all now perfectly presented. Had he not known him for as long as he did, Grimmjow would definitely have cringed at the sight.
In the stead, he rolled his eyes as he began to clean up the slight mess he had made.
"Until you finally admit who's better."
Caught slightly off-guard at the other's proposition, his azure eyes held a blank look ephemerally, before a certain fire recognizable only with that of violent desire raged life into them.
"Nnoitra, I already got rid of one of yer eyes for ya'. You really wanna have a bitch guide you 'round all day?" He mockingly reminded.
"Yeah, and I'm the reminiscing asshole, huh?" He distastefully regarded.
Waving a flippant hand, the taller male walked off towards his office, his other hand briefly smoothing over his eye-patch before shoving them into his pockets.
"Hm, 'GrimmKitty', was it?" A smaller, brown-haired man cooed.
Immediately, those same menacing azure eyes darkly glared at him.
"Shut the fuck up, Tesla. Or I'll carve your little face just like I did to Nnoi."
The smaller man swallowed a shiver that he knew was bound to show — fully aware that Grimmjow's threats were never hollow threats — standing up from his seat as he finished his martini.
"W-whatever." He weakly spat, it all he had been able to manage.
Grimmjow's feral grin appeared once more.
"Yeah, yeah. I'd say, "Go fuck yerself", but from that look you two've been givin' each other, it's obvious he's gonna' do it for you."
Barely stopping himself from choking on his drink, Tesla cursed at him as he slowly flustered, giving him a slight glare before swiftly trying to catch up with Nnoitra.
Heavily sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose that had scrunched itself up in disgust, leaning back against the wall filled with various sized glasses and alcohol.
Seriously, his mind had begun to prod, how the fuck've I been able ta put up with this shit?
Unable to — well, mainly that he was unwilling — to actually to give the question some decent thought, he instead began serving more drinks to other clubbers that came and went throughout the remainder of the night.
If he had really tried to mull it over, fact was, it was not as if he was leading such a…glamorous…life because it was the one he had chosen. Not at all.
Truth be told, he wasn't all that sure how he had ended up as a bartender; but, for the past one year and a half, it was all he really knew he could do. As far as he knew, or from what he could recall — which really wasn't much, if at all — was that he'd dropped out of College, had no contact with family nor any other binding type of relationship.
— Although, he felt he was perfectly fine, better off without having something as burdening as keeping up with meaningless relatives or someone such as a lover.
Simply put, all he could remember was what had occurred in that same year and a half that Nnoitra had decided to help his forgetful, sorry ass. He despised the thought, and superficially acted as if he did not need that grinning bastard's help. Even so, deep in his subconscious, where that one percent of his mindful self resided beneath the façade, he was at least a bit grateful that he had willingly helped him, after all.
"Oi, Nnoi, I'm leaving already!" He dully excused himself.
Nnoitra gave a simple nod of his head, before he head back towards his office. With Tesla who was beaming at his side, no less.
Letting out a short scoff, he decided to dismiss the rude comment that was ready on the tip of his tongue, in exchange for being able to leave the now empty club unscathed.
True, he was once tougher than that tall bastard was — how he'd gotten rid of his left eye in the first place — but even someone like Grimmjow was smart enough to know that the other had significantly gotten stronger.
Slipping out of his alcohol-redolent work clothes, he carelessly slid on a pair of beige slacks and a navy dress shirt. Ruffling his hair, giving it back its naturally messy look Grimmjow whistled satisfactorily at the mirror of his locker with a wide grin intact.
Tossing his jacket over his shoulder, keeping it in place with one single hooked forefinger, he shoved his keys, phone and wallet into his pockets before leaving through the back door. Opting with making his trek home a slow one, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and happily lit one of the sticks of nicotine.
Despite that he was, in fact, basically pleased with the type and style of life he lead, lately…lately, he had begun to actually contemplate — willfully letting himself — think it over.
What type of life had he lead prior to all of…this?
Nnoitra had come to the conclusion that Grimmjow had become a bit of what could be classified as a partial amnesiac — that his mind had blocked out most of his past anterior years from his memory, probably to escape some type of trauma — and yet, he honestly couldn't bring himself to care.
The way he saw it was like this: if I don't want to remember whatever the fuck happened, then it's obvious it wasn't important enough in my life for me to remember in the first place.
Regardless, the fraction that was his logical self felt that at the least, he should have the benefit of simply knowing.
"Tch. I know what I want to know. That's it."
Grimmjow bitterly tried to assure himself, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground, putting it out with his shoe's heel.
"There's nothing more to it."
He added, confidently, even though the scowl that tugged at the corners of his mouth proved otherwise.
It was then, Grimmjow wished he were the type of person who was fooled by their own lies; at least then, he would not have to think so damn much about trivial things.