Disclaimer: Bleach and it's characters belong to Tite Kubo, and, as much I would love to be, I'm not him. So, I guess that means I don't own Bleach, huh? Rats...

Warnings!: This fiction contains Yaoi (male on male sexual relations), cussing here an' there (naughty), and also vampires. Do people need to be warned about vampires...? Hn.

Note: This is a sequel I've been workin' on for caribou's own wonderful OneShot; "Sleepwalking". If you haven't checked that out already, I strongly suggest ya go do so. It's amaze-balls! Yanno; the shizz, fantabulous... You catch my drift. Oh, an' I went and got myself express permission from the fantastic woman herself, my Belle, to write this - so I am not stealin', or pilferin', or any other fancy word for essentially 'ripping off'. So, yeah. Thank ya uber muchly for this opportunity, Belle. I hope you - an' everyone else for that matter - enjoy~!

Uno, dos...

Yaoi!

.:Daydreaming:.

~Part I~

She could not fathom, for the life of her, how she got herself tangled up in this position. Exposed. Vulnerable. At the mercy of this enigmatic Adonis.

Startled amethyst eyes gazed up into captivating, almost iridescent cerulean pools. The late evening air held an icy nip as it caressed over her exposed shoulders, giving rise to goosebumps along the expanse of creamy, perfumed skin. The petite woman could feel a tremulous shiver rack her entire frame as the bitter cold tendrils seeped through to her bones; but whether the involuntary action was caused by the howling wind breezing seemingly straight through her, causing raven locks to whip harshly about her face, or subsequently the large, callused hands currently cradling her head, she couldn't be sure. The young woman noted just how gentle those hands were, how they were holding her with the utmost care, as if their owner felt she was made of fine china and might shatter if he applied too much pressure.

And yet in spite of this, she knew there was no escape for her. She could just…sense it. No matter how tender and feather light the touch may be, there was no mistaking that the man in front of her was dangerous. A predator. He had yet to say a single word, but then again he didn't have to. A man like that had no need to boast words of strength or superiority, not when his body, the very way in which he carried himself and asserted his authority with a steely gaze from orbs of aquamarine spoke volumes of that for him.

He was handling her with care because he could break her. It was obvious in its simplicity.

It was dark within the dingy alleyway where they now stood, nights embrace veiling their forms in the snug space located between the nightclub 'Reapers', where the petite youth had been enjoying free time out with close friends, and a small travel agents that had long since closed up shop for the evening. Even so, she could ascertain broad set shoulders, wild spiked hair the – frankly absurd – colour of blue cotton candy, ruggedly handsome features moulded into lightly bronzed skin, and, the kicker, leather pants. She couldn't exactly tell, given the fact that he also wore a rather lavish looking purple shirt, but she was willing to wager her next months salary that those bad boys were slung deliciously low on those angular hips. Hell, she'd gladly hand over the next three months pay just to find out!

A loud bassline and the sounds of punters revelling in drunken merriment filtered through the otherwise calm atmosphere, the noise polluting the airwaves all around them and riotous enough to be felt vibrating through the walls.

And then, finally, he spoke, his voice cutting straight through the clamour, the deep baritone husking out as clear as polished crystal.

"What is your name, child?"

Again the woman shivered, having to wet her suddenly too dry lips before venturing to answer the question. "Ru-Rukia. Kuchiki Rukia," she stated, her words shaky and barely above a whisper. Still, they were heard.

A small grin the likes of which Rukia was convinced had many a heart stuttering madly – not unlike her own right now – spread slowly across thin lips. Dear Kami, even with something as rudimentary as a miniscule quirk of the lips the man positively oozed confidence. Not to mention a whole bucket load of sex appeal. This was a man who could ask the absurd of the astute and expect the results to return swiftly upon a silver platter.

"Rukia," he mused aloud, the name pronounced with a smooth tongue, as if it were a fine wine under scrutiny. "A beautiful name befitting an equally beautiful face. As etiquette demands, my name is Grimmjow."

Rukia's heart panged. Grimmjow. She knew absolutely nothing of the man stood in front of her, but she could tell the name suited him. It sounded foreign, strong, a little rough around the edges…

…it was perfection. Just like the man who bore it.

A callused thumb stroking across the high ridge of her cheekbone caused Rukia to sigh, her breath crisp and clear in the unearthly silence between them, mascara coated lashes fluttering against the hypnotic pull to slide closed.

"It's such a shame that I found you."

Rukia's shapely brows creased imperceptibly at the genuine sounding statement. She was by no means unintelligent or dim-witted; having been raised by an aristocratic and somewhat overbearing older brother saw to that. She knew that venturing down a dark and dreary alleyway under the inky void of night, and with a mysterious man no less, was undeniably brainless – not to mention one of the most reckless follies she had ever obliged in her twenty-one years of life. But that one tiny utterance – regardless of authenticity – seemed to clinch everything into place with astounding clarity.

This man, Grimmjow, he was a complete stranger, dangerous; a carnivorous beast of prey.

And she was in serious trouble.

Blinking against the dream-like trance she had so easily fallen victim to, Rukia attempted to free herself from the blunette's sensual clutches, only to find herself competing against the impossible when one large hand constricted around a slender wrist, whilst the other dropped from cheek to throat. In spite of the perilous turn of events, Rukia couldn't help but notice that those strong fingers restrained with minimal physical force, a cruel parody of a gentle caress; like a lover trying to bridle a burning desire. To the petite raven-haired woman, however, the message was frighteningly apparent: Don't make me hurt you.

"Don't struggle," Grimmjow advised, still in that darkly beguiling tone. "Not only is it useless, but your inadvertently making it all the more entertaining for me."

Panic blossomed in Rukia's chest, bleeding into her veins like a deadly toxin. Clutching desperately at the hand curled around her neck, she beseeched the exotic man with shaky words and tear-stained eyes. "Please, let me go… I-I won't tell anyone you were here, a-and I won't go to the police, I promise! Just please… oh gods, please don't hurt me!"

Grimmjow paused, as if seriously considering the idea of releasing the distressed young mortal. He could feel a pleasant sense of satisfaction lacing every nerve end in his body, his blood running thick and warm, vivacious with energy and life; all key factors pointing toward being more than adequately sated. If it were up to him, this youthful beauty – as appeasing to the senses as she may be – wouldn't have even registered on his radar. He had already gotten his fill tonight. More than his fair share, one could argue. But herein lay the problem.

His hunger may be well and truly accounted for, but his needs and fulfilments were no longer just his own. He had another to cater for these days, and he was, well…

Grimmjow let a slow smirk pull his lips skyward, flashing a dashing Hollywood smile and gleaming, pointed canines.

…he was insatiable.

Suddenly ravenous – in every sense of the word – from the appealing thoughts of what lay in wait for him back at his lair, Grimmjow gazed down into alarm stricken orbs of amethyst. He wanted to feel sorry for the human, to ask forgiveness and repent, but to do so would be to condemn what he was, to forsake the demon he had become and the choices he had made – and for that, he would never apologise.

"You might have been spared this night," he found himself admitting, just because he felt like he at least owed the pretty maiden an explanation as to why her young life would never again be the same. "But unfortunately my pup has a very vast appetite. You should feel honoured, Rukia; my fledgling has a very refined palate. As such, it takes a special kind of soul to satisfy his voracious thirst, and you, child…" Dipping his head to nose at the creamy skin of Rukia's neck, he inhaled long and deep, grinning when the girl shuddered under his fingertips. "You are definitely the right kind of pedigree to slake his eternal lust."

For tonight, at any rate.

Straightening his back, Grimmjow looked down upon the face of nightmarish despair itself, the woman unable to mask her fear in the face of a creature that, before tonight, she undoubtedly believed existed only in myths and fairytales. Grimmjow felt like scoffing. Humans were so wretchedly naïve.

"I won't kill you." Mild relief washed over Rukia's ashen features at that, though Grimmjow was quick to quash any fanciful notions of divine deliverance. "I wouldn't take any consolation in that, mortal. You may live to see another day, but make no mistake, you will never be the same again. Your eyes have been opened to the real world lurking in the shadows, and every one of my kind will know it. They will smell it on your skin, feel it in your touch; sense it in your very soul. You cannot hide from us, Kuchiki Rukia."

Rukia swallowed hard, a single tear sliding from the corner of her eye as the ethereally handsome blunette grinned at her, those haunting fangs glimmering silver in the moonlight, taunting her. Clawed fingers twitched around her throat when her pulse hastened, a hitched breath escaping dry, parted lips as pools of tumultuous cerulean seared through to the very marrow of her bones.

This was it, the single most definitive moment in her life, dealt to her by the most sinfully debauched angel she had ever laid eyes upon. Loosening her death grip on the immortal's thick wrist enough to convey compliance, yet not so much that it expressed any sort of willingness proceed, Rukia let her head fall back and to the side, obediently offering what was no longer hers to reserve.

Grimmjow discreetly ran his tongue over a sharp fang, finding it increasingly difficult to keep his baying inner demons under control when confronted with such beautiful submission. Heightened senses singing in barely constrained anticipation, the blunette gently brushed raven bangs to the side, his fingertips dancing gracefully over the soft flesh he would soon mar with hunger and need.

"Welcome to the Underworld, child."

Nelliel sighed for what felt like the billionth time, studiously picking at perfectly manicured fingernails. Her long, sea-foam green hair had been pulled up into a high ponytail, her bangs and a few rebellious strands falling down to frame a pretty heart shaped face. Wheaten eyes were framed in inky black eyeliner, giving them a seductive feline quality, her pouty lips sporting a modest film of pearly pink, and fine cheekbones dusted with the barest hint of blusher. Her knockout figure was clad in black and white striped skinny jeans and a formfitting black polo, her ample bosom ensuring a teasing sliver of midriff was on show for any who ventured a peek. Which just so happened to be everybody within the immediate vicinity.

Plain black pumps tapped agitatedly against the pavement as she waited somewhat patiently. At long last, a head full of electric teal – no longer long and flowing, but short and tousled – made an appearance, and Nelliel was quick to pounce.

"Finally!" she groused, hoping away from the wall she'd been leaning against by the mouth of the alleyway. "I thought you'd never stop yammering. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?"

Grimmjow, momentarily caught of guard by the buxom vampire's rather unexpected presence, quickly donned a visage of indifference. "My mother was a drunken whore who apparently never possessed the time to teach her only son valuable life lessons. Sorry to disappoint."

Nelliel grimaced, cutely wrinkling her nose. "Yipes, Grimm. It was supposed to be rhetorical."

Never one to draw out the unnecessary, Grimmjow rolled down the sleeves of his expensive, plum coloured Armani shirt. "What do you want, Nel? I'm overfed, cranky, and have a carnivorous little hellcat undeniably pacing the floor right now, just waitin' for me to return so he can sink his fangs into my throat."

"Aa." There was a certain twinkle in those wheaten eyes that had Grimmjow torn between cautiously backing away and forcibly silencing the quirky immortal. "So, our delectable little Strawberry is still as gluttonous as day one, hm? That's good. A hearty appetite is a sign of great power."

Grimmjow gave an indignant growl. "Our Strawberry? He belongs to me, Nelliel. No one else. Not now, not ever."

"Grimm…" the green-haired vampire gave her long-term, if not bullheaded, companion an admonishing stare. "His Genesis stage is almost over. In less than a week he'll be entering Chrysalis, and won't be relying on you for guidance and sustenance." When Grimmjow bore his teeth in a feral display of displeasure, Nelliel had the good sense to tread with caution. Still, she didn't relent in her maternal mannered censure. "He can't stay a pup forever, Grimm. Pretty soon his inbred instincts are going to encourage him to spread his wings and explore the world on his own. If you deny him this freedom, he'll only end up resenting you for it, and I know you'll never forgive yourself. You can't chain him down here before he's even had the chance to live."

Reluctant to even think about processing the onslaught of ugly emotions her words wrought, Grimmjow dragged a hand through his windswept tresses. "Look, if you have nothing constructive to say, then I'm out'a here…"

Already poised and ready to leave the bothersome female in his dust, Grimmjow promptly froze mid-step alongside her next announcement.

"Shiro's back in town."

Grimmjow grit his teeth so hard it hurt his jaw, the nape of his neck prickling with a phantom heat. Fucking Shirosaki. That pale-skinned demon had the uncanny ability to pop up and fuck his life over at the most inopportune of times.

"He showed up at the club earlier," Nelliel continued, her hands settling on shapely hips as she watched carefully for her friend's reaction. "He was asking for you."

Grimmjow kept his back toward her, but wheaten orbs didn't miss the subtle tensing of well-built shoulders, nor did her acute sense of hearing fail to notice the sharp intake of breath.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth," she replied as evenly as she could manage, knowing as she did just how explosive the blue-haired immortal's temper could be. As predicted, Grimmjow was not in the least bit thrilled to learn of this. In fact, one might go as far to say that he looked downright furious.

With the kind of agile speed accredited only to their breed, Grimmjow whipped around to face Nelliel, his face twisted into a ferocious snarl. "He knows about Ichigo? Are you fucking insane?"

"Calm down, Grimm," she attempted to placate. "I didn't tell him anything he couldn't have found out on his own – or didn't already know, for that matter."

"Damn. I got'a get back." Contrary to his own words, the riled up blunette remained rooted to the spot, tugging harshly at his hair. "Damn it! What if he's already found him? What if I get there and it's too late? Shit, what if–"

"Grimmjow!" Nelliel boldly seized Grimmjow's biceps, forcing him to halt his restless fidgeting. "Pull yourself together, sugar. Shirosaki may be a lot of things, none of which are overly honourable, but he's a respectable Elder. He knows better than to encroach on another's territory – especially where a young pup is concerned. He won't bother either one of you. At least not until… well…"

Nelliel trailed of uncertainly, though Grimmjow was quick to piece her meaning together. "Until I set Ichigo free. In which case, it's open season…"

The green-haired vampire pursed her lips, a heartfelt twinge of sympathy washing over her. "In which case it'll be Ichigo's decision to make. I know you really don't want to hear this, but… you have to let him go, Grimmjow. Show a little faith, and he may just return back to you."

Grimmjow sucked on his teeth, averting his gaze to a nondescript slab of concrete by his feet. "And if he doesn't?"

Nelliel's features softened at the dreadful, melancholy tone of the blunette, unable to recall a time she had ever heard the powerful immortal sound so helpless, so… lost. Sighing softly, she quietly carded her manicured fingers through the silky strands of teal hair on either side of Grimmjow's dashing face, applying just enough force to lift his gaze back toward her own.

Offering the dejected vampire a kind smile, she pulled him into a comforting embrace. "Then you have to know that you did your best, that you gave him something priceless and incomparable; a second chance." Drawing back, shimmering wheaten locked with tempestuous blue in silent assuredness. "You gave Ichigo a precious gift, Grimmjow, and even if his path in life leads away from you, he will always remember and cherish you for the role that you played. He will always love you."

Curling his hand around the back of her neck, Grimmjow pressed cool lips against the baby soft skin of Nelliel's forehead, eyes clenched shut and resolve strengthening. Nelliel always did have a way with words, the knack to make sense of the chaotic and permeate through his otherwise thick and infuriatingly stubborn outer shell.

Whether this rather irksome trait was a gift or a curse he had yet to figure out.

"Thank you, Nel."

A harsh burst of sound, not unlike a static boom, filtered through the still of the night, and Nelliel didn't need to open her eyes to know that she was now standing on the sidewalk alone. Dark lashes fluttering prettily against rosy cheeks, the green-haired vampire stuffed her hands into her back pockets, scuffing the sole of her shoe against the pavement as she stared at the vacant space the blunette had once occupied.

"Any time," she found herself answering the darkness, a fond smile gracing full lips. "And good luck… Ichigo."

On the other side of town, in a sixth story modernised high-rise apartment, an eternally beautiful youth was indeed anxiously pacing the length of his luxurious bedroom. Sunset orange hair, sitting in a disarray of untameable spikes and illuminated with silvery undertones from the moon pouring in through the open window, highlighted smooth, boyish features and eyes the colour of warm ochre.

Said eyes were currently darting over the various objects and possessions within the room; sliding over the king-sized bed draped in silken turquoise sheets, the spacious oak carved dresser, the downy soft cream carpet, the navy papered walls, the lighting fixtures on the ceiling… seeing all, but registering nought.

Slender fingers clutched desperately at toned forearms, nails biting against taut skin as the edgy immortal began marching back along the same line he'd been pacing for the last hour or so. Wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey sweats and the skin on his back, it was easy to see the agitated rolling and bunching of athletically sculpted musculature. Lithe shoulders were slouched and stiff; abdominals clenched and quivering; fingertips curled and trembling. His pupils were blown wide and dilating further still, leaving but the scarcest ring of coloured iris behind.

For all intents and purposes, the youthful vampire looked like a deprived crack addict fixing for his next score. Which, in hindsight he supposed, wasn't entirely untrue… The hunger was searing and relentless, clawing at his throat, making his stomach twist and his muscle fiber spasm sporadically. His veins felt like they were starving, and he was constantly, persistently, scratching at his arms and throat, trying his utmost to soothe the burning sensation flooding throughout his entire being.

Where the hell is Grimmjow? he cursed the nth time over, long peachy fingers sinking into soft tangerine spikes. He felt like he was dying, like he would honest to God keel over at any given second if he didn't get sustenance, and soon. He couldn't stand this much longer – he was losing his fucking mind! The thirst was harsh and unforgiving, and he wasn't above goring his own throat out if it meant this infernal torment would cease.

"Ichigo…"

Although he'd been more or less expecting it, Grimmjow was still caught of guard for the second time that night when, no sooner had he stepped foot through the unlatched window, he found himself grappling with a blood-starved pup. His mind had been much too preoccupied with infectious thoughts of alabaster skin and haunting golden eyes to sufficiently prepare himself for the bodily violation from his apparently quite antsy fledgling.

Stumbling back from the sheer force of the attack, the blunette huffed out a breath when his back met sharply with the wall beside the window, only just barely managing to catch his footing before the two of them ended up in a tangled heap on the carpet.

"Jesus, Grimm," Ichigo half growled, half groaned, pressing his body flush against that of his Sire. "Where have you been? I've been going out of my mind here waiting for you."

Grimmjow had half a mind to scold the younger for being so damn impatient, he'd taught him better than that, but all words of reprimand promptly saw fit to abandon him when the bright haired teen nosed eagerly at his neck, Ichigo's warm and seductive breath fanning across his skin as he inhaled the potent musk of his richly gorged veins.

"It's hardly my fault," he bit out, his callused palms sliding over slim, naked hips. "If you weren't such a greedy pup, I'd have finished hunting hours ago."

"Yeah, yeah – I'm a bottomless pit, I know," Ichigo easily dismissed, much to the blunette's ire. Gripping the lapels of Grimmjow's shirt, he navigated them back toward the bed, his head already spinning and muzzy from the heady scent of his older lover. "Come. Sit," he instructed, relaying the words spoken to him all those many months ago.

Not given much choice in the matter, Grimmjow fell back into a sitting position, poised right on the edge of their foam stuffed mattress. Ichigo flashed a vixenish smirk, the razor sharp tip of his right fang revealed for but a second as he ran his palms fluidly over Grimmjow's shoulders and mounted his lap, mile-long legs straddling the elder's thighs.

"Hmmm," Ichigo sighed pleasantly, lids falling to half mast as he basked in the glorious aroma of fresh nourishment. "What'd you bring me?" he purred on a sultry breath, tipping the blunette's head back to nuzzle at his throat. "Something young and virile, I hope?"

Grimmjow chuckled, the vibrations tickling against the younger's searching lips as he wound his arms around the pup's waist. "Of course. Only the finest for you, love."

"Mmm," Ichigo breathed, arousal and bloodlust soaring as blunt nails scraped along the bare flesh of his back. Curling his arms tight around Grimmjow's neck, he affectionately nudged his nose along the man's strong jaw, rubbing his cheek against the porcelain smooth skin of high cheekbones before resting his forehead against his lover's. "Gods, Grimm. You smell so fucking good…" Boldly testing his boundaries, he allowed his hands to caress down the sides of that finely corded neck, roaming further still to dip beneath the fine material of his shirt, pulling it back and open to reveal the tawny skin of the elder's shoulders and collarbone. "Please, Grimmjow, I can barely stand it… Let me feed…"

Grimmjow felt his lip curling in carnal lust when his young lover dipped to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive flesh of his throat, his fingernails and canines elongating alongside the possessive need to fulfil his ravenous orangette – in every way.

"Patience, pup. It'll come."

Wanting to protest, Ichigo snapped his head up and away from his delectable ministrations, only to have all vocabulary doused when pale lips moulded firmly over his own. Every time was like the first; electric, sinful, delirious. They were simply meant to be, Ichigo could feel it resounding deep and profound within the very essence of his being. Grimmjow had saved him, had taken him away from his laughable existence with that joke of a stepfather. He had breathed a whole new life, a new purpose, into him – ironically on the very same night he stilled his heart from ever beating again.

He owed Grimmjow so much more than he could ever hope to give, but – permitting the blue-haired male's continued devotion, of course – he would spend the rest of his immortal life trying his damnedest to repay that debt. And he would do so gladly, with every fibre of his everlasting soul.

No coaxing was needed, not at this stage of the game. With little more than a tender pressure, pliant lips moved and parted, breaths interchanging and tongues meeting halfway. Ichigo hummed erotically, delicate hands cupping that handsome face so that he could deepen the kiss whilst simultaneously ensuring that escape was impossible. Grimmjow rumbled low in his throat, not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, one hand gripping the back of the young vampire's neck, the other busy kneading the peachy skin enveloping a bony hip.

With hunger still burning supreme, it was easy for Ichigo to forget himself; to completely dismiss the lethal set of canines incessantly nagging for the saline taste of flesh and the sweet, sweet nectar of vitality. It was an accident, barely even a nick, but it was more than enough. With a hitching of startled breath, Ichigo's pupils went from vacant saucers to cat-like slits in nanoseconds, and, much like the predatory feline his eyes betrayed, he pounced on his unsuspecting Sire.

The first bead of tangy, metallic fluid kick-started a perilous domino effect within the young immortal, his primal instincts pushing rational thought and morality into the nether recesses of his psyche. With near impossible strength, he managed to pin the stunned blunette down against the mattress, using the full length of his body to keep him from thrashing whilst his hands held thick wrists prisoner above a teal coloured halo.

Grimmjow's head was spinning. One moment his beautiful young pup was indulging him in a wonderfully passionate kiss, and the next he found himself overpowered and speechless as the orangette forcibly reversed the role of dominance. Ichigo had gone from pretty and pliant to full-blown hellspawn with nary a stop in between!

A broken hiss pushed past clenched teeth when Ichigo captured his perforated lip between his own, sucking greedily as he tried to extract his fill from the minute laceration. For a pregnant moment, Grimmjow was too hazed, his body awash with desire as he provided for his fledgling. In his personal opinion, there was no greater sensation, no superior seduction, than that of supplying and pampering one's pup. The dizzying high and physical intimacy of feeding your very life into the veins of a beautiful creature you yourself created was like no ecstasy born of man. It was an immensely empowering and lascivious pleasure, one which had Grimmjow constantly struggling to maintain any semblance of self-discipline each and every time the exchange happened.

However, when a brave fang dared to pierce yet another small welt close to the original, Grimmjow quickly cleared the titillating fog from his brain and immediately set out to correct the egregious oversight.

Summoning a frankly minute sample of the devastating power he was infamous for, Grimmjow hastily turned the tables on the lust-drunk teenager. Hooking his right leg around the limber appendage tucked between his own, the elder effortlessly rolled Ichigo onto his back, wrists easily breaking free as the younger scrambled to keep up.

Snarling with rejection, Ichigo bucked and arched under the blunette's iron grasp, Grimmjow shamelessly reaping the benefits of that toned body writhing beneath him. Teeth snapping and eyes narrowed in anger, Ichigo hadn't the sense of mind to register the large hand grasping his throat, nor the savage growling vibrating through the chiselled chest of his Sire. He did, however, register the sharp, admonishing sting penetrating through his shoulder as Grimmjow cruelly clamped down around the flawless flesh.

Like flipping a switch, Ichigo felt his body sagging against the silken sheets, his every muscle and limb relaxing in submission under the condemning aura of the blue-haired male. Grimmjow kept his fangs embedded in Ichigo until he could be certain the teen had relented, only endeavouring to release the orangette when harsh pants became deep exhales and frustrated hisses deteriorated into pitiful mewlings.

Carefully retracting the deadly points, Grimmjow drew back to stare down into subdued ochre, noting with satisfaction Ichigo's pupils rounding out into a more human-like shape.

"Ichigo."

"I know… I'm sorry. I just… lost control."

Grimmjow's brow creased in admonishment, and a little concern. "You have to learn to better cage your instincts. You might get away with mistakes like that with me, but I can't guarantee another would be so lenient with regards to your punishment."

"I get it; my self-control sucks. I need to– wait, what? Another?" Orange tinted brows drew together in confusion. "Why should I worry about anyone else when you're all I'll ever need?"

Grimmjow carefully schooled his expression to one of detachment, biting back a suffering sigh. He had never planned on telling Ichigo, his one and only love, that after his initial year as a fledgling, an inexperienced blood-pup who had to be 'bottle fed', he was essentially a fully licensed vampire; able to go off and explore the world, to hunt and feed on his own… to take any other he deemed worthy enough as his mate. Grimmjow wanted to keep the fiery teen all for his own – of course he did! Just look at the boy! He was the most exquisite being the blunette had ever laid eyes on, had just the right amount of moxie to keep him forever bouncing on the balls of his feet, and those eyes. They were simply mesmerising; so chockfull of wily intelligence and an inextinguishable resolve to accomplish whatever he set his mind to.

Fuck, Ichigo was perfect – he'd have to be batshit fucking crazy to cut him loose for another to snatch up. And yet…

"…you have to let him go, Grimmjow…"

Damn. Fucking Nelliel and her words of bloody wisdom. Didn't she know that it was so much easier said than done? Looking down at the boy now, Grimmjow could see how he had moulded him, shaped him as if made of clay into the capable and proud immortal he was today. Ichigo had been positively stunning in life, but in death… Aa. There were no words.

"…you have to know that you did your best, that you gave him something priceless and incomparable…"

Cerulean pools flickered briefly over the dark inked number six marring his love's neck. The gothic number stood in stark contrast to the teen's fragrant peachy skin, and Grimmjow couldn't help but think it was mocking him. Where once bold and thick, the ink was beginning to recede, causing the six to look faded and cracked. Six was his number; his defining mark and claim to the sinful little body beneath him – and it was ebbing away like a wave on the shore. It was enough to make his unbeating heart throb in despondency.

"…he will always remember and cherish you for the role that you played…"

"Grimmjow?"

A soft hand laid upon his cheek had Grimmjow crashing back to reality. Capturing the teen's wrist, he delivered a doting kiss to the centre of his palm, stormy pools of cerulean screwing shut as he mentally prepared himself for the unimaginable. After such a miserable and crummy start to life, Ichigo deserved nothing but the absolute best, and, as his Sire, it was his responsibility to make damn sure that he got it. If it ensured Ichigo's happiness, there was not a single thing in the entire fucking cosmos Grimmjow wouldn't do to accomplish it; no obstacle he couldn't overcome; no barrier he couldn't obliterate. For Ichigo, Grimmjow would gladly give his hellbound soul.

So why, then, was it so unfathomably difficult to set the boy free…?

"…you'll never forgive yourself…"

Well, fuck. It would appear the decision had already been made for him. His undead heart really went out to Nelliel, because he would never let her hear the end of this.

Ever.

"We need to talk."

Ichigo blinked once, twice, incredulity plastered all over peachy features as well as colouring his tone. "What, you mean like right now?"

Grimmjow did little to stop the raucous bark of laughter budding in his throat at the look of sheer dismay painting the orangette's pretty face. Slowly extracting himself from atop the younger, he propped up the pillows at the head of the bed, Ichigo rolling onto his side to watch as he lounged out quite comfortably, his back resting against the headboard, left leg bent up lazily and right drawn out straight.

"No, love. We'll talk tomorrow," Grimmjow reassured the vexed teen, a sinister smirk snaking across thin lips as he pat his thigh in invitation. "Tonight, we will indulge."

All too eager to comply with the unspoken command, Ichigo rose to his knees, throwing a lean leg over the blue-haired vampire's midriff so that he was mounted over his waist.

Grimmjow laid back and relaxed, content to let Ichigo work as the young vampire began to unbutton his shirt, his head tilting back provocatively as the teen ravished his neck with amorous kisses and playful nips. Impatient fingers hurriedly divested him of the cumbersome shirt, the elder leaning forward slightly to aid the teen in tearing it from his shoulders.

With the arduous task now complete – Grimmjow had serious issues with Ichigo's more direct approach of simply ripping his designer clothing to shreds – the orangette permitted himself a leering onceover of the man's wonderfully sculpted torso, his thirst and libido stirring in excitement at every twitch and flex of hardened muscle. Threading his fingers through that mess of exotic hair, he hummed.

"I miss your long hair," he mused out loud when his digits fell from the longer strands brushing the nape of the blunette's neck, almost able to feel the phantom presence of longer hair pouring through them.

Grimmjow scoffed derisively. "You were the one who told me to cut it."

"Only because you kept complaining about it getting tangled every time we, uh… you know…" Ichigo defended, a subtle dusting of pink blooming over the bridge of his nose.

Grimmjow's grin would put a Great White to shame.

"Speaking of which," he purred sensually, large hands gripping the teen's hips to pull him down into a slow grind. He was rewarded with a breathy hiss and fingernails assaulting his pectorals. "Concentrate, pup."

No further incentive required, Ichigo dragged his lover into a steamy embrace, lips melding, teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Grimmjow raked his hands down Ichigo's back and sides, revelling in the enjoyable shudder of the teen against him, before brazenly kneading his backside and using the leverage to crush that lithe little body against him. Ichigo fell into his role seamlessly, rolling his hips down and hard against the blunette's very apparent arousal, his sharpened nails scoring angry red welts over brawny planes.

Grimmjow was steadily losing it. His sexual desire was cascading in potent torrents throughout his whole body, making the blood pumping through his veins feel hot and turgid. If Ichigo didn't hurry it up, he couldn't be held accountable for the consequences of his actions.

Ichigo would be quite ashamed to admit to the near petulant whine extracted from his lips when Grimmjow disengaged their kiss. If the blue-haired vampire had heard it, he didn't comment, for which Ichigo was grateful, if not a little surprised. When Grimmjow inclined his head to the side, however, displaying the length of his throat in a most seductive manner, Ichigo immediately understood.

"Come, Ichigo," Grimmjow murmured, his tone charmingly dark and oh so bewitching. "Feed."

As if in a trance, Ichigo didn't bother to fight against his natural impulses; the temptation was far too enticing. He scarcely noticed the strong hands cradling his face and stroking soothingly through his hair, his mind occupied exclusively with the alluring call of the elder's promise of nutrition.

Reverently pressing his lips against the area a once throbbing pulse point flourished, Ichigo inhaled the rapturous bouquet of mingling life forces, his tongue sweeping out to lave the area generously. Above him, Grimmjow groaned appreciatively, those wicked fingers tugging orange spikes and encouraging him onward.

Smiling warmly against the blunette's skin, Ichigo appraised his throat with a languorous kiss, giving a harsh suck to leave a mark of his own, before scraping his teeth suggestively over the bruising hickey.

"If you don't get on with it, you'll have to wait until after I'm done tearing you a new one," Grimmjow husked, bucking his hips to show he meant business.

In spite of himself, Ichigo chuckled. In any given situation, it was exceedingly difficult to get under the skin of the authoritative immortal – in the bedroom however, it would seem that Ichigo was a pro at getting a rise out of the man. Pun most definitely intended.

"Of course. My apologies," Ichigo simpered, bloodthirsty fangs gleaming iridescently serving to contradict the apparent innocence of his words.

Choosing to ignore the indignant snarl, Ichigo wrapped his left hand around the side of Grimmjow's neck, using his thumb underneath his jaw to angle his head into the optimum position. One last, mouth-watering taste of the blunette's flesh on his tongue, and needy canines finally sank into bronzed skin, the transaction fluid, flawless, and undeniably euphoric.

Blood instantly welled to the surface of the petite incisions, Ichigo studiously lapping at any wayward beads that tried to escape as he suckled at the broken skin like a malnourished babe would their mother's teat. The crimson fluid poured into his waiting mouth, flavour and sensation bringing new life to his parched veins as he bit down harder, tearing faintly at quivering flesh and eliciting a rather sexy hum from his blue-haired Sire. That ever intoxicating taste of wild blackberries and dark chocolate sent Ichigo's senses into overdrive, suckles turning savage and thin rivulets evading from between his lips, painting Grimmjow's torso in a delicate spiderweb of liquid scarlet.

It was the sweetest ambrosia, and the young immortal was determined to liberate every last drop.

"Shit," Grimmjow hissed when Ichigo tore into him, that peach hued body ceaselessly undulating and rubbing in all the right places. Oh how he would love to throw Ichigo down and bond them forever right here and now; but alas, his subconscious – as well as Nelliel's haunting counsel – wouldn't allow him to claim the boy when he clearly was of no sound mind at this particular moment.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Nelliel was right. It wasn't his place to dictate the course of Ichigo's life, and, although they had both promised their hearts to one another, Grimmjow couldn't help but wonder if that wasn't because the teen didn't know any better. He wanted Ichigo to live his life to the fullest, to enjoy every damn millisecond of it – the gods know he deserves it – and if that included the boy finding another better suited to sharing his journey with, then Grimmjow was just going to have to find a way to be okay with that. He had to. For Ichigo.

Always for Ichigo.

"Always for you," he uttered, tone laced with hopelessness and arms winding possessively around the teen.

Ichigo sighed blissfully through his nose as he began to regain some semblance of control over his frenzied system, his jaw slackening from its fierce assault and tongue swiping broad, apologetic strokes over the abused area. Feeling utterly contented, love-drunk ochre gazed down into animated cerulean, a delusional high making it feel as though his heart was vigorously beating within his chest. Damn, did Grimmjow have to be so breathtaking?

Licking at rouge stained lips, Ichigo inquired, "Did you say something?"

Watching that criminal little tongue lapping up the nutriment his own body had provided was undoubtedly one of the most gratifying sights the blunette could ever hope to witness. Ichigo knew this very well, and Grimmjow knew that Ichigo knew this; the naughty fucking minx.

"It was nothing important. This, however…" Here Grimmjow proceeded to buck his hips, demonstrating quite vividly the extent of his arousal. "…is of the utmost importance."

Warm ochre flashed a wicked, honeyed gold. "Aa. Well, let's see if I can't help you with that…"

An impish grin broke across Ichigo's lips, his fingertips trailing sensually down firm pectorals, teasingly flicking a dusky nipple, before slithering down a solid six-pack and hooking into the leathered hem of Grimmjow's pants. Restraint was but a fanciful concept in the teen's vocabulary as he deftly attacked the constricting material concealing his prize.

Grimmjow's lip curled in feral pleasure as his ardent fledgling hastily pulled the damnable leather down his muscular legs, cerulean pools bleeding to a rich sapphire when the orangette stared hungrily at his thick and demanding cock.

Kicking his own loose sweats off, Ichigo gave a lascivious purr, his palms caressing up over powerful thighs as he slid smoothly between them. With a kittenish lick to the glistening head that had Grimmjow growling in lust, Ichigo – having gained more than enough experience – swallowed the impressive length of hard and heated flesh in one breath. That briny musk of pure man was still as potent as it ever was, but the teen honestly couldn't complain, not when the unique undercurrent of Grimmjow's own flavour left a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue.

Grimmjow snarled, fisting sunset tresses as Ichigo bobbed his head up and down, the lewd sound of harsh suction and the glorious sensation of being swallowed around turning him on to the point of madness. His orange-haired beauty was very talented, and he couldn't help but feel a selfish twinge of jealousy snake around his heart at the thought of Ichigo bringing another such divine pleasure.

Before Ichigo could blink, Grimmjow was suddenly gone. His disorientation at the abrupt departure wasn't to last though, as callused hands rubbed over his hips from behind, raising them up as the familiar weight and presence of the blunette settled along the length of his back. A hot breath rolled over the skin of his neck, making him quiver and groan.

"You're so beautiful, Ichigo," Grimmjow murmured breathily, kissing tenderly at the nape of his neck. "I'm going to miss you."

Ichigo propped himself up onto his elbows, his back arching into the larger male. "Mmm, what was that? I didn't catch the last part…"

Grimmjow's lips pulled into a half-mast smile, his right hand searching for Ichigo's, fingers intertwining as he aligned himself with that silken, puckered entrance.

"I love you."

Ichigo gasped, his neck craning backwards as he was ever so slowly breached. He curled his fingers tight around the elder's. "I-I love you too, Grimmjow."

Pools of glittering sapphire fluttered shut, his body trembling as Ichigo's body welcomed him home, and his being flaring with warmth at the promise of love spoken like a solemn vow. His everlasting soul may never make it through the Pearly Gates when everything was said and done, but with Ichigo here by his side he found the idea of heaven laughable. Why should he pray for eternal nirvana when he had his own personal salvation right here on earth?

"Oh, Gods. Grimmjow…" Ichigo keened, toes curling and lips falling open as the blunette sheathed himself to the hilt, the head of his cock faintly nudging his pleasure centre. Hips rocking back expectantly, he pleaded, begged, beseeched. "Please… God, Grimm… Please don't stop…"

Unable to refuse the spritely teen of any desire, Grimmjow immediately complied, his free hand tracing down the teen's heaving ribcage, sidetracking to pinch and roll a deliciously sensitive nipple, and cheekily knead a pert, rounded globe, before finally coming to rest on a peachy hip. With excruciating and delicate finesse, he leisurely withdrew from the searing heat of that tight passage, until only the head remained, where he then waited for the inevitable whine of frustration. Only when he heard that ego-stoking sound of distress did he ram back in, his thrust calculated perfectly to strike the boy's prostate and make him scream.

And scream Ichigo did. Having been a virgin all his mortal life, the teen had no idea what regular, human sex was like – though he honestly couldn't imagine it was anything quite like this. Grimmjow was a vicious, untamed demon in bed, able to bring him climax after dizzying climax with what seemed like such minimal effort. Their both being strong, tough-skinned immortals only sweetened the union. Rough clutches and bruising holds that would surely crush human bone to dust were commonplace in their lovemaking, and Ichigo had long since lost count of the amount of obliterated headboards, cracked drywall, scored countertops, and broken furniture they'd had to replace over the twelve months they had been together.

And yet, for all of Grimmjow's wild and unbridled animalistic passion, the blue-haired immortal was irrefutably caring. Sure, he liked to throw Ichigo around like a ragdoll, their zealous fucking certainly a force to be reckoned with; but there was no doubting that he treated Ichigo with a tender love and respect. He worshipped the teen body, heart, and soul, so that no matter how many times bones needed to be reset, or brutally torn skin patched up, Ichigo always ended up feeling like a king.

"Ah, Grimm!" Ichigo wailed as the blunette kicked the tempo up a notch, his eyes rolling skyward with each precision aimed stab to his sweet spot. "Oh, yes – yes! Just like that!"

Predatory smirk out in full flourish at the harmonious cries of his lover, Grimmjow wrapped both arms around Ichigo's chest, pulling him up and back into his chest. If perfectly honest, Grimmjow wasn't overly fond of this particular position. He liked to see his love during the throes of lovemaking – those beautiful eyes burning with lust; that athletic body flushed a rosy pink; carnation lips plumped and uttering complete nonsense. Ichigo, however, seemed to enjoy being taken from behind if the kinds of toe-curling howling he produced was any indication, and so Grimmjow indulged him.

With the orangette's thighs spread wide over his own, Grimmjow had ample access to the boy's neglected and dripping sex. Wetting his dry lips, he barely brushed the leaking slit with the pad of his thumb and the teen was calling out his name and grinding down hard against him. Grasping the base of that angry red cock, Grimmjow kept up a merciless pounding, relishing every ragged sigh, mewling moan, and broken cry released from pouty lips.

"I love you, Ichigo," he reiterated, devotedly kissing the fading gothic six on Ichigo's neck, hoping beyond reason that if he showered it with enough affection, it might just restore to it's former glory. He was hardly surprised, though still irrationally disappointed, when it didn't work. "Always. I will always love you."

Not feeling terribly confident in his ability to form words in any coherent or intelligible manner, Ichigo replied to the declaration by awkwardly twisting his upper body and capturing the blunette's lips in a sloppy but soul-searing kiss. Orbs of liquid honey gazed steadfast and assuredly into glittering sapphire, every ounce of love and allegiance pouring into their heated embrace, making Grimmjow shudder with the conviction.

Grinning madly against the younger's lips, Grimmjow renewed his efforts, pumping his hand along the precum-slick shaft of Ichigo's pulsating erection as he fervently worked them both to completion.

Unsurprisingly, it was Ichigo who plummeted over the delirious edge of orgasm first, a searing tingle rocketing up the length of his spine like a lightening bolt as thick ropes of pearly cum shot out to sully both Grimmjow's hand and his own sweat-slicked chest.

"Goddamn fucking shit," Grimmjow rumbled throatily, his own orgasm ruthlessly ripped from the depths of his core when velvety walls hugged down and spasmed around his aching cock.

With a fierce snarl, Grimmjow sank pointed canines into the dissolving '6' on Ichigo's neck, lazily riding out his release as the teen sagged against him, positively mewing in delight at the familiar sensation of his Sire's warm seed coating his insides.

Carefully extricating the boneless teen from their union, Grimmjow lay Ichigo down against the plush mattress, the orange-haired vampire somewhat assisting as he more or less collapsed into a satiated, postcoital heap. Grimmjow couldn't help but think he resembled a well sated kitten curling up in a pool of sunshine for an afternoon siesta.

Lying down to face the boy, the blunette grinned wolfishly at the hazy look in those striking ochre eyes and the fabulously satisfied smile curling the corners of kiss-bruised lips. Needless to say, seeing Ichigo on such a dopey high of contentment always did such wonderful things to his pride.

"Are you okay?" he inquired, just because the boy didn't look like he knew what planet he was on right now. When all he got in return was a slow nod, he chuckled. "Are you fed enough? I could probably spare more if you need it." A shake of the head this time. "Good. Rest now, Ichigo."

Pressing a chaste yet enamoured kiss upon all too willing lips, Grimmjow hiked the tangled sheets up around their cooling bodies, pulling the younger to his chest in a protective embrace. Ichigo settled quickly, nestling into bronzed skin as heavy eyelids fought off the alluring vines of fatigue.

"Hey, Grimm?"

Said vampire found the endearing slur to Ichigo's voice too cute for words. "Hn?"

"This 'talk', you said that it wa–" A wide jawed yawn brought tears to the corners of Ichigo's eyes, which he rubbed away with the heel of his hand. "You said it was important. Did I, um… do something wrong?"

"Shh," Grimmjow dismissed, kissing the teen's furrowed brow. "Sleep, pup. I will explain everything tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Suitably comforted for the time being, Ichigo bid the elder goodnight, draping himself over his lover's chest and quickly succumbing to the unrelenting beckon of deep slumber. Grimmjow, on the other hand, was perfectly content to watch the other in sleep, his thoughts too plagued with warring thoughts of their immediate future to even entertain the idea of joining his beautiful love in blissful unawares.

Quietly petting his hand through soft, orange spikes, the matured immortal settled down for a long and restless night, Nelliel's parting words echoing in his head like a broken record;

"…He will always love you…"

…

Grimmjow could only hope.

A/N: Well, hello there y'all!

Yes, yes - I know. It's been a shockingly long time. I can only apologise, jus' like every other time, an' hope that y'all aren't too grievously disappointed in me. Like a lot of people, that damnable little buggar called "real life" keeps rearin' it's ugly head, an' lately it's been putting me on the fast-track to the fuckin' nuthouse. A lot of stuff happened - none of it particularly good - and it all really kicked my ass. Still troopin' on, though, so tha's somethin' at least.

But! Enough about me... How the hell are all of you? Keepin' dandy, I do hope.

As I said above, this is somethin' I've been workin' on for a while now (I won't say how long, because frankly it's staggering...), but I was truly inspired by caribou's "Sleepwalking", right up to the point I badgered her into lettin' me make a sequel to it~ Don' worry - I didn't use deadly force or nuthin' ;3 So, yes; thank you so much, Belle - I really hope ya liked it, an' that I made ya proud!

As fer the story, obviously there's more to come. Sexface will make an appearance, Ichigo will find out what the hell is goin' on, light will be shed on Grimm-yums an' Shiro's past - etc, etc. The rest I'll prob'ly make up as I go along, ne? (:

Anywho, I hope any an' all'a ya who read this enjoyed doing so! It is but my humble wish to entertain ya's an' (if possible) brighten up your day with a li'l GrimmIchi yumminess~

Please do indulge an' enjoy at yer own risk, my sweets

Ciao, an' cop y'all soon

Toringtino

~x~