Pairing: Shiro (Hollow Ichigo) x Ichigo Kurosaki, implied (future) Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Ichigo Kurosaki x Shiro (Hollow Ichigo)
Music: Danger Zone, by Kenny Loggins
Word count: ~ 1800
Rating: M
A/N: Dedicated to the utterly awesome Satarudd, yet again. This isn't exactly the prompt (…Who am I kidding? It's not even close…) but there's a threesome! Well, kinda… ^.^"
Prompt 36: Reciprocity
Shiro can't help but watch in silent admiration as his partner slides out of the ventilation shaft as though he has elastic for bones. No normal person would ever be able to climb up six levels on the sheer side of a twenty-story office building, peel off the vent cover, get in, make the exchange, and get out without once touching the pressure-sensitive floors of the vault, but then, Shiro's long suspected that Ichigo isn't human at all. Either that or he teleports. Really, it could be either one.
Nimbly, Ichigo spider-crawls back down the wall and drops through the skylight of the van, pulling it shut after him and dragging off the hood of his all-white bodysuit—and again, Shiro thanks whatever idiot made the vault completely white, so that with Ichigo dressed that way all Shiro had to do was reroute a single camera inside and another two outside, and there's no way they're going to get caught. No evidence at all, and Shiro thinks he loves Ichigo just a little more as he slides into the passenger seat with a lithe, easy, boneless grace that has Shiro half-hard just watching.
"Well?" he demands.
Ichigo just grins at him and pulls a string of huge-ass, flawless diamonds from the sleeve of his suit, grinning that wicked, mercenary grin that has Shiro tempted to vault over the console between them and take advantage. Not that Ichigo would protest, he knows, but they should probably put some distance between themselves and the scene of the crime first.
"Like clockwork," Ichigo says, just a little bit smug. He's totally justified, though, because how many other cat burglars could pull off what he just did? He slides the diamonds into a pouch and stows them in the secret compartment underneath the glove compartment, then pulls on a bulky black sweatshirt to cover up the most noticeable part of his outfit—mainly that it clings like glue to the lines of his body, and wow, Shiro should really stop drooling right about now, because no matter how much Ichigo loves him, puddles are not cool.
Thankfully, Ichigo doesn't seem to notice—or, more likely, he's ignoring it—because he stretches carefully—and okay, that's definitely not ignoring, more like he's teasing, the fucking rat bastard—and says, "Come on, let's get going before security gets off their asses and decides to take a look around." He shoots Shiro a sly look from under orange lashes, and he really shouldn't be as hot as he is, looking like a hobo or a teenager in that huge sweater that has holes in the elbows. One eyebrow rises, and Shiro's mouth goes just a little bit dry. He knows that look. "Don't you want to celebrate?"
Shiro guns it for their hideout, just slowly enough that the cops won't take notice immediately, even though he knows he breaks several dozen traffic laws.
Not that he cares, but still.
Ichigo is amused. Were he any less familiar with Shiro's driving, he'd probably be petrified, but hey, Shiro driving like a maniac is one of his more endearing quirks. It makes for a kickass wheelman, too, on top of his borderline-genius technical skills, all wrapped up in an acrobatically muscular, gorgeous package that would make a nun drool.
Ichigo is also rather certain that Shiro was a Northern European cab driver in New York City in a past life, as well, so it's probably not his fault.
But he's used to it, so he feels safe enough to kick his feet up on the dashboard as Shiro swerves around a bus and then slips—well, as much as a utility van can slip—between two cars in a move that would have a Formula-1 driver sweating and pale. He even feels secure enough to ask, "Was there anyone checking in on us? Are we going to have to lie low?"
Shiro spares a moment to glance over at him and grin, and Ichigo wonders what it says about his sanity that he doesn't even flinch. The albino cackles as he turns back, just in time to whip them in a hairpin turn onto the exit ramp. "Hell, yeah," he says gleefully. "Got the FBI on one line, and you know what that means."
Ichigo grins, too, because he does. "Agent Jaegerjaquez is back in the field, then?" he asks, picturing what the man's face must have looked like when all he got over the bug in their apartment was the sound of shower sex. Shiro's voyeuristic tendencies do come in handy, at times. As does his habit of recording their activities in the bedroom. If Grimmjow had switched on the camera, he would have gotten an eyeful and not much else.
"Which night did you use?" he asks idly, still trying to call up the image. Grimmjow would be outraged, but would he be aroused? Would his hand drift down that hard, muscled chest in a guilty fashion, wrap around his cock as he watched Ichigo and Shiro together? Would he imagine one of them on his knees in front of him, getting fucked by the other? Would he want to be the one in the middle?
Ichigo groans, arching his hips and palming himself through the thin material of his suit. Shiro glances over at him and lets out a groan of his own, pressing his foot down on the pedal just a little harder. "Not fair, Ichi," he complains. "You don't get to start without me!"
With a wicked grin, Ichigo grasps his cloth-covered erection, then murmurs, "Which tape, Shiro? Which tape is Agent Jaegerjaquez watching right now?"
Shiro gets it with another sharp groan, and his grip on the wheel goes white-knuckled. "The time with the dildo," he manages after a second, pupils obviously blown and breathing sharp. "The glass one."
Ichigo remembers that one. He remembers that one very well. His grin widening, he leans back in his seat and arches his hips, hand moving just a little bit harder.
He absolutely fucking loves Shirosaki.
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez absolutely fucking hates Shirosaki.
Oh, he hates Kurosaki right now, too, but he knows this level of demented is Shirosaki's handiwork. Not to mention he's always attempted to convince himself that Kurosaki is just an innocent victim in all of this. He's probably being blackmailed into it.
…With, apparently, really fucking great sex.
Grimmjow pointedly keeps his eyes off the screen as he turns around in the small surveillance van and casts a look at his partner. A new one, because apparently the agency doesn't take to it too well when you try to punch your partner out in the middle of the office. Not that Ulquiorra didn't have it coming. Still, this new one is…
Well. At least Grimmjow knows the state of his backup without even having to ask. Starrk hasn't woken up once since they got in the van. And at least Starrk would know what an emotion was if it danced around in a tutu in front of him, and doesn't use the word "trash" every other sentence. (Though, admittedly, Grimmjow kind of feels like the overseer of the narcoleptic ward in a very small hospital. Either that or the brain damage ward.)
He risks a quick glance back at the screen, just to see if anything's changed—and holy hell, who even knew that was physically possible? Grimmjow sure as goddamned hell didn't, and he's experimented with a lot of positions over the years. But, apparently, that's what you get when your partner is the most skilled and athletic cat burglar in the Northern Hemisphere—and would be the most skilled and athletic cat burglar in the Southern Hemisphere, too, but Kurosaki hasn't quite gotten that far south yet. At least, not that they can prove.
Not that they can prove anything right now, either. Kurosaki and Shirosaki are both still only suspects, as the Agency has drilled into his head so many times. And as much as he wants to claim otherwise, they're both still human. There's no way they can be having sex that awesome and simultaneously stealing the Star of the Ocean necklace from Downtown.
At least, that's what he hopes, 'cause otherwise, he's suffering through a dick hard enough to pound nails for nothing, and while a man can't die of blue balls, he's not looking to risk it.
Nor, he tells himself sharply, is he looking to go in and join them. No matter how hot the two of them are, they're criminals. He knows they're criminals, even if he can't prove it.
There's a brief pause in moans, and he glances up hopefully, half-expecting to see Kurosaki pulling on that bodysuit his cat burglar alter-ego is famous for—and damn, that thing should be illegal just for the boner it gives Grimmjow whenever he has to look at the crime scene reports—but instead, they're just getting water. Grimmjow's mouth goes dry as Shirosaki tilts his head back, standing by the door and in full view of the hidden camera, his muscular body stark against the light coming through the door. Kurosaki lounges on the bed, his own water bottle dangling from his fingertips and a look on his face that just begs to be fucked off. You'd never know he had just gone two rounds with a fucking huge glass dildo.
Grimmjow's betting that they're not done yet, either.
Were Starrk not sleeping—snoring, drooling—less than three feet from him, Grimmjow would have no compunctions about whipping out the massive boner straining his slacks and going to work on it. As it is, he slides lower in his seat, cursing the day he was ever assigned to these burglaries, and watches the two gorgeous thieves on the screen fuck each other stupid.
Another hour of this, and he's pretty sure he'll walk inside and ask to join them.
They're totally going to get what's coming to them, of that he's certain.
"So?" Ichigo asks, pulling Shiro down on top of him. They're sweaty, panting, and exhausted, but the adrenaline from a job gone right won't vanish that easily. Another hour and they'll both be ready to go again. "Do you think it'll work?"
Shiro grins manically, shark-like. "Oh, yeah," he agrees gleefully. "One more round should do it."
Ichigo grins back at him.
They've got the diamonds. Now all they need is the man.
As Grimmjow himself could confirm, they always get what they want in the end.