Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor Supernatural, which is where this new idea originally stemmed from. For those of you who watch SN, you'll notice the rather famous word for 'kill' that the gorgeous Winchester boys love to use crop up. I just had to, couldn't help myself.

.:Crossroad Blues:.

Chapter One

'Devil's Trap'

This was sick. He was sick. And yet there was no denying it. His body was burning, his limbs trembling, aching for the touch of that…that monster.

Sighing, one Ichigo Kurosaki sat up, the twenty-one year old male scrubbing a hand down over his face as the bed sheets slipped down his bare, peach hued torso to pool in his lap. It was no use, he wasn't going to get any sleep, not when thoughts of alabaster skin, of sharp nails raking his skin and sharp teeth scraping precariously over his throat plagued his mind.

There was something wrong with him. There had to be. When he'd made that deal all those months ago, that psychotic bastard had done something to him, he just knew it. He should've known better than to trust a creature of his calibre, but he'd been desperate. His whole life had been torn to shreds right in front of his very eyes, and, as selfish as it may sound, he wasn't ready to let go just yet.

A soft snore from beside him had Ichigo glancing over to the form beside him. A healthy expanse of sun-kissed flesh hugged around hard, corded muscle and powerful limbs graced his vision, and he couldn't help but smile. The dank motel room they'd rented out for the night was enveloped in darkness, but that didn't matter. Ichigo knew every dip and line of the twenty-five year old man's body in intimate detail, knew that that unruly mess of hair currently splayed out over the pillow was a rich, electric teal, and that the orbs hidden behind closed eyelids were the most stunning shade of aquamarine blue he'd ever seen in his life. And it all belonged to one man; Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

It was Ichigo's firm belief that he was an Adonis amongst men, even though the older man would always argue that it was the other way around. Ichigo would scoff and call him ridiculous; Grimmjow would roll his eyes and call him an ignorant brat. With bright, bordering on luminous, orange hair that sat in a mop of untameable spikes, ochre eyes that flashed a honeyed gold in just the right light and a lean body decorated with taut muscles wrapped up in peachy skin, Ichigo had never seen himself as anything special. Unless you count his uncanny knack for attracting all kinds of trouble, whether it be some punk-ass humans making a sloppy dig at his hair, or otherworldly beings baying for his head on a platter, that is.

Reaching over, Ichigo quietly laced his fingers through Grimmjow's hair, loving the oddly silky feel to the colourful strands in spite of the amount of hair gel the other used. The familiar, spicy musk that was all Grimmjow assaulted his senses, making his heart thrum and his skin tingle in the most pleasant kind of way. He'd known the older man for the better part of his life, ever since they were kids and had found out that the shadows under their beds and the creatures from their nightmares were not to be taken lightly. Ichigo can still remember the day he told his father about the 'monster in his closet', and, instead of reassuring words of being young and naïve that most other children would receive for such unwarranted fears, his dad had instead handed him a 9mm Beretta 92 and told him to always aim between the eyes. He'd lost his innocence on that night.

He was only six years old.

Grimmjow gave a contented sigh in his slumber as Ichigo scratched his nails over his scalp, and the younger male had to bite back a chuckle. For the kind of shit they went through on a daily basis, it always surprised Ichigo that the blue haired man could sleep so well, so deep. But then again, not a lot fazed Grimmjow. He took to their life like a duck to water, he could kill and slaughter and exorcise like he'd been born to do it, and would never bat an eye as creature upon monstrous creature fell at his feet in a hail of blood and rock salt. Ichigo on the other hand, whilst perfectly capable of holding his own and ganking whatever foul being so happened to endanger the lives of others, was unfortunately cursed with a conscience. He often teased Grimmjow, saying that he must have been born without a soul, even though such a thing was completely viable and of no laughing matter. Ichigo actually knew that better than most.

Clutching at his chest suddenly, Ichigo pushed all such thoughts aside. It made him sick to his stomach to think of what he'd done, of everything he'd given up in one heart wrenching moment of pure desperation. And yet, as he gazed at the peaceful rise and fall of his partner's chest, he couldn't bring himself to regret the decision. Because that's what they were, partners. Brothers in arms. Lovers. Call it what you will, but there was no one in the world Ichigo cared for more – his family aside, obviously. He would do anything for the older man to keep him from harm, and he knew that the feeling was more than mutual on the other's part.

But how far was too far? Was there a limit to that love? Ichigo didn't think so, as was proven by his hasty decision, one he'll admit to not putting much thought into before it was executed. Shit, he could still hear his voice, pushing him, taunting him into sealing the pact.

"Is he worth it, mortal? Worth handin' over body an' soul for? Is one man really worth…eternal damnation?"

Ichigo's answer had been swift and absolute. "Without a doubt."

A manic smirk the likes of which no human man could ever hope to imitate ripped across pale lips at his response, and Ichigo had been able to feel the sheer amount of animated energy, the absolute power the pale other possessed rolling off him in dark, lung constricting waves. He remembers how eerie golden orbs had gleamed and a blue tinged tongue had run across razorblade sharp canines. He can remember in agonising clarity how it felt to have the script of his contract seared into his very skin, the terms and conditions clearly outlined so that there could be no qualms when it came to pay up. The feeling of icy cold fingers and black painted nails trailing over his skin, of rough lips claiming and dominating every inch of his shuddering body, of deadly teeth piercing and ripping his flesh still haunted his dreams.

He didn't complain, and he didn't struggle. There was no point in doing so, and he certainly had no desire to back down on his pact. The other hadn't been gentle, but then again Ichigo didn't suspect that he would be. What a fucking ridiculous notion.

When it was over, when Ichigo lay heaving for a breath and praying that he hadn't lost too much blood, the deal was sealed. As was his fate.

"Three years, mah Pet. Then am comin' ta collect."

Ichigo threaded his fingers through his own hair and pulled harshly. Three years in return for his lover's life, that had been the deal. As the days on the calendar slowly counted down, as he crossed each one of in his head and his final days on earth drudged their way towards their conclusion, it was sometimes hard to keep up with his calm and collected façade he plastered on for his lover's sake. And, if he was honest, his own sake as well. But, when he thought back on that fateful day, the one where he'd lost everything worth living for and subsequently played his soul, his very life away like a bad hand of cards, his reasoning became startlingly clear once more…

Roughly 2 years and 10 months ago, Illinois, America

Grimmjow was being reckless again, as is true to his nature, being the 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of guy that he is. He'd rushed into the job without waiting for Ichigo to back him up, and he'd paid the ultimate price for his irresponsible actions. Ichigo had bore witness to the gruesome demise of his partner, had watched with ice cold blood filing his veins and wide, panic-stricken eyes as the monster they had been chasing for the better part of a week eradicated Grimmjow's existence in just under a minute. One fucking minute.

Admittedly, they'd both been careless, had assumed after the stories and eyewitness accounts they'd racked up from the townspeople depicting 'vicious animal attacks' that they were chasing after your bog standard werewolf. So when they eventually corned the man in broad daylight, they hadn't been prepared for him to suddenly transform.

They both watched, cursing their own damn stupidity as layer upon sickening layer of skin started to shed, until they were faced with something that was neither man nor beast, but a horrific combination of the two. It had never even occurred to them that they might be dealing with a skinwalker.

They'd been so fucking foolish.

Grimmjow had caught the feral glint in the animal's eyes as it clocked his orange haired lover, those supernatural orbs raking over the younger male like he was some sort of delectable chew toy. He didn't think twice about his reaction. Shoving Ichigo roughly to the side, he charged the beast. Forget that it was towering over even his large, 6'3" frame. Forget that it had curved, lethal looking claws and serrated teeth flashing between a long muzzle. It would be a cold, cold day in Hell before Grimmjow saw the fucking monster lay even one bestial finger on his pretty lover.

Ichigo had screamed at him to stop, to wait for him. But by the time he'd scrambled to his feet, the breath having long since left his lungs after the jarring collision with the tree Grimmjow had propelled him into, it was too late. One ferocious swipe with a large, mutant paw saw Grimmjow stumbling back, his black t-shirt tore to strips and the tanned flesh beneath stained with crimson as the open gashes bled profusely.

Ichigo could feel his heart lodging in his throat as the creature barrelled into his lover, pinning him to the brambled floor of the forest clearing they were in. The sound of Grimmjow's pain filled cries were making Ichigo's reactions frantic, and therefore careless. He'd never heard his partner make such noises before, and, as his whole being shook and gave rise to infectious goosebumps, he knew that they would forever plague his nightmares. Whether he lived to be thirty or a hundred and thirty, he would never forget the sobering sound of the blunette perishing.

Pulling out his trusty Beretta with trembling hands and a bated breath, Ichigo finally managed to sink a silver bullet straight through the monster's left temple. It kicked it immediately, unable to withstand the lethally poisonous metal, and slumped forward onto the body of his blue haired partner.

Panting harshly, Ichigo ran to Grimmjow's side, hauling with great effort the carcass of the skinwalker from atop of him. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the older man.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, removing his light jacket to press against the jagged wound in the blunette's neck. "Fuck, Gr-Grimmjow…"

A chilly, lightly shaking hand pressed down weakly on top of his, and Ichigo gazed down into dull, cerulean blue. His heart clenched violently when it took several failed attempts for the older man to speak.

"How…how bad is it?" he asked, his usually bold and confident voice so miserably cracked and listless.

Ichigo swallowed back against the bile bubbling up in his throat and applied more pressure to his wound. "It's not that bad. You'll be fine, Grimm. Just you wait. I'll call Urahara, he'll know what to do."

Grimmjow would have rolled his eyes if he'd been able. Ichigo always had been a piss-poor liar. "Ichigo…"

"We'll get you patched up in no time," Ichigo carried on, ignoring the condemning tone of the other. "I'll bet by tomorrow morning you'll be back to eating greasy junk food, working on that stupid car of yours and hitting on every hot girl in sight because you know I hate it, and then we'll–"

A cold, bloodstained hand gently cupping his cheek had Ichigo cutting off midsentence. "Ichigo, stop," Grimmjow husked, coughing as the words scratched harshly at his trachea. "We both know I ain't…ughn, shit…I ain't makin' it out'a this one alive…"

"You…I…" Ichigo struggled to string even one coherent sentence together, his eyes prickling against the hot tears that threatened to spill over and blurred his vision. "Don't say stuff like that, idiot! I told you already, you're going to be fine! I'll get you to uncles, and we'll fix you up. I won't let you die on me, Grimmjow." He dipped his head to press a soft, anguished kiss to his lover's forehead. "Pl-Please…don't leave me…"

A large, callused hand captured his chin, angling his face down so that dry, chapped lips could seal over his own in a bittersweet kiss. Ichigo latched onto Grimmjow's biceps, his grip probably much too rough considering the dire amount of pain the blunette was currently suffering, but neither said a word.

The contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and Ichigo will never forget just how cold he had felt in that moment, how completely lost and utterly helpless he felt as Grimmjow uttered those final words and his body went slack, his bloody hand falling from his cheek to land with a muffled thud against the earthy forest floor.

"I love you, Ichigo…my…Berry…"

Ichigo blinked once, twice, the thick tears he'd held back now flowing free and heavy down his cheeks as he watched Grimmjow's chest stutter to a sudden stop and his eyelids flutter closed, forever concealing those beautiful, aquamarine eyes from him.

"Gr-Grimm?" He gave his shoulders a firm shake, his ochre eyes darting over the man's features for even the tiniest glimmer of life. "Grimmjow? No. Nonononono…Grimmjow!"

His voice was quivering uncontrollably and rising in volume as he picked up the blunette's head to cradle against his chest, one hand cupping his face and the other frantically petting through those electric teal strands. He rocked them steadily back and forth, refusing to believe what his heart and soul were quietly telling him was true.

Burying his face into Grimmjow's hair, Ichigo took a long inhale, forever imprinting his spicy musk into his mind, before releasing the breath in one final torn and heart filled cry to the heavens above.

"GRIMMJOOOOW!"

Present

Yes. That's why he'd done it, why he'd given up literally everything he had to give – because he simply couldn't live without his partner, his brother and lover. His Grimmjow.

The blue haired man had been shocked, to say the very least, when one day he came to not to the endless, agonising suffering and searing pain only one who's actually served a sentence in Hell would know, but instead opened his eyes to find his orange haired Berry wrapped around his limbs, holding him in a crushing embrace like he was afraid to ever let go again. Which wasn't entirely inaccurate.

Grimmjow had asked and begged and threatened to know what in the name of holy good fuckery had happened. He wasn't stupid, in spite of his fiery Berry's protests to the contrary. He knew that no one, no one, got a free pass out of the Pit, and that Ichigo was hiding something from him, something big and unbelievably idiotic no doubt. But Ichigo just wouldn't give it up, would tell him time and time again to just be thankful that he was back and that they were together again. And so Grimmjow relented, swearing that one way or the other he would find out what his pretty lover had done to get him back, but that he would do it whilst enjoying his newfound freedom from the depths of Hades.

Little did he know that he wouldn't ever find out. Ichigo would never allow it, not when he knew that as soon as his time was up the hot-blooded blunette would just go out and try the exact same thing he had. He couldn't risk that, couldn't consent to Grimmjow having to endure what he had. Dead or alive, it would break his heart to know that he was the cause of any suffering, that he was the reason he'd be forever bound and at the mercy of the very creatures they put their lives on the line day-in and day-out to obliterate from the face of the earth.

Skimming a hand over the exposed skin on Grimmjow's back, a rueful smile splayed across Ichigo's lips. He was such a hypocrite, and he knew that Grimmjow would kick his ass straight into next week if he knew what he'd done to bring him home, but none of that mattered. He was just happy to have the pigheaded, temperamental brute back. Sure the older male was a right handful at the best of times, and a downright fucking pain in the backside at the worst, but Ichigo honestly wouldn't have it any other way. He loved the blunette more than he would ever know, and that's all there was to it.

Only it wasn't that simple. Not anymore.

Ichigo had been marked, and the milky skinned monster he'd bargained with knew exactly where to find him no matter where he went in the world, and he in return knew how to summon the hellspawn. Never in his life did he think he'd end up as the bitch to a servant of Hell. He'd spent his entire life banishing demons, werewolves, spirits, and other such 'mythical' creatures to the fiery pits of Hades, and now not only did he find himself in cahoots with one of them, in an unbreakable bond sealed with his own body, but he actually…liked it, found himself shivering in anticipation of the brutal treatment when the demonic creature came a-calling.

It was wrong, it was twisted and it was sick, but it was true.

Sucking the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth to worry between his teeth, Ichigo spared one last glance at his completely oblivious lover before drawing back the covers and swinging his legs out of the double bed. Quickly but quietly throwing on some clothes – a pair of dark denim jeans and a long sleeved black thermal shirt he suspected was actually Grimmjow's when it drowned his hands and exposed his collarbone – he stepped into his black and white Timberland boots at the door and made his way out into the nippy, midnight air.

Wrapping his arms around himself for warmth, he ducked to the right and headed round to the car park situated at the back of the small, off-road motel. His feet felt heavy and scuffed across the gravel, but his wildly hammering heart betrayed his otherwise sombre and stiff movements.

The parking lot was scarcely populated, only an old red Chevy truck and a beat up silver Nissan Sentra joined the gleaming black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Ichigo could feel an imminent eye roll coming on. Grimmjow loved that car, his "baby girl". Ichigo argued that it was bordering on an unhealthy obsession, to which Grimmjow always replied with a forceful blow to his person before making him apologise, yes, apologise to the damn hunk of metal. He can still recall the look of absolute anguish on the blunette's face that time he nearly totalled it after a side on collision with a semi truck a few years back. He'd spent months working to restore it back to its vintage glory, and refused to speak to the younger male for an entire week after he'd suggested the blunette just scrap it and sell the parts.

Chuckling to himself, Ichigo shook his head and ran his hand delicately over the polished roof of the car, making sure not to apply too much pressure in case he left a streak and Grimmjow tore him a new one. Again.

Not willing to delay the inevitable any longer, Ichigo sighed once more and reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the handle of his flick knife. Pulling the weapon out, he couldn't help but notice how comfortable and secure it felt within the palm of his hand, but shrugged the feeling off as nostalgia, recounting the number of times the small blade had saved his skin.

Pressing the release button, the soft click of the blade springing from its sheath managed to sound deafening within the deserted confines of the open lot. Steeling himself, Ichigo pressed the cold metal to his left palm and curled his fist around it before yanking the blade back, making a shallow incision across his palm. He winced at the dull, throbbing sting, scrunching up his nose at the coppery tang the crimson liquid oozing from the cut gave off.

Wiping the blade clean on the leg of his jeans, Ichigo securely sheathed it before placing it back in his pocket. Letting his eyes slip closed, he took a deep lungful of the stagnant, frosty air and dipped his hand through the opening in the top of his shirt, pressing the bleeding wound over the gothic style '0' emblazoned over his right pectoral. And then he waited.

It didn't take long, the shift in the atmosphere so palpable he could almost taste it. A dark, foreboding energy swirled around him, licking at the exposed skin on his face and neck and setting his blood on fire. He forced himself not to react – hard as it was – when two pale arms curled around his waist from behind.

"Mmm. Hiya, Pet," a silvery, echoic voice sounded from behind him. The sound of it made his toes curl, from dread or excitement though, he wasn't quite sure. "I wasn't expectin' yer call so soon. Not tha' am complainin' r'nuthin'."

It took a moment, but Ichigo finally located his own voice. "Cero."

"Maa, what've I told yah, Pet?" A reprimand in the form of a sharp nip to the nape of his neck was dealt, but it had quite the opposite effect on Ichigo and he shivered pleasantly. "We're well beyond formalities now, wouldn't yah say, Ichi? Call me Shiro."

"I'd rather not," was Ichigo's stony reply as he pivoted in the other's arms in order to face him.

Every time was like the first time, Ichigo's reaction never changed. Cero, otherwise known as Shirosaki, was the crossroads demon that Ichigo had traded his soul to in exchange for the safe return of his fallen lover – and what a demon he was. Standing a good few inches taller than himself, Ichigo guessed around 6' or so, the man – if you could call him that – was a sinfully beautiful being. He had a slender, lean physique, not unlike Ichigo's own, all of which was covered in flawless, alabaster skin. His hair was as white as crisp, fresh snow, styled in a mess of spikes and tinted with silver strands that made it glow iridescently under any natural light. The demon had a sharp toothed grin the likes of which a great white shark would be proud of, polished black fingernails that could extend into deadly sharp instruments of destruction, and the manic kind of glee when faced with bloodshed that only a creature of his calibre could be happy about. He was impeccably dressed, just like always, in a fine, tailored black suit, the shirt of which was open just far enough to show a teasing amount of skin that Ichigo knew was as smooth as marble.

But, in spite of all that, it was his eyes that really gave away his true character and were, without a shadow of a doubt, the most entrancing thing about the hellspawn. Toxic, obsidian black sclera blanketing orbs of pure, glittering gold. No matter how many times they met, Ichigo could never shake off the violent, magnetic pull those molten pools held over him. Whether it was a demon thing or not, Ichigo couldn't be sure, but the sensation was always the same, like he was falling head first into those depths never to be found again.

Shirosaki pulled the human close, nuzzling his face into the inviting warmth of the young male's neck. A slow smirk pulled at his pale lips when the boy shuddered against him. His nose wrinkled in distaste however, when his sensitive sense of smell picked up the foreign scent of another enveloping his tasty treat.

"Yah smell like him," he growled, tightening his hold around the mortal. "Yer absolutely saturated in his scent, an' it's not jus' tha' shirt yer wearin' either. Hn. Tha' blue haired kitty must'a had his grubby lil' paws all over yah, ne Pet? Did'e fuck yah good an' hard tanight?"

Ichigo scowled, a hot, prudish blush creeping up his neck to pool in his cheeks. "Shut up! He's my lover. If we want to have sex, then that's none of your business."

"I beg ta differ," Shirosaki replied, drawing back to survey those bright ochre eyes he enjoyed seeing so much. "You belong ta me now, after all. Which means tha' everythin' yah do is my business, Pet." The demon inwardly crowed with pleasure when the boy's eyes narrowed dangerously at the nickname purred off of his inky blue tongue. Tracking his fingers through tangerine tresses, he grinned. "Tell me, Ichigo, why'd yah summon me here if yah've already had yer fill, hm? Was he not enough ta satisfy yer needs? Did yah call me out ta fuck his scent right off'a tha' delicious skin of yers?"

"Bastard," Ichigo hissed, his fists clenching in the lapels of the demon's suit. "Don't you dare talk about him like that!"

"Easy, Pet. Put yer hackles down before yah hurt yerself. I was jus' curious, is all. Ta be honest, I don' really care why yah summoned me. I'll take any excuse yah got jus' ta get inside tha' beautiful body a'yers."

Before Ichigo could respond, Shirosaki snatched up his left wrist, his off-colour tongue poking out to lave a long, wet trail over the open wound. A wanton moan bubbled up in Ichigo's chest as the demon sucked greedily on the shallow cut and he couldn't stop his body from reacting accordingly as he practically melted into Shirosaki's one armed embrace.

Shirosaki hummed approvingly at the submissive reaction of the human and quickly discarded the bleeding extremity in favour of claiming those rose petal soft lips instead. The orange haired male struggled at first, just like always, before promptly surrendering, just like always. Shirosaki wasted no time, not that he had any to spare really – he was a busy servant of Hell, after all – and hurriedly parted the mortal's pliant lips with his tongue, sweeping the muscle inside to take a hungry taste of his pet's uniquely saccharine flavour.

He would never admit as much out loud, not to anybody, but he was really rather taken with the human. He was spunky, had a foul mouth and just enough bite to keep him on edge. Sure he could end the pathetic wretch's life with a simple snap of his fingers, but it was that feisty, highly spirited attitude that kept him craving more and more of the delectable mortal. He truly was something else, and Shirosaki had absolute no intentions of letting his fiery pet get away from him.

Ichigo was just getting into the demanding kiss after his initial resistance – something that worked as a shoddy guise to fool himself into believing that he actually didn't want this, didn't want him – when the atmosphere around them suddenly warped and fluctuated, the unmistakable flare of demonic power washing over him like a dose of cold water. He was somewhat startled to find himself suddenly lying beneath the demon in the backseat of the Impala, when just seconds ago he had been crushed up against the passenger door outside. You'd think that by now he'd be used to the demon transporting him places; a vacant room within whatever establishment they'd found themselves in that week, a cubicle stall within the nearest public restroom, or even Shirosaki's 'personal quarters'. That was a rare occurrence, and Ichigo had never had the guts to ask the pale skinned demon exactly where those quarters where located. He greatly feared he wouldn't like the answer. But every single time the transgression of time and space left him breathless and trembling, and the further they travelled, the worse it hit him.

Ichigo stilled when he felt the demon's teeth rake across his jugular, hard pressed between the inbred reaction of fight or flight, and the completely irrational impulse to beg for more. The latter quickly won out, and he found himself tilting his head back, baring more of his throat for the demon to do as he will.

Shirosaki growled when the boy displayed the peachy column of his neck to him, and rewarded him by lapping his tongue over his bobbing Adam's apple before sucking hard on his pulse point. A heady moan issued forth from his beautiful prey's mouth, the delicious sound rocketing straight down Shirosaki's spine and giving new life to his already straining dick. Still, there was one thing that was bothering him, and it just had to go. Right now.

Letting his painted nails extend slightly, Shirosaki hooked a finger in the collar of the human's shirt and slashed the fabric straight down the middle, the resounding ripping sound like music to his ears. Ichigo, on the other hand, was less than impressed.

"Dammit, Cero," he groused, glaring up into those molten orbs. "That was one of Grimmjow's favourite shirts."

Shirosaki snarled as a wave of jealousy washed over him. "Don' yah dare say his name in my presence. Yer body an' soul belongs ta me, not him, so I can do whatever I damn well please. Yah'd do well ta remember that, Ichigo."

A dark burst of pure power radiated off of the demon then, the tendrils of which wrapped in a constricting cocoon around Ichigo's body in a twisted parody of a lover's embrace. It was easy to forget sometimes that the seemingly normal being hovering above him was actually one of the deadliest creatures to ever manifest itself on God's green earth. Shirosaki could oh so very easily erase his existence from the record books; he wouldn't even break a sweat doing so – and honestly? For some perverse and twisted reason, that notion only turned Ichigo on all the more.

Reaching up, Ichigo grabbed the demon by the back of the neck and hauled him down into a deep and fervent kiss that was all nipping teeth, battling tongues and throaty moans. Fevered hands fisted in hair and explored skin whilst blunt nails scratched over scalps and down chests. Shirosaki could have purred in satisfaction. He loved it when his human pet got all needy and frantic, mewling and arching into him like a wanton whore who just couldn't get enough.

Slender fingers tugging impatiently on the hem of his black shirt had Shirosaki reluctantly drawing back from the boy's greedy mouth, and the demon was almost floored when he gazed down at his flustered prey. Beautiful ochre eyes had clouded over with a lust so thick he could almost taste it in the air, giving them a rich, chocolate brown hue that had the searing coil in his stomach tightening to the point of pain. Fuck, the mortal boy had absolutely no idea just how damn tempting he truly was.

"What is it, Pet?" he asked with a wicked grin once he recomposed himself enough for speech.

Ichigo tugged at his shirt again, the passionate look in his eyes speaking volumes. "Clothes. Off. Now," he commanded, inwardly berating himself for the breathlessness of his voice. "Make them disappear."

A sly smirk replaced the demon's mischievous grin at that, and he bowed his head. "As yah wish, m'King…"

In spite of just asking for it, Ichigo still found himself gasping when their clothes were suddenly gone, allowing for their heated bodies to rest against one another, skin-on-skin. Both men gave a groan, Ichigo's low and rumbling, and Shirosaki's purely carnal, as they moulded against one another and their rock-hard arousals ground together.

Shirosaki couldn't help but grin like a madman when he saw the gothic zero sitting proud and bold on his human's chest, and bent down to trace his tongue in a sensual path over the permanent ink. Ichigo's neck arched, his eyelids drifting closed as his fingers delved into snowy tresses, tugging gently in encouragement as that sinful tongue licked lower and lower until finally flicking teasingly over a dusky, pebbled nipple.

"Nghn, fuck…" Ichigo breathed, rolling his hips up into the other's. "Hu-Hurry up, Cero. I need to get back before I'm missed."

Shirosaki hummed in consent. As much as he'd love to spend all night teasing and riling up his gorgeous, volatile human, he had places to be and souls to condemn. Ah, the work of a crossroads demon was never done.

"Aye, Pet, I hear yah." Pressing his fingers to pink, kiss-bruised lips, he gave the mortal a sultry wink. "Go on then, you know what ta do."

Not needing any further encouragement, Ichigo promptly sucked the digits into his mouth, smirking around his mouthful when the demon gave a feral growl as he rolled his tongue around the fingers, nipping playfully every now and then as he coated them liberally.

It didn't take long for Shirosaki to lose his waning patience, and he hastily removed his fingers from the warm confines of the teasing Berry's mouth. Enacting his own revenge, he slowly trailed the slick digits down the human's chest, circling around his navel before tickling down over firm abdominals in a feather light touch. The breathy little mews of bliss spilling from the boy's lips were making the demon itch something horrid to be sheathed balls deep within the familiar, tight warmth of that puckered entrance already, his cock throbbing with excited anticipation.

"Mmmghn, Shiro…please…"

And there it was. His name, purred out so fucking beautifully it was a wonder the mortal wasn't speaking in a different language altogether.

Not possessing the tolerance to pussyfoot around, Shirosaki dipped not one, but two fingers into the beckoning heat of the human's twitching hole, groaning low in his chest when those velvety walls clamped down around the intrusion whilst simultaneously sucking him in deeper.

Curling and probing his digits within the boy, Shirosaki's glittering golden pools drank in the palatable sight of the mortal as his breaths escaped in harsh pants, as orange tinted brows pulled together in a pleasure concentrated frown and parted pink lips emitted all the kinds of wonderful sounds that would make ample jack-off material over the coming weeks. Damn him all over again, Ichigo was just so fucking…well, fuckable.

Scissoring his fingers, Shirosaki dipped his head to suckle keenly on the boy's neck, his desire increasing tenfold when lean arms wrapped around his neck and long, peachy fingers yanked on his hair.

"Hah, Sh-Shiro…" Ichigo moaned, hitching his right leg around the demon's waist to pull him even closer. "Hnn…G-Get on with it already!"

Shirosaki chuckled, grazing his teeth menacingly over his human's throat, delighting in the submissive reaction of the boy tensing up underneath him. "Well, aren't'cha jus' full of demands tanight, Pet? If I didn't know any better, I'd say yah'd forgotten jus' who's in charge around here…"

To further emphasise his point, he let an intimidating influx of spiritual pressure roll out, the heavy aura blanketing across the orange haired male writhing beneath him. Ichigo's breathing hitched at the sensation, his ochre eyes snapping open to lock with the piercing gaze above him. Goddamn it, they were doing it again, dragging him down and under until it felt like he was losing himself.

Without thinking, he yanked the milky skinned demon down into a searing kiss, his tongue instantly delving into the oddly cool interior of the hellspawn's mouth. He licked along the lightly ridged roof and behind dangerously sharp teeth, before dropping the wet muscle to tangle fiercely with Shirosaki's superiorly skilled one.

"Fuck me, Shiro," he murmured hotly against insistent, pale lips. "Please…I need it…"

His thinly stretched patience snapping with the fragility of a goddamn toothpick at the urgent words of his favourite pet, Shirosaki didn't disappoint, hastily removing his fingers before immediately replacing them with his entire, dripping length in one brutal snap of his hips.

Shirosaki gave a guttural growl of unadulterated bliss when warm, wet walls hugged around him like a silky glove, whilst Ichigo fought back a strangled cry of pain against the powerful invasion. Damn alabaster prick had some serious restraint issues.

Gently rocking his hips, Shirosaki tried to silently convey to the profusely cursing human that he was impatient to begin. A feral grin snaked across his lips when said mortal locked his ankles behind his back and mumbled a "Just go, asshole!" through gritted teeth.

"No need ta tell me twice," he grinned, using one hand to grip the young male's hip and the other to plant beside his head in order to steady himself as he started up a shallow thrusting.

Several minutes in, and a savage increase in tempo, the alabaster demon found that one spot, that sensitive bundle of nerves that always had his peachy human bowing his spine, curling his toes, spasming around him, and calling out–

"Oh fuck, Shiro! Yesss!"

–Yeah, that.

"Mm, yeah. Tha's what I wanna hear right there. Scream fer me, Ichigo…"

Ichigo would have rolled his eyes at the frankly lurid tone of the other, if his vision wasn't so frazzled by the blinding spots of white dancing behind his lids as his prostate was stabbed with frightening accuracy over and over again.

As Shirosaki plunged in and out of that addictive warmth, he couldn't help but count himself lucky that it was his domain Ichigo had come to that night so long ago, that it was his crossroads he'd buried his little box of personal possessions in and hence himself he'd summoned to strike a deal with. Usually said deals were sealed with nothing more than a simple kiss, the contract then engraved in full on the flesh of the mortal, seared there invisibly unless the mortal wanted to challenge any aspect of the deal, in which case the demon holding the contract is summoned and the script brought up in full. But one measly little pucker wasn't going to be nearly enough for this particular demon, not when he caught sight of mile long legs, tasty peach hued skin and determined ochre eyes. He'd wanted a proper taste of the human, and, being the deviant kind of immortal he was, bartered such an opportunity right into the bargain.

He rammed himself into the mortal hard, eliciting a harmonious cry of pleasure from the depths of the male's lungs that had the demon closing his eyes in pure ecstasy. Of course, one taste just hadn't been enough to quell his ever rising thirst for the boy, and he kept coming back for more. In the beginning, Ichigo had fought him every single step of the way – the outcome never faltered though, with the hellspawn fucking the orange haired mortal's brains out whether he consented or not – and then slowly, ever so slowly, things had changed. Ichigo started summoning him, started initiating their heated contact and begging for more and more and more.

Heh. It would seem that he had gotten under the human's skin just as much as it applied the other way around. And one day, that beautiful body was going to be all his. No more blue haired lover, no more sneaking around and unwanted interruptions. Oh no. Ichigo would be his, body and soul.

For all eternity.

Ichigo had no idea what the psychotic albino was thinking, but whatever it was worked out in his favour as the demon started slamming into him with a wild abandonment, each and every snap of his hips angled in just the right way to rub torturously at his pleasure button, making him buck and moan out in ways that he wasn't even aware that he could.

Shirosaki was in his own personal heaven. The scent of Ichigo's lust was so thick and heady it filled up the entire car, tantalising his taste buds and pushing him to thrust harder, faster. He could feel his malicious spiritual energy swirling around them as they hurtled toward their pinnacle, toward the mind-numbing release they both craved. He could feel his nails elongating into deadly talons as he dug them into sweaty, peachy skin, could feel the familiar ache in his gums as his teeth sharpened into serrated points, just itching to be embedded deep within his human's delicious flesh.

Ichigo cracked an eye open to see the tangible desire practically dripping from the alabaster hellspawn, those golden orbs flashing brilliantly in their obsidian backdrop. Lacing his fingers through silvery locks, he pulled the being's face down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, positively shivering with an eager sense of anticipation when a hot tongue swiped across his too hot skin.

"I know…what you…want," Ichigo stated, his sentence broken with every vigorous thrust of the demon's hips. "Do it, Shiro…I want to…feel it…"

His human was too much sometimes. Smirking, Shirosaki nipped playfully at the proffered throat, before swiftly sinking his teeth into the mortal's neck. The first drop of salty copper against his tongue was all the incentive needed to kick-start a greedy series of ferocious sucks. Ichigo's head snapped back at the erotic feeling of Shirosaki feeding from him, his fingers and toes curling as the dual sensations proved to be too good, too euphoric. With a startled cry of blinding rapture, the orange haired youth came hard and fast between their sweat slick bodies, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he struggled to draw in a ragged breath of much needed oxygen.

Shirosaki bit down harder on the boy's neck when he felt those velvet walls clamping down around his engorged cock, his precision aimed snaps becoming erratic as the searing coil in his abdomen finally ruptured and he was milked dry by the human's convulsing channel. He came with a truly animalistic snarl, buried deep within his panting prey, his hips still moving in a lazy parody of his earlier work as he rode out his elated bliss.

The suffocating aura that had unwittingly leaked out of him during climax slowly receded as he regained control of himself, giving his poor human room to suck in sharp gulps of air as he slumped down against him, supporting most of his own weight on his forearms so as not to crush the fatigued boy.

Capturing swollen pink lips in a languid kiss, Shirosaki purred pleasantly. "Y'know, I think I needed tha', Pet. Work's been hellish this week."

Ichigo gave a dry chuckle, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Tch, hellish. Hilarious, Cero."

Shirosaki scowled, curling his lip in distaste. "Maa, what's this? Back ta tha formalities already? How cruel, Pet. Anyone'd think yah were jus' usin' me fer mind-blowin' sex."

"And what if I am?" Ichigo inquired, lifting his arm to reveal a raised brow.

Shirosaki narrowed his eyes, growling softly as he retreated from the welcoming warmth of his human's hole. "S'not like it matters. Yah'll be all mine soon enough." With a click of his fingers, he watched as Ichigo's stunning ochre eyes screwed shut, his teeth bared against the sudden pain as the terms of his contract inscribed themselves across his bare arms and torso, the words searing into his skin and glowing red hot. "Yah see, Pet? Right here…" He used a black tipped finger to point to the wording just above his navel, tracing the slowly cooling letters in an almost loving gesture. "Three years, Ichigo, an' then yer sorry ass belongs ta me. Yah've already had over thrity-five months, leavin' yah with, oh…eighteen days ta enjoy the wonders of earth before I come ta collect yah. Permanently."

Ichigo grit his teeth and averted his gaze off to the side. Like he needed the hellspawn to tell him that; like he hadn't spent the past three years of his life watching the clock and counting down the days.

"I don' know about you, Pet, but am rather lookin' forward to tha' day," Shirosaki continued, a feral, toothy grin warping his features into something sinister and cruel, reminding Ichigo with astounding clarity exactly what it was he was dealing with. The reality hit him like a vicious slap to the face. "Oh, an' I wouldn't go tryin' ta run away r'anythin' equally stupid. Yah really don' wanna meet tha pup I call 'Fido'. Trust me."

"I'm not a coward!" Ichigo surprised them both by snapping, his jaw clenching alongside his fists. "I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this. I won't go back on our deal, and I won't try to run, either. You have my word."

"Mm. Good," Shirosaki hummed, placing a chaste kiss upon his human's thoroughly abused lips. He took the time to remove the contract from his body, as well as any and all condemning marks he'd left during their rampant 'coupling', as was part of their agreement. "Am glad we understand one another, Ichigo. I think yer gonna like it in Hell, servin' as mah own personal bitch. I can guarantee yah, tha perks are great."

Shirosaki offered the clearly uncomfortable mortal a saucy wink, but with the way Ichigo's innards were bunching and roiling, and his mind whirling with so many emotions he didn't know what to feel, he could only chew pensively on the inside of his cheek and pray to God that those weren't tears pricking hotly in the corners of his eyes.

The next morning, Grimmjow would ask his younger lover where his shirt had gotten to, to which Ichigo would reply with a shrug and suggest that maybe a rabid fangirl of his Adonis good looks had broken in and was currently using it as a comforter. Grimmjow would then roll his eyes and kiss his partner deeply, reassuring the orange haired male that he was the only one he would ever be able to stick long enough to maintain any semblance of a relationship with. Ichigo would return the kiss with love and passion, but inwardly feel little more than nauseating regret and tortured anguish.

How was he ever going to tell Grimmjow the truth?

A/N: Aaah. I feel much better now. *happy sigh* That idea has been whirlwinding through my unrelenting creative mind fer fuckin' days now an' it was drivin' me nuts. I've been unable ta concentrate on anything else because of it, so hopefully now tha' it's down on, uh, screen...I can concentrate on other things. Perhaps. Who knows?

I blame it all on gettin' caught up with Supernatural. I swear, I can't watch anything anymore without goin': "Ooo, now that would make an interestin' fanfic!" It's super crazy, an' am tortured with it all. It would also seem that I am completely incapable of writing anything shorter than like, seven thousand words. Gift, or curse? Hn. *ponders*

But anyways! I hope tha' any an' all of yah that read this can derive some entertainment value from it, an' enjoy it as much as I did when expelling it from my mind ^^ I don' know if I should leave it as it is, or turn it into somethin' more... *shrugs* Literally no idea. I'll cross tha' bridge later, when I can be bothered ta put on some wellie boots ta compensate fer the inevitable fall off said bridge. Eep.

So yosh~ Please enjoy at yer own peril

Ciao fer now mah sweets

Toringtino~