Warning: This chapter is mostly Grimm/Shiro interaction/fighting/bit of dirtiness, so those of faint of heart and heavily Ichigo/someone oriented I advise to skip it. If you are tolerant, could kill for some action from those two bloodthirsty naughty boys, and want to see some male-bonding while they nearly kill each other—then feel free to indulge, my ducklings~

It's very important chapter and I can assure you—you won't be disappointed~

Chapter 3. Acceptance.

…

Ichigo learned at school that it's instinct that drives all animals.

The stronger the predator the more lethal and primal the calling becomes. Spurring them on—at a mere scent of blood—to pursue mindlessly their prey. Until they corner it, and sink razor-sharp teeth in the warm flesh, enjoying how life escapes from the twitching body.

Ichigo never before related this image to any human. Demons—yes, because they were vile creatures that thought single-mindedly only about feeding. And humans in his eyes were weak as lambs, needing constant protection. But, he needed to reevaluate his beliefs slightly, now. Adding to the equation his crush and fellow shaman—Shirosaki.

Because taking under consideration the circumstances—humans could become animals in the long run too.

Predators, hunting their prey, that is.

And this was exactly how Ichigo felt at that moment. Like a trapped and bleeding rabbit with no means to escape the big, bad wolf armed with one, deadly set of teeth. The thing he was confused about, though, was that in no way he could shake the feelings of eagerness and excitement, coursing through his blood. He was vulnerable, with no means to escape from the binding him bakudō, but he wasn't shivering from fear. While looking into the intense and hungry golden irises it made him think; he wasn't feeling like some defenseless rabbit, but rather like a fairy tail's Little Red Riding Hood.

Trembling from anticipation at the prospect of being at his pale predator's mercy.

Ichigo always thought there was something wrong with the Little Red. Deceptively sweet, innocent, and helpless, wearing an eye-catching blood-red cloak, with a basket full of deliciously smelling food enchanting the wild beasts from miles away, carefree and oblivious to the dangers of the forest. He always had this inkling there had to be more to the story than it was let on. It's usually hinted it was the wolf's fault. He was the one depraved and a blood-thirsty creature. But what if the reality was more twisted and complex? Like, for example, the Little Red Riding Hood was in fact a sex deviant and closet masochist, enjoying the Sunday morning trips to the grandma's house just to feel the thrill when met face to face with the Big Bad?

There's always a possibility. An alternative universe. A sick and perverse tale, censored for the sake of little children.

Ichigo swallowed the excess saliva pooling in his mouth surreptitiously. Shiro's expression was cool and unreadable, but spiced with a touch of menace. Calm before storm. Or just as if he was about to go into battle. Watching Shiro like that always made him so excited he no longer knew which way was up. It was like he got transferred into a different dimension where time magically stops and the only thing that moves, lives, breaths and exists is the lethal looking albino.

Fuck him sideways, but it was plain… hot.

Ichigo glanced to the side, over Shirosaki's shoulder. Caught sight of the demon's defiant, sneering expression half hidden beneath heavy bangs of his untamed, waist-long sky blue hair. The moment Grimmjow locked his Abyssinian eyes with Ichigo's own amber-colored ones, the demon purred with a wicked… wicked smirk only a real demon could master, right into the albino's right ear.

"Naa, before I let ya play with my feisty lil' Vixen here, I'd like ta get to know ya better. What do ya say …Shiro?"

There were a few things that alerted Shiro to the threat. The slight change in the lighting. A shift in the atmosphere of the room. The violent yet controlled rise of reiatsu around. And also, the flare of danger that skittered along his spine, like an army of furious ants. He was lashing out with his fist before his conscious mind had even registered the demon's evil intent. The solid contact of his knuckles with the iron-like forearm, armed at the end with a deadly set of razor-sharp claws, was all the confirmation he needed.

Someone was clearly looking for a fight.

Ha, he sneered internally, no need ta ask me twice, Blue.

They spun apart when they realized neither of them budged—no matter the pressure they tried to put, be it physical or spiritual. Shiro took up a low guard, one hand going for his knee-high combat boots and revealing a black eight-inch-long combat knife. Grimmjow, on the other hand, rolled into a more aggressive stance, with claws outstretched, ready to rip away pieces of flesh from the albino's body at the sight of a weakness. They stood like that for long while. Already doing battle but in their minds. For now, they analyzed each other's stances. Eyes wild, excited, hungry.

Neither budged.

Their eyes locked briefly. A widening of Shiro's pupils was the only thing that alerted Grimmjow about the incoming attack.

They lunged at each other as if they were lovers. But in place of feverish kisses, or short of painful embraces—they kissed with their blades, and touched with their kicks and fists.

Shiro ducked. Left hand touching the floor for better leverage and he executed a perfect, rock-shattering, roundhouse kick. With the intention to take the demon's head off using the brute force only. Grimmjow didn't even think of evading it, but accepted it with his right elbow, grinning like a little kid on a Christmas day when his arm went numb for a moment. Shiro grunted approvingly and tested Grimmjow's guard with a flurry of fast kicks, or swift knife slashes. Sparks flew whenever the albino's steel clashed with the demon's claws. Three of Shiro's swings were solidly blocked, but two were only deflected. He tried searching for an opening by using his dexterous legs. But a threat of the extremely sharp craws too close to his right Achilles tendon forced Shiro to change the trajectory of one of the kicks, at the last second, or suffer some surely important damage. He spun around crouching in a position perfect for a low kick. Grimmjow, momentarily surprised at the incredible agility of the albino, retreated his claws and did a back-flip—to dodge the attack and to put some distance.

Grimmjow laughed maniacally, relishing the moment. He started circling around the other man, "Fuckin' A. Yer even better than from what I saw in Ichigo's memories, Shaman. Guess ya must've sharpened yer skills while killin' trash." The demon purred. His pulse was accelerating. A light sheen gracing his throat.

God, but he loved this adrenaline rush. It was almost as good as sex. Almost.

He removed his white jacket leaving his torso bare. Relishing internally while seeing the appreciative look Shiro gave him and how the albino unconsciously licked his lips to moisture them. Grimmjow wouldn't mind to let the albino have a taste of him.

Not at all.

Even so, it was his policy he never made it easy for the other party.

"Like what ya see, Whitey? Try to put a scratch on me an' I may be generous an' let ya see the rest. If you beg, that is."

Grimmjow grinned as he searched the albino's face. He wanted to make him fucking angry, delirious with hate that was spiced with lust for blood. He wanted to see what he had seen on the battle field so many times, in his past—hundreds, or was it thousands of human years ago. He wasn't in it for pain. Well, he didn't think so or it wasn't his objective at least, and not that the young duckling of a shaman—even if a prodigy—could hurt him. But, there were some types of pain that set his nerves on fire.

It was in his blood. In his bones. And in the air he breathed in. The violence.

Sometimes he wondered whether it was a kind of side effect of the life he had led. Full of death and pain. Or maybe because his senses were dulled from so many battle wounds with other high-class demons. Over the stupidest of thing, or just to kill boredom, that is. Well, what could you do locked up for hundreds of years with a bunch of crazed, battle-hungry monsters? He loved to fight. He loved to kill. He hated every motherfucking Espada there, so things like sex were frowned upon. There was no one who interested him in such a way. And, it was also a different kind of pain to experience. To celibate. Good thing he could vent his frustration by using his fists, though.

Whether was it the ache of overworked bones or the clear, cold sting of claws or a sword when the blade sliced without hesitation through his hierro; the steel skin. He had realized with startling clarity one day that all the things he loved brought pain in their wake. He had come to relish it. To crave it. And even long for it. From the moment he turned from a cub into an adult his life could be summed up as a survival game of the fittest. When he fought he felt an exhilaration that was close to sex.

Hungry, fierce, raw.

He was ablaze with lust whenever Ichigo's body met his own in a struggle of speed, agility and power. It was the same with Shirosaki now. The force of every blow sent an ache of pleasure straight to his groin and he wanted more.

Always more.

He came back with his thoughts to the present after he taunted the albino, waiting for reaction.

Shiro's eyes flashed angrily. "Tch. Cocky lil' shit, ain't ya? Mah, two can play th' game. Quit pussyfooting around an' pulling back yer fists or ya will never get t' touch this piece of sexiness my irresistible body is. Are ya even tryin', lil' Puss in Boots?"

The albino drawled the nickname, both a tease and insult. He realized passingly the demon didn't know much about their world and the fairy tale, but still it was a valid affront to the cat-like demon. Ha, what a joke. Animal—a demon—trying to pretend to be a human, wearing clothes and shoes. It was a first for Shiro to see such a sight. Usually the ones he killed were deformed, hideous motherfuckers, but this one—oh, this one—was simply …unique. And, the albino wasn't thinking about the demon's looks. Even if it did happen to be another reason to put this demon into a totally different category of Gorgeous. But, the main cause why Shiro's blood sung in his veins from joy was actually the feel of the nearly overpowering reiatsu the demon possessed. Normally, low-class demons had a tasteless, bland kind of feel to their spiritual energy, but this sky blue haired demon had the most intoxicatingly alluring aura from any kind he had ever came across.

It was like being surrounded by dark matter, evil and cruel, but warm, tempting and challenging. And, Shiro never turned away from a challenge thrown in his face.

To think Ichigo played with this fascinating beast for over a week. By himself, no less.

Not fair.

Not fucking fair, at all.

But Shiro wasn't the kind that moped around and mourned about things he couldn't stop from happening. He just needed to make up for the lost time—hundredfold, he smirked self-satisfied after coming to this conclusion. He flipped the buttons of his shirt loose, letting his designer's black dress shirt to hung open and follow every movement his body made. Shiro didn't know a man or a woman who wouldn't get thrilled seeing his perfectly defined muscles, pulling and shifting over his bones like waves on the sea. Graceful and stunning yet possessing the dangerous power to destroy when angered.

His wrath spilled when he heard Grimmjow speaking, "I think yer misunderstanding somethin' here. Right now, I'm just lowering myself to yer pathetic level, human. If ya want to see what I'm capable off—quit stalling and start fuckin' attacking me, bitch. Or maybe yer too intimidated by my reiatsu? I see yer looking a lil' bit pale here. I can tone it down fer ya, wouldn't want the fun to be over too soon, eh?"

The albino made a strangled noise behind his clenched teeth—like a growl of an infuriated beast—but the words that he finally got out were clear. "Ya really want ta make me angry, Blue?"

How many times Grimmjow toyed with the idea of bringing it up with Ichigo? He lost count. He sensed the orangette would probably just laugh it off, not fully understanding the point of the vicious fight that would lead to mind-clogging sex. He had tried to make the orangette furious a couple of times before, but each time it had either ended in a fight and no sex. Or sex and no fight.

Either was good.

But both would be so much better.

"Yeah…" Came a breathless reply, startling Shiro. The albino's eyes widened in sudden realization.

Oh—oh. So that's what's it all about. Fine by me, he thought.

The young shaman grinned next. Cold and shark-like.

"Be my guest, Puss." He purred.

If each and every of their hits weren't executed with deadly precision with the intent to kill, the breath-taking show of skills and power would be a pleasure to observe.

They were darting and blocking and countering strikes, endlessly. Fast and efficient with each stroke, pushing each other to their very limits.

Harder. Better. Faster. And... stronger, with each attack.

"Bala."

But then pain exploded across Shiro every sense as he suddenly registered what had happened. Grimmjow hit him unexpectedly with a red ball of compacted energy, so small yet fast, the albino wasn't able to dodge in time. His back and the back of his head as well, had smashed into the hard wood of the table, sending nauseating, waves of pain throughout his stomach and chest and causing his limbs to tremble. Stars danced before his eyes, so bright they burned his vision, his ears were ringing, and hell, at this point he could even taste pain.

Really. Fighting with this high-class demon without using incantations was pain in the ass. But it went both ways. The sky blue haired freak also wasn't going all out.

At least not yet.

Shiro grit his teeth and snapped his head back, trying to get rid of the ringing in his head and swimming vision. Maybe he couldn't kill the bastard looking how the things were going, but he'd be damned if he made it easy for the demon! But then, as he rose from the rubble, with a flickering twist of the albino's wrist, everything froze. His elbow was wrenched behind his back and he was pressed face to face with the ecstatic demon. The sharp edge of flawless steel was hard against Shiro's neck. His own blade. And not the dull side, but the blade. With how much pressure it was pressed Shiro fully expected to look down and see the blood pouring from his opened throat.

He always kept his favorite knife sharp and ready. And now, it was only his thin human skin against the razor's edge and a maddening, shivering tickle of Grimmjow's overwhelming spiritual pressure. It was only Grimmjow's will keeping him alive as if to say he had all the power over the albino now.

Arrogant lil' shit, the albino sneered to himself.

Shiro's body frozen in place. He couldn't even swallow properly or he'd risk being cut. Lifting his gold on black eyes to the blue inferno that were Grimmjow's own made him captivated. Still, he was aware of his surroundings enough to see a faint tickle of blood, sliding along the demon's temple.

When have I managed ta cut 'im? Shiro tried to remember but failed.

It was not a battle, it was close to a personal war. And during war confusion unexpected things happen.

Despite the compromising position, the albino smiled cockily. He lifted his pale hand and wiped with the pad of his forefinger at a stray streak of blood from Grimmjow's face. He slipped it next between his lips and sucked on it, enjoying the distinctive flavour. As their eyes met he noticed the demon's eyes flick down to his lips as he slowly withdrew his finger. He swiped with the blue-inked tongue over his finger once again, deliberately slow. To the casual observer Grimmjow gave away nothing, but Shiro noticed the bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"Looks like I won," He smirked.

Grimmjow regarded him with an amusement and bend over to lick at Shirosaki's collarbone. He retreated with a tongue hanging from between his lips and Shiro saw the red blood on it.

"Ya wish, it's a tie. But let me get this straight—it's me who holds yer blade now, and no matter how skilled of a spell-caster ya are, yer still no match for me in my released state. The only reason I didn't go full out on yer pale ass is because of the pesky Vixen here who bitched at me for ruinin' his apartment. It's a pain in the ass to cast a high-level spells to hide our wildly fluctuating reiryoku, enough as it is. I don't feel like dealin' with bunch of old farts, goin' after me with pitch an' forks. So… I have a much suited job fer ya and yer smug mouth, but it can wait. Now, let me show you somethin' interesting, Shi. I'm sure ya'll fuckin' love it."

Grimmjow ended his speech with an increase of his spiritual pressure. He could sense the breaking point of the barrier, but it looked like the double and triple strengthened with incantation bakudō was holding up quite nicely. Maybe he couldn't go all out yet, but he could, without a doubt, have some fun while testing its limits.

Looking back to his pray, the demon saw how Shiro's legs were close to giving out on him. Trembling under the force of the demon's spirit. The albino felt it like a touchable thing. It was thrumming through his body like a bass of music, rattling his bones in the process. He started gasping; he didn't know whether from strain or was it excitement that made his breath go shallower and faster.

Grimmjow enjoyed and relished in the power he had over the shaman. He moved the combat knife slowly, dragged it over albino's flesh, making a trail from his pulse point to collarbone. Leaving a whiter than Shiro's skin line, but not pressing hard enough to draw blood. Not yet, anyway. Shirosaki couldn't help but close his eyes and shiver enjoying the thrill having a sharp blade hard-pressed against his neck. When it touched a particular sensitive spot he groaned helplessly and bared more of his skin for Grimmjow to caress. It was stupid and dangerous, he knew, but somehow the situation he found himself being in was screwing with his perception of reality, what's wrong and right, and he just wanted to succumb to the feeling.

It was the selfish, darker side that took a reign over him and so he surrendered, letting the body do the talking.

Grimmjow shifted his reiatsu, manipulating it over the blade's edge so it would listen to him and cut when he wanted or stay dull when the master ordered it. It was a tool. But a tool with a soul engraved in it. Only things really cared for by their owners have this distinction. And, obviously, Shiro really cared for this particular blade since it possessed a strong link to his rightful master. It was rebelling against Grimmjow's reiatsu, but against an Espada class demon any resistance was futile.

He went lower with it. Stroking and arousing.

With the deadly eight inches of steel he caressed slick flesh of albino's body. He pushed against the line of the black shirt with the blade's edge, slipping it off and revealing more of the deliciously pale skin to caress. The demon moved it teasingly down, past the tendons of Shiro's right arm, putting pressure in sensitive and vulnerable places. It was making Shiro jumps every time, anticipating the moment his blade will break his skin, but obviously Grimmjow had a little bit of too much fun with this situation. And each time he left the skin unmarked, while continuing to slowly bare more of Shiro's pale glory for Grimmjow's starved eyes. With the very point he circled once, then few more times around a perfect ashen-colored nipple. He smirked as it hardened against the chill of the metal.

Someone here has a really nice kink if ya ask me, Grimmjow laughed to himself.

The demon went behind Shiro. Sharp edge of the combat knife dancing along the line of his spine. Halting and caressing the places where faint scars could be spotted. The expanse of Shiro's flawlessly pale skin was full of them. Pink, irregular, rough to the touch and unearthly appealing to the demon. He guessed Shiro wasn't one who preferred less painful hearing spells over stitches, but Grimmjow liked it about him.

Scars were a warrior's pride and it made him that much more excited seeing the scar-ridden stretch of Shiro's back. Surely fighting like a mad man. Outnumbered and in supposedly helpless position—dozens of times. But always with insane grin on his face and eyes shining from thrill of the kill—thirsty for carnage and bloodshed. Be it his own or his enemies.

Grimmjow caressed those pinkish scars eliciting a whine out of Shiro at the handling, since they were just slightly more sensitive than the rest of his back.

They were both achingly hard now and it wasn't only from the battle lust. This was what he needed. This was what Shiro could give him. A desire steaming not from pain yet intertwined with it like a vine does a tree. A longing that came from needs of the flesh only.

Pure, untwisted, primal.

Next the blade was falling away. Scattering to the ground. He didn't require it now as the demon grabbed a fistful of snow-white locks and pulled Shiro's mouth to his own awaiting lips. His strong, claw-free now, capable hands rose to hold Shiro's face.

As a warrior Grimmjow was good with any kind of blade. His hands dexterous and skilled from dozens of decades of experience. So used to threaten and kill, but even more so when it came to giving pleasure. He manipulated them both out of the rest of the rubble, mouths never parting, tongues clashing and curling around each other. It was still a fight. Still a battle. Only of a different kind.

Grimmjow smiled internally thinking how he found another addictive flavour, rivaling Ichigo.

They parted to take a breath. As the albino's eyes fluttered open he locked them with Grimmjow's. Seeing acceptance, honest desire in them, and something akin to trust swirled in those blue depths. As if they were fated rivals. This unusual chaos of emotions spilling from intense gaze of the demon, disarmed Shiro utterly and wholly.

What the fuck was wrong with the world he lived in, that only few people and some goddamn bloody demon could look Shiro straight in the eyes? Without flinching or being disgusted by his appearance, that is?

Grimmjow was just a monster. There was no need to delude oneself. But why was Shiro overcome with such a foreign emotion as …kinship?

Ah, fuck. Blue really has us both wrapped around his lil' finger, ain't tha' right, Ichigo?

There could be heard a soft rumbling sound, a pleased purr only a satisfied kitten could make. It made Shiro's heart-beat accelerate in response. Then and there, he stopped caring about rationality and breaking morals that was committing a sin by fornicating with an enemy. And, don't get him wrong, Shiro loved Ichigo—not that the idiot would have ever noticed if it wasn't for the bastard of a demon spilling it out in the open—but, Grimmjow proved to be worthy of a title of another Enigma, ready to become cracked by the depraved albino.

World and shaman laws could go and fuck themselves, for all he cared. He had tongue down the throat of the second most desirable creature—after Ichigo. And no way in hell was he backing out on the promise of sweet, tortuous and delirious in intensity pleasure the ocean-blue eyes of an Espada told.

Grimmjow's lips cut his train of thoughts off. Soft, firm and demanding against his own, always challenging and looking for weakness.

When the demon broke from the kiss, he turned his attention to Shiro's neck, holding him firmly and dragging the flat of his tongue from the nape up to the shaman's ear. He grinned Cheshire smile hearing the delicious moan and turned Shiro swiftly around.

The albino's back was plastered to Grimmjow's own; he could feel the demon's erection straining against the demon's white hakama. As he relaxed into the taut and lethal body behind him, Grimmjow's hand reached for the nape of his pale neck and Shiro saw how Grimjow's normal—human—hand turned suddenly into a cat-like appendage.

But there was nothing cute about it.

It was deadly and powerful.

Shiro swore he could see his own reflection at the edges of Grimmjow's claws. They were that sharp. He didn't know what to anticipate, but whatever the demon wanted to do, he trusted him to make it feel good. Painful-good was also an option, not that Shiro would mind. But Grimmjow's claws only teased Shiro's skin. The albino obviously enjoyed the threat since he was deliciously shivering against Grimmjow, making the demon buckle and hump Shiro's perfect ass, while hissing approvingly.

He decided enough teasing was enough, though. And, they weren't alone in the room too. He ought to shift the attention to their neglected Strawberry who had such a mean and pissed off look in his eyes, for forgetting about him, that Grimmjow almost felt bad about him.

Almost.

"Mm, our lil' Vixen must be tired from stayin' in this position fer so long. How about we help 'im make the circulation flow once again—to all of his neglected members?" Grimmjow laughed like a hyena.

It was beyond amusing to see the struggling hopelessly orangette. Always a smartass, and oh so tough. He couldn't get enough of those eyes—so rebellious, proud and fucking annoying. Ah, what he'd do to make Ichigo's resolve break and make him beg like a whore. The image alone could last him as a lifetime of a jack off material. But as easy as it sounds, the little shit could put up a decent fight when he put his mind to it. It took Grimmjow quite some time to arrange the opportunity where he'd catch Ichigo off guard and use a spell on him. But see now? The rage in those amber eyes was so…. achingly… sweet.

It was worth all the trouble Grimmjow went through.

Definitely.

"I arranged it all exclusively fer ya, Shi. The thing ya want best is in yer reach now. Feel free to indulge," he drawled huskily. "I'll take my turn with ya later, Whitey. I can bet ya'll look good with blood splattered across yer skin. Mmm, can't wait to fuck ya over. I'm not the patient kind, so don't take too long, fucker," he ended with narrowed eyes and a warning growl.

The demon released his hold over Shiro, stroking and caressing as much of the albino's body as he could while he stepped back.

He pulled out a nearby chair and sat comfortably in it. Legs wide, arms crossed and with never-leaving shit-eating grin on his face.

"Ya don't need ta tell me twice, Puss. Enjoy the fucking show; for it's the best yer demon's ass has ever seen." Shiro grinned and strolled to the trashing orangette.

Ichigo's reiatsu was sharp and angry, indicating the emotional state the bound and helpless was in.

Oh, Shiro couldn't simply wait to put his mouth to the task at hand and change it.

Pun intended.

...

A/N: Ah, a tease is back with even more teasing, lol. But I realized this transition was necessary to this story and I simply couldn't resist from putting some Grimm/Shiro time in here.

As I was writing it there was a bunch of things influencing me. Maybe I'll mention few; "Ultimate Survival" serial (don't ask, lol), Samurai Champloo expressive fighting style, a conversation with my University professor about the fairy tail at the beginning. I actually voiced my interpretation instead of his own, since he was convinced it's wolf that's the one perverted and my perverted mind instantly turned it around, connecting it with Ichigo, lol.

Kind of shameless of me to throw a Daft Punk line there too, but I was feeling really giddy while listening to it and didn't want to write a long, drawn-out fight. And one more reason is a conversation with my Shirotori, aka Toringtino. I was beside myself from joy reading the Shiro/Grimm kiss in her Unobtainable and we both mourned the fact there's not enough fics with them. It was the best scene with the two of them ever, doll. So I wanna spread the loveee, *blushies and giggles*

Tell me how I did, guys~:D

Apple.