Hello! I'm back with a new chapter! I'm glad you guys liked the previous update, especially since it was so difficult to write. It's weird, in the beginning I felt more comfortable writing from Grimmjow's POV, but now all of a sudden I find it easier to think from Ichigo's POV. I don't understand myself sometimes.
Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this one. Have a great weekend! :)
I arrive early at Geta-boshi's today. We have some last-minute shit to do, such as moving the entire register and reception desk to the back. I grumble all the way under my breath, especially when Renji laughs at me about how I'm a spoiled brat and can't handle some simple manual labor.
Half an hour later, everything's ready and waiting for the Cero crew. I'm the perfect picture of nonchalance, but inside I'm feeling a little nervous and excited. Just a tiny bit. Call me a girl, but I can't help it, okay? I've finally moved past the fuck-and-leave phase with the object of my obsession, so please excuse me while I do a victory dance in my head.
Speaking of Grimmjow, I haven't seen him since I left his apartment yesterday. I assume he's busy getting ready to start the project here. I'm really glad that Geta-boshi hired them, because that means a week's worth of ogling for me. Just because the shop is closed doesn't mean I don't have to come to work. There's still the online stuff to take care of. With the shop out of commission for a while, I expect the online orders to increase.
"You gonna stare at the door all day?" Renji teases me when my eyes linger two seconds too long on the front door.
I scowl. "Shut it, you big baboon."
My best friend just laughs. Again, it's all my fault. I'm the one who texted him about my little sleepover in the first place. I usually don't kiss and tell or gossip, but this is just too precious. There's nothing more satisfying than proving the idiot wrong. The pace is slower than I like and the order of our interaction is unorthodox, but I think Grimmjow and I took a big step last night.
Sure, he's a little weird sometimes. He has this tendency to...how should I put it, there's just this...invisible distance between us off and on. I understand it when it's a casual encounter, but it's not like he hasn't shown a caring side before. It's the inconsistency that bugs me. I just don't understand him.
If not for the fact that I got him back for humiliating me that night, I'd be a lot more pissed at him, but as it is, I think we're even. Oh man, I can't even describe the rush I felt when he finally gave in and practically pleaded for relief. His eyes, normally a brilliant cerulean hue, were so dark and watery that I thought he was crying.
"Aww, you're blushing!" Renji elbows me in the ribs.
My cheeks become hot immediately. "Shut up!" I hiss quietly. I don't want Geta-boshi to overhear us. The guy is the biggest, nosiest gossip in Karakura, I swear.
Right on cue, I hear the familiar click-clack of my boss' wooden sandals, and a moment later the man appears behind us.
"Ah, thank you boys! I see you've done a wonderful job emptying the room! Lunch is on me!" he cries with exaggerated enthusiasm.
I roll my eyes, but hey, free food is free food. I exchange a high five with Renji and begin to think about what we should order.
Throughout our discussion, I keep eyeing the door as discretely as I can manage. Guess it's still not discrete enough because Renji nudges me with a mischievous smile on his face.
Finally, just as I'm thinking that my neck's going to cramp up, the front door swings open to reveal three men in rugged work clothes. The blonde dude reminds me of Legolas from Lord of The Rings with his long, straight blond hair. A few stray strands hang over his forehead and eyes, which makes me wonder how the hell does he get any work done with them in the way like that.
Next to him is the guy with jet-black hair that flows past his shoulders. He's ridiculously tall and ridiculously skinny, and he has this sinister-looking smile on his face that makes me want to back away from him.
And then there's Grimmjow, of course. He's a lot more muscular compared to the others—his shoulders broader and his arms thicker—making him look stockier than he really is. He has the perfect body in my eyes. I especially love the alluring V shape of his torso, where it leads to...
Where was I?
Right...the door opens to reveal the three men, and then they walk in uninvited like they own the place.
"Good morning, good morning!" my boss sings, waving his idiotic folded fan at them. God, I know that man is the most brilliant, intelligent person I've ever met in my life, so why oh why does he have to make himself look like a moron in front of people?
Grimmjow tips his head in Geta-boshi's direction and drops his duffle bag on the floor. I look at him, trying to catch his eyes, but stupid Geta-boshi chooses that very moment to walk towards Grimmjow and block him from my view. I huff in irritation. If I crane my neck any more, it would be way too obvious.
I'm not that eager to see him. Doh.
"You guys should head to the back, it's going to get real messy in here," the blonde says with a smile. He seems like the friendliest of the lot.
Out of nowhere, my skin starts prickling. That's when I realize that the skinny freak is looking at me like I've eaten his baby. I can't imagine why.
I'm just about to open my mouth to ask when Renji grabs my shoulder and tries to drag me inside. The sudden movement startles me and, to my dismay, I let out a very unmanly yelp before I can stop myself. I hear a snort of laughter and immediately whip my head around to see who has a death wish.
It's Grimmjow. Geta-boshi has stepped aside and Grimmjow's now eyeing me with a smirk of amusement. I give him my best glare, but his smile only widens to bare his sharp canines. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Skinny Freak giving him a sideways glance with an unreadable expression on his face before turning back to scowl at me.
Seriously, what the fuck is his problem?
"Alright, we should get started," Legolas interrupts our little staring match with a nod.
With that, the three of them roll up their sleeves and turn their backs to me, leaving me standing there feeling bewildered and more than a little disappointed. I don't know what I'm expecting…a warmer greeting maybe? A hug? A pat on the head? I shake my head and chide myself for being so immature.
Renji gives my elbow another tug. This time I give in and follow behind him. We go into the stuffy office, where I plop down in front of the computer. It's pretty ancient, but it's enough to get the job done.
"So!" Renji begins. "Whatchoo gonna do?"
I frown, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Renji wiggles his eyebrows at me. I watch the tattoos on his forehead disappear and reappear under his bandana. "Aren't you gonna ask him out or…I dunno…something? You're not gonna keep this weird shit up, are you? If you're serious about him, now's the time to act, man!"
Ah.
"I don't know," I mutter under my breath.
To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about Grimmjow. He's gorgeous, definitely, and I can't get enough of him, but do I truly feel more than pure lust for him? The answer is that I don't know. Yet, at the same time, I know—as does Renji—that I'm not cut out for this friends-with-benefits situation. Sooner or later I'm going to crack, and it won't be pretty.
"Dude." Renji looks unhappy at my indecisiveness. "Why don't you talk to him? When you guys…you know, hang out again."
I snort out loud. Thank god I'm not drinking coffee, otherwise it would be all over Renji's face by now. For someone who looks every bit like the fiercest badass in town, Renji is a pussy when it comes to human anatomy and certain activities. I guess it's because of his strict upbringing. He is, after all, the adopted son of Kuchiki Sojun.
"Maybe I will," I shrug. I'm not really looking forward to the conversation, though. I'm kind of hoping that Grimmjow would bring it up first, but then again I highly doubt he would.
Thankfully, Renji lets the subject go after that. I swivel the office chair around to face the computer and officially begin my work day. As I had expected, we have a lot of orders that we have to handle today. Looks like Renji will be out in the sun a lot later.
Time passes by quickly when I'm busy. Before long, Geta-boshi sticks his head in and announces that it's lunch time. Both of us scramble out of our seats eagerly.
"Ichigo, you stay here and keep these nice gentlemen company," my boss says with a bright smile. "Renji and I will take care of food."
Right before he walks out of the office, Renji winks at me knowingly. I give him the middle finger and sit back down on the chair. Damn that red-haired baboon! Now I can't sit still because I know what that wink means. I tap my foot on the floor, feeling restless, and contemplate my options.
After a few minutes, I decide that I can't stand being in here by myself. I straighten my t-shirt and run my fingers through my hair in a last-ditch attempt to look presentable, then I puff out my chest and step into the shop.
The sight that greets me floors me completely.
The shop is a mess, as Legolas has warned. Big chunks of the old carpet are already removed, revealing the ugly concrete surface underneath. Grimmjow is crouching with one knee on the ground, his head bent over as he cuts a strip out of the remaining carpet with an odd-shaped device that looks like a deformed penknife. His paint-smudged jeans sit low on his hips, his blue-grey checkered boxers peeking out from the waistband.
I swallow thickly and will my eyes away from that mouthwatering ass. Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat to alert them of my presence.
Immediately, I hear a sharp curse from Grimmjow, and his weird-looking knife slips from his gloved hand. Legolas lets go of the carpet strip that he is holding and kneels down next to Grimmjow to inspect the damage.
"Sorry!" I blurt in dismay and instinctively take a step forward to join them, but I'm suddenly shoved back by Skinny Freak.
"It's dangerous here, get out of the way," he growls.
I open my mouth to argue, but stop when Grimmjow stands up, cradling one of his hands in the other. I can't see his injury from where I am, but judging from the slight pinch between his brows, it must be painful.
"You have a first-aid kit?" Grimmjow asks gruffly.
"Y-yeah, I'll go get it," I reply hastily, then I dart back into the office. I fling the cabinet doors open and rummage around for it. After a few tries, I finally locate the small plastic kit, and I grab it and turn around. I'm in such a hurry that I don't notice what's in my path and promptly collide with a wall.
Blinking, I realize that what I just walked into is actually a wall of muscle. More specifically, Grimmjow's.
"No need to freak out, kid," he says, sounding amused. His gloves are off, his hands freshly washed and still dripping wet.
"I'm not freaking out!" I say defensively. I open the lid of the first-aid kit and take out a wad of antiseptic wipes and a roll of gauze. "Sit," I command.
He raises an eyebrow and plants himself in the office chair, the one that I've been sitting in earlier. I hope it's not still warm and gross. He watches me quietly as I tend to his cut. It's a pretty deep gash, and I feel guilty for startling him and causing him to cut himself.
"I'm really sorry," I mutter.
His hand jolts slightly when I dab the cut with antiseptic wipe, but he doesn't make a sound. I steal a glance at his face and feel defeated that I can't tell what he's thinking. He's not frowning in pain anymore, but he isn't smiling either.
"For what?" he asks quietly.
I purse my lips at the stupid question. "For...gah, you know what I mean!" I search his face again, trying to gauge his emotion. I swear he's teasing me, but he's not sporting the smug grin that's usually plastered on his face. He just looks thoughtful, almost serious, as he stares at our hands.
As silence wears on, I become painfully aware that we're alone in a small enclosed space, and I can't help but remember what happened the last time we were in a similar place. I haven't even noticed that the office door is closed until now. I look away from his wound briefly to admire his angular features and unruly hair. It's deceptively soft, I remember. So soft yet so thick, perfect for tugging during...
I catch myself before my mind tumbles completely into the gutter, but it's too late. He has already noticed my shameless ogling. He looks at me, his eyes suddenly dark with a glint that's both familiar and frightening. He stands up slowly.
"Are you going to make it up to me, then?" he leans closer and asks in a low voice.
I gulp, nearly choking on my own saliva. I'm not a meek person, by far, but he has this intimidating, almost predatory aura that rolls off him naturally. My pulse picks up as his breath ghosts over my cheek. He smells like a mixture of mint and tobacco. It should be disgusting, but it only makes me shiver in excitement.
When he repeats the question in a whisper, my brain short circuits. "U-uhh..." is the only response I can think of.
"Try again," he murmurs into my ear.
By now, my heart is beating wildly inside my rib cage, and my hold on his wounded hand slips. I take a step backwards, but his hand shoots out and catches my hip in a crushing grip.
"Hand...hurt," I grind out between my teeth. My entire body has become stiff with tension; whether in fear or anticipation, I'm not sure.
He chuckles. "So make me feel better."
I suck in a deep breath. This doesn't sound like something that can be done with a first-aid kit, but I know exactly where this is heading. So I clench my eyes shut, tiptoeing slightly to make up for our height difference, and plant a kiss on his lips. As soon as we touch, he takes it up a notch and pries my mouth open roughly with his tongue. Just like that; no polite requests for permission, no apologies, only a rude, direct invasion.
I shouldn't like it, but the truth is, I do. I never knew I have this side in me. Nobody has ever dared to be so rough with me. It's strangely thrilling. My throat constricts and I find it difficult to breathe, yet I can't find it in myself to push him away.
"Fuck," he murmurs into my mouth. Not exactly the most romantic thing to hear under the circumstances, but I can hear the tremor in his voice—the need, the want, the urgency—and damn if it doesn't make me harder. For him. I don't even realize that I'm touching myself until he pries my hand away.
Renji's warning and advice recede into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind. To hell with talking. We can do that whenever. Right now, I just want him; I don't care how as long as it is right this fucking second.
He breaks the kiss finally and turns me around to press me front-first into the waist-height cabinet. I hear the sounds of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being pulled. I reach for my own pants automatically and let it slip down to my knees. The sound of him spitting into his palms rips a moan from my throat, and then I'm suddenly shoved forward.
The only warning I got is a low grunt before he enters me all the way in one merciless thrust. I bite into my forearm, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. My instinct is to scream, but somehow I still have the clarity of mind to refrain myself, knowing that his friends are out there within earshot.
Within seconds, the ache ebbs, replaced by sharp, mind-numbing pleasure that courses through my body every time he strikes that perfect spot. His hand wraps around me, stroking and tugging in sync with his hips. It's all I can do to cling to the cabinet and fight against the noises that are struggling to escape from my mouth.
I hear him pant "fuck" over and over again, his voice hushed and breathless. His pace becomes feverish, frantic; then with one final twist of his wrist, I crash hard, my abdominal muscles spasming as pleasure crests and pushes me over the proverbial edge. He swears again, this time loudly, and stiffens seconds later. I feel him throb and jerk inside of me, and I just can't hold back anymore. A choked cry leaves me even though I have my mouth buried against my arm.
"Shit," I rasp. My throat hurts, dry from my breathing so heavily through my mouth for the past few minutes.
We both freeze, my body tense and alert. I'm fully expecting someone to bust their way in here to investigate who just got murdered, but seconds tick by and nothing happens. I feel his body relax—as does mine—and his grip on my hips loosens. As he pulls his jeans back up, I notice with horror that his bandage is stained a bright crimson. I snatch up a few packets of antiseptic wipes and unravel the gauze on his hand. I have no choice but to redo them.
Through it all, he watches without a word; his face expressionless, his playfulness gone.
A small stab of concern and anger invades my head. There it is again: the inconsistency, the mixed signals that I keep receiving. I don't understand how he can be so passionate one moment and so detached the next. Is he truly bipolar?
It is at this very second that it dawns on me: I care. I'm angry because I fucking care.
To be continued...