And so begins the second phase of the story, AKA the Sexy Middle Part!
Note: This chapter, unlike its predecessors, has been edited from the A03 version to match up better in tone with some of the later chapters—i.e. it's significantly dirtier, especially towards the end.
You may find this *glossary* useful for Grimmjow's "Arrancar Language" (Spanish...) terms of endearment, terms of "endearment", and body parts. I apologize if these words don't mean what I think they mean.
dulzura—sweet one/sweet thing
nene—baby/babe (male form), usually used more as a term of endearment than for an actual baby.
pequeña puta—little bitch/whore/generic-feminine-insult
pequeña ramera; mi ramera—little slut; my slut (more specific than puta and I think a little less insulting)
agujero—hole, used here specifically for a Hollow hole.
mascarita—this one is not being used in a way congruent with its actual meaning. I meant it as a made-up word meaning "little mask", for an Arrancar's partial mask. The proper Spanish word for mask is mascara, and I just couldn't handle having to talk about Grimmjow's mascara. Mascarita seems to actually mean a masked performer, like at Carnivale or something.
I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
KC
As soon as he materialized aboard the Genryuusai, he could smell it. His nostrils flared and he licked his lips, starting to get turned on just from that—had it smelled so sweet, the last time he'd taken someone's juramento? As conscious thought caught up with instinct, he wondered why he could smell it, anyway; was Ichigo here? Grimmjow didn't see him. So was their air filtration just janky or what? No, no, the scent was coming from a member of his welcome committee, strong enough that it suggested that this red haired fucker whose name he couldn't remember had been in substantial contact with Ichigo very recently.
Before he quite knew quite what he was doing, he was right up in the guy's face, pinning him to the wall with an arm on across his chest.
"What the fuck did ya do?" he snarled.
"The fuck are you talking about?" the guy snapped back, clearly very confused.
"Kurosaki. Ya smell like ya were rollin' around all over him," Grimmjow hissed. "Yer boss and I agreed that he's mine for the duration."
"Yours? We're only allowin' this because it's the only thing that'll help him, so don't get so cocky. Ichigo's not yours, he's not anybody's!" the guy spat.
Before Grimmjow could say anything, Kuchiki cut in, a restraining hand on Grimmjow's shoulder (a bold move, Grimmjow conceded, as he suppressed the urge to snap at it) as he addressed the two near-combatants, "My apologies for this situation. I did not realize your nose was so keen, Espada Jaegerjaques. Tell him what you told me, Vice-Captain Abarai."
"Captain, this guy's a psycho! You can't seriously be thinking about letting him near Ichigo!" Abarai protested.
Grimmjow pressed him harder against the wall. Kuchiki's hand on his shoulder tightened and he said, "This is a cultural misunderstanding. Please tell the Espada what happened, Vice-Captain."
Abarai sighed, irritated. Grimmjow could smell alcohol on his breath. Apparently he'd found his encounter with his friend traumatic, or if he was sensible it had been the need to refuse that had driven him to drink.
Abarai began, in a tone that reminded Grimmjow of a sulky child. "Ichigo came to my office a bit less than an hour before Captain called about result of the meeting and kinda threw himself at me. I had no idea what was going on, but I got our other friend to come—a woman; he didn't get excited about her—to take him back to the infirmary. I managed to get him to keep all his clothes on until she got there, but he was kinda, as you said, rollin' around all over me."
"And what did you do before this friend got there?" Grimmjow inquired, low and menacing.
"Nothing, man! Now, back the fuck off!" Abarai protested, hands coming up to shove at him.
Grimmjow didn't budge, but his head turned slowly turned to look at Abarai's right hand on his shoulder, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. Abarai's eyes went wide and he lowered his hands hastily, incriminatingly quick. This complete and utter asshole had had his hands all over Ichigo, touching his incapacitated friend in ways he shouldn't have. And he hadn't even washed his hands, the idiot.
"Liar," Grimmjow breathed. He wanted to rip that hand off, and that was just for starters. That Abarai would dare touch what was his… It was a hundred years too early for this punk to step one toe into Grimmjow's territory.
Abarai blanched as he took in Grimmjow's expression, but Grimmjow felt the rising pressure of the redhead's reiatsu to match his own, ready for a fight.
"Espada Jaegerjaques," Kuchiki said firmly, his fucking irritating hand tightening further on Grimmjow's shoulder. "This is not why you are here. What's done is done. Let my man go."
Grimmjow drew a deep breath, trying to calm down. Kuchiki was right. He knew Kuchiki was right, but Abarai had dared…
The deep breaths were not helping. Not at all, when he could smell Ichigo's scent mingled with this red-haired ape's. Abarai should—would die for this insult; for this encroachment. He would die because he Ichigo wasn't his to paw at and Grimmjow protected his own.
He wanted to bring out Pantera's claws and rip this fucker to shreds, but Grimmjow had spent a lifetime trying to master the legendary Jaegerjaques temper, the tendency towards destruction that made the men of his family such feared and ferocious warriors. He'd seen what could happen if it was allowed free rein, and he'd sworn never to allow himself to become a rabid dog like his father. He'd sworn he'd never let it truly get the best of him, sworn he'd never let that blind, killing rage take him over anywhere except a battlefield.
It would feel so good to give in—but then he'd have to fight his way to Ichigo, who wouldn't want him because Grimmjow had slaughtered his friends. The idea of watching Ichigo's body's demands slowly overwhelm his mind's control was not unappealing; his sadistic side quite liked the idea of Ichigo desperately needing Grimmjow to take him but resisting with everything he had at the same time, crying with shame as he moaned with pleasure.
It was this mental picture that snapped him out of his haze of violent anger—he wouldn't do that. By agreeing to this, he had agreed to protect Ichigo and take care of him, at least for the short term, and harming someone he'd promised to protect would make him something utterly despicable. This, at least, he was not of two minds about.
Grimmjow stepped back and let Abarai off the wall, dismissing him from his mind. His anger receded as quickly as it had come, the same way it always did, leaving cool nothingness in its wake.
He turned towards Kuchiki, his voice devoid of emotion, and said, "Take me to Kurosaki." This delay was intolerable—to Ichigo especially, if he was far gone enough to consider that redheaded fool an acceptable candidate.
He half-expected Kuchiki to say some something about his display, maybe even to question his fitness to serve as Ichigo's fideicomissario. He didn't, though; if anything, he seemed sympathetic. Oh ho, Grimmjow thought—perhaps Kuchiki understood his struggle; maybe there was some fire under that cool exterior after all. That or maybe he just found his subordinate so profoundly irritating that he could relate to Grimmjow's frustration.
Kuchiki silently led the way to the infirmary, where they'd been keeping Ichigo in a private room. Isolated, if you could believe that. Of all the idiotic things… With no one to talk to and keep him distracted, he'd be tearing himself apart, mentally. Hopefully only mentally, anyway. Traditionally, he should have had several visits per day from a sister or close female friend while he awaited his fideicomissario's arrival.
The promise of spending the next few days shacked up in what amounted to a hospital room was not ideal, but there was nothing else for it. Grimmjow had pushed for allowing Ichigo to be transported to his house in the country, but he'd had to back down (ugh) when it had become clear that that just wasn't going to happen. He hoped the bed was sturdy, anyway.
As they walked, he found himself fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket, picking at a loose thread with his thumb and forefinger. Was he actually nervous? That was ridiculous, it wasn't like he hadn't done this before…
But that had been with his men, none of whom he'd been particularly drawn to outside of the context of el juramento. Ichigo wasn't one of them; not an Arrancar, not one of his in any reality except the one inside Grimmjow's head. He was also older than the usual age for el juramento—he was a young adult, but an adult nonetheless, not an adolescent.
That was one reason Grimmjow was so much more attracted to him than he had been even to Ylfort, back when Ylfort was newly assigned to his unit and ready to give his oath. He was a magnificently beautiful man, now, but back then he'd been barely more than a kid. Lanky, coltish not yet fully formed. Too young to catch Grimmjow's eye without that sweet scent directing his desire.
Ichigo, however, was in his prime. His slenderness wasn't that of a skinny kid, but rather that of a fighter who was whipcord tough and fast as hell. So dangerous; fully trained and fully lethal. That was what Grimmjow sought in his lovers, ordinarily—strength. It attracted him even as it made him want to prove he was the stronger. Having a weakling submit to him offered no satisfaction, but having someone strong offer themselves up was such a fucking rush.
He suspected Ichigo was one of the strongest of these Shinigami, and more than a match for any Arrancar below Espada level. But he was weakened, now, laid low as his body screamed for Grimmjow's touch, all his strength overwhelmed by his biology. The contrast was exciting—Ichigo was a creature of many contrasts, and all of them excited Grimmjow. So strong, yet so cute. So fierce, hiding the vulnerable young man underneath. Such a fighting spirit, now unwilling and unable to fight him.
So good, too; idealistic, innocent, peace-loving—but Grimmjow had felt the jagged, hungry black and crimson swirl of his reiatsu, felt unquenchable bloodlust and an appetite for destruction that nearly matched his own.
That was the thing that drew him most to Ichigo. He wanted to see it, wanted to see what he kept buried under his layers and layers of strictures and self-denial. He wanted to peel them away the same way he wanted to strip Ichigo's clothes off his body. He was sure whatever he uncovered would be magnificent; that it would be nightmarish and glorious. And like the rest of Ichigo, soon it would be his.
They arrived in short order, where that soft-looking but inexplicably frightening woman Unohana lurked just inside her office.
She handed him a smallish cardboard box, indicating that it contained "Supplies."
Then she got right up in his face and a wave of thick, menacing reiatsu broke over him, cloying and somehow sticky in a way that made him think of half-dried blood. He staggered back, breathless, pushing back as hard as he could just to avoid being forced to his knees—holy fuck, this woman was nearly as powerful as the Primera. He felt like he was drowning in her vile reiatsu; like he was in an ocean of it and it was pouring into his lungs. When he managed to look at her again, she didn't look soft at all, but utterly terrifying. Unohana might be a healer by trade, but she was a killer at heart.
"Be good to him," was all she said, and she didn't even need to add anything to the effect of "or I'll kill you" because she was radiating murderous intent like no one he'd ever seen.
"Yes, Señora, I will," he said, because there was nothing else he could say to a show of force like that. He might be a little reckless sometimes, a little cocky, but he knew when he was that badly outclassed.
"Whatever else he may be, Ichigo Kurosaki is one of ours," Kuchiki added from behind him, his voice bland and impassive, devoid of emotion.
"Allow me to make this completely explicit: if you hurt him, I'll ask Captain Unohana to heal you after she cuts you to ribbons, and then you will get to experience Senbonzakura Kageyoshi's billion blades one-by-one. If we don't get through them all, well, Unohana is very good at her job."
He didn't know what senbon-whatever was, but just for a moment, he had an impression of a massive cloud of pink made of razor-edged flower petals, beautiful as they were deadly, swirling against the tarry red-brown backdrop of Unohana's reiatsu. What the fuck, these guys were monsters. Kuchiki had to have the best reiatsu control he'd ever heard of to pull a move like that, to let him see the full magnitude of his power for only a split second.
It made him like them more, that they were willing to let their oh-so-civilized facade slip when it came to protecting their own. He could come to respect Kuchiki, he supposed. As for Unohana, there was no question—all Arrancar, the Espada especially, respected strength like that.
"I won't hurt him," Grimmjow said, serious as he'd ever been, "I know you guys think el juramento is something is sleazy and suspicious, but like we said, this is a trust, and I won't betray it."
"Good," Unohana said, and the stifling pressure was gone. He wobbled a little at the sudden lack of it, but Unohana didn't comment. She just smiled at him sweetly, and Grimmjow tried to not to let on that it made him want to run away and hide under a rock. "Ichigo's room is two doors down on the right. I'll unlock the door for you from here."
Grimmjow departed the infirmary, fighting the urge to look back over his shoulder, and knocked on the door to Ichigo's room but didn't wait for a response before pushing it open.
Oh, there he was, standing in the middle of the room. Gorgeous; he was gorgeous—after so long spent imagining, seeing the real version was even better than he'd anticipated. He could smell it, el juramento, hanging thickly in the air along with Ichigo's own scent and the musky, bitter odor of sex. The combination made Grimmjow's head spin; made his mouth water and his cock start to harden instantly.
"Don't—" Ichigo began, but he had to stop and swallow, licking dry lips. "Don't think this means you have some kind of claim on me. You can leave right now if that's what you think."
His voice was husky, near-breathless, but nonetheless it was surprising that Ichigo could deliver an ultimatum like that right now. Grimmjow arched an eyebrow at him, impressed by Ichigo's ability to hold it together.
"I don't," he replied, and it was only half a lie. He knew in his head that he had no real claim on Ichigo, but his blood and his body were singing that Ichigo was his, his, his.
"Okay," Ichigo said, taking a deep breath. "Okay."
Then he lifted his eyes to meet Grimmjow's, and a half-second later they were both in motion. Then Ichigo's mouth was on his, kissing him ferociously, needy and hot, clinging arms wrapped around him.
Ichigo smelled so good that Grimmjow could hardly stand it. He felt almost dizzy with it as he licked into Ichigo's mouth hungrily, relishing the feel of that lithe body melting against his, of that soft tongue curling around his, of the little sound of relief Ichigo made as he wrapped one of his legs around Grimmjow's hips to pull him closer. Grimmjow lifted Ichigo off the ground so that he could do the same with the other, then walked them back towards the couch—there was presumably a bed around here somewhere, but finding it would have to wait.
The most expedient thing to do would be to just turn and sit down with Ichigo on top of him, and expediency was key. He had to be inside Ichigo yesterday; one kiss and he was as aroused as he could ever remember being. Ichigo pawed at his clothing uncoordinatedly, little starveling sounds slipping from his lips, and he'd never seen anyone this desperate, but then again, he'd never taken el juramento from someone who'd been forced to wait so long.
Grimmjow efficiently stripped them both, or as efficiently as he could with Ichigo's hands all over him and his hips grinding incessantly against Grimmjow's already-hard cock.
Ichigo made a grab for it, rising up as if to guide it inside him. Grimmjow batted his hand away, and he made an utterly piteous sound, this little disconsolate whimper as if to say, "but I need it!"
Soothingly, Grimmjow murmured, "Just a minute, nene, just wait, I got to…"
He ran a hand down Ichigo's back, dipping his fingers into the cleft of that ass he hadn't even got to see yet, finding his hole already slick with some kind of lubricant. Ichigo moaned as he pushed a finger inside, then another—he was open enough that Grimmjow wouldn't hurt him, Grimmjow judged, and to tease him at this point would be very cruel.
"Mmm," Grimmjow murmured, not really paying attention to what he was saying, "All ready for me, aren'tcha, dulzura? That's pretty hot, thinkin' of ya fuckin' yourself with your fingers and callin' out my name."
Ichigo didn't respond except to whine in disappointment as Grimmjow removed his fingers, and Grimmjow guessed that Ichigo had no real idea what he was saying or simply didn't care. That was okay, he didn't mind.
He hastily spat into his hand and slicked himself up as best he could, Unohana's box of supplies lying forgotten on the floor. He guided Ichigo onto him, easing him down slowly, and the way Ichigo threw his head back and practically wailed with pleasure immediately displaced all previous contenders for the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Normally, Grimmjow would give him a minute to adjust, but Ichigo started moving immediately, bouncing on him shallowly, keeping Grimmjow's dick buried nearly to the hilt in his body, letting out these lusty little cries on every stroke. Thus, he felt no compunction to hold himself still, rocking his hips up into that perfect, silky heat.
Yes, yes, he was inside Ichigo, finally, finally, and it was better than anything he could possibly have imagined. He grabbed Ichigo's head with both hands and pulled him down for a bruising kiss, moaning against his lips. He thrust his tongue deeply into Ichigo's mouth, their teeth clacking together as he tried to get more of him, even as he tried to work his cock deeper still into Ichigo's body, wanting to possess every inch of him.
Oh, Mad Creator, he was so fucking hot inside that Grimmjow could barely stand it—it was like nothing he'd ever felt before; right on the edge of painful, but so, so good. He didn't want to pull out any more than he had to to please Ichigo; it was so satisfying to be in him like this. So hot; so hot he couldn't think; so hot he couldn't do anything but try to get more, deeper.
Ichigo seemed to agree. They moved together, sharp, jerky, uncoordinated, small hitches of their hips that kept Grimmjow buried to the hilt in Ichigo's needy, greedy hole. He could feel it twitch and spasm around him, hungry for more. Pulling Ichigo as tight to him as he could, Grimmjow bit down on the join of his neck and shoulder, fighting for self-control. The way Ichigo gasped in excitement at the sensation didn't help him find it.
He shifted his grip to Ichigo's hips and lifted him up just a couple inches, holding him still as Grimmjow started fucking him in earnest. He tried for a steady rhythm, but the tight, grasping grip of Ichigo's ass was just too good and he fucked him harder and faster than he'd meant to, head thrown back as instinct took over completely.
Ichigo moaned ecstatically, deliriously, and his hands gripped came up to grip Grimmjow's face, forcing Grimmjow to look at him. Their gazes met and locked, leaving Grimmjow staring into Ichigo's wide, lost eyes. Their pupils were blown impossibly wide, just a thin ring of gold-flecked brown surrounding them, and somehow Grimmjow felt like he was being consumed by the blackness of them. He loved it; Ichigo was too far gone to talk, but his eyes said it all—don't stop, please, don't you ever stop, they said. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, they demanded. More, more, more, they pleaded.
Those eyes widened further and Ichigo's mouth opened in a surprised 'o', making him look almost frightened. Then they squeezed shut and Ichigo stiffened, a loud shout escaping him. Holy shit, he was coming, just from this—Grimmjow could feel Ichigo's cock twitching and jumping against his belly and the muscles inside of him clamping down around him, rhythmic and tight, like a hand squeezing him. He felt the tiny smear of wetness as Ichigo came, nearly dry but clearly no less intense for it. The original sharp cry faded into a long, low, moan, a little crescendo in it every time Grimmjow thrust into him, completely unable to stop or even slow down.
Ichigo was more pliant now, soft and yielding inside and out as Grimmjow shoved his hips up hard against Ichigo's ass, grinding against him, all the way inside. Grimmjow threw his head back on a loud, wordless groan—so good, it was so good, so hot and slick and silky around him; so soft and open that it felt like fucking a woman, almost. Except Ichigo's beautiful body was so delightfully, deliciously male, all hard lines and planes and angles except for the pleasure-mad arch of his back and the jutting curve of his cock where it pressed, still hard, against Grimmjow's belly.
He was beyond intoxicated on the sound and the sight and the smell of this. It was like taking one of Szayelapporo's psychedelics, the ones that made reality split open at its seams to reveal the layers underneath, turning the world to the otherworld, the everyday to the beautiful, making it all feel realer than real. The flushed, sweat-slick sheen of Ichigo's skin and his milk-chocolate-melty eyes; his swollen, bruised lips that clung to Grimmjow's with uncoordinated desperation whenever they kissed and spilled sweet, lost sounds whenever they didn't—all of it felt somehow unnaturally vivid, unnaturally clear, burning into his mind.
Despite the near-painful intensity, he couldn't get enough. He thought it wouldn't even be possible; the idea didn't make sense—there was no "enough" of something this good, just more, more, more, more. He wanted it to never end, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to wring every ounce of pleasure out of their bodies, more-harder-faster, chasing his climax even as he tried to stave it off.
Grimmjow wanted it deeper, wanted it harder than this position would allow, and he had no doubts that that was what Ichigo wanted, too, to have as much of Grimmjow in him as he possibly could. Steeling himself for the loss by promising that it was just for a moment, he lifted Ichigo off him and directed, "Knees on the floor, body over the couch. Spread your legs for me, dulzura."
He wasn't sure if Ichigo would understand, but he did, complying eagerly if wordlessly as Grimmjow shifted around, too. Grimmjow knelt behind him, allowing himself only a moment of just looking; he didn't want to keep Ichigo waiting, but it would be a crime not to appreciate a view like this one. Hips lifted, legs splayed, balls hanging heavy between his legs—and then there was that ass, just the barest hint of plush roundness to gild its firm, masculine glory. That definitely deserved some of his attention later; he wanted to squeeze it, bite it, hold it open and stick his tongue inside, lick Ichigo out good.
Ichigo turned those dark, lost eyes on him and whined questioningly, and okay, yeah, that had been more than a moment.
"Sorry, dulzura, you're just too hot for me," Grimmjow told him, kneeling behind him, kissing the back of his shoulders in apology. He spat on Ichigo's hole and made it twitch, then guided himself back inside with a groan. "Too fuckin' good, nene, ya feel too fuckin' good."
"Hit me or somethin' if it's too rough," he continued, "I gotta fuck ya, I just hafta…"
Ichigo made a vaguely assent shaped sound, and that was going to have to be good enough. Holding too tight onto those narrow hips, Grimmjow fucked into him roughly; harsh and hard and fast, just like he wanted to. Ichigo let out a shout; surprise, maybe? Pleasure? Whatever it was, it didn't sound like pain, so he did it again, and again, and again, and again, and oh, fuck, Ichigo…
He hadn't known how bad he needed this, to lose himself in another's body without holding back. Not that he was in the business of holding back, but usually he tried to have some technique, at least. Ichigo the way he was now didn't need technique, though—he just needed to get fucked. And oh, was he magnificent at it, look at him; look at Ichigo fucking taking it, taking Grimmjow's dick like a goddamn pro and loving every second of it, finally getting what he'd been craving for so long.
Grimmjow somewhat regretted that he couldn't see Ichigo's face like this, to watch the pleasure on it, but he had a pretty damn good view nonetheless—the long, arcing sweep of Ichigo's back and the jutting wings of his shoulder blades were utterly beautiful, far better than any work of art Grimmjow had ever seen. So much of pale and unblemished skin; no dark circle of an agujero to mar him…
And then there was the fact that he could watch his own cock disappear into Ichigo's body, over and over. Hottest fuckin' thing he'd ever seen, he swore… It was stupid that such a repetitive sight could be so intensely arousing, but it was. Oh, Mad Creator, it was; each time, he could only look for a few seconds before he had to look away, the eroticism of the sight threatening what little control he had left. He was hanging on, but he wasn't going to last much longer. He had to make Ichigo come again before that, though; he just had to.
"Looks so good," Grimmjow panted, talking to distract himself from how much he needed to come. "Wish ya could see, dulzura. I bed you'd like that, huh? Gettin' ta see my dick movin' in and out o' this hot little ass? Gettin' ta see me fuckin' ya? It looks so fuckin' hot, the way yer hole just keeps suckin' me in like it don't wanna let me go."
Ichigo groaned a long, incoherent string of consonants by way of response, which told Grimmjow that although he wasn't saying much, he could and did understand.
Helpless to his body's demands, his world soaked in Ichigo's intoxicating scent, Grimmjow couldn't help but give it to him a little faster. He didn't want to come yet, but he couldn't stop, couldn't slow down if his life depended on it.
Ichigo cried out at the crest of each stroke; his high, ecstatic shouts strung together with incoherent moans. Grimmjow felt like he could get off just from the sounds Ichigo was making; it was addictive, each time he got him to yell a little louder, it just made him want more. Grimmjow wanted to make him scream.
He bent over Ichigo and held him tightly with one arm, bracing the other one on the couch and lifting Ichigo's torso up some, so instead of the ninety-degree bend at his hips, he was strung out over a wide angle. His back clung to Grimmjow's chest, sweat-slick and fever-hot. A nice bonus was the way he could kiss and bite at Ichigo's salty shoulder, but he only did it for a minute because he had to slow way down and go easier to do it.
"Let's see…" Grimmjow muttered, rocking into Ichigo in this new position. He only got a little moan, so, "No…"
He shifted, hoping that Ichigo's body was the same as any Arrancar male's in this regard. Well, he'd find out soon.
The next thrust got him a sharp gasp, so he suspected it was. Almost, just a little lower…
"Fuck!" Ichigo cried, and Grimmjow grinned against his neck, thoroughly pleased. He'd made him say a word!
Now that he had figured that out, Grimmjow resumed his quick, sharp pace, pressing up against that same spot, over and over.
Breathless moans quickly escalated into long, high cries, and it wasn't quite a scream, but it was damn close. Oh, he could still… but he needed both hands for this…
"Can ya hold yourself up, nene? So I can touch your pretty cock?"
Ichigo shook his head.
"Don't," he panted, his voice thick, "This… Perfect."
"Okay," Grimmjow soothed, "Okay, dulzura, whatever ya want. Ya gonna come again? Just from this?"
Ichigo nodded, his bright hair bobbing cutely. "Yeah, yeah, Grimmjow."
Fuck. Heat spiked up from his dick through his belly at the sound of Ichigo saying his name like that; he hadn't even been sure of how aware Ichigo was of who he was, but he knew, shit, he knew who it was that was fucking him, knew who was making him moan like a pequeña puta…
"Say it again," Grimmjow growled.
"Grimm-m-jow," Ichigo moaned, his voice breaking over a sharp thrust in the middle, and it should have sounded ridiculous, should have come off as theatrical and fake like something from a low budget porn movie, but he knew that this was the real thing, this was what all the dirty movies tried to emulate, and it was impossibly erotic to hear.
"Close," Ichigo gasped. "You too?"
"Yeah," Grimmjow replied, and he was. Ichigo was just too much. "Shit, yeah."
"Wanna feel," Ichigo panted, his words broken up by gasps and moans and pauses for breath. "You first. Come… inside…"
Way too fucking much. Grimmjow laughed brokenly and said, "Like I'm gonna say no to that."
He sped up to the desperate, unsustainable pace they both wanted, but that he'd held back from for fear of making himself come. It was so good, so good; he couldn't remember this ever feeling so good, and it was a fucking miracle he hadn't come yet. He'd been holding back so hard for so long, and now he couldn't quite…
Then Ichigo moaned his name again and he felt his whole body flush hot as his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, all at once and unexpected. He clutched Ichigo to him, biting down on his shoulder to muffle a shout, hips jerking hard as he started to come, spilling like a flood into Ichigo's body. Inside him, oh fuck, right in that gorgeous ass, filling up that greedy hole just the way it wanted him to.
"Feel that?" he managed, breathless, and shit, this just kept going. "Comin' in ya; fuck, so much…"
"Yes!" Ichigo cried ecstatically, "Grimmjow, yes—"
The blinding pleasure starting to recede, Grimmjow straightened a little and fucked into Ichigo hard, keeping to the angle he liked so well. They were both moaning deliriously; it was too good, he was so sensitive that it almost hurt, the hot wetness of his own spend nearly scalding him. Now, he could hear himself fucking Ichigo; the sound of it wonderfully nasty.
Ichigo went rigid and came with something very like a scream, bucking back against him, squeezing him so impossibly tight.
"Ichigo," Grimmjow murmured, "Ichigo, dulzura, that's right, come for me, let it go, let it all go…
A moment later, Ichigo sagged in his grip with one last groan, spent. Grimmjow allowed himself to collapse atop him, just for a minute while they got their breath back.
That… that had been fucking spectacular. He stroked Ichigo's side in a long caress, sighing happily—Ichigo had to be one of the sexiest people he'd ever laid eyes on, and to have the sweet scent of el juramento driving him on on top of that…
After a moment, Ichigo started wriggling under him and Grimmjow heaved himself up, carefully withdrawing. Ichigo looked back over his shoulder, and Grimmjow wished desperately he could take a picture of his face right now. Half lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and mussed, sweat-damp hair; his bruised lips turned up in a cheeky smile.
"That…" he panted, "That all you got, great Espada?"
Grimmjow laughed in disbelief. Ichigo wanted more? After that?
"Where's your bed?" Grimmjow asked, not one to back down from a challenge.
Ichigo grinned wider and struggled up onto the couch to sprawl on it, turning around to look at Grimmjow properly. Breathtaking; Ichigo was literally breathtaking—Grimmjow loved that the flush had spread down his chest, loved the sheen of sweat making each perfect muscle group glisten, loved the way he was staring back at Grimmjow just as hungrily. Ichigo lifted a hand and pointed towards a folding screen that Grimmjow now saw partitioned the room into two. "Over there."
Right. Grimmjow got to his feet, and as soon as he made sure his knees were in no danger of buckling—that had been so fucking good; it would be no surprise if he had jelly legs—scooped Ichigo up off the couch and carried him to the bed. He was warm and heavy and a little damp in Grimmjow's arms; a pleasing weight. He liked the feeling of carrying Ichigo off to have his way with him (again.)
"Hey!" Ichigo protested, but that was all he managed, and it was clearly just for form's sake. There was no flailing, no threats, no blows—he liked being carried, it seemed. Either that or he had no desire to walk even as far as the bed, which would also not be terribly surprising just now.
Grimmjow tossed him down on the bed and he landed with a 'whumph' and a bounce, which was oddly satisfying. Once he'd stabilized, Ichigo relaxed, his hands behind his head and the insides of his splayed thighs glistening—he had to know what he was doing, showing himself off like that. His expression was more challenge than come-hither, though it certainly was both.
Nothing else for it but to crawl on top of him and kiss him. Ichigo responded eagerly, if not so harsh and desperate as earlier. This kiss was softer than the ones that had come before, slow and sweet and slick. Ichigo writhed happily underneath him, rubbing the whole lengths of their bodies together, still hungry for contact. Grimmjow needed one arm to prop himself up, his elbow on the bed and his hand behind Ichigo's head, but he let his other hand go exploring, touching everywhere he could reach, all that smooth skin over such a firm, slender frame. His caresses were returned twofold, with Ichigo's hands skimming over his back and sides, trying to learn the cartography of his body.
Curious fingers played over the back rim of his agujero; trailing strange, prickly sensations in their wake. Grimmjow could never quite decide if he liked being touched there or not; nor even whether it was painful or pleasant. There was something strangely raw about it, like Ichigo was touching a wound of some kind. But it felt good, too; the kind of sensitive that made him want to gasp and twitch when Ichigo's fingers stroked the inner wall of it. It was strange, but definitely a little arousing.
Ichigo seemed caught up in his explorations of the ways Grimmjow's body was alien to him, breaking away from their kiss to tongue the skin just around his mascarita. That was unquestionably enjoyable—there was no feeling in the bone itself, of course, but there was in the skin that adjoined it, especially the few millimeters of delicate skin that was protected from the elements because it was actually underneath the edge of the mascarita. Ichigo figured this out quickly, his tongue venturing under the bone plate to stroke the delicate skin beneath, drawing a pleased hum from Grimmjow.
Ichigo's unbroken face and lack of agujero intrigued Grimmjow just as much. The lack of a mascarita, especially, should have made Ichigo look plain, Grimmjow thought; as if he was missing the proper adornment. Instead, it only called attention to the strength and symmetry of his features.
Ichigo's face was a little too sharp, his nose too pointed and his chin a little too narrow for him to be classically handsome, and he wasn't girly-boy pretty, either, although from the right angle he was close. Ichigo's face had an angular meanness; it was a face that fierce concentration would look at home on; a face made for battle.
The best part, though, was the way his cruel affect was softened by his warm eyes and his soft, sensual mouth. Ichigo's face wasn't made for smiles, but that was why they looked so good on him. Contradictory; that's what Ichigo was.
Grimmjow ducked away abruptly, realizing he'd been staring at Ichigo's face for a good ten seconds. Heat crept up his neck to his cheeks and tips of his ears, and he decided he'd better do something to distract Ichigo from this fact, and quick. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques did not blush, and if by chance he did, he certainly wouldn't let anyone see it. Not even—or perhaps especially not—his lovers.
He began kissing his way down Ichigo's body, lips and tongue dragging wetly over warm, salt-tasting skin. Ichigo had hair on his chest—not a ton, but some—which was another way he differed from an Arrancar man. It was a novelty for Grimmjow, and he nosed at it, enjoying its springy texture. Grimmjow understood the necessity for pubic hair and even hair under the arms, but why on the chest? It seemed silly. It was so sparse that it couldn't provide much warmth…
Well, whatever. Not everything about the body had to make sense. As a matter of fact, his next destination was another nonsensical thing.
Grimmjow's mouth closed over one of Ichigo's nipples, his teeth scraping over the areola to grasp the small bud in the center, making Ichigo gasp and arch underneath him. He set to; flicking his tongue over it, sucking, nibbling, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure Ichigo made and the light skritch of his fingernails through Grimmjow's hair.
Ichigo seemed especially sensitive here, or perhaps it was just his general state of excitement that made him so responsive. Grimmjow withdrew, watching Ichigo's face as he scraped his thumbnail ever so lightly over the nipple, over and over—Ichigo had his eyes shut and his lip caught between his teeth, and every stroke of Grimmjow's finger drew out a tiny whimper. Every whimper, in turn, sent a flush of arousal effervescing up through Grimmjow's body, sparking over his skin. Smiling to himself evilly, he carefully lowered his mouth to the other nipple, trying not to give the game away to Ichigo; trying not to give him any advance warning.
He bit down sharply and Ichigo cried out, his hips bucking up off the bed. Grimmjow laughed, pleased, but then Ichigo opened hazy eyes to look down at him and his amusement faded away, eclipsed by desire.
"Grimmjow," Ichigo murmured, his gaze unfocused, his eyebrows tipped up in the middle, his lips bruised and so very red. "More…"
Fuck, just look at him. He was the most indecent thing Grimmjow had ever seen. Grimmjow's worries about managing another round so soon were all for naught—he could be way more tired than this; hell, he could be dead and that cute, needy face would arouse him utterly and instantly.
"Yeah, dulzura, I'll give ya more," Grimmjow promised. This time, he gave plenty of warning, opening his mouth over Ichigo's nipple, sucking and licking it until was a stiff little peak before he closed his teeth around it and bit down, lightly at first, then harder, harder, until Ichigo let out a long, low moan.
Keeping the pressure on with his teeth, he lashed the small bud with his tongue. Ichigo's moan rose in pitch until it was more of a keening sound, and his hips were rolling ceaselessly, his cock sliding stickily along Grimmjow's belly. It was so hard…
Not that Grimmjow was any less so, by this point. He contemplated skipping the intervening steps of his plan that had originally been meant to buy time, but the anticipation was sweet, and watching Ichigo need him so much was even sweeter. Was it cruel to tease, when Ichigo was in such a state? Maybe so, but no one ever said Grimmjow was a nice guy.
He began to make his way down Ichigo's body, leaving his reddened, stiff nipples behind with some regret. Ichigo was so responsive to being touched there; Grimmjow could easily play with him for hours. Ichigo wouldn't stand for that, though, he didn't think, but that was a problem with an easy solution. Grimmjow would just have to tie him up first. What a vision he would be, desperately aroused and spitting mad, trapped and at Grimmjow's mercy.
Not that he wasn't at Grimmjow's mercy right now, if in a slightly different way. It looked like Ichigo had 'desperately aroused' covered, too, actually. His dick was outstandingly hard, flushed rosy and leaking clear fluid. Grimmjow leaned closer and gave it a long lick, his enjoyment of which was impeded by the fact that he almost got his eye poked out, Ichigo's hips jerked so hard.
"Sorry," Ichigo gasped, but he looked more amused than anything.
Grimmjow just raised an eyebrow and settled firm hands on Ichigo's narrow hips, which was no great hardship—he liked the way the spurs of his hipbones felt under his palms. Trying again, he licked up the underside of Ichigo's cock, then again, a little to one side, and again, a little to the other.
Ichigo was practically vibrating under his touch, and he gasped loudly when Grimmjow kissed the head of his dick, right over the slit. This was too fucking fun—he brushed a few more light, teasing kisses over it, each resulting in an eminently pleasing little cry, then let go of one hip to cup Ichigo's balls, gently massaging and fondling them.
It didn't get as much reaction as he'd been expecting, just a low, soft groan—perhaps Ichigo wasn't as sensitive here as he himself was, or perhaps it was that Shinigami weren't as sensitive here as Arrancar men. Ichigo did seem to like the touch, though, his eyes drifting closed on a sigh of pleasure as Grimmjow's fingers scratched lightly through the curly orange hair there.
Sliding his hand back up to Ichigo's hip to keep him in place, Grimmjow flicked his tongue over the head of Ichigo's cock, lapping the slit there, gathering up a drop or two of slick pre-come on the tip of his tongue and smearing it around. Ichigo whined, and one of his hands threaded its way into Grimmjow's hair, pushing down on him a little as an unsubtle hint.
Starting to get impatient, huh? Good. Ichigo was going to have to ask nicer than that, though, if he wanted Grimmjow to do something.
After a moment spent toying with the frenulum under the head of Ichigo's dick (gasp) and another spent kissing his way down to the base (impatient groan), Grimmjow decided he'd introduce another method into his campaign to make Ichigo crazy. He bet he could get him to make all kinds of noises with a couple fingers inside him…
He recalled the box of supplies that Unohana had given him, groaning inwardly when he realized it was in the other room. He gave Ichigo's inner thigh a quick kiss and stood, telling him he'd right back.
Ah, there it was, and yes, he saw upon opening it, it contained, among other things, a large bottle of lubricant—not the medical kind, which was not ideal for sex, but a familiar brand commonly sold in Las Noches. The same one, actually, that he had in the overnight bag he had brought with him, which was also discarded just inside the door. That was nice of them, to send someone to buy some. The thought of that little Yamada guy wandering a city entirely alien to him in search of lube was kind of funny.
As Grimmjow turned to go back to the bedroom, he heard a soft sound from that direction—a stifled moan. Naughty Ichigo, Grimmjow thought with a grin, continuing without him. That merited some punishment, for sure.
When caught sight of Ichigo, he almost tripped over his own feet on the way back to bed. Arousal surged through his body like a breaking wave, the simultaneous urges to grab Ichigo's hands and pin them over his head while he fucked him (because part of him didn't want Ichigo to come unless it was on Grimmjow's dick) and to grab his own cock and jerk off watching Ichigo momentarily paralyzing him with indecision. He looked so fucking sexy like that, so cute, with that little frown of concentration on his face, a furrow between his eyebrows and his lip caught between his teeth. He didn't seem to notice that Grimmjow was standing there watching him.
"Stop that," Grimmjow commanded, with all the authority he could muster.
Ichigo not only stopped but also drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him guiltily, bitten-lip shyly. Oh, interesting. Seeing something in Ichigo's eyes that he'd encountered before, he quickly revised his plan. He'd see how far he could go with this, now. His intentions to tease Ichigo into incoherence with his mouth and fingers could wait.
"Ya should've waited for me to come back," Grimmjow told him with a sigh, shaking his head sadly. Then he made his voice go flat and hard and added, "I'm disappointed."
"I'm sorry," Ichigo said, his eyes lowered. His cock twitched violently as Grimmjow watched.
Grimmjow suppressed a shark-like grin—he'd guessed rightly. "Sit up; on your knees."
Ichigo complied wordlessly, telling Grimmjow that he was 100% on board with this little game. It was unexpected—el juramento didn't elicit submission in quite this way. The desire Grimmjow could read in every line of his body was all Ichigo.
It was always the ones who couldn't follow orders who got off on being ordered around, so that didn't surprise him, but he'd thought Ichigo would be too proud to show it. He must be, then, too aroused to care about his pride. Oh, Grimmjow was learning all kinds of fun things today.
"You've been bad, haven't ya?" he asked.
"…Yes," Ichigo admitted, somehow simultaneously meek and grudging, almost pouty.
"Say it," Grimmjow hissed, excited by Ichigo's submission.
"I… I've been bad," Ichigo answered, his cheeks flaming, not looking at Grimmjow, his dick practically quivering as it stood tall before him, a bead of pre-come running down the spine of it.
It was immensely pleasing; flattering, even, that Ichigo would let Grimmjow see this side of him. Just like Grimmjow had unconsciously come to think of Ichigo as one of his, Ichigo had apparently come to trust him.
Grimmjow asked, "How so? Tell me what you did wrong."
"I should have waited," Ichigo answered, eyes still downcast.
"What did you do instead?" Grimmjow pressed.
"Started to… jerk off," Ichigo said, hesitating over the phrase. So cute, cute enough to make Grimmjow feel like a fucking predator. He kind of liked the feeling. No, scratch that—he loved it.
Grimmjow drew in a calming breath through his nose. He was so fucking hard right now. He wasn't going to draw this out too much longer, but he was so enjoying himself. He asked, "Why?"
"I…" Ichigo hesitated.
Voice like a whip crack, Grimmjow demanded, "Tell me!"
"I needed it, okay!" Ichigo blurted out, meeting Grimmjow's eyes, vacillating now between submission and embarrassed anger. "I need it, Grimmjow, fuck, I need you. I'm so hard; I'm so hard it hurts. You were gonna suck my dick and then you didn't, you asshole!"
Grimmjow bit back a groan and resisted the urge to wrap his hand around his own dick. Ichigo had no idea how hot he was right now.
"It only woulda been a minute," Grimmjow said, sighing theatrically. "Then I would have come back and touched you myself. But since ya like to do it yerself, yer gonna to give me a little show. Lie back down."
Ichigo did, obviously excited by the prospect. Grimmjow hoped the poor kid wasn't going to hyperventilate.
"Pay attention," Grimmjow demanded, and Ichigo looked up at him with those dark, hungry eyes.
"If ya make yerself come, I won't fuck ya 'til tomorrow," Grimmjow told him, lying through his teeth. "Remember that, and tell me if ya get too close. Got it?"
"Yeah," Ichigo agreed breathlessly, "Alright."
"Hold out yer hand, whichever one yer gonna use."
Ichigo did, and Grimmjow squirted a dollop of lube onto Ichigo's hand.
"Now wrap yer hand around yer dick," Grimmjow told him. "Get it all slippery, then stop."
Ichigo groaned in relief at the touch of his hand as he smeared the slippery gel over himself, but he looked pained, whining pathetically when he forced his hand still. He did it though, he fucking did as Grimmjow told him, back to being his obedient little slut.
"Stroke it for me," Grimmjow ordered, hoping he still sounded stern and not as breathless as he felt. Having someone as strong and as gorgeous as Ichigo obeying his every command was heady beyond what he'd expected. His cock felt heavy and obscene; so swollen with blood that it throbbed in time to his too-rapid pulse. "Nice an' slow."
Ichigo moaned, so fucking loud, as he started to jerk himself steadily, thrusting up into his grip.
"Fuck, yeah," Grimmjow muttered, unable to help himself. "Spread yer legs a little wider, lemme see my come leakin' out o' ya."
He did, even going so far to draw his knees up, feet planted on the bed, giving Grimmjow a great view. He bit his lip, watching. He wanted to be closer, so he knelt on the bed between Ichigo's splayed thighs, upright so that he towered over him. Ichigo's eyes, which had been closed, opened to run up and down Grimmjow's body and then fix on his cock with a needy moan.
He stroked it a couple times then let his hand go still around the base, holding the foreskin back, making his dick look even harder than it was, and pointing it in the general direction of Ichigo's mouth. "Ya want somethin'?"
Ichigo nodded, panting noisily, sweat dampening the hair at his temples.
This time Grimmjow couldn't fight back the sharp smile. "Ask me for it. Ask me nice."
Ichigo licked his lips. "I… I want to suck it."
Grimmjow laughed meanly, so very pleased with the situation. "That ain't askin' nice. And ya didn't say what ya wanna suck."
Ichigo groaned through clenched teeth, closing his eyes, his back arching as he pressed up harder into his hand. So he did have some pride left, after all, huh? Good. Grimmjow liked that he wasn't going to beg so easily. He'd give in, though, and soon. He was clearly too aroused to do anything else, but Grimmjow could give him a little push to speed him on his way. "Slower. Yer doin' it too fast. Can't have ya comin' too soon, now can we?"
Ichigo's distressed groan as he forced himself to slow down was so hot that Grimmjow couldn't resist giving himself a couple more strokes. His hiss of pleasure caught Ichigo's attention and he opened his eyes to watch Grimmjow's hand on his dick, whimpering in desire when a drop of pre-come came out.
"Please!" Ichigo blurted, his eyes squeezed shut tight again, "Please let me suck your dick."
The surge of triumphant arousal the words produced was so intense that for a moment Grimmjow thought he was going to come, right then and there. "Aw, yeah, nene; you can suck it. Get on the floor—on your knees, mi ramera."
Grimmjow's pulse was pounding in his neck, in his temples, in his cock as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. His skin felt hot, or cold, or something, and his brain was hazy with how much he loved this. Ichigo knelt between his legs, his hand still wrapped around his dick.
"No more touchin' yerself—hands behind your back," Grimmjow said, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Or ya can't have it."
The sound Ichigo made was something like a sob, but he complied; he—fuck—obeyed. Grimmjow grabbed a fistful of his hair with one hand, the other still wrapped around the base of his cock.
"C'mere," Grimmjow muttered as he tugged Ichigo closer. "C'mere and let me feed ya this dick."
Ichigo came willingly, gasping quietly—probably at the pain of Grimmjow pulling his hair, but Grimmjow didn't care about that just now. "My dick ain't gonna fit in there like that—open yer mouth wider."
Ichigo opened wide and Grimmjow lifted his hips, the hand around his cock guiding it into Ichigo's mouth, just fucking feeding it to him.
"Yeah," he groaned shakily, breathlessly. "Yeah…"
Ichigo's mouth was so fucking hot inside, so wet and soft. Grimmjow was so hard, and he loved the way those plush lips and that velvety tongue felt against his achingly stiff cock. It felt amazing—he was so turned on, so excited by Ichigo's submission that he felt dizzy with it. He barely had enough restraint left to keep from grabbing Ichigo's head and shoving his dick down his throat, but somehow he managed to limit himself to rocking his hips a little, fucking Ichigo's mouth shallowly, once, twice, before falling still. "Suck it, pequeña puta, show me how much you want my dick. Ya gotta convince me yer worth fuckin'."
Ichigo moaned around him, the vibration of it sending a shiver up his spine. He hastily took Grimmjow deep into his mouth as he could, the head of his cock nudging Ichigo's soft palate. Grimmjow groaned through clenched teeth as Ichigo started to pull off, sucking hard. Ichigo feel into a quick, hungry rhythm, fucking his mouth down on Grimmjow's dick over and over, hard and fast, just eating him up.
He'd take this over finesse any day. Oh, fuck, yes, he would—the combination of Ichigo's fever-hot mouth and the way he was sucking was impossibly fucking good. And he couldn't stop moaning around him, the buzzing vibration of it running electric up his spine as Ichigo's whole body rocked and writhed as if humping the air in front of him could get him some satisfaction. Grimmjow had never seen anybody that excited about sucking him off before and he found it ridiculously erotic.
Grimmjow flopped back against the bed with a groan, half-disbelieving, an arm flung over his face, hiding his eyes—he couldn't look at Ichigo's lips stretched around his dick anymore, couldn't look at Ichigo's sticky-wet cock, leaking so much that the hair on his balls was wet with it. He knew he was kind of ruining the whole air of command thing he had going for a little while, but that had done its job, turning them both on the the point of desperation. The way Ichigo had just gone with it still puzzled him, but he wasn't about to stop him to ask questions now.
He really didn't want to make Ichigo stop for any reason, but he was going to have to sooner rather than later if he didn't want to come like this. Which he actually did, honestly, but that was too much of a dick move even for him, with Ichigo needing it so bad.
Just a little more. Just a little more of that sweet mouth and then he'd give Ichigo what he really wanted. He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Ichigo and carded his fingers through his soft hair, petting him to show the approval that Ichigo so obviously craved. "Slow down for me, nene—make it nice and slow and messy for me. Get it wet, get my dick all wet."
Ichigo made a noise of assent and slowed his movements, drooling around Grimmjow's dick, making his head loll back as he groaned out a curse—fuck, that was good. Why had he thought this would make it easier to hold out? Had he forgotten that this was his complete fucking favorite? Now that Ichigo had slowed down, it became all the more apparent how awesome he was at the sucking aspect of sucking dick, slurping at him messily. And he could take it deeper, too, now that he wasn't focused on doing it hard and fast. He gasped, surprised—Ichigo had more attention to spare for what to do with his tongue, too. Ah, fuck—what was he doing with his tongue…? Whatever it was, it felt fucking great.
Grimmjow bit his lip as the head of his cock bumped the back of Ichigo's throat, his eyes going wide in surprise as Ichigo didn't ease off but kept pressing forward, trying to take Grimmjow into his throat. This was an awkward position for that, and Ichigo gagged and had to pull back. It made his mouth flood with saliva, though, so Grimmjow wasn't disappointed—he loved it wet like this. Not all guys did, he knew, but he was pretty sure they were just wrong. Friction was all well and good, but nothing beat hot and slippery.
The next time Ichigo tried to deep-throat him, he succeeded. Grimmjow gasped, seizing a handful of Ichigo's hair—he was wrong, something did beat hot and slippery. Hot, slippery and insanely tight was definitely better; oh, oh, fuck— Ichigo could only manage it for a few seconds, which was really just as well. He had to pull off completely, choking and sputtering. This seemed like as good of an opportunity as any to move this along, better even, perhaps. If Ichigo started sucking him again, Grimmjow wasn't sure he could bring himself to make him stop. The little slut was fucking talented.
He cupped Ichigo's cheek, stroking his face with his thumb, and Ichigo pushed into the touch, catlike.
"That was real fuckin' good, dulzura," Grimmjow murmured. Ichigo was a mess; he'd really choked himself, tears in his eyes and everything. He wiped them away as he kept petting Ichigo's face, gentling him. Ichigo looked up at him, so dazed that Grimmjow actually felt a bit bad for delaying for so long.
"Grimmjow…" Ichigo breathed. Then he blinked a few times and shook his head, seeming to collect his thoughts a bit. His voice was rough, but only a little vague. Also, he sounded kind of peeved. "Are you finally going to fuck me now?"
"I'mma do just that. How—"
He'd almost asked 'How do you want it?' but cut himself off. Ichigo didn't look like he wanted to think even that much right now, and Grimmjow didn't want to totally destroy the theme they had going. Instead, he got to his feet and hauled Ichigo up off the floor and onto the bed. He helped a little, thankfully—it was an unusually tall bed, at least to Grimmjow's eye. That made it just the right height for what he wanted to do.
He stood by the side of the bed and tugged Ichigo forward so that his hips were right on the edge, then lifted Ichigo's (really very nice) legs to his shoulders so that his hips were up off the bed a little and lined up with his own, just where Grimmjow wanted them to be. Ichigo gasped as Grimmjow's dick rubbed over his sticky, still-wet hole. Grimmjow was going to get to be in there in just a second; Ichigo had it right; fucking finally.
He quickly slicked up his cock and pressed the head of it against Ichigo's pink, puffy rim; gasped when he felt it twitch under the pressure. He was done teasing both of them, though, and he pushed forward, sinking inside easily.
Ichigo whimpered and his voice came out high and tight as he panted, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah—fuck me now, don't wait, fuck me now, Grimmjow, Grimmjow!"
He didn't need telling twice. Grimmjow took hold of Ichigo's hips and held him still, thrusting into him hard enough that the slap of skin on skin was loud in his ears.
"Fast," Ichigo demanded, "C'mon, give it to me."
Who was he to deny Ichigo what he wanted? Grimmjow set the pace as quick as he could, watching as Ichigo's back arched and he cried out, so loud there was nothing to call it but a scream. It felt incredible; just what he wanted, hot and slick and tight, and yeah, Ichigo was right, fast was good, fast was real fuckin' good…
"Shit, I'm not gonna last," Grimmjow gasped. Not after that spectacular half a blowjob. Not after watching Ichigo just submit to whatever Grimmjow wanted him to do.
"You don't need to," Ichigo promised, practically wailing. "Don't hold back… just—ah!—fuck me!"
"Touch yourself," Grimmjow demanded, although it came out mostly as a gasp, because when he'd said he wasn't going to last, he meant it—he felt like his eyes were going to roll back in his head, Ichigo's hot little hole so good, so soft now, so easy; Mad Creator, Ichigo took him so easy, all full of Grimmjow's come already and milking him for more.
Ichigo wrapped his hand around his dick and started stripping it as fast as he could, panting, each exhale coming out as an 'Ah!", each louder and higher than the last.
"I'm gonna come," he panted, all in a rush, the words running together, gasping quick breaths between phrases. "Harder, Grimmjow, make me come, oh God, make me come, I'm so close. I'm so close; so close, fuck, please, c'mon, come on—"
Grimmjow turned his head and bit down on Ichigo's calf, eyes squeezed shut, fucking into Ichigo as hard and fast as he could, trying desperately to hang on long enough to give him that little bit more he needed.
"—yes, yes, close, yes, c'mon, fuck me, yes, fuck me, c'mon—"
Shit, he couldn't; Ichigo, Ichigo…
His hand on Ichigo's ankle tightened and he pressed his face against his leg, mouth open as he sucked in one more breath and then—
Ichigo screamed, his back locking into an impossible arch, his toes right beside Grimmjow's face curling tightly, coming so hard it looked like it hurt, his cock spurting sticky-white over his belly.
Grimmjow needed to kiss him more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. He slipped Ichigo's legs off his shoulders and fell on him, still fucking him with hard, desperate jerks of his hips as he crashed their mouths together because Ichigo was his, his, his, his—
He cried out against Ichigo's lips, coming, coming inside him, coming inside his Ichigo, his dulzura. Ichigo's hands were locked on either side of his face, holding him tight, holding them tight together, both of them crying out softly as they rocked together, as Grimmjow spilled himself into Ichigo's body.
The stayed like that for what felt like a long time, their bodies flexing, pulsing, synchronized to each other as they gradually slowed. Eventually their kiss decelerated to its natural conclusion, and Grimmjow leaned his forehead against Ichigo's as he tried to catch his breath. Holy fuck.
He meant that shit literally—if there was anything divine in this world, sex that good had to qualify.
Another moment passed like that, during which he became aware of Ichigo's legs wrapped around his back, clutching him close. That made him smile, and he propped himself up on his hands to grin down at Ichigo, who looked up at him with an expression that Grimmjow could only suppose was just as dopey as his own.
He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. 'That was awesome' seemed obvious to the point of inanity, as well as an understatement unless you took the word in its more literal meaning. 'How about those simultaneous orgasms, huh?' seemed equally pointless, as there was nothing anyone could ever possibly say that would improve upon the actual experience.
Ichigo uncurled himself from around Grimmjow with a groan—it was a good choice, Grimmjow thought. A groan was really all there was to say. He looked sleepy and satisfied, or so Grimmjow certainly hoped.
"That better?" Grimmjow asked as he began his part of their disentanglement.
"Oh, fuck yes. I feel great! Can we go to sleep now, though?" Ichigo answered with a yawn.
Grimmjow couldn't agree more. He also felt great and wanted to go to sleep now. He hated the idea of waking up covered in flakes of dried lube and come, though, and he knew it would be even worse for Ichigo. Looking around, he spotted the bathroom.
"In a minute," he said, answering Ichigo's question, and padded off to facilitate clean-up. His legs felt notably wobbly, this time. Ichigo probably couldn't even stand up right now.
After cleaning himself up, he wet a towel for Ichigo and gave it to him, then went off to get his duffel bag and give him a moment's privacy. When he returned, he had to chuckle at Ichigo, who appeared to be asleep with the towel still in his hand. Cute; he was so damn cute it was ridiculous.
"Oi," Grimmjow said. "Wake up. Yer gettin' the bed wet with that towel."
"Leamme alone," Ichigo grumbled, holding the towel up in his general direction. "You'd think you get off on bossing me around or something."
Grimmjow had to chuckle at that as he collected the towel, tossing it into the bathroom so that it would only seep water onto the apparently non-porous floor there.
"Ya listened, didn't ya? Ya'd think ya get off on bein' bossed around," he countered.
"Aha!" Ichigo proclaimed, holding up a finger as he wriggled around, trying to get under the covers with the minimum possible effort and ending up making it harder than it needed to be. "But I have an excuse! El juramento, yanno. You, on the other hand, are just a sadist."
"A sadist gets off on causin' pain and distress, not bossin' people around," Grimmjow remarked mildly, not commenting on whether any part of Ichigo's statement was true or false.
He smiled to himself as he got into bed and fumbled around trying to figure out how to turn off the light. He was glad to have his puzzle solved—Ichigo thought he had a free pass on acting like a kinky little slut without revealing himself to be, as an actual matter of fact, a kinky little slut. Grimmjow probably ought to tell him that that wasn't quite how el juramento worked…
If you didn't like to be dominated, you still wouldn't like it, even during el juramento. You'd want to get fucked, and that was either culturally or naturally coded (depending on who you asked) as a kind of domination, but it wouldn't magically make you get off on being told you'd been a bad, bad boy and needed to be punished the way Ichigo apparently did.
Grimmjow's teeth gleamed whitely in the dark as he snuggled—yes, snuggled, even he was allowed to snuggle after sex that good—up against Ichigo's back. He wouldn't correct Ichigo's misconception yet. He'd let it ride until… Oh, right before he left, he thought. After Ichigo revealed himself to be an even bigger kinky little slut, as Grimmjow knew he would. He wouldn't want to make him shy, after all. Whatever helped him shake his inhibitions could only make this time together better.
And, if Ichigo would be even more embarrassed and horrified at his behavior then, when Grimmjow finally told him, well… Ichigo hadn't been wrong about one thing. He was a bit of a sadist.
Grimmjow fell asleep with his smile pressed to Ichigo's hair.
As always, if you have a moment (or you, you know, want to come back later and do it…) please let me know how you felt about it—Are you laughing? Are you crying? Did you love it? Did you hate it? Are you turned the fuck on? Write a review and tell me, por favor.
BTW, we'll be hearing plenty from Ichigo's POV in future, so don't worry, Grimmjow fans. : 3
If you (unlike those two) still aren't satisfied and want to read some more indecent GrimmIchi goodness, give my name a click and check out my one-shots. "The Arrancar Talks" is arguably even filthier than this, and "I Change Shapes" involves no actual shape-changing but a lot of feelings as well as sex outside in a thunderstorm.