Here we go, another chapter! :D The ideas are just flowing! I know a lot of you are getting antsy about all this mystery around Grimmjow's past. Fear not, this chapter will give you a glimpse (or two) of that!
Onwards!
p/s: I owe people replies…I will get to them asap! Sorry!
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
I clench my jaw and pointedly avoid Nnoitra's accusing gaze. We're on the way back to Cero with me at the steering wheel of our battered-up truck. Nnoitra is sitting next to me in the front passenger seat, while Ilforte is in the back. I'm beginning to regret this seating arrangement.
"He's cute, I give ya that," Nnoitra continues to rant loudly, flinging his stick-like arms in the air. "But if ya keep doing this, ya gonna get attached and—"
"I don't get 'attached', Nnoi," I growl, even though I'm trying not to listen to him.
"Oh hell—"
"Nnoi! Leave him alone!" Ilforte's voice cuts through the rising tension in the car and we fall silent, mostly out of shock. I haven't heard Ilforte sound this fierce for a long time, not since…
Fuck. Can't they see that their efforts to "help" me is only reminding me of exactly what I'm trying to forget?
I grit my teeth and resist the urge to snap at my friends. They're seriously beginning to test my patience, and I don't have much of it to begin with. I remind myself that they're only looking out for me, but if they keep this up, I don't think I can hold myself back much longer.
Thankfully, Nnoitra resorts to sulking in silence with his head turned away from me after that. I glance at him briefly and feel my chest constrict. All I can see of his face from this angle is a tiny bit of the eye patch that he wears over his left eye. He may look like a tough one, but I know deep down inside, he's really self conscious about it. I can tell from the subtle way he always tilts his head to cover the eye with his hair. I don't know if he's even aware that he has this habit.
I think the injury still bothers him. He tends to be quieter when the weather gets cold, although he never talks about it. He never talks about his eye, and I don't ask about it. I don't need to; I already know everything about it, because I'm the one who blinded it. Not directly, but it's close enough.
I don't think I would ever forget the day it happened. All that blood, his howl of anguish, the sickening sight of the jagged piece of glass potruding out of his face; it's permanently imprinted in my head.
It should have been me.
I was piss drunk at the time. We were in a shitty bar drowning ourselves with even shittier beer. Well, I was. Then some random dude bumped into me, and I lost it.
Before I knew it, it had become an all-out brawl. I was taking on four guys, and was doing pretty well until one of them got a lucky hit on the back of my head. I almost blacked out from the impact, and I remember being restrained after that. My arms, legs, they were all over me, and I was surrounded by equally drunk, equally violent men. I heard a shriek of laughter, then someone rushed at me from the front. I remember seeing a glint of something shiny in the air.
The next thing that happened would scar me forever. I felt a searing pain across my torso. The man had cut me with a fucking broken glass bottle. It was bad, I was bleeding all over myself. He raised his arm again to cut me one more time, then all of a sudden I was on the floor and there were these horrible screams above me.
Someone collapsed on the floor in front of me, clutching his face, writhing and crying out in pain. It was Nnoitra. The fucker had stabbed my best friend in the eye.
I will have you know that the man who did this didn't leave that bar in one piece. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say that I saw red after that. No, I didn't kill him; that would be too merciful. There were worst things in life than death.
And that was the whole story. Nnoitra lost his left eye that night. For me. Five years ago.
Now you know why I try so hard to control myself. I can yell at him, be annoyed at him, but I can never truly be mad at him. Ever.
Of course, that doesn't mean he has the right to tell me what to do with my life. Fuck that. I don't answer to anyone. Still, his warnings have taken root, and it makes me itch all over like having phantom thorns that can't be extracted.
The rest of the ride back is silent and uncomfortable. Half an hour later, I pull up in front of our workshop and kill the engine. Nnoitra hops off immediately and disappears into the building. I know he's throwing a tantrum like a child, but I'm too tired to go after him. I pinch my nose and lean my head back on the seat rest, and exhale through my mouth. I wince involuntarily as the simple action irritates my cut.
"You should see a doctor," Ilforte comments softly from behind.
I shrug noncommittally, and Ilforte sighs. He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and gets down from the truck. I watch him slip inside our workshop, and for a moment I wonder if I should go in there and talk to Nnoitra, but the urge passes quickly when my head throbs. It has been a long day at Urahara's shop; what with all that work and the unexpected action in the office, I'm beat. I lock the truck and pocket the keys, then I stride over to the love of my life—my BMW, in case you misunderstand—and begin the journey back to my crappy apartment.
After a long, extremely hot shower, I make myself instant noodles and sink into my couch with the steaming bowl in my hand. There's nothing good on the television, so I end up settling for some random program on the National Geographic channel. All I really want is some background sound after all, just so the place doesn't seem so eerily silent and empty.
Half way through my nutritious dinner, somebody bangs on my front door. I pretend not to hear it, assuming it's some stupid salesperson. Only Nnoitra and Ilforte know where I live, and they both have keys to my place. Plus, I don't think Nnoitra is in the mood to talk to me yet.
The banging continues, and after a few seconds, I get up and stalk to the door, ready to incinerate the asshole on the other side. But when I see my visitor, I'm surprised.
"Hi," Ichigo says.
I look him up and down, taking in his strange choice of clothing. He's wearing a white t-shirt that hugs his figure perfectly and a pair of printed, drawstring pajama pants that looks two sizes too big for him. A plastic box hangs from his hand.
I open the door wider for him and let him inside, all the while wondering why he's here. He's not here for a quick lay, is he? If he is, I just might have to disappoint him.
He surprises me again by setting the box on my dining table and opening it, revealing rows and rows of gauze and cotton buds and other medical paraphernalia.
"Sit," he says, pointing to the chair next to him with a tube of unknown ointment.
I make myself comfortable and watch him with a mixture of curiosity and amazement. He rummages through the box with a sense of familiarity and lays out various items on a paper napkin on the table. His brows are drawn in concentration, his face serious.
Hmm. An unannounced doctor's house call from a convenience store clerk?
"You seem to know what you're doing," I observe.
He shrugs. "My dad owns a clinic. I used to work there during the summers."
I see.
The next few minutes consists of him undressing, cleaning, and redressing my cut. I have to admit that I'm impressed. When he's done, he closes the box and moves to leave.
"Wait," I blurt out.
He blinks and stares at me questioningly. My mouth goes dry under his gaze, and I realize with a start that I don't know why I stopped him. I scratch my head and reach for the first thing I can think of.
"Have you had dinner yet?"
His shakes his head.
"I'm, uhh, having instant noodles," I mutter. "Do you want some?"
Ten minutes later, we're both sitting on my couch making obscene slurping noises as we wolf down our dinners. I had to remake mine because the noodles had managed to suck up all the soup while he was tending to my hand. We're now watching a rerun of The Big Bang Theory, something I've heard of but have never watched. It's unexpectedly entertaining for a show about a bunch of nerds.
We remain on the couch and continue watching the next episode even after our bowls are empty. There's a good two feet between the two of us. I'm not sure why, but that bothers me. I study his profile secretly, admiring his slim, pointy face and his long eyelashes. The color of his eyes makes me think of honey and caramel and amber all at the same time.
"What're you staring at?" he asks suddenly, snapping me out of my trance-like state.
I recover quickly and cover my embarrassment with a cough. "I was looking at the clock," I lie.
He raises his eyebrows and turns around to look at the clock-less wall next to him. "You mean you were looking for the clock?" he asks, his lips twitching.
"Smartass," I grumble darkly.
His impish grin stirs something in me. He looks so smug, so pleased with himself. If it were anyone else, I would've given the guy a solid punch in the face, but when I see Ichigo, I just want to crush him. More specifically, crush him into the couch and ravish him until he can't walk.
"If ya keep doing this, ya gonna get 'attached'," Nnoitra's voice rings in my head.
I close my eyes and push it down. Just this once. One more time, and I'll stop. One last time, then I won't touch him again.
Ichigo lets out a startled gurgle when I pounce on him. His eyes widen comically before fluttering close as I slide my tongue between his parted lips. I reach for his thighs blindly and somehow manage to shift his position so that he's lying on the couch beneath me, then I nudge his legs apart and tug on his pajama pants.
I thought I sense him stiffen for a second, but before I can stop, he melts against me. He presses himself up into my body and rubs the bulge in his pants against my knee. The fatigue in my bones vanishes instantly.
When I push into him, he groans and digs his fingers into my arms; the grip of his hands mimicking the way his passage is clenching tightly around my cock. I let my forehead fall onto his and rock in and out of him, relishing the velvety heat and crushing embrace that envelopes me every time I enter him.
It's over all too soon, and I collapse on top of him, exhausted beyond belief. His breaths sound ragged next to my ear, and eventually he pushes me off of him. I sink bonelessly against the back of the couch and immediately feel my eyelids slide close.
Right before I slip under, I hear Ichigo calling my name. He mumbles something, his voice garbled and distant. I catch a word here and a word there. Something like "talk", and "why".
Then I fall into blissful slumber.
"He's the one, Nnoi," I try not to gush, but my pulse is racing and my face is flushed. My whole body is tense, restless, just bursting to announce to everyone that I've found the love of my life. I sound so fucking clichéd but I don't give a fuck.
Nnoitra rolls his eyes and snorts. I can tell that he is just playing hard to get. He can't fool me, I'm his best friend after all. We've grown up together, got kicked out of our homes together, expelled from school together. Really, the biggest difference between the two of us is that he likes tits and I don't.
"Come on." I shake his arm lightly. "I'll take you to Oblivion and buy you all the drinks you would ever want."
His eyes light up instantly even though he's still trying hard to maintain the petulant pout on his face. "Oh fine," he says finally. "I don't understand why you'd choose me to go ring shopping with ya, but whatever…ya owe me big time for this ya hear?
I leap up from my seat and drag him out of his, nearly crashing into an oncoming waitress on our way out of the cafe.
"Sorry!" I holler over my shoulder. I can't stop grinning as I run to my battered-up Camry. Nnoitra shakes his head with a baleful expression on his face and slides into the front passenger seat.
I find the perfect ring two hours later. I've read up on the 4Cs of diamonds: carat, color, cut, clarity, and this one fits everything I have in mind. I can't wait to see his face when he opens the box this weekend. I have everything planned. The hotel, the special members-only wine-tasting event, the dinner reservation, the speech. Every fucking detail down to a T.
That night, Nnoitra burns a hole in my wallet. We have a great time at Oblivion, one of the poshest nightclubs in the city. A quarter to midnight, I tell him that I need to leave.
"You've turned into a pussy, ya know?" Nnoitra drawls, shoving a finger in my face accusingly.
I grin. I know I have, and I'm not ashamed of it. My wild days are over. Nnoitra may still enjoy the lifestyle, but after I found him, it doesn't appeal to me anymore. I prefer to stay home, cuddle up with him in front of the television. He'd make me the thickest, sweetest hot chocolate in the world and give me a back rub every night.
I can honestly say that I'm the happiest man alive.
So I ignore Nnoitra's rants and leave him at the nightclub. I'm not worried about him. He's a big boy, he'll get home safely, probably with a chick or two in tow.
He's waiting for me in the living room when I let myself into our apartment. It's a small one-bedroom place; tiny but meticulously neat because of his obsession with cleanliness. He jumps off the couch and greets me with a deep kiss that makes me all hot and bothered immediately. I push him against the wall, but he holds me at an arm's length and demands that I take a shower before I touch him.
When I come out from the bathroom, he's lying on our bed; his glasses gone, his legs spread elegantly across our silk sheets. How he manages to make such a lewd action look so graceful, I have no idea. I fling my towel on the floor and crawl over to him, licking and nipping on his legs and torso and neck as I go closer and closer to his lips.
After a while, he flips us around and sinks down between my legs. I close my eyes and groan loudly as he takes me in deep into his throat. His moist, silky mouth brings me to the brink within seconds, and then he moves back up and lowers himself on me. I don't last very long. He knows exactly what I want and what I like.
I came minutes later, gasping and moaning beneath him as he follows suit. I pull him into my arms and hold him tightly against my chest, ignoring the mess between us. Right as the last tremor runs through my body, I murmur his name into his ear, my voice hoarse and a little breathless, just the way he loves it.
As he slowly drifts off, his body still sprawled on top of mine, I rehearse the speech in my head. I thread my fingers through his shoulder-length hair as I mutter softly, practicing the words, my pledge to love him and cherish him for the rest of our lives.
I hope he says yes.
To be continued…
I'm sure you're all freaking out and going "wtf who is that who is that who is that"…at least I hope you are! It's a flashback in the form of a dream, in case it's not clear. So I gave you TWO insights into Grimmjow's past, which, hopefully, will fuel even more speculation, muahahahahaha! *evil glint in the eyes*