Chapter 9: Boys Do Fall in Love

A/N: Mature contents ahead.

Tuesday has come. Monday has been brief and uneventful so, to somehow dispel that, he vows to make something out of this day. He heads back to his dormitory, and sure enough, Grimmjow Jaggerjack is emptying his duffel bag on his bed.

"Yosh, sempai, welcome back." Ichigo greets, his eyes determined to miss the senior's.

"Yosh." The senior waves back.

"You gonna participate in the run-through later?"

"I'm still in no mint condition, but I'll be there to play a little, definitely."

"That would be nice. I just checked in if you've signed out from the infirmary, and I forgot my math assignment somewhere." Ichigo says as he rummages his study table.

"I see. I'll just be in the stadium. Coach is screaming for me, they say."

"There." Ichigo says, finally getting his hands on his missing homework. "I'll see you later." He says and hops his way to the door.

"Ichigo."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. See you later."

...

Ichigo is walking over to his friends at the cafeteria when a pair of hands grabs him from behind, preventing him from getting his pals' attention. Without thinking twice he wrenches his collar free from the miscreant,

"What's the big idea, Renji?"

"We still have twenty gorgeous minutes 'til lunch break is over. In short, I need you to come with me."

"And why is that?"

"Well, honestly, you don't wanna know." Renji says as he starts to make his way down the deserted hall, expecting the orange-head to trail him.

"I don't wanna go to I don't wanna know." Ichigo refuses sternly.

"Okay, fine. You pushed and you pushed and now I have to admit; I submitted my English assignment half a day late, so now that git Kuchiki wants me to fetch something from the auditorium which apparently is too heavy for one bloke to carry; that is to say, you're helping me hatch it up to that bastard. And when we get to his office, we're gonna chuck it right the hell on that pretty face of his and poof! Porcelain face gone."

"You're the one who was being low on punctuality, and you have the nerve to complain?" The orange-head says as they cover several meters of distance unknowingly.

"If you wanna side on that faggot, that's fine with me."

"Geez, you're such a short-tempered son of gun, aren't you?"

"I sure am."

They enter via back door of the stage for a better access to the stock room. Inside,

"What exactly are we looking for?" Ichigo asks his friend.

"A cello. I bet the bastard is some aspiring musician or something." Renji explains, busying his hands and tossing a number of boxes to the other end of the room.

"Dumbass. There's no goddamn cello here. Do you even know what it looks like? It's almost identical to a violin; only four times larger. I can tell with one eye covered there's no goddamn cello in this stupid room."

"Why didn't you effing say so earlier? I've been searching my ass off—"

"What would you ever do without me? Tsk tsk."

But Renji freezes at the junction of the stage and the storage room. In turn, the suddenness of his action makes Ichigo bump on his back.

"What the hell is your problem? We have to find that goddamn cello, or else—"

Renji presses his palm on Ichigo's mouth violently, almost suffocating his friend, and puts up his index finger to his lips, indicating his urgent need of silence.

"Fuck!" the redhead says in a panicked whisper, "Fuck!"

"What?" Ichigo asks, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, looking half terrified and half annoyed.

Renji does not answer. Instead, he points a shaky finger at the small peeping gap at the door. Ichigo peeks through.

Kira Izuru and Hisagi Shuuhei are huddled in seclusion at the main entrance of the auditorium. To top it off, they are making out in a gradual pace, taking the time of their lives in doing so, or so it appears. With that established, Ichigo and Renji can hardly contain their aghast. They both sink down weakly to a seat, like a couple of soldiers suffering the aftermath of having been ravaged by a dozen goons.

"T—they're not, like, they're not kissing, are they?" Renji asks with trembling lips.

"No. They're making out and are fondling the hell out of each other." Ichigo answers, half his consciousness fleeing from him.

"Maybe—maybe those two are just a pair of apparitions; ya know, this place is kinda haunted—"

"Yeah and I'm a goddamn Egyptian Queen."

In time, however, they hear a door being slammed shut. Renji takes this as a signal to snatch a last peek at the audience area, to learn that Shuuhei and Kira have gone away.

"They're gone."

"Okay. The cello is right there on the stage. Let's get this over with."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"No, it's not okay!"

"Jesus, Renji, calm the fuck down. It's not like he's betrayed us or something—"

"Of course he has! That lying git—"

"Be reasonable, mate; he has a life of his own—"

"I fucking asked him if he was going out with Hisagi-sempai, and then he went all-out defensive on me with denials. And now he's making out with him!" the redhead lashes out in unreasonable indignation.

Ichigo stands there, dumbfounded. "Y-you knew—I mean, you already had an inkling before that Kira has something for Hisagi-sempai?" he asks.

"Hell yeah."

"Why—how did you notice?" the orange-head asks weakly.

"He was sending signals up and down and everywhere in between, duh. He acts so dorky when Hisagi-sempai is within 10 meters of radial vicinity and, well, they look good together, stunning in fact, can't deny that, but he could've informed me beforehand!"

"Perhaps he's not yet ready. I mean, it's a big deal, Renji."

"Perhaps."

"Are you, like, ya know, open about this stuff? I mean him being that way?"

Renji packs the cello in its case and heaves a sigh. "It's not like there's something wrong with being like that. There'd be no use shunning him or anything. I'm happy where he's happy, and, well, he could've told me earlier, so I wouldn't have to snoop around on him, painstakingly trying to figure him out. That's my one and only gripe" He finishes and he appears to have placated his former mood.

"Well, that's good."

"What about you, Ichigo, d'you think there's something wrong with that?"

Ichigo purses his lips, "No. It's perfectly fine with me."

...

The classes end at last. The seven freshmen branch out to their respective club areas after exchanging brief see-you-later's'.

Half of the team is convened inside, with coach Zaraki in the center of the commotion, towards which Ichigo sprints. Grimmjow, holding nothing against favoritism, holds out his hand for a high five.

The starting line-up is announced, and upon mention of Ichigo's name he receives a fine welcome from the team, thereby finding himself unable to contort his body to the necessary posture that spells gratitude.

The session starts with basic stretching. After 30 boring minutes of which, lifting and sprinting drills are imposed. He notices that Grimmjow and Noitora are being especially active and civil today, perhaps making up for their recent misbehavior. Shortly after, they exhaust their stamina in a full-blown match. Once again, fortune is smiling down on him, because he is teamed up again with the captain and against the vice-captain.

This time, they are given details of what is expected of them through the coach's thunderous bellowing. He then realizes that he needs quite a lot of getting used to in various team premises.

By the end of the day, every new team member becomes more or less wholly acquainted with the game essentials. At this point, Coach Zaraki has taken his leave, a few other players following his wake.

Ichigo squeezes his way to the locker room, only to realize that he doesn't wanna stuff himself in a roomful of sweaty dudes. And so he carries his feet back to the court proper and watches Noitora Jiruga throw in a series of jump-shots. He plays like a pro and is as tall as one too.

Several minutes later, a number of his teammates exit the stadium. Having ascertained this, he sticks his head to the locker room doorway to walk in on Grimmjow with only a small towel around his waist on. But before he can formulate mental opinions for the sight before him, Noitora Jiruga pushes him inside, sending him tumbling over his steps in the locker room and startling the captain.

"What in bloody fuck was that for?" The freshman blares at the vice-captain.

"You're in my way. Anyway, if you're gonna sneak around trying to get a good view of Jacky's crotch, you can—"

"Will you cut being a fucking fucker, Jiruga?" Grimmjow says through clenched teeth, evidently incensed.

"Why, captain Jacky is back to being a foul-mouthed bitch, huh?"

"A foul-mouthed bitch that's likely to murder a fucking fucker if you don't shut your goddamn trap." The captain elaborates.

"Since when have you started talking big, huh? One-on-one, right here, right now?" Noitora asks, spinning a ball with his middle finger.

Ichigo throws a nervous look at his roommate, fighting the urge to persuade him to decline. He fears that all of this only spells an impending doom, and so in no time his reserves deploy to a surfeit of disapproval,

"Are you nuts? It's way past bedtime. Ask him again when there's no reason to decline, so you don't get to accuse him of cowardice." The orange-head snarls at the senior.

"Ichigo, please step aside." He hears Grimmjow say calmly.

"What?"

"You heard me. If it's war he wants, war he shall get. I'll crush this adamant bastard right here, right now."

Noitora breaks into a shrilly, wild laughter for Ichigo to suspect that the vice-captain is within an inch of getting a seizure. Surprisingly, Grimmjow Jaggerjack joins Noitora's laughter, exuding an unparalleled amount of malice.

He knows the game ethics only too well. A one-on-one basketball match requires no audience. If anything, it forbids the presence of any spectator. The reason for that is, there's only one person at the end of each opponent, making the blame of the losing party or the glory of the winning one too personal a matter to be expounded or looked into. Come to think of it, a one-on-one match is a personal match, a highly personal match.

Ichigo shuts the stadium's entrance and stations himself outside. He can vaguely hear the continuous bouncing of the ball from where he is. It seems that not knowing what's going on magnifies the actual intensity of the situation. Waiting outside in patience and in absolute immobility, numberless things come dawning on him like arrows from afar. He wants to flee, yet he needs to stay. He wants to witness the grandness of what he's missing, but surmises that if he were permitted to do so he'd cover his eyes.

Thirty minutes ebb away. The door swings open to accommodate Noitora Jiruga and almost in the same instant Ichigo sprouts up swiftly. But he can't make out what the senior's face indicates, and the shadows are accountable for it. And so knowing nothing more than that the match has ended, Ichigo sprints back inside the stadium to find it empty. Jiruga has headed back to his dormitory without a word, leaving him weaving empty conjectures of the game's outcome.

Grimmjow is taking a shower. Ichigo discerns that the shower lever is turned into its full force, courtesy of the sound shooting out the cubicle. He must be drowning himself, he thinks. He stands worriedly and in an anticipating agitation in front of the shower cubicle. Much later, Grimmjow kicks the door open, shaking it violently down to its hinges. Aside from the listlessness in his countenance, he's wearing his complete practice attire which is, of course, drenching wet, thereby marking the likelihood of loss. Brown eyes meet blue eyes.

"I lost."

Ichigo knows better than to offer useless sympathy. "Let's go, sempai."

"I should forfeit captaincy."

Ichigo's eyes narrow to half their size. "Don't say stupid things like that. Let's get you cleaned up." He says in deliberate negligence.

"Didn't you just hear me? I lost." Grimmjow utters in a zombie trance manner.

"I heard you. Now I'm starved; let's go grab a snack."

Grimmjow doesn't appear to have heard all the freshman's attempts to digression. Instead, he sits on a bench, sticks each elbow to each knee, protracts his head to face the floor, and clasps his hair, completing a miserable spectacle. What a sorry sight he is.

Ichigo shakes his head and looks away. At length, he plants himself in front of his roommate, knees on the floor. He lays a hand on the other's lap to comfort him with what he has. Wordless and distraught, they stay there, with only the flickering incandescent lights to accompany them. As such, Ichigo doesn't notice that he's digging his senior's knee with the nail of his index finger.

But now Grimmjow grabs the freshmen's hand before raising his weary head. His tired eyes slightly frighten Ichigo, who backs away a few inches. They gaze at each other for several minutes. Slowly, the gap between them diminishes. Inevitably, their eyes close. Predictably, the senior's hands slide up to the freshman's face, as if cradling a fragile object. Gradually, the freshman reaches out to feel his senior's outer thigh. Invariably, new worlds break loose within them. Indescribably, their lips meet. Indelibly, this moment is tattooed in their minds.

Their activities are not yet over by a long shot. The rain starts to pour outside without their knowledge. Here, the senior extricates his mouth from the other's for a breath of air. It strikes him that they are not fully secured in the locker room. So he stands up unannounced and makes for the door, slamming it shut and pressing the lock, which in turn produced a hollow clunk.

"Shit. It's broken."

Ichigo shrugs his shoulders and closes in to examine the doorknob.

"It is broken; it won't lock." The freshman confirms.

Grimmjow stares at him to grope for a solution. But for a lack of response, Ichigo grabs the hem of the senior's neckline, pulling him to his face, locking him in a train of a lengthy, passionate kiss. The senior pulls away,

"Wait a sec." He excuses himself in a hurry. He then pushes a bench against the entry door, finally ensuring infinite privacy. He takes long strides over where the freshman is and doesn't pull his breaks until the younger boy's back is pinned to a locker. There ensues a dull metallic clunk. He resumes the suspended kiss with more ardor and starts pulling his drenched sleeveless shirt up his head to leave it to the mercy of the slippery floor. As he starts tugging on the freshman's raiment, threatening to snip it in two, the freshman assists him with his aim by taking it off himself. The senior cups the other's pelvic bone with his palm, stopping himself to succumb to a certain temptation which invites his hands to feel the lower regions of the freshman's torso. His grip tightens dangerously with every moan.

Ichigo traces the senior's abs with his fingertips. He explores the wondrously sculpted built of the torso with his palm. Indeed, he can feel Grimmjow's leg rubbing against his inner thigh with utmost carnal intent. Apart from it all he can feel his senior's heart thumping madly beneath his ribcage in a rhythmic unison with his. He can taste his sweat as he lets his tongue slide from his neck all the way down his hulking chest. He can hear him emit the most sensuous of gasps when he sucks portions of his neck, leaving red marks in pattern-less arrangement on his skin.

The night is far from over.

TBC

A/N: I do not know how to write lemony moments. So, forgive me for this but I do hope you get the picture.