CHAPTER 10

The expression on his face was worrying.

Grimmjow was back to looking at him like he was Lucifer.

The muscle of Ichigo's jaw twitched. The itch to take up the challenge was simmering beneath his skin. But nothing was going to be resolved here. Even Ichigo knew that by now. He turned and strode at a brisk pace - he was not running - down the corridor, dismissing the blue-haired man, and leaving him to stand there with an ineffective glare. Ichigo hadn't done anything to deserve it anyway, and he wasn't going to encourage it.

Once he rounded the corner, he did break into a run. He hoped a couple of light laps around the building would loosen him up, his mind as well as his muscles. He needed to rid himself of this energy. It wasn't the good kind. It was restless, dark, more like a dead weight dragging him down than anything.

It seemed that everything Ichigo did, said, and thought was completely wrong. It didn't matter if he said something or stayed silent. It didn't even make a difference when he tried to stay out of the way. Somehow, his very presence was enough to spark a dispute. Grimmjow really had it in for him.

Ichigo's pace increased, and by the time he reached the locker room he practically stormed into it. He was furious. Somewhere beneath the miasma of anger, he felt a pang of insult and hurt. And he was irritated that he barely understood why. Of course he was offended by the accusation that he would hit on another man's woman. But why did he care so damn much what Grimmjow thought of him?

They hated each other, so what did it shitting matter? She sure was beautiful though, and just as bat shit crazy as Grimmjow. Maybe they were good for each other.

She'd stopped and talked to Grimmjow again. Ichigo guessed he knew what Grimmjow was doing tonight. He sniffed, looking at his watch. Two hours to game time. And Ichigo hadn't hooked up in almost as many months. Maybe he should have taken her up, stepped into Grimmjow's world for a night. Ichigo rubbed a hand absently across his navel as a warm flutter let him know that part of him found the idea more appealing than he cared to admit out loud.

Ichigo blinked as he came back to the here and now. He'd been sitting on the bench in a daze for nearly ten minutes, fingers toying with the black zipper of the hockey bag at his feet. He tasked himself as he pulled the zipper open. With a huff, Ichigo stood up and began undressing, eyes focused on the imperfections on his bit of bench in the corner. He paused as he took in the knotted markings, enveloped within the polished grain. Not perfect. But strong and beautiful. His eyes traced a looping crack in the wood. It met up with one of the knots, turning it into a six. He'd never noticed that before. He glared at it. This was his piece of bench, and he couldn't even keep that much for himself.

He ignored the sounds and rustles behind him, a few players beginning to trickle through the door. He just wanted to get suited up and refocused, leave whateverthehellthatwas back in the hall where it belonged.

He started to yank off his shirt, baring his long lean torso to the cool air of the room. A smooth, tight, six pack flexed and stretched as he raised his arms and drew the shirt up. Instead of just flipping it inside out, Ichigo began to pull his arms free from the long stretchysleeves one at a time. One was about as far as he got.

He sensed, rather than saw the figure come up on him from behind.

"You're good at scurryin' around like a rat, ain'tcha?"

Ichigo wasn't prepared at all for the deep, angry rumble that seemed to blast against the back of his neck like a blistering desert sandstorm. And he wasn't ready for the powerful grip that caught his shoulder and jerked him part way around to face his aggressor.

As soon as his mind registered his predicament, Ichigo reacted, rounding on the bluenet, arms drawing up against his core to defend himself. Grimmjow was standing there, arms spread wide in exasperated anger.

"What the fuck, asshole? First you shot block me. Now yo block me?"

Ichigo's eye twitched. Grimmjow was all up in his face again, not an ounce of concern that Ichigo might just pop him one. He loomed over Ichigo, his stance making him appear even larger than he already was.

Ichigo's rust coated torpedoes were already locked and loaded. He was long since done giving Grimmjow any leeway.

"Hell's your problem, Grimmjow?" he shot back. "You get up on the wrong side of somebody else's bed again?" Ichigo's stomach tightened. Shit. That didn't sound like jealousy at all. Maybe Shinji had a point.

A short intake of air was the only warning Ichigo got before Grimmjow's fist shot out.

He latched onto Ichigo's rumpled up shirt collar, twisting the material and tugging hard, pulling him in close. There was no snarl. No fanged teeth. No attempt to make a flashy show of how angry he was. The only tell of the fire than burned beneath was that his full lips had gathered and tightened into a creased ball, every last drop of living colour squeezed out by tension.

Ichigo grimaced as he was hauled forward. He expected to be hit on the spot. But he was quite surprised when he didn't feel the impact of Grimmjow's knuckles against his jaw. Something was holding the bluenet's fist back.

But Ichigo didn't have mental resources to contemplate the larger man's motives at the moment. Grimmjow had tightened his hold, and Ichigo instantly recoiled as the heated skin of Grimmjow's hand pressed against his collar bone, sharp knuckles digging into the muscles beneath his skin.

Time slowed. Then stopped.

Grimmjow pulled harder and stepped closer. Ichigo sucked in a breath as he first stumbled forward then came up hard against the wall, bare back meeting cold cement and knocking the same breath from his lungs. The young forward's teeth ground together inside his mouth as he fought his temper, determined not to swing first. But being jerked around like a stuffed dog toy was not cool. He was getting mad now. Ichigo longed to bring his knee up to greet Grimmjow's solar plexus, double him over, then wrap his hand around his neck and pin him to the wall instead. But at the same time, every single cell in his body wanted to scamper very very far away from the man who was once again dangerously close.

Bleached blue eyes crackled with energy, barely contained. Ichigo's eyes darted between the soul shattering blue and the bloated black centres, trying to see the core of the blue solar storm, but even this close, the man behind them remained as elusive and impossible as lightening in a bottle. Lips flushed deep crimson as heat and life rushed back. All of these things, Ichigo noticed. The locker room had drawn quiet, gathered in on itself, as if waiting for an explosion, cringing in anticipation but unsure of what was coming.

Ichigo refused to break his stare as Grimmjow's eye's narrowed. He had Ichigo wrapped around his fist while they both waited for the next move.

So, why did Grimmjow feel like it was his back against the wall?

His eyes. They were deep red brown like wet hazel nut shells. The bluenet glared right into those god damn eyes as Ichigo mirrored him. Grimmjow longed to crack them and see what was inside. What did Ichigo see when he looked through them?

What the fuck was he thinking? Now that he had him pinned, he didn't know quite what to do with himself. Somewhere, and he didn't know where, the tables had turned, again. Grimmjow was still angry, but now he was suddenly feeling stuck and... fascinated? It was an odd situation. He yearned to shake the orangette until his teeth broke loose, but at the same time Grimmjow was oddly content to just hold him there, watch the subtle changes in his expression, study his sharp scowl, search his dark angry eyes.

He could happily stand there and listen to his quickened breaths, feel the vibrations of his pulse against his fist, taste the heat and anger as it radiated off of the orangette and washed over Grimmjow's lips. He really could just stand there like that. And yet, still, he wanted to throttle him good. Ichigo needed to get it, though whatever it was was remained oddly elusive to the bluenet. A confused frown brushed across his face. But it only remained for a moment. As soon as Grimmjow realized what he was doing, he glared harder at the younger man.

He was admittedly growing more flustered and confused about why he was even angry at Kurosaki. Grimmjow wasn't so gone that he couldn't see logic. Yoruichi wasn't even his girlfriend. She was just a good lay. But with those fearless chestnut brown eyes so close to his own, staring right back at him with such rooted defiance, there was nothing on earth that could make him back down. He ground his prey against the wall, already bruised knuckles burning where they made contact with his skin, imprinting into flesh, and bending bone.

Ichigo jolted.

"Don't touch me," he snapped.

Ichigo grabbed the knuckles which were binding him and wrenched Grimmjow's hand from his collar before batting it away, stunning the bluenet with his raw strength and speed. Grimmjow's eyes flashed with surprise and a surge of anxiety that shot straight to his (libido). It was a slip he couldn't afford, and he managed to recovered his composure almost instantly.

"Keep yer hands off a' my fuckin' stuff," he growled, gravelly voice lowered in warning.

Ichigo ignored the sick little thrill that sound produced, and instead of blushing, his eyes widened then narrowed in affront as a small sound escaped his throat.

His... stuff? What the hell was his problem? It didn't seem like that woman belonged to anybody.

And as if he would want any of Grimmjow's sloppy seconds.

Ichigo drew himself up to his full height, even rising to the balls of his feet in an effort to lock eyes with the taller bluenet. He was going to rip Grimmjow a new one, then tell Grimmjow where he could stick his stuff. But despite how annoyed he was by what Grimmjow had just said to him, Ichigo still hesitated. Grimmjow's fleeting expression was setting off alarms in Ichigo's mind, but for what he didn't know. How could he hold on to his anger when Grimmjow was giving him desperate looks like that? The idiot was trying to cover it with a scowl, but he still had this lost puppy face that was causing Ichigo's brain cells to scatter. His heart was thrumming a steady beat in his chest, and at the tone of his voice, a shiver of something, not quite fear, had skittered like a feather down past the skin of Ichigo's stomach and settled in his navel. Ichigo nearly flushed in alarm. He didn't know what that feeling was, but he would just add it to the growing list of things he didn't like about the bluenet and deal with it later. Maybe.

"You hearin' me, you sneaky little shit?" Grimmjow's hot breath was like fire rolling off the sun, slamming into his face and setting fire to his skin, his good will incinerating into ashes.

Screw that. And screw Grimmjow's little boy lost expression. Ichigo had no problem staying mad at him. Right now, Grimmjow's demanding attitude rated a helluvalot higher on Ichigo's list of priorities than whatever was going on in his tiny head. Ichigo would not be accused by this man or anyone else of something he did not do. He opened his mouth, intent on making that point very clear. But somehow, as it always was when he was dealing with Grimmjow, that was not quite how it came out.

"I'm only picking up what you couldn't hold onto."

"..."

Ichigo watched as Grimmjow blinked once, ultramarine eyes widening with shock and filling with murderous intentions, while the bulge of his throat jumped in time with a strangled sound of disbelief.

Ichigo cringed inside. Did he want Grimmjow to hit him? He must, or else why would he have said that?

Ichigo hadn't actually taken the girl's number in the end. And he never would have. Grimmjow must have known that. Christ, he heard everything else when he wanted to. But maybe he really didn't know. And, pressed bare back against the cold locker room wall, Ichigo was feeling a strong and growing inclination to leave it that way. He braced, waiting for the painful free-for-all that was headed his way.

But it never came.

"Ahem."

Kensei Muguruma and the Reaper's goalie, Abari Renji, strolled into the locker room after pausing in the doorway to seize up the growing situation. Kensei simply cleared his throat and regarded the both of them with a meaningful look, not expecting to have to use words for Grimmjow and Ichigo to understand what he meant. Neither man turned their heads, aware of who had entered the room, but Ichigo saw Grimmjow flinch noticeably, like an attack dog that had just received a command to release its quarry.

Ichigo's apricot brows drew up out of their frown in awe. That was a neat trick.

Though Kensei had already broken up the bulk of the argument without so much as a word, it w as Renji who spoke first. He rolled his head and sighed loudly, making it obvious that he was at the end of his own rope.

"Would you two just get a room," he groaned. All kidding aside.

Blue and orange both stiffened. The bluenet's hand fell away from Ichigo's chest, and Ichigo dropped back onto the soles of his feet, palm automatically rubbing at the skin of his collar bone, which was suddenly burning more than it should. His heart too was pitching a fit, and relief washed through him like a gust of fresh air as Grimmjow turned away.

The sexta bent to the side and grabbed his hockey bag off the floor where he'd dumped it between Ichigo and the doorway. Grimmjow was distracted enough by the redhead's comment to leave things with Ichigo be for the moment. Humour like that was far from abnormal in the men's locker room, but the suggestion still irked the bluenet in a way he wasn't prepared for. The comment had instantly filled his head with the image of Ichigo still in his grip, but pinned against the wall of a bedroom, or pressed into the sheets of a bed. He realized then, that the argument had left him (half turned on). Unless he wanted (his sudden issue) to become the subject of conversation, he had to let Ichigo go.

Grimmjow grunted as he padded by the loud-mouthed goalie, running his eyes up and down his long torso with disdain while Renji eyed him back with suspicion. The enforcer tilted his head quickly to the side with an audible crack. He was done with people getting in between him and Ichigo. Unfortunately, he couldn't injure the team's goalie, but maybe Grimmjow could just... smack him around a little.

"Hey, Grim," Kensei called, his friendly tone edged with the trademark authority that Grimmjow couldn't ignore.. "Got a pic here of my baby girl from her birthday party. Come an' see." Kensei grinned as he held up his phone. "Total cake face."

Grimmjow held Renji's gaze for a moment, then nodded at the smiling Kensei and made his way across the room, leaving Renjii to expel a long breath. Damn, but Grimmjow had left him feeling a little shaky. Not a good condition for a goaltender. As Renji rifled through his gear, he wondered how the hell Kurosaki could go up against Grimmjow like that day after day without becoming a total basket case. Renji flicked his head to the right, his gaze travelling past Shiro, to where Ichigo still stood in the corner. The kid hadn't even moved. Renji squinted as he considered the young forward. He looked like he was caught up in some internal fantasy... probably of launching himself at the Sexta... or perhaps... he wasn't very good at this, but, perhaps his expression was more that of somebody feeling the sting of rejection. That Renji was familiar with. He supposed it made a little bit of sense. Temperament aside, Ichigo was a guy who liked to get along. But he and Grimmjow were oil and water. He paused a moment, before mentally shrugging off the subject. Their problem was significant, but he had bigger things to think about right now, like protecting his goal crease.

Ichigo simmered in the corner while he watched the back of the blue-haired man head to the other side of the ring, er, locker mumbled to himself as he began to wrestle off the shirt that seemed to have become hopelessly tangled around his neck. Shiro's crackly voice floated beside his ear as Ichigo finally snapped and ripped the shirt the rest of the way off. He glared at the torn piece of fabric. Looked like he was going home shirtless.

"Ichigo, you and Grim ain't getting along again? Heh... Whassat all about?"

Ichigo spared the pale-skinned player a sideways glare. Like he didn't know. The jerk was standing right by Grimmjow went it all went down. Ichigo was set to tell Shiro to zip it, but his hard eyes softened as he took in his appearance. The cut under his eye had turned into a healthy shiner, and Ichigo didn't want to let his anger out on the guy when he was probably just asking an innocent question to be helpful. Ichigo took a breath before answering Shiro, and in hushed tones. He didn't need Bionic Ears listening in again.

Shiro listened, lending his encouragement in the form of grunts of agreement and eager nods as Ichigo let off a little steam. If Shiro had to go back out there tonight, black-eyed and stiff, he wanted the whole team behind him. Right now, Ichigo was completely out to lunch, and the warm up hadn't even started yet. After last night's performance and the guys' post game chat in the parking lot, the team knew they needed to keep an eye on the two hotheads. Until the coach decided to do something, it was up to them to at least step in discreetly. It was necessary to maintain the peace.

"The guy acts like he's our national dish," Ichigo grumbled.

A quizzical frown ghosted across Shiro's face, but he nodded in encouragement.

At the other end of the room, similar efforts were underway.

Grimmjow huffed as he cinched the belt of his dark blue hockey pants. He gave it an extra tug to tighten it around his toned and tapered waist, not an ounce of fat appearing once it was secured. The blue-haired forward continued to gripe even as he dressed. Kensei was sitting with his back to Grimmjow, out of Grimmjow's line of sight, but still present and listening with his usual patience and humour.

"Fucking guy... screws up my lay, mouths off about it, then looks at me like he ain't got a clue about nothin'."

"Ichigo did that?" Kensei asked, surprised. That's not the way Shinji had told it. He shrugged to himself. He was familiar enough with Grimmjow's temper to know that the bluenet was going to put his own Ichigo's-the-cause-of-everything-bad-in-the-world slant to the story, no matter how far from the truth it was. And no amount of arguing would dissuade him when he was in the midst of one of his pig-headed tantrums. Kensei felt a bit sorry for Ichigo, actually. Grimmjow really could be the biggest baby at times.

Grimmjow shook his head, the pointed tips of his long, blue bangs the only things loose enough to shake side to side.

"Fucking ignorant," he grumbled,

"Don't be shy Grim. Tell us how you really feel," came the bland reply.

"Che. Maybe that little bitch over there is the one I should be fuckin' t'night."

A loud snort of amusement erupted from bench level beside Grimmjow, and the bluenet turned to see what his friend found just so damn funny about that statement. It wasn't like he hadn't make comments like that about his teammates before. It was just obnoxious guy talk. Everybody did it.

A head of silver white hair popped up as Kensei abandoned his efforts to lace his skates. Grimmjow glared, but said nothing when the older man sat up straight and twisted around, catching Grimmjow's wary eye with a mischievous smirk. He brought his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

The clatter of gear and the hum of steady banter ceased, and Kensei's voice rang loud and clear through the entire room as he fearlessly repeated Yoruichi's earlier insult. The one that, although only a few people had been close enough to hear, had already circulated through the entire team and most of the arena staff.

"Three inches, eh Jaegerjaquez?" Buy now, Kensei's grin was eating his whole face.

Grimmjow's hearty scowl resisted for a moment, before it finally gave way to a cocksure smirk. His reply gained him a round of laughter and playful jeers. One person, though, tucked into the corner, quietly choked on a cough.

"Heh. Some people like it that wide."