Grimmjow was so screwed. He'd had infatuations before, though not many and not recently, and this… This felt like one of those but with the intensity turned up to max. He felt giddy with it, stupid and younger than he'd felt in a long time. They'd been holed up in Ichigo's room for going on three full days (he'd arrived in the evening, and it was the morning of the third day) now—he'd promised to make it the best three days of Ichigo's life, but he hadn't expected it would be the best of his, too. But, Mad Creator, he didn't want it to end.
He'd never been through a juramento like this; not even his own had passed in such a haze of passion and pleasure. Ichigo was everything he'd ever wanted in a bed parter—sensual, adventurous, more than a little submissive but so very fiery at the same time. Also, he was just so hot—that body, those eyes, the way he moved, the way he talked… Everything about him, even his oddly bright hair.
He was also, as far as Grimmjow could tell, not a bad match for him in other ways, not that they'd really spent all that much time talking. Both of them were hot-tempered, so they would probably fight a good bit, but Grimmjow would rather have that than some passive-aggressive bullshit. And hey, he was still waiting for that rematch, so he and Ichigo could settle their differences that way if all else failed. That would be great, to have a lover who was a true equal in terms of physical strength and spiritual power.
He knew Ichigo thought so, too, since he'd confided to Grimmjow about how his previous relationship had gone, how much he'd worried that he might hurt his woman by accident. And the Would-Be God knew, he'd shied away from relationships for similar enough reasons, though in his case accident was not really what concerned him. But he and Ichigo could throw each other around as much as they wanted, out on the sands or at home in the bedroom. Ichigo wouldn't need to treat him like glass, and if Grimmjow lost his temper it would be bad but not a complete disaster. They were both sturdy enough that they couldn't damage each other too badly in the heat of the moment, whatever kind of heated moment it was.
Plus, he just plain liked Ichigo. Unlike the rest of his Shinigami compatriots, he was… Grimmjow didn't know how to put it. He was laid-back in a way they weren't, even though he was actually a little high-strung. It was more that wasn't into all that fancy, formal, ritualized bureaucracy that the Shinigami apparently got off on. In fact, he seemed to hate it almost as much as Grimmjow did.
Ichigo, like Grimmjow, wasn't the type to let anything get in his way once he'd decided on something. From what Ichigo had told him of his career with the Shinigami military, it was fairly similar to his own in that it involved a startlingly quick rise to the upper ranks.
Their chain of command had warped around Ichigo, Grimmjow understood—Ichigo wouldn't really do what anybody told him if he disagreed with it, so he wasn't really even in the chain of command; he answered only to the Captain-Commander, or, temporarily, Mission Commander Kuchiki. They'd created a special position just for him.
It amazed Grimmjow that they let him stay at all, if half the events Ichigo had alluded to were as dramatic as the sounded. Grimmjow suspected that the reason was something like he was just too strong for them to risk alienating him without neutralizing him, and he was too well-liked for them to do that without a serious scandal. Ichigo, Grimmjow was sure, irritated everyone he met and then proceeded to charm the pants off them (if not literally, for reasons Grimmjow still didn't quite understand.)
The point was that Ichigo was his own man, the same as Grimmjow was. He'd like to meet this Captain-Commander Kyoraku someday; he sounded like a smart man. Ichigo was too stubborn and too principled to follow orders that he disagreed with, but Kyoraku had managed to keep him on their side by putting him in a position where he had a lot of discretion with regard to his own actions but no command of his own, so he didn't have any subordinates he could get into trouble by making them oppose an order from somewhere else that he didn't like.
The fact that Ichigo was such a troublemaker did make Grimmjow think, though, that the Shinigami might be willing to post him to to their new, remote embassy. He might be a serious combat asset, but a wildcard like that was a liability, too, and he imagined that getting him out from underfoot might take a load off the Captain-Commander's mind.
But would Ichigo want to come to Hueco Mundo for the foreseeable future? He might, Grimmjow thought. Since Ichigo's life was spread between two planets, he wasn't as attached to either of them as he would be if it was wholly on one. He would likely handle a relocation to Hueco Mundo better because of it, especially if a couple of his friends got posted here as well, although preferably not that handsy Abarai. Also, he did have family here, and a very interesting family history to learn about, as well a whole cultural heritage he knew almost nothing about.
Ichigo was not temperamentally suited to being a diplomat, for all his charm, but perhaps he could head the embassy's security? Something like that, anyway.
Here he was, getting ahead of himself. Way, way ahead of himself. Realistically, the chances that Ichigo would remain on Hueco Mundo were low. He had friends and family to get back to, a life and ambitions of his own. He knew he and Ichigo could be something great, but it would be insane for Ichigo to give everything he had up for a man he'd just met. Not just any man—a Jaegerjaques, possessed of that infamous temper and no real experience in romantic relationships. Grimmjow might look like a great catch in terms of money and status
"Mmm, watcha thinkin' about?" Ichigo asked sleepily, stirring beside him.
"You," Grimmjow answered, his worries instantly falling away as he looked down at Ichigo's sleepy-eyed, pillow-creased face and hoped own his smile didn't look too goofy.
Ichigo smiled back, soft and pleased, looking at him in that way he did now and then, so impossibly warm. It made Grimmjow's chest hurt and he couldn't get enough of it.
Ichigo shifted, tossing the covers off himself and stretching theatrically, displaying his naked body for Grimmjow to admire. He rolled onto his belly and made himself comfortable, wiggling around in a way that drew Grimmjow's eyes to his lovely ass, as it was clearly meant to do. He looked up, a confident smirk playing about his lips, then asked, "What about me?"
Then his stomach growled and he buried his face in the pillow with a little embarrassed sound.
"I'm hungry," he said, but it was so muffled as to be nearly unintelligible.
Grimmjow sighed his displeasure, and Ichigo lifted his face with a raised eyebrow. "What's your problem?"
"If ya got yer appetite back, yer back to normal," Grimmjow explained mournfully. "Means they're gonna throw me outta here, soon."
Ichigo's brow drew down, considering. "I do feel better physically. I think my fever's gone. I ache all over, but that's probably all down to what you and I have been doing. I do still want to have sex with you, though… Like, a lot. But I suppose I don't feel like I'll die if I don't get it—oh! That's different!"
"What?" Grimmjow asked.
"Now I want to fuck you, too," Ichigo answered, grinning. "Ah, I am getting back to normal! Good, good."
Grimmjow blinked, taken aback. Ichigo had hinted at this before, but… He had never in his life heard of any officer letting his sworn man do such a thing—any continuation of a physical relationship was moderately unusual, except of course if one selected a brazo derecho, but a physical relationship that involved such a reversal of roles was unheard of. Even among the less tradition-bound civilians, if a physical relationship continued after el juramento was over, it stayed in the same pattern.
As for relationships between two men that had nothing to do with el juramento, such reversals were still not at all the norm. It was outré, the kind of exotic activity young artists and students got up to together. Usually, if he understood correctly, the practitioners of those kinds of relationships were age-mates and equals in rank. Even that in and of itself was abnormal—the whole concept of men and men together among Arrancar was centered around the idea of el juramento, even when it wasn't actually involved.
Grimmjow was not opposed to being outré on principle, and anyway it wasn't like anybody had to know the specifics. But the idea of doing just what he'd asked Ichigo to do that first morning—putting himself in another's hands like that—made him really uncomfortable. He didn't like the thought of being so vulnerable, so exposed. He wasn't shy about his body, about anything it was or did, but… what if something weird happened? Something gross? He'd been involved in such mishaps before and it had been embarrassing enough for him even though he wasn't the one malfunctioning in such a thoroughly mortifying way.
But if he set that fear aside (if Ichigo could do it, so could he), he had to admit that some parts of the idea were appealing. He liked the idea of Ichigo on top of him; liked the idea of seeing a different side to him than the slutty, submissive side that he'd come to know so well (and enjoy so much) recently. He'd had hints of that other side, especially his last day or so—Ichigo had been more aggressive with him, and Grimmjow was willing to admit he thought it was hot. But while allowing himself to be held down and ridden was playfully transgressive, actually allowing himself to be… entered… was another thing altogether. He'd need to think about it some more.
"Is that common for you Shinigami? To go either way?" Grimmjow asked.
"It's common for Humans. The norm, I think. Shinigami… not traditionally, but it's common nowadays," Ichigo answered. He bit his lip, looking away. "Do you not… not like it?"
"Well, I haven't done it in half a century, so I don't really know," Grimmjow answered truthfully. "I know I have liked it, at one time and another."
Ichigo looked hopeful, and Grimmjow didn't want to disappoint him.
"It ain't normal for us—we tend to stick with one arrangement. In fact, it's pretty much unheard of to switch around like yer sayin'… But I'll think about it."
Ichigo looked a little disappointed anyway. With a small frown, he asked, "Will you really think about it, or is that just a polite 'no?'"
"Me, polite? I'll really think about it. Ya know I don't care too much about what 'the done thing' is," Grimmjow promised him.
"What about just a little reminder? You can't consider it properly if you don't have enough data," Ichigo suggested with a teasing little smile.
Kind of nervous and irritated with himself for it, Grimmjow asked, "What did ya have in mind?"
"I was just thinking that lunch could wait," Ichigo said, "Because there's something else I'd like to do with my mouth."
Ichigo got to his knees and crawled over to where Grimmjow was sitting and licked a line of messy kisses up the side of his neck, up to his ear, where he whispered, "Let me suck your dick one more time. And while I do it, I'll touch you with just this one little finger."
He pressed his ring finger to Grimmjow's lips and he granted it entrance, automatic, unthinking, and sucked at it languidly.
Any plan that involved Ichigo's wickedly fucking talented mouth on his dick was a good plan. Seriously, the guy gave great head, and he loved doing it. He couldn't even begin to rank his memories of these past days in terms of relative hotness, but Ichigo moaning around his dick while he sucked it slow and messy, just the way Grimmjow liked, with his hands clasped behind his back just the way Grimmjow had told him, holding off from touching his own stiff, red, copiously leaking cock expressly because Grimmjow had told him to was one he'd remember for a long time.
Grimmjow licked his lips and said, "Yeah, alright. We can try it."
Ichigo favored him with a small smile, clearly pleased. "It'll feel good, I promise."
Just then, there was a muffled beeping coming from the other side of the room. It was just loud enough for Grimmjow to hear, and he wished he hadn't heard it if it was what he thought it was.
He put a hand on Ichigo's chest and pushed him away, then glumly told him, "Your communicator is beeping."
"It is?" Ichigo said, adopting a listening pose, his head cocked to one side. After a moment he said, "You've got good ears; I can't hear it. Where's it coming from? It's still on my shihakusho, I think, but I dunno where that is."
Grimmjow pointed to the gap between the folding screens that led to the sitting area, where both sets of clothes had lain, discarded, since the first night.
"Is it still doing it?" Ichigo asked, a bit plaintively, as if he was hoping it had stopped and he wouldn't have to answer it.
"Yep."
He sighed and got off the bed, padding over to the other part of the room. As he went, he commented bemusedly, "Have we really been naked for three days?"
Grimmjow laughed at that. "Yes, yes we have, and I wouldn't mind another week of it."
"Me either," Ichigo called, his voice audible over the rustling of clothes. The beeping grew louder, and a second later he heard him say, "Kurosaki here."
"Kurosaki, this is Yamada. How are you feeling?"
Ichigo had walked back to the doorway and was looking at Grimmjow, mixed amusement and irritation evident on is face as he answered, "Pretty good, actually, though I was about to try and improve on that. What's up?"
"Sorry to interrupt. I'm glad to hear you're feeling better," Yamada replied. "Your vitals are looking good—I think you're cured. We'd like you to report to the main infirmary so we can check you out."
Ichigo's face fell so quickly it was comical, and Grimmjow had to grin, cocky and pleased. Ichigo didn't want to be cured, he wanted to stay in bed with him—what higher compliment was there?
"Fine," Ichigo said, "When?"
"Now would be good," Yamada replied. "The Arrancar want their Sexta back."
Ichigo briefly surveyed himself, scratching at a flaking patch of dried come on his belly from earlier this morning, before their nap. "Give me ten minutes?"
"That's fine. See you soon. Yamada out."
Ichigo sighed. "I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed."
"Want me to join you?" Grimmjow offered, hoping for a last quickie.
"No," Ichigo replied with another sigh, walking over to where Grimmjow was standing beside the bed.
"I don't want to be late, sorry. But maybe they'll tell me I need just a few more hours of pheromone exposure or whatever," Ichigo offered hopefully, then stepped in close, nuzzling the join of Grimmjow's neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply.
"I don't think so. But we already decided that the last time here wasn't the real last time, right?" Grimmjow pointed out, hoping his sudden swell of nerves didn't show in his voice. "I gotta have ya in my bed one of these nights. And I wanna take ya out some time, show ya that they don't call this place 'Las Noches' for no reason."
Magnanimously, Grimmjow offered, "We can even take some o' yer friends along, make a night of it, if any o' them are itchin' for a real party after these endless boring diplomatic receptions the way I am."
"A real party, huh?" Ichigo echoed, looking interested despite himself.
"Yeah. All the visitors say we throw a good party," Grimmjow answered. "I wanna see ya dance, Kurosaki, and I wanna see ya dressed for a night on the town. Mmm, I'll help ya with that one, show ya what someone like you wears for a night out with someone like me. We can go with whoever ya want to a couple clubs and… Oh, hey, ya haven't tried kestra yet, have ya?"
Ichigo shook his head. "Rangiku said she liked it, though. I dunno, I've never been into drugs…"
"Me either," Grimmjow answered. It wasn't strictly true, but he wasn't into drugs anymore, so it was true enough. "It's not a drug, it's kestra. It's just a plant… We got drugs and it ain't one of 'em. An' ya drink alcohol like the rest of yer Shinigami, don't ya?"
Ichigo laughed and said, "Well, not quite like them, the bunch of drunks, but yeah, I drink."
"It's the same thing, just different. Pretty much everybody smokes it on the weekends, to relax an' have fun. Plus it don't make ya sleepy or nauseous. Gives ya a little more energy for dancin'… and for other things."
"Whether or not I take any, I can't dance here! I don't know any of the steps!" Ichigo protested.
Grimmjow grinned back, feeling the expression spreading, lascivious and wolfish, across his face. "It ain't that kinda dancin'. I assure you, ya know the steps just fine."
Grimmjow licked his lips, envisioning a flushed and sweating Ichigo on the dance floor, working his hips to the beat, having lost his shirt somewhere along the way, wearing only a pair of tight leather pants and a silver cuff on his wrist, marking him as taken, marking him as Grimmjow's. It was a beautiful vision, as was the idea ditching the rest of the party and taking Ichigo to a few of the more interesting private clubs of his acquaintance. Alas, that might be a bit too advanced for Ichigo, yet. In time, perhaps. In time, if Ichigo came back to him…
Grimmjow pulled Ichigo to him, holding him tight. He was so fucking gone on this kid that he didn't know what to do with himself other than hold on as hard as he could for as long as he could. He didn't want Ichigo to go. He wanted to stay here forever in this glorious little bubble world the two of them had made.
Ichigo returned the embrace just as tightly, clinging to him, and they stayed like that for a long moment. When Ichigo began to pull away, Grimmjow let him go, and saw those eyes looking up at him, milk-chocolate melty and just as sweet. Fucking devastating, those eyes… Breaking him open every damn time.
Hands still warm on Grimmjow's waist, eyes still warm on Grimmjow's face, Ichigo said, "I'm sure we can say goodbye after this. Will you wait here? I don't think I'll be long in the infirmary, it seems pretty straightforward."
Grimmjow just nodded, unable to do anything else as Ichigo stepped back and out of his hold, turning away. Ichigo grabbed a fresh black uniform out of a small closet and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The small 'snick' it made filled Grimmjow with a queasy dread.
And with that, it was over. This interlude, this interstice in the endless, everyday grind was over, and he'd have to get back to his life, starting now. All things came to an end, he knew, and from the cultural exchange they'd been doing with the Shinigami, he also knew that they thought that such transience was the key to true beauty. To bloom and fall, perfect 'til the too-soon end, was better than to bloom and fade, clinging to the tree but withering—that was a central feature of Shinigami aesthetics. Grimmjow couldn't decide whether he agreed with it or not. He thought perhaps not.
And realistically, he knew that he couldn't spend the rest of his life holed up in here with Ichigo. It wouldn't be practical, and he'd probably want to do other stuff eventually. But he wasn't ready for it to end, dammit! Usually at the end of el juramento he was ready to get back to his life, bored of fucking his young bedmate and eager to get on with his business. Not this time, though. He couldn't even imagine what getting bored with Ichigo would entail—they had barely begun to explore each other. This flower need not fall yet. Surely, it was nowhere near the point of withering.
Grimmjow sighed, a little disgusted with himself for going so soft over this kid, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to wish he had tried harder to keep his distance. It was still worrying, though—if he felt this unsettled now, what was he going to do when Ichigo left the planet? In less than a month's time, barring some miracle that made him stay, he'd be headed off to his home, over a thousand lightyears away.
It was going to hurt, and hurt like nothing had in decades. And still, even knowing this, all he wanted was a few more minutes with Ichigo in his arms. Even knowing this, he had no real desire to try and gain what distance he could to minimize the impact when Ichigo left. He'd keep the hurt, he'd endure it willingly if it meant he could keep the way it felt when Ichigo had looked up at him that first morning, touching his face like he was made of spun gold; if it meant he could keep the way it felt to wake up with Ichigo in his arms.
Oh, my reckless Grimmjow, a voice inside his head that sounded suspiciously like his mother, sad and proud, asked, what have you gotten yourself into? He shook his head, trying to clear it away. This was no occasion for pride; he was being a sap and an idiot, and it was stupid at best and dangerous at worst. Siding with feelings over reason was all well and good for stories, but he knew what it got people in real life. He knew what it had gotten her, anyway—it had gotten her killed.
Maybe he was overstating the situation, all abuzz with hormones, still giddy from the aftereffects of so much good sex. Maybe he'd feel better once he got a little distance, Grimmjow thought, a few days away from those molten eyes and that intoxicating mouth, from that lithe body that felt so good against him. Yeah, right. Sure.
Fuck, but he was stupid sometimes.
Ichigo turned the water on, and since he didn't have stripping to occupy himself with while it warmed up, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, cataloging the marks he'd accumulated on his body over the past three days. They were many—his hips were mottled with bruises, overlapping fingerprints, so many that it was hard to tell what they even were. His neck was even worse—he loved being bitten there, and Grimmjow had been more than willing to indulge him, even to the point where a few of the bites weren't just bruises, but the red half-moons of lightly broken skin. There were both kinds of bite marks peppering his whole body, too—it was something of a shared kink, it seemed.
He turned, craning his neck to see what he could of his back in the mirror. His tops of his shoulders were covered in hickeys and bites, nearly to the same degree as his neck—what a giveaway those were, the teeth marks on the nape of his neck. No question about what exactly he'd been doing lately. And yep, his ass was spectacularly bruised, too. Yesterday, Grimmjow had made a crack about putting Ichigo over his knee and spanking him, which hadn't got him the laugh he'd been angling for at all. The memory of what had happened after that brought a blush to Ichigo's cheeks, and he reflected that he'd never been with someone so spontaneous and willing to experiment before.
He'd never imagined they could cover so much ground in such a short time, and yet it felt like they had barely scratched the surface of what they could do together. These past days, he'd learned a lot about a subject he'd thought he understood—his own sexuality. After that, ah, spanking thing yesterday, Grimmjow had (quite belatedly, the jerk) decided to inform him that he couldn't blame how much he enjoyed it on el juramento. Nor could he blame much of what he'd been trying to pass off to both Grimmjow and himself as symptomatic of el juramento on the condition—in was true in a sense that el juramento made one crave submission, but only in that allowing oneself to be penetrated constituted submission for a man in Arrancar culture.
His desire for that act itself was the only thing that could be truly blamed on his biology. El juramento was perhaps partially to blame—apparently it could enhance existing submissive tendencies because of the way it left the empujador feeling out of control. Some people reacted to that uncertainty by craving the reassurance that came from having someone they trusted in control. However, that was hardly exculpatory in the way he'd originally thought. In fact, it was kind of embarrassing.
Grimmjow had laughed at how horrified he'd been, but only until he realized the true extent of Ichigo's distress at the revelation. Then he'd dismissed Ichigo's shame in that casual way he had that should have been infuriating but was actually kind of comforting, assuring him that such preferences were just part of being an adult among the Arrancar. Ichigo still wasn't sure if he believed him that 'dominant, submissive, or switch?' was a perfectly normal getting-to-know you question here on Hueco Mundo, but he was sure that he believed him that Grimmjow didn't think ill of him for it.
Nor did Grimmjow seem to expect him to be like that all the time, which was equally a good thing. One big reason Ichigo had always been so afraid of revealing that kind of preference was that he didn't want to license high-handedness or condescending behavior outside the bedroom, nor did he want to always be expected to play the submissive in it. Variety, Ichigo thought, was very much the spice of life. He did in fact have an aggressive, dominant side, though he'd suppressed it even more thoroughly than his submissive streak out of fear of going too far.
He'd even brushed up against it a few times during the juramento, especially in the last day as the two of them became more comfortable with one another. He smiled at the thought of how much Grimmjow seemed to like it when he got aggressive—he wouldn't have expected how game Grimmjow was to let him run the show, but so long as certain lines weren't crossed, he was all for it.
Oh, he played at not liking it, but even Ichigo could tell it was just for form's sake. It was just a game, for Ichigo to 'overpower' him—though whether the game could be made a little more real when they weren't stuck in a tiny metal room on a fragile spaceship was an intriguing question. The idea was simultaneously frightening and really damn hot. He could imagine how intensely heady it would be to rip Grimmjow's clothes off his body with the adrenaline of a fight—or at least a round of heavy sparring—still surging through his body. He wasn't sure if he trusted himself enough, but he did trust Grimmjow to knock some sense into him if he got too out of hand.
If that happened, he knew he wouldn't settle for what he'd been given so far. He wanted Grimmjow's legs wrapped around his waist out on one of the sand dunes outside of Las Noches, wanted to see the moonlight turn his skin milky-pale, both of them battered and bloody and flying high. He wanted to feel the too-tight grip of Grimmjow's body around him, wanted to see him come apart, wanted to see him come with Ichigo's cock inside him and Ichigo's marks on his skin. Ichigo bit his lip—maybe a cold shower would be better.
As he stepped under the spray (warm after all); his lingering arousal faded away, turning to anxiety as he considered the reaction of the doctors and his friends to the bruising. They wouldn't see the ass—or at least he hoped he wouldn't get stripped and examined, and his friends certainly wouldn't see that part—but the neck was bad enough on its own, especially as there were, along with the bites, some other bruises that were clearly identifiable as fingerprints if you were looking. That was not going to go over real well… Maybe no one would notice it, he thought hopefully. Fuck, but it had been worth it, though—he'd come so hard when Grimmjow had taken the pressure off his neck and the base of his cock at the same time, the rush of oxygen and orgasm combining to produce a truly spectacular high.
Oh, and there was that one deeper bite just above and to one side of his wrist that would be clearly visible whenever his sleeve slipped, plus its accompanying constellation of hickies. He could make up a story to explain that to people who didn't know what happened… maybe, if he got really creative… but for the ones who did, he'd have to tell each and every one of them that Grimmjow hadn't hurt him any way Ichigo hadn't specifically asked for. Yeah, that was gonna be super fun. Yay.
If Renji wasn't still mad at him, or even if he was, Ichigo would probably have to physically restrain him for long enough to explain to prevent him tearing off to pick a fight. Rukia, too. And then they'd be concerned. Ugh; this was going to be terrible. His friends were going to think he was nuts and/or being abused.
The biting and the choking and all the other stuff along the same lines had felt so right, so normal with Grimmjow. Not once had Grimmjow shied away from him, put off by something Ichigo had suggested, nor had Grimmjow ever frightened him with his desires or his general air of intensity. When it was just the two of them, it all seemed perfect.
Grimmjow was hardly unscathed from their encounter, though he wasn't as bruised as Ichigo. Ichigo had been shocked when he'd realized how sharply his fingerprints had shown up on Grimmjow's wrists from where Ichigo had held him down, but Grimmjow genuinely hadn't seemed to mind, nor had he protested his own share of bites or the long and multitudinous scratches on his back where Ichigo's fingernails had dug in while he held on. If anything, he seemed to like the marks. When the rest of society hadn't been involved, Ichigo had liked his, too.
He got the impression that the Arrancar, on the whole, didn't find sex that left you with souvenirs on your skin to be particularly unusual or kinky, although maybe it was just Grimmjow who was so nonchalant. But from what he'd said they were definitely more relaxed about sex in general than either Shinigami or Humans, and they just seemed a little more rough—a little less civilized—than either of the others as well, so it stood to reason that Ichigo's spectacular bruising would be considered par for the course among them.
Washed and rinsed, Ichigo stepped out of the shower and dried off, putting on a fresh shihakusho and pinning his communicator to it. It felt a little strange to be wearing clothes—he couldn't believe he'd spent three whole days without them! That was ridiculous. Ah, it had been great, though. He was glad to be rid of his fever and weakness, but he wished he had more time—he really did feel like he and Grimmjow had only scratched the surface of learning each other.
Grimmjow still wasn't dressed, which made sense since he was probably waiting to use the shower as well, though he'd recovered a small overnight bag that Ichigo hadn't even known he brought with him.
"Yer a Shinigami again," Grimmjow commented upon seeing him in his shihakusho.
"I never stopped being one," Ichigo replied with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, ya kinda did." Grimmjow disagreed, giving him a deliberate once-over, "I can't imagine any o' those black-clad bureaucrats bein' as feisty as you, pequeña ramera. Ya fuck like an Arrancar, that's for sure."
"Do you know how any other Shinigami do it? And they're—we're—not all like Byakuya, you know. We just didn't bring any other troublemakers along to do diplomacy," Ichigo told him. He wondered how Grimmjow and the Eleventh Division would get along. Either really well or really badly, and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to tell which it was, as both would involve a lot of violence.
"I don', an' I don' care to find out," Grimmjow said, looking away, ruffling the back of his hair with his hand. "I'm sure none o' the others would be near as good."
Ichigo grinned, pleased both at the compliment and by Grimmjow's embarrassed delivery. The smile fell away, though, as his thoughts turned back to the resumption of reality.
"Hey," he said, "I've got to go. I'll be back soon."
'Soon' turned out to be a little optimistic. More than half an hour later, Ichigo officially had a clean bill of health as well as today and tomorrow on medical leave to recover from his ordeal. He was done with el juramento—no fever, and his hormones were back to normal levels—well, normal for a guy who'd just spent three days doing nothing but having sex. The thorough and, at times, mortifying exam had not revealed any lingering effects of his experience. He opened the door to his infirmary room, but came up short when he found that it had been straightened up in his absence and was now Grimmjow-less. His clothes were gone from the floor, too. Ichigo's heart sank—he really had wanted to say goodbye or at least have a parting kiss or something.
He felt… quite insulted that Grimmjow had just left, slipping out while he had his back turned. Hurt, even.
Then he spotted the note on the table, which mitigated his distress a bit. He picked it up and opened it, noting that the handwriting was awful. With some difficulty, he read:
Ichigo—
My escort off this boat showed up while you were off getting medical things done to you. I told them I wanted to wait for you to come back, but they had one of my guys with them, and he told me there's some idiocy happening in Defense at this very moment—apparently military intelligence really is a contradiction in terms. I've got to go put out some fires, and I figured we wouldn't be able to have a proper goodbye (i.e. getting you back out of that grim reaper suit) with this lot out in the hallway, anyway.
Do you have access to our comms system? If so, you can contact me at
91/2742.4872a
If not, I'm sure I'll see you around.
Don't forget you owe me a real fight.
G
And so, it ended with a note. He didn't doubt Grimmjow's word that his hasty departure had been both reluctant and required, but it was still a let-down. An anticlimax. It was silly, Ichigo supposed. What would he have said, if he could? 'Thank you?'
Perhaps. He'd learned just a bit ago in his visit to Hanataro that in addition to volunteering to serve as Ichigo's fideicomissario, Grimmjow had been the to first figure out what was wrong with him and bring it to the attention of Captains Kuchiki and Unohana. Ichigo was sure that Unohana would have figured it out eventually—if nothing else, she'd have had to consult with the doctors in Las Noches sooner or later, and they would have figured it out. And if Grimmjow hadn't volunteered, they'd have found someone else, so it wasn't exactly the case that Grimmjow had saved his life, but then again it sort of was.
Ichigo shuddered at the thought of that, of someone else. No, literally—he felt an odd sensation, like a flush only it was ice cold instead of warm, and he shivered violently. The idea felt wrong, utterly wrong. He imagined the Primera's hands on him, Ulquiorra's, and the idea repelled him as thoroughly as if he was thinking of banging a giant cockroach, even though there was nothing particularly repulsive about either of them.
How odd. Was it just Arrancar? He remembered fantasizing extensively about Renji and Byakuya (honestly, Byakuya? This el juramento thing had seriously messed with his taste, or at least that was his story and he was sticking to it) before Grimmjow had shown up. The notion wasn't quite as repellent, but neither of them seemed especially appealing. Not like Grimmjow.
At any rate, neither Renji nor Byakuya would have been able to help him. It would have had to be some Arrancar, some stranger, probably. Ichigo wouldn't have liked that; he wouldn't have liked it at all. When they'd first met, Grimmjow had struck him as abrasive, aggressive, and a bit of a dick, but essentially trustworthy. Ichigo had trusted his instincts, and like usual, they hadn't let him down.
The thought of being so vulnerable in front of someone he'd never even met and didn't trust even provisionally was inherently repulsive. He felt like he'd been given something wonderful these past days, but like that, with a stranger, he knew he would have felt like something being taken from him. Instead of getting something he'd already wanted in quantities and flavors he hadn't dared wish for, it would have been…
Ichigo didn't know what to call what could have been, if not for Grimmjow. The word that sprang most readily to mind seemed an overstatement, but the the deep revulsion and retroactive fear he felt at the idea belied that measured judgement. He definitely owed Grimmjow some form of thanks.
What should he do, send a note? He snorted a laugh. Maybe he should sent a bouquet? That would be even sillier. A fruit basket? No, definitely not.
Maybe just coming right out and saying it would be the thing to do. Telling Grimmjow how much Ichigo appreciated what he'd done would normally be just the thing, but he had a feeling Grimmjow would make light of it, brush it off, not least because he wouldn't know what else to do with gratitude like that. Ichigo would have to think about it some more.
After all, he didn't have much else to do for the next couple days but think things over. From what Unohana had said, that was exactly what he was meant to do. He was physically well enough to resume his duties immediately—he'd been more bruised and sore than this (if in different places and for different reasons) many times and not gotten medical leave. But Unohana had seemed to think it was important for him to process his experience. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, though.
What was he supposed to think about? Probably not the texture of Grimmjow's hair (soft, fine, and fluffy) or the way he smelled (spicy, strange, alien yet so achingly familiar) or the way he kind of purred when he was very content. Definitely not the shape of his hipbones or the feeling of his mouth on Ichigo's neck or the way he sounded when he came.
With a sigh, Ichigo tucked Grimmjow's note into his shihakusho and began the walk back to his quarters. He knew he should be ecstatic that he was back to normal; healthy, rational, in control and independent. Instead he uneasy, unsettled, and unsure what to do with himself. This enforced medical leave was not going to be enjoyable, he feared. Instead of feeling like he was free at last, he just felt alone.
