Running. Running.
And running still.
As the morning went on, Grimmjow found his mind clear. It settled, sharpened, and he put all consideration of Aizen in the back of his mind. He'd address it once he had the belt. For now, there was a much more pressing matter to attend to once he returned: his proposal to Bao.
On one hand, it didn't seem right, if only because it was something so different for someone like him. Being bound to someone, this one person, seemed like an overstepped boundary toward his independence. He wanted her to be his, forever, and knew that while he didn't need to marry her, there was pressure. He'd already fucked up once, twice, he didn't remember—what was important was that he wanted her bound to him, some way, especially now.
She'd changed something within him, and he welcomed this—he reveled in it. He was still his own, he was still the man he was, but this time, had a part of his being fixed. She was the warmth, the love and light that he never knew he needed, to keep himself from going thoroughly cold.
He stopped running after a while, halfway through his return run back, breathing heavy, piercing eyes set on the sea. Maybe he'd get the chance to take her out on it one day. Just the two of them, enjoying everything he'd done for them, everything he'd fought for. She'd be so in love with him, she'd never want to leave, she'd see the greatness he'd achieve, and be with him until death.
His body felt heavy. Best to get back, his mind was now set.
It was only after he'd returned that Grimmjow noticed how little attention she paid to her actions around him. She had such a sensual air about her, something that made him want to show her this admittedly new, merciful side he'd found the last time she'd convinced him to make love, rather than fuck. He didn't always have the patience to do such a thing, but he gave himself a point for considering it. It was something to get used to, and the two had plenty of time to tend to it.
A few of their usual exchanges—though with overtly sexual undertones to them—and he was on her in seconds. All it took to fuel his ego was how cute she looked getting filled, manipulated, forced into submission. The pitch of her moans, the willingness, the eagerness, even as he choked her, spanked her, degraded her. He clamped his free hand over her mouth, not wanting her to get too loud, and finished deep inside her, reluctantly pulling back to watch all his love spill from her. What a good girl she'd been, he thought as he smirked at her, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead.
Because there was so much to do and so little time, Grimmjow allowed Bao to bring him around once more; the two needed to go exploring and both become closer to one another, and distance themselves from the worries that waited back home. Although Grimmjow was admittedly having fun—having a large breakfast with his lover, visiting more stores, returning to the beach—there was a nagging yet excited feeling nestled in the back of his mind.
He was still reeling from the news Ichigo had given him, and truthfully was ready to train. He wasn't scared; not at all. It's that he had never before felt such a need, such an insatiable desire to win and to show everyone who he truly was in terms of skill. He didn't deserve this chance, and was wary that he'd been given another to begin with (he had to face it: there were good things in his life that he risked losing because of his own selfishness, that he undeservedly got another shot at), but swore he'd make the most of it.
He sat near Bao in the heated sand, an endlessly blue and cloudless sky—mirroring the ocean before them—leaving the sun to warm their bodies. She absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her knee, leaned comfortably against Grimmjow.
"When we get back, we should plan another vacation." She said, wistfully. "I'm already not happy about leaving."
"We've still got time," he replied, after a moment. "But I'll see what I can do."
"That always means no." She pretended to whine, playfully pushing against him, leaned back so as to see an upside-down Grimmjow. He looked to her momentarily before pressing his lips against her forehead, softly. "When it means 'no', I'll say it." He spoke against her skin.
It was proving more and more difficult to concentrate on enjoying these moments with her when his mind was further and further from it. It was as though he could register his body enjoying it, but he wasn't there. He was focused on the fight, focused on getting back and the excitement of being welcomed by hundreds of thousands of fans, both in their homes, and in the arena. Aizen would be watching, no doubt pleased with himself for having orchestrated this despite his proclaimed innocence. Even having Ichigo watch would mean something in its own right; he'd put everything he'd learned into practice and meld it seamlessly with his own style, his own lust for violence and proving that he wasn't a man to be toyed with.
Bao, of course, would undoubtedly have newfound admiration for him; he was partially driven by the need to impress her in some fashion, and it would especially come through should he win. They'd live an even better life than now and he could only imagine her excitement…he'd be the first person to take her anywhere, buy her anything. Most importantly, however, he'd be doing this for himself. Despite what he'd been through, despite Aizen's constant attempts to undermine everything he worked for and tried to cement as his own life and proof of his freedom from Aizen's control, a win against Ken would ensure his freedom. His strength. His ability to survive on his own and assert himself as sovereign.
But before all of that, Grimmjow had to remind himself to think in the now.
To think about what was going to happen between him and this woman. The reason for this newfound awakening to what it meant to feel and feel with one's entirety. Although he still felt he wasn't entirely ready or even right for marriage, he wanted Bao to feel as though he was, through asking her. He was doing it for him, he was doing it for them. He was doing it partially because Ichigo probably would've doubted whether he could, or should have. Maybe a little bit was to show Aizen that he could lead both his own, and a "normal" life with things he didn't need that others did but didn't exist in Hueco Mundo.
Grimmjow pulled back from her just long enough to let her shift to the side and onto his lap, maintaining his silence. Bao didn't mind; he'd been so aggravated and withdrawn for so long, and she didn't expect it all to disappear the moment they'd gotten their privacy so far away. His job came first, he came first. He was in his head a lot, and simultaneously open to telling others exactly what he thought, within reason. She was one of the lucky few, being the only one, who had gotten to see the range of emotions plus the romantic, intimate aspect. She didn't push him to talk, not when he had so much to tell her that could be talked about later. She wanted him to do so whenever he pleased, but admitted she was curious when he'd do so. It could be that day, or six hours from then, or weeks after she'd long forgotten to prod him about his past and about his thought process; the joy was in waiting.
Grimmjow's tone suddenly changed, same as his body language. He eased her off his lap and rose to his feet. "Let's go back." He said, without looking at her. Bao admittedly didn't want to leave, but she felt this time wasn't a good time to suggest it. She felt something strange, something telling her that going back to their hotel room wasn't just because Grimmjow had tired of being around others.
Grimmjow had led the two back and hadn't given her much of an explanation for his sudden want to return. He'd gripped her hand unnecessarily, knowing that she didn't need his leading, but wanting something to tether him to what he was doing. What was he doing? It was as though he was watching his body move on muscle memory alone, and he couldn't bring himself to stop it. Maybe he didn't want to stop it, knowing that his body was bringing him closer and closer to a life-changing decision.
He didn't need this. She didn't need him but he wanted her, and this was the strongest form of wanting someone that he could express and have her understand at least a portion of how he wanted to claim her as his very own, but acknowledge that he was open to her ways of intimacy.
The couple had returned to their hotel room faster than Grimmjow intended, but then again, he hadn't meant to hurry back so fast.
He didn't intend to fuck her; no, that would be saved for another day. He had plenty of time to show her that kind of love, and had plenty of energy and patience for that, in a sense. It was this kind of love, this kind of desire that burned in his center and he had to let her know now, as they stood in silence, Grimmjow's back to her. He was reminded, however subtly, of the first time he'd asked her out, and how uncomfortable it had been. And now…
Bao didn't interrupt this time. She straightened and crossed her arms, looking on sternly. Whatever he was going to say had to be important, as he was still finding the words.
He turned his head slightly. "We're not going to go through that break up shit again."
"How do you know that?" She asked, solemnly.
"I don't want to." He said, and though he was confident, his tone didn't change. There was so much he wanted to get off his chest, and he was truthfully annoyed that this was being drawn out so much, and that he wanted to do this his way, just right. He wanted this to be one of her happiest memories. "I know you don't want to either. That's the point. " Before Bao had come to his home, wanting to make up, he had bought it, and milled on the idea. But he had taken it with them here, just in case he'd do 'something stupid', in his opinion, like ask her on impulse.
Once he finally turned, he walked toward her, something in hand. Bao's lips parted slightly with surprise, and her straightened, almost prepared stance weakened, ever so slightly. He didn't. He couldn't have…How could he have—?!
"How 'bout it?" He asked her, showing her the engagement ring held in his hand. He was new to this, clearly. He didn't kneel, he didn't look up at her with admiration and hopefulness. He looked at her with a kind of quiet expectation that bordered on impatience. He more so wanted to know the answer in a practical sense, rather than an emotional sense; such a thing was still foreign to him. Even his question hinted at both his latent desire, and inexperience. Regardless, Bao was taken aback by such a gesture, especially with how straightforwardly he'd asked.
How 'bout it?