ANNOUNCEMENT: This will probably be the last chapter I post for this story HERE on FFnet.

DON'T WORRY... I have also been posting FMM on Archive Of Our Own under the same pen-name. So you can always come read it there.

This is due to FMM's sexual nature as it progresses, which will not meet FMM's rating system. It's also due to the crap messages I've received on that subject from bots or ffnets watchdog group. Don't know. Don't care.

Anyway, it's kind of a shame bc I was sort of looking forward to that 1000 review mark, just for posterity and the thrill of it. But it's just a number at the end of the day. But FMM lives... over on AO3.

Junichiblue

CHAPTER 36

It was a good night on the ice, and the deep, almost cicadic buzzof the large, busy bar on the third floor of the Reapers arena was a testament to that.

The Reapers Bar and Grill was at capacity. Not unusual on game night, and a definite on a winning night. Both bars were lined hip to elbow with eligible hockey fans, some looking for a drink to discuss, sometimes heatedly, the merits of the game, the reffing, and the plays. Some were just looking to pick up another fan. And a few were planning their approach. Their end game... the hockey team. And in some cases, nearly any player would do.

Whether you were a winner, or a watcher, either way, tonight, somebody was going to get fucked.

The early birds of the Reaper's hockey team had grabbed a couple of long tables in a cozy corner close to the entrance, across from one of two long bars that entertained the large and well clientelled establishment. There was plenty of room at the largest table for most of the guys, one side lined with chairs, cushioned and polished mahogany, the other by a set of deep and lounge-worthy booth seats that curved around to a sharply curved L-shape at the head of the table.

The air was warm and comfortable, the scents of so many people, food, and beer mingling into a nocturnal sort of late night brew. It had a homey feel... like a rec-room they'd want in their basement at an after party... complete with titties and pussy. The bar was nearly wall to wall, with plenty of women who smelled nice and looked equally hot. A guy's paradise. And a winning team's playground.

One player in particular didn't take much notice as half the eyes in the bar turned and fell on him. He'd made an entrance, whether he wanted to or not.

Grimmjow trailed like a demon in a dark cloud of obsidian behind Kensei, the confrontation with their coach still staining his mood.

As they arrived, there was a shuffle, and two chairs mid table became available.

Grimmjow slid into his and took the menu that was offered to him by his teammates. He looked at it without seeing much for a long while, ignoring the conversations around him, and giving off enough of a brooding aura that no one tried to start one up with him.

"Grim, you want a beer?" Kensei nudged him, and he looked up. The waitress was waiting with a neutral smile.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, trying to think as he realized she'd been standing there a while. The waitresses here were friendly, but also fast and very busy. He didn't like being the one holding up proceedings. He turned to her without really looking.

"Gimme a double rye 'n' cola. No. Two. No ice. Thanks." He was going to slam them back and he needed at least a little liquid in them to slow himself down or he'd be on his ass before he got a meal.

Kensei's nose wrinkled a bit, and he patted him on the back.

"You good?"

Grimmjow shot him a brooding look.

"Launch sequence has been activated," he rumbled.

Someone overheard and hooted a "Right on!," which started a chain reaction of glass bouncing off glass around the table.

Grimmjow ignored it. He did notice that Ichigo was down a few seats across the way and to his right, beside Shinji who had made himself comfortable at the head of the table.

Their eyes met. The lurch of excitement Grimmjow felt when he saw him sitting there freshly showered in his street clothes was sharp.

Grimmjow's nod was subtle.

He and Ichigo hadn't really talked outside of hockey since Grimmjow's return. They were both, it seemed, riding a busy peak. He thought absently that tonight was going to be the closest thing he would get to chumming with him.

Then he went back to scouring the menu.

X X X

For twenty minutes, Grimmjow sat there looking like a vulture hatching an egg.

His drinks had evaporated, leaving him with a warm glow on the inside. Though, it hadn't cracked his hard exterior, he was well on his way to rectifying that. He had another double on the way. Food too. He wasn't that hungry, but he needed something more than jet fuel in his stomach, so he was splitting some chicken fingers with Kensei, who would eat the lion's share.

He felt a little better now. Less raw and unsociable. But he was already becoming aware of a situation at a certain end of the table. It was nothing new, but tonight - and maybe he was being irrational on account of his mood here - but, Shinji Hirako was riding his last good nerve. Even if he didn't know it yet.

Grimmjow may have gotten here last, but the lightweight could only have been on his second or third drink and he was already slurring in Ichigo's ear.

"Chigo, do your eyebrows ever get sore from being like that all the time?"

Ichigo stopped mid sip at the question, his scowl coming out in full as he turned it on Shinji.

"Yeah, just like that!" the blond said with enthusiasm. Shinji tried it for a moment, scowling as hard as he could before he suddenly doubled over in a fit.

"Ack! Eyebrow cramp!"

Grimmjow's drink arrived, and he took a solid slug, the warmth of the rye sliding down his throat along with the bubbles from the mix. The sound of Shinji's voice cut across the table and sliced through the enforcer's hard fought calm.

That was just the opening salvo. Before he'd taken his second sip, the blond was trying to get girls to hit on Ichigo. Nothing new there either. If he wasn't haunting them himself, he was trying to pull Ichigo into a double date.

But just when Grimmjow thought Shinji couldn't be one ounce more annoying to him or Ichigo... he was.

Ichigo was just standing up to use the pisser when Hirako's hand dove down and caught the hem of Ichigo's casual charcoal, slim-fit shirt, hoisting it up in a peak high enough to bear his model worthy abdominals to some girls, and an entire section of the bar... before Ichigo found the wherewithal to slam it down again. Aside from smacking his hand away, he didn't even bother to really ream Shinji for it. It was just pointless to try.

To Grimmjow, the image shone like the after-image of a solar flare in his eyes. To see someone ripping his shirt up and off of Ichigo's skin like that... He felt himself grow warm between the legs, slowly, like water, already warmed, put on to boil. He shifted in his seat and looked around the table at random, non human, things. Fuck. Give him a couple of drinks and a bad day and all he could think about was getting off on his teammate?

He signaled one of the girls and grumpily ordered another. Kensei gave him a curious look.

"This one's defective," he muttered.

Grimmjow's fourth drink came before Ichigo returned, having been stopped and congratulated by nearly everyone in the bar on his way to and from the men's room.

As he slid by Shinji back into his booth seat, Shinji started to converse at Ichigo again about the ladies, like the chums they were. Ichigo didn't really look all that interested, but Shinji was a persistent little gnat. And something in the enforcer's temple ticked.

Grimmjow flipped his wallet open with enough pomp and circumstance to draw attention from most of the table, including Ichigo.

"Hirako," he called, sounding a bit like a drill sergeant as he strangled a twenty out of it folds and held it up between two loose fingers for everyone to see, "Why don't you go to the ballet and get yerself a college education?"

A few of the guys "defended" Shinji immediately.

"Ahhh, Shinji's seen a stripper or two." Renji slapped the table. "Eh, Shinj?"

Ikkaku nudged him and winked at the entire table.

"Let's just say he's pitched a permanent tent there."

Renji laughed.

"Not saying Shinji's at the strip club often, but he gets his mail forwarded there."

They banged their glasses on the table. And the enforcer grinned as he added his two scents to the pot.

"I'm sure it's the birthplace of a few horror stories." Point, Grimmjow.

Shinji's eyes lit up as he waited out the round of laughter. The ritual was on and a comeback was mandatory.

"Awww that's okay," he tilted his head. "Grimmy can sit there and throw me shade all night. But we all know he's a great guy... until you get to know him."

A muscle in Grimmjow's jaw jumped and Kensei caught the tension that lifted his shoulders.

"Fuckin' muppet." Grimmjow growled as his temper flared. He could usually take the same shit he dished out, but not tonight. And not with Ichigo watching them the way he was, like he disapproved of their squabble.

Kensei smiled and wrapped an arm around him, digging into Grimmjow's shoulder with a firm grip, effectively keeping him in his seat.

"Grim's our boy," he said jovially. "Even if he is kind of a dick."

The enforcer shrugged the pot shots off with a grunt, eyes fixed on Shinji, and a low growl still circling his throat.

"I've been called worse by a lot better."

X X X

Their food arrived and they all tucked in. Grimmjow ate a few bites, but left the rest to Kensei. Normally the food here was top notch, but it just seemed bland and uninteresting. He scoured the table, looking to see if there was something else that appealed to him that he could order. Then he noticed Shinji leave his seat to accost more women, leaving Ichigo to a huge pile of fried chicken wings in some kind of sauce. They looked like they were good if Ichigo's fixed determination was anything to go by.

He took the opportunity and slipped out of his seat.

A moment later, he landed in the booth at the head of the table and waited until Ichigo looked up, stalling mid chew with a little dab of sauce decorating each corner of his mouth.

Grimmjow felt some of his tension dissolve. It was fucking cute.

"Shit," he muttered. "Someone's on fleek tonight." He nodded, leaning a little in Ichigo's direction, an unconscious move on his part. Ichigo just looked perturbed, though Grimmjow knew he was just casually confused. He had that kind of face.

"Someone's on... what? Is that a drug?" he scowled, stopping his feeding session long enough to respond. Ichigo hated drugs.

Grimmjow chuckled, a quiet sound that he kept almost to himself, despite regretting what had just come out of his mouth. He'd meant to be sarcastic but, wing sauce and all, Ichigo's appeal was still and always weapon's grade.

"Means you look styled, clean cut, well groomed... you know?" Grimmjow grinned. And why the fuck had he said, that? "Which, I gotta admit, considerin' all that... " In his hasty back-peddle, he wagged his finger at the orange shuffle of hair. "And that." This time the finger was aimed at his messy face... "Don't really know what I was thinking."

"So, you're..." Ichigo squinted darkly, "...trying to give me a complement, but then just taking it right back and insulting me?" He threw a naked chicken bone down onto his extra plate.

Grimmjow thought about it. Then he just smiled.

"Yeah, I guess." The look he got back from Ichigo hung in the air like a shiny dagger on wires before the oranget suddenly turned and announced loudly to the whole table...

"Hey, guys! Grimmjow's buying the next round."

A cheer drowned out Grimmjow's sporting growl of defeat. "Ahh, you fucker." But not the "that's what you get" smirk on Ichigo's face.

He watched Ichigo dig back into his wings like they were the only thing he'd ever eaten. Then he remembered why he'd come over here. For the food.

"They look good."

Ichigo spun a wing around in his fingers like a cob of corn and stripped it clean of its meat as efficiently as any piranha Grimmjow had ever seen. Ichigo grunted around his chewing.

"Yeah."

Grimmjow waited a beat.

"Can I have some?"

Ichigo didn't.

"No."

"What the fuck?" Grimmjow threw his hands out in offense, wounded to the core. "You used to be good at sharin'." Ichigo gave him back exactly nothing for a few lip smacking moments.

"It's not that I don't see your angry face," Ichigo finally mumbled, eyes closed as he ravished a fresh wing. "It's that I don't care."

Grimmjow chuffed. Just wow. He'd even gone out of his way to ask. And and nicely too. But Ichigo was denying him. He reached for a wing anyway, chuffed at Ichigo's cold hearted refusal. It was downright selfish of him. Grimmjow would gladly order ten more pounds of wings if Ichigo wanted more.

Ichigo glanced up between bites but didn't stop him.

"Careful, they're hot," he said half-heartedly, not really willing to engage the tipsy enforcer over chicken. He could always order more.

Grimmjow made a dismissive sound and plunged his pilfering fingers into the pile of wings.

He pulled out a big one, bit into it, chewed for a moment, then stopped.

Ichigo watched him process the information with a mix of real concern... and real enjoyment. He'd told him.

Grimmjow's eyes went saucer wide, like he'd suddenly remembered he'd left the house on fire. And he jolted forward, a strangled cough and wheezed "holy fuck" the only warning before he was grabbing for the nearest fluid filled container he could find. And that happened to be the last dregs of Ichigo's unattended beer.

He guzzled the tepid suds down with two hands, nose buried deep in the glass like a little kid learning how to hold a cup.

Ichigo's attempt to hide his laughter behind a chicken wing was purely for show, and he was failing fast. Grimmjow still needed to learn how not to grab things that weren't his.

The enforcer discarded the empty mug and, desperate, reached up in time to snatch a fresh beer from straight off the waitresses' platter.

He ignored the aggrieved, "Hey! That was mine!" that came from Hirako who had just pulled up in time to claim his beverage.

Pride and masculinity and respecting other people's shit were not on the enforcer's current list of priorities.

This was a matter of life and death here. He'd swallowed lava.

He chugged half of the cold, bitter Pilsner down before he stopped for air and tried to assess the current level of radiation his tongue was putting out. It was tolerable. And he sagged back into the deep booth seat, aware of Ichigo's and several other people's hysterical laughter.

Fuckin' ingrates. He'd get'em back for that. One way or another.

"Why the hell would you go do that when I told you they were hot," Ichigo asked as if he truly couldn't figure out Grimmjow's motivations. Or his IQ.

Grimmjow was still busy making a blowing out candles face and swearing every now and then, watering eyes snapping to his simpering partner.

"Poor judgment. Obviously," he wheezed. "Why the fuck would you even eat those?!"

Ichigo just shrugged and went back to his lava wings, and Grimmjow frowned. He was like one of those fish that lives in a sea anemone, orange and bright and immune to its poisons.

"Are you done?" Sweat breaking out in tiny shiny beads across his forehead, Grimmjow looked up. Shinji was still standing by the table, waiting to have his seat back. Grimmjow was slow to answer. Instead, he reached out and took another small sip of his Pilsner and placed it down in front himself.

"I'm sure Renji will make room for you," Grimmjow nodded at the very other end of the table, Renji and the others shifting around to accommodate Shinji without argument. Grimmjow was the bigger dog here. If he wanted to eat it or hump it, he would. This seat and beer were his now. On that note, Grimmjow decided another swig of beer was in order as the heat began to build again. He sniffled hard as he did, snot starting to loosen and run down his lip in the aftermath.

On the other hand...

He held the last half of the beer up for Shinji to have back, if he wanted it. Sniffling.

"Never mind," Shinji grimaced, face a little more pale than usual. Grimmjow smirked as he reached for a paper napkin to mop up. His nose and his forehead. And he was sure he saw Shinji gag as he gave up and walked away.

He looked to his right. And like half of the group who had tuned into his misfortune, Ichigo was still killing himself laughing, though he seemed to have a weak stomach for snot because he had started gagging a little on the side.

There wasn't any point in making a stink about it. Grimmjow still had juuust enough sense after three doubles to know he'd deserved that. And he'd only make it worse if he tried to blame that one on Ichigo.

Kensei slid a couple of rogue chicken fingers down his way, quietly insistent that he eat them. It helped clear out the last of the burn, though Grimmjow was quite sure it was his intention to help soak up the alcohol Grimmjow was throwing back. He didn't drink a lot often. But when he did decide to get shitfaced, he did it with extraordinary precision. Not like the messy bitches at the other end of the table.

The flames of hell mostly extinguished, Grimmjow settled in, long legs stretching out under the table, and listened to the conversations around him. Ichigo and Kaien were to his right, then Shiro. It was weird how the three of them looked so fucking different but so fucking the same. Creepy even.

On his left was Shunsui Kyouraku. He was an old dog, pretty laid back, oddly flamboyant. But a decent guy. Defensive player. One seat over, Jushiro always seemed to be at his side. It didn't ring any gay alarms with Grimmjow, though. They were more like brothers.

Then there was Kira, Hisagi, Kensei and the rest of the circus. The last of the food had arrived, enough to feed the twenty some players and crew who had made it out. Ikkaku and Renji were hamming it up and drinking the bar dry at the other end of the table as usual. Grimmjow didn't know how Renji functioned with how often and how much he drank. He was incurably thirsty, but he was a damn good goalie. Obnoxious as fuck sometimes, but he could stop a puck.

X X X

Comfortable in his semi-solitude for a few long minutes while Ichigo's attention was taken by poisonous wing and Kaien, and others around him were engaged in conversation, Grimmjow had time to sit back and enjoy his fourth drink. And think.

Aside from removing Shinji from the scene so he could spend, at some point, some quality time with Ichigo, there was one really good thing about having the end seat, he decided.

At some point Ichigo was going to have to pee.

Grimmjow debated making sure Ichigo would have to climb over him to get out, just to spice up the party. Two long slurps later, and he'd resolved it. But the moment Ichigo actually did turn and look at him, he caved in like a badly constructed cushion fort.

Him. Grimmjow.

And fuck him if Ichigo didn't look at him with those bar darkened eyes of his and tell him bluntly to move his ass so he could take a piss.

The oranget had had a few drinks himself, and apparently he was trying to act the cocky one and throw his balls around with Grimmjow again. Give as good as he got sort of thing. He'd have died if he'd realized Grimmjow just thought it was cute. Grimmjow was half dying just for thinking it. But at the heart of it, Ichigo was nice. He had a temper, yeah. And he had bite at times. But he wasn't as natural at being a prick as Grimmjow was.

Shinji was about to find that out first hand.

X X X

Bored and mauling his coaster, Grimmjow watched Shiro devour a large salad, a foresty looking thing devoid of all meat. He wondered aloud about it.

"Shiro, you eatin' compost again for?" Shiro stopped mid chew, a limp chunk of green leafy stuff hanging from his mouth as he blinked owlishly at Grimmjow. He was a committed occasional vegetarian. Grimmjow winced.

"Fuck. Don't look at me with them fuckin' creepy eyes." Shinji ignored the eye comment.

"S'good for you," he muttered, unaffected. He went back to his grass. And Grimmjow looked around to see what was taking Ichigo so damn long. He'd been gone a good ten minutes, and he knew from experience, it didn't take no ten minutes to take a leak. And nobody liked to take a shit in a bar.

He scanned across the tables he could see from their table, seeking out orange hair through the crowds. He finally found his answer by the bar.

Hirako was the problem. He was using Ichigo to chat up women again.

Grimmjow felt his jaw tighten as his eyes narrowed. Ichigo was being picked up hard. The enforcer took several long slow sips, one eye looking past the blurry edge of his glass. So what? So what if Ichigo was talking to someone... and that someone happened to be a very hot female who was clearly trying get into Ichigo's pants and keep what she found in there for herself.

There was this feeling in his stomach. Just beneath his heart. It felt kind of like indigestion or a mild case of heartburn. It was probably the chicken wings. Whatever it was. It was just sitting there... bothering him. He downed the last of his drink and started on his fifth. Singles now. Just enough to keep the buzz going.

He didn't have anything to say to the boys around him right now. So, he drummed his fingers on the table, chin in his palm, watching the crowd and making impromptu eye contact with a couple of women who were watching him back. The pair approached him despite the bored scowl he was wearing. They chatted about this and that for a minute or two, mostly while he listened and pretended to be interested.

But when they wanted a number, he gave them an autograph.

He signaled the waitress, put in an order for another rye plus the round he'd been volun-told he was buying by Ichigo, and went back to his drink. Forearms and elbows on the table, he leaned into the melee of chit chat and tried to catch up with parts of the conversations happening nearby, trying to ignore the bullshit at the bar. At least he wasn't stewing anymore about his backwards career move. He plonked his empty glass down hard on the table.

Well, fuck, now he was thinking about it again.

Fortunately, it wasn't a moment before he had a distraction again. Grimmjow straightened slowly, back tense. Ichigo and Fuck Nuts were both heading back to the table.

And man, who could miss Fuck Nuts.

Shinji's shirt was some kind of purple Grimmjow couldn't find a name for. It actually contrasted his pale skin and even paler hair kind of well, but there was still no excuse for it. Ichigo made his way around, and Grimmjow slid out of his seat without a word. Then he sat back down, eyes tracking Ichigo's movements as he seated himself again and inspected the clear, sweet smelling shot in front of him, before returning to the offensively dressed Shinji.

"Yer shirt scare her away, Hirako?" he offered loudly.

"It is very very purple," someone else agreed.

"It also comes in Gump." Grimmjow added without any real interest.

Shinji shot up from his chair, both hands flat on the table.

"I read a very inclusive study on women's favorite color," he announced with bristling conviction. He plucked at his shirt with one hand. "And this was it!"

As if to help him, or perhaps Grimmjow, prove his point, a girl made her way past his chair. And that made her Shinji's type of girl.

"Heyyyy," he started, twisting around and catching her lightly by the elbow. "You see my friend over there?"

She leaned in, and he pointed to Ichigo, who was half listening and half ignoring so he wouldn't be drawn into another pointless meetup while he contemplated the Jager-bomb in front of him. And its name.

"He wants to know if you think I'm cute."

The girl blinked at him several times, like he'd spoken at her in tongues. But she laughed and laughed as she walked away.

Ikkaku and Renji pulled a freshly shorn Shinji down and into another drink. They all knew he'd recover from the sting of rejection in mere minutes. Grimmjow looked at him with contemplative disgust. He had no doubts that Shinji would die alone, crushed under the weight of his own unused condoms.

"You always cease to amaze me," he said loudly. He leaned forward, elbows wide and conversational as he leaned to his left. "I've known plenty'a guys with two left feet. But I've never met anybody with two left tongues before," Grimmjow grunted to Shunsui and Jushiro. They laughed far too pleasantly. And Grimmjow vowed never to do that again. He leaned towards Ichigo instead.

"He did worse'n I thought. I'da given her two minutes to Eject." Ichigo's mouth quirked up into a fond sort of smile, agreeable, warmth bleeding into his cheeks from the strong shot. It made Grimmjow feel like ordering them another.

"Yeah," Ichigo nodded. "Shinji takes kind of a casual noncommittal approach to being desirable." Grimmjow slapped the table in triumph.

"Ya hear that, Shinji?" he called, hand by his mouth. "The best part of you ran down yer mom's leg." Ichigo wrinkled his nose, disturbed and a little sour.

"That's also... a way to put it," he muttered. Grimmjow just kept right on barking about his love of all things Shinji.

"And why the fuck is Shinji still here anyway, and not somewhere else having sex by now? Do I have to fucking describe it to him?"

Ichigo nudged him with a sharp elbow, hard enough to get his full attention and bring his alcohol-darkened blue eyes around. They were both a bit tipsy and it seemed like a fine time to delve into their personal shit. Except, of course, not.

"What do you have against Shinji, exactly?" he asked, eyes narrow and annoyed. Grimmjow looked away.

"Not a God damn thing."

"Really? 'Cuz you've been riding him all night." Even in the locker room, Grimmjow had sniped a couple of times Shinji's way. Ichigo knew, because he'd been standing right beside him. Changing.

"So what?," the enforcer snorted, glancing across the crowd before he turned back to Ichigo, their eyes catching in conflict once again. "He asks for it."

Ichigo tilted his head, searching for something tactile, something he could reason. And, painfully, Grimmjow could feel him doing it.

"No. There's something else. It's personal."

Grimmjow snorted, rolling his eyes at the total miss. He was just having some fun.

"It's not fuckin' personal."

Ichigo gave him a long assessing look, but it was like willing a brick wall to confess. After a moment of Grimmjow just looking everywhere else but at him, he gave up his half hearted inquest in a fit of frustration.

"Can you at least try to be a littler nicer," he asked, then scowled at his stupidity as he heard himself. "Or at least less mean?"

Grimmjow returned the look on his f ace with a similar scowl of his own. It didn't matter how much caring and good intentions Ichigo put into his heart, he was going to keep right on bugging Shinji... yes, just for his own petty personal satisfaction.

"Are we talking about Shinji Hirako?" he rumbled.

"Yes," Ichigo replied, more than a little tired as Grimmjow brusquely reached out and slung an affectionate arm around the back of his neck. The move sent Ichigo's stomach into a tightened ball of chaos, and his heart picked up its pace. Ichigo didn't want to make a scene. Part of him wanted to table flip Grimmjow away. The other part wanted to shift closer and just take whatever weird warmth and affection Grimmjow dished out. God. He nearly missed the good old days, when Grimmjow only made him vaguely uncomfortable.

And Grimmjow's apologetic rumble was a heat in his ear he did not need.

"Then your pretty much tying my hands," Grimmjow shrugged against him, giving Ichigo a deep and friendly squeeze as some kind of apology.

Grimmjow had no idea just how uncomfortable he was actually making him tonight. On several fronts.

It hurt. It hurt to have feelings for someone who didn't, or let's face it, couldn't ever feel the same way back. At first Ichigo had been busy just sorting through his feelings, trying to gauge them. But he was done with all that. He knew what he felt. He knew it wasn't going to change. And now, all that was left was a pathetic ache that reminded him that it didn't matter how much bullshit he fed himself about how they were teammates and friends, and that he was okay with that because wasn't that better than nothing... He'd seen the women talking to Grimmjow while he was stuck at the bar pretending not to be completely uninterested in one himself.

There was nothing else out there for him. And he was going to have to watch Grimmjow hook up with other people. Like it wasn't making him a little sick inside.

The worst part of it all though. The worst part. Was that he still didn't even really know why he liked him. What was it? His scent. His body. His horrifying attitude? Some weird combination of that short list? He was being a miserable prick to Shijni tonight, someone Ichigo considered a friend. An odd one, but still.

And still, Ichigo would go home and have wet dreams about him. If he didn't start them right now.

He'd noticed that Grimmjow had edged closer to him as their night progressed, and now he was basically hanging off of him. Friends. Guys just kidding around, making fun of the very thing none of them ever wanted to be accused of. Not in this sport.

It was a struggle to maintain his composure with him doing that. To act normal. But in front of their team, he just had to. He turned his head, dark eyes inches away from the friend who was lounging against him.

"If you're not even going to give me a back rub, could you at least give me some room to breathe?" he muttered. Grimmjow's eyes widened. And Ichigo wondered if he really even knew what normal was supposed to be. As long as the guys didn't question him, he reasoned, he had to be doing okay.

And if the universe just couldn't resist being a more miserable bitch to Ichigo in that very moment... Ikkaku had an announcement to make.

"Yo guys. Check it out." He held up his phone and began to read.

He'd called up the latest hockey news on his cell and was reading it out to the team. He'd just wanted to see what the press had said about their win tonight when he came across a related article about homosexuality in hockey. How the hockey association and interest groups in all sports are pushing for the doors to open for gay players to come out of the closet. It was great. But of course, no one on their team was gay. There were trails of women and miles of shared history to prove it.

And yet, almost as one, they looked towards Ichigo and Grimmjow. And why wouldn't they. Grimmjow was practically in Ichigo's lap, comfortable as you please.

Renji was the one to speak first.

"He's like a cat when he finds something he wants to play with, eh Ichigo?" He sniggered and they all laughed. Just a joke. Just a gay hazing between friends.

The dead-weight across Ichigo's shoulders never even flinched. The enforcer just turned to Ichigo and grinned.

"If you played your cards right, you could probably have me."

There were cheers this time. And quietly Ichigo detonated inside. His temper partially contained in front of the group, Ichigo tried to shove Grimmjow away with one arm, but Grimmjow wasn't going anywhere.

In fact, the enforcer grinned just as soon as he thought about it. Then leaned in and planted a nice kiss on Ichigo's smooth cheek. In front of everyone.

He felt Ichigo go rigid as roadkill.

"Are ya gonna ask me out 'er what," he asked just loud enough to bring about more laughter from everyone. Unshakable. He didn't give a fuck what the boys thought, jokes or not. And just to be a bigger prick, he brushed a finger against the tip of Ichigo's nose, then rested his cheek hard on his fist so he could watch Ichigo's face.

Ichigo looked like he was about to go fifty directions at once.

He'd booped him.

"I'm gonna knock you out," he growled. Grimmjow fluttered his long dark eyelashes, the corner of his mouth quirking to bring out his dimpled smile.

"Hey, I'm not just a pretty face. I have feelings too, ya know."

Ichigo's neck was on fire. He was surprised Grimmjow didn't pull away from the flames that had to be shooting out of it. It was ultimately a good thing that he didn't get to answer Grimmjow, because he really was going to punch him ten years into the future.

Shinji was back. Like a sudden gust of wind, the blond of the hour was right in front of them. The enforcer's eyes widened as Shinji leaned right across the table on his elbows in front of him to talk to Ichigo. Grimmjow had to crush every instinct not to smack him in the chops.

Ichigo shrugged forward to meet Shinji halfway. Shinji was such a fucking relief, Ichigo could have passed out. It was also a good thing the guys were drunk and hardly able to stay on track before something else grabbed their attention. And the subject of the moment was forgotten.

"Where did you get a top hat?" Ichigo squinted. Shinji teetered a little bit forward then back, even on his elbows, a wobble that brought him closer, then away again, alcohol glazed eyes squinting as he lifted one up and pointed across the bar. "From the... the from the guy... " he began, his distracted half slur nearly unintelligible before his eyes caught firmly on something he desired. He straightened.

"Hey! Baby! I bet ...both your parents are models... You are twice as beautiful..." And he was off again.

"Heh. Dinner and a show," Grimmjow sneered, drink-dark eyes glinting. He gave Ichigo a there-you-go squeeze as he addressed both him and the guys. "See, this is what happens when your parents are cousins."