CHAPTER 37
Things weren't all going Grimmjow's way this evening. Or going Grimmjow's way at all?
He wasn't sure any more. He'd lost track after drink three... teen?... or something.
Top hat gone, back into the wilds from whence it came, Shinji had found his way back to their table, been forced to eat something and have coffee and water, and was now sitting across from him, between Jushiro and Shunsui, going through his photos of the team's last road trip while he sobered a little.
Photos Grimmjow didn't even know he'd taken.
Being in snapshots and newspapers didn't bother him on principal or anything. It was part of being in the spotlight they all shared. But Shinji Hirako was sometimes full of odd surprises. It seemed he'd used some forethought, and had clearly been saving his cards up for a time just like this. And now he was playing his ace.
It might have been retaliation for Grimmjow's constant badgering tonight, but Shinji had seemed not too bothered about it on the whole. The final straw was probably the comment Grimmjow made when a bleary-eyed Shinji sat down looking a little like a guy who was about to have an early night.
"If he falls asleep on the table, imma stick a note on him that says do not resuscitate."
Grimmjow felt Ichigo's shoulder brush forward against his own as even the oranget took an insultingly deep interest in Hirako's road trip pics. Grimmjow wasn't going to bite though, and did his level best not to react, fingers distracted and busy, turning his empty glass around on the table like a spider spinning web around its dinner.
"Oh look, here's Jaegerjaquez again... looking impressed by the conversation," Shinji sang. "And here he is glaring at everyone." He angled his phone one way then the other, so everyone around him could see. "And here he is looking supremely bored with everyone... and... Oh look... here he is frightening a small child."
Every guy within reach leaned in closer to see the photo. Chiming together sweetly.
"Awwwww."
Grimmjow's ass was off his seat like he'd been launched by a rocket.
"The fuck... " The enforcer's elbow plowed through half empty glasses, condiments, and stray body parts, clearing a rough, wet path as he lunged forward and reached across the table. He encased Shinji's wrist in a steel grip, bending it sideways and anatomically wrongly so he could properly see the photo Shinji was talking about.
"Sonofa...!" Shinji yowled, dragged half way out of his own seat by his wrist and trying like a wild thing to wrench himself free, all his efforts doomed to failure. "Damn, man! Leggo! That hurts!"
Grimmjow squinted darkly at the screen.
"If I can't play, I'll sue!" Shinji's grip on the phone fell slack and it was nearly abandoned on the table as he tried with the one hand he had left to free himself. "Leggo, you ass!"
"Grimmjow, let him go," Ichigo admonished, leaning hard to get away from Grimmjow's hip before he could cave into the defensive impulse to bite it. "And get your ass out of my face."
Grimmjow ignored him, and glanced up at the screeching blond as if he'd only just come across his existence. He measured him for all his worth with cool, calculating eyes. After a moment of growing doubt amongst his teammates, the enforcer only tsk'd him, releasing his wrist once he'd seen enough of the image.
Grimmjow's frown was a disturbed and angry thing as he coiled back into his seat, then thumped down into place. Maybe the kid looked a little nervous, but it wasn't that bad.
"Owe, you fuck!" Shinji was shaking out his mangled wrist. Grimmjow sneered, irritation flaring more at the sissy dramatics.
"Awww, whut?" He tilted his head. "You want me to kiss it better?"
Shinji cast a baleful eye at him.
"Hell no. You keep your mouth away from me. Ichigo, I don't see what you see in him."
"Don't drag me into this..."
"What's a matter?" Grimmjow snorted at Shinji. "You afraid you'll like it?"
"Afraid I'll catch something un-pronounce-able."
"Yeah, eh?" One eyebrow lifted in quiet warning that Shinji was crossing Grimmjow's version of thin blue lines again.
"Shinji," Ichigo interjected with a sigh... and a fierce flare of territorial spite because wasn't this their thing? "Just stop talking."
"You know I can't - God knows you've been around enough," Shinji grumble-hissed at the enforcer , ignoring caution, and Ichigo, as he usually did. He never was very good at being threatened. He maintained eye contact with the bluenet, leaning back towards Shunsui for moral support, the older player nodding silently in amused agreement.
Grimmjow bristled a little more. He was vaguely aware of the warm hand braced against the softness of his shirt, flat and bold against his clenched abdomen, as he leaned forward, Ichigo's wordless appeal to keep himself seated and to not start a brawl.
It half worked. It half didn't. Grimmjow's lip lifted, and his fist and forearm sat heavy on the table.
"Only thing yer gonna be catchin'..."
Watching the interaction start to turn, Renji cut in with a jackal's laugh, elbowing Ikkaku to join in and finish his thoughts for him as usual.
"We're not not saying Grimmjow's a slut but..."
"...you don't want to be shining a black light around that room." They both raised their glasses and jammed them together in a splash of ice and booze.
Grimmjow leaned out and around his personal Ichigo-plushie-and-restraint-system to put a hard eye to them. Those two had no loyalties.
"It's a decorative choice," he snorted. He didn't bother to defend himself further than that, just leaned back, arm slipping in beside Ichigo's, who remained oddly quiet.
X X X
Ichigo didn't fault himself one single bit as he watched Grimmjow absolutely lose his shit over some random road trip photos with a sense of vindicated satisfaction.
It occurred to him, at some point after his blistering embarrassment at the hands of their inebriated enforcer, that Grimmjow was hell bent on hanging out with him tonight. Because he really had grown to like him. And the result of that could only be bad for Ichigo.
Grimmjow could be dangerously affectionate. It was a well known fact.
Why else would he be sitting beside him close enough to pass them both off as Siamese twins?
But he still couldn't figure out his deal with Shinji. Grimmjow had occasional bouts of stupidity which had him throwing barbs at his teammates like it was his second job, and Shinji was no exception. But he'd really been going at him tonight. Almost like he was... jealous.
But that couldn't be - said Ichigo's very sound mind. It was more likely that because he and Grimmjow had stopped hanging out, in some sort of weird rebound affect fiasco, Grimmjow was just trying to keep a good thing going. Or a weird thing. Ichigo hadn't decided on that yet either.
The status of their relationship was still as otherworldly to him as it was new. And with the emotional dry heaves Grimmjow gave him every time he took their apparent bro-mance to preternatural places, Ichigo honestly didn't mind the break they'd been on.
But tonight, he was paying the price. Their post game meal had become an endurance test, subjected as he was to the press of the enforcer's wide shoulders against his own. And a test of his composure. Because Grimmjow wasn't always there, putting a hairsbreadth of air between them as he shifted from time to time. Each new bump was like a fresh static charge, and it always threw an extra stumbling beat racing through Ichigo's pulse. And brought with it an energy that wanted to twist itself into anger. Just another thing Ichigo was fighting to keep in check tonight.
Grimmjow had been busy the week since returning, more of his free time taken away by the staff who were working with him to bring him back up to top notch shape. They were also monitoring him and assessing the residual effects from his concussion injury.
Ichigo was still surprised that Grimmjow could even get a brain injury, on account of him not actually having one... and after one too many shoulder bumps, he told him so.
The result was Grimmjow's size eleven's square in Ichigo's lap.
He should have known the moment something flickered in Grimmjow's eyes. He sized Ichigo up, eyes sliding to the corner, white and unsettling as he shot him a look. A look that would give Ichigo nightmares. Then he shoved down, turned ninety degrees to wedge his ass into the curve of their booth seat and threw a long leg across Ichigo's lap. He looked immensely comfortable and accomplished. One leg sprawled across Ichigo's thighs, the other hanging partway across the end seat, protecting it from Shinji or anyone else who may try to squeeze in.
Ichigo gaped at the leg in his lap.
"Nope," Ichigo declared firmly, "Nope. Get off. Not happening. No way..." as he tried, with every ounce of will, to move the log jam of a leg off of himself, its dead weight bearing down harder on him the more he pulled against it. The firm rounded muscle of Grimmjow's calf resting unacceptably close to his junk. He grit his teeth and pulled for all his worth. It should have been easy. He lifted weights all the time.
Abruptly, Ichigo exhaled. He was getting too hot from this and it wasn't worth it. He felt his shoulders drop. They ached already.
When Grimmjow lay claim to things, Grimmjow lay claim to things.
He turned to give the enforcer a scathing look. And fell flat. In return, beneath that same ever-present up-sweep of blue bangs, like sharpened claws that looked like they were trying to grab him, Grimmjow was looking at Ichigo with a grin that was just plain diabolical. Something ticked in Ichigo's temple.
"Do you have to do that?" Ichigo damn near leveled Grimmjow in his seat so neatly with a hot headed scowl that the enforcer's eyebrows flitted up in a micro-expression. For one debilitating second, neither of them was quite sure which of Grimmjow's annoying acts Ichigo was talking about. "I'm not your damn foot rest," Ichigo huffed.
Grimmjow flashed him a loping smile. The pout, Ichigo noted, was all in the eyes.
"But I have a leg cramp."
"Then go walk it off," he said snippily. "People are watching you, dumbass." He was referring to the large and closeted-homophobic hockey players sniggering at their table. And surrounding them, a bar full of strangers. People who didn't know them nearly as well as they'd like to imagine they did. People with cell phones and cameras and access to social media. Ichigo didn't want to deal with any of the horse shit commentary that would follow him around for god knows how many days or weeks or months from one stupid moment of Grimmjow's brilliance.
Perhaps Ichigo wouldn't have cared quite so much about his preferences if he wasn't on an NHL hockey team. But he was. Who he was as a player and a person was on display and up for judgment every time he stepped on the ice. And off.
"Cuz they might get jealous," Grimmjow offered with sincere eyes that Ichigo instantly wanted to blacken.
"If they're jealous, they can have you," Ichigo muttered back, and started shoving at his leg again. "Seriously, get your fat ass calf off my legs. They're going numb already."
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed to a darkened slit, something sincere buried behind the gruff rebuke.
"Lighten up, Kurosaki. The fuck are you so worried about?"
Ichigo held his breath around a sharp lull in conversation. Grimmjow waited with him through the void on pure curiosity until no one was paying attention.
"I'm not worried," Ichigo argued, voice carried on a hiss of a whisper. "I just don't need the bullshit."
"Who gives an actual fuck what these assholes think?" Grimmjow chuffed back, gesturing with his chin at their table of wholesome miscreants.
He reached out and slid the drink he'd been nursing now to the edge of the table, then placed it on his lap, the half empty glass still just a bit warm where his hand had last been. He looked back to Ichigo on impulse, who had never stopped staring at him like even his asshole was an asshole.
"You can't possibly be that ignorant."
That's when Grimmjow saw it. Something veiled, shifting around behind the blown out lenses of amber. Something real. Something at stake.
Grimmjow frowned. The team had just been razzing them earlier, like they all did to each other. But Ichigo was right. The fans. The press. The hockey world. People would talk. And Grimmjow may not give a shit, but Ichigo... someone else... might care.
"Che," he muttered. He turned away to watch the crowd. "Don't know why people get so precious about it."
As a concession, his calf slid off of Ichigo's legs. But he stayed where he was parked, leg bent sharply at the knee, and the toe of his boot making a heavy dent in the faux leather seat and an unapologetic notch in the side of Ichigo's thigh.
So, that was Ichigo's line in the sand. When it was just them, he could deal with a little bit of Grimmjow's teasing. Just not in front of people. Like he'd done how many times tonight already?
Maybe it was the alcohol finally softening his brain matter into sludge, or the fact that Ichigo looked like he really was going to slug him... but maybe he'd find a way to make it up to him.
To start, he flagged a waitress down and ordered them two more shots.
X X X
The drinks arrived, two shot glasses, held high on a round tray, large and full to the brim. They were placed down in front of them one at a time, each sitting in a small sticky and glistening puddle of alcohol wash-over.
Grimmjow was drinking like he hated money. By Ichigo's rough count, this was number eleven. Ichigo was down by at least six, which was fine by him. His usual limit was five or six, and he didn't really want another. But he hadn't argued against it, knowing it was Grimmjow's attempt at making amends.
"Dessert," Grimmjow nodded. Ichigo dipped forward to bring his nose closer to the brown, thick looking liquid for a sniff test. His eyes closed a little in rapture as he did.
It smelled good, like sweet butterscotch, with strong notes of coffee and almond. It was nice. He spent far too much time drinking beer and hard liquor he didn't even like that much just so he wouldn't have to take heat for preferring sweet and fruity drinks. The guys would jump on any little thing. But he'd much rather have a berry cooler than a beer any day.
"Screaming Orgasm," Grimmjow helpfully explained. Ichigo looked up sharply, blinking at him as he processed the words. Then he opened his mouth to object on principal, but he couldn't fight the smirk that pushed its way out on one side. He shook his head and forced it back. Encouragement was not something Grimmjow needed.
"You ordered it for the name, didn't you," Ichigo said flatly.
"Ya got me," Grimmjow grinned. The idiot.
But the drinks were going to wait a moment. There was a small commotion at the table, the rustle of bodies twisting in their seats to take in the spectacle that had just graced the establishment. Grimmjow looked up. Ichigo leaned forward to look too.
The enforcer drew himself up straight in his seat and craned his neck to scowl past the herd of shifting heads of the patrons and his teammates. Purely out of a lazy curiosity to see what all the fuss was about.
He found his answer, by the bar.
Shihouin Yoruichi had arrived. And she knew it.
And so did every male in the god damn pub.
Most of their species, those who were single and a few that were not, were vying for her attention as she drifted across the bar, her thighs and hips slowing to an erogenous crawl to greet some of the men around her very personally. She was light touches, a broad smile, and smokey eyes.
The libido in the bar rose almost tangibly.
Even Ichigo, had he been asked, couldn't have found a way to argue that she wasn't well put together. And yet, beyond her sculpted body and lush assets, she was largely unappealing. She wasn't a surely, muscle riddled, asshole. And it was not untrue to say that that's what Ichigo was into these days.
So, Yoruichi had dropped by the bar. It was normal considering her father owned it, and the guys from the team sometimes came here after home games. What was not normal, was just how stunning a woman she was, from head to toe. But it was what she was wearing, or rather, what she wasn't wearing underneath that had the men in the room, and even some of the ladies, afraid to blink, lest they miss a moment they could take home with them and cherish in the pitch black of their bedrooms when the bar finally emptied for the night.
Like a wraith, Yoruichi invited herself right into their evening, fingertips sliding across the shoulders of the players as she moved down the length of the table, causing them to sag after her like toppled dominoes, before she leaned in low between two of them to greet the table properly. With her breasts.
"Hey boys." For those that noticed, her sultry golden eyes held nothing less than adultery and the promise of a night filled to the brim with all things barely legal. She made a point of meeting the eye of every male at the table. She always did.
"Grim," she nodded. She blinked once, slowly. Her eyes shone, her chest rising with a deep breath when she looked at him.
Grimmjow noticed. Ichigo noticed too. Hell, every living thing in the room noticed.
Only Grimmjow knew what she was thinking behind hunter's eyes. She was remembering. Because she'd enjoyed it. And tonight her blood was on fire. It didn't need Grimmjow to put it out, but his presence was a reminder of what she was looking for, how good it could be. Grimmjow had no doubt she'd find something... passable.
"Yoruichi." He raised his shot glass just enough to put air between it and the table, their unsavory conflict and her former public dismissal of him, all but a stain in time. He'd moved on. They both had. There was nothing to be gained by holding grudges here. Her eyes moved on to their next target.
"Ichigo," she silked. Her heated siren call had just landed square in the middle of Ichigo's lap. His problem now. And all eyes fell on him. It was a sure bet he didn't have a clue how to handle it.
Everyone watched, ready to enjoy the show, as he cleared his throat with focused concentration and a deep downward plunge of his adam's apple, an action as loud as it was silent.
"Yoruichi." He nodded respectfully, cautious to offer her no more than a small neutral smile. She didn't need any encouragement. But his posture, though slight, had altered. Perhaps it was his jaw that had tightened, or the drawn back set of his shoulders, or the knuckles that had whitened around his shot glass. But she took a moment to take every nuance of him in before she made her decision, predatory eyes finally leaving him, and the woman herself moving on. One rejection was enough for her. She would never leave herself open to a second.
Grimmjow actually felt for him. It was so painfully obvious to him now that Ichigo didn't want her, or perhaps he was afraid that if he got her he wouldn't know what the hell to do with her.
The sexual tension was beginning to bother Grimmjow though. They were a pack of dogs with a scent in their nose and they needed breaking up. Everybody needed to calm the fuck down and get on with their evening.
"That woman once held an entire conversation with those breasts," he rumbled casually. He lifted his shot and down it in one. It was supposed to break the ice, but it was no sooner out of his mouth than it was taken out of his hands and turned into a conversational centerpiece by non other than Shinji, who shot up from his seat.
"Speech! Speech!"
"Si'downnnn." Grimmjow's yawning growl made Shinji jerk to a stop in shock and rethink ever moving again. Or maybe it was the heavy fist and empty glass coming down like a life sentence onto the table.
Shinji stood there for a moment, contemplating the enforcer, but finally dropped to his seat and slumped against the table, face buried in his folded arms, brows drawn down into a petulant scowl. He sighed, voice muffled by his sleeves, but not lost in them.
"God, I'd like to be part of that conversation."
There were chuckles, but the men ignored his whining. He had no chance. They all knew it. So much so, that it wasn't even worth making fun of him for.
After a minute, they'd mostly moved on. Out of everyone, Shinji was the most nails-in-the-table. He couldn't seem to keep his head on straight or his eyes from running her over. He'd keenly covered every inch of her, and even after she'd walked away and settled herself tits-to-the-crowd at the bar, he had been studying her form for five creepy minutes straight without once coming up for air.
But he'd sure stopped a lot a long the way.
"You haven't noticed yet. But she ain't actually the best looking girl in the room." Grimmjow waited a beat, as they all turned as one, varying degrees of quizzical looks directed at him. "She only has to think she is." And boy, did she.
"I would trade my soul for one magical night with that goddess," Shinji declared. That made Grimmjow snort in amusement.
"You wouldn't last five minutes, Hirako," he scoffed. "And I'd trade your soul for a lot less."
X X X
Ichigo excused himself again, Grimmjow giving him ample room to get out. Again. Apparently, when he drank, he peed.
Kensei used that time to move in. He leaned low and close. When he spoke, it was so quiet that Grimmjow nearly had to read his lips.
"I know that look."
Grimmjow frowned, honestly confused.
"What look?"
"Like somebody's treading on your territory... " After a truly stolid stare from Grimmjow, he tried another metaphorical hammer tap. "Planting seeds in your garden."
This roused the enforcer from his stupor, and he shifted around in his seat, shoulders hunching as he huddled forward, crowding himself down and around his drink in an attempt to simultaneously become invisible and whisper-scream at Kensei to shut his mouth.
"Sound gayer could you?" he chuffed, more rattled that Kensei had expected of him. More rattled, actually, than Grimmjow had expected of himself. He was a little drunk, obviously. "Why should I care who Kurosaki talks to?"
Kensei's smile spread like a warm and glowing flame.
"Well, I was talking about Hirako and Yoruichi, actually."
Grimmjow's face fell blank. To the point that Kensei wasn't sure if he was there at all. He didn't stop smiling, though.
"Grim?"
Slowly, Grimmjow unrolled his spine and sat up, practically backing up like a cornered cat into his seat and scowling darkly at Kensei from across the space he'd just put between them. He'd totally fallen for Kensei's fishing expedition. He knew damn well when he was giving looks and when he wasn't. Yeah, he had a problem. With Shinji salivating over a woman he could never have. Ichigo and Shin-... what the fuck... Yoruichi... weren't even a thing on his mind.
"Che. Yer hilarious, you know?" He tipped his head back, and with it, his empty glass. He blinked once when nothing but empty air hit his mouth, then casually faked not knowing it was already empty. When the glass hit the table, there was a satisfied shine in Kensei's waiting eyes. And a proud note in his loud voice.
"My wife says that's my best feature."
Looking around pointedly for a waitress and ignoring his good friend to death, Grimmjow chuffed. He needed another drink to numb the profound fluttering sensation in his was a nauseating mix of feeling cornered and blind self preservation. And it needed to be dealt with.
"Che. Yer lucky she doesn't know what's she's missin'," he said off-handedly as he caught the eye of a server. "I could run circles around you in my flip flops."
That had Kensei throwing his head back, and sharing his mirth with the group.
"What can we say, eh boys," he chuckled loudly enough to attract some attention. "His mom gave birth to a legend."
There was much agreement.
"Bite me."
X X X
One final drink in hand, Grimmjow was still a little ruffled when Ichigo shimmied around the corner of the booth and back into his seat, Grimmjow following in after him and keeping his distance. Stupid Kensei. Stupid alcohol.
And stupid fucking Hirako. He was still watching Yoruichi like a fucking serial killer and it was driving Grimmjow's fraying senses to distraction.
"Hirako." Grimmjow's gruff voice got Shinji's attention as effectively as if a bullet had whizzed by his forehead.
Everybody at the table turned. Getting called out by Grimmjow J. where that woman was concerned was not a place anyone wanted to be. Shinji knew the enforcer had issues, but it was Yoruichi, and Shinji would give up his entire career for her if she'd have him.
It was obvious to everyone at the table by now, that after nursing a growing infatuation with the women, (made worse) since he and Ichigo's had their delightful run in with her so many weeks ago, well, he couldn't help himself to save himself.
Shinji sat up straight, ready to defend his rights, plead the fifth, or just plain run. Whichever was needed.
Grimmjow eyed him dangerously.
"You sit there eye rapin' her any more, and I swear imma pound you concave."
Shinji froze, but to his credit, refused to look honestly intimidated or budge from his hawk-like position. She was only surrounded by two men. A position that needed to be filled immediately.
Grimmjow's cool eyes watched him, fingers of one large hand drumming absently on the table. Slowly, Shinji's legs folded and he sank into his seat. Dejected and morose.
Satisfied, he looked over to Ichigo, who looked... a little drunk, and a little peeved. What else was new?
"What'd I do now?" he rumbled, careful not to project his voice to the others.
Ichigo took in a deep breath to slow down the slight spin of the room and collect his thoughts. That had been one strong shot.
"Why do you have to give Shinji such a hard time?"
Grimmjow scowled back at him, defensive.
"What. It's just fun," he grunted.
Ichigo tipped his head forward to glare at him in derision. The effect was more a dark look from under long eyelashes that Grimmjow staring far too hard.
"Well, cut him some slack, already. Not everybody has it as easy as you, you know."
Grimmjow blinked, and looked at him with a quizzical frown. The fuck was that supposed to mean? Easy? Kurosaki fucking Ichigo did not know anything about how easy Grimmjow's life was. Not at all.
"You want slack? Okay, fine, I'll give you slack," he chuffed.
"Good." Ichigo sat back again, eyes narrowing with a growing tangle of second guesses. Good?
The enforcer looked down the table and sneered.
"Hey, Wiz Rocket."
Shinji automatically looked over, face puckered and sour. Grimmjow studied him for a long tense moment. Then tipped his chin up at him.
"Go get'er."
Shinji's expression fell away to disbelief, and he blinked twice, hard. But he didn't need telling as many times. Before anyone could say anything, he was already sliding from his chair and straightening his purple shirt with a rushed brush of his hands.
The blond was hardly two steps gone when Grimmjow's dark grin grew to unnerving proportions, his warning carrying across the long table and full of suggestion.
"Watch yer fingers."
Shinji's stride slowed just long enough to give Grimmjow a perplexed look, but he didn't stop moving. The team watched as he headed into the mouth of the volcano, bee-lining his way through the busy bar toward the goddess, Yoruichi.
Everyone looked at each other, then to Grimmjow, who was watching Shinji work his way over to the future Mrs. Horako.
"She's gonna break him," he said flatly, cool eyes lit with dark amusement.
Everyone at the table broke into laughter.
It was Renji who finally declaired that he had to hear what was going on over there. So, he too drifted across the room like a bad smell, as Grimmjow would define it, to eavesdrop on their conversation.
And then... life at the table continued on.
Kensei started egging Grimmjow on, and, feeling pretty good about his good deed, Grimmjow had found it in himself to temporarily forgive Kensei and enjoy some lighter camaraderie.
"Why did your parents put you in hockey again?" the older man asked, one long arm on the table while the other hung over the back of his chair. He was a little sleuced after several beers like the rest of them.
"...'Cause I was an annoying little shit," Grimmjow said seriously.
Kensei smiled warmly before directing his comment towards Ichigo and the rest of the group, eyebrows waggling.
"He's a lot bigger now."
Grimmjow closed blue eyes in dismissal of his supposed team mates, as they made approving sounds and motioned with their glasses. He could hear Ichigo's quiet laugh in the mix. Traitor.
"Hn. Yer all bad eggs."
X X X
And then you had Ichigo, didn't you?Once upon a time, not so long ago, Yoruichi Shihouin had blown Grimmjow off in favor of pursuing the orange haired little shit. And still, to this day, Grimmjow did not know how that had turned out. He'd heard something in passing, but, at the time, he'd refused to believe anything other than the farce he'd seen in the hallway. Ichigo accepting a night out, or in, Yoruichi Shihouin. But it was obvious that bit of gossip wasn't actually true. Ichigo had flat out denied it from the start.
Grimmjow could see it now that his mind wasn't so clogged with that boiling anger. Ichigo Kurosaki actually turned her down. But why? Who would do that? Unless they already had a serious relationship. He knew that wasn't the case. Or he thought he did. Ichigo was pretty private. And he always had this feel to him that he was keeping a secret. Something Grimmjow took notice of only in passing because he was no nosy-parker.
People had secrets. They had shitty things in their life that they didn't want anyone knowing about. Including him.
This Kurosaki conundrum... He wanted to know. He should probably save it for another time, though.
"Kurosaki." Was that his voice?
He hadn't actually meant to say anything. But he couldn't resist finding out more about Ichigo's preferences in women. And finding out just what the hell he'd been thinking turning down one of the best kinky anal fuck friends Grimmjow had ever had.
Ichigo started to turn away from Shiro's tall tale with a smile that looked like it almost hurt, the dampness of mirth still bright in his eyes. Grimmjow almost forgot what he was about to say. He looked so care-free in that moment. So fucking … happy.
Grimmjow suddenly wanted more than anything to see Ichigo smile at him like that too. All the time. But he never had. Not like that. It just wasn't in their dynamic. Sure, he'd smiled, even laughed, but Grimmjow had never made Ichigo double over with the kind of easy laughter the way Shiro could. Even Hirako could bring it out of the little bastard. But not Grimmjow.
Grimmjow shifted through the self imposed space he'd created between them and threw his shoulder against Ichigo's, bumping them together until they stuck from Grimmjow's lazy weight.
"Yo," he offered intelligently.
Ichigo stiffened, head coming the rest of the way around on a slow reluctant swivel, like he was deeply afraid of what he might find on the other end of the nudge he'd just received.
"So... ", Grimmjow began smoothly... "Yoruichi Shihouin threw her tits at you again, and you didn't take the bait?"
Ichigo's smile faltered while he made the transition from Shiro's innocent humor to Grimmjow's noticeably rougher attempt at pleasant conversation. Then it vanished entirely, and he moved his shoulder like he was trying to shrug Grimmjow off. Because he was.
"I wasn't interested."
Grimmjow gave Ichigo a supportive look.
"Little rusty, huh?"
It made Ichigo want to scratch his eyes out.
"She wasn't my type."
"Body like that and she wasn't your type?" Grimmjow jolted in mock shock. "Did your dick die?"
"No, my dick did not die," Ichigo snapped. People were listening and Grimmjow just didn't ever seem to have a single fucking clue about what other people might think he was suggesting.
"Must have if you turned that down." Grimmjow threw an amicable arm over Ichigo's shoulder and gave him a deeply upsetting look. "Way I see it, you need me."
Ichigo thinly regarded the attractive blue haired idiot from their uncomfortably close proximity. He could smell how incredibly good he smelled when he was this close. And he hated himself a little more for even noticing.
"Didn't realize I was that far gone," he drawled. Grimmjow squeezed back in response.
"Heh. You know... I could teach you everything I know about picking up chicks and getting'..."
Ichigo cut him off like a bad limb.
"...but could you not?"
Ichigo's voice was a cool, tired mutter, but it still stopped Grimmjow in mid sentence.
"Che. You didn't let me finish," he huffed, brows tilting, a little affronted. He was trying hard to be helpful. Kind of.
"Unless the next word in that sentence was 'arrested'," Ichigo said dryly, "you didn't have to."
Grimmjow opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn't giving up. He just needed to regroup.
It was annoying. The way other people could make Ichigo just smile like fucking sunshine all over the place and all Grimmjow could pull out of him most of the time was irritation, rejection, and what seemed to be some degree of self loathing for even talking to Grimmjow.
X X X
It was only a minute later, and they'd half stumbled out, around and back into the same conversation that Grimmjow had brought up as a means of getting Ichigo's attention.
With regrets.
"...And she left you," Ichigo was pointing out in self defense. "Remember?"
"It was mutual."
"That's not what I heard."
Grimmjow looked a little cross, one eye tight and voice ending on a higher note than usual as he jerked his chin at Ichigo.
"Oh, you that interested in my sex life now, you gotta snoop around in it?"
"Keh. Hardly," Ichigo scoffed at the accusation. And the total hypocrisy. "It's common knowledge. Like... " he floundered, scowling until he thought of something useful to steer the conversation away from anything more to do with Grimmjow's sex life. Or his. "Like who's being traded off to what team."
Grimmjow's lips pursed, finding an insult buried in there that Ichigo hadn't really intended.
"I wasn't fucking traded for being a stump," he snarled. "Reapers jumped at the chance to get me, they wanted me that bad."
Ichigo's eyelids drooped a little.
"How many drinks is that?"
Grimmjow sneered, one ivory fang appearing as he saw through Ichigo's ploy and firmly decided they weren't finished talking about sex, in any form that made Ichigo squirm.
"Che. Thing is, maybe she couldn't handle me." Grimmjow trailed his fingertips down along his shirt in a long slow crawl to his crotch, a move that Ichigo followed absently. But when Ichigo looked back up, there was a calm fury in his eyes that sent alarm bells through Grimmjow's head.
"Maybe you're just not any good in bed."
Oh snap. Their entire half of the table turned at that. Why did it always seem like people stopped talking at the exact moment you didn't want them to?
Grimmjow puffed up like a bullfrog, eyes narrowing to slits.
"Maybe you'd like ta find out?"
Ichigo looked like he was ready to give him a hard swat right across the bar.
"Maybe you'd like to get lost."
Grimmjow snorted then flashed a toothy, yet still angry, smile at the table.
"I'm lousy on paper, but I'm great in bed. Eh boys?" He melted into a satisfied grin at their approval, then glanced up. "No wait. I'm great on paper too."
Ichigo rolled disbelieving eyes in disgust and then ignored him. For as long as he could. Which was about two seconds. His mouth was on the move before he could catch himself. Not that he cared - said his blood-alcohol level.
"You might not completely suck in bed," he scoffed. "But I'd bet a month's salary you're just a one trick pony."
Grimmjow blinked, then hit Ichigo with a look that was all bad news. And then more bad news on top. The enforcer eased himself back, thighs falling apart, wide and comfortable, one arm slung along the back of the lounge seat, and drink resting above his knee.
"Oh yeah?" His hips shifted, a slight but sharp upward motion, picture perfect and arousing. "Why don't you come take a ride on my pony and see, smart mouth."
"Why don't you..." Ichigo started, tearing his eyes off the five-star-porn-perfect thrust of his strong hips before meeting the enforcer's satisfied face. Grimmjow waited for the comeback, but in the next instant Ichigo just deflated like a popped balloon. Defeated and a fresh tint to his cheeks. "Eat snot," Ichigo grumbled.
The looky-loos drifted away as soon as their argument stalled. But Grimmjow's grin fell way to something more curious. Intuitive. He sucked a tooth before he nodded at the oranget.
"When's the last time you even got any?"
"None of your business." Ichigo's eyes flashed dark, and he looked away, across the table, down the table, any god damn place but Grimmjow's end of the table.
"Okay, so, that's gotta be, like, a month at least," he noted. "Two?"
Ichigo ignored him, clearly trying to catch a passing thread of conversation from somewhere nearby. He almost looked like he hoped that if he grabbed at it, it would yank him physically out of the situation. But that didn't bother the enforcer one bit.
"You never talk about your hookups," he said seriously. "Not a whisper. It's like they don't exist."
Ichigo went rigid. It was a question as much as it was an astute observation. Much too astute. And Ichigo couldn't ignore that.
"That's because my private life is private," he said tightly. "Not some shit show for the world to watch."
Not expecting the cheap shot, Grimmjow choked on a startled noise from the back of his throat.
"You fucker," he grunted. "You saying my private life is a shit show?" Grimmjow's head tilted. "Son..."
Worked up into a defensive knot, Ichigo just dipped his head to the side and scowled.
"If the shit show fits..."
Grimmjow's mouth opened to fire off a fitting cutting retort, but nothing materialized, and instead he just gave Ichigo a look so full of hurt that even Ichigo looked startled.
It was Kensei who called a time out, loudly and abruptly, as he clunked the thick and sturdy bottom of his beer mug against the table, the sound of it heavy and brash enough to shatter the rhythm of their growing argument.
"It's so nice to see you two finally getting along," he called. "Common now boys. Hug it out." Kensei grinned broadly, knowing only he could get away with a comment like that at the moment. But he meant it. Reign it in.
As a pair, they turned to look at Kensei, noses wrinkled with seven kinds of disgusted offense. Then they both blinked as the light clicked on about just where they were and just what they were talking so heatedly about. Two young men digging into each others sex lives with the aggressive interest of the truly oblivious. They both took the easy exit he'd offered them, and huffed in a manly fashion. For good measure, they ignored each others existence for the next ten minutes too.
X X X
Aside from licking their wounds and dwelling on them, there were enough things going on in the busy east coast themed bar to occupy that time.
Like the fact that in that same ten minutes later, Shinji was still going hard at it, paying no attention to Yoruichi's bored yet polite expression.
Grimmjow had to hand it to her. Even though she was a predatory little princess, with more attitude at times than most folks could afford, she could be really good with people when she wanted to be. She knew how to treat them, even when she would rather be a thousand miles away, smoothly aware of how not to break their hearts. Unless they pushed too far. Which was Grimmjow's best guess on the Shinji situation she was putting up with right now. From what Grimmjow could see, he was lucky she was taking his feelings into consideration at all.
She sure as hell hadn't let Grimmjow off that easy, not the last time they'd talked.
As he sat idly scanning the table, the bar, and the very mismatched duo perched at its center, the memory of that day came rushing back to him. He remembered the feelings he'd had when Yoruichi had burned him, but more so, the depthless anger he'd felt when he'd watched her toss her ball into Ichigo's court... of all places.
He glanced discreetly over towards Ichigo, who had settled back down and was now laughing at Shiro's arm waving story about a recent team prank he'd been a victim of. (The old spring loaded snake in the cooler gag) And it was almost a surprise that Grimmjow couldn't call up those feelings anymore. In fact, it seemed so very long ago, so other lifetime. He didn't care about anything Yoruichi did, or who she did it with. Even if Ichigo wanted to do it with her it wouldn't bother him. Except that... it did.
Yoruichi could sleep with any one from the team if she wanted to, and Grimmjow wouldn't give a shit.
Just not Ichigo. And not because of some outdated rivalry.
Because Ichigo deserved better than what she could offer him. That sounded like a reasonable explanation. But, the truth was, Grimmjow just couldn't squeeze out that persistent, growing feeling, even after the mean shit they'd just spat at each other, that Ichigo didn't belong with just anyone, that he should only be with someone who knew him, and who gave a jack fuck about him, as much as -
"Grimmjow! Check it out!" Ikkaku was thumbing in the direction of the bar where Yoruichi lounged, shoulders back, elbows on the bar rail, bedrooms eyes nailing anyone who happen to look up from her tits and into her eyes. "Goin' dowwwn!" he howled.
Grimmjow watched as Yoruichi turned away from Shinji a few times to converse with a man on her other side. You didn't need subtitles or subtext to read what was happening.
"Heh. I guess you gotta applaud that can-do spirit." He snorted, eyes shining with dark amusement.
Shinji had spent the last ten minutes trying to talk to her, despite that he was beginning to see more and more of the back of her head as she engaged herself lazily with the single young man on her other side. And he wasn't even a hockey player. Shinji had grumbled into his drink a few times when his goddess wasn't looking... which was happening more often.
Finally she'd smiled sweetly at him. And Grimmjow knew it was over.
He limped back to their table.
Shinji was wreckage still smoldering in the air. The team could easily see that much. But it was Renji (who'd been closest to it) who gave everyone the play by play of how it had finally gone down.
"And then she says," he snorted into his drink while all eyes fixed on him in delight, "If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to grab your balls... and squeeze the dust out of them!" He fell sideways, nearly tipping over his chair for all his laughing.
Shinji folded his arms and looked the other way, lips bent into an emoticon pout.
"She didn't mean it. It's just a thing we have."
More laughter.
"I'm going to have her," he grumbled.
Even Grimmjow wrinkled his nose at the declaration, the pitch of his voice and an eyebrow both rising in doubt.
"Yeahhh... I don't think ya are." Man, that was painful. But apparently, Shinji's immunity was world class. He was as tough in the heart as he was on the ice. But also a lot stupider.
The blond sat in his seat with his chin in his palm for all of twenty seconds before he huffed and stood up again.
"This is stupid. I'm better than that guy any day."
Everyone paused in their conversation long enough to watch him shove his chair back.
"Yeah. Ya are! Go get'er!" Renji whooped before he broke down into hysterics, dropping his forehead and slapping the table.
Shinji didn't waste his breath on their obnoxious lush of a goalie as he stomped back in Yoruichi's direction. And it was clear that it was with absolutely no clue about
what he was going to say or do.
There was a loud snort from Grimmjow's end of the table. The blue-haired man was shaking his head, forearms arms resting wide and heavy on the table, finger tips steepled to support his near empty glass as he tipped it back and forth in a lazy, wobbly circle.
"It would take a village to raise an idiot like that."
"Grimmjow."
"What?"
Kensei was smirking at him.
"We're his village."
Grimmjow paused, then chuckled. "Heh. Yeah, I guess we are... " He shook his head at Kensei, and actually snorted a disbelieving laugh. "Fuck, eh?"
What could Shinji truly hope to learn about being sophisticated with the role models he had around him? Nothing good, that was for sure. And the proof was in the pudding. Shinji was going after a woman who was more man than he was.
Grimmjow's eyes wandered to Ichigo, who was watching the scene at the bar with a disappointed frown. It was as far from a sure bet as anything, but maybe there was something Grimmjow could do about that after all. Something he could do right.
He huddled back into his seat at the end of the table, far enough removed that his screen was out of sight of Ichigo and the others. And began to text.
Grimmjow: Yo. Don't look over here.
Of course she did. But it was quick and subtle. He smirked in appreciation at her sender ID.
Grimmjow: Do me a favor.
LetMeWreckYourBalls: What makes you think I would do you any favors, Grim?"Cuz you can't stop thinking about me."
"Hardly."
"Cuz you loved riding my dick."
"I appreciated your dick. But I'll need more than a fun memory to go on."
"Cuz I'm asking nicely."
"Are you?"
"Please."
"That's what I like to hear. No promises. What do you need?"
"Don't brush Shinji off."
Grimmjow looked up as he hit send. He anticipated the mile deep pause between texts as she stared at the screen liked he'd texted in a foreign language.
"Why would I want to do that?"
"He's got a big dick. And he's a virgin."
Yoruichi's lips twitched, like she was fighting a laugh.
"And so are you."
"Would I lie to you?"
"Yes."
Grimmjow frowned. He wasn't really a liar. Shinji fuckin' acted like a virgin. That was close enough. He looked up at her and smirked.
"Always liked you for your brains."
She returned the gesture at her screen.
"Always liked you for your looks."
"Don't forget my rocks."
"Thought those were your brains."
That wiped the humor from Grimmjow's face.
"K. Trying to be nice here."
Story of his fucking life.He caught the coy smile that turned up the corner of her mouth.
"Rly? Please continue."
Grimmjow was grinning again too, but as he thought about his next words, his smiled pulled back down on its own.
"Shinji likes you. He struggles. But he's good people. Take him out and show him how it's supposed to be done."
He glanced up to catch her giving him a subtle nose-wrinkling look of mild discomfort.
"Again. Why would I do that?"
"Because you'll be doing the world a favor. The sooner we can get him laid and off the market, the better for all of us."
"Laid I can do. Maybe. Off the market... not happening."
"Hah. I gotcha."
Boy, did he. He'd always preferred to be unattached. That's why he and Yoruichi had enjoyed each other so freely for the time that they did. He tapped at the screen again."Give him a chance. He's one of the good ones. Plus he's so horny, he'll drill you like a jackrabbit all night."Just the way she liked it.Grimmjow tried to hide the disgusted sneer from his face as he typed out those words and looked up to see her reaction. This was absolutely not natural, what he was doing for Shinji.
And by the way. Ew. Shinji.
Yoruichi, though, actually quirked an eyebrow in interest.
"Thanks for the advice. I'll take it under consideration."Grimmjow smiled at his screen.
"Thanks, darling. I'll owe you."
"You don't make that much."
He sniffed.
"I am that much. And I remember you moaning about how you loved every thick silky inch of it in your gorgeous ass."
He ended their conversation, his last text short and crude enough to make her sit up a little bit straighter even as she rolled her eyes. But he grinned hard enough at her from across the bar for the princess to feel it in her underwear. He could see it in the way she shifted her hips, the bar stool she perched on swiveling to one side.
He'd put a little fire in her furnace. But now she had Shinji to keep it stoked.
Yep. There was no way he was going to be able to pay her back for this, ever. Unless Shinji kept his mouth shut and pulled a miracle out of his pants, Grimmjow was going to owe her big time.
X X X
When Shinji rushed back to the table twenty minutes later babbling about the incredible thing that had just happened to him and dates and goddesses and things that didn't really make sense when you heard them out loud considering the people involved, Ichigo looked as skeptical as half the team.
When he looked at Grimmjow, searching for some kind of answer to the greatest mystery of all time, Grimmjow just raised his eyebrows in innocent confusion and shrugged. That made Ichigo's eye narrow to a highly suspicious slit, but whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself.
X X X
Grimmjow checked his phone. It was getting late, and around that time. A four hour shift at the bar was enough for him. And fuck, he'd drank more than his share tonight. He was gonna have himself a little sleep in tomorrow for sure.
On that note, a good chunk of the guys had decided the same thing, and as they rose to hit the bathroom before heading into the cold and grabbing themselves cabs home, Grimmjow remembered that there was just one little thing he had to take care of before he too headed out.
X X X
The long, narrow bathroom was lined with urinals, all them full, most of them with Reapers who had lined up for a quick piss. And that one guy who nobody knew at the end.
Grimmjow glanced at the first Reaper in line and strolled past him. Target already acquired, he slipped up behind his red haired team mate, slapped his hands against his hips and started fake thrusting behind him.
"Give it to him, Grim!" someone shouted gleefully from a safe number of urinals away.
"Oh shit!" yelled Renji. "Get off me, ya sick bastard!"
Grimmjow's fingers stayed tightly wound in the fabric of Renji's shirt.
"I can stand the smell if you can stand the pain," he growled out lewdly as he moved his hips sloppily a few more times.
That started a riot of laughter and cat calls that had Renji cursing the day Grimmjow was born.
Even the stranger in the fourth spot was killing himself laughing at Grimmjow's perverted humping.
Until Grimmjow let go of their goalie and turned towards him, and eyed him seriously. Then he grinned wildly.
"Don't laugh. You're next."
The guy's jaw dropped open like it had fallen from its hinges, and he leaned as far away as nature would allow him to without pissing on his own shoes.
Zippers started trailing upwards at the same time, sounding like cars at racetrack, and all heads turned, watching the guy high tail it past them and out of the bathroom with his dick still dangling as he tried to hoist his zipper up and run at the same time.
"Is it the hair?" Grimmjow called out. He tipped a shoulder in resignation. "It's the hair."
Kensei was just in time to catch the drama too. He just smiled fondly at the enforcer.
"Grimmjow," he chuckled as he gave him an affectionate pat. "It's nice to see you coming out of your shell." Grimmjow gave him an I-gotta-be-me shrug. "Now, seriously, wash your hands. You touched Renji."
. . .
At the first stall, Ichigo silently thanked god and everything in between that Grimmjow had left him out of this one.