I hope everyone is healthy and that this story is a good distraction for you. Writing this has been therapeutic for me. I hope this is the same for you.
Ten years later
The elevator ascended. Grimmjow watched the floors fly past, excitement thrumming in his stomach. After months, they'd acquired enough stocks to be invited to the Nakamura Enterprises annual general meeting.
Beside him, D-Roy clapped his hands together. "Oh, I love this part!" He clumsily tied a neon green and yellow tie around his neck. He'd cut his wiry straw hair into a bowl cut just for the occasion.
Grimmjow unbuttoned his zebra-patterned dinner jacket, revealing a muscled bare chest and stomach. Tattoos of koi fish swam in dark ocean waves across his chest, and a dragon spiraled from his chest to his stomach, spewing flames. He tugged at the bright red tie, not liking the way it itched.
"It's a pity Shawlong couldn't join us," Elforte sighed. He'd worn heels just for the occasion which clashed with his business suit. "He never likes to have any fun at these meetings."
"He's too prim an' proper to be caught dead in thish getup!" D-Roy chuckled.
These jobs weren't Grimmjow's favorite. Though they paid well and the horrified expressions of the company management was to die for, there wasn't much excitement involved. As per usual, their job was to silence shareholders at the meeting, keep them from asking any embarrassing or inappropriate questions that might bring any shame to the company.
Their employer had instructed them to do whatever they wished: embarrass them, intimidate them, beat them up. Grimmjow intended to do a little of everything. Any excuse to piss off rich, entitled snobs was fine by him.
"Likin' the hair, Grimmjow-shama," D-Roy cackled laughter, twirling a strand of Grimmjow's bright blue hair. "You dye it for the meeting?"
Grimmjow smacked his hand away. "Pay attention, you lot. We're here." He said, pushing some sunglasses into place on the bridge of his nose.
The elevator dinged. Grimmjow pulled the megaphone from his brief case and tossed it from one hand to the other as they marched to the meeting room. Through a glass wall, the stockholders gathered around a long mahogany table. Grimmjow slammed his foot into the glass door, throwing it open.
"BANZAI!"
The shareholders jumped out of their seats while others toppled from chairs in their surprise. D-Roy launched himself onto the table, screaming, "Praise his Imperial Majesty! Long live the Emperor!" He kicked folders off the table, scattering papers into the air.
Grimmjow threw a round-house kick into one of the stockholders, knocking him and his chair over. Raising the megaphone to his lips, he hollered, "Oi, oi! You lot heard the story about the emperor with no clothes? Well, turns out emperors aren't the only ones who get down and dirty." He whipped a photograph from the inner pocket of his jacket.
The stockholder's face turned white. "He's lying! He's lying! I don't know who that woman is, I am happily married!"
Several smashed chairs later, Grimmjow strutted out of the meeting with his pocket full of bribe money, and left the stockholders bowing to one another in shame.
"Did you see their faces?!" D-Roy squealed with laughter in the backseat as they drove. "Praise his Imperial Majesty! I almost peed!"
Grimmjow cracked a grin. Making smug assholes squirm never got old. "I think one of them actually did piss himself." He tossed D-Roy and Elforte their share of the cash.
Elforte tugged off his heels. "Now we just have to survive D-Roy's horrendous haircut."
Grimmjow dropped them off and stopped the car outside a bathhouse. The receptionist gave him a bow and led him down the hall to a changing room. Grimmjow stripped and found a locker, securing a towel around his waist as he stepped out into the courtyard.
Steam thickened the air, and droplets formed on his skin as he sought out a particularly crowded bath. Lounging in the steaming water were tattooed men, each built like a sumo wrestler. They drank sake at the water's edge.
At the center of the group, was a lanky man, taller than all the rest, with hair the color of tar that flowed down to his bony, tattooed shoulders. He wore an eyepatch and a shit-eating grin as he slapped the behind of the server who'd brought them another bottle of sake. She scurried away, head bowed and face red.
"Check out the ass on her!" Nnoitra Gilga's single eye followed her hips as she departed. "Wish I could say the same about you, Jaegerjaquez." He curled his lip as Grimmjow dropped his towel. "Like the hair."
Grimmjow tossed Nnoitra his cut from the job this morning and slunk into the warm water. He rolled his shoulders appreciatively as the heat dissolved the aches in his muscles.
Nnoitra counted the money. "Not bad. You're raking in the money, Jaegerjaquez. I think that sexy serving girl wanted my dick, but you deserve a bonus. Wanna share her with me?" His smile was so slimy, Grimmjow half expected to see a leech where his tongue—tattooed with the number five—should be.
Grimmjow's stomach churned. "I'm good."
Nnoitra looked at his boys incredulously. They scoffed.
Irritation made his fingers curl, but Grimmjow ran wet hands through his blue locks and ignored them.
"The hell's wrong with you, Jaegerjaquez? Huh? I offer you women all the time."
Yammy, an enormous man with dark skin, a square jaw and thick lips boomed laughter. "Nnoitra-sama, maybe girls aren't his thing, if you know what I mean." He waggled the caterpillars he called eyebrows.
"I think we all know what you mean," said Nnoitra's second-in-command, Tesla, as he joined them in the bathroom, already looking tired of this topic of conversation.
Nnoitra howled laughter. He stood up, water rippling around his narrow hips. "You like ass, Jaegerjaquez?" He turned, revealing the praying mantis that dominated his backside, pincers poised for Grimmjow's throat. He bent over and waggled his scrawny ass.
Laughter erupted from the men in the bath. Grimmjow looked away in disgust and took in a deep breath through his nose. His legs twitched. The silhouettes of his parents loomed in his mind, their voices raised in disgust and anger. He recalled the tears, burning hot as they ran down his face, cold dread forming a lump in his stomach.
He wanted to run, like a frightened boy. He held his ground.
Let them think what they damn well want.
"And if I was?" Grimmjow opened his arms wide as if in invitation. A grin cracked his face in two. "Let's be honest, I'd get more ass than any of you ugly motherfuckers combined."
The men guffawed. Nnoitra sank back into the water and downed his sake, his cheeks rosy-red. Grimmjow could sense he hadn't been taken seriously, and the relief he felt drove a pang of frustration and shame into him.
Grimmjow's grin fell away, his arms trembled as he lowered them to the edge of the bath. Sweat mingled with the steam dampening his brow.
At twenty-five years old, he was a member of the biggest yakuza organization in Karakura Town, yet the option of living an out and proud lifestyle wasn't a possibility. The stigmas attached to homosexuality would only weaken his reputation—but that didn't mean he would take any insults.
Gradually, the bath emptied. Grimmjow drank to avoid talking to Nnoitra and as his vision began to swim, he realized that not even sake could make Nnoitra more appealing. Eager to be done with the formalities of drinking with his boss, Grimmjow reached for his towel.
"Jaegerjaquez!" Nnoitra slumped in the bath, his chin inches from the water's surface. "Come and see me—hic-tomorrow! I got another sokaiya job you'd be good—hic—for. But," he leaned over and gave Grimmjow a lungful of bitter sake breath. "It's gonna be different this time, ya feel? No "banzai!" or "Praise his Imperial Cocksucker" BS."
"Sure, got it, Nnoitra."
"Nnoitra-sama," Tesla corrected, shooting Grimmjow a look that made him itch to plant his fist in his nose.
"Meet me tomorrow at—at noon." Nnoitra swallowed a belch. "Then we'll talk. This job is big, Jaegerjaquez. Bigger than anything you've ever done—hic! So don't disappoint me."
Water cascaded down Grimmjow's body as he secured a towel around his waist.
I couldn't give a shit if you're disappointed, fuckin' alcoholic slime ball, he longed to say.
"Sure thing."
Swirling neon lights blinded Grimmjow, and the bass pulsed like a heartbeat under his feet. Men swarmed the dance floor, sweat sparkled on their bare chests as they swayed, hypnotized by the DJ's beats.
Grimmjow feasted his eyes on them, dancing skin to skin, locked at the lips. The sexual energy went straight to his cock, tightening the front of his pants. He'd never appreciated Karakura's gay scene more than he did tonight after biting his tongue during the onsen visit. He couldn't stomach the shame, the lying, the hiding.
Tonight, he was free.
He shed his tee shirt and donned his leather jacket. Armed with a shot of Hibiki, he prowled the dance floor. He breathed in the aroma of sweat and aftershave, afloat in a sea of writhing, sculpted bodies. He downed the shot and savored the rush, hungry eyes roaming from one Adonis to the other—and wandered into a pair of emerald eyes.
He leaned on the bar as if he owned it, observing the dance floor with wide-eyed curiosity. Observing Grimmjow. It was impossible not to notice him. In a sea of bare skin and leather, dark jeans hugged slender hips, an ironed button up begged to be loosened, and his glass-green tie set Grimmjow's imagination running. Oh, he could show Mr. Business Man the time of his life . . .
As soon as blue met piercing shades of green, the raven-haired man turned away, but there was no mistaking the color rising in those pale cheeks. He'd seen something he liked, and so had Grimmjow.
From his heart shaped face, framed by ebony locks, to the chiseled angular lines of his jaw and high cheekbones, and those piercing green eyes, he was gorgeous and cold all at once. A sculpture carved from ice, just waiting for the right touch to melt that cold exterior. Grimmjow was dying to know what hidden passions dwelled beneath the ice.
"Still waters run deep." Isn't that right? Let's how just how deep they really run, pretty boy . . .
Ulquiorra Cifer squeezed the aluminum car key in his pocket.
"Buy you a drink, handsome?" A muscled hunk squeezed into the vacant bar stool.
Ulquiorra looked away. "No, thank you." He was only the fifth man to ask in the last five minutes. All they'd done was offer to buy him drinks, yet even that made him want to disappear into his jacket.
Meaty fingers danced across his shoulder. "C'mon, just one drink!"
Ulquiorra couldn't suppress his flinch. The man's hand lotion smelled like mosquito repellent. He bucked his shoulder. "No."
Why did I think a crowded nightclub was something I would enjoy?
At twenty-nine years of age, he ought to be ready for his first night with a man. After years of repressing and denying, he couldn't take it anymore. If he was destined to be shipped off into an arranged marriage with the girl of his father's choosing, the least he could do was allow himself one night as his authentic self.
But he'd overestimated just how far he was willing to go. The bass vibrated in his throat and seemed to quake the building itself, making his ears feel as if they'd been stuffed full of cotton. He found himself choking on potent aftershaves.
This should be a repressed gay man's wet dream, instead all he wanted to do was run.
He didn't know whether to be disappointed or relived as he lurched to his feet.
"Hey, c'mon, let me loosen that tie for you." A meaty hand settled on his back, trailing lower, squeezing.
His heart propelled itself into his throat. "Don't touch me." He lashed out, smacking away the unwanted touch. As the man's face darkened with anger, it was then Ulquiorra remembered that he was a measly five-foot six-and-a-half inches to this brute's six-foot stature. Ulquiorra's workout routine consisted of an hour and a half on the treadmill; he wanted to guess this brute ate five-dozen eggs each morning, and lifted houses for a living.
"Little fuckin' prude. Why'd you come in here if you don't want it, huh?" In his anger, he seemed to swell to twice his height. "You're coming with me before I force you, and trust me, that ain't something you want to happen."
Ulquiorra balled his fist, steeling himself the very opposite of all physical encounters he'd anticipated tonight.
A tanned hand fisted the brute's thick shoulder. "He said hands off, shitstain."
The brute relinquished Ulquiorra's jacket and whirled around. "The hell—"
Ulquiorra's breath hitched at the sight of electric blue eyes and a chiseled scowling face. A mane of unruly blue hair tumbled down to broad shoulders, though a few rebellious strands dangled over his forehead. Red lights streaked his leather jacket, open to reveal rippling abs and the tattoos that painted his skin. Ulquiorra had always thought of tattoos as dirty, but they gave his rough-and-tumble rescuer an exotic flare.
Ulquiorra swallowed and his mouth ran dry. From the moment he'd glimpsed him on the dance floor, Ulquiorra had been captivated by him. Everything about him commanded attention, from his blue hair and piercing eyes, to the way he prowled, shoulders rippling, like a creature on the hunt; cool, composed, as if he owned the room and everyone in it.
Their eyes had met and for a moment, Ulquiorra felt as if he existed. But who was he kidding? Men like this blue-haired hunk could have anyone he wanted, and he'd undoubtedly be drawn to the bare-chested go-go boys rather than buttoned-down businessmen.
Being wrong had never been so gratifying.
"What are you, some white knight? Piss off." The brute slammed a meaty hand into the blue-haired man's chest. He hardly moved an inch.
Pointed teeth gleamed as a grin spread slowly across his face. "All right," he pushed up the sleeves of his leather jacket, revealing more tattoos on the backs of his hands. "You wanna fight, let's go!"
The brute's face turned white. "Now wait a second! I thought they didn't allow you people in places like this!" He backpedaled, hands raised and trembling. "I didn't know he was your boyfriend, I swear, honest!"
Tattooed fingers snared the seat of the brute's pants. He squeaked in pain as the blue-haired man wrenched him close. "By the count of three, you better walk your bubble-butt out that door. Or your ass is gonna be outta commission for a week."
The brute squinted. "Like, in a good way or—" He flew backwards.
"Run!" A terrifying grin tore his face in two. With a yelp, the brute ran from the club. The blue-haired man's grin faded into a surly expression that seemed commonplace. He dropped into a bar stool and pushed an empty glass toward the bartender who refilled it for him.
"Outta your element, ain't'cha?" His baritone voice rumbled. Full, pouting lips quirked into an easy-going smile and made Ulquiorra warm around the collar.
Ulquiorra was quiet. It couldn't be more obvious he didn't belong here, but he still wouldn't admit how overwhelmed he was. "You aren't, clearly."
"Good drinks, good company—minus that asshole. What's not to like?"
Ulquiorra hovered by the bar while his rescuer down a shot. He fingered the car key in his pocket. It was getting late, and tonight was a disaster. He should really leave—
"The whiskey's good. Want one?"
"I should probably go. This is all a bit . . ."
"Much? Yeah, I get that. I was lookin' to get outta here too, in a bit. Maybe after one more song."
As he spoke, the song changed and cheers erupted from the dance floor. Blue eyes sparkled under the neon lights, and they lit up when he met Ulquiorra's gaze. "You dance?"
Ulquiorra swallowed, eyeing the crowded dance floor with rising unease. "No. Not usually." But he wanted to.
"I could show you. I'm a hell of a good teacher, and I won't get too hands-on, 'less you want me to."
Ulquiorra swallowed, admiring the tattoos on the back of his large, tanned hands. It scared him to admit, but there wasn't a thing he wouldn't let this man do.
"Tonight is an unusual night." Ulquiorra shed his jacket, hoping the other man didn't notice the tremor in his hands. "I'm a quick learner. Show me."
A grin curled full lips, electric blue eyes sparkled. "Let's dance, pretty boy."
(Oh don't you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me
I said you're holding back
She said shut up and dance with me
This woman is my destiny
She said oh oh oh
Shut up and dance with me)
Heat ran up the back of his neck. "Just Ulquiorra is fine."
"Ulquiorra . . ." His name rumbled on the breath of a smooth baritone. A shiver raced down Ulquiorra's spine. "Just Grimmjow is fine." A smirk tugged his lips, and he extended a hand.
Ulquiorra's fingertips caressed the calloused palm of his hand.
Am I crazy? I'll make a fool of my—
The thought left his head in a gasp as he was swept close to a hard body. The warmth of bare skin seeped through his shirt, and Ulquiorra had never detested clothes more. Bodies flush together, Ulquiorra held his breath as tattooed fingers toyed with his buttons, popping a few at the collar bone.
"Breathe," Grimmjow's voice thrummed in his ear. "Follow my lead."
(She took my arm
I don't know how it happened
We took the floor and she said)
Strong arms looped around Ulquiorra's shoulders. Ulquiorra breathed out and surrendered his control, letting Grimmjow sway him to the music. Hands clasped his hips, stealing Ulquiorra's breath as his pelvis shifted, grinding against Grimmjow's hips.
Ulquiorra's hands twitched, itching to explore every hard muscle, but they remained locked in place at his side. Grimmjow clasped his hand. Ulquiorra hadn't realized how cold and clammy his hands were until Grimmjow warmed them with his touch. He brought Ulquiorra's hand to his shoulder, and wound the other around his waist.
Warm breath blazed against his lips as Grimmjow chuckled. "Someone's tense."
His hands reacted before he could stop them, winding around broad shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about," Ulquiorra huffed.
"Now we're talkin'." The wolfish smile on his face kick-started Ulquiorra's heart. He spun out at arm's length and Ulquiorra stumbled back into his arms, Grimmjow's rock-hard chest against his back. Ulquiorra rocked his hips back against his crotch and knew he'd done something right when Grimmjow uttered a growl of approval.
(Oh don't you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me
I said you're holding back
She said shut up and dance with me)
Inquisitive lips blazed a scorching trail up his neck to sip at the shell of his ear. All the blood in Ulquiorra's body traveled south. Large, painted hands ascended from his hips to his stomach to his chest. Ulquiorra's heart pounded to escape his chest. It occurred to him that Grimmjow could likely feel its frantic pulse, as if he held his heart in the palm of his hand.
Grimmjow rolled his hips against Ulquiorra's buttocks, and there could be no mistaking his desire. Grimmjow spun him around they found themselves nose to nose. The electricity had fled those blue eyes. They were dark, like the flares of blue in a roaring fire.
"Let's get outta here." His breath warmed Ulquiorra's lips, urging him closer.
This was it; the moment he'd been waiting for, and yet his stomach was in knots.
"It's up to you. What do you want?"
"What do I want?"
The question resonated within him. When was the last time anyone had asked him what he wanted?
"Need convincing?" A finger tilted his chin, the scent of whiskey was ripe on Grimmjow's breath as he came closer, until Ulquiorra could almost taste him. His fingers curled in Grimmjow's hair, thinking rationally was near impossible over the blood rushing from his brain to his cock.
He didn't want to be rational. What he wanted was big and blue, wild and unpredictable. He stepped out of Grimmjow's arms. "Follow me. My car's right outside." He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and slipped his hands into his pockets.
Blue eyes burned against the back of his neck, he could almost see the smile curling full lips, those sharp teeth gleaming. "Right behind you."
(Oh, oh, shut up and dance with me
WALKTHEMOON - "SHUT UP AND DANCE WITH ME")