It looks like I'm back for more. At long last =D So glad to be here. ^_^
All my usual warnings I think. Violence, sexual abuse, mentions of rape. All that dark, painful nonsense. I also tinker around a bit more with POVs in this story. We begin with Ichigo, but later on it'll be fun reading it in Grimmjow's POV. :)
Ps- I'd also like to apologize for the absolute garbage story summary. But gosh dang it it's close enough!
XxXxXxXxX
A lot of people have told me I'm oblivious. Oblivious to flirtation, sexual advances, and the fact my ass gets stared at enough to have its own television show. That doesn't faze me, and my typical response is a scowl and prompt "fuck you" to their face. My friends have come to accept me though, and even find it stupidly amusing. Me? Not so much, but whatever.
I work as a bartender at Rukongai, a club widely known for its unprejudiced attitude and tolerance toward all sexual orientations. It's not my first choice of work, but it keeps me busy and sometimes I enjoy it.
As I'm cleaning a wineglass I address the customer in front of me. "What can I get ya?"
His left front tooth is missing and his beard is scraggly and untamed. "Yeah, can I get a blow job please?"
"Sure, coming up." I gather the Irish cream and Kahlua and prepare the shot. This guy is one of my regulars. Terry. He's a middle-aged man who's balding prematurely and could rival a hippo in terms of girth. He's not one of my preferred customers, always talking incessantly and distracting me from other customers.
Renji, my coworker, abruptly elbows me in the ribs. "What the hell are ya doing Ichigo?"
I cock an eyebrow and scowl. "What do you mean? He wants a blow job."
He juts his chin to the fat customer. "Hey pal, were you referring to the drink?" He licks his lips and shakes his head no. "Didn't think so."
I blink as it sets in. Well, fuck.
I'm annoyed. "What the hell, old man? I'm not giving you shit."
"I guess I'll just have a Corona then."
"Get it yourself, fucktard." I'm pointing to the door and it's only then he realizes his tragic mistake.
With a defeated look Terry plops off his seat and leaves the bar. I furiously clean the shot glass I was using for the blow job shot, annoyed as hell. It's not the first time I've kicked someone out for being a disgusting jackass, but it still pisses me off people like that exist.
A memory threatens to surface, but I vehemently push it away. I'm not one to wallow in the past, and with my past I sure as hell don't want to.
The music is almost deafeningly loud, and I let myself get molded into the rhythm. Time passes and all of my conversations with customers are short, to the point, and utterly perfect. I don't have to form a bond, a flimsy friendship, or listen to any of their woes or why they want to drown themselves in alcohol.
It's nearing midnight and the crowd is still pretty thick. The bar seats are almost full, and the booths are gradually filling up. The dance floor is far from sparse and sometimes it's fun to watch drunk people fall on their asses.
I turn just in time to see another customer squeeze through the crowd and take a seat at the bar. I quickly finish a woman's long island tea before heading to the new guy, listening to the music as I go.
As I reach him I notice his hair is a unique blue, a few shades lighter than his equally blue eyes. His shoulders are wide and his entire expression screams "fuck you because I'm better than you." Fucking asshole.
"What do ya want?"
"Gimme some hard shit," he demands with a gravelly voice. He doesn't look at me, as though I don't exist.
I grab the most expensive liquor we have and pour it into a shot glass. I set it on the counter, and as I'm about to walk to another customer he downs it in a second and says, "Another."
Needy as hell, it seems. I refill his glass, and the cycle repeats. I give him three more shots before he finally waves a hand away.
"We startin' a tab?" I ask, because seriously this guy clearly needs some alcohol. He hands me his credit card and I take that as a yes.
I leave him to his own devices and address other clients. Time passes and I'm almost sort of enjoying myself. The music is good, work is distracting, I don't have to think.
Because we all know the depths of our own minds is the most morbid place to reside, isn't it?
"What can I get you?" I ask the probably-underage-but-I-don't-care-enough-to-check guy in front of me.
He looks nervous and out of place. "Strawberry daiquiri please, but light on the a-alcohol."
Goddamn. By his voice and choice of beverage I'd argue he hasn't even hit puberty. I don't rightly care, and I gather the ingredients. I sigh when I come up short.
"Renji, we're out of cherries! Go to the back and get some."
I turn to realize I'm talking to thin air. But a few seconds later he appears out of nowhere with a box of fresh cherries and sharp grin. "Sorry, I had to borrow them real quick."
"What the hell for?" His cheeks are red, he's breathing more heavily than usual, and his hair is disheveled.
Right when he opens his mouth I wave my hand. "No, nevermind. I retract my question."
Rukia, the person I would call my best friend (but wouldn't admit to anyone's face because fuck that), is also in a long-term relationship with Renji. They've been dating for 2 years, and I can honestly say I'm happy for them both. They're always so happy around each other, smiling like crazy. It almost feels weird knowing I can never be that happy.
Renji cackles, incredibly annoying and probably still on a sex high. "You're missing out bad Ichigo. Sex is fucking awesome."
"No thanks, I'm good." And I meant that with all the fucking sincerity I could damn well muster.
I take the cherries, worried some of them are covered in juices I'd rather not think about. I hope the underage kid didn't hear that conversation, and I quickly whip up his Strawberry daiquiri, put a cherry and tiny umbrella on the top, and give it to him.
"Thanks man," he says excitedly. It reminds me of how excited Renji was when he first told me about losing his virginity. Too fucking excited.
I move on. I notice the blue-haired man now talking animatedly with a woman sitting beside him. I address several more customers before I'm waved over by him, and I don't even try to hide my grimace.
He looks straight at me, which he refused to do before. "More liquor, bitch."
My grimace morphs into barely concealed rage. "Excuse me?"
He cackles, his grin as wide as his face. "Get me my drink, and get this lady here a martini, extra olives."
The woman is clinging to his arm. Her make-up is thick, cleavage prominent, and waist small.
It's fake people like these two that make me want to vomit all over their faces.
"Yeah yeah, coming up," I mutter, my small good vibes for the night gone. I pour his liquor and stir up her martini. The whole classic James Bond "shaken not stirred" is bullshit. I stir a martini like a goddamn professional.
"Thanks babe," she says, winking at me with long black eyelashes. Does she have some sort of twitch? That sucks.
A voice calls out, "Hey bartender, can I get a drink?"
Thank god. I quickly leave those two and address the muscular blond man who asked for me. "Sure, whatcha want?"
His grin is wide. "Are you on the menu?"
I hold in my frustration as best as I can. I pluck a menu off the counter, open it up, and shove it in his face. "You tell me. Do you see 'bartender' on the menu?"
He lowers the menu out of his face. His grin hasn't gone away, which pisses me off even more. "Now now, you don't need to be like that. I'm just interested in you, is all."
I stare into his eyes. "If you don't want a drink then I'm not interested in you at all."
Finally, little by little, his grin is fading. "You fuckin' serious man?" He vaguely gestures to his body. "You don't want this?"
"No. Now either order a drink or stop bothering me."
He snorts, slamming a hand on the countertop as he stands. "This ain't over," he mutters before sauntering away.
That's neither the first nor the last time I'll hear that, and I hear a cackle to my left. I turn my head and see the blue-haired man laughing at me. He clearly noticed the encounter. I shoot him the middle finger, then go back to making drinks and cleaning glasses. I haven't seen Renji around in awhile and I can only assume he's "distracted" again. Damn it Renji.
It takes way too long for the end of my shift to finally get here. The bar closes at 3am, and at 2:45 the crowd is dwindling. The blue-haired man left with the busty female a while back—they started making out at the bar and I'd honestly thought they'd have sex right there—the underage kid asked for my number, and Terry showed up at 1am to ask for another blow job, but "more politely."
A fucking headacheis what today was. But now, at long last, it's 3am. 3am and I'm fully allowed to shove people out of the doors if they overstay their welcome.
Renji and I clean up the bar area (with the help of Rukia) and at 3:30 I'm outside in the cold weather. Rukia kisses me on the cheek as a goodbye, and the two climb into his red car. Renji used to offer me a ride every shift we worked together, but he's learned my answer will always be no.
I walk home. My jeans have holes and my jacket is thin, but I don't let myself be dismayed. There is far worse to endure than a little cold.
XxXxXxX
Days bleed together, and the realm of redundancy is my sanctuary. I like routine. I like knowing what to expect. Monday is like Tuesday, Tuesday is like Wednesday, Wednesday is like Thursday. Everything has been perfect.
Until we get to Friday.
It's Friday night, and it is a shitty night indeed.
Since the first time I met the blue-haired man a few weeks ago, he's come to Rukongai a few more times to demand liquor, flirt shamelessly, and take women home. He is the stereotypical womanizer. Big muscles, big money, and outstandingly nonexistent humility. He throws money away like he has his own machine that generates Benjamins at a whim.
I know that's technically ideal for me because I'm dependent on clientele, but it still pisses me the fuck off.
Currently, his mouth is inside another woman's mouth, and from behind the bar I'm sure they're fondling each other in ways I have no desire knowing or witnessing.
To be quite honest I'm surprised I haven't kicked the bastard out yet. God knows I kick Terry out at the drop of a hat.
I ignore the homemade porn being made in the corner, and address a customer who had just walked up to the bar. "What can I get ya?"
"Bourbon and coke please."
"Gotcha."
As I'm making the beverage the blue-haired man detaches from the woman's tongue enough to shout at me, "Bartender! 3 more shots!"
My eyebrow twitches. I want to hit this blue man with a frying pan until his brain is so thoroughly scrambled he never comes to Rukongai again.
After the bourbon and coke I serve up the 3 shots of the expensive shit he drinks.
I toss them on the counter. "Here. Now chill the fuck out I ain't your maid."
"Don' tell me wha' ta do." He downs the shots, sharing none of them with the woman. "Clos' me out."
This man has always shown to have an astoundingly high tolerance for alcohol. He has a slur, and I'm not expecting it. He drank more than I realized tonight.
"Yeah," I nod and cash him out. I hate the bastard, but I don't want him to crash and die.
The nameless female on his shoulder looks annoyed as she is having to balance him as he stands. I barely smirk. She clearly didn't sign up for babysitting tonight. But, at least that eases my consciousness a bit.
They finally stumble out and the night goes on.
XxXxXxX
The blue-haired man is gone, the night is going well, and it's finally closing time. By 3:30am I have Rukongai cleaned up, and I take the master key and lock the bar behind me.
I turn. And, to my utter shock, I find the blue-haired bastard passed out in the nearby alleyway. His clothes are rumbled, his hair in disarray, and he is so still part of me wonders if he's dead.
I'm half-tempted to leave him there, but my feet with a mind of their own walk toward the man. I bend down and jab a finger into his sternum.
"Hey. Buddy, wake up." His eyelids twitch and I jab again. "It's too goddamn cold to stay here, come on." Fuck. I thought that random chick was going to take him home? Looks like she wasn't feeling too generous if this is the state she left him in.
"D-Don't tell me what to do ya c-cock sucking son of a—son of a…" His head rolls and a deep snore erupts from his throat.
Motherfucking god. Are you kidding me?
A harsh gust of wind passes through the alley, and from head to toe I'm shivering. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this drunkard? I don't know where he lives. If I leave him here I don't even know what'll happen to him. Frostbite? Impending pneumonia and death? Fuck.
Finally the thought to take him to my place crosses my mind.
My cursing erupts tenfold, but I grab him by the waist and heave him up. He's a heavy son of a bitch and I almost completely drop him to the ground. Even fast asleep he seems to sense being jostled around, and he tosses an arm over my shoulder.
I grab onto it for the life of me, and with the other hand on his waist I take him to my apartment. He's no longer snoring and his feet are stumbling on the sidewalk. He's awake, but I can easily say incoherent.
"W-Where the fuck…where t-the fuck are w-we goin'?"
"Don't worry about it. You won't remember in the morning."
"I a-ain't into guys, dick."
My eye twitches. "Cool, that makes two of us."
"T-Then why the hell are ya holding me l-like I'm ur damn lover?"
"If I don't you'll fall twat."
As if to prove me wrong he takes his arm from around my shoulder, takes two steps, then falls to the floor.
"Fucking idiot," I mutter as I help him back to his feet.
It takes an hour to get to my building and up the stairs to my apartment. When we get there I guide him into the bedroom and immediately plop him onto the bed. He starts snoring the second his head hits the pillow.
I pull off his sleek black shoes (goddamn they're shiny), then yank the sheets out from under him and place them onto his body. Then I turn off the light and shut the door.
I check the time, almost 5am. I don't bother changing clothes as I walk into the small living room, lay down on the sofa, and pass the fuck out.
XxXxXxX
I'm in the kitchen brewing coffee when I hear him stumble out of the bed. A loud crash resonates through the small apartment, and I think to myself how nice it'd be if it results in a concussion.
But alas, a few moments pass and he drudges past the doorframe and into the small kitchen. He blinks at me, clearly confused. He stares at me for a long second. "…Don't tell me I fucked you."
I don't blush, but my eyes widen and I quickly turn away. "Hell no. Fucking dumb assumption," I mutter. The coffee is brewed and I pour the hot liquid into two cups. "I found you passed out in an alley like a fucking drunkard. Took you back to my apartment so you wouldn't freeze to death." And if I'm starting to regret my decision, well that's my own damn problem.
He sticks a hand down his pants and scratches like it's the most natural thing in the world. With the other hand he takes a coffee cup and gulps down half its contents.
He sets the cup down with a loud thud. "Tastes like shit." But that doesn't stop him from taking another gulp.
"Fuck you. If you don't like it don't drink it."
He's looking around at the apartment. I don't even think he heard me. "Your place looks like shit, too. Would've never guessed someone could live in a shithole like this." He backs up and peeks his head back into the bedroom. He walks back to the kitchen and points his thumb toward the bedroom. "Can you even get laid on such a tiny bed? No room for fucking whatsoever."
I can feel myself growing red with anger, among other emotions. Seriously? I put in the effort to get this asshole out of the cold, let him sleep on my bed, and the first thing his conscious ass brings up is dissing my living arrangements?
Why are people so obsessed with sex? Why does my bed have to be judged on how well two naked bodies can roll and writhe together? Why can't it be judged on its mattress, the coils, the sturdiness of the frame?
Why is everything revolved around sex?
"Listen buddy, you can be more appreciative that I saved your sorry ass, or you can leave. There's the door." I point to the exit.
But he's already moving around, only half listening to me. The kitchen and living room are one room, and he's walking around and looking at the small dining table, sparse furniture, and a fake plant in the corner that the previous resident left behind.
"Goddamn kid…you really live here?" He seems astonished. I don't hear pity in his voice though, which I appreciate more than I care to admit.
"Yes. I actually live here. Are you done insulting my apartment?"
"I have a few more on the tip of my tongue actually—"
I immediately ignore him. I need a cigarette.
Just as that thought runs through my head the blue-haired man pops a cig into his mouth and lights it. I walk up to him, grab one from his pack, and take his lighter.
It doesn't bother him at all like I thought it would, and he lets me light my (his) cigarette. I inhale deeply, taking in the nicotine and tar and everything that doesn't belong in my body. It feels like heaven.
"I'm hungry. Make me somethin'."
I huff, "I ain't making shit for you."
"What do you usually eat for breakfast?"
The answer is nothing, so instead I take him by the shoulder and lead him toward the door. "Nice chatting, it was a grand time, but you gotta go now."
The muscles under my palm are bulging with strength. I have a feeling I'm pushing him only because he's letting me.
I get him out the door just in time for my neighbor Ms. Etta to see us. She's an older woman obsessed with the notion of me having people "over." She's a pervert if I've ever seen one. Which I have. Lots.
"Oooo, Ichi, did you have a boy spend the night? And he's handsome like you too. Beautiful combination." She's staring at us like we were models in the porn magazine she flipped through last week.
"No Ms. Etta, we were just having some tea. We have to go now."
The blue-haired man snorts around his cig. "The hell we were. I wasn't given any t—"
With a hard shove I push him forward, and he grunts but allows it. We leave Ms. Etta and go down the stairs. Every other step there's a creak in the wood.
The stairs lead outside and he blinks at his surroundings.
"Where the hell are we?"
I internally laugh. The poor side. He ain't used to it.
I inhale through my cigarette. "Not a place someone like you would be familiar with." His expensive shirt, sleek black pants, designer shoes. Spending hundreds of dollars in a single night on alcohol. Yeah, he definitely doesn't belong here. He snorts but says nothing.
"Listen, I gotta get ready for work. Good luck finding your way." And if I didn't actually mean good luck, I mean…who really cares?
I leave him on the sidewalk and climb back up the stairs. I absently hope I don't see him again.
XxXxXxX
Chapter 1 complete! :D Semi-fun idea? It's a gradual GrimmIchi build but I think it's worth it. ^_^ Additionally, have no fear! I should be updating once a week. The majority of it is pre-written, so I promise I won't go completely MIA. For the MOST part it's ready and waiting. ;)
Until next time!