Soooooooo... Yeah, this story again... This update is super short (though I guess not terribly so compared to the other chapters of this story?) and don't get your hopes up for regular updates again, but I'm trying.

Enjoy maybe

Grimmjow frowned, using the toe of his well polished shoe to push his annoying, mouthy cat out of his way. The feline looked up at him as it danced around his feet, a purring meow making its desires known. As usual, when the smell of perfectly cooked meat filled the little apartment, the little hellion was friendly and congenial and not completely an absolute nightmare.

The big man rolled his impossibly blue eyes, but as he sat his plate down upon the table, he opened his other hand and tossed the animal a bite, like he always did. The cat pounced on it the very moment it hit the floor, gnawing on the tender meat greedily with a possessive growl purring in its throat.

The two ate in peace, the apartment quiet. The city outside was a muffled soundtrack of life and struggle and survival.

That very night, Grimmjow stalked the streets. His fridge was well stocked, the harvest of his labors packed away safely and precisely in unlabeled containers, of which he knew all the contents by sight and smell. He had all the tools and utensils he could possibly need for his trade. There was nothing he was wanting of, and yet he prowled the streets all the same, in search, but not for fresh meat. Not yet.

He knew who he looked for, and he knew what, but he'd yet to figure out where. For all his skill, the two that took on the mantle of a single killer were just as apt. They didn't look like much, even after realizing who they were. Even after seeing it for himself. Yet they eluded him surprisingly well, their tracks covered and their movements unwatched and unseen.

Oh he knew he could easily find the one. Ichigo's work schedule was regular and easily predicted, but Grimmjow suspected there was a reason for that, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. The next time he'd dropped by after their little truce in his favorite booth of the diner, another server had taken care of him and the orange haired one, Ichigo, had kept a careful eye on him, but said nothing. He hadn't been able to tell if it had been his growing paranoia, after his little chat with the both of them, or if Ichigo had possibly made mention of something, but it seemed that creepy owner that wore the hat had kept an eye on him as well and that was attention he didn't need, just like the two had told him it was. They were vicious when the need arose, in many ways.

So Grimmjow had decided, only a handful of days after their truce, that it was time to figure out what the other half of the shinigami duo did with his days while his better half worked. Maybe the pale one worked too, but something made him doubt it. Ichigo could fit in with normal people well enough, but Shiro was more like himself. Two of a kind. Neither of them played well with others.

They owned a house, Grimmjow decided, and didn't creep in and out of an apartment or hotel. They were much too solid, too permanent and confident in their standing for that. So their base of operations was a house, then, but that didn't narrow his field of search by much. There were hundreds of houses in and around a bustling city, thousands maybe.

Grimmjow stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked, stalking through alleyways and down deserted roads. A streetlamp flickered to life a dozen feet away but he payed it no mind, lost in thought.

And then something occurred to him, and his steady but not rushed pace slowed to a stop. His rivals had the home field advantage. He knew it, and so did they. He was looking in the wrong direction entirely. The one he sought out, the pale one, was a predator. He was a master of selecting prey, of finding weaknesses, exploiting those and figuring out how to best bring down his target. Grimmjow could only assume he was that target now, after having already been targeted once and surviving, which meant that he was playing this game all wrong.

A grin pulled at full lips, flashing white teeth in the growing dark, and the big man turned on his heel, and headed right back the way he'd come. Around him, the city buildings loomed tall and the spaces between them yawned like great, gaping mouths of shadow and throats of twisting alleyway. For someone who knew the area, it was an easy place to disappear.

"I've got to admit," He said, seemingly to himself should he have passed by a stranger in the street, "you two had me fooled entirely. On two fronts, even." He kept his hands in his pockets, his steps easy just like the smirk resting on his handsome features, "I would have never made the connection if it hadn't happened the way it did. Well…" He pulled a hand free and motioned, like putting a pause to his thoughts, "maybe you. It shows more in you. But Ichigo? Never." His expression never faltered. A predator always knew when another predator was around, and in this case, he knew just how to rile the other killer, "He seems too kind, too soft for this kind of work. Too pretty."

A growl filtered through the air, coming from one of the alleys nearby, but it was impossible to tell which. "Leave him outta this."

The lilting voice of the pale killer was a low warning, just as Grimmjow knew it would be. So protective of his lover. Grimmjow merely smiled wider, and continued walking, "You must have done a number on that poor man, to have twisted such a gentle soul into something so ugly."

"You'd be wise ta watch yer mouth…" Shiro all but snarled as he finally edged into view, though with enough distance between them that neither was going to be making any sudden attacks without the other seeing it first. "Yer not invisible ta me. Don't forget, you're in my territory here."

Grimmjow bowed his head slightly, in a mocking show of apology and respect. When his blue eyes edged up to gaze at the pale man, though, they failed to hide his mirth. "Yes I am, and now you know where I'm staying. You'd be wise to scamper off with that bit of information and come back later, in force, but you wont." He watched the way the other man's lips thinned into an unhappy sneer, the way pale brows furrowed, "Because if you do, if you walk away from me now, I'll be forced into action to preserve my own life, and I don't know where you live. I only know where your partner works."

Gold on black eyes widened slightly, but it wasn't really surprise. No, it was rage. "I told ya ta leave him outta this…"

It was exactly what Grimmjow was looking for. "I'm afraid I can't do that. He's as much a part of this as you and me, you made sure of that when you sent him to lure me out. Though I guess you didn't really know who you were hunting for at the time."

Shiro bared teeth, every line of muscle on his wiry body going rigid, but his eyes narrowed and rather than attacking, he took a step back and melted into the shadows. For a moment, Grimmjow thought his provocation had failed, until he realized this was the shinigami's entire strategy and had been since the two became media favorites. They hunted and killed in the shadows, ghosts in the underbelly of the city.

Grinning to himself, Grimmjow pulled his hands from his pockets, and calmly followed, knowing full well what awaited him around the next corner. He wasn't disappointed. The moment they were out of sight of the street, the smaller turned on him with all the speed and agility of a jackal. His mate wasn't with him, but that didn't seem to detract from his protective aggression. Grimmjow had knowingly crossed a line.

He grunted under the force of that first hit, but he wouldn't underestimate the man again, not after his first run-in with him and especially after he'd just threatened his partner. Shiro was in it for murder and this time, he wasn't caught off guard by Grimmjow's abilities, already knowing what to expect.

So Grimmjow didn't draw it out. Other ideas in mind, he spun around with the force of the hit, drove an elbow back with all the power he could put behind it, and caught the smaller under the arm. There was no yelp behind him, no pained cry, just a sharp intake of air that proved he'd hit his mark. Clean cuts bled less, sealed shut quicker. Sometimes they even healed quicker than ragged, ugly damage, but if their was one thing Grimmjow knew about marking flesh, it was that a clean cut made for much more tender meat. In this case; that meat was still living and the slice he'd left behind in pale skin was still just as sore.

Following up the elbow to tender, slashed ribs, Grimmjow rounded on the man while Shiro still tried to figure out how to draw breath around the fire in his lungs. Snagging the smaller killer's shirt, and jerked Shiro from his feet, than followed him down as he drove him to the ground, landing to straddle his rival.

Shiro was just regaining his breath enough to see more than white flash across his vision when big hands circled around his throat. His fingers circled tight around the bigger man's wrists as he grit his teeth, digging his heels in across the cracked blacktop. Grimmjow outweighed him, though, and between the pressure closing his airway and the weight on his stomach, he couldn't get the leverage needed to throw the man off.

He shoved with all his strength, tried to drag the hands from around his throat. He fought and struggled and grunted with the strain of it, glaring death up at the smug features hovering over him. All the while, he tried his damnedest to keep calm, to keep his breathing deep and even and unpanicked as that air came harder and harder and darkness crept around the edges of his vision.

The hands clawing at his arms and wrist began loosing their strength, and Grimmjow grinned down at the unfocused look in those strange eyes. "So you do turn colors." He all but purred, his tone mocking and amused, as pale features darkened to an unhealthy shade with lack of oxygen. The man still had the awareness to curl his lip at the comment and Grimmjow laughed, impressed.

But that awareness didn't last much longer. Shiro choked desperately for air as his hands went slack, pausing for a split second to rest motionless against strong, tanned arms, before falling limp altogether. His eyes rolled unhealthily as his body went slack below Grimmjow's weight, and his color shifted from reddish to something closer to blue.

Grimmjow held on a moment longer, the muscle in his arms tense and coiled tight. He leaned his weight into it, reveled in feeling that erratic, lively pulse slow dangerously below his hands. Then he finally let go, and backed off, pulling his weight off the man.

He waited for a heartbeat. Then a moment longer, and after a third his pleased expression fell as he knelt at the man's side and closed a big hand around Shiro's jaw, straightening his head and tipping his chin back to open up his airway again. "C'mon…" He drawled, "I'm not ready to kill you just yet. Breathe, dammit…!"

After another long, tense moment, Shiro finally dragged in a desperate, choking breath. His eyelids fluttered as he struggled towards regaining consciousness, chest heaving as he sucked in quick lungfuls of much needed oxygen.

Grimmjow grinned and patted his cheek, "That a boy." He said, doubting his words would be heard, and stooped to pull the man from the ground. Mildly impressed with the little bit of struggle he received, despite his adversary's very compromised state, the bigger pulled the smaller from the dirty ground, snagging hold of his wrists as he did.

Shiro was less than aware of what was happening to him. Very vaguely, in the furthest corners of his mind, something picked up on movement, on the passing of buildings around him and the steady dark-light-dark of the street lamps he passed under. He could smell sweat and soap and feel the heat of another body but it wasn't his and it wasn't Ichigo's.

He groaned in protest as his weight was shifted uncomfortably and something banged loudly beside him. The rough sound felt like sandpaper on his tongue. His pulse thrummed in a heavy, black and blue ring around his throat. Then his back hit something solid and he was jarred enough to really start coming around. His fingers curled around wood as he searched for something solid to anchor onto. It all came back at once and he jerked so hard he went lightheaded again but it only lasted for a second as clean tile came into focus.

Grimmjow jostled the dead wight in his arms as he worked to open his unlocked front door. The single person they'd passed on the sidewalk had watched him from the corner of her eyes the entire length of the street, but hadn't said anything and honestly, Grimmjow wouldn't have cared even had she dared.

When he'd managed to get the door open, get through the doorway, and kick the door shut behind him, he went straight for the kitchen. His cat meowed a long, low sound of unamusement and danced out his path, before jumping up onto the table to watch.

He kicked around a wooden chair and dropped his cargo less than carefully into the seat, before disappearing down the hallway. When he came back, a roll of duct tape in hand, he matched the slightly clouded, fierce golden eyes that jerked around to him. He could see the sluggish residue that came with being denied life sustaining oxygen still clinging to the smaller killer's awareness, but he'd learned enough about this man to know Shiro would put up a fight anyway.

"No ya don't." Grimmjow half snarled as Shiro shot to his feet. The bigger man half dove forward, fisting a big hand in the smaller's shirt and shoving back hard.

The backs of Shiro's legs hit the seat of the wooden chair and, in his still dazed state, it was enough to knock his balance from him and leave him sprawled in the chair all over again. Grimmjow instantly went about securing him to the chair, but far more aware than he had been on their little walk through the streets, Shiro sneered, baring teeth. When Grimmjow grabbed one wrist and pulled the duct tape out with his teeth, Shiro fisted pale fingers in that chaotic blue hair. His intent was pretty obvious when he yanked his arm out of Grimmjow's grasp and out of the way and he put all the pressure on the back of Grimmjow's head as he could muster, but he didn't quite have the leverage to get a good shot in.

Before his skull could crack against the arm of the chair, Grimmjow brought an arm up and out, knocking the other's hold free and throwing Shiro's arm to the side, out of his way. There was a manic grin on his features as he looked up. At the same time, his fist snapped out.

The sound of Shiro's nose against hard knuckles echoed in the room. He managed a breathless, "Fffuck…" as blood trickled down his lower features, over his pale lips.

Grimmjow chuckled over the sound of tape ripping. "Got that right, kiddo."

"Gonna kill ya for this." Shiro mumbled, trying to blink away the stars in his vision. He yanked and jerked in his chair as the bigger man stepped back again, tape cutting the circulation from his hands and keeping him firmly in place; wrists secured to the arms of the chair, and ankles taped to the legs of it.

"Yeah yeah." Grimmjow shook his head, ripping another strip of tape off. "You're not gonna make it out of that chair alive." When Shiro tried to turn his head away, he closed a hand over the man's chin, yanked his head back around, and smoothed the tape across his mouth.

Shiro breathed heavily behind it, head bowed forward slightly, his hair a mess from their struggles and hanging around his features. His eyes glared murder though, tracking Grimmjow's every move with nothing but hatred. No fear, the bigger man noted, not yet. But he'd change that.

Kneeling tauntingly close, Grimmjow went about searching the smaller's pockets and person. The first thing he found was that big hunting knife. Knowing right where to find it, he pulled it free of where it'd been tucked along the smaller's spine, and dropped it onto the table top behind him.

The cat moved forward to sniff it, before her ears flattened and she hissed unhappily at Shiro.

Gold eyes cornered to it for a moment, before going right back to Grimmjow.

The only other thing Shiro had on him was a phone; no wallet, no keys, nothing personal. Grimmjow pulled another chair around to face the smaller, and sat back comfortably as he turned the phone on.

As the blue haired killer went through his phone, Shiro finally glanced around his surroundings. A small apartment on the bad side of town, as he'd already figured out. The big man could clearly afford a much nicer place, if the few things he owned and left out in the open were anything to go by. But the kitchen they sat in looked like it had been updated and redone not too long ago. The tile was clean and newish below his shoes. All the appliances were in the same condition. He had to twist around to look over his shoulder, but atop the counter behind him was a large cutting board, well and often used, clearly. There were a few knife blocks; an assortment of various kinds of professional grade cutlery with stainless steel, nonstick blades and seamless, matching handles. Not even so much as a fingerprint smudged them. Jars and bottles of spices lined the back edge of the counter, all organized meticulously and left within easy reach. A few different types of fresh vegetables sat upon a different cutting board alongside the first and Shiro's eyes narrowed as he slowly turned back to the man who's kitchen he was currently sitting in. He growled behind the tape across his face, tasting blood in the back of his throat.

That aggressive sound was met with a barely there, amused little smirk but Grimmjow didn't look up as he went through the man's phone, finding next to nothing of use; no address, no 'home' number. There was only a handful of numbers in the contacts list, and only one of them had a name to it, but it was no doubt the one he was looking for.

"You know," He started, his voice sickeningly casual, as if talking with a friend, "fear taints the meat of any animal. It leaves a bitter tang to the flavor. Most people don't really notice it because we're used to it. That's just the way the meat industry works. But have you ever had free range? A happy pig makes for the best bacon. It's true with people, too." He clicked the name and pulled up a blank text message, then leaned forward until his elbows were on his knees and only a foot or so separated his features from Shiro's. "The trick is to kill them before they figure out what's happening, before there's a chance for fear to taint the meat. I wonder how anger flavors, though, it's not often that I kill someone while they're angry." He laughed, cracking another grin, "Hell, I don't think I've ever run into someone that's angry about being murdered, and not terrified, so I guess this is a little bit of a flavor experiment."

Grimmjow finally held the phone up, turning it so Shiro could see the screen and the words he'd just sent to the pale man's lover. "I know you keep saying to leave him out of this, but I just can't help myself. It's your fault, really."

'don't be mad, aibou, but I found where he lives.'

This time the growl that came from the near albino was so vicious that had he not heard it for himself, Grimmjow would have thought there was no way a man could make such a sound. Again, the bigger man chuckled, and sat back to wait. "Aibou?" He repeated, scrolling through previously sent messages between the pair. "It seems like such an old term, so formal, but you say it so fondly. This thing between you two didn't start out as what it is now, did it?" Of course he didn't get an answer, but he didn't expect one. He glanced up again, the phone still in his hands and waiting for that reply, "He's at work right now?"

The narrowing of those furious eyes was enough of an answer. As if to confirm, the phone buzzed in his hand and looked down, reading aloud for his guest to hear, " 'I thought we agreed that you wouldn't go alone, love-' You two are disgustingly cute. '-he's dangerous and you're still healing… Go home, we'll talk about it when I get off.' "

Shiro snarled again, hands clenching into fists that stretched the skin over his knuckles tight. He pulled at his bindings, testing their strength, but he already knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"I know." Grimmjow said with mock sorrow and understanding, "I know what you're trying to say; 'leave him out of this.' But-" He shook his head sadly and went about typing up the next message.

'too late, already there.'

The more colorful of the pair had to have been waiting with his phone in hand while he worked, because his reply was almost instantaneous. Grimmjow could practically hear the unsurprised, unhappy, anxiety in the message he received back. He almost felt bad. But only almost. "He thinks your crazy." He laughed, glancing up at his captive, "Funny, and ironic, considering he's a murderer too."

'Sorry kid I'm just fucking with you. This is Grimmjow. Shiro is here though, I invited him over for dinner.'

'That's not funny, Shi…'

Grimmjow grunted another laugh and held up the phone, "Smile." he commanded, but of course his guest didn't -and really couldn't- comply.

Grey-silver duct tape covered his mouth but did nothing to hide his anger and hatred. Brilliant, red blood from Shiro's nose dripped over the tape, a stark contrast in color and it all stood out harshly against the paleness of the man's skin. His long hair was a mess from their tussle in the street and hung in disarray around his features. Behind him, the immaculately clean kitchen hid a dark, gruesome secret but it was a secret Ichigo would surely understand the significance of.

The electronic sound of a shutter clicking announced the photo being taken and Grimmjow typed another quick message -'you're welcome to join us'- and sent the photo.

Oops the three meet again~

idk let me know what you think.