Thank you to those who continue to read, and everyone who's left a comment. I truly appreciate all the encouragement.
Thanks in particular to Q and B for editing.
They walked for miles, together, with the desert around them, the thin sliver of a moon hanging forever in the distance. Grimmjow knew it would take a while, maybe a day's travel before they got far enough from Las Noches to expect a fight with anything worth a damn. Such was the problem living somewhere that basically bled reiatsu into the open dessert; no hollow that wasn't worth its salt would go chasing up against the walls of Las Noches. Grimmjow knew, though, that having the shinigami with him was more of an advantage than the brat realized—Grimmjow could barely restrain himself from consuming the little skinny prick's reiatsu, and Grimmjow was Espada. He knew the mindless, craving beasts of Hueco Mundo would never be able to resist the shinigami's tantalizing scent.
Hell, he counted on it. They weren't more than a day's journey from Aizen's stronghold before they were attacked. Grimmjow had been walking with long strides; he wanted to leap into sonido-speeds to hasten their travel, but knew it was a wasted effort. The shinigami would never have been able to keep up with him. It annoyed Grimmjow, wanting as he did to start up a fight between them, but then he was saved the effort by a bunch of weak, reiatsu-starved hollows. The creatures attacked both of them without hesitation.
Grimmjow was eager for the fight, even if they were worthless—small, lesser hollows; the best of them might generously have been called Gillion but after that, nothing worth mentioning. He tore through them all, and the shinigami did the same, beside him. It seemed right, and Grimmjow didn't question it.
They were finished in minutes; Grimmjow was left anxious and excited, waiting for more but nothing came. The shinigami stood several yards away from him, shoulders square and a familiar permanent scowl etched across his face. Grimmjow remembered the fast moves of the shinigami's sword while they fought alongside one another; Ichigo was like a weapon himself, and Grimmjow wanted more.
"That enough for you, eh?" He leered at Kurosaki, who was still tense and ready.
"Don't see much else," Kurosaki said. His sword was wet with black blood; Grimmjow could smell it, and it stank. Not the same flavor as the shinigami's, that was a good taste—Grimmjow wouldn't've minded spilling that over and over, and it was a shame Kurosaki would die if he did.
"Nah," Grimmjow shrugged. "But you can't tell me that was satisfying, right? I can't even feel happy after a battle like that. You'll disgust me even more than you already do if you say you're finished."
"Then what, Grimmjow?" Ichigo glared at him, arrogantly. A challenge Grimmjow couldn't wait to take on. "You brought me out here to find something strong—is that the best you've got?"
Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, "We'll find something yet," he said. "But until then, I'll take you. Take you over everything else; you'll give me a good fight, won't you?"
"Don't even fucking start with that—" Kurosaki began as Grimmjow leapt at him. He was able to drive the little brat back; the shinigami's strength was nothing against Grimmjow's own, even using only his bare hands.
"Aw, c'mon," Grimmjow jeered. "You said it before, if I got you away from Aizen and beyond his stare—you said you'd give me a good fight. Don't back down on me now."
"We might be away from him, but this sword's still sealed. I can't match you, Grimmjow; if you take this as a victory, I'll only hate you more."
"I'll take it, yeah," Grimmjow answered. "I'll take every inch. Every part of you, until you break—"
He snatched the shinigami's sword, sharp and slippery with something else's blood, but dull and worthless against him. Grimmjow held it for only a moment before jerking back so he could throw it—and the little brat, still holding on tight to his zanpakutou—over the sands. Kurosaki slammed into the ground several yards away and bounced once before skidding to a stop. Grimmjow was crouched, excited. He wanted the shinigami to crawl to his feet and run, scared, the way things should've been. No one would stop the two of them now.
Unless Kurosaki stopped things before they even began: Grimmjow waited for him to stand, but he never did. The brat was motionless before curling up on himself, pain etched into each turn of his body; he seemed injured and why—Grimmjow hadn't thrown him that hard. He frowned. Maybe he'd underestimated how weak the little prick was to begin with.
Grimmjow stalked towards him, and the shinigami scrabbled at the sand as he tried to gather himself. It was pitiful to watch. "You're so pathetic," Grimmjow spat, drawing closer. He stood over the other man, whose face was twisted in pain. "You disgust me."
"Fuck you!" Ichigo snapped. He was favoring one side, the shoulder he'd fallen upon when Grimmjow had thrown him—it was probably dislocated.
"Get up." Grimmjow glared at him murderously, as if it would motivate the little prick to pull it together faster. This was a pain in Grimmjow's ass, if he could really bust the brat up so easily. Fortunately, they were close to Las Noches, and taking the shinigami back wouldn't be too much of a trouble. But still, Grimmjow didn't like playing gently with his toys, especially when they were Ichigo; the little fucker should've been able to take twice as much and bounce right back, hot and angry and ready to fight. It made Grimmjow's snarling, hungry anger focus on Aizen, the one who'd trapped the both of them in this worthless fight.
"Shit," Grimmjow snorted. He bent and grabbed Ichigo's uninjured arm, jerking him to his feet. "I didn't even hit you that goddamn hard."
"No, you didn't!" Ichigo twisted in an instant, whipping around to slam his fist into Grimmjow's chin.
It was the arm he'd been favoring, and even as Grimmjow's head was thrown back from the blow, he was laughing; he'd believed the little bastard's ploy, every step of the way.
As he came skidding to a stop, Grimmjow found himself giggling still, excited; every inch of him was awake and ready.
Kurosaki didn't give him time to recover, rushing Grimmjow with all his strength faster than Grimmjow could follow with his eyes. But he could read the brat's movements and met him each time, even if it meant he was driven back—Grimmjow could feel his stomach leap for what must've been the first time in ages; this was the fight he'd been waiting for.
He answered one of Kurosaki's strikes with his fist in the shinigami's chest, knocking him off balance and back a bit. "Now that's what I'm looking for," he sniggered. "But I didn't expect you to start playing dirty so quick; is that all you have left to beat me with?"
"It's enough," Ichigo scowled. They faced each other for a long moment; Grimmjow's jaw still ached from the impact of the little fucker's fist. It was a nice pain, inviting even; it made him anticipatory for what would follow, and he hoped to do twice the damage to Kurosaki once he got an opening. Grimmjow wasn't one to wait for long, not with the shinigami glaring at him with heated eyes; he rushed the little bastard and they grappled. Grimmjow hadn't yet drawn his sword, and he caught Kurosaki's zanpakutou when the brat tried to run him through, wrenching it aside hard enough to make Ichigo yelp.
That was a good sound, a good look on him: defiant and angry, with a hint of pain coloring the edges. Grimmjow wanted it over and over again, until Kurosaki was on his knees: impotent and hateful, unable to stop him though he wanted to with every fiber.
Kurosaki's sword arm was twisted to the side, and Grimmjow drew up against him, snaring a hand in the shinigami's thick hair to yank his head back. Kurosaki thrashed out of his hold, and Grimmjow was surprised to find his hand stinging and bleeding—even if the zanpakutou was sealed, it could still do damage if the little prick used it right. Grimmjow dodged away from another slashing assault to draw his own blade.
"You've still got some teeth left, don't you?" he cackled, lunging and meeting Kurosaki's attack with one of his own. "That's good. I want it like this, with you like this—"
"Kicking your ass, you mean?" Ichigo snarled through gritted teeth. Even if Grimmjow was enjoying things, the shinigami wasn't taking it for a game. That was just how Grimmjow liked it. He slapped the brat across the side of his head, and laughed as Kurosaki stumbled.
Grimmjow didn't have time to enjoy the flustered, angry flush coloring the other man's face before Kurosaki was at him again, catching Grimmjow's side with the tip of his sword. He dodged but felt its cold bite, adding a hint of danger to things, but Grimmjow knew it'd make the prick cocky, believing that if he just tried hard enough he could win. Grimmjow had no intention of letting that happen, and would enjoy rubbing the shinigami's face in his inevitable defeat.
Grimmjow pressed in against him suddenly, right into the little fucker's face until Ichigo recoiled. Grimmjow took that one moment of hesitation to whip the legs right out from under the other man. Kurosaki fell, but rolled away when Grimmjow tried to pounce upon him, and the two of them were tangled as they scrambled in the sand for the upper hand. Grimmjow butted his head upwards, stunning the shinigami and Ichigo rolled on his back, spitting out a mouthful of grit. He recovered fast enough that he met Grimmjow's blade as he lunged towards him.
"Get off of me, you piece of shit!" Kurosaki wedged his knee between them, dangerously close to Grimmjow's hollow hole. It wasn't something that'd take him down, but a hard blow against that vulnerable part was never welcome. Grimmjow didn't want the bastard to get any ideas, and shoved his body weight back, pinning the brat's legs beneath him.
"You put up a good fight when you forget your place," Grimmjow sneered. "But this is where you belong, crawling under me. I didn't keep you for nothing."
"Quit saying that, freak!"
"You said it first, when you gave yourself up. Can't take it back now."
Kurosaki thrashed wildly in response, his face a snarling mask. And then his eyes widened; Grimmjow realized they were fixed on a point over his shoulder. "Look out!"
Grimmjow almost laughed, "Oh c'mon, I don't fall for such cheap tricks twice—"
Several things happened very rapidly: Kurosaki snagged a fistful of Grimmjow's hair, hard enough that it hurt, and yanked his head forward until it was pressed against the shinigami's flesh, near his throat. The smell of him hit Grimmjow's senses like a lance through his chest, hot and intoxicating. It left his lungs feeling as though they'd been burned to ash, and he groaned deep in his chest. Grimmjow's mouth was so close to the shinigami's hard-beating pulse that all he had to do was bite down, until he was drowning in Kurosaki's smell and taste—his life as it poured out.
Grimmjow felt dazed but wasn't completely gone. He felt Kurosaki shift, swinging his sword in a wide arc, and then a hollow's roar shook Grimmjow back to his senses fully. Fuck, the little prick hadn't been screwing with him; something actually had snuck up behind them. That was irritating. Grimmjow hated for anything to get the jump on him, especially pipsqueak hollows who thought they were big enough to pick a fight.
Kurosaki rolled them both as a dull thud sounded from where they'd been only a moment before. Ichigo broke away from him and got to his feet, and Grimmjow realized the brat had sliced off one of the hollow's arms. It had plenty to spare. They'd both been sprayed in the thing's blood, and it was screaming; Kurosaki didn't hesitate more than a moment before leaping at it, and Grimmjow watched him tear the hollow apart.
He still felt a little wobbly on his feet, and wasn't sure why—Grimmjow blamed it on the way every nerve felt saturated in Kurosaki's smell; as a hollow, he'd always ached hungrily for a taste of power like that, and the shinigami was like a drug. Something clenched in Grimmjow's stomach as he watched Kurosaki take the hollow down: even if the brat didn't stand a chance against him, Grimmjow was glad the shinigami was strong. He wouldn't've wanted Kurosaki otherwise.
Ichigo whipped blood off his sword with a quick flick of his wrist, "Thanks for the help."
Grimmjow smiled wolfishly in response. "So you needed it after all, is that what you're saying?"
"You could at least be grateful, you ass. That thing would've taken off your head."
"Is that what you think?" Grimmjow didn't thank people for anything, especially not Kurosaki—and he hadn't needed it anyway; if the hollow that'd attacked them had such a meager reiatsu that Grimmjow hadn't even noticed it, the thing would never have put a scratch on him. That went double for any hollow Kurosaki could take down on his own; the brat's skills were pitiful.
He felt a twinge in his mind: other hollows were gathering to them. Maybe Grimmjow had gotten a little too caught up in their earlier fight. Kurosaki jumped to his side. "Shit," he hissed. "There's more."
"Uh-huh. More than you can handle?" Grimmjow snatched his sword from where it'd fallen during the previous confusion. "You're not stealing every kill this time, you little fuck."
"You wish." Kurosaki rolled his eyes, but didn't spare a moment before leaping at their enemy. Grimmjow followed, and it was fun, for the short time it lasted—having something he could fight against without worrying about breaking it accidentally. But it didn't last long enough—good battles never did—and Grimmjow was left bubbling with spare energy and nothing remaining to spend it on. The desert stretched out around them, empty and white; too quiet for what Grimmjow preferred.
Kurosaki stood a short distance from him, breathing heavily and covered in blood. Grimmjow knew that little of it was the shinigami's own, aside from what was oozing from a deep scratch on Kurosaki's shoulder. He must've grappled with something, or been too slow to avoid claws, and his blood-scent was pouring out of it.
Something about that wasn't quite right, in Grimmjow's mind: he'd claimed that part of the shinigami once himself, with his teeth. He didn't like another hollow putting a mark over it. The brat always stood so straight with his shoulders thrown back, proud and arrogant, and Grimmjow liked knowing that the other man wasn't able to do that any longer. Not without the reminder Grimmjow had etched into the bastard's flesh with his own teeth, a brand signaling who he belonged to. Ichigo would be wearing that for the rest of his life.
His life, which Grimmjow owned. He stalked up to the shinigami, still itching for a fight—the one they'd had hadn't been decisive—and snatched the torn fabric to inspect the damage. Kurosaki twisted away almost immediately, but Grimmjow caught him and held his struggling body fast against his own.
"What the fuck?" Ichigo spat, straining in Grimmjow's hands.
"You're bleeding."
"So what d'you care?"
Grimmjow could smell the hot-copper pulse, and lowered his mouth to the wound. The damage wasn't bad, only two deep lacerations. Beneath it, Grimmjow could see the scars left over from his teeth, and tasted them with a long sweep of his tongue. He remembered the dizzying rush from before when he'd had his face and nose pressed into the shinigami's skin, and Ichigo shuddered under his hands in disgust. Anything hollow would be drawn to a reiatsu like Kurosaki's, but it was Grimmjow's alone, his—the shinigami could fight off the mindless hordes that came after him, but he'd always be like a wave smashing on rocks to Grimmjow, never doing a damn thing though he tried so hard—
"Let go of me," he snarled, and jerked away. Grimmjow released him, satisfied that what he'd marked as his still was. Kurosaki's face was flushed, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Grimmjow smirked widely; he knew his mouth was probably painted with the kid's blood but he didn't care. "S'not as bad as I thought it'd be."
"So you'll see that it gets worse, is that it? Fuck, you're disgusting."
And with that, Kurosaki turned, stomping off. The little shit didn't even know where he was going most likely, just away, but Grimmjow had no intention of letting that happen. He caught up easily and walked at Ichigo's side; the brat scowled at the open desert in front of him and didn't acknowledge that Grimmjow was there. That was fine—Ichigo didn't have to; his avoidance was attention enough.
Night found the two of them hunkered down under the overhang of a cluttered mass of sand-worn boulders. The weather had turned, Grimmjow could smell it happening while they traveled—the shifting of the sand and wind that promised a storm—and he'd pushed the both of them until they were exhausted and aching. But it was better to find shelter of any sort to wait out a sandstorm. Grimmjow might've been able to weather it, but he knew the shinigami's skin would get blasted from his bones.
There wasn't much room for anything in their makeshift shelter, and the wind howled inhumanly through the rocks. Grimmjow wasn't bothered by it or the cold draft, but the shinigami shivered pathetically beside him. Grimmjow could feel Kurosaki's shoulders tremble where they were pressed together in the cramped quarters. Not enough space to get far enough away from each other, but it wasn't like Grimmjow had a problem with that.
What he did have a problem with was the shinigami shaking like a goddamn leaf beside him. Every time Grimmjow shut his eyes and lazed into a welcome doze, Kurosaki would shiver like he was rattling his bones. It jerked Grimmjow back to consciousness rudely and repeatedly, until he was so annoyed that he looped an arm around Ichigo's neck and pulled the little prick's skinny frame up against his own.
"Fuck off!" Ichigo shoved away.
"You fuck off!" Grimmjow spat in return. "I can't fucking sleep with you acting so goddamn pathetic. Settle down or I'll knock you the fuck out, I don't care how it goes so long as I get some goddamn sleep."
And with that he dragged the shinigami back, shut his eyes and stolidly ignored the other man. Serve the prick right to shiver all night, and Grimmjow would've let it happen had they not been in such tight quarters. "You're weak if you let a little chill like this bother you."
Ichigo was stiff against him, but relaxed after several long minutes, and Grimmjow sighed gratefully. Running and fighting all day made him tired in a good, bone-deep way, but it also made him irritable as fuck. He'd throttle the shinigami before he was kept up all night.
"I'm not cold," Kurosaki muttered, bitterly. "I'm shivering because you're so revolting."
"Whatever you have to tell yourself," Grimmjow answered, before he lapsed into a blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
WHATTA CHEESY END TO THIS CHAPTER DD:
And one note: Now, goddammit! Not one week after I posted that last chapter including my crazy "Grimmjow's fraccion" theory, and KT has to joss the crap out of it by posting official stats! Could you maybe have published that in time for a rewrite? *SIGH, OH THE INDIGNITY*
