Oh hay! Here's the next chapter! Sorry for the delay. As we all know, life tends to happen at the most inconvenient of times.

Thanks to Q and B for beta'ing this chapter. I appreciate everyone's kind reviews (in fact, I think the last chapter's reviews were some of the nicest I've ever received! It brought a smile to my day, each one).


Grimmjow's face was against something cold and damp; the floor, he could tell, and knew he was coming around. Fucking finally, thank fuck

He couldn't tell how long he'd been out, subsumed in the dreams brought on by Aizen's hypnotizing zanpakuto. Grimmjow had realized that was what'd been going on, eventually. Like the most intoxicatingly real dreams ever experienced, they were impossible to distinguish from reality. For most of it, Grimmjow wanted it to be real.

This had happened to him before, when Aizen punished him: Grimmjow had experienced it all like the materialization of his wildest fantasies, everything he'd ever wanted handed to him. And it was good, so good—until it twisted and turned horrible; the hypnosis always ended with Grimmjow wanting to kill himself to escape the nightmare.

He tried to remember what it had been this time; Aizen's punishment was always revealing in that it spoke to the truths deeper in his mind than Grimmjow himself knew. He'd realized this too, over time. And things always started out so goddamn nice that he didn't mind taking a trip down memory lane: in his dream, he'd been fighting Kurosaki, the fight Grimmjow wanted with him—both in their released forms and battling as fierce as it always should've been between them, nothing restrained. Grimmjow'd gotten the upper hand, but how…he couldn't remember, not that it mattered; it was the way Grimmjow wanted it to occur, so the dream unfolded just the same.

He'd had Kurosaki on the ropes, his fucked-up mask shattering and his yellow-black eyes bleeding back to white—Grimmjow had seen the weakness and pounced on it, but when he came back to himself from the lust of blood and a fight, Kurosaki was like a broken ragdoll under him.

The shinigami's face was crushed and his throat torn out; he was making the most pathetic wheezing gasps, a dying sound that made the small hairs on the back of Grimmjow's neck rise up and shiver. It wasn't a sound he wanted to hear coming out of Ichigo's lips, and there—that was where it had all turned awful, because Grimmjow knew, immediately as it happened: he knew he didn't want to kill the little fucker.

Grimmjow could taste the brat's blood in his mouth, and he'd spat out the gristly bits of Kurosaki's windpipe that still clung to his elongated resurrection-form teeth. In the fantasy-dream, he watched the shinigami's brown eyes fade as they turned flat and dead; same eyes as Ulquiorra had, but they just looked so wrong in Ichigo's finely-boned face. Except there weren't many bones left in it that could still hold a shape—Grimmjow'd seen to that, crushing Ichigo with his fists until the shinigami was only a sack of blood and pulp.

It was a strange and very unwanted reaction, the way Grimmjow's stomach sank and then he could feel his guts heaving—and all because of seeing Ichigo that way; it made him realize, horribly, that he didn't want Kurosaki dead. And why not? Grimmjow's jaw clenched with the tip of his tongue pinched between his teeth. How else was it supposed to be?

He enjoyed having the little brat under his thumb; it was fun. But when Grimmjow considered things, he knew Kurosaki would never stand for it indefinitely. One of them, eventually, would kill the other (Grimmjow intended to be the one doing the killing when that finally happened).

He'd wanted to kill Kurosaki for real earlier, because of how the little fucker was getting under his skin. They'd had themselves a good goddamn fight, the type where Grimmjow could see the fear rising in Ichigo's eyes—he knew Grimmjow wasn't about to stop, and without his bankai, Kurosaki couldn't do anything to stop him. So he'd run away, with Grimmjow whooping excitedly as he chased the shinigami throughout the halls of Las Noches. Grimmjow was going to catch him and kill him, and then he wouldn't have the little shit twisting up his body and his thoughts—at the time, Grimmjow's method of dealing with things had made quite a lot of sense. He wondered when it'd all changed.

He knew he could lie on the floor of his cell driving himself mad, rolling the images around in his mind, and knowing that Aizen'd dragged them right out of Grimmjow's own subconscious; he could pretend the sick sense of loss that'd overwhelmed him in the dream was just something Aizen had created to torture him with, but Grimmjow knew the truth: he didn't want to kill Kurosaki.

He wanted him living, alive and fighting always; Grimmjow would do anything to keep his nightmare from becoming real.

Grimmjow took a shivering breath through his nose and was grateful for how stale the air in his cell was—it wasn't the perfect illusion Aizen would create. It was real. Grimmjow valued that, suddenly. He felt sick and cold as he lay on the hard, moldy stones in only his hakama, his hands bound behind him.

He could hear footsteps, soft and deliberate, somewhere near, and opened his eyes finally; they were rheumy, and his vision was blurred.

Grimmjow blinked rapidly, gathering himself. He'd been tortured by Aizen before when he'd truly crossed the line (though Grimmjow didn't think he'd gone that far this time), and after the pain and torment of his body, he got to live his most terrifying thoughts in Aizen's hallucinogenic world until Grimmjow hated himself. It was a good way to keep someone in line; Grimmjow knew he wasn't likely to disobey Aizen so brazenly again—at least not for a while.

The shinigami lord was going to come to him now and comfort him, ask him if he'd learned his lesson, and then Grimmjow could finally go

"I wondered where you'd gone off to."

But it wasn't Aizen this time—Grimmjow knew that voice and was surprised by how strongly relieved he was to hear it, as annoying and disdainful as it was. He drew a deep breath and before Grimmjow realized it, he was laughing, a low chuckle that shook his shoulders.

"What's so goddamn funny?"

He didn't need to see Ichigo's eyes to know the other man was scowling; not like he did much else with that ugly face. Grimmjow had been lying on his side and rolled onto his back to face the brat, who was standing at the bars to Grimmjow's cage, frowning indeed.

"Another trick?" Grimmjow snickered. "I thought Aizen-sama was better'n this."

"What're you talking about, shithead?"

Grimmjow didn't respond; he wasn't sure if it was really Ichigo—it smelled like him, felt like him—but he wouldn't put another illusion beyond Aizen. Grimmjow rolled his shoulders, enjoying the deep aches in his muscles that the change of position brought; they felt more real than anything he'd had for the last three days. If it was actually that long—he'd lost track, in the dream. His mouth was still curved in a smile, and he could tell easily that it was irritating the other man. Deeply, intrinsically. Just as Grimmjow wanted it; nothing between them should or could ever be taken for granted.

"Grimmjow," Kurosaki snapped, demanding his attention. "What are you doing in here? What happened?"

"I pissed off the big man," Grimmjow said, and his face ached from grinning for so long. He couldn't seem to stop. He knew with a deep certainty that this wasn't another dream of Aizen's; this was Ichigo, real and alive and here, looking for him. Kurosaki wanted him. Wanted to be next to him; he'd seek Grimmjow out when he was missing. Grimmjow liked that, he liked it a lot.

It made a lot of sense, all of a sudden. His stomach was jumping and excited, just by having Kurosaki close; the shinigami wasn't dead and Grimmjow could make sure that he never was. Why did it fill him with such a sense of satisfaction? Grimmjow wasn't certain, and didn't have the energy to field that particular question at the moment.

He made a humming murmur of quiet contentment, before meeting Ichigo's eyes. "I'm more surprised that you came to find me. Now why is that, huh?"

"Nel's gotta big mouth."

"Hell yeah, she does—"

"It comes in handy," Kurosaki said, shrugging. "I'm used to you avoiding me, Grimmjow." The shinigami paused, as if he wasn't sure how to continue. "When Aizen broke up our fight—"

"I hate him." Grimmjow sighed deeply, with conviction. Thinking back, he sorta remembered how the fight ended: with Aizen popping outta nowhere, Ulquiorra right behind him—of course—and Grimmjow didn't know what happened after that. Tossed into a cell to be dealt with in Aizen's own time; Grimmjow hated being kept in a cage.

"Why did he get involved?" Kurosaki looked angry, but Grimmjow could sense the compassion behind his scowling eyes. It was annoying having it directed at him but at the same time, Grimmjow basked in the attention, soaking it up like the first warm sunbeam he'd had in ages. Fuck, he wanted Ichigo, so suddenly and so badly it seemed, like Grimmjow had never breathed real oxygen until he'd tasted the very air surrounding the damn brat. He could almost hate Kurosaki for making him so dependent, but it was good, so good that Grimmjow couldn't bring himself to.

"Hmm?" Grimmjow mumbled; he was sure the shinigami had asked a question earlier. He'd just forgotten what it was. He shook himself back to the present and jerked his body into a sitting position. "You should know, you little fuck, it's cause of you."

Kurosaki looked quizzical, standing on the opposite side of the bars.

"Yeah, yeah," Grimmjow said, catching his legs under him so he could stand and walk to meet the other man. "All your fault. Cause you never listen t'me, y'know? I gotta push you around, and then that smashes shit up. And that ain't what Aizen likes—well, not after we near busted up the entire joint during the war—"

"He's got you locked up for property damage?" Ichigo seemed incredulous.

"What? What's that even mean?"

Kurosaki shook his head, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Nevermind, it's nothing." His eyes refocused, "Grimmjow. That can't be all that this is about. We trash this place more often than not—"

Grimmjow giggled; it was true. "Fun, though, ain't it? That's something between us that Aizen just won't ever get."

"I guess." Grimmjow could see the edge of Kurosaki's eyes lilt upwards in a hidden smile, the corner of his mouth curving along with it. "Kinda sad, when he's the one between us who seems sane."

"Depends on your definition." Grimmjow shrugged, lackadaisically. "I never really gave a shit about that."

"Maybe you should."

"Now who're you trying to convince, huh?"

"Oh, fuck you—"

"No, Kurosaki, fuck you," he sneered, and pressed his face up against the bars, his forehead resting against them. "It's what you want anyway, amirite?"

Ichigo's expression turned sour and Grimmjow knew he'd hit the mark. Grimmjow tipped his head; the bars weren't spaced far apart enough that he could force his face through them but he could get partway, if he tried. "You want it, dontcha, from me."

"That wasn't much of a secret, dipshit," Kurosaki snapped, though Grimmjow could see color rising in his face.

"Now why is that? I've been wondering for a long time."

"I don't have to explain myself, especially not to you," Ichigo said, folding his arms awkwardly. "And there's nothing to explain, anyway."

"Oh, really."

Kurosaki snorted irritably. There was a long silence but Grimmjow didn't push it; he had a feeling he didn't need to.

Kurosaki didn't meet his eyes, but then they flicked towards him. "I can like whoever I want. I don't need reasons for it. I could ignore it, but what's the point? I find you attractive, though I only wish I knew why." He let his arms fall before re-crossing them over his chest. "And I don't have to like you to want to fuck you. I thought you'd get it, seeing as you can't keep an impulse contained for more than a minute."

"Aw, did you memorize every excuse you could think of before coming here?" Grimmjow simpered. He liked having Ichigo this way, defensive and angry. Grimmjow wasn't sure he'd ever give Kurosaki a second glance if he didn't act this way. He'd begun to like that defiance, so much.

"Then what's with this act, Grimmjow? If you're interested then why're you putting up such a fight about it?"

"Now who says I'm putting up a fight?" Grimmjow didn't want to let go of Kurosaki's anger just yet; Grimmjow wanted to keep it stoked and fiery so they didn't get too comfortable with each other. He liked the compassion Kurosaki gave him, but also saw it as a weakness; better to have him as an adversary. Always, always.

"You are, you motherfucker, quit acting like you're not!" Kurosaki snarled. "First you're lying and then it's fights? Why? What's wrong with you?"

Somewhere during Ichigo's anger Grimmjow'd begun to giggle, and he smirked, "Nothing wrong with me, just the way I like it. What, got such a problem with that?"

He was surprised; Kurosaki's frame quivered momentarily out of anger before the shinigami turned on his heel and began marching out of the room. Grimmjow shouted after him, "Now c'mon, don't be a dick!"

Ichigo stiffened and stopped, but didn't turn. Grimmjow realized the other man was waiting for an answer. He chewed on his lip, irritated. Grimmjow didn't like being the one forced into a response. "What the fuck're you expecting?" he muttered, annoyed. "I'm slow, shithead, gimme a break."

"You're slow," Ichigo stated, as though making sure he'd heard correctly.

"Yeah, fuck, go ahead and be a prick about it," Grimmjow snapped in response. He shrugged his shoulders, bending backwards slightly; an arrogant posture that didn't go unnoticed. With his hands tied behind him, he could easily throw out his chest, thrusting his hips forward. It was an invitation and Grimmjow grinned, feeling the full of Kurosaki's attention centered in on him alone. "Maybe I'm just shy, right? I dunno what to think with you looking at me the way you do."

"Maybe you're just a jackass—"

Grimmjow laughed genuinely, from the bottom of his stomach and it came out like a crow's call. "Yeah, well you're the one that likes the jackass, what's that say?"

"That I don't have any better options."

"Ouch," Grimmjow said, his head against the bars again. It was an invitation to Ichigo, to make him come back because if he did, he could take Grimmjow easily: he was bound and in a cell—in the arrancar's mind, were their positions reversed, it would be a very tempting proposition. If Kurosaki ever acted aggressively about it, which Grimmjow doubted he would.

But Kurosaki did come back, haltingly, until they stood inches apart with a barred metal wall between them. "Why did you really get locked up in here, Grimmjow?"

"Cause I've been bad," Grimmjow said, trying hard not to smile. Kurosaki didn't seem to share the joke and only scowled in return. Grimmjow sighed, "Fine, cause we ripped up the fucking north half, what d'you think? Aizen already gave me a big goddamn lecture on jacking the place up and he's pissed I don't listen. Happy?"

"Why did you?" Kurosaki's response surprised him.

"Why'd I what?" He shrugged, insolently. "Cause I wanted a good fight, why else? And you keep fucking 'em up anyway."

"You didn't just want a fight, Grimmjow. I saw it in you, you meant to kill me. You could have."

"But I didn't, eh?" Grimmjow's smile was back, because yeah, he had meant to kill the punk and make his life simple again; he'd had Kurosaki running from him and they'd already taken apart one side of Las Noches—Grimmjow, at the time, had been gunning for the little fucker's life and had made no bones about it. "Maybe I just wanted you to be serious, for once."

It wasn't a fight just for kicks, to pop each other around with half-hearted blows, and Kurosaki must've realized the difference. Grimmjow got in about three good hits on the little prick before the shinigami started running, and they destroyed several pillars and out-buildings on their chase.

It was a good chase. A fun chase, something Grimmjow missed. He liked having a quarry that was resourceful and resilient; Grimmjow realized if he killed Kurosaki, as he had in his dream, he'd be all the more disappointed for it. It wouldn't be much fun showing off that he'd beaten the shinigami once and for all, when he'd never be able to rub it in the prick's face.

"You're faster than I thought you'd be," he said, not really paying attention, thinking more of the previous fight.

Kurosaki snorted, clearly irritated. "I'm not a fucking cripple, you shithead. You're the only one who thinks I am."

"Oops," Grimmjow smirked, leaning heavily against the bars. "You don't seem too bothered by it. Now why's that, hmm?"

"Maybe because I've gotten used to it by now," Ichigo snorted. "Not like you do much else these days."

"You better be worried, if you're happier with me after your life than when I'm leaving you alone, eh?"

"Who said I was happy? It's just boring otherwise."

Grimmjow snickered; he knew exactly what the little fucker meant. Life just wasn't the right type of exciting without Kurosaki around; he'd miss that if the little prick was dead, he'd missed it before, when they were apart. Grimmjow realized that things didn't have to be that way anymore, and it pissed him off that he was stuck in a cage now, with a set of iron bars in between them.

Ichigo seemed to have noticed, eyes darting to where Grimmjow's hands were tied. He stared, all soulfully and with deep, merciful intent at Grimmjow, bound and caged. "I can help you. D'you want me to?"

It was terribly inviting; Kurosaki could release him…and then what? Not much else, because neither of them could get Grimmjow out of his cell. Grimmjow had been in this situation before, and had learned through experience how impossible it was to break Aizen's reiatsu-reinforced bars. Being untied might make his arms feel better, but instead he said, leering and sure, "I can manage. But you're awful sweet."

Maybe it was the first time he'd ever said thanks to the shinigami, but Kurosaki's eyebrows seemed to unknit, like there was something between them. A trust, if they could call it that—Grimmjow wanted to call it anything but.

Even with his face and eyes so relaxed for a moment, Ichigo gripped the bars, saying, "I really, really hate you, Grimmjow."

And Grimmjow couldn't stop for laughing, a deep cackle that started in his empty belly and ran all the way up his spine. "Good," he said, snickering. "Good, that's what I want. I dunno what you want from me but that that's mine, right there. You won't ever feel like that for anyone else, will ya?"

"I'm going to kiss you." Ichigo looked up at him through his eyelashes; so seductive, though Grimmjow doubted the shinigami meant it that way.

He felt his stomach shiver in anticipation, and licked his bottom lip, "Okay."

"Don't freak out."

"And you shouldn't tease," he hissed impatiently, tilting his head to the side to get as close as possible to the other man. Then Kurosaki's mouth was against his, lips parted just so sweetly, and Grimmjow's tongue delved in to taste him. The shinigami pushed up, nose nudging Grimmjow's to the side; his face hurt from how hard it was pressed against the iron bars. Maybe he should've had the kid undo the shackles on his hands, then Grimmjow could reach for him and pull him closer as Ichigo started to draw away.

He chased after Kurosaki's mouth, catching his lower lip in his teeth, and the shinigami made a noise of surprise or want; the sound of something given up and surrendered. Grimmjow knew he could have it all. He wanted it all. Grimmjow wanted to take and take; take all of Kurosaki and make him regret ever starting this whole dangerous scheme.

Kurosaki's fingers drew over his stomach and sides; Grimmjow felt his muscles twitch, mouth licking at Ichigo's chin and jawline before the vaizard stepped away.

Grimmjow pushed against the barrier between them, lip curled in frustration. "Get back here," he demanded.

Kurosaki folded his arms crossly. "No," he said. "Not until you can actually do something about it."

Grimmjow made a sound, harsh and impatient. "I'll do something about it right now, if you gimme the chance—"

"Get your ass outta here and we'll talk."

Grimmjow let his frame sink against the wrought-iron of his cage. "You're just gonna leave me like this? That ain't fair. Coming here just to get me all worked up." His eyes flicked deliberately to his crotch where his hard cock was making its presence proudly known. "You could at least gimme a hand. I can't even jerk off."

"My heart's bleeding."

"You're so fucking cold!" Grimmjow snarled, but Ichigo's expression was steeled against him.

"I've been dealing with you acting like a raving psychotic every time I try to start something; I think you can deal with a little delayed gratification," Kurosaki scoffed, and then turned on his heel. "Give you something to look forward to, anyway."

Grimmjow watched him leave, body and face mashed up against the bars of his cage, appreciating the slow sway of Kurosaki's backside as the little bastard went. Every part of Grimmjow ached with arousal; he still had the shinigami's taste on the tip of his tongue. He wanted so much to just break down all the iron bars so he could chase after his prey, to corner Kurosaki and throw him to his knees. Grimmjow could imagine what would happen then; he wanted it badly, to rub all the shinigami's pretensions and superiority right in his face—

It'd be a while before that happened, Grimmjow knew; a painful realization in more ways than one. He twisted and sank to the ground so that his back was against the bars, his legs spread in front of him. His dick was hard, and what the fuck was he gonna do? Spoil things early by rutting up against the bars or the floor? Ichigo was colder than ice to leave him this way.

He flopped to his side, angry and aroused, his dick twitching impatiently in his hakama, and Grimmjow was wanting, wanting so much. He'd pay the little prick back for this. Grimmjow swore it.


Well, at least there was a little gay payout for being on hiatus for so long? :D? :D? /o\

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.