Alright peeps. You know the drill. This chap is M for Lemony Goodness, aka a shower scene, which we all love. Out, out, damn kids. Chapter 13 is safe for work and the underaged.

Just a note for the Grimmjow-is-a-cat-must-hate-water group – panthers (meaning melanistic jaguars or leopards – there is actually no such species as 'panther') aren't necessarily water haters. Jaguar-panthers, for instance, LOVE water. Given Kube Tito's love of Spanish, I think the South American interpretation (jaguar) is appropriate.

I've also made my decision on who our lucky shinigami will be. I'll give a run down of who mentioned it at the end of the fight. I'm not spoiling it for you.

Chapter 12

Vellena stepped gratefully into the shower, turning the water on hot enough to steam. With a grateful sigh, she lathered up her dwindling bar of soap. She was going to have to ask for soap soon. The luxury of being able to bathe whenever she wanted to was a sheer joy, but she was sure going through soap a lot quicker here than she had in Azeroth.

Ignoring the sting of lye soap on crusted-over cuts, she scrubbed off the sand, blood, and sweat. She was so intent on getting clean that she almost didn't realize that she felt Grimmjow's reiatsu in her rooms. Again. Covered in suds, she couldn't really go barging out to ask him what he wanted this time. She hadn't even begun to rinse off the suds before the door to her shower swung open and Grimmjow slid inside the large stall in all his naked glory, closing the shower door behind him.

"Grimm—!" she began, her demand to know what he was doing cut off before she could utter it by his lips sealing hers, his arms wrapping around her soapy body.

Was this kind of behaviour normal? She had nothing by which to know – she had no recollection of intimacy in life and her experience in death had been limited to casual observance of the public behaviour of others – and Grimmjow fucking her against the walls of Las Noches. She had the vague notion that most men needed some kind of rest time between attempts. It had been… maybe 10 minutes? Did she need a cool-down period?

To tell the truth, cooling down was the furthest thing from her mind right now. Once more, she melted into his kiss. Getting over her surprise, she gave back as good as she got, capturing his lower lip between her teeth and sucking. He made that purring sound again, reaching down to grab her ass and pull her close, fingernails scraping against her firm buttocks.

"Hey, gimme that soap," he said, breaking off the kiss. She blinked at him, feeling flushed and aroused and confused. "I'll wash your back." He continued, and she wordlessly handed him the bar.

The Espada's firm hands spun her so that she faced away from him, and then she felt soapy hands rubbing her back in something that was more like a massage than a back scrubbing. Thumbs and fingers dug into corded muscles, finding knots she had probably carried since death. The feeling was electric, even more so from the knowledge that it was Grimmjow touching her, who already aroused her and brought to the surface sensations she had no clue existed. She moaned at the feelings his strong hands invoked.

His hips brushed up against her, his groin making contact with her bottom. The feeling of his manhood rising, pressing against her ass, was different but not unpleasant. Something inside her excited at the thought that she was making him hard. That this practiced rake couldn't keep his hands off of her. He rubbed his cock against her buttocks, growling softly. His touch on her body became more of a caress, more of an exploration. Slick hands rubbed her hips, her thighs, her buttocks. Soapy fingers teased her nipples into stiff peaks, despite the sultry heat of the shower. He nuzzled her wet hair, licking the water from her neck. Then he dropped the soap.

Not really thinking about the consequences, she bent over to pick up the bar. He groaned, gripping her hips. "You're a fucking tease," he hissed. The bar forgotten, she straightened. One of his hands strayed upwards to cup her lush breast, the other went downward. Clever fingers parted her folds and found that sensitive nub and circled slowly, deliberately. A surprised 'ah!' escaped her lips, turning into a wordless moan as he touched her skillfully. Every now and then his hips would buck against her, almost as though it was an automatic reflex. She could hear his heavy, harsh breathing even above the pattering rain of water that cascaded over them both.

There was a horizontal bar on the wall of the shower that she was facing. What its purpose was, she had no clue, but she had to grab it to keep herself upright when he brought those waves of pleasure to her, and her knees went weak as she gasped and moaned, her own hips moving in a reflex of their own.

"Gods you're hot," Grimmjow gasped out in a voice hoarse with lust. She felt like a harp string, wound tight, plucked and vibrating to his tune. Then he slid a finger inside her and curled it, and her senses left her briefly as she peaked, moaning out his name. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, finger digging aggressively inside her suddenly amazingly slippery depths. He groaned, pulling the finger from her. She heard him sucking her juice from his finger, a growl rumbling in his throat.

She shuddered, feeling suddenly empty. She was bent over, gripping the bar for support. His hands were on her hips yet again, and his hot, hard cock rubbed hard against her mound. She wasn't able to stop herself from arching her back and sliding against him with a gasp, the mushroom head sliding under her and rubbing against that little button of ecstasy.

"Huh, eager, aren't you. Do you want it, huh, bitch? Do you want my cock in you, elf-slut?" he leaned down, hot breath tickling her ear. His whispered words, rife with aggression and barely restrained lust, drove away all thought. He set her on fire, turned her mind to a chaos of desire. All she could do was pant, letting go a ragged breath when he suddenly thrust, sliding his stiff manhood against her. Not in her yet, but oh so close. She burned.

"Well? Do you want me to fuck you?" Another well placed thrust emphasized the word 'fuck', bringing a gasp to her lips.

"Yes," she croaked, finding her tongue. "Yesssss," she hissed as he pulled back and then pressed into her, driving deep inside her. The both groaned, identical notes of pleasure echoing from their throats. She could feel him throbbing inside her, and then he started to move. Still sensitive from her previous orgasm, she gasped at the contact, thrusting back towards him.

"Damn, you're eager." He growled. He gripped her hip bones hard enough to bruise a living girl, grinding into her. She moved with him, taking in every inch.

Again, the feelings were exquisite. She reveled in his heat, his hardness, the slickness they shared. It wasn't long before he was bringing her to yet another peak, but this time he outlasted her orgasm, simply groaning a lust-filled obscenity in her ear at the feel of her rippling around him and continuing his relentless assault. His hands were all over – he especially seemed to enjoy her firm breasts and the stiff nipples he provoked there, but by no means did he limit his touch to them alone.

Then he bit her neck again and took her harder, and she realized he was close. Her breath coming in grating gasps, she let her body surrender to ecstasy again as he filled her with molten heat. They stood entwined for a moment, catching their breath, letting the hot rain of the shower spill down on them. Then, with a parting nip to her ear, he slid out of her.

"Come on, we better hurry if we're going to catch a bite before the meeting starts," Grimmjow said. Vellena noted that he completely ignored the fact that he had instigated any delay, but forbore to mention this nugget of truth. She'd had fun, after all.

After she retrieved the soap (without incident this time), the arrancar made good on his threat to scrub her back. She returned the favour, readily admitting to herself that she could see no disadvantages to this arrangement. It was interesting, touching and being touched without intent to kill. She wasn't used to it, but she liked it. It wasn't too much, though; neither she nor Grimmjow were exactly the touchy feely type. But she enjoyed the novelty nonetheless. She was happy enough to clean the wounds she herself had given him earlier – most of which seemed to be healing without trouble. The diseases she had inflicted looked to have long since passed.

They exited the stall, and she noticed with a wry twist to her mouth that the wily Sexto had brought his own towel and a clean uniform. He'd clearly had this planned out. Not that she minded.

She dried herself off and wrapped her towel around her, before grabbing her belt with its magic bags from the bathroom counter. She was halted in her progress to the door by Grimmjow's firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to meet his blue gaze.

"Wear the uniform." He said. Her mouth twitched – she didn't have much choice until she'd had a chance to repair the clothing he'd damaged. She nodded. "And leave the armour behind." He added.

She liked that less. "I'm keeping my weapons out." She said.

"Naturally."