91. Fox
When Grimmjow (who was observing Ichigo solely for purposes related to battle, mind you) first heard the Kurosaki brat refer to somebody as a 'fox', he thought that meant they looked like Gin Ichimaru. Then he got an actual look at the man in question—he was…attractive. He looked fuckable to be more accurate, so apparently calling someone a 'fox' was not an insult nor did it mean they actually looked like a fox. During more observation, he also learned the boy used terms like 'kitten', 'goblin', 'troll', and 'flaming' to describe people. There was a rare term he'd only heard once; 'panther'. The only irritating part was, he had no idea who Ichigo had been describing. 'Kitten' was short for 'sex kitten', he knew, so what rating would a 'panther' be? Really, all Grimmjow was sure of was that he himself only rated as a 'fox', and though that wasn't the best he could be, it was close enough to start groping the shinigami in battle the next time he saw him.
92. Crossworlds (My 'Gargoyle' universe meets Bleach!)
The last thing Aizen and the Espada had expected to happen at one of the weekly meetings was for a transformed shinigami to be dropped in their laps. Except…he only recognized one of them, and it wasn't Aizen. He couldn't be the real Kurosaki. He was a strange creature with waist-length hair, a tail, wings, arched feet, claws for hands, horns, and a hell of a lot more muscle than a 15-year-old ever could have, even for someone as athletic and fit as Kurosaki. He spoke some strange language none of them could understand, though he knew Grimmjow by name and attached himself to the Espada's side, caressing his face, examining the hollow jaw and occasionally ranting something that sounded very vicious and violent. After the meeting, during which the strange Kurosaki-like creature was assigned to Grimmjow's care, of course, the creature did something that stunned Grimmjow beyond belief—he kissed him. Gently, more of a brush of lips than anything, but it boggled the Arrancar's mind. Meanwhile, Ichigo Kurosaki the human, was dealing with a very affectionate human Grimmjow, who was speaking a language he couldn't understand for the life of him but he knew had something to do with him since the not-Grimmjow knew him by name. The not-Grimmjow was also possibly the most physically demonstrative man he'd ever known, and he was enjoying that thoroughly even if he knew he probably shouldn't be. It was hard not to—the man knew every single—literally every single soft spot and sensitive place on his body, and he was using that knowledge very thoroughly to his advantage. He had tried asking several times what the stranger was doing and how they knew each other, but not-Grimmjow understood him about as much as he understood not-Grimmjow; not one word. They managed some severely limited communication through gestures, but that was difficult and imperfect.
It also resulted in the not-Grimmjow almost constantly kissing some part of his face and very often straight on the mouth. Scolding didn't deter him in the least, so Ichigo had given up sometime after the twentieth kiss. He also seemed to be fascinated by Ichigo's entirely human body, running his hands again and again over his shoulder blades and tailbone, his hands, and his temples in awe. He fed the man, who was also apparently human, and after dinner consented to relax in his bed, the blue-haired stranger curled around him protectively and lovingly stroking his hair. He was consumed with Ichigo's short hair, as well—almost like he'd never seen anyone with hair so short. His own hair was long and braided, another thing that differed from Grimmjow. But what was probably most confusing was that he answered to that name even though he was clearly not the Espada Ichigo had come to know. When he began licking up the side of his neck, though, that was going too far. Ichigo tugged away with a low growl that he hoped the other male would understand meant knock that off. Whatever signal he was reading, the man got the picture and settled down to sleep, beginning to snore lightly as Ichigo also drifted to sleep.
The teenager woke unexpectedly to something pressing against his tailbone and sending jolts of pleasure up and down his spine so intense he was gasping. With an alarmed noise he struggled to get away from it, but hard, tanned arms that wrapped around his waist held him back and the struggling only ground his tailbone against whatever it was harder, the pleasure so much that he saw white and blue spots for a moment. Not wanting to release in his boxers and not even know what had made him come, he went fully still, shuddering a little as he realized, after figuring out the positioning of the guy wrapped around him, exactly what was digging into that soft spot so unyieldingly. It shouldn't be possible for a human penis to be that hard. A hand slipped between his cheek and the pillow, turning his head so the not-Grimmjow could access his mouth, which he promptly leaned over to thoroughly kiss, once again grinding against that spot that made Ichigo see white. The teenager whined, unfamiliar with these feelings and the intense pleasure, but another hard press against his tailbone had blue and purple spots speckling his white vision. He came harder than he ever had in his life, arching with a low cry the stranger caught in his mouth and swallowed down with a satisfied purr. Wet heat pressed against his skin, above and below his tailbone, so he knew the other had cum too…and it was a strangely arousing thought that this man got off on getting Ichigo off. Nevertheless, they needed clean boxers and a shower, so he threw off the covers and got up, taking not-Grimmjow by the hand to lead him to the large bathroom to shower and soak in the huge tubs set into the floor. The shower was needed, and the tubs…were relaxing.
He took the other human out to the park the next day, relaxing on a bench while the stranger played with the kids, who he handled with adeptness that signified he was a father himself. The kids, who usually didn't bother with words anyway, had a much easier time communicating with him, and Ichigo found himself thinking that what he saw looked good. A handsome man who doted on him, lovingly chasing and playing with a gaggle of kids as he himself watched fondly. He liked this picture…he liked it a lot…he wanted it for himself…if only he could have it. But since the real Grimmjow was an Espada that hated his guts and was bent on killing him, this exact scene could never happen, and somehow he knew deep inside that unless he got this it would always feel like there was something missing. Watching with soft eyes, he was surprised when a hand came from behind to tilt his head up using pressure under his chin and his lips were met with a pair of upside-down ones. Not-Grimmjow had come up behind him when he wasn't paying attention and was now kissing him with a kind of slow, burning passion that seemed to beg him to just give in and enjoy himself. It only took him a minute to break free of the spell though, breaking free for air and forcing himself to stand and turn his shoulder to the man to indicate his refusal. Whoever not-Grimmjow thought he was, he wasn't, and he just couldn't let the man screw up whatever he had with his lover or husband or whatever he thought Ichigo was because the blue-haired man had him confused with someone else.
Grimmjow couldn't understand it—any of it! First his Gargoyle mate, a Gargoyle for as long as he could remember, was a human just like himself. Then, for some reason he no longer spoke his native Gaelic but he wasn't speaking German (which Grimmjow had taught him) or Scottish or even English, but what sounded like Japanese, which Grimmjow only knew enough of to recognize. Now, he was rejecting Grimmjow's touch, and it was breaking his heart. Through sheer persistence he'd managed to get his beloved to accept his kisses and he was pouring as much emotion into each one as he could; whatever spell or curse had turned Ichigo human must've also erased his memory and Grimmjow would have to start over again with him. As he played with the children, laughing and tumbling like he did with their own brood when they'd still been small, he'd chanced a glance back at his mate and he'd recognized that expression of loving tolerance for his foolishness, and had known that just for a moment his mate was himself again and couldn't resist kissing him like he always had. It had been slow, the flame of lust simmering just beyond the edges and he kitten-licked like he always did to encourage his little love to let the passion consume him. But Ichigo had hovered just beyond his reach and when he let him up for air turned away from him. Why? Fighting not to cry, he stood defeated and watched his love's shoulders shake with something…sorrow, or restraint, perhaps. No, that was only what he wanted it to be. It was probably suppressed anger, or disgust. He was going to go, just disappear so his mate wouldn't be so uncomfortable, when a warm hand grasped his, fingers interlacing as he said something and pulled him along, giving him hope.
Ichigo was certain now that this was not his Grimmjow, but he was a Grimmjow nonetheless, and even if this was not his real mate he couldn't bring himself to leave him. Not when there was this bastard here to torment him, using pressure from his spirit to force him not only to his knees on the floor, but to make him sick as a dog that had eaten monkshood. He snarled from the floor where he had his wings wrapped around the blue-haired male protectively, his tail lashing as his claws dug deep furrows in the floor. How dare this bastard—Aizen. They called this man Aizen. Ichigo's eyes narrowed; during that time period his mate couldn't speak of unless in the throes of a regression into madness he had been tortured by a man named Aizen. He pounced. Still immortal, he ignored the injuries he received from the man's bodyguards and the man himself, grinning insanely when the bastard's sword lodged in his breastbone and held it there with one claw while he tore the man's throat out with the other. It was messy, it was bloody, and it was painful, but that was just the way he wanted it. The dark-skin went next, who would not stop stabbing him to try and avenge his fallen leader (perhaps he was the Gin that was also mentioned during the times of madness) and the silver-haired man surrendered, likely having figured out that Ichigo was immortal. Covered in blood, he removed the dead men's swords and broke them, then shook himself and returned to the man who looked like his mate, who had remained on the floor, watching with wide, unbelieving eyes. Ignoring the blood staining his skin and loincloth, he once again embraced the man.
Again at his house, Ichigo sighed as not-Grimmjow cozied up to his side, purring madly and occasionally giving his neck a lick or a nip. Half-asleep, Ichigo idly wondered if he was dreaming and didn't bother to protest, which seemed to make him bolder, advancing quickly to strip off his shirt and attach his mouth to his bare chest, leaving love bites everywhere and then moving up to his neck to suck and lick sensually, insistently, making Ichigo's head roll back over the arm of the couch to expose more skin. The other man made a sound of delight and attached his hands to the jean-clad hips, fingertips creeping delicately under the waistband to ask wordlessly if he could take them off. Ichigo's hips hitched up so the pants could be pulled off, and his boxers disappeared along the way, leaving him bare to the hungry blue gaze. Gently, lest he drag out an unfavorable response, not-Grimmjow lowered his lips to the taut stomach and thrust his tongue into the enticing bellybutton, then sealed his mouth over one hip and gave a firm suck with teeth to give it a good bruise that would mark him and linger for days to prove it had really happened. He was just about to move to the aching, hard flesh that was rubbing against his neck when he heard an exclamation from behind him—one in Japanese and one in Gaelic. He knew that voice, knew that particular melodic lilt to a naturally lilting language—his mate! More than startled, he pulled back and looked around, calling out for his heart. "Here, beloved," came from above, and then he was surrounded by familiar wings.
Watching the man who looked like himself with Kurosaki had, he admitted, been arousing. That's what he looked like in passion? When the creature who looked like Kurosaki had shouted in surprise and the other him had called back in that same strange language, Grimmjow had known instantly that that was who the creature had thought he was, and he was the rightful mate of the male at his side. As the two reunited, he watched curiously and noted out of the corner of his eye that Kurosaki had dragged a nearby afghan over his naked body and was watching the two with eyes so soft they had changed color, lightening to tea-brown instead of their usual chocolate. Intrigued, he migrated to behind the boy and watched from the same position. From here, he could see the sweet, loving way they kissed and caressed each other, the creature bearing no apparent ill will even though his mate had been about to lay with another only a moment ago. While the two pressed together so much it became hard to tell whether it was two people or one standing there, the same white vortex of light that had deposited them scooped them up again, spiriting them away, presumably back to wherever they had been taken from. Alone now, Grimmjow noted as he looked at the soul reaper that one, the boy looked good with love bites on his pristine tan flesh, and two, he was still hard as a rock and there was a particularly large hole in the weave of the afghan conveniently close to his dick...
Thoroughly inspired by their doppelgangers from another world, the Espada dropped to his knees and proceeded to fix the teenager's not-so-little problem, appeasing his own sadistic nature by twisting the cloth to create a makeshift cock ring out of the fabric he was accessing the hard flesh through when the boy got too close before Grimmjow had his fill. The two started having an official relationship a couple of weeks later and Ichigo constantly thanked the strange phenomena that had crossed his world with another and allowed him to get his man and Aizen to get brutally murdered all in the same day.
Meanwhile, back in Ireland, Grimmjow was getting thoroughly punished for mistaking one Ichigo for the other through the use of erotic rope tying and so many orgasms he would be sore for days afterward.
93. Bet
Basking in the aftermath of one of the best fucks of his afterlife, Grimmjow was surprised when his bed mate, none other than Ichigo Kurosaki, rolled out of the bed and picked up a cell phone, then began dialing. Puzzled as to why the boy wasn't luxuriating in the afterglow, he propped his chin on his folded arms to listen in. "Yeah Renji, just finished and you own me ten thousand yen. I fuckin' told you so. Of course I didn't mention it to him! That would've produced incorrect results. Yeah yeah, fuck you too, I didn't enjoy myself tonight either so stop your goddamn whining. I gotta go soak so these aches aren't there in the morning. Goodnight." As Ichigo tossed his cell phone back on the desk and headed into the bathroom, Grimmjow's eyebrows drew together. The kid hadn't enjoyed himself and wanted to get rid of the aches? In all his memory, alive and dead, he took pride in knowing he hadn't displeased a single lover and they'd kept the aches to remind them of his prowess for days afterward. How had he failed with a horny human teenager? Bothered by this, he huffed into the bed sheets causing his sensitive nose to pick up on what he'd been too orgasm-addled to realize previously. Ichigo's scent had started out as aroused and lusty as his own, but at some point that had been overlaid by flat irritation and something that smelled like resignation. The only release he could smell was his own, and that was a straight-out insult. It was one thing for your partner not to be involved in the sex, but when you performed so badly a hormone-ridden teenager didn't even come, that was beyond horrible; it took only the slightest effort to get them off and if you couldn't manage that you had no business having sex in the first place.
Distinctly off-balance by this discovery, Grimmjow was almost immediately embarrassed of his poor performance and ashamed of himself. Maybe he'd lost his touch and it'd taken a completely dissatisfied partner to make him see it. Little wonder the boy hadn't relaxed in the afterglow, he told himself bitterly, as the kid hadn't had any afterglow. Feeling like a complete bastard (a very foreign feeling considering that the last time he'd felt that way was when he was human and alive) he got up and went into the bathroom to find out, in his usual blunt manner, exactly how bad he'd been. He found his bedmate up to his chin in hot water, eyes closed as he slowly relaxed. "Oi. So, uh…" unsure of himself for once, Grimmjow knelt by the tub and trailed his fingers over the top of the water, trying to figure out how to start; he went with the obvious. "So what was that about? Th'call, I mean."
Ichigo opened one eye, obvious surprise there before he closed it again. "Oh, you're still here. Just a lil' bet me and Renji had going. Nothing you need concern yourself with."
Grimmjow frowned. "Ya sound surprised I stuck 'round, shinigami. Expectin' other company?"
The boy snorted. "Jesus no. I would've dragged you to a hotel or deserted alleyway instead of letting you into my room if I expected my family or any guests to be home. Just didn't peg you for the type to stay when you're finished."
Grimmjow felt his frown deepening. "I'm feline, kid, that means I'm rather fond of the post-sex cuddle. Fond of cuddling in general, really." Deliberately trying not to let his frown become a pout, he hid his mouth behind the arm draped over the edge of the tub. "I'm not enough of a bastard to just up and leave right after fucking, not even when I was still an Adjucas."
Ichigo laughed, short and cold and bitter. "Like I said—never pegged you for the type."
Grimmjow felt his eyebrows pulling together, still embarrassed and ashamed, but now somewhat confused as well. "If you've got such a damned bad opinion o' me, then why the hell'd ya ever invite me inta yer bed in th'first place?"
Ichigo gave him a look, with an arched eyebrow and tilt to his mouth that was exactly like Aizen's that meant 'do you really have to ask?' before answering anyway. "To see what technique you favor. Your style of fucking and all that. Renji and I had a bet going. By the way, thank you for helping me win that bet."
Grimmjow felt his hair standing on end, though he couldn't quite figure out why. "What was your money on?"
Ichigo gave that short, cold laughter again as he brought his arms up to rest on the side of the tub. "That you fuck the way you fight- dominating, vicious, painful, and animalistic. At least I know the whole sex thing ain't for me, particularly if domination of any kind is involved."
That made the gears of Grimmjow's mind grind to a full HALT. It was horrifying enough not to have pleasured his partner, but he'd turned the kid off sex entirely? Or wait, wait, he said that 'the whole sex thing' wasn't for him…which sort of indicated it was the first time he'd tried it in the first place. Aw hell, he'd gone and completely ruined a virgin? The list of his worst nightmares coming true was getting longer as this night went on.
"Well, at least that's out of the way. I had to lose it sometime, and you're not bad-looking. Better than getting raped in an alley if and when I get overpowered by the gangs that stalk me."
Yep, longer and longer and longer. He should've never stuck his nose in when the boy went to make that phone call. "Well shit Ichigo… M'sorry. I would've at least been slower if ya'd told me ya'd never had sex before—I was figuring you had experience an' already knew what ya want…an' that ya'd tell me if what I was doin' somethin' ya din't like. I want ta pleasure my partners, not just satisfy m'self."
Burying his burning face in his arm, he raked his other hand through his hair. "I dunno how I missed when ya started losin' interest, I'm usually much better on th'uptake than that…I've never lost m'self so much I don't even notice that my lover ain't enjoyin' himself anymore. I've never had someone resign themselves t'sex with me rather than actually like it. If they decide they ain't likin' what I'm doin', they protest an' I adjust accordingly. Fuck, you don't know how sorry I am, Ichigo, how bad I feel fer doin' this t'you."
At this point, the teen looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Don't apologize, Grimmjow, you are who you are and I knew that going into it. I wasn't expecting any better than I got and I'm fine with it."
The panther visibly winced. "But ya should've expected better, 'specially fer yer first time. That ya din't disturbs an' shames me." Noting Ichigo's discomfort at his remorse, he realized he was setting the kid off-balance, reacting differently than predicted. Ichigo expected nothing from him, and to receive apologies clearly upset his mental expectations. Deciding there may be a way to correct his mistake and make up for how poorly he'd performed, Grimmjow suddenly grinned and began climbing into the tub, his voice lowering to a purr. "Lemme make it up to ya, Ichi. Let's take care of another of yer firsts. An' I bet ya'll like this round a hell of a lot better." Ichigo apparently could not resist a bet, because he widened his legs with a weary sigh. "As you like, but I'm betting I like it no better than I liked it before, first or no." Lapping tenderly at the skin of the teen's chest, Grimmjow's voice rumbled through the room, heating the bodies of both men. "Oh, I'll take tha' bet, baby, 'cuz when yer buried balls-deep inside my tight ass I'm puttin' my money on ya not lastin' five minutes it'll be so good."
Ichigo's eyes sparked dangerously and his fingers gripped the blue hair and tugged lightly. "We'll just see about that, baby."
94. Halloween
Very few people knew that Ichigo not only listened to music, he listened to American music. He owned a guitar and could play it, which again, very few people were aware of. Not a lot of people knew that much about his personal life in the first place, actually, and he liked it that way. The only things people needed to know about him was that he was male, could fight, and had orange hair. Thus it was that, when he was painting on a massive canvas, dark-themed music blasting in his ears, and singing along to the Manson version of "This Is Halloween", he expected nobody to come looking for him, nor for anyone to care if they did find him there. He was using a fine, three-hair brush for shading and the painting was nearly complete; he'd just stepped back to look at the view from further away when a loud exclamation from the window made him whirl around, ready for a fight. It was Grimmjow, staring into the room from the window with wide blue eyes and his mouth hanging open. With a sigh, he put his brush aside, unplugged his headphones, and started untying the painter's apron that was all he wore—he'd painted naked since he was a kid. His mom, before she'd died, had claimed it helped the "Creativity of Art" reach his arms and hands, and he'd just stuck with it. "Hi Grimmjow, lemme clean up a little and I'll come fight you in a minute or two."
Still looking a little stunned, the blunet quickly shook his head, eyes finally moving from the painting to Ichigo himself. "No! Uh, I mean, don't stop on account o' me, shinigami. I wouldn' wanna stop ya so close t'the finished project, after all. Ya…uh, title it yet?"
Retying his apron, Ichigo chuckled a little. "Everyone Hail to the Pumpkin King. That's what I'm calling it—though the title is clichéd. It doesn't matter anyway, since I'll be burning it in the morning."
Noting something off, he glanced between the painting and Grimmjow a couple of times before grabbing another brush and paint palette, starting to mix a new color. "Do me a favor, shut up and sit still," he murmured absently, adding and subtracting and tweaking the tiniest bit until finally he held the palette up beside Grimmjow's head, looked between the two, and smirked. "Perfect. Thanks." One blue eyebrow raised, Grimmjow watched as the teen grabbed the other brush and in sure, swift strokes, corrected the incongruence in his painting. That brush was quickly plunked in a jar of dirty (read BLACK-GREY DISGUSTINGLY FILTHY) water to keep the paint from drying in the bristles, and then again he returned to shading. Grimmjow couldn't stop his jaw from dropping in astonishment as the canvas came almost literally to life beneath Ichigo's brush, a macabre scene of murder, blood, gore, corpses, and one man standing tall in the center of all of it. Despite having seen it happen, he had to take a moment to control his bolt of irrational fear that it would animate itself and the figure would come after him next, which was ridiculous anyway because it was him that stood on a throne of bodies; the claws, jagged teeth, and long mane of his released form was soaked in blood and gore was tangled in with his long blue locks, his tail dripping entrails and blood because he'd apparently swept or whipped it through the mess covering the ground. Finishing the last shadows of the armor, Ichigo dipped the shading brush into the tiny blob of orange paint he had handy and discreetly signed in the corner, beneath a blurry shadow and almost integrated into the gore pooled there.
Of course, as it has always been in the Living World, the spirit world lingered close on All Hallows' Eve, which just so happened to be the night that Ichigo completed this particular artwork, which just so happened to be a tribute to Halloween. As it happens, on All Hallows' Eve, the spirits are drawn to things that tribute them—not the cheap decorations most indulge in, but true tributes; Ichigo's happened to be one of these. Thus it was that, to his horror, Grimmjow witnessed the possession of Ichigo's painting, though he didn't know that's what it was at the time. The painted Grimmjow blinked, shook his head, and snorted almost silently. Ignoring the real Grimmjow's wide eyes, the painted male crouched down and sniffed delicately at the gore, then examined the signature in the corner, mouthing "Ichigo Kurosaki" before looking up. Grimmjow was discounted as unimportant and promptly ignored, and the false Pantera looked at the orange-haired man with adoration in his eyes. "Masssster Ichigo."
Sticking the brush behind his ear, he turned and looked directly at the painting, planting one hand on his hip. "Hello again, Keiri. How do you like this one?"
Testing his muscles, the canvas figure smiled with a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Very much, Massster. I thank you." As the painted Grimmjow bowed from the waist, Ichigo noticed the dumbstruck expression on the real one's face.
"Don't look so surprised, Grimmjow. I always paint a possessed painting on Halloween. It's how I keep life from gettin' boring in the meantime between fights and the latest attempt to take over the world by a previously unknown threat."
95. Masochist
He was a masochist—he had to be. Just being near the human drove him crazy, and here he was, at the club the man owned and bartended at. Not only was the man himself present, his scent was layered over the entire place so thick it drove the vampire up the wall. Count Kurosaki reclined in a corner, sipping on a goblet of warm blood and trying to control his salivary glands as the scent of the bartender arrowed to him from across the room and made his fangs lengthen and itch. Every vampire had a human destined to be his for eternity, his 'shackle' or rather, his 'cuff'. It was a bit like a human husband or wife, except it was chosen for you by Destiny or the Fates and it was impossible to deny. When a vampire found his shackle, he would wear one vambrace—forearm armor that had fallen out of usage these days—and present the other to his or her shackle, showing the claim each had on the other. The armor served as the vampiric version of a human wedding ring. Ichigo, however, had not presented his shackle with the vambrace that matched the one on his left arm yet (dark red leather with bronze fittings and outer edges, blue and orange detailing twining together on the leather) because of a simple fact—his shackle could not tolerate vampires. Grimmjow Jaggerjack, his blue-haired spitfire mate, had lost his entire family to an attack from a rogue vampire that had been blood-mad and starving. And so, each night Ichigo came here to watch his shackle from across the club, drank a little donated blood, and tortured himself with the nearness of the mate he was sure would never accept him. Something was a little strange tonight, though…he'd never known his fangs to itch like this before, or the venom in his salivary glands to flow so freely.
Wondering if he had perhaps been drugged, he frowned and peered into the glass, giving it a careful sniff. Pure human blood, willingly donated, though the donor had been more than a bit nervous and unsure at the time…and the donor was male. He had been in good health, and was young in age, probably around his mid-twenties…his fangs throbbed, forcing him to put down the glass and cover his nose as they lengthened and sharpened. He was well-fed and one of the more 'human' vampires in nature, not having allowed his immortality to barbarize him as other, older vampires did, so this strong of a reaction to blood mildly frightened him. He'd never reacted this intensely to blood except when he'd first changed, and after his first feeding that had subsided. Alarmed at his own body, he quickly downed the last of the blood (even if he knew it was a mistake he couldn't stand to let it go to waste; he was right, it was a bad idea, it made his fangs lengthen so they protruded from his mouth and that itch was getting unbearable) and disappeared in a swirl of shadow. Arriving after a moment in his twin brother's enormous estate, he cried out for Shiro and his bleached twin was at his side before the echo had cleared. Grasping at his older brother's cloak, fangs at full length, scared out of his mind now, Ichigo looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Shiro, something's wrong with me and I don't know what's happening! I've never had a reaction this strong since I've been turned, especially not to cold, donated blood! What's going on, Shiro-nii?" Embracing his twin, the albino soothed his panicking sibling and tried to make sense of his fear.
Grimmjow had heard of them, vampires that didn't want to hurt anyone and would remove themselves if they thought they might lose control, but he'd never seen one before now. The regular from the corner furthest from the bar was a vampire, he could tell a mile away, but he'd order just one small goblet of blood for the evening and have that be the end of it. He usually mixed up the drink himself for the man, and it was simply half a pint of donated blood—he didn't even ask for it heated like most other vampires did. The monthly blood supply had run out last night and he hadn't gotten his new shipment in yet, and for some reason he didn't want his most regular patron going to some other bar for blood, so he'd filled the goblet tonight with his own blood and served it still hot from his veins. Apparently, the count hadn't tasted still-warm blood since his creation and had reacted stronger than any vampire he'd ever seen, his eyes beginning to glow in the darkness as his fangs lengthened. The moment he finished the blood he wrapped himself in shadow and disappeared, looking afraid of his own reaction and probably scared he would hurt someone if he didn't flee. Grimmjow knew his blood was considered a delicacy by vampires, the blood of his family having some extra quality to it that made them drunk and addicted, but he'd never thought he'd so thoroughly be able to disturb and drug someone as strong as a Count with his blood. He'd never seen the Count so feral.
Once he had figured out what had Ichigo in such a state, Shiro fed his brother and laughed. "It's just the- ah!- the effect yer cuff's blood has on y- yah! Ohhh, Ichi, yer being rough t'day. You'll have the same re-re-ach-tion every time ya smell 'r taste it until ya've claimed 'im- aaah! I kin feel yer teeth in my collarbone, aniki, let up!"
When he finally finished feeding, his teeth retracted to almost the size of human teeth, his shaking finally stopped. Resting their foreheads together, he panted, ignoring the small purring noises his brother made when he licked up the blood that had escaped his mouth. "Isn't there any way to moderate my reaction to him? He hates vampires, a rogue killed his family, and I couldn't bear to scare him away. I don't want to go feral every time I get within a meter of him."
Shiro shrugged, licking a thumb and using the saliva to seal the large wounds his brother had left behind. "Go out with me at yer side, or bite yerself. Vampire blood is th'only thing that'll keep ya sane when proximity to yer cuff makes ya go feral."
Ichigo sighed, rubbing his wrist through the glove that encased it. "Looks like I'll be a masochist after all."
96. Mine
Catching fireflies at midnight with his little sister wasn't something he'd planned for the first week of summer vacation, but Grimmjow had to admit it wasn't half bad. It took him back to one of the few fond memories of his own childhood and reminded him that though innocence couldn't last forever, he could make sure it lasted a damn long time. The fireflies were particularly brilliant tonight as well, so bright they almost seemed to be glowing different colors. She would catch the tiny lights in her jar, stare at them through the glass for a moment or two, then proceed to dump them back out and catch another. The lights in turn seemed to play with her, drifting closer and further in waves, teasing her but then letting her catch them again. Then one particular light, glowing a distinct orange deeper in color than the pale-bright hues around it, fluttered over and settled on Grimmjow's head. He felt it, sitting on a lock of hair dangling over his forehead, and rolled his eyes when his sister laughed at him. That's when he heard it—bells. Little, chiming bells that sounded almost like laughter, ringing through the air clear as crystal.
Nel, her eyes shining, giggled and clapped her hands. "He says he likes you, big brother! But he thinks your hair is shaped funny."
Grimmjow raised an eyebrow and felt the movement jiggle the strand, which resulted (to his surprise) a small man clothed in flower petals dangling from the hair strand right in front of his eye, scowling at him as translucent golden wings bigger than his body began to whirr to hold him up. "Sorry," Grimmjow chuckled, and the little man scowled harder, the blood-red petals he wore seeming to bristle.
"Screw you, human! Just because you're bigger than me-" Grimmjow cut him off, cupping his palm and bringing it up under the orange-haired male's legs and butt to startle him into dropping into his hand. "Now wait just a minute," he scolded, "that's not why I'm laughin'. Ya just looked pretty funny hangin' from my hair like that is all."
Despite not actually intending to fly, the wings buzzed intermittently. "Oh. Okay. I'm Prince Ichigo of the Feyfolk. Who are you?"
The human grinned. "I'm Grimmjow, big brother to Nel. Pleased ta meetcha."
The little Prince nodded, then his wings whirred into a blur of golden motion and Grimmjow felt him set down in his hair again. "My human," he declared from his perch (where, though Grimmjow couldn't see, he was nearly lost in the thick blue locks), "nobody else can have 'im! Mine," he muttered, fisting the hair close to his scalp. He couldn't fucking wait until he could hear the entire spell and get human-sized. "Mine."
97. Yours
His pet was no longer responding to him. Sure, he answered when he called, did whatever he bade him to, submitted when he dominated him, but he wasn't responding. He wasn't rising to any of the bait, no longer flushed with anger and snapped at him when he called him any demeaning, humiliating name he could come up with, didn't offer even token resistance to anything. He didn't like it, not in the least. His pet was prettiest when he was flushed with anger, eyes blazing, fingers clenching, teeth grit—ah, how beautiful he was in his anger! But…he never saw him angry anymore. His pet was pretty in his embarrassment too, red-stained cheeks and shy eyes, lids lowered and worrying his lower lip between his sharp canines. He never saw him embarrassed anymore, either. Just blank, a horrible blankness and emotionless actions and words that he had never seen from his pet before. Setting his jaw, Grimmjow called his pet to him. "Kuro- Ichigo, c'mere." When he had his little shinigami settled in his lap, he wrapped his arms around the slim body (so cold, he was, cold like death, why hadn't he said anything?) and rested his chin in the orange hair. "What's th'matter, Ichigo? You haven't been yourself lately."
The younger man was very still, something that alarmed Grimmjow because Ichigo always squirmed uncomfortably when he was pulled into the bigger man's lap. "Nothing is wrong. Sir."
The panther flinched. He'd originally ordered Kurosaki to call him either '-sama' or 'sir' when addressing him for kicks, because he liked watching those eyes blaze hotter as he ground the word out from between clenched teeth, but now it was just a flat statement, a form of address with no emotion at all attached, and it disturbed him more than anything. "There has to be, you've—I rescind the order to call me 'sir', by the way, call me whatever you want—you've lost your fire, your fight. I love that fight in you, so I've been careful to encourage it unless it's towards someone who'll kill you, so what happened? Did Aizen punish you?"
There was a slight hesitation before he answered, less than the span of a blink, and Grimmjow knew it for what it was. "No, Aizen never punished me."
"But someone has," Grimmjow pressed, "and it wasn't me, so who? Who was it and what did they do to so deeply affect you?"
At last, some movement, his leg shifting just the slightest bit as the subject matter made him uncomfortable. Maybe there was hope for the fiery Kurosaki to come back after all. "When you were on a mission last month, Ulquiorra-sama deemed fit to…remind me of my station here. He also saw fit to teach me that those of higher rank than my owner can and will take what they want of me because they surpass your strength." Grimmjow felt a chill prickle his tough skin for several reasons. Ulquiorra had touched, had taken what was his, broken him, to the point where Ichigo didn't even have enough left in him to hate being owned like an object anymore. He used to spit the word 'owner' like it was a curse word, now…it was just a fact. But Ichigo continued, "I had been under the mistaken impression that I was singularly yours, and this has now been corrected."
Grimmjow growled, low in his throat, and abruptly reached up and undid the collar that kept the shinigami's reiatsu restrained, the suppressed pressure exploding through all of Las Noches when the suppressor fell to the bedspread. He'd originally kept it on at all times so the soul reaper couldn't kill him in his sleep; at this point he knew that was no longer a worry and the kid needed to defend himself.
"Stay here and let no one, absolutely no one touch you, am I clear?"
The teen blinked at him, then nodded. "Yes, Grimmjow."
Pausing to observe the raw, blistered and calloused skin where the collar had been, the Espada amended, "If the healer comes before I get back, you may let him touch you to take care of your neck. But other than that, nobody." Another nod and he was out the door, on his way towards the one person he never thought he'd be going to for help—Tousen. He stopped on the way to bark an order through the door of the Healer's room to send somebody to fix his pet's neck, and by the time he reached the door of the bastard's room he'd worked himself up into a fine fury. "Tousen-sama."
The man paused, turning sightless eyes to the panther. "Grimmjow? What has happened?"
A low growl underscored Grimmjow's words as he explained what had happened. Contrary to what Ulquiorra had told Ichigo, since Aizen had arrived it was no longer allowed to take or touch the property of another just because you outranked them. Tousen was the one who punished those who broke this rule. Property was not communally owned and you were never, never supposed to screw with a living, sentient pet of another. Pets were, above all, to be treated with at least a measure of respect. By breaking this rule, breaking his pet, Ulquiorra had very likely turned a potential ally entirely against them and created a dangerous enemy. No matter how calm he was on the outside, he was likely desperate to escape and would do anything to get away from both the man who had hurt him and moreover the men who could. A desperate enemy was an enemy without hope, and enemy without hope quickly became suicidal, and a suicidal, desperate enemy was the most dangerous kind. Tousen understood this.
Ulquiorra's punishment was unusually brutal, but highly satisfying, and Grimmjow memorized every moment so as to report it to Ichigo later. As Tousen had said, "The Kurosaki boy is yours to do with as you wish and punish or reward as you see fit. Other Espada, even Ulquiorra, have no right to harm what Aizen-sama has given you."
98. Ours (Continuation of Masochist)
Naturally, Shiro was interested in his brother's human. As twins, they had shared things all their lives; parents, trouble, vampirism, a noble title, prey…but seeing as the cuff was chosen for you, they would likely have ones that were in no way related to each other. He wanted to know who it was and if he or she was worthy of his big/little brother. While they'd been human, Ichigo was older, but since Shiro had been turned first, vampires counted him the older twin, and they had a complex relationship. Part of this was looking out for each other in some of the most obnoxious but loving ways. They went together to the club, and Shiro was absolutely amazed to learn that Ichigo's human was not only male, but… yet another thing they shared. He was barely within the confines of the club and already he was biting into Ichigo's shoulder to control his overflowing venom and lengthening teeth. His brother winced, but didn't otherwise react, leading him to a table far in the back, as far as they could get from the bar. After a moment, the blue-haired barkeep appeared in front of them and Shiro had to bite harder and lock his jaw—he'd never known how strong the effects of proximity to your unclaimed cuff could be until now. How his brother had withstood this for the better of three months he had no idea. "I take it yer guest is rather…hungry? Bigger order than usual, yeah?"
Ichigo petted his brother's hair, looking rather surprised. "I guess so. I don't know why, he fed just before we came…" suddenly Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "Shiro, is your shackle here? Is that what's making you act this way?"
The other vampire groaned. "We share even more than I thought, brother," was mumbled around the shoulder in his mouth, and Ichigo felt his blood run hotter. He loved his brother and he would love his shackle someday, and to be able to keep them both close was a gift he'd never thought he'd have. But there was still the issue of their shackle despising vampires…being mated to two of them probably wouldn't help their case.
"Er, sorry to bother you, Count, but… what do you mean by 'shackle'? Is he going to go feral?" Gritting his own teeth against the slight itch, Ichigo looked up at their shackle with a small, strained smile. "Considering he's almost trying to drain me dry, he won't be going feral any time soon. His—rather, our shackle is our destined mate, also apparently destined to be shared by us, chosen by Fate. Since he is still unclaimed, being close to him is…excruciating and intense. We don't wish to frighten him, so we're doing our best to control ourselves. This is my brother's first time being exposed to him, so he's…having a bit of trouble."
Looking curious, the barkeep tilted his head. "Is that what made you go feral the other night, if I may be so bold?"
Ichigo shivered. "Yes…it was my first taste of our unclaimed shackles' blood, and I was entirely unprepared for the intensity of it. I had to remove myself before I claimed him against his will."
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed. "So I'm your shackle? Your Fate-designated mate for all eternity?" The Count looked a little alarmed, but nodded. He was starting to look slightly pale, probably from all the blood his brother was continuing to drain. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
The orange-haired male looked away, swallowing hard. "I was under the impression you harbored a hatred of vampires. I didn't want to offend you." The human scoffed, though deep inside he was a little touched. He didn't know why, but he wanted the vampire to care, to consider him before doing things. "Hard to be offended over something you have no say in deciding. So basically you two need to share me?"
"Well, yeah."
Grimmjow chuckled, offering his wrist to the still-paling vampire. "Well then, you can consider me yours."
"Ours," Shiro corrected around his mouthful.
99. Hollow
Ichigo hadn't expected it in any way shape or form. He'd been dumped here, in the dimension belonging solely to Hollows, by his own comrades after they deemed him 'dangerous', and he'd expected that to be his immediate death sentence. His slight tinge of hollow reiatsu, however, was apparently enough to intrigue the hollows more than anything. He was now being scrutinized by the piercing blue gaze of a large feline hollow covered in bone armor. The tears in his academy uniform, the two swords gripped in his left hand, and his insanely bright orange hair were all brought under visible consideration, making him shift uncomfortably.
"Who are you, Shinigami?" He started at the voice, a deep rumble that would've made his knees shake had he been a lesser man. Luckily, he was a greater man- anyone who could go toe-to-toe with Aizen-taichou and survive was.
"Kur-" he paused. Did he really want to be associated with the people who had given him his name when he entered the Academy?
"Ichigo. Just…Ichigo."
The hollow eyed him a little more, then turned his shoulder to the soul reaper and walked a couple of steps. "I'm Grimmjow. Ya comin'?"
Ichigo blinked, then docilely trailed after the massive cat, his swords loosely clutched in his hand. "Mmmkay. Do you mind if I'm a we?" Another glance over the shoulder.
"A what?"
"A 'we'." He raised his two swords, slim blades with one black and one white. He realized briefly that he was still in Bankai. "There's three different people inside my head."
"Che. I don't care, just keep 'em under control. Do the others have…names?"
Ichigo chewed on his lip. "White Servant and Moon Cutter. Servant's a hollow though. He likes you."
Grimmjow snorted. "Considerin' yer in a world o' hollows now, ya'd better get used ta listenin' ta us."
Now it was Ichigo's turn to snort. "I'm part-hollow. I've nothing against 'em. You. Us. Against hollows. Hard to hate something you happen to be about half of."
100. Patience
Grimmjow was quickly learning that his offspring was possibly the most infuriating on the planet. Every shred of patience he'd learned over the years in preparation to meet his Ichigo again was being pushed to the limit. His brat—their brat, now—was doing everything in his power to drive the man who sired him insane. He made sure they were never alone for a romantic reunion, any time Grimmjow screwed up around the house Jackal would maximize the mistake, and he made particular effort to ensure that Ichigo's screams and muffled whimpers haunted Grimmjow's sleep as much as they haunted Ichigo's. Still, every predator had to have patience unlimited in order to stalk and catch their prey, and he would endure absolutely anything to the furthest limits of his patience to earn his second chance.
He was rewarded handsomely when, four months of this later, Jackal was sent to a friend's house for a week and Ichigo presented him with a gold band that matched one that had appeared on his ring finger. He was very, very handsomely rewarded indeed… and he thanked the Gods he'd had patience.
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!
Alright, since these were supposed to be done by the end of summer and they are not, I have to pay a penalty! For each of my lovely regular reviewers (Pyro D, Eternal Love's Eclipse, my other lovelies…you know who you are) I award a prize- you may choose only ONE of the three (though I may make concessions for other prizes…pm me about 'em):
1. Three prompts of your choosing, though length will have to be up to me
2. A one-shot with the pairing and/or setting/theme of your choosing
3. A cameo appearance of the reviewer, inclusion of one of the reviewer's characters, or a plot twist in my ongoing story All The Right Hormones, All The Wrong Times that is provided by the reviewer and sent to them for inspection before publishing in the eighth chapter (since I'm already halfway through the seventh)
Anyone who has reviewed a previous chapter may choose one of these prizes, and if you haven't reviewed before but provide some honest opinions about my work, including constructive criticism (but NO FLAMING) then you may also choose the first or second prize, though the third is reserved for my regular lovelies because it's rather difficult to do for authors like me, who write in totally inspired off-the-cuff bursts.