And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me"
I can't help this awful energy
Goddamn right, you should be scared of me
Who is in control?

When I answered the door, I won't lie, I was a little nervous about what I'd find waiting for me. Grimmjow, so far, hadn't struck me as the bring 'em home to dad type, so when I'd invited him over for dinner in the first place I'd felt like a massive idiot. Like, maybe he'd just laugh his ass off at me and say, Maybe next time, Berry, and I'd be wondering yet again what this even was between us. I'd had sex and flings and shit before–but not like this, never like this. Was he my boyfriend? I blushed at the concept, immediately shoving that thought down into the pits of my embarrassing brain where it'd hopefully never be found again. As if. Right? A guy like him… What was I even doing?

But there he was, standing there in dark jeans and a button up shirt that only just began to hint at his chest hair, and for the briefest fraction of a second–I see uncertainty on his face. It's just before he sees me, like he's caught up in thought and doesn't hear the door opening at first. And I "think, that's the first time I've ever seen his face behind the mask, behind the smirking and the asshole remarks and the bravado. It's weird, how comforting that is. But he's wondering the same shit I am, huh? I kinda like that. Then he sees me, and that signature grin of his breaks out but there's something else there too, something softer, more reserved. And I can't help but think–fuck, I like him. I really like him.

"You gonna let me inside, Strawberry?" Grimmjow said as he leaned against the side of the door. I'm captivated by him in the dumbest, gayest way possible. Man, I'm so fucking doomed. But I returned his smirk right back, hands shoved into my pockets like I'm mocking him and say,

"Depends, did you come with the password?"

He cocks a brow at me, eyes narrowing just a fraction but the humor never left his face. He likes it when I play–when I tease, and throw his shit right back. I feel the same way. He says, "Password," like he didn't hear me right, and saunters a step forward. I look up at him, and he towers over me in the porch lighting. It's warm out. It's the beginning of summer. There's a scent of jasmine in the air that's making this a lot more romantic than it actually is.

I sigh, run a hand through my hair. "Yup, 'fraid I can't let you in without it. Kurosaki house rules."

"That a fact?" He's grinning, licks his lips and shifts his weight to one side. "Do I get a hint or should I start guessin?"

"I can–."

"Cinnamon."

I snort. "Cinnamon? Where'd that come from?"

He shrugs. "It's the kinda gum you're always chewin."

And there's something about that–something about him recalling one singular detail about me that has me more endeared than I should be. Because maybe it meant, if Grimmjow is keeping track of the little things–of my gum and whatever else–maybe he's just as caught up in this as I am. This thing between us that neither will name because one's too much of a pansy and the other is used to getting whatever the hell he wants without having to ask or label. Or, maybe I'm just losing it. Either way, I step closer to him, just a little. Enough that when I blow a bubble of the exact gum that happens to be in my mouth, Grimmjow snaps his teeth at it and I think for a second he's close enough to steal the gum right from my lips.

"It's not cinnamon."

He leans closer. "It's gonna be somethin' real fuckin' cheesy, like a kiss, ain't it?"

I purse my lips, my cheeks heating despite my internal protests. When he says it like that, I feel like I'm in middle school. But I don't even need to answer and tell him he got it right, because his eyes widen just a fraction–a mask slipped–before he's laughing hysterically and slapping a hand against the wall to catch himself.

"Holy shit, Kurosaki, that work on everyone you bring here?"

I don't care if I'm blushing. I saw that face–that honest reaction. And, color me crazy, but I wanted to see more of them. Of the Grimmjow that got surprised when people wanted soft things from him and who tried to cover up that maybe he wanted them too. I say,

"I don't bring anyone else here."

He sobers his expression, brows furrowing almost infinitesimally, like he's trying to figure me out. I wish I could lay myself in my entirety before him–spread out like a book to read. My heart's pounding even though i've had his cock in my ass and my mouth and I'm hoping one or both of those things is how this night ends up too–even if the idea of fucking in the same house as my sisters sounds like a train wreck waiting to happen, and I can already imagine my dad coming into my room via flying kick to Grimmjow's head.

"No one, huh?" Grimmjow steps closer now, his voice lowering as if it's a secret between the two of us, and for a second, he looks uncertain. He reaches his hand out, and I lean into it where he slides it along my jaw to cup the side of my face. Thickly, I swallow.

"No one."

Our breath is mingling, dancing on the jasmine as it twirls with each other. I'm still as a statue as I watch his movements. I can't be the one to give him the password, after all. Under his breath, Grimmjow curses, and I see that smile again but it's smaller than the others, somehow more genuine. Like all of his other smiles are gloating and prideful and this is the first one that's for me. I don't know if that makes any sense, and I don't care.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Ichi," he says, and my breath hitches. Ichi. I like that. I like that so damn much I'm about to ruin this by the nervous laugh that bubbles up from me. Lucky me, I don't get to consider anything about what's going on for much longer, because Grimmjow leans down and presses his lips against mine and for the first time since I've met him they're soft. It's almost tentative, the way he kisses me. Like this is our first kiss. I sigh into it, reaching up to touch his face and trail my fingers down his neck. I pull him closer just as a throat is forcefully cleared behind me.

I've never jumped so fast.

"You're lucky I'm not Dad," Karin says in that monotone voice of hers and when I spin around to face my fate, I see the tiniest bits of a smirk on her lips. She looks around me at Grimmjow, sizes him up and seems to not be bothered in the slightest that he's easily the most intimidating guy she's ever seen–twice.

Grimmjow says, "Yo," around a grin.

"You're the dick who jacked our soccer ball," she says.

Grimmjow likes her response–I can tell in the way his smile spreads. Guy's like a cat chasing a mouse with the way he looks at people. It probably should have unnerved me way more than it did. Instead, my luck, it just shoots south.

He says, "I gave it back."

"After some bullshit."

"Yeah," he agrees, walking up and slinging an arm over my shoulder. "Now, I jacked your brother too. But, I dunno if I wanna give him back yet. That cool?"

Why is my heart such a doki-doki motherfucker?

Karin shrugs. "You can have him. He doesn't help around the house anyways."

"Hey!" I bark. We shut the door, getting inside for real, and I'm reminded that Grimmjow didn't just show up at my house to make out with me on my porch and that I actually have to sit around the dinner table with him and my father and not combust on the spot. Fuck, this was a bad idea, wasn't it? Suddenly, I'm nervous and my hands are clamming up and man, if Grimmjow notices he's definitely going to make fun of me. But his arm is around my shoulders and when Karin goes back to helping Yuzu in the kitchen, Grimmjow nudges his nose into the side of my head in a way that feels suspiciously like a nuzzle–then he's moving away, looking around with a keen eye that makes me feel investigated.

"Nice place," Grimmjow says, offhanded as he looks around. I'm looking around too but it's for a middle aged man attempting a karate move twenty years too young for him. No sign of him. Yet.

"Don't tell my dad that. He'll start going on about how the furniture is still where mom put it and then tell you the story about our silverware."

Grimmjow snorts. "Silverware?"

I smile beause I can't do anything else when I look at him. "It's black. Which is weird. Because years back, dad ordered the wrong kind online but Mom said it brought character–just like him, so she insisted we keep it. Now we've needed new forks for ten years but he won't get rid of them." I shake my head, laugh at the absurdity of it. Grimmjow laughs too.

"That's insane," he says, and I nod my head in agreement.

"That's my family for you."

"How'd she go?" he asks, and it catches me off guard. I don't talk about mom, not really. Especially not with Grimmjow where I'd prefer the mood not ruined. But there was no one alive who could set foot in my house and not hear about her. From the way Dad brought her up every chance he could get, or the fact that there was a giant poster of her on our living room wall that I always forgot was weird until someone pointed it out. To me, it was normal.

"Cancer," I answer. Simple. Enough said. Grimmjow frowns.

"That's a bullshit way to die."

I chuckle, dark, kinda morbid. "Is there any way to die that isn't?"

We're staring at each other, and I don't know why, but there's something intense about Grimmjow's eyes that I can't place. I mean, his eyes are always intense, always staring clean through to me to whatever it was that made me up. But now, it feels different. It feels…hesitant, assessing. It feels like he wants to say something and doesn't know if he can. I wonder how it is that I've only spent a month or so with him and yet I can already interpret all of that from a subtle shift in his stare.

"I can think of a couple," he finally says.

"Oh, yeah?" I'm curious and eager to move the topic away from my mom.

He licks his lips. "Mhm." But then he's moving on, as if he doesn't intend to elaborate. I deadpan.

"You gonna tell me what they are, or is this another facet of your debonair mystery schtick?"

"My debonair mystery schtick huh?" Grimmjow leaned against the back of the couch, pleased with himself–proving my damn point. I nodded, kicking his foot with mine.

"Oh, yeah. I'm onto you."

"Are you now?" There was that predatory smile again. My cock twitched. "Better be careful, Strawberry."

"I think I can take you," I said, reaching up overhead to crack my back. Grimmjow shoved off the couch, came up close to me in a way that had him looming. He seemed amused. I wished we were alone in the house.

"Tell you what–I'll give up one of my mysteries tonight if you play a good little host and take my cock the way I know you like." Fuck, he was close again. We had to get our shit together. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't half-hard at the thought.

"Easy deal for me," I said, and playfully shoved at his chest. He moved back without a fight. "I was hoping to do that anyways."

Grimmjow groaned, dragged a hand down his face, and shoved me back. "Christ. Get the hell away from me or I'm gonna fuck you on this couch in front of your father."

Somehow, my dad didn't embarrass me–too bad. His dramatics about mom made Grimmjow laugh, and watching Karin bicker with him only furthered that. It was weird, watching this–Yuzu asking Grimmjow questions and Grimmjow teasing Karin when she'd get protective over nothing. It was like he…fit here, somehow. Which was strange. For some reason, and maybe this was because of mom, but it felt like bringing anyone home would be a big deal. Like, a huge deal. Because Dad had lost mom and never gotten over her–he said it's because they were soul mates. I guess I kinda worried that the moment anyone else came through that door, I'd be getting speech after speech about cherishing your loved ones or whatever the hell. And, would that be applicable with Grimmjow? I didn't know. Fuck, I didn't know. But as the night wore on, I realized… I wanted it to be.

Maybe we'd both be sharing some mysteries tonight.

Inoue was surprised when she opened her door and saw me standing there. I don't blame her because I probably looked like something fresh out of a shitty movie since it started raining as I walked and I'm fucking soaked. I can't tell what expression I have on my face. I hate the rain, always have.

The night my mom died, it had been there, falling down relentlessly. And the night I confronted Grim- him there had been a storm too.

I really hate it.

"Kurosaki-kun..?" Her voice is soft, tentative. I realize belatedly that she's touching my face, tugging on my shirt to try and get me inside. She's worried and we still haven't spoken since the diner, but I'm a selfish bastard and she's the only distraction I have left. I follow her inside because it's my only option at this point. I don't know how to make anything better–not even myself. But maybe, just maybe if I manage to connect with another person, like really connect with them, maybe it can sever my ties to him for good. Because, like I said, everything else in my life had erased him. Everywhere else we'd been together last, I'd been with someone else. But, not here.

There was one place his claim on me had still gone untouched.

And, no matter how shitty it is, the thought of fucking Inoue sends bile up my throat, and I'm more of a traitor than I originally thought because her lips are soft under mine, and I'm thinking these shitty things like whether I'll even be able to get hard for her as I'm guiding her back to the couch. She pulls me to her–closer–and I almost sit in her lap because that's what I'm used to and that fucks me up all over again. My mind hallucinates. I heard his chuckle in my ear and his tongue on my throat but he's not here he's not here he's not fucking here and that should be a good thing.

It should be a good thing.

"Ichigo?" she asks, so fucking soft and timid and full of confusion that I nearly bash my head into hers to get it all to stop. For some reason, the thought sends a chill down my spine. But the truth is, I've always been violent. Even when everyone around me tried to convince themselves or me that I'm not. I've been fighting since my mom died–since there was no one to stand up for me but me. And maybe that's the real reason him and I got along. There had always been something unbridled about him–something I could never be. He'd always taken what he wanted in life. Never pretended his desires were anything other than what they were.

I was smiling when I wanted to die and telling everyone I'd take up the family business one day like it meant something to me. And, don't get me wrong, it does. It does in the way that it means something to my dad and my dad means everything to me. But I have no interest in becoming a doctor–not that kind at least. After the incident I'd finished my psychology degree and told everyone around me it was to heal better, to give myself the tools to know when someone was irreparably lost. Not to be closer to him. Not to try to get in his head. I could never find it in myself to be honest like he could and fuck I think I admired that the most. But none of that matters right now because Inoue asked me a question and she used my first name and I'm just fucking standing here marking the sides of her neck like she'll wake something up in me I already know is dead.

I say, "Yeah?" and don't pull back to look at her.

At first, she's silent for so long I almost think I'm gonna have to ask again–or worse. I'll have to look up at her and see her eyes welled up for me and holding every ounce of compassion in the world. It's everything I can't handle. It's everything I don't deserve. I should walk out of this house right now, into the rain, and cut it all off for good. Until I remember what's waiting for me–that I hurt Karin and Yuzu too and my dad will be waiting to kill me just like Tatsuki. Actually, I'm shocked she's not still here. Thought she'd camp out until I showed my face again. But maybe people are finally getting fed up with me. No more room to care.

It's been three years, Ichigo…

Orihime does respond, after what feels like hours, and her fingers are threading into my hair and she's so soft she's so fucking soft–why can't I like soft things? She says, "Will this help you?" and for the first time since I've known her, I hear resignation in her voice. I'm a monster. I feel like one. And the worst part is, I don't know if it will or not. I'm just at my last rope. But I repeat myself anyway. I say, "Yeah," and hope I don't have to look up. I can't, I can't look at her.

And she says, "Okay," and lets me ruin her like I don't deserve and it's fine it's fine it's fine but when I come, I'm crying and growling in frustration and I fist my knuckles up into the sheets and hate myself so thoroughly I choke on it. I'm gasping and she mistakes it for pleasure because this is her first time. At least she comes too. And when she does she says, "I love you," and I nearly vomit at the intensity of my guilt. It's eating me alive. I have to get out of here–I can't leave. She doesn't deserve this. What have I done? She loves me and my cock can't get hard without thinking of him.

And I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I'm a monster.

"You think your dad's gonna barge in on us?" Grimmjow asked as he kissed down my neck the second we got my bedroom door shut. He's always on me like this and I have zero complaints. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm too much of an insane horn dog for the guy but then I remember all I have to do is look at him for him to make a move on me. So, sue me but I don't care to question it any further.

"If he does, I'll kill him." I tilt my head back, moan as Grimmjow bites. He's going to leave marks like he always does and I'm starting to feel like my overall embarrassment over that fact is starting to lose the fight to this other feeling inside me. The one that wants to be taken–claimed, owned.

"An orphan-maker," Grimmjow says, and lifts me up by gripping beneath my thighs. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist as he moves us to my bed and tosses me back onto it. "Sexy."

"I'm gonna start thinking you have a murder kink, y'know." Something changes above me–Grimmjow stiffens for just a second. But it's long enough to have my brows furrowing. I try to push myself up onto my elbows which is a bit difficult considering Grimmjow is on top of me. But, just as quick as that reaction came, it's gone, and Grimmjow is pulling back to look at me with such a dark, lust-soaked look in his eyes that I fucking whimper in the face of it. Seriously–what the fuck was that sound and since when do I make it?

"What if I did?" he starts, kissing along my jaw back to my neck while one of his hands moves up my chest and tweaks one of my nipples. I gasp, and offer more of my throat to him. Is he joking? I can't fully buy that. There's something in the near-admission that sends a chill down my spine, and some semblance of my danger senses kick in. I should be afraid of a man I've only recently met joking about having a murder kink when I essentially know nothing else about him. But, I mean, he couldn't be serious. Probably just into some hard core sado shit. Maybe I could get into that too.

"Then I'd ask how you'd do it," I say, which is kind've a shock to me. Like I didn't expect that to come out of my mouth. But, there was something else here that was lighting my nerves on fire in the best way–an exhilaration. My entire life, everyone tried to get me to stop fighting–stop getting into trouble. My mom died and they tried to treat me softly, with kid gloves and bubble wrap. Afraid to step on landmines that might set me off–worried for this or that. I was a delinquent but I was also the son of a doctor and so everyone always had these high expectations of me. They thought when I'd punch a guy in the face that I must be troubled, that must have been my last option. It couldn't possibly be what I wanted, or what finally took the edge off of the bullshit.

But Grimmjow stood there and screamed danger and for the first time in my life, I wanted to quit fighting. Quit resisting. There was something undeniably seductive about that. And I was done playing safe.

Grimmjow moved his mouth, staring at me with kiss-swollen lips and an intensity to his gaze that had my cock weeping beneath the pants I was still regrettably wearing. I gulped, my own lips falling open as if I had no air. He said, "How would I kill you?"

I said, "Yeah," and closed the gap between our mouths. His tongue was hot and the remnants of dinner flavored the kiss. I didn't mind. I'd take him anyway I could have him. But I noticed something in that instant–something that almost made me pull back, like somehow I'd gone too far. Because Grimmjow was tense. And somewhere within me, I felt anxiety over that fact. So I kissed down his neck and bit down the way he does to me and I goaded him. "Unless you're too chicken shit to describe it."

The response was immediate.

One moment, I was propped up with Grimmjow beside me, the next there was a growl in my ear and his hands were everywhere. One of them–strong motherfucker–grabbed my wrists and pinned them both above my head as if it were nothing. His knee was in between my legs, forcing them apart and pressing against the aching hard on I'd been sporting for a while now. I gasped, arched into the touch, and his teeth were on me again, on my throat, right over my trachea.

"I'd fuck you first," he said around my flesh, his tongue laving over my throat reverently. The hand that wasn't holding my wrists up was running down my sides, pushing my shirt up, tweaking my nipples again and making me moan. Fuck, I was going to be reduced to a simpering mess at this point. I could already feel my cock leaking in my pants, and with the way Grimmjow's thigh was pressing against me, I couldn't help but grind down.

"Then what?"

Grimmjow groaned like this was the single hottest thing he'd ever experienced, and that lit my nerves on fire. I loved affecting him this way–a man that looked like he'd seen his fair share of shit and didn't take nothing from nobody. His teeth tightened on my throat and I gasped, heart pounding wildly.

"Then, I'd have my knife on me…" he says like there's more, like he's starting a story I can't wait to hear. The subject matter only heightens this. It's dangerous and thrilling and I can't fucking get enough. "Your blood would look so fucking good against your skin, Ichi… Fuck, the way it'd taste…" He groans in a way that sounds more animalistic than human, like a growl–a real one–and then his hand is unbuckling my pants and he pulls my dick out to stroke it and it's so fucking good all it's all I can do to shove my hand in my mouth so I don't moan too loud. I wish we were back at his motel–or wherever he'd be this time–so I didn't have to hold back my voice. And I know he feels the same way because when I stifle myself he's growling and gripping my dick tighter, tight enough to nearly have me moving away but I can't bring myself to do that at all. I flex my hips into his hand, fuck myself into that beautiful tight fist and if I ever end up in therapy, I think this'll be where we start.

"You wanna taste it?" What the hell am I saying? The longer this goes on, the less it feels like a joke. Because I've never seen Grimmjow so into something like he is here. No playful smirk, no nonchalance. His eyes are boring holes into me and when he curls his lip to growl and groan I feel like dinner on a serving platter.

"Kurosaki," he grinds out, swallowing thick and his hand stutters as he flexes his own hips against my thigh, fucking me through denim and I can feel how fucking hard he is. It's everything to me. I'm dizzy with the euphoria of what I'm doing to him. "You're playing with fire, here…" It's the first time I've ever felt an ounce of self control from him–like he's holding himself back. And I hate it because he's the first thing in my life to take the reins and give them to me. To tell me I can do and take whatever the fuck I want and that type of freedom is nothing to scoff at. It's addicting. I need more of it just like I need more of him.

So I reach out, clumsily make enough work of his belt buckles and jean buttons until I can grab him. He's hard and hot and fuck he's weeping in his god damn pants over this. The sound I make at the sight and feel of him is positively inhuman, but I'm too gone to care. I look him dead in those blue eyes of his and say, "So, burn me." And when he crashes his mouth into mine, I know we're both tumbling towards something we can't name or control. This thing will take us over and it's everything to submit to it. To hurtle into the darkness and feel fucking divine about it.

"Yeah," he says, breathless. "I wanna taste it. On your body, on your cock–pouring out of you from wherever the hell I shove my knife in to hold onto you better. Maybe between your ribs."

"Why can't you use your hands?" I say. The sound Grimmjow makes is more akin to a sob as his cock throbs and spills more in my hand. I've never felt such power over another person in my entire life. I don't think I'll ever come down from this high. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez–a god among men, he was mine.

"I can…after." His hips are working himself into my fist, eyes screwing up in pleasure as sweat beads on his forehead. We're just jacking each other off and yet it's so much fucking more than that. "Reach in through your chest and hold your beating heart in my hands while I fuck you."

"I won't last long like that." I've never watched anyone so intensely.

"No," he agrees. "I'd get too carried away with you–I know I would. It'd be over too soon. I'd feel your heart go still in my hands and your blood would start going cold and I'd need more–fuck, I need more of you." Grimmjow shoves me back onto the bed and my grip on his cock slips. He's roughly taking off his shirts, shucking his pants next. Mine follow soon after, and when my turgid cock slaps my stomach with the force of it all, he groans. He's so fucking beautiful above me. I spread my legs, needing him to be inside me. My mind is racing a mile a minute but it's also somehow static. I don't know what's coming out of my mouth. I just know I'll say whatever I have to if it ends with him inside me.

"My blood's warm now," I say as he shoves my thighs apart. I go pliantly, watching him–always fucking watching those eyes. And so I see them when they dart to the side, to the pants he'd discarded that hang halfway off my bed. My heart kicks up a notch. He said he'd have his knife on him–not a knife. His. How much of this was a fantasy? Who cared? I wanted to be used up. I said, "Cut me," and his hands fucking falter from where they're holding me and he groans again and has to lean forward, pressing his forehead against my knee like he's catching his breath.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm gonna blow before I get inside you…"

"If you want something…" I said, reminiscent of us in the diner. Oh how far I'd fallen since then. "Take it."

His snarl is the only warning I get.

Grimmjow whips a pocket knife out of his jean pocket, and he's situated himself in between my legs with one hand gripping my thigh in a vice, holding it out, and the other with the knife at my throat. My breathing is so damn fast, I'm panting like a bitch in heat and licking my lips that are too dry. Almost lazily, Grimmjow rolls his hips and his cock slides against mine and the way we both groan is nearly better than the sex itself.

"You'll take it back," he says.

I smirk, mirroring the one he always gives me. "I think you're bitching out."

The slice over my left pectoral is slow and deep and painful. I gasp, eyes widening as the shock of the pain sets in. I should be terrified of this–I should want to get away. I should take this bread crumb trail of red flags and turn them in for the very real danger this could be. But all my body does is arch up into the sensation, and all my dick does is throb. And maybe I was fucked up before I met Grimmjow and maybe that's why we work so well like this. This. I want this.

"Fuck," I pant, looking up at him. His eyes aren't on me, they're on my chest, and when I glance down I see scarlet welling and weeping over my skin. I reach out, run my fingers up the arm of his that holds the knife and say, "Taste it."

He's leaning forward like a man who just found god, and laves his tongue over the blood. His grip on my thigh tightens impossibly, and I know damn well it's going to bruise. I can't find it in me to care. I've always come to love being owned by him. The sound he makes in his chest is guttural and animalistic and when he looks up at me when red staining his lips I moan blatantly in the face of it. He says,

"You scared yet?"

"Scared you're not gonna fuck me when I'm being so accommodating."

He licks my chest again, moving up with fresh blood on his lips and chin and tongue and kisses me breathlessly. I feel a hand smear through the gore, fingers prodding my entrance. It feels like spit and blood mixed together and no way this is enough lube but I have some in the drawer so if it doesn't work we can burn that bridge when we get to it–I can't be bothered to stop him now. The kiss is dominating, it's everything, and the second I feel him push inside me my gasp is coupled by another slice to my side.

"How's this?" he asks, taunting as he sheathes himself within me and captures my too-loud moan with his mouth again. Immediately, Grimmjow sets a pace. It's feral and honest and so fucking territorial I feel like a gazelle in the maw of a lion. My throat in his mouth, his blade on my skin, and that perfect perfect cock stretching me open and taking me.

"S'good–fuck…you're so fucking hot…"

He's spurred on by this, smearing his hands around in the essence of me, hips erratic and breath coming in harsh pants against my skin. He's speaking, but it's more like muttering against me and it's hard to hear with my heart beating in my ears. I whimper, grip onto his hair and work my hips like a slut who didn't think they'd see another day. And maybe I wouldn't. Maybe he'd kill me for real–right here. And fuck, that should have scared me.

"Ichi…" he says like a prayer. "Second I met you I wanted your blood in my mouth…on my cock…everything, everywhere–knew I had to fucking have you…" There's another slash, on my thigh, and his fingers press into it, causing me to cry out. I'm overstimulated from pain and pleasure and can't tell where we end. What could this possibly look like? But my dick is eating it up–the way our movements cause it to bob and bounce, slapping against my stomach in rhythm with the slapping of our skin. I bare my throat and say,

"It's yours–fuck, I'm yours."

And Grimmjow growls and says, "Mine." He's getting close, I can feel it, and I am too. He's mumbling again, unintelligibly, fumbling his hand down to stroke me in time with his thrusts. He says, "Ichi, Ichigo, you're killin me, you're ruining me, baby. Fuck, Fuck…!" When he comes, he throws the knife. I don't know why. Almost as if it were hot to the touch, and he needed it out of his grasp. His hands are on my cock and my wounds and his mouth moves to the junction of my neck and shoulder as he bites down in the throes of orgasm, breaking skin and sending me over the edge. I come in between us, harder than I ever have, and my seed mixes in with the blood on me. It stings. Everything stings. Nothing's ever felt better.

I'm panting, chest heaving as Grimmjow collapses next to me, and for a moment, we're silent. I think, I almost start to drift to sleep, my eyes shut, and my breathing slows. And then his hand is on my face, roughly yanking my head over to make eye contact and he says,

"You're breathing."

I smile, it's tired, I'm tired. "You do take my breath away, though."

He stres at me like he's trying to make me out, figure out what my deal is. I'm too sated to care. But these bloody sheets will probably be an issue if I let it soak through to the mattress. Or… I trace a finger along the cut on my chest. It's not too deep. Everything feels wetter with sweat mixed in. I reach up, touch his face. I can't read his expression.

"You look scared shitless that I went along with it. I'm fine," I say as if for some reason I need to reassure him. "Cuts aren't deep."

For a second, he just stares. I wonder so terribly what he's thinking. I wish I could reach out and take it. "Guess they aren't."

I laugh, lean my head back again and let my eyes slide shut. "You're really into that?"

"Like you got no idea." Pause. "Thought you'd change your tune on me. Freak out. Most people would."

I shrug. "Guess I'm not most people." When I open my eyes again, Grimmjow's looking at every inch of me. It feels somehow more intimate than everything that just happened. He leans down, wordlessly, and licks the blood clean from my chest, my side. He kisses and licks down until my thigh is clean too. There's something seriously hot about that, about knowing my come is mixed in with the blood and it's like water in a desert to him.

"Suppose you aren't."

"Hey, Grimmjow?"

He pauses, looks up at me, tongue still extended against my skin like he's some kinda cat. I smile at that. He's endearing. This is so fucking weird. He says, "Yeah?"

"Be my boyfriend."

In the morning, I leave before Tatsuki returns to kick my ass like she promised, and hope my sisters aren't home when I get there. I leave Orihime a note on her bedside that says I had to run, and that I'll call her later. I wonder if she'll even want to speak to me. I wouldn't. But last night she'd said, Will this help you? And fucking hell with it, what a gutting question. I'd used her. Took advantage of her kindness to try filling a hole I knew couldn't be patched. Orihime told me when she'd be back after I was through fucking her and we didn't know what else to talk about. I showered immediately and hated myself for it. Brought her some water, cleaned her up, and tried to do what I felt like a good boyfriend would. Even though I wasn't one–I could pretend, couldn't I? That's what I'd been doing for two years now, wasn't it? Pretending. Every day. That I was something I wasn't. That I could get over what happened, move on. Because the thing is, everyone assumes I'm just traumatized. That I'm only trying to heal from a betrayal.

Kurosaki Ichigo, delinquent. Son of a doctor. Poor boy lost his mother. Almost killed in an attempted murder by his boyfriend. Oh, he was gay too? How sad. Poor thing.

It was a fraud. I was a fraud.

I was fucked up, yeah. I almost died, yeah. But none of that encompassed everything. None of that made up for the fact that when I looked at myself in the mirror I didn't know who the hell was looking back at me. My life had become one big jumbled mess of my bullshit attempts at appeasing everyone. Convincing them that I was okay, trying not to worry anyone, trying to hold myself up. But I knew the truth. When I laid down in bed at night and had nothing but me left to deal with–not even my pretenses.

The truth was, I missed it. Missed him. The freedom he gave me. And I think that's where most of the bile came from–when I'd wake up from my nightmares and spill my guts in the toilet so hard I thought I'd puke up my insides too. Because in my nightmares I wasn't running from Grimmjow. I was with him. Killing others–my friends, my family. And I was enjoying it. And then he'd fuck me in their blood and we'd laugh and kiss and no one would ever catch us because we were too busy riding off into the sunset of that baby blue truck of his, looking up at the stars.

I didn't want to be a killer.

I didn't want to be killed.

But, I wanted him and I'd spent three years trying to convince myself I didn't because that was wrong. I shouldn't want him. I shouldn't have this morbid curiosity about what happened and where he went. I shouldn't have cut out an online article I printed saying he'd been locked up at Seireitei Institution for the Criminally Insane that I look at when I start to wonder if any of it was real. But I do. I do miss and want and have those things. If you want something…take it. Maybe I was tired of not listening to that advice. I'd spent three years trying to be better, trying to make everyone happy. Maybe I needed to take my healing into my own hands. To stand before him again–from a safe distance of straight jackets and glass–and hear him say to my face that I was always just going to be another number to him. That he never cared, and should have killed me ages ago when he had the chance.

And then maybe I can finally move on. Or at least have my own fucked up view of closure from it.

There's only one person I can call, and he's not going to like this. Because the two previous times I'd spoken to Renji was one–when he was telling me a serial killer was loose in Karakura, and the media didn't want to scare anyone, and would I promise him not to be dumbass and to be careful at night, and the last was when the police showed up at the hospital to get my statement and I had to say, well, no, I suppose I hadn't been careful enough.

Maybe I was continuing that trend.

But I opened a text message to Renji who knew Shunsui, the head director of the institution and said,

~Get me an interview at Seireitei. I need closure my way.

A/N: SURPRISE, BITCH. Bet you thought you saw the last of me! Tbh, I did too. A part of me cannot believe I'm updating anything after EIGHT YEARS...but also I got reminded of this fic last night and stayed up until 3am re-reading everything and I thought, man okay it's not THAT rough. And I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to finish this back in the day, and how I'd already planned so much of it out. So I spent 4 1/2 solid hours today writing this chapter (as always, no beta, we die like men). I want to finish it. I hope if anyone comes back to read this update, that you enjoy it. And if you still remember this fic, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'll finish it for you. I'll finish it for GrimmIchi.

Let me know what you think? I missed you 3

Oh, I'm an artist now, btw! If any of yall have twitter you can find me fernfatale_