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Untrained Heart	By : Raceysama Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ichigo Views: 2124 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make any profit from these works......

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
CHAPTER 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
This chapter was mostly written by the lovely Selphiebunny. I only added in Grimmjow's POV. Enjoy and bask in her awesomeness! XD
Onwards...
XxXx
Ichigo watched the blue haired carpenter work from the kitchen with a sense of wonder and, despite himself, arousal. It was only his human nature. The man was absolutely gorgeous; there was just no other way to describe him.
He had stuttered like an idiot when they were first introduced. It was beyond embarrassing, to say the least. Ichigo watched as he bent down to root around in his tool box, savoring the sight of lightly tanned flesh revealed by the man's shirt riding up just the slightest.
And then, all at once, Ichigo shook his head violently as if he was shaking off a particularly large, nasty spider. He was acting so shamefully, and not even thinking about Byakuya. He was disgusted with himself. The need for a shower was almost overwhelming.
Instead of going through with the latter, Ichigo decided to make tea. Tea always calmed him down and left his head a little bit cleared. And he figured the carpenter would appreciate the gesture, as well. The man seemed somewhat standoffish, but Ichigo assumed he was just intensely focused on his task.
Ten minutes later, Ichigo walked outside with a mug full of hot tea. Grimmjow was currently measuring lengths of different sizes of wood, his back once again to Ichigo without any sign of acknowledgment.
"Grimmjow," he inquired softly, holding out his hand. The man didn't look up, his brows creased in concentration.
Ichigo frowned. He hated being ignored. "Grimmjow," he tried again, this time slightly louder.
Finally, the blue haired man gave him the attention he wanted, equally deep blue eyes flicking up in recognition at his presence, but otherwise, his face remained impassive.
Ichigo smiled. "It's been a few hours; I thought you would like some tea?"
It happened almost in slow motion. Grimmjow, Ichigo could have sworn, was crouched down. And then all of a sudden, he was right in Ichigo's face. He could nearly feel the soft puffs of breath on his cheek from the other man. In his shock, he had dropped the mug, staining Grimmjow's otherwise perfectly white t-shirt, to his horror.
Immediately, Ichigo began a litany of apologies. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised, god, I can't believe I-I just did that –"
Grimmjow had a scowl on his face, pushing away Ichigo's shaking hands that were feebly grasping the air in nervous confusion. "No, it's alright. I'll just take it off, see?" Ichigo looked up at him, entranced as he continued on. "I prefer not to wear a shirt when I'm working on projects at home anyway. It limits me and I don't feel as comfortable." Grimmjow didn't stop there, and Ichigo listened, wide eyed, as the other man proceeded to fill the span of the next five minutes about how he liked to carve intricate figurines in the garage of his home.
When he finished, all Ichigo could do was stare. Grimmjow didn't look at his face one time during his drawn out explanation. Instead of being offended, as was expected, Ichigo was intrigued. Why wouldn't Grimmjow maintain eye contact? Was it Ichigo's glaringly ugly orange hair?
"I need to get back to work," the carpenter stated blandly, peeling off the tea soaked shirt with ease and flinging it over into the bed of his truck. Ichigo blushed furiously when the rest of that tan skin was revealed. Grimmjow's body could have been a work of art itself. He was lean, but clearly muscled from years of hard work, defined abdominal muscles outlined as if they were etched in and his arms were roped with thick muscles.
Sinful, really.
Ichigo was almost jealous. Being a kindergarten teacher had the disadvantages of being stuck in a classroom most of the day, with little time for activity.
"I'll wash your shirt, and make some more tea."
"That's unnecessary. I told you, I'm fine," Grimmjow murmured, already reaching down to retrieve his measuring tape.
With a frown, and a little bit crestfallen, Ichigo retrieved the fallen, now dirty, tea mug and shakily went back into the house, deciding a shower later would be a great use of time.
xx
Staring outside at the backyard, Ichigo felt his nerves ease. The day was so beautiful, the sun shining down from big, fluffy white clouds amidst a crystal clear, blue sky. He had planted two flower beds beside the back door, and there was a clothes line and a modest vegetable garden in the center of the manicured lawn. Deep down, he absolutely loved just staring at the little place he liked to call his sanctuary, but he wouldn't ever admit to such a feminine hobby out loud.
His thoughts returned to his task at hand. A white shirt stared up at him, soggy from water, in the kitchen sink. The stain Ichigo had accidentally caused was now significantly faded. New tea was on the stove, probably tastier than the last pot he had made. Life was getting better as the day got longer, and his nerves settled.
Grimmjow hadn't spoken to him after their encounter. He was a very determined and focused man, that much was rapidly made apparent. Ichigo hadn't seen him take a break yet. He knew a fierce blush was crawling its way up his neck and covering his cheeks when he remembered Grimmjow being so close, he could almost taste the minty toothpaste on the other's breath.
"I'm being ridiculous," Ichigo chided himself. He took out some bread and hastily put together a few sandwiches. His hands were shaking nervously.
Why did this man have him so on edge? It was like Ichigo was terrified of something, but he certainly couldn't discern what. Grimmjow wasn't mean, didn't even know him, really. So, why?
He swallowed down the questions and took a plate and a new cup out, surprised to find the other man already sitting under an apple tree Byakuya had wanted him to plant when they first moved into the small home. The tree had a long way to go, but Ichigo was absurdly protective, not to mention proud, of it. Approaching slowly, Ichigo suddenly felt like an idiot. Here he was, carrying food and drinks, while the carpenter had already brought something, and by the looks of it, was about to finish, but Ichigo couldn't just turn around and march back into the house without looking silly, either.
He was already blaming this entire mess of awkwardness on his bastard lover. Byakuya got to hide away in an office building all day, while Ichigo was stuck calling off work – which he loved – just to take care of welcoming the carpenter and, who was he kidding, mothering his steps. Byakuya was beyond obsessive about perfection.
Sometimes, Ichigo felt more like a personal assistant than a lover.
Ichigo scowled and plopped down, glaring heatedly at the sandwiches he painstakingly (okay, not really) made and viciously took a bite out of one. Grimmjow was watching him, eyes trained on his hands. It was unnerving.
"Your hands are shaking," Grimmjow pointed out around a mouthful of ham and something else entirely.
"You're perceptive," Ichigo fired back, tempted to snarl like a rabid animal at the other man, before soothing his temper with thoughts of later. There was going to be an argument on the horizon tonight, and Ichigo couldn't wait for Byakuya to stroll in the door, looking poised and elegant in a tailored suit, before Ichigo rained on his mood with biting anger and thunderstorm-esque shouting.
There was silence. Without gauging Grimmjow's expression, Ichigo whispered a small "I'm sorry," in hopes the carpenter wouldn't hear him.
"For what?" But he did. Ichigo cursed.
He looked up into Grimmjow's sculpted, beautiful face. The man seemed to be looking at his shoe laces with a deep amount of interest. Unnerving.
"About acting weird. It's not you or anything, if you're starting to think that. The man that called you, he lives with me and he can get on my nerves. I guess. I don't want to preach to you, sorry." Ichigo sighed.
A frown formed, tipping Grimmjow's full lips downward. "Then, why are you telling me this?"
Ichigo sputtered, almost insulted at the blunt, blasé remark. He wasn't used to people being rude to him, so he wasn't sure how to respond. It was a little hurtful, to be honest. Huffing, he sat down the plate of barely touched food, crossing his legs and leaning his hands back on the plush grass. "I'm just letting you know why I was acting strange earlier, and well, now."
There was a grunt in return, before Grimmjow stood to his full height, shaking off stray strands of grass and pieces of dirt from his well worn jeans. Ichigo watched with a sense of fascination as he promptly turned and went back to work without so much as a nod.
Prick.
Ichigo simmered in the startling rays of warming sunlight, a blush staining his cheeks. This man was going to give him a heart attack.
He let out a bone tired sigh, standing up with the left over sandwich and cup, retreating back into the house like a kicked puppy.
He missed the children in his class. They always made him happy, despite petty fights or spilled tears. He enjoyed hearing the squabbling kids, practically lived for kids, thus the obvious choice in life was to become a teacher. His father could do nothing but support him, and his sisters were the same. They were his spine in any situation. The thoughts of his family left a hole in his heart, swelling and growing, suffocating him the more he thought about them.
He hadn't seen them in nearly two months. His father and sisters lived well past Karakura, taking up residency in a modest clinic on the outskirts of the city, a two hour drive. Ichigo hated it, but he couldn't help but enjoy where he lived now. He reasoned to call them tomorrow. His father hated technology of any kind, but he figured one of his adorable sisters would answer for their brother.
The sour cloud over his head seemed to lift at the promise of familiarity, of his family. He loved Byakuya, but he was so lonely when there was no one else in the house, or he didn't go to work.
It was a terrible feeling.
XOXOXO
Grimmjow went back to work, his heart trying to beat its way free from his chest. He hadn't really expected to be approached by the orange-haired man named Ichigo, but that was exactly what had happened. While Ichigo hadn't been paying attention during his walk towards him, he had taken the time to examine him more closely.
Ichigo was shorter than him. Probably around 5'9", 5'10". His bright, orange hair was spiky and cut short, the front covering his brow and the back layering over his neck. It practically glowed under the gleaming sun, golden highlights accentuated. His eyes were a warm bronze and his body was subtly toned from what Grimmjow could see underneath the black, short-sleeved t-shirt and slim-fitting khaki pants the man wore.
What he liked the most about the man, though, was his kind voice. It was deep and husky, very comforting, and he felt he could listen to it all day. Kind of like the way he listened to his classical music at home. He hadn't really minded Ichigo talking, but he hadn't understood the reason for the rambling. As far as he was concerned, Ichigo hadn't done anything wrong. People spilled things all the time. Grimmjow knew he did.
Done with the necessary measuring, Grimmjow brought out his saw and began cutting off lengths of Redwood. Redwood was really expensive, but it lasted a long time and looked a lot nicer than some other woods that were good for outdoor building. Throw some sealer on it and it would last even longer.
The manual labor was invigorating and after ten minutes, he had completely forgotten about his encounter with Ichigo. The sun beat down on him, making sweat form and run down his face, exposed back and chest as he lugged wooden planks over to his work area, which happened to be the eastern side of the house.
About an hour and a half later, he realized he hadn't brought any water with him that day, but he figured he could ask Ichigo for a glass, considering the orange-haired man was so eager to share things with him. Grimmjow stood and placed a hand on his hip, taking a minute to catch his breath before he headed up to the front door. It was still open, although, Ichigo was nowhere to be found.
He stepped inside and took in the small foyer, a staircase leading to an upper level and a doorway to his left that led into a sitting room. The walls were a pale blue, the floors a light-colored hardwood. Probably Soft Maple or even Poplar. Grimmjow made his way deeper into the quaint little abode, ending up in a nice-sized kitchen with pale yellow walls and the same Soft Maple made up the cabinets and floor. Ichigo wasn't there, either.
Frowning, he turned on his heel and doubled back the way he had come. He peered into the sitting room, noticing the light-brown walls and maroon sofa. They had a long, wooden coffee table (probably Mahogany), framed pictures decorated the walls and they even had a TV.
Still, no Ichigo.
Grimmjow quirked a brow and headed up the stairs.
He didn't think Ichigo was a TV person.
His search led him to what he assumed was a bedroom, a modest, full-sized, western-styled bed pushed against the far wall. Speaking of the wall, the theme was a burnt orange trimmed with beige. The curtains were also beige. Although the room was clearly a bedroom, it didn't look lived in at all. It seemed more like a guest bedroom than anything. Grimmjow scowled, annoyed that he still hadn't located the orange-haired man. He turned and moved to the next room, which was another bedroom, this one sporting walls that were a deep purple hue. The trim was lavender, the furniture a nice Hickory.
The bed was rumpled, clearly unmade, the deep blue blanket and sheets tossed around haphazardly. A drawer on the dresser was left open and clothes were strewn across the unmade bed. Grimmjow cocked his head to the side. This room was the only one that actually seemed lived in. Shrugging and blowing out a frustrated breath, he left the doorway and headed for the only remaining door. It was cracked and the nearer he got, the clearer the sound of running water became.
He approached the door and pushed it open, pausing in the threshold at the sight that greeted him. Steam billowed towards him, but his keen vision made it easy for him to see the man standing behind a clear shower curtain. Ichigo rubbed his hands over his body, traveling over his chest and sides. Grimmjow hadn't expected to be intrigued by what he saw, considering he had the same anatomy. There shouldn't have been anything interesting about another man's body, but for some reason, he found himself riveted and unable to look away.
Smooth, glistening, tanned skin stretched on for what seemed like miles. Bright orange hair was now a darker shade, due to the water and the smell coming from the small stall reminded him of Neliel's soap. It always reminded him of girls and candy. Ichigo washed himself very methodically, starting with his neck and traveling down over his chest and legs. He did the same with rinsing the suds from his body.
Grimmjow was so immersed in his staring, he didn't notice the water shutting off, or the curtain being pulled aside, but he did notice the loud, almost womanly scream.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Ichigo hollered, his copper-colored eyes wide and disbelieving.
Grimmjow avoided the other man's gaze and crossed his arms over his chest, "You weren't in the kitchen, so I came to find you," he muttered, wondering why Ichigo was so worked up.
Ichigo draped the translucent curtain around his waist, obviously trying to keep his lower region from view as his voice returned to normal levels. It actually deepened and carried an unmistakable threat, "If you don't get the hell out right now, I'm calling the police," he informed.
Grimmjow had heard that having the police called wasn't such a good idea, so he nodded and left the bathroom without another word. He tromped down to the kitchen and stood in the small space, waiting for Ichigo to come down. He leaned against the Formica counter-top and crossed his arms over his chest.
He wanted to know what the hell had Ichigo so upset. It wasn't like they had different body parts. Neliel had explained to him the concept of privacy when he was younger, and had inquired why women and girls used different bathrooms than men and boys, but that wasn't the case in this situation. He and Ichigo were both men, so there was no reason for the guy to be all angry. Ichigo had nothing Grimmjow hadn't seen already.
Loud footsteps on the stairs made him glance at the kitchen doorway. Ichigo stormed his way, chestnut eyes on fire. He was wearing a dark-green t-shirt and black windbreaker pants, the material swishing noisily as he made his furious approach. Grimmjow watched him steadily until Ichigo's eyes locked with his and destroyed his comfort level. He averted his gaze, but was very aware of the blazing red head's arrival in the kitchen. The air seemed to thicken and resonate with silence.
"Why the hell were you watching me shower?" Ichigo asked without preamble.
Grimmjow glanced into his eyes, but immediately looked away, "I told you, you weren't in here, so-"
"So, what the hell? That just gives you the right to walk into someone's bathroom while they're showering?" Ichigo interrupted incredulously.
"Why are you angry?" he asked simply, face blank and voice empty.
"I was naked! You don't just walk into someone's bathroom and watch them shower! There's this little thing called privacy, you know!"
Grimmjow frowned and shifted his stance, "You're a man. You don't have anything special that I haven't seen before," he stated, still confused as to why Ichigo thought he deserved privacy. He wasn't a woman, so the same rules didn't apply.
Ichigo was suddenly rather quiet and Grimmjow chanced a glance in his direction. The orange-haired man's face was crimson and the flush was spreading down towards his neck and up over his ears. His hands were fisted at his sides and his mouth was tightened into an angry, little ball. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snapped.
Grimmjow sighed exasperatedly. He didn't think Ichigo was this slow when he'd first met him, "We have the same parts. I see what you have everyday when I shower and use the bathroom. In other words, you have a dick and I have a dick. You understand?" he asked patiently, hoping his explanation was enough to make the other man understand.
Ichigo was trembling, his hands white from being balled up so tightly. "Y-you-"
"Are you cold?" Grimmjow interrupted, brow creased in a scowl and eyes focused on Ichigo's shaking limbs.
"Is this a joke? Are you joking?"
"No," he answered, frown deepening. Grimmjow glanced at the clock over the stove and turned back to Ichigo. He needed to get back to work. "Do you have water?" he asked.
Ichigo's eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open, "W-water?"
Grimmjow ran a large hand through his hair, tousling it in the process, "Yes. I forgot to bring my own."
Ichigo took a deep breath, held up both hands and shook his head before nodding and making his way to the refrigerator. "Yeah, I'll get it for you," he issued, turning his back to Grimmjow.
Grimmjow nodded, his face still blank as he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited by the kitchen door. He watched Ichigo grab a pitcher of water from the fridge, then turn to the cabinets over the sink, where he retrieved a tall glass and filled it with the clear liquid. He turned to Grimmjow and handed off the glass. It was ice cold and just barely perspiring, making Grimmjow lick his lips in anticipation. He drank down the contents in a mere few gulps, his shoulders sagging in satisfaction. When he was done, he handed the glass back to the orange-haired man still watching his every move.
Grimmjow averted his gaze again, but not before he'd spotted a peculiar expression on Ichigo's face. Those warm eyes no longer held the glint from a few minutes ago, but were now darker, their focus alternating between Grimmjow's throat and mouth. He shrugged, not recognizing the lust that look represented and left the kitchen, headed back outside to try to finish the cutting for the day, leaving a very bewildered orange-haired man behind to watch his departure.
XxXx
Ichigo had no real words to accurately describe his feelings when Grimmjow left for the day. The man had departed a few minutes ago, and all he could do was let out a giant breath of relief and face the onslaught of overwhelming embarrassment. He knew a mean blush was rushing to his face at the thought of someone other than Byakuya viewing him naked.
It was humiliating.
But his thoughts kept returning to the enraptured gaze Grimmjow had been giving him as he watched Ichigo shower. Grimmjow hadn't meant any harm, not really, so that was the only reason Ichigo hadn't thrown his fist back and knocked the strange carpenter in the jaw. It was as if Grimmjow was a child, with analyzing eyes full of some piece of innocence Ichigo couldn't really describe. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear it.
The slow burn of anger crawled into his gut. Byakuya would be home within the hour, and he just couldn't wait to lay it into the refined, older man. But he didn't think he would tell Byakuya about the shower incident. Knowing him, he'd have Grimmjow fired, and Ichigo didn't believe the situation called for such extremes. He sighed loudly, knowing it was pointless in the end. Byakuya would simply ignore his threats and turn on the stupid new television he had bought, or read the newspaper like Ichigo's complaints didn't matter. It was insufferable.
Ten minutes later, the front door slowly opened, Byakuya quietly stepping in, hanging up his jacket gracefully and taking off his dress shoes, leaving him in an ironed, white dress shirt and perfect, black slacks. Ichigo was in the kitchen door way, a snarl curling his lips as he watched the black haired man.
"Kurosaki-"
"Don't use my last name, Byakuya!" he nearly screamed, anger bubbling up like poison.
Dark eyes hardened upon the clipped, furious tone. "Ichigo, what's wrong?" Byakuya's voice was far from concerned, a silent fury now burning in those inky depths. Byakuya abhorred his outbursts of anger, Ichigo knew that much.
"I'm tired of playing housewife," Ichigo growled, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. "I missed work for this, for you. The least you could do is be appreciative."
"I appreciate you," was Byakuya's monotone reply. He had easily moved past the slightly smaller male, and went to the refrigerator to take out some tea. He sipped on a glass as he listened to Ichigo.
"The hell you do," Ichigo hissed, rounding on him. "You don't give a shit what I do, as long as it's what you want. It's like I'm your maid and receptionist, instead of your lover. But you can't have it all; I refuse to be chained to you. Something has to change."
They stared at each other, Byakuya calm and collected, while Ichigo was panting and flushed with exertion.
Finally, Byakuya closed his eyes and sat the glass on the counter. "What brought this on? How long have you been so unhappy with me?"
Ichigo felt the unmistakable pang of guilt, now. "I…I'm not unhappy with you, just your actions. You act like my job isn't important, that it's replaceable because you have a better one, and that if I lose it, it's not a big deal. But it is! To me. Byakuya, I love you, but I hate the way you treat me," Ichigo finished bluntly, not missing the subtle change on the other man's otherwise impassive face.
"I'm sorry, Ichigo. I did not mean for you to get that impression. However, my work is very important to me as well, and unfortunately, out of the two of us, it does pay more. Therefore, you should understand the need for sacrifices that have to be made in order for us to enjoy our life together."
The glare Ichigo sent Byakuya could have melted steel. "Who wanted the addition made? It certainly wasn't me."
Byakuya huffed, his mask of tranquility finally cracking in his irritation. "It's for the benefit of both of us. Now, let's stop this. Come here."
It wasn't a request by any means, but the finality of his tone left no room for further argument. Byakuya opened up his arms, but his thin lips were slanted in a hard line. Ichigo shook his head but relented, too tired to fight. He slowly walked over to the black haired man, letting arms envelope him in a tight, almost uncomfortable hug. Ichigo braced his hands on Byakuya's chest, looking up into endless midnight eyes.
It was time Ichigo realized, unlike the seasons, people didn't change.
Neither man noticed the set of piercing blue eyes watching them from the kitchen window in contemplation.
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Untrained Heart