Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Draw Me 2 Life	By : Raceysama Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ichigo Views: 3893 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make any profit from these works......

Chapter List
- 1-Draw Me 2 Life
- 1
DRAW ME 2 LIFE
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
Onwards...
XOXOXO
Ichigo was bent over his desk, his hair going through hurricane season and dark ink smudges littering his hands, forearms and even his cheeks. He had his lips tucked between his teeth and a pair of reading glasses were perched on the bridge of his straight nose. He was wearing a plain, white, short-sleeved t-shirt and red basketball shorts; his feet were bare and sweat coursed down the sides of his face and neck.
He had thirteen hours to meet his deadline and there were still over fifteen drawings that needed to be inked and touched up. He took a second to glance at the digital clock resting at the top of his desk.
12:10 am.
Shit.
Rukia was gonna kill him.
Shounen World was scheduled to be released tomorrow morning and Ichigo was lagging with his work. It didn't have anything to do with him being lazy; he was far from it. He just preferred to work at a slower pace. He was a perfectionist and it showed in everything he did. Ichigo carefully pressed his pen to the paper and delivered one, long and even stroke, outlining the main character's face.
His manga was called San and it was about a young man named, Mamoru Sato, that had been orphaned at a young age. His parents had been killed by the town's over-lord. Mamoru didn't know the cause of his parents' death, but once he was old enough to live on his own, he vowed to seek revenge. The story picks up with Mamoru turning eighteen and graduating high school. He hasn't forgotten his vow and soon takes off to find the man that killed his parents. Along the way, he learns marksmanship and becomes quite talented with guns. His reputation builds and he's known as the man that carries three guns, with the ability to shoot a fly from five hundred meters away. Mamoru also makes a few new friends that accompany him on his journey to find his parents' killer.
Very cliché, but it was his first manga ever and it was doing quite well, if he'd say so himself.
Ichigo leaned back in his seat, stretching his back and arms as he let rip a loud yawn. He wasn't really tired, but sitting in the same position for hours at a time, bred sore muscles. He removed his glasses and massaged his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
Thirteen hours until deadline.
He glanced at the clock again and shook his head.
He was fucked.
XxxxxX
Ichigo hurried into headquarters, tugging at his blue, cashmere scarf. A wave of warmth washed over him as he entered the building and his extremities sighed in relief. It was unnaturally cold for an October morning and Ichigo certainly hadn't dressed for the occasion. His dark-blue jeans and white, v-neck shirt underneath a dark-gray blazer, did nothing to keep him warm.
Ichigo jogged to the elevator and stabbed the call button. He was late and Rukia had been phoning him nonstop since six that morning. He was afraid to face his tiny boss, but it had to be done and he would face her like the man he was. He shifted the folder containing San's new chapter to underneath his right arm as he waited impatiently for the elevator. Finally, the silver doors slid back and he stepped inside, thankful that the metal contraption was empty.
He rode to the tenth floor and as soon as he exited, he could hear Rukia Kuchiki screaming from her office. The huge, oak door slammed shut and a stiff-backed Ishida swiftly strode down the hall towards him. Ishida's face was bright red and his lips were pressed into a thin line. His anger was so obvious, he may as well have had a sign on his forehead reading "I'm pissed." He wore a pair of black slacks, a green, button-up shirt and black shoes.
He approached Ichigo and gave him a sneer so advanced, Ichigo thought he would have to take classes just to imitate it. "I hate you," Ishida snarled, his voice tight.
Ichigo wanted to grin, but instead scowled, "What did I do now?"
Ishida's back stiffened even more, if that was even possible, as he stated, "Rukia is in rare form and it's all because of you and your tardiness. Not to mention, we've had to push back the printing – OI! You aren't even listening to me!"
Ichigo had started walking away from the irate man as soon as he'd heard what the problem was. He knew he was late and he knew that Rukia was steaming like an overheated engine. Ishida should just learn to let the past stay in the past, though.
"Hai, hai. See you later, Ishida-san," he replied lazily as he strolled towards Rukia's closed office door.
He registered Ishida sputtering lividly before he tapped on the door and pushed it open without waiting for a response. He entered the room and shut the door behind himself before he casually approached Rukia's large, mahogany desk and carefully placed his folder onto it. The petite woman was seated in a huge, burgundy, leather chair that often reminded Ichigo of a throne, her dark hair sticking up in places and her violet eyes glittering with fury. She was wearing a black pants suit, a white, silk shirt peeking from underneath the blazer. Her arms were folded over her less than impressive chest and her lips were pursed together.
Ichigo stepped back away from the desk and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for her to start chewing him out. Sure enough, after another few seconds of crackling silence, she opened her mouth, "Kurosaki...Ichigo...do you have any idea what I went through this morning?" she asked, voice deceptively calm.
Ichigo nodded, which may not have been the best idea at the moment. Rukia bristled and sat up in her seat, her arms unfolding and coming to rest on her desk.
"You don't seem to care very much."
Ichigo stared back blankly. He wouldn't touch that statement with a ten foot pole; it was more loaded than a gun with a full clip. Luckily, Rukia continued, "Ichigo, I love your manga. The public loves your manga. But if you're late again, I'm going to have to fire you," she deadpanned.
Ichigo felt like his stomach had fallen to the lobby of the building. He couldn't get fired! Being a mangaka was his life. He ate, slept and breathed manga. "I get it," he stated as he balled his hands into tight fists.
"Good. Get out," Rukia spat, lifting a pair of wire-framed glasses to her eyes.
Ichigo gritted his teeth in frustration as he whirled on his heel and left the small woman's office. He was shit with authority, meaning he hated them. He didn't like the way they felt that they had a kami-given right to say whatever the fuck suited their whimsy. If Rukia didn't have a say in his paycheck, he would've given that bunny-loving bitch the bird and told her where she could shove it.
XxxxxX
A charming bell tinkled as Ichigo pushed the small shop's door open. "Welcome!" a voice called out from the back.
Ichigo craned his neck, glancing over all the wooden bookshelves for the familiar face. Finally, he spied a head of blond hair at the very back of the store, a cloud of dust rising around it.
What the hell was he up to now?
He made his way towards the hovering cloud and rounded the last bookshelf, his eyes landing on a blond, older man with mysterious dark eyes and an overly cheerful grin. "Urahara, what the hell're you doin'?" he asked, taking in the scene before him.
The shop's owner, Kisuke Urahara, had just stood from a kneeling position in front of an ancient-looking, cardboard box. He was wearing his uniform of khaki pants and a dark-green, polo shirt, strange wooden sandals adorning his feet. The box had been covered with, literally, inches of gray dust, most of which was now floating around in the air. Ichigo covered his mouth and coughed, the dust tickling the back of his throat and nose.
"Ah, Kurosaki-san! How good to see you!" Urahara said as if he weren't in the eye of a dust tornado.
"Yeah, yeah, to hell with that. What the crap is going on? You're swimming in dust and – wait...are those cobwebs?" Ichigo asked incredulously, taking a closer look at the box.
One flap was pulled back, revealing three more that were folded over and a slight peek at a black, leather-bound book. The front appeared blank, but creased with age.
"Oh! This was in the attic. It seems Yamamoto-san forgot about it before he passed away, kami rest his soul. I'm just trying to figure out what it contains," Urahara answered, lowering himself to the floor again as he peeled back another flap.
Ichigo watched the rest of the flaps being opened and finally, an assortment of books appeared. They were all ancient-looking and musty-smelling and Ichigo wondered what the hell kind of books they were. "Are they old tutorials or how-to books?" he asked, wondering what books like those were doing in an art supplies shop.
Urahara shook his head as he lifted the black book from earlier out of the box, turning it over in his hand. The book was blank on both sides, the spine wrinkled with age. Urahara flipped through the pages, but they were all empty. The paper seemed thick and sturdy, great for sketching, which was what Ichigo had come into the store for in the first place.
"Is that a sketchbook?" he queried.
Urahara shrugged as he flipped through the pages again. "It looks like it could be." He turned his coal-colored eyes in Ichigo's direction, "Is that what you're looking for today, Kurosaki-san?" he asked, his tone implying that he already knew.
Ichigo nodded. Urahara had always had a creepy air about him and today was no different. "Yeah, I need a new sketchbook. I wanna sketch some ideas for new characters for another manga I've been thinking about."
Urahara nodded again, looked the book in his hand over one last time, then handed it up to him, "Take this one. It's on me, since you're such a valued customer, Kurosaki-san."
His eyes widened as he stared down at the sketchbook. It may have been old, but it was in excellent condition as far as the pages went. He was glad to have it. Not to mention, it was free. You couldn't beat free. He grasped the book and flipped through the pages himself. Just as he'd suspected, they were strong and the texture wasn't rough or choppy.
Perfect.
"Thanks, Urahara," he absently stated, mind already a million miles away with ideas.
"Oh, no problem, Kurosaki-san!"
XxxxxxX
Ichigo entered his apartment and headed to the kitchen, his arms full of bags. He dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter and started rummaging through them, sorting and putting things away as he did so. As he stuffed a carton of eggs into the fridge, an image flashed before him as if it had been real and he almost dropped the fragile food item.
Holy shit!
He needed to get the image he'd seen on paper as soon as possible before he forgot all the details his mind had briefly conjured. He threw the food into its proper places, grabbed the plastic bag that held the sketchbook he'd acquired from Urahara earlier and damn near ran to his workroom.
His apartment had two bedrooms and he'd turned the second room into his workroom/office. It held his art desk and all of his supplies, which included his computer, sketchbooks and research materials. He shook his new sketchbook free from the plastic bag and jumped into his high seat, ready to get to work. After sharpening a pencil and fixing his reading glasses to his face, he opened the book to its very first page. The image floated to the fore of his brain and he set to work, his hand flying over the page. He started with the face. His pencil strokes created an angular jaw and sharp chin, almond-shaped eyes with jagged markings in the outer corners and severe eyebrows, pulled into a deep scowl. The right side of the face was covered with the jaw section of the skeletal structure, sharp teeth exposed. He penciled in a straight nose and then drew a generous mouth, stretched into a huge, feral grin.
The hair was next. It was swept up in the front, sides and back, but allowed for a few loose strands over the brow. The sideburns were long and messy and the hairs at the nape covered the neck. Speaking of the neck, it was strong and corded, leading down to a wide, black collar. Ichigo drew broad shoulders underneath a short, white jacket. The sleeves were elbow-length, the cuffs black. Next, he sketched a naked torso, rippling with muscles, pectorals and abdomen firm-looking and exquisitely defined.
The jacket was open and just barely reached the character's waist, which was slim and tapered into narrow hips. Ichigo added white hakama, held up by a black obi, where a sword was tucked into the left side.
Hm. What next?
He took a break and looked over the sketch. Something was missing. As he perused the drawing, a light bulb went on over his head and he carefully erased some of the character's abdomen, then added a dark hole.
Perfect.
He continued where he'd left off before, situating the character in a seated position, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out in front of him. His right hand came across his waist and gripped the handle of his sword, while the left lay beside him. Ichigo finished the legs with shaded in socks to represent the color black and left some areas blank, indicating a white variation on waraji sandals.
Ichigo sat back and regarded the character he'd created. Although his form advertised shounen, he was certainly shoujo bishie material. He grinned, his face aflame as he realized he was lusting after his own creation. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned over the drawing and added a large, gothic-stylized six to the side. Remembering the Latin word for his favorite number, he added it underneath the six he'd just drawn.
SEXTA.
Ideas plundered his mind, but Ichigo's vision was still incomplete. He slid out of his chair, eyes wild as he tried to recall where he'd last put his oil-based color pencils. He searched the room, top to bottom and finally found them...in the drawer of his computer desk on the other side of the room. He flitted back to the sketchbook resting on his art desk and buckled down.
He already knew the hue of the man's hair; it would be his favorite color, of course. Blue. And hell, why stop there? He could make the guy's eyes blue as well, just a tad darker than his hair. Yum.
Ichigo blushed at the direction his mind had traveled, but continued. He rooted through the container he kept the color pencils in and found the perfect blue for his character's hair.
He would be beautiful when Ichigo was finished with him.
XxxxxX
Several hours and a sore hand later, Ichigo gushed at his new baby.
He'd chosen a light, electric blue for the guy's hair and eyebrows and an ocean-blue for his eyes. He used teal for the jagged markings in the corners of his eyes and his skin was flesh-toned. Everything else was left black and white, except the handle of the character's sword, which he'd made a darker, almost royal blue.
Ichigo was thoroughly satisfied and so happy he could barely sit still. Now, all he had to do was find a name for the guy. He went over to his computer, heart jumping around in his chest as he brought up the internet and Google.
An hour later and he still hadn't found anything, so he gave up the search for a name, for the time being. He had a lot of ideas for his new character, but he was tired and his bed was singing a siren's song from his bedroom. He yawned, snatched off his glasses, then stood and stretched his arms over his head before heading to the door of his workroom. He gave his creation one last loving glance before he cut the light and headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. After that, he had plans to collapse into bed and sleep like a vampire at sunrise.
XxxxxxX
Ichigo stepped into his separate, standing shower after brushing his teeth. He slid the frosted glass door shut and savored the steaming hot water spraying down on him, making his skin as red as a crab. For about ten minutes, all he could do was stand there, glad that his hot water never ran out like some other apartments. His eyelids drooped heavily, spurring him into finally washing his ass. He soaped up from head to foot and shampooed his hair.
He looked like a sudsy swamp thing.
Ichigo sighed, suddenly very aware of his single status. He hadn't been in a relationship for three years after his bad break-up with his ex-boyfriend, Renji. Normally, he was too busy to worry about it, but times like these made the fact that he was alone, glare like candy paint in the sun. It wasn't that he didn't want a companion because he did. He just didn't have the time. He was a social misfit, never really comfortable in a crowd and the friends he did have, were busy living their own lives.
He felt like a priest, not having been laid in forever, his body giving him the finger whenever it was in the mood for some loving and he ignored it. Especially the mornings, when his dick was harder than a cinder block. He masturbated sometimes, but it was nowhere near the real thing.
Shit, now that he thought about it, he hadn't been kissed or held since Renji.
Ichigo cringed and rubbed a hand over his face as he rinsed away the soap and shampoo. He was pretty fucking pitiful, if he did say so himself. No wonder his friends called him Father Ichigo. Even Chado and it was really saying something, when his never talkative friend found it necessary to call him the nickname as well.
A soft click made him frown and pause his movements. What the fuck was that? He tried to see through the shower door, but water ran into his eyes and made them close. Maybe he was just hearing things. He finished rinsing off and shut off the water, the knob squeaking as he did so. He reached blindly for the door and stepped out. Fortunately, he knew the layout of his bathroom like he knew the color of his pubic hair, which made it easy for him to shuffle over to the towel rack and grab a clean one from it. He dried his face and immediately froze, his body going positively rigid with stunned disbelief.
He hadn't...managed to fall asleep in the shower...had he?
Because there was absolutely no way he was seeing what was before him. Actually, WHO was before him, seated on the sink like it was a lounge chair, long legs draped over the side.
Ichigo blinked...and then blinked some more.
Yeah, the water was gone, so that was no excuse. He certainly wasn't asleep, so he couldn't possibly be dreaming. Just to be safe, he pinched his arm and upon feeling a sharp sting, he nodded, suspicions confirmed.
He was awake alright.
His stomach began jumping double-dutch, adding in little flips for flair. And then he realized he was very naked and still dripping water onto the floor. Goosebumps sprang up across every inch of skin as he registered the rapidly cooling air, not to mention the leering grin coming from the being sitting on his sink.
"You my maker?" a deep, gravelly voice scattered the thick silence like jelly beans on a hard surface.
Ichigo's eyes went anime wide and his mouth opened, but nothing came out, not counting the tiny squeak. The guy could talk and not only that, but his voice was...instant fucking orgasm. Fortunately, Ichigo found his voice, but UNfortunately, it didn't come with any intelligence, "Wha? What the hell is this?"
The man smiled and Ichigo's insides quivered like a jello mold.
This was fucking impossible!
"Ain't hard, ya know. Yeah or no, kid?"
Ichigo stiffened indignantly. The nerve of this guy. "Don't fucking call me kid, when I'm older than you!"
The man's grin widened and Ichigo lost his air supply, his lungs deflating like a stuck balloon. "Bratty little shit, eh?"
He was horrified. If – and that's a really big if – this being was indeed real, then he would only be hours old. Yet, he had the nerve to call HIM a kid?
"You've got some fucking nerve! Wait, why am I even talking to you? You're not fucking real!" he snapped, his mind not willing to believe his eyes and ears.
He wrapped the towel around his waist, his movements short and jerky, then slipped out of the bathroom, studiously ignoring the man now following him. Ichigo tried unsuccessfully to block out the sound of footsteps in his wake as he pushed his bedroom door open.
What in kami's name was going on?
Ichigo stood in front of his dresser, eyes darting back and forth between the clothing he rummaged through and the man standing in his doorway, hands on hips. His heart was beating faster than it could manage and it made him light-headed. Rather than make a fool of himself, he extracted a pair of black boxer briefs from the dresser and quickly made his way to his bed, falling onto it desperately. He clutched the spot over his heart and shut his eyes, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm his nerves.
"You ok?" that voice asked, way too close for comfort.
Ichigo jumped like a frog, biting his tongue in the process. "FUCK! Don't do that!" he gasped. Gathering his bearings, he glared at his blue-haired creation. "How is this happening? I'm not dreaming, but you're real and only a while ago, you were on a piece of paper. Am I dreaming?" he asked, to be sure.
Sharpened canines glinted and bright blue eyes twinkled in the moonlight filtering through the bedroom window, reminding Ichigo of a large cat. "Nope."
"Then how the fuck are you here right now?" he asked, not understanding how the man was living and breathing, looking very much like a Renaissance statue.
The bed creaked from the man's weight as he sat beside Ichigo and ran a hand through his tousled blue hair. Ichigo had a brief moment of fierce pride at seeing how gorgeous his creation was before he snuffed it out and waited for an answer to his question.
"Well," the man started, "my soul was stuck in that book and when you drew me with such tender love and care," Ichigo could practically smell the sarcasm, "my soul bonded with the drawing. So, now, here I am."
Ichigo stared at him blankly, wondering why the fuck he had even bothered to ask, "That doesn't make any fucking sense," he responded, voice flat and unimpressed.
"Don't got to. That's what happened," the other man snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously and wrinkles forming across the bridge of his nose.
"Ok, so lemme get this straight. I drew you in that old sketchbook, where your soul just happened to be caught in limbo and voila, you have a new form and body?"
"That's the gist of it, yeah."
Ichigo scoffed, the noise bleeding into laughter. He held his gut with one hand, his other pressed to his forehead. "This is insane. I don't do drugs, so I can't be high. I wasn't drinking, so I can't be drunk. I haven't gone to sleep yet, so I can't even be dreaming. I must be losing my mind," he muttered to himself, his eyes widening with each revelation.
"Look, kid -"
Ichigo interrupted him, holding a hand up, "How did your soul get into that book in the first place?" he asked.
It was a very good question.
"I was cursed by a stupid, meddling witch. I was supposed to be a king and she ruined everything!" his creation snarled, his anger making the air dense with tension. His large hands had curled into fists and his blue eyes were dark with barely contained fury. During his fit of rage, Ichigo had detected an accent that he was unfamiliar with.
It just made the man even hotter.
Ichigo pressed his lips into a thin line and studied the live version of his creation. He was tall, which was just what Ichigo had imagined while drawing him. His skin had a healthy glow, the bone mask on the right side of his face stood out under the moon and his eyes practically glowed like a lighthouse in the dark of the bedroom. The teal markings in the corners of his eyes made him look like he had makeup on, but it didn't detract from his attractiveness.
His body was mouthwatering and just what Ichigo had pictured, maybe even more-so. The live version was much better since he was able to enjoy watching those muscles flex and move fluidly. The bared torso was especially distracting. Then, there was the hole in the middle of his abdomen. It looked like an endless void, disrupting the peaks of flesh that made up a rack of washboard abs.
He wore the stark-white jacket with black sleeve cuffs and a black collar, as well as the white hakama and black obi. His sword with the S-shaped hilt and royal blue handle was tucked into the left side of his obi and on his feet was the mixture of black socks and white sandals.
He was indeed beautiful.
"What's your name?" Ichigo asked, deciding to kill two birds with one stone.
"Mm? Oh, I'm Grimmjow. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques."
Ichigo smiled. It was oddly...fitting. "I'm Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki."
"Ah. So, Ichigo. Ya got something to eat? It's been a long time and I'm fucking starving," Grimmjow groused, leaning back on his elbows on the bed and Ichigo was ashamed to think that he looked like he belonged there, only minus a few more clothing items.
He couldn't believe his creation was now a living being, sitting on his bed and talking to him as if it were an everyday, natural thing.
Deciding to save his questions for another time, Ichigo stood on incredibly unsteady legs, Grimmjow following suit and towering over him. He was so distracted by the man's height that he missed the wicked grin being tossed in his direction.
Fuck. Grimmjow had to be at least 6'2".
"Gonna stand there all night like that, Ichigo?"
Ichigo gave a tiny jerk and shook his head, clearing his mind of its misleading thoughts. He inwardly scolded himself and gripped the edge of the towel that was still wrapped around his waist. Licking his dry lips, he glanced up into Grimmjow's enchanting blue eyes.
"Shut up. I need to put some clothes on, so you have to get out of my room," he stated, grateful that his voice didn't shake or crack.
Grimmjow arched a slender brow and snorted, "Have you forgotten that I've seen all of you already? You didn't seem to mind me looking at you in that other room," he commented dryly, his lips quirking into a small, sideways smirk.
Ichigo blushed to the roots of his candy-corn orange hair, heat sweeping his body in a rush. "I was surprised, you prick!" he shouted defensively.
Grimmjow threw his head back and cackled loudly before quickly sobering, "Course you were."
Ichigo huffed, annoyed as he rolled his eyes. He didn't find any of this amusing. He turned his back to Grimmjow, realizing that arguing with the man was proving to be worse than a toothache. By now, he'd air dried, so he let the towel fall and quickly stepped into his underwear, swearing under his breath when he heard the blue-haired man whistle softly.
"You've got a nice ass, Ichigo," he said quietly, his deep voice making Ichigo's insides pool at his feet.
He knew he was red as a ripe strawberry, his heart using his ribs as a tap dance stage, but it really couldn't be helped. Grimmjow apparently didn't have a mind to give him a break. "Shut up," he grumbled half-heartedly as he went back to his dresser for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
He was in for a very long night.
XxxxxX
"What the hell is that?"
"Urrgh, just shut up and eat it already! I thought you said you were hungry?" Ichigo growled, frustrated.
Glittering blue eyes focused on his as Grimmjow scowled across the table at him, "Don't fucking yell at me, Carrot-top."
Ichigo instantly bristled, "Don't call me that! Look, I didn't ask for this!" he shouted, although, he had to admit, with Grimmjow around, he didn't have to worry about ever being lonely or bored.
"Oh, but you think I did, huh?" the other man's deep voice raised, vibrating the table with its timbre.
Ok, that made sense.
But why did he have to be such an insufferable pain in the ass?
Ichigo sighed long and deeply. Something had to give. He and Grimmjow had been arguing nonstop about any and everything since the trek from his bedroom. Not to mention, trying to explain all the advancements in technology and such to the prehistoric man, was tedious and annoying. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop and pursed his lips, deep in thought.
What was he supposed to do with the guy now that he was no longer a figment of his imagination? He couldn't just live with him and Grimmjow definitely couldn't go out in public, looking the way he did. That bone mask would be trouble. Ichigo glanced up at Grimmjow, who was passing wary looks back and forth between the bowl before him and Ichigo's face.
"It's just beef, rice and vegetables, Grimmjow," Ichigo stated calmly, trying to placate his guest.
Grimmjow gave him another fleeting glance before plunging his hand into the bowl and bringing a handful of food to his mouth. Ichigo sat staring, completely stunned and horrified. "Y-you...you...you fucking caveman!" he squeaked.
Grimmjow frowned, chewed, swallowed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What?" he asked and he genuinely seemed confused.
"I gave you chopsticks!"
A glance at the wooden utensils and Grimmjow shrugged, "I never used those before."
Ichigo couldn't believe his ears. Who didn't know how to use chopsticks in fucking Japan? He started to voice that opinion, when he remembered Grimmjow's accent. Maybe he wasn't from Japan.
"Grimmjow, where do you come from?" he asked, curious.
Grimmjow had gone on using his barbaric method of eating, but paused at Ichigo's softly spoken question. Again, he took the time to swallow and wipe his mouth before he answered. At least he had some modicum of manners. "Gasoria."
Ichigo blinked stupidly before giving a very anime-like "Eh?"
"You asked me where I come from. I come from-"
"I heard what you said," Ichigo interrupted, "But I've never even heard of that place."
Grimmjow frowned, shrugged and went back to shoveling food into his mouth with his hand. Ichigo watched, cringing at the unhealthy and disgusting technique. Losing his patience, he slid out of his seat and walked over to him, dragging his chair behind him. He plopped down next to him and grabbed the chopsticks. All the while, Grimmjow watched him the way a hungry pitbull eyes anything getting too close to its food.
"What are you doing?" he growled and the sound made Ichigo freeze. The hairs on the back of his neck snapped to attention as he studied Grimmjow's face. Was he going to attack him?
"I'm going to show you how to use these chopsticks because I can't stand the sight of you eating like you tromp around swinging a stone club all day," he answered as innocently as he could.
Grimmjow's shoulders relaxed and he eased out of his huddled position, the frown marring his brow gone and an amused expression replacing it, "You gonna feed it to me?"
Ichigo hated the fact that that statement had gone directly to his doodah.
"I'll show you a few times, then you can try," he responded.
Ignoring that statement was best.
Grimmjow shrugged and sat back in his seat, blue brow arched and arms folded across his chest, "So, show me, Carrot-sticks."
"You call me anything to do with carrots again and I'll let you starve. Understood?" Ichigo threatened, pointing a chopstick in the other man's direction and Grimmjow grinned, leaning closer, his breath fanning across Ichigo's right cheek.
"I love it when you're all pushy and shit."
That fucking voice.
Ichigo swallowed, too afraid to even breathe for fear of releasing the moan he was holding back. This was what he got for neglecting his sexual needs. It seemed like everything Grimmjow said and did turned him on like a light switch.
Except the eating.
He should think about the eating; that would keep his dick in line.
"Shut up," he grumbled again – he seemed to be saying that a lot around Grimmjow – face on fire as he focused on the bowl half-filled with food.
Ichigo took his time gathering a cluster of food with the chopsticks, in order to show Grimmjow how it was done. He peeked at the bigger man from the corner of his eye, only to hold his breath as he realized the man was watching him rather avidly. He lifted a small portion into the air and Grimmjow's face creased into a smirk as he slowly opened his mouth.
Ichigo felt his face ignite yet again as he balled up his lips, "I'm not feeding you," he said, meaning for it to sound authoritative, but ending up sounding more petulant than anything.
Grimmjow scooted his chair closer, his piercing blue eyes darkening considerably, "Yeah you are," he responded, not taking no for an answer. Ichigo's eyes helplessly locked on Grimmjow's lips, his Adam's apple bobbing drastically as he swallowed his heart.
Crikey.
A perfect, blue brow arched in an "I'm waiting" manner and Ichigo rationalized that it would be better not to upset the man.
...Ok, he couldn't even fool a kindergartner with that lame excuse.
He wanted to feed Grimmjow and that was that.
His heart was racing so fast, he was sure he was shaking as he lifted his hand and guided the ends of the chopsticks towards the blue-haired man's mouth. Grimmjow opened up and leaned over, his body heat reaching out and caressing Ichigo's side and his infernal grin back in full-force. His lips wrapped slowly around the wooden sticks and Ichigo felt an unmistakable twitching in his shorts.
Fucking...that was clearly a crime.
Had to be.
His chest heaved, his blood pooled heavily in his groin and his head went light as a cotton ball.
This feeding thing would have to wait until he could control his libido.
He purposely set the chopsticks on the table and rose shakily from his seat. He toddled off to his bedroom, without looking back at Grimmjow, his heart having an epileptic episode. He felt bad for just walking off on the other man, but he seriously needed to put some distance between them before he raped his own creation.
He entered his room and went to shut the door, but it was stopped by a black sock and white sandal clad foot. Ichigo groaned at the injustice of it all and pulled the door open, "Whaaat?" he whined.
Grimmjow smirked down at him, eyes full of mirth, "You're not being a very good host, Ichigo," he chided, his head tilted at an angle.
"I don't care right now. Go away," he muttered, disgruntled.
Kami, was it too much to ask for some alone time?
He needed to speak privately with his buddy, Little Ichigo.
Grimmjow snorted and shook his head, "Well, the least you could do is show me how to use that water thing you cleaned yourself in earlier."
Huh?
"What? What wa – oh! The shower," he said and slapped his palm to his forehead.
Duh.
"Right, I can do that," he mumbled and they set off for the bathroom.
After finding an extra toothbrush and towel for the bigger man, Ichigo rushed through his explanation of how to use the shower and sink and once he was sure Grimmjow wouldn't flood his apartment, he scuttled back to his bedroom. He peeled off his t-shirt and underwear and slipped into bed, lying flat on his back.
What the hell was he going to do with Grimmjow? This situation was ludicrous, to say the least. He'd created the guy for kami's sake and here he was, walking around, talking, eating and...flirting. Grimmjow should still be two-dimensional, yet...he wasn't. The reason for his coming to life was just as absurd as the incident itself. Ichigo grumbled under his breath and turned on his side.
He would sleep on it and maybe things would be clearer to him in the morning.
But first...
His hand roamed between his legs and brushed over his half-awake member, making him jerk slightly from the quick jolt of pleasure. He imagined his new house guest's bone-meltingly deep voice and shuddered. He licked his lips and groaned softly.
He really needed to get laid.
He wrapped long fingers around his shaft and tugged gently, passing his thumb over the slit and spreading the clear fluid gathered there. He gave a short, noisy exhale and closed his eyes, wetting his lips again afterward. He pictured Grimmjow's large hands roaming over every inch of his body, when suddenly, his blanket was pulled away, leaving him exposed and still clutching his dick.
Grimmjow stood at the foot of the bed, naked as a newborn, the towel Ichigo had given him draped over his left shoulder. "You know, I can help with that. You don't gotta do it all alone," he stated, his teeth and bright eyes gleaming in the dark as he gazed hungrily at Ichigo's naked form.
Ichigo couldn't form a sentence, even if he'd been paid to. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth as he stared in fascination at Grimmjow.
A very naked Grimmjow.
Holy kami on high.
He felt his dick bob as if it were waving at the blue-haired man, making him blush furiously. His temples throbbed as blood rushed to two specific areas: his head and his groin. He couldn't breathe and he wasn't sure whether he should be aroused or mortified, so he settled for a little bit of both.
"What the hell are you doing?" he squawked, finally coming to his senses somewhat and reaching fruitlessly for his discarded blanket.
Grimmjow moved onto the bed the way an eel moved through water, enormous grin set firmly in place. He didn't stop until he was hovering right over Ichigo, his body heat nearly suffocating. Ichigo felt his nostrils flare as Grimmjow's long body aligned with his own and he was almost smothered by hot male. The blue-haired man dipped his head and nosed Ichigo's neck before pulling back and brushing his full lips across Ichigo's cheek.
"Been a really long time," Grimmjow murmured, the low rumble making Ichigo inhale sharply through his nose. "Plus, I gotta thank you for not drawing a chick. That woulda been a fucking disaster."
Through the thick haze of lust surrounding them, Ichigo chuckled, aware enough to find humor in Grimmjow's statement. Grimmjow pulled back far enough to look into Ichigo's eyes and grinned, his teeth virtually blinding. As their eyes locked, Ichigo no longer wanted to hold back from the man that seemed to have been expressly made for his enjoyment. He lifted a hand and hesitantly ran it through the stubborn strands covering Grimmjow's brow.
"You're welcome," he mumbled absently, his eyes lazily traversing the other man's beautiful face.
Grimmjow's ocean-blue eyes smoldered and he wasted no time connecting their lips. Ichigo felt the precise moment his bones and flesh melted into mush. It had been so long – too long – since he'd had sex and his body was desperate, yearning for more touches. More heat. Grimmjow pried his mouth open and plundered its depths with delicious aggression, a deep, animalistic growl emitting from his chest.
Ichigo tried to keep his whits about him, but it was impossible. Grimmjow smelled like his soap and tasted like his toothpaste. His tongue was hot and slick and moved like a writhing worm on a hook. Ichigo arched his back, seeking more bodily contact as Grimmjow ran a large hand down his side and under his bottom, where he palmed and squeezed the firm muscle.
Kami...
Ichigo grunted, very beast-like himself as he ran his hands over Grimmjow's broad, muscular back and opened his legs wide, allowing the bigger man to settle between them. Small, brush fires erupted all over his body when Grimmjow's very stiff arousal poked his ass and his own erection rubbed against Grimmjow's rigid abdomen.
"Oh, shit," he gasped, breaking the steamy kiss.
Grimmjow didn't even break stride as his soft lips made tracks over Ichigo's jaw and under his chin, heading directly for his sensitive neck. Grimmjow's hand left Ichigo's bottom and again ran the length of his torso, pausing to strum over his left nipple. The tawny flesh swelled and peaked at the gentle touch, Ichigo letting free a small whine as he turned his head to the side and bit his bottom lip.
Everything was so sensile, even the slightest ghost of a touch had him trembling with want. With desperate need. Grimmjow trailed his lips down Ichigo's neck, his treacherous teeth grazing soft skin and taut flesh. Ichigo panted and pawed at the man's back and corded arms, blood singing in his ears. When Grimmjow paused above the base of his neck and leisurely suckled his Adam's apple, he moaned rabidly, his back arching and every muscle straining for MORE.
"Kami, please," he pleaded, eyes half-lidded and vision hazy.
Grimmjow chuckled, the noise a throaty rumble that vibrated Ichigo's chest and tickled his nerves. "No one's ever called me a kami before," he murmured, not even giving Ichigo a chance to respond before his head sank further down and those scorching lips wrapped around his right nipple.
"Yesss," Ichigo hissed, ashamed that mere nipple-sucking had him close to speaking in tongues.
He had gone far too long without sexual stimulation.
Grimmjow laved and nipped before switching targets and repeating the process. By the time his searing mouth was on the move again, Ichigo had become a writhing mass of skin encased liquid.
His entire body felt like a great ball of silly putty.
Sweat formed across his brow and upper lip, even prickled under his arms as Grimmjow's tongue dipped into his navel, twisted briefly, then moved lower, where the blue-haired man mouthed the sensitive area right above his dick. Ichigo was practically twitching with anticipation. His hand flew to those atmospheric blue locks and Grimmjow glanced up at him, mazarine locking with burnt sienna. Ichigo gulped and his blue-haired creation smirked before flicking out his lava-like tongue to stroke the head of Ichigo's length. Ichigo jerked dramatically and grasped a fistful of Grimmjow's soft hair, urgently trying to keep himself grounded.
Fuck.
He missed getting his dick sucked.
The head of his erection was enveloped by a blistering set of lips and Ichigo threw his head back and moaned like a two-dollar whore, mouth wide open. His throat was droughty and his tongue was parched, but he didn't care. His dick disappeared inch by salacious inch into Grimmjow's mouth, leaving Ichigo a jittering mess. His free hand clenched the bed sheet, while the one buried in sky blue hair, twisted painfully.
Grimmjow grunted his displeasure, those ultramarine eyes flicking up at him in annoyance. Ichigo concentrated really hard and he was slowly able to ease up the death grip. Grimmjow grabbed a hold of his hips and began bobbing his head, dragging those dangerous teeth over satiny skin, prominent veins and unbending flesh.
Ichigo choked on his own saliva as he hissed and sighed, his hips moving with Grimmjow's wicked mouth. "So good," he warbled.
The blue-haired man hummed softly and Ichigo's hips bucked. The molten, wet heat surrounding him was enough to have him gasping and cursing under his breath, his head thrashing side to side. Broken pleas and desperate cries filled the room, then suddenly, there was nothing.
Grimmjow pulled away from his throbbing length and stared down at him, piercing mazarine orbs locked with henna. Ichigo was too shocked to form a coherent sentence. He had been SO close. Why the fuck had Grimmjow stopped?
Ichigo gave him a dirty look and slowly sat up on his elbows, entire body quaking. "Wh-what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" he questioned breathily.
"I can't wait anymore," Grimmjow answered frankly, his hand wrapped around his own rock-hard – not to mention very impressive – member. "This shit's startin' to hurt." His accent was thicker, his voice husky and lust-ridden.
Ichigo hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until it left him in the form of an amused chuckle. Grimmjow scowled and glared at him, his lips forming an adorable pout. "Ok," Ichigo snickered.
He sat up, his body not so wobbly anymore and reached a hand out to Grimmjow's enticing piece of flesh. It was heavy and hot and resonating with need. Ichigo stroked, twisting his wrist and increasing pressure gradually. Grimmjow groaned and gripped Ichigo's shoulder, deep blue eyes rolling shut. "Fuck," he muttered, licking his lips afterward.
Ichigo hummed and inched closer, his free hand clutching Grimmjow's waist. He climbed to his knees and pushed Grimmjow into a seated position against the headboard. Grimmjow opened his eyes, naked desire shimmering within them as his lusty gaze roamed Ichigo's frame. The look made Ichigo wiggle and shift anxiously. He really didn't want to wait any longer, either, so he leaned over the side of the bed towards his black, wooden nightstand and threw the bottom drawer open. After a few seconds of rooting around, he finally withdrew a bottle of cherry flavored and scented lube.
He slammed the drawer shut and went back to the overheated male on his bed. Intense blue eyes tracked his every move, the wide mouth curved into a feral grin. Ichigo shamelessly straddled the bigger man's slim hips and settled in his lap before claiming those grinning lips. His arms snaked around Grimmjow's strong neck as he angled his head to the side to deepen the kiss and Grimmjow ran rough hands up his sides, then back down to settle at his waist.
Tongues mapped and explored, drawing moans and sighs and when Ichigo grazed Grimmjow's fawn-colored nipples with the pads of his thumbs, Grimmjow inhaled sharply and pulled back from the kiss, nipping Ichigo's bottom lip as he did so. "Ichigo," he purred heatedly and Ichigo got the hint.
He spread a generous amount of the slick stuff on the first three fingers of his right hand and shifted his hips, raising himself to his knees. Grimmjow frowned a bit as he watched on with curiosity. Ichigo circled his entrance with the tip of his index finger a few times before he finally slipped it inside up to the first knuckle. He sucked in an excited breath.
It had been quite a while since he'd done this, but the feeling was still the same: erotic and intensely pleasurable.
Every hormone he possessed flared and raged out of control at the thought of the growling man beneath him being buried to the hilt inside of him. Ichigo wasted no time preparing himself and in his haste, he stabbed his prostate. It felt like flood lights had been flipped on right before his eyes as he was momentarily blinded and paralyzed. Grimmjow groaned and latched onto his left nipple, not helping the situation in the slightest. Ichigo's body jolted like he'd been tased.
All sensibility went out the window as he removed his fingers and without hesitation, gripped the brick-hard length poking his bottom and slathered it with more lube. He tossed the bottle and held Little Grimmjow in place by its base and slowly eased himself onto it. "Oh...fuck...shit," he panted, trying to adjust to the thick girth seating itself inside him.
Grimmjow's breathing completely stopped as he froze, his teeth grinding together loudly and hands bruising Ichigo's waist with their grip. "Ohhh..." the rest was mumbled in a language Ichigo was unfamiliar with.
Shit, that was hot.
Sharp teeth dug into his neck as Grimmjow's hips started undulating, each deep stroke poking and prodding his prostate, making him see fireworks. "Yes...yes...faster...please," he gasped.
Grimmjow groaned, his big hands cupping Ichigo's ass as he slouched lower in the bed and raised his knees. That gave him better leverage and his thrusts increased in speed and force, turning Ichigo into little more than a writhing pile of delirium.
Ichigo rolled his hips and gripped the headboard, meeting Grimmjow thrust for delicious thrust, his throat burning from lack of moisture. Sweat ran down the sides of his face and gathered across his abdomen.
Kami, Grimmjow felt so good.
Speaking of Grimmjow, he sat up and those ultramarine eyes found his, "Turn around," he ordered, voice deep and thick with uncontrolled lust.
Ichigo shuddered forcefully and immediately obeyed, twisting his hips and torso, ass never leaving the bigger man's lap. When he was in position, he arched his back and wrapped his right arm around Grimmjow's neck. Grimmjow teased and sucked his neck, fingers pinching pebble-like nipples as the pace rebuilt itself. Ichigo used his left hand to steady himself, nerves taut and heat rushing through his body, settling and coiling in his pelvis.
"Ungh, shit!" he yelped, the position affording them better penetration and, therefore, more sensation. "Haah...yes...fuck me," he rambled unintelligibly.
Grimmjow groaned and bit down on his earlobe, the spot stinging and adding to the fierce pleasure communing in his groin. They moved together faster, harder, bodies making wet, fleshy slaps that joined the tune of the headboard slamming against the wall and their mingled, noisy breaths, moans and grunts.
Ichigo whined pitifully. His dick was so hard, it hurt. He leaned back against the blue-haired man and turned his head to face him, cocoa-brown eyes half-lidded and smoldering like embers. "Grimmjow, touch me," he murmured, hoping his voice wasn't shaking.
Grimmjow kissed him sloppily, all teeth and wet tongue, while his hand eased around Ichigo's waist and wrapped around his length that had been previously slapping against his belly, pencil-straight. Ichigo gasped, trying to hold back, but the loud moan escaped him.
More like broke down the damned cage.
Grimmjow started chanting something in that language Ichigo didn't understand, his voice getting more and more desperate the harder and faster they fucked. His rough hand stroked with deadly precision and Ichigo hissed, his muscles going rigid as his orgasm bowled him over.
"OHH!" he cried, his eyes screwed shut.
He released thick jets of semen all over Grimmjow's hand and legs, dick pumping like a pulse. Grimmjow's breathing became frantic as it puffed through his nose, the hand on Ichigo's waist painful. "Ichigo...Ichigo," his sinful baritone caressed his name as Ichigo rode him like he was a mechanical bull, pulling the orgasm out of him.
Grimmjow tensed, then shouted something foreign before he buried his face in Ichigo's sweaty neck, panting harshly. He mumbled something and Ichigo grinned as they caught their breaths.
That had been the best sex he'd ever had in his entire life, Renji included.
His heart rate finally reached non-stroke levels and he leaned over to his nightstand for the box of tissues he kept there. Snatching up a few, he cleaned himself and then Grimmjow, who was leaning back against the headboard with his eyes closed, mouth open and face slack. Ichigo tossed the used tissues into his bedside trash can and eased himself off and away from Grimmjow. Except for a low moan, the blue-haired man didn't budge.
Ichigo nudged his leg...nothing. He poked him in the chest and still...nothing.
Grimmjow had NOT fallen asleep like some worthless drunk...had he?
"Oi!" he snapped.
Grimmjow still didn't move.
Ichigo growled and moved to shake the other man, when an arm wrapped around his waist like a steel band and maneuvered them both down to the bed. Sapphire blue eyes lazily rolled open and gave Ichigo a bland look. "Don't you sleep after sex?" Grimmjow inquired and he seemed pretty serious.
Ichigo grinned and scooted closer, "Only if it's really good," he murmured.
There was a brief silence before Grimmjow snorted, eyes sliding shut, "I won't keep you up, then."
Ichigo barked a laugh and reached down to the foot of the bed for his blanket, threw it over them both and eased closer to his blue-haired creation, eyelids drooping heavily.
He was glad someone in the kamidom liked him.
- 1
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Draw Me 2 Life