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Eye For An Eye, Kurosaki	By : Raceysama Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2809 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make any profit from these works......

Chapter List
- 1-Eye For An Eye, Kurosaki
- 1
EYE FOR AN EYE, KUROSAKI
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
Onwards...
XOXOXOXO
Why did everything have to be so fucking difficult?
Ichigo dug small grooves into his desk with the tip of a black, ball-point pen. He was frustrated nearly to the point of tears. Not sad, unmanly tears, fuck no, but those angry, wanna fuck something up tears. Yeah, that sounded about right.
The black office phone chirped cheerfully, making him grit his teeth as he fisted the pen, almost snapping the thing clean in two. He lifted the receiver from the cradle and forced a smile into his voice, even as he scowled fiercely.
"Espada, Inc., how may I help you?" he answered, trying not to snarl at the caller.
"Heh, ya sound like shit, Kurosaki," a deep, rumbling voice traveled over the line, making Ichigo jolt in surprise.
The very cause of his frustration was now insulting him over the phone, no doubt rearing for the argument that he hoped would ensue.
"Fuck you," Ichigo responded, letting out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
"So you've said, but we've already gone over this time and time again. I bottom for no one, berry head. When yer ready ta let me pound ya through a head board, then we can finish this lovely little chat. Right now, Ichimaru needs that Takegura report. Actually, he needed it like yesterday."
Bright red spots flooded his vision and the black pen he'd been clenching went bye-bye. The thin writing utensil snapped like a compound fracture, while Ichigo bared his teeth. This man would be the death of him, surely. His heart couldn't take the stress of his blood pressure sky-rocketing through the roof everytime he even heard that voice, let alone saw the guy's face.
Trying not to let his emotions rule him, Ichigo forced himself to get a fucking grip. He would just beat the bastard at his own little game of hard-to-get.
"Too bad, I don't bottom either. Guess we've reached a stalemate," he spoke lowly, trying to avoid having his boss hear him, as well as trying to inject a little seduction into his baritone voice.
The man on the other line chuckled quietly, "I'll change yer mind. Ya wanna bring that report down, Kurosaki?"
Ichigo had to furiously resist the urge to pound his fists on his desk. His entire body was rigid with equal measures of frustration and lust. He wanted the man on the other end of the phone like a trick-or-treater wanted candy, and by kami, he refused to give up his fantasy without a damned good fight.
Plowing a hand through his unruly, bright orange locks, he casually stated, "Fine," and hung up.
Ichigo glanced to his left at his boss's closed office door. The tall brunet was friendly enough, but scared the hell out of Ichigo with his sudden spurts of sternness. Sosuke Aizen, although capable of getting angry, never overly showed it. He always wore an amiable grin, but the gesture fell short of reaching his sharp, brown eyes, and for those unfortunate enough to piss Aizen off, they would be sent away with tails tucked firmly between their legs. The man was frightening and Ichigo often suspected his boss had a god-complex.
Aizen wore expensive, tailored to perfection, white suits all year round. Normally, Ichigo would've thought that was tacky, but oddly, it suited the older man. His large office was decorated with floor to ceiling windows that gave a great view of the business district of Karakura, plush cream-colored carpeting, a huge mahogany desk, a burgundy leather couch, and a glass shelf containing strange-looking knick-knacks.
Aizen was the CEO and founder of Espada, Inc., a huge weapons manufacturer, and Ichigo was his executive assistant. A glorified title for a secretary with better pay. He couldn't complain though. The pay was excellent, as were the benefits.
Ichigo swiveled in his black, leather desk chair and reached into the top, right-side drawer of his desk, pulling free the Takegura report Ichimaru Gin needed. The tall, silver-haired numbers genius was Aizen's financial advisor. Ichigo remembered having a crush on said silver-haired man when he'd first started working at Espada, Inc., but the feeling had worn off the more he had interacted with the man. Gin was very likely insane, and definitely a tad unstable.
Come on. Who walks around wearing a face-splitting grin (that revealed not even a hint of teeth) all fucking day? Jesus Christ himself wasn't even that damned happy.
Ichigo slid the report into a large envelope and rose from his seat, inwardly giddy about seeing his current obsession. Gin's executive assistant had been plaguing his mind ever since the man had come to work for Espada, Inc. three months ago. The first time Ichigo had lain eyes on the tall, muscular god, his mouth had gone dry and his heart had skipped a few beats.
He had never seen a man actually oozing sex appeal from his very pores before. Ah well, there was a first time for everything, ne?
He straightened his pale blue, long-sleeved, button-up dress shirt, that was tucked into a pair of black slacks, before adjusting his gray, silk tie. He ran a hand through his hair again, and sighed as he clutched the envelope containing the report to his broad chest. He'd let his hair grow a bit over the past few months, until it slid beneath the collar of his shirt, brushing against the third vertebrae of his spine and nearly covering his left eye.
He'd been tempted to cut it, but his friends had persuaded him not to, claiming it looked hot. Ichigo inwardly smirked. Now that he thought about it, it did suit him pretty well. His best friend, Sado (he called him Chad), had also commented that Ichigo had bulked up a bit. Nothing too serious. He was still lean, but his muscles were much more defined than they used to be back when the two were in high school.
He trudged down the hall to the elevators, mind conjuring images of the man working on the twenty-fourth floor. He'd been so preoccupied with his naughty musings, he'd almost knocked one of his co-workers to the floor. When he noticed who the co-worker was, he wished he had knocked the snobbish prick over. Ishida Uryuu adjusted his glasses and straightened his black, dress shirt with a haughty huff.
Ichigo rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Sorry, Ishida."
"Perhaps you should pay better attention to your surroundings, Kurosaki," the shorter, raven-haired male stated condescendingly, dark blue eyes flashing indignantly.
Ichigo pressed the button to call for the elevator and sneered, "Orrrr, maybe you could remove the stick from your ass and quit being such a fucking prick."
"How charming. I see your crass behavior still knows no bounds," the annoying bastard drawled and continued down the hall.
Ichigo ignored him, tapping his foot impatiently as the elevator slowly ascended, its progress marked by lights above the portal's doorway. He and Ishida had hated each other's guts since college and the animosity hadn't died down one bit. The prissy bitch had no reason to dislike him, but for some strange reason, always looked down on him. Ishida insulted him at every opportunity, and Ichigo, tired of the man's bullshit, had begun dishing back what he was being served, albeit in a much harsher manner.
Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Thankfully, there was no one on board as he stepped inside and pressed the round button for the twenty-fourth floor. Aizen's office was located on the very top floor; the thirtieth. Ichigo was extremely glad there were no windows in his work area because he was deathly afraid of heights, and quite frankly, the sight had enough potential to make him nauseous. It was hard enough to deal with whenever Aizen called him into his office.
The elevator began its descent and Ichigo sighed when it came to a stop on the twenty-seventh floor. He had hoped there would be no interruptions because he really wasn't in the mood for company, let alone talking. The doors slid open, revealing a cheery woman with long, orange hair and huge tits. She paused for a moment, then stepped into the elevator, grin widening as she pressed a button on the console.
"Kurosaki-kun! How are you?" she chirped.
Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a grin to his face, "I'm fine, Inoue, and you?"
She blushed furiously and averted her eyes, "I'm ok!"
Silence overwhelmed the metal car, making the atmosphere tense and awkward. Ichigo knew Inoue had an immense crush on him, but what the hell could he do? He wasn't attracted to women and most of his co-workers knew that. Hell, some (Renji and Shuuhei) even teased him mercilessly about it, but he honestly didn't see how that worked with the two of them dating each other.
Fucking retards.
But back to Inoue.
She was a really sweet girl, too sweet if you asked him, and she was often taken for a ditz...naive. Ichigo agreed on some levels. Inoue was book smart, but when it came to common sense...not so much. They'd gone to high school together, had even shared notes with each other, but Inoue was still clueless. Either that or she just flat-out refused to acknowledge his sexual preference. Ichigo didn't want to come straight out with it and ultimately hurt her feelings, but the time was swiftly approaching where it seemed that that course of action would be his only resort.
Not today, though.
The elevator came to a stop on the twenty-fourth floor and Inoue followed him out. He glanced over his shoulder as he made his exit, frowning slightly when he noticed the orange-haired girl trailing behind him.
What now?
"Did you need something, Inoue?" he tentatively asked, hoping for all that was good that she wasn't about to kill his hopes of not having to hurt her feelings.
She shifted nervously, footsteps coming to a standstill, "K-Kurosaki-kun...w-would, would you like to have lunch with me?" she asked, large, grayish eyes rooted to the floor.
Ichigo sighed dejectedly. This was it, then.
"I-Inoue, I wouldn't mind having lunch with you, but you do realize I'm gay, right?"
She nodded, biting her bottom lip, "I know, but since we're friends, I thought it would be ok. We could catch up on things..." her voice trailed off, brow creasing with worry.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled reassuringly, "That sounds good. Break room at noon?"
Inoue pinned him with an ecstatic grin, "Yes! Ok! See you then, Kurosaki-kun!" she bubbled and skipped off in the opposite direction.
He seriously hoped she got the picture and wasn't just pretending about knowing he was gay. It would only crush her in the end.
Ichigo continued on his way to Ichimaru's executive assistant's desk, belly quivering with anticipation and excitement the entire time. The hallway seemed extra long for some reason, but even as he thought that, he rounded the corner, a small smirk pulling at his lips as his eyes feasted on the perfection before him.
The man had been on the phone, a scowl marring his angular features, but he glanced up and the scowl was replaced with a devilish grin as his eyes locked with Ichigo's. Said orange-haired man shivered slightly as he approached the man's desk.
Bet you're wondering why this man frustrated him so, ne? Well, from the earlier conversation, you should have an inkling to why that was. If you're still unsure, let him take you back three months ago when the man first began working for Espada, Incorporated.
Three Months Ago
"Ichigo, could you come in here for a moment?" Aizen's deep voice traveled over the intercom. Ichigo flinched, biting down on his tongue. Fuck, the man had scared the hell out of him.
"Yes, sir."
Ichigo stood, straightening his navy blue slacks, white button-up and navy blue tie before heading slowly towards Aizen's office. His feet dragged along the ruby-red carpeting, mind whirring frantically. He hadn't done anything wrong, right? Ichigo didn't recall making any mistakes in his work, or coming in late at anytime. What the hell could Aizen want? Was it a new report that needed to be typed up? An errand? Fuck, Aizen always made him so damned nervous.
Ichigo twisted the metal handle on the large, wooden door and pushed it open. He peeked around the edge and spotted the polished brunet standing by the floor to ceiling windows, nonchalantly puffing a cigar. He eased into the room, shutting the door quietly and made his way to his boss's desk. Aizen hadn't acknowledged his presence yet, so Ichigo stood, shifting nervously, as he waited for the older man to speak.
Aizen had his back to him, pristine white suit practically glowing in the sunlight filtering through the windows that Ichigo studiously avoided. Finally...FINALLY, the man spoke, albeit without turning to face him, "Ichimaru has a new executive assistant, and today you'll be showing him the ropes. I can have Neliel cover for you while you do so."
Ichigo frowned slightly. Eh? He never did the training jobs or "showing of the ropes" since Aizen always had Nel filling those tasks. What was up with the switch?
"Er, sir, w-why me? Doesn't Nel normally..." his voice trailed off as Aizen turned to face him, his expression blank.
Shit.
Ichigo shifted and swallowed audibly. He'd probably stepped way out of bounds, but this switch was so different and unusual, he couldn't help inquiring about it.
Aizen gave his infamous amiable smile, hard, brown eyes glittering with amusement for once, "Yes, I'm aware of that, Ichigo, but for this particular task, I would like for you to be in charge. Also, perhaps Ichimaru's assistant will relate to you better since you are both men," he stated calmly.
Ichigo nodded, not wanting to contradict the man, but inwardly he was screaming, 'That's bullshit! He's had Nel train all the other male employees, so what made this guy so different?'
Aizen nodded and retrieved a manila envelope from his huge, mahogany desk, then held it out to Ichigo, "Take this to Ichimaru while you're down there."
Ichigo took the envelope, replying, "Yes, sir," before he headed for the office door. Aizen stopped him just as he turned the handle.
"Ah, Ichigo, do be aware that this man may be a bit...stubborn. I'm sure you're familiar with that trait, though."
Ichigo clenched his teeth, barely resisting the urge to snicker. He should've known his boss was more than acute, but even that had come as a surprise.
He left the office with another nod and after grabbing his wallet and keys from his desk drawer, he headed down the hall to the elevators. The cream-colored walls were in stark contrast to the bright carpeting, but oddly, made for nice scenery. He pressed the button to call for the metal car and waited impatiently.
Aizen claimed the man he was to train was stubborn, implying that Ichigo was as well. He wondered what kind of guy Ichimaru would hire as his assistant. The man was probably just as insane as his boss.
Ichigo chuckled to himself as the elevator doors slid open, already imagining someone with a personality similar to Ichimaru. The doors closed and he hit the button for the twenty-fourth floor. The ride was brief and as Ichigo stepped out of the elevator, he almost careened into Renji.
"Whoa, where's the fire, Ichigo?" the taller, red-haired man exclaimed, deep voice booming as he held his hands up before him.
Ichigo sighed, hoping against hope that Shuuhei, Renji's boyfriend, wasn't tagging along with him at the moment, "I'm on assignment," he huffed impatiently.
Renji raised a brow and folded his arms across his broad chest, "Down here? I thought Aizen liked to keep his pets on a short leash?"
"Fuck you, moron."
"I prefer a...darker...shade of hair, but thanks for the offer, sweetheart."
Renji ruffled Ichigo's hair and brushed past him before he was even able to form a come-back. Fucking dipshit. Deciding to ignore the idiot, Ichigo stalked purposely towards Ichimaru's office. After rounding the corner, he automatically noticed that no one was at the front desk, so he strode to the silver-haired financial advisor's office, still clutching the envelope to his chest. He knocked politely and waited until he heard the man's muffled reply before slowly entering the office.
Ichimaru sat in a gray, desk chair, behind a large, mahogany desk, arms folded on top of it. The sun shone through the floor to ceiling windows behind him, making his short, silver hair positively gleam. Ichimaru's eyes appeared to be closed, but the man's manner spoke otherwise.
"Ah! Kurosaki-kun! How's the weather?" he greeted, creepy, face-splitting grin firmly in place.
Ichigo briefly pressed his lips together, not wanting to alert the man to his discomfort, "Ehh, it's ok, I guess," he responded stiffly.
"Mah, mah, come sit! Meet my new executive assistant!"
It was then that Ichigo's eyes were drawn to the man seated on a cream-colored chaise on the opposite side of the large office. The first thing to grab his attention had been the bright blue hair, messily styled on the man's head. The next had been glowing, electric-blue eyes that seemed to bore holes into Ichigo's skin, and the last...the last had been a mile-wide, feral grin displaying a mouthful of gleaming white teeth and abnormally sharp canines.
Whoa.
Ichigo felt his heart rate pick up and his tongue turn to sandpaper. What in the hell was going on? Why did he suddenly feel like all of his clothing was just too tight and too hot?
He felt rooted to the spot, and the blue-haired assistant certainly didn't help matters by rising from the chaise, slowly and purposely, moving towards Ichigo with a strong-looking, tanned hand outstretched.
"Grimmjow. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. You must be Kurosaki. I've certainly heard nothing but good things about ya," the man drawled lazily, almost seductively.
Ichigo felt like his blood had morphed into lava, coursing through his veins and bloodstream at a frightening speed. It traveled across his cheeks, down his neck and up to his ears. He knew he quite resembled a beet, but honestly couldn't care less at the moment.
Ichigo carefully grasped the man's hand, inwardly marveling at how tall the grinning blunet was and how that deep, gruff voice did strange things to his insides. Grimmjow smelled like some type of musky fabric softener and soap, making Ichigo squirm slightly, shifting his feet anxiously.
"A-ahh, ok. I-it's nice to meet you, Jaegerjaques-san," Ichigo stuttered.
What? When the hell had he become a blithering idiot?
Grimmjow nodded, tightening his grip on Ichigo's hand a tad, before letting go and making his way - an arrogant bounce in his step - back to the chaise. Ichigo's brown eyes devoured the absolutely gorgeous man currently watching him. He couldn't believe just how blue Grimmjow's eyes were, not to mention, his height. The man had to be around 6'2", maybe even taller.
Then, there was the body that the man's office wear did nothing to hide. Grimmjow wore a midnight-blue button-up, dark gray slacks, with a matching dark gray tie. The shirt hugged his broad chest and shoulders like a lover, and the slacks showcased long, muscular legs like an item on a game show.
Ichigo knew he had a thing for asses, so when Grimmjow had turned to return to his seat, it was no surprise that his eyes had been glued to the blunet's delicious-looking backside.
It was fucking perfect.
It curved in the right places and looked firm enough to bounce a quarter off of. Ichigo felt his mouth watering at the thought of sinking his teeth into those two cheeks.
Uwahh.
He slunk over to one of two maroon, leather chairs sat on the opposite side of Ichimaru's desk, and slid bonelessly into it. He was fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes away from the tempting man to his right, and fuck, was it hard. His dick was twitching and stirring as his mind fed him image after image of a naked Grimmjow, writhing, panting, sucking, taking all of his length like a pro. Sweat beaded across Ichigo's brow, and he barely resisted the urge to fan himself with the envelope he still held clutched to his chest.
Fuck.
Could they hear his heart trying to King Kong its way out of his chest?
He hoped not.
Ichigo peered at Grimmjow from his peripheral and sucked in an excited breath at the sight of the blue-eyed devil's sideways smirk. Shaking his head and trying to clear it of the haze that had descended over it, he focused on Ichimaru, whose grin seemed to have reached epic proportions.
"Kurosaki-kun, Aizen's told ya 'bout whatcha need ta do, right?"
Ichigo nodded, his entire body tingling the way an appendage did after it fell asleep.
"Well, I won't keep ya. I just need that envelope from ya before ya get started," Ichimaru stated, holding a creepily thin hand out.
Ichigo almost face-palmed. He'd sort of over-looked the fact that he was supposed to actually give the envelope to the silver-haired man. Standing to his feet and trying - hopefully successfully - to disguise the shaking in his legs, he edged closer to the desk and handed the envelope over.
"Alrighty, teach 'im well, Kurosaki-kun."
Ichigo flushed at the suggestive comment, hoping against hope that Ichimaru wasn't implying what he thought he was. God, that would be so embarrassing. He fled the office, mind whirring about in a frenzy and spider senses overwhelmingly aware of the taller man following him.
Shit.
Three Weeks Later
Ichigo had been on his way down the long corridor that led to Grimmjow's desk and Ichimaru's office to drop off a report, when, as he passed the small janitor's closet, he was abruptly pulled inside. The door slammed shut and he was shoved roughly against the wall, a pair of firm, demanding lips covering his own.
The manila folder containing the report he'd been carrying, fluttered to the floor as his hands came up to grip the front of a soft, cotton, button-up shirt. He immediately opened his mouth to the probing warm and wet tongue, tangling it with his own as he hooked a leg around the taller man's calf.
"Mm," he quietly moaned.
Ichigo knew it was Grimmjow he was kissing, considering this wasn't their first time fraternizing on the job. The small janitor's closet had become their secret meeting place over the last few days. Disappointingly though, they only ever made it to blowjobs or handjobs, never able to get to the real deal. Ichigo wanted to pound Grimmjow into the nearest wall so badly, it damn near consumed him.
He was jerked back to reality when Grimmjow undid his pants and slipped a large hand into his boxers, rapidly stroking him to a full erection. He hissed softly, arching his back into the man's expert touch, while lifting a hand and plowing his fingers through that incredibly soft, yet untameable blue hair.
Grimmjow grunted and, with his free hand, pulled Ichigo closer, "No more bullshit, Kurosaki. I want ya. Now."
Ichigo's body felt like it could no longer contain its own blood, if the throbbing of his veins were any indication. God, words he'd been almost desperate to hear dripped from Grimmjow's tongue like saliva.
"Want you, too," he gasped, as the blue-haired man teased the slit of his leaking member with his thumb.
"Turn around."
Ichigo froze.
What?
"T-turn around for what?" he croaked dumbly.
Grimmjow lifted a brow and cocked his head to the side, "What the fuck ya mean 'for what'? I'm gonna fuck ya. S'what ya want, ain't it? S'what I want."
Ichigo felt like the temperature in the small room had dropped by thirty degrees in the blink of an eye. Fuck HIM? That wasn't right. That COULDN'T be right. Ichigo bottomed for NO ONE and that shit wasn't changing anytime soon, no matter how good-looking Grimmjow was.
"Er, not exactly, Grimm. I kinda thought I was gonna be doing the fucking," he responded.
Surely, this was all a big misunderstanding.
Grimmjow paused, his expression that of someone waiting for the punchline of a joke, as he considered Ichigo. Finally, a small frown creased his brow before he burst into hysterical laughter.
What the fuck?
"Yer fuckin' serious? No way! Kurosaki, there ain't no way in hell I'm bein' yer bitch! I ain't a simperin' 'lil uke!" he sputtered between loud chuckles and guffaws of laughter.
Ichigo felt the blood rush to his face first, then his hands clenched into tight fists. Next, his body trembled with barely concealed rage. This was insane! How the FUCK had this happened? He had never been in a predicament such as this before and, frankly, the shit bugged the hell out of him.
He wanted Grimmjow. He wanted him a lot.
But he certainly wasn't about to be someone's bottom.
He righted his clothing, nabbed the report and folder from the floor and stormed from the janitor's closet, Grimmjow still cackling mercilessly behind him.
Back to the Present
From then to the present, he and Grimmjow bickered and argued like an old married couple, each trying to convince and persuade the other into being the bottom for their interlude, but neither giving an inch.
Which was why Ichigo was always so goddamned frustrated.
He had never wanted someone as much as he literally craved Grimmjow, but he was also a man of his word, and that man had staked a claim on the blunet's enticing-looking ass.
XOXOXOXO
"Took ya long enough," Grimmjow stated with a sly smirk.
"Whatever, bastard. Here's the report," Kurosaki replied, with a roll of those sultry, nut-brown eyes.
Grimmjow waited until Kurosaki tossed the report onto his desk, then turned to stalk off, before calling him back. Oh, how he loved riling up that ripe little strawberry. Kurosaki sucked his teeth in annoyance and glared over his shoulder.
"What're ya doin' tonight?"
A slim, orange brow lifted skeptically, "And why is that your business?"
"'Cuz I wanna go out for a drink er two tonight. C'mon, don't be such a lame," Grimmjow drawled, knowing that that would be all it took to get Kurosaki to agree to a night out with him, "'Sides, we haven't hung out in a while. Dontcha miss me at all?"
"About as much as one misses a sword in his side."
Grimmjow threw his head back and laughed heartily. Kurosaki was great for laughs. Great to look at, too. He let his eyes roam the orange head's broad shoulders, slim waist, narrow hips, and mile-long legs. The man was more slender than himself, but what he lacked in bulk, he made up with sleek, lean muscle.
That bright orange hair was fun to run his fingers through as well; it always smelled like fresh apples. Grimmjow licked his lips at the thought of Kurosaki's impressive erection and how badly he wanted to make the younger man scream like he was dying.
But therein lay the problem. Neither of them bottomed and Grimmjow wasn't too keen on getting fucked.
Or rather...he hadn't been.
Lately, his frustration had come to a head with the enchanting orange-haired man. He was still sort of unsure about the whole thing, but he'd decided a compromise was in order. He would allow himself to be a guinea pig as long as Kurosaki was willing to return the favor. Grimmjow wasn't completely throwing away his fantasies of fucking the strawberry through a headboard...he was only putting them on hold.
Besides, he was a perverted bastard and could no longer ignore the ache in his groin everytime he thought of or was near Kurosaki. He wanted the man, and what he wanted, he always got; didn't matter what the hell it was.
Plus...the fucking strawberry was stubborn as hell.
"Don't be that way, Kurosaki. So, whataya say? Meet me at Urahara's at nine?" he asked, casually twirling a pen between his fingers as he eyed the gorgeous being before him.
Kurosaki turned to face him fully and narrowed those almost amber-golden eyes, "What are you up to?"
Grimmjow widened his eyes innocently and held his hands up, "Nothin', I swear. I just want yer comp'ny. That too much to ask?"
There was a brief pause, then, "Fine. I'll see you then," Kurosaki snapped and stalked off, sexy ass moving fluidly underneath his slacks.
"See ya," Grimmjow muttered under his breath, mind already ten hours ahead.
XxxxxxxxxX
"What the hell are you drinking?" Kurosaki asked incredulously, eyeing the drink he held in his hand.
Grimmjow swirled his glass, peering into its blue depths, "Hypnotiq."
"Eh?"
"Hyp-nahhh-tiiiq."
"Fuck you."
"We're gettin' to that," Grimmjow mumbled to himself before speaking up, "It's fruity as hell. I don't really like it."
"So, why the hell didja get it?" Kurosaki looked genuinely confused.
"Liked the color."
"Idiot."
Grimmjow chuckled softly before sipping the overly sweet drink. His mind was far from the drink in his hand and more focused on what he had planned for the evening. It was Friday, which was convenient, since they didn't have work on the weekends and any incapacitations he may encounter would have time to subside.
He glanced over at Kurosaki and swallowed as he watched the shorter man lick his lips after sipping his amber-colored drink. Damn, the strawberry looked downright edible in his casual wear. A simple, form-fitting, royal-blue t-shirt, stonewashed blue jeans, black belt, and royal-blue, black and white Nike Dunks.
Very nice.
Not to mention, the smell of fresh apples was stronger than ever and mingled with the scent of soap and fresh laundry.
Fuck.
Kurosaki's tanned arms were exposed, but Grimmjow couldn't stop staring at the younger man's freckles that littered them, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His tangerine-colored hair nearly covered his eyes and hung loosely down the back of his neck.
Grimmjow cleared his throat as he shifted on the black bar stool. His dick was getting hard from all of his staring and truth be told, he was anxious to get Kurosaki to his home. Trying to distract himself from the nagging throb in his dark blue jeans, he perused the dimly lit bar.
It was a simple establishment. The large, wooden bar ran the length of the place, but there were round tables scattered here and there for patrons that didn't want to sit at the bar. Black, metal chairs accompanied the tables, the floor was an ugly olive-green linoleum, while the walls were an ivory color. Pictures and beer posters lined the walls, most faded and yellowing around the edges from age. There was a huge jukebox in the corner that belted out various tunes picked by the drunken patrons, and a neon sign hung in the window that advertised, "Urahara's".
Speaking of Urahara, Grimmjow hadn't seen the weird blond since he had arrived, which was pretty abnormal. Urahara was always around and he always made it a habit to greet his customers. The cheerful blond owned the modest place, and although it wasn't extravagant, he was still incredibly proud of it.
The bartender on hand that night went by the name of Nnoitra Jiruga, an extremely tall, lanky fucker with dark hair, a red bandana covering his left eye, a wide, piano-key toothed grin and a bad attitude.
Grimmjow thought the man was funny as hell.
He tugged on the collar of his white t-shirt, littered with black skulls and crossbones, and yawned loudly. He wasn't really tired, but his body was accustomed to going to bed early for work.
"Kurosa-"
"Ichigo, Grimmjow. Just call me Ichigo. We're not at work, so there's no need to be so formal."
Grimmjow grinned wolfishly. Just call him Ichigo, huh?
"Ok, Ichigo, whataya say we finish this at my place? I've got somethin' I've been meanin' to show ya."
Ichigo narrowed his eyes to thin slits and glared at him.
What the hell? Did he think he was gonna rape him?
"What is it?"
Grimmjow gave an exaggerated sniff in Ichigo's direction, making the orange-haired man's back stiffen and his brow crease into a scowl, "Do I smell somethin'? I think I smell somethin'."
"What are you saying, asshole?" Ichigo growled, brown eyes hard and cold.
"I smell pussy, Ichigo."
"What? I'm not a pussy, Grimmjow! Fuck you!"
"Heh, ya don't mean that, 'cuz if ya did, ya wouldn't be wastin' time askin' questions," Grimmjow drawled as he rose from the bar stool, retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and dropped a few bills on the counter.
Ichigo sat with a confused frown marring his forehead while Grimmjow slowly walked away from him. Grimmjow inwardly began counting backwards from ten, but the count was momentarily interrupted by the bartender's loud voice.
"GET YER FUCKIN' ASS OUTTA HERE, STARK! SLEEP AT HOME, FER FUCK'S SAKE!"
Grimmjow inwardly chuckled and was in the process of continuing the count, stepping outside of the bar and heading up the street, when his elbow was firmly gripped. He grinned mischievously and glanced over his shoulder at the shorter man.
"Are you saying...what I think you're saying?" Ichigo's brown eyes captured the light from the sign in the window, as well as the full moon, sitting high in the inky sky, stars twinkling brightly beside it.
Grimmjow nodded, "Yeah, but in order for this to work, ya gotta agree to my terms."
"Terms?"
"Yeah...terms." Grimmjow turned to face Ichigo, moving forward until he was invading the man's space, "Ya know what I want, 'cuz it's the same thing you want. 'Cept, I'm willin' to go a 'lil further for mine," he murmured, leaning closer to brush his lips across Ichigo's reddened ear.
"So...what are you saying exactly?" The orange head was breathing erratically and his skin was on fire.
Such fun.
He wrapped his arms around Ichigo's waist, licked the shell of his ear and trailed his feverish tongue down to the spot right below the lobe, where he sucked gently, making the strawberry moan softly. Finally, he pulled his mouth from that soft, tasty skin, "I'm sayin', I'll be a man 'bout this an' let ya go first...but...Ichigo...don't make the mistake a'thinkin' I won't be fuckin' ya, too."
Ichigo shuddered, "You're gonna...let me fuck you?"
"Mmhm, long as I get to return the favor."
"Holy shit," the younger man breathed. A scant few seconds passed before Ichigo gripped Grimmjow's upper arm and started dragging him towards the parking lot behind the bar. "Are you drunk?" he asked. Grimmjow gave him a scalding glare and stalked to his car, a gunmetal-gray, 2010 Nissan Altima.
He unlocked the door, swung it open and as he lowered himself inside, glanced over at a wide-eyed Ichigo, standing next to a black, 2010 Mitsubishi Lancer, "Follow me."
With that, Grimmjow shut the door, started the ignition and peeled out of the lot. He glanced in the rearview mirror, satisfied that Ichigo was right on his tail. They floated through the streets of Karakura, Grimmjow feeling like any minute they would either start drifting or being chased by the cops.
Soon enough, they were pulling into the two-car garage of a small, modest house. Grimmjow cut the engine and hopped out of his car at the same time as Ichigo, who was taking the time to let his eyes examine the spacious garage.
"I'll give ya a tour later," he stated gruffly, gripping the strawberry by his elbow and leading him to the kitchen entrance.
He hurriedly unlocked the door, flipped the light switch, making bright, flourescent beams flood the wood-themed room, then pulled Ichigo inside before shutting and relocking the door. They passed through a wide hallway with two open doorways that led to the living room and dining room. At the end of the hallway was a small foyer and a staircase.
"Grimmjow, you live here alone?" Ichigo's voice came from behind him, startling him enough for his steps to falter.
"Yeah, since my mom passed away, it's just been me."
"Sorry."
"Tch, it was a long time ago, Ichigo. No use crying over it now," he muttered.
He wouldn't tell the orange head how his mom had hated him, preferring her "real" son, Ulquiorra, over him, her adopted son.
They trekked up the stairs, the old wood creaking noisily under their feet. Grimmjow's thoughts had turned decidedly dark after the mention of his adoptive mother, so when he walked right past his bedroom, it sort of came as a surprise.
Ichigo stood behind him, arms crossed and orange brow raised in amusement, "Something wrong?"
"Shutup, it's this one," Grimmjow muttered, face burning and eyebrows bunched in embarrassed anger as he stalked back to the first door on the right.
The room was nothing special, not even that big, but he took damned good care of it. The thick carpet was an off-white color, the walls a midnight blue, and his large, western-styled, king-sized bed bore linens and a comforter the same color as his walls. His furniture was all black; a large, black dresser, and two black night stands.
Grimmjow waited for Ichigo to follow him inside before he doubled back and shut the door. He watched Ichigo turn in a slow circle, his brown eyes taking in his environment.
"I can't believe you live alone. And it's clean."
Grimmjow scowled and folded his arms across his chest, "Fuck you. Ya tryna say I'm dirty er somethin'?"
Ichigo turned to face him with a sexy smirk, making his jeans tighten significantly. When the orange-haired man slowly started making his way towards him, Grimmjow had to fight the urge to throw the man over his shoulder, then down onto his bed. Instead, he stood his ground and arched a brow.
Ichigo stopped a foot away from him, reached out and grabbed his hand, then began pulling as he backtracked towards the bed. Grimmjow couldn't hide the wide grin splitting his face at the expression Ichigo wore.
Shit. He really couldn't wait until he could make the strawberry scream every curse he knew.
Before he could even blink, Grimmjow was suddenly shoved onto the bed, landing on his back with a surprised "oomph".
What the hell? When had the little fucker moved? And when had he gotten so strong?
He glanced up at Ichigo, who was currently grinning down at him with a look he'd never seen on the normally scowling man's face before. An icy sensation wriggled its way down his back as he warily stared at the strawberry.
Holyyyy fuck, what was this foreboding vibe coming from Ichigo?
Ichigo reached down, slowly pulling Grimmjow's sneakers off, one by one, then did the same with his socks. When Ichigo returned to his full height, the gleam in his eyes literally scared the hell out of Grimmjow. He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the small bit of pain would be enough to wake him from this strange dream, where Ichigo was emitting an overabundance of dominant waves.
Who the FUCK was this guy?
"Undo your pants, Grimmjow," Ichigo murmured, baritone voice unnaturally deep and brown eyes sparkling from the moonlight filtering through the bedroom window.
Grimmjow stared at Ichigo, knowing full-well that his ocean-blue eyes were saucer wide. Normally, Ichigo went with the flow of things. He would even let Grimmjow control their kisses and foreplay, but this...person...it was like Ichigo had been body-snatched. He didn't know what the fuck to think and what was worse, he was thoroughly aroused.
Holy fuck...was he a closet uke?
Shit!
"Did you hear me, Grimmjow?" Ichigo's voice rose and became stern.
Goosebumps partied down his back.
"Y-yeah," he stuttered dumbly, feeling like he'd just been pitched into the twilight zone as his fingers went for his belt.
Christ, he felt like a fucking virgin. This switch in Ichigo's persona was scary, yet hot as all hell.
Grimmjow was distracted from his task when Ichigo kicked his sneakers off at the same time that he pulled his royal-blue t-shirt over his head, revealing a perfectly defined torso, abs rippling deliciously. Grimmjow's lips parted slightly as he shamelessly stared.
Fuck, this guy was beautiful.
"Your pants."
Grimmjow shook his head, clearing it as he went back to undoing his pants. His hands were shaking and he felt like he was in a parallel universe. It took a few tries to get his belt loosened and the button holding his jeans together undone, but once he did, he quickly pulled the pants down over his hips.
Ichigo wasted no time yanking the jeans off and carelessly tossing them to the side, "Mm, those are nice," he said softly, eyeing Grimmjow's red boxer briefs, "Looks like you're enjoying this."
Grimmjow almost blushed at the tone of Ichigo's voice. He knew he was harder than a lead pipe at the moment, but frankly, he didn't give a shit. He also knew he was on the verge of losing his "virginity", but oddly, he felt a sliver of excitement at the prospect.
Losing patience, he eased his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and calmly eased them down, lifting his hips to maneuver out out of them better. Ichigo grinned and nodded appreciatively once his heavy erection was freed.
"Ichigo likes."
Grimmjow chuckled and pointed his chin towards the other man, "You're not naked yet."
"I'm getting there. I wanna look at you right now, you know? Relish this moment."
The look in Ichigo's eyes was positively lecherous and when he slowly licked his lips, Grimmjow's dick twitched involuntarily. The younger man gave a Grinch grin and winked at him, and he almost lost his mind. Suddenly, it occurred to him to retrieve the bottle of lube he kept in his nightstand because he was sure once they got started, they wouldn't want to be interrupted by anything.
He scooted back and leaned over the side of the bed, long arm reaching for the nightstand drawer. Once he pulled it open, he felt around for the small bottle and upon finding it, slammed the drawer shut and turned back to Ichigo.
He nearly fainted at the sight that greeted him.
The gorgeous, orange-haired man was stark naked, standing with his hands on his slim hips, Grinch grin still firmly in place and dick seeming to reach out for Grimmjow.
Shit.
Grimmjow licked his lips, eyes glued to Ichigo's magnificent length. It was long, thick, and hard as hell, veins fantastically prominent. Fucking hell, if Ichigo didn't hurry up and do something, he was going to launch himself off the bed and get things started his damned self.
As if reading his mind, Ichigo crawled onto the bed and hovered over him, hooking a strongly muscled arm underneath his left knee and raising it. Grimmjow's eyes went comically wide, his body shivered and he almost released an embarrassing whimper when Ichigo nuzzled the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Soft lips pressed a feather-light kiss to the spot being nuzzled, then those lips turned into a hot, slick tongue, caressing and stroking before suddenly suckling. Grimmjow threw his head back and bit his bottom lip, stifling a quiet moan.
Ichigo licked a trail up to Grimmjow's sac and paused, making him glare down at the strawberry's orange head of hair. Before he could protest though, Ichigo swiped at his balls with that sinful tongue, causing his back to involuntarily arch and a deep groan to escape his chest.
Before he knew it, one of his testicles had disappeared into Ichigo's moist cavern, quickly followed by the second, the orange head's soft tongue gently massaging and laving.
"Ugh, god," Grimmjow panted.
Ichigo used his hand to stroke Grimmjow's throbbing dick, letting his thumb tease the already leaking slit. His entire body shuddered when the younger man released his balls into the cooler air of the bedroom, only to drag his wicked tongue up the underside of his member. Ichigo slowly wet the entire length before finally sucking the head into his sauna of a mouth.
Grimmjow grappled for purchase in those silken strands of bright orange hair, moaning loudly as his dick steadily disappeared, inch by inch, past perfect, pink lips.
Fuck.
Ichigo was trying to kill him.
His mind was a barren wasteland, fog drifting across mangled weeds and plains of nothing but brown dirt, a scene similar to the after-effects of an explosion. God, Ichigo was a certified pro at sucking dick, and Grimmjow thanked every kami in existence that he was the younger man's subject.
Loud, obscene slurping noises accompanied long sucks with the perfect amount of pressure applied. What Ichigo couldn't swallow was being worked by his long fingers, moving in the opposite direction of his mouth and consequently making Grimmjow's toes curl.
"Nngh, fuck! I'm comin'," he groaned, his grip in Ichigo's hair tightening as his hips thrust upwards spastically, the coil in his pelvis ready to snap.
Ichigo hummed and everything swelled, then exploded into a million, tiny, bright-white lights. Grimmjow cursed loudly as every muscle in his body tensed before suddenly melting into hot butter. He vaguely noticed the soft kisses being spread up his abdomen, dipping into the valley between his pectorals, then languidly over his right nipple. His senses snapped back to life when that nipple was nipped and Ichigo's overly warm tongue was laving it, fingers lazily toying with his left nipple.
It was too much.
Grimmjow's body still buzzed and tingled in the aftermath of his intense orgasm and the added sensation of his sensitive nipples being teased was damn near causing his brain to malfunction.
Ichigo's wonderful mouth was now on his left nipple, his right having been transformed into a hardened, crimson bud, saliva decorating the peaked flesh. Grimmjow's head fell back to the bed, eyes focused on the ceiling that seemed to be spinning like a merry-go-round.
He felt positively drunk.
Ichigo slowly tongued his way up his thickly-corded neck, pausing briefly to suckle his pulse point before moving up to his ear, where he leisurely nibbled the lobe. Grimmjow let his hands travel over the shorter man's broad, sculpted back, fingernails making little crescent moons whenever Ichigo reached a sensitive area.
Finally, the orange head's exploration ended as he pressed those delectable lips against his, gently prying his mouth open to slip in his miraculous tongue. Grimmjow found himself growling into the kiss, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having Ichigo in control. He wrapped his long legs around the strawberry's hips, hands gliding up the man's sides, over his chest and up to rest on broad shoulders.
"Mm, you taste so good, Grimmjow," Ichigo murmured against his lips.
"Fuck," he whispered in response, coherent thought completely out the window.
Ichigo grinned wickedly, "Yeah, babe, I'm gettin' to that."
Grimmjow frowned, wanting to protest against the endearment, but found his body reacting in an entirely different manner. Sharp arousal flooded his groin, making his dick twitch and harden halfway.
Shit.
What the fuck had Ichigo done to him?
Suddenly, his fingers were being pried apart and the orange-haired man was chuckling softly, "I think you might wanna let this go now," he uttered softly in Grimmjow's ear, his hot breath fanning the fine hairs behind the appendage.
Grimmjow finally realized that he was still clutching the small bottle of lube in his hand, the ribbed cap forming marks in his palm, "Shit. Sorry," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed.
Ichigo pecked his lips almost affectionately, "It's alright. You nervous?"
His pride rose viciously, so instead of speaking the truth, what came out was, "Like hell! Just get on with it already!"
Ichigo, thankfully, didn't get offended. He just snickered softly and popped the cap to the bottle of lube, covering the fingers of his right hand. He used his left hand to lift Grimmjow's right leg, exposing his puckered entrance.
Fuck, he felt like his soul was being bared.
A slick finger probed his hole, making him grit his teeth and involuntarily tense up. He really was nervous about this whole thing. Ichigo slowly pressed forward until his long finger slipped past the initial tightness to settle deep inside him.
"Nnghn," a choked groan escaped him.
It didn't exactly hurt, but the feeling was beyond strange and a tad uncomfortable. He shifted his hips, trying to get used to the oddity of it all.
Christ, he never thought he'd be in this position in his life.
Ichigo leaned over him, engaging him in a deep, sexy kiss, full of tongue and saliva, before breaking away to murmur in Grimmjow's ear, "Just relax and lemme take care of you."
He wanted to scoff, wanted to mock the strawberry's soft words of comfort, but the insults stuck in his throat. Instead, all he could do was sigh a quiet moan. Ichigo began moving his finger in and out, gently stroking his insides. It felt like no time at all had passed when another finger was eased inside of him, making him tense again, abdomen flexing.
Grimmjow took a deep breath, held it, then released, gradually becoming accustomed to the thrusting fingers. There had been a slight burning with the entrance of the second finger, but now it was actually feeling kind of good.
This continued for another minute or so, the erotic sensation of having fingers in his ass, as well as the sticky-sounding noises making him moan and hiss. Without warning, a third finger was added to the mix, burning and simultaneously brushing against something that erased the pain and made his back arch off the bed.
"Holy fuckin' shit!" he yelped.
What the FUCK was that?
Ichigo's fingers brushed it again and Grimmjow groaned deeply, the noise obviously arousing the other man enough to draw a moan from him.
"Damn, Grimm, I can't wait anymore," Ichigo ground through clenched teeth.
Grimmjow cursed as, what he now realized was his prostate, was brushed again, "Then don't, goddammit!"
Ichigo's fingers were withdrawn and for the briefest of moments, Grimmjow thought he had offended the strawberry, but before he could even dwell on that thought, a slick, hot and blunt object was pressing against his virgin entrance.
Oh, shit. This was it.
A sharp thrust past his sphincter, knocked the breath clean from his lungs. A second - albeit more shallow - thrust, had him gasping for air and writhing like a snake. A third - deeper and longer - thrust, had him cursing like a sailor and digging grooves into Ichigo's shoulders.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he chanted, trying desperately to adjust to the humongous girth splitting him open.
"Shit, yeah," Ichigo murmured.
The strawberry was buried to the hilt, hips rocking gently as Grimmjow grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. His entire body was rigid and tense and he felt like he was dying, his asshole burning and screaming for relief.
Why the FUCK had he thought this was a good idea?
Oh yeah.
Quid pro quo.
He wanted to fuck Ichigo as well and this had seemed like the only option at the time.
Now, he wished differently.
Ichigo kissed him and reached between their hardened bodies to grasp his length and stroke. Just when the pain in his ass began to subside, the strawberry started moving. Slow, deep thrusts that made Grimmjow cry out helplessly each time.
Ichigo picked up the pace, grunting softly, the noises making the hairs on the back of Grimmjow's neck stand up. The pain was ebbing and morphing into something more...something utterly erotic.
And then the strawberry shifted his hips and stabbed Grimmjow's prostate.
What. The. Fuck.
"Aw, SHHHIT!" he shouted. "F-fuck, Ichigo, harder!"
Oh, well. There went his dignity.
"Nnnghn, god, you feel so good, Grimmjow," Ichigo panted and Grimmjow gave a pitiful whine.
Wait, there went his pride, too.
He was being such a wanton whore, but the shit felt fucking fantastic.
Their bodies were slicked with sweat and the faster Ichigo fucked him, the louder the slapping of them coming together sounded.
Fucking YES!
"Uhn...uhn...uhn," Ichigo grunted, making Grimmjow open his eyes to stare up into half-lidded, sepia-brown orbs. Orange hair was plastered to Ichigo's skull as sweat slid down the sides of his face and beaded across his upper lip.
Shit, the fucker was beautiful, even when he was grunting like an animal.
Grimmjow's dick was ramrod straight, bobbing excitedly between their bodies. He arched his back, aching to be touched, but when his silent request went unanswered, he took matters into his own hands...literally. He began to stroke his own dick furiously, desperately trying to achieve the orgasm that was currently building in his testicles.
Ichigo must've noticed his actions because in the next instant, Grimmjow's hand was knocked aside and replaced with the strawberry's. He stroked in time to his thrusts and Grimmjow's toes steadily curled as the coil in his pelvis was at its breaking point for the second time that night.
"Jesus...Jesus...fucking Christ!" he moaned nearly deliriously.
Damn, it was SO good.
Ichigo leaned over him, placing his lips right next to his ear and murmured, "That's right, make me proud, babe."
Grimmjow gasped sharply, abdomen tensing as he spilled himself onto Ichigo's belly and hand, "F-FUUUCK! YES!"
"NNGHNN!" Ichigo groaned, pressing himself into Grimmjow one last time, his dick throbbing its release into him.
Grimmjow was still seeing fireworks as he tried to catch his breath with Ichigo slumped bonelessly over him.
That had been fucking INTENSE.
When he did manage to gulp down enough air to breathe normally, he was too damned tired to complain about the sticky fluid running out of his ass, or the dead weight on his chest. He ran his hand through Ichigo's damp, orange locks and closed his eyes.
That hadn't been as bad as he'd been expecting it to be.
XOXOXOXO
Ichigo blinked away the annoying sunlight filtering through a small window in the unfamiliar room. Just as that thought crossed his mind, last night's events flooded his worn out brain.
He'd fucked Grimmjow.
Grimmjow had ALLOWED him to fuck him.
And liked it.
He grinned giddily, mind already revisiting those moments of him being deep inside the tall blunet, listening to the gorgeous man's wanton moans and pants. Seeing that man writhing in ecstasy at his hands was pure bliss. He couldn't wait to persuade Grimmjow to let him fuck him again.
Ichigo yawned and tried to stretch his muscles, when he realized that he couldn't move his arms. His brown eyes snapped open, completely ignoring the bothersome sun as he glanced over his head to see why his arms were immobile.
Silver handcuffs bound him to the black, cast-iron headboard of the large, king-sized bed.
What the fuck?
His eyes wide, he searched the room wildly for his blue-haired lover. When his frantic eyes turned up empty, he felt panic bubbling up his throat, threatening to consume him. Just before his sanity left him, the bedroom door swung open, revealing a broadly grinning Grimmjow.
The man was clad only in a pair of purple boxers and a pair of white, ankle socks. His tanned body seemed to dance and ripple with each step he took until he was standing at the foot of the bed. Grimmjow's bright blue hair was a mess and his ocean-blue eyes were half-lidded, almost lazy.
"Mornin', sleepy head," he murmured, grin never faltering.
Ichigo had to admit that, even though he was extremely confused, he was thoroughly aroused. Grimmjow's body had a nasty habit of doing that to him.
"Grimm, you wanna explain why you've got me cuffed to your bed?" Ichigo asked tentatively.
The blunet's grin only widened, "Seems you've forgotten our deal already, Ichigo."
Ichigo was still baffled. Deal? Then, the haze that had been settled over his brain suddenly cleared, and he remembered quite well what deal Grimmjow was talking about. Very nervously, he shifted on the bed.
This hadn't been how he imagined things turning out.
Grimmjow must have noticed his wary look because he smirked and rubbed his hands together, "Eye for an eye, Kurosaki."
- 1
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Eye For An Eye, Kurosaki