Stars

Madonna

Ichigo could see every tense of Six’s chest, barely covered by his white jacket, and every contraction of the remnants of his abs. The man was far too cut, far too bare for his taste. His tendons were rippling cords that threatened to leap out from his skin, his hands long and deadly. Ichigo knew they were things he shouldn’t notice.

“Hey Shinigami,” Grimmjow drawled again as their blades crashed. Sparks, bones jarring with impact and muscles flexing time and time again while blood raced. Fighting gave the boy enough endorphins and hormones as it was, and he didn’t need any help. The fight was good it, it was normal, if the Espada would just stop running his mouth for a few seconds.

“What?” Ichigo asked heatedly. The bastard hadn’t stopped with intruding questions the whole battle. Zangetsu slid along the length of Grimmjow’s blade and disengaged as Ichigo spun around in a butterfly to swing at him once more. Both men jumped back after the contact of their blades, and Ichigo leapt onto a rooftop, Grimmjow not far behind.

“That your sheath, or are you just happy to be fightin’ me?” The blue-haired man asked with a smirk and a glint in his eye. The surprise was enough to stop Ichigo’s swing before it connected, and Grimmjow took advantage of the opening and slammed the Shinigami against the roof entrance door. What the hell was he doing looking, what the hell was he doing noticing, what the hell was he doing using such a lame line?

“Keep your mind on the fight, psycho,” Ichigo growled, unable to access his full strength with his blade pushed back so close to his chest.

“I dunno, seems like you’re the one that needs t’focus,” he replied, grinning. His eyes looked Ichigo up and down, stopping at every wound, large and small. The Arrancar was far less marked. “For more’n one reason,” he said, and put his other hand on his blade to push it closer to Ichigo. Shit. The redhead flinched as Grimmjow’s leg rose, prepared to block a kick, but instead the Espada’s knee slid along Ichigo’s inner leg until it reached his groin. A horrible, pleasurable thrill lanced through Ichigo’s stomach as Grimmjow touched and pressed against his arousal, and red stained his face. No.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ichigo spat at the Espada. “Sometimes it happens during a fight!” How goddamn embarrassing. It wasn’t as though he had a fighting fetish, it was just that fighting was his element, where he belonged. His body was truly comfortable in that environment. And blood was a good, good color on the Espada.

“Really?” Grimmjow asked appraisingly. The force behind Six’s sword suddenly shifted diagonally and forced Ichigo’s sword above his head, and Grimmjow closed the distance with their bodies. Using his position’s advantage, he forced the redhead’s sword into a semi-circle into the ground. Fuck. There was no leverage for Ichigo there, no openings, no part of his body that wasn’t trapped. Grimmjow’s right hand shot out and grabbed Ichigo’s left. “Y’sure it’s not cause a this?” He asked, deepening his voice and spreading Ichigo’s hand across his chest.

Ichigo’s blush deepened and burned. It wouldn’t have bothered him but for the kernel of truth in the words, but for the unfair solidness beneath his hand. Grimmjow’s hand drew Ichigo’s across his nipple, down his ribs, down to the unnatural edge of his Chain of Fate hole, and hot terror struck up his legs and into his chest. His sword was almost forgotten at his side, and he stared at where the Arrancar’s taut hand lead his own. Was the Espada’s body always this hot, or was it the fight that made it so? There was only the slightest sheen of sweat and he could almost feel the beast’s blood pumping beneath his hand. This was unnatural.

“…You’ve never touched anyone, have ya?” His words jolted the redhead out of his fascination and his eyes snapped back up to meet Grimmjow’s self-satisfied blue gaze. “Or y’wouldn’t be…so curious,” he said, and slowly led Ichigo’s hand over the ridged flesh around the hole and then, inside the aberrance itself. The Shinigami growled and tried to wrench his hand away, but Grimmjow twisted his wrist harshly until he cooperated. The empty air within was hotter than even his body, the sides smooth like cold metal. It ripped the heat from his fingers and made his breath pause as his palm was guided along the inside of it. As his cruel hand lead, the man’s knee was still rubbing in between his legs, rendering Ichigo painfully breathless.“Tell me, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow commanded darkly. “Who’ve ya touched? The little dark chick? Boy like you’s got to get lots of attention, right?” He asked the question sarcastically; like he already knew the answer. Cocky fuck.

“Let me go so we can finish this,” Ichigo snapped at him. Grimmjow took his struggling hand and pinned it against the wall. The knee between his legs moved and was replaced by Grimmjow’s bony and insistent hips, and Ichigo could feel him. His head whipped to the side in sudden panic, afraid of the feeling coiling inside him as Grimmjow pressed. This was not right, this was not normal. No matter the beguiling muscles he’d felt, this was the enemy. A scared voice whispered in the back of his mind, admitting what he wouldn’t; I’m not ready to be touched like that. And then, another and even more traitorous voice; Please don’t stop touching me, no matter what I say.

“That means you never been touched before neither,” he leaned in and said quietly with a fanged grin. Grimmjow dropped his sword and ripped Ichigo’s from his grip, tossing it aside with a clatter. One leg wrapped around his captive’s, and his face loomed closer, lips millimeters from Ichigo’s turned face. His voice was dark, sinful and entirely serious. “Wanna be?”

The question wreaked havoc in Ichigo’s body. A crushing fist caged his heart and blood rushed through his hard-on, the words so…arousing all he could do was breathe out in a quick exclamation of air.

“Is that a yes, Kurosaki?” His voice was a throaty whisper, so soft and inviting it was impossible to believe he was the enemy, a cruel and violent man he was supposed to fight. Kinder than Grimmjow Jeagerjacques was supposed to be capable of. In spite of himself, in spite of the image he was supposed to present and the strong, stubborn core inside of him, the desirous and lonely part of Ichigo gave a treacherous nod.

One of the strong hands he’d admired before took his chin and turned him towards the Arrancar. Promise-filled lips struck his, hot and inviting. A real kiss. Not playful, but exciting and electric and so good that without thought Ichigo’s lips parted for more. The Espada kissed him deeply again and released his chin and hand. Ichigo let his hands drop and just barely brace himself against the wall behind him, while Grimmjow slid his right hand tantalizingly from his neck into his hair. He had never imagined that simple action could feel so erotic that the very path of Grimmjow’s hand on his skin tingled from the contact. He opened his mouth for another kiss, aware now of the cold, smooth bone of the Espada’s mask occasionally pressing sharply against his cheek. He realized he didn’t care.

Grimmjow’s hips had pulled away, but now they returned against Ichigo’s with a vengeance, pressing hard and rubbing their arousals together through their clothes, causing so much wonderful friction that the redhead shuddered. Then Grimmjow’s tongue invaded his mouth. He started, but Grimmjow’s sudden grip on his bicep kept him from squirming. It was the oddness of it the put him off at first, but soon he was used to it, enjoying it even, and battling for dominance in their kiss.

So quick it was like a slap to the face, Grimmjow pulled away. The Espada stared at him hard, eyes narrowed and studying. It squeezed the redhead’s heart, reminding him of how much of an idiot he was being, how impulsive and stupid he was to put an iota of trust in one of Aizen’s Arrancar. Why was he letting his desire rule him like this? No, it’s too late. I…I need him to do…something to me. Something, I don’t fucking know, just something!

“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said roughly. Ichigo glared back at him even as he breathed heavily from his attentions.

“Don’t mock me for this, just do what you’re gonna do,” he replied harshly. The man gave a small smirk before grabbing Ichigo’s shoulder and spinning him so his stomach was against the wall. Grimmjow pressed his hard-on firmly against his ass, grinding slowly. Ichigo shuddered, hands closing into fists.

“I don’t tempt fate when I get my hands on a Virgin, Kurosaki,” he said as one hand moved smoothly from Ichigo’s hip to his stomach. “I know how t’do it just right.” The same hand dipped inside Ichigo’s hakama, and he tensed. Grimmjow’s hand didn’t stop once it reached the silky crop of pubic hair, it kept going until his fingertips pressed at the base of his penis. Ichigo made a small noise and lurched back against Grimmjow’s body, his head pressed against the Espada’s shoulder.

“F-fuck…” He breathed, awed at how needy he suddenly felt, and how good the calluses of Grimmjow’s fingers felt against him. His hand moved and closed around his dick, warm. So good, oh god… Grimmjow pumped him once.“Keep going,” Ichigo gasped, and urgently thrust himself through the Arrancar’s hand. Grimmjow listened and continued pumping his erection, while grinding against him.

“Didn’t think you’d be so expressive,” The Espada told him as his left hand reached up to caress Ichigo’s neck. “Wound tighter than a fuckin’ nun, do you never jack off or somethin’?”

“Doesn’t make…a difference…you bastard,” Ichigo snapped back, but despite his tone he leaned into Grimmjow’s touch like an adoring cat. Grimmjow hummed deep in his chest and began nipping at the Shinigami’s neck, sucking and making deep bruises. Ichigo winced but didn’t care about the marks, not at the moment. He was lost in the feeling of Grimmjow’s hand, riding throbbing pleasure without hardly any thought. It was too good; his eyes closed and he pressed back against Grimmjow’s thrusts before moving forward into his exquisite hand. He could feel the Arrancar’s tongue lap warmly against his neck, his hand reaching into his haori and tweaking and pulling his nipple until it made Ichigo whine. “Fuck,” he whispered. There couldn’t be words for this pressure. His weight was almost entirely back against the Espada now, everything was building deep at the base of his spine. He grabbed Grimmjow’s free hand and pressed it at his lower abdomen, hoping it would somehow increase or speed up what he so desperately needed. His hips thrust ever more insistently and, getting the hint Grimmjow increased his pace, dry fucking vigorously.

“So close already, aren’t ya?” He taunted. Ichigo had no retort, he could only nod. His eyes stared up unfocused at the sky. He could feel every press of Grimmjow’s hard-on against his ass, every lewd thrust and rub, he could feel his second hand sneaking down his hakama to squeeze his balls. All of it was outside, in public without a thought to what could happen to him after all this. No, he knew, Ichigo knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Finally, inside he overflowed and everything came to a peak. He cried out as his hips jutted up into the air; it was impossible describe the joy that speared him. It crashed again and again, waves that made him shudder and melt against the man behind him, limp as a doll. Ichigo’s voice caught on another sound, and he panted as he thrust just a few more times, riding the last vestiges of his orgasm the best he could. “Big fucking O, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said quietly, before turning him around again.

Ichigo breathed hard through open lips as he took another look at the Arrancar. He felt dizzy and tired, as though energy were still roaring through him every few moments. Everything seemed undeniably good, the future hopeful. Not even Jeagerjacques seemed threatening. Grimmjow’s hands emerged from Ichigo’s hakama, smears and drips of cum on them.

“But I ain’t fuckin’ done yet,” he said growling, but not entirely angrily. Again his hand grabbed the redhead’s and guided it, this time into his pants. But Ichigo didn’t need his help to get the idea, or to decide to do it. He reached for the Espada’s member fearlessly and began pumping it, grabbing his waist to keep him close.

Grimmjow’s eyes closed and he nearly purred in satisfaction. He lifted his hand to lick delicately at the semen still on his hand; Ichigo reddened and looked away from the sight. Even with what they were doing, it seemed too far, too animalistic for him.

But Grimmjow wouldn’t let him escape it. White still on his lips, he kissed the strawberry deeply, sliding his tongue deep into the back of his mouth. It was nearly choking, the intensity of his tongue, and the decidedly odd saltiness of his own release in his mouth. When finally Jeagerjacques pulled away, it wasn’t the end of it. Even while thrusting against Ichigo’s hand, he focused on pressing his smeared fingers into the redhead’s mouth, forcing him to lick clean the rest of his orgasm from Grimmjow’s hands. That wasn’t entirely right, though. It would have been easy enough to pull away, to not open his mouth, but he’d gone along with it anyway. He’d done what the Espada wanted, why, he didn’t know.

Grimmjow pressed him suddenly back against the wall, humping faster against Ichigo and breathing hard. He jerked and groaned, and warmth dribbled down across Ichigo’s hand. It made his body burn and needle, with shame and a strange, deeper feeling he’d never really had before. A feeling that wasn’t bad.

“Watch your ass, Ichigo,” Grimmjow said with a tired grin even as he took quick breaths. “Cause it’s mine now,” he finished, and forced tongue deep back into the teenager’s mouth. He didn’t fight the kiss, and didn’t have the energy to fight his words; I’ll decide later if I want to. The Espada thankfully let Ichigo’s hands stay dirty as they were. Ichigo didn’t know if his gag reflex could take any more disgusting contributions. “We can do the rest some other time,” Grimmjow grinned tiredly. Before walking away, he reached and grabbed Ichigo’s ass one last time, hard. Tired as he was, the Shinigami scowled and punched Grimmjow in the face. That just earned him a grin. “It’s a date, sweet cheeks,” he said far too enjoyably, and opened his Garganta to leave. Bastard.

Ichigo leaned back against the wall. The sweat from fighting, from thrusting and close contact began to dry, and sated weariness tugged heavily at his bones. He let himself slide down to the ground, enjoying the occasional ripple that still went through his body. A man’s hands, a man’s body could do so much without really touching? And that particular man, the sixth Espada. Something more than psychotic and violent, maybe. Either way…

“Fuck,” Ichigo muttered wearily.