Angry at the World

He knew Kurosaki was angry when he came home. Apparently it was regular for his moronic old man to attack him when he walked in the door, but he didn’t think Ichigo normally indulged in repeatedly stomping on his back. Again and again. And again. The noise was annoying, but a grin tugged on his mouth. Grimmjow couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy a little violence.

He leaned against the window frame in Ichigo’s room, looking out at Karakura town. Mortals were so… Petty affairs were all most of them dealt with on a daily basis; it was no wonder Aizen cared little for their well-being. Neither did he, really… He didn’t like thinking about it, but some of them were piquing his interest. Glasses at the very least had earned some of his respect. Part of his brain seemed to rage at the casual acceptance of these connections, a constant nagging voice. So easy to kill, so good to see red. He knew this at all times. However, if there was anything the mortal world had taught him, it was a healthy dose of self-control.

The voice needed to learn how much his personal desire trumped its desire for death.

Ichigo slammed the door behind him as he walked into the room. Grimmjow casually glanced over his shoulder at him. His nonchalance seemed to irritate the Shinigami even more. No, Grimmjow corrected himself, narrowing his eyes. The strawberry was more than just irritated. His anger had penetrated his reiatsu and begun to pour out of him in waves.

“Ichi…”

“Don’t!” Grimmjow turned around to really look at him. He seemed haggard, like the devil was riding his back. Was he afraid of something? His gaze turned to something hateful and confused, and before Grimmjow could say anything else he was gone, slamming the bathroom door behind him. So much fucking unnecessary noise.

“What’s your problem, dammit!” He didn’t expect an answer, but the lack of one made him feel an unexpected squeeze in his chest. Stupid fucking kid…Would he ever be able to look at him without hate? He heard soft footsteps, and then,

“Is Ichii-nii alright?” A curious Yuzu was peeking inside the room. Shit. Kid. Ichigo’s little sister, be nice.

“Uh… He’s fine. Y'should probably leave him alone though…” He said gruffly while scratching his head. How smart were little girls? How old was she again?

“Uhm… Then will you help me with something instead, Grimm-kun?” She asked hopefully. Grimmjow’s mouth twisted to the side with distaste. Yuzu’s own expression fell in response, and to his surprise, it bothered him. He wished, really, that he could tell her to fuck off, but those eyes kept getting bigger and sadder. Finally he sneered and walked to the door, eliciting a cheer from this decidedly strange little girl.

~

Steam covered the mirror in the bathroom, the muted whirr of the fans not enough to dissipate the heat and moisture from his shower. Ichigo leaned heavily against the counter, shoulder blades jutting up from his back. His gaze flickered from his hands to his fog-mired reflection; almost lazily he reached up with just one hand to wipe a streak clear. He saw… ugliness. Weak eyes. He was weak.

The Arrancar Grimmjow Jeagerjacques had beaten him thoroughly, and then raped him. He’d ripped the last of his pride from his body. He’d lost everything that night, and he began to hate everything and everyone that had led him to that moment. When he didn’t have anything else to live for and nothing but hate, Grimmjow had stayed. The fucking monster had stayed and held him tightly enough to help him keep his grip on sanity. The grip was tenuous, but there, and because of him. Because at some horrific, twisted level, he and Grimmjow Jeagerjacques were the same.

Kindred fucking spirits. My pain and his pain. It felt the same. Why did it have to feel the same?! He slammed his hand down on the counter, and the mirror shuddered. Tears dripped down onto his fist, and he still looked at his eyes. I…can’t get him out of here. I can’t get over him. It’s impossible for him to be so human! He’s a monster! But there he is, helping me like it’s the natural thing to do! Why would he help me control the Hollow!? I don’t…Don’t want to be connected to him. I don’t…But I fucking am, aren’t I…It isn’t up to me. His hand clutched at his chest, trying to get a grip on the rush of pain that suddenly made it hard to breathe. Renji… Fuck…Why… He fell heavily to the ground, and stared at the ceiling.

~

He finally dressed and left his room. He paused as he walked down the stairs, hand on the banister. He blinked to make sure he was seeing things right. His family, and Grimmjow, was sitting at the kitchen table, which was covered with paper, and they were laughing, talking, and arguing with each other.

“Done,” Karin said smugly, and held up yet another decently sized paper crane on her palm. At least a dozen others, perfectly folded, occupied the space in front of her.

“What?!” Grimmjow demanded angrily, and slammed his fist down on the table. “That’s impossible! Ya must've already known how to do it before we started!” He pointed his finger accusingly. His spot at the table was littered with slightly deformed cranes that, one way or another were ugly or incomplete. Yuzu sat next to him, looking dejectedly at her few well-done paper cranes.

“No, some of us just know how to follow directions, barrel brain,” Karin replied.

“I don’t get it Grimm-kun…” Yuzu put her pointer fingers together and looked a little pouty. It seemed as though Grimmjow struggled to keep himself aloof and above her expression for a moment, and then failed. He pointed accusingly at Karin again.

“Witch!”

“What?!”

“No daughter of mine is a witch!” Isshin bellowed. “She just inherited the amazing genes of her amazing father in making amazing cranes!” He held out an obnoxiously large paper crane in his palm.

“Oh god, I hope not,” Karin muttered.

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes and didn’t move, but his glance strayed down to Yuzu. She then confidently stood on her chair and pointed at her father.

“Witch!”

“What!? What poison has he dripped into your ears, my beautiful Yuzu?” Isshin cried and crumpled down to the floor. “Lies, lies! Tell them Karin!”

“No, I think you’re a witch too,” she said dryly. Isshin flinched as if struck. Then he saw Ichigo on the steps, who had wanted to watch the spectacle from a safe distance.

“Ichigo, my son! Apple of my eye! Tell them I am not a witch!” He clasped his hands together in hope. Grimmjow turned around to look at him, looking for all the world a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was a silly family game, and he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for it. But a smirk slowly formed on Grimmjow’s face, and it sparked his own wicked grin. Like a death sentence, he pointed.

“Witch.”

“NOOOOOO!” Isshin clutched his heart and collapsed. “Betrayed!” He cried. Yuzu clapped and cheered, while Karin crossed her arms and tried to act mature. As if given permission by his grin to act even more immature, Grimmjow leaned down and whispered in Yuzu’s ear. She clapped both of her hands over her mouth, and then nodded vigorously. Ichigo finished walking down the steps and over to the table, while Grimmjow crept over towards his wailing and moaning father. He couldn’t possibly imagine that he was up to anything good, but he didn’t intervene.

Grimmjow darted down and grabbed Isshin’s arms and held them behind his back.

“Get ‘im, Yuzu!” He said, grinning. She laughed and launched herself at Isshin, and tickled him. Even Karin got over her stuffiness to attack him while he was captive. He shrieked dramatically and convulsed as they attacked his sides.

“Ichigo, are you just going to wa—AHHHH---Eeehee—let them do thi—AAAHAHAH!” Ichigo watched, still grinning. He scratched his head, and scuffed his foot against the floor, giving the appearance of heavy thinking.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said, his grin now more of a so very rare smile, the tension in his eyebrows easing. He met Grimmjow’s eyes, to share in the joke. What a mistake.

It should have been simple. They were both laughing, both not quite involved. He was pleased that Grimm had somehow managed to fit in with his family, and Grimmjow was pleased to see Ichigo was happy. That’s why he thought it would be okay to look him in the eye, as …something of a friend.

He wasn’t prepared. Grimmjow’s eyes smoldered with desire; it wasn’t overt, not seductive. But he could almost feel the Arrancar’s gaze, and the ghost of his touch. It couldn’t not affect him. It struck his heart and lanced heat into his body.

It scared the shit out of him. His smile remained, but his body was stiff and it seemed artificial now.

“Try not to get yourself killed dad,” he joked weakly and waved at the mass of writhing bodies. He fled upstairs.

~

Grimmjow cursed in his mind. It was a step forward, or it was until Ichigo got spooked. He hadn’t meant to look at him like he wanted him; then again he always did, so who knew what the redhead had seen. He was like a deer in headlights.

“…Oops,” He said, and dropped Isshin’s arms. He needed a way to leave.

“Victory!” The older Kurosaki shouted, and began chasing his daughters around the house to try and tickle them in revenge. As soon as they were out of sight, he loped up the stairs and walked into Kurosaki’s room. His arms were crossed against the window frame, and he leaned his head against them. He turned to look at Grimmjow when he entered. He couldn’t read his expression.

“I don’t feel like talking Grimmjow. Get out,” he said, but his words lacked his usual force. So he sneered and walked forward.

“Why’d you run?” His voice held the barest hint of mockery. Ichigo whipped around to face him angrily now.

“I didn’t run,” he said through his teeth.

“Hah,” Grimmjow said, and took another step closer. “Y'ran away like a skittish little rabbit. Even though I promised I would protect you,” anger glinted in his words, at the idea that Ichigo wouldn’t believe him.

“I’m supposed to trust your intentions?!” His intentions. So that was what this was about.

“If you didn’t want my intentions, they wouldn’t bother you,” he said darkly.

“Don’t you fucking dare imply that,” he hissed. Grimmjow stepped forward again, close enough to make Ichigo step back, until their bodies touched. He knew he was skirting the line, that he could easily push Ichigo too far. But he couldn’t stop.

“Then why'd you blush?” He asked quietly.

“I didn’t blush!”

“Bullshit. You’re red right now.”

“Get away from me, Grimmjow!” He couldn’t help himself. He took his face in his hands and pressed his lips against his mouth. He kissed, again and again, so hungrily. He felt Ichigo underneath his hands, he was still. He stroked his cheek with his thumb, wanting to calm him and hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t run.

He felt his lips press back against his. His spirit soared. He’d never felt so wonderful. Wonderful? An Arrancar feeling wonderful? Fuck it, he was goddamn elated.

His hands shoved against him and made him tear his lips away. His elation sunk and grew into pain, shame. He stared at those suddenly cold brown eyes.

“Get out. Get out! Get out!” Haunted eyes that didn’t like what they’d done. But Grimmjow knew it was his fault.

“…Sorry, he said, his lips barely moving. It was the first time he’d apologized in his life. Ichigo’s brow furrowed.

“…At least wait…until I’m asleep…if you insist on coming back,” he said haltingly. “And if you back the fuck off, I’ll forget what just happened,” he added acidly, some of his fight returning. Grimmjow’s pride was stung, but he didn’t strike back at the Shinigami with words, for once, nor did he do anything foolish. He just nodded gravely, and left.

~

Ichigo didn’t sleep well that night. He’d taken another burning hot shower, hoping to wash away the shame he felt, or at least gain a little penance. He had expected Grimmjow to touch him again, somehow—he hadn’t expected him to withdraw when he asked him to. And he hadn’t expected to reciprocate.

He’d settled in bed and turned his back to the door immediately after, in the hopes that he would be asleep, or able to feign sleep, when Grimmjow returned to the pallet on the floor. He shuddered in shame. It had been horrible enough to discover his affection for men, embarrassing to know he paid too much attention to the lines of their jaws, the curves of their muscles, their strength, and their eyes. If he really had an attraction to Grimmjow… It must only be physical. He couldn’t help a visceral reaction to his looks. He would admit that even Aizen was good looking. To be truly attracted to what he was, what a weak creature he would be…

But that was no surprise. He needed to be stronger, and he would become stronger. He just hadn’t had a good fight lately—the next chance he got, he would clear his mind with a rush of reiatsu and the flash of a blade.

And pray the hollow stays away…

~

He had been polite for once, and tried to walk in quietly. The last thing he wanted was to wake him, but before he could try for sleep himself, he saw the Shinigami begin to toss and turn. He murmured, and sweat beaded his brow. A bad dream… It would be a mercy to wake him up from it? Or would Ichigo become even angrier that he hadn’t left him alone? His mouth twisted. Complicated decisions weren’t the kind of thing he liked to be in charge of, dammit. He wanted this fuck-up of a day to be over and done with.

A low groan escaped from Kurosaki’s mouth, and he gripped his blanket, his face the picture of concentration. His mouth opened, and he gasped and writhed. If he was in pain he should wake him up, he decided, and reached to shake his shoulder. Then, as he released a feminine, joyous noise, Grimmjow realized. It was not a bad dream. It was quite the opposite.

Blood rushed to his groin. A quick glance along Ichigo’s body, his tented sheets, confirmed it. Grimmjow clenched his fists and forced himself to stay away from his bed. He had to, at any cost. Ichigo couldn’t possibly forgive him a third time, and he might not be able to even forgive himself.

He didn’t want to make him bleed anymore, not unless he had a fighting chance. He’d decided that.

But it was so, so difficult. He wanted to shove the redhead down into those sheets and be responsible for those moans. Grind against him and fuck him raw, hurt him, make him bleed, cry, like he had the first time. And it had been so sweet, those tears. They had been his victory. He wanted to scratch a brand onto his chest and take what he wanted while Kurosaki screamed for him to stop. He licked his lips; what pleasure this body had been, and he could have it again. Ready and waiting. Willing was optional. He watched his hips thrust into the air, seeking whatever touches existed in his dream. He grinned like a madman, watching him. Fuck him bloody. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques didn’t apologize for taking what he wanted; the strong took what they wanted from the weak, and it was the way of the world. He was just helping Ichigo figure it out sooner and more personally than most.

No, fuck, fuck! I can’t. I can’t do it that way. It’s not what I want! Just like the dream…It would be just like that. Kicking him while he’s down. Goddammit. Dammit! Goddamn you Ichigo! Why do I have to need you so fucking bad that it drives me insane!? Anybody else and I would…I would do it again with no remorse. I’d love the blood on your body…Hell, I still would…But I can’t do it to you…Fuck.

His hands hovered above his chest, almost touching. But he snatched them back as Ichigo arched and moaned. He gritted his teeth angrily; why was he still here and watching? If he ignored how achingly aroused he was he knew it was creepy and voyeuristic. Then again, he was no saint and there was no denying he simply was creepy and voyeuristic. But he closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. He stepped away from Ichigo. He cried out. Another step. And then quickly, into the bathroom, he leaned his back against the door, and without much ceremony pulled down his pants and boxers and began to jerk himself.

No fantasies this time. No imagining that it was the hands of someone else playing along his cock, no banging some Arrancar slut to get Kurosaki off his mind. He just needed to come, desperately, as soon as possible. His body was still fresh in his mind and that was enough to keep him hard and ignore his lack of finesse. Just rough and angry grabbing and pulling of his dick, a poor fucking mimicry of being inside a tight, hot virgin, but it hardly mattered. He pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear. It felt fucking good to listen in, especially when he heard the series of gasps and moans that he knew was Ichigo’s climax. He couldn’t think of anything at the moment that was hotter than the teenage object of his lust coming in a wet dream. Juvenile, dirty. He knew he liked it too much. He closed his eyes and he could almost see the strawberry in the throes of his finishing passion, white staining his boxers. Strawberries and cream…heh… He wished he knew someone else who would appreciate the joke. His hand moved faster now, the only vehicle of satisfaction he had. Not enough; he circled his cock with both hands and thrust through the crude imitation. With a grunt he finally fell to his knees and came. His release splashed against the floor, and he slumped. Peace.

~

He’d been tossing and turning all night, never sleeping or staying awake for too long, so waking and shifting in irritation didn’t alert him to anything strange. But the sticky wetness rubbing between his legs and on his sheets sure as hell did. Ichigo blanched and shot up in bed, and then scowled. He hadn’t had a wet dream in months and he wasn’t happy to discover it. He remembered with embarrassment glimpses of the dream, a man he'd never name doing things with his tongue that he hadn’t thought possible. He glanced at the floor. Grimmjow wasn’t on his pallet, but he could see a glimmer of light shining underneath the bathroom door.

His thoughts raced; if he hurried, he should be able to shove his old sheets and boxers into the wash and put on new ones before Grimmjow got out. He slipped out of bed and stepped out of his dirtied boxers with a slightly disgusted look on his face. Wet dreams were so fucking inconvenient. If Isshin ever noticed, he’d probably just get a disgusting congratulatory talk about growing up into a man. He wiped the excess semen from his legs and sheets with his boxers, figuring they were dirty anyway. He’d have to wait to wash until Grimm was out of the bathroom. He put on clean boxers and yanked off his sheets, before hurrying downstairs to the washer. He danced around the creaky spots in the floor and walked on the balls of his feet to stay quiet. The redhead had memorized the noises of his house a long, long time ago, back when he’d still sneak out to fight, or cared about getting caught violating his curfew. He stuffed his soiled sheets and boxers into the washer along with other dirty laundry so that the old man wouldn’t get suspicious. He even put detergent in so if, god forbid, Yuzu did the laundry, she wouldn’t have any reason to look inside.

Maybe he was being paranoid, but he was a private person, dammit. His little sister didn’t need to learn sex-ed or how to remove semen stains yet either, he thought with irritation. He grabbed fresh sheets from the linen closet and tip-toed into his room. He tucked the sheets in neatl hospital corners underneath his mattress, but then frowned. It looked suspicious. He yanked the corners and mussed the sheets until they looked wrinkled enough to be a teenager’s bed. Then he heard the click of the bathroom lock and jolted in surprise. He dived in underneath his covers and curled up, hoping, as the door opened, Grimmjow hadn’t noticed the flash of movement. He really didn’t need to give the arrogant bastard an excuse to start a conversation with him in the middle of the night.

His steps were heavy, and he took little care to be quiet. When he reached his pallet, it seemed from the loud thud that he just let himself fall down onto it. Grimmjow really was graceless. Time passed, and he didn’t find himself drifting off, instead staring at the window frame and waiting for sleepiness to arrive. It was just a little too cold, and that wasn’t helping any. He turned onto his other side and put his arm underneath his pillow in frustration. Grimmjow’s eyes were heavy and sleepy, but still open, and their eyes met for a moment. Ichigo just looked away with a “humph” before closing his eyes. Grimmjow’s gaze had been satisfied and attentive. …What an enigma. There was always too much going on when he looked at him. But… he felt warmer now all the same. His tension eased, and before long sleep’s embrace finally surrounded him.


~AN~

Hello! Hopefully this update makes up for the last decidedly short chapter. The writing is going much more smoothly now, so I think I have conquered my block. Enjoy! Critique! Review! Ra ra ra!