Angry at the World

“Ah, Kurosaki-san, Rukia-chan! Welcome!” Urahara sat on the floor of his shop, looking at Ichigo and Rukia with dancing eyes from behind his fan. Weirdo. Ichigo wondered how often, if ever, the shopkeeper put aside his strange façade and acted like himself. “And what brings you to my humble establishment?”

“We’re looking for Ishida,” Rukia replied with her arms crossed. Questioning Urahara could be like pulling teeth, even when he actually wanted to tell the information.“He’s been missing for two days. We know he’s alive, but we can’t trace him.”

“And you thought I might be able to?” Urahara asked mischievously. Ichigo looked at him reproachfully.

“We know you can. The question is whether or not you decide to tell us,” he said. The blonde man snapped his fan shut and looked up at Ichigo sadly. Ichigo didn’t think a man that old should be able to use puppy eyes.

“So little trust in me, Kurosaki-san! But I never…” Urahara paused in thought. Rukia knelt down and looked him in the eyes with something of a glare.

“Never lied to us?” She asked sweetly. The shopkeeper laughed and smiled, and avoided the subject. As usual.

“Well! That’s quite simple. Ishida-kun made quite the spiritual fuss when he went about disappearing, so I checked up on him. He’s staying with his father. I wouldn’t recommend making any calls, however. The father is even pricklier than the son, if you can believe that,” Urahara said liltingly, holding his hands out like there was nothing that could be done.

“You’d think the jerk would let us know,” Ichigo grumbled and walked out of the shop. Ishida was so cold and reserved he always forgot there was anyone in the outside world involved in his life, the jerk. Now he would be responsible for letting his girlfriend know where he was and cleaning up his mess. Rukia rolled her eyes and followed Ichigo after waving to Urahara.

“Byebye Kurosaki-saaan, enjoy yourself! Goodbye Rukia-chan,” he waved happily. Rukia caught up to Ichigo.

“Well, at least we know he’s safe,” she said. “No need to keep worrying about him.”

“Yeah, I know. You’d think he’d let his own—Dammit!” Ichigo said suddenly, and stopped with a grimace.

“What?” Rukia asked.

“I forgot to ask Urahara-san about Grimmjow. Like hell I’m going back and dealing with him though,” the strawberry said with a scowl. His companion raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you want to ask him about Grimmjow?” Ichigo kept scowling, and kicked at the ground.

“…I want to know why the hell he’s covering for him. He gave Grimmjow a gigai, clothes, even money. Why was he so damn generous to our enemy?” he asked. It was too suspicious, too unlike the former captain. He had to have a reason. Rukia sighed and started walking again, and the redhead followed.

“Well… It’s hard to guess Urahara’s motives most of the time. But if you think about it, it’s kind of like providing a body guard for you. Maybe he feels guilty about your constant involvement,” she offered. It sounded like she was grasping at straws.

“Guilty?” Ichigo clicked his tongue. “I doubt it. He’s meddling again. I don’t like it.”

“…You’re right. And his meddling doesn’t usually end well,” she acknowledged darkly. “Listen… I’m sorry about Grimmjow. But you’re dealing, right?” she didn’t look at him while she asked. It was sort of an unspoken agreement; her looking at him would be admitting she was worried, and Ichigo looking back would be acknowledging there something to worry about. This way they could pretend everything was fine.

“Ha, of course I am. I may even be civilizing the beast. …Actually, he gets along pretty well with Yuzu. He hates it at first and his face gets all screwed up while he’s trying to ignore her, but then he caves and dotes on her worse than my old man. All while growlin’, of course,” he said with a laugh. Rukia blinked and looked at the redhead, and he shifted uncomfortably. She probably knew. Too much detail, too much that she didn’t ask about. Don’t judge me.

“Let me know, Ichigo,” she told him with a smirk. Thank you, Rukia.

“Duh.”

~

Nieronaut observed his intricate surroundings with acute attention. Szayel Aporro Grantz’s domain. The bespectacled man with the unnerving smile had disappeared after giving the new Arrancar his clothes, leaving Asterlindt to carefully and suspiciously inspect the scientist’s lab. He didn’t trust the space that echoed with screams, groans and faraway hisses.

His white jacket was high collared and long sleeved, but stopped just as his ribs began. It was comfortable despite the unusual and exposed design. His pants were the normal blooming cloth that other Arrancar often wore, and his Zanpakuto-- one long, straight sword and a short, thin blade-- hung crossed on his left hip. His partner, he acknowledged with a degree of affection.

The boy was to wait there for Szayel while he finished securing his lab, but the lack of activity was wearing thin. He wasn’t the type to sit still and do nothing even when ordered. So he tapped his curiously well managed nails along the hilt of his sword and began to walk, peering at vials of viscous liquids and small orbs of stabilized reiatsu. The Espada’s research was more innocent than he thought, Niero acknowledged. There didn’t seem to be anything dying or being tortured. And even if there was, he would be free of the man soon. Soft tapping behind him caught his attention, and he turned to see the elegant Szayel. Nieronaut looked at the floor from behind his hair, one purple eye peering out to inspect the Espada. The pink-haired scientist chuckled.

“Did I frighten you, Nieronaut? I’m sorry, I’m used to stepping quietly. It’s not normally a bad habit to have for someone like me,” he paused to look Asterlindt up and down. His gaze was tangible, and uncomfortable. As though he were poking and grabbing and prodding the Arrancar like an animal. “You look quite nice in those,” Szayel told him smoothly. “…You’re a beautiful boy. Almost interesting enough for me to take as one of my Fraccion, I think,” he said, talking more to himself. Niero’s pride was stung, but only privately. He knew better than to show his feelings to an erratic and powerful master. His fingers gracefully extended to grasp Nieronaut’s chin and turn his face upwards. His touch felt like a hissing chemical burn.

When Niero looked up at the Espada without expression, Szayel’s wicked smile widened and his fingers trailed the boy’s face to his right eye. It felt like a line of crackling, venomous damage.

“Silver and purple. How peculiar. Tell me boy, does it serve a purpose?” The scientist asked more forcefully, and leaned down to look more closely at his unusual gray eye. Szayel spoke kindly and ingratiatingly, but still he seemed untrustworthy. Too interested.“I don’t think any other Arrancar have this trait. I know animals are capable of it through genetic malfunction, though not with these colors,” he murmured. He angled his head, staring closely at Nieronaut’s eye. Niero decided not to warn him.

The Espada was struck still as death. His pupils widened, his hands started to shake.

Niero barely avoided losing his eye as the Espada lashed out and snarled in rage. Blood splattered against the wall and floor. Horrible stinging pain, rage, sadism, raw enjoyment and curiosity in destruction. Vicious, sickening lust. Nieronaut gasped and bent over in pain, one hand covering his damaged silver eye, only catching some of the blood that dripped from his wound. The Espada was a madman. He needed to get away from here.

“You bastard,” he choked. Szayel breathed heavily, but flipped his hair back and straightened himself, looking more calm and arrogant than ever.

“…How…Unusual, Niero. And unfortunate. You are going to find that I am not very giving, but today I will be generous. You managed to save that eye, so I won’t take it from you. Yet.”

“You are a monster,” the brown-haired Arrancar said, but his voice did not sound like his own. Szayel stiffened again.

“Know your place, fraccion.” Niero growled gutturally and his hand flashed to his sword. It was an inch out of its sheath before Szayel’s hand was outstretched over his already injured eye. “I would hate to rip it out, Niero-chan,” he told him, voice dripping with poisonous sweetness. “So please indulge me and put that silly thing back.” The brown-haired Arrancar paused, prompting the Espada to dig his nails into his wound. He gasped and let his sword drop, and then dropped to his knees.

“Please, please… fix it,” he begged and covered his eye again. Blood seeped out of his eyelids, burning and stinging, and the raked wounds around it throbbed. Szayel regarded him carefully, before reaching across a counter to grab a rag and throw it at him.

“Clean up your mess. I’ll be back,” he said dismissively, and left. Niero grabbed the rag as if it were a boon and pressed it to his eye desperately.

For a moment, Nieronaut Asterlindt had been Szayel Aporro Grantz, and in that moment he had learned to be terrified.

He knew that for now there was no escape.

~

Grimmjow lay in waiting. He wasn’t normally that cunning, and he didn’t normally think ahead. But he’d forgotten Ichigo’s stupid, stubborn pride, and was determined not to lose this particular battle. Ichigo walked into his room, and rolled his eyes at the sight of the Espada.

“Hey shithead,” he said, and set his bag down in the corner.

“Hey bitch,” Grimmjow replied casually.

“Why are you even still here? You said you were leaving, and you’ve got no good reason to stay,” Ichigo growled. Grimmjow stood up and walked over to the redhead.

“I’m still here cause I haven’t gotten what I wanted yet,” he said seriously.

“Fuck. Off.” Ichigo said. The punk was always looking at him like that. Like he was in control. Well, Grimmjow was here to show him otherwise. Show him what he really wanted.

“Fuck me you mean?” He grabbed Ichigo’s shirt and pulled him close. “You’re forgettin’ something Ichigo, that you’re mine, and it ain’t about what you want unless I say so,” Grimmjow told him with a sneer. Ichigo’s eyes were blazing.

“I don’t belong to you, you fucking bastard!” Ichigo snarled and grabbed Grimmjow’s fist and dug in.

“I tolerate your existence cause you’re a good fuck, dumbass,” he told him. He didn’t have feelings beyond the negative, and if he did, they’d be irrelevant anyway. That was the reality in Hueco Mundo.

It wasn’t the truth, but Ichigo was too much a softie. This had to be dealt with now, and if Grimmjow could get his rocks off at the same time, all the better.

“Do you know how to do something besides be a two-faced fucker?” the Shinigami asked, rage seething in his voice.

“You really believed I want to protect ya and hold ya forever and ever?” Grimmjow let out a harsh bark of laughter as Ichigo’s eyes widened. “You need a fuckin’ reality check. I say that sappy shit cause you’re like a woman, Ichigo,” he told him, voice slippery smooth. “You blush and get all soft the moment I act like I give a shit, and then you’re an easy lay,” Some of it was a lie. He knew he was stabbing the teen with his insults, but he couldn’t stop putting salt in the wound. He’d be fine anyway, he told himself as Ichigo began shaking in rage.

“So it’s just fucking after all,” he said in a low voice.

“Of course it’s fucking, Ichigo,” Grimmjow told him, and kissed him harshly. Ichigo fought the kiss, but Grimmjow crushed him against his chest with his arms.

“I hate you,” he gasped when Grimmjow pulled away. Hate me hate me kill me hate me. Figure out what you signed up for, kid.

“I want you to,” The Espada snarled and bit his lip. “Get it yet?” He slid his tongue back into Ichigo’s mouth, and he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying Grimmjow’s smooth tongue. Grimmjow knew that. He knew everything the stupid fucking redhead hated about himself, and it was everything Grimmjow could bring out of him. Eye on the prize; he had a goal in mind, and he couldn’t let it out of his sights. The Arrancar kept one arm crushingly tight around Ichigo while the other worked its way past his waistband.

“Let go of me!” Ichigo’s voice held a touch of panic— but Grimmjow knew it wasn’t primal “stop it” fear. It was “what have I become” fear. His specialty. His hand wrapped around Ichigo’s member, already partially erect, and he smirked. Banging a sack of hormones really had its speedy advantages.

“It’s about time you admitted you don’t give a shit about fighting and fucking, Berry. It turns you on and it’s time you got used to fucking me,” he bragged, and began pumping the Shinigami. His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned. Grimmjow finally released him and kissed him deeply, and began playing more gently along his length with his fingers, teasing and pulling.

Ichigo didn’t try to pull away, and kissed him back.

“Do ya like it?” Grimmjow asked, eyes glinting. Ichigo glared, panting. Grimmjow squeezed him, and he groaned again. “Tell me,” he commanded. The redhead blushed and kept glaring.

“I like it,” he said, and looked away from the Espada. Grimmjow leaned in to kiss his neck softly, sucking between his neck and shoulder.

“Not so bad is it… Shouldn’t make me be so mean t’ya,” he said quietly. He ran his thumb over the head of Ichigo’s cock, making him writhe.

“Make you be mean?!” He gasped. “You’re an asshole!”

“Y’should be able to admit y’like this without me practically forcin’ you,” Grimmjow growled.

“F…fine,” he admitted, still struggling as Grimm began pumping him faster. “Holy shit…”

“Keep telling me how it feels,” Grimmjow whispered sensuously in his ear. He loved hearing the Shinigami talk dirty. It made him blush and it made the Espada horny as fuck. It was control, it was hearing how good he was. It was stroking his ego, and his ego might as well be his cock.

“You’re disgusting…” Ichigo muttered. Defiant little bitch. Grimmjow pressed his thumb into his slit and he moaned. “Feels…” he struggled, embarrassed. “Good, nnn…” If he was still embarrassed, he was too much of himself. Grimmjow began biting and making hickeys on his strawberry’s neck, and carefully ran his nails along Ichigo’s cock. “Shit,” he breathed. Enough of that.

Grimmjow took his hand out of Ichigo’s pants, grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him chest down onto his desk.

“What the hell Grimmjow?” He asked. Quickly now. The Espada grabbed the belt he’d been saving just for this, and pulled Ichigo’s arms back. It was an easy, devious idea that he was going to love and the Strawberry was going to hate, which made Grimmjow love it all the more. He grabbed his wrists and began tying the belt around them. But Grimmjow forgot that Ichigo was an asshole, and Ichigo brought him speeding back into reality by kicking back viciously into the blue-haired man’s crotch. It was a low…fucking…horrible…blow.

“Fuck!” He yelled, voice cracking, and dropped to his knees. Ichigo, furious, turned and punched him in the face, sending him sprawling. Fucking bitch! He was just trying to help the stupid repressed little bitch figure out what he liked, try a little adventure, and enjoy himself before he was put on a bi-monthly fuck schedule.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” Ichigo yelled and sat on the Espada’s chest. He pulled him up by his shirt and punched him again. “Make up your fucking mind! And don’t!” Another punch. It was starting to hurt. “Treat me like a thing to be manipulated!” Okay, point taken. “You don’t need to—“

“Ichigoooo?” The annoying old man peered into the room. Bad timing. “Everything going okay with you twoooo?”

“…Yeah dad,” Ichigo replied calmly, not dropping Grimmjow or his raised fist.

“Okay! Take care!” he said with a wave, and shut the door. What the fuck kind of father thought this was normal? He was still busy thinking when Ichigo punched him again. Grimmjow grinned, a line of blood trailing down his chin. Feisty.

“Did I mention this is why I like this arrangement, Ichi?”

“ You don’t have to force me, goddammit! You just need to use your fucking brain! Can you do that?” He asked scornfully and punched him again. So…Be… …thoughtful?

“I…S’pose I could try,” Grimmjow muttered. “Will y’let me fuck you when I come back?” Ichigo looked like he was struggling with the answer. The teen was such a typically moral little hero despite his indiscretions that sex was practically like committing a felony. Grimmjow hoped he’d done enough convincing to the contrary by now.

“…Fine,” he muttered. Grimmjow grinned widely. Success.

“Fuckbuddies it is,” he said. Ichigo glared. “Now, can we continue where we left off?” he asked and reached for the redhead’s crotch.

“No!” He grabbed his hand to stop him, and got off of his chest.

“C’mon, we’ll make it a quickie.”

“…Quickie?”

“Are you serious?” Grimmjow looked at him with disbelief. “Shit,” he muttered, and pushed Ichigo to the bed. “This is happening whether you like it or not.” This time, Ichigo looked like his curiosity was peaked. So he didn’t fight, finally. Not until Grimmjow put him onto his stomach again.

“I don’t want you to…from behind!” The Espada grabbed the lube he’d bought, and rubbed Ichigo through his pants to placate him. He found it hard to struggle while he was squirming in pleasure, which the Arrancar had been counting on.

“If it’s a quickie, then this is how it’s going, now shut up so I can fuck ya,” he said. He tugged down the redhead’s pants just enough to show his ass, and quickly began rubbing him with lube.

“This is a… little fast…” he panted with worry. But Grimmjow knew better, he thought smugly. A little curiosity and a little pleasure after a little fight, and the strawberry was as game as a sorority slut.

“Quickie, fuckhead,” Grimmjow told him, and pulled down his own pants to rub himself. “You’ll be moanin’ like a whore now that you’ve got lube,” he said.

“I don’t think whores moan as much as you like t’say. And hey, what about the rest of our clo--” Ichigo was talking too much again, and it was supposed to be a quickie. So Grimmjow interrupted him by spreading apart his ass, and shoving himself in with one thrust. He yelled loudly in pain and surprise.

“Ichigoooo! Is everything alriiiight?” The annoying old man called from downstairs. Oh shit. Arrancar and Shinigami both froze, though Ichigo was still wincing in pain. He panted, and then took a deep breath.

“Still fighting! Stay out of it!” He bellowed, and then fell down onto his stomach. Grimmjow was impressed he’d managed to sound composed. “That fucking…hurts Grimmjow!” he hissed, and squeezed his eyes shut. The blue-haired man supposed even those times before he’d been a little gentler. …Eh. It was a quickie. Grimmjow grabbed his hips and began thrusting forcefully. Ichigo exhaled harshly, and propped himself back up on his forearms. “Shit…” It lacked some of the delicious friction of their previous interactions, but the warming lube was smooth and had its own appeal. It was enough to shut Ichigo up about the pain for a little while. Not that he minded if he made noise about it though, because he loved when he could make the redhead do anything. He pulled out and slammed back in, enough to force Ichigo forward a little every time.

The teen was finally getting the hang of his end of the deal, Grimmjow noted with relish, and clenched and pushed back against him. Damn it was hot to fuck with clothes on. If only they could’ve been in some other place, like the school bathroom earlier or better, just outside someone’s bedroom door, it would be goddamn amazing. He hadn’t really been lying to Renji—he was a voyeur exhibitionist extraordinaire and he loved watching the body in front of him moan, loved the idea of owning the Shinigami.

He pumped harder, quicker now, concentrating more on the action at hand than his thoughts. He could tell from Ichigo’s quick breath that his release was approaching fast, and an idea struck him. He couldn’t stop himself. He had what he wanted, and now he had to test his boundaries. Payback was a bitch.

“Ichigo,” he said breathlessly, and leaned down close to his ear, still thrusting. “Are you close?”

“Y-yeah,” the teen replied heavily, lust finally consuming his shyness.

“Y’wanna come?” Grimmjow asked devilishly, and slammed into Ichigo hard. He groaned.

“Of course I do, you bastard,” he replied in between breaths. Grimmjow buried himself deeply, and then stopped thrusting. Ichigo made a small noise of disappointment. Grimmjow. It was like wiggling a lose tooth. Like biting nails. Tonguing a wound.

“If you wanna come,” the Espada whispered. “Then y’have to call me ‘daddy,’” he said, and wrapped his hand around Ichigo’s cock.

“S-son of a bitch! That’s—that’s…” He protested, and Grimmjow moved his hips from side to side, just barely moving inside Ichigo. “I’m not going to call you that dammit!”

“Just this once, c’mon,” Grimmjow purred, and ran his hand up and down Ichigo’s member. “Just ask daddy to please fuck you and you can come,” he said, and took away his hand. Ichigo shuddered at the denial of pleasure.

“You’re sick,” he whispered, clutching his sheets.

“We both already know that, and I can hold out…”Grimmjow pulled out and thrust just once. “for way longer than you can,” he told him smugly.

“This is just…another power game…” Ichigo said through gritted teeth. Grimmjow slowly thrust into him again.

“I just love hearing you talk dirty,” he whispered again. “Makes me so hot…” He knew Ichigo must be blushing, but despite being an asshole, the opportunity to please the Espada had to be tempting. The opportunity to make him feel anything at all, and it would make the Shinigami feel like a superhero. “Do it,” he insisted again. The teen’s head dropped in front of him, and his muscles tensed.

“…Daddy,” he muttered. Grimmjow thrust once, hard.

“Daddy what?” He said harshly.

“…Daddy, please…fuck me,” he finished softly, and Grimmjow was back to thrusting into him with a steady pace, hands gripping his hips. He was closer than he’d let Ichigo think. Just a little more… He reached around to grab Ichigo’s erection to pump again, and he moaned.

“Keep…Keep saying it,” Grimmjow demanded, and leaned heavily on Ichigo’s back, his thrusts faster and shallower.

“Oh shit…d-daddy,” he whispered. “Daddy!” He cried out and then bit his lip viciously as Grimmjow tauntingly pulled on the head of his cock.

“Good boy,” he panted. So fucking close. He was fucking him quick now, shoving his hips forward with wanton abandon. Smooth and wet and good. Grimmjow threw his head back and groaned in pleasure as Ichigo came and tightened around him. The strawberry collapsed forward, breathing heavily, and Grimmjow stayed on his knees for a moment, unwilling to move. Then with a scowl on his face, he withdrew and pulled up his pants. That should be enough to keep the stupid kid off his mind for a little while, he thought. The Espada moved to his pallet and fell into a quick, dreamless sleep.

~

“If I could kill ‘im, I would,” Renji muttered. The tattooed Shinigami and his childhood friend sat on a street curb as the evening cooled, leaning back on their hands and for the most part, enjoying silence. Rukia sighed, and skipped a rock across the road.

“You’d be really dumb if you followed through with that,” she commented. Renji whipped his head to look at her.

“What? He’s our enemy!” He exclaimed as though that covered all bases. Rukia looked over at him and smirked.

“I’m sure Ichigo would approve of your interference,” she said sweetly, and Renji scowled.

“He’d get over it. All the bastard does is tear at him,” he muttered darkly. He wouldn’t mention what he’d heard in the bathroom to Rukia, to spare Ichigo. And himself.

Though Rukia was quite certain she already knew what was going on.

“Won’t stop needling him and trying to touch him like some pervert,” he continued.

“I didn’t know redheads could get over injuries to their pride…” she murmured while inspecting a rock.

“Aw, shut up,” he brayed. “Ichigo’d kill him too if he could.” Rukia stayed silent and skipped another rock. Renji grimaced. “He isn’t that stupid. He won’t let Grimmjow live once he gets the chance.”

“…Are you already forgetting how much things aren’t black and white, Renji?” she looked up and asked. Memories of her execution must have faded so quickly.

“Well this is!” He said and threw his own rock down at the road, shattering it.

“…Grimmjow is proof that Arrancar have feelings. Maybe not the best kind, but emotion all the same. I can’t imagine that some of them aren’t chafing under Aizen’s rule,” she thought out loud. Grimmjow was also proof of insanity and wild mood swings and bizarre instances of kindness, some of which made no sense at all in a Hollow.

“You think Grimmjow is going to fight against Aizen because of Ichigo!?” Renji asked angrily. Rukia’s eyebrows pressed together in thought, and she looked over her companion again. Such one-note thinking.

“…That isn’t really what I said, but…he could be part of the reason.”

“… I’m obvious, aren’t I,” Renji said in a monotone while looking off at the horizon.

“To everyone but him,” Rukia replied softly. And me to everyone except you.

“…What should I do, Rukia?” He asked without looking at her. It was as open as he could get, and of course it was discussing his crush. Rukia’s luck couldn’t be expected to be much better than that.

“You know that…Everybody’s got a piece of Ichigo’s heart, don’t you? Sometimes I wonder if he could understand real love. I don’t think he’s genuinely felt it since his mother has died,” she said.

“That ain’t an answer at all. And besides, what about you!? You’re like siblings!”

“ That’s different. And it’s not like he’s receptive to deep feelings very often. I’d say he’s very inclined to reject them.”

“I know that stuff! That still ain’t an answer!” Renji protested.

“…Grimmjow opens him up to those feelings by…I don’t know, being himself, being completely feral. Ichigo doesn’t think he needs to watch himself much around someone like that, so he doesn’t--” Renji stood up quickly, and she stopped talking to look at him questioningly.

“Don’t finish that. It’s not true,” he growled. Oh dear.

“Renji, I’m not saying they’re in--”

“Shut up!” He interrupted her again. “I’ve had enough of this conversation. I’m goin’ back to Urahara’s,” he said, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“…Bye Renji,” she said, and looked off in the distance again.

“See you,” he muttered and walk away, stung, like a child denied a sweet. I guess it’s my own fault anyway. I just hope that someone, anyone in this mess gets to be happy eventually.