Stars

Divinyl

Grimmjow leaned back in a chair, playing with a knife between his fingers. The desk in front of him was marked by numerous carvings; sixes in tally marks and roman numerals, a vicious looking cat, a penis, what seemed to be a picture Ulquiorra giving Aizen Sousuke a blowjob, an angry face with Cirucci Thunderwitch’s hair and a speech bubble saying “BITCH BITCH BITCH,” another penis, a giant x, and areas where chips of wood had been stabbed or gouged out.

“You cutting yourself cause you’re so sad, kitty cat?” Cirucci’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“Don’t come into my room without askin’, you crazy whore,” Grimmjow said flatly.

“But I’m so bored,” she complained in an entitled tone as she walked to his desk and jumped up to sit on it. In a flash Grimmjow’s knife was stabbing down towards her legs; it landed with a solid “thunk” into the desk, in between Cirucci’s suddenly parted legs. “Naughty today, I guess,” she looked at him with raised eyebrows. He grunted in response, and looked at the wall. “What’s your problem?” she demanded, and pulled the knife out of the wood. He hoped she knew well enough to give it back.

“Nothin’,” he responded, and let his chair settle back down onto the floor.

“Aizen-sama make you kneel again?” She cooed, reaching out to put two fingers underneath Grimmjow’s chin. He batted her hand away viciously. As if she remembered that feeling; Aizen didn’t give a flying fuck about the Privaron Espada.“Orders not to fight?” She lay across his desk like a pin-up girl, supporting her head with her hand.

“I’m just thinkin’ ‘bout things, go the fuck away,” he waved his hand at her with irritation. He was trying to reconcile here. How to fight and fuck the gorgeous redhead without getting my ass kicked or killed, either for disobeying orders, getting caught, or pissing him off. Little bitch has a temper. He didn’t want Kurosaki to end up dead either.

And then there was the fucking rumor that Aizen wanted the kid in Las Noches. He couldn’t decide if that were bad or good yet.

“You don’t think about things, Grimmy,” she drawled while tracing her finger in a circle on the desktop.

“Don’t call me Grimmy, and get outta my fuckin’ room already. I don’t wanna fuck ya or put up with your shit today,” he growled and finally looked at her. She just looked vaguely annoyed now.

“Good thing we don’t fuck on your schedule, you fickle bastard,” she replied haughtily, and sat up. “I’ve heard who you fought, Six. Everyone’s abuzz about it, and how Aizen’s pet wouldn’t let you kill him. Why don’t you tell me about him?” She asked coolly. His eyes narrowed. “Oh please little boy blue, you think I don’t know your type by now? Redhead, fighter,” she put up fingers imperiously as she named traits. “Temper, underage, and of course, off-limits. You get off when strong people expose their weaknesses to you, and you want what you can’t have.”

“Did I ask t’get my head shrunk? Am I wearin’ a sign that says ‘annoy me and kick me in the balls?’” He demanded. She sighed heavily, and stepped down onto the floor.

“I’m trying to warn you. If I know, don’t you think Gin or Aizen do too?” He didn’t want to show it, but that hadn’t occurred to him. The realization froze his gut. They were always ten steps ahead, and whatever they were going to do, they’d already decided. “And if there’s one thing Ichimaru likes, it’s taking away the things you want,” she finished quietly, and walked to the door.

“…It’s not my fault the kid’s fucking hot,” Grimmjow growled as some strange form of apology. Cirucci smirked to herself.

“Set me up on a date with him some time, Grimmy!” She called out in sing-song voice as she left.

“Only if ya ever get off the fuckin’ rag, you heinous cuntrock!”

~

Ichigo curled up tightly on his bed, breathing hard, sweat starting to shine on his back and chest.

“Nnn… Unh…” His head jerked back painfully, cracking his neck, but he didn’t care. His left hand gripped the windowsill, trying to stabilize his body. Legs splayed every which way, trembling, toes curling and catching on his sheets. Another frustrated whine made its way past his vocal chords. Fuck. His groin was filled with sick, wet and burning heat. He thrust his hips up into his smooth, lotioned hand but it was hardly productive.

Jeagerjacques had been right, Ichigo wasn’t the type to masturbate much. But the next night in bed, his fantasies had crept up on him, and now he was helpless, caught in the throes of drugged pleasure, where the goodness that shot up with every pump of his hand just wasn’t enough. He’d never had so much trouble reaching orgasm before, and it was starting to drive him mad with need. He imagined Grimmjow above him, nearly yanking on his member, tracing sharp trails down his face and chest with his nails. That hand closed around his throat, cutting his off his air. Tighter, tighter. The man’s face was manic concentration, still pumping him, still thrusting himself against Ichigo’s leg.

“Please,“ Ichigo whispered past the crushing hand. Then Grimmjow’s hands clenched, and with a moan he moved and came across Ichigo’s chest. Two more hard thrusts into the cavern of the Espada’s hand and his breath caught. Then he moaned, and finally he came, hot and viscous inside his hand. Again, again. Too much, he thought numbly, as his hips rode out the pleasure. Worth it. His body slackened in relief.

There was no blue-haired Espada above him, no one else’s hands. The hand still rubbing his arousal would be longer, thinner, stronger. Ichigo could still feel his cock weeping, and he willed his hand to stop. He couldn’t take having to go through that again, not when it took so long, when it was so torturous. Not when it wasn’t the real thing. His cramped left hand reached over to his nightstand for a tissue, and he shoved his lotion in a drawer and closed it. No one else needed to know about the shame that was settling heavy underneath his ribs.

He’s a Hollow. And a fucking good fighter, and…really good at ... He cleaned himself and settled the offending tissue underneath other trash—he could never be too paranoid when it came to Goat Face. So it’s a dirty secret. It has to be, ‘cause… …I don’t think I could say no. The lines on his face deepened. He obviously means to come back, and I obviously want him to. Traitorous voices again. I wish he were here now. He wanted a body next to him. It isn’t anything. It had been such a quick addiction. Too bad he’d probably chosen the worst and most unreliable possible focus for it. He would keep hoping that Jeagerjacques, somewhere in that body, had some kindness that hadn’t been ripped out with his Chain of Fate.

Fuck I hate being sentimental.