Angry at the World
With Cruel Speed
The sixth Espada had been far crueler than the tenth Espada. I wanted him to cry, to break. Grimmjow closed his eyes as he sneered. He couldn’t hate himself for the past—Ichigo didn’t even do that. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve forgiven him, maybe he was stupid, too idealistic. But he did it, and there was something there past fucking now, whether he wanted it or not. Ichigo was too good for anyone else to have or touch, that was what he’d keep with him. Honor. The boy still bothered with honor? After what Grimmjow had done to him, he had come back. Of course he had come back.
What had he been thinking, coming back here? But he had returned, stumbling into his fake human body and nearly bleeding to death, living only because the boy he’d tortured had enough decency to grant him mercy.
Mercy was always humiliating.
Ichigo’s breath was soft, his hand clutched the cloth of Grimmjow’s shirt. The irrational, fuming part of him wanted to break the peace, destroy something, do anything, but he wouldn’t. Maybe because this is actually real. Nothing to run from, nothing I have t’create. It’s already mine, ain’t it? Don’t have t’kill anything right now, don’t feel like it.
He leaned in to smell his hair—there was his shampoo, something fresh and minty with a hint of spice. He moved his face to Ichigo’s shirt; the familiar smell of detergent and fabric softener, the remnants of a heady cologne he had sprayed on haphazardly the day before. Two other spots of scent were there also, the fresh berry scents of his sisters hair. And there, he inhaled more deeply; the sweaty musk that was Ichigo himself, heavy with sweat and hormones. It was…agonizing. His phantom arm ached—the scents that triggered a response horribly familiar to home made him want to pull Ichigo’s body closer, touch as much skin as he could, and with his arm gone he couldn’t. He felt sick with these feelings, they were too sudden, too strange. He wasn’t sure he wanted them, yet it seemed like the fuckers were there to stay.
Grimmjow grunted softly as he reached for the painkillers the old man had left him. One or two pops ought to make him feel better.
He sighed and settled back down on the bed. I’m gonna be sick’n useless for awhile, so I might as well get used to it. I s’pose I could be nice about it…or I could make Ichigo wait on me hand’n’foot’n be a jackass. …Fuck, I’m hurt. I get whatever I damn well please, he decided smugly. His hand reached around Ichigo and rested against the small of his back. Why did everything about him have to be so fucking tantalizing? His scent, his hair, his reiatsu always reaching out and pressing down, surrounding him, but never in the horrible, threatening way that Aizen’s did. Never like that shitface Aizen.
“The Kurosaki boy.” Ulquiorra’s voice rang in his head and put his body on edge. “This should teach you not to harm our prospects.” No. You don’t fucking touch what’s mine, four. Not you or Aizen, neither one a you fucks gets to touch my prey. He couldn’t help the feral look of hate that was etched into his face as he pulled Ichigo tight against him once more.
They can’t have him.
~
Ichigo’s breath came and went in heated bursts, the timing uncontrollable while Grimmjow’s body covered his and their mouths fought for dominance. His hands dove into the man’s wild blue hair and pressed his face closer—he wasn’t close enough, he ached from his groin to the top of his head. He’d known where this would go when they started kissing each other again, when they’d stared at each other like the other was on fire and then lunged. And he knew they wouldn’t be able to have sex, and he thought he would be able to deal with it.
“Fuck, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said through his teeth and shoved him back on his bed. He pressed his groin against Grimmjow’s thigh, riding against the cloth, desperate for something and unable to do anything more because of the Espada’s stupid broken hip.
“You want it bad, don’t you?” he growled and pulled the redhead down to him by his shirt, and licked from his neck to his jaw line.
“Don’t act like you’re any better,” Ichigo bit back before kissing again.
“ICHIGOOOO!” Isshin’s voice rang out from inside the Kurosaki house. Surprise, embarrassment, and sudden shame from hearing the old man’s voice made Ichigo shoot up like a rocket. He lost his balance and fell from the narrow hospital bed to the floor.
“Agh, shit!” He cursed, and slowly got to his feet.
“Fucking…” Grimmjow muttered. Ichigo braced himself again the counter, preparing for the worst. “That voice is a goddamn boner killer--”
“ICHIGO!” Isshin declared once more, and kicked open the door jubilantly. He’s been nice. The timing isn’t his fault, the timing isn’t his fault. “My wonderful first born!” Confident that shock had dissipated the visible signs of his arousal, Ichigo steeled himself and turned around to face his father with a trademark, though lighter than usual, scowl.
“What is it Old Man?” He asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.
“Well Ichigo,” Isshin said as he walked over to his son and clapped him heavily on the back. “I’ve been noticing lately that you and your friend are… a little violent,” Grimmjow snorted. “You’ve always been getting into scuffles and scrapes, but now I’ve decided to help you out in becoming safer!” Ichigo looked at his father calculatingly, while Grimmjow abandoned all pretenses of paying attention. “So I got you a gift!” Goat Face declared, beaming.
“A gift?” The redhead asked suspiciously.
“A gift!” Isshin reiterated proudly. He grabbed Ichigo’s hand and put something in it. “I want both of you to stay safe, even if I can’t stop you fighting all the time!” He pulled his hand away, and Ichigo looked down to see what his father had given him.
“Ha!” A bark of laughter from Grimmjow.
“You see, my son, even if you’re in--”
Condoms.
“An exclusive relationship with your partner--”
Condoms.
“It never hurts to wrap things up, because--” Lubed condoms. Flavored condoms.
“Ha…Hahaha!”
“After all, you don’t know where he’s been!” Isshin finished. Then he dug another handful of condoms from his coat pocket and gave them to Ichigo. “I know you’re not magnum, but I wasn’t sure about your partner’s size, or who was doing what, so…” So he’d given Ichigo every size. Small, medium, large, magnum, sheepskin, different colors. So many fucking different colors.
“AHAHAHAHAHA!” Grimmjow was clutching his sides and alternately howling in pain from laughing so hard. Isshin smiled widely at his son, who was quickly turning the same shade as his wild hair.
“You don’t…like them?” Isshin asked, nonplussed.
“…OUT!” Ichigo finally yelled.
“What?”
“OUT, you dirty bastard!” He grabbed his father by his coat collar and threw him out the door. “What kind of father --!?” Words failed him, and he chucked the offending objects at Isshin and slammed the door shut. Then he turned his glare at Grimmjow. “Stop laughing goddammit!” The Espada was still laughing uproariously. Ichigo could almost imagine the jaw of his hollow mask separating, as was usual with his fits.
“Ha! Hahaha! Your dad knows we’re fucking! And he bought you magnums so I could fuck you in the ass!” The door swung open once more to reveal Isshin’s hopeful face, before Grimmjow was hurled into it and the door was slammed with finality.
~
It was a very quiet afternoon in Hueco Mundo, an excellent time for exploring.
Sweat beaded on a little green-haired girl’s forehead as she shuffled up the long circular stairwell. The bleached white tower had been somebody else’s home once--Nel could tell from the dust and sand blown into every crevice and the huge hole in one of the bedrooms--but it was empty now. That made the unknown tower a good home for the girl and her brothers, she decided. No one would ever find them there.
~
“What, uh…y’know, happened here?” Renji asked with a furrowed brow, surveying the Kurosaki’s disordered kitchen. Isshin was looking like a kicked puppy, still covered in splinters from a broken chair, and Grimmjow lay on the floor with an eerily satisfied smile. The house had finally reached a level of silence Ichigo could approve of.
“Nothing,” Ichigo growled.
“Last night--”
“Him,” the teen growled again, pointing at Grimmjow.
“Meee!” Grimmjow declared, raising his hand.
“…What did you do to him?” Rukia asked, engrossed.
“I resent that, darling,” the Espada drawled, and Rukia drew back, startled.
“I feel sick,” Renji muttered, and Isshin sniffed a little.
“My son decided to throw the injured Jonathan Grimm at me through the door, so he’s on a higher dose of painkillers than is normal,” Goat Face said. Grimmjow shot Renji a queasy looking smile, and then winked. Renji looked horrified.
“I think we should go,” Ichigo suggested firmly, and Rukia nodded. Grimmjow suddenly looked disconsolate.
“But I don’t want to stay here by myseeelf… I wanna go with the guys… have a good time…”
“You can’t fucking walk!” Ichigo told him irritably.
“Then carry me,” Puppy eyes. That didn’t settle well with the Shinigami’s stomach, or his brain. Rukia covered her mouth with both hands, to hide a gasp or laughter he wasn’t sure.
“N-no!” He protested.
“…I’m gettin’ freaked out, Ichigo,” Renji said, taking slow steps back towards the door.
“Aw, but I like ya, Tats. I really wuz offerin’ t’share that one time, y’know,” Grimmjow said while staring at the ceiling. Renji reddened and took a half-step out the door as Rukia shot him a look that was both conspiratorial and condemning.
“…Whatever Grimm, we’re gonna go, you’re staying here. Maybe if Inoue is feeling generous she’ll stop by to heal your stupid, sorry ass,” he said with a scowl. Renji winced and stepped outside as he heard the nickname.
“Ichiii…” Grimmjow whined quietly. Ichigo sighed.
“I’ll be back later, okay? Dad, don’t give him anymore drugs for fuck’s sake,” he finished irritably before closing the door behind him, ignoring Isshin’s command to watch his language.
~
“You’re resilient, I’ll give you that,” Szayel said dryly as he peeled off his dirty gloves. “And stupid, too. It would have been much less painful if only you’d gone along with the analysis.” Niero kept his hope, and his reiatsu, clamped tightly. He felt like the slightest hint of it would attract the sadistic man like a bee to pollen, and he would never have a chance to escape. No one here could know what he could do, at least, not now.“Go on recovering, if you can. I have something more important to take care of at the moment,” The Espada said wearily, and walked away. Maybe, just maybe, Nieronaut hoped, Szayel had lost interest in him.
Just maybe he had enough time to escape now.
His skin was burned from exposure to raw reiatsu, his joints swollen, skin bloody from Eight’s attempts to coax him into willingness. But as he settled inside himself, it was all irrelevant. He took slow, deep breaths, meditating, focusing.
Szayel was arrogant and suspicious. There were no keys, no locks in his domain, not even on Niero’s restraints. It was all tied to his unique reiatsu, so no one could ever interfere.
That is, if you work under the premise that no one can mold their power to copy your own. The Arrancar’s bindings opened with a soft click.
~
The three slowly made their way towards Inoue Orihime’s apartment and Soul Society’s impromptu real world headquarters.
“Was that really because of painkillers, Ichigo?” Rukia asked suspiciously. He grimaced in response.
“You don’t even know. He was like that for an hour before you showed and it was weird as hell.”
“Weird doesn’t even cover it, he winked at me!” Renji protested, still in a bit of disbelief.
“Winking? Really, you think that’s the worst thing he could do?” The other redhead asked skeptically, eyebrows raised.
“Normally he wants me dead!” The tattooed man argued.
“That’s not really different from anyone else, Renji,” Rukia offered. He sighed. “Why should we be freaking out over him being nice? We should probably relish the occasion while it lasts,” she finished philosophically. Ichigo smirked.
“Yeah, I guess. If only he could walk, I’d make him do my chores,” he joked.
“That earth phrase about lemons and drinks probably works here,” Renji said thoughtfully. Rukia shook her head as Ichigo knocked on the door. “What?” Renji hissed.
“You’re so stupid,” she hissed back. Matsumoto swung the door open violently.
“Oh! Ichigo!” She sighed and stepped aside for them to come in. “What good luck, we were just about to send for you all,” she said with a weak smile. Toshiro stood behind her in full captain garb. Ichigo studied the room, and his eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on?” He looked towards the kitchen and the bathroom—both were unoccupied. The Captain and Vice-Captain’s gazes met before they turned back to Ichigo.
“There’s a… State of emergency,” Matsumoto said darkly.
“Stop being vague,” the teen replied with a scowl. “Where’s Inoue?” He couldn’t hear her bouncy voice, and there weren’t even strange smells in the kitchen.
“So you don’t know where Inoue Orihime is either, then,” Hitsugaya said flatly. “We can’t sense her reiatsu. Because of her powers, it is possible she could remain undetected of her own will, however…”
“Inoue would never do something like that,” Rukia responded softly. Ichigo gritted his teeth and tried to sense for her. To hell with reiatsu skill, he needed to know if she was okay. …But there was nothing. If Ishida were here, he could… but no, he’s gone too.
“…I’m worried about Inoue too, but… Taichou,--” Hitsugaya interrupted Renji.
“It seems she went missing during an attack by the Espada earlier today. An attack during which no one was able to reach the three of you, either,” Ichigo’s head whipped around to stare at the short captain.
“Espada?” His blood chilled and seemed to stop flowing. He had a terrible feeling of foreboding.
“Three, though only one engaged in the fight. They retreated before there was a resolution, which only ignited our suspicions further,” Toshiro said stoically. Earlier today. No one could reach me, because… Ichigo swallowed hard, trying to will his inner voice into silence. “We will be contacting Soul Society shortly on the matter, however...” he trailed off.
“Hey…” Renji said, and touched Ichigo’s shoulder. The teen jolted. “No one would hold you responsible if he did it--” But it is my responsibility. His chest wrenched painfully and the feeling bubbling up inside him wouldn't stop. He bolted out the door without a word. “Kurosaki, wait!” Hitsugaya commanded.
His feet pounded the pavement rhythmically, following their own memory for the way home; his eyes were unfocused as he thought about what could have happened. As long as Grimmjow was still there, he would know. He would know it hadn’t been on purpose. Then he could breathe a sigh of relief.
He knew exactly what would reassure him, but he didn’t dare try to sense Grimmjow’s reiatsu before he got home. It was a sick desire that maybe if he didn’t spoil it to himself, perhaps it would all end better.
He didn’t know if the others were following him, he didn’t really care. How stupid of him…He couldn’t even fathom what his mistake might be responsible for. What about Inoue? Why isn’t anyone doing anything right this second to save a girl who should have never become involved?! A girl so gentle she can barely fight, and none of them are doing a goddamn thing! And if she’s hurt, if they hurt her—
--if Grimmjow is responsible for whatever has happened—
He half slammed through his own front door in his fervor. His father was there at the dinner table, giving his out of breath and zealous looking son an odd look.
“Grimmjow,” Ichigo breathed. “Where is he? Where is he?!” His eyes flickered as they scanned the kitchen; not there. He didn’t wait for his father to answer, and burst into the clinic. Grimmjow’s bed, wrinkled and empty. Rage kindled in his chest. The room, empty. The bathroom?
He kicked in the door viciously. There was nothing. It burst in his chest, and suddenly he was losing himself. “FUCK!” He slammed his hand against the wall, then drew back and slammed it again with his fist, making a hole in the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM! I’LL KILL HIM!” He roared, and slammed his fist down on the countertop. He was so angry, so angry—the Espada’s disappearance meant so much more than just his role in Inoue’s kidnapping.
Destruction, it made the anger burn more blindly and painfully. He slammed his fist down again and the countertop cracked. He let out a strangled cry and swept five or six glass jars off the counter to let them break upon the floor, he kicked at the glass. The ball of hate in his chest was suffocating, he was suffocating, demanding air but not getting any oxygen. “Why, why you miserable bastard?!” He pounded again. His hands throbbed with pain but he didn’t look, he just kept hitting his hand against the counter, harder after every crack.
Ichigo cried out again, another wordless sound of rage, when he felt a sharp prick in his neck. He gasped and turned around to look at Isshin. His father’s face was pained, and in his hand he held a syringe.
“No,” Ichigo said through numb lips. He hoped, but the guilt on the old man’s face told him. “… You didn’t, you didn’t!” He grabbed the lapels of Isshin’s coat when he felt the first wave of weariness crash through his body. He let go and stumbled back. After all of this, now his own father had betrayed him. His trust drained, leaving only a painful hollow.
“Ichigo,” Isshin started, holding out his hands.
“No, no, get away from me! How could you?!” His brown eyes were wide, panicked even as he felt the sedative course through him.
“Don’t you see what you’re doing Ichigo? I had to, you’re…” Ichigo’s vision wavered and he stumbled again, this time towards the door. Isshin took a step towards him, but the disconsolate teen shoved himself back against the door, trying for the knob.
“Don’t touch me you son of a bitch!” He turned the knob, and lurched through the door. He was so tired, but he had to get out. He couldn’t be in the house, not with Isshin. His legs wobbled and he grabbed at a chair for support, but boy and furniture both fell over with a crash. Gray screened his vision. Fuck.