Drabbles, Oneshots, Requests and Moar.

Outside, the black asphalt melded into shimmering waves of heat that couldn’t possibly be normal for Japan. Inside the air conditioning had audibly blasted sweet, cool, dry air throughout the house, and Grimmjow had sat blissfully in front of a vent.

With a terrible mechanical crank, the air had stopped flowing.

Grimmjow mutilated the vent cover.

Now he lay on the floor with his hands behind his head, stripped down to his boxers and watching Ichigo out of the corner of his eye. The redhead lazed on the couch, occasionally flapping his shirt for air and exposing skin with an erotic sheen of sweat. And it wasn’t just that. To cool off, Ichigo was licking at a strawberry popsicle.
Was it just his imagination? Ichigo licked from the base of frozen treat up to the tip and flicked his tongue. The popsicle dipped into his mouth, and Grimmjow swallowed hard. It moved in and out of his mouth with horrible, horrible wet sounds.

The Espada growled low in the back of his throat and shifted so his back was to the teenager. It was always hard to gauge the stupid boy’s level of naïveté. He heard Ichigo’s soft steps. Suddenly, the teen’s legs were straddling his body and his mouth was close to his ear. Like a reflex Grimmjow’s hands reached along Ichigo’s back, pressing him closer.

“So that show was for me, huh?” Grimmjow asked huskily.

“Mhm,” Ichigo hummed, brushing his lips against the man’s neck.

“So I guess you’ve forgiven me for last week…” He said smugly.

“Well, there still is…one thing,” Ichigo said as he moved down along Grimmjow’s body, drawing near his boxers.

“What’s that?” He asked, closing his eyes.

“…I’m getting a cold sore,” Ichigo said flatly, and stood up and walked away without a second glance.

“... Son of a BITCH!”