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It started small. A light touch, the heat of breath against skin, the softest press of lips amongst strands of cornflower blue. Calloused fingers brushing through messy hair. A quiet moment shared between them, no words said. Grimmjow brushed his hand against Ichigo’s neck as the other pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead a second time.
A shakey inhale as he lifted his head, leaning back ever so slightly to gaze into warm chocolate. A faint smile offered but no explanation. Grimmjow could not bring himself to ask; didn’t want to break the moment between them.
It broke anyway, inevitable, but it didn’t feel like an end. More like a beginning.
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The next was a wet and messy kiss to the cheek. Grimmjow huffed begrudgingly as Ichigo leaned in, energy and excitement pressed into the skin of his cheek. He grimaced as the shinigami leaned back with a grin, delight in his eyes.
“What, you don’t want me to kiss you?” Ichigo asked, lightness in the question.
He smeared at his wet cheek with the back of his fist, “Not like that, I don’t. What are you, a dog, Kurosaki?”
A snort, “Nah, I think I’m more of a cat person, actually.”
Cheeky fucker. He swiped at Ichigo, half-hearted, earning a laugh.
“Whatever, jackass. Come over here and do it proper this time,” he grumbled, lips twitching faintly as the other’s gaze lit up and the shinigami moved in closer.
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Grimmjow was next. Can’t let the brat have all the fun, right?
They’d both wound down from their post-fight high with a drink or three in Grimmjow’s room at the shoten, un-interested in dealing with Kisuke’s shenanigans.
The red tint to Ichigo’s cheeks was a delight and Grimmjow couldn’t help nuzzling closer to him as they continued to drink.
“Grimm, wha--?” A hand pushed at his shoulder, clumsy, but he ignored it as he drug his nose against the warm skin. Lips brushed the red tint as he nuzzled further, nosing at the other’s ear and earning a giggle and a shove.
“Stop, that tickles you prick!”
“Mmm, I like this look on you, kur’saki,” he murmured, pushing right back in and pressing into the skin just behind the shinigami’s ear. A quiet but quick inhale as he pressed an open mouth kiss to the skin before pressing the barest hint of teeth to skin.
“Grimm..” Ichigo didn’t push him away this time, soft little sounds escaping on his breath.
He worked his way up a bit, pressing kisses to each part of skin until his nose brushed at the other’s earlobe. Soft and warm against his nose, he didn’t even register as he took it between his teeth and nibbled. More of those delightful sounds escaped and he laved at the flesh with his tongue to draw out more. Hands grasped at him, one coming up behind his neck to pull him closer.
Grimmjow didn’t resist, drawn and drawn in by sound and desire.
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He was emboldened now. Touch was second nature and he wasn’t ashamed to express his wants. Hollow’s wore desire openly, why not this too?
Another post-fight moment, this time at Kisuke’s hot springs. Grimmjow had his jacket off already and was about to start on his belts when he heard Ichigo hiss under his breath to his left. A head turn and he saw the shinigami’s jacket half off, shoulder stiff and pained. No immediate damage to the skin, but Grimmjow was drawn to the other.
Sweat and dirt and heat against his calloused palm as he brushed the exposed shoulder.
“Hurt?”
“No,” a huff, almost petulant, “just didn’t expect the muscle twinge, alright?”
A hum deep in his chest, acknowledging the other’s pride. Fingers slipped under the drape of cloth and slide it aside, baring the other’s nape further. Ichigo seemed to sense there was more to this inspection than concern and settled further, letting Grimmjow do as he pleased.
Ichigo wasn’t a slouch, but he wasn’t quite as defined as some of the Espada had been. Still, Grimmjow couldn’t resist smoothing over the bare skin, tracing muscle definition in the shoulders and biceps, the nobs of his spinal column between shoulder blades. The jacket slipped to the ground and the exploration continued, both hands now touching and smoothing across the skin, dipping into divets and slipping over scars. Sometimes the skin would shiver under his fingertips and a breath would stutter out, but both remained silent as Grimmjow explored.
It was inevitable that his mouth would follow his fingers. A press of lips, dry but not cracked, soft and light as they moved up in little presses until pressing firmly to his nape. He rested there, breath in sweat and skin and the faint hint of power that always swarmed the shinigami. Fingers brushing around the other’s waist, pulling him back ever so slightly.
“You’ve got me, Grimm,” Ichigo said and both knew the meaning behind those words.
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They both knew what was coming next, but it was Ichigo that gathered his courage first. A silent moment between them while staring over the vast, open desert of Hueco Mundo.
“Do you still want to be king, Grimm?”
Grimmjow snorted, “Hollow’s don’t stop wanting things, Kurosaki.” A glance, amber eyes locked with his own. A pause. “Sometimes, they change though.”
Quiet, a breath held, the universe waiting.
“Have they? Changed, I mean.”
Eyes at half mast, both somehow closer than a moment ago.
“What do you think, Kurosaki.” Not a question. Shared breath, so much promise and hope in those eyes.
“I think they have. I think we both want the same thing, actually.”
Voice barely a whisper, shakey.
“Oh yeah?” A growl, rough.
“Yeah.”
Lips pressed, soft but firm, distance swallowed in inches, breath shuddered between them. A break, then another press, a hand coming to press into his neck, fingers resting against his jaw. Heat spreading like a swarm of insect across his skin, a noise deep in his chest as lips began to move together.
Breathy gasps between kisses and words.
“You..?”
“Yes, don’t—”
“I won’t, won’t let you—”
“Want you, always—”
“Even—”
“Yes—”
Teeth pulling on his bottom lip and he’s lost, words gone.
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Word got out as time passed. Grimmjow didn’t care. The runt came asking about the nature of their relationship. Ichigo didn’t hesitate. Grimmjow didn’t see the point but didn’t care either. Until her questions were directed at him.
“And what are your intentions towards Ichigo?” Ice in her eyes, face severe.
“What are you, his mom? It’s none of your business,” he griped, leaning on his elbows on the shoten floor.
“Of course it’s my business!”
A sigh, “It really isn’t, Rukia.” A sharp glance in Ichigo’s direction, hands held up as if to stave off a scolding.
A heavy sigh and a grunt, then Grimmjow rolled his eyes and sat up properly.
“Fine, fine. Does this help?” A hand grasping Ichigo’s, pulling it to his face and a light kiss pressed to the skin. A sharp inhale, eyes up on Ichigo, his face warming with that lovely red tint.
A smirk and a devious side-eye at the ice bitch and then he’s biting into the skin beneath his lips. A yelp as the hand is yanked away.
“Ah yes, that does help. Thank you.” Rukia settles into a more relaxed pose, fist landing in her palm in a eureka moment.
“How exactly did that help?!” is shrieked as Grimmjow falls back to his slouched pose laughing.
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After the weirdness of the family introductions, dinner, a family game, embarrassment, a move, and then further embarrassment, Ichigo has Grimmjow sitting on his bed, torso bare.
They’ve done far more than this already, but it feels different in the dark room with the moon light shining across the bed. Pale skin almost alabaster in the cool light. Lips explore across his chest, light little presses, licks and nibbles. The exploration is slow and almost methodical, the heat of desire but a candle.
“Kurosaki,” he murmurs, letting the shinigami do as he pleases for now. There is no response and he doesn’t expect one. More kisses, pressing him back into the bed. There is no rush.
He’d be fine if it went no further, honestly.
Lips move up to his clavicle, nipping and kissing at the half-moon scar on his shoulder. Ichigo covers every inch of the scar with little touches before leaning back to look down at Grimmjow from above.
“I would remove this scar, if I could.” A hand brushing against the rough tissue.
He gives that statement some thought before asking why. The hand smooth’s downward, pressing to the larger scar across his chest. Silence as Ichigo only stares for a moment.
“I marked you first,” hand brushing back up slowly, “You were my opponent and we promised to fight again.”
Eyes twisted into a scowl before looking up at him.
“He tried to take that. Take what’s mine.”
A smirk and an eyebrow lift, “I’m yours, huh?”
Heat and desire and so much want in those eyes. Hands grasp his jaw and lips pressing against his, claiming him.
“Mine. You’re mine and I’m yours.”
Grimmjow’s flipping them, pressing back just as fiercely.
“Yeah. Mine and yours.”
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It almost ends. Grimmjow doesn’t know why all these crazy fuckers seem to come after Ichigo all the time, but here they are, and of course Ichigo fights, which means he fights too. It’s messy and bloody and they all live through it. Well, except the crazy fucker, but that’s kind of the point.
Ichigo almost didn’t though and that pissed Grimmjow off.
He pushes into the tent Ichigo is apparently healing in, seeing the idiot sitting up on a cot, bandages wrapped around and around his middle. Idiot took a hit to the gut. He remembers grinning, victory, a shared smirk. Then a jagged piece of metal, blood, shock, a gasp and his world crashing to the ground with Ichigo.
He’ll live of course, but the images won’t leave him.
“You allowed to be up?” he asks instead.
“Grimm..”
His name has never been so bizarre sounding before. Like Grimmjow is the one hurt instead of this moron. He makes his way over to the cot, trying for nonchalance, but not able to look away from those bandages.
“Almost got you good, huh, Kurosaki?” his voice sounds raw and he clears his throat.
A hand pulls at his own, tugging him forward and down. He’s kneeling and arms envelope him, pulling him into the heat of that chest.
“I’m sorry,” whispered into his hair.
A beat. “Fer what?”
“For scaring you,” a warm breath against his scalp, he might never have—no.
“Wasn’t scared,” a growl, stubborn.
“I was,” a breath and a secret in one. Silence between them.
“Why?” he forces himself to ask.
“Because I don’t want to leave you,” words choked out, “Promise me, Grimm. Promise you won’t leave me.”
Face pressed firmer into skin, warmth and scent and everything he could ever want right here. His.
“You’re mine and I’m yours, remember?” Arms tighten, lips press light kisses across the other’s heart before pulling back, brown eyes meeting blue.
“I go where you go and you go where I go. I promise.” And to each other sworn, they sealed it with another kiss.