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“I don’t do this, Kurosaki. I don’t.”
Ichigo’s thighs tighten, fingers flexing at the larger hollow’s wrists, a comforting, grounding pressure rather than a display of strength; Grimmjow could roll free easily if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He needs this contact. He wants this, even. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it without violence.
It took Ichigo an admittedly long time to figure it out.
At first he thought it was just that he’s getting better, and Grimmjow isn’t advancing quite as quickly as he is. It’s not his fault, Ichigo’s growth factor has always been something to praise. But he just didn’t seem to quite be able to keep up with Ichigo as much - oh they still fought until they were bloody and broken. Grimmjow had a time of hacking off fingers and limbs when he learned Ichigo could regenerate. He’s every bit the violent, fight-loving arrancar Ichigo remembers from their days at war with each other. But when the fight is over, and they are doing little more than throwing exhausted punches and scrabbling for hold of each other on the floor, Grimmjow more and more often ends up in a position something like this.
Not always on the bottom, he’s too prideful for that. But like this. With their thighs pressed against each other and their fingers and hands tangling for control of the pin, and their exhausted breaths mingling in the air. So much skin contact that Ichigo can’t help but be self conscious of it.
It’s the only way Grimmjow knows how to initiate contact.
Violently.
Ichigo never really thought about it much. Grimmjow has become something of a fixture in his life ever since the arrancar came back into it by way of a smug grin and threats of death bouts. At first they were definitely trying to kill each other in their fights, or at least, Grimmjow was definitely trying to kill Ichigo.
They turned entire portions of Hueco Mundo’s desert into glassy stalagmites under the force of their blows and the heat of their reiatsu.
Then it was dinner at Urahara’s. Apparently Grimmjow sometimes stuck around after their fights in the bunker. Grimmjow used to sit as far away from him as possible - as far away from anyone as possible, hunched protectively over his plate like he was scared one of them would try to steal the food from between his lips.
And then it was for drinking nights, and picking Ichigo up from school for brawls, and for home deliveries from the shōten to Karin and Yuzu and then it was helping Ichigo move into his new apartment.
And.
Ichigo just. Never realized that all the friendly pats on the pack, the accidental brush of fingers and shoulder bumps.
Ichigo had initiated all of them.
He’s not exactly a tactile person either, so he never noticed much when Grimmjow never repeated the act himself. It just wasn’t the kind of thing he thought about ever since Grimmjow stopped snapping his teeth every time Ichigo so much as breathed in his direction.
The only way Ichigo ever was touched by Grimmjow first was when he kissed his fist.
Even now, Ichigo initiated this wrestling match, Grimmjow just allowed it. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal for Grimmjow to do it first!
“Just fucking try- !” Ichigo snarls back, teeth bared.
“NO!” Grimmjow rears up to try to headbutt him. Ichigo is too fast - he knows how badly that bone crown hurts.
“Do it!”
“FUCK YOU!”
“COME ON!”
“I SAID NO!” Grimmjow snarls, and this time he tries to sink his teeth into Ichigo’s wrist which has skittered too close to his face in an attempt to keep the arrancar's hands pinned.
Ichigo yelps and rips free from those sharp teeth, scrambling back in a crab walk until he's not touching Grimmjow at all. He cradles his bleeding wrist protectively. “WHY NOT!”
Grimmjow stops in his trashing, sitting up as if to chase after Ichigo, but something keeps him still. Indecision - an emotion Ichigo never sees on the arrancar’s face - and guilt twists his features for a second before blue eyes dart away.
He opens his mouth to yell - pauses - closes it harshly enough that the mask on his cheek cracks together at the force.
Ichigo waits, defensive and annoyed, panting as he regains his breath from their earlier bout. He hadn’t thought his question had been that out of order, but the way Grimmjow reacted... He waits now, patient and apprehensive, as Grimmjow wrestles with himself.
“It’s….” He starts at last, “it’s… not something I do, did, not even with my fracción. It wasn’t -” Grimmjow struggles again, groping for the right words to express his feelings. He’s been getting better at it, slowly. Ichigo has been coaxing him into sharing more and more. “- safe.”
He can’t meet Ichigo’s eyes, and, not for the first time, Ichigo’s heart breaks for him a little bit. It’s not pity, it’s never pity, but it is sadness. At the unfairness and the horror. Ichigo can’t imagine living in a world where you can’t hug the ones you care about, where you can’t share easy touches, and shoulder bumps without fear of hostility. Where every touch is a threat.
“Grimmjow…”
“Don’t!” The arrancar snaps at Ichigo’s tone, eyes blazing, preparing for another fight and -
Ichigo’s arms are open wide for him. Bleeding wrist and battered body forgotten.
- Grimmjow freezes, heated eyes cooling in their confusion. “The hell are you-?”
“Hug me.” Ichigo’s voice is steady, his expression set in determination.
“No way-”
Ichigo doesn’t even need to try to fight away his frustrated expression as Grimmjow attempts to railroad them back towards the original argument. He knew he would - he’s predictable only in the sense that he’s stubborn as hell and won’t give in to Ichigo’s whims so easily. Ichigo doesn’t feel frustrated at all, just calm acceptance that Grimmjow is refusing not out of want or malevolence, but out of unfamiliarity and discomfort.
Who knows the last time Grimmjow was hugged. Probably not the arrancar himself.
“Grimmjow.”
“Kuro-”
“Hug me,” he interrupts, firmly, but his expression is soft and fond. “I won’t hurt you. You’ll like it.”
“Kuro-”
“Grimmjow.” Ichigo interrupts him again, and this time Grimmjow doesn’t try to say anything else.
Grimmjow looks… hunted. Uncomfortable. His eyes are wide and he’s watching Ichigo not unlike one might watch a venomous snake. But he hasn’t fled yet, he never does when Ichigo is the one to initiate, but this time Grimmjow has to take the final step. Grimmjow has to know that he deserves this. That soft and gentle touch can be for him too.
Ichigo waits, arms wide and expression calm and open. He’s sure that right now his patience will last forever. Fortunately it doesn’t need to, because after a short moment, Grimmjow shifts.
He pulls himself slowly into a crouch, gaze darting from hand to hand, to Ichigo’s face, down to the space where his body will fit, and back again.
He slowly shuffles towards Ichigo, pausing only once just barely outside of Ichigo’s reach to take a subtle, fortifying breath, and then gently settles into the space between Ichigo’s arms, the side of his face carefully lain in the crook of Ichigo’s neck and shoulder, chest pressed to chest, and long legs hooked up over one of Ichigo’s thighs. His hands flutter awkwardly in the air for a moment before he deposits them in his own lap.
It’s not a hug, but Ichigo has no fault for him, fuck, he’s got no faults at all - Grimmjow is cute, both that he's trying and just… he’s really cute - setting himself tentatively in Ichigo’s lap and staring up at the edge of his jaw in blatant befuddlement. There is another clench of his heart when he realizes that Grimmjow isn’t hugging him back because he’s forgotten how. He makes up for it himself when he closes his arms around the hollow’s broad shoulders and scoops him closer to his chest.
“You’re supposed to put your arms around me too,” Ichigo explains.
There was no judgement in Ichigo’s voice, but Grimmjow scoffs anyway, “ I know what a hug is! ”
He wraps his arms around Ichigo’s waist violently, as if to prove his point, and squeezes back harshly enough to crush the air from Ichigo’s lungs in a whoosh, but his grip loosens again in only a moment, his face hidden in Ichigo’s throat and his palms pressed flat to the curve of Ichigo’s back and around his ribs. His breath tickles at the exposed skin of Ichigo’s collar bones, and he shifts just slightly to fit in the cradle of Ichigo’s lap better.
Slowly, after Grimmjow settles, Ichigo starts to rub a gentle circle into his shoulder, carefully easing the tension out of his wound muscles and coaxing him into enjoying the contact.
“Not so bad, is it?” He asks. It’s a rhetorical question. He doubts Grimmjow will admit to such a thing as enjoying something, and he slowly changes from rubbing Grimmjow’s shoulders to slipping fingers through the blue strands at the base of his skull. When Grimmjow doesn’t shake him off those wandering fingers turn into full on petting. Long pulls of his fingers through thick hair and down to the nape of his neck where Ichigo kneads at the skin lightly before repeating.
Grimmjow melts.
The first has his grip slip half an inch, sharp nails clawing at the back of Ichigo’s shihakushō, valiantly trying to return the hug. The second has an adorable little ‘mruph’ sound escape his throat (and Ichigo pointedly doesn’t acknowledge it in case he embarrasses the proud hollow). The third pull sees to the release of the rest of Grimmjow’s weight, tension unwinding abruptly as he slumps. By the fourth stroke Grimmjow is all but liquid against his chest, his arms slipping down until they are barely strung around Ichigo’s waist and his body fits perfectly against Ichigo’s contours.
There’s a slowly emerging rumble in his chest, the quietest of vibrations and - oh. He’s purring.
Ichigo’s eyes are bright with wonder as he stares down at the mess of blue hair and half lidded eyes and parted lips and - “Grimmjow?” He doesn’t want to ruin the moment. His voice is only a murmur, but Grimmjow’s pride and dignity are both of tantamount importance to the arrancar, and Ichigo doesn’t want to do anything to diminish either of those. His fingers still, waiting for the regal arrancar’s permission to continue.
The half-lidded gaze flickers up but the purring doesn’t cease. If anything it grows louder, more insistent. More intentional.
“Don’t stop.” It’s a command, sure, but the normal heat is missing. The smallest lilt, something brittle and uncertain under the abrasive surface, makes it sound almost like a question. Almost like a plea.
He hides his eyes again just as quickly, and buries his warming face back into Ichigo’s shoulder. Even with his mask disguising his blushing cheeks, Ichigo can see how red his ears are. If Grimmjow were more used to manners, he might have said please, but Ichigo knows that asking that of him would be pushing too far. Demanding Grimmjow beg for affection won’t help encouraging him into seeking it out of his own volition later, so his fingers resume their stroking and kneading without complaint.
Grimmjow’s purr stutters, interrupted by a deep groan, “feels…” he trails off, purr restarting. His tail twitches against the sandy ground in a way that would certainly indicate pleasure from any domestic house cat. Not that Grimmjow is one, but Ichigo thinks that sign might be consistent across all felines.
“Nice?” Ichigo prompts.
Grimmjow nods, the edge of his mask barely scraping at Ichigo’s skin. “Yeah… ‘S good.”
They fall quiet again, Grimmjow luxuriating in what might be the first kind touch he’s received since becoming hollow and Ichigo basking in his success. Grimmjow might be halfway to sleep actually, when Ichigo finally stops petting him. If they were out under the Living World’s sky the sun would be orange and the wind would be warm. A beautiful spring evening. Even under the harsh lighting of the training bunker with an armful of dangerous arrancar, Ichigo feels at ease. Calm and centered.
But all good things must come to an end; his ass is getting sore on the dusty floor and Grimmjow’s weight has cut off all the circulation in his legs. He jostles his armful gently and receives a muffled grunt in response.
“Hey. Let’s go hop in the hot springs to heal up.”
A sharp glare makes its way into the artificial light when Grimmjow tips his head back, lips drawn into a sneer.
Internally, Ichigo sighs and braces for another fight.
There’s probably some psychology notes or something somewhere that he’s read that say you don’t want to condition someone accidentally by introducing something bad after introducing a behavior you want to reinforce or something like that. He should have known better than to think that Grimmjow would want to hop into the hot springs, he never sticks around for that, always leaving back to Las Noches with a snarl about how he wasn’t so weak to need healing. Ichigo was pushing his luck by asking; he knew Grimmjow would never allow himself to accept aid from others.
But to his immense surprise, Grimmjow doesn’t snap. He just sniffs against Ichigo’s throat, once more and then gently retracts his hold on Ichigo’s waist, shimmying himself out of the hug and returning to his feet. Calm blue eyes blink down at Ichigo.
It leaves Ichigo a bit baffled, and therefore slow to stand. His delayed reaction is clearly unappreciated because Grimmjow’s usual stiff expression finds its way back onto the arrancar’s face and he kicks at Ichigo’s shin unforgivingly.
“Stand the fuck up, Kurosaki!”
Ichigo yelps and shoots upright, rubbing at his shin protectively. Those paws look so much softer than they are. “Oi! Fuck, okay! I’m standing.” He sighs immediately after. Okay. Snapping at Grimmjow isn’t how he wanted this interaction to end, but hey. At least he’s reintroduced the arrancar to hugs right? So it’s not all bad. If they part ways a little grumpy, at least he did his bit.
He glares expectantly at Grimmjow, waiting for the arrancar to rip open his usual Garganta and leave before he meanders off to soak in the hot spring. But when Grimmjow does little more than glare back at him, Ichigo realizes that he wasn’t planning to leave. Ah. He intended to take Ichigo up on the offer.
Ichigo lowers his smarting shin, bewildered.
Grimmjow runs out of patience. “Fucking lead the way, Kurosaki. You’re the one who said you wanted a bath. ”
Ichigo can’t help himself. He snorts at the derisive way Grimmjow says the word ‘bath’, as if he doesn’t smell absolutely rank himself.
“Shut up, you need one too, asshole.” And just like that the weird calm that had settled over the pair while they were hugging breaks, and they are back to their usual rhythm. Insults will be flying before he knows it and whatever moment they just shared will be gone, lost until Ichigo can find another opportunity to coax Grimmjow out from behind his hardened walls.
He turns to lead the way to the hot spring, caught halfway between satisfaction at achieving such a feat at all and disappointment that he just as easily ruined the moment.
Until Grimmjow takes one large step forward and catches his fingers with his own, weaving the blood covered digits together and… He’s smiling.
Not smirking predatorily with all his teeth and fangs on display. Not grinning maniacally at the prospects of bloodshed. Smiling. Happily. He’s holding Ichigo’s hand, of his own accord, for his own happiness.
In that instant, Ichigo knows it’ll be okay. That Grimmjow is trying too. That this? This weird unspoken thing between them that involves fighting and bumping shoulders and Grimmjow showing up at odd times just to see him, that this thing is going to work. That it’s going to be good.
He squeezes the hand. Grimmjow squeezes back.