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"'Eat this, Ichigo, it's a new candy I want to sell', he said. 'It'll be fine ', he said. Fuck." Ichigo mutters lowly to himself, and slowly drags another blanket further over the mound of stolen sheets and linen he's hoarding around his body. His single bed has turned into a veritable mountain, impassable. A fortress of soft.
The last time Yuzu came in she had to leave almost immediately just to laugh in the hall. He can't really blame her- he's nesting like some fucking animal and it's inspired a fair bit of bewildered (hysterical) laughter from him, too. He smooths his fingers over another pillow and then tucks it underneath himself, pulls the collar of his shirt up and over his nose. He stole it out of the laundry, one of Chad's that he'd left behind at some point during the many times he's stayed over. It drapes off one shoulder completely, it's so big on him, and it doesn't smell like much of anything other than laundry detergent, but it sates some odd hollow instinct that tells him to gather all his friends and shove them into the shitty nest with him; and if he gave into that ridiculous urge he'd have to leave the country out of shame as soon as this fucking drug exits his system.
He swears he'd meant to throttle Kisuke, not cuddle up to him. Gross. He still has the man's scent vaguely on his skin, which is a weird and unsettling thought. The sheer force of will it took to pry himself off of the shopkeeper is embarrassing to remember, and he's honestly grateful Yoruichi didn't come within grabbing distance as she escorted him safely home through the emptier streets.
He loses a few minutes staring at the pattern of threads across one blanket, his thoughts an incoherent garble of white noise and feelings, and when he finally snaps out of it it's gotten a little darker in his room. Figures.
Grimmjow gets the text on his shitty little phone Kisuke gifted him and is already tearing open a garganta before he’s even finished reading the message.
5.22pm Kisuke Bastard: Ichigo wants a fight.
5.22pm Kisuke Bastard: He’s at his house.
Exactly 45 seconds later Grimmjow is standing outside the Kurosaki household, a little wind ruffled but fresh and practically vibrating with excitement. Sometimes if he takes too long to get where he's going Ichigo changes his mind, it’s happened in the past when Kisuke’s texted him and Ichigo decided in the five minutes that, ‘No, Grimmjow, I don’t want to fight, Hat-and-Clogs is just pulling your tail’.
He plays it cool though, shoves his hands deep into his pockets and slouches, though he doesn’t bother to disguise the grin on his face when he flares his reiatsu right outside the window to the boy’s bedroom, steel toed boot lashing out to tap nearly too hard at the glass, pushing Ichigo to hurry up and open the blinds and get out here.
“Kurosaki!”
Ichigo jolts violently in his nest and nearly knocks over one carefully packed wall of it with an arm when he flails out from under the tangle of the blanket he'd wrapped himself up in, eyes wild. He hauls himself up onto his knees and at the cord for his blinds, yanks at it and drags them open just enough to squint outside.
It's Grimmjow, but he already knew that from the feel of his reiatsu, and he wonders if the goosebumps it's causing are just a sensitivity to spiritual pressure in general caused by the drug, or if it's another fun aspect of the skin-hunger it's driven into his brain like a steel spike. Reluctantly he unlatches the lock and pushes the window up and open, eyes narrowed; and then he shudders at the sudden wash of cool air over his skin- into his room. He hisses despite himself, and instead of leaning out and cussing at Grimmjow, or telling him to leave, he shoves himself backwards and into the divot he left behind, packing the warmth back around himself. He can't even bring himself to close the window before he retreats like a snail into its shell.
Grimmjow beams for a split second when a hand reaches under the blinds to shove open the window, before he manages to smooth it back into an arrogant, self assured smirk, right as he expects Ichigo to stick his head out and either lunge at him, or tell him to piss off like he always does before Grimmjow irritates him into combat. When ginger hair and a scowl don't follow the hand, Grimmjow’s smirk gives way to a flicker of confusion.
“Oi, Kurosaki! Get out here now!” He crouches to pull up the blind and peer into the darkened room, quickly taking in the mess of blankets, pillows, clothes, and sheets all piled along the bed, and the rest of the chaotic mess of the room. The cupboard is opened and pulled apart, the door is barricaded by a chest of drawers and the desk, and Grimmjow can only barely see the shifting of the fabric to indicate a body breathing under it all on the mattress.
He blinks. “Are you fucking…. nesting?”
Ichigo hisses again, muffled by the dress he's got his face buried in, and turns his head a little to free the sound. It's a mistake, because as soon as he does so it morphs into a miserable, needy whine, his skin too-hot too-cold all at once and his control loses out. He rubs his hands over his arms aggressively, from elbow to shoulder in a cross motion over his chest, but the contact isn't enough.
"Fucking-" he peels his fingers away in order to tug the edge of the blanket down, freeing his face enough to glare at Grimmjow in his window, "did Urahara send you to laugh at me too? I'm already suffering enough." He's pretty sure he's started trembling again, and he curls himself up into a smaller position, knees tucked close, and then rolls sort of onto his stomach.
"Don't tell me you're here for a fight?" He breathes out, eyes widening a little. Kisuke wouldn't. Would he?
Grimmjow hears the whine and is clambering his way into the room before he’s fully processed the implications behind Ichigo’s actions. (And he definitely doesn't consider his own.)
“Course I fucking am.” Grimmjow snarls, dropping mostly de-sanded boots onto the nest and breathing deeply. Ichigo doesn’t smell like heat, like slick and uncontrollable need, but he does smell off . Like he could be edging towards it, which Grimmjow didn’t quite think would be possible considering he isn’t even a full hollow. “No reason to laugh at you until I’m kickin’ your ass.”
He peers at the boy, noting the fine tremors, the glassy eyes, the way his breathing is sawing in and out much too fast. Ichigo looks like shit.
Grimmjow’s been had. There’s no way Ichigo wants a fight. There’s no way Ichigo can even bring himself to leave his nest, where is his pack? “What the fuck has Kisuke done this time.”
Ichigo bristles up into a blazing glare when boots hit his nest, his clean, carefully made nest, but then his mind is scattering with that white noise again and he squirms instead, trying to rub the entire length of his back up into the mess of fabric wrapped around and above him as an attempt at mimicking touch. When it passes he blinks absently at the side of the nest, and then returns his stare to Grimmjow.
"... 'M sorry. Definitely no fighting today. He asked me real nice to try this new candy he made. Said he was just testing flavours. Fucking liar . 'Oh, I must have mixed them up!' Who makes candy look identical to a pill drug you've designed."
He shudders, a violent tremor running through him, and runs his fingers through his own hair in an attempt to sate the need taking over the edge of his mind. He feels so out of control and helpless, and he fucking hates it. The thought that maybe he could reach up and drag Grimmjow down over him-
No. The last thing he needs is to also be stabbed today.
The smooth and pull of his hand against his hair doesn't help, and he gives up, muffling an angry little sob into the back of his other hand and grimacing at how pathetic the noise is, how pathetic he feels making it.
"Thanks for not laughing at me, I guess."
Grimmjow scowls, a hand raking through his hair in mimicked agitation. He needs. Fucking. Earplugs or something. Because Ichigo’s whimpering is driving a fucking ice pick through his orbital socket and lobotomizing him. Fuck. All he wants to do is wrap himself legs to shoulders around the other hollow, smother him under his weight. Until he relaxes into his body and Grimmjow can hear and feel that rolling sound I'mokaysafewarm youhaveme. He wants so badly to make it okay.
But he can’t.
Because Grimmjow adores Ichigo with every shred of whatever is left of his heart - and wasn’t that a fucking fun thing to figure out. Ichigo barely even tolerates him. Pathetic. Grimmjow’s pathetic.
The last person Ichigo would want in his nest right now is Grimmjow.
He glances down, suddenly remorseful for sanding up the sheets, and takes a cautious and respectful step back up onto the window sill, still close enough that he could reach out and thread fingers through that orange hair.
“Where the fuck‘s your pack. Why aren’t they here? I’ll go get them.” He says quickly, pesquisa searching the town for anyone Grimmjow recognises. Shit. He’s not even sure who Ichigo considers pack. Clearly not his siblings or his sire or they’d be here with him now instead of locked out behind reinforced wood. “The woman, and the big guy, and that quincy right?” He strains to remember. Struggles. Humans are all the same to him. Shinigami too. Strong or weak and then beyond that he just can’t force himself further past the violent apathy.
He really only cares about Ichigo.
Ichigo squints, confused, tries to roll pack around in his head and make sense of it, and his slow mind has only just started to pull apart and unravel it when Grimmjow says he'll go get Ichigo's friends.
Ichigo very much does not want any of them here. God no, he'd never live it down. He's sure they'd just get uncomfortable with what he'd need from them, they wouldn't understand, and there's a reason nothing in his house smells like them anymore. It's been a long while since they've been over.
It's a bit sobering to think about, actually, that he doesn't want them in his safe spaces anymore. In his home. Or- he does, but he can't, yet.
"No- nonono. Don't do that, don't get anyone ." He hisses a little, panicked, and on automatic flails a hand up out of the blankets to grab at Grimmjow's knee where he's squatting in the window. It's a moment of instant regret, because Grimmjow is pleasantly warm past the fabric and Ichigo's entire focus narrows down onto that singular point of contact. His whole body aches something fierce and deadly and he locks his muscles so he doesn't bodily crawl up onto the arrancar like some desperate virginal maiden in a shitty medieval romcom.
Grimmjow makes a full body jolt when Ichigo reaches for him, trying to step back so he doesn’t accidently tarnish Ichigo and his nest with his scent, not that his pants probably smell like anything other than sand and blood, but still, it surely wouldn’t be appreciated the moment Ichigo realises what he's done. Unfortunately there is no solid ground outside of the window, and in his haste he forgets to make a platform. The result is a desperate grab at the glass to pull himself back onto the ledge and then Ichigo’s hand wraps tightly over his knee.
Grimmjow stares for a second, eyes too wide, before blinking and trying to gently extract his knee from under Ichigo’s hand without touching him more. “K-Kisuke and Yoruichi then, they already know. Fuck, your pack should be here. Shitty, real fucking shitty of them not to be.” He’s rambling. Fuck, he’s Grimmjow goddamned Jaegerjaquez, he doesn’t ramble . “Didn’t mean to stink up yer nest.”
"Urahara is the one who did this, I don't want to have to peel myself off him. Again. It was so uncomfortable." Ichigo mutters under his breath, and then his body unlocks and he leans forward a little, hooks his fingers around the knee and into the crease at the back of it where Grimmjow's legs are folded together, and actively yanks ; trying to bring the arrancar down into the pile of blankets. Then he can have ample room to stick his face into Grimmjow's shoulder and throat and wind his arms around his waist and tangle their legs together and maybe it'll help him breathe a little easier-
"You didn't stink up my nest. Please, come stink up my nest. It's empty, I hate it, it doesn't smell like anyone, I don't have a pack." His words seem to drag in the air a little and absently he thinks the drug is coming back around to fuck with his coherence again.
Grimm hisses through his teeth, leg sliding easily under him when Ichigo tugs, but balance still firmly holding him on the window sill. Thoughtlessly he reaches down to unwrap Ichigo’s hand from the back of his calf. It’s not a place he’s usually touched because of his blades and it sort of tickles.
“Yeah you do, idiot. I can’t fucking infringe on that, it’d be like if that woman tried to climb in bed with me an’ Hal an’ Nel an’ the Bestia. Someone would gut her. I’m not siccing Yoruichi on me fer touching her brat or something.” He explains as well as he can, even though all he wants to do is slither under the blanket pile, strip his jacket off and tuck it around Ichigo and wrap him up. “M’ gonna get them. They’re yer pack just tell me who. I’m fucking trying to do something nice here even though you won’t lemme stab you today.”
Quick as a snake bite Ichigo transfers his grip from Grimmjow's leg to his hand and then up to his wrist, the hold tight out of desperation, and clamps down for another sharp tug, pulling his knees up under himself for extra leverage. He doesn't have much hope, considering he's in his weak, human body, but it's a fleeting sort of realisation.
"Don't be stupid. If Yoruichi killed you , I would have to kill her . That's the rules. " His voice wavers all over the place, a sort of insistent misery in the undertones of it, and frustration swells in his chest and makes tears prick at the corners of his eyes, which. Embarrassing , but his dignity is already in shreds at this point. He's never been an angry crier, but the sheer pulsing need to have physical contact with someone is overriding a lot of things.
And Grimmjow isn't exactly safe but he seems to really understand and Ichigo honestly can't think of anyone he'd rather have in the nest with him. He wants to voice that, tell Grimmjow exactly how he rejected Urahara's offer to bundle up at the shoten with them, flat out refused to let Yoruichi call anyone, won't even let his sisters in, but he's asking Grimmjow. He can't get the words out of his mouth. They're trapped behind his teeth, hungry and unforgivingly greedy. Selfish.
Instead he breathes out, shaky and it trails into a near-sob.
"At least- give me your jacket. Or something. Please." He really tries to let go of the arrancar's wrist, but he can't unlatch his fingers.
Oh fuck no, Grimmjow is not equipped to handle crying. Not at fucking all. Grimmjow doesn’t think he’s cried ever in his life , do hollows even have tear ducts? “Hey, Kur-Ichigo. Okay, uh, don’t do that. That’s not--” he leans forward, to wipe at the corners of Ichigo’s eyes, cupping his face between large palms and sweeping along the lash line with his thumbs. “You can have my jacket, fine. Whatever. Not my problem. If people come after me, I will stab the life outta them.” He would have anyway. He’s not going to just roll over for Kurosaki’s pack.
He tries to tug his hands back to slip the jacket off and realizes he can’t because Ichigo has gotten stubborn fingers around both his wrists now.
Ichigo melts into the touch, eyes closing in bliss, and he's torn between which direction to tilt his head into because Grimmjow's hands are- both of them on his face, and it's so good. His spine even momentarily stops trying to rattle it's way out from under his skin, and he leans heavily forward into both of them after another moment of stilted indecision. Grimmjow is threatening people again, he thinks, but Ichigo would take a stab wound for another few seconds of this, so he doesn't pay much attention.
A throaty purr rolls it's way out of his chest and it's all he can do to stay mostly curved upright instead of just sinking down to the nest and dragging Grimmjow's hands with him. Stupid of him to put both his hands on Ichigo's face. A dumb move, on his part, but it's great for Ichigo's skin hunger, so he certainly isn't complaining. He shifts a little, mouth pressing against one palm and his nose brushing against the inside of Grimmjow's wrist, and he inhales slowly, calm. Steady, his skull is being held in place under his face, his flesh isn't going to writhe and bubble off of bone just yet. He's never felt such a blissful, peaceful sensation in his life.
Grimmjow was talking such shit about stinking up the nest but not only is it a shitty nest anyway, Grimmjow actually smells really fucking good, so. What does he know? Not much, apparently. Thinking that Ichigo has a pack, that Ichigo's friends would attack him for helping him out with this. The arrancar gets the weirdest ideas in his head.
Grimmjow stares, tugs lightly against Ichigo’s hold, and then gives up as his impulse control evaporates. He’d never been good at fighting his instincts. Why start now when Ichigo, his Ichigo, his prey, his property, is purring so prettily for him.
He drops his weight off the windowsill onto his knees in response (to the probably accidental display of submission, the mouthing at his palm, head tilted so sweetly, but; semantics ). “Let go, Ichigo,” the warbling undertone that comes when he asserts his role as alpha fills the room when he speaks. He presses his wrist back against Ichigo’s face, dragging it and the scent gland underneath across his cheek. “You want my jacket around your neck? Want to bury yourself in my scent?”
Ichigo whines softly, slowly cracking his eyes open, and he can't quite repress the pout that tugs at his mouth; but he slowly, carefully releases his grip on Grimmjow's hands. "Yeah," he mumbles in response, hands dropping to the blankets instead and curling tightly in the fabrics so he doesn't misbehave again and grab onto him, "- please, let me. Just; I need -- hold me, too?"
He feels disjointed, his instincts only settling down from an overpowering screaming in his head to a dull roar when Grimmjow willingly presses forward, his wrist dragging over Ichigo's cheek, and- oh. Grimmjow is kneeling in his nest , now. He's come down off the sill, and Ichigo's pout turns into a slow building, steady smile, until he's beaming at the arrancar. He's going to help Ichigo with this. Maybe his body won't shed it's skin like a snake and leave him exposed and terrified if Grimmjow holds him down and together. He lifts his head a little, baring his neck willingly to the other man, because he's come this far already, why not really just give in to the needy instincts? If he goddamn survives this he can make up his image in Grimmjow's eyes with hard work and some attempted murder between friends. Probably. It's not really something he cares about, right now.
When Grimmjow tilts his head to the side there’s something predatory in his gaze and the brief flash of his teeth. Good boy~ . He should ask if Ichigo’s sure. If Ichigo really wants him to shove his smaller frame down and under him and smother him. But Grimmjow is a selfish creature and he's given more than fair warning and offered more than enough alternatives.
He doesn’t.
He shucks his boots with a quick kick of his feet and then sheds his jacket, coy smirk playing on his lips before he holds it out for Ichigo to claim. An offering for the nest. Not that he needs to give one, clearly. Ichigo’s smile could power the sun, and the head tilt?
Fuck. He’s pretty, isn’t he?
Ichigo nearly snatches the fabric out of Grimmjow's hands, bunching it between his fingers and then rubbing his cheek against the collar of it with another throaty purr, and without any fanfare he drops back down into the nest, tucking it down under himself and neatly smoothing out the edges so that it doesn't bunch and fold oddly, overlapping with some of the blankets before he lays down over it.
He shifts a little, and when he decides this is as comfortable as he's going to get on his own, he looks back at Grimm, and lifts the blankets he's layered over himself in invitation. Come over here. Stay warm with me. He shivers a bit despite still being surrounded on all sides by warm things; the air seeping in under the blanket makes his legs itch weirdly, like pins and needles, oversensitized. Maybe he should have worn full length pants instead of an old pair of ratty basketball shorts, but it's too late now.
Ichigo makes an inquisitive little noise, almost a chirp, hopeful and wanting, and waits for Grimmjow to join him under the blankets. When the arrancar takes a second he whines, plaintive, (desperate, come on, he's been so good, please alpha,) and frowns at him.
"C'mon, it's cold. "
Grimmjow chuffs a little in amusement when Ichigo whines, a soft but ultimately comforting sound and reaches a hand out to rake through Ichigo’s hair, pushing orange strands back off his forehead, relishing in the soft slip of it - finer and cleaner than his own, the texture not quite right - over his fingertips and in the slightly softer parts of his hierro, before he lets it drop back onto Ichigo’s forehead.
“Don’t be fucking demanding, brat.” He says, but it’s got a soft edge to his words and he’s adjusting so he can slip into the blanket nest feet first next to Ichigo, arms reaching out to wrap around his ribs. His palms are large enough that he can hold Ichigo’s whole side, holding down and together, can feel the gentle expansion of his ribs as he breathes.
It doesn’t feel wrong, or like he’s invading. His body fits stupidly well against Ichigo’s. The nest fits stupidly well around him. He wonders why Ichigo doesn’t want his pack here. Why choose him over them? He drops his head to the fluffy bedding with another small chuff and let’s Ichigo manoeuvre around him until he’s comfortable.
Ichigo purrs like a small engine is living in his ribcage, rattling himself around inside, and doesn't hesitate for even a second, pulling the blankets up closer. He tucks them properly around Grimmjow's back and then up over the both of them, fussing a little with the way the different fabrics lay and overlap with each other. When he's decided that's acceptable, he presses tightly up against the arrancar, squishes his cheek against a warm chest and breathes in deeply.
The tension drains out of him, and suddenly his skin stops moving like liquid over his muscles, settles down and still again, where it's supposed to be. He can't believe Grimmjow is so good at making his instincts behave.
He packs himself even closer, smaller, noses up at Grimmjow's collarbone with a pleased, grateful little noise, somewhere between a chirp and a sigh. Slots his legs up against the other man's, and then squirms until they're interlocked and one of his knees is trapped between Grimmjow's own. He flattens his palms over the hollow's ribcage, shifts until the length of his forearms is pressed to the fabric of his jumpsuit too. Bare skin would be better, but this is more than enough to make him happy, and he let's the alpha know it with the pitch of his purr.
Grimmjow ducks his head, cheek pressing into the crown of golden hair, and wonders if Ichigo wants his knee to grind on. He sounds content so he doesn’t push it higher, just squeezes his thighs gently around the trapped leg. He flattens his hands over all the skin he can reach, one hand at the back of Ichigo’s neck, fingers drumming lightly at the base of his cranium, and the other sweeping rhythmically up and down his spine until he can slip it under the hem of his shirt and flatten his hand over the pane of Ichigo’s lower back.
“Why don’t you want the others here?”
Ichigo hums, soft and satisfied, feels utterly boneless at the touch, at the steady gentle rhythms being tapped into the base of his skull. He feels so warm. It's amazing the difference being in his nest with Grimmjow makes, instead of being alone. Maybe now that he's safe his instincts will ease up on him a bit more and he can sleep it off.
It takes him a moment to realise Grimmjow spoke to him, and he parses through the vocalisation in his head before turning his face a little so he's less muffled when he replies.
"They're not you." He hums, chest still vibrating with the force of his satisfaction. It's a simple answer, but it's the truth, and he doesn't know if he has the brainpower right now to go further into detail. He just wants Grimmjow all over him, right now. Maybe after some extended contact he'll be able to think more clearly again.
Grimmjow hums an echo, though his brow stays furrowed in confusion. “Kisuke’s drugs really fucked you, huh.” Consent isn’t a very hollow thing, but Grimmjow knows of it. He bets Ichigo isn't really in a position to be making judgement calls right now. But he Wants. He’s greedy. Hungry.
He’s so close, his fingers cradling Ichigo’s neck, he could flick and snap and suck the soul right through Ichigo’s mouth. A kiss for his love. Grimmjow hasn’t kissed anyone before, but he knows Ichigo would enjoy it. If he did it right.
He’s so close right now. He could lean forward just a few inches and lick a stripe over his carotid, could roll himself over the smaller man and shuffle his shorts down and slide a hand between his legs. Is he wet? Oh, Grimmjow wants him to be. It’s so close to mimicking a heat that he’s pushing Grimmjow right to the edge already. An actual heat will have him gone .
Grimmjow bites his tongue instead and nuzzles down to reach under Ichigo’s jaw, to trace the line of bone until lips are hovering just barely over his throat. He smells warm and sweet.
"Could be worse. I'm still able to speak, at least. And mostly think. Just. Comes in waves and makes my head feel empty. You're helping a lot."
Ichigo doesn't see a reason not to be honest about it, especially with Grimmjow being so warm and good, yes, yes- and he tilts his head a little to expose more of the line of his neck for the arrancar.
“Hmm? Tha’ so,” the arrancar replies, voice low and lips brushing against Ichigo’s pulse. “Yer makin’ my head feel empty too, you know. Whatever he’s done to ya…”
Ichigo chirps, soft and apologetic, a little thread of guilt curling in his chest. He didn't want to infect Grimmjow, he just wanted the restless achy need for contact to stop. He curls his fingers into the fabric of Grimmjow's jumpsuit, over his chest, and lilts his purr further to the sweet end of the spectrum. (He didn't even know he could do that.)
"Sorry, sorry. But you can stay, w' me. In the nest. I've made it well, right? You'll be safe too if you get skin-hungry."
Grimmjow huffs a laugh, “it’s not skin-hunger he’s infected you with.”
"Then what the fuck did he do?" He hisses a little, but he can't muster up any true rage with Grimmjow's scent filling up his nest, every pillow and blanket and cloth catching it, his mouth warm on his skin. Even if he leaves, please don't leave, Ichigo will still have the evidence he was here and warm and comforting.
Grimmjow leans forward just once, nips gently at the pane of Ichigo’s throat, any more then that and his lack of self control will have him eat his throat out, and then leans backwards so he can meet Ichigo’s gaze, amusement glittering in his eyes. “It’s a hollow thing.” He’d be better if Grimmjow could get him to his pack, but until he says otherwise, Grimmjow is going to revel in this.
He grins wolfishly at Ichigo for a moment, “Don’t worry your pretty head over it. I’ll hold ya down.”
Ichigo narrows his eyes a little, thinks about demanding a proper answer, then decides it's not worth the effort. He presses closer instead, wonders if Grimmjow can feel how his chest buzzes with the force of his purr.
"Alright. Long as you hold me down, it'll be fine." He mumbles it, rubs his cheek into Grimmjow's shoulder again and slots their legs closer together, the arrancars thigh coming dangerously close to fitting directly up against him. He doesn't really care. It's not like he has any real dignity to lose after all; at this point, he's wearing cheap basketball shorts and a stolen shirt four sizes too big for him, with nothing underneath. He's laying on top of Grimmjow's jacket, for fuck's sake. Who cares?
(He probably will when he gets his shit together again, but that's an issue for future Ichigo. Present Ichigo is comfy and safe and Grimmjow smells divine and feels even better, and his reiatsu filters over Ichigo's skin as nicely as his hands do.)
"Heh. You think I'm pretty. " He snickers, his mind going back to that odd, fuzzy, thoughtless place. It's tempered by the physical contact, not as consuming, not as terrifying to fall into the wave of it when Grimmjow will keep him safe. Ironic. Grimmjow used to be his enemy.
Grimmjow chuckles again, hand shifting up to push Ichigo’s face more firmly into his shoulder, thigh shoving up and pressing for a millisecond as he readjusts, shuffling down just slightly into the nest, it could be interpreted as accidental if Ichigo wants. He lets a purr build in his own chest, rolling through him in a low, soothing baritone note. “You feelin’ anything other than the sensation of your skin walking off your bones?”
Ichigo breathes out against Grimmjow's shoulder, warming the fabric and skin when his instincts flare abruptly, his hips stuttering through a needy little roll, trying to press back down on the little bit of sensation the other man just gifted him with.
"Ah," he says, eloquently, muffled against fabric, and diffused further by Grimmjow's purr mixing with his own. "-that's new."
He wasn't feeling anything two seconds ago, but as soon as Grimmjow pressed against him, oh boy. He wonders what Grimmjow's hand would feel like instead. Curving over and pressing down. Holding him still.
Ichigo shivers a little, and squirms, tries to press back against the arrancar's thigh again. He swears it's mostly innocent. He just wants the pressure, doesn't want to grind or get off. (He's lying a little bit.)
Grimmjow's grin is smug in response to the breathy little groan Ichigo makes. “Want me to do that again?” He shifts his leg slightly, thighs squeezing around Ichigo’s leg trapped between his. “Bet the pressure feels real nice, yeah?”
Ichigo hums around a needy little whine, interrupting his purr, nodding into Grimmjow's shoulder and then his chest when he turns his head, presses his cheek against him, searching out a heartbeat on instinct.
"Fuck, oh my god. What the hell? I'm gonna murder Urahara." He can't muster up enough real anger to put into his voice, just mild annoyance and frustration, (and half of that is because Grimmjow won't give him back the sensation he craves, abruptly, all-consuming .)
Grimmjow doesn’t laugh again, though his purr stutters in his chest a little. The hand at the back of Ichigo’s head tightens into a fist, curling deceptively gently through the thick orange hair to guide his head up. “You aren’t gonna find a pulse there Ichigo, this is all hollow and you like it. ”
His thigh pushes up again, a heavy solid weight of muscle grinding up into Ichigo’s mound before he dives in for a kiss, teeth nipping at Ichigo’s lips. It’s sloppy and rough, more careful biting than actual kissing, with too much tongue trying to lick across Ichigo’s teeth and dig into his mouth. A tongue is nothing if Ichigo bites it off.
Ichigo curls his fingers into claws, pressing uselessly at Grimmjow's hierro over his ribs, his skin doesn’t move at all, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a snarl and a moan, something utterly inhuman. Alpha , he thinks it means, a plea and title wrapped into one.
"You-" he manages, a hissing complaint, but he cuts himself off with a low trill, rocks his hips back and forth, doing exactly what he told himself he wouldn't and grinding against Grimmjow's thigh like a needy animal. Debasing, probably, but he doesn't care at all, right now.
"Yeah," he says instead, when Grimmjow stops biting at his mouth, low and sweet, leans into Grimmjow's hand in his hair, "-like you. You're good. " His fingers relax from their clawing motions and he pats at the other man instead, his purr returning in hiccupy, vibrating pulses.
Grimmjow’s laugh this time is loud and raucous. Ichigo’s managed to pull so much pleasure and joy from him in only a few minutes since they’ve curled up together. He could get drunk on this. On the pheromones. On Ichigo .
“Fuck yeah I am. You gonna let me treat you good or you...” he stumbles for half a beat, “want me to get your other pack.” The human ones. Useless ones. They’re just leaving their Ichigo out here alone. Unless Ichigo is actually the alpha of his pack and they don’t think he needs someone to ride his heat out with him. Grimmjow was alpha but his pack would never be so poorly fucking behaved. It’s okay though, Grimmjow can help him through it.
His purr doubles in volume and Grimmjow shifts again, adjusting his weight in preparation for rolling Ichigo onto his back.
Ichigo snarls abruptly, eyes snapping open and his hands shifting to grip tightly at Grimmjow's shoulders, white knuckled. "Don't you dare leave."
It comes out more desperate than angry, he's been good, and he doesn't want anyone else in his nest. When he's sure Grimm won't leave he relaxes again, chirps out a little apology and unlatches his fingers. He knows he couldn't have possibly hurt Grimmjow, not in his weak human body, but it's the thought that counts. Rude to try and attack him when he's doing such a good job of helping. Making it all feel better. The length of his spine untenses again and he wraps his arms around Grimmjow's shoulders instead, purring back at him.
Grimmjow ducks to bite at Ichigo’s throat again and then he’s rolling, shoving Ichigo around with his thigh, uncaring if he increases the pressure between Ichigo’s legs during the motion. His hands release their hold on Ichigo to wrestle his wrists down next to his head.
His purr turns to a growl, the same kind he offers before he threatens to rip someone’s guts out.
Ichigo snarls again, this time in a lower pitch, more warning than desperation, eyes wide at the threat sound Grimmjow is flooding his instincts with, but he goes willingly, no struggle. He fleetingly hopes his neck doesn't look like a war zone tomorrow, but with his luck, and the way Grimmjow seems to like biting, he'll look halfway to a zombie apocalypse.
Yuzu will probably find that funny, he muses, and then his snarl is being interrupted by a needy whine, and he tries to kick his legs, squirming in Grimmjow's grasp. He needs more friction, being pinned down and offered only the static pressure of the arrancar's knee isn't enough , especially when he can't move his hips efficiently enough to get off.
"Please," he gasps, soft, and then shudders slightly, twists his hands a little against Grimmjow's grip on his wrists to pet his fingers over the arrancar's skin.
Grimmjow doesn’t answer, blue eyes focused intently on the body before him, pinned under him - he can’t decide if he likes this look better than Ichigo on his front. It’s hard to say which one will feel better for him - oh but he can see Ichigo’s face like this, and that’s delightful. Voyeuristic. He’d never be able to forget the sight of Ichigo coming undone under him.
He presses firmly at Ichigo’s wrists for a moment, “ stay , ” and waits for Ichigo to nod (and hiss, what a brat) before releasing his grip. He doesn’t waste any time, every second without touching Ichigo is cruel.
…
Also it probably doesn’t feel great for Ichigo either, but Grimmjow is all about selfish enjoyments, and this is the first of what he will turn into many. He wants to hold Ichigo down - press every part of himself into the curves and contours of Ichigo’s body. Hands pressed to the plush skin of Ichigo’s chest, his hips, dig fingertips into his thighs and see the soft meat dimple around his touch until purple and blue blooms like the spring flowers Grimmjow only knows of through faded memories.
He wants to fold himself around Ichigo, his chest to the unscarred expanse (no scars in his human form - not from a sword at least) of Ichigo’s back, or maybe chest to chest, hold Ichigo’s head against his shoulder. Nearly a hug, his calloused fingers running up and down, up and down that elegant spine. He could rip it out, one vertebra at a time with a wet squelch , the rip of sinew. And Ichigo would let him; he would cry so beautifully in his embrace.
He wants to run his lips, his mask over freckles, lathe his tongue over every part of Ichigo until goosebumps rise on his skin, and then when he reaches that beautiful throat he wants to press his fangs through. Teeth on a ripe plum, bleed red sweetness onto his tongue, hear him gurgle, fuck him through it, slow and steady, see the white hollow reiatsu bubble up and seal him over so that Grimmjow may do it again. Drink him down like the finest red wine.
Grimmjow’s hands grip the skin behind Ichigo’s knees and shove upwards to fold him in half and then lean down over him. His clothed cock pressing right where Ichigo wants him, his teeth nipping at Ichigo’s earlobe. “You could sit on my cock,” he offers with a deep purr, ever the opportunistic predator, “could fuck you and plug you up for a while. Make you feel full.”
The sound Ichigo makes in response to that doesn't even pretend to be human, a trilling little cry, quiet and all sorts of pliant. Desperate. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard colours burst behind the lids, and then he opens them again to stare up at Grimmjow, his fingers curling uselessly in the fabric above his head, tugging and wrenching at one of the many items he's layered into the nest. Obedient.
Grimmjow told him to keep his hands there, and he wants to be good. What if the hollow leaves because he misbehaved?
The thought has a bubble of panic burst behind his sternum, makes him hiss a little and shudder through it, and he focuses himself back on Grimmjow and all the points of contact; rolls his hips up against the other's cock. He folds so easily under the press of large hands. His thighs and lower back burn a little, the muscles tensing.
"A… anything," he manages, after a moment of trying to unstick his throat, feeling like he's swallowed glue. "Please."
“Yeah.” Grimmjow replies, casual and unaffected. “I know.”
He considers making Ichigo beg for him. Rolls his hips again just to hear that lovely little hollow trill.
“Always thought you’d make a good cockwarmer.” He squeezes at the meat of Ichigo’s thighs for a second, strong pressure before releasing them. “Stay.” He orders again when Ichigo starts to unfold to release the tension.
Grimmjow is slow to reach for his zipper, lazy, and he tugs it down even slower, Ichigo’s gaze completely transfixed on the slowly revealed skin. When it is finally open enough for him to slip it off his broad shoulders and just before he shoves it down his thighs he pauses again, consideringly. Yeah. Ya know. He actually really does want Ichigo to beg. Just a bit.
“Tell me what you want.”
Ichigo is so focused on taking slow breaths, keeping himself folded and still, eyes on the shiny red scar that carves across Grimmjow's chest and abdomen, he almost misses the demand entirely. His eyes snap back up to meet Grimmjow's, mind half a beat slow. Sluggish, he feels so heavy. ( Grimmjow could kill him , something primal and scared whispers, Ichigo wouldn't even be able to fight back .)
"Your dick," Ichigo says, squinting a little, enunciating slowly. Isn't it obvious?
He clues in a second later with a little ' oh ' and an apologetic little snicker, amused at himself.
Grimmjow blinks at him, also amused. Now that’s just not good enough, and he leans back to remove the last remaining point of contact between them. Would Ichigo cry if he only offered fingers instead? Probably not. Pretty boy is just so desperate for any contact Grimmjow thinks he would thank him even for that.
Ichigo hiccups, pupils narrowing down immediately when suddenly Grimmjow isn't touching him, and his hands claw into the fabric his fingers were tugging and pulling at with a loud little pop pop pop of claws shearing through. His nails are blunt again as soon as it happens, and he whines, blinking, body starting to tremble.
"Nonono please, I'll be good, I'll- I just want you, need you to touch me, help me s-stay inside my skin," he pants it out, and it's followed quickly by a needy little yip, teeth snapping together around the warm air of the nest. Grimmjow's scent and reiatsu suffusing it aren't enough all of a sudden, now that he's had contact, had hands along his ribcage under his shirt.
"Want you inside," he chirps, and locks his elbows and hips to prevent himself from unfolding, reaching out and curling all his limbs around the other, dragging Grimmjow back into his arms. He told him to stay.
Ahhh, yeah… That’s the good shit . Grimmjow’s cock twitches in his pants and he shoves his jumpsuit down around his thighs before reaching to rip a hole right over Ichigo’s cunt. The fabric parts easily and Grimmjow barely waits before pressing back against Ichigo, his head resting right at Ichigo’s hole for another moment, blue eyes finding Ichigo’s own and he presses. Slowly.
So slowly he thinks he might actually die. Ichigo is so hot. He wasn’t this wet when Grimmjow had arrived, but now he’s damn near dripping. Slick presses out around Grimmjow’s cock with every millimeter he moves, sliding around and down Ichigo’s crease to dampen the torn shorts and the nest beneath him.
Grimmjow folds the rest of the way over the other, large hands quick to readjust Ichigo how he wants him, hooks the boy's legs around his waist, smooths a hand over his throat, his nose pressed just under his jaw.
Ichigo purrs, deep and raspy, limbs going loose and he can feel himself sink into the nest, weighed down by the other man and slowly, so slowly, being split open. How considerate, Ichigo thinks, offers a grateful little chirp and tilts his head back, stops kneading at the fabric above his head. He's never been fucked by a real cock before, and his delicate human body needs to adjust and Grimmjow is being so patient. Such a good alpha.
He's being smothered. He's never felt so relaxed in his life as he does in this moment, brain running on a loop of Grimmjow, scent and sight and reiatsu. The feel of him, the silk of his hierro-covered skin. The near-silent rasp of his breathing, air fanning over Ichigo's throat.
"Grimm," he manages, before devolving into a sweet, lilting roll of his voice, somewhere between sounds. Love you.
Grimmjow stills for a moment, covers for it by reversing his direction- Kisuke’s really fucked him up, huh. First Ichigo can’t even identify his pack, now he’s spouting about emotions he knows Grimmjow can’t reciprocate. The closest Grimmjow gets to love is the soul deep desire to consume Ichigo - and he does - fuck his teeth itch, his mouth is watering. But it's desire, want. Not love. Adoration for everything Ichigo is, and everything Ichigo gifts him with. But not love. It can’t be. He wishes it could. He wishes he could.
He’s incredibly grateful that Ichigo can’t see his face right now, and ducks slightly closer to suck a bruise into the skin at the hollow of Ichigo’s throat to justify hiding.
It’s frustration that has him snap his hips forward abruptly, anything to cut off the noises Ichigo’s making, to replace them with a much more guttural, animal noise. He growls himself, grinds closer, harshly enough to bruise. Ichigo’s body is so fucking fragile, breakable. But that's not the point of this. It’s not even really the point to fuck him, just to hold him together. Grimmjow can do that for him.
He grinds once more and then he stills, weight falling boneless over Ichigo, pinning him down completely. “Keep me warm.” He orders, like it’s Ichigo who he’s using and not the other way around.
Ichigo moans, soft and warbling, shudders and hisses at the snap and slam of Grimmjow's hips, his cock pressing him open and deep. He squeaks out a startled little noise when Grimmjow drops all of his weight on him, abruptly, and then he starts to purr again, low and sated. Feels so good. Safe.
"Mhm," he agrees, lazily, and finally breaks the order of stay, one hand coming down and curling around the back of Grimmjow's neck, playing up and into the messy strands of hair that never stick up with the rest of it. Always falling down over the collar of Grimmjow's jacket.
Claw-tips play across his hierro, and Ichigo pulls his reiatsu down around them, packs it closer and closer just like he did with each blanket and scrap of clothing in the nest. A heavy weight. His alpha is being so good for him; Ichigo wants to make sure he holds the arrancar down, too. He recalls Grimmjow saying making my head empty, too, and Ichigo. Ichigo is so good, now, grounded and full. Never felt so good in his life, could lay here with Grimmjow for-fucking- ever it feels like.
He makes sure Grimmjow knows exactly how happy he is with the press and roll of red-on-black weight, the purr that buzzes in his chest. Maybe Ichigo is being a little bit possessive, too.
Grimmjow groans, softer and breathier then he intended to, and rolls his hips again, chasing the sensation. Ichigo’s reiatsu always gets him hard. It didn’t in the beginning. Ichigo’s shiteating grin and the fire in his eyes and Grimmjow’s blood on his sword did. Clearly he started conflating the two sensations at some point. Fuck, makes him hungry. The weight is so nice.
He drags his teeth along Ichigo’s shoulder, back and forth for a moment before fisting a hand abruptly in Ichigo’s hair to turn his head so Grimmjow can reach up and slot their mouths together. He groans into the contact again, smooths his free hand down over the scars on Ichigo’s ribs before grabbing at his hip and digging fingertips into his ass. His own reiatsu flares in mimicry.
Ichigo moans into the kiss, a low, quiet little sound, digs his teeth into Grimmjow's lower lip. His fingers curl and tug at blue strands, his other hand coming down as well to grip at one tan shoulder, and the claw-points don't seem to be going away any time soon. Ichigo didn't even know his human body could do that.
For a single, hysterical moment, as he tilts his head to lick inside Grimmjow's mouth, cut his tongue willingly on sharp teeth, he feels a spark of gratitude for Kisuke Urahara's shitty candy drugs. Not so much for the man himself; Ichigo is full of spite even now, but. Oh. Grimmjow is so close right now. How could Ichigo have ever gotten his hands on the arrancar without this between them?
Grimmjow came looking for a fight, but Ichigo is pretty sure that this is better than fighting. He didn't think there could be much he'd prefer doing, there's something so thrilling about the singing of soulsteel, Grimmjow's fangs bared in vicious intent.
Those teeth on his throat, though. Ichigo didn't even know how badly he wanted that.
Grimmjow sucks at Ichigo’s bleeding tongue, bites at his lips in reciprocity and moves his hand from Ichigo’s hair to curl under his waist instead. He drops his forehead back against the mattress and pulls Ichigo up into him, reshuffling the nest with his other hand, packing the blankets and shirts back around Ichigo more fully.
“You let me get away with too much, y’know that, right?” He murmurs and pets down Ichigo’s side again and again. Ichigo shouldn’t. He’ll give Grimmjow hopes. And Grimmjow would rather avoid those so that Ichigo can’t go trampling them into the ground later.
Ichigo chirps, low in his throat, loosens his grip in Grimmjow's hair to stroke his palm over his neck, down the slope of his spine and then up again. He hopes it's as soothing as the repetitive petting Grimmjow is giving him is.
"Nah," he mumbles around his purr, settled firmly in his own skin, head pleasantly light and empty. "It's the right amount."
Mine, his hindbrain says, and Ichigo tugs gently at blue strands before going back to petting.
Grimmjow sighs, breath warm against Ichigo’s skin and tucks himself impossibly closer. Ichigo will change his mind when Kisuke’s drug has finished running its course.
Grimmjow holds him steady for the next few hours, with only the rare, small adjustment, the occasional gentle rock to remind Ichigo of the space he fills. It’s intimate in a way completely alien to Grimmjow, but Ichigo is so content, his purr a continuous, rolling confirmation. He drifts off eventually, soothed by the slow roll of Grimmjow’s reiatsu and the long drags of his nails up and down the line of his spine.
When Ichigo wakes it is with a violent press of his reiatsu, crushing down along Grimmjow's spine and needling into his hierro like the tips of a dozen needles- a sensation only familiar to him through the very unclear concept gathered by distant memories, potentially those gained through one of his many meals. The man under him snarls, deep and full of blistering intent, but no true rage or discomfort.
Grimmjow remembers with the uncomfortable clarity of a man stepping directly into the steel jaws of a bear trap that Ichigo turned Aizen into a fine fucking mist, or as good as. Yeah, he's alpha, and Ichigo's skin-hunger and induced heat wanted him , made Ichigo pliant and willing and sweet for him, but there's a reason Grimmjow drops everything for the mere sliver of a chance that he'll get to fight the hybrid.
It's because Ichigo could kill him.
His human shell is soft, malleable underneath and around him; warm and slightly bruised from Grimmjow's rough handling, but sharp little claws prick at his shoulder blades and when he turns his head just slightly he can see the lower half of Ichigo's face out of the corner of his eye, lips parted and teeth bared in that low, continuous warning snarl; and even his weak human body has inch long fangs, coming to needle sharp points like those of a snake.
It takes him a full minute to realise it isn't him Ichigo is trying to threaten. He flares his pesquisa past the suffocating press of black-red reiatsu and notes a frozen shinigami signature in the open windowsill. He searches for a name or face to go along with the reiatsu, and comes up empty for a moment before likening it to the feel of the frosty little midget he put his hand elbow deep in the guts of the first time he met Ichigo. It's a match as far as his memory tells him, and he starts a slow, hesitant purr high in his throat to try and ease Ichigo down from his near-murderous state despite his own tenseness.
His instincts tell him to stay still and placid and quiet until it all blows over, but Ichigo is still doped up on Kisuke's pills and probably isn't able to pull his reiatsu back enough for the shinigami to even leave . It's an uncomfortable stalemate; at least until Ichigo flips the hell out and goes for the throat.
Grimmjow doesn't want that. He's rock fucking hard inside Ichigo right now, with the pressure and the threat (his priorities are clearly a bit fucked), and doesn't much like the idea of their comfortable position being ruined. He plants his feet, careful not to shift the whole nest around him to do so, and fucks hard up inside the other. One thrust to remind Ichigo exactly who he’s crushing under the weight of his power.
Ichigo blinks at the motion, growl stuttering to a humming stop in his throat as Grimmjow purrs at him, and blearily he relaxes his curled fingers, splaying the pads of his fingers across the hollow's back apologetically.
Rukia squeaks out a high pitched "I'll come back another time!" and her presence finally vanishes from the window, and Ichigo doesn't even try to track it further than the border of his backyard, instead turning all his attention back onto Grimmjow.
He eases his reiatsu off them slightly; keeping the pressing, safe blanket of it as intact as the actual blankets layered over the top of them, and he closes his eyes against the dim afternoon light filtering in through the window. It's better than breathing stuffy air under the blankets, though, and he twists his face a little to the right to drag a kiss along Grimmjow's mask.
It's easy. Comfortable. He pets the back of Grimmjow's neck with one hand, and the other absently trails down to play with the very upper edge of other's hollow hole, quickly pulling away when the other gives a full body shudder at the sensation that Ichigo can't discern as either positive or negative.
"Sorry," he mumbles, voice low and raspy from sleep.
“‘S a lot,” Grimmjow accepts and doesn’t linger. It’s too much for right now, despite his arousal. He doesn’t mind the touches to his mask though, and subtly shifts so Ichigo can repeat the action if he chooses too.
“How you feelin’?” He punctuates the question with a gentle rock of his hips, and the drag of Ichigo’s walls draws a contented sigh into the warmth of the nest.
The way Ichigo just reacted… The drugs are still in effect. Potent shit. It would never last so long in Grimmjow’s own system after the abuse he withstood at that venomous Quincy's hands.
Ichigo hums pleasantly, teeth digging into his lower lip for a brief moment as slow, hedonistic pleasure curls up his spine. He takes a moment to assess himself- notes the lack of crawling skin or particularly fuzzy thoughts. The idea of begging Grimmjow for anything as he did earlier makes his nose screw up in displeasure, and the skin hunger has lessened, but the pressure and weight of the arrancar above him is still relatively glorious.
"Better." He finally says, tone sure and decisive, and presses another kiss to the offered mask.
Grimmjow lets the associating wave of calm roll over him, and settles back into the nest. He tracks the shinigami’s presence as far as the shoten as she flees - Kurosaki is too out of it to pay much attention, so he takes it upon himself to be hyper-aware. Not that he would ever do anything else.
“So? What was the story?”
“Hmmm?” Ichigo settles his lips back into the hollow of Grimmjow’s throat.
“Why’re you trying drugs for Kisuke?” Even that sentence is enough to send a shiver down Grimmjow’s spine. Nothing good can come from being a scientist’s lab rat.
Ichigo appreciates the way Grimmjow’s low rumbling voice rolls through him, and they way that Grimmjow has almost subconsciously started to rock his hips again, fucking him nice and slowly. It’s deeply soothing in a way that Ichigo has never really attributed to Grimmjow before. The distraction keeps him from answering immediately.
“Oh, I didn’t. He said it was candy, I told you that.”
“What?” The beginning of a growl builds in his throat and Ichigo licks across his mask. An instinctive attempt to soothe.
“He shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know.” But Urahara has always had a long running issue with consent. It’s not an excuse, but it is something Ichigo has come to know about the man. “Probably shouldn’t have trusted him.”
Grimmjow growls again, “I could kill him.”
The words strike him in their absurdity not a moment later. Hours ago and he was annoyed that he was the one overstepping on boundaries. Sneaking into a nest he shouldn’t be in. Ichigo has always been his. Since they first fought and Ichigo carved his memory into Grimmjow’s very flesh, but pack is different, and it’s a line that Grimmjow never thought he’d be permitted across.
His next thrust is possessive and he nuzzles into Ichigo’s cheek until he can find some meat to fit between his teeth. It’s a gnawing, avaricious kind of thing. More mouthing than proper biting, but with too many teeth for it to be considered a kiss. Ichigo allows it and so Grimmjow indulges, making his way from jaw to throat to clavicle.
Ichigo hums in response, the sound dipping lower when Grimmjow's teeth drag across his throat, and his fingers flex and curl possessively in the fabric around them, dragging more of the carefully-crafted nest closer in. It would be suffocating, if it wasn't all saturated with the combined scent of the two of them, and warm, and comforting. Between the soft surroundings and the grounding sensation of Grimmjow pressing him down and also, literally, inside him, Ichigo's skin isn't even shifting over his bones anymore, steady and quiet.
He's remarkably passive, as the arrancar rolls his hips, the drag and catch on his insides feeling fuzzy and pleasant to his, honestly, incredibly high mind, senses distorted until he feels semi-floaty and ridiculously pleased about his situation. This pleasure is not something chased with haste, but rather appreciated. Luxuriated in. Though perhaps that’s just him. Grimmjow has shown remarkable patience in finding his own pleasure. Neither of them have cum yet.
Some small part of his brain finally finally registers Grimmjow's words before the pleasant gnawing started, and he offers a placatory purr, reaching up and otting Grimmjow's hair. "Don't kill him. Then I won't get to kill him. And I claimed first murder attempt."
Grimmjow hums in a way that might be agreement, but it could also just be filler noise. Acknowledgement without rescinding his own violent intentions.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Ichigo asks. Out of courtesy.
Grimmjow rolls his hips again. Thoughtfully. More of a reminder that he is, in fact, still inside Ichigo. “Not more than this.” This is for comfort after all. Any pleasure is derivative from the warmth, the closeness. Sex, actual sex, is secondary. Irrelevant to him.
There's something reassuring about his answer, so Ichigo nods slightly and relaxes further, feeling comfortably entangled and warm . If he had the energy he'd probably be trying to examine his own reasoning, here, because shouldn't this be sex? Like, the full nine yards? But he doesn't really want that anyway, so who cares.
The conversation drifts off again. Half dozing in the warm pile of blankets and clothes, bodies pressed completely together, is where they remain until long after the sun has risen. It’s only when Ichigo has finally stopped shivering and groping at Grimmjow’s exposed skin, and the scent of artificial drugs have vacated his system that they untangle.
“You good?” Grimmjow asks again, voice rough from disuse.
It isn’t an awkward affair for them to start disassembling the nest from around them. Ichigo had been more focused on density rather than structure, and the moment the two start pushing at the walls the whole thing topples off of them and onto the bedroom floor. Ichigo might no longer have the drug as an excuse for his forwardness but Grimmjow never shows any signs of discomfort when he tucks himself back into his pants and shimmies the sleeves of his jumpsuit back over his muscled shoulders and so neither does Ichigo.
“Better,” Ichigo agrees, pushing himself into a bridge, one foot braced on Grimmjow’s thigh, to pull his own shorts down over his ass and rescues a new, un-ripped pair of sweatpants from the toppled pile. He’d appreciate a shower later, and he thinks about that instead of the fact that he really did let Grimmjow rip a crotch hole in his favourite shitty pajama shorts. God bless you soldier. Rest in peace.
After a moment of laying there, sprawled and hyper-aware of the tender ache of bruises all over his throat and collarbones, he lifts himself into a sitting position, reaching out and tugging at Grimmjow's now-zipped jumpsuit. "Cmere," he tsks, scowling when the arrancar doesn't move, staring him down with his stupid tiny brows furrowed.
"Whaddya want," Grimmjow snarks, not really a question, but he leans down anyway. Ichigo shifts up to meet him, slides their mouths together, parts his lips to sink his teeth into Grimmjow's lower lip.
The energy is very different from the lazy, needy affection they'd exchanged previously. Ichigo is more aggressive, a red flush settling high on his cheeks when he pulls away. He averts his gaze, scowling.
"I'm still gonna kick your fucking ass next time you show up for a fight."
Grimmjow laughs.