The Espada was more like a petulant child than anything, getting all pissy because he wasn’t getting something he wanted; Ichigo almost snorted in amusement at the thought in his mind, of a five-year old version of Grimmjow all puffed up in anger because Ichigo wouldn’t give him a toy or something. It was a thought that could easily unleash an anger in which these parts had never heard of nor needed to see, so despite how badly he wanted to remark on it he kept his mouth shut. Remarkably. Ichigo had no problem fighting Grimmjow, but he didn’t want to put innocent lives in danger here; there was enough of that in Karakura.
And when the notably taller male stalked forward, Ichigo moved back instinctively - not because of intimidation. He’d taken on bullies bigger, as well as monsters more powerful; Grimmjow would most certainly not scare him into handing over the Substitute badge which, if in the wrong hands—and Grimmjow’s hands were the worst—could spell for a potential disaster and there was no way he wouldn’t have the Soul Society on his tail for doing something so dangerous—so idiotic.
Teeth barred aggressively at the large hand encasing around his throat, back being pressed against the wall behind him. This would also not make him budge, and he responded by immediately kicking his legs out, fully intent on making contact with the other body. “Fuck you,” he bit out, hazelnut eyes hardened and narrowed into a fierce glare. “I repeat: You are getting shit from me.”
The look on Ichigo's face-- the clear, undeniable defiance that seemed to radiate his entire persona was one thing that always got Grimmjow's blood pumping; and that could be taken as good or bad. In the past, as in, back in Hueco Mundo or throughout his days as an Adjuchas and Kami forbid he remember his time as a Menos, there'd always been a clear sense of Hierarchy. A metaphorical line in the sand that, once it was drawn, nobody crossed. Unless they were either especially brazen or stupid, Grimmjow liked to think he was the former.
Hardly anyone ever questioned his authority or strength like Kurosaki he did-- and what pissed him off the most was how blatantly he did it. This bastard had the relentless audacity to stare him in the fucking face with this look of his that just screamed superiority and to Grimmjow it was so condescending he wanted to rip it off the stupid Shinigami's face and pound it into the floor. That expression was exactly what he was looking at now-- the look of irritation on Ichigo's features that to him said, what an annoyance, why can't you get a clue. You can't win.
Well what a fucking joke that was.
The thing was, he'd known this little mission had been a failure from start and coming from him that was saying a damn lot. Like hell this goody two-shoe Shinigami asshole would hand over his combat pass. He'd say 'over his dead body' but really that was just too enticing for him to think straight. In other words, the Espada knew he'd be either prying the thing from the other's dead fingers or, considering his current bodily state, beating him into unconsciousness until he got it. But what spurred him on what the constant stiffening of his skin. Every day it felt like he was getting weaker-- like his perception of spiritual pressure was dying and he didn't even want to begin to think about what that meant.
The day I get my hands on Kisuke Urahara is the day I shove his heart down his fuckin' throat...!
When he felt the kick to his groin, the one thing he didn't expect was the quick blossoming of intense pain making it's way out from his groin to his stomach and causing an odd sensation he'd never experienced before though others had deemed it 'nausea'. He gasped, eyes widening slightly as the male's teeth snapped together, showing off the pristine white as they were bared towards Ichigo. A snarl ripped from Grimmjow's throat, reverberating in his chest as he unwillingly sunk down, his body threatening to betray him by bringing him to the floor.
Fuck. That.
Tightening his hold on the other's throat, Grimmjow could feel his fingernails digging harshly into the flesh, harsh enough to anticipate blood. And wouldn't that be a plus to this whole endeavor. Chiseled muscles flexed beneath the tanned skin of his arm as he used his grip as leverage to keep himself from falling, intense sapphire hues darkening with anger as they bore into amber irises.
"Yer a..." he spoke through gritted teeth, his breathing labored slightly from the pain still coursing through him. "Fuckin' bastard Kurosaki!" With a loud grunt that was loud enough to pass for a sort of roar, the Hollow used most all of his strength to hurl Ichigo towards the floor, finally falling to one of his knees as he did so.
The anger he felt welling up inside him was too much, too much to sit idly by and do nothing. He could feel it boiling in his veins, surging through him as his jaw clenched so tightly the idle thought of cracking his teeth fleetingly caressed his consciousness.
"Ya think yer tough shit, huh!?" He laughed, the sound border lining a manic state as he pushed himself back up into a standing position, eyes taking on a lethal stare as a grin swept across his face. Moving to where he'd thrown Ichigo who had undoubtedly been having trouble breathing through the previous grip on his throat, Grimmjow sneered down at him with venom lacing his words.
"I ain't askin' permission fer shit, Kurosaki! Ya think I can't take it from ya?" Bringing his leg back, the blue-haired male swung forward to bring it into brutal contact with the side of Ichigo's head, his laughter making itself known once more. "Ya think I give a shit whether ya want me to or not!?" Another kick, this one to the ribs. Though the fact that it didn't send the other flying across the room as it would have in his Espada body displeased him. "Don't make me fuckin' laugh." Gathering a mouthful of saliva, the male spit directly next to Ichigo's face, his eyes moving to scan the room for the much sought after combat pass.
Now. Where the hell's he hidin' that hunk a'shit?
