#shellsanwrites

Everything happens in this weird mix of violence and awkward caring that’s become something of a staple in Ichigo’s life at this point. Grimmjow appears from a whirling mass of black and immediately tackles Ichigo. If it weren’t for his quick reflexes that has Ichigo twisting them so that they roll with Grimmjow hitting the ground first before they tumble into a mess of limbs on the floor of his bedroom, he might have been seriously injured. It’s still unclear if Grimmjow was actually trying to hurt him, but Ichigo likes to think that the two of them have come to some sort of understanding since the war ended.

Times like this make him question that hope.

            They flail against each other in some poor emulation of wrestling until Ichigo has Grimmjow’s arms trapped at his sides with the arrancar’s back pressed to his torso. Grimmjow’s legs are locked under his own, effectively trapping the other man, even as he struggles a little to get away.

            “What the fuck Grimmjow?”

            “That’s what I should be saying!” Grimmjow growls, struggling harder for a couple more minutes. When it becomes clear that Ichigo isn’t going to let up on his hold, the bastard huffs and then practically relaxes back into Ichigo’s hold like this is what he’d wanted from the beginning. Seriously, what the fuck.

            “Pretty sure I’m the one who’s more confused here, Grimm,” Ichigo says, voice dry. “Why the hell did you attack me out of no-where?”

            “Attack?” Grimmjow scoffs. “That wasn’t an attack, Kurosaki. You’re getting soft.”

            Ichigo feels a headache coming on. “Fine. What brings you to visit then?” he asks, voice as mocking as he can manage. Not an attack his ass.

            “That bitch Nelliel-“

            “Don’t call her that,” Ichigo says, for what feels like the millionth time. It might be.

            “That bitch,” Grimmjow repeats slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to provoke him.

Ichigo puts pressure around Grimmjow’s torso, squeezing hard in warning. If Grimmjow was a squishy human, he would be crying out in pain by now and most likely nursing bruises. Ichigo can’t quite tell from this angle, but it almost looks like Grimmjow is pleased with his response. The bastard doesn’t even wheeze.

Grimmjow continues sounding far too smug, “told me that you humans celebrated days of birth or some shit and that I should be here as a gift or something. Kept goin’ on and on about it until I gave up and came here just to get her to shut the fuck up.”

            The image forming in Ichigo’s mind is equal parts amusing and frustrating, because Grimmjow saying that he’s here as a gift is not the same thing as Grimmjow saying he’s here to give him a gift. And fuck he really likes the image of the former in his mind. This might not be his favourite ex-espada wrapped up in ribbons with a pretty bow just for him, but he is wrapped up in Ichigo’s arms which is arguably better. Even if he could have done without the surprise tackle.

Now that they aren’t wrestling and Ichigo’s not concerned over fighting this bastard, he can appreciate how the man feels in his arms. Grimmjow is warm and heavy, and he smells like this specific mix of Hueco Mundo’s sand and blood and something distinctly Grimmjow that Ichigo’s never been able to place, but that relaxes him regardless. It’s nice sitting here for a moment and just basking in Grimmjow’s presence without it being in the middle of a fight in Urahara’s basement.

Apparently Grimmjow is just as content in a human’s arms as a cat is. After the initial fight, he seems content to relax and occasionally provoke, testing the binds of Ichigo’s arms which hold steady. It’s kind of adorable, if Ichigo’s being honest with himself. In all the ways that a large and deadly man who wouldn’t hesitate to almost-murder you for the wrong move can be, anyway. Which is surprisingly many.

            “You’re my gift for my birthday?” Ichigo asks, when he feels Grimmjow beginning to tense and move again, as if sensing his line of thoughts.

            “The fuck I am,” Grimmjow hisses.

            “Kinda getting mixed signals here,” Ichigo says, aware that he sounds far more amused than Grimmjow will appreciate, but unable to help himself.

            The arrancar twists, jaws opening to bite down on Ichigo’s arm. It barely stings, a sure sign that Grimmjow is more embarrassed than actually upset. Still, Ichigo loosens his grip.

            In an instant, Grimmjow is shifting, all lithe lines of deceptive strength and impossible bends as he pushes Ichigo down. They roll across the wooden floorboards as Ichigo fights back, not really concerned over Grimmjow trying to almost-murder him at this point, but still not entirely willing to see what happens if he doesn’t fight at at. Ichigo narrowly avoids banging his head against his wardrobe door as their tussle comes to an end.

Ichigo’s laying underneath a triumphant looking Grimmjow now, who’s straddling his thighs like it’s a throne and peering down at him like the man who’s just accomplished a coup. It’s equal parts adorable and really fucking hot. Grimmjow looks gorgeous like this, eyes glowing in pride and body rippling openly given the poor excuse for a uniform the espada insists on.

“See, bastard, I’m not a gift!” Grimmjow crows.

            Ichigo rolls his eyes, slamming a lock on where his thoughts were going. “Sure. You’d be a shitty gift anyway,” he says.

            “Fuck you, I’d be an amazing gift!” Grimmjow shouts, face contorted in indignation.

            Ichigo can’t help but laugh at the stupidity of that statement and the sheer magnitude of make your fucking mind up that’s in that statement. Still, he grins. “Sure, kitty cat,” he teases. “It is something of a tradition for humans to give a pet as a gift.

            Rage blooms red across Grimmjow’s face. “Fuck you, Kurosaki! I’m not a fucking kitten!” he screeches.

A fist flies towards Ichigo’s face. He turns his head, narrowly avoiding it and still grinning. The floorboard creak dangerously under the attention, but Ichigo ignores it. “I’m not sure about that,” he says, because even though Grimmjow isn’t actually his gift, his reactions are more of a gift than anything else he’d gotten today has been. “Pretty sure I’ve heard you purr in your sleep before.”

It’s not even a lie. When Grimmjow is bored, he’ll come over for a fight, and if Ichigo’s too busy to make time, he’ll often nap on Ichigo’s bed in some weird form of protest and sulking, and sometimes, Ichigo heard him making soft pleased noises that are remarkably similar to purring especially if he plays with the arrancar’s hair. Still, the reaction Ichigo gets for saying as much is worth the attempts at violence, and the way that Grimmjow’s knees shift to dig into his ribs.

“Like fuck you have!”

            “I can record it for you next time if you like,” Ichigo offers. He doesn’t quite dodge the next punch, but the split lip barely stings and the bruise will heal quick enough.

            “You’re such a fucking asshole,” Grimmjow says.

            “You’re the one who came over. Uninvited, I might add,” Ichigo says

            The Arrancar snarls. “Fuck you!”

            Ichigo’s whole-body shakes with laughter. “Promises, Grimmjow.”

            Grimmjow looks very confused for a minute before he registers Ichigo’s implications and pink spreads across his cheeks. Ichigo’s convinced that the entire reason Grimmjow bends over to bite him is so that he can hide his embarrassment. “Why the fuck do I even put up with you?” he hisses.

            There’s an ache in the junction between his shoulder and neck where Grimmjow’s tried to suck his blood like some kind of hollow-turned-vampire, but its negligible in the face of the arrancar’s hot breath against that same spot and the general joy Ichigo’s feeling in this moment. “Because no-one else puts up with the fact that you gnaw on your friends when they argue with you,” Ichigo says dryly.

            Grimmjow bites him again.

            “Good points,” Ichigo mocks, just because he can’t help himself.

            “Fucking asshole, will you just shut up already,” Grimmjow says.

            “Make me.”

            Ichigo’s not sure what he expects the comment to prompt, but it certainly isn’t Grimmjow’s lips smashing into his own with all the finesse of a bar-fight. It’s more teeth than any kiss has any right to be, and Ichigo tastes the tang of crimson blood in their saliva as he licks into the arrancar’s mouth. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. He groans at the flavour, his hands coming up to tangle in Grimmjow’s hair, tugging at the strands.

            They’re both panting when Grimmjow finally pulls back. The arrancar’s lips are spit slick and red-raw. Ichigo fights down another groan at the sight. There’s something dazed in Grimmjow’s eyes, almost like this hadn’t been part of the plan and he’s not sure where to go now. Wouldn’t surprise Ichigo if that was the case. Grimmjow is a creature of instincts—he’s not one to stop and think about the consequences about whatever the fuck this is going to turn into.

            Still, before they can start thinking too hard, Ichigo pulls Grimmjow back down. He’s more careful this time, moving his lips against Grimmjow’s own. It’s still a fight, Ichigo’s not sure that he can imagine kissing Grimmjow with passivity, but it’s a different kind of fight. More of a slow build and a fight on technique, rather than fist first brawling.