Work Text:
どっちかわかんないグレーな話を
“I don't know which gray history
みんなの前のテーブルに並べて
to put at the table in front of everyone.
「さあ今夜誰が死ぬでしょう」
‘Who will die tonight?’
思い通りになるように仕組んで
I've planned this to be as they would like.”
It’s the cold that wakes him.
A chill that creeps through the cracks of a well worn window pane and wraps him in the gentle embrace of the Karakura winter. Eyes still firmly shut, he supposes he should’ve made sure the window was fully latched, cracks buried behind some sealant putty or other so that the cold could not reach him. Instead he ventures to pull the blankets higher over himself, bare freckled shoulders searching for the respite of powder blue wool and the warmth that lays encased in his bed’s generously sized duvet. However, the catch of fabric buried under foreign weight beckons his eyes to gently open, regarding the softly breathing lump of azure and silently quelled violence that seems to sleep soundly next to him.
The pinch of pin-straight brows is relaxed for once, ivory skin smooth beneath the roughness of carved bone that rests cradled in cotton and memory foam. Like the feline his resurreccion is modeled to resemble, his limbs are curled into himself, body laying atop Ichigo’s blankets in a pseudo-fetal position that somehow looked both incredibly uncomfortable and yet at the same instance somewhat cozy to the ginger human.
Getting this close to the arrancar without risking being skewed was rare. He had never regarded the other’s features under the gentle glow of the full moonlight; the dull beauty marks that dusted the side of his temple, the softness of his skin despite the hierro that Ichigo knew was there, and even the way cerulean tresses curled against the nape of his neck and cradled the lobe of his ear like a precious jewel. He secretly wished he could run his fingertips over those gentle features, perhaps twirl a strand of azure between his battle bruised knuckles, brush his thumb across the dull chocolate freckles that looked every bit as sweet as the confection their hue resembled. He even found himself longing for the drag of plush peach- lips that constantly spewed egotistic and violent nonsense so enticing now that they were parted slightly, moisture warm and inviting on their inner edge while plump curvature begged for their chill to be stolen by wet heat of another.
ねえ、もういいよ
“Hey, that’s enough.
この雨はいつか上がるなんて
Will this rain stop someday?
嘘つきたちが笑ってるよ
The liars are laughing,
もうなんか疲れたんだ
And I’m already tired of this”
He is almost tempted to lean forward and claim those sweet lips as his own, before the spell is broken by the gravel of a voice still struggling against the confines of sleep.
“You gonna stare at me all night Kurosaki? Go back to sleep,” His inflection wants to contain his constant malice and higher superiority but the sedating spell of sleep drags those intentions far and away from the space they share now. All that’s left is the way that a leaden hand pats Ichigo’s pillow lazily, beckoning him indeed to fall back into the sweetest of dreams; that is, if this wasn’t one already.
“Why are you here?” Is all that he can ask as the other finally cracks an azure eye open. “Y’know, in my bed. Sleeping. With me. Your enemy?” He can’t quite hide the questioning in his tone when he finds the word enemy falling from his tongue, but he truly can’t see the other as anything abhorrent or evil. Certainly he wasn’t considered to be in his circle of friends, but there was something else there that just didn’t fit enemy ’s standard definition.
“Fuckin’ sleeping. You should try it,” Propped up on a listless elbow, breaths are shared in an intimate space, “Kisuke is real goddamn annoying this time of year. Running those kids ragged around the shop talking about some fat Santa guy. Figured the only place I’d be able to rest was here, but your front door was locked,”
“So you snuck down the chimney like Santa Claus?” There’s a beat of silence before Ichigo is laughing, reveling in the confusion, recognition, and then anger and embarrassment burning a brand on icy ivory cheeks, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You probably came in through my window and forgot to close it because your hierro keeps you warm and you didn’t care I’d end up freezing to death during the night,”
It’s another joke, but a flicker of apology forms in the raising of an inquisitive eyebrow, “Freeze to death? You ? Protector of worlds?” He scoffs as if the mere joke of that title tasted sour in his mouth, “You serious? You that weak in that meat suit?”
While being referred to as a meat suit is probably the last thing Ichigo wanted to think about at nearly 4 in the morning, he shrugs awkwardly, “I guess so. I know we have to maintain a certain core temp and that if the environment lowers it enough we’ll go into hypothermic shock. Not saying that would seriously happen over the span of the 8 hours of a usual night of sleep that is, especially considering I am at least partially under the covers, but-”
“Has anyone ever told you to shut the fuck up ? You talk too goddamn much,” Grimmjow sighs, “Yes or no, can the cold kill you?” Ichigo nods silently, watching the arrancar turn enough in bed to slide the rest of his window all the way shut, latching it tightly and pulling the curtains closed to leave them laying next to each other in a room snuffed of the moon’s gentle light. “See, now was that so hard genius?”
ねえ、キスをしよう
“Hey, let’s kiss
この世界の終わりが来る夜まで
Until the night the end of the world comes
僕と君が僕と君のままで居られるように
So you and I can keep being the way we are.”
Ichigo isn’t sure if it’s the silence or the calmness that the dark of the room brings, but he feels almost content breathing in the arrcancar’s warm and docile breaths. It’s odd- perhaps even some Christmas magic- that he finds himself here, bare knees knocking almost against the fabric of an obsidian jumpsuit, his very own duvet being stolen from him as Grimmjow finally permeates the only barrier between them and shoves himself under the covers.
This close Ichigo can smell him. The roughness of barren ash and death clings to his skin as a reminder of who he is- what he is-, yet layered over that is the scent of soap and warmth, a caress of the human world leaving tattooed fingerprints across his very own aurora borealis. It’s sage, or perhaps marjoram or rosemary, that hits him first. A cologne or remnants of Kisuke’s holiday spirit he supposes. Under that is what he assumes is Grimmjow’s own personal musk, a brisk, masculine scent that reminds him of the calming smell of the earth after rain or the moisture that clings to the air during monsoon season. Finally, there’s a hint of something sweet, almost confectionary that clings to sapphire strands. Maybe it’s vanilla or something more floral like lily of the valley, but it draws him in, bewitching him and pulling him closer until foreheads are touching.
Like fingers being singed by hot oil, Ichigo finds himself recoiling on impact, a fierce shade of crimson blooming like spring buds across freckled cheeks, “I- I didn’t-” He can’t find his own words, instead squeaking out a weak, “I’m cold?”
“Kurosaki,” His voice is even tempered, but something lingers beneath the surface tension, “What the fuck was that?”
His brain is short circuiting, searching for an appropriate answer as to why he practically nuzzled the arrancar, who is, he should mention, snuggled into his bed as if he belonged there, but before he can come up with a suitable lie, the plushness of lips softer than they had any right to be closed in over his, swallowing his gasp, his words, and any bit on mental functioning he had left.
ねえ、キスをしよう
“ Hey, let’s kiss.
この世界の終わりが来る夜まで
Until the night the end of the world comes
僕と君が僕と君を想い合う夢を見て
So you and I can meet in our dreams
そしてもし世界が終わるときは
And if the world were to end
僕と君でいようね
You and I will be together
僕と君が眠れるように手を繋いだまま
So that you and I can sleep, hand in hand.
He’s much gentler than Ichigo would’ve imagined, that is if he ever would have let his mind wander during battles enough to imagine the roughness of the arrancar’s kiss. However, sober of the initial shock, he finds himself melting into the other, hooking his leg over clothed knees and pulling the firm warmth of his body closer. Here he felt himself dissolving into the other’s touch, being devoured by both Grimmjow’s warmth and the criminal calming caress of their lips.
They break once for air, Ichigo panting like he’s ran a marathon while the azure arrancar’s breath comes out in steamy huffs against damp and sun-kissed skin. “I’m gonna ask you again Kurosaki,” His voice is pure thick and honeyed molasses, devilishly calm and diabetically sweet, “ What was that? ”
“Affection?” He settles on, “I think I just really wanted to touch your face,”
A hand that should be calloused over by the memories of war and grief is soft as silk as a thumb traces a constellation of mocha marks of beauty across a burning cheek, “That so?” Oceanic eyes burn deliriously into the warmth of molten amber, “Do it again,”
And so he does.
He’s sure that they lay tangled like that for hours, smothered in each other’s warmth and letting their lips wander and dance across exposed skin until the dull light of morning pokes through the center of a curtain slightly ajar. Cracking an eye open to squint at the beckoning light, Ichigo watches small ivory flakes dust a window glossed over in a thin layer of ice and condensation. Smiling into the next meeting of kiss swollen lips of strawberry red, he can’t help but feel the allure of Christmas spirit, silently thanking Kisuke for being insufferable and sending him the greatest gift he could ever ask for.