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I'm climbing out of an opaque town
From the bottom facing a blurred horizon
Woke up to the sound of your heart
Droning
Droning a holy sound
You and I, we're safe from the fumes
Warm inside our cells
One day our fates will collide and our
Love will be expelled
-Sensation-
It hits him for the umpteenth time under the persistent porcelain glow of the inverted moon; cold like a chill that chastises his bones, a long dead and harvested ivory-yet, it’s warm like a nosebleed’s crimson tears running over parted lips, the iron tang tasted between heaving breaths and the inquisition of a probing tongue. Shellshocked and grasping at the ashen sand underneath a body deathly still, Grimmjow feels as though he’s being pulled under, as if Hueco Mundo itself was sucking him below the ground, flesh trapped behind the glasses of a draining hourglass, merely helpless to the passing of time.
As if the gaping chasm in his abdomen had opened up in preparation to swallow him whole, he frantically ran his hands over fear-chilled and hierro-hardened skin. The size of a fist punched through his midsection, the complexity of his hollow hole hadn’t changed: yet the thrumming from his darkened insides hadn’t ceased. With the tyranny of Sosuke Aizen long behind him, his conversion from adjuchas to arrancar a mere memory blurring along the edges of his vision, he feared that it might just be his time to go. Instinct was to feel elation at the idea of what felt like a hundred years’ struggle coming to an end, however the warrior in him, the animal burning through his veins, wanted to bite and claw until he had nothing left. If the sand swallowed him, claiming the dust of his remains like countless others before him, what would happen to Kurosaki? That was his prize kill, the head he would bring home from war as a symbol of status and power.
A punchline of a bad joke, the moment that name echoes around his skull, disorganized thoughts ravaging his sanity for spare parts, a flicker of reiatsu tickles the edges of his senses. A reiatsu so unique he can almost taste it on the dryness of a panicked tongue. Crimson and onyx, ocean and ivory, pure golden pulses of energy, an amalgamation of amassed power that he could suffocate in.
It’s hovering over him before he can complete a thought, a pathetic display for overgrown tresses of tangerine fire to dance in awe of. He could die on the spot and suddenly it wouldn’t feel like such a loss.
“You look constipated,” He chuckles, plopping right down into the ashen wasteland as if he belonged there, “What are you doing all the way out here? Las Noches is way over there,” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, the crumbling citadel a mirage at the distance they sit from its ivory walls, “Taking a sand nap? Some sort of advanced ‘I’m going to kill you Kurosaki’ training?”
Grimmjow scowls, “Wouldn’t you like to fucking know,” he’s aiming for intimidation, but his voice is hoarse with disuse, panic clinging to the edges of his words so forcefully that they come out simply sounding tired, “Why are you even here? Your friends finally discard you like hollow trash?”
He wants to rile the war hero, get a fist thrown at him for his efforts to start the skirmish he aches for, but instead he’s met with the breath of a laugh, a loose wrist bumping against his shoulder to jostle his rigid form, “Nope, just visiting,” A colorful and neatly wrapped box is tossed onto his chest, the tickle of tangerine tinsel and electric blue ribbons slip between the open edges of his jumpsuit, eliciting goosepimples to erupt across his cool skin, “In the world of the living, today is Christmas. Y’know, we eat a meal together, spread happiness through gift giving-”
“I know what Christmas is Kurosaki. I’m dead, not an alien,” Grimmjow cuts him off sharply, a sigh falling from his lips as he thumbs the edge of the gaudy wrapping paper Ichigo had chosen, “What even is this? Why are you giving me a gift?” A thumbnail tears the seal on one rectangular edge, clear tape hanging at two points of connection now instead of four, “Is this your way to ‘spread happiness’? Don’t make me sick Kurosaki.”
Last night I found you wet
I was dry but you pulled me in
And we drowned in silence
We drowned in silence
We knew when the wave hit
That all our fears were through
I go down with you all the way
Timeless in our tomb
-Vivien-
“Technically it’s from Kisuke,” A laugh, a shuffle, and warmth radiating against Grimmjow’s left side, “But I do benefit from it too, so I guess it’s from both of us,” Limbs soften from the rigidity of misplaced panic, the festive box sitting heavier now on his chest. Chilled fingers absentmindedly play with the colorful paper, a mixture of fire and ice meeting in a glare of cautious comfort and radiant warmth.
Propping himself on muscles that whine in the wickedness of a mind off kilter, he finds himself sitting next to the substitute shinigami, sharing his space too closely for comfort, but not close enough to keep his hand on the hilt of Pantera in warning. Gently, almost in unusual trepidation, Grimmjow begins to pull the gift from it’s confines, holding a small belt buckle in his hands. An azure eyebrow raises in silent question; Kurosaki just smiles.
“It’s some sort of James Bond-esque cloaking device,” He laughs, reaching to flip it over in the arrancar’s hand, revealing foreign symbols carved into the stainless steel, “Apparently it’s supposed to mask your reiatsu and mix it with mine so that you can enter the world of the living without the permission of the Soul Society,” Caramel apple eyes dance across ivory fingertips, “It’ll allow you to come visit Kisuke more often, or, well, me I guess. More fights, more aggressive domesticity because you won’t admit I’m not definitely your only friend,”
“Bullshit,” Grimmjow grits out, gripping the buckle with more force than necessary, “Why are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to have some shitty feast with those wild animals you call your family? Why the fuck are you in Hueco Mundo?”
Eyes full of fire dim, the dull lick of flames turning mesmerizing shades of sienna and chestnut into charcoal and desert taupe. Reiatsu that once thrummed with life becomes a hum on the edge of his periphery, hands that probed too close to his own stop to hover above the shining steel caged behind his fingers, sun-kissed skin unsure whether to shrink away or remain in his aura in electric calm.
Tell me you'd love to taste that same kiss we shared
Persuade me our time was wasted falling in sync
I could never leave you this way again
I've tried- but fell against your grave
I will never leave this sacred place
Am I forever drawn your way?
-Cadavre Exquis-
Wars of experience in the horrors of man and monster, yet Kurosaki seemed more rattled by a singular question pointed his way than a blade at his throat. This intrigued the arrancar, but his lips stayed sealed, an instinctually vicious tongue caged behind lips that stayed almost respectfully closed.
“My mother…” Ichigo starts, voice small, a sinew of his usual timbre, “My mother died when I was a kid. I was old enough to understand what had happened…old enough to feel guilty and take the blame, even if it wasn’t truly my fault, but not old enough to really process the loss and what it meant,” Knees draped in onyx shihakusho pull up to Kurosaki’s chin, his head resting against the material in maddening melancholy, “The holidays feel empty without her. Summer festivals, birthdays, graduations, even Christmas. I guess it just feels like a play my dad tries to put on in vain every year to make us feel like everything is normal. He has his humor, Yuzu has her cooking, Karin has her cynicism, and all I really have is the pity I get from friends who know what happened. I feel like all of this holly jolly shit is so unnecessary…it just feels so fake, and I can’t stand it,” Hands run over a freckled face, glassy eyes finally meeting Grimmjow’s and melting his icy exterior at the rawness of his apologetic gaze, “And I don’t know why I’m dumping this all on you, I’m sorry, and I know you’re probably uncomfortable and I’ve made this all super weird but… can we just call a truce for today? Please? I just- I don’t want to go home right now. I don’t want to see my friends, or any of the Gotei, or even the Pluses wandering around. Just for one day I want to be invisible, unreachable,”
The sincerity startles the arrancar at first, silence making the other begin to nervously wring his hands against the grains of ash at his feet. It stretches for a few seconds, a minute, and then two, and right before Ichigo begins to speak again, Grimmjow clears his throat and digs his heels into the sand, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, from what I can remember, I cared about my mom a lot too,” The silence stretches even longer, “If these are even my memories,” he adds, “All this hollow hierarchy bullshit, who even knows if I can really remember the human life this body started with. I don’t mean to be a downer or anything, and this probably sounds really fucking stupid coming from someone who’s been dead, but you’re not alone in feeling that way,” Cold and blackened claws rake through wild azure hair, “This is such a gross conversation to be having,”
Without a beat, 10 words, softly uttered from the shinigami’s lips, knock the air from the arrancar’s lungs, “I’m glad that it’s you I’m having this conversation with,”
Tell me something you believe in
I am breathing... are you watching?
I feel now these times are gold
And the coldest days are winding down
-Day One-
It’s a terrifying preposition, a terrifying closeness, an intimacy that makes Grimmjow’s head spin. Someone like Kurosaki, a being that could make any world kneel before his power- someone that with the right push, the right provocation, could subjugate whole races of supernatural warriors under his thumb, was staring at him with wet, cinnamon eyes that bathed his body in such an unnatural calm that he was beginning to sweat. As if orbiting around him like a planet basking in the push and pull of the gentle sun, he felt like somehow, in some way, he’d simply lost to the man, helpless to the gravity that was sucking him in.
His silence coaxes Ichigo to continue, that damning gaze never leaving his own arctic stare, “I mean it. I know that it’s in your nature to hate me and that you swear to kill me, but I think what you said is true…” the shinigami rests a cheek on one of his knees, arms wrapped tightly around his own legs as if he’s holding the pieces of himself together, “I think we have more in common than we both realize. I’ve never thought of you as some ‘inferior being’ y’know, no matter how much you swear I look at you with some sort of look in my eyes,”
Grimmjow scoffs, throwing a handful of the ashen sand of Hueco Mundo’s barren desert directly at those taunting eyes, “Forget what I said- and stop looking at me with that look in your eyes,”
Through coughing and sputtering he finally hears a familiar chuckle, a push rocking the arrancars body as Kurosaki frantically rubs his eyes, “What look? Hey- you asshole now I can’t see,” Chuckles turn into laughter as reddened, tear-filled eyes stare right back into oceans of confusion, heat pooling into the arrancar’s normally stoic face.
He can’t tell if it’s grains of sand stuck to the other’s face or if the shinigami had always had constellations of faded freckles dusting his cheekbones; sun-kissed skin seemed like a paradox of the speckled chestnut stars that he imagined would sit perfectly in the onyx sea that covered Hueco Mundo’s cavernous sky. It was mesmerizing, and the longer he stared he found himself noticing other infuriating details about the other’s appearance- from the way his spiky hair had overgrown to the point of curling around the lobes of his ears, to the dusty peach color in plump, shining lips that complimented the tangerine tint of Kurosaki’s wild hair.
The moment his attention was brought back to the shinigami’s eyes it's as if something had shifted in the air between them, animosity turning to electricity, and, suddenly, being in Kurosaki’s presence becomes less of a point of disgust and more like the pull of a magnet pushing him ever closer into his oscillating orbit.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Grimmjow repeats, unblinkingly staring into mahogany pools of temptation
“Stop looking at you like what?” Ichigo parrots, eyes sharing the same sentiment that Grimmjow’s own seemed spellbound with.
“Stop looking at me like you want to kiss me,” A beat as Kurosaki infuriatingly, unconsciously licks his lips, “Shinigami freak,”
Ever so tauntingly, like the bastard Grimmjow knew him to be, Ichigo leans forward, breath ghosting over the arrancars lips like a warning, an invitation, or maybe even a dream. He isn’t sure if he’s happy that the dreary look in the other’s eyes is almost completely replaced with epiphany or if he’s terrified of what that might mean for him. Pupils dilate and shift downwards to consider his statement, flicking back up with a new fire lit inside of them, “Is that what you want? All this time you’ve spent trying to kill me…you sure you aren’t just murder-horny for me? Maybe the arrancar genes are confused that you have a homicide boner,”
He’s affronted by Kurosaki’s, frankly childish, taunting, but something inside of him is daring today, toeing the edge of absolute insanity and impossibility. He doesn’t know if it’s the breakthrough of the sentimental moment they shared or the reminiscence of the past a reminder of Grimmjow’s long lost humanity, but he finds himself conceding, grabbing Ichigo by the collar and scowling at the other, uttering a, “Would you shut up?” before slamming their lips together, violence mixing with curiosity as plump peach matched his movements with the same ferocity.
While you're destroying all that remains
I'm circled in the fire as we begin to sway
We're outrunning machines
We are the source in between
While you're performing the holy exchange
Your secrets and desires and our world begins to sway
We're outrunning machines
We are the source in between
-Holier-
Burning hands tangle in tousled waves of azure, a cold, ivory hand wrapped loosely around the shinigami’s neck; enough to keep him still yet not tight enough to restrict his breaths. The hairs on the back of the arrancar’s neck stood on end, fear prickling his periphery for daring to let someone so formidable so close to his own throat, yet soothed by the pleasure of the wet heat invading his mouth. A hot tongue swiped over his canines, tasting him, goading him to give in, to want more, to take more.
It isn’t until Kurosaki’s back is against the sand, sunrise hair splayed around his head like a fiery halo that Grimmjow really looks at him, pulling away and taking in the sight of Ichigo like it was the first time he’d laid eyes on him. Shihakusho pushed to the side and barely hanging onto his shoulders, the shinigami had his throat bared to the other in a sign of trust, familiarity, as if they were of the same pack of misfit degenerates that the world had cursed fourfold at the time of their conception. It almost comically made sense to have the other panting under him after all they’d been through- if there was a God in this universe, someone other than Tier Harribel, or Kyoraku Shunsui, Sosuke Aizen, or even the damned Soul King, he was sure that their one mercy would have been sticking his poor forsaken soul with the beacon of sunlight that was Kurosaki Ichigo.
Laying half buried in the sand next to the panting redhead, a piece of stainless steel glimmers, Grimmjow reaching for it and holding the discarded gift in his hand like a trophy, “A cloak for visits to the human world huh? You ready for that kind of commitment Kurosaki? You ain’t going to change your mind after Christmas? Leave me standing on your doorstep like some undead idiot?”
The other smirks, no good ever coming for the machinations of the other’s demented mind, “Leave you all alone in my neighborhood and add the the stray cat population in Karakura?” a feigned gasp, “Why, I could never!”
Grimmjow could feel his pulse jump in frustration, the twitch in his eye a modicum of the rage the other elicited inside him, “You make me want to rip the smirk off that pretty little face,”
Another theatrical gasp from the shinigami, “You think I’m pretty? I’m flattered,”
Clamping a hand over the other’s mouth, Grimmjow forces their foreheads to touch, his glare holding no malice as he meets Ichigo’s victorious eyes, “You need to be taught how to shut that fucking mouth of yours,” He doesn’t need to hear his muffled response to know the flirtatious sentiment that he’s dying to convey, “Listen to me for a second, will ya?” A nod, “I don’t know what just happened between the two of us, and frankly it’s kind of freaking me out, but I don’t hate it,” A beat of silence to compose himself before he continues, “I just want to know I’m not going insane before I convince myself this was a mistake and end up killing us both,”
Almost as if there was never any force behind it to begin with, Ichigo moves Grimmjow’s hand from his lips and smiles that frustratingly sad smile back up at him, drawing hesitantly wanton lips back down to meet his in a foreignly soft kiss, “Merry Christmas you dickhead. I’ve never thought you were some hideous beast. Deep down we’re all full of some fucked up loneliness that puts our guard up and makes us act like idiots. I’ve got family back at home that loves me- people who wanted to spend today with me- but instead I asked Kisuke to come here and see you,” Azure eyes begin to widen, words being felt in his stomach before Kurosaki could even say them aloud, “I ditched the very people I gave my life to save twice over, people I waged wars to protect, just to see you today because I knew somehow, somewhere deep down, you’d understand all the shit going through my head,” Ichigo laughs, “So yeah, I’m serious about whatever you want this to be, and if that means I’m losing my shit too, than commit us both to the asylum because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, and with that little trinket from Kisuke, neither are you,”
Soft peach grazes over Grimmjow's open mouth, that same hot tongue licking behind his canines and up over the corner of his lips before two arms wrap over his shoulders and around his neck, a reassuring weight holding him in place.
Maybe he’s lost his mind, or maybe he can appreciate the good tidings that this Christmas spirit nonsense brings, but he finds himself chasing the taste of the shinigami, lips slowly meeting, parting, realigning, and meshing together as if they needed to become one, singular breathing form. Maybe they were alike in that regard, relying on and needed each other to fill that void of purpose and kinship that ached in their bones, and maybe it just took Kisuke Urahara sticking his nose where it didn’t belong for both of their stubborn heads to realize it. So with a bite hard enough to draw blood but soft enough not to maim, Grimmjow pulls back, making a show of licking Ichigo’s blood from his lips like a foreign delicacy.
“Merry Christmas Kurosaki,”
Entering your prism again tonight
I wander into your neighborhood tonight
I'm gonna cruise up and down these vacant streets tonight
I wanna lose my way inside your dreams tonight
I warned you today I couldn't stay...
But I'm forever yours
-Procession-