[Fic] e'er the sound (Bleach)
- Fandom: Bleach (Anime)
- Pairing: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Urahara Kisuke
- Tags: Time Travel Fix-It
- Word-Count: 5092
- First Published: 2023-10-19
- Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and have made no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Summary:
In which Grimmjow somehow utterly misses the fact that he’s doing a time-travel fix-it. It’s cool, though. Kisuke can pick up the slack.
Work Text:
The hollow walks into the shouten, steps heavy, and frowns, scratching his nose. “Hah? Kurosaki ain’t here?”
Power emanates off the hollow on a level Kisuke has never before seen, his hand already on his zanpakutou, eyes thoroughly studying this strange hollow that got through his wards so easily. "Oh? And who do we have here?" Kisuke drawls, gazing at it from below his hat, mind churning. Powerful, steps sure as it approaches him, not a hint of hesitation as it gets close. Doesn't see him as powerful, or sees itself as more powerful? His fingers itch for his equipment and his notebooks, wanting to write down his theories before he gets distracted or loses his train of thought.
Scowling at him, the hollow saunters up to him and steals his cup of tea, taking a sip, grimacing and spitting it right back out into the ceramic cup with the delicate flower-pattern. The blue hair flops a little over one of the hollow's eyes, the bone on its jaw strong and moving with the hollow's twitching muscles. It's a partial—broken—mask, something Kisuke has also never seen before. A sign of decay? An incomplete hollowfication? His wards record the reiatsu levels of everyone who enters the shouten, just as an extra precaution, and oh, how he wishes he could go look at it right away.
Because this doesn't seem like an incomplete hollow.
“Ugh,” it complains, glaring at Kisuke like he’s personally offended him, “I thought you’d gotten better at this. What did you do, burn the water?” It clicks its tongue.
“I assure you I did no such thing.”
The hollow hole, Kisuke notes, is large and in the center of the hollow's stomach. Strong musclucalte surrounds it, reminding him of human muscles more so than an animals, and there's a clear scar on its chest that must have very nearly killed it. Did that—whatever did it—break the mask, as well?
What effect does a broken mask have on a hollow?
He's killed more than his share of hollows by simply breaking their masks—never has he witnessed one surviving. But who's to say the deaths were caused by the mask itself breaking, and not something else? How many variables are there to broken masks? Who breaks the mask, when is it broken, in what environment—how much reishi is there, is the hollow fighting someone or alone, is it fighting a Shinigami or another hollow—does it break, can hollow masks naturally break? The age of the hollow, the origin of the soul; how many variables are there he hasn't considered? Which ones cause death, and which one created this hollow?
Glancing around, the hollow frowns, blue eyebrows furrowing. It drawls, “Well, anyway, if Kurosaki ain’t around I’m ditching.” Kisuke's fingers itch again; the speech might be rude but that's a perfect voice, none of the aching quality hollows normally have. It is, actually, melodious in a way, and he wonders absentmindedly if it has any special qualities. A normal hollow's voice can cause damage, is used partly as a pure output of reiatsu and partly as en attack, and can this hollow do something similar? Or does the voice mean he's lost that capability? Was it traded for something else? How would losing that affect his physiology—in as much as hollow's have physiology.
Interesting.
This is all so interesting.
The strange hollow points right at him, commanding, “The next time you see him, let him know it’s time for our fight, understand? I’m not giving up just because he’s—” here, the hollow tilts its head back and raises it’s voice like it's calling out to someone, but it's still a normal—more or less—voice, “avoiding me like a coward.”
Tossing its head, the hollow snags the biscuits off Kisuke’s plate, and saunters right back out.
Kisuke blinks, removing his hand from Benihime.
Interesting.
Two days and fourteen panicked conversations with the Vizored (no, he does not need anybody’s help, and no, he's not in danger; no, the hollow didn't hurt him; yes, Kiuske can take care of himself) later, the strange hollows wanders back into the shouten. Kisuke very carefully does not move, his attention solely on the hollow that's loitering in the store front room, digging through the candy available and clicking it's tongue. Eyes narrowing, Kisuke watches the hollow toss the candy right back, and he pokes gently at the reishi to see if the hollow did anything to it.
It doesn't seem like it.
Curious.
Pocketing a couple of the candy it just tossed away, to Kisuke's raised eyebrow, the hollow shoves its hands into its pockets and saunters over to him, steps sure and feet steady on the wooden boards and tatami mats. “Kurosaki still ain’t here?” the hollow demands, looking around, turning its neck this way and that like it can peer through the walls. Maybe it can. That would certainly be something to investigate.
Kisuke felt the hollow coming this time. It has a very distinctive signature, likely due to whatever is happening with its mask, and once he re-calibrated some of his equipment he was able to pick up the residual reishi in the shouten. Actually locating the hollow has thus far proven difficult, but that's likely simply because the hollow hasn't been in the human realm, and so despite Tessai's quiet looks Kisuke hasn't worried much about it.
He has other things to worry about. Like—well, things.
Fanning his face, Kisuke drawls, “Ah, hollow-san, you’re gonna have to pay for that.”
Ignoring him, the hollow continues to look around, even bending to look under the table. It doesn't react to the sight of Benihime on Kisuke's lap, one of his hands on the blade. He left the it out, didn't disguise it as a cane, just for the hollow and oh, how the hollow delivers. “Oi,” the hollow says, standing back up and slouching with its hands in its pockets again, successfully looking down at Kisuke. It demands, “Did you tell Kurosaki to come find me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know a Kurosaki, so it’s rather a moot point,” Kisuke very reasonably points out. He fans his face again, observing every twitch of the hollow's muscles. It's interesting how open the hollow is about its reactions. Is that an effect of the power it holds, or simply its personality? Does it have a personality? It it has consolidated a personality out of the thousands of souls it's eaten, then it must have been at least an Adjuchas, if not a Vasto Lorde, before it's mask broke. Unless the mask breaking caused it? More experiments are needed, Kisuke thinks at that, dragging his gaze up and down the hollow to catalogue its every twitch.
The hollow presents as male pretty uniformly, he also notes with a certain wryness, because Kisuke, as much as he is ever attracted to anyone, tends to be attracted to men.
(And the hollow is extremely pretty, extremely powerful, a puzzle, really. And—seems to actually like him.)
Clicking its tongue, the hollow grouches, "You're always such a pain,” sitting down and snagging a cup of tea that’s no longer warm. Two cups were arranged on the table, and Kisuke grabs his own cup, warms it with the sting of his reiatsu, and watches over the rim of his cup as the hollow takes a sip and lets the liquid dribble over his lips, right back into the cup. “Still shit,” it declares. It—he, Kisuke supposes (it obviously has some degree of person-hood, and in light of... well, he is trying to be better at that)—says, scowling, “Did you get a bad batch or something? Why're you still using this shit?”
“It’s a fine batch,” Kisuke defends, slowly fanning himself as his mind spins through variables again. There are so many fascinating possibilities to this hollow's existence, and any one of them deserves it's own carefully considered attention and investigation. Kisuke watches, too, the hollow narrowing his eyes, head tilting, neck baring, and he takes the chance to slide into a much sought-after question. “Now here did you go, while waiting for this Kurosaki?”
“Hueco Mundo,” the hollow promptly says, managing to smack in a truckload of doubt in Kisuke’s intelligence in those two words. Humming, Kisuke sips at his tea and tilts his head back a little, display part of his throat. The hollow's eyes drift over the view, but he doesn't otherwise react. An utterly alien reaction from a hollow when a Shinigami displays weakness, and Kisuke notes it in his mind for the future. He is not above turning his hand so his sleeve slides down his arm a little, showing more of his wrist, and observing the hollow's reaction to this, as well. But as with his neck, the hollow merely looks for a second, gaze drifting over it, and doesn't do anything. Doesn't react, aside from licking his lips.
Ah. That's interesting, as well.
The tea tastes normal on his tongue, and goes down his throat without any issue. He breaks his observation of the hollow to properly enjoy it, shutting his eyes for a moment and dragging the scent in deep into his lungs. And when he opens his eyes again, the hollow is staring at him, eyes heavy-lidded. Noticing Kisuke’s attention, the hollow leers, leans back on his arms and displays his—certainly impressive—chest.
Kisuke’s eyes go to the hollow hole.
Laughing, the hollow snorts, “Man, you’re such a weirdo." There is something profoundly softer about his body-language now, something gentler in his expression. Kisuke—isn't used to be looked at like he's known. Yoruichi, Tessai, they come close, but he is as he is, and knowable—truly knowable—isn't one of those thing. His mind spins, and his thoughts slip, and he wanders off the path before he even notices the warning signs. And he tries, sometimes, especially lately, but it only ever feels like adding more layers instead of unveiling them.
But the hollow's smile is soft and in his expressive eyes Kisuke finds nothing resembling hostility. Rather, the hollow wiggles his eyebrows and suggests, “Wanna spar?”
Instead of dignifying that with a response, Kisuke asks, “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary lately, hollow-san?”
He has oh so many theories, the possibilities fascinating, and the hollow has, despite the grouchiness, been shockingly accommodating so far. Perhaps, Kisuke thinks, some theories are more logical than others, and perhaps he oughtn't be putting so much faith in something already proven to be -- disastrously -- fallible.
But- well, Kisuke is nothing if not prone to repeating mistakes.
(Is it arrogance, to say he is the best? Is it hybris, to know nothing but the Soutaichou himself could kill him?)
The hollows eyes are narrowing, expression settling into something steadier, smoother, closing off a little without cutting him out. He's reading Kisuke, he realizes, studying him and coming up with accurate answers, responding to the cues Kisuke is putting out.
And -- Kisuke didn't realize how open the hollow's expression was, how open and inviting his body was, until he closed off.
“You planning for another war or something?” (Another war, huh.) But the hollow's expression smooths out soon enough, turns open and inviting again as he barks out a rough laugh, shaking his head, amusement openly back in play. He runs a hand through blue hair, idly scratching the jawbone, and drawls a confident, “Nah. I would have heard. Things have been tiptop lately, though everyone is avoiding me.” Here, he frowns. “I’m gonna need to beat some sense into them when they reappear.”
“I wish you good luck, hollow-san,” says Kisuke says, fingers itching and mind spinning. The hollow is a mystery, yes, but more importantly he is an answer. A solution. Kisuke knows the pieces on the board, has dwelled on them for far too long, twisted and turned every possible path into so many knots he can barely untangle them anymore and perhaps... well, perhaps.
The hollow studies him, reads him so easily, and--not many people can do that. Kisuke tries not to dwell on that, knows foolishness when he sees it.
But.
“I’ll leave you to your research,” the hollow says, interrupting his thoughts. The hollow stands, shoving his hands into his pockets, gives Kisuke a long once-over that doesn't feel nearly as invasive as it should. Hovering over for him for a second, the hollow finally grins crookedly and saunters away.
Kisuke burrows his way into his lab and doesn't emerge for three full days.
Tessai is a steady presence in Kisuke’s life. Has been, even before the exile. A quiet, peaceful man, Tessai doesn't attract attention when he moves in the house; Kisuke so used to him that he can block out his presence with ease. It is undeniably an asset when he's neck deep in a project and any disturbance can destroy an experiment.
Kisuke will freely admit that he can be... difficult, to love. To care for. He doesn't pay attention to the things he should, fails to see the signs that others can read so easily, doesn't understand the purpose of most menial interactions. He forgets, what is important.
Bonds, he finds, has always found, are difficult to forge and easy to cut, and oh, how sharp Kisuke's sword is.
But Tessai is steady. Tessai brings him food, keeps him supplied with tea and water, bustles in and out of his lab with clothing changes, double-checks his notes for him when his eyes are crossing and he's two wrong breaths from falling asleep where he sits. Tessai knows Kisuke, likes Kisuke, is his friend. It's a different friendship than Yoruichi's, a different stability, a different kind of loyalty.
Yoruichi, Kisuke knows, still has ties to Soul Society. Is emotionally vested in Soul Society's continued existence in a different matter than him. She still cares; she might have been betrayed and tossed out, she might nominally have chosen him, but she cares. She is shackled, tied down, and she refuses to cut.
(He thinks, sometimes, that it would be better if Yoruichi tried to go back to Soul Society, to Seireitei. She's not like him, not like any of them; she has the Shihouin clan.)
But it's not those things he's dwelling on anymore. Not with this new hollow, this new mystery.
Because there is only one possible conclusion; the hollow is a time traveler.
Naturally Kisuke entertained other theories. There isn't, truly, any conclusive way to rule out that he might have amnesia, that the whole world might have amnesia. And there are logical answers, too, like that the hollow either was or has eaten someone who once knew Kisuke, that the hollow is simply delusional or trying to trick Kisuke… There are answers, but in the end, time travel makes the most sense. Because Kisuke is Kisuke, and he's never known anyone to look at him like that.
So it can't be that someone he knew was eaten or became a hollow. He's not easy, to get to know. So it can't be that the hollow studied him for a while and is tricking him. Not even Aizen could erase or change everybody--no, he probably could, actually. But Aizen never does anything without purpose, every move calculated to the extreme. And if Kisuke can't think of a reason for Aizen to do this, then there simply isn't one. And so it's not that, either.
There are plenty of answers. But only so many of them are actually applicable.
“You looking to become a detective?” Yoruichi asks on one of her regular visits, staring at the board he’s constructed. It's filled with string and documents, his theories and his thoughts and the results of his information collection; the experiments, the data, the observations he's made and the conclusions he's drawn He saw it on a TV show not too long ago and quite liked it, and all the threads—merely red is of course not enough—form quite a satisfying web when it’s all up like this.
Yoruichi pulls on one of the strings, and Kisuke hurries to stop it’s destruction. “I've solved it,” he says, and she raises a purple eyebrow. He hurries out “No, really, I’ve solved it," simultaneously as he fixes the strings she'd broken.
“I believe you,” she says, and he exhales. Studies her. Worn and dirty from her road-trip, it's the first time she's been back in weeks. She was headed for Tokyo last he saw her, taking the train, and her smile is a little easier now, her eyes not quite so tense. But she's still on guard, still has her hackles raised, and he doesn't know she'll ever lower them around him again.
He doesn't know if he'll ever lower his, again.
Of course, Kisuke has been tracking the hollow since it's very first appearance. His reach might be limited these days—not cut off entirely, of course, he’s much too good for that, but limited. Soul Society's network in the human world is shallow at best in the first place, and with most obvious access points well-known to Kurotsuchi, who would doubtlessly rejoice if he was caught sneaking intel in and out, there isn't much that Kisuke can realistically get out of them. But he knows enough, accessed enough data, to be certain that Soul Society doesn't have any intel at all about the hollow in question.
It's not only ignorance, not only somebody erasing data, not only a cover-up. There is no data, has never been any data, and that too leads the way to his conclusion.
Tracking the hollow in real time is hampered by the fact that the hollow does seem spend most of it's time in Hueco Mundo. When he's in the human world, he doesn't deviate or go anywhere aside from Kisuke's shouten. Kisuke has been all over town trying to find traces, but the hollow emerges from a garganta above his shop and doesn't go anywhere else. And while the connection is weakened in Hueco Mundo, it's not blocked completely. He might not be able to get more intel than the hollow still lives, moves, feeds, and is on its way back, but that's really all he needs.
The hollow is on his way again, and Kisuke is well-prepared.
Reaching the shouten only the a scant second after breaching the human world, the hollow barges right in, disrespectful as usual. Kisuke is in seiza on the floor, a proper tea ceremony in progress with Tessai, the scent of lavender and roses drifting on the steaming air. Tessai stays still when the hollow enters, doesn't visibly react, and Kisuke internally praises him. (Tessai is far lesser known that Kisuke, and if the hollow know him...)
The appearance of another person, another Shinigami, doesn't seem to phase the hollow at all. He merely crosses the distance, sauntering with confidence in his power practically dripping from him, and drops into a seiza as well. It's odd, admittedly, to watch a hollow sit so properly, so easily, getting into place without any apparent issues at all. They are Shinigami, still, no matter how well the hollow might know them in another time. But the hollow doesn't seem to think twice about it, simply grabbing the cup of tea placed out for him. “Yo,” the hollow greets them, sniffing at the tea. Kept warm with some misappropriated kido, the tea is still steaming and the hollow tilts his head at them and demands, “You found Kurosaki yet?”
The hollow swirls the liquid around in the cup but makes no move to drink, simply observing them, and Kisuke chooses to take that as an invitation to observe in kind.
Musing, Kisuke says, “I suspect that to be a bit tricky,” while studying the hollow over the edge of his fan. Observing every minute twitch, Kisuke's attention never vanes. The hollow's power-levels are something previously unknown, above even a Vasto Lorde—as confirmed by his latest experiments—and the ease with which the hollow interacts with him is unknowable, still.
Frowning, the hollow looks at Tessai, Kisuke’s eyes narrowing. There is something odd about that stare—it's plainly not the expression that the hollow has been granting Kisuke, but it is knowing, somehow. A keeness in those eyes that even Yoruichi can't accomplish with Tessai.
(As he thought—the hollow knows them.)
It takes Kisuke a second entirely too long to realize that the new expression is a pout. “I’ll return your CD later,” the hollow tells Tessai, putting the teacup back down. It's a soft placement, none of the large movements that Kisuke has read so far. Gentle, almost. Kisuke's observations don't go unnoticed—a rarity, too—and the hollow narrows his eyes at him, gaze skipping back to Tessai. “It’ll be returned as soon as I found it.”
“Oh? Lost a lot of things lately?” Kisuke hides behind his fan, eyes narrowing.
“You’re up to something,” the hollow declares without missing a beat, not a trace of doubt in his voice and eyebrow raised with impeccable disdain. Is it odd, Kisuke wonders, that that disdain feels playful to him?
Kisuke licks lips, slowly, drawling, “I merely wonder—you said everyone is avoiding you? Care to elaborate?” Beside them, Tessai is peacefully sipping at his tea while passively watching them, no expression bared. But Kisuke knows him well enough, can read the quiet amusement in his eyes, see the relaxed way he holds his body. Tessai, too, does not consider the hollow a threat now, despite the pointed questions and silence Tessai first leveraged Kisuke with. The hollow's presence, perhaps, is so devoid of any hostility that Tessai can't help but mirror it, relaxing if only because everyone else is.
The hollow's laugh is delighted, the sneer is a challenge, the glow in his eyes an invitation. Kisuke is warm, his hands flexing, attention narrowed down on the hollow as it says, plainly, “You’re a scheming old man, whatever it is you’ve probably already figure it out.” Laying bare his deception without a hint of condemnation, just simple facts. The earth is round, Aizen is a dick, and Kisuke manipulates as easy as he breathes.
Kisuke’s eyes narrow but the hollow goes on, “Not like it matters much. Kurosaki gets prissy about the strangest thing, I’ve just gotta wait him out.”
“You seem quite fond of this Kurosaki,” Kisuke observes, tossing his other thoughts to the back. The Kurosaki has been mentioned in their every meeting, he thinks. Whoever they are, they're important.
The hollow leers, “Oh, like you aren’t?”
Interesting.
“Have you spent any time in the Living World, lately?” Kisuke asks, deciding, abruptly, that it’s time to cut to the chase. The hollow isn’t reacting to any of his hints; seemingly finding them amusing more than anything else. A result of it’s power, perhaps, or just familiarity. Regardless, the time for the game to end has arrived. He has gotten all the data he will from the hollow's ignorance, and now it's time to move onto the next phase.
“Now why would I do that?”
Kisuke hums, eyes dark over the rim of his fan. “Just a thought.”
The hollow stalks in two hours later, power emanating off him so strongly that it forms a haze in the air. Sneering, it grabs Kisuke by his rob lapels and holds him up, effortlessly. The sneer is startlingly attractive on his face; Kisuke is so distracted by it that he allows himself to be dragged up on his toes, lets himself be moved without even grabbing for Benihime.
“Fucking time-travel,” the hollow hisses, so close his face takes up Kisuke's entire field of vision and—oh, those eyes are blazing with anger. It makes them shine from within, and the rough creases of his frown and glare only somehow seems to enhance the effect.
Kisuke rises an eyebrow. “How do you know it’s not an illusion?” And he grabs onto the hollow's wrist, squeezing just enough to dig bruises into powerful hiero, just enough to ensure the hollow knows that he is only capable of holding him down because Kisuke is letting him. There is no universe in which a hollow could move him without his permission, and it is only right for this hollow to know so.
The hollow laughs. “I’m fucking Grimmjow Jaegerjaques." Lifting Kisuke up higher, until he's entirely off the floor, the hollow sneers, "I served Aizen for years. I know well-enough when I'm in an illusion.”
Kisuke laughs. It's a bit punched from him, a reaction that's not entirely sane. Grimmjow grins wildly in response, an expression that seems like it's made solely for him, so well does it fit his face. Kisuke's figners dig into into Grimmjow's wrist again, but the hollow doesn't even seem to notice. Merely studies him, and there's that unfamiliar sensation of being understood again.
It is possible, just possible, that Kisuke already has new plans forming. He's been floundering for such a long time, trying to get new pieces on the board, attempting to figure out where the new lines are, and here? Here is a queen, just for him.
(A hollow—a Vasto Lorde—that knows him? That likes him? Oh, the things he can do with that. )
Grimmjow lets up, rising a blue eyebrow and declares, “Huh. You are up to something again.”
“You said Aizen, yes?” Kisuke drawls, doesn't even attempt to adjust his tone.
Grimmjow stares at him. Finally, he barks a rough laugh. “I see,” is all he says.
Looking around the room, Grimmjow releases him and Kisuke adjusts his clothing when he's on the floor again. He watches, nigh on breathlessly, as Grimmjow paces around for a minute. Everything in the room has been cleared, Tessai retreated to the back of the shouten, and now there are only the two of them here. Kisuke tries not to think about that; he doesn't succeed very well.
“Well," Grimmjow ceases his walking and his grin is bloodthirsty. He's not looking at Kisuke; gaze on the door like he can see his enemy right beyond it. "If Kurosaki’s not around to fight I guess killing Aizen is a good second option."
Grimmjow's reiatsu is a wildfire, his presence lightning in the storm, and Kisuke aches.
The Visored lures Aizen in, and Grimmjow, long blue hair flowing free, tears him apart with his bare claws.
Kisuke can't look away.
After, Grimmjow stretches out in Kisuke's shouten, smug as a cat should be, and loitering the sunlight. Aizen's power still has a tinge of Aizen inside him, Grimmjow not yet finished digesting it, and Kisuke can't help remaining close. On the one, he's carefully tracking every single data point he has of Grimmjow, logging any changes now that he's eaten a powerhouse, and on the other, he's watching the sunlight moving over Grimmjow's skin as the sun slowly sets.
Kisuke sits beside him, studying the power he can see even with his eyes closed, and closes a traitorously trembling hand around a warm cup of tea. He sips the liquid, allows it to sit on his tongue until the scorching burning cools, and then swallows in a large gulp. It tastes like blood in the back of his throat, like Aizen's
Grimmjow turns on his side, looking at Kisuke below half-mast eyelids, and he cocks an eyebrow. They are close enough to touch, close enough for Kisuke to see his own reflection in the blue orbs, close enough for Grimmjow to see the Kisuke hides his hands in his clothes. But the hollow doesn't say anything; merely huffs and shuts his eyes again, basking in the increasingly darkening room.
Kisuke doesn't know where Tessai is, where Yoruichi is, where the Visored are. The illusions have broken, the lies have been undone, but it won't change anything unless somebody carves the truth into the very bones of Seireitei.
That will not be him, that can not be him. (If Kisuke is let loose on Seireitei, there will be nothing left.)
Exhaling, Kisuke tastes Aizen's power on his tongue. Grimmjow has not, and will not, finish consuming it for a long time yet; even now Kisuke can feel the weight of Aizen's soul, the power that Grimmjow still hasn’t finished consuming, far too much of it in one man. It makes Grimmjow's presence both greater and smaller, balloons his existence beyond what his body suggests while narrowing what makes Grimmjow Grimmjow down into a tiny dot among the wealth of power he now has.
It tastes like blood in the back of Kisuke’s throat, and his fingers itch to pry Grimmjow open, to examine every bit and piece of him, pull him apart and put back together again.
"You don't want to go back?" Kisuke murmurs into the rising darkness, the sun beyond the window's edges, and Grimmjow peeks an open up, staring up at him with a contented expression.
"Does the great Urahara Kisuke not know how time works?" Grimmjow grins softly, pushing himself up on a strong arm.
Kisuke's eyes fall to Grimmjow's lips. He watched, as Grimmjow ate Aizen. Even now he can see Aizen being swallowed, losing everything that made him him, and turning him into nothing but sustenance for someone else. And he itches; to pull Grimmjow close, to press their mouths together, to taste Aizen’s blood in Grimmjow’s mouth, to watch those pretty, pretty eyes focus on nothing but him, feel that jawbone under his fingertips, bite down on that bone until it crunches.
His reality is still lit up by the fight with Aizen, from watching Grimmjow so ruthlessly, mercilessly, tear him apart without giving him a chance to defend himself. And so when Grimmjow tilts his head back, hair sliding over his shoulder and revealing his long neck, he must surely deserve an award for not taking what is oh so freely offered.
Kisuke's fingers itch, and his mouth is parched, and Grimmjow is so powerful, so close, looking right at him, and—
Grimmjow clicks his tongue. “Fuck this,” he says, reaching up with a single arm, placing his hand on his shoulder and sliding it up to Kisuke's neck, the fingers curling around it. He pulls Kisuke close, drags him down until Kisuke is bent right over him, shamelessly allowing himself to be lead and Grimmjow's kiss is bruising, deep, digging into his every nook and cranny and ah—Kisuke can taste Aizen’s blood.
Oh.
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