Hello! This will be my first non one-shot, however I'm not sure exactly how long it will end up being. Um, just as a fair warning, this story will contain explicit yaoi, language, AU, and maybe some slight OOC-ness, depending on how you look at it. It's written from Ichigo's point of view, just because, well, I wanted to try something new. Also, as the summary suggests, there will be someone stalking Ichigo, and that might include some pretty violent stuff later on in the plot. But I hope you enjoy!

Onward!

I drop my forehead onto my desk. I feel like I can't draw anymore. Every sketch I make comes out stiff and unnatural looking. I know my deadline is in like, two days, but I can't find the motivation to actually produce anything. I mean, don't get me wrong, I want to. I really do. But it's like I've got writer's block, except with manga. Rukia's gonna kill me.

Rukia is my editor. She's been with me since the beginning, since my first short stories started appearing. She even helped me get the publishing deal that brought me to where I am now. But she's hell to deal with when I fall behind on my work.

I sit up, my shoulders slumped slightly as I glare at the blank paper laying before me. It's so fucking irritating. I decide to give up for the time being, so I go to the kitchen to get something to eat. Grimmjow's in there, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

I walk up behind him and slip an arm around his waist. He smiles slightly and drapes his own arm around my shoulders, but otherwise ignores me.

Eventually I walk away and peer through the fridge. I really need to go grocery shopping again. I finally pull out the jug of milk and a box of cereal from the cupboard next to the fridge. While I pour myself a bowl, Grimmjow invites me out on a date.

We've been official for nearly a year, but being asked out like this still makes me blush. I prefer casual dinners at home, but he likes to go out. I accept his offer, though. We make plans to meet each other at a upscale restaurant at seven.

I hear the paper rustle as Grimmjow folds it and tosses it in the trash. He knows I prefer to watch the news, so he doesn't save it. I don't mind.

But then he's behind me, pulling the half-full bowl of cheerios from my hands. He presses his lips against the side of my neck. I lean back against him, pressing my back to his chest. I love leaning against him. He feels solid and steadfast.

I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck, pushing one hand through his hair. I kiss him deeply, slowly. I love when we do this. He kisses me back, letting his hands rest on my hips. He slips his tongue in to tangle with mine and I let him because it feels so damn good.

Then he's lifting me onto the counter and moving his lips along my jaw. He continues to my ear, and after nibbling for a few seconds, down my neck to my collar bone. I lean back, arching slightly into him. My head bumps into the cupboard as I tip it back. Grimmjow's fingertips have found their way under my shirt.

I look over his shoulder briefly and notice that it's almost time for him to leave for work. Reluctantly, I push him slightly away, telling him so. He just flashes one of those devilish smiles.

"So what?" he says, raking his nails lightly down my sides. Anything else I might say is drowned out by a soft groan as he rubs his fingers over my nipples. He returns his mouth to my earlobe. All I can do is clutch his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist.

He slowly presses his hips against mine, an I can tell he's just as hard as I am by now. I open my eyes (when did I shut them?) and stare directly into his for a moment. Then he's reaching between us, yanking my shirt over my head. Then he tugs the drawstring on my shorts loose and pulls the elastic waist band down. I press my hands into the counter to lift myself so he can pull the loose athletic shorts off, along with my boxers. I don't even care that the marble counter is cold on my bare backside. I'm trying to undo Grimmjow's belt and he's playing with my earlobe again and my hands are shaking.

He's already dressed for work, in a dark suit that he looks so fucking hot in. But he doesn't seem to care if his slacks get wrinkled or dirty as they drop to the floor. His underwear follows soon after.

The olive oil is next to us on the counter and he reaches for it and pours some of it onto his hand. He takes my length in one hand while the fingers of his other seek out my entrance. He slowly stretches me, taking the discomfort away as he strokes my dick. After a few moments, he positions himself and looks at me.

I kiss him hard, giving him the answer to his unspoken question. He pushes into me and I gasp. He sucks my tongue into his mouth and pumps his hand up and down my dick while I adjust. Finally he starts moving, rocking his hips a few times before pulling out and ramming back in.

I gasp again, a low, throaty moan escaping from my lips. He sets a fast pace, and soon his loud grunts mix with my breathy moans and echo around the kitchen.

He hits that spot inside me over and over. The pleasure builds steadily, threatening to overwhelm me. It feels so good, so incredibly fucking good. His hands are on my hips and mine are in his hair. Suddenly the tight coil in my abdomen snaps and I'm coming hard.

His hips erratically piston into mine a few last times before he freezes. I feel him come just after me, spilling seed deep inside me. He lowers his head to rest on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around him again. We stay like this while we recover. He finally pulls out and I climb off the counter. My legs feel like jelly, in a good sort of way.

He pulls his pants up and I pull my shorts back on. I reach up and tug him down for a quick kiss. I smile against his lips. "You need to go, or you'll be late." He kisses me back before rubbing his thumb over my chin.

"I'll see you at seven." he says. He says goodbye and leaves my apartment. I realize that I'm still covered in my own semen. I head to the bathroom to take a shower.

Grimmjow calls me while I'm still at my workshop. My workshop is where I do the majority of drawing and inking for the manga. Rukia wanders around, checking on me and the assistants. There's two other mangakas who work here too, and they occasionally come down from their levels of the short building to visit.

When I answer the phone, I can immediately tell that Grimmjow's upset. His voice is rough and angry, and every now and then he pulls the phone away from his ear to swear at someone. But I can still hear him and it makes me laugh quietly.

Grimmjow works in the research/marketing department of the Espada Corporation. It's busy right now, and while he's a supervisor, he still picks up some of the slack.

"M'sorry, Ichi, but I don't think I can make dinner tonight," he says. Even though he's angry, I can still hear the disappointment and slight regret in his voice. I reassure him and tell him it's fine, that we can go out any night we want. I tease him and tell him to come over to my place again when he's done with work.

He agrees and we hang up. Honestly, the raincheck couldn't have come at a better time. I'm finally starting to make some progress with the storyline.

My hands have graphite smears and ink splatters all over them by the time I'm heading home. I say goodnight to Rukia and the assistants, Mizuiro and Keigo, and head into the parking lot.

I approach the driver's side of the car and slip my key into the slot. Something colorful catches my eye and I look up. On my windshield, pinned down by one of the wipers, is a rose. I stare at it for a moment before reaching for it. I pull it free and wince as a thorn pricks my thumb.

I shake my hand out, still staring at the beautiful flower. It's bud is perfect. The petals are all still curled into each other, just beginning to flare out slightly at the top. Even though Grimmjow isn't normally sentimental, I assume it's from him.

I finish unlocking the door and slip in. I start the car and pull smoothly out of the lot and onto the street. I keep thinking about the rose. If Grimmjow couldn't even make dinner, when had he had the time to leave the rose? I shrug. Knowing him, he probably delegated the task to one of his subordinates. Maybe Shawlong, or someone.

I still think it's a sweet gesture. I arrive home and head upstairs. It's just after seven, and my stomach growls. I drop my keys on the coffee table and head to the kitchen. As I'm rummaging through the cupboards, I notice that I left my half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter earlier. I can feel myself blush as I think about our kitchen sex. I put it away and make some instant ramen.

Grimmjow doesn't like it when I eat foods like instant ramen. He thinks it's super unhealthy (which it is) and that meals should be made carefully by hand. But he's the cook, not me. Yuzu can also cook really well, but I never picked up any of her skills.

Taking my noodles into the living room, I pick out one of my favorite movies and relax. When I'm done eating, I set the empty bowl on the coffee table and curl up with a pillow.

I must doze off at some point, because next thing I know, Grimmjow's here and gently shaking me awake. I smile sleepily up at him and murmur a quiet hello. The clock on the wall says eleven thirty-six. Grimmjow leans down and kisses me. I slide a hand up to cup his face.

When we part, he pulls me to my feet and leads me to the bedroom. We make it there, but just barely, and a trail of clothing is left behind us. He pushes me down onto the bed and covers my body with his own.

We make love until we both nearly pass out, curled against each other. In the morning, we skip the kitchen sex, but agree to try and do dinner tonight. He leaves and I take a shower. I realize that I left my contacts in last night, so I take them out and slip my glasses on.

I get dressed, but keep it casual. I never have to look really nice to go to work. I choose a pair of broken in jeans, a v-neck tee, and a pair of converse. I look at myself in the mirror before I leave and smile. I look good, casual and relaxed, but good.

When I get to the workshop, Rukia reminds me of my deadlines again. I wave her off and seat myself at my desk, pulling out my sketch books and pencils. I call Grimmjow around lunch time to see if he can still make dinner. He says yes, so at six I leave and go home to change.

On my way to the car, though, I notice that there's another rose pinned to my windshield. I frown. Yesterday was one thing as an apology, but two days in a row? I'd forgotten to ask Grimmjow about the flower last night, but as I drop into the driver's seat and leave I resolve to ask him tonight.

When I get home, I head directly to my floor. I live in an apartment, four stories up. It's not huge, but it's got a master bedroom, another bedroom that I use as an office, two full bathrooms, the kitchen, a utility room, and the living room. Grimmjow's place is way bigger, but I like mine more. Even though I spend about as much time there, mine still feels more like home.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it over my shoulder. I stand in front of my closet, wondering what to wear. I pick out dark gray slacks and a light gray dress shirt. I don't plan to wear a blazer, so I roll the sleeves up. I tuck the shirt in and slip a belt around my waist. I consider adding suspenders—Grimmjow got them for me once. I decide not to wear them, but I keep my converse and glasses on.

I leave, grabbing my keys and wallet on my way out. The drive is short, and I'm there in about ten minutes. Living close to the heart of Karakura can sometimes be a benefit.

Grimmjow's already made reservations, so there's no wait. The maitre'd smiles at me as I enter, and I greet him. I recognize him, and he undoubtedly recognizes me. Grimmjow and I come here often. I'm shown to a private booth in the back. It's still a bit before seven, but Grimmjow usually runs a few minutes late.

A server comes by and asks if I'd like some wine, but I decline. Wine is Grimmjow's thing. I normally stick to sake, or maybe something like scotch if I'm at a nicer bar. A few minutes later, Grimmjow arrives and sits across from me.

I ask him about his day and he asks about mine. I tell him about how I finally finished the chapter I was stuck on, and he seems as genuinely happy to hear that as Rukia was. I like that he values my career.

We eventually order and eat, talking about nothing of real importance. The food is good, as it always is, but by the time we're finished, I'm ready to head to his place. I want to feel him again, to have him feel me. But just as we stand, his phone vibrates loudly in his jacket pocket.

He answers it and I can tell that it's something about work. His whole demeanor changes as he speaks. He goes from relaxed and at ease to tense and somewhat angry. He scowls as he shuts his phone and turns back to me.

"Babe," he says, reaching out and twining his fingers through mine, "Something's come up. I'm so sorry." He looks so genuinely remorseful that I can't help but giggle. It's not like he's ditching me on our anniversary, or something. Which is coming up, by the way. I tell him so, and he grins.

I grip his hand and lead him outside. We walk to his car and I stand close to him. I press my body against his and we rest our foreheads against each other. Standing like this I can smell him. He smells like linen and pine and vague cigarette smoke. I love it. His hands are on my hips and mine are cupping his face and he's kissing me softly.

I tell him to go, because I understand. I want to be just as supportive of him as he is of me. I don't want to make him feel like his career is pushing me away, so instead I try to embrace it and forgive him when it separates us.

He reluctantly steps away and gets in his car. As he pulls out of the parking space, he lifts a hand in farewell. I wave back and watch as the taillights disappear around a corner. A small smile plays across my lips as I walk back to my own car, hands in my pockets. I can't wait to see him again. Is that weird? I just want to be with him.

As I approach my car, I realize that I forgot to mention the roses I'd received. But as I'm thinking about that, I notice that there's something stuck to my windshield again. I frown. What the hell? But this time it's not a rose or any kind of flower. Instead it looks like a piece of paper, or a photograph, rather. I'm confused as I lift the wiper enough to tug it free. In the dim streetlight it takes me a moment to figure out what it is.

But then I recognize it. It's a photo of me. It's a photo of me from this morning, walking across the parking lot when I arrived at work.

I know it's kinda short, but I hope to post the chapters up fairly close to each other. Also, I'd love to hear from you if you liked it, so leave a review for me please!

~Frankie