Title: Kitty-cat

Universe: Bleach

Pairing: Ichigo/Grimmjow

Warning: Rating M for (lots of) sexual content

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: I'm SO sorry for being MIA for so long! I promise that my other stories are still being worked on, slowly but surely. Here's a little one-shot treat for those Grimm/Ichi lovers that have stuck with me through this time! Your wonderful feedback and support are what keep me motivated to write.

Cold wind. A disintegrating mask, dark brown eyes. An excruciatingly painful slash across his chest, and he is falling through the air.

When Grimmjow wakes, he is lying face down in the hot sand of Hueco Mundo, with the sun beating down on his back and the iron taste of blood in his mouth. The wound on his chest bleeds sluggishly, but in truth, his pride is more injured than his body. Grains of sand shift against his cheek, burning hot.

Fuckin' Ichigo.

Painfully, he flexes his hands, and then his arms, digging his fingers into the hot sand. In the short amount of time he'd been unconscious, his body had been rapidly healing. Even the slash he had taken to the chest was now nothing more than a dull ache, although he strongly suspects that this particular bit of healing might have been the work of a certain big-bosomed, orange-haired human. Grimmjow pushes himself upwards, intending to take in his surroundings. Dulled by pain, his senses register just a second too late another presence close to him. He tries to whip his head around, only to be stopped by long fingers entwining themselves firmly in his hair. A low snarl of frustrated impotency bursts forth from his chest.

"Should you really be moving, Grimmjow?"

The arrancar tilts his head as far back as those damned fingers will allow, and catches a glimpse of orange hair, chocolate-dark eyes. Compassionate eyes, running over his body. Grimmjow burns with hatred, reliving his humiliating loss at the hands of the human teenager who is now kneeling next to him.

"If you think you've won, you're dreaming," Grimmjow snaps. The intensity with which the shinigami is scrutinizing him is making him bristle, although he's in no shape to start a fight. The fact that he's no longer in his release form is telling enough - he's so exhausted that his bones feel like jelly. Trying to twist away from Ichigo's hands, he reaches back and grips the teenager's wrist, squeezing with all his strength. "Get the fuck off me."

If Grimmjow's grip hurts, the teenager gives no sign of it. "I had Inoue heal you," he comments, patting the arrancar's head gently. "Why don't you stay down and rest?" When Grimmjow refuses to let go of his wrist, the shinigami's eyes flicker. "Grimmjow, you should just let it go."

But Grimmjow can't. Ichigo doesn't know what it's like to live under the false skies of Hueco Mundo, where you have to fight for every step you take and every day it's eat or be eaten. When Aizen took over, Grimmjow was one of the only ones who fought against the order that Aizen instilled. He couldn't change, not when he'd been fighting for survival his whole non-life. Grimmjow refuses to just lie here and accept defeat. He doesn't accept anything. He takes what he wants, and destroys what he can't take. Those who accept are as good as dead. The very thought of surrendering makes him sick, terrified, furious. "Never," he rasps out. "Not while I can still move. You'll have to kill me."

The shinigami just sighs. "What am I going to do with you?" He murmurs, almost affectionately, easily untangling his wrist from Grimmjow's grasp. His fingers scrape Grimmjow's scalp, combing through his hair before scratching gently at the nape of Grimmjow's neck.

Grimmjow almost turns around and bites him. "I'm not a cat," he snaps, but it comes out a little breathless. God, that feels good.

The teenager only smirks at him. "Really?"

Hot breath on his neck, then sharp teeth nipping tantalizingly at his neck. "The fuck?" Grimmjow managed weakly, thrashing to get away, but the fingers locked in his hair tighten almost painfully. For a minute, he thinks with horror that the shinigami is going to eat him as prey, the way most hollows do with those weaker than them. He struggled to rise, pushing himself up with his hands, only to feel a strong hand grasp the back of his neck and force his head back down.

Then he felt Ichigo's tongue, tracing a heated line from his neck to just under his ear. At the same time, a rough hand slides under his jacket, gently up his back. The unexpected touch sent a not-unpleasant tingle straight to his groin, and he felt his arms give out, sending his body crashing back onto the gritty desert sand.

Grimmjow felt the teenager's fingers scrape lightly over his scalp, massaging gently, stroking his ears. His fingers curled unconsciously, clutching fistfuls of hot sand. "Stop!" he rasped, trying to twist away. His traitorous body, however, arched upwards like a pleased cat, into the shinigami's touch, and he felt Ichigo's quiet chuckle vibrate against his neck.

Fuck.

Hands are now caressing his body as Ichigo bites down on his neck, the heat of his body hot on Grimmjow's back as his hands inch their way under the waistband of Grimmjow's uniform. "Your woman's watching." Grimmjow snarled pathetically, a last-ditch attempt to halt the shinigmai's wandering hands. A hand fisted gently in his hair, turning his head to meet amused brown eyes.

"I don't think you should be talking about some other woman when I'm on top of you, Grimmjow." And then Ichigo yanked his head back and kissed him.

He could hear the woman gasp. Oh well, fuck that. Aizen was probably watching, too.

A touch of tongue, a hint of blood, and all raw power and desire. When they broke apart, Grimmjow was panting, and not just from lack of oxygen. Damn, that was a good kiss. "Do you do this with all your beaten enemies, Kurosaki? Is this some kind of sick, shinigami mind-fuck?"

The teenager doesn't even bother to answer, choosing instead to yank Grimmjow over so that he was staring at the sky. And at Ichigo. The shinigami settles comfortably between Grimmjow's legs, hands heavy on Grimmjow's chest, pinning the arrancar easily to the ground.

There was laughter in those brown eyes, but there was also something else. Something deeper, darker. Grimmjow realized what it was, as he flinched away from the rough hands which were sliding their way down his bare stomach. It was hunger. Lust.

His worthless hand twitched once when he willed it to move, then drooped back to the sand. Fuckin' hand. Regeneration or not, he was still sore as hell. Grimmjow fisted his hand in his hair, burning with frustration at his own impotence, as he felt the teenager sliding slowly down his oversensitized body, pushing his jacket open, teasing Grimmjow's nipple with his tongue.

Grimmjow's body jerked helplessly in response. "Stop!" He tried to snarl again, but it came out sounding more like a plea. For fuck's sake. The air in Hueco Mundo was really hot.

Ichigo doesn't stop though, not for another good five minutes, slowly biting and teasing until both of his nipples are painfully erect and tender, sliding his hands up Grimmjow's thighs. By then, Grimmjow is so aroused that his whole body is just humming with tension, and he's furious with himself but he can do little but lie there and gnash his teeth.

Ichigo is now tracing the scar on Grimmjow's chest with his tongue, oblivious to Grimmjow's half-hearted mutterings. "I gave you this," he says suddenly, his eyes meeting Grimmjow's, and his hand tightens into a vicelike grip on Grimmjow's thigh. Possessive. God, he didn't know the kid could get like this. It's kind of hot, although Grimmjow would rather be tortured to death than admit this.

Ichigo's now yanking at his pants, pulling them off. "No underwear," the teenager comments with obvious appreciation. Grimmjow's already fully hard, thanks to the fact that the teenager spent at least a quarter of an hour teasing him, and he can't quite swallow back his moan when the teenager finally takes him in his hand, stroking him gently. Finally, Grimmjow wants to say, but the sudden feeling of slippery fingers probing at him leaves the word dead in his mouth in shock.

"It's lotion," Ichigo says when Grimmjow stares at him, speechless. "I have to prep you," the teenager says a little defensively. "I'm not just sticking my fingers up your ass for fun."

That's what Ichigo says, but Grimmjow is having his doubts about that. He can feel Ichigo's eyes on him, watching him intensely as he writhes on the sand, torn between the strange feeling of fingers moving inside of him and the pleasure of Ichigo's gentle grip. "Ah…stop looking," he bites out weakly. "Fucker."

The shinigami's fingers are pushing deeper inside him, spreading him open. Grimmjow is panting harshly, trying to squirm away, but then Ichigo's fingers touch something so deep and so good inside him that he cries out. When he comes back to himself he's clutching at the shinigami so hard he doesn't know whether he's pushing Ichigo away or pulling him closer. The horror on his face must have been evident, because Ichigo is laughing.

"Never been fucked before, Grimmjow?"

"Not like this," he grits out. "Shit! Ichigo…" He has sex regularly enough, but usually it's just to take off an edge, with none of that cuddling or foreplay nonsense. This is different, though. Instead of feeling like he's nearing completion, the more Ichigo touches him, the more he craves it. The hunger is deep and all-consuming, so much so that he can barely think. He's burning up, a sweet burn, made sweeter by the teenager who's now got his free hand fisted in Grimmjow's hair, tongues tangled and mouth sealed so tightly over Grimmjow's that he can barely breathe.

As much as he loathes to accept this revelation, he wants this. Wants it bad. And Grimmjow is not one for playing games. Ichigo is taking his sweet time stretching him out, but Grimmjow doesn't think he can wait any longer.

He breaks away from the deep kiss, a strand of saliva sliding down his cheek, and glares at the teenager through slitted blue eyes, breathing hard. "Just get inside me already, you piece of shit." His voice is raspy, coming out almost a full octave lower from his abused lips, and the teenager stops breathing for a full second, but he takes Grimmjow's suggestion. Of course he does.

The initial few thrusts are slow and shallow, driving Grimmjow almost out of his mind with need. But then Ichigo changes the angle, yanking Grimmjow's leg up over his shoulder, pulling him open, and the angle is so deep and perfect that it's all the arrancar can do to keep from screaming. He bites his lower lip hard and claws at the shinigami's back with his free hand, but he can't stop the needy noises that rise in his throat at every thrust. Ichigo's eyes have darkened to a shade just shy of black, and he's swallowing up Grimmjow's ragged moans with his own mouth, pinning Grimmjow's hand to the sandy floor with his own, and their fingers are fucking entwined but Grimmjow doesn't even care. He can't breathe, he can't speak, all he can do is lie there and taste Ichigo, feel the teenager taking him hard and deep out in the open desert floor where anyone can see.

They both have good stamina - almost too good. Ichigo's pressed so tightly to him that Grimmjow doesn't have the room or the strength to maneuver his hand between their bodies to jack himself off, but amazingly, he doesn't even have to. He can't remember the last time he felt so good. Pleasure is mounting deep in the pit of his stomach, and he wants to to stop and at the same time wishes it would never end. Grimmjow finally comes though, so hard that he almost whites out for a minute, only coming back at the sensation of Ichigo still moving deeply, insistently inside him.

He cries out, arching sharply as Ichigo brushes his prostate again. "Fuck! Fuck, enough! Ichigo, I can't –" His body is much too over-sensitized from his climax to take this abuse, but Ichigo covers his protests with his mouth, pinning Grimmjow's hands to the ground with his own, his hips moving slowly, deliberately.

Grimmjow used to hate it when his partners made excessive noise during sex, moaning and screeching, but there are noises coming from him in a voice that doesn't even sound like his anymore. His eyes are rolling back in his head, he's clawing weakly at the shinigami, and he thinks he's about to black out, the pleasure so intense it is almost painful. Ichigo's kissing him, pulling back to watch his face as he continues moving, and Grimmjow can't decide if he wants to kill the teenager or kidnap him and stow him away somewhere so that they can do this every day.

"Fuck, Grimmjow," the teenager grunts, and seconds later, he feels the pulse of something hot and sticky inside him. Ichigo collapses on top of him, and although the heat of the teenager's body is intensely uncomfortable given how sweaty they both are, Grimmjow doesn't shove him away.

He really is going to pass out now. They're both panting, sticky and overheated under the glare of the artificial sun. Ichigo's chin is digging into his shoulder, and he knows he's probably in deep shit, but all he can feel at the moment is complete, bone-deep contentment. His eyes slide shut, and he can't even rouse himself as he feels Ichigo eventually push himself up, levering himself off his body. A few moments pass, and then something damp cleans him, and then he can feel someone clothing him again, covering him up. There are voices in the background.

"….Kurosa…..knew you liked….so hot!" Grimmjow can't help but grimace a little. It's the woman's voice, high and excited.

The last thing he hears before everything fades into complete blackness is Ichigo, saying a little bashfully:

"Can I keep him?"