I don't own Bleach or it's characters. Hello readers! I'm back in the saddle with something new! I do hope you enjoy this story as much as I am enjoying writing it, it's begging to get out of my brain. I will do my best to update every Monday! I've missed writing, and I hope this is captivating for you all!

Chapter One: In Need of Release

"Sir, let me just advise ya that this may set us back a day or two in our time frame. While I account fer problems to come up in my plannin', I wasn't expectin' to be havin' them already."

Grimmjow rubbed at his azure eyes, growing more frustrated by the second as the man jabbered away in that whining voice of his. He hated it when he got clients who were commissioning him to build their wife's dream homes, because the wives got all crazy with their demands and nobody gave any regard to his job and how after certain points things became irreversible. Why couldn't people fucking stick to the original blue prints?

He glowered down at the blue print spread in front of him on his desk as the man continued to whine into his ear. He was moments away from ripping off his blue tooth and stomping it to a fine dust beneath his black leather steel-toed boot.

"Listen, sir, the changes can be made, ok? My crew is excellent, and we want the finished product to be up to yer standards. Be assured that we will be reversin' the first agreed to plan and starting on the changes as soon as you two get here and sign off on the necessary paperwork. Until then, production stops."

Grimmjow picked up a pencil from beside his keyboard, squeezing it in a tightly curled fist as hard he could and imagining it was the customer's neck. The man agreed that he and his wife would be there in fifteen minutes, and the moment he disconnected, Grimmjow snapped the pencil in half and threw it across the small trailer and began cussing the paint off the wall from the comfort of his leather chair.

A half an hour later, the construction crew watched as the Black Lincoln navigator of the home owners pulled away, and 30 seconds later their boss stomped down the metal stairs from the trailer, stalking toward them across the barren soil and kicking up dust clouds with 'I'm gonna kill someone' vibes emanating from his being. Everybody jumped to attention from their lounging positions they took up after being told to stop working before the meeting.

"Change of plans," he barked out, motioning the crew to gather around.

"As ya all can see, I've had a visit from Mrs. Prissy ass and Mr. I've got no balls. We will be redoin' the basement accordin' to Mrs. Prissy ass' new wishes."

He unfolded the plans across a makeshift table made of a sheet of plywood and two sawhorses.

"We will be tearin' down the walls that make up these walls for the basement bedroom and storage area, and movin' them here," Grimmjow said, indicating with his finger across the plans, arching a brow as the crew began grumbling.

"You gotta be fuckin' shittin' me man!" cried a voice from over his left shoulder.

"Wish I was Nnoi, but the fact remains that yer undoin' and redoin' a shit ton of electrical. This wall where ya installed the fuse box will have to be moved now, since it's where the bedroom closet will be-"

"And it's now a code violation, yeah I fuckin' see that," snapped the lanky electrician.

"Just checkin', Cyclops," Grimmjow shot back with a sneer.

Nnoitra flipped him the bird and stalked off, his subordinates following him to begin stripping the unfinished walls of wire.

"Luckily, it doesn't change the beam placement," droned a shorter man with a bored monotone, peering more closely at blue prints to double check measurements.

"Yeah, small miracles, but the lumber, dry wall, hardware, and man power already put in are wasted now. Once the guys get the walls ripped down, make sure someone fills in the holes with cement. Since the bedroom is movin' to where the family room is, we have to put in an egress window there too. I have to go make a few phone calls, and then I'll be over to help."

Green eyes widened only fractionally and the somber man let a very small smirk tug at his lips.

"Coming down from the tower, oh mighty one?"

Grimmjow just glared at him before turning around and stomping back to the trailer. He had better shit to do than to be drawn into mind games with Ulquiorra, like double check that his vendors would be delivering on time. They were already going to be set back and have to double down on hours to make up for it. That reminded him, he'd have to see who could pull some OT and rearrange the schedule. Some days, it sucked being in charge.

The week was long and grueling for Grimmjow. They made great time in the basement making up for the design set back, but they had a lumber supply show up three hours behind schedule, had a new guy shatter a custom cut picture window pane, and the people who delivered the siding somehow fucked the order up, sending the completely wrong color. On the plus side, the plumbing and electrical was complete, and what was just a shell could really start coming together as a house in the next few weeks. Despite the setbacks, Grimmjow was certain they'd still make his projected deadline, so long as nothing super major came up.

He raked his hands through his blue locks, looking up when the door to the trailer swung open. Lazy gray-blue eyes met his from underneath stray brown waves of hair that escaped the clutches of the yellow hard hat holding back the rest of the unkempt strands.

"The cavalry has arrived," he muttered, as Starrk wandered in and plopped down in a plastic chair in front of the desk.

"You look like you need a cold beer, my friend," Starrk commented after assessing Grimmjow with his sleepy eyes.

"Ya've never told a lie," Grimmjow agreed, pushing himself up from the chair.

"Thanks for comin' in Coyote, I appreciate this," Grimmjow said, donning his hardhat and moving over to let the former foreman take his seat.

Coyote traded the plastic chair for the plush leather one, grinning lazily at Grimmjow in response. He surveyed the plans on the desk while absentmindedly running a few slender fingers through his goatee.

"Just have them finish up the attic insulation, and make sure them lazy bastards get the knee walls. When that shit's done, they can fuck off til' tomorrow."

Coyote's eyes roamed over Grimmjow, analytical.

"Job's getting to you too much, Jag. You need to get that out of your system."

"Plan on it. Nnoi and Cifer are draggin' me to some club in Seireitei. I'm sure I'll find a good hump and dump there."

Coyote continued the analytical stare, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

"You know, my offer still stands. You don't have to keep running through men at clubs and bars. You'll live to regret that one day."

Grimmjow grinned.

"Ha! Old man, you wouldn't be able to keep up fer one. Fer two, unless ya change yer preference, it won't happen cuz' mine ain't changin'. Ya won't catch me takin' up the ass by no dude. And three, yer the one who taught me not to shit where ya eat, so to speak."

Coyote shrugged, settling deeper into the chair.

"The stalemate still stands then. Well have a good time, be safe and all that shit."

Grimmjow gave Starrk a salute, shaking his head as he left the trailer. Starrk was ten years his senior, which at 38, wasn't very old, but he liked to call him old anyway. He was the first foreman of Espada Construction, back when Grimmjow's uncle Aizen ran the joint. Starrk had sort of been his mentor as he came up from being a rookie at the bottom digging holes, quietly giving him pointers and sometimes helping him with homework as Grimmjow advanced toward his architectural engineering degree.

Somehow Starrk had been the first person he confessed to about being gay in his second year of college. He'd been banging guys since his junior year of high school but even his best friends didn't know, since women found themselves content to hang all over him, people just assumed he was into chicks. Grimmjow wasn't one for talking about feelings and all that bullshit, but he just wanted someone to know. Maybe to gauge the reaction of the news, since he was sort of the definition of a man- super into sports, tools, trucks, and all that sort of shit.

He never expected Starrk's predatory smirk at his confession, or his offer to let Grimmjow into his bedroom. It had been a long standing joke between the two of them over the years, even though he knew Starrk was sincere. The problem was they both topped, neither interested in switching. And Grimmjow valued his relationship with Starrk too much to fuck it up, seeing as how Grimmjow never had an actual relationship. He never slept with the same guy more than once, never kissed them, and most certainly never let them stay the night. Get in, and get out. He didn't have any time for clingy bullshit and some drama queen who wanted to tie him down.

He made it to his black pickup truck, jumping up into the cab and knocking as much dirt from his boots as possible before putting his feet all the way in the truck. He tossed his hard hat into the back seat, putting the key in the ignition and brought the truck to life. After hitting play on his Ipod, he pulled away from the worksite with the sound system thundering one of his favorite dub step songs, feeling his muscles loosen as he headed for home to go out with his friends.

Grimmjow emerged from his shower-steamed bathroom clad in nothing but a low slung towel and strode over to his huge closet. He was raised by his uncle Aizen, who adopted him when his mother passed away when he was six. That's what the gothic six that was tattooed into his lower back symbolized, a black beacon glaring out from the pale skin. His uncle was a good man, despite being somewhat aristocratic and cool in his mannerisms, and had taught Grimmjow two important things. The first was if you were going to do something, you do it right the first time. Half way wasn't the way of Sosuke Aizen. Secondly, it was expected that a man should always look good. His uncle somehow managed to always look good no matter what it was he was doing, and it was something Grimmjow picked up and found pride in.

That pride had gotten him called arrogant by more than one person in his day, but Grimmjow didn't make it a habit to dwell on what people who weren't important to him thought about him. His uncle always told him that he looked exactly like his father, who did not deign to stick around after he knocked up his mother. And standing at 6'1" with a body of 175 pounds of solid, ripped muscle, he supposed he at least owed thanks for decent enough genetics, although he knew that the job and dedication to fitness had got him pretty far from his awkward teenaged body.

As much as he loved his truck, tonight he was feeling the itch to take Pantera out. Grimmjow didn't often put on a display of his wealth, nor was he frivolous with his money, but he allowed himself one guilty pleasure; Pantera. Pantera was his own custom built Harley Davidson Breakout, a smooth and powerful ride that was deep blue candy painted, black leather, and chrome. It was truly his baby, and there was nothing like racing around the curves of the highway with it purring between his thighs.

He'd be wearing riding attire, which he had to admit he really liked. He was comfortable in it and the badass look usually made for some interesting sex; it tended to draw out the real freaks. The towel was stripped from his waist and dropped into a hamper. He drew on black boxer briefs and opted for dark washed blue jeans in a straight leg. He accented it with a black leather belt with a herringbone pattern and authentic silver buckle. While he would have normally just thrown on a white tee, he could just hear the bitching Ulquiorra would do over that, so he chose a fitted white tee with a muted gray skull graphic just to shut him up if he ended up taking off his jacket.

He chose a black leather jacket that matched his belt in color, fitted with lots of pockets and zippers. He tossed it on the bed while he finished, stepping into and lacing up his combat boots, slathering on deodorant and slapping on some expensive cologne. He ran through his hair with a bit of gel, letting his blue strands fall into their natural chaos. No sense in trying to really style it when he was just going to cram a helmet over his head anyway.

"Ya plannin' on gettin' this show on tha road any time soon, boss? Move yer ass!" Nnoitra hollered from his living room.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket, putting it on as he walked down the hallway to meet his friend. He didn't know why he gave that loud mouth a key to his house, but that's what happens when you befriend loud mouths when you're ten and stay friends for life.

Nnoitra whistled when he appeared and Grimmjow flicked him off, grabbing his wallet from off the console table and shoving it in his back pocket.

"Take it yer following instead of ridin' with, huh?"

"Ya assume correct," Grimmjow answered, snatching up the set of keys that was for Pantera.

"Let's go find some hotties to lay some pipe in," said his one eyed friend with a raunchy grin, his ever present bandana secured over his eye.

Grimmjow shook his head and followed, pausing only to double check the house was locked up tight. Nnoitra was eloquent as always, but he had to agree with the sentiment. He was definitely down for handing out some destruction of his own tonight.

End Chapter. I'd love some feed back! Does this sound interesting? XD