Chapter 21: His Lover is a God in Exile

...

While Ichigo fell to sleep, Grimmjow lingered amongst the waking.

Ichigo was pleased. This was plain in the whispered smile upon his handsome face, the languid fall of limbs, the gentle heave of his chest. With idle fingers, Grimmjow stroked damp strands of orange hair back from Ichigo's face, and beheld his god.

He had not thought there could be a more erotic sight than that which he had just seen, that of Ichigo eager and spread out to receive him, but here again he was wrong.

Ichigo spent and desecrated by his hands, wounded but secure in trust, struck Grimmjow with fresh hunger. Of all men living, Grimmjow alone could feast upon this vision. Grimmjow alone had embraced and possessed a magnificent star of unparalleled beauty and strength.

Where once festered shame and guilt for his furtive, profane desire, now birthed pride he wished to roar for all to know.

Ichigo was right. How could this be profane?

Profane was the mindless fucking Grimmjow had once pursued with great number of nameless, faceless men and women. This…this was not profane. This was the truest worship he knew to give.

He rose.

With a soft rag soaked and wrung of water, he cleaned Ichigo, and then himself. The seed he cleaned from Ichigo's hole was streaked with pink, and so it was upon Grimmjow's cock. Grimmjow found this strange, for he had taken care to prepare Ichigo to receive him. But he did not delve to worry, for Ichigo had made his pleasure amply known.

When this task was done, Grimmjow checked Ichigo's bandages and found no wounds had bled.

In the morning, after a restful but brief sleep, Grimmjow roused to find Ichigo sitting upright and contemplating the bandage across his chest.

"Do not trouble with it," Grimmjow grumbled with one eye open, and Ichigo turned to him. "I will change it today."

Ichigo favored him with a smile, and obligingly, let his hands fall away from the wound. "My dreams were sweet by your making, Pantera."

Grimmjow stretched out, arms folded beneath his head. Though many men had called him by the name of his blade, it had never sounded as it did now from Ichigo's lips. Not as an admiration of his battle heart, but a playful tease of one beloved. He closed his eyes, but he could yet feel the touch of Ichigo's gaze, and knew the god admired his form.

"Tell me. What dreams walked your mind?"

"Memories from when you were small." Cool fingers skimmed Grimmjow's hip, where taut muscle melded to hard bone beneath the skin. "You would pick wild strawberries from that field behind the house and lay them on my altar."

Grimmjow opened his eyes at that. Since that night Ichigo confessed all, he had known, yet not understood, the implications of his god's devotion to him. Now he shuddered to consider them.

Each moment he had spent in prayer and offering to his god had not gone unseen. As a child, Grimmjow had believed this to be so, for he had taken strength in his faith that Ichigo watched over him. So why did this same idea overwhelm him so now?

Ichigo had heard and listened to every word he spoke on bent knee in prayer. He had taken notice of every gift Grimmjow left at his shrine, seen the care taken to keep the floors swept, the garden tame, and the fountain clear.

"You saw me. You heard me."

"In every moment you called my name."

In every moment…

These moments numbered beyond counting.

"I was glad to have tasted your gifts in Selae," said Ichigo. "They were all the sweeter having come from you."

Memory of the desecrated shrine which had driven him to anger on the second morning of Raahl drew Grimmjow's eyes wide. "That was you! I thought that mess was the doing of drunkards or blasphemers."

"Truly?"

Grimmjow threw up his hands. "It looked as though a half dozen drunken men had descended upon that altar. Do you mean to tell me you alone devoured all that in a single night?"

Ichigo blinked at him, brown eyes wide like an owl.

The mighty red star of Zangetsu was monstrously proficient in more than just battle prowess, it seemed.

But Grimmjow would rejoice when Ichigo's appetite returned to such ferocity. In the weeks since his battle, Ichigo had yet to finish a single full meal. Grimmjow would gather the offerings left upon the steps of the sick house and see which would tempt Ichigo to eat today.

But later. Grimmjow was loathe to relinquish the site of his conquest just yet.

Memory of the previous night's coupling seemed now surreal and wondrously strange, and for a wild moment Grimmjow was stricken with uncertainty. Had he dreamed it all?

Then he caught Ichigo's expression—curious, shy…but also knowing. He knew Grimmjow as Grimmjow knew him, in the manner of lovers no longer innocent with one another.

Last night had been no dream.

"You look like…the cat which has plucked the canary," said Ichigo.

"Ate the canary," Grimmjow amended. "Is that so strange? I have claimed a prize most worthy of boasting."

Ichigo's scoff was equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

Grimmjow leaned closer, his grin filled with teeth and arrogance. "Allow me my gloating. Few men can boast of bedding a god. I suppose to you, it is nothing new."

Here now, a peculiar flush reddened Ichigo's cheeks. He turned askance so quickly Grimmjow gave pause. Had he taken offense? But no, Ichigo did not seem angry. Grimmjow tilted his head as he sought to understand this sudden mood.

"What?"

"It is nothing." Ichigo took sudden interest in tidying the tangled ends of his long hair, and the evasive tone of this denial hooked Grimmjow's curiosity. Ichigo was clumsy in deception—Grimmjow smelled a secret of some importance here.

"Tell me."

"No."

Perhaps Grimmjow should let this go. Just because he had bedded Ichigo did not mean he was privy to all his secrets, and there must be much to a god's inner thoughts he did not understand—

"I was better than you expected, is that it?" Pantera, which never strayed far from Grimmjow's side, thrummed with satisfaction. Grimmjow rested his head upon his palm, grinning in lazy repose. "You did not think you could be so easily undone."

Ichigo's flush bled across the bridge of his nose. "You are full of pride," he said with shallow reproach, but he would not meet Grimmjow's eyes.

Grimmjow was entranced. Among men, he alone was gifted this vision: the red star of Zangetsu blushing like the boy he appeared to be. This shyness he had seen before. He recalled now how Ichigo had seemed ignorant of the custom of using oil to prepare for sex between men, and how he had not known to relax when Grimmjow entered him for the first time.

"Do not tell me…" Grimmjow's shock must have shown upon his face, for Ichigo scowled. "…have you never received a man before?"

Ichigo's red face blunted the sharp edge of his displeasure, and Grimmjow's jaw fell unhinged.

"You have never lain with a man at all!"

"Close your mouth," Ichigo grumbled. "You look like a fish."

But with impudent spirit made bold, Grimmjow tossed his head back and laughed. "See your own face—you blush like a sweet virgin maid."

"Wounded I may be, but I can still crush you," Ichigo warned.

Still laughing, Grimmjow shook his head. "Yet it was I who taught you something new last night. Well? It was better than laying with a woman, was it not?"

Ichigo was mute, and in this silence Grimmjow discerned yet another truth. Who would guess the mighty warrior god was possessed of such innocence?

Grimmjow's knowing grin stretched ear to ear.

"It—it is not so strange!" Ichigo protested. "Before we became stars, I was often fighting and training. There was not the time to chase bedmates."

But he was Ichigo. He had no shortage of admirers, past or present. How was it that he had not once indulged in carnal appetites?

"I was only nineteen years old when I became a star! And then when I returned to this earth, I had other worries to occupy me. I was searching for Aizen, I was searching for you—"

"Nineteen," Grimmjow repeated. His ears must have deceived him, for although Ichigo looked to be in the spring of his manhood, gods did not age like men. He could not have been only nineteen in the legends Grimmjow grew up hearing. "You were nineteen years old when you imprisoned the deceiver?"

"Yes."

Grimmjow had known Ichigo was young by the measure of gods when he had defeated Aizen the first time. He had not known Ichigo had been a boy even by the reckoning of men.

"I am much older now," Ichigo hastened to remind him. "I lived many thousands of years in Seireitei before you were yet born."

No wonder their songs and legends celebrated Ichigo so ardently. He truly was a magnificent creature, to have stormed the court of gods, defied their law, defeated Aizen and imprisoned him—all before he was even twenty years old. And Grimmjow had claimed him in the way no man, woman, or god ever had. He had taken Ichigo's innocence. Last night had been wondrous, but for reasons more than Grimmjow had even realized at the time.

This realization sparked neither regret nor fear for divine retribution, but a renewed hunger in the pit of his stomach. He wished to make fresh his claim. His seed was not yet stale inside Ichigo's body, but he was wrested suddenly by desire to mark him again.

His hand was upon Ichigo's thigh.

Ichigo was incredulous. "It excites you to know this truth?"

How could it not? If last night had been Ichigo's first, then there were so many ways he had never known pleasure. Grimmjow was eager to show him all of them.

The harsh set of Ichigo's brows softened. He was clad loosely in the black silk robes which slipped down his shoulders with only a light tug, and he gave no protest at his uncovering. Naïve though he was, he was also content to let Grimmjow lead him in this. In this matter, Grimmjow was wiser.

The warlord laid his hands upon Ichigo once more, his restraint less than the previous night but his idolatry ever steady. This time, as he coaxed Ichigo to readiness, it was with knowledge of just how naïve Ichigo still was. But even so naïve, even so freshly defiled, Ichigo was yet a warrior god. He looked upon Grimmjow with steel in his eyes and a stubborn set in his jaw which incited Grimmjow to answer in kind.

This second coupling was less cautious than the first. Grimmjow permitted Ichigo greater freedom in movement than he had the previous night, intrigued to see the hard coil of his thighs straining against him, the cords of his neck taut as he strove not to cry out. Grimmjow nipped his shoulder to loosen his voice, and heard his prize in the sweetly uttered growls beneath him.

Grimmjow fucked Ichigo full, and when he sensed the end, he swallowed Ichigo's cock down his throat and finished him with tongue and lips.

When he pulled away, Grimmjow sat over Ichigo laid back in the sheets, his chest heaving, his mouth panting with lips bitten raw.

"Grimmjow…" Ichigo groaned. "Stop looking so smug."

"Heh. I cannot."

Grimmjow ran his palm down Ichigo's neck, over his collarbones and chest. Much of him was still covered by bandages, but his power still seeped into Grimmjow's skin with a silken caress. It sent a thrill down Grimmjow's spine to know such a powerful creature spread his legs for him.

There was red on the sheets. Grimmjow stilled and looked about for its source, and found it by the darkening patch on the bandages binding Ichigo's belly.

He cursed and pulled the sheets away to get a better look.

Ichigo frowned. "It is nothing, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow ignored him. He sought the hidden end of the linen and unwound it, then used a small set of shears to cut the rest away. He had intended to change the bandages today anyways.

Uncovered, the wound on Ichigo's abdomen looked only a little worse than Grimmjow remembered it two days ago. The stitches held fast, and though it bled anew, the bleed was slow and not so fearful. The wound was closing around the edges.

Grimmjow went to retrieve the healer's supplies and a shallow basin filled with clean water. First he cleansed Ichigo of the evidence of their coupling, to which Ichigo grumbled with embarrassment. Then he washed away the new blood before tending to the other wounds.

The smaller ones were near healed. But the one in the center of his chest, where Aizen had impaled him just before they fell, looked almost as fresh as the first night Grimmjow had spent that sleepless at his side in the sick house. It was not bleeding, but the flesh around it appeared white and bloodless, corpse-like in its coldness. On Ichigo's back, the wound where the sword had exited was the same.

Grimmjow's stomach turned.

He cleaned and bound Ichigo's wounds once more and did not ask. He was yet unready to know.

The day was new.

Old man Genryusai brought the sun to rise, and Ichigo sat awash in this day's virgin light. Grimmjow drank the sight, wordless, but with heart rent asunder. For though Ichigo was surely most beautiful beneath the sun, even the sun would take part in his execution.

The darkness which shadowed Grimmjow's mind mirrored plain upon his face.

Ichigo knew the cause. He took the man's hand and brought it up to press a whisper of lips to the calloused fingertips, to the palm, and last the wrist. The angry furrow of Grimmjow's brow softened.

How could Ichigo accept his fate with back so straight and heart so still?

He stood.

"Grimmjow?"

"I am going to fetch us food."

But he did not go to the sick house where the steps were piled high with offerings of food and gifts for Ichigo. His feet carried him instead to the hills where many shrines to the other gods stood.

He stood there for a long while.

The shrines were beautiful, and peaceful in their stillness. The town's people had taken care to tend to them and keep fresh the altars with gifts uninterrupted.

Madness beset Grimmjow.

He swept into the shrine of Genryusai in a flurry of rancor and rage, and in two steps and a mighty heave, he upturned the white stone altar. The heavy polished stone split in two, the offering tray and oil dish clattered to the ground. Ash dirtied the mosaic floor, but Grimmjow was not yet finished.

He unsheathed Pantera and stalked into the shrine of Byakuya. Upon his altar were bouquets of lovely blooms. Bunches of rosy pink camellias, splendid in their newly unfurled perfection, adorned his shrine. Grimmjow raised his sword and tore through them as vicious as any flesh-and-blood foe he had ever cut down. He kicked down the altar, ripped down the pale silk drapes, and pissed in the fountain.

Three more shrines he desecrated before he stumbled upon the grassy knoll. He turned his face upwards, his mouth frothing, his eyes wild. Though it was day he knew the stars were still above. He hoped they saw what he had done. He hoped they could hear him.

"FUCK. YOU!"

If sheer force of rage could be made into power, then Grimmjow would have the might to transcend the distance to the stars.

"FUCK YOU! TRAITORS! COWARDS!" Grimmjow clutched Pantera's hilt so tight his knuckles split. "I WILL SLAY YOU ALL! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

No hand came down to smite him. No power struck him down on the spot. Ichigo was right—there was nothing that could move these unfeeling, forsaken fucks.

He named the stars by every obscenity he knew, and many more born by the muse of his rage, until his voice gave out and he sighted something out of place atop Sui-Feng's ruined shrine.

The white star of Zangetsu stood tall upon its roof, looking down to Grimmjow with hawk-yellow eyes behind a white skull mask. How long had he been there, witness to Grimmjow's insanity? Shirosaki was there, and in the next instant, he was gone.

But for Pantera, Grimmjow stood alone once more.

...

His mood still black, Grimmjow went to retrieve food from the sick house as he had promised. The offerings piled high. Grimmjow sorted through them before choosing a few bundles he judged might appeal to Ichigo most, and other gifts he found useful. He chose also a box of meat and root vegetables for himself.

"The red-haired whore stood to the side, wide-eyed and mouse-hearted, as Grimmjow collected what he wanted. She said nothing, cowed by memory of his temper.

What would you see done with the rest?" asked the healer.

Grimmjow did not care, but Ichigo would want the food given to less fortunate souls rather than see it spoil. "Give it to the poor house."

On the trail leading to Grimmjow's house, where the air went still and the birds went silent, Shirosaki stood over a second figure. Grimmjow approached, one hand reaching for Pantera before he made sense of this scene.

Ulquiorra Cifer on bent knee offered to Shirosaki a long, slender object wrapped in linen. Shirosaki took it, and short of words, he went into the house. The door closed behind him.

Grimmjow followed. He and Ulquiorra exchanged glances but not words.

In the bedroom, Ichigo and Shirosaki sat together upon the bed, the linen-wrapped object laid at Ichigo's feet. Grimmjow lingered at the doorway, uncertain if he was meant to bear witness to this moment, but neither god protested his presence.

Shirosaki uncovered the linen and therein lay the second piece of Zangetsu's broken blade. Ichigo picked up the first piece, the one with the hilt, from the pelt which Grimmjow had wrapped it in, and placed it end to end with the second. From hilt to tip, the sword was deepest black, striking even in this diminished state. It felt a great wrongness to see it broken so.

Ichigo touched his forehead to Shirosaki's, and clasped the white beast's nape.

"Thank you, Zangetsu."

He was not speaking to the sword.

...

Shirosaki took the broken sword with him.

When Grimmjow felt permitted to enter the room once more, he brought with him the food and gift he had retrieved from amongst Ichigo's offerings.

He laid out before Ichigo a spread of ripe fruit, and hot meals cooked with great care. Ichigo paid first mind to the bowl of ripe berries, but Grimmjow had little appetite. He ate his portion hardly tasting the perfectly spiced food.

"I am sorry."

Ichigo paused, a succulent red berry halfway to his mouth, and turned.

"I should not have called for you." Grimmjow's hands were clasped tight before him. The blood on his knuckles had dried but now split anew. How was he to know, on that night seven years ago, that his prayers were heard and answered?

And see now the consequences. Ichigo wounded and condemned, a god in exile. Zangetsu broken in two.

"You shoulder too much blame. I would have come even had you not called."

"But—"

"Did you not hear me, Grimmjow? I regret nothing."

Grimmjow had regret enough for both of them. "Zangetsu is broken." The great sword he had looked to for strength and courage all his life was in pieces. What did it mean for a god's sword to break?

"Zangetsu is fine."

What? Grimmjow had just seen the two pieces of it in Ichigo's hands. His confusion was plain, for Ichigo sighed and put down his food.

"Zangetsu is more than just a sword, Grimmjow." He said this as a stark truth which should be obvious. "Just as Pantera is."

And then, when Grimmjow's confusion only deepened, Ichigo made to rise, bracing himself across his belly. Grimmjow started with alarm, but Ichigo waved off his attempt to support him. "Let me up. I can walk. I have something to show you."

Ichigo brought him outdoors, to the field behind the house where the grass grew short and dense, and sat down with legs crossed and back straight. He motioned for Grimmjow to follow his lead. Now, sitting together the same way facing one another, Ichigo spoke.

"What do you think Zangetsu is?"

Grimmjow frowned. "It is a sword, black as the night without stars or moon. It is your sword, the source of your power."

"No."

No? What riddle was this?

"Zangetsu is my killing instinct, the darkness in my heart given teeth and claws and a razor edge. He is strong and cunning, but without restraint, and the only humility he knows is to me."

"You speak as if Zangetsu is a person."

"He is. You know him."

The description Ichigo gave seemed at once familiar and strange, and the face which came to Grimmjow's thoughts was one which he had just seen—white-haired and white-skinned, sitting side by side with Ichigo on the bed.

Ichigo nodded.

"Shirosaki is the name I gave him long ago, when I did not understand him and sought to suppress him with all my might. But his true name is Zangetsu. The sword is but one shape of him."

Grimmjow's eyes were wide. The fearsome white beast was Zangetsu itself, given a voice, a face, and a white sword of his own.

"Now, what is Pantera?"

Grimmjow looked down at the blue-hilted blade at his hip with eyes reborn. Was it possible? Within his sword, was there a beast also?

"You begin to understand. It is not enough to know the name of this spirit in your heart. You must know his face, his voice, and his will. Learn this, and you will grow in strength beyond the measure of men." Ichigo's eyes were keen. "I will show you how to hear him."

Hear…his sword?

"You already sit in the proper form. Now unsheathe Pantera and lay him across your lap."

Grimmjow did as instructed.

"This is jinzen," said Ichigo. "It is the form my people use to speak to and bond with the spirit which takes the shape of their blade. Now, Grimmjow, close your eyes."

Grimmjow did, and bereft of sight, he leaned on Ichigo's voice guiding him in this exercise. He placed his hands upon Pantera. One upon the hilt, for it is by your hand the sword is guided, and the other upon the blade, for it is by your will the edge cuts.

Ichigo continued to speak. Grimmjow heard not his voice, but the intent of his words. And as they commanded him, he listened to his own breath. He followed the air entering his body, rise in his chest, flow through him, and finally leave. One breath melded into another, each beyond counting, beyond sense of time or place.

His mind calmed, the howl of frenzied thoughts and worries, which he had not known were ever so loud, took the stillness of a lake with no current or ripple.

And then, he heard it.

A whispered growl, so near it could be right beside his head. An animal rumble more felt than heard, and the massive bulk of a predator nearby. Hot breath blew on his ear.

Grimmjow's eyes snapped open.

The sky, which had been just been bright in midday sun when he'd last seen it, was growing dark. Grimmjow leapt to his feet and cast about for a glimpse of what he had felt. There was nothing in this field but for Ichigo and himself.

Ichigo pulled himself upright.

Grimmjow's blood sang as though he had just cut down a dozen foes worthy of his blade. "There was something beside me!" He spun on Ichigo with a smile full of teeth. "I heard him, I felt him! His breath was on face!"

Grimmjow stopped. "But I did not see his face. He did not speak."

Satisfaction reigned on Ichigo's face. He looked proud. "You will do this again. It will come easier next time."

Grimmjow looked up, and the sun had already set. His back ached. "How long did I sit there?"

"Six hours. Seven? I am not sure." Ichigo smiled. "He is beautiful. Like his master."

Grimmjow spun. "You have seen him?"

"Just now. While you were meditating. He is wild and fierce and stunning. I had expected nothing less of you, Grimmjow."

Fearsome pride filled Grimmjow's breast. Ichigo found his sword beautiful. Though this time had yielded only a whisper of Pantera's presence, Grimmjow knew now what he must do. He would not rest until he could converse as effortlessly with Pantera as Ichigo did with Zangetsu.

Grimmjow held up his sword to admire in the fading light. The blade, which had never chipped nor rusted in all the years Grimmjow bore it, gleamed deadly and sharp. I will know you. I will learn you.

...

They ate dinner outdoors beneath the sky. Grimmjow's appetite had finally awoken, and he took the food with greater zeal this time. And while he ate, he considered Pantera.

Though he had not seen Pantera, or heard him speak, he felt certain Pantera did not take the shape of a man, as Zangetsu did. He would have asked Ichigo what he had seen—what did Pantera look like?—but sensed this was not something that should be told. He must see it for himself.

Pantera was warm at his side, and Grimmjow sensed that he was pleased. Pantera wished to speak to Grimmjow as dearly as Grimmjow wished to hear him.

"How did you know I could do it?" Grimmjow asked Ichigo, who was enjoying a meal of steamed fish in savory spices over rice. "I have never heard of jinzen. This is an art performed by gods, not men, is it not?"

"I have heard your sword screaming in battle. He wants you to hear. And you have heard him speak at least once before."

"I have?"

"Of course. He told you his name."

There was so much Grimmjow did not know.

At the close of their meal, the warlord stretched out on the grass, belly full of food and mind full of wonder. Ichigo laid down beside him, and for a moment, Grimmjow was overtaken with awe that in this field where as a child, he had scoured countless times for strawberries to heap on Ichigo's altar, he now lay side by side with his god as lovers.

The moment passed.

"I want to know Pantera," Grimmjow spoke this ambition aloud. His heart pounded fast. "I want him at my side, not as a whisper, not as a ghost. I want him with me as sure and firm as Shirosaki walks with you. That is what I wish."

Ichigo rested on his side, gazing not at the stars, but at Grimmjow. "Then you will make it so. You alone of all men will have your blade made flesh."

Ichigo sounded so sure of this. Grimmjow shuddered to imagine it so.

And Ichigo? What did Ichigo wish for? Grimmjow dared to ask.

The question invited silence. Ichigo gave a long, shuddering breath as though it pained him.

Grimmjow cursed himself. Ichigo must wish for a stay of his execution. He must wish for the other gods to leave him be, to let him live out his time on earth with Grimmjow. It was a thoughtless cruelty to remind Ichigo of his impending fate.

"Forget I asked. I did not intend to—"

"I wish for the stars to fall."

Grimmjow fell silent, and so did the night.

"I wish for my people to return to this land once more and remember what it was like before they split heaven and earth, before the world was changed." Ichigo's voice was a whispered conviction. His eyes burned with such simple, earnest yearning it made Grimmjow ache in the core of his being. "I wish for a night without stars, where the moon is alone and the sky is dark."

A night without stars…

Ichigo wished for the world to return as it had been, ten thousand years ago. He wished for gods to walk amongst men, to share not only their appearance, but their lives, their passions, and their very existence.

Grimmjow tried to imagine it: the night dark, the moon in solitude.

Ichigo wished for the impossible.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I'M BACK AND HERE TO STAY. Well lookit that, after 4 years, miracles do happen.

Also, I must share an amazing cosplay done by Ai and Blue ( aishizaya on Instagram) based on a scene from chapter 16: instagram. com (slash)p/ BwlO-hHn2lS/