Closer Chapter 1: Fighting, a bleach fanfic

Summary: Grimmjow comes to the human world after Orihime is saved; Ichigo gets tangled up in a messy situation, and drags Grimmjow with him.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and am making no money from this. I also do not own the lyrics to 'Closer'. Kings of Leon do, though, and I do urge everyone who reads this to go and listen to it at least once because I think it is a great song. :3

Stranded in this spooky town,
Stoplights are swaying
And the phone lines are down
This floor is crackling cold,
She took my heart, I think she took my soul
With the moon I run,
Far from the carnage of the fiery sun

Driven by the strangle of vein
Showing no mercy I do it again
Open up your eyes
You keep on crying, baby
I'll bleed you dry
Skies are blinking at me
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea

And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer

You shimmy shook my bones,
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own
Do you think of me?
Where am I now baby, where do I sleep?
Feels so good but I'm old
Two thousand years of chasing taking its toll

And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer
And it's coming closer

I don't know how it happened.

I don't know how it started, when it started, why. It's wrong. Unnatural. Not only is he a guy, but he's dead. Dead. A hollow. Espada. My sworn enemy.

He's tried to kill me at least half a dozen times. He's stuck his hand through Rukia's stomach, almost blasted her head away, had threatened to hurt Nel and Inoue and I can't forget that, my head won't let me – but when I'm around him, when he looks at me with those blue eyes, something changes in my chest. Something tightens. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, can feel the rush of blood to inappropriate places, and I turn red and I can't look at him anymore. I can't look at anyone anymore.

They all wonder what's happening to me. Shinji, Rukia, Inoue, Chad – everyone. I train, as normal, both at Urahara's and with the Visored, but it's not the same. I can't stop thinking about him. My defense is clumsy, my offense is skewed, I don't pay attention, I get cut and bruised and shouted at. Yes, you assholes, I know my life's on the line. I know that. I know it could fall apart without me. I know that.

But you selfish pricks, can't you do something? You were all captains, you've been shinigami for hundreds of fucking years, you're better than I am – me, I've been fighting hollows for just over six months. What do you want from me? What do you expect me to save the day, the girl, the whole fucking world, when it's you that's stronger? More powerful? More experienced?

All I have is luck and that damn hollow inside my head.

Sometimes I wonder if Grimmjow knows. If I look at him like that. I hope he doesn't, I pray he doesn't. I hope my friends – they're too perceptive, they know me too well. Ishida, Inoue, Chad, Rukia, Renji – sometimes I think they can tell. Urahara…I wouldn't be surprised if he knew as well. It's embarrassing, it's mortifying, and he –

Yeah, he definitely knows. Because he was the one who suggested it.

"You seem to have trouble concentrating on your training, Kurosaki-san. Any reason for that?"

"No. I don't know what you're talking about."

He looks at me, eyes blank, thoughtful. "I see."

"Are we finished here?"

"Not quite. You might be interested to know that I have a new guest. Someone you're acquainted with."

And of course it's Grimmjow.

Abandoning Aizen, leaving Hueco Mundo with everyone that went there in the first place to rescue Inoue – it was a deathwish. I don't know why he did it. He doesn't think, he doesn't consider the consequences, he just jumps right in there and draws his sword and fights like he's not going to live another day. It pisses me off. Can't he think, for once?

And then we start fighting together. Urahara doesn't let me use the hollow mask, or my bankai – he tells me to master my baser powers first. This results in me getting beaten black and blue. Grimmjow is merciless, taunting, brutal. I got broken bones, I got concussions, I lost a ton of blood. Afterwards, most of the time, even breathing is painful. I've never been so thankful for Inoue's existence.

Once, I kissed her. On the cheek, just to say thank you. She looked so startled, flushed so prettily – I couldn't help it. I thought I could erase his presence in my mind with hers. I almost pulled her down and then –

"Shinigami."

I jump away. She turns white and looks at the door, where Grimmjow lounges. He's wearing human clothes. They look good on him. Too good.

I can't meet his eyes. They're not human eyes. I don't want to look at them.

"We need to talk. With Urahara," he says. "He says it's shit about training."

I can't look at Inoue. I get up, newly healed, and I walk with him. I keep my distance. The clothes can't hide his muscular frame, they accentuate it. I've grown a lot during my time as a shinigami but he's still an inch or two taller than me. I hate having to look up at him. I hate looking at him, because I feel it again – my chest feels like it's going to burst, my stomach overflows with butterflies, my hands shake. His face is beautiful, and I hate it.

Hate hate hate. I've never felt it so much. Never felt so much of it for another person – if Grimmjow can be called a person. He's a hollow, Ichigo. Hollow. Enemy. Never forget that. You're enemies.

Why do I feel this way? Why? Of all the people in existence, of all the times in the world, why now? Why him?

Oh God, I hate it.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san."

Urahara talks, but I don't listen. I need to keep my guard up. My stance keeps slipping. I have to be more alert. I know that. I know that.

Just don't keep him around, Urahara, don't keep Grimmjow around, and maybe I can concentrate.

I leave and I move stiffly. Grimmjow comes with me. He is silent. Oh, go the fuck away Grimmjow. Why do you do this?

Sometimes I think you know. Sometimes I think, maybe. Maybe you wouldn't reject it.

But then you look at me with those eyes and that hope shrivels up and dies. And I know better to trust you. I know better than to place anything fragile in your hands – those hands, they'll crush anything if it amuses him.

And my heart is fragile, I can feel it.

The night air is soft and fragrant. I love walking at night. Everything is quiet and peaceful.

When there are no hollows, at least.

No such luck tonight.

I don't turn to look at him out of choice – he pulls me to him.

We're inches apart. My mouth is so close to him, my body is so close to him, I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He's wearing a gigai. The mask is gone. The hollow hole is gone. He looks like a human – a handsome, young human man. But I won't let myself be fooled, even if I want to.

He breathes into my ear, "You're pathetic."

And I know I'm doomed.

-.-.-

He watches me, when he thinks I'm not looking.

Pathetic.

He's just a kid. He doesn't know anything. He thinks he can save the day, that he's some big damn hero – fuck, he's a scrawny brat with power he can't control and no experience.

I wanna crush him.

I wanna feel his blood on my skin, I wanna break him apart, I wanna press close against him and stretch his body out against mine and I want to fuck him into the nearest flat surface so hard he wouldn't able to walk for days.

I'm a hollow, sure, but I've had a human body for some time now. I know what it can feel, I know what it can do. I've had experience. Women and men.

Humans, I've found out, are good for things other than fighting.

But I've never felt it like this before.

I don't know what to call this feeling.

It's like I'm sick.

Like I'm sick, and nothing can cure it.

I try and fuck other guys, guys that look like him, that talk like him, that fight like him, but they're never the same. Never.

And it grows and grows and takes over until I can't think, my head is so full of him. Thick with the smell of him, his sweat and the color of his eyes burning into me, the feel of his skin, sweat-slick and hot, sliding against me, inside me, oh fuck-

I hate him. I've never hated anything, anyone, so much. Not even Aizen. Not even Ulquiorra.

This shinigami brat, he can take me down in the weirdest of ways. He looks at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and I know what he wants, but I know he's afraid. He's scared. Of himself, of me, of his feelings.

And that's why he's pathetic.

He makes me sick.

Why him?

There're other guys. But they're not as attractive. Not as strong. Not him.

And I can't believe it – me, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Sexta Espada – I've been brought down to this level. Pining for a weak, pitiable little boy.

But I know he wants it.

And I want it too. I want him.

And a King always gets what he wants.

"You're pathetic."

My voice is soft. Nothing else about me is. I leave bruises, cuts, scars on him – and I hate that woman, the healing woman, because she takes them away. I mark him as mine, but she reverses it all. She brought back my arm but I repaid that debt – I have no need for her. I want her gone.

And the shinigami, he dares-

I saw in his eyes what he wanted to do. She longs for him too, but it's pure and gentle and human. It's love.

I don't love.

I just want.

Kurosaki's brown eyes are wide. I see the moon reflected in them, but there are no stars in the sky. He wants to say something, but I punch him, something hard across the jaw, and he staggers away, gagging.

"What the fuck?" he spits, recovering.

I like that.

I want fire.

I want fight.

Not a pussy.

Give me fire, Kurosaki. Don't let me down.

I smirk at him. "You heard me. You're pathetic. Weak. Afraid."

He laughs, contemptuous. "Afraid? Of you? Don't be stupid Grimmjow, I'm not the one who lost our last real fight-"

I'm there so fast he can't even blink. I throw a punch, he ducks and kicks me in the stomach. I catch my breath and trip him up, straddle his waist – he flips us over until he's the one on top. He punches me, once, twice, and his knuckles are bleeding, he's furious, I love that face, that anger-

I grab his ass and pull him down on top of my hips. He chokes. He can't say anything. I just watch him.

We're outside, in that empty space in front of Urahara's store. It's cold. Mid-December, if I remember the human calendar rightly. I can see my breath in the air. I see his.

But I can't see his eyes.

I don't know what he's thinking.

"Grimmjow," he says, voice shaky. "What the hell is that?"

I arch against him, press my hips against his. "What? You never been horny before? I doubt that, shinigami."

He chokes again and tries to pull away. "No…I…"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Don't be a pussy," I snarl. "You know you want it. You know."

"No-"

"Yes."

I pull. He pushes. Magnets. My hand snakes down and presses between his legs – yeah, it's there. He feels the same.

But he doesn't want to give in.

Pathetic.

"Let me go!" he hisses.

We fight. Not training. Not a spar. But not a fight to the death, either – something rushed, desperate, thoughtless. He's a good fighter. I'm not used to this fake body, not yet. For once, he overpowers me and I see him running out of sight, disappearing behind a corner.

Pathetic.

I smile.

He can't run forever.

When I see him next he doesn't crawl back with his tail hanging between his legs. He's straight-backed and scowling, takes no shit, mouthy and blunt and rude and downright irritating, like always.

Just looking at that ridiculous hair raises my hackles. I have never, in all my existence, seen hair as bright as his. As loud.

I think about running my fingers through that hair. Grabbing that head, pulling it down, letting that mouth suck and lick and kiss like I know it wants to. The dreams, I know, won't be as good as the real thing.

But he still can't look at me.

He's embarrassed.

Still frightened.

And I'm not a patient guy.

I'll have to fix this.

We fight. He's getting better with his shikai alone, but it's not enough. He's still pretty shit. He relies too much on his bankai and that mask.

I cut him up, relishing the feel of his skin tearing, the blood gushing – wide, outraged, pain-filled eyes staring at me. I'm pumped up with the adrenaline, laughing, euphoric, as hard as a rock. He notices. He is, too.

There's no one else around.

We're not at Urahara's this time. Some abandoned warehouse the other shinigami – the ones with masks – have commandeered. It's just me and him.

Perfect.

He can see it in my eyes.

Hunger.

Dark.

Unforgiving.

And he runs.

Not so fucking fast.

Somehow he manages to get into his human body before I reach him. I lunge. We fall to the floor, tangled limbs, cursing, hands grabbing everywhere, him struggling against me until I pin him down on the ground and flex my fingers around his neck. He tries to fight me off, but I'm stronger.

Better.

He has a massive hard-on. I can feel it through the jeans. I rub my hand between his legs and his hips jerk, he gasps, legs flailing.

"S-shit," he whimpers. "Fuck, ah – Grimmjow…ah-"

Not so innocent now, are you?

Not such a prude.

Just like any other human whore, writhing under me.

I thought you didn't want this, huh?

"G-Grimmjow, stop-"

"No."

"Stop it!"

I smile. "It's not rape if you enjoy it."

Maybe, in hindsight, I shouldn't have said it. It was like a switch was flipped and I saw that black rage in his eyes, I should've stopped and gone a little slower, but fuck, that body against mine-

I thought he would rip my arms off.

I shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did.

But I savored that experience. He's a constant surprise, that shinigami. Every time I think I've got him down he turns around and dodges to the side, grinds me into the floor or slices my chest in two.

It's fun.

It's what the chase is all about.

I would be bored otherwise.

Instead, I'm frustrated. Panting on the floor, still hard, so hard it's almost sore; everything's a mess, my hair, my clothes, my head.

Just what is it about him?

I don't get it.

I don't know why it started. When it started. One day I just looked at him, maybe it was the light, maybe something in the air, and I thought to myself, I want that.

Everything.

Everything about him will be mine.

Maybe I've been living in this world a little too long.

Hollows, we don't need to have sex. We don't need emotions. We eat to stop regression, we fight to maintain the balance of power, we mark our territory. We're animals. Mindless. Simple.

We don't need emotions. But we get them anyway. Gillian, adjuchas, arrancar: the higher up you go, the more you're saddled with.

The more human you become.

Neliel is a perfect example of that. She's soft. She's loving, forgiving, trusting; noble.

It's what fucked her up.

She practically handed herself to Nnoitra on a plate.

I don't intend to do that.

I just want to taste Kurosaki. I want to see that anger in his eyes spit like fire. I want to have that body under me, that power lashing under my hands, that hair, that mouth, everything.

I want him to lose control.

To go wild.

To become like me.

It'll be fun.

I'll make sure of that.