Warm Summer Nights

It's quiet when he opens his eyes, so quiet it takes him awhile to remember where he is. Mostly because he only partly remembers where and when he went to bed last night and partially because quiet wasn't something he expected to exist in the illustrious white castle.

But there's no denying it, as his eyes roam over the white ceiling and white floor and white walls, he's in Las Noches and he can't remember how he got there.

Well, that's not exactly true.

He knows why he's here. Same as he knows that it was completely his choice to come here, he just can't recall the route he took to get here. Much less the route to get out because there's no way he plans stay here for too long.

This is the enemy's castle after all.

He sits up with a quiet groan, mindful of the figure still lying asleep next to him. His whole body aches from yesterdays fight and he can do nothing more than rest his head on his knees as the aches subside. He hasn't fought like that in a while and he's paying for it now.

Moonlight filters in from the only window in the room, a small one too high up and blocked by metal bars, and it's with detached amusement that he realizes he's slept the day away. Well, that's what happens when you spend most of the previous night fuc—ah—otherwise occupied.

(And well into the morning too)

Maybe that's why it's quiet then, because everyone in the castle has already gone to bed.

His eyes shifts to figure next to him sometime during his pondering and he watches as the Arrancar sleeps the night away. His eyes roam over the bite marks littering the tan neck and it fills him with smug satisfaction to see them there. He knows that his neck must look the same but in this moment he can't bring himself to care.

Not yet anyways.

Soon, he will care though. When he's neck deep in questions and trying to come up with reasonable excuse as to where and why he keeps disappearing.

This isn't the first time—though it is the first time in Las Noches—and it won't be the last.

The other just has a way of riling him up and making him do thing he usually wouldn't do. And he can't say that he hates it. Not when it leads to night like the last one. Though he could have done without the fight they had gotten into before the other had all but dragged him here.

They had to do it though, it was either that or get caught by Renji who'd accidentally stumbled across them indulging in an alley way. Thank the Soul King that the pineapple had simply assumed the reason he was pinned against the wall was because they were fighting and not…because they were snogging like a bunch of high schoolers.

He doesn't even want to think about what could have happened if Renji had realized just what they were doing. It would have been horrible, he's sure of it. They would name him a traitor (again) and strip him of his badge and then probably demand his capture and execution.

He can't stop the bitter smile that creeps onto his lips.

Byakuya would probably hunt him down if Soi Fong didn't get to him first.

For being the savior of the world and unofficial shinigami there sure are a lot of shinigami who don't like him. The noble being the first in a long list of many even after he saved his sister from death by Aizen.

Shinigami aside he would be lucky if Uryuu would still talk to him if word reached The World of the Living. For all that they're friends now and there's no one else he'd rather have at his back during a fight, he can still remember a time when Uryuu wanted nothing to do with him.

Chad would probably just stay quiet because Chad is Chad and, no matter whom Ichigo's lover is, he's still Ichigo. His best friend since elementary and Chad knows he would never betray his friends and family by actually joining Aizen and his evil plans.

Orihime.

She would probably cry her heart out because, no matter how oblivious he pretends to be, he knows. He can't remember when he realized why Orihime's eyes seemed to follow him around a room. Just like he can't remember when his own eyes began to follow a certain turquoise haired someone with something other than anger and suspicion but he knows that he holds the girl's heart.

And he hates himself for not wanting it—for unintentionally hurting her.

He can at least rest assured that Tatsuki will beat the crap out of him for it. They've know each other since they were both kids and while she won't tell him anything about who his lover is, she'll beat him black and blue for knowingly breaking Orihime's heart.

He's pulled out of his darkening thoughts by a gust of dry and dusty wind. It flows through the room and does nothing to cool it or them. It does nothing to dispel the heat of their bodies and he's glad they've forgone clothing hours before.

A slight coolness on his back as the wind slips pass him alerts him to reopened wounds and he tries to fight back a blush as he remembers exactly how he got those wounds. He remembers moans and gasp, grunts and groans and nails. Sharp nails that dung deeper and deeper as pleasure peaked once again.

Oh yes, he remembers.

Lips and tongues, fingers and teeth. It's hard to forget, especially with the other lounging next to him, covered in marks made by him, exhausted because of him. It's only a vague sense of self-preservation that stops him from waking the other up to indulge again.

He has to leave soon, preferably before anyone else realizes he's here.

He's always known this situation could very well get him killed. More so today than any other and sometimes he asks himself if it's really worth it? If losing everything was worth fleeting moments of this? Of drowning in the throes of passion for only as long as they can get away with.

If coming here and spend the best night of his left wrapped around the other had been worth it when word got out.

Because it will.

Sooner or later. It always does and everybody's already started to ask questions.

He can already hear the voice in the back of his head yelling at him and telling him he's an idiot but then again that could just been Hichigo telling him to get the fuck out of dodge before shit becomes dangerous.

He is in enemy territory after all.

A quiet moan draws his attention (along with the attention of a certain body part) and he once more focuses in on his partner, his lover. He can't fight the smile as he sees other fumble one tan hand out and search next to them. Long fingers curl around a blue zanpakuto and Ichigo rolls his eyes as its cuddled close.

He really should go now. Under the cover of darkness his escape would be easier.

Eager eyes traces bite marks once again, take in the evidence of their passion and he finds it hard to get to leave. To get up and disappear until the other comes searching for him again with promises of excitement and pleasure he won't find anywhere else.

And he'll break like he always does.

He'll follow if only to get lost in those turquoise eyes—bluer than he's ever seen before—and those moans. To feel lips and teeth against his neck ad sharp nails dig into his back because it's so good the just can't hold back and somehow the pain makes it better.

He can almost see Hichigo now, waving his hands in the air as he shouting at Ichigo to get his shit straight and leave before anyone else finds out he's there.

Though, with his huge amount of reiatsu, that just likes to pour out of him in waves, he wouldn't be surprised if everyone within a three mile radius already knows he's here. He knows the chance of attack the second he steps out of the room are high so he might as well enjoy this peace before leaving becomes inevitable.

He could stay here forever, he thinks as he entertains thoughts of curling around the other and nibbling on their neck till they wake. Here, in bed, where there's no fighting, no gloating, just him and the other and the pleasure to be found.

Just here, forever lost in each other because…

Because he…

'I love him.'

His hearts races, his eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet. He's dress and standing at the door before he makes a conscious decision to do so. He's a mess, hair wild, shitagi and kosode open and hamaka wrinkled, but he's more than ready to go.

But he can't.

Not yet.

So he stands there, hands gripping harshly on Zangetsu's hilt as his eyes once again turn to the figure still lying peacefully on the bed. The one he can never seem to stop looking at—stop admiring.

He drinks his fill, eyes running over tan flesh, scars, and turquoise hair because he doesn't know when he'll see the other again (or if he ever will).

"I love you…Grimmjow."

His words are a whisper on the wind, out and gone without his permission but he doesn't regret them, well, not as much as he should.

If he regrets them, it's only because he knows nothing will ever come from them. They'll forever be words in the wind, never to be turned into dreams and desires. Nothing good will ever come from them so with one last longing look he leaves.

He disappears down white halls and out to the desert sands.

While Grimmjow—feral, temperamental Grimmjow sits up from his bed and heaves a tired sigh. He rises once again to a lover long gone and an empty bed and fights back the pained yell trying to crawl out of his throat as he stands.

He ignores the twinges and aches of pain that plague his body as he stalks around his room. As he pulls clothes on he tries to ignore the empty bed and the pain that comes with seeing it. Instead he begins to plot for the next time and tries to think of away to get the idiot Strawberry—his idiot Strawberry (thank you very much) to stay.

Written for Mrs. Alex Kurosaki