"Zipper Fall" is a rock climbing term, which describes a situation where safeguards fail one by one. The climber keeps falling faster and faster as the pitons are ripped out of the rock face. Ichigo puts himself into a similar situation with Grimmjow.

"Jeagerjacques is a fucking asshole." Renji threw half of his beer back without bothering to swallow.

"He's a fucking asshole. Of all the bosses I've ever had, he's the rudest, nastiest, loudest sonovabitch I've ever fucking worked for. And take this: he wants everything yesterday."

I watched Renji belch, his large hands diving into the bowl of complimentary nuts and pretzels. His face was flushed, his scowl accentuated by the tribal tattoos above his eyebrows and his long, crimson hair threatened to escape its ponytail.

"Sorry, man," I said, waving for another round. "At least you get to do cool stuff, though. You work with major accounts. Your work matters a bit more than just putting advertisements together."

I sighed. Nobody gave a damn about advertising unless a video went viral on YouTube. The product of my hard work became trash as soon as it was removed from the mailbox; billboards got tuned out, flashy magazine ads were cut up for children's project. My job was worse than watching moss grow.

Maybe that's why I enjoyed breaking into people's houses so much.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want you to think I'm just some ordinary thief. I have a strict code of conduct and I adhere to it on every job:

Never take sentimental items.

Steal only from the rich.

Don't get caught.

I guess the last rule would be the most important one, and I'm pretty darn good at what I do since I've been burgling for almost ten years. It all started in high school with a panty-raid challenge, at which time I found there is no better way to get that awesome, adrenaline high than casing a place of residence, finding when it will be empty, and finding an illicit way of entry. Sometimes, I just need to pick the lock to the front door. In other cases, more inventive means of breaching the fortress are necessary.

Oh yeah. Another rule: No cat-burglar stuff. Cat-burglars are people who break into homes while people are there, preferably asleep. That's not only creepy, it's dangerous. It's a good way to get your chest ventilated with someone's pistol they inherited from their grandfather and still keep around for sentimental reasons.

"…so he'll be out of the office next week, yey!" Renji squinted at me. "Hey Ichigo. Are you listenin'? The Jeager-asshole's going on a vacation for a week so he'll be off my back."

Vacation.

A successful stockbroker's going on a vacation.

Hmmm…

I knew I shouldn't have even formulated the thought, but there it was: suddenly I was possessed with an overwhelming urge to break into Mr. Jeager-asshole's chateau. Of course, that broke another rule: don't steal from people you might know, even if only through other people.

"Maybe he's just grumpy from his commute," my mouth said, seemingly detached from my body.

"Nah," Renji said, "he walks to work. He lives right on the corner of 57th and Espada Way. I had to deliver some work papers one day when he made me stay late, that jerk."

Now, I know better than pursuing this train of thought, but I have this curious fascination with knowing how other people work. Nothing gives me more insight into a person than having a chance to walk through their private areas, breathing the air their breathed and rifle through their personal possessions. Just looking through his drawers I'd be able to tell why Mr. Jeager-asshole's the way he is. His taste in books and clothing is, most certainly, very different in private than in public, and I get that extra frisson from finding out the difference between my victim's private self and the public persona they put on for our benefit.

No, I should stop.

Stop now. Go back. Take a trip out of town.

"What's his place like?" My mouth asked Renji while I sat in my body, aghast, along for the ride.

XDXDXD

I've kept an eye on the third-floor apartment over the weekend and was gratified to see the tall, blue-haired owner walk out the front door with a small suitcase. Right about the time my stomach began to rumble for lunch, he got into a taxi and left.

When somebody gets into a taxi with a suitcase, it generally means they'll be gone for awhile, but relying on this truism is unwise. It is always prudent to call before breaking in. And, once you approach the residence, it's imperative to ring the doorbell. This prevents the burglar's contact with dogs, house-sitters, spouses, and the local police department.

XDXDXD

The late-nineteenth century apartment building was lush with all the neo-classical embellishments you'd expect: it was five stories high, wide parapets connected the windows, and the façade was covered with a Art Nouveau floral design. The front door was flanked by Grecian columns to indicate the importance of its residents. Looking from across the street, I could already see the ceilings would be tall. That could have been both good and bad – it meant a longer rappel off the roof and a possible lack of an elevator. It could have also meant the residents were flush with cash and a variety of easy-to-fence, small objects they would never realize they were missing.

That afternoon, I called the number for Mr. Jeager-asshole' residence. Nobody picked up. If you want to break into a place, your best bet is to do it during daylight and while wearing a service uniform. People will remember the uniform, not your face. Looking like a computer repairman with a messenger bag full of tools gave credence to my disguise. I'd just walk up the door and knock. If anybody opened, I'd just pretend I got out on the wrong floor.

XDXDXD

My bright orange hair was tamed by a microfiber scull cap. The repairman hat I wore over it had a half-wig with a dark-brown braid attached to the back. My white, blue-striped shirt had an embroidered name tag.

"Bill's Service."

I wore navy chinos and black, crepe-soled shoes for quiet approach and a fast getaway.

The building's doorman sat behind a chest-high, marble desk, trying to follow a ball game on a portable television.

I sauntered in, looking tired. Three in the afternoon, Saturday, and I was stuck working.

"Hey. What's the score?"

The tall, one-eyed man spared me a glance. "Three-two, bottom of the sixth, bases loaded."

"Oh man," I said, letting out an exasperated moan. "I couda been at that game. Had to give the tickets away."

"No shit?" The doorman, "Mr. Jigura", turned toward me some.

"Yeah. Then a client called. Wants to have a virus removed off his system and new RAM installed. Can't get a thing done now. Poor jackass." I blew out some hot air.

"Sucks working Saturdays, but man's gotta do what man's gotta do."

"Yeah." Jigura's eyes flicked back toward the game. "Strikeout! Shit!"

"Wow, shit man. That coulda been sweet. Three more innings, though."

Jigura glanced my way. "They shouldn't have benched Gonzalez. Here, you sign in here. Where're you goin'?"

I signed my fake name and time of entry.

"Mr. Jeagerjacques. Third floor."

"He's gone."

"Yeah. He told me in no uncertain terms he wants they system running like a Swiss watch by the time he's back, too. Loud bastard. He gave me a key."

"He sure is a loud bastard," Jigura nodded with a sneer, his eyes on the game again. I peeled off the counter and headed toward the elevator. Nobody attempted to stop me.

XDXDXD

His door had a regular lock and two dead-bolts, which told me he knew a bit about not putting all his eggs in one basket. I knocked on the door and ran the doorbell, mostly for the benefit of his neighbors. Nobody opened the door to see who's in the hallway. I snapped on my latex gloves and reached for the picks in the bottom of my tool bag. The regular lock was butter-soft and turned almost on command. The deadbolts took a bit more convincing. Then there was that tendril of thrill running up my spine as I felt the tumblers turn and align, the mechanism yielding to my desires.

XDXDXD

As soon as I was in I locked the door again so nobody would disturb me. Then I did a quick walk-through. The apartment had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge dining room and a living room separated into what , at first glance, seemed to be a junk yard and a sleek, modern den with a flat-screen TV.

I've said before that I can judge the character of a person by the way they keep their dwelling and belongings. Looking around, I'd have guessed that Mr. Jeaguer-asshole suffered from split personality disorder. His kitchen was immaculate; nothing rotted in the refrigerator and the freezer contained not only five gourmet frozen dinners, but also the fairly common stash of cash. Lots of people hid their emergency cash in the back of their freezer, thinking it was so clever and original.

Frozen assets: about five grand.

Not much for a successful stockbroker. I palmed the icy Ziploc bag and slipped it into my pocket.

One of the bedrooms was right over the 57th Street. The dark, elegant furniture was complemented by several Tokugawa-era Japanese prints. The nightstands, the bureau, all clean. His personal effects must have been minimal. How surprising, then, that the second bedroom – the one with the window into the alley and the fire escape – was so cluttered you couldn't walk through it. My heart sank. I had high hopes to make good use of the fire escape on my next trip in. My hopes were dashed – trying to make my way in the dark, I would have sounded like two raccoons fighting inside a garbage can.

The bathrooms were both clean.

The dining room had every single surface covered with collectible objects of various sizes. There were half-opened card boxes on the floor.

Where did this seemingly neat and tidy individual amass such a wealth of knick-knacks? I walked through, not spending much time. Few items caught my attention. There were four silver candy dishes, from England circa 1820, and since their design and quality varied, I picked the one in the middle; the nicest one would have been the first to be missed. I found a pretty carving of a panther, ivory, inset with turquoise eyes but the way it was displayed told me its absence would be noted, so I left it there.

Thirty minutes have passed and I knew I had to get out. Computer maintenance wasn't all that complicated these days. I looked around, frantic. One more thing…just one more little thing.

My eyes fell on a mid-size painting. The subject matter was neo-classical, but the quality…awful. Was that good frame being wasted on a cheap print with a paint-like acrylic layer on top? Mr. Jeagerjacques might have been an asshole, but he was a man of taste in art, so why would he display such fake trash in such a prominent location?

The frame seemed a tad thick. I jostled it a bit. It swung to the side on a column of piano hinges, revealing a small wall safe.

BINGO!

Safe-cracking was something of a hobby of mine and my fingers itched with desire to turn the two dials and make the mechanism sing for me. Time, however, was not on my side. I closed the painting shut . There would have to be another visit.

XDXDXD

Two days passed. Monday at work paled in comparison with my weekend's adventure and I was thrilled to get out of the office. My venture had earned five thousand, three hundred and eighty dollars, mostly in hundreds, some in twenties. The antique, silver candy dish sat on my table where I could admire its fine workmanship .

As I sat there, sipping my tea and eating caramels out of my newly-acquired and soon-to-be-fenced silver candy dish, I thought back to the apartment. I could never get in the same way again. And, next time, it would have to be a night job. The summer was hot and it wasn't unusual for people to leave their windows open; I had eased the locks on the casement window frames in the bedroom so I could push my way in later tonight.

XDXDXD

Once eleven o'clock rolled by, I pulled on my light green jacket and a baseball cap, hoisted my black backpack, and headed out the door. I walked, using the twenty minutes to calm down and control my adrenaline levels. I still could have backed out – I didn't have to go through with it. The idea died young: it was like paying the entry fee to a public pool and then talking myself out of getting into the water. There was no way I wasn't getting inside that apartment tonight.

Two blocks away I ducked inside an entryway and stuffed my green jacket and baseball cap inside the bag. I caught my hair in my black scull cap, using experienced fingers to hide every single strand. I lifted the black hood of my sweatshirt over my head and continued to my target area.

The windows in the corner of the third floor were dark. I dialed the number on my cell phone anyway, but nobody picked up. I sucked in a deep breath. Shit. I was really going in.

The service entrance in the alley wasn't armed and the lock was easy to pick. No point arming a self-closing door next to the dumpster, right? I slipped in like a shadow and took the service elevator all the way up. There was a narrow staircase from the fifth floor to the roof, and I took it. I knew what to expect. The door was unlocked and it creaked only a little – a pleasant surprise. I scanned the flat, asphalt roof and the vents and chimneys to my left. The edge of the roof was to my right. Working fast, I slipped a climbing harness over my black cargo fatigues. Putting my phone on vibrate, I slipped it into a secure pocket. The other pocket held the flashlight. I pulled a coil of heavy rope out of the backpack and fastened it to a sturdy chimney. Before I knew it, my feet were anchored on the rim of the ledge and, with the rope wound behind my butt and through the double-safe climbing carbine of my harness, I leaned back over the abyss. I felt the thrill of being suspended over a street, in the dark, unseen. Slowly, my soft, black shoes took small steps down the side of the building as I fed extra rope through my harness. The soles of my feet felt every contour of the stone-carved vining plants and flowers, giving me extra purchase. I traversed past the lit fifth floor window, and past the dark fourth floor window, and I started to breathe a bit harder when, finally, the third-floor window appeared. I stood on the generous window parapet, unclipping myself and letting the rope hang by my side. Slowly, I pushed the glass panes in.

Only the streetlights illuminated the Spartan bedroom interior. The white carpet gleamed a pale amber, reflecting the sodium lamps outside. The bed was occupied. Its owner was in it, sprawled naked on his back. His head and shoulders were shrouded by the shadows, but the rest of him was illuminated by the stark city glow, barely impeded by the sheer curtains.

He stirred. I looked around fast – his closet was cracked open. I slipped in, not making a noise. Inhaling short, shallow breaths, my heart beat like a drum against the wall of my chest. I heard Grimmjow Jeagerjacques stir. His bed creaked, then it creaked some more and I head the soft patter of feet on the lush carpet.

I hoped he wasn't going to kill me on sight.

I swore to myself I'd never do this again.

I heard him piss in the bathroom next to me, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe I don't have to voice any rash oaths just yet.

He flushed and washed his hands.

More footsteps, this time in my direction. Once again I began to negotiate with the Powers-That-Be.

"Fuck, it's hot." The low growl of his voice shot an arrow of heat down my spine.

I heard him draw the curtains aside, opening the window even wider.

My heart sang in relief.

Then I heard him get back in bed. So far, so good. I'd have to wait until he was all asleep before I could make my exit out the window he opened so considerately. I had hoped to use the front door on the way out, but with the owner in residence, I didn't dare making so much noise. I stood there, waiting, wondering why the hell he wasn't on a vacation like he should have been.

Light snoring reached my ears and I pushed the closet door to the side a little, just enough to get out comfortably. With painful slowness I peeked around the wooden panel.

There he was, now fully lit by the dramatic glow from the outside, his legs spread apart, sporting a significant boner.

My mouth went dry. Light pollution was my enemy under ordinary circumstances, but right now I felt grateful for the ubiquitous, eerie glow. This guy, no matter what Renji had to say about his personality, had the goods. Neon lights, flashing from outside, reflected off the smooth planes of his legs as he twitched, giving a slight moan.

Sleep, dammit.

His powerful thighs tensed and his hand crept to his groin, long fingers stroking his stiff shaft. I heard him gasp and I knew he wasn't even close to being in the dream world. Blood rushed to my dick and I bit my lower lip, working hard to control my breathing. Damn but was he ever so beautiful. He was a gorgeous specimen of a man and I'd have done a lot to go out there and join the party – except I wasn't keen on him introducing me to the local police department.

Slowly, my hand crept down, past my raging hard-on and inside the cargo pocket of my pants. I flipped my phone open and turned the camera on. There was just enough light for the screen to show what was going on in the pool of light before me. Trying hard not to touch myself, I kept my phone trained on the bed.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice nagged, reminding me of my solid upbringing. Surely taking a video of someone in such a delicate moment was beyond the pale – I had no words for it and no justification. Yet was a thief, and I'd never have this man - no chance of that. I could keep this little personal memento, though. An insignificant souvenir to be played a few times and then erased. I just couldn't stop watching, my breath coming out in short, shallow pants.

Grimmjow Jeagerjacques slid a neck roll under his hips. He reached for something on the bedside table and I heard a familiar click of a lube bottle. When he touched his dick again, I heard his hiss of pleasure. I watched his hips undulate, the thrusts small and intense, the proud and turgid length sliding through his slick hand. He spread his feet apart and his second hand reached down, finding his ass. He slipped a finger in, his hips spasming in reaction. Another finger…he gasped, panting and cursing, his two fingers embedded and pulling at his opening, his slick hand pumping his manhood. I hoped he'd come soon. My phone had only so much memory left…YESSSSS.

His voice was a growl and a moan and it resonated as he shot his wad, thick ropes of jizz briefly luminescent in the neon lights outside. Few deep breaths later he sat up on the bed, still playing with his dick, his eyes closed and his mouth pulled back in a languorous smile. He was beautiful and relaxed and all I wanted was toss the phone I forgot I held and go to him and lick the cum off his chest and kiss him until he forgot his own mother's name.

Oh god, how I wanted that man.

I watched him walk across to the bathroom again and heard the water run. I saw him climb back between the sheets, hugging a pillow, this time falling asleep for good. The scent of his cologne, barely discernible before, developed with his increased body heat, mingling with the musky smell of sex. I stood in his closet, his suits brushing against my back, emanating that very same essence and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes back in my head, lean back into all that luxurious fabric and pass out.

It was at least an hour before I could trust myself to move out the window and climb to the safety of the roof.

XDXDXD

My harness in the backpack and the rope coiled next to it, I flopped behind the chimney in exhaustion. Going up is a lot harder even if you aren't fighting a hard-on the size of Texas. Wiping my face, I hid my climbing gear in a cooling vent for next time.

Next time?

Then I sprawled on the asphalt roof and unzipped my pants. It would only take a few minutes - then I could go home.

This story is now available in a book form with original characters. Search under "Zipper Fall" and "Kate Pavelle", and you will find links where you can purchase it in either e-book or paper format. It's coming out tomorrow, September 20th!

I will be online for a book release party on Sunday afternoon, Sept. 22nd, answering questions, posting excerpts, and making book give-aways on the following site: (/) blog. Drop by and visit!