Editing Kills
Title: Smoke and Mirrors: Chapter Four
Pairing: Akon x Grimmjow
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, I only steal its characters so I can go on perverted conquests via fan fics. Also, all characters involved in sexual situations are fictional and above the legal age of consent in the state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
A/N: Bitchy editing is bitchy. I kept getting distracted watching omakes...and then I just got tired of reading over the same thing six times. So, I don't care if there's typos and bad sentence structure, I'm posting it anyway.
← Chapter Three
I make sure that I sit on Hisagi's suggestion for a good two days before giving in. I haven't heard anything new about Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, but talk of him staying with Third Division has spread throughout Seireitei. I've tried avoiding Kurotsuchi Mayuri (and as casually as possible), because I know he can't be too pleased over this new development. The few times I have seen him around the Research Institute, the looks he's given me were less than comforting. I guess my captain was really banking on them either returning the Arrancar, or killing him. I've known the scientist for a long time, and if I'm loyal to anyone it's to him, but I can't help feeling somewhat relieved.
Not that I'll ever let the older man know that.
After putting my work away, I run a hand over my pocket to make sure my cigarettes are there, and then I leave the laboratory. I rarely venture outside of the Research and Development Institute, let alone the entire Twelfth Division. So this is a new experience for me. It's strange making my way through the other divisions on my way to the Third, and I can tell by the few glances I evoke from others that it's strange for them as well. I ignore their questioning stares, and when I finally arrive at my destination I head straight for Kira Izuru's office.
Standing outside his door, I have to pause for a moment to consider what I'm doing. The Arrancar was brought to the Twelfth Division for scientific research, and I as a scientist, took part in that research. Now the thing is in a different division, and I should get on with my own life, my own work, and my own squad. I really have no business being here, but just as I start turning away Kira's office door slides open. The pale blond stands there in his white haori, regarding me with equally pale eyes. His expression is soft and composed, but there's an underlying solemnness in those furrowed brows.
"Akon, I thought you'd come around. How are you?"
I know Kira Izuru about as well as I know anyone else who isn't a part of the Twelfth. That is to say, I don't know him very well at all. We're both members of the Shinigami Men's Association, and I've noticed that where Hisagi Shuuhei is, Kira Izuru usually is. I don't know if the two of them are "together," or if they're just good friends. And in all honesty, I couldn't care less. Who's fucking who has never been an interest of mine.
"I'm fantastic," I drawl lazily, placing my hands inside my pockets. "How about you? The captain position treating you well?"
The blond offers a small, tired looking smile. "For the most part, but running a whole division without a lieutenant can be exhausting."
I nod slowly, and I know the look on my face is an apathetic one, even if I understand why the blond should be on edge. I can only imagine what it's been like for Kira Izuru these past few months, what with having been betrayed by his own captain, a man of whom he must have trusted and looked up to. And since then he's had to run the entire Third Division on his own, so add that to what I have to assume is an already emotionally strained psyche, and I'm sure you have one stressed shinigami.
No wonder he and Hisagi are always together, I suddenly realize. The two of them have a lot in common.
But, I can't be bothered with Kira Izuru's personal troubles, and his words have my thoughts drifting back to the reason why I'm here. I remember what Hisagi said a couple of days ago, and I find myself wondering if Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez really could become a lieutenant. A week ago I would have considered that an impossible idea, but now my new philosophy is this: stranger things have happened.
"Hey, Hisagi told me that they moved the Arrancar to your division. You're really too soft of a guy, Kira."
Said guy just smirks, the gesture so soft that it's barely there. He slides the shouji closed behind him, then begins walking down the hall. I have no other option than to follow him.
"Are you here to see him? He hasn't done much since arriving. For the most part he stays in his room, but he does like to hassle the other men and women of this division. I've even gotten a few complaints."
"Have you done anything about it?"
Kira shrugs softly and shakes his head, turning down another hallway. "None of it seems that serious. Unless things get physical, or until someone starts to suffer serious mental and emotional trauma, I don't see the use in reprimanding him."
"I didn't know you were so lenient," I comment, dry amusement lacing my words.
The blond chuckles drily, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "I've met Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, and he doesn't seem as dangerous as everyone thinks. He isn't any worse than Zaraki-taichou; or the rest of the Eleventh, for that matter."
I smirk sardonically in reply, because the third division captain definitely has a point there. Zaraki Kenpachi has to be one of the most violent, blood-thirsty, battle-loving men in all of Soul Society. If that shinigami can become a captain, then what's the harm in having someone like Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez around?
Making one final turn, I follow as Kira leads me to the end of a long hallway. There are three separate sets of black shoji doors lining the hall, two on the left and one on the right. The pale man comes to a stop in front of the last door on the left, and I glance at him with an arched eyebrow. "This close to your office?"
"So I can keep a close eye on him?" Kira laughs quietly, the sound of it a little strained. "Honestly, I'm not that worried. But you should always take precautions."
A low chuckle escapes me as I nod my agreement. Normally I'd say something back, but now I stay quiet to signal an end to our conversation. The blond seems to catch on quick enough, a weary smile on his face as he mutters a quick goodbye before heading back the way we came. I wait until he's out of sight before pressing just my fingertips to the screen door. Sucking in a quiet breath, I slide the shoji open and step into the room.
It's a sight better than the accommodations he had while staying in our laboratories. Overall the room is pretty small, but the floor is covered with tatami mats instead of cold tile, and the walls are a warm (if a little dull) saffron. Across from the doorway there's a decent sized futon, its black and white sheets in a crumpled heap like they haven't been fixed in days. But that isn't the thing that has a hairless brow creeping its way up my forehead. The blue-haired Arrancar is sitting cross-legged on the futon, his hands making quick work of a pillow as he tears the fabric into strips, feathers falling onto the floor and around his lap.
Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't butcher the thing sooner. In fact I'm a little disappointed that the mattress hasn't already been ripped to shreds, too. This must be the kind of thing he gets up to when he has nothing else to do.
"I didn't hear you knock," the former Espada says, an edge to his tone as he looks up at me beneath furrowed brows. I can't tell if he's amused, pissed off, or just plain indifferent. Either way it doesn't matter, and I just smirk faintly as I slide the door shut and move farther into the room.
"That's because I didn't."
The man snorts loudly and jerks his head to the side. He throws what's left of the pillow across the room, sending a trail of white feathers chasing after it. I look at the mess for a moment before my gaze is drawn back to the Arrancar. The first thing I notice is the new collar around his throat, along with the white yukata he's wearing. He stares at the wall as I look him over, and if I didn't know any better I'd say he's giving me the cold shoulder. I want to laugh at him for that one, but I keep quiet, my hands resting inside my pockets as I slowly make my way around the room.
"You look like you're going to your execution in that outfit," I comment lazily, eyes scanning the floor and walls. "Didn't they give you a uniform?"
"I don't wanna wear that shit."
I chuckle softly, risking a glance over my shoulder. The Arrancar is still seated on his futon, strands of blue hair falling across his eyes. It brings my attention to the strange blue markings that hug his cat-like eyes, and I've noticed them before, but at the time I'd been more interested in other things to pay them any real thought. Now, though, I find myself touching a finger to the spot under one of my own eyes.
"What's up with those?"
Jeagerjaques squints at me, his lip curling into an inaudible growl. He stands up abruptly and stalks towards me, jabbing a finger at his forehead. "What's up with those?"
For a few seconds I just stare at him, tilting my head slightly before I realize what he's talking about. "These?" I question, reaching up to rub a finger over one of the horns above my eyebrow. The former Espada nods his head, that characteristic grin making its first appearance since I showed up.
I turn away as the corner of my mouth twists faintly. "I grew into them."
"It makes you different from the rest."
Glancing back at the Arrancar, I watch out of the corner of my eye as his blue gaze runs me over. It looks like he's sizing me up, measuring me, the way a predator measures its prey before the attack. It's a weird feeling because usually I'm the one doing the evaluating, but I can't say that a little part of me doesn't enjoy our roles being reversed. The scientist becoming the specimen, who would've thought it?
"Jeagerjaquez, what did you say to land yourself here?"
"That's none of your business," he drawls, shoving his hands into his pockets. It sounds to me like the Arrancar's being secretive; the very idea of that making my brow cock upwards. He never struck me as the covert type, and what does he have to hide, anyway?
"I guess you really aren't as stupid as you look," I say, with an overly innocuous coolness. "Did talking to the Soutaichou wake you up a little? Make you realize that you had a fighting chance if you appealed to him? I'm impressed, Arrancar. I never thought you'd give in."
Blue eyes widen, and there's a snarl on the other man's lips as he grabs the front of my uniform and shoves me against the nearest wall. He leans in so his face is inches away from mine, and this close it's like I can actually see the fire in his eyes that I'm always talking about "Fuck you, shinigami," he hisses, warm breath ghosting over my features. I hold his angry gaze unflinchingly as he fists the white fabric of my lab coat and jerks me so my head knocks against the wall.
"Why are you here? I thought I'd be rid of you once I got out of that fuckin' hell hole."
I smirk in amusement, because for some reason I've a feeling in my gut that tells me he doesn't really mean that. "You know that cigarette you swiped the other morning? I heard you lost it."
The tone of my voice sounds more mocking than I intended. But I can't help myself, something about this blue-haired Espada brings my sadistic side to life. I know he won't like what I'm implying when I use the word "lost," like he can't hold onto his stolen goods. I won't lie, I'm taking his failure and rubbing it in his face. He couldn't maintain the small victory he had over me, and I want him to realize that. It looks like it worked, judging by the dangerous sound emanating from his throat.
"I didn't lose shit. Those bastards took it after they slapped one of these on me." He tilts his head back and fingers the red collar encircling his throat. I'm drawn to the thickness of his neck; the blue-green veins etched under tanned flesh. "All you shinigami think you're so fuckin' tough, but anyone can be tough when they muzzle the dog so it can't bite back."
I chuckle at the truth in that statement, my lips parting on an indolently "genuine" smile. The look he gives me hints at bemusement, like he wasn't expecting that kind of reaction and doesn't know how to take it. I just keep on smiling and reach into my pocket for my lighter and twenty pack.
"Are you still interested in trying one?"
The Arrancar's gaze darts down immediately, those predatory eyes on the hand holding their prize. He makes a grab for my cigarettes and I stop him with my other hand, firm fingers grasping his wrist. He looks surprised by the strength in my grip, and I arch my brow smugly while smirking. The shinigami of the Twelfth are typically very skilled hand-to-hand combatants, and I'm no different. He answers my silent challenge with a slow, hungry grin.
"You aren't as weak as you look, huh?"
Smirk morphing into something of a satisfied smile, I loosen my grip and pull my hand away. My fingertips graze his skin in the process, sending little jolts of electricity shooting up my arm. My reaction to us touching startles me a little, but I'd rather not think about it. So I just shake my head lightly and walk around him, going over to sit on his messy futon.
"Come here."
The former Espada gives a throaty grunt, inclining his chin arrogantly as he stalks over. The way he gets on the bed is more of a leap, and he lands with his legs crossed, sitting about two feet away from me. His eyes are narrowed to slits as he stares, and I turn my body so I'm facing him. I cross my legs too and set the pack of cigarettes in my lap, effectively smacking his hand when he tries to make another grab for it. He growls between gritted teeth and I chuckle, observing the way his scolded hand curls into a white-knuckled fist.
"You're really impatient, aren't you? Calm down. They aren't going anywhere."
His short blue brows are furrowed over cautious eyes, and his lips are parted softly. I can't read his expression and I'm unsure of what he's thinking, but when his ears flatten against his head the way a cat's would, my lips curl upwards. I hold the lighter up for him to see and push the top open. It's a silver lighter, and I got it from Hisagi when he came back from one of his trips in the Human World. I don't have many things that I'd consider "prized" possessions, but if I had to choose something this lighter would be it.
"Have you ever seen one of these?"
He answers my question with a short head shake.
"It's a lighter. Get it? It lights the cigarette."
Jeagerjaquez responds with a caustic grin, icy eyes looking very unimpressed. I smirk at him and press my thumb to the small wheel, flicking it until a bright flame springs into life. The man's gaze is immediately drawn to the flame, his grin fading so his mouth is slack. For a moment he just stares, watching as the orange spark shimmers, dancing back and forth slowly. When his hand comes up to touch it, I pull the lighter out of reach. He scowls at me angrily.
"I know what it is, I've fuckin' seen fire before."
My hairless brow goes up as I mutter a monotonous "Oh." Honestly, I can't be sure of what the Arrancar does and doesn't know. But I trust him to know what he's doing, and simply watch as he passes his fingers over the flame. He doesn't make any sound as it lightly burns his flesh, blackening his fingertips. After a moment his hand retreats, and he stares at it as he rubs his thumb over four, singed digits.
"It's real."
The tone of his voice suggests that he's a little perturbed by that. I smile softly and shrug my shoulders, before snapping the lighter shut and tossing it to him. "Of course it is. There, have a look for yourself."
He catches the lighter easily and sends me an almost wary glance, before looking down at the object in his hand. He rolls it in his palm slowly, rubbing his thumb over the surface, his gaze lazy. Then his eyes seem to brighten, suddenly more alert, and he holds the lighter up to his face. I watch him curiously as he stares, wondering what's going through his head. It surprises me when his fingers come up to touch the edge of his hollow mask, their movements slow as he traces the bone. I realize that he's looking at his reflection in the lighter; the silver surface is more distorted than a mirror, but obviously good enough. It makes me wonder if Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez has ever seen himself. . .
But the Arrancar seems to realize what he's doing, and he shoots a cold glare in my direction, before throwing the lighter back so it hits me in the chest. "I don't give a shit about that thing. Gimme a fuckin' cigarette, I'm tired of waiting!"
He sounds angry, all of a sudden. There's a sharp edge to his voice, irritation in his gaze, and tension building up in his muscular form. At first I'm a little perplexed, but then I start to think that maybe he's just. . .embarrassed? I would have never thought that the former Sexta Espada was capable of embarrassment. The very idea has a laugh working its way up my throat, but then I realize that it's probably nothing more than his standard anger and annoyance. He's pissed off because I caught him having a private moment with himself. But that's really just the same thing as being embarrassed, right? I decide I won't press it and pull a single cigarette free from its confinements. I'm smirking slightly as I hold it up -- my gaze somnolent -- but he's snatches it from me before I have a chance to do anything else. He scoots further away from me and brings the stick to his mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick the end.
"It'll feel weird at first," I warn him, my eyes on his blue ones so I don't have to see the red tongue poking between parted lips. I open my lighter once more and reach out to light the cigarette, only to have him snarl at me and rip the thing from my grasp.
"I'm not fuckin' helpless!"
The situation is starting to feel hostile, and though I've had my share of hostile situations concerning Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, this one seems different. I'm used to the Arrancar's murderous intent, but only when he's enjoying it, not when he's genuinely pissed off. And this time around it feels more like the latter; like he wants to rip my throat out not for the hell of it, but because he's tired of having me around. For the first time since meeting him (and for the first time in my life, really) I'm unsure of what to do. So I just settle for a vacant nod, and shrug my shoulders as I mutter, "I never said you were."
The former Espada just grunts, scowling at me. He flicks his thumb over the lighter to ignite it, then goes cross-eyed staring down his nose at the cigarette. The funny look on his face gets a smirk out of me, but I have to admit it's a little half-hearted. I watch silently as he positions the flame, its heat licking at the paper until it turns a fiery orange.
"When you inhale, make sure you actually inhale," I tell him, glancing up to catch his gaze. Icy blue eyes meet mine, and (for whatever strange reason), I feel a trickle of relief when his brow softens. He doesn't say anything to me, but I know he's listening and waiting for more.
"Some people just hold the smoke in their mouth, but if you don't suck it down there's really no point, and you might as well not smoke at all." I crook my fore and middle fingers together, then reach up to tap my chest. "So you have to inhale, okay? Don't be surprised when it burns."
The Arrancar gives a curt nod, his short brows forming a fierce scowl. At first I think that he's willing me to keel over, and the saying "If looks could kill" comes to mind. . . But something tells me that he's just concentrating, so I relax and watch the way his cheeks hollow when he takes a breath, his chest extending. There's a spark in his eye as he stares at me, like a realization he doesn't like, and his brows knit even tighter together. I can tell that he's trying to hold it in, but then he exhales in a rush, smoke spilling from his lips and out of his nose. He starts coughing the second he exhales, the sound raspy and rough. I notice that his eyes are a little watery, making them look even more blue than they already are.
Smirking shrewdly, I wait for his coughing fit to subside. Clouds of gray float between us and my eyes hood, the smell of smoke teasing my nostrils. I can't help but inhale, suddenly hungry for a cigarette of my own.
"That's fuckin' shit," the other man wheezes, tossing away the offending object so it lands among the feathers on the floor. I chuckle insipidly and stand up, walking over to crush the cigarette under my foot. In the process I smear ash into the tatami mat, but I doubt that Jeagerjaquez will care.
"Don't do that, you could start a fire. When you're done with a cigarette you always put it out. You don't just throw it away while it's still lit."
"That was fucking shit," the Arrancar repeats, slower this time, his tone a little raw. Looking back at him I note the faint redness of his eyes; the way his hair is falling in his face, and the heavier rise and fall of his chest.
"You didn't give yourself time to get used to it," I tell him, walking back so I'm standing in front of the futon. I bend down to reclaim my lighter, before picking up the pack of cigarettes. "That happens to everyone the first time. It's a foreign substance, something your body doesn't recognize, so of course it reacts violently. But once you get used to it it's not so bad. You'll probably even like it."
Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez looks up at me with narrowed eyes, clearly skeptical. I know he wants to tell me that I'm full of shit, but he doesn't say anything at all -- which is more than a little unexpected. I pull three cigarettes from my pack then toss them on the rumpled sheets.
"There, just in case you want to give it another try."
"What about the lighter?" he mumbles, eyeing the pocket where said lighter is resting. He reaches for it but I walk away, heading for the shouji.
"That's mine. Get your own."
"Fuckin' bastard."
I chuckle as I slide the door open and step out into the hall. My mouth is open to say something else as I turn around, but I stop when I see that the former Espada is standing directly behind me. I didn't even hear him move, let alone feel his presence shift. I close my mouth and just stare at him, my gaze expectant as I arch an eyebrow. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head so he's looking down at me, that cocky grin of his springing to life.
"Never told me your name," he mutters simply.
I feel a smug smirk of my own creeping into view. "Akon."
"Just Akon?"
"Yeah."
The Arrancar actually laughs, the sound a loud, harsh bark. I'm pretty sure that most people would be startled by such a deafening noise, but I just quirk the corner of my mouth humorously and stare at his teeth. He lifts a hand and jabs a thumb against his chest. "Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. Don't you forget it, shinigami."
He must know that I'm already aware of that; I've called him Jeagerjaquez more than once. But I'm guessing that this is our formal meet-and-greet.
"Only if you show the same courtesy."
"Che, I've already forgotten."
His answer gets a chuckle out of me, and I shake my head as I turn away so he can't see my smirk grow. When I wave goodbye over my shoulder it's dismissive, but I can feel the grin on his face, and his eyes on my back as I walk away.
Chapter Five →
Pairing: Akon x Grimmjow
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, I only steal its characters so I can go on perverted conquests via fan fics. Also, all characters involved in sexual situations are fictional and above the legal age of consent in the state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
A/N: Bitchy editing is bitchy. I kept getting distracted watching omakes...and then I just got tired of reading over the same thing six times. So, I don't care if there's typos and bad sentence structure, I'm posting it anyway.
← Chapter Three
I make sure that I sit on Hisagi's suggestion for a good two days before giving in. I haven't heard anything new about Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, but talk of him staying with Third Division has spread throughout Seireitei. I've tried avoiding Kurotsuchi Mayuri (and as casually as possible), because I know he can't be too pleased over this new development. The few times I have seen him around the Research Institute, the looks he's given me were less than comforting. I guess my captain was really banking on them either returning the Arrancar, or killing him. I've known the scientist for a long time, and if I'm loyal to anyone it's to him, but I can't help feeling somewhat relieved.
Not that I'll ever let the older man know that.
After putting my work away, I run a hand over my pocket to make sure my cigarettes are there, and then I leave the laboratory. I rarely venture outside of the Research and Development Institute, let alone the entire Twelfth Division. So this is a new experience for me. It's strange making my way through the other divisions on my way to the Third, and I can tell by the few glances I evoke from others that it's strange for them as well. I ignore their questioning stares, and when I finally arrive at my destination I head straight for Kira Izuru's office.
Standing outside his door, I have to pause for a moment to consider what I'm doing. The Arrancar was brought to the Twelfth Division for scientific research, and I as a scientist, took part in that research. Now the thing is in a different division, and I should get on with my own life, my own work, and my own squad. I really have no business being here, but just as I start turning away Kira's office door slides open. The pale blond stands there in his white haori, regarding me with equally pale eyes. His expression is soft and composed, but there's an underlying solemnness in those furrowed brows.
"Akon, I thought you'd come around. How are you?"
I know Kira Izuru about as well as I know anyone else who isn't a part of the Twelfth. That is to say, I don't know him very well at all. We're both members of the Shinigami Men's Association, and I've noticed that where Hisagi Shuuhei is, Kira Izuru usually is. I don't know if the two of them are "together," or if they're just good friends. And in all honesty, I couldn't care less. Who's fucking who has never been an interest of mine.
"I'm fantastic," I drawl lazily, placing my hands inside my pockets. "How about you? The captain position treating you well?"
The blond offers a small, tired looking smile. "For the most part, but running a whole division without a lieutenant can be exhausting."
I nod slowly, and I know the look on my face is an apathetic one, even if I understand why the blond should be on edge. I can only imagine what it's been like for Kira Izuru these past few months, what with having been betrayed by his own captain, a man of whom he must have trusted and looked up to. And since then he's had to run the entire Third Division on his own, so add that to what I have to assume is an already emotionally strained psyche, and I'm sure you have one stressed shinigami.
No wonder he and Hisagi are always together, I suddenly realize. The two of them have a lot in common.
But, I can't be bothered with Kira Izuru's personal troubles, and his words have my thoughts drifting back to the reason why I'm here. I remember what Hisagi said a couple of days ago, and I find myself wondering if Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez really could become a lieutenant. A week ago I would have considered that an impossible idea, but now my new philosophy is this: stranger things have happened.
"Hey, Hisagi told me that they moved the Arrancar to your division. You're really too soft of a guy, Kira."
Said guy just smirks, the gesture so soft that it's barely there. He slides the shouji closed behind him, then begins walking down the hall. I have no other option than to follow him.
"Are you here to see him? He hasn't done much since arriving. For the most part he stays in his room, but he does like to hassle the other men and women of this division. I've even gotten a few complaints."
"Have you done anything about it?"
Kira shrugs softly and shakes his head, turning down another hallway. "None of it seems that serious. Unless things get physical, or until someone starts to suffer serious mental and emotional trauma, I don't see the use in reprimanding him."
"I didn't know you were so lenient," I comment, dry amusement lacing my words.
The blond chuckles drily, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "I've met Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, and he doesn't seem as dangerous as everyone thinks. He isn't any worse than Zaraki-taichou; or the rest of the Eleventh, for that matter."
I smirk sardonically in reply, because the third division captain definitely has a point there. Zaraki Kenpachi has to be one of the most violent, blood-thirsty, battle-loving men in all of Soul Society. If that shinigami can become a captain, then what's the harm in having someone like Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez around?
Making one final turn, I follow as Kira leads me to the end of a long hallway. There are three separate sets of black shoji doors lining the hall, two on the left and one on the right. The pale man comes to a stop in front of the last door on the left, and I glance at him with an arched eyebrow. "This close to your office?"
"So I can keep a close eye on him?" Kira laughs quietly, the sound of it a little strained. "Honestly, I'm not that worried. But you should always take precautions."
A low chuckle escapes me as I nod my agreement. Normally I'd say something back, but now I stay quiet to signal an end to our conversation. The blond seems to catch on quick enough, a weary smile on his face as he mutters a quick goodbye before heading back the way we came. I wait until he's out of sight before pressing just my fingertips to the screen door. Sucking in a quiet breath, I slide the shoji open and step into the room.
It's a sight better than the accommodations he had while staying in our laboratories. Overall the room is pretty small, but the floor is covered with tatami mats instead of cold tile, and the walls are a warm (if a little dull) saffron. Across from the doorway there's a decent sized futon, its black and white sheets in a crumpled heap like they haven't been fixed in days. But that isn't the thing that has a hairless brow creeping its way up my forehead. The blue-haired Arrancar is sitting cross-legged on the futon, his hands making quick work of a pillow as he tears the fabric into strips, feathers falling onto the floor and around his lap.
Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't butcher the thing sooner. In fact I'm a little disappointed that the mattress hasn't already been ripped to shreds, too. This must be the kind of thing he gets up to when he has nothing else to do.
"I didn't hear you knock," the former Espada says, an edge to his tone as he looks up at me beneath furrowed brows. I can't tell if he's amused, pissed off, or just plain indifferent. Either way it doesn't matter, and I just smirk faintly as I slide the door shut and move farther into the room.
"That's because I didn't."
The man snorts loudly and jerks his head to the side. He throws what's left of the pillow across the room, sending a trail of white feathers chasing after it. I look at the mess for a moment before my gaze is drawn back to the Arrancar. The first thing I notice is the new collar around his throat, along with the white yukata he's wearing. He stares at the wall as I look him over, and if I didn't know any better I'd say he's giving me the cold shoulder. I want to laugh at him for that one, but I keep quiet, my hands resting inside my pockets as I slowly make my way around the room.
"You look like you're going to your execution in that outfit," I comment lazily, eyes scanning the floor and walls. "Didn't they give you a uniform?"
"I don't wanna wear that shit."
I chuckle softly, risking a glance over my shoulder. The Arrancar is still seated on his futon, strands of blue hair falling across his eyes. It brings my attention to the strange blue markings that hug his cat-like eyes, and I've noticed them before, but at the time I'd been more interested in other things to pay them any real thought. Now, though, I find myself touching a finger to the spot under one of my own eyes.
"What's up with those?"
Jeagerjaques squints at me, his lip curling into an inaudible growl. He stands up abruptly and stalks towards me, jabbing a finger at his forehead. "What's up with those?"
For a few seconds I just stare at him, tilting my head slightly before I realize what he's talking about. "These?" I question, reaching up to rub a finger over one of the horns above my eyebrow. The former Espada nods his head, that characteristic grin making its first appearance since I showed up.
I turn away as the corner of my mouth twists faintly. "I grew into them."
"It makes you different from the rest."
Glancing back at the Arrancar, I watch out of the corner of my eye as his blue gaze runs me over. It looks like he's sizing me up, measuring me, the way a predator measures its prey before the attack. It's a weird feeling because usually I'm the one doing the evaluating, but I can't say that a little part of me doesn't enjoy our roles being reversed. The scientist becoming the specimen, who would've thought it?
"Jeagerjaquez, what did you say to land yourself here?"
"That's none of your business," he drawls, shoving his hands into his pockets. It sounds to me like the Arrancar's being secretive; the very idea of that making my brow cock upwards. He never struck me as the covert type, and what does he have to hide, anyway?
"I guess you really aren't as stupid as you look," I say, with an overly innocuous coolness. "Did talking to the Soutaichou wake you up a little? Make you realize that you had a fighting chance if you appealed to him? I'm impressed, Arrancar. I never thought you'd give in."
Blue eyes widen, and there's a snarl on the other man's lips as he grabs the front of my uniform and shoves me against the nearest wall. He leans in so his face is inches away from mine, and this close it's like I can actually see the fire in his eyes that I'm always talking about "Fuck you, shinigami," he hisses, warm breath ghosting over my features. I hold his angry gaze unflinchingly as he fists the white fabric of my lab coat and jerks me so my head knocks against the wall.
"Why are you here? I thought I'd be rid of you once I got out of that fuckin' hell hole."
I smirk in amusement, because for some reason I've a feeling in my gut that tells me he doesn't really mean that. "You know that cigarette you swiped the other morning? I heard you lost it."
The tone of my voice sounds more mocking than I intended. But I can't help myself, something about this blue-haired Espada brings my sadistic side to life. I know he won't like what I'm implying when I use the word "lost," like he can't hold onto his stolen goods. I won't lie, I'm taking his failure and rubbing it in his face. He couldn't maintain the small victory he had over me, and I want him to realize that. It looks like it worked, judging by the dangerous sound emanating from his throat.
"I didn't lose shit. Those bastards took it after they slapped one of these on me." He tilts his head back and fingers the red collar encircling his throat. I'm drawn to the thickness of his neck; the blue-green veins etched under tanned flesh. "All you shinigami think you're so fuckin' tough, but anyone can be tough when they muzzle the dog so it can't bite back."
I chuckle at the truth in that statement, my lips parting on an indolently "genuine" smile. The look he gives me hints at bemusement, like he wasn't expecting that kind of reaction and doesn't know how to take it. I just keep on smiling and reach into my pocket for my lighter and twenty pack.
"Are you still interested in trying one?"
The Arrancar's gaze darts down immediately, those predatory eyes on the hand holding their prize. He makes a grab for my cigarettes and I stop him with my other hand, firm fingers grasping his wrist. He looks surprised by the strength in my grip, and I arch my brow smugly while smirking. The shinigami of the Twelfth are typically very skilled hand-to-hand combatants, and I'm no different. He answers my silent challenge with a slow, hungry grin.
"You aren't as weak as you look, huh?"
Smirk morphing into something of a satisfied smile, I loosen my grip and pull my hand away. My fingertips graze his skin in the process, sending little jolts of electricity shooting up my arm. My reaction to us touching startles me a little, but I'd rather not think about it. So I just shake my head lightly and walk around him, going over to sit on his messy futon.
"Come here."
The former Espada gives a throaty grunt, inclining his chin arrogantly as he stalks over. The way he gets on the bed is more of a leap, and he lands with his legs crossed, sitting about two feet away from me. His eyes are narrowed to slits as he stares, and I turn my body so I'm facing him. I cross my legs too and set the pack of cigarettes in my lap, effectively smacking his hand when he tries to make another grab for it. He growls between gritted teeth and I chuckle, observing the way his scolded hand curls into a white-knuckled fist.
"You're really impatient, aren't you? Calm down. They aren't going anywhere."
His short blue brows are furrowed over cautious eyes, and his lips are parted softly. I can't read his expression and I'm unsure of what he's thinking, but when his ears flatten against his head the way a cat's would, my lips curl upwards. I hold the lighter up for him to see and push the top open. It's a silver lighter, and I got it from Hisagi when he came back from one of his trips in the Human World. I don't have many things that I'd consider "prized" possessions, but if I had to choose something this lighter would be it.
"Have you ever seen one of these?"
He answers my question with a short head shake.
"It's a lighter. Get it? It lights the cigarette."
Jeagerjaquez responds with a caustic grin, icy eyes looking very unimpressed. I smirk at him and press my thumb to the small wheel, flicking it until a bright flame springs into life. The man's gaze is immediately drawn to the flame, his grin fading so his mouth is slack. For a moment he just stares, watching as the orange spark shimmers, dancing back and forth slowly. When his hand comes up to touch it, I pull the lighter out of reach. He scowls at me angrily.
"I know what it is, I've fuckin' seen fire before."
My hairless brow goes up as I mutter a monotonous "Oh." Honestly, I can't be sure of what the Arrancar does and doesn't know. But I trust him to know what he's doing, and simply watch as he passes his fingers over the flame. He doesn't make any sound as it lightly burns his flesh, blackening his fingertips. After a moment his hand retreats, and he stares at it as he rubs his thumb over four, singed digits.
"It's real."
The tone of his voice suggests that he's a little perturbed by that. I smile softly and shrug my shoulders, before snapping the lighter shut and tossing it to him. "Of course it is. There, have a look for yourself."
He catches the lighter easily and sends me an almost wary glance, before looking down at the object in his hand. He rolls it in his palm slowly, rubbing his thumb over the surface, his gaze lazy. Then his eyes seem to brighten, suddenly more alert, and he holds the lighter up to his face. I watch him curiously as he stares, wondering what's going through his head. It surprises me when his fingers come up to touch the edge of his hollow mask, their movements slow as he traces the bone. I realize that he's looking at his reflection in the lighter; the silver surface is more distorted than a mirror, but obviously good enough. It makes me wonder if Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez has ever seen himself. . .
But the Arrancar seems to realize what he's doing, and he shoots a cold glare in my direction, before throwing the lighter back so it hits me in the chest. "I don't give a shit about that thing. Gimme a fuckin' cigarette, I'm tired of waiting!"
He sounds angry, all of a sudden. There's a sharp edge to his voice, irritation in his gaze, and tension building up in his muscular form. At first I'm a little perplexed, but then I start to think that maybe he's just. . .embarrassed? I would have never thought that the former Sexta Espada was capable of embarrassment. The very idea has a laugh working its way up my throat, but then I realize that it's probably nothing more than his standard anger and annoyance. He's pissed off because I caught him having a private moment with himself. But that's really just the same thing as being embarrassed, right? I decide I won't press it and pull a single cigarette free from its confinements. I'm smirking slightly as I hold it up -- my gaze somnolent -- but he's snatches it from me before I have a chance to do anything else. He scoots further away from me and brings the stick to his mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick the end.
"It'll feel weird at first," I warn him, my eyes on his blue ones so I don't have to see the red tongue poking between parted lips. I open my lighter once more and reach out to light the cigarette, only to have him snarl at me and rip the thing from my grasp.
"I'm not fuckin' helpless!"
The situation is starting to feel hostile, and though I've had my share of hostile situations concerning Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, this one seems different. I'm used to the Arrancar's murderous intent, but only when he's enjoying it, not when he's genuinely pissed off. And this time around it feels more like the latter; like he wants to rip my throat out not for the hell of it, but because he's tired of having me around. For the first time since meeting him (and for the first time in my life, really) I'm unsure of what to do. So I just settle for a vacant nod, and shrug my shoulders as I mutter, "I never said you were."
The former Espada just grunts, scowling at me. He flicks his thumb over the lighter to ignite it, then goes cross-eyed staring down his nose at the cigarette. The funny look on his face gets a smirk out of me, but I have to admit it's a little half-hearted. I watch silently as he positions the flame, its heat licking at the paper until it turns a fiery orange.
"When you inhale, make sure you actually inhale," I tell him, glancing up to catch his gaze. Icy blue eyes meet mine, and (for whatever strange reason), I feel a trickle of relief when his brow softens. He doesn't say anything to me, but I know he's listening and waiting for more.
"Some people just hold the smoke in their mouth, but if you don't suck it down there's really no point, and you might as well not smoke at all." I crook my fore and middle fingers together, then reach up to tap my chest. "So you have to inhale, okay? Don't be surprised when it burns."
The Arrancar gives a curt nod, his short brows forming a fierce scowl. At first I think that he's willing me to keel over, and the saying "If looks could kill" comes to mind. . . But something tells me that he's just concentrating, so I relax and watch the way his cheeks hollow when he takes a breath, his chest extending. There's a spark in his eye as he stares at me, like a realization he doesn't like, and his brows knit even tighter together. I can tell that he's trying to hold it in, but then he exhales in a rush, smoke spilling from his lips and out of his nose. He starts coughing the second he exhales, the sound raspy and rough. I notice that his eyes are a little watery, making them look even more blue than they already are.
Smirking shrewdly, I wait for his coughing fit to subside. Clouds of gray float between us and my eyes hood, the smell of smoke teasing my nostrils. I can't help but inhale, suddenly hungry for a cigarette of my own.
"That's fuckin' shit," the other man wheezes, tossing away the offending object so it lands among the feathers on the floor. I chuckle insipidly and stand up, walking over to crush the cigarette under my foot. In the process I smear ash into the tatami mat, but I doubt that Jeagerjaquez will care.
"Don't do that, you could start a fire. When you're done with a cigarette you always put it out. You don't just throw it away while it's still lit."
"That was fucking shit," the Arrancar repeats, slower this time, his tone a little raw. Looking back at him I note the faint redness of his eyes; the way his hair is falling in his face, and the heavier rise and fall of his chest.
"You didn't give yourself time to get used to it," I tell him, walking back so I'm standing in front of the futon. I bend down to reclaim my lighter, before picking up the pack of cigarettes. "That happens to everyone the first time. It's a foreign substance, something your body doesn't recognize, so of course it reacts violently. But once you get used to it it's not so bad. You'll probably even like it."
Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez looks up at me with narrowed eyes, clearly skeptical. I know he wants to tell me that I'm full of shit, but he doesn't say anything at all -- which is more than a little unexpected. I pull three cigarettes from my pack then toss them on the rumpled sheets.
"There, just in case you want to give it another try."
"What about the lighter?" he mumbles, eyeing the pocket where said lighter is resting. He reaches for it but I walk away, heading for the shouji.
"That's mine. Get your own."
"Fuckin' bastard."
I chuckle as I slide the door open and step out into the hall. My mouth is open to say something else as I turn around, but I stop when I see that the former Espada is standing directly behind me. I didn't even hear him move, let alone feel his presence shift. I close my mouth and just stare at him, my gaze expectant as I arch an eyebrow. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head so he's looking down at me, that cocky grin of his springing to life.
"Never told me your name," he mutters simply.
I feel a smug smirk of my own creeping into view. "Akon."
"Just Akon?"
"Yeah."
The Arrancar actually laughs, the sound a loud, harsh bark. I'm pretty sure that most people would be startled by such a deafening noise, but I just quirk the corner of my mouth humorously and stare at his teeth. He lifts a hand and jabs a thumb against his chest. "Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. Don't you forget it, shinigami."
He must know that I'm already aware of that; I've called him Jeagerjaquez more than once. But I'm guessing that this is our formal meet-and-greet.
"Only if you show the same courtesy."
"Che, I've already forgotten."
His answer gets a chuckle out of me, and I shake my head as I turn away so he can't see my smirk grow. When I wave goodbye over my shoulder it's dismissive, but I can feel the grin on his face, and his eyes on my back as I walk away.
Chapter Five →