Pairing: Urahara/Grimmjow (yes, the crack is amazing crack... yeesh)
Rating: R for implied stuff but nothing that explicit.
Warning: Bad Languge and Boy romance...
Word Count: 1947
Summary: Urahara gets grumpy about Grimmjow tearing the place apart, but he doesn't really hold much truck with Yoruichi's advice. Or at least he didn't...
A/N: I actually gave this crack pairing a thought when making a prompt for sickletongue and when she once did an informal request for a non-fluffy story of that pairing this seed was planted. That was months ago. I'm bemused at what it grew into... yeah... sorry, it kind of slid behind the tree and couldn't be found until I took the darned thing down...
Disclaimer: I do not own nor make money off of Bleach.
"Drat, those stupid boys," Urahara's tone was vicious for how mild the content was.
"Your fault for letting him have his head," Yoruichi's raspy tones from her black cat form was matter-of-fact. It made it easier for him to accept what she said, and he knew that she could manipulate her tones as easily as he could. That knowledge didn't change the fact that it worked. "Just because the bad guys threw him out as well doesn't mean that he knows what's good for his new territory."
Together they surveyed the five city blocks Ichigo and Grimmjow had completely destroyed on a "training exercise." The only saving grace was that it was in the fake Karakura model, now unused since the War. The memories he might have had to change, and the number of dead and injured that he might have had to deal with made Urahara's head ache.
Urahara's tones were tired was he said, "I'm not a fucking babysitter, especially for these frightening children."
"Well, you could at least fuck him, it might get that energy level down to something more reasonable. This way he's just... " Yoruichi shook her head.
"What?! Me? What about you? You're the one he keeps coming on to." Urahara eyed the cat.
She laughed. "That's just because he thinks he should. Besides, he knows you're mine, and he can't seem to get it through his head that he doesn't have to come through me to get to you. Not that he could. Besides, he's not my type: I like 'em smarter." Her wink made Urahara grin lopsidedly. "I've got another thing that I want to take care of anyway. With me out of the way, you'll get your chance."
"Chance? Who said I wanted a chance at that narrow ass?" Urahara knew he sounded petulant, and for the moment he didn't care. This was Yoruichi, his true captain, his lover, and his most strategically sympathetic companion of the last century.
And that love and Captain, a woman whose job it was to look in every shadow, who knew him better than nearly anyone, even all the things he hid and held behind his hat and fan, just looked at him with eyes the color of gold.
He was horrified to find himself blushing.
"Damnit," he said.
She simply laughed that rasping laugh, and left.
Why the hell couldn't that Kurosaki kid take care of it? Urahara knew that Ichigo's energy levels now surpassed the blue-haired arrancar's; and they'd been sword buddies ever since the arrancar had been saved by him. But Ichigo hadn't seemed interested in anyone, even the moon-eyed Orihime, the ever-aware Ishida, or the slender power of Uliquorra. Besides, Ichigo and Grimmjow were a bit too much alike for them to hit it off anywhere except when they were fighting each other.
The Vizards had gone on doing their own thing, since they couldn't be "cured" of their Hollow powers anymore than the Arrancar could without being cleansed and simply losing them. While there had been some spark between Grimmjow and that crass Shinji, that had ended in fireworks so big they were seen even in Soul Society. No one talked about the smiling blond in front of Grimmjow after that. Besides, Grimmjow was coming back to the store every night, looking hungry and angry all the time, not exactly the recipe for him getting any somewhere else.
Crap. She was right.
Grimmjow was angry.
And when Grimmjow was angry, he ripped things apart.
It was simple, even easy with the stupid, empty model lying around. It felt good. Even without Ichigo to taunt and swing at, gathering his power and putting a fist, a foot, his sword and power through the concrete, shattering glass, and steel of a big building still felt satisfying.
Then something hit him. Hard.
He whirled and loosed ceros in all direction, as his eye was caught by a flash of red, he slammed power into another ball and fired at that as well.
Then the red danced cross the dust and smoke and ash. He hit it again and again destroying everything it touched but somehow...
... and suddenly realized it was a laser pointer.
"Fuck you!" he screamed and whirled to where the source of it had to be, and a red blood shield came up. He shattered it with a two-handed blow that should have taken care of a city block.
"Yare yare, so much energy for such a little thing." The soft, polite voice drove Grimjow even madder and he gathered everything into a ceros that should have blotted out the sky.
Instead that stupid shopkeeper's jacket simply fluttered in the wind as that woman of a sword fit those white hands, and Benihime blocked the ceros perfectly. Power for power, angle for angle, and there was nothing but silence.
Grimmjow understood what it meant. What having that kind of control for that kind of power meant in terms of how much of a chance he stood against it. But he never understood why that power didn't just squash him flat the way Aizen used to squeeze him tight in that implacable grip, the reiatsu pushing all the air from his lungs, ripping everything away from him, and then bending him to its will. Why such power hid behind soft words, and even softer images made no sense to him.
So he flung himself at those images, that illusion, to cut it all away.
They battled through the sky, stroke for stroke, blow for blow, power for power. Grimmjow stretched his powers, his abilities, and his body; and strove with everything he had to just fucking hit the man. Each time, though, he couldn't touch the body hidden behind those demeaning shopkeeper's robes. The infuriating man would leave a small cut, a little mark, just to show what he could have done but didn't have the decency or respect for Grimmjow to do. A wild flurry of sword cuts, each met precisely or not at all, and no strikes in return. Grimmjow loosed blasts that brought buildings down to their foundations, but they all missed their actual target. Finally, he was reduced to screams of hatred and rage that should have cracked the sky.
"Why don't you fucking kill me, you stupid human?!"
Grimmjow howled and finally crumpled, drained of all the reiatsu it took to destroy everything around him.
Then, incredibly, he felt a hot breath and then teeth against the back of his neck. Jaws closed tight, hard edges pressed into his skin. The lick of a hot tongue against his own sweat, pooled at the back of his spiky hair, made him melt like a kitten in the jaws of its mother.
“Aw, fuck, Sandals and Hat, why the hell did it take you that long?”
Hard hands moved, and an even harder body pressed up against Grimmjow’s back, even as that mouth yanked at the back of his neck. Grimmjow growled low even as his body and reiatsu responded helplessly to that strength, making a sudden spike in hot desire in that reiatsu pressed against him. The jaws released, a rough, warm tongue licked against the mark left by those teeth and Grimmjow shuddered.
"Because you never asked," was murmured low against Grimmjow's hair.
"Asked? Only pussys ask," growled Grimmjow.
"Well, pussy, I think I'm about to give you an object lesson in the polite negotiation of sexual desires."
And then he was gone.
"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Grimmjow screamed at the now empty sky.
A week later there was no sign of Yoruichi. There was no sign of the fire-haired Freeloader either. A few good fights with Ichigo, and Tessai was as inapproachable as ever, only ever bowing to Sandals and Hat.
Most galling of all, Sandals and Hat was just as polite, self-effacing, and distant as ever.
And Grimmjow never asked.
Instead, he went and destroyed the practice cliffs randomly, and then did the backbreaking work of recreating them all again. He hated that part, but it was good practice for making things. And being just desert, he didn't have to pretend to even be able to regrow living things. He hadn't ever been very good at making stuff, but given this opportunity he had taken a certain satisfaction in the rebuilding that he would never have admitted before. It was a good thing to do when he didn't want to think.
He was in the midst of raising another red rock cliff when he felt the cool, breezy reiatsu of Sandals and Hat coming through the hatch at the top of the practice grounds.
Instead of just letting it go to rubble, Grimmjow grimly held onto his creation and made it stick, even in the face of what he knew was going to be laughter or ridicule.
Instead, Sandals and Hat walked over and laid a hand on his new cliff and nodded. "Nicely done, Jaggerjack-san."
"What? Do you doubt my praise?"
"It's just a lousy cliff."
Kisuke laid his hand on the cliff and looked up. "Nearly twenty meters tall and solid through. It's good work. I'm glad you're taking care of the practice grounds as well as using them, now."
Grimmjow shrugged. "Why the hell do you talk like a woman all the time?"
The hated hat tilted a little. "Why do you talk like a bad advertisement all the time?"
Grimmjow snorted. "I do better with straightforward."
"Then why have you not straightforwardly asked for what you want, Jaggerjack-san?"
Grimmjow growled, centered, and then yanked another cliff out of rubble, rock, and sand.
"Raising another edifice to cover the fact that you've raised your own?" The mocking tone made Grimmjow want to just wipe the entire inside of the practice area with that stupid grin. He had no idea why he wanted that fucking stupid mouth and smile around his cock, but just the idea made him tight with want and fear that he just wasn't going to ever be able to be worthwhile enough in Sandals and Hat's eyes to get it. He wasn't strong enough to overpower the other man, and it galled that the other didn't seem to want him enough to just take him. It was what would have worked in Hueco Mundo.
Here though... this was harder than just take or be taken.
His fists tightened on themselves until he felt his claws bite into the palms of his hands. The pain centered him.
"So if I just said, p—pl--," Grimmjow choked on the word. He worked himself up to a more bitter tone. "If I begged to fuck you, you'd let me?"
Grimmjow was shocked when the hat came off, and steel-gray eyes looked into his blue ones as if searching for something. Urahara's hand came up and lightly stroked Grimmjow's cheek before going away, leaving Grimmjow suddenly aware of how cold it was without that touch. Urahara just nodded, as if he found what he was looking for.
"You would not have to beg, proud one. A simple 'please' would be plenty."
Grimmjow's jaw dropped. He hadn't thought the stronger man would even entertain that thought, he should have been backhanded through the wall for presuming. Not... this.
Urahara grinned at the wordless answer, and then pulled the shocked Arrancar close and kissed that fanged mouth until the blue-haired one whimpered a quiet, "Please," against Urahara's lips.
"That," Urahara whispered softly, "will do nicely."