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vampirewalterskinner · 6 years

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@klimtsmistake hope you love it!

Salope and Branleur

The alcohol soaking his tongue was achingly sweet, the taste turning bitter as his body struggled to filter the acidic beverage for nutrients. There weren’t any. Alcohol in general wasn’t constructed to provide nutrition. Drinking such a thing—no matter what had been added to it or how watered down it was—was designed to tear down and destroy the body. Bring upon the consumer a flighty high and numbness. Normally, Uryū wasn’t one for drinking. He had a glass of wine here and there, but they were so few and far in between that they rarely counted and he never exceeded a single glass. Today, however, merited a strong beverage.

Practice shows always put the designer on edge. It was one headache after another. He knew to expect last minute alterations to clothing and that models—no matter how seasoned—could still stumble and risk breaking their necks while trying out heels they hadn’t worn before. Jewelry was always missing. Make up artists struggled to sooth the frayed nerves of new models just so they could finish their work. It was an endless train of disaster and Uryū despised it every time. Unfortunately it was a necessary evil. If they didn’t perfect their show now there would be chaos on the runway. While Uryū did want his designs to be discussed, he didn’t want them to be a side note in rich snobs’ gossip or pictured on the front page of a newspaper for the wrong reasons.

Right on schedule a hysterical assistant started screeching in panic as she searched for a priceless necklace gone missing, the ruckus causing everyone to grow tense. Uryū sighed heavily through his nose and took another swig of his drink. He had no fucking clue what was in this drink but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He just needed to get a little tipsy and relax—otherwise there would soon be a lot of well dressed dead bodies in the room.

“Oi! Salope! Don’cha do any work around here?”

Fuck.

Uryū’s brow twitched as his throbbing headache suddenly split his brain in two with a violent bolt of anger. Of all things in the world that he needed, this bastard was not one of them.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, a new model who he had mistakenly hired a month ago, sauntered towards him with a broad grin stretched across his face. Uryū hated that smile. There was no sincere emotion behind it. The smile was there for intimidation and irritation and he used it as a weapon. In fact everything about this man screamed predator. The best comparison Uryū had was that of a panther. He was gorgeous—his eyes a breathtaking shade of blue, emphasized by wild teal tattoos and pale skin glowing with a golden hue, high cheekbones and a sharp jaw with perfect teeth to compliment his natural beauty. He was graceful—his startlingly tall body bound with thick muscle that was used efficiently and turned every movement he made into an art form. He was elegant—his makeup as flawless and pristine as his choice in clothing, creating ensembles that even Uryū would be proud to showcase. The man was a living, breathing aesthetic. However, Grimmjow was also cruel and malicious. His narcissistic ego made him to believe that he was the gift from the gods—actually he was worse than that. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez believed himself to be a deity. Possibly the deity. He treated everyone around him as lesser beings and even refused to let anyone besides himself do his makeup. Granted his work was amazing—sometimes even unparalleled—but it was still beyond rude for him to mock and spit insults in the face of other professionals. At least the nice ones Uryū employed. Only a month with the Frenchman’s presence and Uryū has received twelve resignation letters. Beautiful or not, the man was a demon.

“What are you doing here, Jaegerjaquez? And stop calling me that word,” Uryū demanded as his grip tightened on his glass.

Grimmjow’s grin shrank down to a lazy smirk as he stood before the designer and pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “You don’t even know what it means, salope,” he teased.

“If it is coming from you then I know it isn’t flattering. Now answer my question, what are you doing here?” Uryū repeated, his nails scratching the smooth glass in his grasp.

“Thought this shit was mandatory?” Grimmjow scoffed as his smirk dropped, all amusement gone from his voice. The model had the quickest temper Uryū had ever seen, and that’s saying something when considering a certain someone.

“Yes. It is mandatory. Which is why I asked why you are here. You never show up to anything mandatory. Much less a runway practice. You refuse to model in anything besides a photoshoot and I won’t allow you to do anyone’s makeup because you insult everyone just for existing.”

If he weren’t under contract Uryū would have fired his ass on day one.

“Runways are boring as fuck and it’s not my fault they all bitch, complain, and squirm when I’m trying to make their face look remotely human,” Grimmjow retorted with a snort.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Uryū said. He was growing tired of this.

The model’s eyes narrowed at his insistent ribbing, but the hostile glare soon changed to a mean smirk. “This shit is comedy gold, man. Have you seen these clowns? Half the models have no fucking clue what they’re doing and at least 90% of the clothes seen on a runway are hideous.”

Uryū frowned. “So you came here just to mock others for putting effort into their work?”

“No. I came to mock others for offending my eyes with their ridiculous attempts at playing god and kickstarting a dud of a Renaissance. I’ve seen better excuses of art from kindergarteners,” Grimmjow scoffed.

“Well, you are French,” Uryū offered with another sip of his drink. This goddamn awful drink had to be strong for him to even attempt making a joke.

Although the slightly pained, deadpan stare on the model’s face was highly amusing.

“I dunno how you pulled that stick outta yer ass but you need to shove it back in because that joke wasn’t even slightly clever,” the man replied dryly.

“Says the man who is only here to mock young artists. If you’re going to stay at least sit down so I can continue surveillance. Also, grab a drink while you’re up. You need something to keep your mouth busy,” Uryū ordered with a wave of his hand.

That infamous grin was back. “Never pegged you to be so direct, salope. Aren’t you supposed to take me out and flash what’s inside your fat wallet before you tell me to get on my knees?”

“I doubt you’re the type of man that would resist bending over if the opportunity presented itself to you,” Uryū said cooly.

Grimmjow looked mildly surprised by the sharp comeback, but the sadistic grin upon his lips only widened. “Y’know, you’re almost tolerable when you stop hiding behind that businessman facade.”

“It’s only because I’m speaking the same ape dialect you are. Now sit down or leave, and if you stay please get a drink. Your voice is grating on my nerves.”

A snicker squeezed through perfect, deadly white teeth as Grimmjow opened his jacket and removed a silver flask from a hidden inner pocket. “I’ll stick to my own poison. Yours looks like it came from the bladder of a unicorn.”

Uryū wrinkled his nose at the description. He hated that Grimmjow was right.

When he had begrudgingly invited Grimmjow to sit down he had expected the man to sit a few seats away, or even behind him just to pester the designer, but instead the model chose to sit right beside him on a cushioned fold out chair. Right beside him. A black, jean clad thigh pressed against a much thinner and far less impressive thigh, which caused Uryū’s breath to hitch as his fingers threatened to shatter the glass in his hand. Why was Jaegerjaquez sitting so close? Was this how seating was going to be on the big day? He needed to speak to Yoruichi about this. This was far too friendly of a seating arrangement. Grimmjow was practically in his lap. Uryū forced his eyes away from those overwhelmingly muscular thighs and glanced at the model. Grimmjow’s intense eyes were glued to the stage and the frantic workers dancing upon it as he took a deep gulp from his flask, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed and a pink tongue running across alcohol stained lips. Despite all of his obvious shortcomings, Jaegerjaquez was still a mystery to him. In fact, no one really knew anything about him at all. He was beyond efficient in his job. Uryū had never seen the man take a bad photo, not even once, which is a wild phenomenon that many insistent involved witchcraft and deals with demons and devils. He was a total asshole but outlandishly professional when it came to his job. He acted like he had the biggest dick in the world but never used that confidence to flirt with anyone on staff. Grimmjow was an odd one. He always seemed to do the exact opposite of what others expected of him.

It made him interesting, to say in the least.

“Holy shit look at that train wreck!” Grimmjow said excitedly, momentarily choking on his drink as he snickered and leaned in.

And by leaned in Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez leaned towards Uryū and draped his arm over the back of the designer’s chair. Uryū jolted at the foreign feeling of a muscular and warm arm pressing against his back, his heart stuttering when Grimmjow’s face hovered beside his, their cheeks moments away from touching while Grimmjow’s cruel finger stabbed at the air as he sneered.

“That’s one fuckin’ hot mess—and not in the fun, daddy issues kind of way. You have to agree with me on that,” Grimmjow said.

Dear lord this man smelled amazing. Uryū had never realized that Jaegerjaquez even wore cologne. Most people drowned their bodies in the stuff but he wore such a faint amount that it was only noticed at a close proximity. Uryū could easily imagine how the model used that technique to ensnare unsuspecting morons who dared to get that close to someone so obviously dangerous. A euphoric scent that overwhelmed the senses when one fell into his embrace, automatically linking him to a positive and desired emotion. It was genius. Possibly even diabolical depending on how and where he used it.

“What are you talking about?” Uryū grumbled, trying to clear his mind by holding his breath.

“What am I—are you shitting me, Ishida? Look at that garbage! How could you allow something like that to appear on your show!” Grimmjow sputtered as he gestured ludicrously at the disaster currently struggling to walk across the runway without tripping over the intricate designs of the dress.

Uryū blinked as he slowly digested the outfit stabbing him in the eyes. The fabric was rough and its life expectantly, the material wore down far too easily. The colors were flat and lifeless; a wonderful rainbow of boring. The shape and design of the dress itself...it really didn’t have one. It looked like the model was encased in a slimy blob of goo. It was horrific.

A muffled snicker squeezed past Uryū’s lips as a faint smile graced his. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty damn bad. You know I don’t screen all of their works, right? I can’t exactly tell them what they can and cannot show.”

“These people pride themselves on being designers. You’d think these dumbasses would screen their own work! That’s got to be the ugliest dress I have ever seen and that’s a lot coming from me,” Grimmjow said with a shake of his head and another drink from his flask.

The model retreated to a safe enough distance that Uryū felt he could breath once again, but Grimmjow’s arm never moved. Nor did his thigh. A smirk twisted Uryū’s lips as he used his glass to gesture at the additional models joining the stage. “Don’t judge too soon. That dress has contenders.”

Uryū tried his damnedest to refrain from laughing when he watched the five stages of grief roll across the man’s face. Although the model never did reach acceptance.

“What the fuck is going on in that guy’s head? He has to be kidding! Those colors don’t match at all! Was his goal to make the audience hate him? If it was then his plan is going well,” Grimmjow huffed.

“You’re ranting a lot for a guy who claimed this is a source of comedic relief for you,” Uryū said, grinning as he finished off his drink.

“There’s a difference between being a shitty artist and insulting what we do for a living. That guy is an embarrassment to the profession. Why the hell did you let this guy in on your gig? Humiliation?” Grimmjow asked.

“I’m not that cruel, Jaegerjaquez,” Uryū said with a roll of his eyes, “A lot of these designers have potential. They merely lack in experience. I’ve seen some of his other designs. He has passion for what we do and within a few years he’ll be fairly accomplished in our field.”

“He just has to be humiliated first,” Grimmjow reiterated will a dull, unimpressed look.

It was Uryū’s turn to grin like a maniac. “It’s the only way some of them learn. Normally I’m kinder, but that kid has an attitude and an ego far larger than it should be. I don’t cater to spoiled brats.”

Grimmjow mirrored his smirk. “Harsh. I like it.”

Uryū smiled sincerely before groaning when his eyes returned to the terror unfolding before them. “Don’t look now. Somehow it got worse.”

Ignoring his words Grimmjow turned his gaze back to the models and stomped his foot in anger. “Oh come on! It looks like you wiped your ass with that! What the fuck are you doing!” Grimmjow bellowed.

Uryū snickered, watching as Grimmjow’s insults grew louder and cruder while struggling not to burst out laughing. He usually had a good hold on his tongue and was polite to most of the people he met. Grimmjow was different. The exact opposite of the designer. Jaegerjaquez had no filter and no shame in his words or actions and did as he pleased. While it was frustrating on a workplace level, it was entertaining as hell when personal. Before long the two were caught in a fit of laughter: Grimmjow’s a hissing cackle and Uryū’s a strangled attempt at being quiet and polite.

“What a fucking idiot,” Grimmjow snorted as he settled back in his chair.

The brute sat with his legs spread far apart, taking up more room than he needed with his arm still invading Uryū’s personal space. It was beyond rude, but oddly charming. If anything Grimmjow seemed to be aloof to his actions. Almost as if he had no clue that his actions inconvenienced others. Lacking consciousness of the impact his body held on others. Uryū’s nose wrinkled. Okay, he wasn’t so aloof that he didn’t know how good he looked. Grimmjow boasted that he was easily the best looking model Uryū employed. Year round employees, certainly. However, when special hires were included he would always come in second place to him.

Uryū frowned and licked his dry lips. His throat was suddenly parched. He needed another drink.

“Thank the heavens your designs aren’t from the bowls of my nightmares. You actually have artistic taste,” Grimmjow remarked as he finished off his flask and slipped it back into his jacket.

Uryū blinked in surprise. “Did...did you just compliment me?”

A confused look crunched Grimmjow’s sharp features. “The hell are you talking about?”

“You said I have artistic taste. You like my designs?” he asked in bewilderment.

“What the fuck are you on? Of course I like your designs. That goes without saying,” the model said, his confusion and temper beginning to mix.

“Uh, no, it definitely needs to be said. You don’t like anything but yourself. You’ve never said anything about my clothes before. What makes you think that I knew?”

“I’m working for you, aren’t I?” Grimmjow snapped.

Uryū blinked again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Suddenly, the Frenchman’s face was both very tired and very cold. “Are you shitting me, salope? You seriously think that I would work for someone who makes shitty clothes? I won’t work for anyone who creates shit I wouldn’t be caught dead with. Unlike what people think I actually take all of this seriously. You’re one of the few who actually puts heart into your work and it shows and I respect that. Posers like them piss me off. It spits in the face of what we do—it’s practically sacrilegious. Do you know how rare people like you are? You have passion. It’s not a way for you to make money, it’s a way of life. Why do you think I decided to move overseas? You were the only person worth modeling for.”

Was this moment real? Were these wonderful compliments actually pouring from Grimmjow’s beautiful lips, or had the alcohol taken over his soul and sanity? Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was complimenting him. He was praising Uryū’s work. He respected the designer’s work. Why did hearing such words make him feel so dizzy? He could blame the dizziness in his mind on the alcohol...but his heart was a whole nother story.

Uryū now remembered why he hired the man in the first place. Jaegerjaquez’s agent wasn’t a slacker by any means. Nelliel was an amazing agent who could sell anything to anyone. She lied so easily about her clients, but she never lied about their beauty. She knew Grimmjow’s selling points and exploited them insistently to make him stand out. Tall, muscular, and beautiful models were a dime a dozen. Conventional beauty was easily replicated and dull. Normally someone like Grimmjow wouldn’t even stand out to Uryū, but Nelliel knew just the buttons to press to open that door. An Adonis Grimmjow may be, but the man wasn’t a carbon copy doll made of cheap plastic. Many models avoided inking their skin due to difficulties presented in photoshoots, but Grimmjow’s body was swallowed in them. Sleeves engulfing his arms and prominent chest. Foreign words scrawled along the sharp V of his pelvis and inner thighs. An array of panthers ranging from mountain lions to tigers to smaller feral cats stamped upon his upper back and guarding his broad shoulders. The trademark teal tattoos below those cyan eyes supported by the frightening panther jaw etched into his right cheek. His piercings extended well past his ears to various parts of his body; his face, his chest, his stomach, and places he had only seen the outline of. Then there was his hair. Aside from the marks under his eyes, Grimmjow’s hair was notorious for being a vibrant shade of blue that married perfectly with his intense eyes. No one knew the natural color but discovering the truth was impossible when the man’s whole body was hairless and primped to the point of being spoiled. It was the quirks that had caught Uryū’s interest. By reputation he was known to have models of all sizes, shapes, backgrounds and ethnicities and he despised limiting his clothes to only those with a figure like his. Everyone deserves to look and feel good about themselves and Uryū would be damned if his clothes were used to state otherwise. He had hired Grimmjow just from seeing his pictures. He knew nothing about the man’s personally. Their first meeting hadn’t gone well; all clashing egos and pride suffocating their lungs. Now...now Uryū wasn’t so sure about his opinion on the model.

It was possible that he had thought wrongly about Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

“Holy fuck,” Grimmjow purred, a sleezy grin stretching his pretty face when he pulled his arm away from Uryū and licked his lips, “Now that is a masterpiece. Why’s something that priceless walkin’ around here without security? That’s hella dangerous.”

Uryū’s brow furrowed. “What are you-,” the designer’s breath became trapped in his throat.

As always all eyes were glued onto his lean body. Each set of irises silently praising the angelic man in their presence. Uryū swears those skinny jeans become tighter every time he sees his old friend. Not to mention v-neck shirts he wears look as if they should be illegal. Soft, freckled skin a warm, sunkissed hue. Those gorgeous and inviting androgynous features. His blonde hair that rare vibrant orange—so bright that it seemed he was the offspring of a sun god--framing his face and falling in front of those eyes. Those vivacious cinnamon brown eyes drizzled with honey and a collection of small golden stars laid within like cubes of sugar in the sweetest tea. The most beautiful man Uryū temporarily employed.

Ichigo Kurosaki.

Swallowing dryly, heart drumming a panicked beat, Uryū began to nervously pick at his nails when he found himself unable to look away. Especially when that heaven sent man smiled at him, purposely trying to kill him. Was it always going to be like this? Unable to exist with him and unable to exist without him? It had only been two months since Kurosaki left for New Zealand to finish filming the latest movie he starred in. Why did it feel like years? Why was he so pathetic? When was Ichigo going to stop letting his hair grow out because it was sickening to watch something so perfect become even more perfect, could Uryū even handle another inch?

He hated himself for falling in love with his best friend.

“He ain’t got a collar,” Grimmjow chuckled, his voice heated and enthralled and his eyes glowing with hunger, as he pressed his thumb against this naked ring finger to explain what he was speaking of, “It means he’s up for grabs.”

Up for grabs…

Uryū’s stomach twisted violently as his heart released a pained wail. Grimmjow wanted Ichigo. Of course he would want Ichigo. There wasn’t a person on this planet who didn’t—even sexual identities didn’t hold up against Kurosaki. Goddamnit. Grimmjow was just Ichigo’s type, too. Tall and outrageously beautiful—covered in tattoos and piercings and lethally dangerous. An asshole that was undoubtedly amazing in bed and sure to leave bruises in his skin. Uryū couldn’t even begin to compare to either of them. For fuck’s sake, they even had the complementary colors and fire versus ice cliches going for them.

He needed another drink.

“Hey, Uryū. How’ve you been, man?” Ichigo asked, stopping a foot shy of Uryū’s chair as he tucked bangs behind his ear and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his red wine inked jeans.

Shit. Ichigo had piercings. Small gauges in each lobe to be precise. He must have gotten them done while he was away. He always wanted to get them done. The looked better than Uryū expected, and he expected them to look good. Everything Ichigo wore tended to do that.

“I-Ichigo…you’re back,” Uryū’s soft face twisted into a rough frown, “You were supposed to call me when you were on your way home and when you landed. I was going to pick you up.”

Ichigo’s smile became uneasy and nervous as he shrugged in return. “Sorry, Yū. I didn’t want to bother you so I drove here on my own.”

“We’ve been friends since birth. You bothering me is part of my daily routine,” Uryū replied sarcastically.

“Okay, yeah, that’s true,” Ichigo chuckled, a hand snaking free from his jeans to rub the back of his neck.

His scowl softened. Ichigo returns and the first thing he does is berate him like a parent. He really had issues.

“Ichigo? My Japanese may be a bit rusty, but doesn’t that mean strawberry?”

That age old scowl Uryū hadn’t seen since high school marred Ichigo’s face as he turned his attention to Grimmjow with a haughty look in his eyes. “And you are?”

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I’m--.”

“A model.”

Grimmjow looked surprised, Uryū had a hard time keeping the smirk off his face as smug pride welled in his chest. Despite his appearance Ichigo was not someone to fuck with. No matter how angry or dangerous Grimmjow thought himself to be he would never reach Ichigo’s level. His friend had to go through hell and back just to wear a smile without feeling guilty and ashamed for being happy. Uryū had seen his darkest years. He remembered how those faint scars on his knuckles appeared on his skin. Whatever chance the model had before no longer existed.

Grimmjow regained his composure and smirked, leaning back in his seat as if presenting his whole body to Ichigo. “So you know of me?”

“Know of you? Not necessarily. I only know who you are because all you models are the same. Choking on your own egos and failing to impress me with your status,” Ichigo said with a dismissive, dramatic wave of his hand.

“Impress you? Please. I don’t need you to be impressed to have you choking on my ego, so to speak,” Grimmjow scoffed as he crossed one leg over the other.

The corners of Ichigo’s lips twitched and Uryū’s heart plummeted.

“You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?” Ichigo asked.

“What tipped you off? The European complexion or the two foot height disparity?” Grimmjow said, his face expressionless once more.

“You’re accent, actually. French, right?”

Life brightened Grimmjow’s face and Ichigo smiled softly in response. Uryū chewed the inside of his cheek as his manicured nails started to tear.

“Pantera. That’s the name you go by, right? I’ve seen your work before when I last traveled to France. You were pretty popular there. I swear your face was plastered on every fashion magazine in town,” the blonde continued, “I recognized the tattoos under your eyes.”

“If you knew who I was, why’d you ask?” Grimmjow asked with a quirked brow.

Uryū hadn’t seen that mischievous smirk in ages. He couldn’t believe he missed it. That smirk only spelled trouble.

“I just wanted to watch you squirm.”

Now they were both grinning like they had swallowed hangers. Where was there more alcohol because Uryū could really use that right now.

“Fuckin’ bastard. Alright, you know who I am, but I have no idea who the fuck you are,” Grimmjow said as his body relaxed further into his seat, “Am I supposed to?”

Yes; Uryū thought bitterly. Everyone knew who Ichigo was.

“Not really. It’s not like I’m anyone important.”

Uryū nearly rolled his eyes right out of his skull.

“Name’s Ichigo Kurosaki. I’m an actor. Sometimes I dabble in screenwriting and directing.”

Dabble. Uryū wouldn’t call Japan’s top three best selling and heavily awarded films something Ichigo dabbled in. That was like Leonardo Da Vinci claiming his work to be a mere doodle.

“An actor? One of those drama queens, eh?” Grimmjow teased.

“Hardly. At least on a personal level,” Ichigo admitted.

That was a lie. Kurosaki wasn’t dramatic, but the shit that surrounded his life sure was. For instance, his best friend being in love with him and the best friend’s nemesis loving the same guy. This was getting a little too Wuthering Heights for Uryū’s taste.

“You been in anything good?”

That tone...where was Jaegerjaquez going with this?

“There were a few that bombed but most of them did fairly well.”

A sly grin split Grimmjow’s face in two. “You been naked in any of these movies?”

Ichigo was caught off guard by the question, evident by the blush that quickly consumed his cheeks as he sputtered for an answer.

“Jaegerjaquez, that’s enough!” Uryū spat, glaring at the model beside him, “Either you shut your loud mouth and stop with the inappropriate comments or you leave. There’s no reason for you to be here anyways.”

Grimmjow glanced between the two of them unimpressed. “Fraise looks older than eighteen. I think he can handle a few big boy questions.”

“It’s still wrong to ask complete strangers questions like that!” Uryū snapped.

“Uryū, it’s okay, man. I mean, he’s right. I’m twenty-five, I’m not completely foreign to nudity or sexual topics,” Ichigo coughed to clear his throat before he met Grimmjow’s eyes, “Um, yeah, there are a few. None of them were full on nudity, but some of them were more explicit than others due to sexual context. Why do you want to know?”

Uryū really hated the model’s smile.

“I’m gonna need the names of those movies. Especially the ones with sexual content. I think I should watch those first,” Grimmjow said.

“Jaegerjaquez, out. Now,” Uryū ordered, snarling the man’s name through his teeth.

The model only regarded him with a glance and snorted, the smile on his face sleazy as he slowly climbed to his feet and stood at his full height. He was so much taller than him. Uryū hated men taller than him—Ichigo being the only exception.

“You’re alway so serious, salope. And here I was thinking you might actually be fun,” Grimmjow sighed as he started to walk away, “Designers are always such a tense, grouchy bunch.”

Suddenly Grimmjow came to a stop just behind Ichigo and spun around, snaking his arms around Ichigo’s small waist and placing his lips at Ichigo’s ear while his sharp eyes stared at Uryū pointedly.

“I need those names, fraise,” the man murmured, lips brushing against the sensitive skin on a pierced lobe, grinning maliciously at the enraged glare on Uryū’s face.

Still blushing and oblivious to the territorial battle taking place, Ichigo gave Grimmjow a cocky grin and replied, “You’ve gotta put some work into this, Jaegerjaquez. I’ve been in thirteen movies. You might wanna get to work.”

Grimmjow chuckled, his large hands consuming Ichigo’s stomach and teasing the blonde’s shapely hips. “You better not be a disappointment, fraise. I don’t like wasting my time.”

“We just met, but you and I both know that of all things I could be a disappointment is not one of them,” Ichigo chortled.

Ichigo was flirting back.

Ichigo never flirted with anyone.

It was official. Uryū despised this man with every fiber of his being.

Grimmjow hummed in agreement, his teeth grazing the sore flesh of Ichigo’s earlobe, smiling when Ichigo released an unwanted whimper that caused his blush to darken. Slowly, the model’s hands retreated as he took a step back and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “See you tomorrow, salope. And I’ll be seeing you tonight, fraise,” he said with a cocky snicker and walked away.

Ichigo and Uryū both watched the man leave, one looking slightly lost while the other envisioned throttling a pale neck.

“He’s...something,” Ichigo admitted as he brushed his fingers over his ear.

“He’s a jackass,” Uryū grumbled.

“Yeah...but it kinda makes him interesting.”

Jaegerjaquez better stay far away from him for a while.

Otherwise Uryū couldn’t promise that his vast selection of sewing needles won’t end up poking many, many holes into tattooed skin.

#grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ishida uryuu #grimmishi #grimmichi #ichigo kurosaki #grimmichiishi #connection of the arts au #my post #my writing #bleach

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