Blinks. Looks down. “Compliments won’t get ya anywhere.”
Kisses you back, doesn’t need a reason. B)
"If it doesn’t make ya feel bad, then why’d’ya spend so much time bitchin’ about it?"
Heavy bass leaked through the closed doors before him, vibrating the asphalt beneath his sneaker-clad feet. His hands were stuffed deep within his pockets as he gazed upon the club, critically eyeing the flashing neon sign with pursed lips. Merely a few feet away, he could feel the bouncer’s eyes drilling a hole in the side of his face as he grunted for him to “Hurry up” and “Either go in or go home”. He was merely spared a sidelong glance and the curling of a peach lip; to which Ichigo could almost hear his eyes narrowing, eliciting somewhat childishly satisfied emotion.
That satisfaction was almost nonexistent only seconds later as the problem at hand returned to the forefront of his mind. Was this place really as great as was suggested? Would it really be an acceptable follow-up to his old club?
A sharp breath was released at the thought of his old club—now closed down. It had been his club since he’d started clubbing at age eighteen. Now it was gone, and Renji, the bartender had suggested this place, saying that this was usually where he frequented when he was freed from work. Renji’d never steered him wrong before, so he’d taken his opinion and showed up.
Alright. He’d made his decision.
He released his lip ring from his teeth—when had he started sucking on it?—and finally turned to face the nearly irate bouncer waiting rather impatiently by the door.a soft snort slipped past his nose as he maneuvered to the door, slipping a bill beneath the waistband of the black slacks resting at the large man’s hips. He snickered as he quickly dodged the hand reaching for his collar, quiet curses drowned by the music pouring from inside.
Only minutes had passed and he already felt high and slightly tipsy, though he’d only had a few sips of his drink—some neon purple drink that went straight to his head—and had only smoked one blunt before arriving. Over in the far corner, Renji’s bright white smile was visible, practically reflecting the pulsing lights. Ichigo had found him within seconds of entering the club. In fact, it was Renji that had bought this drink for him.
For now, he was completely content with sitting and observing, at least until his head cleared enough for him to feel that standing was safe. His eyes were immediately drawn to the stage at the front of the club as the MC began to speak over the microphone. He, however, was not what caught Ichigo’s attention; Ichigo had no idea where the DJ stand was, anyway. No, his eyes were caught by almost ethereal porcelain skin and a grin so sinister that Satan himself had to have hand-molded it.
Who was he?
Neko stood outside Shiro’s door, a box held behind her back and Frost perched on her head as they waited for him to answer. After a few more minutes of waiting, she started to turn around to leave when the door opened up. Ignoring the scowl he gave her, she took the box from behind her back and held it out to him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I know you’re not a big fan of cupcakes, but I thought maybe you might like these.”
Opening the box, she pointed at one of the cupcakes she made. “Since you have a fondness of breaking glass, I thought I’d put some in the cupcakes. It’s not real glass though,” she quickly added after seeing the look on his face. “It’s sugar. It’s not real blood either,” she added again when he opened his mouth. “They’re chocolate too.” She handed him the small box of cupcakes before taking a step back.
"You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be nice to give you something today, seeing as how it’s Valentine’s Day." Biting down on her lower lip, she held her hands behind her back, twirling her fingers around in the ends of her ebony locks. Frost let out a loud meow, her tail swishing about behind her and Neko smiled. "She wishes you a happy Valentine’s Day too." With one final smile, she turned away and ran off down the sidewalk.
Grins wider. “An’ I think ya just want me to suggest it, so ya don’t have to feel bad about it later.”
“‘M not a mind reader. How should I know?”
"Ta me? Or ta someone else? Cause to me, ya look like ya wanna make trouble."
Blinks, looks down, before narrowing his eyes and grinning. “King, what’re ya doin’?”
"Hn?" He blinked as the mug was plucked from his hand. With his mouth full of cereal, he could hardly start spitting threats to get it back, and the stupid physical body the shady shopkeeper had given him was still too heavy with sleep for a wrestling match. He filed it away for later.
He chewed his bite languidly, finishing before tilting his head with a smirk and pointing the index finger of his now empty hand toward the scar running the length of the sexta’s torso. “Ya don’t recognize me? ‘M hurt.”Going back to his food, he glanced at the movie while watching the blue-haired male from the corner of his eye."King put on a movie for ya, huh? How thoughtful of ‘em."He hadn’t seen this one before, but knowing Ichigo’s ulterior motives, he would never get caught giving the damn things his full attention again. Still. He watched as the screen lit up with a massive explosion that made him itch to level a bridge to see if it really buckled and snapped that way. Seemed overdramatic to him.
Easily getting the mug, Grimmjow sniffed it again before taking a sip. He had never drank coffee, but knew what it was by the particular smell. He took a moment to decide if he liked it or not, then took a long gulp from the mug feeling the bittersweet taste. It was good enough.
Though, he frowned at the guy’s words, looking from him to the scar that took his whole torso. The scar Grimmjow decided to keep as a reminder. Snorting he stared right into yellow eyes and it was easy to come to a conclusion. Those were the same that stared back at him when Ichigo wore that mask.
"It’s ya’ then huh. You’re feeling pretty human now. Weird." With that, Grimmjow poked Shiro’s cheek, like he was testing a theory. The guy was a hollow, at least his reiatsu seemed hollow-ish. "I doubt ya’ could do something like this again right now." The Sexta’s grin was feral while he used his thumb to point at the scar.
Hearing another explosion in the movie, Grimmjow turned his attention back to the t.v. He liked how just one dude was blowing everything up. It was hilarious to the Arrancar how everything in that world seemed so frail. Taking another long sip of his mug, his eyes on the television, he almost let the other’s last comment slide, but…
"He thinks I’m not gonna hand his ass to him because of this shit, but I’m so going… Wait, why do ya’ call him king?" He turned his attention back to the hollow.
He actually blinked when that long finger poked his cheek. No one had ever dared poke him. Not even King. It took him a long moment to decide if he wanted to laugh or throat punch the guy.
He tilted his head and watched the grin sliding across the espada’s face, feeling a matching one pull at his. “I can do lotsa things in this body. Ya’d be surprised.”
Shiro eyed his mug as it went back to the arancarr’s mouth with a lifted brow. “Cause he is? Shouldn’t be too hard for ya to understand. He’s the head of our… partnership.” He shrugged. “For the moment. When I throw him down an’ take over, he’ll have ta call me king.”
As soon as the arancarr’s attention was divided, Shiro reached under his arm and plucked the mug away from below, bringing it back into his possession and smirking before taking a long draw. The television went on in the background but he ignored it and gave another vicious smirk. “Anymore questions?”
Finally set off balance, the substitute shinigami fell over backwards, hitting the ground with a grunt. But this did neither of them much good, considering that Shiro’s hand was now trapped between Ichigo’s back pocket and the ground.
Color rose in his cheeks in a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he shoved at the hollow atop him. “I-idiot, get the hell off of me. And get your hand out of my pocket!”
He hissed as the full weight came down on his hand and tried to jerk it back. But with his fist still closed around the pass, it was stuck it Ichigo’s pocket unless he wanted to flip over like a good little king and let Shiro pull it out. He didn’t see that happening anytime soon.
Then Ichigo was shoving at him which only served to jerk his already pinned and throbbing arm. He snarled avoiding flailing limbs as best he could. “Fucker! How my supposed ta do that!? You’re on me, too! And why the hell are ya so—” He blinked, took in Ichigo’s flustered face, and then grinned. Sitting back on his heels, still at an awkward angle, he pointed at Ichigo’s chest with his free hand and snickered. “Perverted king, what are ya thinkin’? That I was gonna fuck ya right here in the open with all these people watchin’? That’s so sick, I’m almost proud of ya.”
He gave the hand around the pass another jerk, hoping it would come free. Unfortunately it was as stubborn as his stupid king.