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Ichigo is done with talking.
Lips pressed into a thin line, he cranks down his reiatsu to perceptible levels and this time Grimmjow goes to a knee. His snarl is muffled by the thunderous power pressing him to the floor, his mouth a wide sneer, tendons stretched taut and bare muscles bulging as he struggles against the massive spiritual pressure, glaring up at Ichigo in equal parts lust and fury.
Ichigo scowls and brings it down again, beads of sweat clinging to his temples. Grimmjow twitches but Ichigo does not relent, letting the spiritual pressure pour out in a torrential, suffocating wave until Grimmjow’s naked body is shaking, on his hands and knees at Ichigo’s feet.
Grimmjow snarls at him.
Ichigo puts his foot on the back of Grimmjow’s neck and steps down.
Grimmjow’s cheek hits the floor, hands splayed wide at his shoulders, muscles vibrating with the effort to stay up on his knees. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, the connected rings circle the top of his sac and the base of his cock, the metal thick and unyielding, trapping the blood-swollen length. It trembles with the rest of him, and as Ichigo holds him down a wad of pre-come oozes from the slit and falls, wetting the floor between his knees.
Ichigo replaces his foot with the curl of long fingers, tight around the back of a muscular neck. He squeezes.
And Grimmjow stays.
Ichigo releases his grip, tugging firmly on thick hair before he pets the sweaty neck and sweeps a hand down the length of Grimmjow’s spine as he moves to kneel behind him.
Grimmjow growls again but this time it is a long rumble of pleasure and his body opens under slick, insistent fingers. Without resistance, the swirling pressure spread his knees until he’s splayed, legs scrunched up along his ribs, the head of his stiff cock scraping the gritty floor, precome dripping.
The grease is thick and cloying around Ichigo’s hand, falling in splats from his wrist as he works two, then three fingers deep into Grimmjow’s body, as deep as he can, stretching his fingers inside and swirling them around the rim. His arm is coated to the elbow with the thick paste, slick and shiny in the dim lights and he eases up when he gets to four fingers and half his hand is buried. He plays in the heat, in and out, fingers curled then pointing as he pets open tender skin and straining, clingy muscle. He pushes in up to his palm, rolling his slippery, body-warmed fingers until Grimmjow vibrates under his touch and his arms stretch out wide, hands splayed as he rolls his head against the floor.
Ichigo shifts, leaning in as Grimmjow’s head rolls in his direction, his eyes all pupil and tongue lolling. When Grimmjow shudders and licks to the side – a needy, wet sweep of his tongue over the gritty floor – Ichigo folds a thumb in against his palm and pushes.
His hand goes in easy, pulled inside up to his wrist.
Swallowed.
Ichigo groans and lays his head on the base of Grimmjow's sweaty spine, curling down to watch, Grimmjow's body a perfect bracelet around his wrist. He rocks his hand down, barely an inch of motion and Grimmjow whines and opens his mouth against the floor, bony jaw scraping as he hunches for more. Ichigo pulls his hand out, folds his fingers down and pushes a fist back inside.
It settles deeper this time and Grimmjow’s head comes up and sounds fall out of him like pleas and prayers.
Ichigo does it again, stretching the thin skin against the widest part of his hand before letting it slip back inside. He rolls his wrist, a careful wriggle and reach, going deeper each time. Wide handed. Closed fist. Out, licking his lips at the gape. In, crouching down to watch and lick. He works his tongue over the sweaty curve of a clenched cheek and licks around his own wrist until he can feel Grimmjow losing his mind, the floor between his thighs streaked with clear, wet lines.
It is Ichigo who makes soft, inarticulate sounds as he starts rocking his fist, rolling his knuckles over the swollen gland in a smooth, inhumanly strong grind. Ichigo who breathes hard and groans when Grimmjow jerks and the first splat of come pours from Grimmjow’s straining cock; Ichigo who pins him by the neck when he starts shaking, come bubbling from the gaping slit, pooling underneath him on the floor. Ichigo who holds him down and murmurs filthy praise and promises against damp skin as the pool grows and minutes pass and Ichigo’s wrist won’t stop rocking and Grimmjow’s cock won’t stop spitting.
Eventually, Ichigo will slow down and free his hand from the clench of Grimmjow’s body.
And when he reaches for Grimmjow’s hanging cock – his grip inhuman, his strokes vicious – he will pull down his power until it is a falling tsunami that drowns them both. Grimmjow will howl against the floor as his cock is fisted and his body clenches and bucks, and he will try to come and try to come again until there is nothing.
And then Grimmjow will suck, body wrecked, eyes glazed, lips wet and mouth open wide around Ichigo’s length. Slick fingers will cradle his jaw and smear sweaty locks of hair from his eyes as he drifts, his soul already given.
Ichigo will whisper all the things they never talk about as he traces the swollen, gritty lips stretched around his cock, and he will moan Grimmjow’s name when he comes.