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“Yer not doing that again,” said Grimmjow, impersonating a cat whose fur was ruffled backwards, “Yer not doing that again.”


“How are you going to get down?” Ichigo asked while trying to smother a cheeky grin off his face. He failed spectacularly.


The other damn near hissed, “I’ll fuckin’ tumble off this rock! No fuckin’ way am I flyin’ with you again!”


Ichigo laughed, loudly, making the sound echo, throwing his head back and absolutely enjoying Grimmjow’s entire reaction to having unwilling passenger in the clutches of the man in his draconic form. The nekomata’s hair fell into fluffy disarray, the wind currents ripping his carefully styled locks into what could only be described as a rat’s nest or more aptly... like the back of a rankled cat.


“The way down is much easier than the way up,” Ichigo said, taking the first few steps towards the entrance to his lair, “Shall we?”


It was a stark reminder of why Grimmjow of all people were here. After working with the ‘great lizard’ Guardian of Seireitei, which included 5000 Kan for killing a warlock in cahoots with an invading dragon, he never would have dared to dream that he would be invited to the dragon’s lair.


Dirty fantasies and wistful shower sessions were not considered dreams.


Grimmjow looked around once before following after the other, bright blue eyes sweeping over the wide cliff edge worn smooth by a large scaled body. The ledge was big enough for Ichigo to probably lay about in the high noon sunshine with ample space to roll around. Interestingly, the cold mountain top air and winds he had been expecting were absent. The stone beneath his feet giving off residual warmth from the waning sun rays, out of the corners of his eye, he caught sight of a glowing arcanic rune that he could guess controlled the atmosphere.


Ichigo had left him in the dust of the entrance, making a beeline around the circular cave toward an adjacent hollow in the wall, leaving him to look around, eyes wide and realization and awe surmounting.


His dragon was a big fuckin’ nerd.


Bookshelves stuffed to the brim towered along the walls, reaching the ceiling in mix-matched disarray, not a style for interior in sight beyond the need for storage. Books, books, piles and shelves of books. Papers, portraits, paintings, and photos stuffed haphazardly anywhere they could fit. Books of all different sizes, colors, and -where those fucking children books?-  


They were.


Coming around the room following Ichigo’s footsteps, Grimmjow read the spines of the books he could read; many of them came in languages he barely recognized or straight up didn’t know. 

Othello, The Historical Reaccounting of Henry IV, Romeo and Juliet (in french) , Hamlet , Shakespeare in the Park’s Twelfth Night, Much Ado About Nothing a guide to women’s monologuing , a painting of Venus and Adonis ; jeez he knew a Dragon’s Hoard was technically a hoard of obsession but he didn’t.. .this was extensive .


He turned the corner, witnessing the last bit of Ichigo placing his beloved ‘crown jewel’ of the entire mess, his mom’s dog eared paperback edition of A Midsummer’s Nights Dream, back into its protective case, scratching with a talon the last rune of a protective circle around it’s pedestal before turning around.


By every deity that existed, Ichigo was gorgeous. Grimmjow thought that when he first saw the prideful lizard back in the shitty pub they first met. Strong. Dangerous looking. The man looked one insult away from burning the city down, fuck the innocent lives, and for good reason. He thought the other desirable practically sitting in his lap as they both squished themselves for a claustrophobic cab ride. Snarky. Took an insult well and dished it just as good back. He liked that in a man and the longer they bickered together, the more he wanted to taste that fire on his tongue. He found him magnificent watching him rip his enemy to pieces. Literally tearing him out of the sky, Grimmjow witnessed the other defeat an older, more powerful dragon with only a few scars to show for it.


And he was the biggest fuckin’ nerd he had ever seen.


“Shakespeare,” he said incredulously, “Really. It coulda been swords. Cars. The skulls of Tyrannosaurus Rex`, women’s kinky lingerie, a collection of Star Wars lightsabers and you chose Shakespeare to be yer hoard.”


“Shakespeare is a perfectly reasonable hoard for a Dragon,” Ichigo said, not taking offence and instead finding amusement.


“Sure, if ya enjoy dry texts of borin’, pompous ol’ guys talkin’ back and forth with a trashy line thrown in.”


“I do enjoy it,” the dragon said with a wry grin, “Did no one woo you with a sonnet? ‘Shall I compare thee to a winter's day? Thou art more lovely and with more bite.’


“Shakespeare would shrivel my balls off,” Grimmjow said, eyeing Ichigo as he slowly approached him, his tails swishing behind him, “‘nd that’s not the line.”


Golden reptilian eyes turned molten, the expression on his face twisting in mischief and suddenly Grimmjow did not like that face.


“What are ya-?” he was interrupted by the lizard-brain reaching out to take hold of his hips which he allowed, their sudden proximity intoxicating after the day they just had and finally they could have some fun.


“I hope to see yourself take me between thine legs,” Ichigo murmured, a deeply pleased rumble vibrating through his chest and Grimmjow groaned in agony.


“No. No! Fuck you, ya can’t- that’s not even the right words!”


“So you do know Shakespeare!” Ichigo crowed trumphiantly, looking all too smug -the bastard- to be quoting dirty Shakespearian quotes right when Grimmjow had been hoping that they would both forget everything but each other’s names by now.


“No, yer a monster. I hate you. Forget it, I’m leavin’. I’ll can’t fuck a guy quotin’ bad Shakespeare at me cause he thinks it’s cool when it’s not. No, fuck you, let me go.” He didn’t resist him much, Ichigo chuckling into his neck as he scented his throat, thumbs rubbing circles into his hips and grip holding him exactly where he was wanted.


“Sir, shall I lie in your lap?” Ichigo said, clearly quoting a play or something terrible and Grimmjow was none the wiser for it. But he knew to be suspicious of the nerd.


“No, ya can’t my lord, now let me go so that I don’t have ta witness yer cringey one liners.”


“Did you think I meant country matters?” the dragon asked in an odd accent, emphasising bits that the nekomata didn’t even want to guess the meaning.


“I think I’d rather have you suck my cock then listen to ya quote Shakespeare at me ya insufferable jacka-”


“That’s a fair thought to lie between mans’ legs,” Ichigo finished with the biggest shiteating grin. Grimmjow hated the look cause oh god now he’s gotta be cute too?


“You disgust me,” Grimmjow said, sneering at the other, this time actually struggling to get away, “You horrible, terrible example of a dragon. How’re you gonna intimidate anyone if they knew ya fuckin’ hoard children’s books about Shakespeare plays?”


A spine chilling growl erupted from Ichigo’s chest, and for all of Grimmjow’s faults he couldn’t help but find the sound sexy. Especially when, once glancing back at him, the dragon still had dried blood at his temple from his fight, golden eyes warm and smoldering .


He was warm. The type of warm that excited something in his blood. Raging forest fires comes to mind. Arson. Volcanos and brimstone maybe. It reminds him that this same creature who quotes silly lines and laughs loudly is still the same dragon who was powerful enough to rip his enemies limbs off and Grimmjow wants so badly to burn in the flames.


“It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge,” he said, leaning more into Grimmjow pressing the words into the hollow of his throat.


He shivered, giving up the fight, raising his useless arms to wrap around the other’s waist and smooth over Ichigo’s cheek to thread through long ginger hair. He kissed the edge of his mouth, their lips seeking the taste of each other and their bodies aligned, knee to chest, touch excruciatingly delicious.


Hot and so good, sickeningly sweet with the taste of metallic blood lingering between their teeth. Their lips slid together feverishly, tongues pressing for closeness and opening to each other. Ichigo shuddered in his arms, a hum of pleasure and satisfaction leaving Grimmjow’s throat as they breathed the same breath and shared their lust.


“I can’t believe I’m gonna hafta fuck you,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering open as their tongues detangled from their intricate dance, “I’m gonna.”


Ichigo fucking purred in pleasure and it had to be the best sound besides his promise of vengeance. Grimmjow felt his own chest swell for a returning echo, only to pause at the sudden smug bastard what the fuck is he-?!


Ichigo fucking pushed him! Unprepared, he fell backwards -more than backwards!- falling off the walkway that surrounded the room and into the sunken nest of pillows at his back.


He was outraged! Especially when he looked back up at the dragon with a biting remark on his tongue and he had the nerve to say, “Thou wilt fall backward if thou hast more wit.”


Another fucking bastardized Shakespeare quote and this time, Grimmjow knew where that came from . Sitting up on his knees, he said, “I ain’t no Juliet-” he grabbed Ichigo by his ankle and yanked him off his balance, “But I’ll make sure to kill you, Romeo.


Ichigo flopped into the nest with a laugh, wings spread to soften his fall, he still got a face full of pillows but it was much more graceful than Grimmjow’s plunder.


“Aren’t cats supposed to land on all fours?” Ichigo asked, throwing a raunchy smirk behind him as he sat up to turn over.


“God, I heard lizards were coldblooded but yer fuckin’ slow,” Grimmjow said, crawling over the pillow to lean over the dragon, pressing fevered kisses to eager lips, biting the tender flesh when the other started chuckling as if any of this has waned their desire to fuck each other up.


“It’s called foreplay,” Ichigo said, smoothing clawed hands up his biceps to palm over the naked muscles of his back, “And you love it.”


“I’d love it better if you were naked quicker,” he hissed, fingers looking for the clasps to Ichigo’s kilt that was still tied around his waist. How the other could still not be naked after their fight, Grimmjow didn’t care to guess.


Silver buckles coming off, Grimmjow unwrapped his kilt like a goddamn birthday present, revealing new miles of thick muscles in the dragon’s thighs, smooth black and white scales merging with softer human skin at his hips, and-


Okay, Grimmjow has fucked a few non-humans in his life from the most null to the downright bizarre, and taking in the anatomy of dragon dick he came to the conclusion:


Bad Dragon ain’t got nothin’ on this.


Blood red with a purpling head, this monster’s cock had ridges, bumps, and fleshy bulbs that made his mouth fuckin’ water. He was hungry for a taste. Precum wet the top slit, Grimmjow spat in his hand and took hold of the pulsating cock like it owed him money. Hot, like freshly spilled blood all over his palms, he took one slow pump of the member at hand, feeling the fleshy texture, the give of each ridge, and the thickness there.


Well name Grimmjow the Rodeo King and slap on him some chaps, he’s gonna fuckin’ ride this thing into the goddamn sunset.


And Ichigo -the useless nerdy fuck- was just moaning about it.


“I got- hnngh ,” he groaned, absolutely gutted when Grimmjow rubbed his thumb over the bundle of nerves at the base of his head, “ -lube , you animal.”


“Better ‘ave fuckin’ lube,” Grimmjow said, panting as he shuffled over to straddle Ichigo’s thighs, knees spread wide, his balls heavy and dick curved up to his belly, “Ain’t fuckin’ you with spit.”


Ichigo wiggled out from under him, stretching his arms out and to the side of the sunken nest, and tossed away a pillow to reveal a hidden cubbyhole. Sliding open the hatch, it revealed everything a lazy dragon would ever need close at hand: notebooks and pens, bottles of water, tissues, and a flask of lube. Coming back to where Grimmjow was, he said, “What makes you think you’d be fucking me?”


“Oh no,” Grimmjow said, making a swipe at the bottle but it was out of his reach just as quick, “I’m gonna have ya in me but ain’t no fuckin’ way Imma let you fuck me, I’m fuckin’ you.”


“Semantics,” Ichigo said with a roll of his eyes. Opening his hand, fingers spread wide, the dragon seemed to concentrate on his palm for a brief second. Grimmjow felt a spark of magic, smelled the faint hint of ozone before he watched black talons disappear, leaving behind blunt but dexterous human fingers.


“Useful,” Grimmjow said, grudgingly letting Ichigo pop open the bottle of lube to spill onto his now de-weaponized hand.


He scoffed, “Well how do you declaw yourself? Nail biting? Nobodies gonna want to have your claws anywhere near them.”


As he rubbed his fingers together to warm the oil, Grimmjow offered his own hand, flexing his fingers and showing off, “Retractable. And you had my claws near ya.”


His other hand that had been perched on the pillows beneath them moved to touch Ichigo’s side. Startled, Grimmjow looked down to see his fingers touching fresh scab wounds. Parallel claw marks that rent his side, the dragon who did it meant to hurt.


“This’ll be fine?” he asked.


Ichigo’s other hand, free of lube, cupped the side of his neck, swiping a thumb along his cheek and pulling him down, “Yeah, it’s fine,” and they kissed.


There needs to be a word for this because ‘kiss’ is too little to contain the effort of connection, contact, desire, and passion they shared. How can a kiss ever explain the taste of blood and lightning on their tongues, electric currents that skitter across their skin when Grimmjow smoothed his palms down Ichigo’s chest or when the dragon arched up, fitting his thick thigh into the crux of his legs and giving a most delicious grind? Can a kiss tell how much the nekomata wanted to continue kissing the dragon, probably long after they both had their fill of the other?


Because Grimmjow had the notion that he could never be filled. His tongue tasted the ridges of sharp canines, smelled the scent of fire and felt the heat of it between his legs, under his palms, and deliriously he thought, ‘If I could have a Hoard, he would be mine.’


Ichigo’s hand at his neck scratched at the base of his neck, rubbed the lobe of his ear and gently pulled at his hair before following the hidden knobs of his spine down his back as his other hand reached around, following the curve and crease of his ass to find the puckered entrance hidden there.


Grimmjow turned his head away to pant as he felt fingers rub against his hole. Ichigo pressing a kiss to his temple before licking and nibbling at his neck, sharp teeth teasing the skin but not breaking.


It was torturous waiting for Ichigo to start fingering him open, slipping the first knuckle in easily before meeting tight resistance.


“Oh, that thou were an open arse and I a poperin pear,” Grimmjow heard in a murmur, his mind slow to understand, but when he did-


“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he said, bucking up, rubbing himself onto the smooth thickness of Ichigo’s thigh, fingers following after and spearing him deeper, “ You got yer fingers up my ass and yer quoting Shakespeare you insufferable fuck.”


“I will die if I love thee not,” Ichigo said, sliding his body until they were pressed chest to chest, their dicks aligning against their bellies, the friction so good, but his voice soft and no less deep, “And I will die ere I might make my love known.”


Fuck, Grimmjow’s stomach swooped, blood rushing south and north up past his ears and into his head, leaving his middle gutted because he knew the other was still quoting Shakespeare but now the tone was different, the words not laced in humor, but spoken at the base of his throat, in his chest, closer to the heart, and how can he not find that sexy?


God -fucking- damn it, he was finding love poems sexy. The nerd was infectious.


“You’re beautiful,” the dragon said, trailing a line of kisses from his neck down to his shoulder, “And therefore to be wooed: You are my match and therefore to be won.”


One finger became two, rubbing against his wet and loosening folds and scissoring him open. His thrusts were langued, less hurried but more. Savoring. Touch was driving Grimmjow wild and listening to Ichigo speak made him desperate.


He reached down between them to take hold of both their cocks, holding them together and giving a firm pump that sent tingles down to his toes. Ichigo gave a muffled shout, fingers thrusting hard deep within him and the nekomata bit back a whimper because it felt so good.


“You have witchcraft in your lips,” Ichigo panted, sweat beading at his brow, bright ginger hair sticking to his skin. Impulsively, Grimjow licked his cheek to have a taste, finding the salt but not the sulfur he’d been expecting. “And I’ll make my heaven in your lap.”


“God, do ya ever shut up,” Grimmjow hissed, feeling a thumb tuck itself into the vulnerable skin of his taint to give a good rub. The dragon had sped up the abuse of his fingers and yet still didn’t hit that good spot inside him that’d send him to the moon.


“I got a hot catboy in my bed,” Ichigo said with a smile spreading across his face, “Why be quiet about that?”


“Will ya fuckin’ hurry up,” he snapped, feeling a flush spread across his face the more easily he seemed to open around the other’s fingers, “You’ve got the best dick fer ridin’ I’ve eva seen and if I don’t get ya in me, Imma-”


“You’ll what?”


Like a bucking bronco, Grimmjow’s stallion flipped him off his lap onto the pillows, putting himself between Grimmjow’s knees with a hand at his side to keep his weight off and easing three fingers into his loosened hole.


Grimmjow hollered.


Feet kicking out at nothing, Grimmjow squirmed from the sensation of being spread open even further, hands coming up to claw at Ichigo’s back as a hot palm slid over his dick to give a good jerk.


“Pretty,” Ichigo mused, getting a good look at Grimmjow’s own cock for good measure. Long and thick with a tapered end, more pink skinned in comparison to Ichigo’s red, and mean lookin’. Grimmjow knew his dick was a deal breaker for a lot of people. Obviously Ichigo wasn’t one of them. “Next time, I want this.”


Grimmjow froze, shock stilling his duviating hips, as he looked and saw Ichigo’s genuine want for both a next time and his dick . His dick was barbed. A nasty surprise to the unaware and even nastier to those who assumed it was always off the table.


God when was the last time someone-it must have been-


It’s been a while.


And for Ichigo to offer without prompting, hesitation, questions made this a thousand times hotter.


“Imma fuckin’ wreck you,” Grimmjow threatened -promised-, his voice shaking with desire and Ichigo shivered at the sound, “Fuck ya till you can’t quote yer damn Shakespeare no more. Get down ‘ere.”


His hands took hold of Ichigo’s face, bringing him closer so that he could ravage the man, arching his back to press those still questing fingers deeper inside him, press them closer together. His knees spread wider, fitting them to frame Ichigo’s hips, feet falling flat on the bed as Ichigo gave a dirty grind, the slide of their dicks against their bellies generous and delicious.


When their lips separated to breathe again, this time it was Grimmjow who tossed the other a cocky smirk.


“My turn.”


Bucking up from the bottom to flip the dragon around was uncomfortable, especially with his blunted fingers still inside him. The digits left as Ichigo scrambled to grab ahold of his hips, Grimmjow successfully turning them around in the nest of pillows and straddling his waist. Quickly, before the dragon could raise hell, he reached behind himself to take hold of the other’s straining cock, aligning it with his entrance.


“Wait, wait, ” Ichigo squeezed his hips, feet uselessly trying to find leverage behind him, “Least let me lube up.”


“Shut up,” Grimmjow hissed, feeling the head popping past the initial resistance and groaning at the slight burn, “Yer too fuckin’ slow.”


“How romantic,” Ichigo gritted out his teeth, trying to keep as still as possible even if Grimmjow could feel the minute shakes of his hips that desperately wanted to thrust up into his warm heat.


Grimmjow didn’t answer with a snarky remark back, too busy concentrating on his balance and the feeling of sliding down, taking more. It felt exquisite. He knew it would. The girth of him spread him wide, the thickness unforgiving inside, blood flushed and the ridges so good. He could feel Ichigo’s pulsating heart, strong and burning him from the inside. The texture rubbing against his slick walls, head pressing deeper until he could almost feel an ache begin in his guts.


Seating himself down, taking everything up to the very hilt of him, Grimmjow forced himself into stillness, the burn of the stretch a little uncomfortable but no less good. He just needed a moment to adjust.


Easing his head back, Grimmjow forced himself to exhale but instead let out a moan, loud and echoing , god he would be more embarrassed if Ichigo didn’t respond with a rumbling groan in his own chest. Taloned fingers gripped tight his hips, thumbs rubbing circles against his hip bones and waiting.


“Does your Shakespeare,” Grimmjow panted, easing up in a slow slide before dropping down, the punch resulting in another unabashed moan in pleasure, “Have anythin’ to say ‘bout this?”


“This?” Ichigo panted, the nekomata rising up on his knees once again and together they moved to start a pace, “He can fuck off.”


Grimmjow burst into laughter, falling forward for a different angle and bouncing on Ichigo’s dick like he paid for it. Ichigo dug his feet into the soft bedding and pillows, using the weak leverage to follow Grimmjow’s rhythm, meeting his down with an upward thrust, forcing them both higher onto the heights of pleasure.


Sex is feeling and the emotions riding adreniline and desire behind it. Touch, taste, sound blending together driving Grimmjow wild. Finally he arched up, leaning back to grab hold Ichigo’s thigh for balance, shouting when the new angle fuckin’ punched that bundle of nerves inside him lighting him on fire.


Ichigo fucking growled, hips twisting underneath, rolling them both over until he was smothering the nekomata with his weight and fucking into him like a true animal. Grimmjow screamed from the onslaught, especially when the dragon’s teeth latched onto his neck, threatening to break the skin but just holding on fast.


Grimmjow’s hands scrambled for a handhold, clawing up the dragons back, booking around his shoulders to press them both closer. The scent of sex, sweat, ash, and flames in his nose. The taste of other, blood, wild, and heat on his tongue. The feeling of godliness, rapture, pleasure, and an inferno of want in his skin.


Love is a spirit all compact of fire.


His orgasm rose like a high tide, having felt it simmering long before their first kiss, Grimmjow had been ignoring the sensation low in his hips and it snuck up on him. Suddenly, everything was too much. His skin lightning. He was gonna die-!


“Imma cum,” he stuttered past his panting, Ichigo fucking into him hard, “I’m gonna cum!”


“We,” Ichigo groaned, his hips faltering as he too felt his impending orgasm, “are in the very wrath of love, and we’ll go together.”


Grimmjow’s eyes were watering from overstimulation, everything was just too much and sweet words weren’t helping. Ichigo told hold of his neglected cock, giving it a few mean strokes this side of too much before he said, “Now.”




Grimmjow came with a cry, throwing his head back and screaming to the heavens his pleasure, body clenching as pleasure peaked, his vision whiting out behind his eyelids. Heat filled him to the brim, overflowing, he found himself gasping for air as if the act of living abandoned him. And finally -finally- came the last act.


Relaxing into the pillows, Grimmjow turned liquid, not even caring about Ichigo’s heavy weight on top of him. He could feel the burning hot slush of dragon cum inside him, hotter than his own insides, slowly dribbling around the other’s soften cock and threatening to ooze out. He felt.. .purring? Was he purring or was Ichigo purring? Or whatever dragon’s did, did they purr?


God he was an idiot post-coital.


“Fuck,” Ichigo cursed, his voice hoarse and low, easing himself off and landing at Grimmjow’s side, groaning with his eyes closed, “Need to change out the pillows.


For some reason, the inane comment inspired a laugh out of Grimmjow.


“Ya just had the best sex in yer life,” he huffed, turning on his side to face Ichigo, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his gaping asshole and cum smearing across his thighs, “And yer complainin’ ‘bout yer pillows.”


“They’re very nice pillows,” Ichigo defended himself.


“Fine, next time there won’t be any pillow casualties,” Grimmjow allowed, too tired to continue bantering back and forth for long, waiting to take a catnap before even thinking about round two, “An’ you won’t quote yer stupid Shakespeare in bed.”


Ichigo giggled.


Grimmjow did not like that one bit.


“Shakespeare did have something to say about sex,” he said, opening his warm gold eyes to look at the nekomata, a teasing grin stretching his mouth open and Grimmjow recognized that look. He was about to say something stupid. “It’s called, ‘the beast with two backs.’


Ichigo devolved into giggling laughter.


He won’t be laughing long.


Grimmjow would laugh about it only after he killed the dragon.


What a nerd.