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When they first settle in the area, the lake is wide and cool, a kind reprieve from the harsh sunlight beating down over necks and shoulders, furrowed brows and weathered hands. Children play in the shallows of it, over the worn-smooth pebbled bank kicking up dirt and pulling reeds while their mothers watch from further up the shore, holding their sun hats and their skirts in the breeze skimming off the surface. The path into the woods from the growing, flourishing town is well-tread and clear, winding through trees that slowly thin at the edges, expansion pushing them ever inwards.
At first, the idea of the lake being surrounded by houses is a kind one.
Then the young men start going missing.
There's no real proof, of course, that something is using the lake as a hunting grounds. No evidence, nothing to suggest they hadn't simply washed out of the lake, down the river and out to sea after drunkenly going for a swim. Even so, the inviting water suddenly takes a darker edge in the minds of those living nearby. Mothers stop bringing their children for picnics, the town stops encroaching into the forest. Superstition travels quickly in small, isolated circles. The path grows over, no longer travelled, and as years pass so too does the lake from common knowledge. Faded like the old photos kept hoarded in the attic.
The lake is the perfect place for Grimmjow to escape to.
He’s not scared of dying a waterlogged death. He’s neither a coward nor a superstitious idiot. There isn’t anyone out here that kills boys. But fuck the villagers, if they want to get all bent outta shape by a few drunk idiots drowning in a pool a few decades ago then that ain’t his problem. It means he can hide away from the school and rest in a sunny spot in the soft grass and just breathe. No smug nun around to tell him he’s doing it wrong. No demerits for slouching in the woods.
Grimmjow's school is called Lakeview College. He thinks that's pretty fucking stupid, considering all you can see from the top floor is trees from one side, and buildings and roads on the other. You can't see the lake, not from anywhere in town - not even the church bell-tower he snuck up into on a dare.
It makes the lake feel special, secret, maybe. It's all overgrown green grass and moss thriving on the rocks and trees, and he thinks the superstition is definitely bogus because nowhere this full of life could be an evil place.
His wrist flicks, sharp and controlled, and the rock goes sailing, its flat surface smacking the surface with a thwuh - plop and sinks straight through. Not even a single bounce this time. It’s cathartic even in its failure with its heavy noise and the angry ripples that race away from it, disrupting the water's still surface.
A fresh rock finds his hand, one of the many he’s carefully selected from the pebbly shore, round and smooth and he raises his hand with particular care, muscle bunching as he prepares to throw again. His wrist flicks, sharp and controlled, and this time the rock skips true. One, two, three - thwuh-plop.
He lets the flicker of a smile cross his face, quiet personal satisfaction and pets his fingers through the grass in self reward, feeling over their soft blades and the vibrant clover. One day, he’d like to get a plant to pet instead. Something he can have in his own apartment where no one can tell him ‘no’ - or maybe a cat. He thinks petting a cat would do more good for his ‘troubles’ than any number of Hail Marys. Name it ‘Clover’ after this little spot in the dappled sun.
The sound of water breaking lifts his attention towards the lake again, blue eyes searching the still surface for the little animal that entered her waters.
Something dark whizzes past his head and thunks into the grass just behind him, divoting the dirt with the dull impact of it. Grimmjow jolts, flinches hard to the side, half turned to peer in confusion; expects bottle and blinks dazed when he finds stone, now dark and wet with the lake water. It's the smooth pebble he just threw into the lake, and how narrowly it missed his head makes him shudder.
"Yeah, it's not nice is it? You don't like having rocks thrown at you, huh?"
He flinches again, head whipping back towards the lake, towards the voice and part of him shrivels. Someone found him, his hiding place.
“Fuck you.” He snaps out before he even has a chance to think and then cringes cuz - fucking damnit! He’s always rude first. A bad habit he can’t seem to break. Ruining every chance for a normal interaction before it's even begun.
"Fuck- fuck me? Fuck you!" The voice lilts in something approaching confused amusement, a mock-offended gasp and Grimmjow finally spots them between the reeds. "Rude little shit."
They grin at him, partially obscured by all the greenery, but he can see long, damp curls in searing orange draped down around their face and over their bare shoulders. They're propped up on their elbows, hands cradling their face as they raise one eyebrow at him, large amber eyes glittering, and he loses all the breath in his lungs and all the fight-flight anxiety at being found out drains from him to be replaced by awe.
They’re beautiful. Really. Stunningly so with their glimmering hair and perfectly symmetrical features and spattering of freckles across their soft cheeks and bare shoulder.
"You come all the way down here just to chuck rocks into the water and cuss people out, huh?"
“I-” he pauses, an angry defense halting on his tongue as blue eyes slip further down, cheeks heating and “are you- I mean- you’re- naked?”
"Ah," they nod exaggeratedly, "You also come here to ask if someone is skinny dipping or not. You can come over and check if you'd like." They raise their other brow and their freckles scrunch appealingly as they stick their tongue out at him, teasing. "Weirdo."
There's no real malice in their tone; even Grimmjow, as socially stunted as he is, can tell.
Grimmjow’s hand smacks over his eyes - as close to an apology as he can get, cuz fuck know’s he’ll never say ‘sorry’.
“I’m not, you shit!” He lies. He is. Fuck. He didn’t notice the angel- person- swimmer. Shit. He didn’t mean to throw a rock at them. He means. He’s thrown them at people before, he’s gotten in his fair share of fights and sometimes a make-shift weapon is essential. But he didn’t mean to throw it at this person, he swears.
"Aw, it's alright. I'm not mad, just poking fun." Their voice lilts sweetly, gentle, and it makes goosebumps break out along Grimmjow's arms. "What's your name?"
There’s something immediately soothing about their voice, like a cold press against the back of Grimmjow’s neck, and almost despite himself he finds himself peering through a slim crack in his fingers. They're smiling at him, soft and lovely, the sun playing over their hair and features in contrast with the shadows of the reeds moving in the slight breeze. They drop one hand to the pebbled shore, tilting their head slightly as they rest their cheek on their other palm, and his defensive anxiety fades with the vision of rivulets of water running down the side of their throat and pooling in their clavicle.
“G-grimmjow. My name’s Grimmjow.” And then, after a stupid little pause when he can’t quite decide if he actually wants to know, (oh but he definitely does ), “what’s yours?”
"Ichigo," they respond, smile turning into a bright, cheery grin. "But I don't mind if you give me a nickname. That's what friends do, right, Grimm? Because we're definitely friends now. We've thrown rocks at each other and everything."
Grimmjow’s expression contorts into a scowl. Friends? Fuck no - throwing rocks isn’t what Grimmjow would call friend material. That’s what he calls a meet-ugly. Not quite as bad as when Nnoitra hurled him into a dumpster at their introduction, but it would be up there on Grimmjow’s top 10 worst introductions. “You’re the one who threw the rock. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yeah, but you're funny so I'm not mad anymore. You look like you could use a friend, anyway." Ichigo glances over their shoulder, perfectly serious, back at the water, then turns back to Grimmjow. "I have to go now. But I'm sure I'll see you again! If you're going to skip rocks, make sure you're keeping an eye out." They wink, cheerful, then slip backwards, vanishing behind the reeds and into the water.
Grimmjow watches, perturbed and reeling slightly from how matter of fact the end of the encounter was, and when he doesn't see Ichigo's head break the surface again he wonders if they'd stuck to the shallows and made their way out of the lake off to the side, where the truly thick reeds and grass could obscure even the tallest adults in the town. He trudges his way back to campus caught half-way between bafflement and indignant anger at being accused of trying to brain the ginger bombshell with a skipping stone.
Ichigo. Bastard had better never see Grimmjow again or it would be on.
Grimmjow returns to the shoreside, inevitably, a measly three days later after a very long internal war with himself that resulted in the following conclusion: he will not be scared away from his spot by some weird skinny-dipping swamp loving nudist. (And it has nothing to do with the very fleeting hope that perhaps he might actually run into Ichigo again.)
The grass is damp after a small rain shower, but he sits in his preferred patch of clover anyway and hopes the sun will dry everything out again soon enough. He eyes the shore for a long time, considering going down to collect some appropriate stones, but in the end the buzzing of insects and the swish of the breeze through the reeds, coupled with the heat of the sun lull him into an almost-doze, his feet crossed at his ankles and his hands behind his head as the cotton-candy clouds float gently above. The sun is warm despite the cool cling of water against his back, and the fresh smell of petrichor and grass is soothing after spending the past few days within the musty halls of the school.
When he was younger he fantasised about getting on a plane and vanishing, unknown and anonymous, over the horizon. He thought that was freedom. But age disavowed him of that notion. No plane ticket could ever take him far enough. Instead, he learned that he could get his hands on power with nothing but the solid swing and connection of a fist. Keeps people away, sure. But it keeps him safe. Keeps him free enough to do what he likes, when he likes. Maybe one day his fists would be strong enough to bend the bars of his cage.
But that line of thinking landed him here. Reform school for fucked up boys who’re barely gonna make it past 20. So now he takes his freedom in the gentle rustle of the trees and the hum of crickets and the croak of the frogs that eat them.
Fuck Ichigo. This is his spot.
"Oh, I didn't think you were gonna come back so soon."
Speak of the devil. Grimmjow lifts his head to peer down at the edge of the lake and there Ichigo is, in all their glory. They're wearing a shirt this time, but it's white and oversized on them and sticks to their skin, soaked through. They might as well not be wearing a shirt at all for all the good it does them. They smile at him, cheerful, and absently start undoing a single braid tied through their long hair, wet curls sticking to their skin even as the sun starts to dry them.
They're actually sitting, this time, upright in the shallows, their lower half entirely obscured by the water.
“Do you fucking live here or something, rock thrower?” Grimmjow grumbles, still half asleep as he picks his head up to fully process that once again his spot has been invaded by some - … Guy? Girl? He can’t tell - someone way too pretty to be real. “Did you get made in a factory?”
Ichigo scrunches their nose up at him, blatantly unimpressed. "Yeah, I do live out here. Do you live under a rock in town, is that why you're so rude?" They tsk, matter of fact, but show no signs of leaving despite their projected offence. "I'm not gonna answer that. Stupid question."
They examine their nails briefly, sniffing imperiously, then go back to unwinding their braid, steady and careful not to tangle the wet strands.
“Ugh.” Grimmjow groans and lets his head drop back to the grass with a soft thump, yet he can’t seem to stop the smile from crawling across his face. Cuz. Yea, that’s on him. “Fiiiiine. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just haven’t seen you here before and now this is twice in two visits.” He comes out here to be alone, not to pick fights. It’s just about the only place he doesn’t pick fights. He doesn’t really want to ruin that. “You one of the students?”
He briefly contemplates closing his eyes and drifting off again but the mysterious allure of Ichigo is too strong to resist, and his surprise has chased away most of his lethargy. He pulls himself upright and grants Ichigo his full attention.
Ichigo looks at him out of one eye for a moment, before deciding their pout isn't worth the energy and offering a small smile instead. "No, I'm homeschooled. I don't really go into town. And you probably haven't seen me because I went away for a while. I only got back recently."
They shrug a little, finally finished with their braid, and lift their arms over their head in a long stretch. Their waist is tiny under the cling of the white shirt, and when they're done stretching they start collecting round pebbles from their immediate surroundings. "You're a student though, right? Only found this place recently?"
Grimmjow’s hands settle in front of him, fingers kneading through the clover and it’s an effort to put his eyes on them rather than on any available sliver of Ichigo’s warm brown skin. “Came here a few months ago,” he offers, but they both know he really means he was sent here. No one willingly comes to Lakeview. “Found this place pretty quickly after that. If you know anything about the ‘college’ then you know I’d be looking for anywhere else to be but there.” He hates everything about the place. The stone walls. The drab colours. The scent of mildew. The matchbox sized prison cells they call bedrooms. The fact that the rooms are never warm enough, except in the height of summer, he’s been told, when the whole building sweats. He wishes he could burn it down and he doubts he’s the only one. At the very least he knows he’s not the only arsonist-wannabe held hostage.
"Not local," Ichigo nods along, calm as they listen. "Makes sense. Pretty sure every local kid has been told since birth not to come down here. I'd bet it's nicer than the college, though, so I can't blame you."
They smile again, something gently sympathetic but not quite judgemental in their warm gaze. "Well, you're always welcome to come down here. I spend most of my time here in spring and summer, but if you'd like to be left alone on a bad day, I can just go to the other side of the lake."
Grimmjow scoffs, eyes rolling. “Pretty sure every local kid is a bitch who never learned how to swim.” … Not that Grimmjow ever learned how to swim either, but it can’t be that fucking hard to splash your arms around and kick.
Ichigo visibly lights up, excitement colouring their face as they pause in their collection of pebbles. "You swim? Here I was gonna ask if you wanted to teach me how to skip stones across the water. Come swim with me!"
Grimmjow freezes, “You-” eyes darting down to the stones in Ichigo’s hand and it takes him a moment to realize that they really are all the same smooth flat kind that make for good skipping, Ichigo wanted him to teach them? And then they dart to Ichigo’s wet shirt and they way it clings to their skin and his train of thought gets completely detailed all over again and- “Are you a girl?” Cuz that would be. Improper or something. For Grimmjow to swim with them. Cuz he doesn’t have his swimmers (or own swimmers) and so he’d have to strip to his boxers - but then they might get wet and then he’ll have to explain that to the nuns and then he’d have to admit to Ichigo just mere seconds after disparaging the locals that he doesn’t know how to swim and. “Shit. Sorry, I’ll teach you to skip stones.”
Ichigo blinks, looking a little bewildered, then rolls their eyes, but they don't seem all that offended. "If it matters, I'm a boy. If you aren't gonna swim, you should at least put your feet in the water or something. Just looking at you is making me feel overheated." He motions to the shore next to him, where the stones aren't submerged by water and are instead dry in the steady sunlight, and the little pile of pebbles.
“No! No- I, shit, It doesn’t matter I’m.” Fuck. Embarrassing himself. “I’m not wearing swimmers or anything. So. You know.” He blushes, heat crawling up his neck and into his ears, and his hand finds the back collar of his shirt. He yanks the fabric up and over his head. “I’m not hot. See. Can just take my shirt off. Leave yours on.” Second stupid thing he’s said. Ichigo probably wasn’t going to take his off considering it was already soaked. “Do you have some stones?”
He lurches upright, his uniform shirt left behind on the grass and takes a few steps forward, gaze darting around as he tries to find a few stones of his own from the pebbled shore to add to Ichigo’s little collection. He grabs four lumpy ones (for himself to demonstrate) and then the first perfectly smooth ones he finds get thrust out for Ichigo to take.
Ichigo smiles up at him, reaches out and takes the stone. He starts rolling it between his fingers, skittering over the smooth surface with a pleased expression. The closer Grimmjow is, the prettier Ichigo becomes, little gold honey flecks in his eyes and slightly pointed canine teeth.
"You're very odd," he remarks, but it's with a happy sort of tone, and he looks expectantly towards the now-shirtless young man standing just out of reach.
“I am not.” Grimmjow retorts, hackles rising at the perceived slight.
"It's endearing."
And he calms just as quickly. It’s just. Impossible to stay pissed off when Ichigo’s smiling at him like that. But that is a dangerous line of thought for a guy trapped in a fucking all boys Catholic reform school. So he shuts that shit down with a large step and a snap of his elbow, sending his lumpy ugly stone hurling across the water's surface.
Ichigo carefully tracks the movement, eyes fixed carefully on the way Grimmjow flicks the stone out in a smooth line. The uneven surface of it means it plummets after only one real skip, but the ginger seems impressed anyway. "Did you learn to do that on your own?"
Grimmjow shrugs, arm dropping from the final pose as he counts his one skip. “Yeah. Watched someone do it. Tried it myself. The faster it spins the more it bounces. You wanna try?”
Ichigo grins up at him, mimicking his pose and the way he held the stone. "Bet I'll be able to outskip you within the hour."
"You're fucking on. "
Grimmjow makes a habit of visiting the lake after that. Not that it wasn’t a habit before, but now there’s purpose to his visits. Excitement rather than the passive urge to lay in the grass and have the clover take him.
Ichigo isn't always waiting for him when he first arrives, but he usually turns up within an hour, leaning onto the bank with his sunny smile and sunnier hair. Like he's looking forward to Grimmjow's visits just as much as Grimmjow himself does. Sometimes he asks Grimmjow how school was, or about what his life was like before he was sent to Lakeview. Gentle prodding, but he never gets upset when Grimmjow doesn't want to answer.
It's so easy to spend time with him. He's strange, but Grimmjow doesn't really mind. He doesn't have any expectations or already-formed opinions of Grimmjow that colour their interactions. It makes it easy for Grimmjow to start offering more. Without the judgement and the pressure.
Ichigo becomes an escape, a safe harbour, and soon Grimmjow shows up almost every day.
“How come you always know when I’m gonna be here?” He asks one day.
It’s not like Grimmjow is particularly good about keeping a schedule. He just sneaks away whenever he can. Serves his detentions for missed classes with his chin held high and the quiet scratch of his pencil on paper as he sketches almond eyes into the margins of his paper rather than doing the math bullshit or lines of ‘I will behave as God intended’ nunnery stuff he’s supposed to be writing. He can sort of drift away from the oppressive, dark silence of the room if he’s got Ichigo’s smiling face to think about. Which really means the detention serves the opposite purpose to what it intends because Grimmjow’s absolutely going to skip tomorrow too, and the day after that. And the one after that maybe, also.
Ichigo shifts and stretches, tilts his head back in the warm sunlight, eyes squinted closed against it until he lifts one hand to shade them. "I'm here a lot. Even when you aren't. It's just lucky I guess."
“Don’t you have stuff to do?” Blue eyes trace down the glimmer of Ichigo’s damp orange hair to the soft skin at his shoulder, and then snaps his gaze skyward. “You gotta be ‘round my age. Yer folks really alright with you bumming it out here with a Lakeview boy all the time?”
"'Nah. As long as I do my work on time, I'm free to do whatever else I want, really. Besides, I don't care that you're from the school. I like you."
Ichigo says it so genuinely. There’s no room for dishonesty in his voice. The sound of cicadas buzzes through the trees and around the edges of the lake, eerie and soothing in equal parts.
“Oh.” Grimmjow says dumbly, and his whole face follows his gaze, tilting upwards to hide the automatic flush that fills his pale cheeks. Not to be a dramatic little whiny bitch, but he thinks he might for real pass away if Ichigo ever notices.
“Guess you aren’t too bad yourself, swamp boy.” He says instead of ‘I like you too’.
Ichigo sputters, eyes snapping open, and promptly picks up a handful of gritty, wet sand, flinging it directly at Grimmjow's chest. "Swamp! This isn't a swamp! I take it back, I don't like you at all. Brat."
Grimmjow throws up an arm to block the sand, laughing and flings a clump of clover back at Ichigo’s face. “You’re the brat!” and then he follows it up with a second, because he’s not great at talking but he’s always been more tactile anyway, and he follows after, launching himself into the shallow water to splash water into Ichigo’s face.
Ichigo makes a strangled sort of noise, half mock-offence, half laughter, and promptly darts deeper into the lake, away from the shallows. When he emerges again it's ten or so feet away, treading water with clover still stuck in his hair as he pouts. "You're ridiculous."
“Hey!” Grimmjow yells after him, “get back here you brat.”
Ichigo sticks his tongue out, impish and fae-like for a moment. "Come and get me, Grimmy." He ducks a little lower, til only his eyes are above the water, hair fanning out along the surface and almond eyes half-shut and sparkling. Challenging, or simply teasing, it's hard to tell.
Grimmjow scowls, “No, you come and get me.” Cuz fuck. He still hasn’t admitted to Ichigo that he can’t swim. Ichigo does it with such beautiful, effortless grace, barely a ripple in the surface of the lake, that Grimmjow feels like his presence, even only standing shin deep in the water, is an affront. “Coward!”
Ichigo's eyes flare wide and then he's gone beneath the surface, the deep cool green water obscuring even his sun-bright hair. A good twenty seconds pass, and then, very abruptly, hands reach into the shallows and grab both of Grimmjow's ankles, yanking hard enough he tips over. Grimmjow hollers, hands splaying wide like he can catch himself with the air, and plummets into the water, uniform and all, pulled fast enough he doesn't even impact the pebbles as he's dragged out into the lake, along the surface.
“Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo -” real panic enters his voice and his feet and hands flail ineffectually against the water, his mouth and nose dipping under the surface as he struggles to find some sort of rhythm as Ichigo drags him further out. “Hey- Ich- sto-op,” he gargles and spits a bit, eyes wide, heart beating a mile a minute, until his ankles are released and surprisingly strong arms wrap around his chest from behind. Ichigo props him up, gently supporting him with his chin on Grimmjow's shoulder.
"So, you're one of those 'bitches who never learned how to swim', huh?" His voice is amused, and his skin is cool where they're pressed against each other, breath fanning over Grimmjow's ear as he speaks. "It's alright; I can teach you, if you'd like."
Grimmjow can’t even try to argue back that he knows what he’s doing because his heart hasn’t slowed and his hands have locked in a vice around Ichigo’s forearms. Ah. Nope. Getting caught blushing isn’t what's going to make him die of embarrassment, but this might.
“You can go ahead and let me drown now.” He aims for nonchalant and lands closer to ‘panic attack’ which really just serves as more evidence that he needs to be released from this world.
Ichigo snickers and rather pointedly tightens his grip and leans back further, allowing Grimmjow’s natural buoyancy to take over and his feet rise to the surface as Ichigo keeps their heads above-water. "You don't want me to let go. Getting a noseful of lake water stings like hell."
“You waterboarded me.” Grimmjow grumbles, head twisting to look at Ichigo and the shore they came from. They’re a long way out. So fuck no, he’s not letting go anytime soon. “Can we go shallower?”
"You called me a coward," Ichigo responds placidly, and. Fuck. He's even prettier with mere inches between their faces. He smiles, though, and shifts so instead of wrapping around Grimmjow's chest he's more holding Grimmjow up, one hand cradling the back of his neck, the other against the small of his back. "-we can go shallower. I'll teach you how to float on the way, how about that? So next time, you won't panic so badly."
Grimmjow starts thrashing the second he’s not being held upright, lower body sinking again as he tries to kick, despite Ichigo’s gentle “shhh, shh. Just relax.”
How the hell is he supposed to relax! He can’t even see the bottom of the lake. What if there’s something down there, like a snapping turtle waiting to bite off all his toes. Or an alligator, even though they don’t live in this part of the country. Oh fuck. What if, despite all odds, there’s a shark – something scaly brushes against his foot and he shrieks, twisting like a cat to wrap his arms around Ichigo’s neck, feet kicking hard.
“Go, go go, go! There’s something down there!”
"Yeah, seaweed-" Ichigo manages, looking rather unimpressed with his cheek squished up against Grimmjow's bicep, and then the weight catches up to him and he's bobbing below the surface, looking distinctly annoyed as he glares up from under the water, Grimmjow lifted higher above the surface in tandem. In revenge he lifts one hand and pinches one of Grimmjow's nipples through his wet shirt.
Grimmjow would need to let go of him to smack his hand away and he definitely doesn’t want to do that, so he endures with a scrunched face. Thank god for the water, because it’s keeping his blush down. “No, it had scales! I know what seaweed feels like - we aren’t even in the ocean.”
Ichigo raises one eyebrow and lets out a stream of bubbles from his nose, pinches Grimmjow once more, a little harsher, and then grabs Grimmjow's waist and tries to peel him somewhat off, twisting and pushing his head above the surface with a little gasp. "I don't know what you were saying. I can't hear you properly with water in my ears- stop flailing. I'm not going to let you drown!"
The second pinch forces Grimmjow to defend himself with a hiss, but he calms when Ichigo starts swimming them both back to shore, much happier the second he can get his feet back on the ground.
He gives Ichigo a reproachful glare as he slogs his way out of the water, but not too reproachful, because he does pull off his shirt and trousers on the shore to dry before allowing Ichigo to lure him back into the water to teach him how to float.
Ichigo seems absolutely thrilled, all too eager to put his hands on Grimmjow's skin to guide him, gaze unashamedly flicking over every inch of him even as he laughs at Grimmjow's visible attempts to hide his even more visible nerves.
By the time Grimmjow staggers out of the lake to dry off in the sun, he can sorta-kinda tread water without Ichigo holding him; he can float on his back by himself, and he’s grinning from ear to ear, brightly enough that even the nuns screaming at him for his wet uniform don’t dampen his mood in the slightest.
“Ichigo! Get over here you mermaid wannabe!” One of Grimmjow’s hands cups around his cheek as he calls for the other man across the lake, the other hidden behind him, a present fisted in his grasp.
It’s July 15th. Most of the Lakeview boys are at home for the summer holidays. Their families might not like them, but the summer boarding fees aren’t cheap, and many of them like to see if the school has ‘straightened them out yet’. Not Grimmjow though. He’s here year round. 365 days a year. Which, for the first time in 7 years, is actually a good thing, because it means he’s around for Ichigo’s birthday. On campus, with no school work or other impediments on his time other than the daily chores and mass. He can spend all day down here with Ichigo if that’s what the ginger wants of him.
"God, you're just so nice, and polite, I really don't know why you're at Lakeview. I mean, such a gentleman." Ichigo hums, and Grimmjow sees him slip from the reeds a little ways away and into the water, crossing the shallows to reach the shore Grimmjow stands on. Despite his sarcastic words, he's smiling, bright and happy to see him.
“I am today, here.” He thrusts his hand out, and the little hand picked bouquet of flowers, tied with simple twine, is shoved into Ichigo’s face before he’s even at the shore. The real present is hidden in his pocket, but he saw the vibrant orange and blue flowers in the garden and had to mutilate the flowerbed to get some for Ichigo.
Ichigo blinks, stunned, and steps out of the shallows, makes it five wobbly steps up towards Grimmjow and his preferred clover patch, swipes the bouquet and slumps onto his knees in the greenery. The wet fabric of his oversized shirt clings to his thighs, but it's really not obvious if he's wearing anything underneath it, long freckled legs tucked under himself.
"These are lovely," He grins, undoing the twine and pulling the majority of his wet hair over his shoulder, starting to wind the flowers into a messy braid with a satisfied expression. "Thank you!"
Grimmjow beams at him and sinks down next to him, hands folding over his knees. “Well it’s your birthday right?”
He’s never commented on Ichigo’s disability. Never seen a reason to with how fluid he looks in the water, especially when compared to Grimmjow. He suspects it explains a lot about Ichigo though, why he’s homeschooled, why he always prefers to be in the water where he can move freely without the pressure of gravity hurting his knees.
“I can be nice to you for one day. But after that I’m bullying you again.” His fingers pick at the hem of his shorts shyly. He’s never shy anywhere but here.
"I know you only bully me because you like me," Ichigo teases, eyes curving with the force of his smile. "I don't mind. I like that you always come to visit."
He finishes winding the flowers into his hair, uses the twine to tie off the end of the braid. "Well, if you're going to be nice to me all day- how does it look?"
Normally Grimmjow would defend himself from the accusation, but today the present waiting in his pocket burns a mark against his thigh, and Ichigo’s smile is so sweet, his appearance so lovely with his brilliant orangy-gold hair and the fresh blossoms. Grimmjow can’t lie even if he wanted to.
He reaches out a hand to gently lift the braid, letting its weight drag it over the length of his fingers. “Pretty. Always are.”
Ichigo's seemingly constant confidence falters, slightly, expression turning almost shy as he tilts his head, dropping his gaze as his cheeks flare red in response. "Oh," he says, quiet, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Thank you."
Grimmjow falters too, hand snatched back to his lap and he sits heavily out of his crouch, hands back to catch his weight. “Yeah. Just don’t let it go to your head or anything.”
He tugs at the grass, his own cheeks warm and he wonders when it’ll be a good idea to mention that he brought something else for Ichigo other than the flowers. Or. More like made. He doesn’t exactly have any disposable income, and after his track record of disappearing last year, he’s not allowed to go into town unsupervised either, which means he couldn’t steal something pretty from one of the street vendors. Shit. Actually. It’s a bit fucking stupid that he tried to make something. It’s not even that fancy. He shoulda just hopped the fence and stolen something. Maybe one of those pretty glass baubles.
If any of the other layabouts stuck on campus tried to rat him out he could have just beaten them into silence.
He sets his jaw. Stubbornness winning out over embarrassment. He’s not going to pussy out of giving Ichigo a gift. That would make him a shit friend, and Ichigo is his best friend. He wanted to do something nice. It might not be the best thing in the world but he tried, damn it. “Don’t be weird about it but I didn’t just steal you flowers.”
Ichigo blinks. "You stole these?” He grins and gently traces the edge of one of the flower's petals. “Nice.”
That eases some of the tension from Grimmjow’s shoulders and he fixes Ichigo with a rough smirk. “Sure did. Right from the garden out front of the chapel. Coveting shit is bad from what they tell me, so I don’t think they’re allowed to be too mad about me ‘redistributing’ the wealth. Looks better on you than in the dirt anyway.”
Ichigo snickers softly, sounding a little breathless, and shifts so he's sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest instead. "You're such a brat."
“Yeah, but you like me anyway.” Grimmjow returns fire. If Grimmjow is forced to admit that he likes Ichigo then the reverse should be true too. Right? Isn’t that why Ichigo’s always here when Grimmjow is?
He slides two fingers into his pocket to find the beaded chain, teasing at it for a second before deciding just to bite the bullet. If Ichigo hates it, he’ll at least laugh.
He pulls the small necklace of colorful glass beads from his pocket and presents it to Ichigo. There’s not a lot of nice materials to work with in Lakeview. They don’t have any art supplies or anything like that, but they do have a lot of rosaries. So Grimmjow ‘liberated’ a few of the nicer ones with their smooth polished stones and intricate metal detailing and popped them one by one off the linked metal chains so he could reorder and blend the colors to a pattern that suited Ichigo much more nicely. A simple gold chain with black and red glass beads, interspersed with small metal detailings. No cross in sight, and just a single, blue bead to remind Ichigo that it’s from him.
It’s simple. But it’s something. “This is for you too.”
Ichigo inhales sharply, pausing the motions of his hands. His pupils dilate, fixed on the glass beads, and after a moment he reaches out and takes the chain.
"Oh," he says, soft and pleased, "-it's lovely." Without another word he pulls it against his neck, fumbles a little with the clasp until he manages to clip it together, teeth dimpling his lower lip as he pets at the beads where they rest over his collarbones.
“Y-yeah?” Grimmjow replies, hands half raised like he was reaching to help Ichigo with the clasp before Ichigo figured it out on his own. They drop back sheepishly back into his lap. “‘M glad. It looks pretty on you.”
"Can I have one more gift? Since you're being nice to me." Ichigo's voice dips soft and low, from his usual honey tones to something sweet and coppery instead. Enthralling. He leans forward ever so slightly, the hand that isn't petting over smooth beads reaching out to grab one of Grimmjow's before it can meet his lap. He winds their fingers together with a smile.
“O-o-oh. I didn’t-” He didn’t bring anything else. Should he have? Yeah duh he should have, considering that Ichigo is asking for something else. Food maybe? Alcohol? “I can go get some of the communion wine?”
Ichigo huffs a laugh, picks himself up somewhat only to sit himself in Grimmjow's lap, pressed chest to chest and his thighs over Grimmjow's hips. "No, I don't want wine."
He drags the pads of his fingers along the line of Grimmjow's jaw, tilts his face up slightly and leans in, nosing along his cheekbone. "You're really handsome, do you know that?"
Grimmjow’s mouth goes dry and his jaw locks the second Ichigo’s perfectly soft thighs settle in his lap. He thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. Or he might be actively having one. Where does he put his hands? He can’t breathe. Ichigo is so so close, he can smell the gentle scent of freshwater that his hair and skin hold, he can count the individual freckles across the bridge of his nose, see every striation in his beautiful brown eyes.
“I-” handsome, oh, is he? Does Ichigo really think so? How is he supposed to reply? With a thank you? No that doesn’t sound right.
He puts his hands, so gently, so gingerly, on Ichigo’s tiny waist. “I-I can get the wafer crackers for you? If you don’t want wine?”
Ichigo huffs, amused. "I'm not hungry," he says, but Grimmjow thinks it's the first lie Ichigo has ever told him. And then Ichigo is tilting his head, sliding his mouth along Grimmjow's, skin so cool in comparison. Soft against stress-bitten lips. It takes a long second of Ichigo’s lips moving over his for his brain to kick into gear, but the second Grimmjow processes that yes Ichigo is kissing him, he’s returning it. He lacks Ichigo’s delicate grace, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he tries to let the ginger lead.
Ichigo giggles into it, slides his hands up into Grimmjow's hair with a pleased hum and licks along the seam of Grimmjow's lips, and even his tongue is cool. He presses closer still, tugs at Grimmjow's hair, and he goes down into the clover with Ichigo on top of him, head spinning,
And he thinks he must be in love.
Ichigo runs his tongue along the curve of Grimmjow's jugular, then fixes his mouth over it, testing. He doesn't let sharp teeth brush against the skin- it's far too delicate to risk. Grimmjow is so fragile, so breakable. Panting and shivering under him, too blissed out to defend himself, still warm inside him. Weak. But sweet.
So sweet. Ichigo won't take his pretty necklace off until it rusts and snaps away. Maybe he'll arrange the glass beads in the silt where he places Grimmjow's skull in the end.
His hand smooths over his stomach consideringly. He has to be sure.
“Again.” He commands softly, and Grimmjow whines, beautiful blue eyes scrunched up as his hips begin to move again, slowly fucking his still soft and oversensitive cock into Ichigo’s tight cunt. Grimmjow has never been able to tell Ichigo ‘no’, even after coming twice.
“P-please can we take a break.” He pants, and Ichigo quietens him with another hungry kiss, bruising and splitting Grimmjow’s lips and nipping at his tongue.
“Not yet.”
Despite the cool temperature of the water, courtesy of autumn's slow conquest of the summer, Grimmjow’s skin is flushed and hot to the touch, his lips swollen with blood, skin ripe. Ichigo thinks he is the most delicious morsel he’s ever had beneath him, and certainly the only one worthy of this honor.
“One more time, Grimm. Don’t you want to make me happy?”
His human whines again, lip caught between his teeth and eyes glassy with pleasurable-pain. Hands flexing over Ichigo’s freckled human-shaped thighs and Ichigo marvels at the contrast. In not too long he will get to see just how good Grimmjow looks against his scales too. His blood will be just the right colour to make them a matching set.
He coos, pleased, when Grimmjow fingers dig deeper, nails scratching thin lines into Ichigo’s skin and rewards him by flicking over raw nipples with enough of his own nail that Grimmjow - over sensitive - arches, “please! Ichigoooo-”
Whether he is still begging for a break or for more, Ichigo only has interest in providing one of those things, and rewards him by leaning down to lick across the tortured nipple before pressing fresh kisses up to the humans ear, nipping over his clavicle on the way.
“Do you loooove me, Grimm?” he purrs into his ear, shivering in anticipation of the wrecked quality to Grimmjow’s voice when he confesses again and again.
“Yes, yeah, yeah, ‘Chi fuck, I do. I’m sorry, I do.” Grimmjow’s arms wrap around Ichigo, nails digging into his shoulders, face hiding in Ichigo’s neck.
Oh, he’s sorry about it? So cute~ his little human. Always so confused about his emotions, so in denial of his lust. Averting his gaze when Ichigo would gift him a glimpse of his shoulder or the curve of his hip. But Ichigo has helped him. Grimmjow isn’t confused anymore, he loves him.
“Mmmm, and I love you too.” Grimmjow makes a wet noise into the curve of his throat and his hips stutter. “Gonna cum again for me, precious?”
Grimmjow nods, frantic, and Ichigo grinds down. Walls contracting around Grimmjow’s cock and he whimpers again, grip tightening around Ichigo as his cock gives a feeble jerk, his third orgasm - mostly dry - wrung from his body by Ichigo’s insistence.
Ichigo strokes his hair through it, sweet nothings murmured into the shell of his ear as Grimmjow shakes through the aftermath, breath ragged and eyes wet. He’s so gorgeous, weak and spread out underneath Ichigo who’s feeling nice and heavy with his get.
“So good for me, baby. You did so well. So well, pretty.” Ichigo gently guides him upright despite Grimmjow’s protests, and rewards him with a loving kiss, tongue curling in Grimmjow’s mouth and stealing his breath, his arms scooping around Grimmjow’s back to cradle his neck and his head in place.
Dragged back down from the clover into the shallows, where Ichigo is stronger, shaky legs no longer hindering his movements. Where his claws lengthen and trace delicately down over Grimmjow's spine, each careful little curve of bone through skin lovingly memorised. Very soon they will be clean and shiny white. He might lace the vertebrae back together when they seperate.
Grimmjow is still inside him, fully soft and raw, twitchy and so willing to be gentled, like this, soothed by the little coos and sweet nothing's Ichigo sings into his empty head, mind worn thin and breakable with his love. Ichigo will tell their spawn of their handsome father, so kind and trusting and blue like the summer sky. The only thing Ichigo will regret is the loss of those jewel-like eyes. If only he could preserve them forever.
Grimmjow whines, and Ichigo kisses over his face again, and then his grip tightens and he pulls, heaves them both backwards as scales and skin warp and twist along his lower body. His pretty human yelps and then warbles as water covers his head, all at once, eyes wide as Ichigo's tail wraps and winds around his legs to keep him still, serpentine and smooth, unyielding.
His teeth are sharp sharp sharp and his eyes are gold in the water, skin paled out and the freckles light up, holes in his skin more than marks, bioluminescent flesh peeking through taut wrapping. Monster of the lake, maneater, and Grimmjow does not make any sound when Ichigo clamps his jaws around his vulnerable throat. Talons split the malleable skin over his back. His flesh and blood is hot hot hot in the water, on his skin, so pretty as Ichigo tears away.
There's very little light left in those blue eyes, but there's horror in them still. Confusion. Betrayal. And you can’t have betrayal without love. Pretty pretty thing. Ichigo thinks if Grimmjow had not been a human, he would have taken him forever and a day, hunting together. If only. He lets the human go, circles him lazily in the water, tail uncoiling and fins flaring for his tight turns. Cold and shark like, packing his emotions away for the feast.
He needs the energy, after all. So their children will be strong. He leans in, cups Grimmjow's jaw as the last air leaves his lungs, terror easing into empty death, bubbling up to where light plays over the surface of the water, their surroundings darker and darker still as they slowly sink down. Grit and bones make Ichigo's nest at the bottom of the lake, layers of fools who leapt into his teeth, awed by his pretty face.
Grimmjow's skull will get a place of honour. Ichigo will be careful not to dimple pliant bone with his teeth as he peels the flesh away to eat. Nothing can be wasted. Nothing.
Nothing.