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Grimmjow was obsessed with the scent of Ichigo.
Everyone smelled different to him, the humans, soul reapers, other arrancar, everyone had their own unique fragrance and he could definitively say he favored one above others. He didn’t know when he had developed the sense to this extent, he knew as a lower hollow he could pick up on a soul from miles away and track them, but he couldn’t be sure when it got to the point of being able to differentiate individual people just by how they smelled.
Likewise, he could read the room just from a shift in the scent coming off the occupants. Calm, distressed, angry, nearly every variation in mood smelled differently to him, sometimes only slight variations, but still there. He didn’t know if what he picked up on was something physical or if he was glimpsing the soul itself, hell he didn’t even know whether it was to do with being a hollow or a panther, and he didn’t particularly care. He ignored the assault on his senses for the most part, but when it came to Ichigo he relished the extraneous ability.
When they’d first met Grimmjow instantaneously latched onto the scent. Amidst the living he was hit with so many smells, so many annoyances, and cutting through it all, there he was. A scent that he could only describe as bright, warm, he smelled how sunlight felt. The closest comparison his mind could supply was oranges and spice, but it was so much more than just that. It wasn’t just oranges, it was the first cut into something perfectly ripe and freshly plucked, in its prime. Cinnamon sounded like a cheap imitation too, it wasn’t like the candies, the way he felt the heat down his throat was as if he’d swallowed raw bark whole.
That moment was when he first felt that aching, hollow want again, there was finally something new, something interesting, something he had to conquer.
And then their eyes met, and that warmth went bitter, and soon after he was tainted by fear, sour and revolting like rotten fruit.
They met again and the burning spice intensified, suffocating, scalding in his furious determination. It was like breathing fire, and the way he looked at him with such purpose was maddening. His confidence reared up more of that citrusy perfume and made him want to tear him open even more. The rusty copper smell of blood could conceal anything, surely. Or so he thought.
It couldn’t cover the smell of the hollow mask. Ichigo smelled like sunshine, but when he donned the mask he went supernova, bitter citrus and burnt spices taking turns beating Grimmjow over the head while steel was melted down somewhere in the background. It was something he could pinpoint as being the shinigami and not at the same time.
Orihime smelled of flowers to Grimmjow, faint and uninteresting, but when she saw Ichigo that fateful day in Hueco Mundo the burst of honeysuckle turned his stomach. The whiff of something like a cinnamon pastry in reply to it made him grind his teeth and want to gut the shinigami.
He wished Ichigo would have just killed him instead of giving him that soft look, showing him mercy. Pity, he had thought. There had been no other option for what it was. As he was lowered gently into the sand, unable to fight any longer, the subdued aroma of orange blossoms and ginger was pity. When he promised another fight, another day, Grimmjow wanted to call him on his bullshit, but he hesitated as he was enveloped by the determined, earnest burning of cinnamon and clove. He couldn’t let himself trust Ichigo though, he couldn’t trust anyone, then there was pain and darkness and the stench of rotting fruit.
They met again and it was like seeing the sun after a thousand years underground, he grinned at the refreshing sting of citron and surprise in those chocolate eyes. They fought together for the first time, and for the first time he could smell genuine hate coming off the shinigami. Until then he’d experienced the wrath of bitter zest and black pepper disdain in his lungs in response to his threats and actions, but he’d never felt this before. True war, threats to all he knew and cared about, it was a bonfire, an orchard ablaze and beyond control.
The desperate want ached within him again, because Ichigo could hate so deeply, so fiercely, and yet he didn’t hate Grimmjow.
When life started returning to normal Ichigo’s scent remained neutral most of the time. The cutting of oranges and grinding of fresh cinnamon became something the arrancar actively sought out when Las Noches and it’s inhabitants were especially irritating. He didn’t know why, he just knew he wanted it.
Even the faint twinge of tart, unripened citrus that came with Ichigo’s stress held some comfort, and the sharpness of star anise when they would spar made him feel alive. Until he’d been a little too insistent. Ichigo was easy to rile up, he had an astoundingly short fuse but little seemed to genuinely upset him, so when he called Grimmjow “disruptive” it didn’t mean much. What blindsided him was the stench of black pepper that filled the room when it was said, sharp, uninviting, and a kick to his senses.
So he kept his distance, and savored the neutrality of oranges and cinnamon every fourteen days. Even if he wished nothing more than to possess it in every waking moment.
He knew what he was doing when he started to insert himself into Ichigo’s life. He could smell everything on him, his confusion, resignation, irritation, he knew every emotion and he wanted all of it. For a while he was mostly confused, and when he was the fragrance became fainter, almost artificial in a sense, like a cheap perfume.
Then they got comfortable. Lying side by side as something of little interest played in the background on the computer screen, Grimmjow lost himself in decipherIng the layers of a warm cider aroma. It was finally something actively welcoming and he could practically taste it on his tongue. So when he is hit again with citron surprise and the hearty spiciness disappears he pulls away, embarrassed to have opened up, to have trusted Ichigo as he told himself he shouldn’t. Several times he does this. But he’s back again every time.
The first time he touches Ichigo with gentle hands they’re both bleeding, but the smell of copper isn’t strong enough to drown out the citron. He debates on storming off again, but the shinigami doesn’t pull away from his touch. From there it escalates, he loses himself in afternoons basking in the sunlight, Ichigo in his lap diffusing that welcoming scent of hot cider, unafraid to caress and adore him with small gestures. He can feel that horrible pit of hunger within himself, the torture of his soul crying out for something it desperately wants. He has it, he assures himself, he has it right here in his arms.
‘But do you?’
Of course he wasn’t the only one that would want Ichigo. When others were in the room they gravitated towards him, they cared deeply for him, and he cared for them. Sitting in a room with them, he hated it, affection and love and attraction bounced around and he absolutely despised them all. Ichigo smelled sweet, inviting, comforting; he smelled like gingerbread. It was something new and the arrancar hated that someone else had brought it out of him almost as much as he was glad to have experienced it.
They all wanted Ichigo in some way or another, but not as much as he did, they couldn’t have him. They didn’t have those tender, effortless afternoons with him. They didn’t know the true extent of his power and how it felt to be on the receiving end of it. They didn’t get to feel his fingers through their hair or admire the calm look on his face as he nodded off. Those were all things afforded to Grimmjow alone. Those moments were his. Ichigo was his.
When they’d left he was still on edge and didn’t bother to hold his tongue. Holding the shinigami down, burying his face into his shoulder, he was assaulted by everything at once. Confusion, anger, contentment, and arousal took turns spinning through his head as he made it known, Ichigo was his. He didn’t beg, but when the bite of citrus fell away almost entirely to orange blossoms and ginger he could have. He hated pity, but it was Ichigo, and he wanted every last piece of him.
Arousal was always cloying, strong, impossible to ignore, and Ichigo was easy to rile up. He didn’t shy away from stray hands or even acknowledge them really, sometimes doing the groping himself as the apartment started to reek of spiced honey and orange zest. Grimmjow enjoyed drawing it out, experiencing the transitions as he worked his shinigami up and then left him suspended. There would always be a flash of annoyance before it settled into comfortable, welcoming cider.
But then he found a list in a notebook, something about cats, and he wasn’t stupid. He was just going to give him shit for likening the arrancar to a pet, but instead he found a whole new scent on Ichigo, shame. Shame was bittersweet, it was overripe fruit and burnt spices and stale honey all at once; it was confusing and could only be likened to a poorly made wine or mead. He didn’t hate it, but he liked other ones so much better, in fact if not for the connotation of it he wouldn’t care really. It only grew in intensity as the redhead lied to him about pets and whatnot, and he had to stop it.
Something was said of unconditional love, and suddenly the rest of the conversation didn’t matter anymore. Ichigo was his, no one else was allowed to want him like Grimmjow did, no one else was allowed to love him, and he couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of want that roared up in him. He was irritated and needed the anchoring, the reassurance of a familiar scent. So he pounced.
He might have let something slip about love, about something decidedly not hollow-like, but he didn’t care when he was so filled by this feeling, this horrible, god forsaken feeling of need that was only ever sated by one person. Almost immediately the room started to smell of orange blossom, but the way Ichigo’s body responded to him, that wasn’t pity. Ginger and honey followed as they became more physical, and in the midst of trying to decide just what the scent he used to curse really meant, he heard it.
“I want you.”
Bursts of confusion and fear came and went, but they were a distant memory once things really kicked off. The shinigami wasn’t afraid to show how much he enjoyed Grimmjow’s touch, holding onto him, looking deep into ultramarine eyes with his own milk chocolate brown, gasping out his pleasure. Arousal took on a note of desperation before mellowing out in the afterglow.
They talked, and despite how firm his gaze was and the faintest whiff of black pepper, Ichigo still filled his senses with cider and honey. He couldn’t muster up a rebuttal to his scolding, or even an insult, everything was just so... right. He wasn’t being pushed away, it was just a compromise, he was satisfied with that, yeah he was satisfied. For the first time, he was satisfied. He said as much and was confronted by more of that ginger and orange blossom aroma. What was it? It was something gentle, soft.
He got his answer not much later, while balls deep in the shinigami. Amidst the dirty talk and manhandling he could hear every desperate little whimper and gasp, and finally a screamed ‘I love you.’ Arousal subsided to the flowery perfume and he was able to think ‘oh, that’s what that is’ before Ichigo’s smart mouth earned him another rough go.
It was a new norm, the scent of flowers became the response to most of the more PG interactions between them. Most anytime he was smiling the room smelled like a variation of ginger and orange blossom. Briefly he had doubted his conclusion, remembering the smell of cinnamon pastry when his shinigami had come to Hueco Mundo for Orihime. The way she looked at his Ichigo, he was always wary, but kept his mouth shut out of respect. In fact he was suspicious for a short time until he was introduced to the other Kurosaki family members.
Yuzu smelled like lemon cake, Karin like rain and grass, and Isshin had a smoky cedar scent. Grimmjow noticed these, but was more interested in the aroma coming off of Ichigo akin to cinnamon rolls as he hugged his sisters. He wasn’t worried about it anymore.
Not to say he didn’t worry about one other scent. Shame.
He and Ichigo had a healthy sex life, to put it mildly, and like all other things they did it was intense. Neither shied away from rough treatment or experimenting in the bedroom, or living room, or bathroom, or kitchen... anything and everything was on the table when the mood struck. It was always exciting, passionate, and filled him with that precious feeling of satisfaction as he followed it with kisses and affectionate whispers he’d never dream of giving to any other being.
It was a toss up whether Ichigo would pull away and clean up immediately or let himself go limp against the arrancar, but what he could expect every time was the smell of shame once the euphoria had waned. No matter how into it he seemed, no matter how his body reacted, he always smelled like shame minutes after they were done. Despite the way he held onto his lover and peppered kisses to his jaw, he reeked of it. Every time.
He didn’t know what he was doing, but he could still try to fix it.
“We should probably have a safe word.”
Ichigo nearly dropped the glass he’d been drinking from when the words processed. It was clear out of the blue, they hadn’t been talking about sex, they hadn’t even been getting intimate, just watching a movie on his couch.
“We... what?”
“We aren’t exactly vanilla, Ichigo. You have more bruises from fucking than fighting, and so far everything’s been fine but I don’t know when we’re going to go too far.”
“You’ve tried to kill me. Multiple times. And you’re concerned about our sex being too rough?”
“Don’t give me that. You’re the one that wants us to talk about stuff, I’m talking. We need a safe word, anything starts to cross the line, we stop. That’s the responsible thing to do, right?” Ichigo’s eyes darted across his face for a moment, thinking it over, and as he tucked himself into the hollow’s side the room again smelled of orange blossoms.
“You’re right. I guess I just feel like we’re a little... immune? But yeah, boundaries are definitely a good thing to talk about, you’re right.”
“I know I am. So, what’s your word?”
“Oh, I uh, I don’t know. I guess...” he looked around the room for ideas. Something he wouldn’t normally say.
“Cactus?”
“Alright, cactus, that’s your safe word. Since we’re on boundaries, anything you don’t like? Even if it’s something we’ve already done.” This was it, he’d know now, he’d find out what the problem was and put a stop to it. He could stop wondering why Ichigo felt shame every time they slept with each other.
“Not that I can think of. I’ve really liked most of the things we’ve done.”
“Most of?” He was careful to keep his tone neutral.
“I’ll rephrase that. I definitely like everything we do, some things just stand out more than others.”
“So the choking?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Being tied up?”
“Love it.”
“Spanking?”
“It’s great.” If he went down the whole list of their sexual acts they’d be there all day.
“So is there anything, ANYTHING that we shouldn’t do?”
“No, I’m telling you I genuinely get off to it as much as you do.” He laughed.
“I find that hard to believe, but I’ll accept it for now.”
“Well I can always just show you?” A hand traveled from Grimmjow’s knee toward his crotch, and he’d be crazy to turn it down.
True to his word, everything that was done to him he reacted to enthusiastically and gave his approval of with shaky moans and gasps for more. He always did.
“Fuck! Harder! Oh god right-! A-ah right there!“ he was currently on his back on the coffee table, legs held wide open while his lover thrusted into him fast enough to rock the table. They’d both been surprised to find out just how flexible Ichigo was. Letting go of his right leg, Grimmjow wrapped his hand around his throat to hold him down and sped up.
“You know what to say, so fucking say it you filthy little slut. You wanna please me don’t you?”
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, ye-ah! I love your cock babe, I love how you fuck me, I’m your little slut. You fuck your little slut so good!” His head fell back as he felt his climax approaching.
Smack!
“You’re not done til I get what I want, you greedy whore.”
“I can’t, fuck, I can’t wait.” He gasped, reaching up to the hand around his throat and clutching his wrist. Strong as he was, they both preferred it this way, the man of a thousand forms and god-like power playing submissive for his panther. He was writhing and bucking against the body over him, but he still smelled of lust and held on tight.
“So selfish. I thought you wanted to please me? Huh?”
“St-stop, I... that’s not fair. I can’t- HAH! Oh god!” He wrapped his legs around Grimmjow’s hips and became tense as he tried to obey, to hold out.
“You want me to stop?” In an incredible display of will power he stilled mid-stroke and waited for a reply to continue their game.
“No! No, please keep going. I didn’t say the sa-safe word, so please, keep going!” He begged. Grimmjow obliged with a cocky grin, knowing neither was going to last long.
He’d had hope, he’d been so sure this would be the time, but while Ichigo eagerly accepted and reciprocated gentle kisses, caresses, and whispered words like “beautiful” and “wonderful” he still reeked of shame. Ichigo Kurosaki was powerful, proud, and courageous, it didn’t suit him. No matter what he said, he must hate it.
————————-
“Hey, did I do something wrong?” Ichigo wormed his way into Grimmjow’s lap, straddling him with that familiar look in his eye and a packet of lube in hand. It had been over a week since they’d properly had sex, and at this point he was done with hinting around.
“No.”
“Then I said something?”
“...no.”
“You hesitated. So I did say something?”
“You didn’t say anything.” And that was the truth, it’s what he wasn’t saying that had Grimmjow on edge, second-guessing everything he did. When did he become so sentimental? Oh right, when he realized that having Kurosaki meant compromising, meant doing things he didn’t really want to do just for his sake. That’s when.
“Then why won’t you touch me?” He undid the arrancar’s pants as he spoke.
“You didn’t say anything.” He repeated. Ichigo looked him over and took on the paler scent of confusion.
“I... am I missing something? I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” He didn’t stop his preparation, beginning to stroke Grimmjow to life as he undid his own pants.
“It’s fine. Nothing you’d understand.” He ran his hand up Ichigo’s spine, eliciting a shiver.
“Then explain it to me, I want to understand.” Of course he would, but how do you explain something like that? That every time you’re intimate with your partner you feel like they regret it? That because of some supernatural sense you think they’re disgusted and it’s only a matter of time before they bring down the axe.
“Grimmjow, please.” He leaned in to kiss from the arrancar’s cheek down to his collar as he stretched himself, soft moans escaping his lips.
“Please.”
Grimmjow said nothing as his hands roved, gently stroking and caressing the curves of his thighs and hips. He could see the hand-shaped bruises peeking out under the hem of his shirt and his mouth watered. Ichigo was his, he needed to stay that way, and if that meant reeling himself in so the shinigami wasn’t wallowing in sexual regret then he’d do it. No matter how much he wanted to continue their possessive romps, he wanted to keep Ichigo more.
“Babe, please, say something.” He begged, reaching to position Grimmjow’s dick at his ready hole.
“Grimmjow.” He slid down, getting half way before he had to pause and allow himself to adjust. He took the chance to kiss his lover and play with his hair. He was thankful to have his kiss returned, he wasn’t sure his heart could take rejection right now. He collected himself again and continued, bottoming out and beginning to set up a tempo.
“Grimm, please. What did I do?” He sighed as he rocked.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit!” He pulled up until he was nearly dismounted then dropped back down. He continued lifting and dropping in an attempt to mimic the brutality of their usual coupling.
“Do you not want me anymore?” He accused. Amidst the smell of honey and orange zest the stench of rotting fruit clawed it’s way up. Hands grabbed his hips roughly and held him still, Grimmjow fully sheathed within him.
“Don’t get it backwards. You have no fucking idea how badly I want you.”
“Then why?” He rolled his hips, still unable to lift himself against the iron grip.
“I want you, and you want me, so what changed? Why are you acting like this?”
“Nothing changed, and I don’t want anything to change.” He repositioned his hands to allow Ichigo to continue.
“Why are you being so cryptic?!” He argued, impaling himself viciously on the other man. He hugged him close despite his frustration, wishing the lazy hands on his hips would show a little more force.
“I want to please you babe, don’t you want to fuck your little slut?”
“Not if you’re going to regret it.” That made him stop.
“What?” There was that sharp, surprised smell of citron and artificiality of confusion.
“My senses are sharper than yours, Ichigo, I can catch things like that. It’s all over you, every damn time.”
“You think I regret this?”
“I think you’re ashamed of it.”
“Why the hell would I... oh.” Never before had Ichigo smelled of shame while Grimmjow was still inside him, but there was a first time for everything. Despite that he started to move again.
“I’m not ashamed of our relationship, Grimmjow, or having sex with you. Just a little embarrassed... “
“What the hell is there to be embarrassed about?” Just saying it made him furious, but he had to try and stay level-headed.
“Some of the things we say... they’re just... a little wild.”
“You’re kidding right? Of all the kinky, possibly dangerous things I’ve done to you, saying a few nasty things in your ear is where you draw the line?”
“Oh God no, I’m not saying don’t do it, it’s hot. It’s just that afterward I realize we say things that are a little... crazy. And we’re very- oh god, oh, I missed this... We’re- we’re very loud.” He checked his tone as it started to rise.
“From my experience,” he grabbed Ichigo’s ass, holding him up and pumping up into him, eliciting a string of moans.
“You’re the loud one.”
“F-f-f-f-fuck! That’s not fa-air! You’re the one making me... “
“So you get all flustered because I call you my little slut?”
“Grimm...” he held onto the man as he started to fuck him in earnest.
“You’re embarrassed cause I make you beg? Cause I can get you to cry for me and praise my cock?”
“You’re so fucking smug.”
“But you love it don’t you? You think it’s hot?” He grinned.
“Fu-uck, yes. Yes I do. I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Then why are you embarrassed?” He grabbed the back of Ichigo‘s knee and flipped him onto his side, leg slung over Grimmjow’s shoulder as he buried himself repeatedly within the tight channel.
“I-! Oh, FUCK! Grimmjow!”
“Uh-huh?”
“I missed you, don’t- OHGODDAMNIT! Hah! D-don’t ignore me like that again!”
That was a novel idea to the arrancar. He’d been around as much as ever, but without the intimacy his lover felt as though he was distant enough to miss him. Maybe taking a step back had been a bad idea, but he could definitely say he enjoyed the reconciliation sex.
“Are you gonna cum for me babe?”
“YES!” He shouted and gasped as he stroked himself toward his orgasm.
“You know what I want to hear, don’t you?”
“I love it! Shit, I love it so much! I love your cock, I love how you fuck me, fuck I love you Grimm!” He was almost shaking.
“Good. Now cum for me.”
“No, I-“
“No?”
“Tell me you want me, t-tell me, please.” That look in his eyes, the smell of desperation, right then this became more than one of their usual fucks, or even makeup sex. He leaned down and let his hips slow as he kissed the redhead, only pulling away when he felt the telltale tightening around him.
“I want you, Ichigo, just you, I always will.” The shinigami substitute completely unraveled, shivering and gasping for air as the hollow finished off inside him.
Ichigo smelled like he always did after they had sex, orange blossoms, honey, and overripe fruit. That shame was still there.
“You’re still not over it. Are you?”
“Huh?”
“Still embarrassed.”
“Well yeah, my neighbors definitely heard us.”
“Your... that’s what gets to you? Your neighbors?”
“Don’t say it like I’m stupid. The ladies in 6A known your goddamn name, they asked me why they’ve never seen you.”
“Sucks for them we’re not exhibitionists.”
“Oh, what a shame. So that’s a hard no on voyeurs?” Ichigo laughed, fully intending it to be a joke, but it certainly struck a nerve for his partner. Grimmjow grabbed him tightly, one hand on his ass, the other on the back of his neck.
“You’re mine Ichigo. No one else gets to see you like this. Please.” He tacked on the courtesy despite his eyes still broadcasting his rage. Shame subsided in favor of lust, the soft perfume of his love lying just beneath it. That smell always did it for him. Fuck the neighbors, by the end of the day he’d make sure they know his full name, even if Ichigo would forever reek of poorly made wine.