log; complete

[hajikemomo.livejournal.com]

When; 22nd, late evening
Rating; Uh, R.
Characters; Hinamori hajikemomo, Grimmjow 6thsword
Summary; More than a little unstable with the current situation, Hinamori finds comfort in unlikely places.
Log;

Cold.

She was cold, or the water was cold. Either way, something was cold, but it only registered faintly. People had said they'd come, people had said that stupid word one time too many, and she'd told Isane she was going to go back to bed.

So quite why she had, instead, decided to shower - and fully clothed at that - she did not know. Especially since it was cold. But it was too much effort to stand, too much effort to see if the water would get warmer or if she'd get colder. Hinamori simply hugged her knees tighter, hiding her face between them. The water on her face was just that, water, tears, water, some mixture of both and neither. She didn't even remember at this point, didn't care.

She just felt numb, cold. Alone. Tired.

Dead.

Neither Unohana nor Isane had allowed him to visit, but Hinamori had, and that was all Grimmjow needed. He found the apartment easily enough and let himself in. It was quiet, almost too quiet for such a somber place. The only sound was running water.

The arrancar peered into the bedrooms and found no one. The bathroom door, however, was wide open, and upon glancing inside, his bemused expression fell into one of the tiniest sympathy. He crouched next to the bathtub, next to Hinamori's huddled form.

"Momo?"

She hadn't even felt him, and she shook ever so slightly at the sound of his voice. Arrancar.

But not with an intent to kill. Curious, then, as to what the Espada wanted she lifted her head, enough to peek at him from under the dark fringe hanging across her eyes. Ah, but he looked hurt, pained. Because of her? She sniffed - there was no way that those were tears, stupid, she was just tired really - raising her head fully to give him the full benefit of her attention and her doleful expression, unable to speak, to find words.

She was crying. He could tell, even through the water, and that was the very last thing he wanted to see from her. He reached out and rested his hands on her cheeks, trying to think of a way -- any way -- to comfort her.

"Shh," he murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. He didn't mind the water at all. "Shhh, it's over. You'll be okay."

Okay was the furthest from what she felt and it showed on her face, in the way her body shook at the contact, in the way she looked down, to the side, anywhere but at him. Okay? Hinamori was anything but, falling apart right there and then. All the times she'd thought it would have been better, that if Aizen had killed her it would have made more sense, that if she was dead things wouldn't hurt, all of those thoughts were gone, wrong.

This hurt. This was the most painful thing she'd ever felt, her body unable to adjust still, and cold, so cold, always cold.

But she couldn't bring herself to push him away, to tear away from what small warmth there was, even if she couldn't look him in the eye.

Her reaction startled Grimmjow. He pulled back, his brow furrowing in confusion. He figured, though, that the fact of her death and trying to come to grips with it was too overwhelming that she could feel nothing else. He wouldn't know, personally. He hoped he'd never know.

Suddenly, Grimmjow stood and climbed into the tub. He sat down behind Hinamori, not bothered at all by the ice cold water that beat down on them, and pulled her into an embrace. He practically curled around her smaller form.

"Please don't cry." His grip on her robes tightened. "Please. It hurts when you cry."

Startled, she whimpered, moved to pull back and found herself unable, utterly caught by him. Somehow, someway, something clicked. Shaky hands made to hold onto his jacket, head resting against his chest. Warmth. In the coldness she felt, undeniable warmth that she clung to, a shield against the cold water. But still an arrancar, and wasn't that why things were like this? Wasn't that why she was shaking, cold, sore? If she had no hope against Il Forte, what hope did she have now, now that the truce was most likely gone, now that she would probably have to cross blades again and again and again?

But this alone was hurting Grimmjow, her like this, and that meant something. Hinamori moved, nuzzled against his unmasked cheek, eyes tightly shut against the water and his response. "Does everything hurt?"

It was a bit of a relief when she nestled further into his embrace. Grimmjow allowed himself a deep sigh, and he felt the tension in his muscles uncurling and evaporating. With one hand, he removed the hair cover and undid her bun, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. He ran his fingers through the wet locks.

"Yeah," he replied finally. "Everything. But," he dipped his head to kiss her, tenderly, "I won't mind as long as you're safe."

There was something about 's' words. Safe was relative, safe had been breached already, safe was a failure. What was safe?

Safe was too late. She whimpered again, clung all the tighter, unable to suppress a shiver with cold and wet hair on her neck, cold water, cold self, juxtaposed with him. So Hinamori ignored what he'd said, choosing instead to return the kiss, to allow herself the smallest of comforts. After all, love didn't have an 's' in it anywhere.

Grimmjow sighed again, glad to have some sort of what had been normal. What he would give for normalcy again, for life without Il Forte and Cirucci bothering him every day. He didn't mind Ulquiorra so much, and Aizen was busy with Rangiku... Goddamn it, why did Hinamori have to die?

No. He shouldn't be thinking about that. Not now, not there.

Threading his fingers through her hair, he deepened the kiss, even daring to prod at her lips with his tongue. He'd only gotten that far once before, and it was payback for the day the City had forced him to be her servant. Asking her for permission this time would be... He hoped she wouldn't mind.

She squeaked, quick to blush at his actions, but not so quick to pull away. But air was air, and she doubted he was getting much - bitterly, though, since she didn't seem to need it quite so much anymore - so she pulled back.

"I hurt." Muttered, quiet, softer even than the kiss that followed it. "I hurt. And it's cold." Again, followed by a kiss. "Am I still me?" Questioning this time, the kiss more forceful, surprisingly so given how weak she felt, was. But she was always shying away, pulling back, and this was no exception. "It's gone. The truce. Has to be, they'll want to fight."

For once though, she didn't want an answer, didn't want to have it rationalized, denied, anything. Without giving him a chance to respond then, Hinamori pushed forward for once, hands on arm and neck and almost suffocatingly close as she made sure he didn't have the option of speaking.

He blinked at her forwardness, at how easily he could see each highlights in her eyes and the slightly quiver of her lip and --

Forget answering.

He crushed his mouth against hers, tongue slipping in, his hands flying to her cheek and hip. He knew she wasn't at full strength, knew that he probably shouldn't push her so far and so hard but goddamn it, he was cold and wet and she shouldn't dwell on what had happened. Not now.

Yet another whimper was all he got in return, Hinamori giving herself over to the kiss willingly. This was comforting, warm, better than facing everyone, better than admitting the truth. She could almost forget she didn't have a heartbeat.

But not quite.

Panting slightly - weird, that, with lack of the need to breathe that she would do so - she dropped her hands to the one on her hip, moving it to settle above her stomach. "It hurts too much," her voice nearly breaking as she stole another kiss.

Grimmjow's eyes flicked down to where his hand now rested. That was where she'd been stabbed, wasn't it? She scarred there, and though it was small, she hadn't wanted him to know about it. It was too much pain and depression rolled up and carefully inserted into that tiny square of space, of memory.

The arrancar sighed into her neck, kissed it, murmured, "I know." His hand strayed to the soggy sash around her waist and tugged at the knot. He kissed her neck again, then a third time. "It doesn't have to."

"Idiot," weary and yet still, her hands moved to cover his. The smallest of smiles as she nuzzled against him, murmuring her response, "You can't take it away. You'll probably have to add to it soon." Sad words, but she was still smiling softly.

Smiling, and undoing the knot for him. "It will always hurt." The briefest of kisses, to his mask this time, and she left the knot loosened, hands moving to his jacket instead, soaked fabric held tightly between them. "If I said I needed you, would that be alright?"

"I won't. I'll keep the pain out." He choked at her words, but she was right, and he knew that. Some day, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in the next week, they would have to cross swords. He wished so hard for it to be otherwise, but he knew that wasn't possible. The truce was broken, the shinigami were furious...

He nuzzled the hollow of her neck, breathing against her exposed collar bone. "Yeah. Of course." He raised his head and kissed her deeply, his hands slipping past the fabric of her uniform to touch bare skin. She was so cold. "If you need me, for anything, you can have me."

"Liar." How could he, when he was already tearing her apart, breaking her heart? But rather him, rather this than having to suffer under an illusion. Rather this, knowing full well the consequences than being surprised again. Rather this -

But what was this? Arrancar, shinigami, impossible, wasn't meant to, shouldn't, couldn't. A shiver, and she clung tighter, forced herself closer, had to be. It didn't matter. Didn't have to matter. Not here, not now, not when things could be like this. Whatever this was. And how she could feel like this, after everything that had happened, she did not know, didn't care. Feeling was feeling, and this was feeling and wasn't dead or cold or anything like that.

Tugging on the jacket - how he wasn't cold either, she did not know, finally settling the blame on the temperature of the water more than anything else - she ran the words over and over in her mind. She could have him? The dark haired shinigami didn't even know what she wanted. She didn't want revenge, or retribution, or pain, life or death, to talk or be silent, to sleep or be awake. Simply being should have been enough and yet it wasn't. Shaking, blushing, whimpering from the touch, the lingering pain she still felt, the way she was giving in, she opted instead to push again despite the tiredness she felt, to kiss him fiercely, full of need and want and every emotion she'd ever felt as she handed herself over with the simple action.

This was it, wasn't it? Despite the fact that she'd just died, despite the fact that she was probably too tired to do anything but rest, he could feel every desirous emotion in that kiss. It was her invitation, her permission, and he would take it.

Grimmjow returned the kiss with the same, perhaps more, ferocity, hands sliding up Hinamori's stomach, lingering on the scar, then up to push aside the heavy black and white uniform. He barely heard it thud onto the floor, but that only meant one thing: she was bare, for him, for the first time. He pulled away a moment, panting, eyes roaming slowly over her pale skin. He reached out to touch the scar again, stroked it gently, then twisted awkwardly to kiss it.

He couldn't take the pain away, at least not permanently. This would have to do.

Blushing, first instinct to shy away, to resist, Hinamori sat uncomfortably, soaked. Scarred and open. Scared.

But still, shivering again, she didn't pull away completely. Couldn't, not now. Kissing his forehead gently, cheek, mouth, blush ever present as she murmured, "What about Isane?" Not that she really wanted an answer, more than content to ignore the entire world at this point.

He hummed into the corner of her mouth, then dipped his head to kiss her neck and shoulder. "It doesn't matter." It didn't, even with the door open, with the shower still running cold water down their backs.

He paused a moment to shrug out of his jacket, now too wet and cold to be comfortable. He blinked at the shinigami from behind slick bangs, just for a moment, before pulling her tight against his chest and claiming her lips. The fingers of one hand trailed up and down her arm, the other brushing against the curve of her breast.

It mattered, but for whatever reason she didn't, couldn't argue. Didn't want too, couldn't be bothered. Just wanted to be here, like this, with him. Didn't want to have to think, not about what everyone else thought, not about what had happened.

A cross between a squeak and a moan - hell if she knew which one she'd intended to utter, if at all - she fought to return the kiss, hands straying to his sides as she did so. Catching herself, she let one hand drop to untie her hakama as she moved to kiss his mask again, his neck, smiling softly all the while. Despite her orders to herself, however, she couldn't help but ask, "What does matter to you?"

He saw where her hands moved, and the anticipation only intensified his desire. It was growing warmer and warmer in that little space despite the cold and the wet, and he'd have to do his best to share that with her, now perpetually cold and numb.

"You," he growled, planting light kisses along her collar bone. "You matter, we matter. This matters." His hand strayed to the hem of her hakama and pulled down on the fabric, fingers running up her thigh as soon as it was exposed. That taken care of, he turned his attention to his own hakama, pulling at the knot until it loosened.

She giggled at his impatience, unable to find any other response as she watched his hands, watched him. Shivering once more, this time from the placement of his hand, breath hitching - even though it really didn't have to - she finished undoing the knot for him. Pausing only momentarily to shift, sit back, pulling him with her, Hinamori murmured against his neck, "I don't know what this is. I keep trying, but I can't find a name for it. I haven't-" Well that was obvious, at least, in the way she blushed sweetly, moved shyly, and she stilled the thought by kissing him once more.

"I want, I need you," barely uttered, spoken so quietly she almost missed it herself as she nuzzled against his neck.

He heard her, just barely, and it brought the faintest smile to his lips. He'd never heard that before from any partner. It was tender and... Heartbreaking. "I'm honored."

With one hand at the small of her back, Grimmjow leaned forward to ease her onto her back, onto the haphazard pile of soggy clothes and hard ceramic tub floor. "Sorry this isn't as comfortable as it should be," he murmured before kissing her forehead, before scooting down to trail kisses down her neck and chest. He took one breast in his mouth and sucked gently. As hard as he was, he'd stick out for a bit longer. For her.

Another whimper, not knowing exactly why he'd said that, of all things, to be honoured by her? She'd been broken, discarded and now killed. There wasn't much honour left at all. As for his apology, it was all too easy to be uncomfortable and yet somehow this wasn't. This was fine.

"Just-" one hand tugging on his arm, the other running through his hair, attempting to pull him back to her, "-I don't want to have any regrets. Not about you. If, if this is what you want then okay."

He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed down at her. The water from the shower was only hitting him now, rolling off his back and hair. One droplet dripped onto Hinamori's cheek.

"Okay." He settled between her thighs, pausing only to bring his lips to her ear and whisper, "I love you." Slowly, he buried himself into her, kissing her to stifle any cries. He waited another moment for her to adjust -- it was his first time being so patient -- then picked up a steady rhythm.

It hadn't mattered before whether he hurt the other person or not. Their pain had meant nothing to him as long as he was satisfied. Not this time. There would be as little pain as possible this time.

It was bittersweet, tears threatening to spill even though she wasn't sad at all. Not about this, even though it hurt and didn't all at once. Noting Grimmjow's expression - like he was trying hard to act calmly, to hold himself back - she pulled him into another kiss with a moan, forcing herself to cling to him, savouring the warmth and emotion behind his actions. Unsure, still shaky, she let him take control - not that he hadn't been anyway - content, happy, pleased, and dare she admit it past the fierce blush that occupied her cheeks, but liking it?

A slight smirk as she stole another kiss, almost forcing him back as she did so, and maybe she was willing to admit it. Just not out loud.

Her passion startled him. He honestly wasn't sure how she would react, especially considering this was her first time, and he was almost scared to go all-out in case he harmed her. But no, she was urging him on, wanting more; wanting everything he could give her. He wasn't going to back down from such an invitation.

Reaching back, he eased her leg up and around his waist, hoping Hinamori would get the hint and follow suit with the other leg. Grunting softly, Grimmjow thrust harder, faster, hands slipping on the wet ceramic as he tried to grip something. A fervent kiss, then a groan into her neck, and he was quivering with the cold and the heat and the total loss of thought to emotion.

Nervously, she clung to him, nails raking his back, digging in out of the need to be holding onto something, anything while her mind shut down on her. This hurt more, whimpering again, this time more like a wounded animal than anything else, betraying the fact that she still hadn't fully recovered. And yet - there always be something to the other extreme - despite all that, despite everything, shaky, cold, tired, despite the raw desire behind it, this was the extent of her love, the options she'd left for herself.

The path she was taking, no matter how destructive. Another whimper, trying to stop herself from rationalising everything because honestly there was no point at all to it, and that was it. Murmuring his name against his shoulder with another moan, she forced herself closer, always closer, shivering and so close to simply letting go.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard her whimpers, registered her pain, but thought was now buried beneath layers of raw emotion and instinct. He could feel the tension building deep in the pit of his stomach, and it was too late now to slow or stop. Hinamori was writhing underneath him, at the pain, at the pleasure -- he wasn't sure if it was one or the other or both. Either way, she was close, so very close.

The shinigami arched suddenly, half-crying, half-moaning into his neck. Grimmjow's own knot of tension exploded, and he shuddered violently, not caring if anyone heard his strangled shout. Strength expended, he collapsed, panting, and buried his face into Hinamori's hair.

Tired, very tired, she smiled softly, moved slowly to wrap slim arms around his neck and following it with a chaste kiss. "Don't tell me you intend on sleeping here," she murmured quietly, affectionately adding, "Idiot," as she ruffled his hair.

He shook his head, smiling into her cheek. "Nah." For a moment, though, he lay there and waited for his breathing to even out. He finally sat up and turned off the shower, watched it drip to a stop, then stood and clambered out of the tub to shut the door. Grabbing a towel in passing, he returned and bent down with outstretched hand to help Hinamori get up. "Come on. The bed is softer than the floor."

Having moved back into her original position - minus clothes and water - Hinamori sleepily watched the Espada move. Blushing even more than before, if at all possible, she shook her head, holding her hand out for the towel instead. "I can manage."

Shrugging, he handed her the towel, then grabbed one for himself and sat on the edge of the bathtub to dry. Now that his mind was in control again, he didn't want to think about the consequences of everything happening. He didn't want to think about the lost truce or the war looming in the distance. He just wanted to lie down and sleep for a long time.

"Momo," he said quietly, peering at her from over his shoulder, the towel draped over his head, "are you happy like this?"

She'd wrapped the towel around herself - tightly - still unable to control the blush, utterly unused to this. Glancing shyly at him, she contemplated the question in silence for a minute before attempting to tackle it. Moving slowly, feeling even more tired by the second, lethargic from lack of energy anyway, the small shinigami wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder wearily. "Happy is relative."

Gods, but words were failing so very quickly. "That anyone can be happy is odd, really. But I think that I am." Not having a heartbeat was disconcerting, and the constant cold was fast becoming a pain, but.

Nuzzling gently, sleepily against his neck, she murmured, "Are you?"

In the past, he'd never had a reason to smile. It was always sharp and mocking, often wicked, but as he sat there with her arms around him and her head on his shoulder, he found himself smiling with genuine contentment. She was cold to the touch, tired and trembling, but that was all the more reason to love and protect her. Maybe in the future he would hate his decision, but not now.

He twisted around and pulled her into an embrace. "With you," he murmured into her ear. "I'm happy with you."

Smiling sleepily again she tightened her grip, giggling softly. "You're such a sap."

Kissing him before he could argue her point, Hinamori broke away only to mention, "Now, you said something about a bed? I think that would be nice about now."

His smile turned quickly into a grin. "Yes." He disentangled himself and stood, picking up his discarded -- and dripping wet -- clothes from the floor. "Go put on some clothes. I need to go back to my apartment to change, and I think I'll kidnap you too."

Kidnapping? That wouldn't sit well with Unohana. But then again, dry clothes would be nice. And a warm bed. And-

Well, she was sold on the idea. Except for one part. "I'm too tired to move," although she probably could have forced herself too, she didn't feel like using what little energy she had left just to drag herself to the bedroom for her change of clothes.

Wondering why he'd bothered to start drying himself off when he was going to put wet clothes on anyway, Grimmjow stared at the shinigami for just a moment, then turned for the door. "Wait here."

So he was dripping on the floor. No big deal. He'd be really quick anyway; all he had to do was go into her bedroom and return. He stepped into the hallway, taking care not to make any noise to alert either medic, and stole into the other room to grab Hinamori's spare clothes. Upon returning to the bathroom, he tossed them to her. "Here." He turned his attention to opening the window.

"They're at a meeting, idiot." But she was amused by how serious he was about kidnapping her and turned her back to him, slipping the hakama on under the towel. "They haven't come back yet." The vice captains badge had been removed earlier by Isane and was probably around, but she wasn't too concerned about missing that small weight on her arm. Nor was she bothered that Tobiume was still in the bedroom. It wasn't like she was in much condition for fighting anyway. Having made sure that her hakama were securely tightened she freed the towel, moving her attention to sorting out the sash before attempting to pull the top on, stretching sore muscles as she moved to slip the fabric over her shoulders.

Window fully dealt with, he turned back to face her, only to see her back and the spot of slightly paler skin where Aizen's knife had cut through her body. It disappeared as the new uniform engulfed it in black.

Suppressing a sigh of aggravation, Grimmjow walked over to stand behind her and placed his hands on her hips. Gently kissing the back of her neck, he murmured, "Now let's get out of here. I'm tired."

"Carry me?" She was too tired herself to protest or even pretend that she would be able to move on her own. Just dressing had exhausted her, and with a quick tug to make sure the sash was properly tied she leant back against him, glancing up with pleading eyes. Nell wasn't the only one who knew how to act cute, after all.

He smirked. "Of course." He picked her up and held onto her as tight as possible, a little afraid that if he wasn't careful he could drop her. He stepped onto the windowsill and out into the sky, letting his sonido bring them across the City to his apartment.