The kid's name is Ichigo, and I nearly have a heart attack when I find out, a month or so into his recovery, that he's seventeen. This whole fucking time I've been checking him out - he'd made himself a couple shirts out of my old ones, but he needs my help to get them on around his injured wing, so he tends to go without - and enjoying the view, and he's not even really an adult yet. Fuck, I knew he looked young, but that young?

He is smart, I'll give him that. He figured out the differences in our languages within a couple weeks - not like he had anything else to do - and a limited selection of words that they share. Beyond that, he's been learning the human part of the shared language, and really quickly too. These days, three months into staying here, he saves speaking in his own language for comments that I'm pretty sure are insults. Most things he can communicate easily enough now, so there's much less charades in our conversations.

I didn't ask him to, but I didn't exactly complain, the day that I came back from a trip to the village and my house was spotless. Clean from top to fucking bottom, not a speck of dirt anywhere. He was sitting there over his parchment, the one littered with the notes that he'd copied over once he could use his right arm again, and when I asked him what he'd done, he'd only shrugged and commented, "I was bored." I don't know if he's just using it to combat going stir crazy, or if he's doing it as some way of paying me back for keeping him here, but it's pretty cool. Everything that I generally don't have time to do gets done, just like that.

He also eventually, once he had a decent store of words, told me what actually happened the night of the storm. The bastard I'd saved him from wasn't trying to kill him, like I'd thought, but trying to 'claim' him. He hadn't gone into what that means, but I spend enough time around animals, I think I get the concept. He'd called the storm a 'courtship' storm, and said that the other member of his race - Cloudwalkers, and specifically Noitora - had broken his wing while in the air, trying to force him to give in. The large bruises on his ribs - that have finally completely faded - make a lot more sense after that. Who knows how high up they were when he fell? He'd almost laughed in my face when I said some decidedly nasty things about his race, if they'd let someone go to extreme lengths like that.

Apparently, they don't. What Noitora had done was illegal on several different levels, and Ichigo has plans to beat him all to hell when he gets back home. The unspoken 'if' is loud, but he's never said it. He misses his home, the clouds that he's coated his room in are obvious enough proof, but he never says anything. It takes me a kind of pathetically long time, almost two and a half months, before I wonder if he has family up there. Learning that he does, two caretakers that have raised him since he was a child, makes me regret asking. I doubt he wants to think about it.

He doesn't talk much about his home, and honestly it's probably better that way.

"Ready to test it?" I ask, and the kid winces.

Every other injury has healed. The bruises are gone, as are the bite marks, without any lingering proof they were there, and his shoulder did eventually heal itself. The only exception is his wing, which has been painful every time I've had to jostle it to swap out the bandages for fresh ones. But it's been three months, and the bone should be healed by now. He knows that as well as I do, and we've been talking about it for days, but I've finally got some spare time. So, now it is.

"No," he answers bluntly, "but it has to be done." His voice curls around the words in a completely unique, smooth, accent, one that I fantasized about before I realized his age. Alright, I still fucking fantasize about it. He might be young, but he was participating in what sounds to me like essentially a marriage ceremony, in his own culture he's clearly considered more or less an adult. That makes it alright, right?

I approach his back, and his arms cross as I reach for the bandages. I unravel them, completely unbinding his wing, before backing away. His wings are fucking amazing, I'd realized that. They aren't just a tool, not like how I'd thought of them, they are legitimate limbs of his. He's clearly been off-balance with just the one, but he's been managing. I've seen him use his single left wing as a support, as a blanket, as a shield when he doesn't want to talk to me, and he'd straight out hit me in the face with the tip of it once. Granted, I was being a dick, but it had still rendered me speechless.

He renders me speechless a lot more than I'm comfortable with, really. He's smart, attractive, completely different than I'm used to, and he's got a temper on top of it. The first time he'd - I assumed - cussed me out in his own native language I'd been totally shocked, but then it had just brought a grin to my face. It's been a very long time since anyone stood up to me, I'm intimidating to most of my fellow humans, but this kid, half-crippled and totally living on my pity, had the nerve to not only stand up to me, but to get aggressive. He simply does not do things he doesn't want to, and he calls me out on it when I'm being an asshole.

I don't tend to get along with people, and I live in the forest for a reason.

He pauses for a second, teeth gritting, before he moves his right wing for the first time in months. It stretches out in tandem with his left, to its full potential, and while it trembles slightly, and he takes in a sharp breath, he doesn't stop. He flexes it in and out a few times, slowly, before giving a tentative flap. To my eyes, it moves smoothly, and as far as I can tell the bone structure is correct and not any different than his uninjured wing.

"It looks alright to me," I comment, and his arms fall to his sides as he turns to me.

"Only one way to find out," he says, glancing up at the sky, and gives a shaky laugh. "For the love of the gods, if I fall, catch me?" I nod my assent, and he gives me a grateful sound before his legs bend and he leaps, wings beating down with a power I didn't know they had. It's fucking amazing to watch, the rush of wind blowing the few rebellious strands of my hair away from my face as I stare. I knew he had to have enough strength to get off the ground, to lift all his weight and get it into the air, but I hadn't really considered how that would physically translate. I think it would probably be pretty accurate to say that his wings are the strongest part of him.

He gets airborne quickly, rising up above the treetops and high into the sky. His wings beat evenly, until he does something that makes my stomach fucking drop to my toes. He curls into a ball in one quick move, wings slanting downwards, and he falls for a heart stopping moment before taking off with a speed that I couldn't imagine him moving, stretching out horizontally. He leaves my sight, but quickly slips back in, looping around in a pattern that makes me dizzy just looking at it. He's only up there for a minute or two before he heads back down. He levels out vertically, sinking down into a slow descent that drops him a little with each pause between the beats of his wings. He settles back to the ground, a legitimate smile twisting the lips I've had terrible, terrible thoughts about. There's a hint of strain in the tightness of his eyes, but it's the first time I've seen him look legitimately happy.

"Feel good?" I ask, and he lets loose a laugh that's all but bursting with joy.

"You have no idea," he claims, his wings folding to his back.

"Looks like it hurt some," I point out, and he shrugs.

"Not serious, just aches. Should be fine once I work the stiffness out of it."

I force a small grin. "You can go home now." Somehow, that doesn't make me nearly as happy as it should. I've gotten used to the kid being around, to his snappy, snarky comments and his presence in my home, even when he's not interacting with me.

His smile falls a little, and he glances back over his shoulder at his wing. "Not yet," he says, a tinge of regret in his voice. That tinge clenches my stomach in something like bitterness, but I force it away. I've got no fucking right. "I can fly, but not for long, I've lost too much muscle. I'll need a while to retrain it, to hold me for any length of time. I can't do anything serious either, I don't think my wing would hold under a snap trick." He doesn't explain what that means, and it's probably easier that way. Without the words to explain more complicated methods of flying, which is something that the human language doesn't get specific with, the best he can do is try to mime, and most times I still don't get it.

"So, what, you're going to fly off and search for it?" He'd told me, eventually, that the Cloudwalkers had that name because they could literally do that. They live in communities made of clouds, on an ever rotating schedule designed by their 'councils'. Wanderers, but also very much not. He'd confessed that the chance of finding his own community, wherever it might be, is pretty low. He'll likely have to search for weeks to find any community, before then heading where they tell him his community will be located.

He shakes his head a little, eyes falling to the ground. He says something quietly in his own language, before answering me in mine in a louder tone, "Maybe. We'll see."

It wasn't until I deciphered the calendar pinned up against the wall, the parchment thick and pinned down by all four corners, that I realized my own situation. It was one of the last things I translated, and until then I hadn't really thought about it. Four days before I tested my wing, I realized what date it was. I'd spent three months down here waiting for the bone to heal, waiting to be able to fly, and now I have to retrain myself to do even that with any kind of skill. I remember everything, but every time I start to dip into a dive, or a spiral, or any of the hundred different maneuvers I know, my wing aches with the strain and I have to back off. It's frustrating. It's been years and years since I was anything but the best flier in my age group, and even more since I had to do basic, short, flights like these.

Why did this have to happen now of all times?

I haven't told Grimmjow yet, my blue-haired and blue-eyed human, but since I'm still stuck here I'll have to. It's been over three months, we're right at the start of summer, and my eighteenth birthday is looming closer, barely two weeks away. I should be up on the clouds, getting ready for my first heat and choosing a mate. That's one of the reasons I was so adamant about escaping during the twelve different ceremonies I would be forced into. If a submissive gets through every storm, they have the right to choose any unclaimed dominant in the entire community. I was well on my way to that.

Fucking Noitora.

I don't think I can get my wing up to shape, up to where it was, before my heat starts, not unless a community just happens to wander overhead. As I am now, I probably couldn't even make it halfway up to the height of a cloud community. I'm on a timer, and if I don't have a dominant to work me through my heat it's going to be two weeks of hell. I don't like being a submissive, it's not in my nature to pander and spread my wings for just anyone (like I'd seen others of my kind do), but I accepted a long time ago that it was just how things were. But damn the lot of them if they thought they could force me to do whatever they wanted. My father, Kisuke, had reinforced all my ideas.

He's a lot more subtle than I am, he has a way of making the dominants think his ideas are their own. I've watched him wrap Shinji around his fingers as easily as a cloud, more than once, and while it's obvious to me, Shinji never seems to notice. Kisuke taught me some of the same skills, but I generally prefer to just punch pushy dominants, that tends to teach them. I blame Shinji for that. Kisuke might have taught me to run, or to dodge, but Shinji taught me to fight.

Fuck, I should stop avoiding this. Grimmjow will probably notice soon anyway. I've already started the changes leading up to my heat, and I'm going to be all over the place. I already am, in fact, but I can hide it for now. My emotions and reactions have been ricocheting all over the place for the last few days, and I'm starting to not be able to control it. He'll probably notice that eventually, even if he doesn't notice anything else. Not that he's not perceptive, just...

I drop my head into my hands. Fuck.

I do know that the near-animal lust will point me right at Grimmjow, as the nearest person and the nearest dominant. As of two days ago, I can smell it on him, and everything in me wants to go after him. But he's human, and I have no idea how or if that will effect anything. I have no idea if humans are like us when it comes to sex or mates, Grimmjow is at least a few years over eighteen and he doesn't seem real interested in anything. I'd gotten some wanting grins at the start, but those had stopped pretty quickly. He hasn't seemed to show any interest, and I know that I'm a prime catch in the Cloudwalker communities. But then again, it's not like he has any others to compare me to, and maybe he doesn't know that. Not that I want him to, of course! Probably.

I mean, he's human! And he can be such an ass sometimes, and he's just an irritating bastard. But, he helped me. He's also the only dominant that hasn't gotten offended or confused by me in years. I'm a submissive, they expect me to act the part, and when I don't it tends to throw all their plans and sweet words into the air for them to try and pull themselves together. Grimmjow might have been surprised when I yelled at him the first time, or when I smacked him in the face with my uninjured wing for not leaving me alone after I'd asked, repeatedly, but he doesn't stay that way. He just grins and does what I want him to, or stops doing what I've asked him not to, and it's... refreshing.

Fuck.

At the very least, I have to give him the option to kick me out on my own. It's already starting to affect me and my judgment, and my emotions are the start of a tornado. I'm going to be a bitch to deal with in the next week and a half or so, I know it, and he should have the right to decide if he wants to deal with that or not. I'll manage on my own, somehow. I have two weeks to find a community, and after all, any community will do at that point.

No more stalling, damn it. Right now.

I straighten up and push off the bench, heading outside where I know Grimmjow is, somewhere. He hadn't left to trap, so he must be around the clearing somewhere. The sight that greets me makes me halt in my tracks, and I push down arousal as my wings flutter against my back. I manage to keep them from spreading any, barely. Not that he'll know what it means, but it's the gesture of the thing. If I can keep control of them, then I have control of myself.

He's shirtless, and there's sweat glistening on his skin under the midday sun. It's dampened his hair to a dark blue, clinging to his neck, and I'd managed to walk out right in the middle of him dumping a bucket of water over himself. It streams down his skin, all but fucking sparkling against the sun, and I swallow a groan as he shakes his head and water goes flying everywhere.

I feel my wings shift, half-rising, and bite my tongue to hold off a curse.

He drops the bucket and reaches for the large scrap of cloth laid over the drying rack he has outside his cabin, toweling it over his head as he catches sight of me. "Hey," he greets, with a grin. I make some sound that could be taken for a hello, not moving any closer until he's dry, and he's pulled a black shirt over his head.

"We should talk," I say, with apprehension, and he stills, looking at me.

"Yeah, sure. Here, inside?"

I glance down at the now muddy ground around his feet. "Inside," I decide. I turn first, trying to get the image of his dripping torso out of my head, with pretty much no success. I do manage to flatten my wings against my back again, and I count that as victory enough for now. We'll see how well Grimmjow takes any of this.

He questions, and I start explaining. I lay out the dominant and submissive nature - and the human language I've gone through doesn't have a word for it, so I end up just using my language's words - of the Cloudwalker race, and the capability of either gender to be either nature, and learn that the humans aren't the same. They only have male and female, and that makes me mildly nervous when I tell the human that I may be male, but I am a submissive, and that makes me capable of creating life. He looks more than a little shocked, but he eventually gestures for me to go on. I lay out our system of relations, one dominant to a submissive, generally, before throwing out the big fact that submissives enter a period of heat - the only time they can make life - and their first occurs the moment they fully mature, at eighteen.

He gets it faster than I thought he would, to his credit.

"You're seventeen, right? So when do you turn eighteen?"

I wince, resisting the urge to pull my legs up into my chest to make a smaller target for the larger man. "A little over two weeks," I admit, and he nods. His expression is strangely blank, and after a few moments of silence I continue. "If you want me gone, I won't complain." It's his choice, he has every right to throw me out of his home.

"Why the fuck would I do that?" Grimmjow asks bluntly, and I snap my gaze back up to meet his eyes. He leans against the table, one hand ruffling through his blue hair. "I keep you here for over three months, half of it where you're mostly crippled and totally useless, and you think I'm going to force you to leave now?" He snorts, giving me a small grin. "Whatever, you can stay as long as you like."

Hope flares sharp in my chest, but I crush it down. No. Don't even think that way until he knows what he's agreeing to. "It won't be fun," I warn him, my lips pressing together. "I'll be hard to deal with for the space between, and once it actually starts you'll pretty much have to tie me down to keep me from doing anything really stupid. It won't be fun, but it'll keep me out of trouble."

His blue eyes are narrowed, and he studies me for a moment before speaking. "You're going to be in a lot of pain, aren't you?"

I hesitate, but nod. "From what I've heard, it's supposed to be agony for an unclaimed submissive. A dominant can ease it some with sex, but..." I shake my head, jaw clenching. "It doesn't matter. There's not another option. I don't think my wing will be strong enough for me to travel."

"Don't suppose I count, do I?" His words, just slightly questioning, shock me. His tone is casual, but his eyes are fixed unwaveringly on me. That's not so unusual, Grimmjow tends to look intense even when he's completely uninterested, but there's something to his gaze that makes me take his words seriously.

"Are you a choice?" I ask cautiously, and his eyes widen slightly.

"I'm not a Cloudwalker," he says, as if I need the reminder, "so I don't see how I could be a," he pauses for a moment and then tries to pronounce my language's word for dominant. His accent is terrible, but he mostly manages it.

Should I tell him?

My mouth is moving before my mind can decide one way or another. "You smell like one." He gives me a weird look, and my shoulders lift in a shrug as I take in a deep breath through my nose. His scent feeds into my head, and my eyes flicker shut for a moment. "Been hard to concentrate the last couple of days," I say in a low voice, letting my eyes wander over the muscles of the human's neck, and then to the thin sliver of exposed collarbone. "You smell so good, makes me want to show you the things I've been thinking about for the last month." He watches me warily as I edge closer, tilting my head to one side to bare the skin of my throat. An invitation.

I give him a small grin, feeling my wings flutter behind my back, and then it hits me what I'm doing. I jerk off the bench like I've been burned, backing away till my wings and back hit the wall. I cover my eyes, taking in several harsh breaths in an attempt to control myself. It's close to a minute before I feel secure enough in my control of my emotions and the arousal burning low in my stomach to risk sliding the hand up through my hair, looking back at Grimmjow. He's turned to face me, still leaning on the table, and he's watching me with something close to worry.

"I, I'm sorry," I manage, feeling my face flush in embarrassment.

"I don't mind," he says bluntly. "You alright?"

I take a moment to consider before answering, "Mostly." My inability to control my behavior is frustrating, but it does give me some idea of why other submissives always seemed so... wanton, to me. This is only going to get worse, and I'll probably have less and less control over how I act. That's not to even touch on what I'll be like during the heat itself. Gods, how come no one ever warned me that it was like this?

"So, I do count then?" His voice is a low rumble, and I force away the shiver that runs down my spine.

"Maybe," is the best answer I can give. Grimmjow might smell like a dominant, to me, but that doesn't mean he can actually do anything. "I don't know anything about humans. It probably can't hurt." I don't even know for certain if the human has the ability to claim me, or me to claim him, but I have to trust him not to. I don't have much choice.

He grunts out an affirmative noise, and stands up off the bench. "It's not a great option," Grimmjow says quietly, raking a hand through his hair, "but I'll do it." Equal measures of want and something resembling anger rise, and I bite them back. So, what? He doesn't want it, but he'll be self-sacrificing and just take one for the team? What a hero.

I tilt my head back against the wall, struggling to force down the gut reaction. No. Regardless of his intentions, or if he doesn't actually have any interest in me, he's helping and I should respect that. Without him, I'd just be forced to weather it on my own. He might be able to help, he might be able to make it tolerable. Don't snap at him for this, he's under no obligation to help or even keep me here.

"Thanks," I manage, not looking at him, before I revert to my language to mumble, "Fuck, this is not how I thought my first time was going to go."

I thought I was going to get my choice of mates, and have a fantastic start to the rest of my life with two weeks of total bliss. I could even have chosen not to mate at all and have a trained dominant help me through it, I had the right, if not for fucking Noitora. I was supposed to be the biggest catch in years, trained and raised by two of the most respected members of my community, with a huge store of power that I haven't even fully grown into. The first heat will unlock the rest of my potential, and I heard the theory from my fathers - when they were talking to each other and didn't think I was paying attention - that I was probably going to be the strongest Cloudwalker in the entire community.

I wasn't supposed to get stranded on the ground, separated from any other member of my race, and forced through my maturity with a human. This is a fucking disaster.

Grimmjow makes a questioning noise, and I drop my head to look at him. "Nothing," I lie. "It doesn't matter."

I could have done this better. A few days passed after I'd said I would help Ichigo through his heat - by fucking him, and I don't even have to feel guilty about it - before I realized that the way I'd volunteered had been kind of, well, like an ass. I was trying not to seem overeager, which I was, and like I'd just been fucking waiting for an opportunity, and I'd ended up on the opposite side of the scale. Which is why the kid's been bouncing back and forth between one step away from jumping me - which is nice, if out of character - and coldly snippy, for the last two weeks. He jumps from one to the other in an instant, and seemingly random things will piss him off to the point that I've been sure, a few times, that he was going to try and throttle me.

He's restrained himself, so far, but then over the last couple days I've only talked to him when he comes in to eat. Otherwise he's in the sky, or sitting at the table with his book and a 'come near me and fucking die' aura. It's the latter at the moment, and I'm watching him from the doorway. He's deathly still, apart from his constantly twitching wings. They rise just a little, starting to unfold, before flattening back out, over and over. That's been going on for a while now.

He hasn't explained it, and I haven't figured it out, but his wings definitely only started doing that when this whole thing started. I'm curious, but it's probably not a good idea to ask with him in his current mood. I have to wonder if this is just him, or if all the Cloudwalkers of his disposition are like this. I'm sure part of it is because I shoved my foot in my mouth and made myself sound like an ass, but the rest of it is in his own head, and I've got absolutely no idea what the hell is going on in there.

I'll need to face his anger at some point soon. He's been more or less avoiding me, so he really hasn't told me anything about his upcoming ordeal, and I should probably know. What to do, what not to do...

"What?!" he snarls at me, looking over his shoulder with narrowed brown eyes. If looks could kill.

"We should probably talk about this, before it happens."

He glares at me, all but bristling, before visibly taking in a deep breath and attempting to control himself, both hands slipping up to pull through his hair. It's longer now, then when he'd showed up, brushing against his shoulders. He hasn't cut it, and he hasn't asked me to. There's another flick of his wings, and a tremble in his shoulders, before he slowly nods.

"You're right," he admits, as though it pains him. "Sit down?" The request is quiet, and I slowly circle around to the opposite side of the table from him. Partially so I'm out of range, and partially because I've seen how he reacts to me being near him these days. I don't want him trying to jump me while I need actual information from him.

"So, what do I need to know?" I ask as I sit down.

He stares down at the table, hands still in his hair, and then slowly clenches his eyes shut for a few moments before opening them again. "You'll need to be careful. We don't know how much stronger you are than me, and I'd really like to not get hurt again so soon. If you have to restrain me, just tie me down, don't pin me." That's actually a point I hadn't considered. We didn't physically interact much, even before he'd gone into this, so the issue of me being so much stronger had never really come up again after that first time. "Don't bite me, and don't let me bite you. You'll need to gag me anyway, so that shouldn't be much of a problem."

"Why?" I ask curiously. I can't imagine much being better than watching Ichigo lose his mind, but listening to him is pretty damn high on the list. Why the hell would I have to gag him?

He looks up at me, giving a shaky bark of flat laughter. "I'm going to have no control over myself. I'd really rather you not hear what I'll ask from you." There's an edge to his voice that cuts off any argument I might have had, and I get it with sudden clarity. His anger isn't at me, it's at himself. He hates being so out of control, and even though this might be a fucking wet dream come true for me, it's not for him. He doesn't have a choice in it. He hadn't shown any fucking interest in me until this started, maybe this is just the better of two terrible options in his mind.

"Did you want me before this started fucking with you?" I ask, unable to help myself. It doesn't sit well in my stomach that he might just be taking this as an alternative to two weeks of agony, and is otherwise all but unwilling. I'd probably take this over that too, but I'd hate every second.

His eyes flicker in surprise, before he sits up a little, hands leaving his head. "Why do you care?" he asks sharply.

"I'd like to know," I answer, unable to stop the slight growl in my words. These last two weeks have been confusing and frustrating, and this is a damn important question.

He doesn't react well to my tone. He's on his feet in a second, eyes narrowed and teeth bared, palms braced on the table. "What does it matter?" he asks in a snarl, wings flaring angrily behind him. "It doesn't change anything either way!"

"Then why not answer me?" I ask, following him to standing. I'm a good deal taller than him, and he takes a step back and straightens up, glaring at me as I look down at him.

"You -!" he uses some word I've never heard before, but I'd guess it's a curse or an insult of some kind. He starts ranting at me in his language, anger obvious in his tone, hands gesturing in clearly accusatory ways, but I have no idea what he's saying. He's speaking too fast for me to pick out any words, and I'd never bothered to learn his language like he'd been learning mine. He's yelling, and when he finally stops for a moment to breathe, his eyes are wide and fevered. He gives a final, wordless sound of anger and what I'm pretty sure is hurt at me, before taking another step back and all but collapsing to sit on the floor, drawing his wings around to almost completely hide him. The back of his shoulders and the back of his head are visible, but the rest of him is wrapped in his black wings.

Well, this is new. He's been angry, and cold, and lustful, but he hasn't done this before. I take a cautious step around the table, and when he doesn't react I take the last few to close the difference, sinking to my knees in front of him.

"Ichigo?" I ask cautiously, and although his wings tremble slightly he doesn't answer me. "Are you alright?"

"No!" he snaps sharply, only slightly muffled by the barrier between us. "I'm -" another word I can't understand, "great, clearly!" From this angle I can't see him, but his wings part just enough for him to spit, "I did, alright?!" at me, before closing again.

What? I stare at the solid wall of black leather in front of me, confusion narrowing my eyes. What is he talking about? His wings tremble more noticeably, and then he speaks through the barrier of his wings in a small voice.

"Are you going to make me leave now?" I answer negatively, still all kinds of confused, and his wings part a fraction to reveal a slice of his face. "Really? You're still going to do this, even though I wanted you before?" His voice is quiet, wary.

Oh, well now things make a hell of a lot more sense. "Of course," I answer easily, with a tiny grin. The clenching feeling in my gut vanishes, eased by the knowledge that even if all Ichigo might have wanted from me was sex, at least he wanted that much. This isn't totally against his wishes, he isn't just being forced into it by circumstances, which means I can enjoy myself.

His wings don't part any farther, and his voice doesn't get any louder, but he does speak. "Did you want this?"

I lean back, bracing one hand against the ground. "Not like this," I say with a shrug, "it sucks that you've got no choice. But if it were just something you wanted? Fuck yes."

His wings give one last tremble, and then he folds them away against his back, leaning forward some into his knees to make room as he stares at the ground. "I hate this," he admits, and that clenching instantly reappears. "I was supposed to get my pick of anyone I wanted, or have the right to not choose anyone at all. You wouldn't know, but I was the biggest prize of anyone, at home. I'm different, better trained, and stronger than everyone else, and I should have won my freedom to pick. But I'm stuck down here instead, and if I ever tell anyone about what's going to happen, it'll ruin everything." My gut clenches a little harder. Is that what I am to him? Something that will ruin his life?

"Why?" I ask, to distract myself from that terrible feeling, and he gives a small, hopeless laugh as he looks up at me.

"A human? We're not even supposed to get seen by you, let alone talking, or what we're about to do. I don't think anyone will want me after this, if they know." Oh, yeah. I might actively avoid people, but I can see how going from the favored son to the outcast might suck.

"If you'd rather, I can not help," I offer, totally sincerely. If the kid really thinks that this will totally ruin his life afterwards, I don't want to be the reason it happens to him. He seems to contemplate my offer for a second, before shaking his head and lowering his gaze back to the floor.

"No," he says, with a small lift of one shoulder. He says that word again, and I'm starting to think it's probably his language's version of 'fuck', "- them, you know? Not like there was anyone interesting anyway, and it's not like I mind. You treat me better than most of them anyway."

"What the hell do they do to you?" I ask incredulously. If I, the self-titled jackass, treat Ichigo better than most of his race, I can't imagine how fucking terrible they must act around him.

He gives a small smirk, raising his gaze to mine, and shakes his head again. "No, it's not like that. They treat me like what I am, a submissive, but I was raised differently than most others of my nature, so I don't act the way they expect me to. It frustrates most of them to be challenged, and you know me, I can't keep my mouth shut. They expect me to avoid, or to run, and they really don't expect me to punch them when they're being annoying. My," he pauses, apparently searching for the right word, "parent, Shinji, taught me to fight. Most dominants don't teach their submissive children to do that. It also helps that my other parent, Kisuke, is one of the best fliers in our community, and he passed that on to me. I can outrun or outfight just about anyone."

"Then who were you going to choose?" I ask out of curiosity, tilting my head to one side. If most of the others of his race expect him to be something that he's not, and get mad when he isn't, that sounds like a recipe for fucking disaster to me. Even with just this time around him, I know that Ichigo doesn't let anyone tell him what to do, and doesn't take shit from anyone.

"No idea," Ichigo says, brow furrowing slightly. "I had four months to think about it, at the time, so I didn't. And I'd rather not think about it now either, honestly." He sighs, and starts getting to his feet, raking a hand through his hair. "Can we finish what we need to? While I have some mild control over my state of mind?"

I nod, standing, and fold my arms across my chest. Well, it's the best either of us can do in a bad situation, and that will have to be enough. "Sure, what else is there?"

Being in heat is a lot like the one time that Shinji had accidentally given me alcohol, except with a burning in my veins and not the dizziness that the liquor had forced on me. I know the situation, I remember all of it, but my body and mouth move and speak without my consent. I'm a little voice in the back of my head, wincing at every muffled plea that makes it through the cloth gag, and every rise of my outstretched wings as Grimmjow presses against my back.

It hurts, but I knew that would be the case. Only a claimed partner can fully erase the agony of the heat, and while Grimmjow is certainly easing it, making it bearable, he's not enough. There's still a bone deep ache, and if he leaves me for more than a few minutes it turns into a painful throb that I can feel under every inch of my skin. He doesn't have to be fucking me, though the pleasure of that definitely helps wipe out the pain, it's just the contact of his skin that's necessary. My hands are bound to the upper corners of his bed to keep from ripping off the gag or clawing whatever skin of his I can reach, both of which I've tried even with my arms secured, but my legs are free.

The slap of his flesh against mine is loud, and the press of him inside me is still one of the greatest things I've ever felt, despite the number of times it's now happened. Part of it is definitely the hypersensitivity from the heat, but I'm pretty sure this would be pretty nice, at the least, even without the added sensation. It might even be better. Most of the extra sensation is pain, not pleasure, and the mix of the two is confusing. I'm not a big fan.

I jerk against the rope - luckily, Grimmjow had taken the step of wrapping my wrists with cloth beneath the rope beforehand, or I'd have torn them all to hell - and my eyes clench shut as the human's hands clench on my hips. Not being able to control myself is the worst part of all of this. The sex, fine, the pain, I could handle it. But being reduced to this writhing mess of lust and reactions? That sucks.

But of all things, I'm strangely glad that this is happening down here. I can't imagine choosing someone I respect, who respects me, as a mate, and then having them witness me like this. To totally fall apart in front of them? Yeah, I don't fucking think so. Maybe it's just something that every submissive has to get over, maybe we all have to accept that at some point, our mates will see us completely undone like this, but no one can make me like it. I've always been aggressive, in control, but now I'm a total mess. Even if it was fucking Noitora sitting there, I would be throwing myself at his feet and begging for him. The thought sickens me.

Would it have been easier if I'd been raised like most submissives? To be quiet, and accepting, and run instead of fight? Probably, yeah. But there's no point in thinking about it. I was naturally this way to begin with, and it was encouraged. My teachers didn't like it, but they had no say in how Kisuke and Shinji raised me, and both my fathers were damn determined that I would never get stuck with anyone I didn't want.

This isn't quite what they were thinking, I'm sure.

My orgasm comes sharp and fast, arching my back and forcing my wings to give several desperate flaps. It's not enough to lift me, not against the weight of Grimmjow, but it's purely instinctual and there's nothing I can do about it. I shiver, easing down into the bed, only held up by Grimmjow's grip on my hips. It's only a few more ragged thrusts - thankfully, as far as me and my over sensitive nerves are concerned - before he's leaning down over my back with a groan, hips jerking against mine as he spills inside of me.

He relaxes down against me, careful not to lean too much weight on me or my wings. His hands smooth over my sides, and then he carefully guides my left wing to fold back against me so he can tilt us both down on our sides, pressing against my back. His breath is harsh against the back of my neck, and he carefully strokes his hand over the leather of my still outstretched wing.

There are no words for how much I appreciate him being gentle. I could probably work up the concentration to tell him that he was using too much strength, or hurting me, but I don't know how long it would take or how much damage he would do beforehand. Better that he just be careful to start with.

"You doing alright?" he asks, voice a low rumble that clenches my stomach in arousal. Gods, that voice of his.

I force a jerky nod through my fevered mind, biting down on the cloth filling my mouth. His hand strokes over my wing, then down to my back and thigh. It's nice, soothing, and I tilt my head against the pillow to relax some. I'm messy, and I'm gross, and I don't even care right at the moment. Grimmjow will take care of me, I know that.

I just have to make it through another week of this.

I hear Ichigo's shout of excitement moments before he's racing into the house, grabbing my arm and dragging me outside. He couldn't actually move me, I'm too heavy and his lighter frame doesn't have the strength, but I let him. He pulls me out, a wide grin on his face, and points upward.

"Look!"

I tilt my head up to follow his point, and my eyes fix on the white mountains of clouds high in the normally clear sky. My stomach drops some, but I offer the kid a small grin as he releases me, dropping his arms to his sides as his wings twitch and half-rise in excitement. I figured out, eventually, that the movements of his wings are linked to his moods. When he's excited, or aroused, they expand without his consent, when he's angry, they flare to make him look bigger. When he's genuinely afraid, they lock tight to his back and won't move unless he forces it.

"That one of your cities?" I ask, shielding my eyes against the glare of the sun as I study the clouds. The sky has been more or less clear, only the faintest threads of occasional white to disturb it, so this is pretty much out of nowhere.

"Yeah," he says, joy obvious in his tone.

"Yours?" If it's his, then he'll go.

It's been another two months since his heat, and after a week of flushed cheeks and inability to speak to me, Ichigo had flat out told me that he'd highly enjoyed it, and wanted more. I, of course, agreed without a fucking moment of hesitation. Maybe I don't get to keep the Cloudwalker, but I've been enjoying our time together as much as possible. He's even better when he's not out of his mind under the effects of his heat, all fire and challenge, and I honestly think that it's refreshing for him to be able to be himself without worrying. I like his attitude, and I think that's been more relaxing to him than anything else I've done.

But now he's back up to full strength, pulling off tricks in the air that honestly make me wonder if he's not looking to break his wing again. There's no reason for him not to go home, not to rejoin his kind, and I don't have the right to hold him. We live together, sleep together, but he hasn't asked for anything more and neither have I. He's fucking amazing, and I'd take it, but I don't want to keep him on the ground for me. I might be a selfish bastard, but he doesn't belong here and I know it.

"Maybe," he answers, lifting his head to study the clouds with me. "I'm not used to seeing it from the bottom, but it looks like the same shape. I won't know until I'm up there."

"Go on then," I coax, nudging his arm. "Your family could be up there, right?"

He gives me that bright grin, and his wings flare, ready to beat down, before he stops. He pauses, looking over at me with a small frown, and then steps towards me, wrapping one hand around the back of my neck as he drags me down to kiss me. It's deep, searching, and I wrap one arm around his waist to pull him closer to me. His nails scratch along my skin, wings flaring wide and curling around my shoulders and back, enveloping us in a small cocoon of black leather. He pulls back an inch or so, his free hand bracing against my chest.

"Thank you," he says softly, "for everything."

He starts to pull away and I can't help the low growl that starts in my chest. He gives me a slightly confused look, and I lower my head to press my forehead against his. "I don't want you to go," I admit, not releasing my grip on him. "I want to keep you here, with me."

His face lights up with a smile, an honest smile, and he tightens his grip on my neck for a moment. "I'll come back," he promises, giving me a soft kiss. "Even," he pauses, "even if it's just to say goodbye. I'll come back." I don't like that idea, but I knew this could never last from the very start. I let him go, and he steps away from me. "I swear," he says again, quietly, before turning and leaping into the sky.

I watch him rise, towards the clouds that are his natural home, and fight the urge to somehow, someway, bring him back down. He's his own person, and he has the right to make his own decisions. I have to let him go.

I land in the clouds, relishing the feel of the soft surface under my feet for the first time in months, but don't get more than that moment before I'm being dragged away by my arm, along our streets. The Cloudwalker at my side is tall, dressed in the all-white uniform of a guard, and would be imposing if I hadn't spent the last six months with Grimmjow. Since I have, he almost looks scrawny to me, even though I know that he's probably stronger than I am. My arrival had been noted, and before anyone else could approach me this guy had called that I was to follow him to the council. Or, you know, get dragged there.

I get it. I came from the ground, and that makes me really suspicious. I'm almost certain this is my community, since the guard looks familiar even if I can't recall his name, and that means its likely they came this way on purpose. Even if my fathers had told everyone to be on look out for me, they still have no idea what's happened to me in between.

"I can walk on my own, you know," I say, just a touch sourly. It almost feels weird to be speaking in my home language again, after so many months with Grimmjow, speaking in his.

"Quiet," the guard snaps, and I bite my tongue not to snap right back at him. I let him manhandle me, even if it irritates me, across our formed streets and towards the palace of our council. As soon as he escorts me in, I know I'm in the right place. The five stern faces looking down at me are just as I remember. "Kurosaki Ichigo, raised by Hirako Shinji and Urahara Kisuke," he announces, roughly releasing my arm before stepping back and away from me.

I step forward, to the circle of smooth cloud before them, and they look down at me from their high seats. "Council," I greet, sinking to my knees.

"You may rise," the one in the middle says, and I can hear the disapproval from him. I get to my feet, and await their questions. "You disappeared in a courtship storm, six months ago, why is that?"

I scowl at the reminder, hands clenching briefly by my sides. "Noitora," I explain. "He was chasing me, grabbed me, and broke my wing when I got out of his grip." I can hear the murmurs, and the one sharp gasp, but I continue. "He all but dislocated my shoulder, and chased me to the ground when I fell out of the sky. He tried to claim me there but failed, and I've spent the last six months grounded, waiting for my wing to heal."

They share glances, and then one off to the left, a woman, speaks. "You turned eighteen and experienced your first heat on the ground, correct?" I nod. "How did you survive? You could not have fended for yourself, not with the injuries you are describing and the timing."

"I didn't. Noitora only left because a human came across us struggling, that human tended to me and took care of me while I healed." I can instantly see the reactions. Disgust, wariness, anger.

"And your heat?" the man in the middle asks sharply. "Did he tend to you as well for that?"

I flush, but fight down the reaction. I have nothing to be ashamed of. "Yes," I state bluntly, watching them recoil. "There wasn't a better option, and I trusted him enough to make it possible."

"A human?" one of the others says, with a sneer. "You allowed a human to not only see you, but you stayed with him, and let him touch you?"

"And what's wrong with that?" I protest, throwing one hand out as I fight the urge to flare my wings in anger. "Does it bother you that-?"

"Quiet!" one of them orders, and I snap my mouth closed. "You will keep your comments to yourself, submissive, or we will silence you!"

Oh, I'd forgotten it was like this. I forgot how much my status influenced my ability to be heard, or be taken seriously. Being with Grimmjow for so long has gotten me used to being able to say whatever I liked, whenever I wanted, with little to no backlash. I flatten my wings against my back, biting my tongue not to let any of the words in my head escape my mouth.

No. You know what? Fuck it. Fuck them. Grimmjow helped me, and I have no interest in having to watch my tongue.

I step forward, lowering my head and letting my wings flare threateningly. "No," I say with a snarl, "you'll damn well listen to me. As far as I'm concerned, the human, whose name is Grimmjow, is a fucking miracle. How many people, human or Cloudwalker, would take a crippled, injured kid into their home? How many would help a submissive with their heat, without demanding a claim up front, and not take advantage of their state? He hasn't asked for a damn thing from me, he was totally fucking selfless about helping me even when I was useless, or a pain in the ass! You don't get to try and make me feel ashamed for this!"

Oh I've fucking stepped in it now. There's anger on their faces, straight out. Maybe I've blown all chances I had of being able to go home, and it's strange how little I care. I'll miss my fathers, they made me what I am and I couldn't be more grateful, but they're the only real close friends I had here.

"Watch your tongue, boy," the man in the middle says with a growl, "or we will exile you from the clouds."

Once upon a time, that threat was enough to make me cower, but now I only give a bark of laughter. "Then do it," I bait. "I'm not going to stand here and take you trying to make me feel ashamed. If you can't face me as I am, and you're really willing to throw me out over this, then fucking do it. Brand me, I'll take it."

They share glances, as if communicating telepathically - as a kid I was sure they could - before the man stands. "It's done then. You have always been unruly, boy, but this pushes it too far. Guard, fetch a brander."

I hide my nerves, letting my wings settle against my back.

There are two different kinds of exile, and this is the less permanent one. They'll brand me, cover my left arm in a pattern unique to this community, and throw me off the clouds. I can still visit or even live at any other community, but any major offense at that community will earn me an instant enactment of the second version of exile. That's still more than enough to make me sick to my stomach at the very thought. The permanent exile, reserved for only the most absolutely horrendous crimes, is a severing of the wings. Permanently grounded. If you're really, really lucky, you might be able to live on the ground, but you'd never pass among humans, I know that now. Any interaction would betray the difference in weight, and there are only a few words shared between our languages, so there's no real way to communicate. It's pretty much a death sentence, without the council actually getting their hands dirty.

This, on the other hand, is only as permanent as I let it be. I'm banished from my community, but that doesn't mean I can't visit any others, and I'll still have fully functional wings. All this means is that I'll be separated from my fathers, and if the council bothers telling them the truth I'm sure they'll understand. That's not so bad, really.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," the council member starts, and I straighten up and meet his gaze, "you are guilty of breaking one of our most fundamental laws; interaction with a human. Your punishment is branding, and exile. Returning to this community, without exceptionally good reason, will result in a death sentence. You are prepared to submit to this judgment?"

"Yes," I say with a nod, "I am." He nods, and his left hand flicks in a command to someone behind me. A hand presses down on my left shoulder, firmly pushing me to my knees, and I force back a shudder as my shirt - thankfully my original, from when I'd first fell - is unlaced from around my left wing and pulled off my arm, left to hang on just my right side. A hand closes around the back of my neck, and a second firmly pins my left wing to my back. That will be the guard, restraining me from any reaction that might disrupt the branding.

Another hand closes around my left wrist, pulling my arm to be stretched out, and I glance sideways as the owner of the hand speaks to me. "You are aware of what is required from you?" he asks, blue eyes impassive, and I give as much of a nod as possible with my head pressed down. "Any attempt to redirect the lightning," he warns me softly, "will require me to render you unconscious first. Keep your power in check."

I turn my gaze away, to the cloud floor, as electricity sparks at the end of the brander's free hand. His fingers press down on the underside of my wrist, and I clench my jaw against the pain. A 'brander' is just someone who has enough power to create decent sparks of lightning, and is trained in how to use it to burn another in the particular pattern of their community. Usually, they're also part of our guards, no sense in teaching anyone but them techniques like that. Not that it would matter. Every Cloudwalker is at least trained to redirect electricity, otherwise our courtship storms would be fatal more often that not. It's actually difficult for me not to slip it through myself and out my other hand.

Shinji had an interesting teaching style. I got used to being shocked at any or all times, so I learned to transfer electricity completely automatically. So consciously controlling myself, letting it burn me instead of safely moving it, is somewhat of a struggle. Luckily, I've got fantastic control over my power. Equally luckily, pain is nothing new to me. I've had my fucking wing broken, and suffered through a heat without a trained dominant or a mate.

This is nothing in comparison. It hurts, definitely, burns sharper than a fire could, but it's just pain. It will happen, and then it will be over, and there will be no permanent damage to my arm except the scars.

His fingers trail up under my arm, following the winding pattern that I've read of but never actually seen on another person, stopping just shy of my armpit, before restarting at the base of my wrist. The pattern is three separate winding trails, with dashes between. One goes up the underside of my arm, and one goes up either side of the top of it, those ones ending on top of my shoulder. After that he'll put in the dashes. Six short, straight lines between the winding ones, one set of three around my lower arm and the other set around my upper arm. Our particular pattern.

I keep my eyes open, only letting the pain show in my clenched jaw. I'm sure the guard behind me can feel the jitters of my wing and shoulders, but that's not something I can control. That's just a muscle reaction to the spare electricity escaping into my body. Nothing harmful, just enough to make me twitch. At the least, the brander knows this. The guard and some of the council might not.

Like I give a fuck what they think of me. I think I've proven pretty definitely that I couldn't give half a fuck what they think I should do.

The last dash gets burnt into my arm, and the brander and guard pull back almost as one, releasing me. I get to my feet without pause, looking up to meet the council's gazes, a challenge in my eyes. "Escort him off our clouds," the older man orders, sitting back down and turning his head away dismissively.

The hand that closes around my right arm is strong, and I turn away from my old life for a new one as he pulls me back out of the council's palace. We're barely on the steps when two figures come hurtling down from the sky, wings spreading to catch the air and bring them to a hard stop not ten feet in front of us. My breath catches at the distinctive shades of green and gold, and the guard quickly steps away from me as my father Shinji moves towards us with authority. His gaze slips immediately to my arm, and his eyes narrow as he turns them behind me to the guard.

'What's the meaning of this?" he demands, as Kisuke pushes past him to me. I don't listen to the guard's stuttered explanation, closing my eyes as my submissive father wraps me in his arms, carefully excluding my burned limb. I shiver, returning the hug with my right arm and burying my face against his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asks sharply, one hand sliding through my hair. I nod against his shoulder, and he pulls back just far enough to look down at me, and for me to have to look up at him. Kisuke is taller than me, though not as much as he had been. I hadn't noticed before being next to someone I knew well, but I've grown a few inches while away, in addition to all the other changes. "You survived," he says in a breathless voice, eyes flicking over me as though trying to memorize every last detail, which he probably is. "You're not claimed, what happened with your heat?"

Shinji comes into view to my side, arms crossed and the guard nowhere in sight. "A human?" he asks, and though there's some hesitance in my dominant father's voice there's no outright disgust. "Tell us what happened."

I give them the longer version, explaining my injuries at Noitora's hands, Grimmjow's rescue of me, the subsequent months we'd spent together, and my wing's status at the time of heat. I even decide to tell them, after a moment of hesitation, that Grimmjow and I had continued our sexual relationship after my heat ended, stressing that I had asked him for it. The last thing I want is to give them any reason to hate the human that I'm about to go back to.

Kisuke fusses, his hands stroking through my hair and over my unmarked arm, but he lets me finish my story without interruption. Shinji is equally silent, standing at his mate's shoulder, and when I finish my tale with my encounter with the council, his gaze turns to steel. It's actually mildly scary. I know my father is captain of the guard for a reason, but he's always been light and jovial with me. I've never seen him mad before.

"Is he worth it?" Kisuke asks me, drawing my attention back to him, and I answer without hesitation.

"Yes," I state plainly. "He doesn't treat me like I'm nothing more than my nature, and that's all I ever wanted."

Both my fathers study me for a moment, before sharing a look, and then Kisuke releases me and steps back. "If that's your choice, then it's settled," he says with a smile. I make a noise of confusion, watching Shinji's gaze soften as he gives me a grin.

"You didn't think we'd abandon you, did you, Ichigo?" he asks. "If you're going to ground yourself for this human, and never come back to this community, then we'll just have to become drifters."

My eyes widen. Drifters are Cloudwalkers that don't belong to a specific community and live in their own homes, traveling wherever they like. It's a much harder life, responsible for all your own needs as opposed to sharing the burden with the rest of the community, but you're also completely autonomous. Our community had run across them a few times, but most don't choose a life like that.

"You don't have to do that," I protest, and Shinji snorts.

"Of course we do," Kisuke says softly, smirking. "If that human mistreats you, you'll need a home to come back to. Plus we'll have to be close enough to murder him, naturally." Oh yeah, I'd forgotten how passive aggressive Kisuke is. He's perfectly capable of that, I'm sure of it, and even if he weren't, he'd just set Shinji to do it for him. Grimmjow is going to need to watch his back if my fathers are seriously going to do this. "Besides, I would never give up contact with you, not for a bunch of stuffy old men. Go to your human, son, and watch for us, hm?"

"Also," Shinji adds, grin turning just a little malicious, "I think Noitora might wind up mysteriously absent. We might wish to leave before that happens, to avoid any suspicion that might fall on us." Also, how straight out aggressive Shinji can be at times. If he wasn't such a complete and utter dick, I might actually feel sorry for Noitora. But I don't. Not one bit. "Give us a week or so, then we'll be right back here. Now off with you, you should be gone anyway."

"Thank you," I say softly, letting my lips quirk upwards in gratitude.

I step back, and beat my wings to lift myself into the air, taking off. I fly far enough horizontally to get away from the cloud community before diving, spiraling down under the clouds and picking out the clearing that holds Grimmjow's home. I stoop into an actual dive, beating my wings to gain speed as I rocket towards the ground. My left arm burns at the rush of wind against it, and the flex of my muscles to keep it against my side, but it's nothing I can't just ignore. I snap my wings open about thirty feet from the ground, upending myself to point my feet down and putting force into my beats to slow down. I still hit the ground hard enough to bend to my knees to absorb the impact, but it doesn't pause me for any more than a second.

I move towards the house, and Grimmjow emerges and meets me halfway. We all but collide, and he grips a handful of my hair and pulls me into a kiss, his free arm reaching to grip my shirt. When his fingers touch the skin of my chest instead, the article of clothing still only hooked to my right arm and wing, he pulls back a little. His eyes fall to my chest, and then my arm, and then his eyes narrow dangerously.

"What the fuck did they do to you?" he snarls, and I get a warm rush at the protective display of temper.

"It's alright," I answer, raising my right hand to press gently against his chest, "it was my choice." He doesn't look convinced, the anger still very present, and I give him a small smile. "I've been exiled from the community." His eyes widen a fraction, surprise obvious in his gaze, before the anger returns.

"What fucking right-"

"Which means," I interrupt, "that I'm here to stay. If you'll have me."

I know the answer, but I still wait in high suspense for the few moments it takes Grimmjow to get over his shock, and for him to grin.

"Of course I will."