A/N: I don't own Bleach. Tite Kubo does. I had fun with this, hope you do too.
This is my first try at a Bleach GrimmUlqui fan fiction. Rated T for swearing. Reviews and PMs are appreciated.
Ulquiorra Schiffer stirred, screwing up his eyes as he ogled at the ceiling. My companions are trash… getting me unbelievably smashed. I'll waste them. But for now…. He thought to himself as he rotated over and laid the feather pillow over his throbbing head.
He shifted his arms to sprawl out across the bed. He felt snug… until he felt skin and… rippling abs. He began to realize with much revulsion and dread that these weren't his sheets. That ceiling was not his ceiling. Instant fear crept up his spine, prickling his skin and all of his organs leapt and dropped to freezing temperatures. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his face to see what was to his right. Or who was to his right.
A sleeping face of a man with rock hard abs was lying, shirtless beside him. So this man owned this house. Not Ulquiorra, who had obviously been too intoxicated to realize he had stumbled into a house that was not his own. Why the door was not locked, he had no idea. This man must have a death wish to leave his door unlocked at night time.
Ulquiorra grasped the dangerous concept in a swift second. This man could over power him, if he came around and found the dark haired, green eyed twenty-two year old, lying in his bed.
With all the adrenaline pumping through his veins he devised two plans, one coming from his reasonable side, and the other coming from his half insane, half drunken state of mind. Plan A: run as fast as fuck and hope to God that this man doesn't wake up when Ulquiorra runs screaming down the stairs and running around his house, looking for an exit. Plan B: Retract arm from his chest as leisurely as possible, and slowly creep down the stairs, and run like never before to a bus stop.
A thought dawned on him. He didn't even know where the hell he was.
Plan B was most logical though. His dark, enticing green eyes were as wide as humanly possible as he lifted his arm, at a snail's pace, off the man's chest.
The man's hair was a strange teal, and extremely messy. It would take an exceptionally blind idiot to deny this man was very good looking. He was just plain sexy.
But in this very moment, Ulquiorra feared for his life and his sexuality. For all he knew, he could be a gay pervert when he was drunk. Trying to get this out of his mind, he coaxed himself as calmly as possible. Almost off his chest… almost there. Exceedingly bright blue eyes flicked opened and widened at him. Ulquiorra rolled off the bed and slammed onto the floor, putting as much distance between them as possible. With his head spinning and his terror growing like a monster inside of him, he wanted to scream the first thing he could imagine would diffuse the situation or at least convince the man to not freak out. Nothing came to mind. Nothing that would calm either of them, anyway.
The man stood up with an almost dazed expression, his fists balled as he gawked at Ulquiorra.
Plan A: Run as fast as fuck. GO! He didn't bother grabbing his pants on the floor as he jumped up. Ulquiorra slept in his boxers all the time. Never again. Never again.
Like a bullet, Ulquiorra ripped the door open and bolted down the stairs. He stumbled and tripped on cardboard boxes, each labelled Jeagerjaques. As he glanced back up the stairs, he saw the man—still flabbergasted—looking down at him. He had no idea where the door was, but when he saw an open window, he crawled through it and ran like hell onto the street.
He turned to see the number 64 Espada Street. Shit. He ran down, bare foot until he came to the house 46. No wonder I thought that was my house.
As Ulquiorra glanced at his trembling fingers, he slammed his head against his door. My house keys… they're at his house. I'm sure of it. They must be inside my pants.
He lifted the mat and grabbed the spare key, unlocking the door while cursing, "shit, you damn idiot." Ulquiorra slammed the door behind him as a white cat weaved through his legs. He picked him up and ran up the stairs.
"Pantera, I am a fool." Ulquiorra told his purring cat as he pulled clean clothes and a towel from a linen cabinet and bureau. He popped a few Advil to relieve his migraine. "This stays between us. I will never tell my acquaintances, even if it kills me." He hissed, shutting the door behind him. He climbed into the glass shower, his eyes still wide with shock and terror. Jeagerjaques… you are on my list of unmentionables. I will never see you again. That is a promise. I can't even believe that happened. He shampooed and body washed, trying to rid himself of the memories of that house.
He dressed and began drying his hair when the noon package delivery rang the doorbell. It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.
Ulquiorra dashed down the stairs and continued to dry his hair, the towel draped over his face as he opened the door.
"Jeeze kid, how long does it take you to open the damn door?" A gruff voice growled at him. "I'm Grimmjow Jeagerjaques"—whoa. What was that name? No. No. Not possible. Keep the towel over your face—"and I just moved in, down the street at 64."
Ulquiorra clutched the black shirt with a skull to his chest. Oh dear God.
"Well, take it." He shoved the box at Ulquiorra's chest, causing him to be pushed backwards a little. His towel slipped off to reveal his pale cheeks darken and his emerald eyes close in fright.
Grimmjow Jeagerjaques' mouth dropped open in astonishment. He quickly recovered and a wide grin spread across his face. "You're the little punk who broke into my house and slept beside me." He laughed, tilting his head back. "I can't wait to hear your explanation." Although his face was delighted, his tone was incredibly threatening.