No one understood why they went to each other. Some, such as Ulquiorra, surmised that it was some sort of pathetic connection between them as they both knew what it was like to be without rank and power. Others, mainly Nnoitra, claimed that the sadistic bastards just used sex as an excuse to try to kill each other.
And quite honestly, not even they knew why they continued to meet up in the middle of the night, whether it was in their bedrooms or in the lab.
Well, at least that's what they had everyone thinking.
Szayel Aporro would say it was all for research purposes. That he was simply learning more about his fellow Espada. Like what erogenous zones left the sexta Espada writhing under him and groaning obscenities that could make even Starrk blush. He'd never say he did it just for pleasure, that he liked having Grimmjow's cock in his ass, the way the blue haired man's calloused hands felt on his baby soft skin. That he liked the way he could reduce the mouthy Espada to stuttering, incapable of forming complete sentences or think of anything besides him.
It had nothing to do with carnal lust and everything to do with his ego as a scientist.
Or at least that's what Szayel Aporro was always trying to convince himself.
Grimmjow claimed the opposite. For him, it was all about his dick when it came to the octava Espada. It was no secret that he lusted for the mad scientist or that the wounds he sustained after their meetings were caused by the sadistic pinkette. But no one knew that he liked the violence between them, that he got off every time the damn cannibal sank his teeth into Grimmjow's flesh. And what Grimmjow liked the most was that he knew things other people didn't about Szayel Aporro.
No one but him knew that Szayel Aporro's 8 was inked into his right hipbone and that the scientist loved when Grimmjow traced it with his tongue. Or that his Hollow hole laid hidden beneath his clothing, a large hole on the inside of his left thigh. It was something that the scientist had only ever revealed to the sexta and that was a fact the blue haired man relished in.
But no one needed to know that. After all, it wasn't like he cared for the sick son of a bitch. He just had a pretty face and knew how to take care of his dick.
And Grimmjow was damn near convinced that that was the only reason he kept going back to the octava.