He was always curious about that girl.
Grimmjow Jeagerjacks, the boy prince of the kingdom of Hueco Mundo, reflected quietly in his chambers.
He remembered the first time they brought her to the palace. She had been taken prisioner during a hostile takeover of the Kuchiki castle in the Seretei Kingdom. He had been told she had an older brother, but he had resisted and had been killed during the siege.
Most of the prisoners had been sold to the slave market, but that girl had been chosen to remain as a servant in the palace. Grimmjow hadn't cared much for the news; he had not been allowed to participate in the siege, therefore anything having to do with it was of no interest to him.
It happened on the first night that she had been brought over. Grimmjow had been in a foul mood, due to his father's decision to keep him out of the attack, and no one had dared approach him -a wise decision-. He decided to take out his anger on some unsuspecting servants down at the kitchen. Imagine his surprise when he got down to the kitchen, only to find it completely empty. Irritated now even more than before, Grimmjow had been about to turn and leave, when he heard a sound that didn't belong in a kitchen.
He heard sobbing. He thought his ears might be deceiving him at first, but he followed the sound to its source, and came to a closed floor cabinet. Curiosity getting the best of him, he opened the cabinet and found…A girl.
That had been the first time he had laid eyes on her. She had been nothing more than a curled up tiny girl inside a kitchen cabinet. Her knees had been drawn up to her chest and her face had been stained by tear streaks, her eyes and her button nose puffy and red. Her sobs had stopped the minute he opened the door, and her head had snapped up to look at him.
Grimmjow knew he was intimidating, with his tall, well-built frame, bright blue hair and piercing eyes, and he actually prided himself in his ability to make people run for it just by shooting them a menacing glance. So he was surprised -no, shocked- when the fragile-looking, crying servant girl hidden in a cabinet, instead of running in fright, hastily wiped her face and -with a surprising amount of dignity- climbed out of the small pace, shot him a death glare that would have shaken a lesser man, and walked away with her head held high.
Thinking back on that, Grimmjow couldn't help but note that, aside from the usual rage he had felt at the girl's insolence, there had also been an unshakable twinge of interest right away. Of course it made sense, it was only a numbered amount of men that could stare down Grimmjow without cowering away, so this girl who glared at him the first time she saw him -and it wasn't just the glare, it was the way she glared at him, like she was royalty and he was only a bothersome insect. It infuriated him, but also intrigued him.
The next time he saw the girl, he noted a few more things.
It had been a completely unexpected meeting, no more than a coincidence. He had been stomping down the luxurious halls of the Las Noches palace, not even noting the usual servants going about their duties who gave bowed and curtsied when he passed by, when he turned a sharp corner, and knocked something over. Or at least he had thought it was something -as it turned out, it was actually a someone. Growling, he had looked down to scold the idiot who had gotten in his way, when he felt an immediate sense of recognition.
It was none other than the ill-mannered servant girl he had found sobbing in the kitchen a week before. He had been preparing to put her in her place as he would have anyone else, when she jumped to her feet and gave him a venomous glare not unlike the one she'd given him before. She didn't bow, nor show any sign of respect towards her master; she didn't take the slightest measure of belittlement in his presence. Instead, she met him head on, despite, what he now fully noticed, her very short stature. She barely came up to his chest, but the way she looked at him with cold eyes made it seem like she was the one looking down at him. Then, with a very curt, 'excuse me' from her, she pushed her way past him and disappeared into the next hallway.
Grimmjow had been too dumbfounded to even respond in time. To say her behavior enraged him was an understatement, but he just couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards this nameless servant. Something about the cold fire in her eyes just pulled him in.
He hadn't noticed back then how he had been already getting completely roped in by this girl, with no way to escape. Yet, even now, he couldn't quite decide whether he disliked it or not.
By the time of their next meeting, the nameless servant girl had already been plaguing his thoughts for some time. It was around two weeks before he saw her again, but that time he had her face ingrained in his memory and was already on edge for putting her in her place the moment he saw her. He could just say, things did not go as planned.
He had been in the garden. It was late in the afternoon, the sun was setting. Grimmjow may not have been a man to enjoy the beauties of nature or anything of the sort, the only beauty that ever captivated him was the beauty of battle. Raging screams, clashing of swords, the crimson blood of your enemies mixing with your own in the mist of the carnage… But he occasionally went out to the palace garden to be by himself. It could have been considered a beautiful, peaceful place, filled with well-cared-for vegetation, singing birds and colorful butterflies. To him, it was just a place to escape his nagging advisors and irritating father. Not many servants visited the place either, except for those given gardening duties. This was the last place where he expected to have his third encounter with the infamous servant girl.
It wasn't anything like his initial encounters with her. In fact, it was completely different from anything he could have ever expected.
There was a stream in the palace garden, it wasn't very deep or anything, but its water was sometimes used by the servants for the times when the well was dried out, or unavailable for whatever reason. Grimmjow had been strolling around and was actually a bit surprised when he heard the bubbling of the stream, not usually one to go that far into the garden (he usually remained on one of the marble benches in between the rose bushes). Normally, he would have just turned to go back to the inside of the palace, but he thought he heard splashing. He wondered for a moment if there were any fish in that stream, but then he heard it again, and it didn't sound like fish jumping at all. It was different, like someone was in there. He tried to remember if there was any reason for servants to be there collecting water, but didn't remember anything. So perhaps there was an intruder. As unlikely as it was for an intruder to be in the garden stream, Grimmjow decided to check it out anyway, hoping he'd get some action.
What he got was something completely unexpected.
There she was. He was standing with his body partially hidden behind the thick trunk of a tree by the water stream, his head sticking around it to allow him a view of the girl, knee-deep in the clear water, and completely naked.
The golden sunlight of the afternoon bathed her smooth, milky skin in an orange glow. The rays of the sun shone in her dark raven tresses, and surrounded her slim, body in a golden halo, accentuating the delicate curves of her body. She bent down and took a small, white towel into the water, then raised it out, letting the crystalline water drip back into the stream, and, with slow, elegant movements, stroked her slender arms and legs with the wet towel. The clear water dripped down her delicate limbs and added to her glow. She looked like a goddess.
Grimmjow was entranced. It, she, was beautiful.
He knew he should have walked away then, left before she had a chance to see him. But he was lost in the grace and unearthly beauty of her movements and of her. His sane mind was no longer the ruler of his actions; he couldn't have left if he'd wanted to.
So he'd really had no choice but to stay there for who knows how long, it couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but they could have been centuries as he watched, entranced, the girl bathing in the stream. Until finally, as the girl dunked and took out the white towel once more, she casually turned, and he didn't notice until it was too late where her eyes were straying to.
Violet eyes met blue ones. It was only for an instant, which felt more like a lifetime, but in that moment Grimmjow felt himself get lost in the most luminous exquisite pair of violet orbs he had ever gazed into. There was no iciness or venom in them now; they were wide and shocked. There was no time for her to show any more emotion before Grimmjow turned and left in a hurry, having to actively strain himself to keep from running all the way back to his chambers.
That night he had dreamt of her. And the next night, and the next. His thoughts were completely plagued with her ivory skin bathed in sunlight, and her sparkling violet eyes. He couldn't get her out of his mind whether he was awake or asleep. It pissed him off, because it was distracting him. He lost every sparring match that week, he couldn't concentrate on any of his princely duties (not that he'd cared much for them anyway…)
But finally, it had gotten to a point where he couldn't take it anymore. He decided to find this girl. He asked the other servants for her, none of them seemed to know much about her, but finally, one elderly maid was able to tell him he'd be able to find her cleaning the dining hall.
He wasted no time and went straight there, almost immediately seeing the petite girl clad in the black and white uniform, bent over the long wooden table and dutifully scrubbing with a filthy, wet cloth.
Grimmjow strode over to her and with a harsh 'hey' made her look up and straighten to meet his gaze. Again, she didn't glare. This time, her eyes were filled with something else, he wasn't sure whether it was positive or not, and he immediately noticed the conspicuous reddening of her cheeks.
Then he spoke to her for the first time.
"What's your name?" he had asked demandingly. His muscled arms were folded over his chest and his square jaw was set as he looked down at her.
"My name is none of your concern, prince." Came her even, cool answer. The way she said 'prince' sounded more like an insult than a title of respect. Then she proceeded to turn away from him, without so much as a bow or even another glance, and went back to wiping the already-gleaming wooden surface.
"Hey," he roughly grabbed her upper arm and spun her to face him with slightly startled violet eyes. "Look at me when I talk to you, and address me with the proper respect. I am your master, you are the servant, got it?" he glared at her, not letting her averting her eyes for a second.
She didn't try to look away, and met him with as much force. She shrugged her arm off his grip with surprising strength and said, "Forgive me, master, I have many tasks to complete. If you'll excuse me…"
She brushed past him with as much respect as a cat to a mouse and slipped out of the room, dirtied cloth thrown lazily over her shoulder, back straight and shoulders set. If not for the uniform and filthy rags, anyone might have thought she really was the princess of the palace.
That had been their first actual conversation, and he hadn't even learned her name.
The girl was a mystery which he couldn't solve by force. Grimmjow didn't like 'strategies' to solve things; anything he wanted, he got by force. But this girl was unattainable that way. He realized, by that point, that he needed to approach her differently. He knew by then that he couldn't just brush it off and forget about her, he was in too deeply, the little witch had him trapped.
Grimmjow shook his head lightly as he gazed at the closed door leading into his room. That girl had had him trapped from the first time she let him gaze upon those unique violet irises.
"Fight me."
Those two words had been what started their next meeting.
Grimmjow had been sparring opponent after opponent down at his private dojo, and had just finished easily defeating the latest of his incompetent fighters. He had been surprised, to say the least, when he saw the slim girl, wearing a casual dress instead of the usual uniform, standing in the dojo. He hadn't heard her slip in, and he looked at her with raised eyebrows before he burst out laughing.
This seemed to displease her greatly, as she crossed her arms over her chest and did that 'foot-stomping' thing that women seem to like to do when they want to seem imposing.
"Oh, you're serious?" Grimmjow had asked between chuckles.
The girl had answered by undoing the lace that held up her dress and letting it fall in a white pool of cloth at her feet. Grimmjow's mouth fell open and his face turned as red as a tomato. It wasn't the first time he saw her naked, in fact, he'd had plenty of time to mull over her naked body in his mind, and remember in detail each of her delicate curves and womanly bumps…But the action of just getting naked a few feet before him with all her apparent nonchalance…well that was something else.
Before he'd had time to ogle her naked form once more, the girl had taken one of the black suits used for sparring practice -it was a child-sized one that hadn't fit him even as a young boy- and had slipped it on with an utmost ease that suggested this wasn't the first time she'd dressed in a sparring suit. She went on to the far wall where all the assorted kinds of katana and other weapons were on display, waiting to be chosen, and after a quick survey, took an average-sized red-handled katana and turned to face him in in a challenging stance.
"I suggest you stop staring and pick up your sword…If you want to leave here with all your limbs still attached." The girl said with a self-important shrug in a confident voice unbefitting of a mere servant.
Grimmjow wanted to strike her right then and there, but she had jus challenged him, and he never backed away from a challenge. Despite his every sense telling him it was beneath him to fight a woman, much less a fragile-looking one like the girl before him, he knew it would have been weak to ignore the challenge. So, forcing his erratic heartbeat and summoning one of his signature cocky -some would say bordering on sadistic- grins, Grimmjow took up his fighting stand and said, "You're on."
Then the fight had begun. Grimmjow was a good swordsman, one of the best. Bloodthirsty and ruthless in battle, these traits made him a fearsome warrior. The girl's fighting was entirely different. She didn't rely on strength or even speed; she was all about the agility and skill. Her movements were lithe and even graceful, as opposed to his blatantly forceful offensive attacks.
The sparring match was long, longer than usual for him. Since most of his opponents fought on equal terms with him in terms of style, he was easily the better fighter and defeated them quickly. But this girl fought on a different level, not necessarily a higher level, but her style made it difficult for him to fight her; who would have thought her height -or lack thereof- would prove to work against him?
In the end, he was the winner. He was left sprawled on the wooden floor panting and sweating, and not without multiple bruises, but he had defeated her. The girl was in no better state than him; when Grimmjow commented on her surprisingly good sparring skills and asked her where she'd learned to fight like that, he sat up to find she had already changed back into her white dress and quickly went out of the dojo, leaving him alone and battered on the wooden floor to gaze at the spot where she'd been a minute before.
Grimmjow still remembered that first battle. They had sparred again not too long after that; she would always appear unannounced and wearing casual clothes instead of the servant uniform. Grimmjow didn't know too much about the way things were sun with servants, but he was pretty sure none of them had much time off to slack off and wear what they wanted, much less show up at sparring sessions. He was pretty sure the girl was breaking s good amount of rules that she would be severely punished for if she were discovered…or if he decided to tell on her. But he knew, and apparently so did the girl, that he wouldn't be telling on her anytime soon. Their little sparring sessions were too much fun to give up, and after being punished, she wouldn't be able to fight for a long time. At least, that's what he had kept telling himself was the reason for keeping his mouth shut.
In any case, their matches got more intense each time. The girl grew more confident as she gradually began to observe and memorize his moves, but it worked like that the other way around too. Each time they would end up covered in more bruises than the last. Grimmjow picked up a few useful tricks from fighting her, and he even shared some of his own techniques with her to help her improve; she never openly acknowledged this, for she was too proud to do so (he'd learned that much about her at this point), but he knew she was paying attention as he would occasionally note her employment of different techniques he had told her about. He still won every fight, but more often than not the girl came dangerously close to defeating him.
To this day, Grimmjow still didn't know where she had learned to fight the way she did; she was better than most of the scum he was forced to practice against every other day. He had learned from eavesdropping into other servants' conversations that she had had a personal sensei back at the Kuchiki castle, by her bother's wishes. But Grimmjow found this explanation hard to believe; women were not encouraged to be warriors in any place, but for noble women it was nothing short of forbidden.
But again, Grimmjow overlooked this mystery and simply continued to spar her without questioning her. For more than a month their encounters were limited to only those sparring sessions, and Grimmjow had found that the rest of the time he would be constantly thinking about her, about what she was doing; was she working? Was she slacking off somewhere else? Was she thinking about him too?…Was she bathing in the garden water stream?
And more than that, he would always be eager and looking forward to those sparring sessions where she would show up, each time also finding himself wishing the sessions wouldn't end quite so soon, or that she would stay a little bit afterwards, instead of leaving without a word. He still hadn't heard her voice since the first time she challenged him to a fight.
But that had been about to change.
Grimmjow remembered that day so clearly it felt like if he closed his eyes he could still see it…No, that wasn't true. The day was a blur to him; the palace had been a tag by a group of mercenaries who called themselves 'Vizards', everyone had been running around, desperately trying to defend the palace against the unexpected attack. Grimmjow had, of course, rushed out to fight the bastards, always eager for a good fight. But they were strong, stronger than he could have anticipated. The details of that day were all blurred together, he vaguely remembered the fight with one of the leaders of the vizards, he remembered getting hurt, badly. He remembered thinking that was it for him. But what he remembered in sharp, full detail about that day, was her.
There had been blood covering her hands and her pale face; crimson streaks that stained her smooth skin and her white and black uniform. He didn't know whose blood it was; it didn't matter. Grimmjow had been fallen on the floor, the shouts and clashes of a fierce battle echoing around him like an orchestra. The pain from his wounds began to numb, and he had thought he was done for. But then she showed up, hunched over him, blocking out the gruesome sights of the battle. Her violet eyes had been large and bright with adrenaline, perhaps, and something else he couldn't quite identify. Grimmjow heard her voice above the battle sounds, strong and instructing him to do something, but he couldn't make out the words. Slowly, the sound began to fall upon deaf ears, but he knew she was still speaking as he looked at her moving lips. He felt small, warm hands on his chest, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were her hands. He focused his eyes on her breathtaking orbs, and almost subconsciously began to reach out to her. He never reached her; his vision blurred until he couldn't see anymore. He couldn't see or hear anything…he couldn't breathe.
Grimmjow had been sure that was the end for him. But then he opened his eyes. The next thing he had been aware of, he was lying on a hard mattress, different than the comfortable, luxurious bed he was accustomed to; there were a couple of pillows under his head and a thin blanket covering his body. A single candle was burning at his bedside, and he looked at the flickering flame before focusing on the person sitting on a chair beside the bed.
"It's you." he had grumbled hoarsely without thinking as he set his eyes on her.
The girl's face was illuminated in a fiery glow by the candle's light, the only illumination in the otherwise dark, silent room. The way the flame's colors played on her ivory skin reminded him of the time he had caught her bathing that afternoon.
The girl didn't say anything as she leaned down to a bucket sitting by her feet, and retrieved a dripping cloth from the water inside. She took the cloth and gently pressed it to his forehead. Grimmjow relished the warm water that ran down the sides of his face and fell into his hair and down to the pillows from the places where she pressed the cloth. The girl did this until the cloth was nearly dry, when she dunk it back into the bucket of water and repeated her actions. During this time, Grimmjow vaguely remembered the happenings of the attack before, and remembered that he had been about to die. Thinking of the wounds covering his body, he jerked upright, letting the blanket covering him fall to his hips and uncover his torso. It was covered in white bandages, red blotches covering the spots where presumably his wounds were still unclosed. He grunted as renewed pain shot throughout his body from his covered wounds.
"Lay down." Her voice had commanded, at the same time as she placed one hand on his shoulder and gently, but sternly, pushed him back down. Grimmjow did not resist and let his head fall on the pillows. In the back of his mind, he wondered at how, despite the hard work of being a servant, on top of the sparring matches, the girl's hands were soft as petals.
The girl put away the wet cloth and examined his uncovered body with displeasure apparent in her scrunched up brow.
"I'll need to change these bandages." she stated, before calmly standing from her wooden chair and disappearing into some other dark corner of the room. Watching her retreating form, Grimmjow noticed that she still wore blood covered clothes.
She was back in a minute, carrying folds of white cloth, a small towel and a dark flask sloshing with some unseen liquid.
She sat back down and quietly set to work on undoing the bandages around his torso, letting the bloodied, filthy cloth fall in an unceremonious heap on the floor. His bronze, visibly toned torso lay fully exposed now, but the girl seemed to pay no mind to his nakedness. There was no hint of hesitation in her as she quickly opened the flask she had carried and emptied some of its contents into the small towel. Grimmjow couldn't stop the low grunt and wince as she pressed the towel on one of his bleeding wounds. The girl didn't pause and continued to clean the wound, occasionally pouring more of the flask's liquid unto the towel. Grimmjow cursed lowly as she set to work on a new wound, flinching at the stinging sensation the liquid, presumably some type of medicine, on the towel caused.
"Don't move, It'll hurt less." the girl advised him without taking her eyes off her work. She continued to dutifully clean and disinfect his wounds. Grimmjow averted his eyes and looked to the other side of the room as he let her work, focusing on not reacting to the pain.
"Hey, servant girl," the title 'servant girl' felt wrong on his tongue, but had nothing else to call her by. "…Why did you save me back there?"
She hadn't answered for a seemingly long time. She continued to clean a wound, but her movements had gotten slow and hesitant, signaling that she'd heard him. Finally, she put the cloth aside and shrugged lightly, bending down to pick up the clean cloth she had placed beside him on the bed. "No reason." she said.
Grimmjow turned to look at her now. "What kind of idiotic answer is that?" he promptly snorted.
The girl turned her violet eyes to his face to offer him a candlelit glare. Grimmjow cussed loudly and clenched his fists as a medicine-covered towel was unexpectedly jammed to the wound at his side. He didn't miss the mirth dancing in her violet orbs as she once again put away the towel and instructed him to sit up.
He did as he was told and felt her cool hands settle on his bare skin. His stomach contracted almost instinctively and he felt his whole body stiffen under her soft touch.
"Relax." she instructed in a scolding tone.
Grimmjow scowled at her but complied, muttering under his breath. Her able hands worked with ease as she carefully rewrapped his torso in white, clean bandages. Sometimes, her delicate fingers would accidentally brush the hard skin over his stomach or back, causing Grimmjow to stiffen in various places; he would scold himself for being so weak at the touch of a woman. By the time she had finished with the bandages, his hands were tight fists and his teeth were clenched together, in an attempt to control his sensitive physiology.
When she was done, she gathered all her utensils in her arms and walked away into the darkness. Grimmjow stared after her until she came back, looking a bit startled to see him looking at her.
"You should lay down and get some rest." she said evenly before sitting down on her wooden chair.
"Where am I?" he asked, ignoring her advise.
"My room." she answered vaguely, standing to put her hand on his chest and force him to lay back down.
Grimmjow frowned. "I didn't know servants got their own rooms."
"Most of them don't."
"What makes you so special?" his question was laced with irony, but there was genuine curiosity right beneath the surface.
The girl seemed to consider this for a moment, before waving her hand in a dismissive gesture and saying, "Go to sleep." Then she leaned over to blow out the candle, and he heard footsteps, signaling her exit. Left with nothing else to do, he drifted to sleep and dreamt of her and her gentle touch.
That had been a turning point of sorts in their relationship. After that night, Grimmjow had been taken back to his own chambers and had been taken care of by the family's medics. But his meetings with the servant girl didn't stop; instead, they grew more and more frequent. Of course, convalescent as he was, he could no longer spar, so whenever he saw the girl now was in passive activities. At first he had strode out to the garden, remembering the time he'd seen her there, and somewhere in his mind hoping that perhaps he'd find her there again. His instincts had proved right about one hour after arriving there, when the raven-haired girl showed up.
He continued to go to the garden on a regular basis, almost every time meeting with her. Their encounters were no longer silent; conversation would flow throughout the time, and though neither ever went too deeply into any theme, and the girl never showed any signs of planning to open up about her life, they still talked for hours.
Though he was conscious that the girl must have known what she was doing every evening when she went out to the garden where she would have known he would be, it was still always he who sought out their meetings and their meaningless conversations. Which is why he did not expect, that night when he had been lying on his bed quietly before getting ready for some formal dinner he was to have with some royalty from the Menos clan, when the door to his room to open and reveal a petite, black-haired servant.
"What the-?" had been his eloquent inquiry as he sat up to look at her.
She had looked back at him and he noted the reluctance in her stance. She may not have been the most easy-going person, and was normally stiff and straight, that night she seemed…differently so. He hadn't understood until she spoke.
"Miss Loly and Miss Menoly are feeling ill tonight." she had informed him, mentioning his two, personal maids. "I will be filling in their duties tonight." The girl finished, her voice not betraying any emotion, but as she finished speaking she averted her eyes and he noticed her hands nervously fiddling with the fabric of her uniform at her sides. At first, he still did not understand her obvious discomfort. Then she spoke again, through gritted teeth this time.
"Sir," she said the title with obvious strain. "I believe you are to get ready for the dinner tonight…" she trailed off, and understanding dawned upon him.
A huge smirk split his face. A devilish spark lit his eyes.
With more willingness than he would ever normally show in such a situation, Grimmjow leaped off the bed and stood with his arms spread out on either side of him. "Alright. Let's get ready."
He watched with distinct enjoyment as the rosy color rose to the girl's face and she uselessly tried to hide it. He was even able to hear some dark muttering under her breath as she walked over to him with her eyes set on the floor. She came to a stop right before him. He looked down at the top of her raven head with amusement.
"I'm waiting." he informed her, the grin evident in his voice.
She didn't move except for the tightening of her fists, then she very reluctantly made her way around to his back and reached up to set to work.
In a matter of seconds, the girl was hastily undressing him. He thoroughly took pleasure in the burning red coloring her cheeks, and the fumbling clumsiness caused by her shaking hands as she tried multiple times to correctly undo the bindings of his heavy clothing.
It was a few moments before all his garments lay pooled around his feet on the carpeted floor. He stood in the middle of the room in all his naked glory; and, he knew for a fact, it was glorious indeed. Grimmjow was a tall, long-limbed young man; his skin was battle scarred but nicely tanned, covered in a light sheet of nearly invisible golden hair. Well-worked muscles toned his every inch; they flexed handsomely every time he moved. The women he bedded never failed to be awed by his display of masculine perfection.
He was very conscious of all this when he noticed the sudden silence; not even the girl's breathing was heard, he knew she wasn't moving at all, and he could feel her eyes boring into him.
He decided to tease some more. Looking over his shoulder casually, he said, "Like what you see?"
Embarrassed and indignant purple eyes shot up to glare at him. She had begun to open her mouth to say something less-than-flattering, by the looks of it, but he startled her by turning around and allowing her a full, magnificent view of his most manly parts.
The words died on her mouth and she turned ten different shades of red as her eyes unwillingly, but inevitably, ran down his defined torso and focused on a lower region.
His grin now threatened to reach his ears as he folded his arms over his chest and stood proudly before the gaping girl.
"If I remember correctly, you're supposed to be dressing me now, eh?"
His mocking voice was enough to snap her out of her trance and rush to the place where the formal clothes he was supposed to wear where laid out. This time, she went about her actions quickly and harshly, more than once cutting off his breath with a tightened collar.
"You know," he started once he was fully dressed, mischief sparkling in his voice. "I bet you can't stop picturing me naked now."
It was fun to see her violet eyes grow wide and embarrassed, yet indignant at the same time. He decided to play this a little further; he hadn't known at that point where his daring taunting would turn into something else entirely.
"Don't feel too embarrassed about it." he told her in mock comfort. "It's perfectly natural. I still picture you naked. All the time."
His perverted -but still honest- remark had the desired effect. The heat flared up again on the girl's cheeks and her jaw fell open in disbelief. "You-!" her words were cut off by a surprised gasp as Grimmjow took her wrist and daringly pulled her towards him, until their bodies were touching.
It had only been supposed to be a game. Grimmjow remembered feeling triumphant that night at the fact that he finally, for once, had the upper hand when it came to that girl. With his victorious streak, he was too busy enjoying his win to notice when he was no longer playing the game, so much as the game was playing him.
It had happened fast. He was hardly even sure of how it happened anymore. All he knew was that he had been mercilessly teasing her, pressing her lithe body against his; allowing his hands to travel down her back and to the curve of her ass…He remembered her protesting, pretending to push him away. He had grinned at her 'efforts' and then…
What happened right before the kiss would forever be a mystery to him. But the kiss itself…That was unforgettable. The moment his lips had crushed into hers with all the force of a warrior in battle, he had felt such a rush, like fire was burning him wherever he touched her; only it was a good kind of burning, like the burning rush he felt in battle, only infinitely better.
It hadn't been long before she had began to respond and kissed him back. Then his pleasure was increased tenfold. Needless to say, the Menos dinner had to go on without him.
Grimmjow had been with various women before that night, but none of them ever came close to comparing to that nameless, servant girl.
He sighed where he lay presently on his bed. The first time he had been with that girl had been over a month ago. Afterwards, he had requested her to be his personal maid from the on; and of course, she spent more time taking his clothes off than she did putting it on. She was easily put off by him, his general way of being. And he felt an unnatural love for pushing her buttons. That's not to say that she didn't have quite the talent for irritating him just as much, maybe even more. But that fire between them always played them right into each other's arms; their lovemaking was harsh and rough, yet she was elegant and graceful; not so different from the sparring matches they once had.
Grimmjow couldn't get enough of her. He was addicted, and he didn't even know her name.
Grimmjow heaved out a long sigh. He knew he had gotten too involved; it had become a problem. And even after their month-long adventures, she was as much of a puzzle to him as she was on the very first day he found her crying in the kitchen. He ran a hand through his messy blue hair and looked up at the ceiling, pondering on what he was about to do.
He heard the door opening, followed by light, familiar footsteps. He didn't need to turn and look to know it was her.
"You summoned me, Sir?" her voice was bland and almost bored as she went through the necessary formalities. She knew the reason nine out of ten times of why Grimmjow summoned her to his chambers.
Grimmjow sat up and looked at her, standing at the doorway.
"Close the door." he ordered; she did so quietly, a look of resignation on her face ever since she had walked in.
Grimmjow was hot-headed and brash, but he wasn't blind.
It had been about two weeks after their first time that he had noticed the look in her eyes. Whenever she entered his room before, and when she exited afterwards. Those vivid, violet eyes that had captivated him were full of emotions; and one most prominent in them was pain.
He'd ignored it at first. He put it off as being guilt or fear for being caught; she would have known the punishment for whoring with the prince would be far worse for her -the lowly servant- than for him. When he saw the deeper conflict in her orbs, he then attributed it to shame. She was ashamed of her dishonorable actions. But he had long since figured there was more to it than that.
He knew she enjoyed their encounters as much as he did, that much was evident in her eager participation. But the pained look in her eyes…He'd even caught sight of a stray crystalline tear running down her face once.
He had tried to ignore it. Who was he to care about her feelings? All he wanted was her body, crushed against his. He had that; he didn't care for anything beyond that.
He could only lie to himself for so long.
"Here." he spoke, tossing her a dark bundle of cloth, which she deftly caught just in time. "Put it on." he instructed, causing her to frown as she slowly realized this visit was not what she had initially thought.
Grimmjow had had to face the facts, much as it aggravated him to do so. He didn't like to see her hurt expression. Her pained face discomforted him, furthermore, it bothered him. He couldn't recall the last time he'd actually hated seeing someone else's pain. And as much as he'd tried to ignore or deny it, he became aware all-too-soon that he couldn't enjoy having her when he saw her pain.
Suddenly, he'd come to the painful realization that maybe having her body alone wasn't enough.
He now longed to have her heart as well.
"A cloak?" the girl asked uncertainly as she unraveled the dark bundle he'd given her.
"Put it on, quickly, will ya?" he said, standing up from the bed and grabbing a similar, larger cloak for himself.
The girl did as he said and looked at him warily as she let the dark fabric fall to cover her body. He rapidly slipped on his own cloak and pulled up the hood so it shadowed his face, signaling for her to do the same.
"What-"
"Follow me." he cut her off, swiftly walking past her and opening the door of his room once more. He stood there a moment, checking for any passing servant or visitor nearby, knowing there should be none at this time of the night. Satisfied that no one was there, he slipped out of his room and looked back at the hooded girl, waiting for her to do the same. He knew she was hesitant and confused, but she followed him anyway.
Grimmjow led them through the deserted torchlight halls of the palace, not pausing once in his way as he turned the right corners and reached a narrow staircase hidden underneath the wooden floor, its entrance cleverly concealed under an expensive rug.
"Where are we-" the girl started to ask in a hushed whisper as Grimmjow pulled away the rug and lifted the latch on the hidden door, to reveal the curling staircase. Grimmjow quickly shushed the girl and, seizing one of the lit torches in the room, began his descent into the dark stairs.
She didn't follow at first, and he looked up at her impatiently, waiting for her to go after him. She did so after glancing around nervously, seemingly checking for anyone who might see them.
Neither spoke on the long descent, only the echoes of their footsteps making a sound. It was quite unnerving to go down that staircase; you couldn't see an inch before you in the darkness, and they seemed to go on forever. It was a passageway designed to escape the palace in the case of a siege. It was a way only known to the actual members of the royal family; no servant would know of it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Grimmjow reached the heavy door that he knew led outside. Lifting away a heavy wooden plank serving as a lock, Grimmjow felt, with a satisfied breath, the cool night breeze coming from outside.
"Alright," he spoke in a clear, only slightly muted voice; not turning to look at the girl he knew to be just behind him. "There's a horse tied up to a tree not too far from here in that direction," he pointed to the way he meant. "It's carrying traveling supplies and food, enough to last you about three weeks. There's enough gold for you to buy whatever else you need along the way. You should leave quickly; there's only a couple of hours left before sunrise."
Upon hearing no response, he turned to look at the girl. She had pulled her hood back and was staring at him with unfathomable violet eyes. He moved the torch to better look at her face, and silently let his eyes roam her every feature, in a last attempt to commit her every detail to memory…Like that hadn't already happened.
"…I don't understand." she admitted with a frown.
Grimmjow groaned and threw his head back in exaggerated exasperation, his hood falling back as well in the process. "Are you stupid or what?" before her murderous expression could turn into action, he went on to explain. "I'm helping you escape. Now get your ass out of here before we get caught; cause there will be hell to pay."
Her face turned into that of surprise. "You're…?" she trailed off, her eyes wandering off to the night before settling back on him. "Why?" Why are you helping me? Hung her question.
Grimmjow felt his tough expression falter for just the slightest moment.
He had thought about this long and hard, but once he'd realized the depth of his unwanted feelings, he knew he hadn't had much option. He'd realized all too quickly that no matter what he did, the girl would never be happy at his side. And with even more dread, he'd realized that he couldn't be happy if she was not.
After that, the choice had been obvious. He would give her the one thing that would give her her only chance at happiness: her freedom.
"It doesn't matter why." he answered dismissively, forcing the hard expression back on his face. Fortunately for him, it was such a common and practiced expression for his features that it wasn't so hard to place. He averted his eyes, unable to meet her smoldering gaze this time.
"Grimmjow…" his name escaped her lips for the very first time. The sound of her voice saying it made something within him jump and ache at the same time.
Damn it. Damn you little witch.
The silence hung between them like dead weight; thousands of unspoken words being lost in the night.
At last, the girl said; "Thank you." And her words were full of more than gratitude; understanding. An understanding that made him know that she knew much more than she had let on, and that his motives were no mystery to her.
It irritated him to know that she was able to read him like that and he was never able to fully comprehend her. But then again, wasn't that what had pulled him in in the first place? An unsatiable curiosity. They say curiosity killed the cat.
Grimmjow was one dead cat.
You made me fall for you.
"Go." he said the one word, his voice coming out ever so slightly choked up. His eyes turned away.
He felt her brush past him and walk out to the night, before she turned back to look at him. The force of her eyes made him look down to meet her gaze. He tried in vain to read those beautiful eyes.
Beautiful.
"Rukia."
"What?" he asked, confused at the sole word that escaped her lips. She reached up one bare, ivory hand and brushed her fingers against the side of his face, before standing on her tip toes to gently touch her lips to his in one last, lingering motion.
When she pulled back, she spoke again. "My name, is Rukia."
And with that, she was gone.
Grimmjow stared after the spot where she'd last been for what could have been an hour, a single thought running through his mind, along with the lingering sensation of her fingers against his face and her lips on his.
Goodbye, Rukia.
-x-x-x-
A/N: Well, that was my very first attempt at writing crack, I hope it wasn't too awful XD Review to let me know if I should swear off crack or continue the addiction!;)