I know I have several other stories that need working on but this plot bunny just would not get out of my head and I have had a recent obsession with GrimmUlqui/UlquiGrimm so I just had to get this out. I hate romance but I adore watching the building up of a powerful relationship~ As such, the sexual development of their love won't be happening for a long time though sexual tension and attraction will be implemented throughout the chapters.
Since ff's guidelines for uploaded stories has clearly expressed wishes for writers to not post stories with explicit content, I will not be writing smut in this story or in any other story from here on out. There will be implications of sexual activity but nothing that all us yaoi fanatics usually adore.
That said, I hope readers will still enjoy the story~ I tried to keep characters in character but Ulqui is a bit hard and Grimmy will probably be a bit coarser than usual.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters. Everything belongs to our dear Tite Kubo~
A meeting is the end of disconnection and the beginning of a new relationship.
Cold emerald eyes reflected nothing but professional apathy as they gazed down at the quivering man before him, seeing everything from the faintest drop of sweat dripping down the side of the rather chubby trash's cheek to the bob of his adam's apple in his thick neck despite the poor lighting. They were in an obscure alley, far away from the brightly lit streets of the city and from the prying eyes of other people after he had led his target here at gunpoint, the metal gleaming maliciously from where it peeked out beneath his coat. He had barely spoken a word when he first approached the government official who had been on his way home. He had merely pressed the gun's mouth into a slightly protruding stomach and then murmured, "Make a sound and I will kill you."
He was planning to kill the fool anyway but as per usual, the piece of trash chose to prolong his already doomed life and had fearfully walked in whatever direction Ulquiorra prodded him towards.
To his credit, his target never broke down or tried to flee, though his eyes darted around frantically and his movements were jerky and nervous. His fingers kept twitching near his coat pocket where Ulquiorra could see a thick leather wallet was stuffed in. The tips of paper money could be seen sticking out of it, beckoning like a finger to the man and promising false vows of protection.
The fool probably thought he could buy his way out of his death.
Pathetic.
Ulquiorra did not kill for money. He killed because that was Aizen-sama's wish. The flimsy pieces of paper that other humans worshipped so much were useful only for the bare minimum of necessities and even then the money his lord gave him for his services was more than enough to live comfortably.
The only thing this man could possibly give him that was of any worth was proof that Ulquiorra was more than suitable for his position as Aizen-sama's cuarta, the fourth best executioner for his lord. In other words, this man had to forfeit his life to him in a manner that was both silent and beautiful. He had to receive an execution that was worthy of praise.
Aizen-sama believed only in the most eloquent and neatest of deaths after all.
"-and money! I'll give you however much you want! More than whatever Aizen-san paid you! A-and the police! I won't say a word to the goddamn police so-"
Disinterested emerald orbs focused back on his target who was now babbling nonsense since they were no longer visible to any carefree passerby. Hopeful beady eyes looked at him, surrounded by saggy sacs of sickly pale and sweaty skin and Ulquiorra was hard pressed not to pull back in disgust. This useless blob of flesh thrown over a spineless skeleton was deemed a threat by Aizen-sama?
He mentally berated himself for his foolishness. Of course not. Aizen-sama feared no one, he was the one who was feared. No this man was being punished, punished for attempting to leave Aizen-sama's service without his lord's permission and running to the government of all people to protect him. He had said nothing of the few minor secrets he knew of his lord but that only protected him from a long and painful torture. He needed to be taught a lesson for abandoning the position and power Aizen-sama had graciously given him that would last him a lifetime. And what better lesson than a personal meeting with death?
Black cloak fluttering in the wind, Ulquiorra easily drew his gun completely out and cocked it at the now hysteric fool.
"W-wait! Please spare me! I-I have two daughters at home w-waiting for me! And my wi-"
A voice colder than death itself cut through his blubbering words and stated quietly, "Silence your useless prattle. Your life means nothing to me you insignificant trash." Did this fool truly believe he cared about his family? If Aizen-sama had his way, the aforementioned people would soon be joining him in the afterlife anyway so he failed to see why this trash insisted on mentioning them. They were no ticket to a longer life. They were simply unfortunate bugs that had swarmed around this trash until he finally burst into flames and ceased to exist and he said as such, cold tone never changing and apathetic expression never yielding any emotion beyond heartless contempt.
Mouth hanging open, the man spluttered as though Ulquiorra had just said something fantastic and unbelievable before jabbing a finger at him and cursing loudly, "You're calling me the trash? At least I'm no dog of that bastard Aizen! I had the courage to leave him unlike you, you sniveling coward! You're just a monster! A fucking puppet! And when you're the one with loved ones and you're the one about to be killed, I'll be laughing at you along with the rest of the sorry bastards that were killed by you! Burn away in hell you damned-!"
A muffle bang reverberated through the air, silencing the pathetic insults and releasing a small burst of blood onto his hand that was holding the gun pressed up against the man's balding forehead. Glancing at his bloodied gloved hand in mild disapproval since he now had to clean another pair of worn leather gloves, he let the body fall to the ground without a second glance.
He knew what he would see if he turned. A lump of steadily cooling flesh and bones slumped in some ungraceful sprawl but with a single trickle of bright red gracefully sliding down from his head, onto his shirt, over his expensive slacks, and then finally oozing onto the paved ground where it would pool there like liquid fire.
The shot had been clean, the blood minimal save for the slight miscalculation on his part that had caused the small spurt and also the resulting blood flow from the wound, and there was no evidence left behind, nothing that could trace the murder back to him or to his lord.
Silent, clean, and beautiful.
Just the way Aizen-sama liked.
All except for his messy glove.
He refused to acknowledge the fact that his miscalculation had been due to an involuntary twitch of his hand at the man's accusations. It was a simple matter of telling himself that it was an accident, something even Starrk, the top executioner, was prone to do. Emotions had nothing to do with it, nothing at all.
"You're just a monster!"
Monster, what a laughable term. He was no monster. Monsters were creatures born from the imagination and fear of the weak and powerless. Ulquiorra was an executioner, a professional who had worked hard to acquire the skills he had now just like any other human with a respectable job minus the morals and emotions that could cloud his judgment. He did not cower behind a facade of false justice that others used to gain favoritism and approval. He was not so weak hearted. He dealt with matters in a manner that he deemed suitable and it was merely convenient that more often than not, his interests matched his lord's. There was no monstrosity involved save for the simple fact that he was human.
If anyone were to be called monsters, it would be the humans who sucked the life out of everything else for their own selfish gains.
And loved ones? As if he needed such useless chains to tie him down. Things like family, friends, lovers... all of them were meaningless. And only the weak tossed the terms around in order to make themselves feel stronger. The only one Ulquiorra needed was his lord, his almighty king whom he owed his life to. Anyone else was insignificant.
A small disposable cellphone in his pocket beeped twice, the sharp sound pulling him out of his thoughts and signaling that he had received a message. Taking it out and flicking it open, the bright screen nearly blinding in the darkness of the night, he stared emotionlessly at the digital letters typed out neatly in a simple short paragraph sent either by that detestable fox Gin-sama or the more agreeable Tousen-sama. Judging by how professionally and succinctly it was worded, he assumed it was the latter.
"Ulquiorra Schiffer has passed the verification test and shall retain his position as Cuarta until the next examination is determined." It carried on to say that he was to be on standby until the others completed their verification tests or until further notice and then ended with a list of the current results of the test.
As per usual, the fastest and sharpest shooter known to man, Starrk, remained at the top though how he managed to remain awake long enough to perform his task was beyond anyone's guess considering his narcoleptic behavior. Following him was the aging Barragan, his physical appearance deteriorating but his mind and accuracy still sharper than a honed blade. Then it was Harribel, the only high-ranking female and a justly deserved role due to her cool demeanor in any given situation and the deadly dagger skills she had developed herself. After her was himself, and it was safe to assume that Nnoitra would follow up after him as usual. Brash and violent, there was no denying the insect-like man had the physical prowess to back his aggressive attitude even if Ulquiorra thought he was detestable and unfit to be among the top five.
He narrowed his eyes in mild disdain. These results of the test should have been obvious from the start. No one in the positions quinta and above had changed in the past five years though the new sexta, Luppi or something equally annoying as that, had managed to hold onto his spot for quite some time now, at least a year or two so perhaps he would become another regular. Point of the matter was, these tests were simply becoming a waste of time but since Aizen-sama deemed them necessary, he would comply. Even if the only reason his lord seemed to deem them necessary was because of that sly fox who whispered suggestions to him and then gleefully watched as they were carried out.
Sometimes, he wondered if half the examinations of their skills were simply amusing events for Gin-sama to watch for his own enjoyment so that he wouldn't incessantly bother Aizen-sama whenever he was bored.
Beginning to walk with his signature calm composure away from his dead victim, Ulquiorra wrapped his coat around his body tightly and pressed on through the chilly autumn night, footsteps silent but quick. He wasn't cold per say but his pale skin felt chilled to the touch and the frequent cool breezes did nothing to lessen the frigid temperature of his skin and he sped up just a bit as he thought about what to do for the next few days.
He didn't really like having free time since it left him with nothing productive to do but an order was an order so he decided to stick to his usual way of spending time off- either holed up in his apartment reading a book or visiting one of the few people he deemed sane and pleasant enough to be enjoyable company.
The list was depressingly short but that was to be expected when your only colleagues were killers such as yourself and were thus by default, not the best companions for socializing with. Not that he was much of a socializer himself. In fact, he preferred solitude but spending copious amounts of time with only his habitual actions to entertain himself, it got quite dull. Hence his second and final resort was spending time with the other executioners and hoping their antics would be at least mildly more interesting than his own. A weak hope and one that more often than not failed to actually hold true but deceiving himself was the second best thing he was good at.
So caught up in his thoughts, Ulquiorra's usually perceptive and sharp ears failed to pick up on the stealthy quiet steps of another person coming from around the corner he was about to turn and with his own silent walking style, sensing him before seeing him was near impossible. As such, both continued to walk at their quick pace even as they rounded the corner. The result was, of course, a solid crash of limbs as well as curses from the unruly fool who had walked into him.
"Fuckin' hell that hurt..."
Still slightly ruffled by his target's impudent and wholly unfounded accusations in addition to the frustration he felt at having time off, Ulquiorra fixed a derogatory glare onto the broad chest of the ruffian who had smacked into him and hissed softly, "Watch where you're going trash." He thought he had said that a tad too lowly for the buffoon to hear but to his mild surprise, the rough voice that had sworn earlier snarled back equally venemously, "You watch where your goin' you fuckin' bastard. What the hell're you made of, brick?"
Realizing that even with his uncanny balance and physical strength, he hadn't knocked over the one who he had walked into, Ulquiorra grudgingly let his gaze drift up to see what sort of muscle-headed fool had actually managed to walk into him without falling over.
His breath almost hitched. Almost.
Stormy azure pools glimmering like the wild and untamable ocean glowered down at him from a handsome, pointed face. Sharp white canines, far sharper than what was considered normal, glinted in the moonlight as lips pulled back in a feral sneer. Shocking blue hair was matted with blood and loose strands were sticking to his face but the overall roughed up appearance only seemed to enhance his good looks. A true greek Adonis if he was to be compared to anything despite his less than perfect state of being. A dark bruise stood out on his smooth cheek and many others littered the rest of his chiseled body, visible due to the ragged state of his shirts and pants.
He looked like a disheveled, bloody mess.
And Ulquiorra wondered why he didn't find the man's deplorable state utterly filthy or disgusting.
Grimmjow was in quite the bad mood though to be fair, he had spent the greater part of the day tackling another bull of a man in another desperate grab for money in the stupidly long but relatively lucrative fighting competition that was highly viewed upon by the other residents of the slums. His money supply was running short again and if he wanted enough to provide for himself and for his little sister, he needed to fight. Not that he didn't enjoy fighting but just that very same morning, he had been forced to deal with some nosy new cops fresh from their dorky academy hoping to catch some hooligans from the slums to show off their so-called 'talent.'
Yeah, they learned pretty damn fast not to piss off one of the top fighters of the area.
Most cops that had a brain fit into those inflated heads on their shoulders knew that it was next to impossible to arrest anyone from the slums in case they had ties to yakuza. The rest were like the newbies- ignorant morons that acted as if the badge decorating their fancy little uniforms was a crown or some other shitty relic like that.
Hissing in mild pain when he felt his abdominals clench in the area where he was sure he had, at the very least, fractured a rib, Grimmjow moodily wondered why he had declined his friend's offer to patch him up or at least give him a painkiller. Probably his own damn inflated pride not that he would ever admit that out loud. Admitting his personal flaws was never something he was very good at and not a personality problem he planned to fix anytime soon.
If someone had issues with his ego, then they could go find some other socially retarded douche to bother.
And now, to add the cherry to his already fucking peachy day, he had to do one of those cliche run-into-random-stranger moments though unlike those crappy dramas, neither of them fell over and there was none of that 'their eyes met and hearts and flowers appeared between them' shit either. Hell, it felt like he'd walked into a brick wall and considering his muscle mass, that was pretty damn impressive.
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed as he looked down at the rock of a human that he had crashed into. Bastard had a lot of nerve running into him, coincidentally jabbing a throbbing area near his ribcage without a single apology. Asshole. Not that the guy knew about his injuries but that didn't mean the little shit couldn't apologize for running into him. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the pale man more closely.
Fucking asshole that was rather easy on the eyes he realized, much to his chagrin.
Slightly shaggy ebony hair that barely brushed the bottom of a pointed chin framed a rather delicate looking face though the guy's solid body told him he was no pushover. Breathtaking emerald eyes stared up at him, not an ounce of intimidation in them despite their noticeable height difference, and lips were pressed firmly in a displeased frown. Bastard had prissy right down to the dot on the i.
His entire black ensemble over his pale skin that looked far more expensive than anything people around here owned raised a few questions but Grimmjow knew better than to ask them. In the slums, everyone was suspicious and no one was completely innocent of dirty deeds. That was an unspoken truth and one that everyone pretty much just accepted himself included.
Noticing the guy had yet to respond to him, he snorted and muttered, "Fine, whatever. Be a mute for all I fuckin' care. Just get outta my way before I pound your pansy ass into the ground." He was sore, hungry, tired, and he had shit to do before he could finally drop dead on his bed and snore the night away. Some fishy asshole was so not going to make his night any longer than it already was.
Some fishy asshole whose footsteps had somehow escaped his almost inhuman hearing.
Now that he thought about it, how had he not heard someone walking at a quick pace from such a short distance? Fishy asshole was getting more and more suspicious by the minute. Not that he really cared and not that it was any of his business. Guy could be the next Jack the Fucking Ripper for all he cared so long as the little bastard didn't mess with him.
Damn he really wanted some food. And painkillers. And a shower. And a really, really long sleep.
The man seemed to snap out of... whatever it was he was in and was now looking at him again with that creepy unreadable look. When he opened his mouth, Grimmjow figured he was going to say something weird but all that came out was, "Trash. As if the likes of you could even hope to land a finger on me before I slit your throat." And then he was moving away, silent like a fucking ninja, and Grimmjow was left staring incredulously where the little asshole had been. Whirling around and pinning furious blue onto that black-covered back, he barely managed to hold in his nasty retort when he remembered he had things to do that couldn't be put off any longer just because another irritating fucktard decided to make his already hellish day even worse.
Scowling heavily and several times more pissed off than he was before, Grimmjow turned back to the direction he was heading in earlier and stalked off, repeatedly telling himself to never speak to black-haired guys again since they all seemed to be stuck up bitches. Never mind that he was in Japan where black hair was the norm and cotton candy blue wasn't.
He slammed a fist into his own head and then cursed loudly when haunting emerald orbs refused to leave his mind.
Ulquiorra was, for lack of a better word, bored. It had been three days since his kill and he still had yet to receive his next mission. The fools of the lower ranks must be squabbling to obtain higher ranks again, dragging out the tests for far longer than they really needed to be. He wasn't concerned about the one weaker person he grudgingly respected, Szayel. The scientist was satisfied in his low rank since he was quite aware that he was held in high esteem by Aizen-sama regardless of his status. Such was the benefits of being both a scientist and an underground doctor who tended the wounds of pretty much everyone.
But this also meant the pink-haired man was frequently occupied and could not be disturbed.
So one of the few relatively -and questionably- sane people he could stand being around was not available. He could have tea with Tousen-sama and, if he was extremely lucky, Aizen-sama but the idea of drinking yet another cup of tea when he had already downed ten cups of it in the past three days was highly unappealing. He had reread several of the books in his room and had no desire to open another glossy cover to read more words unless it was info about his next target.
Had he been a lesser man, he would have hunted down one of the other executioners and sparred with them by this point. But he was above such impulsive acts of violent tendencies and he refused to lower himself to the same level as the savage quinta. But there was no denying he didn't want to stay cooped up in his room for any longer.
As such, Ulquiorra decided to do the one thing that made sense to do in his restless state: he took a walk.
Meandering out of the polished steel building of his apartment after checking the security system and ensuring his room was completely locked up, Ulquiorra began wandering down the broad, littered street, his gun hidden safely beneath the thick layers of his black coat and his phone stuffed into the pocket of his black jeans. He was hardly one for casual wear but if he was going to strut around in a city in all black, he figured he should at least go for that look teenagers apparently called goth or emo. Neither term meant much to him but it seemed to do the trick since all he received was a few strange looks before people continued on their own way.
Trash. Always surprised when there was someone who wasn't interested in those disgustingly bright colors many of them seemed to like so much. He failed to see the appeal of walking around dressed in the colors of a tulip.
A woman hustled by, dressed in a long fur coat over expensive designer clothes and exuding some toxic scent that, had she been in an elevator, would have killed her and any other people with her. Beside her was a haughty and arrogant looking man, squarish face trim and proper but quite ugly, just like his rather ridiculously fancy and gaudy suit and he was holding a thin white stick that was sending a thin trail of putrid black smoke into the air. He also possessed an overbearing scent of some chemical product that had probably cost him a pretty penny.
Disgusting.
These fake people who tried to hide their humanity beneath layers of manufactured goods was a despicable sight indeed.
Finding the crowded city far too unpleasant with the stench of human beauty products and carcinogenic items polluting the precious breathable air, Ulquiorra found himself moving away towards quieter streets that people seemed to be avoiding. He had wondered why the attention seeking fools wanted to so avidly avoid any area where they could flaunt their money but as he continued further on, he began to see why.
Huddled figures were leaning against walls of run down buildings, their tattered rags barely holding together against even the slightest of wind and near-empty cups with the occasional coin resting in them beside their dirty feet. Some had shoes, others didn't and the more he walked, the fewer those with shoes became. These wretches did not hold their heads up in pride, did not strut around like peacocks to show off their looks or wealth. No, these people were like abandoned dogs, unwanted by others and living off the kindness of a hopefully generous passerby.
Somewhere in his mind, he remembered that damn fox's words giggled into his ear, as if they had been sharing an amusing secret between them, "You should visit the slums Ulqui-tan~ You can find all the human trash ya want there and no one would bat an eye if ya killed 'em 'cause no one would really care. A true 'clean-up' if ya asked me~"
So this must be those 'slums' that fox had been babbling about. His lip curled in distaste. He could see what the silver-haired right-hand man of Aizen-sama had meant; the people here were indeed so pathetically wretched that they truly were the ultimate trash of the trash known as humanity.
Why did such useless people continue to live if they had no purpose to strive for?
He did not understand this powerful attachment his fellow humans had to life. He himself preferred the beauty of death, of the eternal rest that was bequeathed to these wretched souls who didn't really deserve such a kind end but received it anyway whilst he continued to plod through his own life. Why did these fools not simply let go and enjoy the peace their miserable circumstances were granting them? Did they truly believe that if they held on long enough, a miracle would happen that would grant them a blessed opportunity for a better life?
He simply could not fathom their hopeless desire to live.
Scoffing, he ignored pleading moans for money, food, and water and continued on his way. Past the people who still trusted their plastic cups and pitiful excuses of hats, past buildings that still looked rather stable if not quite dirty, past the knocked over trash cans and messes of bags, bottles, cans, and rags. If he was going to remove some filth and finish what they lacked the courage to do on their own, then he'd rather start from the bottom of the ladder and go up which meant going right to the heart of the slums where he presumed the absolute rejects of humankind dwelled. If he was fortunate, he may find the one or two yakuza member to kill off since they were the arrogant fools who tended to push their luck by pretending to be greater than they actually were when making secret deals with his lord.
Funny enough, there weren't many of the hot-headed delinquents he expected to be swaggering around. Adolescents who had tread down the wrong path ended up in places like these the most where they were recruited by yakuza or other gangs so where were those pig-headed fools who insisted that they were invincible? It was all actually quite quiet save for the occasional moan from a homeless wretch and though it all seemed rather strange, his senses did not detect any hostile intentions aimed at him nor did he sense himself being watched.
He did however, pick up on the faint sound of voices in the distance. It was still in the general direction he was heading in so he continued to languidly walk onwards until he could hear the voices more clearly and becoming something akin to cheers and roars, excitement and frustration evident in their tones as if they were watching one of those sports games humans tended to be so fond of.
When he rounded a corner, he found his assumption wasn't that far off.
In what would have been a rather spacious plaza had it looked cleaner and for lack of a word, prettier, a huge number of rough, raucous people were gathered, forming a ring of sorts around two individuals fighting savagely in the middle. Men were hooting loudly and spurring on the two fighters, broken wine and beer bottles in hand as they took swigs from them or else getting even higher than their current riled states on various drugs through cracked needles or roughly made pipes. Women who were scantily clad were saucily smiling at the ravenous males and draping themselves over them, overly dolled up faces putting on coquettish pouts whenever they were pushed aside in favor of booze, drugs, or watching the fight though several of the trashy women were squealing enthusiastically at one of the fighters.
A fighter whom Ulquiorra immediately recognized.
There was no mistaking that wild blue hair dancing in the wind nor the promise of animalistic carnage in that smirk of razor sharp teeth and those bright blue eyes. The voices of the crowd were approaching a crescendo as he had just received a harsh kick to his stomach that would have downed even a fraction member.
But the man hardly looked fazed.
Lathered in sweat and blood and bruises, he let out a rippling roar of insanely delighted laughter as he threw the huge bear of a man that he was fighting to the ground and then sharply twisted his opponent's arm, grin widening when a sickening crack snapped through the air before slamming his elbow right into an exposed stomach, the crunch of shattered ribs joining the snapping bone of his arm.
The defeated man howled in pain, clutching his arm that was twisted in a grotesquely odd angle and wrapping his uninjured arm around his caved in rib cage, but he garnered no pity from the roaring crowd. Yells demanding him to get up were drowned out by the cheers for the blue-haired man as he stood up and raised a bloody and torn fist into the air, powerful muscles flexing and chest heaving as exhilaration and adrenaline pumped through his veins.
It was disgusting seeing how filthy both fighters were after the fight.
It was unacceptable that both walked out of it alive. Heavily injured but alive nonetheless.
But the gleam of victory reflected in eyes that were now less like a storming sea and more like the brilliant sky was one of the most inexplicably beautiful things Ulquiorra had ever seen.
This was a man from the lowest of the low of humankind. But there was no defeat in his being, no shame for his less than savory lifestyle. Instead, there was a vitality of an intensity like no other, a powerful desire to live that showed in the way that he fought and in the way he carried himself. He was like a predator, lurking among the weak, stalking around and waiting for a chance to sink his teeth into bigger prey.
He was a very, very dangerous man.
And Ulquiorra was intrigued.
