Cow-boobs

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach

A/N: This pairing wasn't supposed to slip in here. O/o

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When an arrancar dies, there's a period of time during which their scattered spiritrons cling to each other in a desperate futile mockery of consciousness.

It was that time for Apache.

First she thought, "Fuck! I'm dead!"

Then she thought, "Oh, that means Mila Rose and Sun-sun are, too."

After that she started up a metaphorical mental scream because she could feel Grimmjow, and that was just weird.

"Shit!" Grimmjow thought furiously, "Shut up, will ya?"
And then he flickered in a vague kind of way.

"Fuck!" Apache emoted at him, "Are you dead?"

"No, I blew myself to bits and I'm hanging around waiting for Ulquiorra to glue me back together. Stupid fuckin' whore."

Apache tried to keep to herself that sarcasm didn't work well with a dead guy, but her thoughts belonged to the universe now and Grimmjow heard it loud and clear.

"Hey," he moved, "Go burn and die, okay? Oh wait, you already did!"

"What're you doing here," Apache rolled towards him. He shied away, afraid that she might disperse his particles.

"I died in Hueco Mundo but felt Aizen's reiatsu moving through the world portal. I tagged along. What are you doing?"
Apache was probing. Her spiritrons cast out past Grimmjow to search for her sisters' presence.

"Forget it, they're gone. Dust on the wind. You and I are still around 'cause you're stronger than them and I'm stronger than you." He flowed over her, and it was an almost kind movement. But wait, this was Grimmjow. He wasn't kind. He was an asshole. Unless…maybe death had warped his personality?

"Hey, fuck you Apache," he flowed away and she gathered herself enough to think, "Not fair."
"Of course it's fair. The survival of the fittest for the longest."
Apache buzzed angrily. "Not. Fair. Want. Sisters."

He floated straight through her as a miasma, pulling her together. Literally. His particles formed a ring around hers and she could think clearly.

"This is all that cow-boob woman's fault. She and her big fat tits should burn in hell."
"About her," Grimmjow pressed in, "Why the fixation with her breasts? What are you, jealous?"

Apache became so agitated she began to break apart. Grimmjow had to use all his strength to keep her from disintegrating, and at the end of all his Herculean efforts he was exhausted as well.

"Fuckin' stop, Apache!" he shoved at her curtly, "I can't keep savin' your non-existent ass."

"Why do you care, anyway?" her thoughts were pitiably tired, "Why are you trying so hard to keep me around?"

"Do you see anyone else here to have a conversation with, moron?" he retorted, "Now seriously—are you jealous?"

She was too weak to think directly at him so she broadcast to the universe at large and he picked up on it.

Her femininity had always been her biggest worry. She couldn't remember what she'd been when she was human, so she was determined to un-live it up as the ideal woman. Like Halibel-sama…she was so beautiful, with her coarse, sandy hair and her full (over-flowing) breasts. So strong. So cool. So fucking awesome.

What did Apache have to look down at? Barely a swelling. And her hair was so annoyingly plain. When she first came into existence, Halibel-sama had said to Aizen:

"Strange. I thought it'd be three sisters, but instead I have two girls and a boy."
Apache! Was! A girl!

She couldn't be sexy like Halibel-sama with a flat chest. She'd tried to make herself grow some bigger ones, but arrancar were stolidly unchanging. Stupid Sun-sun had a lovely kimono and those delicate eyes to hallmark her gender. Maddening Mila Rose had gorgeous hair and that beauteous pout to emphasize her womanhood. What did Apache have? Not even a name that sounded female.

Fuck!

Fuck!
Fuck!

"You said that already," Grimmjow thought calmly. She rallied herself under his supervision and started again.

Fuck!
"Apache…" he, too, was growing weary.

If it was Halibel-sama, she could manage. Halibel-sama was her goddess. One couldn't be jealous of a god. But! Argh! That stupid, blonde, long-haired beauty-marked breastful shinigami had challenged them! All three of them! And she'd had the balls to say she could 'manage' them.

Well, they showed her, didn't they? Stupid cow-boobs. Large, curving, perfect cow-boobs with cleavage that ran on for a mile and nipples that stood pertly even through her dark shinigami robes. Apache could just imagine her naked, with aureoles the size of France that stared superiorly at her own tiny tits.

Grimmjow had to say it. "If I still had a penis, I'd have a raging boner right now."
Shut up!
…

"Apache!" he rammed her pieces with his, and she stuck to him like wet sand.

Why couldn't Apache be sexy?

Grimmjow couldn't take it anymore, he'd died a long time ago and his spiritrons were starting to forget the bonds that had bound them during his life. He had time for a few choice last words before he went.

"I think you're sexy."

He touched her on a particle that might've been her shoulder or her heart or her clit when she was something worth touching.

"I like small boobs."

She was way too far gone to form coherent thoughts, but whatever was left of her emanated happiness and he got that. She closed her eyes and drifted apart. The last thing she'd ever know was his ghost voicing speaking her name…

"Apache."

On his ethereal lips, it sounded a lot more womanly. x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x