Title: I'll Be the Wings
Author's Note: Okay, three things. One, I'm really sorry for the late update! My computer's being an ass and school has been sucking the life and soul from me since it started. I have absolutely zero time up until around November. The only reason I have this up now is because it was already written and I just needed to type it up. If you do decide to follow this story (and I certainly hope you do ^^), expect sporadic updates at best.
Second, I am currently looking for a beta. I am absolutely terrible at grammar, and as both my spelling and grammar check are down, I'm probably going to need all the help I can get. Would anyone be willing to take the job? I promise I don't bite (probably).
And to end on a positive note, thank you so much for all the reviews, faves, and alerts! They seriously made my day. :) While I would absolutely love to respond to every single one of these, I don't think my computer can handle it at this point in time. So unless you have a specific question, I am probably not going to reply. But I thank you all for liking this story enough to give me some feedback and I am totally humbled by the response I got.
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Warnings: See Chapter One. And whatever bad spelling and grammar I didn't catch.
He pictured his eyes boring (big, gaping, bloody) holes into that thick skull belonging to the unwanted thing on his doorstep and willed it away with sheer determination.
He was pleased to note the thing fidgeting a little. Perhaps this would be an effective method against All Things Unwanted. Point one for Ulquiorra.
"…what? Not gonna invite me in?"
Blast. Didn't work after all.
"How did you obtain my address, trash?"
A feral smirk. "I got my sources."
Ulquiorra felt the familiar irritation that often accompanied Jaegerjaquez's presence and knew he'll have a headache later.
"Whatever it is that you want, the answer is no," he moved to shut the door.
And then things took a turn for the worst.
There was suddenly a strong force tugging on his shoulders and when the door shut, he found himself on the wrong side of it.
He was fairly certain that, in this scenario, he was supposed to be on one side of the door (preferably the one that led to the front hallway) and all annoyances (car salesmen, religious missionaries, etc.) were supposed to be on the other side. In that case, he was probably doing something wrong.
Large hands slid casually from his shoulders to his forearms, locking his arms at his sides and restricting his movement. Jaegerjaquez loomed over him (had he always been this tall?) and something in Ulquiorra's brain was setting off alarm bells, warnings, and probably fireworks, while they're at it. There was a hard chest pressed up against his own and a leg nudging his apart and at that point, he abandoned sensory detail for panicking and trying not to hyperventilate.
"I thought I told you not to touch me, trash." Still steady. Good.
"Wassa matter, sexy?" Oh, God. He could actually feel those words rumbling out of that chest and fought a shiver as warm breath brushed his ear. "Afraid you'd like it?"
And he could barely hear anything through the blood pounding in his ears and his brain was sending signals too close, too close, WAY too close…
So Ulquiorra jerked his knee up in a classic move against all would-be rapists and trash who-did-not-understand-the-concept-of-personal-space with enough force that Jaegerjaquez would most likely never have children.
Really. He was doing the world a favor.
Or, he would have if he could get his legs to move. Unfortunately, he was well and truly trapped from head to toe.
"Release me. " If his voice sounded a bit shakier than normal, he blamed it on his restricted airways. Yes, definitely his restricted airways.
When he heard a chuckle, Ulquiorra knew he had lost this round.
"Well, ya see, I kinda need a place to crash for a few weeks...how 'bout it?"
Every cell in his body rebelled at the thought of living with this trash for a day, let alone weeks but as nothing seemed to want to move, he realized with a dawning sort of revelation that only horror movie characters would understand that he had no say in the matter at all.
"Fine. Now release me." He could feel the fine tremors moving down his body and at this proximity, he was sure Jaegerjaquez could too. Oh, how he hated to be touched...
"Oh, I don't know..." that cocky smirk was present in his voice and he just knew that he was totally screwed. "I don't hear a please..."
He lips clamped shut automatically. As if he would degrade himself to such a level.
"Is that a no? Are you sure...?" And those lips were no longer merely brushing his ear, but sucking on it, accompanied by a velvety tongue and unusually sharp canines.
If Ulquiorra hadn't been pressed to the door, he would have fallen over. His knees had the power of jello and his stomach was abruptly rebelling on him and twisting into uncomfortably odd shapes. What a time for his body to suddenly betray him.
"Please..." it was more of a groan than anything else and he was appalled that it actually slipped past his lips. He really needed to work on his self-control after this. Provided that he survived, as his whole body felt like it was on fire.
"Please...what?" The playful tone had a distinctive rough edge to it, which made his stomach do more uncomfortable flips and he was pretty sure his face had attained new levels of red.
He had to force every syllable out of his throat and through his gritted teeth. "Please...Jaegerjaquez."
"I can't hear you."
"..."
"Well, I could always..." a thumb started stroking his arm and the leg trapped between his own began to press insistently upwards.
Oh God.
"Please, Grimmjow!" the snarl ripped from his lips and he could hear the shattered pieces of his pride falling to the ground. (He could also hear his neighbor running into her house next door. He hoped she'll call the police.)
And Grimmjow was gone so suddenly that he nearly slumped to the floor before he regained his balance. He had honestly expected him to drag that out for as long as possible. It appears miracles do happen after all.
That smirk was still fixed firmly on his face when he asked, casual as you please, "So. Where do I sleep?"
He tried to convince himself that the first day would always be the worst and that every day for the rest of God knows how long would not be this unfathomably evil.
At first, he had naively thought that, no matter how uninvited, a guest was still a guest and should be treated as such.
He offered Jaegerjaquez the guest bedroom. He refused. Offered him the couch. Refused. The floor. Refused. Lost his patience and asked him if he would like to sleep in the bathtub as that was the only place left. Belatedly suspected the innuendo and smacked the leer off that trash's face.
"You are using the guest bedroom, trash."
"Aw, we ain't sharin' your bedroom?"
He thought that the strange tick developing in his eye was rather worrisome and he should probably see a doctor about it.
The next obstacle: dinner.
Ulquiorra had absolutely no intention of cooking for more than one. And by one, he meant himself. That trash can starve for all he cared, guest status or not. However, if the buffoon tried to cook something for himself, he'll make a mess of the kitchen and possibly burn the house down.
He chose the lesser of two evils and endured the taunts of "You'd make such a good housewifey, Sexy!" and "What, lost yer 'kiss the cook' apron?" He was strongly tempted to put rat poison in one of the portions and see who had the better luck. Either way, it would work in his favor. No more irritating trash, unless someone up there did hate him and he ended up in Hell.
Jaegerjaquez's table manners, as he had previously witnessed, were atrocious. He was too loud, talked with his mouth full and chewed with his mouth open. Ulquiorra mourned the loss of his clean, spit-free table and quiet meals.
But, after he had finished and started cleaning his teeth with his fork (Ulquiorra fought the overwhelming urge to immediately disinfect and sterilize the unfortunate utensil), he told his reluctant host "S'good," and since Ulquiorra did not care for trash's opinion at all, he didn't feel any pleasure from that comment. It did, however, lend some way toward appeasement.
Between the strain his unwelcome houseguest put on his schedule and the headache he always managed to induce, he was feeling somewhat drained by 8 o'clock. His bed was looking more and more appealing by the second, so for once, he willingly disregarded his daily routine and collapsed.
He prayed the house was still standing by tomorrow.
On the second day, he discovered that, yes, mornings can be more evil than he had originally thought. He also discovered that his pillow had grown a pair of arms, a very solid chest and the ability to breathe overnight.
Three seconds later found him halfway across the room with the echo of a (very, very quiet and dignified) scream resonating around.
At least he had the satisfaction of seeing Grimmjow pinwheel off the bed into an ungraceful heap.
He sat up, rubbing his head. "What the hell, man?"
"I believe that should be my question! Are you too dumb to realize there was another person in that bed? The guest bedroom is the door on the left!" Now would be a great time to install some locks in the house. Should have thought of that yesterday.
Jaegerjaquez stood up and stretched, revealing expanses of sun-kissed skin and toned muscle and oh god, he slept in his undergarments in his bed. He had actually touched that skin, probably more than once, during the night and why why why was he not feeling more disturbed?
Ulquiorra would be the first to admit that he just did not like people. Never have and never would. It came to reason that he also did not like touching said people, which would have also been freely admitted if it wasn't such an obvious weakness on his part (call him paranoid but he was justified. Just look at Jaegerjaquez). Anyone with two eyes and half a brain cell could see that he did not want to be touched.
That obviously did not apply to the trash currently sitting on his bed.
Ulquiorra was sure he was doing it on purpose. The casual slap on the shoulder in the hallways. The 'accidental' touching of hands when they were walking. The brushing of legs during lunch.
It was driving him insane.
And now, this. It was just too much. It wasn't just hands or shoulders anymore. Considering the position he woke up in, there wasn't much of him that remained undefiled by that menace. And that was just...just...
It was amazing that Jaegerjaquez still had all his limbs.
And what did the source of all his distress have to say for himself?
"Hey Sexy," big leer, "What's for breakfast?"
He could have cried.
True to his schedule, Ulquiorra attempted to leave for work at precisely 6:52. The operative word being attempted.
"Hey Sexy. Can I have the spare key?"
He considered this for all of zero seconds."No."
"Oh, c'mon. What's the worst that could happen?"
Visions of his house set on fire, filled with drunkards and prostitutes, smelling of week old gym sock and expired yogurt.
"No."
He had to say, Jaegerjaquez had a rather impressive repertoire of persuasive tactics.
First, there was wheedling and whining.
"Come on. Ya know you want to..."
"No."
Second, guilt trips.
"I can't go anywhere without a key! I'll be all alone...sitting on your coach...going insane with boredom. Ya don' even have a goddamned TV!"
"I believe that is not my problem."
Third attempt: threatening.
"I swear I'll tear up every fuckin' piece a'furniture in there."
"Then that solves all my problems. You end up in jail and I will be free of your presence for approximately fifteen years."
Fourth, reasoning.
"If I don't get inside, yer neighbors are going to think you have some kinda weird stalker followin' you around."
"...you mean I don't?"
Fifth try: flattery.
"Lovin' the outfit. Where'd you get it?"
"This is my work uniform trash."
All attempts: fail.
As Ulquiorra drove off to work under a near murderous blue glare, he was feeling inordinately pleased with himself.
Ulquiorra: 1, Jaegerjaquez: 0.
Work was a welcome return to normalcy compared to his school and now home life. No blue hair (had to be dyed), no cocky smirk, no crude comments...
Yes, it was paradise.
For the first time all week, Ulquiorra felt himself relax, eased into the familiar rhythm of unpacking, sorting and shelving books in the small confines of the shop that smelled of leather, paper and, oddly, sand.
He almost didn't mind when that five-year-old brat brought in a blueberry ice cream cone (too much purple, not nearly enough blue) despite the very big NO FOOD OR DRINK sign in the window. Or when a dog managed to slip in and cause mayhem for at least twenty minutes, a shit-eating grin (now where had he seen that one before?) plastered on its face.
It took a few hours to reorganize the 'T' section (trash trash trash) after the morning wave had gone, but for once, he didn't mind the tedious task of putting such 'books' as Call Me Sexy (there was irony in there somewhere, he just knew it) back in their proper places.
Ulquiorra manned the cash register near the afternoon, as there were not as many people then. One imbecile insisted on calling him by name and then completely butchering it be saying 'ulcer' with a -ora attached (this shall never be spoken of again. God, he could just imagine the nicknames...). Other than that incident, all proceeded smoothly; absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
By the end of his shift, Ulquiorra was feeling relaxed and in control once more. Passing the nearby tanning salon (that golden tint was most definitely natural, judging by the orange people coming out of there) on the way to his car, he felt prepared to take on anything.
And the best part? He hadn't thought of that trash once.
The short drive home provided him with some much needed time to think and his mind wandered back to the (probably) idle threats Jaegerjaquez made earlier that morning.
No one would really be stupid enough to trash a person's house after telling them they were going to do it, right? Because Ulquiorra was not entirely certain he had insurance (he was actually fairly certain he did not). He also had a feeling his aunt and uncle would not be pleased to replace furniture destroyed by a lunatic he let into the house.
He really, really hoped Grimmjow was not that stupid.
And then there were his neighbors. While he did not particularly care what nosy vermin thought of him, he certainly did not want rumors going around that he had befriended that trash. Because Jaegerjaquez was definitely not his friend (and Ulquiorra had checked too. Looked up the definition and everything).
And that, of course, led to the thought that Jaegerjaquez had a lot of friends. Who lived to drink and party in people's houses. And that trash currently had access to his house.
Oh, dear Lord...
By the time he pulled up in his driveway, Ulquiorra was half-convinced that there would be a squad of police cars outside his house, arresting drunk teenagers for underage drinking and doing drugs, asking him, "Sir, are you the owner of this house?"
He even had a speech made up and everything on how some blue-haired maniac had somehow broken in.
But when he arrived, all was quiet. Normal. No police sirens wailing or loud music blasting through his (nonexistent) speakers. It was almost too good to be true.
When he reached the front door, he saw why.
Grimmjow had apparently left his house at some time during his absence and had not been able to let himself back in (mostly his fault, Ulquiorra realized, but no way was he going to regret it now). Sitting with his back to the door, he had fallen asleep. And what a difference it made! There was no angry scowl, no condescending smirk, only a somewhat peaceful, if serious, expression framed by wisps of teal that had fallen in his face.
Really. Add a few flowers and sunlight streaming in just the right way or some such nonsense and you'd get one of the most overused clichés in human history.
Not to say he was immune to it. Clichés were used because they worked. That rare nonaggressive expression coupled with the relaxed posture and almost childlike tendency to curl up made for a very precious picture indeed. What kind of monster could possibly disturb such an innocent scene?
Ulquiorra took savage pleasure in pushing the door in as hard as he could. Watching Grimmjow tip backward and hit his head on the hard wood floor (and letting out a stream of curses and innuendoes about his mother and the family dog) was almost worth the torture of living with the moron.
Stepping over the unsightly trash in his hallway, Ulquiorra cut off the profanities with a curt voice.
"The spare key is in the flower pot next to the doorstep. I suggest you don't lose it."
He couldn't quite convince himself it was a complete victory, but that didn't stop the satisfaction when he saw Grimmjow's stupefied face.
End Notes: Wow, that turned out to be longer than I expected. I am exhausted. And for some odd reason, I really like picturing Ulquiorra saying 'blast'. I hoped you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading! As always, feedback would be appreciated. ^^
