Blood was always like a perfume to Grimmjow. And her blood? Her scent? Made him delirious. Crouched before her, he was cupping her hands, cut deeply from trying to clean up the broken glass.
She was surprised by his narrow focus. "How did you even know —"
"I could smell you from down the hall, woman, it's pretty hard to ignore" he answered abruptly. The crimson beaded from the cuts, a small amount running over the edge of her palm. He watched, transfixed, as the liquid hugged her skin, collecting in a heavy drop on the back of her hand before falling to stain her white pants.
Dammit, why hadn't she healed herself yet? He could feel anger bubbling inside him, but he wasn't totally sure why. Was he mad that the woman had hurt herself again? Mournful for the potential loss of this smell? Annoyed that her fairies would carelessly take it all away from him? Lost in thought, he didn't realize how close his face had gotten to her palms, until the edge of his mask brushed one seeping cut. She grimaced a bit in pain and surprise.
Instinctually, he pressed the unmasked side of his face into her hand, like a cat bunting its owner. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Fuck, since when did blood make him feel like this? He'd only ever felt it on himself during a battle, but this? Having her scent cover his face, filling his sensitive nose? It was almost too much. He froze when a drop slipped past his lips. The metallic, musky taste made his eyelids tighten and the last of his willpower crumble.
He hastily began lapping every wound he could find, anything to continue this feeling. The silky liquid coated his tongue and a pleasant warmth dribbled down his chin, but he needed more. He began nibbling on her fingers in an effort to release more of her blood, ignoring the jerky motions of the girl's hands. He pushed himself harder into her palms, needing to replace his very breath with her life force. A deep rumble radiated from his chest, growing more consistent as he allowed himself to be consumed by her painfully human presence.
Orihime, however, was absolutely terrified. Granted, she always had a baseline level of fear around this particular Arrancar, but this was a totally different level. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, the Sexta Espada, aspect of destruction, homicidal psychopath, had practically pulled her into his lap and was methodically covering himself in her blood. Worst of all, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying it, if the closed eyes and low purr were any indication. But, she wanted to heal her hands already! They were starting to really hurt , the licks kind of stung and her cuts refused to clot with his constant agitation. But she didn't dare move or say anything, there was no telling how this loose cannon would react. His face looked distant, she wasn't sure he was even on this plane anymore.
He had moved from scenting both of her hands to dragging one palm down his neck to his chest. She had to admit that he felt surprisingly nice under her hands, his skin soft but with firm muscles underneath. Her hand was eventually forced down to just above his hollow hole, leaving smudged handprints along the way. Free to move on her own, she let her fingers trail over his abdomen, tracing every scratch and wrinkle and scar.
Her other hand, however, faced the brunt of his attention. He had moved his tongue up her wrist, pushing the Arrancar uniform sleeve up to her elbow. Blood pumped heartily beneath the fragile skin of her forearm. It would be all too easy to let his canines sink into her flesh, freeing more of the fragrant red liquid. After a tentative nip caused only a yelp from the girl, he committed fully. Teeth broke flesh. Tears escaped panicked eyes. His movements became more frenzied as he tore through more skin to let her blood thickly fill his mouth. Feral growls and frightened whimpers filled the room as he lapped greedily at the newly released blood, slobbering along her arm to stain the white sleeve a deceivingly innocent shade of pink.
The woman was becoming increasingly concerned as his feasting deepened. She tried to push away with her free hand, but only succeeded in getting a warning growl from her attacker. Annoyed that his meal was no longer cooperating, the Espada wrapped an arm around her torso, pulling her snug against his body. Fingers dug into pliant curves, surely leaving bruises. His attention returned to the blood pouring freely from her veins, eager to consume his fill. The purrs vibrating into her wounds did nothing to distract from his torture, nor did the firm grasp around her midsection. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.
Grimmjow paused for a moment, breathing heavily, to lean his forehead on Orihime's shoulder. He moved her mauled hand to his chest, being uncharacteristically gentle as he held it against his skin. Blue eyes sluggishly opened as he raised to meet her gaze.
That one look snapped Grimmjow out of his bloodlust. He pushed her away and quickly stood, noticing the dark blood smeared across his chest and hands and the distinctive taste of iron heavy in his mouth. Grabbing at his face, his fingers ran over slippery skin to find bits of gore stuck in the teeth of his mask. Disgust washed over him, followed by shame when he noticed the uncomfortable tightness in his hamakas. Orihime, however, remained seated. Even with blood running down her arm, she couldn't bring herself to move. She could only stare at the ground where the Espada stood, awaiting his next attack.
They were silent for a moment, both trying to make sense of this new tension between them. Grimmjow took one last look at Orihime's mutilated arm before stumbling out of the room. The two were left to clean themselves up, alone.
A/N: If you haven't I Hate That I Love You by Azn-Gurl868, do it now! It's a beautiful GrimmHime story. In chapter 6, she has a scene of Grimmjow bandaging Orihime, with the line "Blood was always like a perfume to me". I took that idea and ran with it. The thought of him rubbing her blood all over himself is ? weirdly hot?! Idk, and I may have gotten carried away lmao
