A/N: Slightly OoC, but here it is, no crossovers just Bleach. I would love to hear from you if you enjoyed it or have some other form of comment. The end reads as you may ^^
I Don't Wear Makeup!:
Grimmjaw and Ulquiorra were heading down the long corridor to the Hueco Mundo castroom, deep within the heart of the large building. It hung somewhere in between dimensions, connecting all fictional worlds but part of none.
"Aww, I can't believe you ended my fight with Ichigo. It was just getting good; I could feel the sexual tension rolling off of him. I know he has the hots for me." Grimmjaw smoothed a hand through his hair.
"I believe you are mistaken, the shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo has the "hots", as you put it, for the girl Orihime. You are just a deluded piece of trash," Ulquiorra said deadpan, before turning left down the next corridor.
"Ulquiorra, you are just upset because you kidnapped the wrong one. You should have taken me instead. Unless, of course, you have conflicting emotions…," he batted his eyes at the stern faced Espada.
Ulquoirra ignored the question, and instead chose to walk a little faster. A pair of heat seeing glasses might have seen a faint rush of blood to his face underneath the copious makeup. They reached the door of the castroom, it was labeled, "Bleach: Hueco Mundo" in vaguely sinister lettering, it looked a lot like fake blood.
Ulquiorra tried to figure out how to open the handle of the door without taking his hands out of his pockets. Grimmjaw, enjoying his predicament for a moment, finally opened the door for him. "Oi, Ulquiorra. Why do you always keep your hands in your pocket? Is it cause ya don't want to ruin your nails?"
"That, is none of your concern," this time a unaided observer could have seen the faint coloring
Grimmjaw paused for a moment in the act of opening the door, he started to chuckle, "I'm right. Why Ulquiorra, I never knew you were such a fashionista."
"Shup up trash."
"As you wish, your majesty," he gave Ulquiorra a mock half bow, and gestured grandly to the open door. Ulquiorra walked past him without another look, but paused just inside the door. "Aizen-sama?"
It was chaos, bottles lay scattered across the floor and the stench of sake burned their noses. Aizen lay collapsed on the couch, sinking into its embrace. The normally immaculate lord of Hueco Mundo was distinctly…inebriated.
"Ulquoirra, do join," hiccup, "us…," Aizen waved absently with his hand.
"My Lord, what are you doing?" Ulquiorra, for once, actually looked like something other than a walking talking board, this time it was disgust that slightly marred his features.
"I…," the Lord of Hueco Mundo paused, looking confused. Really the expression was quite adorable, in a squint your eyes see-past-the-hideous-hairdo sort of way. "I…don't know…," hiccup.
"Us? You know you're alone," Grimmjaw muttered, was there a reason he followed this man besides his taste in clothes? One thing Aizen had done for Hueco Mundo was elevated the fashion standard. Grimmjaw shuddered internally at the memory of Yammi's fashion taste before Aizen arrived. Paisley did not go with plaid.
"Me 'nd Kyouie, o' course," Aizen patted the sword leaning drunkenly on the couch next to him, the sword's angle made it look even drunker than him, "She was," hiccup, "just tellin' me a joke…," eyebrows threatened to merge in thought. Stringing a sentence, let alone taking over the Soul Society, was out of the question, "…I think."
"Aizen-sama, Kyouka Suigestu's avatar is male," Ulquiorra maneuvered around the sake bottles on the floor, carefully placing his feet, his manicure was only a few days old, "and if my knowledge of alcohol is correct, lord, you are drunk."
"Ulquie, you sound like you," hiccup, "have ne'er been drunk 'fore. But you hafta be in the morin' to p-put on," hiccup, "that much makeup," Aizen said with all the candor of a five year, a very stupid five year old who didn't know better than to make dangerous people upset, or perhaps more like a five year old who thought that he was a god just because he could suddenly say he had 'minnie-ons'.
"Lord," Ulquiorra's board face transformed from a two by four to a sour splinter, "I have told you many times, I do not wear makeup. I believe you are mistaking me with Grimmjaw. My looks, I assure you, are completely natural."
"What looks?" Grimmjaw said spitefully. "And Ulquie," he sniggered, "I think if you stopped wearing makeup I might actually notice you."
"Shut up trash," an adorable if-you-could-see-underneath-the-inch-of-makeup blush graced "Ulquie's" cheeks. He turned and stalked from the room, crunching on sake bottles as he left, regardless of the manicure. Any more teasing and Grimmjaw would find a sword in a very…uncomfortable place.