Ok! Here be the fourth chapter of our thing fic! Thank you to the reviewers, i really appreciate everything!
Yes, i was the epitome of lazy when i cut off most of the GrimmUlqui moments last chapter, so sorry to those who were disappointed, SO! To make it up to you awesomesauce readers, i wrote an extra long chapter! with a bit of yaoi later, but im not very good at this kind of crap. :
Notes:
Flashbacks n such are in italics.
Towards the middle/beginning of the fic, there is a point where present time is interwritten (is this even a word) with a memory. I purposefully cut sentences off so that they'd fit with the past/present. so basically, a flashback will be read continuously from non italics to italics. incorporate about two words from the previous past/present paragraph to the next.
Example:
And he
was writing
Simple enough? no? -le sigh- sorry if it confuses anyone, i didnt do a very good job.
Disclaimer: I don't own nething.
Chapter Four
-
Frozen, time was
Frozen, his limbs refusing to move. Throat constricting, he gasped as Aizen's tongue traced his jaw. It left a streak of cold behind on his skin, a thin line of nothing. Ulquiorra suppressed a shudder.
His reiatsu climbed ever higher and higher, a swirling mass of energy that seemed to engulf the world. It was the same. That same as when he had first met the shinigami, in that godforsaken place that humans lived in. The same as his own. Ulquiorra's eyes tracked the smudge of solid form in the cloud of dust, watching carefully and quietly.
He didn't have to wait for long as a blur shot out of the dust, streaks trailing behind as debris and sand became dislodged from his coat. Ulquiorra raised an arm and stopped the hand aimed for his chest and-
His eyes widened as pale fingers (when did they change color?) slid past his and grabbed his throat, squeezing painfully tight. A face was thrust inches from his own, yellow eyes shining with glee. Those eyes… the shinigami's face looked as though it had been completely drained of all color, but not just his face. It was as if his entire being, his entire existence had been bleached white save for the eyes. Yellow pupils glinted dully in the night, the whites darkened to black. A wide grin, one to rival Grimmjow's, had spread across that face, pink tongue snaking out from under the teeth. The hand traced up to his chin-
And Ulquiorra's memory crashed. It fell on him like several tons of stone, crumbling as it met his skin until the pieces were falling around him, trapping him in a wave of thoughts and pictures that threatened to suffocate him. He choked back a gasp, jerking his head back and away from the Hollow thing before him. The pale hand stayed, tightening on his jaw. Just like-
Aizen grabbed his chin again, holding his face still. The usually smirking mouth was wrapped around his own, eating his face in some cruel imitation of human love. Ulquiorra closed his eyes, willing the fear and disgust away. He tried his very best to close his mouth, but Aizen's control over him was complete, and the fact that he was highly disinclined to do this held no weight on the matter. He thrashed against the arms that held him, but the marble seemed to rise up behind him, trapping him tightly in a cage of stone and flesh. He tried to scream.
No sound came out. The Hollow's hand clamped around his mouth and forced his head back, down towards the ground. Ulquiorra, still limp with shock, felt his spine bend with the pressure and before he could right himself again, he was flat on his back, the unnatural weight pressing down in his body all too familiar in this position. He raised a hand and grabbed the Hollow's face, pushing back with as much strength he could muster at the moment. The thing laughed; it knew Ulquiorra had no chance of pushing him off in his current position. It was pointless
To defy Aizen's words, Ulquiorra had always known that, but it was only know that he understood why it was so difficult. He had seen so many brothers born with the power of those hands, and he himself had been created like that, but now, these same hands were pinning him down, pressing him painfully into the hard floor. He allowed no sound to escape his lips, however, no sound to
Break this silence that was pressing on his ears.
A sharp pain
Lanced its way up his neck. Aizen bit down hard into Ulquiorra's colorless skin, the sheer force of his reiatsu breaking through. Dark blood welled to the surface, thick and sticky, even in the thin arteries and veins that ran just under the smooth white. Something cold and warm swept across the cut. A tongue
Ran across his bottom lip, then forced its way in, exploring every feature of the inside of his mouth, something people usually don't see. The Hollow's hand snaked up under his jacket, fingers tracing a path up the small of his back, leaving bleeding welts in their wake. He arched his back away
From Aizen. He wanted to get away from this place, he needed to escape, he needed
This to stop. He was choking on his memories, couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't figure out
Why this had happened. Why? What was happening, what had he done wrong so that Aizen would-
Fingers toyed with the high collar at his throat. Aizen found the zipper and pulled the jacket open, jerking it forcefully off Ulquiorra's shoulders
Were pinned against the sand, the crystal grains chafing at his skin. The Hollow's hand gripped his hair, tugging forcefully as a moan escaped its lips. Ulquiorra
Clenched his eyes shut, willing this to end sooner, hoping beyond hope that this was not happening, it hurt, it hurt so badly
As the Hollow rocked its hips faster, grinding mercilessly against his somewhat agitated victim. Ulquiorra tried to pull himself away, pull away from this place he was trapped in, somewhere between the past and the present, all the same memory. He
Tried to speak, he tried to stop Aizen, but there was no way for the inferior to defy the god. His heart twisted as despair laced with rage welled up inside him, mixing with the pain
In his head was building, blinding him. If only he could think straight, if only he could see, or hear, or know what was happening. No, he knew exactly what was happening. Whatever the Hollow thing was doing, it left very little to imagination. The pressure on top of him grew heavier, the friction between their bodies cutting in like broken glass
Littered the floor as something smashed next to Ulquiorra's head. Whatever it was, it was probably filled with water. But it took him a moment to realize the fluid licking at the back of his neck and shoulders was not water, but blood. His blood, he realized
What was going on.
What was going on?
What? How Is Did this Happening? Happen? -Ing? Can't Stop This Pain Just Hurts
End…
His eyes flew open. Fear at a paramount within him, he raised his hand again, pointing it at the Hollow's head. It jerked back as green reiatsu gathered on Ulquiorra's fingertips, leaping out of the way. Ulquiorra wrenched himself to his feet, swaying slightly. But he quickly regained his balance and sped towards the Hollow, who, in turn, seemed shocked by the sudden change of events. He heard a satisfying crack as his foot connected with its side, ribs cracking and breaking. The Hollow's scream was echoed in his mind, emotions that writhed underneath never reaching the surface. He followed the body's progress through the air and drove his arm down, down towards the one that was not Kurosaki Ichigo.
Blood spattered his face as his hand went in, ripping through flesh and bone and air until it met sand. The Hollow dropped to the ground, Ulquiorra kneeling beside him, his arm elbow deep in its abdomen. Blood spurted from its mouth as it retched convulsively. Ulquiorra didn't even flinch as the fluid, diluted with saliva, slapped across one cheek, falling in watery drops to the ground. It never ceased to repulse him that human blood was so thin and colored.
He gave his arm a vicious twist before pulling it free with a squelch and straightening up, his once again glassy eyes looking down at the Hollow, who laughed weakly as the blood drained from his body.
It was good while it lasted, huh? More blood flowed down either side of the still grinning mouth. I really didn't think you would let me follow through with rape, though, but for a minute there, I thought I could've gotten away with it.
Ulquiorra chose not to respond.
What the hell happened? The Hollow taunted. You kinda seized up after I grabbed you, it wasn't much fun.
Still now response. Ulquiorra continued to stare down, emotions and memories finally catching up to him. He dropped to his knees with a gasp, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. He was infuriated with himself for showing any signs of fatigue after something that should have taken him a minimal amount of energy.
A snicker. Damn, you're pretty tired yourself, aren't cha? The mocking ring was muffled by the blood gurgling back in the throat. We can do it again, sometime, huh? For future reference, I like it rough. And from what I saw, I'm pretty sure you do, too.
A laugh and then silence. The reiatsu, already lower than it had been from the beginning, plummeted back to an acceptable, if not depleted, shinigami level.
Ulquiorra did not want to know what Ichigo Kurosaki was thinking, much less what he wanted to say.
-
"You looked pretty fucked up."
Ulquiorra had no sooner stepped into his room than those crude words assaulted his overtaxed senses. He blinked twice, his gaze falling on the blue-eyed Espada who was leaning casually against his desk. It was obvious he had been waiting.
"What do you want?" Ulquiorra asked. He did not want to deal with anything at the moment; he just wanted to forget.
"Waiting for you, bastard." Grimmjow snorted, his eyes never leaving Ulquiorra's. Unusual. Grimmjow was not one to keep eye contact. "You took off without telling me where, and now you come home looking like someone tried to screw your brains out."
Ulquiorra didn't answer. Instead, he turned away from the intruder and went into the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he stuck his head under until his hair was thoroughly soaked and his ears filled with water. Straightening up, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the black strands clump together. Then, he exited to his room.
Grimmjow was still there, the stubborn bastard. Ulquiorra ignored him and dropped on his bed, turning his head to the side a little. He knew his mask was a part of him only death could change (though he was not sure on that), but it annoyed him to no end when he had to lie down. The horn jutting from the smooth helmet like shape curved outwards and then back, making it impossible for him to sleep on anything but his right side. He did not think much of lying facedown, suffocating himself.
"Damn, what the hell happened to you?" Grimmjow demanded, his form suddenly looming over the Cuatro Espada. "You come in like you just slept with Gin or something, drown your face and then flop on the bed. What. The. Fuck. Ulquiorra, you don't flop. You aren't supposed to flop."
"Grimmjow, not now."
"And you didn't call me trash, either. Seriously, I think you-"
A pale hand shot up and grabbed his throat. Blue eyes widened and Grimmjow froze, staring down the bridge of his nose at the green eyes that were currently glaring murder at him. He swallowed around the crushing grip on his neck.
"Alright." He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, so you don't want to talk. Fine. Fine, I'll go."
Ulquiorra closed his eyes as if he were sighing. He never sighed if he could help it. His hand dropped back to his side and Grimmjow stepped back, slightly perturbed. He didn't know Ulquiorra extremely well, but he knew enough to know something was wrong. Something was very horribly wrong. He moved towards the doorway, but stopped as Ulquiorra spoke.
"Don't." the voice was hoarse.
"What?"
"Don't say anything."
Grimmjow didn't know if Ulquiorra was shitting him or not. He whipped around, his eyes wary. "What?"
Ulquiorra opened an eye. "Are you that dense? Just keep your mouth shut."
Slowly, Grimmjow nodded, still not breaking eye contact. He opened his mouth as if he was going to talk back, but something in Ulquiorra's face stopped him and he left, slamming the door closed behind him. Ulquiorra winced at the sound.
Typical.
He could not pretend he was not disturbed by the recent events. In fact, to say that he was just disturbed would be the understatement of the millennia. He wasn't just disturbed, he was terrified, he was angry, and mostly he just hurt. Something in his stomach twisted as he remembered the lightless room, his vision blocked by a mass of brown hair, and the only sound he heard was the sound of skin on skin. He detested it. He did not want to believe Aizen was still the same powerful creator who would eventually save them, and he didn't. He didn't trust his lord Aizen-sama anymore. And yet, every time any scene remotely similar played out, it would instantly melt into his memories until he didn't know where he was or when it was.
Slowly, he got to his feet and pulled down the zipper of his jacket. Pushing the folds away, he slipped it off his shoulders and threw it over a chair. Walking into the bathroom again, he twisted around to look at the oozing cuts on his back. There were two sets of parallel gouge marks, some thinner and some fainter while most where simply deep red welts marring his pale skin. He could see where the almost straight lines were interrupted by the arch of his spine or ribs. He touched them, troubled, and saw the way they slid over previous scars like roads on a map.
With trembling hands, he pulled his jacket off again, checking the cuts that had just healed into faint white scars, barely contrasting with his already pale skin. He ran his fingers over a long one that wrapped around his ribs, ending abruptly at his stomach. The other smaller, far more insignificant wounds had already healed, but the memory was far from gone. Whenever he delved into his mind for those recollections, his throat knotted painfully, the same fear and betrayal sinking into him again. His hands clenched; he hated to see them tremble.
Suddenly, someone knocked and entered. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on quickly, but not hastily. He never hurried. Zipping it all the way up to his throat, he stared as Ichimaru came in again. Ulquiorra noticed the narrowed eyes linger on the scars that marred his abdomen, only noticeable in the poor lighting. The shinigami hesitated, his face once again mocking yet regretful. Dread crept up and grabbed Ulquiorra from behind, sending his heart racing again.
"Aizen-sama is calling for you." Gin said softly. He was still grinning.
Ulquiorra swallowed his fear and nodded, trying his best to forget the pain of their last encounter.
The light scars crisscrossed across his body. The original cuts were too shallow to leave a permanent scar, and the older ones had already faded and disappeared, but Aizen had not limited Ulquiorra to a one-time 'use'. He had exploited his power and control many times over until Ulquiorra thought he would die from it all. He could remember what Aizen always said at the end of every session.
"You've always been my favorite…"
His favorite, his favorite… it was disgusting! Ulquiorra could feel his self-control breaking down. He wanted to show emotion, he wanted to scream and cry and kill things, burn them, slash it, incinerate it with his cero. He wanted to kill him, he wanted Aizen to die, he wanted to kill the one who betrayed his loyalty-
His loyalty! It was his unwavering loyalty that had gotten himself into this situation, and it would only dig him deeper. Suddenly, he wanted to kill himself for thinking these thoughts. He had told himself so many times that he would serve his Aizen-sama with everything he had, and this constituted as everything he had. The dark mouth was set in its usual scowl. Absently, he rubbed his upper lip, wondering for the first time in his Espada life why it was black against his pale skin. His bottom lip remained in sync with the rest of his body, but not his upper lip. Why was it determined to undermine the normal?
Suddenly, his exhaustion caught up with him, breaking through his thoughts. Walking back into the room, he slid under his sheets (he didn't like blankets; they muffled his senses) and rolled onto his right side.
Sleep did not come as easily as expected.
-
He woke up like he had been slapped in the face.
Dragging himself out of bed, he got a clean uniform and pulled on the shirt, zipping it over the scars again. He straightened his hakama and finger-combed his hair into its normal position before putting his hands into his pockets and starting for the door. Grimmjow was outside, he realized. A small emotion shifted inside of him as he discovered this, but he ignored it and proceeded to push open the door.
"You still look like shit."
Ulquiorra had expected something like this and was not the least surprised. He turned abruptly to the right and started up the hallway, hearing Grimmjow follow him.
"What the fuck happened to you?" came the predictable question. When Ulquiorra didn't answer, the fool pressed for answers. "I'm serious. What happened?"
"It is none of your concern." Ulquiorra said, his voice icy.
Grimmjow's breath came out in a whoosh. "What the fuck?! What the fuck, Ulquiorra?! You don't realize that, for the first time in my goddamned life I am actually asking a question as to someone else's well being? Could you at least answer with something a little unexpected? I mean, I asked an unexpected question, answer with something unexpected! Better yet, answer the question correctly, like any normal soul would! Hey! I'm talking to you, you emo bastard!"
He strode on after Ulquiorra, grinding his teeth furiously. So this was what it felt like to be worried. If this was what it was, he wasn't too keen on trying it again. Ulquiorra ignored him, but there was no denying he looked 'like shit', as Grimmjow put it. His normally white skin had a grey tinge to it, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. His veins stood out stark against his discolored skin, a network of bruise blue and reddish purple spreading across his body. His mouth, if possible, was set in a sharper curve than usual, and the contrast between his black lip and his skin was far more pronounced than usual. He had never looked worse.
But it mattered very little. Ulquiorra simply squashed his emotions down to the very bottom of his heart, saving them for a more appropriate time. Which was to say he would leave them until he had to attend to them.
Suddenly, Grimmjow's hand closed on his arm in a vice-like grip. He turned his head a little to look back at the Sixth, his expression condescending. He watched something tauten in Grimmjow's face, and proceeded to brush the hand off.
"Wait." Grimmjow said. His eyes were still fixed steadily on the green ones. "Tell me. What happened. Please."
Ulquiorra did not understand. He did not understand why Grimmjow was doing this, or why he suddenly felt inclined to answer, to scream every thought that was currently threatening to implode his head. He wanted to say something, tell anyone, and then end this hell. He opened his mouth.
"Take your hand off me or I'll cut it off."
There. That could have been the singly most stupid thing he would do in his life. With a steady gaze, he shrugged Grimmjow's arm off and set off again at a brisk place. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't need to go anywhere. He just wanted to get away from here, this place where all these unfamiliar feelings were creeping up his consciousness again.
He walked away, leaving Grimmjow to simply stare in irritation and frustration. Grimmjow watched the rigid form get farther and farther away, and he couldn't help the disappointment that welled up his throat in a bitter wave. When he couldn't see Ulquiorra anymore, he turned and started off in the opposite direction.
-
Ulquiorra pushed open the door, and it glided smoothly inward on oiled hinges. He stepped in and flicked on the horrible fluorescent lights. Usually, he left them off, but he didn't have the energy to look very hard today.
The intense glow was accompanied by a soft buzz, illuminating the figure lying on the bed. Ulquiorra advanced slowly on the prisoner, his steps slow and deliberate. He continued until he stood directly at the bedside, staring coldly down at the boy below. His face was turned away from the Espada, facing the wall, but it was apparent he was awake.
"Get away from me."
Ulquiorra disregarded this. "Why?" he asked slowly.
Brown eyes turned on him, the spark all but gone. "I didn't."
"Didn't." it was not a question.
"I didn't do anything. I hope you know that." Kurosaki Ichigo almost pleaded.
Green eyes blinked down at him.
Ichigo's eyes widened slightly. "I-I'm not kidding. My Hollow, I can't always control it, it just does that-"
"Do you take me for a fool, trash?" Ulquiorra interrupted.
"What?" Ichigo hadn't even heard what he had said, he just heard the word 'trash'.
"I do believe your Hollow can speak a language I understand, correct?"
"Wait, but-"
"Silence." It was not a request, it was an order. "I do believe your Hollow can talk, am I correct?"
Ichigo nodded, his body numb.
"Think about what he said, shinigami. I heard everything. Think about it, then eliminate your feelings. They will do you no good." Ulquiorra's eyes shifted away from Ichigo's, and he strode out the door, returning with Zangetsu. Throwing it at the shinigami in a fluid motion, he said, "Catch."
Ichigo scrambled to do so. His eyes were wary as he watched the Espada approach.
"Kill me, trash."
Nothing registered but the word 'trash'. When Ulquiorra saw that the prisoner did not comprehend, he repeated himself.
"Kill me, shinigami."
This time, Ichigo heard quite clearly. Eyes widening, he nearly dropped his zanpakuto in shock as he stared up at Ulquiorra. "What?"
"Kill me. I am unarmed. You have your zanpakuto. Even for trash like you, this should be fairly simple."
Once again, the word trash echoed in his mind, but he was paying far too much attention to forget the rest of the sentence.
"Kill me, Kurosaki Ichigo."
Ichigo's vision swam before his eyes, his heart pounding wildly as he tried to raise his sword. This was his chance to escape and save Inoue, but Zangetsu felt like lead in his hands as he struggled to raise his arms. He must be weaker than he thought.
And as he looked up into Ulquiorra's eyes, his heart twisted with pain. Emotions overrode logical thinking, and suddenly, he felt his limbs growing weaker and weaker. Trembling, he tried again, trying to raise his sword above waist height. He couldn't even lift it past his knees. It was then that he realized he was not weak at all. At least not physically. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. But he couldn't. He couldn't destroy the one thing that made him feel this way, the one thing he couldn't – and shouldn't- have. Before he knew what he was doing, he fell to his knees, zanpakuto dropping with a crash to the ground.
"I can't." the words came out in a gasp.
Ulquiorra didn't even blink. "Trash." He said, kneeling down before the wavering shinigami until his eyes were level with Ichigo's. "You like hearing that, don't you?"
Ichigo's head came up sharply, eyes wide. How did this arrancar know everything? For the record, the Hollow hadn't said this much.
"Yes." There was cold amusement in the word. "You like to hear me call you… trash." It was the stupidest thing about this shinigami, Ulquiorra thought. The singly stupidest thing he had ever seen, and the only stupid thing above Nnoitra, who was pretty stupid.
He rose to his feet. He felt better after this small session of mental torture. It was not his best work, but it was something. "Forget me, shinigami. Go back to Soul Society and live. You have your entire life and death ahead. Do not waste it on something hopeless." He turned to leave. "If you have lived as long as I have, and realized there was still so much longer you'd have to exist with your mistakes, you would not be here. Forget about me. Forget your feelings. They will only come back to destroy you."
Ichigo couldn't move. He stared after the retreating form, his lips slightly parted in shock, eyes still blank and uncomprehending. Ulquiorra thought the shinigami had never looked more pathetic, but that shallow sense of guilt boiled just beneath the surface. Wasn't he the same? Didn't he have the same mindset, confused and deprived at the same time? Who was he to call someone pathetic when he was far more so than anyone would ever be?
Ulquiorra closed the door quietly.
-
It was just a touch.
That was what Grimmjow kept telling himself, but just a touch did not quite sum up to a reason for this small explosion that had just bombed his mind into nothingness.
But it was just a touch. No explosion, serious.
… Okay, he lied.
But he passed so many arrancar in the halls, brushing by just as he had just done, but did they ever set off this domino effect? No. But even as he watched the horned mask pass by his face, he nudged his elbow out a little farther and jabbed Ulquiorra in the ribs, apparently a little harder than he thought. The Cuatro Espada whirled around, expression blank, pinning Grimmjow to the wall with his eyes like a butterfly on cork display.
Not that he regretted anything now.
But as he thought about it, it seemed too perfect, too perfectly staged for this to be happening right now. Maybe being a persistent fangirl –ahem- fanboy worked out sometimes. Hell, it sure worked now. But what are the chances that an empty room was just to Grimmjow's left and Ulquiorra close to his right? Pretty slim, he thought.
Before said angry Espada could punch a couple (nice and neat) holes in Grimmjow, he had grabbed Ulquiorra and dashed into the door, kicking it open like any other.
Thank God (not Aizen; he didn't care what Ulquiorra said) it was empty.
Nor did it look like it was used. Didn't matter.
He grabbed both shoulders and pushed Ulquiorra into the wall. With a threatening glare, he said, "Okay, emo bitch. You're done with whatever crap you were doing, now talk."
Not a peep.
"Hurry up, I've been waiting days for this." It didn't really matter that days hadn't passed yet.
Still no response.
"You fuckingpieceofshit, are you going to talk or not?!"
Infuriating little prick must have duct taped his mouth.
Suddenly, pale hands grabbed his, pushing them off not so gently. Grimmjow's eyes widened as Ulquiorra threw him backward, somehow still maintaining his grip all the time. His back hit the ground, and within moments, Ulquiorra was on top of him. Grimmjow couldn't complain, but it felt somewhat wrong all the same.
"What the hell do you want, Sexta?" Ulquiorra's face was maddeningly close, his slit pupils dilated in the dark. Grimmjow didn't know they did that.
"What do you want, Ulquiorra?" he gritted back, afraid of breathing on that face in case he lost a lung for it.
Ulquiorra's eyes changed. But definitely not happy.
"All right." Grimmjow continued, allowing more air this time. "So you don't want to talk. That's fine…" his breath ghosted over Ulquiorra's ear. Quite suddenly, he arched his back, pushing all his weight on one shoulder. He flipped over, rolling Ulquiorra to the bottom with a muffled thud. Grimmjow allotted a moment's breath to get over the shock, then leaned yet closer.
"But I'd like to know…" he breathed, his eyes heavily lidded, "What did Aizen do to fuck you up so bad you can't even let someone screw you over?"
Ulquiorra froze, wiping his face completely blank. His heart thudded in his chest; a fact that didn't go unnoticed. Grimmjow laughed softly.
"Don't play dumb." He said, toying with a few strands of hair, "I'm not as stupid as you think."
There was a silence, followed by a gasp as Ulquiorra let go of the breath he had been holding. No wonder he was so quiet.
"Grimmjow, what do you want?" he hissed again.
Grimmjow's eyes were mere spots of blue in the dark. "What do you want, Ulquiorra?" he asked, his voice dropping several octaves.
Ulquiorra's breath quickened, but it was not panic in his eyes this time. Grimmjow paused, then lunged forward, sliding a hand under the bone mask and around the thin neck. Crushing their lips together, he teased Ulquiorra's lips apart with his tongue and proceeded to explore every aspect of the Cuatro Espada's mouth. Damn it was a small mouth, though. He felt a hand wrapping around his waist, the other tangling messily in his hair. Ulquiorra's back arched, and he moaned past the kiss. Grimmjow's heart pounded harder, the sound triggering an explosion of reactions in his mind. Pushing his body tight against the one beneath him, he pulled away from the kiss and began to trail his lips down the angular jaw and throat, pausing only to bite at the cold skin. Wrapping his mouth around a sharp collarbone, he stopped abruptly at the edge of the Hollow hole, waiting and breathing, anticipating the next move. His tongue flitted in and out, tracing the ravaged edges. Ulquiorra shuddered, suppressing another moan as Grimmjow worked his way inward, savoring the taste of blood and sweat on the Cuatro Espada's skin.
Grimmjow struggled with the zipper of Ulquiorra's jacket and, upon finding it, discarded it into the corner. The hand at his hip fisted in his own clothes, and Grimmjow complied, shrugging off his ragged shirt as well. Without warning, Ulquiorra jerked the hand currently tangled in his hair, pulling Grimmjow down until their lips met again in a heated struggle for dominance. Their movements grew increasingly frantic and forceful, bodies writhing fluidly against each other in a raging battle of lust and passion. Dimly, Grimmjow was aware of the hesitancy in Ulquiorra's movements, the slight tremble as he responded to his subconscious mind. Sharp teeth bit into Grimmjow's lip and salty blood washing over their tongues, now entwined loosely yet vigorously enough to hurt.
At length, Ulquiorra head fell back, pulling his lips away from Grimmjow's. They lay still for a moment, silent except for the harsh panting that filled the air. Grimmjow's face was still close enough to Ulquiorra's so that their breaths mingled, a passionate moment that neither wanted to break.
"I'd still like to know," Grimmjow panted, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, "Exactly what Aizen did to you."
Ulquiorra stared up at him, his eyes flitting slowly over Grimmjow's lips, his nose, the few strands that fell casually over his eyes. His expression was blank, neutral.
Grimmjow hadn't been expecting an answer anyway. He realized that he didn't need one anymore. With a small grunt of acceptance, he closed the distance between them again.
This time, the initial adrenaline had already work off, and his heart was beating far slower than he was a thirty seconds ago. He felt Ulquiorra's bony hand slide smoothly up his spine, running over his ribs. Grimmjow leaned into the touch, trembling with the effort of maintaining his self-control. The smaller arrancar snuck his tongue in between Grimmjow's teeth and proceeded to force his jaws apart. Their masks scraped together as he tilted his head, never breaking the kiss. Then, Ulquiorra deftly slipped his fingers into Grimmjow's Hollow hole, the touch sending shivers up his back. Grimmjow's restraints shattered, and he grabbed Ulquiorra's head, kissing him so hard that he drew blood, the metallic liquid flowing out the corner of his mouth and to the floor. He felt the body beneath him shudder as they scraped over the rough ground, dampening it with sweat and blood.
Slowly, Grimmjow let his hands slide down Ulquiorra's lithe body stopping just at the edge of his hakama. He hooked his fingers under the fabric and tried to pull the obstructing article of clothing off, but at that moment, Ulquiorra broke contact, grabbing Grimmjow's wrists in a firm grip.
"Not now." He whispered, pulling the hands away from his hakama.
Grimmjow made a small noise of complaint but Ulquiorra pushed him off and got to his feet. Retrieving his jacket, he pulled it back on and dusted himself off, running a hand through his hair to flatten it out. Grimmjow sat up.
"Where're you going?" he asked, his brain still on overdrive from recent activities.
"It has been nice, Sexta," Ulquiorra said dryly, pausing in the doorway, "But I think the situation may get out of hand if I allow it to continue."
"Wha-" Grimmjow started, but Ulquiorra departed, disappearing from view.
"Che." He growled, finding his own clothes and putting them on. He looked out into the hall, trying to figure out which way the stupid emo prick had gone, but Ulquiorra had all but vanished.
As Ulquiorra started down the corridor, he noted that his hands were still shaking. Clenching them, he let himself fall against the wall, leaning his head back as much as he could with his mask to consider. He closed his eyes, willing the memories away, hoping that the blinding white would simply fade.
Wiping his face clear of expression, he turned away and began to walk toward Kurosaki Ichigo's room again.
Suddenly, a set of footsteps came toward him, and the grinning face of Ichimaru Gin loomed out of the darkness. Ulquiorra stopped, his heart dropping.
"Aizen-sama wants you." Gin said, his voice full of the usual guilt that accompanied those words.
A:N
How was it? Not too lame, i hope... This is the first time i've written something like this.
I was reasonably proud of this chapter up until the end. the last bit was rushed and lame, i didn't know what to do to transition. yes, yes, i know, one bit of yaoi/(not really) sex and more yaoi/sex immediately after. Sorry about the sloppiness.
REVIEW -it's even in caps.