They hated him. They had no right to hate him. If they could take care of themselves then they wouldn't have to worry about who to hate. Aizen never hated Ulquiorra. He cared for those he created. He had pulled Ulquiorra from the ashes and given him something special, all that he asked in return was unquestioned loyalty. Who could deny such a being? They failed time and time again, but Ulquiorra, he did right by his God. Sitting himself upright, the espada allowed himself a small groan of pain. Yammi had inflicted enough pain, but who was he to judge Aizen's prizes? If what truly pleased his creations was to take it out on him then it wasn't Ulquiorra place to deny that his god was in the right by using him to sate them. It was a vicious circle that he entrusted to his God, but still... He shifted uneasily onto his feet, feeling dizziness sweep over him. Yammi hadn't just filled him with his vile fluids, he'd invaded that time. He'd forced his reiatsu down on him like a tidal wave. He'd never known Yammi was so strong. Ulquiorra would never understand the others, he didn't need to, but he understood now why it was Yammi wanted so badly to dominate him. Yammi was hiding his strength, probably was tired of Ulquiorra consistently being put first and good lord did it hurt like hell.
Zipping up the top piece of his outfit, Ulquiorra grimmaced. Grimmjow was outside. He'd heard Aizen issue his warning to him and was glad of it. Grimmjow was the one espada that Ulquiorra never wanted touching him. Sexta was simply too full of himself, and didn't understand the bond he had with Aizen. On top of that, he was hypocrite. He could hear his breath, feel his reiatsu. He was just like Yammi, he hated him, he wanted to take everything he had out on Ulquiorra, but unlike the others he bitched and moaned like a four year old about how whorish Ulquiorra was. Trash. At least the others never pretended to be moral. Silently he exited the room, hands delved deep into his pockets in the usual way as he put everything else from his mind and began toward his room.
The blood from where Yammi had torn the herro of his skin around the hole in his collar bones seeped through his clothing, and he felt Grimmjow's eyes raking over him, examining him. Foolish cat. Like Ulquiorra would ever let Grimmjow touch him. Even Grimmjow had convinced himself that he thought these acts were disgusting, but he could see the glimmer in his eyes when he spotted the blood on Ulquiorra's stark white clothes. A cat in heat, who saw another cat that got the mouse and now he wanted it to. Trash. Quatro moved passed him, despite Grimmjow's refusal to move aside, but the sound of Grimmjow behind him almost sent shivers up his spine. He stopped in his tracks, brows furrowed as he listened to Grimmjow's footfalls behind him. Grimmjow was stalking his prey again, or he was a fool stalking his own preditor. Ulquiorra turned on his heel, giving Grimmjow half a look over and stopping to scoff at Grimmjow's own evident reaction to what he called degradation, remind him how pathetic he was, how hypocritical.
"You fucking whore. How much longer are you going to pretend huh?" The words washed over him like water. Lie to himself as he'd like, but Grimmjow was nothing. He was an angry cat that needed to be kicked down the stairs and reminded just who he was. "You just lie down and take it. You let decima fuck you just because that false god-" Pain. Ulquiorra moved faster than Grimmjow's eyes could have followed, but his legs, arm, and face would certainly felt where he'd been. With all the speed that he'd been known for, Ulquiorra shoved Grimmjow's face into the rubble covered wall. He'd literally broken the wall with his face. He could see the heat rise to Grimmjow's cheeks, holding half of his head against the wall. Probably embarrassed to have himself so easily slammed into a wall, especially since Ulquiorra was so much smaller than Sexta. Funny how they all concentrated on the appearance of things, but Grimmjow had crossed a line.
"False God?" The question slipped through his mouth with contempt. Not contempt for Aizen, of course never for his god, but for Grimmjow. The one who even though he'd followed his God tried to convince Ulquiorra endlessly that he wasn't worthy of his obedience. "Trash." Releasing his grip on Grimmjow's arm and head, he dropped the other to the floor like he were nothing. It came easy to him, looking down on Grimmjow. He belonged under Ulquiorra's foot, but for those words would be enough to prove his point. With a short breath, he released Grimmjow, no other words spoken except that to him Grimmjow was a piece of garbage. Even after what he let Yammi do to himself it was all for his God. He didn't bother to turn his head, look back on Grimmjow's pathetic whining as he pulled his bruised form off the crumbling ground, he just headed back down the hall where he was suppose to be. Stupid cat. Grimmjow could slink off to his room to lick his wounds. Call him a whore would he? Better than being the hypocrite.