Tales of the Arrancar: Two

Summary: They say curiosity kills the cat, but what does it do for Espada? Tipped off about one of their own, Szayel, Ulquiorra, and Nnoitra decide to investigate. They are about to find out, however, Espada might not have nine lives.

Main cast: Ulquiorra, Szayel, Nnoitra, Grimmjow, and a little bit of Aizen at the end.

Pairings: Implied one-sided Grimmjow/a certain Lieutenant…

Overall warnings: Grimmjow's latent lechery. Come on, are you really surprised?

Lesson Learned

"Szayel, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Ulquiorra looked oddly young and vulnerable, huddled close to the pink-haired Espada's side. His eyes, deeper emerald than the finest jewels, aglow with feline brightness, were wide and wary. He gripped Szayel's arm, his every muscle taut in tension. Szayel had only seen him like this once before, when Aizen had flown into a rage over their perceived lack of progress with the Hogyoku. It was an occasion still lurid even in Szayel's mind, although colored in gaudy tones of amusement rather than fear. For Ulquiorra, however, who had what more sentimental beings might call a 'paternal' view of Aizen, it was one of the few memories he retained which induced something akin to despair.

Szayel rolled his amber eyes. "Oh, don't be a wimp, Ulqui. It's not like he could do anything to us, anyway."

"It's not him I'm worried about. If he starts shouting he'll wake the entire palace, and if Orihime finds out I sank to your level—"

So that was what this was about. His appearance to Miss Inoue Orihime. Szayel smirked. "Oh, don't worry, my snow-white beauty. I'm sure she'll be just as attracted to your tight little ass."

Ulquiorra seemed genuinely bemused. "My what?"

Szayel considered his companion a moment, and then sighed with the attitude of one at last resigned to the hopelessness of their endeavors. "Never mind."

There was a soft tap on the other side of the door behind them. The sound made Ulquiorra start slightly. "Any luck in there?" Nnoitra's whisper, thick with anticipatory excitement, wafted in to them.

"Not yet," Szayel murmured back.

They stood in the darkened room which was the private quarters of their fellow Espada, Grimmjow, staring down at the slumbering Arrancar. Nnoitra was outside to keep a lookout for Aizen, Gin, Kaname, or any others who may cause them trouble. This morning Nelliel had made an offhand remark that Grimmjow talked in his sleep—although how she would be privy to this information, none of them truly wished to know—and so the three of them, driven by perhaps suicidal curiosity, had decided to observe this phenomenon for themselves.

Grimmjow was sprawled out on his tattered mattress, mouth open, a fathomless black hole from which sporadic earth-shattering snores ascended. In such a position, bathed in shadow, the general impression was not one of menace but a harmlessness that was almost…cute.

"Szayel…what if he wakes up?" Ulquiorra asked earnestly.

"Oh, please," the Eighth Espada scoffed. "You could strip him naked, string him up on a pole, set his ass on fire, stick a sword up it along with a couple mini-hollows, pelt him with rocks, buildings, Soul Reapers, Menos Grande, put Pesche and Dondochakka in his bed, and lock him in a room with Ichimaru and Aizen during their 'happy hour,' and he still would not wake up." Indeed, Szayel had some experience with this. He had, in fact, tried something like it a few years prior, but that is another story. Not a very pleasant one, either. The aftermath of which saw a naked, bruised, charred, and very angry Grimmjow limping after a very entertained Szayel, still trying to pry the last struggling lizard-like hollow from his hindquarters. To this day the memory made Szayel feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Aizen had been none too pleased, but all the other Arrancar had been quite as amused.

He doubted, though, Ulquiorra would share their sentiments. He and Grimmjow had a peculiar relationship. When it was a personal confrontation, their mutual abhorrence eclipsed all things, including but not limited to the existence of people and objects in the vicinity, the frailty of said people and objects, the destructive capacity of their own powers, and the wrath of Aizen they would face after they had rendered Las Noches and much of Hueco Mundo a pile of rubble but miraculously managed to do little damage to each other. When one was threatened by an outside source, however, the other could be invariably counted upon to come to his aid. Perhaps it was a simple case of 'predator-protects-prey.' Szayel had attempted an investigation, but his only result was running to Orihime to heal an assortment of nasty, potentially fatal wounds.

As if to confirm these contemplations, Ulquiorra said, "I don't think he'll like this."

"Oh, come on, Ulqui. Since when have you ever cared what he would like?"

The door cracked open and Nnoitra peeked in. "Will both of you shut up?" he hissed. "How do you expect to hear anything good when you keep bickering?"

"We're not bickering," Szayel said, and lazily flicked an errant strand of silken magenta hair from his brow.

"Whatever! Just shut your oversized trap, you four-eyed science freak!"

Szayel was about to riposte, perhaps remark upon the paradox of Nnoitra calling him a freak, but suddenly Ulquiorra pressed a hand over his mouth to silence him. Szayel regarded him inquiringly, and he jerked his head toward the bed.

Grimmjow, blissfully ignorant that he was being watched, turned over and muttered something unintelligible. Ulquiorra and Szayel exchanged speculative glances. Szayel shrugged, and upon unspoken consent the two leaned nearer. Outside, Nnoitra had the side of his face rammed against the small opening in the door, his ears strained to hear every word.

Grimmjow muttered again, and this time they clearly made out, "Matsumodo…"

Ulquiorra blinked. Szayel raised an eyebrow.

"Matsumodo…"

Szayel appeared vaguely confused, but recognition had begun to dawn in Ulquiorra's expression.

"Oh," he whispered. "Oh. Oh."

Szayel looked at him questioningly.

"Orihime told me about a Matsumodo," he explained. "A Lieutenant of the Soul Society. Squad Ten, I think. Apparently, she has a very…uh…ample bust."

Szayel pulled the other Arrancar's hand away. "More ample than Orihime's?"

"They make Orihime's look small."

Szayel gaped, frankly astonished, and then delighted. "Well, well…how interesting…"

They returned their attention to the sleeping Grimmjow.

"Do that again…one more time, baby…" He was almost purring in a low, seductive voice none of them had ever heard him use before.

Szayel blinked, and Ulquiorra became very pale…well, paler than usual, anyway.

"Oh," he said faintly. He looked shocked. Szayel, meanwhile, was smirking. Nnoitra shifted, equally as disquieted as Ulquiorra.

"Yeah, right there, baby…that's the spot…" Grimmjow turned over...and did a very disturbing thing to his pillow.

"What the hell is he dreaming about?" Nnoitra whispered. Ulquiorra was paralyzed. Szayel had started to snicker, and muffled the sounds with his sleeve.

"Don't stop, my vanilla muffin…keep going, just like that…oh, yeah, that's the way…"

"Vanilla…muffin…?" Szayel could barely contain his laughter.

"Oh." Ulquiorra seemed incapable of further speech. "Oh." Nnoitra, who had never heard such things in his life until now, was stunned into total silence.

"Oh, yeah, bring out the sugar…you know what to do…"

This was too much. Szayel burst into wild gales of mirth and fell back on his behind, kicking frantically at the air. Ulquiorra was motionless, beyond shock, well into the vast wasteland of permanent trauma. Nnoitra sailed the same ship.

Grimmjow jerked awake. He stared uncomprehendingly at the scene in front of him: one Espada mute and gazing blankly across the room, totally disconnected from the world; another rolling around on the floor, dangerously close to a hernia from his helpless guffaws. Then he recalled the dream he had been so rudely ripped from, and he understood.

He went through three phases: he paled, his eyes widened, then his face turned an ugly shade of red and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?"

"You…" Ulquiorra did not appear fully aware of his surroundings. "Dreaming…Matsumodo…sugar…muffins…"

Szayel shrieked laughter.

Grimmjow roared and fired his Cero directly at them. "GET THE HELL OUT BEFORE I TURN YOU BOTH TO ASHES!"

Szayel, still in hysterics, barely evaded and pulled Ulquiorra out of the way in time. They escaped out to where Nnoitra was just as Grimmjow released a series of deadly Bala.

Once they were a safe distance from the raging Grimmjow—about halfway on the other end of Las Noches—Szayel let go of Ulquiorra and collapsed against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Ulquiorra fell limply to the ground. Nnoitra swayed drunkenly where Szayel had set him down, somewhere in the nexus between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Aizen stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed, brow high. "So, my dear Espada, what did we learn today?"

"Grimmjow is a pervert," Nnoitra said in a weak voice quite unlike him. "And he likes sugar…"

"I should never have let him go to the Living World," Ulquiorra whispered.

"Listening to Grimmjow talk in his sleep serves to collect wonderful blackmail," Szayel said, and with that he hurried away, still laughing like a madman.

Yes, Grimmjow is secretly attracted to Rangiku. Please, as if the entire Soul Society is not the same. XD Anyway, this will undoubtedly be my shortest one. Please review! It makes me smile, like Szayel when he is torturing poor Grimmjow…;)