Note: Contains minor Grimmulqui - just kissing.

Chapter 7

A step closer to the truth

He was laying down. The bedding was soft and soothing against his scarred skin – wait. Scarred? When did it get scarred? Ichigo searched his memory, but found nothing for a while. And then he remembered – pain and corpses and a bleak landscape and teeth digging into his flesh. He wanted to writhe and twist and cry out in pain on the bed, but couldn't. He couldn't even open his eyes.

He tried to calm his wildly beating heart, telling himself that all was all right, he was safe now, because – nothing crossed his mind for a moment, because his senses were returning and he could feel the comforting warmth of a hand of someone he knew so well. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to open his eyes and see him again – would have given anything to see him once more, perfect and composed and cool and god-like. Patches of light flitted before his eyes, and he collapsed again.

XxX

The next time he came to, his eyelids weren't made of lead anymore and he opened his eyes, letting in the harsh lamplight. He was dazed and disoriented, and it took him several moments to see properly again. He was lying on a bed in Las Noches. Probably one of the hospital wing's rooms. What had seemed lamplight at first was actually the light from the inside dome, painted sky blue and peppered with clouds. Nothing stirred, both in the room and outside. The silence was deafening, so Ichigo looked around, not at the room, which was simply white and nothing more, but rather, at his aching body. He was covered in quite a few bandages, the taut caramel colored skin of his stomach nearly encased in the white cloth. His left hand was bandaged as well and as he flexed it he felt the pull of clotted blood on skin. Where there were no bandages, though, he could see the signs of bandages taken off, some quite recently. Had he not known he'd been injured, he would have thought they had tried to mummify him.

Suddenly, he realized that his throat was parched and dry, as if he hadn't drank for ages. Spotting a jug and glass on the bedside table, he reached over. And then he was painfully aware of the hole in his stomach. It was enormous, and by the feel of it, most of it had already closed, but still leaving a gargantuan gap on his left side. He unwound the bandages slightly, looking at the gap of flesh, and wheezed in pain, but then managed, somehow, to pour himself a glass of water, and to bring it up to his dried lips with slightly trembling fingers.

The clear liquid went down his scorched throat easily, soothing the aching flesh. He sighed, feeling slightly better, only to notice that some of the water had escaped from the hole in his abdomen and into the sheets, carrying some blood with it. He felt nauseous and disgusted, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was probably one of the most macabre things he'd ever seen, he thought, head light and thoughts going in circles. The room became unfocussed and it started oscillating to and fro.

He rubbed his eyes. And did it again. It didn't really help.

Lifting his arms became difficult. His movements became sluggish, becoming slower and slower until his strength abandoned him and he let his arms sag onto the mattress, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling in a daze, mouth slightly agape.

He was broken from his reverie when the door opened. It was a mass of brown hair and pale skin, saying something that went beyond his comprehension – the words seemed slurred and confused. The stranger was getting closer. Something cool but distorted was pressed against his forehead. It seemed to be a hand. The brown-haired man was doing something strange. It felt as if he was creating a current that went inside his head, and the air surrounding the man's hand had a greenish hue. He wondered, briefly, if the brown-haired man meant any harm. Brown hair… the thought floated up lazily into Ichigo's mind, and suddenly the stranger wasn't a stranger anymore. He realized, through a haze, that it was Aizen.

The room began to regain focus, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He felt soothed and content, his aches gone, though his eyes were wide in apprehension.

Aizen stroked his face softly, calming the distraught teen. The man's hands were warm on his face, tickled him as he moved his hair slightly. A thumb rested, stroking, next to his eye, ghosting over the cheekbone.

"You really need to be more careful, Ichigo-kun… or you might get seriously hurt." Something, a foreign emotion, flitted by in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Ichigo no time to decipher it.

He continued, his voice low and silky. "For a moment, I believed you wouldn't be able to honor our agreement." Aizen's eyes gleamed with a strange light, appearing almost malevolent. Ichigo gulped. He didn't want to think of what that could entail. A moment passed, and his eyes returned to normal.

"As soon as you get better, you should begin training again. But before that I don't want you to overexert yourself." He eyed him with a meaningful glance. "Don't worry. After all, we have all the time in the world."

Aizen rose to his feet and left the room, a sweeping gaze over his form leaving his skin on fire. The lord of Las Noches smirked once more and left.

XxX

The only sound was the falling of his feet on the tiles, breaking the silence that lay undisturbed like fresh snow. He could have easily shunpoed to his quarters, but he had no hurry. Walking leisurely, and feeling all the others in the immense castle run away as they sensed his presence, was self-flattering, in a way. He felt his own strength coursing through his veins, and was intoxicated on it.

He'd held power over many things and people in his life, but nothing thrilled him quite as much as this. Seeing the boy, fragile and wounded, lying down powerless on a bed, listening to his every word as if spellbound… that was truly intoxicating, even more than the feeling of being so strong, which had been a novelty only in his younger days…

And now, as he applied his power on that innocent, beautiful boy lying on the soft sheets, through which coursed power, raw and undomesticated, he bent, slowly but surely. The mere thought of holding sway over someone like him sent his mind reeling and his senses in overload. The boy's power, and the boy's obeying his power, proved more effective than anything else, not even that somewhat vague yet powerful memory of the feeling of opium coursing through his lungs, clouding his mind and inducing him in stupor.

He'd pictured them often, those rose-pink lips, bruised and debauched, parted in pleasure, and did so again. The picture rose quickly and effortlessly in his mind, a sort of lucid dream, real but just out of reach. A pair of eyes, closed in pleasure, and a nose and face and ears and hair, sweat-laden and sticking out in odd directions as he writhed on the pillow. Perfect skin marred by purpling love-bites as he groaned. Aizen's breath hitched a bit as he thought of it, and blood went downwards.

Ulquiorra chose that moment to appear at the end of the corridor. Quite close, actually. Aizen composed himself and schooled his impression. No need to have Ulquiorra know something he shouldn't. The Cuarta could be terribly perceptive at times.

He bowed. Aizen remained still, then bid the Espada to rise. His tone was low and respectful, as always.

"Aizen-sama, I think we should hasten the preparations for battle. Soul Society will not always stay inert like this." His voice was monotone as always, as if he'd been told to repeat the words without knowing their meaning, not affecting him in the slightest.

He couldn't help but smirk softly, patronizing.

"Don't worry, Ulquiorra. We are in no danger. The Rei-O shouldn't be underestimated, though. At the moment, we are waiting for everybody to hone their skills."

Ulquiorra nodded, acknowledging him.

"Yes… we can only hope that Kurosaki Ichigo will make progress quickly, then, Aizen-sama."

Aizen smiled. A rather understanding, cold smile.

"Sharp as always, Ulquiorra. If you don't mind, go and change Ichigo-kun's bandages. I fear he's reopened a wound."

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

The ex-shinigami stood still for a moment as he heard Ulquiorra's resounding footsteps fading in the distance. Then, he began walking again, taking his time. He chuckled softly to himself, the sound falling with surprising ease from a mouth unused to laughter. They had all the time in the world, he reminded himself…

Well, not quite all the time in the world. This was all going to end. Someday. At the moment, the future battle was just a pale shadow, insubstantial, even though time was slipping away fast enough. But time could dilate endlessly for a while more, the hours slipping slowly by in the halls of Las Noches, anticipation a constant, though a rather vague one. Plans unfolding in a future that continued to appear distant and fixed.

Of course, no one knew the full extent of the plan. It would have been a rather fatal mistake, as not too many would be satisfied with it. Ichigo, of course, was to be kept in the dark at all costs. The whole outcome of his schemes depended on him. Well, not just his schemes. He'd grown to like the boy, and of course there was always that enticing thrill of power… not that he was lacking in appearance, either. To put it correctly, saying Ichigo was lacking in appearance could only mean one thing: the person in question needed glasses. And very badly. He decided not to think about it too much, though. He should try to exert some self-control.

He snorted. As if that were possible. Just a look at the orange-haired teen and most people's minds went in the gutter. And it was only accented by the boy's ignorance of the effect he had on people. Something far more dangerous than mere appearance, in Aizen's opinion. Especially when the boy's body was simply screaming to be deflowered. Or when he'd unknowingly ignore not-so-friendly gestures, like the hand in his hair or a loose embrace. Of course, he knew that part of the reason why he let him do so was because Ichigo was obviously interested in him. His gazes and blushes spoke volumes. But even with things like this, just seducing him wasn't the best idea, in Aizen's opinion. He enjoyed toying with him a bit, keeping him on edge, making him more and more infatuated until it turned to affection and then into 'love'.

Or whatever love actually was.

It was something he'd never experienced. He'd known lust, longing, plain infatuation and a curious warm feeling blossoming in his chest, a very long time ago. But not love. It didn't matter anyways. 'Love' could make people weaker. And he simply couldn't quite wrap his head around it. And he didn't really believe in it all that much anyways.

He wanted to make Ichigo want him, he wanted the teen to hang off his every word, wanted his breath to hitch whenever he looked at him. Seeing that beautifully powerful creature become putty in his hands, under his gaze, would be mesmerizing, the power pulsing in the other, completely under his control. The urge to own the boy was overwhelming, and terribly tempting. It wouldn't take much to pin him to the wall and debauch him. And Ichigo probably wouldn't put up much of a resistance. But he decided to bide his time. He would wait for Ichigo to be the one to make the first move. He'd wait until the boy was longing for his touch so much that he'd simply break down and give in completely to him.

He was so absorbed in his musings that he hardly noticed when he reached his chamber door. He opened it automatically, still drunk on the thought of the ryoka boy's power and his more 'visible' assets, and ordered the servant to draw him a bath. He wanted to simply soak in water and think about the addictive drug that was Ichigo Kurosaki.

XxX

The minutes had stretched into eons of silence as he lay inert in bed, occasionally shifting to look at something else, trying to keep his mind off the gaping wound in his stomach. The strange thing – a healing spell, Ichigo now realized – that Aizen had done was starting to wear off. Pain was ebbing in again, spreading slowly from the wound like snake venom. Every shift, every twitch now was accompanied by a jolt of pain. To make matters worse, he was bored out of his mind, and so he had nothing to distract him from the pained spasms in his stomach.

He was about to roll off the bed and land on his ass just for fun when the door opened. It was Ulquiorra. He was expressionless as usual, and he was carrying a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth in his hands.

The silence was oppressing, so Ichigo decided to try doing something.

"Um… hi then."

Ulquiorra looked at him in a deadpan way, 'hm'ing slightly in his throat, and then reached into a small cabinet, extracting some bandages.

"Uh… so, why are you here to change my bandages?"

Ulquiorra turned slowly around, his expression betraying nothing, and put down bandages, disinfectant and the piece of cloth on the bedside table.

"Aizen-sama has sent me."

Ichigo didn't say anything for a moment.

"Oh. Couldn't he have sent somebody else?" Seeing the Espada's expression, he added quickly: "Well, I mean, a servant or something…"

"It is none of my business. Aizen-sama has told me to come, and so, I have come."

Ichigo said nothing. Ulquiorra wasn't a conversational type, he could see that much. And talking of Aizen seemed out of the question.

His bandages, dirty and a bit bloodied, were unwound with meticulous perfection, and then were promptly thrown into the garbage can, thudding loudly. The wound was cleaned and disinfected until the skin felt almost raw for its cleanliness. Ulquiorra then carefully applied a thick, greenish paste that smelled like herbs and stung a bit, making sure to not leave any spots uncovered. Ichigo thought he might bash the Espada's head into the wall if he didn't stop it.

The Cuarta was covering it all with bandages when a reiatsu he knew only too well approached. Moments later, a grinning Grimmjow was standing in the doorway, his figure occupying most of the space. When he saw what Ulquiorra was doing, though, he scowled. Especially when he wasn't acknowledged in the slightest.

"Oi, Ulquiorra."

No answer.

Grimmjow growled and strode forward, yanking the Cuarta's thin shoulder backwards just as he was about to close the bandages, his face murderous and inches away from Ulquiorra's.

"Yes?"

Grimmjow growled again in frustration and yanked him forwards, lips crashing against the other's.

Ichigo's jaw hit the floor. This was probably the most unexpected thing he'd have thought to see in a room with the two of them. If he wasn't shocked enough, Ulquiorra was actually reciprocating, moaning into Grimmjow's mouth as the blue haired Espada thrust his tongue in his mouth and his hands roamed his body.

He decided they'd had more than a chance to stop. He coughed loudly.

They tore apart, startled, and stared at him – Grimmjow glaring, actually. Ulquiorra was blushing and the lips of both were swollen and bruising.

"What?" snarled out Grimmjow, temper flying.

"Well, you know, I just happen to get the biggest shock of my life with you two snogging each other's brains out right next to the bed on which I'm lying convalescent!"

Grimmjow just grinned defiantly.

"What, annoyed by homos? 'Cause you'd better get used to it."

Ichigo spluttered incoherently.

"N-no! It's just that you two happen to hate each other and now I find you here, making out into oblivion!"

Grimmjow just kept on grinning. "Yeah, it's mind-blowing. Especially the part in which I start-"

Ichigo covered his ears and began hollering.

"I don't want to hear it! Did I ever ask for the full account of your sex lives? No! So get the fuck out and leave me alone, I don't want to hear details!"

Grimmjow yanked Ulquiorra up from his chair and went over towards the door.

"Jesus, calm down, Berry. No need to freak out. We were just leaving anyways. I need to show Ulquiorra the h-"

"QUIET!"

"Ok, ok, I get it. See ya. C'm on, Ulqui."

And with that, he dragged a limp Ulquiorra behind and strode out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Ichigo who was still trying to understand how the hell that happened.

XxX

A servant had come in later to change his bandages again. He'd asked the servant where the Sexta and the Cuarta were, and he was answered in a monotone voice that they were probably together in the Sexta's rooms. Ichigo blushed a bit at the thought, not really able to imagine Grimmjow and Ulquiorra together. It was just all… weird. Way too weird for him to even think about it.

The last time he'd been in Las Noches he'd seen them as rivals, one hating the other. But then, when he thought back to it, it seemed as if everything they'd said to each other was different, hidden meanings barely concealed under hateful words.

Plus, when he'd seen them kiss, he'd gotten aroused.

He'd already figured out he liked guys a while ago, about just after Rukia came to the human world. And honestly, he wasn't too surprised. But still, the sight of two of his ex-enemies making out had been reminded – rather forcefully – of his preferences. And he'd never really kissed anyone, except for a quick peck Orihime had pressed to his lips before running away. The sight of Ulquiorra moaning made him wonder about it even more than he should've.

Hichigo snickered. Curious, King? 'Cause I bet you could find someone to do you pretty easily…

Shut the fuck up. And go away.

He really didn't want to have to put up with his hollow side, not now at least. Especially after he'd reverted to his trademark rudeness after the whole awakening process.

Aww, always so mean? Don't remember you acting like this with dear Sousuke.

Ichigo blushed for the umpteenth time that day. It was getting rather tiresome.

Shut it. Why am I even talking to you anyways?

Suppose you're bored 'nuff. Can't blame ya, though. I am quite good-looking.

Go away before I punch you. I don't feel like dealing with you now, so fuck off.

Fine. Don't complain when the walls are too boring to look at.

XxX

It was another two hours before Ichigo decided he was bored to tears in the room. He shimmied his way under the sheets until he was at the edge of the bed. He swung his feet around until his feet were firmly planted on the floor and rose shakily, hanging on the bedside table. His legs nearly buckled under him but he steadied himself, stretching out a bit. A moment later, and he was ready to go.

He made his way to the door, pushing the knob-less door and peered outside into the corridor.

It was completely empty.

He walked down it, his hand always on the wall, not wanting to suddenly lose his balance. The corridor was quite different, compared to the ones near his quarters. For one, it was a lot smaller, and not so long, and the ceiling didn't stretch on for what seemed like miles. The paint, too, wasn't quite as white. There were scratch marks here and there, and there was a spatter of blood near the bottom.

He soon reached the main corridor. Luckily, it was one of the many corridors that led back to his room. It was empty as well, so he crossed the space quickly, his head spinning a bit. He'd never have thought that walking could be so tiring, even in his current condition. He walked uncertainly, swaying a bit, down the center of the corridor. Moving became steadily more strenuous, but he kept on walking, not really caring. He needed to do something. He'd been cooped up in the hospital room only for a few hours at most, but he was so terribly bored that even the monotone walls of Las Noches' corridors were vaguely entertaining.

Soon, though, he grew bored of those as well. His thoughts turned towards what Shirosaki had said.

He knew that he liked Aizen. It was a sort of inexplicable thing. The man, of course, was attractive; he couldn't deny that. With his brown hair, effortlessly styled, his smooth, pale skin and dark eyes that seemed to want to devour him. But his appearance wasn't all. It was just his aura, a sort of irresistible force that always held him in thrall, it was his aura, that, combined with a piercing gaze of those deep brown eyes, would make him do anything. His demeanor, too, was mesmerizing: it just left him there astounded at his calmness in every situation, except when, during the final battle, he'd seen him lose himself, revealing a hidden personality he would never have imagined.

He stumbled closer to the wall, leaning heavily against it, drawing a deep breath. Steadying himself, he made his way towards his rooms.

Yes, he was quite infatuated with Aizen. He'd felt it, that irresistible pull he'd felt from the first time he'd met him, each and every time their gazes met. And he knew he couldn't really do anything about it.

His wound was probably reopening. His stomach hurt and, bringing his hand to the bandages, found them soaked in blood. He looked at his dirty hands dazedly, as if not realizing what was going on. Through the haze, he was vaguely aware that a door on his right had opened, scented steam issuing from it. A figure emerged amidst the steam.

It took him a moment to realize it was a half-naked Aizen, a towel wrapped around his lower body and his lightly toned chest and arms gleaming, still damp. Seeing him, he rushed towards him, looking alarmed. It was strange to see emotion playing so vividly on his features.

His wound throbbed again, and his head spun. He could feel consciousness slipping away, and was convinced he'd hit the floor. Just before he was about to make impact with the tiles, though, he was caught by a pair of arms. Aizen's. He saw his worried face as he was picked up before he blacked out.

Aizen sighed, and ruffled Ichigo's hair, looking disconsolately at his resting features.

"I told you to be careful…" He chuckled.

Carrying him bridal-style, he rested him on his bed, looking at his peaceful face.

He wished it would remain like that forever.

XxX

Seireitei

The sun was blazing hot over the city. Two guards stood, or rather leaned against the scorching hot wall, guarding the tiny street. They'd run out quickly of entertainments, especially because they'd been there for hours already.

The one to the left yawned, stretching his arms out. Then, he thought of something to say.

"Oi, Yamada. Did you hear the news?"

Yamada looked quizzically at him. "No. what happened?"

The one to the left smiled a knowing smirk, as if that entailed superiority.

"There's three new captains."

Yamada's eyes widened in curiosity.

"Where the hell did they find new captains? There's hardly any shinigamis up to scratch to even be third seats!"

"I heard they come from that town."

Yamada quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to go on, and the other huffed in frustration.

"You know, the one that Aizen attacked. I think it's called Karakura."

A/N: Yes, I've finally updated! I still can't believe it took me so long. I just couldn't write, and most of this chapter was written last night. Sorry for the late update!