Archive of Our Own

Time passed differently in Hueco Mundo, making it difficult to differentiate between night and day. The only timepieces were manufactured by Szayelaporro and ran off his schedule, which could be unreliable at best and convoluted or outright misleading at worst. Also, Ulquiorra preferred to stay away from his parts of Las Noches.

So, Ulquiorra tracked time by how often he slept. With Grimmjow gone, that had become a much more frequent affair.

Ulquiorra sat on the edge of his bed and looked out the window to see the moon high in the dark sky. The crescent mocked him, and he turned his head away. His eyes closed, and he felt an odd tightness in his chest near the base of his hollow hole. It felt emptier than usual, and he lifted a hand to touch the edge through his jacket.

It had been like that since Grimmjow left, but Ulquiorra was loathe to put any name to it. As much as he tried to forget the incident, it always found its way back to the forefront of his mind.

He remembered feeling Grimmjow’s return from the living world, and he knew the idiot would be reprimanded. What Ulquiorra didn’t foresee was the length Tōsen would go to punish Grimmjow. Or that Aizen would order every medic not to treat Grimmjow after the maiming.

The news reached Ulquiorra from whispers, and he wasted little time tracking down Grimmjow’s flaring energy. Blood never fazed Ulquiorra before, but seeing Grimmjow’s leaking across the white stone of Las Noches made him ill. The closest label he could grant the feeling was panic.

The pain in Grimmjow’s eyes haunted him. So did the way Grimmjow tried to shove Ulquiorra away, raving about pity. They stayed even when Ulquiorra tried to sleep, with Grimmjow’s wretched scream echoing in his dreams. The smell of cauterizing flesh lingered at the back of his throat.

Was Grimmjow still tending the wound?

Seeing Grimmjow mutilated had pulled things apart inside of Ulquiorra. He was used to Grimmjow’s cocksure attitude, his massive ego, but what resided in his tub, delirious and almost exsanguinated, had not been the creature of destruction Ulquiorra sought.

No, the man before Ulquiorra had been so broken, so sure that he was pitied that it made Ulquiorra ache. His fists clenched in the bedding as he remembered treating the injury. How vulnerable Grimmjow looked.

It had made Ulquiorra want to protect him.

Ulquiorra twitched at that word; protection. He had never been interested in protecting anything before. Something about seeing Grimmjow like that roused deeply unused parts of Ulquiorra. Things that Ulquiorra hadn’t felt in decades. Maybe even centuries. He had no idea how long he had been a hollow; the memories of his human life were muddled, foggy.

But being around Grimmjow brought them into focus. The way he made Ulquiorra feel was… so different. Grimmjow made him feel desired, not coveted; not like Aizen viewed him. To Aizen he was a tool, a honed and sharpened weapon. But to Grimmjow, he was more than a tool.

And Grimmjow was more than an object of destruction to Ulquiorra.

There was more to the man than a loud mouth and a decent killing blow. That he watched sunsets with Ulquiorra proved that, how he comforted Ulquiorra and spoke to him as someone more than Aizen’s favorite. It all formed in the front of Ulquiorra’s thoughts. Even the warmth of Grimmjow’s body lingered like a ghost around Ulquiorra, making him shiver at its loss.

Ulquiorra’s fingers drifted away from his chest to his shoulder as he remembered Grimmjow holding him. He… missed it. But why? Did he seek comfort? For what? There was no point in comfort for creatures like them.

They had lived their lives, destroyed themselves, and this was their penance, or at least the prologue before their journey to Hell. All Hollows felt empty for something. They became what they were because something happened in their life that anchored them and forced them to stagnate in bitterness until it consumed them, twisting them into monsters.

But becoming an Arrancar was meant to be freedom. It meant being something more than a slavering beast raging from its own former pains. It meant ascension.

But wasn’t this still just a form of stagnation? Did they really become anything different than what they had been before? Ulquiorra may no longer have been at the base of his crystal tree where he had impaled himself ages ago, but was he really moving forward? Or had he just found something else to impale himself on? Or worse, a cage to fling himself against.

He looked at his hand, tracked the line of a tendon along his wrist. His fingers felt warm, and he could feel a pulse. The dead shouldn’t be capable of that, yet their hearts worked, their minds. They were so much more than just regrets imprinted in a husk.

Grimmjow had been so much more than a husk, hadn’t he? Ulquiorra knew the moment he saw him in the heat of a battle after first coming into his position that the man was more. At the time, it had been no more than a passing interest to keep an eye on an angry, volatile little bastard who wanted to challenge everything to a fight. But over time, the more Ulquiorra observed, the more he realized he wanted something from Grimmjow.

Wanting. Ha. Such a needless, petty emotion. It almost made Ulquiorra laugh.

Yet, he wanted.

He wanted Grimmjow to come back. Not to be his fraccion as Grimmjow seemed so hell bent on convincing himself, but so that Ulquiorra knew Grimmjow was well. And… maybe to keep the quiet of Ulquiorra’s thoughts at bay.

That thought scared him the most. Before he had started the affair with Grimmjow, Ulquiorra had been fine with the silence of his chambers. He didn’t seek companionship, but without the loud roars of the asinine panther echoing off the walls, Ulquiorra’s palace felt less like his personal reprieve from the world and more like a tomb.

An empty grave with no mourners, just the body of a long dead bat decaying in his bed.

Ulquiorra slid his hand to his throat to touch where Grimmjow had grabbed him. Grimmjow had no hope of leaving a mark on Ulquiorra, no one ever could, but the touch-memory felt just as damning as an aged bruise.

Grimmjow had been just as lost as Ulquiorra, but as Ulquiorra considered what he could have done differently in the situation, he realized that the two of them had once walked the same path. Somewhere along the way, their paths diverged.

Ulquiorra shut his eyes and moved to lay down, hand still on his neck. If only he knew what it was he wanted so desperately from Grimmjow then maybe he could reach out. Maybe he could convince Grimmjow to return.

It felt hopeless, and Ulquiorra turned onto his right side, staring at the empty portion of his bed. If he let himself, he could imagine Grimmjow sprawled on his back, snoring. He looked so… peaceful in his sleep. How could he rest that deeply beside Ulquiorra?

Ulquiorra moved his hand to lay against the cold sheets, hooking his fingers in the fabric to draw it toward himself. He didn’t tend to stay beside Grimmjow through the night, but he had made a point the last time they had coupled.

Part of him tried to convince himself the reason he stayed curled against Grimmjow was to comfort the idiot. To make Grimmjow feel that Ulquiorra didn’t pity him, that he wanted to be there. But, a little piece of Ulquiorra knew that was a lie. He had stayed to make his own selfish needs happy. To feel Grimmjow’s warmth, to know that Grimmjow had not died. That he still had something in the world that was more than playing a role.

He had never needed to be anything with Grimmjow, and maybe that was the part he missed most of all.

Ulquiorra forced himself up with a bone rattling sigh. “I have been avoiding this long enough.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and shifted to stand.

While he had no physical concept for how long it had been since Grimmjow’s demotion, Ulquiorra knew in his core that a considerable amount of time had lapsed. Maybe it had helped to cool Grimmjow’s temper, though he doubted that.

He righted his uniform and looked himself over in the closet mirror. There was something telling in hunting down a bed partner looking disheveled. It also would have given Grimmjow far too much satisfaction if he learned Ulquiorra had spent any time lamenting his loss.

They had some bizarre tentative balance, Ulquiorra had no interest in tipping the scale either way.

He turned off the light in his bedchamber and made his way to the Privaron barracks.

As he walked, he considered using sonido. The thought soured as soon as it formed. If he did that, the walk would have been over far too quickly, and he would be faced with the reality that he had nothing to say.

Which wasn’t true; Ulquiorra had a considerable amount of things to say. Some of which would probably even make Nnoitra blush. The problem was none of them were willing to form into anything cohesive. Inside, his mind warred with itself because he knew Grimmjow was suffering from more than just the loss of his limb. He had lost his fraccion, individuals who had looked at him in reverence, and he had lost his standing.

Ulquiorra had no concept of that to work off of. When he had woken as a Vasto Lorde among his tribe, he had been shunned. Attacked. He could still recall the blood on his fingers and the endless walking until he found his tree.

And he had never had aspiration to be more than he was, to climb the ranks. His place was absolute. He would neither rise or fall.

But Grimmjow was a twisting mass of ambition wrapped in warm skin and biting need to prove himself. It made him tender in a way Ulquiorra couldn’t understand.

Grimmjow thought Ulquiorra was using him, and maybe in a way it was true. But that was the nature of sex. Even at its most intimate, the people involved were being used to fulfill some need. Either to slake a desire for intimacy or for comfort. Even worse, the need to sate carnal desire without a care for the other party.

Ulquiorra desired things from Grimmjow, but not at the expense of intimacy. He liked what he and Grimmjow had, it calmed something in Ulquiorra, and he had a vague understanding that it brought Grimmjow some pleasure, too. Else the man was a bigger idiot than Ulquiorra first theorized and liked harming himself using Ulquiorra as the instrument.

But the desire Ulquiorra felt wasn’t pity or to see Grimmjow on his knees. He had been telling the truth when he said Grimmjow was the only Arrancar Ulquiorra allowed inside of him. He was the only one whose touch Ulquiorra specifically sought out. But Grimmjow was so seated in his own self-loathing that Ulquiorra wasn't sure he could pull Grimmjow free of it.

Ulquiorra wasn’t sure he was capable of that level of care, that delicateness to reassure Grimmjow that what he felt was untrue. If Ulquiorra treating Grimmjow’s wounds, kissing him, taking him to bed, and staying hadn’t been enough, then… perhaps nothing could be enough.

Maybe this was all a moot point. Maybe Ulquiorra was prolonging his own misery by bashing his head against a rock.

What if Grimmjow never believed Ulquiorra had been sincere?

Ulquiorra stopped and stared at the floor. The thought curled around him, gripping him until he feared he would suffocate. That was stupid, he was fine. He just needed to breathe. Thoughts couldn’t choke a man, that was irrational. He was being foolish.

But what would he do if Grimmjow still thought Ulquiorra wanted to use him?

Ulquiorra’s eyes slipped closed and his chest ached in an odd pang that he couldn’t quite name. He pressed his fingers below his hollow hole and swallowed a few times before it subsided. If Grimmjow didn’t believe him, refused to see Ulquiorra was sincere in the bizarre way he felt, then there was only one thing Ulquiorra could do.

He would simply move on.

~*~

The entrance to the barracks opened before Ulquiorra without ceremony. He stepped inside, his boots echoing off the polished walls. Energies flared through the chambers as the occupants registered him; many of them fled ahead of his approach. Some lingered, though he didn’t see them. Likely hiding to catch a glimpse of someone who replaced them.

Had he replaced one of them? He couldn’t recall. He had always been the fourth. Never less, never more.

One particular signature stood out to him. It was loud, and as much as Ulquiorra tried to tell himself it wasn’t true, he felt his own reiatsu flare toward it. This time he used sonido.

“Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra appeared in a small room with broken pillars and shattered walls; victims of Grimmjow’s frustrations.

Grimmjow’s back stiffened and he turned his head, eyes wide, and one hand still outstretched. The knuckles were scraped and dusty. “Ulquiorra.”

The way Grimmjow said his name made chills roll down Ulquiorra’s spine. It sounded so pleasant, and Ulquiorra moved forward. His hand began to ease out of his hakama, reaching to cup Grimmjow’s face and draw him down for a kiss.

And then Grimmjow disappeared.

Ulquiorra stood with his hand in the air, stricken. His heart skittered. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. His fingers curled and his hand dropped.

Irritation heated along everything else as he lowered his eyes to the floor. He lifted his head and moved forward in a blink. This was not the sort of game he wanted to play. Ulquiorra would not let Grimmjow continue to act like some juvenile and put words in his mouth.

Every time Grimmjow stopped, Ulquiorra appeared a breath later. It continued for far longer than Ulquiorra cared for, and he added a burst of speed.

“Enough.” Ulquiorra snatched the limp arm of Grimmjow’s jacket and slammed the impudent bastard into the nearest wall. His eyes narrowed, but his voice softened. “Enough.”

Grimmjow stared down at him with wide eyes. “The fuck do you want, Cifer?” His brows tried to furrow, but there was something that kept him from looking angry. He looked… frightened.

Ulquiorra’s grip loosened on Grimmjow’s sleeve as he moved to crowd into Grimmjow’s space. He could feel Grimmjow’s agitation flaring in the air like electricity, the fear dissipating.

Ulquiorra took a deep breath through his nose. “You have been avoiding me.”

Grimmjow bristled and bared his teeth. Part of Ulquiorra hated how easily his body reacted to that. “Of course I fucking have! You were treating me like I was some fucking weakling!”

Ulquiorra lifted his eyes to Grimmjow. “I did not.” Grimmjow readied to argue when Ulquiorra lifted a hand. “I treated you as someone who needed medical treatment.”

Grimmjow’s brows furrowed, and Ulquiorra was certain he could hear his teeth grind. “Ulquiorra...”

“Be quiet.” Ulquiorra slid his hands into his pockets and fixed Grimmjow with a tired look. “You have fabricated these issues for yourself. Believing I pity you. I do not seek creatures I pity to warm my bed, Grimmjow Jaegerjacques. I do not waste my time patching injuries on someone I pity.” He glanced to Grimmjow’s empty sleeve and closed his eyes. The phantom scream echoed in his head.

Grimmjow scoffed. “Ha, you don’t pity me, so why can’t you look at me?”

Ulquiorra’s eyes opened, and he watched Grimmjow recoil. “You mistake uncertainty for pity. You are so idiotic.” He shook his head.

Grimmjow growled, “And you always fucking look down on me!” He moved toward Ulquiorra, snatching the front of his jacket.

Ulquiorra looked at him, unmoved. His skin tingled, and he realized how much he missed Grimmjow’s temper. His hand lifted to wrap around Grimmjow’s fingers, but he didn’t remove them. They felt so warm.

“I am not here to look down on you, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra squeezed Grimmjow’s hand, surprised by his own gentleness. “I am here to ask you back to my palace. Not as my fraccion, I have no interest in that, but as my…” The words stuck in the back of Ulquiorra’s throat. What did he want to call Grimmjow?

Grimmjow’s expression turned confused, and he let go of the jacket while Ulquiorra continued to think of words. “You want me to go back?”

“Yes.” Ulquiorra nodded. “Not as my servant.” Something came to his tongue, but he swallowed it. “I want you to come back to my palace because I simply… want that.”

Grimmjow’s eyes widened a fraction. The look of anger was still written all over his face, but there was a tiredness there as well. He lifted his remaining hand to scrub at his face and looked away.

“You don’t usually want things, Ulquiorra. You sick?” He tilted his head enough to see Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra wondered it himself if he had been struck stupid with some illness. But he was a h ollow. Those did not fall ill.

“Since we started this, Grimmjow, I have found myself experiencing things I have not in a very, very long time.” Ulquiorra felt a little lighter with the admittance.

Grimmjow tilted his head, and Ulquiorra wondered if the soft look in his eyes meant Grimmjow believed him. His heart thrummed, making him feel dizzy a moment.

“I guess, if you’re so fuckin’ lonely.” Grimmjow ran his hand through his hair.

Peace settled in Ulquiorra for the first time in months; then the door behind them swung open.

“Lord Ulquiorra! Lord Aizen has need of you!” A servant skidded to a stop at their side. She bowed deeply, most of her head obscured by a cervid mask.

Ulquiorra felt Grimmjow’s rage flare again, hot as a brand. The girl jerked to attention and scurried off without another word. He may have fallen in rank, but Grimmjow was still a ferocious Arrancar.

“Right, Aizen needs you. Go play nice lap dog, Ulquiorra.” Grimmjow spat at Ulquiorra’s feet. “You shoulda let me kill him.”

Ulquiorra jerked his foot back and narrowed his eyes at Grimmjow. “He would have killed you before you had the chance to even draw Pantera. I did not wish to–”

“Shut the fuck up and get lost!” Grimmjow sneered down at him.

Ulquiorra could feel the conflicting emotions racing across Grimmjow’s skin. They crackled and sparked, looking for something to strike against to ground him. For a moment, Ulquiorra considered the benefits of turning himself into a lightning rod.

He sighed. “I meant what I said. I do want you to come back with me.”

“Yeah? And I said fuck off.” Grimmjow shoved Ulquiorra hard in the chest. “I don’t need some lap dog yapping at my ankles.”

Ulquiorra’s fist clenched in his pocket. He was not some foolish lap dog, nor was he an extension of Aizen. Had the moment been right, he would have never stood between Grimmjow and their bastard “king”. He would have helped cleave Aizen in two.

But Ulquiorra understood power. He understood strength and that Aizen was stronger than him, and he was certainly stronger than Grimmjow. Especially… so wounded.

Ulquiorra shut his eyes and decided, Grimmjow had made his choice, yet he offered one more chance. “Grimmjow, if you refuse, I will no longer haunt you.”

Grimmjow curled his lip. “Good. No one needs a ghost like you anyways.”

Something in Ulquiorra’s chest ached at that. He flattened his hand over where his heart should have been. Grimmjow’s brows twitched but his face remained pinched, angry.

“If that is your final word.” Ulquiorra turned then and disappeared, heading for the throne room. To himself, he murmured, “Goodbye, Grimmjow.”

~*~

The throne room was silent and every one of Ulquiorra’s footsteps reverberated in his ears. It would have been painful if he didn’t have the distraction of Grimmjow’s anger to keep him busy. Ulquiorra had almost convinced Grimmjow. He could tell the man’s reserve was crumbling, perhaps from living among the others who lost their places, or perhaps he felt at a loss like Ulquiorra.

But it didn’t matter. Grimmjow made his decision, and if he wanted to continue to refuse Ulquiorra’s sincerity, then there was no use in Ulquiorra wasting his energy. Whatever they had was finished. It deserved no more thought.

So why couldn’t he push it away?

Aizen’s voice drew Ulquiorra’s attention. “Ulquiorra.”

Ulquiorra lowered himself into a practiced kneel, pushing aside his own disgust for it. The man played with their lives like children played with toys. If one broke, it was to be discarded. Ulquiorra slipped his eyes closed. “Lord Aizen, you have need of me?”

Aizen sounded delighted when he spoke, “It has been an age since I left these walls, Ulquiorra. A man could begin to go a little off with that level of confinement. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ulquiorra lifted his head to regard Aizen. He wondered if that was a jab at his self-imposed isolation. It was stupid of him to think Aizen didn’t know when he left to watch the sunset. With Grimmjow.

“I do not believe we share the same wanderlust, Lord Aizen.” Ulquiorra lowered his eyes to the base of the throne.

“Is that so?” The rustle of fabric preluded Aizen sinking to the floor and walking toward Ulquiorra. “Pity that. You might find enjoyment in changing your routine from time to time, Ulquiorra.”

Ulquiorra remained still as Aizen stopped beside him. “I will take your words under consideration, Lordship. What is it you have need of from me?”

Aizen hummed and Ulquiorra could feel the presence of his hand as it lingered over his back. The fingers twitched near the slope of Ulquiorra’s shoulder though they didn’t touch. “I am going for a walk with Gin and Kaname. I want you to make sure there’s no trouble.”

Ulquiorra lifted his head to look at Aizen, confused. “A… walk, Lord Aizen?”

Aizen smiled at Ulquiorra and rested his hand against Ulquiorra’s helm. The touch was frigid, but Ulquiorra kept himself from twitching. “Yes. I need to stretch my legs outside of the palace, and since you are my most trusted, I am leaving you in charge.” The hand shifted to trace the line of Ulquiorra’s horn.

Ulquiorra’s stomach tensed, but he allowed Aizen to roam his mask. “Of course, Lord Aizen. I will keep the peace.”

Aizen grinned and stroked the tip of Ulquiorra’s horn with a delicateness that belied his menace. If it suited him, he would crack Ulquiorra’s horn to its root. “As I know you will, Ulquiorra. You have never failed me.”

Aizen withdrew his hand and walked out of the throne room at a leisurely pace. Ulquiorra remained on one knee until he heard the doors close behind him. He pushed himself to stand and touched his horn.

Wretched bastard.

Ulquiorra turned the way Aizen had left and noticed bits of dark brown stood out against the purple stone of the flooring. He stepped closer. It couldn’t have been. He knelt and leaned down. Yes, it was.

Blood.

Ulquiorra’s heart sped up as he realized it was Grimmjow’s. He lifted his head and spied a trail, barely visible, leading to the door he had found Grimmjow near. It had no doubt been left from Tōsen’s punishment. Anger whirled in Ulquiorra, bitter and broiling. It surprised him, and he focused on it. It was not his emotion to process. Grimmjow was the one to bear the agony, and now he had shoved Ulquiorra away.

There was no point to it, no reason. Yet the anger raged inside of him.

Ulquiorra sighed and stood, intent to return to his bed chamber. He doubted any of the other fools in their ranks would dare make mischief, knowing that Aizen would place him in charge. His head felt heavy, and his chest continued to throb with unwanted sensations.

Before he could reach the door leading to the Espada wings, it opened. Ulquiorra lifted his head and had to bite back a groan at the figure that emerged.

Szayelaporro’s eyes lit up, and he purred in delight, “Oh, Ulquiorra.” He flattened a hand to the hollow of his throat, eyes going hooded. “I thought that was you creeping around our master’s chamber.”

Ulquiorra took a breath in through his nose. “Lord Aizen is unavailable. See yourself back to your laboratory.” He made to move forward.

Szayelaporro tilted his head and a wounded look flashed across his face. “Oh, so cold! Maybe it was you I wanted to seek out and not the master of the palace? Did you consider that?”

“I have no interest in your asinine experiments.” Ulquiorra tried to push past Szayelaporro.

Despite the difference in their strength, Szayelaporro remained steadfast to block Ulquiorra’s exit. He peered down at Ulquiorra with a look in his eye that could only be described as ravenous. As if Ulquiorra were a tea cake, or the last drop of frosting clinging to the edge of a pastry box.

“I am not here to ask you to be my experiment, Ulquiorra, though I do seek volunteers from time to time.” Szayelaporro leaned down, closing their distance. “Did I interrupt your napping schedule? My, here I thought Grimmjow was the one who liked to conserve his energy. Something important you’re keeping yourself primed for, precious?”

Ulquiorra shifted toward the other door when a slim hand caught the doorway, in front of Ulquiorra's face. He could smell the antiseptic, the chemicals. The formaldehyde.

Ulquiorra’s gaze shot to Szayelaporro, who looked far too amused for a man facing down his fast-encroaching doom. He had no interest in this little farce or game the bastard was playing. Szayelaporro was usually far more cautious than this and avoided Ulquiorra. He had something up his sleeve, some irritating “fool-proof” invention that would do… Ulquiorra couldn’t finish the thought. He was too damn tired.

Ulquiorra muttered, “Move.”

Szayelaporro did not move. Instead, he leaned down toward Ulquiorra’s left ear, mindful of the horn. His warm breath ghosted against Ulquiorra’s skin in a whisper, “You’ll have a more restful sleep if you exhaust yourself. Why don’t you let me help with that?”

Ulquiorra stiffened and Szayelaporro must have found it amusing because he laughed. His breath ruffled Ulquiorra’s hair and it smelled… sweet. Not like pastries or confections. Sweet like poison. Almonds and cherries. Painful, miserable, and slow.

“I...” Ulquiorra wasn’t sure how to respond. Szayelaporro was interested in him? Sexually?

Ulquiorra considered it and wasn’t sure if it was genuine or some form of trick. He had been certain Grimmjow was receptive to him, but of the other Espada, none had come to him, nor he to them.

Grimmjow had been the only one he sought. The only one he allowed to… Grimmjow had made his choice.

Szayelaporro’s hand rested against Ulquiorra’s chest, feather-light with the promise of something. His sharp smile, so different to Grimmjow’s, appeared in Ulquiorra’s peripheral. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, my little Bernini. I know you had that nasty falling out with Grimmjow.” The fingers traced the zipper of Ulquiorra’s jacket. His voice lowered, his head tipping closer until Ulquiorra could almost feel the drag of lips against his cheek. “You must be lonely.”

Ulquiorra’s brows lifted a fraction. “You know about that?” He and Grimmjow had been careful. Perhaps he had tipped his hand when Grimmjow lost his arm.

Szayelaporro purred, lips pressing a damp kiss to the apple of Ulquiorra’s cheek. “I know everything.”

Paranoia cut through Ulquiorra’s thoughts, and he turned his head to meet Szayelaporro’s eye. Did he know about their conversations? What they spoke of in the living world? Grimmjow was an open book, but Ulquiorra… He did not like the idea of someone seeing him.

Szayelaporro’s smile widened as he no doubt took in the panic that fluttered through Ulquiorra’s eyes. He slid his hand toward Ulquiorra’s neck.

“Oh, don’t look like that, it ruins that marble expression of yours. Those pesky, treasonous thoughts are safe with me.” He teased at the zipper.

Oh, so he was looking for blackmail. Ulquiorra’s hand seized over Szayelaporro’s, applying steady pressure. To his credit, Szayelaporro didn’t flinch.

“I am not interested in your blackmail, Granz.” Ulquiorra tightened his grip until he felt the bones grind.

Szayelaporro winced, but the smile remained. “Blackmail? How scandalous! No, no. This is a proposition!”

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes. “What is the difference with someone like you, Granz?”

Szayelaporro laughed, loud and manic. “Do you really think I would come to you if I had blackmail? That would be suicidal! Simply idiotic!” He didn’t try to withdraw his hand from Ulquiorra and brushed his bangs back with his other. “Heavens, Ulquiorra, Nnoitra was wrong about you. You do have a sense of humor and it is darling!” He tilted his head forward, eyes narrowed to delighted slits. “No, I come with a once in a lifetime opportunity, Ulquiorra. Our lord is out of house, and his throne is empty. Why not… see how comfortable it is?”

Ulquiorra let go of Szayelaporro, who rubbed his hand. What was the bastard… oh. Oh. Ulquiorra shut his eyes and considered the offer. It was… ridiculous, but it was also something he had considered once, when he first started whatever his trysts with Grimmjow had been.

It would have been a disgrace to the bastard who lorded over them. A mark that only Ulquiorra would know of. But… His eyes drifted back to Szayelaporro, who still watched him like a gluttonous man at a feast.

Grimmjow looked at him with hunger, but not with a need to devour every morsel, every scrap. No. Grimmjow looked a t him like Ulquiorra was meant to be savored to the last bite.

But Grimmjow had made his decision, and Ulquiorra had told himself he would move on.

His heart felt heavy as he turned away from Szayelaporro and started toward the foot of the throne. He muttered , “Fine.”

The delight that wafted off of Szayelaporro drifted around Ulquiorra and made him question h is rationality. Was he really about to do this? His chest throbbed and he thought about Grimmjow again .

Yes. Yes he was. He needed the man out of his head.

Ulquiorra disappeared and landed behind the throne. Szayelaporro followed him at a leisurely pace that belied the lust wafting off of him. It was almost thick enough for Ulquiorra to touch. It made him feel uneasy.

Szayelaporro leaned in to cage Ulquiorra against the throne. Ulquiorra allowed him to brace his arms on either side of his head, staring up into gold eyes. For someone used to recon naissance himself, Ulquiorra found Szayelaporro’s gaze to be… thorough. His eyes tracked Ulquiorra’s face, down his throat, across his chest then back. The look was predatory, lust heavy. Covetous came to mind.

A gloved hand lifted to cup Ulquiorra’s cheek. “Your skin is like marble, but so mold - able, just like a Bernini.” The thumb pressed under Ulquiorra’s eye and Szayelaporro smiled wider, transfixed. “Marvelous. Yet you don’t feel cold.”

“You’re wearing gloves.” Ulquiorra continued to allow Szayelaporro free reign. He had yet to cross a line, but Ulquiorra could feel the wire tensing.

Szayelaporro chuckled. “Of course, but I need my sense of touch for my work. Your skin is very warm, Ulquiorra. I never considered that to be the ca s e. I always expected you to be as frigid as your eyes.”

Ulquiorra scoffed. “Your ability to charm is in dire need, Szayelaporro.”

Szayelaporro grinned and moved his hand up to brush back some of Ulquiorra’s bangs. “That’s rather humorous coming from someone like you.” He leaned down until their mouths almost touched. “Someone who tries to hide himself so desperately.” The hand slipped down to his jaw , rubbing against the bone. “Someone who denies all the delight his body needs because one stupid man dared to chip at his heart.”

Ulquiorra’s lips twitched, but before they could peel back, Szayelaporro pressed his mouth to Ulquiorra’s. It felt… clinical despite the fact Szayelaporro had full intentions of deepening the kiss. His other hand cupped Ulquiorra’s jaw, holding him in place.

Ulquiorra’s eyes closed, and he kissed back, though without matching Szayelaporro in tempo or tenacity. Szayelaporro’s tongue parted Ulquiorra’s lips, and he could taste him. Almonds. Poison.

It was a silly notion, but it still reared up in Ulquiorra’s head. Szayelaporro was poison, something to slowly kill Ulquiorra. Grimmjow had been a flame, something that stripped Ulquiorra’s breath and burnt him to ash. A quick death, all-consuming and engulfing. This was… torturous, and would kill him slowly, piece by piece.

The hands at his cheeks slipped down to find his zipper again . It was loud in Ulquiorra’s ears despite the wet sounds of Szayelaporro’s mouth against his. Even the way the bastard undressed him felt slow.

Ulquiorra had no interest in dying in misery. If he was going to end himself, he would do it from an overdose.

His hands caught the collar of Szayelaporro’s uniform. Ulquiorra forced their mouths apart, a thrill rolling through him at Szayelaporro’s irritated whine. He didn’t give Szayelaporro another moment before he spun them and smacked Szayelaporro’s back against the throne.

“Oh!” Szayelaporro’s lashes fluttered. “Ulquiorra! My, my I always knew you were the aggressive sort, but I never thought you would take such charge!”

Ulquiorra fixed Szayelaporro with a tired look. The bastard never knew when to appreciate the quiet; he was prattling. Waxing philosophical about things that did not need applied to Ulquiorra.

“Be quiet.” Ulquiorra pressed their mouths together again and increased the ferocity of their kiss. He bit at Szayelaporro’s lips, his tongue. His tongue dove into Szayelaporro’s warm, pliant mouth as he tried to soak in the taste of his demise.

Szayelaporro’s hands wandered back to Ulquiorra’s chest and finished opening his jacket. The gloved fingertips wasted little time exploring the wide expanse of Ulquiorra’s chest. It felt different than bare fingers, like he was being prodded for examination. Ulquiorra found he didn’t care for it.

His lips pulled back from Szayelaporro’s. “Remove your gloves.”

Szayelaporro made a pleased noise. “Oh? You want skin on skin?”

Ulquiorra furrowed his brows. “They feel like a medical examination.”

Szayelaporro canted his head as he lifted a hand, peeling away the glove. “Well, I have always been very fond of playing doctor , Ulquiorra. We could try that.” He bared one hand and pressed it flush to Ulquiorra’s skin. “Would you like to be my patient?”

Szayelaporro’s hand felt wrong against Ulquiorra’s chest, and he had to fight the urge to remove it at the wrist . “I have no interest in those sorts of fantasies.” He pressed his mouth back to Szayelaporro’s.

It seemed Ulquiorra had sparked something in Szayelaporro as he pushed the jacket off Ulquiorra’s shoulders then began to undo his own uniform. Clothing dropped with a much quicker pace, though without the frenzied need Ulquiorra was accustomed.

Pain settled at the base of Ulquiorra’s chest as he tried to chase any scrap of heat. This was so different to Grimmjow. Every time Szayelaporro touched him, he felt like cringing. Everything felt wrong. The touch lacked the calloused roughness of Grimmjow’s hands, the warmth, the strength. Szayelaporro touched Ulquiorra like he was something new and interesting and he wanted to experience every bit of sensory overload from it.

Ulquiorra’s fingers flexed against the throne and a growl built in his throat . He bit it back and pulled away from Szayelaporro’s mouth. Cloudy eyes watched him, cheeks pink, lips flush. It should have been pleasant, but Ulquiorra couldn’t find it in himself to even pretend.

He wanted Grimmjow. To feel his radiating heat and the ravenous way he sought Ulquiorra’s mouth. The way his eyes looked at him, with more than just lust and a craving. His skin prickled at the memory of the last time they touched, and his mouth burned with the phantom taste.

His cock twitched at the thought s , and Ulquiorra let himself drift off into that last moment. That feeling.

He took in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. Szayelaporro’s brows twitched, but Ulquiorra refused to let him analyze it. This needed finished.

He grabbed Szayelaporro’s wrist and yanked him to the side of the throne. This would be the last time he would touch someone else. Grimmjow had… had… was he really going to say it? Yes.

Grimmjow had ruined him.

Szayelaporro chuckled and gasped when Ulquiorra forced him over the arm of the throne. His noises were distant to Ulquiorra as he pictured Grimmjow settling against the throne and dragging Ulquiorra into his lap. That was so much better.

He felt Szayelaporro slip something into his hand, and he realized it was lubricant. Ulquiorra needed to rid himself of his fevered itch then be done. A vow of celibacy was better than drinking poison and letting himself erode.

Ulquiorra squirted lube onto his fingers and pressed two into Szayelaporro. He was… the comparisons were beginning to annoy him, so he stopped bothering. Szayelaporro was very accommodating, and it took little effort to have him mewling and gripping at the arm rest .

Ulquiorra withdrew his fingers, hearing Szayelaporro complain, and stroked himself to full hardness. It took effort. He had to think of Grimmjow’s irritating mouth twisting into a satisfied smirk as he looked down at Ulquiorra. His cock jumped in his hand.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Grimmjow wasn’t a quick flame. Maybe he was smoldering embers that roasted Ulquiorra alive.

He shoved into Szayelaporro without preamble and gripped his hips til there were marks bruising into the skin. Szayelaporro moaned under him and thrust back. Ulquiorra watched as he writhed under him, gasping and mewling.

Ulquiorra shut his eyes and let himself drift as he snapped his hips forward. His mind floated, his consciousness severing from his body. Sunsets came to mind, lazy, warm. Rough kisses, a hand in his hair. The warmth of a body pressed so tight to his he wasn’t sure where he even started.

The taste of a feral predator pretending to be domesticated lingered on his tongue. Desire built in Ulquiorra’s gut. For that taste, that touch, that warmth and decadence. He wanted… He wanted Grimmjow so bad that it made every part of him ache.

And then the familiar reiatsu he craved flared around him, hot and ragged and angry .

Ulquiorra slowed his hips and turned his head to the side just as Grimmjow appeared on the edge of the room. His expression was apoplectic, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. His remaining fist trembled at his side.

“ Ulquiorra .”

That shouldn’t have sent a jolt through Ulquiorra like it did. He pulled away from Szayelaporro, withdrawing. His eyes lowered a moment to see he was still hard. Oh, well.

He lifted his eyes to Grimmjow. “You have come at an inopportune time, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra hated how rough his voice sounded.

Grimmjow’s lip curled in disgust. “Yeah, I fucking bet. What? I tell you no, so you jump the next fucking bastard who’ll bend over for you?”

Szayelaporro shifted to push himself up with a look of irritation. “The man told you that you’re interrupt–”

“Be quiet, Szayelaporro.” Ulquiorra didn’t bother to look at him and kept his gaze trained on Grimmjow. “You made your choice, Grimmjow. This is mine.”

Grimmjow seethed and Ulquiorra felt the air around them tense. “Your choice is some crack - pot sociopath who probably only wants to sleep with you for an experiment?”

Szayelaporro bristled. “That’s very unfair, Grimmjow! I–”

Ulquiorra shot a glare at Szayelaporro, who closed his mouth with enough force Ulquiorra heard his teeth clack.

Ulquiorra turned back to Grimmjow, his erection flagging. “He was my last liaison. Sex has become a chore that no longer interests me.”

Grimmjow’s jaw clenched. “You can’t get it from me, so you bed hop. Here I thought you didn’t have the sense for that?”

Szayelaporro didn’t have the good sense to know when to shut his mouth. “I would hardly call this fair, Grimmjow. You’re the one who discarded our sweet Bernini after all.” He sighed and lifted his hand toward Ulquiorra.

Grimmjow moved faster than Ulquiorra expected him to. The strike was loud in the room, bone-shattering. The force of the hit shifted some of Ulquiorra’s bangs.

Szayelaporro slammed against the side of the throne and dropped, holding his cheek. He stared between the two of them as a bruise began to form, blood leaking from his lip.

Something violent and needy sparked inside of Ulquiorra. He slid his eyes back to Grimmjow. “Did that make you feel better, brute?” Ulquiorra moved to collect his clothes, pulling up his hakama.

Grimmjow shook out his wrist. “A little. But it’s not a - fucking - nough, Ulquiorra.” He took a step toward Ulquiorra. “You come to me with all that shit about wanting me back, but then you sink low enough to fuck Szayelaporro n ot ten minutes after.”

Ulquiorra adjusted his obi and slipped Murcielago in place. He reached for his jacket when Grimmjow slammed his foot down on it . Ulquiorra straightened and took a breath.

“You made your choice. We are no longer…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It… hurt. “You said you did not wish to return with me to my palace. You did not choose me.”

Grimmjow’s expression softened by a margin, and he looked dumbstruck. It made Ulquiorra’s chest ache all the worse, and he lifted a hand to rub where his heart should have been.

“Ulquiorra...”

Szayelaporro pushed himself to stand. “Well, for the record despite Grimmjow’s abhorrent behavior, I would be willing to compromise with the two of you in something that would make all of us happy.”

The two of them snapped their attention to Szayelaporro, who froze, eyes wide. Ulquiorra’s fingers twitched. “I believe it is my turn to hit him.”

Szayelaporro’s eyes managed to widen more before he snatched his clothing and took off at a sprint.

The moment the door closed, Grimmjow turned his rage back to Ulquiorra.

“How could you choose him?” He took a step forward.

Ulquiorra bent to snatch his jacket out from Grimmjow’s boot and slipped it on. He zipped it before he looked at Grimmjow.

“I doubt you will believe me, but Szayelaporro was the one to make the proposition.” Ulquiorra adjusted his clothes, fluffing out his tails.

Grimmjow hissed. “Well you still let him touch you.”

“A regrettable choice, I assure you.” Ulquiorra looked up at Grimmjow, the pain still tight behind his ribs. “I grow tired of this, Grimmjow.”

Grimmjow’s expression darkened. “Of what?”

Ulquiorra gestured between them. “Of this.” The pain, the back and forth. The fact he couldn’t make Grimmjow see how much he wanted him.

Grimmjow’s body went rigid, and Ulquiorra readied himself for the renewed anger. Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed to slits and he shook his head.

“I bet you would. You’ve always looked down on me.” His fist clenched and he slammed Ulquiorra against the side of the throne. “I’m just trash to you, aren’t I?”

Ulquiorra took in a deep breath that made his whole body ache. Grimmjow continued to put words in Ulquiorra’s mouth until it was too much. Ulquiorra caught the collar of Grimmjow’s jacket and they were moving through Las Noches toward Ulquiorra’s palace. He no longer wished to defile the throne.

They appeared inside Ulquiorra’s bedchamber a second later, and Ulquiorra smacked Grimmjow’s back against the wall hard enough plaster cracked. His eyes fixed on Grimmjow’s, narrowed and tired.

Grimmjow’s hand wrapped around Ulquiorra’s wrist, and the panic fluttered across his face. He swallowed.

“I am tired of this, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra emphasized his words by thumping Grimmjow against the wall.

Grimmjow’s grip loosened and the panic shifted to something agitated but sorrowful. It made Ulquiorra feel sick. What had happened to the vicious man he let in his bed?

“I’m weak, Ulquiorra. Just admit it, get it over with if you’re so tired.” He let his arm hang limp at his side. “End me.”

Ulquiorra groaned and smacked Grimmjow’s empty head against the wall. All it was good for was handsome smiles anyways. “Be quiet, Grimmjow.”

That seemed to reignite Grimmjow’s fire as he tensed. “Fuck you, Ulquiorra! I’m not going to be quiet! This is–”

Ulquiorra let Grimmjow go to rub the temple not obscured by his mask. A headache gnawed at the base of his neck. “What are we, Grimmjow?”

The sudden question shut the idiot up to Ulquiorra’s gratitude. He glanced at Grimmjow who blinked, uncertain.

“Hollows.” He fixed Ulquiorra with a look. “We’re hollows, Ulquiorra.”

Ulquiorra pressed his fingers to the edge of his eye socket. “No, us. What are we, Grimmjow?” He waved his hand at the space between them.

He felt so tired, so unsure. They were something, but Ulquiorra lacked the language to know what. He had ideas, but those were simply that. When he looked at Grimmjow, he saw more than just the poorly contained taste for destruction. There was something there, something warm and soft. Quiet sunsets, gentle hands, radiating heat.

But as he looked at Grimmjow and saw his same confusion mirrored in those deep eyes it made Ulquiorra ache. His body felt like it was tearing apart, like there was nothing left in him. He felt incomplete.

Hollow.

Oh, wasn’t that a ridiculous thought?

Ulquiorra’s eyelids lowered, and he took a step toward Grimmjow. He lifted his hand and watched Grimmjow flinch. It made the feeling all the worse. He didn’t want Grimmjow to be afraid of him. They had shared so much intimacy, so many moments. Ulquiorra… missed them.

Ulquiorra pressed the flat of his palm against Grimmjow’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against the marking of his eye. Grimmjow tensed under the attention, his eyes locked on Ulquiorra’s, but with a breath his shoulders relaxed. His hand lifted. The fingers fluttered over Ulquiorra’s hip before they committed to settling on his waist.

The apprehension in Grimmjow’s eyes remained, though it was softened by uncertainty. He leaned down into the space the two of them made for themselves and whispered, “Why did you treat me, Ulquiorra?” His voice sounded hoarse, strained.

Ulquiorra could see the pain mingled in with the confusion and the lingering hints of rage. He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to Grimmjow’s chest, turning the helm portion to the side to avoid jabbing Grimmjow. The fingers against Grimmjow’s jaw twitched, and his other hand lifted to grip the hem of his jacket.

Ulquiorra murmured, “Because I wanted to.”

The hand at Ulquiorra’s waist tensed then relaxed, smoothing gentle circles against the skin. Grimmjow swallowed then whispered, “Why did you keep closing your eyes and looking away?”

The memory of Grimmjow’s screams flared to the front of Ulquiorra’s consciousness. They hurt more than his ears. H e never wanted to hear that noise again. If anyone ever dared to replicate that misery, Ulquiorra would kill them.

He let his eyes open a crack and pressed closer to Grimmjow. “I couldn’t stand to see you in pain.”

Grimmjow let out a weak little laugh. “Really?” His fingers tensed in the fabric of Ulquiorra’s uniform.

Ulquiorra tilted his head up to look at Grimmjow, noting the wet edges of his eyes. “Have I ever lied to you?”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of Grimmjow’s lips. “No.”

Ulquiorra nodded and rested his head back against Grimmjow’s chest. The hand at his waist shifted until the arm wrapped around him, keeping him in place. It felt warm… safe. Right. Ulquiorra focused on Grimmjow, soaking in his heat, his scent. Everything.

“Why Szayel?”

The question caught Ulquiorra off guard, and he realized he had been drifting. His consciousness returned and he shifted, letting out a breath.

“He propositioned me, and I thought that perhaps I was lonely.” He didn’t look up, focusing on Grimmjow’s heartbeat instead. “That if I took something, that I would no longer have need, but it was… unsatisfactory.” He looked up this time. “I also could not chase away your phantom even while buried inside of Szayelaporro.”

Grimmjow grinned and let out a loud laugh as he drew Ulquiorra tighter and pressed his nose to Ulquiorra’s hair. The nuzzling felt so good, and Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around Grimmjow as he tried to wedge himself closer.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna lie, Ulquiorra. Seeing you fucking him made me so damn jealous I wanted to kill him!” Grimmjow squeezed Ulquiorra’s ribs.

“That would have been a poor choice. He may have been an awful lay, but he is still responsible for keeping this tomb we call a palace running.” Ulquiorra leaned back to look at Grimmjow. “And I am not surprised you would be jealous, though it is rather ridiculous. You pushed me away. You would no longer have any right to be jealous of who I took to bed.”

Grimmjow bared his teeth and bent down to bite Ulquiorra’s neck, hard. It made his body light with sparks and a moan parted his lips without permission. His fingers fisted in the back of Grimmjow’s jacket as the bite let up.

Grimmjow pressed a kiss to Ulquiorra’s jaw. “I was going to find you. Because… I wanted to say I was sorry.”

Ulquiorra’s heart did stupid things again and his eyes widened. He looked at Grimmjow and felt warm. He eased out of the hold, catching Grimmjow’s fingers and walking backwards. The backs of his knees hit his bed, and Ulquiorra settled, still drawing Grimmjow with him.

Grimmjow moved to lean over Ulquiorra, pressing his remaining hand into the bedding near Ulquiorra’s head.

Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around Grimmjow’s neck and murmured, “Then apologize.”

Grimmjow blinked, then the vicious, tooth-filled smirk Ulquiorra adored appeared. It made his skin prickle and his mouth water.

“I’m sorry.” Grimmjow pressed his mouth to Ulquiorra’s, biting at his lips. They parted. “I’m sorry.” He pressed his tongue into Ulquiorra’s mouth and groaned another apology.

Ulquiorra ran a hand through Grimmjow’s hair and tugged, hissing when Grimmjow bit him. It felt good, and he struggled to keep up as Grimmjow’s kissing turned ferocious. His mouth moved over every inch of Ulquiorra’s lips then down to his neck.

“Have I ever told you I hate your jacket?” Grimmjow grabbed the zipper with his teeth and worked it down enough to get at his bare throat. “I hate it.”

Ulquiorra twitched his hips as Grimmjow lapped at the edge of his hollow hole. “Forgive me for not walking around with my chest exposed .”

Grimmjow shifted as he licked and bit, pressing his weight to Ulquiorra so he could use his hand. It ghosted over the open portion at the bottom of the jacket. Grimmjow smirked against Ulquiorra’s neck.

“No, but you do rock a crop top.” The hand slid up to brush over Ulquiorra’s stomach. “Might need some help getting you naked.”

Ulquiorra ran his hand along Grimmjow’s intact shoulder and shifted under him. Grimmjow pushed back long enough for Ulquiorra to sit up and work the jacket off. He watched Grimmjow shrug out of the open sleeve and moved to help him take off the rest, tossing it to the floor.

Ulquiorra’s hands roved Grimmjow’s chest in gentle sweeps, touch ing along his chest then up his collarbones. His eyes traveled to the stump of his left arm, and he noted that Grimmjow no longer wore it bandaged.

The scar was pale against his skin and only had a few rough edges. Ulquiorra’s lips parted, and Grimmjow shifted to stand, removing his sword and taking Ulquiorra’s. His eyes watched Grimmjow hold the two blades together as he walked them to the chaise.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not unless I hit it on something. You… you did a good job.” He looked back, expression uncertain. “Thanks.”

Ulquiorra’s mouth felt dry and his throat tightened. He watched Grimmjow walk back toward him and tried to keep his eyes trained on Grimmjow’s face, but they kept lowering.

Ulquiorra muttered, “I’m sorry it came to that.”

Grimmjow snorted and pressed his hand to Ulquiorra's shoulder, pushing him back into the bed. He undid Ulquiorra’s obi and tossed it aside then pulled his hakama away.

“Yeah, well. Tōsen will get his. Don’t you worry.” Grimmjow leaned down to kiss Ulquiorra’s stomach, tracing patterns with the tip of his tongue.

Ulquiorra shivered and watched him, cock twitching. Grimmjow trailed his tongue down the crest of Ulquiorra’s hip, down the V, and before he reached Ulquiorra’s cock, Grimmjow pulled back.

Ulquiorra whispered, “Grimmjow.”

Grimmjow smiled at him, soft. “It’s been a while. And… you really wanted me to come back?”

Ulquiorra’s skin felt warm, heated from embarrassment rather than arousal. He shifted onto his elbows and noticed how lost Grimmjow looked, how desperate for the right answer.

Ulquiorra hoped he had one. “Yes. I want you here with me. Not as my subordinate, not as anything you do not wish to be.”

Grimmjow’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in to kiss Ulquiorra, running his thumb over Ulquiorra’s cheek. The rough scrape of his calloused fingers made Ulquiorra tremble.

They parted and Grimmjow pressed his forehead to Ulquiorra’s. “Alright then. I believe you.”

Tension around Ulquiorra’s chest snapped. It felt so sudden he almost couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t realized it was there, but with its weight gone, he felt like he would collapse. He caught Grimmjow’s shoulder and dug his fingers in, pulling him back in for another kiss.

Grimmjow shifted to push Ulquiorra back into the bed, scooting them up toward the headboard. Their boots came off with heavy thuds, and Grimmjow managed to wriggle out of his hakama. His cock pressed against Ulquiorra with an insistence that had Ulquiorra breathless.

“I missed you.” Grimmjow pressed rough kisses against Ulquiorra’s neck and chest. “So fucking much.”

Ulquiorra clung to Grimmjow’s back and arched his hips up. “It’s too quiet here.”

Grimmjow rumbled a laugh and pressed his weight to Ulquiorra as he fished under the pillow for lube. “Been three months, Ulquiorra and you didn’t move this?”

Ulquiorra glanced away, feeling embarrass ed again . “I had no need of it, so it remained where it was last left.”

Grimmjow laughed louder and bit his jaw. “You suck at self-service.”

Ulquiorra hissed and raked his nails down Grimmjow’s back. That only served to make the bastard over him growl with more enthusiasm. He pulled away from Ulquiorra’s neck and sat back on his thighs.

Grimmjow’s cock twitched, leaking a bead of pre-cum that dripped onto Ulquiorra’s stomach. He swallowed. There was so much Ulquiorra had missed without Grimmjow. The desires whirling around in his head surprised him. He had never felt so… desperate and needy. Was this what Grimmjow had done to him?

Maybe he would have been better off leaving well enough alone. This was a weakness, a–

“Spread your legs.” Grimmjow had uncapped the lube and was prodding at Ulquiorra’s ass with two slick fingers.

Ulquiorra obeyed without a second thought and felt those fingers slip into him. He moaned, and thanked whatever god had sought pity on him to let Grimmjow come back. If this was weakness, then Ulquiorra would let himself crumble to it. He would take it, all of it.

Grimmjow’s pace was quick and deep as he wasted little time finding Ulquiorra's prostate and prodding at it. Ulquiorra’s hips jerked, and Grimmjow smiled a t him, warm but wicked.

“That’s enough of that, little bat.” He withdrew his hand and slicked his cock.

Ulquiorra stared at him, panting. This was… he had just had intercourse with Szayelaporro, why did he feel so starved? His fingers tightened in the sheets, and he bit his lip as Grimmjow pressed against him.

“Grimmjow.”

“Shh, it’s fine.” Grimmjow rolled his hips forward, sinking into Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra groaned and felt lips on his as Grimmjow moved to lay over him, smothering him in his heat. Ulquiorra’s hands wrapped around Grimmjow’s neck and a leg braced against his hip. Grimmjow twitched his hips forward but didn’t thrust or withdraw. He busied himself with Ulquiorra’s mouth, and running his hand through Ulquiorra’s hair.

The feel of Grimmjow inside made everything in Ulquiorra tense and relax at the same time. It felt maddening, like some horrible ache had finally subsided, but he could still feel its phantom tendrils clawing at him. He whimpered and knew that would be blackmail for ages to come, but let it go . His hips arched in search of friction and Grimmjow finally gave i n .

He pushed himself up with the one arm, looking down at Ulquiorra like he was the only thing in their terrible world full of sand and death and frigidity. He shifted to accommodate for the lack of his other arm and rolled his hips.

Ulquiorra moaned, arching into him. It felt so good, so right. Ulquiorra might have sobbed if he were a lesser man, prone to such hysterics. His hands gripped Grimmjow's shoulders as the pace picked up. He panted and hissed.

Grimmjow kept focused on Ulquiorra as he drove into him, the muscles in his remaining arm flexing. His eyes were clouded, mouth open. It was perfect. Ulquiorra wanted this, wanted it whenever Grimmjow would let him have it. It felt so greedy, so needful, but Ulquiorra didn’t give a damn. If he died seconds after they finished, he would die in peace. In relief.

“Ulquiorra.” Grimmjow’s voice bit into his awareness. “Ulquiorra, look at me.”

When had he closed his eyes? Ulquiorra forced them open and stared at Grimmjow. “I see you, Grimmjow.”

“Good.” Grimmjow leaned down to kiss him again, messy and deep. “Never stop.”

Ulquiorra scratched deep lines into Grimmjow’s back as he rocked his hips up, feeling close. “Never.”

“Never.” Grimmjow echoed. “And I’ll never stop seeing you.”

Ulquiorra’s entire self snapped in that moment as he came, crying out Grimmjow’s name. His back bowed to the point he feared it would snap. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Somewhere at the very furthest depths of his mind, he recalled a long forgotten memory of someone looking down at him with the same need, the same desperation.

He remembered three words, three simple, softly spoken words that tumbled from kiss-swollen lips. They crawled up his throat and sat on his tongue, weighted. He wanted to say them, but they sat there. Motionless.

Heat flooded him, and Ulquiorra collapsed into the sheets, swallowing the words. Not yet echoed after them.

Grimmjow collapsed against him and pressed his face into Ulquiorra’s neck. His lips moved over the sweaty skin in chaste kisses. Ulquiorra shifted to nose against Grimmjow’s cheek, basking in the smell of him, the feel. Was he really there, or was Ulquiorra having a fever dream?

He ran his hand along Grimmjow’s back and reminded himself it was real. Grimmjow had come back to him.

The heat between them remained as Ulquiorra let Grimmjow nuzzle against him. It felt too good to make him move so they could wash.

The question drifted to his ears, soft. “Ulquiorra? What are we?”

Ulquiorra felt tired in that moment, but not the aching sort of earlier. This was satiation. He ran his hand down the line of Grimmjow’s back, eyes heavy. He nuzzled closer to Grimmjow, surprised at his still ravenous need for touch and to remind himself Grimmjow was there.

It felt good to have Grimmjow wrapped around him, back in his bed. He didn’t want Grimmjow to go again. He wasn’t sure he could handle losing him. Even if it was something as ridiculous as having him in another wing of Las Noches .

“I don’t know.” Ulquiorra said with so much honesty that it made him blink. “But I don’t want you to leave again.”

Grimmjow’s hand squeezed Ulquiorra’s waist, and he pressed another kiss to Ulquiorra’s neck below his ear. “I won’t.”

Ulquiorra’s chest settled, and he believed Grimmjow. He let his eyes close and soaked in the warmth. He could feel Grimmjow’s heartbeat, and soon Grimmjow’s breathing leveled out and he was dozing.

Ulquiorra rubbed circles against Grimmjow’s back before his own hand went still and the lull pulled him into a deep sleep.

Never leave me again.