Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Seireitei Monogatari ❯ Of Respect and Loathing ( Chapter 113 )

Title: Of Respect and Loathing

Pairings: Ulquiorra/Grimmjow

Rating: T

Warning: Light yaoi, Slight Language

Words: 2064

Description: Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. Nor did he loathe him.

 

Dedication: For Golden Kitsune, who wanted an Ulquiorra/Grimmjow. I'm not sure I managed the pairing part.

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. Nor did he loathe him. Both emotions required too much effort on Ulquiorra's part, which Grimmjow wasn't worth.

 

Instead, Ulquiorra felt towards Grimmjow as he felt towards the other Espada: complete apathy. Grimmjow was just there. An occasional nuisance but otherwise just a blip on the edge of Ulquiorra's senses.

 

It was the utter truth that Ulquiorra respected no one but Aizen-sama. Even though he had once been a Shinigami, Aizen-sama was different. Powerful. Worthy of respect. No one else, not even the other two ex-captains commanded such obedience. In fact, Ulquiorra barely tolerated them.

 

So while he didn't loathe Grimmjow or even come close to respecting him, a part of Ulquiorra envied the other Espada. Not for his position, not for his strength, and especially not for his personality. It was none of those.

 

Ulquiorra envied him for his freedom. For his determination. For his spirit.

 

It was both pathetic and enviable, his ability to fall and rise in the same breath. Bleeding, aching, gash after gash, and still Grimmjow found his feet. He lost more times than Ulquiorra could count and even faltered against a piece of trash like that half-human Kurosaki. Rather than erase his arrogance, however, Grimmjow just forced himself to become stronger. He didn't know when to quit.

 

Determination. Ulquiorra didn't understand it. The tier of strength, the laws that governed the world, they were concrete. Black and white. The powerful ruled over the weak, and strength was everything. There was no room for pity, and defeat was just that. Defeat. There was nothing on the other side of it. A loss was a loss was a loss. And in the end, a loss was death, especially in the life of a Hollow.

 

There was no room for try, try again or getting back on the horse like those ridiculous human idioms. Death was the final end, and even for Arrancar like them, Ulquiorra couldn't say with any certainty what would occur.

 

He didn't understand someone like Grimmjow. And yet, he envied him. It was something of a paradox, his careful apathy and grudging envy.

 

Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. But he did hate the questions that the sixth Espada invoked in him. He did not like mysteries; he did not like confusion. And he especially did not like envying anyone for anything. He loathed that bewildering part of his psyche that spent any amount of time pondering Grimmjow's determination and reasoning. It was impossible to rationalize the actions of an idiot, after all. And Grimmjow was the king of morons, even more so than that fool Nnoitra or the ridiculously strong and lackadaisical Stark.

 

He honestly could say that he didn't know how it happened.

 

It started out as a completely innocuous conversation, though that probably should have been his first warning that something was odd. Nothing more than a routine patrol along the borders of Las Noches. Ulquiorra often walked the perimeter when Aizen-sama had no immediate need of him and he felt that the white walls of the palace were stifling. Being surrounded by the useless dregs of some of his fellows was suffocating.

 

A spot of blue against the harsh white and black of Hueco Mundo's desert caught his eye, however. He paused, senses bringing the identity of the person to him. Not that the bright hair was unrecognizable.

 

On any other day, Ulquiorra would have sniffed and continued, completely ignoring Grimmjow's presence as he did most of the rest of Las Noches. He wasn't sure what it was that inspired him to step onto the sand and make his way to the boulder that the ex-sixth was perched on, obviously sulking.

 

Grimmjow sat with one leg dangling over the side as the other curled towards him, ankle beneath his knee. The missing arm was even more prominent now that it was wrapped in bandages, likely still tender to the touch. Grimmjow cursed under his breath as he picked at the injury on his chest, a present from Kurosaki, plucking at the scab in a rather disgusting manner.

 

He sensed Ulquiorra's presence immediately, though Ulquiorra knew he had neither let out a sound nor let even a tiny tendril of reiatsu slip from his control. Grimmjow's senses were like his resurrección, a cat's gift of smell and reaction.

 

“What do you want?” Grimmjow demanded sourly, shoulders tensing but not bothering to turn and regard Ulquiorra with any sort of look.

 

Green eyes flickered to Grimmjow's back and the scar where the six had once stood prominently. “Why?”

 

Grimmjow grunted unattractively. “He can talk,” he muttered as if he were merely talking to himself and not another person. The Arrancar tossed a glance over his shoulder, bright blue eyes striking. “Wastin' your breath on trash now, Schiffer?”

 

Patience was what he needed at the moment. Grimmjow was such a trying individual. He couldn't help but be belligerent, acting much like a wounded animal, a snarling cat. Hissing, crawling into a corner, prepared to strike at a second's notice. He even sulked like one, licking his wounds in solitude where no one would witness his pain.

 

Eyes narrowing, Ulquiorra forced himself to repeat his words. “Why?”

 

Shifting slightly - to keep a better eye on him no doubt - Grimmjow gave him another sidelong look. Then, he returned to plucking at the scarring wound on his chest.

 

“Why what?” he demanded, and there was an edge of both irritation and mockery in his tone.

 

Ulquiorra gestured to the whole of Grimmjow, both the wounds and the battering to his pride. “Why bother?”

 

“Try bein' vaguer. It'll help,” Grimmjow responded with a snort and roll of his eyes. He cursed then as blood flowed freely, a thin stream down his chest. He wiped it away with a faint lick across his fingers in a distinctly feline manner.

 

Forcing his patience, Ulquiorra clarified for the sake of the idiot in front of him, who was watching his own wound spill blood with an eerie interest. “You've suffered a telling injury at the hands of a child, and you were punished for your impudence. You have even lost your position. Yet, you keep your life. Why?”

 

For a moment, Grimmjow didn't answer. He simply cracked his neck with a violent jerk of his head and dropped down from the boulder, turning to face Ulquiorra. One hand raked through violent blue hair. It was a loud color, just like the rest of him.

 

“A guy like you wouldn't understand,” Grimmjow responded, an edge of a smirk on his lips. A hint of the former arrogant idiot before Tousen-sama had punished him.

 

Ulquiorra's fingers twitched in his pockets. “Like me?” he repeated, and to his horror, found curiosity coloring his tone.

 

A full-on smirk painted Grimmjow's expression. “Yeah. Like you,” he repeated and stepped towards Ulquiorra. Nearly crowding him with his bulk, his height, the open expanse of his scarred and bleeding chest and the strong, bitter smell of copper. “Ain't got a scrap of pride, do you?”

 

Pride. It was another of those terms that remained distant to Ulquiorra. Like determination. They went hand in hand, he was sure. He looked up at Grimmjow, never bothered by the height difference. It was the Arrancar's proximity that disturbed him, though Ulquiorra would never admit such a thing aloud. Grimmjow had a forceful presence, even after the humiliation that Tousen had put him through.

 

“Was it worth it?” He evaded Grimmjow's question because he had no answer for a query he didn't understand. “You're not even an Espada anymore.”

 

Those brilliant eyes narrowed before Grimmjow suddenly grinned, fanged teeth fully visible. “Just watch,” he stated with all of that familiar but foolhardy arrogance. “That wriggly freak won't even see me coming when I get my number back.”

 

“If,” Ulquiorra corrected, nostrils flaring as the scent of blood became even more apparent. As well as something else, something unique and wholly Grimmjow. “As you are, even Yammy could defeat you.”

 

One eyebrow twitched, but Grimmjow wasn't to be daunted. “Like I said, an Arrancar like you wouldn't understand. You're Aizen's servant through and through.” He lifted his remaining hand, cracking the knuckles.

 

“Aizen-sama.” Ulquiorra's gaze hardened.

 

Blue eyes flashed, something Ulquiorra didn't comprehend flickering in Grimmjow's gaze. And then, he smirked. It was predatory, like a feline on the prowl. For the briefest of moments, a spark of uncertainty attacked Ulquiorra. He felt an unusual urge to retreat but stood his ground out of sheer stubbornness alone. He would never show weakness to trash like Grimmjow.

 

But then, a hand, larger than his own, gripped his chin as Grimmjow lowered his head and kissed him. Sheer shook rippled through the fourth Espada, preventing him from making a hasty response. He was surrounded by Grimmjow's taste, the aggressiveness of the other Arrancar. Teeth nipped at his bottom lip before Grimmjow drew back, dropping his hand.

 

He smirked, face and eyes mocking. “And if ya'd had an ounce of pride, you would've punched me for that,” he stated and then vanished from Ulquiorra's sight, no doubt slinking away in a flit of sonido.

 

A bevy of emotions cropped up in Ulquiorra, annoyance and anger the least of them. Confusion topped the list, something that the former Espada had always managed to provoke in him. There was no rationality to the cat, no common sense. He just acted and reacted without any prior thinking on his part.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. But he was beginning to think he might be capable of doing so.

 

- - -

 

The next time Ulquiorra saw Grimmjow, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside of him. The ex-Espada was only passing him in the hallway, alone as seemed to be the usual lately. He didn't even say anything. Just looked at Ulquiorra with that mocking smirk on his lips, and Ulquiorra reacted.

 

His fingers found Grimmjow's throat, and then, he was shoving the other Arrancar against the wall. He held Grimmjow there, pinned by his grip, and still giving him that damn look. It was expectant and amused, taunting even. Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed, and he reacted again, closing the distance and covering Grimmjow's mouth with his own.

 

It was sloppy and wet, more of an attack than a kiss, but that didn't seem to stop Grimmjow from responding just as violently. Ulquiorra felt those faint fangs bite into his lips, drawing a flash of blood, but he really didn't care. He shoved his tongue into Grimmjow's mouth, the former Espada's lone hand gripping his free arm tightly as he pushed at Ulquiorra's tongue with his own.

 

As abruptly as Ulquiorra started it, he ended the kiss and pulled his mouth away. Vivid green eyes narrowed as he flexed his fingers against Grimmjow's throat, a hold that he belatedly noticed the other male didn't even try to break. A sense of satisfaction rippled through him. For exactly what, however, Ulquiorra wasn't certain. But he had the brief thought that Grimmjow belonged there, under his control, where he could touch and taste that inscrutable determination.

 

Grimmjow smirked, licking his lips in a rather lewd manner. “Didn't think you'd have the balls, Schiffer.”

 

Tightening his fingers warningly, Ulquiorra abruptly released Grimmjow and stepped back. “And you remain an idiot,” he retorted, irritated by Grimmjow's complete lack of a violent response.

 

“We'll see,” he replied, and it was smug. He raised his fingers, brushing them demonstratively over his lips. “Ya know where to find me.”

 

Then, he was gone, just like before, in a burst of sonido. Leaving Ulquiorra standing in the corridor and staring at the wall. Just as confused as before.

 

He stood there for several long moments, debating. Weighing. Analyzing. Ulquiorra was not stupid, and despite what the others thought of him, he understood Grimmjow's insinuations. He knew what the kiss meant. And he knew what the other male wanted from him.

 

Neither respect nor hate flittered through Ulquiorra. Nor loathing or esteem. Yet, he turned down the corridor anyway, towards where he knew the ex-Espada's quarters were located.

 

It was impossible to rationalize the actions of an idiot, after all.

 

- - - - -

 

AN: Okay, so it doesn't make a lot of sense. But Ulquiorra is damn tricky to write, and this pairing even more so. It's never been one of my favorites. I don't particularly like it, but I always want to give everything I attempt some sort of justice. Even now, I'm still not sure what I think, but we'll see. I might end up randomly writing it like how I'm stuck on GrimmIchi right now. Grah.

 

Hope you enjoyed!