Sinner

A/N: Thank God, I’ve finally graduated conservatory! Now I have more time! *Dances* I know I’ve probably lost a lot of readers because of the long wait but I am eternally grateful to the ones who have stuck with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter (and there WILL be more) I thought these boys needed a chapter of their own, before we got back to our other sexy fiends.

Much Much Love,
TillThatTime

Special thanks to Alice Fan Club who left me such a great review (even though you all did, and I promise I will eventually give you all individual thanks) and reminded me that people still read this story and spurred me on for this chapter! *huggles excessively*. OH, and Mulle, I think I will be taking you up on your challenge!

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Lover

He didn’t want to call him his lover.

He didn’t want to utter a word that went against everything that one was supposed to believe about a hollow soul. But…shit, that stupid fucking kid and his stupid fucking words that weren’t supposed to make any sense at all and yet meant more than he would dare to admit.

“Do you love him?”

What the fuck did that even mean? Love him? Love him? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of it. He was a hollow, a killer, and that word was just an idiotic, meaningless utterance created by worthless humans to describe an emotion he wasn’t even capable of comprehending, let alone feeling. He should laugh, he really should. In fact, he should wake up the man lying next time him so they could laugh together…if the man lying next to him was into that sort of thing.

It should be fucking hilarious, it really should.

But there was no twitch of the lips, no hitch in his breath, not any indication at all of laughter, because it wasn’t funny. It was so fucking not funny that he could almost laugh out of spite. And he was angry, well he was almost always angry, but right now he was so pissed that he wanted to march down the halls of this shit-hole of a place and wring that little bastard’s neck until his pretty head fell off for even suggesting such a thing.

It shouldn’t matter. That’s what he kept tell himself, over and over again. It shouldn’t matter. But for some reason, some reason that he couldn’t quite grasp, it did. Oh, and he wanted to grasp it, fully hold the notion in between his fingers so he could crush those stupid ass words in an unforgiving death-grip.

Hollows don’t love.

Hollows don’t feel.

Hollows don’t believe in the idea that they could rely so fully on another being.

It wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t possible!

So why couldn’t he let it go? Why did those words repeat so incessantly in his head, mocking him, making him feel less than he was, even though they were false?

Little shit.

With a huff he turned over onto his side, immediately coming face to face with his bedmate who still seemed to be asleep. The light from the hallway seeped under the door, casting a dim glow in the otherwise dark room and Grimmjow’s view of his comrade was unobstructed

Ulquiorra lay sleeping, his features relaxed as his eyes moved beneath his lids as he dreamed. Those pale, plump lips were slightly parted and Grimmjow watched with rapt attention as he saw a pink tongue dart out briefly and unconsciously. Grimmjow’s eyes moved to the twin trails of dark green tears that traveled down beautifully flawless cheeks, tears that Grimmjow himself had traced with his tongue so many nights before, training in vain to rid his partner of the unexplained sadness that showed itself upon his face. His eyes traveled past those elegant features and down a graceful neck and white, slim back, unmarred by the scars of fighting that Grimmjow was sure Ulquiorra had left his opponents with, until finally stopping at an almost feminine dip of the lower back, only to have the rest of his view obstructed by his traitorous bed sheets.

He hated them in that moment.

He let his gaze trail back up to that pointed face, and his eyes remained transfixed there. In sleep, Ulquiorra was nothing of what he exuded while awake and everything that Grimmjow claimed to hate. He was innocence personified like this. Pure and delicate, and Grimmjow knew that idea was such bullshit, and yet he craved this look from Ulquiorra, forced himself to wake at ungodly hours just to see it, and though it killed his pride to admit it, it was worth it. It was a sight that few, if any, ever got to witness, and for that, if anything, Grimmjow was thankful, and he would kill any son of a bitch that sought to steal what was his.

To him, Ulquiorra was absolutely breathtaking.

Not that he would ever, EVER say that out loud.

It was stupid, girly shit that he was not prepared to subject himself to.

He growled in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and taking just a moment to think without the espada lying next to him disrupting his thoughts.

He wasn’t sure how this whole thing had even started. He wasn’t sure how angry words and open threats, had turned into full blown fits of rage that left Grimmjow gasping on the floor covered in bruises and rage and something else he didn’t care to admit with Ulquiorra standing above him, face almost as emotionless as the Quatro Espada probably perceived it to be. And he wasn’t sure how those fights had turned into pushing that little fucker up against a wall and stripping him of those white clothes that itched just a little too much and fucking him until he made that infuriatingly apathetic façade crack.

And most of all, the thing that kept him from throwing the little white haired brat’s words to the side, was that he didn’t know how walls had turned into beds, and bites had turned into licks, and bruising grips had turned into soothing caresses, and cruel words had turned into soft pleas, and how a ruthless fuck had turned into something his lack of a heart was supposed to keep him from understanding.

It wasn’t as if this was a one way street either, because if it was, he would have never gotten this far in the first place. Grimmjow was proud but not naive and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t have been able to push Ulquiorra up against that very first wall if the other arrancar hadn’t have wanted it from the very start. Schiffer was submissive, but only in the acts of pleasure. Grimmjow was fully aware that Ulquiorra was his superior in every other regard. Perhaps that was what made it so fucking sweet because he had been the first ever to crack those walls, no one else had ever even come close, and if they had they were no longer alive to talk about it. Grimmjow could tell by the way the slick walls that squeezed his cock were just a little too tight and the breaths that left that elegantly white throat were just a little too ragged. Grimmjow had stepped on uncharted glorious territory and he’d be damned if he was going to leave that place anytime soon. Aizen himself would have to drag him away and even then he’d be willing to fight like the oversized cat that he was in order to stay.

But for fuck’s sake that didn’t mean he was in love or some shit like that!

No…No! There were plenty of things about Ulquiorra that pissed Grimmjow off. Like that air of superiority that always surrounded him in a fucking vice grip. That fucking superiority that made Grimmjow feel like he was below Ulquiorra even when Ulquiorra was writhing below him.

He remembered only a week ago now when he had wanted to fight that Kurosaki kid. He had wanted to prove his dominance. He had wanted to prove his existence to this entire fucking world. It didn’t matter if the kid had some strange power that was stronger than his own. It didn’t matter if death would have finally caught up with him and he would have been cradled by the nothingness that it promised. He didn’t care if he died by that kid’s hands! It meant nothing! He wanted to witness power. Fight it with his own! But Ulquiorra, that bastard, had stopped him, had commanded that Grimmjow stay by his side, had treated him like a fucking child! And for some reason he had obeyed! He had listened, because Ulquiorra’s words had sounded almost pleading under his cold, emotionless tone, and he could no longer say no, and now that boy was in a cell somewhere in this prison-like world after having been defeated and captured by Nnoitra and he wouldn’t get the chance now. It wasn’t fair! Gods, why the fuck had he listened? He wanted to kill something! Wanted to hiss and scream and destroy, because something so precious like a good ol’ fashioned beat down had been taken from him, but instead of doing any of that, he had just found himself in Ulquiorra’s arms that night, thrusting into that willing body and cursing his bad luck until it didn’t even matter anymore.

What in the hell was going on with him? This wasn’t who he was! And now he couldn’t even get that brat’s words out of his head! It just wasn’t fucking fair at all!

And what made it worse was the look that he had seen on Hitsugaya’s face as soon as he had left Aizen’s room. That look of desperation. That look that said that he feared for that fox-man, even if the kid himself didn’t acknowledge what it meant to feel that completely frantic over the fate of someone else. Ichimaru owned that boy’s soul and if by the way Ichimaru had burst into that room to rescue his little captive was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

It struck something in him, forced empathy into his being because as soon as he saw that petrified look on that young face, he wondered if his own face would be the exact mirror image if Ulquiorra was in the same position as Ichimaru.

But what did that mean for him?

Fuck! He was sick of all these stupid, shitty, human emotions. He was a fucking espada not some prissy little girl! His purpose was to fight and fuck and that was it! Fuck this, fuck all of this!

He flinched when he felt a cool thumb come up to trail across his lip and chin. He jerked his face quickly to the source of the touch and came face to face with the blank features of the very espada that shared his bed and tormented his thoughts. He stared into those emerald eyes for a moment, quickly becoming caught in their depths like so many times before until his eyes trailed down to the thumb that had just been on his skin. It had traces of blood on it, and only then did Grimmjow realize he had been biting his lip so hard in frustration that he was bleeding.

His breath hitched and his eyes narrowed as Ulquiorra lifted his thumb and traced it across his own lips before popping it into his mouth, his eyes never breaking with the pair he currently held captive.

“It’s an oddity to see you thinking so hard, Pantera.” Ulquiorra’s smooth voice cut through the silence and Grimmjow’s lips twitched at the use of the pet name. Ulquiorra had started using it shortly after the first time they had had sex and Grimmjow couldn’t bring himself to complain considering Ulquiorra used to address him as Basura, and he’d rather Ulquiorra think of him as anything but trash.

“It’s that fuckin’ kid.” He growled, not sure of whether or not he should continue.

“Ichimaru-sama’s captive?”

“That’s the one.”

“Ichimaru has already staked claim to him, and I would not appreciate you bringing another into this bed.” Ulquiorra spoke evenly and completely seriously and Grimmjow could only stare at him for a moment before bursting into uproarious laughter that seemed so out of place in the otherwise quiet night. It seemed that Ulquiorra had still not mastered proper conversational skills, keeping everything as blunt as he always had, and Grimmjow found it quite hilarious that for all his genius, Ulquiorra couldn’t have been more off the mark.

“Baka, that ain’t it.” He managed to get out once he had taken a few calming breaths, Ulquiorra watching him unwaveringly the entire time.

“Then speak.”

“It’s…nothing.” Grimmjow sighed, hoping that the other espada would just ignore it and let it drop. It was a false hope.

“You’re lying.”

“Huh?”

“You’re lying, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra said, his fingertips coming up to cup under Grimmjow’s chin and forcing the Sexta to look at him, considering he was currently trying to look anywhere but. “I can read you. Something about that child is bothering you. I would prefer for you to simply tell me what it is rather then having to force you to tell me.”

“Why?”

“I’ve already said, it’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Then it’s bothering me.” Grimmjow’s eyes widened marginally at the words, his breath catching in his chest as Ulquiorra’s thumb absentmindedly traced the protrusion of his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered slightly as Ulquiorra leaned in until their lips were almost touching, his breath mingling with Grimmjow’s own. Fuck it all if Ulquiorra didn’t have just as much effect on his body as he did on his thoughts. Ulquiorra’s tongue darted out, catching along Grimmjow’s lips, and the Sexta let out a barely noticed groan as he shifted his hips closer to Ulquiorra’s own, his stirring erection barely touching against Ulquiorra’s own bare one, he repeated over and over in his mind that badass espada’s do not whimper in need like little bitches.

“Tell me now, Grimmjow.” There was no room for argument in that whispered tone.

“That brat,” He took a deep breath. “That brat asked me if I’m in love with ya.”

He felt Ulquiorra stiffen immediately and because of the fact that their naked chests were pressed together he could feel the rapid pace at which the smaller man’s heart began to beat. There was a stifling silence for a long period of time in which Ulquiorra stared blankly over Grimmjow’s shoulder and Grimmjow was about ready to beat his own ass for his stupidity when his partner finally spoke.

“What does that even mean?”

Grimmjow could only stare for a moment, noticing the innocent and almost lost expression that had come over Ulquiorra’s face. It seemed the phrase was even more foreign to the hollow in his bed then it was to him.

“I don’t know.” Was the only answer he could provide and finally Ulquiorra was looking at him once more.

Suddenly and very unexpectedly for Grimmjow, Ulquiorra reached down and grabbed his hand and placed it against his chest and for a second Grimmjow had to marvel at the quickly beating heart that lay just beneath his palm.

“But then, what does it even mean to be hollow? This thing that beats and pumps blood inside my chest, this thing that humans base their entire capacity of feeling on, what is it? Why do beings like us possess it?” Grimmjow didn’t even move a muscles as Ulquiorra placed his own hand upon Grimmjow’s chest. He was too caught up in the words that shouldn’t have even been leaving the other’s mouth.

“If I were to rip this thing, this heart, out of your chest, what would happen? Would I simply cease the breath from continuing to pass through your lips, or would I stop mine as well? If your heart were to stop would mine stop along with it? I ask you this because the heart that beats so seemingly worthlessly in my chest, speeds up when yours does, and slows down when yours does, and hurts, physically hurts, at the very thought of yours ceasing to exist. So tell me…tell me what that child’s words mean for you and for me.”

Grimmjow tried to reign in control of his breathing, tried to reign in control of his heart. This was too much. This was not how it was supposed to be, but no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that, it didn’t seem to help. He couldn’t escape from those words, couldn’t escape from those eyes that shouldn’t even have any fucking emotion and yet were currently filled with unnamable one, and Ulquiorra was looking for an answer, and what the fuck was Grimmjow supposed to know about it? How could he answer when he didn’t even understand the question?

“I don’t know, Ulqui. I don’t understand a goddamn word ya just said.”

“Neither do I.” There was such sincerity in those words and Grimmjow had an irrational urge to shake Ulquiorra and scream that he was an espada and that he should learn to lie every once in awhile.

“Fuck it all. I doesn’t matter.”

“Is it true that you believe that it doesn’t?”

Ulquiorra was looking at him in that way again, with those innocent eyes that didn’t belong to a vicious killer, a hollow shell. He wanted to turn away from them. He wanted to find someone to kill, someone to take out this pent up aggression on but instead he just looked back and idly wondered what his own expression must have looked like to Ulquiorra at the moment. He couldn’t escape. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to, but how was he supposed to know what he was feeling, what they both were feeling? How was he supposed to know what it meant to be a hollow, what it meant to be soulless, what it meant to be loveless? How was he supposed to know what it meant to be human? Those terms meant nothing to him. He was a passionate, rage filled creature that only wanted to fight, not this sentimental pussy who wanted to hold the heart that beat under his palm fully in his hands and protect it from everyone except for himself... No, even from himself.

He had no answers to give Ulquiorra because he had no answers to give to himself…but that didn’t mean that this meant nothing, because if it didn’t then he could let Ulquiorra rise from his bed and leave this room and his life without a second thought about it, and that wasn’t true at all. It was so far from the truth that it was almost ridiculous, because Grimmjow knew that he would do anything and kill anybody to keep Ulquiorra from leaving his side.

Fuck.

He was met with no resistance as he suddenly rolled over until Ulquiorra was once more beneath him. Ulquiorra didn’t hesitate to spread his legs to accommodate the other man, his arms coming up slowly to loop around Grimmjow’s neck, surrendering himself completely as he had done so many times before.

“Of course it matters, shit, of course it does.” He growled out before swooping down to capture Ulquiorra’s pliant lips in a hungry kiss. His teeth nipped harshly into a plump bottom lip and Ulquiorra immediately responded by biting back just as harshly until Grimmjow apologized by running his tongue along the small hurt. He pulled back abruptly, looking into those eyes that he knew better than anyone else. “I don’t know what answers ya want from me, and I sure as hell have nothing to give ya, but I do know that if you had a soul, it would belong to me.”

Ulquiorra only nodded before raking his nails down Grimmjow’s back, the action causing Grimmjow to practically purr against the skin of his neck. “He’s a child, Grimmjow, just a silly child.”

They both knew those words were a lie, because Hitsugaya was no mere child and what he said was not the silly words of someone who didn’t understand, but if it made things better, even if for only a moment, then it was worth the thinly veiled lie.

“I know, I know.” Grimmjow bent to take a already hardened nipple into his mouth, flicking it back and forth with his tongue, groaning harshly at the way the body beneath him arched and the grip that had found itself in his hair tightened. In a flurry of want he raised up and grasped Ulquiorra’s face between his hands, slamming his hips down and forcing Ulquiorra’s mouth to drop open in a silent cry. “I was your first, Ulquiorra, and make sure that you know that I will be your last.”

Ulquiorra did not respond with words, but instead threw his head back with a short cry that usually took so much effort on Grimmjow’s part to wring from those sinful lips, exposing a pale neck for Grimmjow’s pleasure and as he leaned down to ravish that skin and prepare himself once more to sink into that blissful heat, only one thing came to his mind.

His lover was absolutely beautiful.