all fall down

There was a time when things weren’t so complicated. It was, after all, Orihime who first approached Ulquiorra, and not the other way around.

--

“Ulquiorra-san,” she says when he enters.

“Ulquiorra,” he corrects her, like he always does. “It’s obvious that Aizen-sama regards you in high esteem. Honorifics would be inappropriate here.”

“But you think I’m trash, don’t you?” She asks, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You called me garbage when you first met me, do you remember?”

Of course Ulquiorra does. He is a highly sentient Hollow, and his Eye records everything—compresses it and stores it neatly away for easy accessibility. He can remember their first encounter in vivid detail—everything she had said, everything he had said in return; he can remember the feel of the breeze playing across his skin, the sound of rustling leaves overhead, the open expanse of clear blue above him--

But you think I’m trash, don’t you?

But Ulquiorra isn’t so sure that he really does. The silence they lapse into this time is a very different kind than his captive is usually accustomed to. As Ulquiorra deliberates, she watches him inquisitively.

“Don’t you?”

She’s grasping for something here, Ulquiorra knows, although he’s not sure what. There’s a shimmer of something unfamiliar in her eyes.

“Your abilities have proved to be impressive,” he says finally, after careful consideration. “I’m not sure ‘trash’ would be an apt description, anymore.”

She breaks out in a beatific smile. Ulquiorra isn’t sure what she’s so happy about: his intention was not to compliment her here, but to merely state the truth.

“Thanks, Ulquiorra.”

Ulquiorra doesn’t know why she’s thanking him. He just wishes she would stop smiling at him like that.

--



“Ulquiorra!”



“Perhaps you should lie down,” Ulquiorra tells her as he reaches out, intending to ease her gently onto her back. “You’ve been losing weight ever since you found out that your comrades had infiltrated Hueco Mundo.” He refuses to refer to them as her ‘friends’—they’re nothing but trash, unworthy of the buxom girl’s affection.

“You should not allow yourself to get so worked up, in your already weakened state.”

But Orihime won’t let him touch her. She shies away from his hand before jumping off of the couch entirely, throwing her arms out before her as though it could actually ward Ulquiorra off. “Who did you hurt? It wasn’t Sado-kun… or Kuchiki-san…” Her eyebrows knit together, and Ulquiorra knows instinctively that she’s reaching out, trying to grasp the spirit strands of her friends’. Her cheeks grow sickly and sallow as the horror sinks in. She whirls upon him in a fury.

“What did you do to Kurosaki-kun?”

“Their sudden appearance here has clearly been strenuous on your health,” Ulquiorra responds evenly, ignoring the question at hand. “Perhaps their extermination shall prove beneficial. You have to cut the cancerous parts away in order for the body to survive, as they say.”

Orihime shakes her head in disbelief. She does not attempt to escape him this time when he comes forward, but she doesn’t look him in the eye, either. She gazes resolutely at the floor, even when Ulquiorra takes her by the chin and tilts it back. Ulquiorra is so close that he can see every pore clearly.

“You should be thanking me,” he murmurs quietly. “Someone like Grimmjow would not have been as merciful as I was.”

“You thought that you were being merciful?” Orihime demands suddenly, jerking free from his grasp. Ulquiorra blinks slowly, hand remaining momentarily suspended in the air. Then he pockets it. “What, you think that killing him was doing me a favor?”

He has never seen her look so disgusted before, and this is only the second time he’s been the subjected to her hostility.

Vermin, all of them. If not for their futile intervention, you could have been happy here.

Tears cling to her dark lashes, but stubbornly, she refuses to let them fall. Ulquiorra’s hand itches for the hilt of his blade, but likewise, he refuses to give into the temptation.

Perhaps I should have let the shinigami suffer more. A fair price to pay, in exchange for her misery.

“Such pointless mourning,” he says, nodding the tears that she’s obviously fighting back. “Perhaps after this is all over, you’ll finally come to your senses.”

Orihime merely shakes her head mutely, and those tears she’s been so desperately trying to contain spill forth. He watches as they cascade gently down her cheeks, and thinks of the emerald tracks that mar his own alabaster features.

We match.

“Go away, Ulquiorra,” Orihime says, turning around so that her back is facing him. “I don’t want to speak to you anymore.”

Ulquiorra has never been good at assuaging petty human emotions—he’s never had a need to before now. Knowing this, he simply does as she asks and goes.

--



“I have a question.”

Ulquiorra doesn’t say anything. He probably has an answer, but that does not necessarily mean he will deign to give her it.

“What did Aizen do to get the arrancar to follow him? Did he bribe them?”

“The majority of those produced by the hougyoku merely submitted beneath the force of Aizen-sama’s enormous spiritual pressure. Those destined to eventually become Espada were… persuaded, in a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say.”

“And what did he do to persuade them?”

Ulquiorra is not exactly sure that he approves of where this conversation is going; it requires entirely too much effort in answering on his behalf. At the same time, he can see no harm in further indulging her, and so he decides to entertain her a little longer. “With promises of prestige and power, mostly.”

“And you?”

Orihime has turned around from her usual perch at the window. Her grey eyes are interested, bright. She is more alive now, in this moment, than he has ever remembered her being since her stint in captivity.

“And me?” he echoes faintly.

“Well,” she bites her lip. “You don’t seem the type to be swayed by offers of… like you said, ‘prestige’ and ‘power.’ So what did he offer you?”

He pauses. He has never offered personal information like this before. “I wanted… a heart.”

Orihime is clearly taken aback by his response. “A h-heart?” She squeaks, surprised. Ulquiorra does not reiterate himself: not because he’s embarrassed, but because he has no need to. It’s obvious that she has heard him correctly.

“Just like the Wizard of Oz…” he hears her murmur. He has no idea what she’s talking about: he knows next to nothing about her world’s popular culture, and has no immediate desire to educate himself on the matter.

“That’s… really something, Ulquiorra,” she says awkwardly, but she’s smiling. “That’s… nice.”

It has never occurred to Ulquiorra before that Orihime might be lonely, but he understands now. She slowly advances upon him, and the raven-haired arrancar remains rooted, still.

He’s scarcely taller than her, but tall enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at him. Orihime swallows, and Ulquiorra watches blandly as she hesitates before reaching out. She tentatively runs her fingers down one side of his face, smiling nervously.

“You’re cold,” she tells him. “But not as cold as I had imagined you’d be.”
She stands up on the tip of her toes. They’re about even in height now. Orihime licks her lips experimentally, wetting them. “There’s… there’ something I want to do,” she says in a voice barely above a whisper, right before she leans in and kisses him.

It’s a chaste kiss, and it lasts no more than a second or two. Ulquiorra does not blink; he does not falter, and he certainly does not respond in kind. Yet despite this, the effect of catering to Orihime’s whims has a profound effect on her: Orihime’s face turns beet-red when she finally pulls away, and tiny beads of perspiration seem to have formed right around her hairline.

“Have you satisfied your curiosity, woman?” Ulquiorra asks, but there isn’t any kind of hostility backing the inquiry. It’s just that: a question.

“Did you… did you know what that was?” She asks him breathlessly, after they break apart.

“A kiss,” Ulquiorra intones, and Orihime seems embarrassed that he is not naive as she initially pegged him for. “I may be an arrancar, but that does not mean I am an uneducated brute. I am well-versed in the topics of sex, woman.”

Orihime flushes again. “I think you misread my intentions.”

“Did I?” He asks, and the two of them stare at one another. It is Orihime who has to blink first.

“I… this isn’t how I imagined it would go,” she admits after a moment, staring at her feet.

Ulquiorra takes a step forward. “And how did you imagine it?”

Orihime seems to wilt beneath his gaze. “Well, I thought you might be, more… uhm, willing.”

“Did I refuse you?”

“Not exactly, but…”

“Then I don’t understand.”

This is the lengthiest exchange they’ve shared thus far. Ulquiorra’s sudden inquisition seems to have caused Orihime’s courage to waver; she seems unsure now, flighty.

“You want a subservient partner?” Ulquiorra asks. “Shall I be quiet? Would that better suit your purposes?”

“Subservient?” Orihime shakes her head violently. “N-no! I just… I just wasn’t sure if you… if you wanted it,” she finishes quietly, meekly.

Ulquiorra merely inclines his head. “Is my wanting to do this really relevant? It is quite evident that I’m consenting for you to proceed with your carnal indulgence; isn’t that the important thing?”

“Uhm, no, that would make it rape then, I think,” Orihime frowns, eyebrows furrowing together. “I don’t want you to just… you know…”

“I don’t think I’m capable of passion, woman,” Ulquiorra states blankly.

“But you are capable of desire,” Orihime points out. “You want a heart, don’t you? Then you have drives… cravings… specific yearnings. I don’t want to simply take advantage of your…” She falters here; it’s obvious that she doesn’t want to refer to it as ‘kindness’ but there is no other words to fill in the blink here. “…Hospitality,” she finishes lamely.

“Humans are so strange,” Ulquiorra observes.

“Just tell me what you want, Ulquiorra!” she bursts out suddenly. Ulquiorra lifts a thin eyebrow as Orihime shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

“I will admit a certain curiosity,” he allows, finally.

Orihime exhales in relief. Ulquiorra doesn’t know why she hangs onto his every word like this: is sex really such a big deal in the human world?

“I… I guess we should go over there, then,” she says, gesturing awkwardly to the bed in the corner. It’s pointlessly large and overly lavish, but Ulquiorra does not question Aizen-sama’s motives in picking it out for their captive. Everything here suits a higher purpose, conceals a hidden motive. Perhaps his lord had foreseen this, the day that Orihime crumbled beneath the weight of Stockholm Syndrome, driven by loneliness and desperation.

“I… I want you to kiss me, Ulquiorra,” she says, when they stand beside it. Ulquiorra does as he’s told.

He covers his lips over her own, just the way she had done to him the first time. But this is apparently not enough, this time around: Orihime makes a strange, wanting little sound in the back of her throat before grabbing him by the front of his jacket and steering him roughly against her. She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t exactly want a passive participant: she’s entirely grabby for that to be true, forceful. She presses her lips harder against him, and Ulquiorra can feel the curve of her breasts against his chest, the small mound of her pubic region grinding incessantly into his lower body. Ulquiorra has his eyes open, but Orihime’s are closed: this interests him. When she pulls back, panting slightly, he decides to ask her about it.

“Why do you close your eyes? Is it so that you can pretend I’m someone else?”
Orihime’s jaw falls open.

“I’m not Kurosaki,” he feels necessary to point out.

Orihime’s eyes are wistful. “I know you aren’t,” she says quietly, sitting down on the bed behind them. “I don’t want you to be.”And she pulls him down on top of her.