all fall down

Orihime remains alone in the dark long after Ulquiorra’s departure. Beyond the walls of Las Noches, the world is quiet and still, save for the occasional, guttural moan of a unsophisticated, rogue Hollow. Aizen’s captive sits perched along the edge of the sofa, her head in her hands, while a few lone strands of ginger hair cling to the sticky tear-tracks that mottle her face.



With Ulquiorra gone, Orihime has become considerably less hysterical. The second time she searches for Ichigo’s reiatsu, she locates it – but it’s faint, a mere wisp of his former spiritual energy. Ichigo is alive, although barely so; even still, the quiet relief that comes with this knowledge does little to alleviate the despair that shrouds her. Orihime knows without actually seeing them that Ichigo’s wounds are severe; if he doesn’t find help soon, eventually he really will die, and there’s nothing Orihime can do about it.


Ichigo… why did you…?


The powerlessness of the situation further impresses upon her with every passing moment, every ticking of her heartbeat; Ichigo is dying somewhere, and all Orihime can do is wait here uselessly.


She suddenly wishes she hadn’t sent Ulquiorra away; if he was still here, perhaps she could reason with him, get him to take her where Ichigo is. Although Ulquiorra is by no means a sympathetic or subservient creature, he is by far the most receptive to her whims out of all of the Espada. Maybe if she begged—


Orihime blinks rapidly, trying to fight back a slew of fresh tears.


Oh, who am I kidding? He’s the one who hurt Ichigo. He’ll never agree to--

There is the sound of a lock being turned, and a sliver of light suddenly falls across of Orihime’s face as the door to her room creaks slowly open. Foolishly, Orihime’s heart surges with hope as she leaps to her feet. Maybe Ulquiorra really had come back to help her—


But the sinister visages that greet her from beyond the threshold to her room belong to two very different arrancar.


“Well, looky here,” the one with dark hair coos, mock-sweet. “Our little princess is here alllll alone.”


Orihime sways uncertainly on the spot, her hands clasped before her as though in prayer. “Y-you’re not Ulquiorra,” she says in a hoarse whisper, eyes wide.


“Orihime-chan~!” They chorus together in sing-song voices. “We’re gonna have some fun!”


--


Ulquiorra has takes an almost scientific approach when it comes to indulging Orihime. His captive is shy, but Orihime knows better than to think Ulquiorra will take the initiative here—this experiment is originally her idea, after all, and so she’s the one who has to take charge. In the end, she doesn’t have the patience to allow herself to be deterred by mere bashfulness; in order to bypass the awkward embarrassment stage entirely, the speed in which her clothes come flying off boggles the mind. Ulquiorra has long since been rolled onto his back, watching blankly as Orihime undresses above him. He can’t help but immediately glance down to see her breasts as they come free from the confines of her bra—they are, after all, Orihime’s most obvious attributes. Orihime follows his gaze, and this time she can’t help but flush.


“They’re hideous, aren’t they?” She asks, biting her lower lip. “They’re so… big and awkward.”


Ulquiorra doesn’t think they’re unseemly at all. Orihime’s breasts are heavy and proud, with nipples like rose-buds, pink and set high. Ulquiorra doesn’t have an aversion to them in the slightest, although he doesn’t regard them with the same reverence that the other Espada do.


How ironic, Ulquiorra thinks, as he reaches up and takes both of them into each of his hands. He rubs his thumb over the left nipple experimentally, watching as it gathers and stiffens beneath his touch. I am probably the most unlikely person to be engaging in such activities with this woman.


It’s not that Ulquiorra doesn’t like Orihime, that he doesn’t find her beautiful—quite the contrary, actually. She’s—well, she’s interesting at the very least, and she’s certainly not unpleasant to look at. Her face has symmetry, and her skin is soft and warm to the touch. She has luxurious curves, although Ulquiorra probably isn’t as appreciative of this as he could be.


It’s just that Ulquiorra isn’t a passionate individual by any stretch of the imagination. He isn’t motivated by more primal forces, like lust or desire; the Cuatro Espada has long since transcended the need to give into instinct, whether it be Hollow or Human. It’s part of the reason why he’s such a good soldier.


(And why he finds the human heart so interesting.)


Orihime’s chest heaves beneath his roaming hands as she sucks in a breath of fresh air. The thighs that drape over each side of his torso tense slightly, pulling him tighter against her. He can feel the radiating heat of her center, pressed so close against his own. She’s no longer looking at him; her eyes are closed.


He takes one nipple between two finches and pinches it, just to see what sort of reaction it will invoke. Orihime’s immediately furrow together as she emits a tiny whimpering sound. Ulquiorra pauses and listens to her harsh, irregular breathing.


“Are you all right, woman?”


“I-I’m fine,” she mumbles, and that faint blush she wears becomes even rosier. “J-just… I…”


Evidently Orihime has trouble finding the words to properly convey herself, and so she uses actions in order to help demonstrate instead. She takes his hands, now settled limply around her waist, and brings them up over the flat of her stomach before making them massage her breasts again. When they graze over her erect nipples, she issues a deep, shuddering sigh.


“It feels nice…”


Orihime seems to like it when Ulquiorra is a little more adventurous with his hands; keeping this in mind, he begins to explore her body more fully. Orihime has such an elegant, inviting shape, and her nerve-endings are so responsive; with every ghosting touch of his fingertips, he can feel the prickle of gooseflesh.


“Use your mouth.”


Ulquiorra is a little taken aback by the austerity of the command; he has never known Orihime to be so forward. The look she fixes him with is intense, unyielding—and Ulquiorra blinks.


The severe, unabashed expression on her face wilts slightly upon scrutiny of his own. In her clouded desire, she seems to have mistaken his look as a reprimanding one. But Ulquiorra is merely curious.


“My mouth?”


Orihime pushes a fall of loose hair behind her ear, and nods. “Your mouth,” she reaffirms, a little too eagerly. When Ulquiorra lifts a thin eyebrow, she flushes.


Ulquiorra uses his elbows to push himself into an upright position so that Orihime is now straddling his lap. His eyes momentarily snake down the path below her navel, to her dewy center. Her desire is so rampant that it has left the front of his pants damp, and the white fabric there clings to his own growing arousal. When he looks up again Orihime is watching him expectantly.


“Please?”


Ulquiorra merely steers her onto her back in reply.


--



Orihime lays broken and battered beneath her gloating tormentors.


“Not one peep out of you!” The dark haired one jeers, shaking her head in admonishment. “What do we have to do to make you scream, Pet-sama?”


When her heavy boot makes contact with Orihime’s side, the ginger-haired girl really does want to scream. The pain is intense—she’s pretty sure they’ve broken some of her ribs.


Struggling is useless here—the girls, although seemingly lithe, are extremely strong. They continue to brutalize Orihime while she lashes back ineffectively. She wants to cry out, but her vocal chords have long since become stuck.


Ichigo—


This time one of their feet make contact with the soft flesh of her stomach, and Orihime wheezes desperately as the wind is knocked out of her.


Ulquiorra—

She wonders what the solemn-eyed Espada would have to say if he could see what they were doing to her. Would he condemn their actions, or would he secretly approve? Would he say that she deserved it for her insolence?


No—Ulquiorra would never—


Why does she insist on clinging to such foolishness? When it really comes down to it, she doesn’t really know Ulquiorra at all, as painful as it is for her to swallow.


Does anyone really know?


In the end, he is still one of Aizen’s most trusted officers. And although he is by no means aggressive, Ulquiorra definitely couldn’t be considered a character of high moral standing either. Who is she to say what he will and won’t do? She had been dumb enough to think that he was too passive of a participant to take out Ichigo out himself, and he had gone and surprised Orihime by very nearly killing him.


Someone—anyone--


Oblivion, when it comes, is welcome.


--


Orihime makes desperate little mewling noises as Ulquiorra quickly familiarizes himself with what his captive likes best. He is swift to learn that her neck is sensitive, and her breasts even more so – but it is her musky center that is the most sensitive of all. It is the last thing that Ulquiorra will get to, and when he does, he can’t help but pause.


“What are you waiting for?” Orihime asks him, but the inquiry is more out of desperation than actual annoyance. “I thought you said you were…. uhmm, well-versed on the topic of sex or whatever!”


And Ulquiorra is, at least to a degree. It’s true that he understands the basic mechanics of it, but he’s not sure if he’s ever performed the act before now. His life as a human has long since eroded to dust, and his memories as a sentient Hollow are vague, at best.


Still, Ulquiorra is not one to hesitate: although he is one to deliberate. He leaves Orihime to squirm impatiently beneath him for several more minutes before he finally leans in, draws his tongue along the wet folds.


Her reaction is instantaneous—Orihime’s whole body seizes up, her fists clenching the bed sheets at her sides.


“A-again,” she half-begs, half-commands.


Ulquiorra obliges. It doesn’t take him long to find a tiny little nub of flesh, and he gathers it between his teeth—not all that unlike with what he did to her nipple—and gently flicks it with his tongue. This time Orihime’s back actually rises up off of the bed as she cries out in a mixture of ecstasy and alarm.


Ulquiorra halts in his administrations. The way her body contorts and contracts looks like it would be a little painful for a human.


Suddenly Orihime bolts upright, grabbing a handful of Ulquiorra’s shirt and pulling him against her. Her lips meet press against his fiercely before her tongue aggressively forces its way down her throat. If Ulquiorra were a mere human, he might have choked.


“S-sorry,” she pants into his mouth, before eventually loosening her hold on him and pulling away. “B-but you know…” she lowers her eyelashes somewhat. “I don’t really think this is fair. I mean…” She smiles, appearing impish and bashful all at once. Her voice drops down to a stage whisper. “…You’re wearing entirely too many layers still, don’t you think?”


Ulquiorra flicks his gaze to where his very prominent arousal. It is causing the front of his pants to tent awkwardly in the front.


“I suppose I’m inclined to agree.”


The yeastless response he offers, paired with the very obvious sign of his interest, startles a laugh out of Orihime. “Well, I’m relieved,” she admits after a minute, still giggling. “I was starting to think you were getting bored.”


“Evidently it’s quite the opposite.”


Orihime just shakes her head ruefully. “Kiss me, Ulquiorra,” she commands. “And put a little soul into it.”


--



“O-oh…” Orihime groans.


“Look, Menoly!” One of them cries out enthusiastically. “Piggy’s gonna squeal!”


“Please.” Orihime tries desperately to crawl away, but the blonde-haired one grabs her by the leg and drags her back to where they tower over her. “Please, stop!”


“Are you afraid?” The other one asks contemptuously. “Menoly’s cero has a bad habit of firing randomly.”


Orihime is scared – as scared as has ever been for her own safety. It’s alarming to think that they might actually kill her.


“Please!” she begs, writhing uselessly on the floor where the taller girl pins her in place. “Please I—“ The door creaks as it’s opened for a second time in several minutes; the light that falls across her face is blaringly white that it causes her to go momentarily blind. “Ulquiorra?”


“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” The more smaller of the two arrancar jeers. “She’s calling out for her beloved!”


Orihime blinks rapidly for several seconds, trying desperately to regain her sight. When her eyes become accustomed to the obtrusive white light filtering in, however, she becomes fearful—not just for her safety, but for the safety of the others. Because the person standing silhouetted in the doorway isn’t Ulquiorra.


It’s Grimmjow.