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“Stop looking at me as though I’m beneath you!”

Grimmjow’s voice rang loud in Las Noches’ vast, near-empty corridors, a stark contrast to the usual deafening silence broken only by the sound of shoes on tiles. Despite his volume, the Sexta’s words were met with the same impassive stare that had prompted his outburst in the first place.

A soft exhale of air through his nose was the extent of Ulquiorra’s response for the moment; Grimmjow’s attempts to lure him into an altercation were frequent enough to have become predictable. It would have been tedious to deal with had it not been somewhat amusing to the Cuarta, enough that he did provoke the other on purpose.

Not that Grimmjow—or anyone else, for that matter—had noticed yet.

After the first few instances, Ulquiorra noticed that all it took was to prolong a fleeting glance into something that was more of a stare. Apparently, the Sexta took offence to his resting expression when he happened to make eye contact for a few seconds too long and Ulquiorra had recently begun using that fact to his advantage; the other caused the weak burgeoning of something inside of him, and it only grew stronger when he became aggressive and invaded the Cuarta’s personal space.

That part came mere milliseconds after the sound of that quiet sigh reached Grimmjow’s ears.

A tanned hand grasped the white fabric of Ulquiorra’s jacket at the shoulder and used it to shove his lighter frame against the wall. It happened with such speed and ferocity that Ulquiorra was almost caught off guard. Almost. He allowed himself to be moved just this once, allowing Grimmjow the illusion that he had his superior pinned.

Dual coloured lips parted slightly, drawing in a breath before he spoke: “Pathetic.”

The lone word was meant to needle and brought the desired reaction almost immediately as Grimmjow’s piercing blue eyes widened slightly before he bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl.

“You—!”

Whatever colourful insult happened to be on the tip of Grimmjow’s tongue died the moment Ulquiorra shifted his weight and used his superior strength to switch their positions, pinning the larger Arrancar to the cold marble with ease. The pale, black-tipped fingers of one hand wrapped around the thick column of Grimmjow’s neck and squeezed just enough to make his breathing laboured as he struggled and tried to prise Ulquiorra’s fingers away from his neck.

It was all in vain, however, as Ulquiorra’s grip remained unyielding around his throat, feeling every thrum of his strong pulse beneath his fingertips.

That wasn’t to say Grimmjow gave up; his nails bit into the flesh of the Cuarta’s arm, determined to pierce the other’s  thick Hierro as his legs kicked out, trying at the very least to push him back far enough to give himself an opening.

All the while, the Sexta fixed Ulquiorra with a stare filled with so much hatred that it would have made a lesser Hollow turn tail and run while they still had the advantage. For Ulquiorra, on the other hand, this was exactly what he had been waiting for. Something about the way those eyes were filled with so much passion and fire had that curious feeling growing into something far more tangible; the warmth in the very pit of his stomach was undeniable, even though it wasn’t something he could see.

Green eyes narrowed slightly as he realised that Grimmjow had since ceased in his struggling. Upon closer inspection, the Sexta had begun to control his breathing, drawing deep and even breaths through his compressed airway, his skin lightly flushed and pupils slightly dilated. Ulquiorra would have simply blamed it on the physical exertion of his struggle had his gaze not been drawn to the tent that had formed in the other’s loose hakama.

Using the momentary distraction to his advantage, Grimmjow let loose a low growl and surged forwards, toppling the Cuarta as he freed himself.

He could have simply walked away with a shred of his dignity intact but instead followed the other to the floor and pinned him with his weight. Large hands held slim shoulders to the tiled floor while his knees framed narrow hips, keeping Ulquiorra caged for the moment.

All the while, that curious gaze remained fixed on the obvious betrayal of the Sexta’s arousal.

Contrary to somewhat popular belief amongst his fellow Arrancar, Ulquiorra was far from being naïve in regards to sex—it was just he hardly saw the point in indulging in it himself. What was curious to him was the fact Grimmjow was obviously aroused; their little struggle hardly constituted foreplay, from what he had observed for himself.

As he continued to be ignored, Grimmjow’s jaw locked and brows knitted together further.

“I don’t know why you’re staring,” he spat, one hand moving to grasp the other’s pale jaw to force his gaze away from his hips and to his face instead. “You’re just as bad as me.”

He released his grip the moment he finished speaking, allowing Ulquiorra to see for himself.

The Sexta was indeed correct; the white fabric of his own hakama framed the very obvious protrusion that was his own erection. Through their struggle, he hadn’t noticed how he had grown stiff and swollen enough that the brush of fabric over sensitive skin had his normally controlled breaths hitching slightly with every movement.

Moving his hips in a failed effort to reduce the friction, the Cuarta drew a moan from the Arrancar above him; the limited space had their clothed erections rubbing against each other, lust truly hitting Ulquiorra for the first time with that one motion.

That sensation continued longer than he had anticipated as Grimmjow lowered his hips slightly and thrust forwards, breaths ragged as months’ worth of lust culminated in this one moment.

“You’d better know what you’re doing,” the Sexta said, voice low and very nearly breathless.

“What I’m doing, Sexta?” came Ulquiorra’s response.

He was right, of course; the Cuarta was still laid flat against cool marble, both of Grimmjow’s hands on his shoulders, and he hadn’t moved since the initial shift of his hips. The Sexta, on the other hand, had taken to rutting against his hip as his carnal desires clouded his mind.

What an unruly beast.

With a ‘tch’, Grimmjow lifted himself so he knelt more upright, now appearing to straddle the smaller Espada rather than cover him. All the while, blue eyes locked with slit-pupiled green, as though he was trying to read what the other was thinking. He never could, of course.

He wanted to know how far he could push this. For all his body’s reaction to an altercation with his superior was hardly anything new, he had never been able to push it this far before, having always disappeared to his own palace before the other could notice.

Hooking his fingers into the top of his own hakama, he came to the conclusion that since he was still alive, he hadn’t pushed his luck too far just yet.

The fabric came down slowly, dragging over the flushed and sensitive skin of his erection and he drew in a sharp breath at the stimulation, before releasing a long sigh as soon as it bobbed free.

One of Ulquiorra’s dark brows raised slightly as the Sexta’s cock was exposed to the cool air. The size wasn’t what caught his attention—no, that was within what he had expected given the other’s larger stature; it was the small spines running down the length of the shaft. The nature of Grimmjow’s release form was no secret to the Cuarta, nor to the rest of the Espada, but he doubted anyone would have imagined his feline characteristics would have affected that particular part of his anatomy.

Reaching out with one hand, black-tipped fingers ghosted over the small protrusions on one side. They were softer than he had expected, but still firm enough that they would, no doubt, cause resistance on every outward stroke, perhaps even enough to damage anyone without thick enough Hierro.

It was getting difficult for the Sexta to remain somewhat composed, that much was made obvious by the way his hips twitched minutely and his head hung between his shoulders, muscular chest heaving. He wasn’t normally one for being patient with anything, but just this once, he wanted to finish something without having his head blown off by a point-blank cero.

The barely-there caress of the Cuarta’s pale hand suddenly became considerably more tangible and a broken groan forced itself from Grimmjow’s parted lips before he had the chance to stifle it. His cock twitched in the other’s loose grip before he thrust forwards, eyes nigh glazed over with lust.

He had wanted this—or at least something along these lines—for months. At first, he had blamed the throbbing erection after every altercation with Ulquiorra on anger, physical exertion, anything that meant avoiding the admission that he found his fellow Espada attractive. Even now, he couldn’t come to terms with it; he hated the way the Cuarta looked at him, how he followed every one of Aizen’s orders without question, how he never seemed to feel. Yet, here he was, skin flushed with his lower lip drawn between his teeth as he tried to show some restraint around that bastard.

With a deep breath, he slowly came back to himself and blinked once, twice, noticing for the first time that the Arrancar beneath him was still fully clothed—and still without the faintest hint of emotion on his face.

Grimmjow bared his teeth in a snarl mirroring that of his mask and growled low in his throat, anger toward him reignited in that instant. Batting the smaller hand away from his cock (not without dearly missing the touch) he set to making sure he wasn’t the only one without a scrap of modesty left. He roughly tugged his hakama downwards without bothering to remove it all the way—instead leaving it around mid-thigh—and went to tear open the white tailcoat before his wrists were caught in an infuriatingly stronger grip.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

This was it, Grimmjow was sure of it.

His eyes cracked open—having shut in anticipation of a cero wiping all trace of his head from existence—as one wrist was released from Ulquiorra’s grasp and the tell-tale sound of a zipper filled the silent corridor.

Swatting the pale hand away, Grimmjow took over unzipping the tailcoat and pulled it open as far open as he could without removing it entirely. The sight of the toned frame laid out beneath him had his cock twitching while hunger burned in his eyes.

For all his face hardly betrayed anything, Ulquiorra’s lust spiked the moment he saw that fiery, hungered gaze directed at him. It felt primal, as though the Sexta would devour him at any moment and use his soul to increase his own power. Oh, if that didn’t have the Cuarta’s pulse thrumming loudly in his ears and his dual coloured lips drying enough that his pink tongue darted out to wet them.

Hooking the back of one leg over the larger Arrancar’s hips, Ulquiorra set the other foot on the floor and pushed the Sexta over once more. Grimmjow struggled in vain against Ulquiorra’s superior strength but the Cuarta refused to let up; neither wanted to submit to the other under any circumstances, and this was no exception to that rule.

The snarl marring Grimmjow’s face fell away the moment the bare skin of their cocks rubbed against each other. Ulquiorra’s shallow, testing thrusts soon became maddening in their brevity and the Sexta broke his composure, reaching between them to envelop both lengths within his grasp—all the while, the pale Arrancar continued to move. Without the risk of sliding off each other with every movement, the friction on both of their cocks only increased.

Grimmjow hated this, how easy it was to let his guard down once his repressed fantasy came to life. Whatever. It wasn’t like this would change anything between them; this was a battle like any other, whether they were working towards the same goal or not.

Bucking his hips to increase their pace, the Sexta let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding and groaned low in his throat. He wanted to let himself go, but that bastard still wasn’t giving him the reactions he wanted. Even with the increase in pace, he still looked almost as impassive as ever; the only hint of any exertion was the slight parting of his lips and shallow breaths.

The Sexta was greedy. He wanted more.

With a low growl, he planted his free hand on Ulquiorra’s shoulder and pushed hard. It was in vain; the Cuarta didn’t budge but a look of irritation passed over his normally schooled features and Grimmjow grinned.

He took that opportunity to twist his hand around the cocks in his grasp, relishing in the shudder he managed to draw from the other Espada. The black-tipped fingers of the hand on his shoulder gripped the fabric of Grimmjow’s jacket hard, letting out a small moan, and the Sexta wished he had a way to keep that image forever, to hold it over the normally infallible Espada’s head for as long as they both lived.

It would have been worth any Cero fired in his direction.

The pair of them continued rutting against each other, gasps and sighs breaking the silence in the stark, white corridors of Las Noches until the Sexta tensed. Eyes squeezed shut as the tension in his abdomen suddenly released, coming over his hand and his own stomach, wincing as some dripped into his sensitive Hollow Hole.

As he softened he released his grip on his own length before taking Ulquiorra’s cock in hand, pumping the throbbing shaft perhaps just a little too roughly, determined to take back control of the situation.

He was finally rewarded when the other Espada shuddered above him, pale face pinched up with his lips parted.

Grimmjow’s hand, stomach and chest were a mess, while the Cuarta looked entirely too clean for his liking. With a grin, he swiped over the mess of fluids with his hand before wiping his hand across Ulquiorra’s bared chest, making sure to smear most it over his tattoo.

There was the slight narrowing of slitted eyes, a miniscule furrowing of thick brows, and the Sexta knew he had to move.

Hakama still around his muscular thighs, he pushed himself backwards, sliding out from underneath the smaller man until he was far enough away to gather his legs beneath himself and stand up. He hastily redressed himself before stepping into a sonido, flitting in and out of view several times on his way down the corridor, until he disappeared around the corner at the end—presumably to return to his own palace.

Ulquiorra looked down at the mess on his chest for the first time and let out a disgusted noise—not at what was there, but brazen disrespect from the Sexta. Unfortunately for the unruly Espada, his attempt at ‘marking’ him was even less permanent than a scratch or bite mark.

The Cuarta unhurriedly moved to his feet and began to redress himself. He cared little for the inevitable staining of his jacket as he zipped it back up over his chest; there was no sentimental value attached to the clothing.

Drawing in a breath through his nose, he noted that the scent of what had transpired between them lingered on the air. That knowledge had a latent heat growing in his blood, the odd feeling from before returning to him.

Perhaps he would have to think some more on why the Sexta happened to be the cause.