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Description
ACTUALLY MADE THE DEADLINE THIS TIME For march contest.
this idea was floating in my head for a while c:

Notes:
grimm’s pose = eww. Abs hate me T^T
Grimmy is wearing Ulqu’s coat. He ripped the sleeves off cus his arms didn’t fit XD
Bleach © Tite Kubo & Art © Ephemeral-Rainfall

Snapshot of a fanfiction that will hopefully be up soon.

Excerpt (lost the flashdrive so I had to rewrite, GAH ;A; It’s completely different now and not as nice FUUUU) WARNING, VIOLENCE:

The metallic clicking of boots reverberated tersely, the sound rapt and sharp, quick in succession. Their fleeting, mercurial echoes announced the entrance of a newcomer, accompanied by the groan of thickly rusted hinges, sending a draft of salty breath through the stale air.

Ulquiorra did not lift his head.

The clack of heels approached him, the slap of a palm against dank wood sending a jolt through his back, pressed to embrace the post behind him in a reversed hold.

The hand slid noiselessly down knotted wood until it rested just above the crown of his head, hovering, mocking. Still Ulquiorra refused to move. The other man’s frown of displeasure was palpable in the air.

A cold hand ghosted over his neck, shoulders, to the tops of his arms until they reached the area where harsh rope interrupted the expanse of alabaster skin.

It was only when Ulquiorra felt the frigid shock of metal against his neck that he shifted, although his head remained down and his face wan. The sting of cold retreated, and the other lowered himself into a crouch, clinking silently.

Unwillingly, Ulquiorra’s vision encountered a fringe of cyan blue—a mocking reminder of the eternal open sky—and just as he turned from it, a weathered hand roughly seized his jaw, the motion devoid of all tenderness or unease.

“How’s it feel to be at the mercy of trash, ex-Captain-sama?” the intruder leered, baring pointed canines.

Neck twisted at an agonizing angle, Ulquiorra found his attention involuntarily pinned forward, to the other’s face: rakish, sun-kissed, framed by frothy slivers of the sky—the sneering visage of Grimmjow Jaegerjacques, his once first mate. He tore away.

Grimmjow’s patience snapped, and his hand traced along his belt, fingers dancing into the loop of a minute but unfailing dirk.

“I carved out this pretty emerald cuz ya wouldn’t stop looking at me,” Grimmjow drawled, tracing his blade along the blood-soaked bandage obscuring half his captive’s face. “Be a damn shame if I had to cut out the other cuz ya wouldn’t start lookin’ at me.” His blade bit into the dressing, drawing a fresh stain of maroon, but the dark-haired corsair remained steadfast.

Whether Ulquiorra had seen his bluff or merely had no love for his sight was difficult to determine, but Grimmjow removed his weapon after a terse impasse. “Face me, Schiffer. This ship is mine now. This crew is mine. These quarters are mine.”

His hot breath swept across charcoal lashes as the new Captain bent closer to his predecessor.

“You are mine.”

Unable to sustain his vow of silence, Ulquiorra scoffed, still refusing to look at the man who was once his underling. “You could not even best me on your own strength.”

Grimmjow’s face abruptly twisted into a snarl, shoulders sharpening. The knife in his palm spun a semi-circle before stabbing brutally into the floor centimeters from Ulquiorra’s ankle, sending up an arc of wooden splinters. “Of course I can! He—he just got to you before—”

“Then you had no hand in it,” Ulquiorra placidly accused, acidic green eye rolling to Grimmjow. “This ship belongs to Starrk. Not you.”

He struck a nerve. Grimmjow ground his teeth together, eyes blazing with blue white fire. He hated that look. “This ship is mine cuz I beat ya, Schiffer! Starrk wasn’t the one who set up the mutiny! Starrk wasn’t the one who began the attack! Starrk didn’t plan to outsmart you! Starrk only showed up near the end of it!”

“Without his help, you would have never—,”

Grimmjow slapped a callused hand harshly over Ulquiorra’s mouth. “You also said I could never take yer ship.” He motioned with his free hand to the corners of the room, void of the typical clutter of Ulquiorra’s papers. “But what d’ya see now?”

The jade-eyed male shifted free of the palm across his lips. “That is irrelevant; Starrk’s interference was—,”

“Starrk attacked ya because you burned his village,” Grimmjow returned just as evenly, refusing the bait.

“It was an order of Aizen-sama—,”

Ulquiorra was cut off by a feral bark of laughter. Grimmjow lodged his elbow against the wood of the post, leaning just so slightly over his hostage, radiant with amusement. His eyes were creased cruelly at the corners, irises a poisonous robin’s egg blue, flecked with tart apple green.

“Aizen-sama? Aizen? Of all things, you bring up Aizen? Tell me, Schiffer, where is your god now?”

“He is not my god.”

“You follow him like one.”

“Aizen’s station is far above yours, Jaegerjacques, but it does not warrant godhood.” Vitriolic juniper caught Grimmjow’s gaze. “In the meanwhile, trash like you can peacock about in stolen feathers all you want.”

He watched the way cyan eyes narrowed into icy daggers. “I don’t like the way ya talk.”

“I don’t care.”

With a flick of Grimmjow’s wrist, Ulquiorra felt something snap painfully against his knee—he hadn’t seen the blue-haired pirate draw the whip from his belt. Furious at himself for dropping his attention—the other was armed, after all—Ulquiorra squarely met his Captain’s demanding look.

Ulquiorra could not fathom it. “What do you want?”

“Your dignity.”

The younger faltered briefly, a flit of indignation across his face, swift as a hummingbird’s wingbeat, but it failed to escape Grimmjow’s keen observation.

“That is something you will never achieve,” Ulquiorra panned rapidly, rage creasing his brow darker than usual. “I will not ever—,” the insistent prod of a blade cut his protests short: an ounce more of pressure and the weapon would break skin.

“I don’t need you to do much,” the sky-eyed desperado enunciated, ever patient. He ran the cat-o’-nine-tails along Ulquiorra’s neck, drinking in the rising trepidation as each gnarled slat of the whip brushed sensitive skin.

“Just shut up and scream.”

~TBC~

*eyes bleed* …Yeah, I’m not in the writing mood atm. I will upload the original if I find my flashdrive. *eyes bleed some more*

Description
ACTUALLY MADE THE DEADLINE THIS TIME For march contest.
this idea was floating in my head for a while c:

Notes:
grimm’s pose = eww. Abs hate me T^T
Grimmy is wearing Ulqu’s coat. He ripped the sleeves off cus his arms didn’t fit XD
Bleach © Tite Kubo & Art © Ephemeral-Rainfall

Snapshot of a fanfiction that will hopefully be up soon.

Excerpt (lost the flashdrive so I had to rewrite, GAH ;A; It’s completely different now and not as nice FUUUU) WARNING, VIOLENCE:

The metallic clicking of boots reverberated tersely, the sound rapt and sharp, quick in succession. Their fleeting, mercurial echoes announced the entrance of a newcomer, accompanied by the groan of thickly rusted hinges, sending a draft of salty breath through the stale air.

Ulquiorra did not lift his head.

The clack of heels approached him, the slap of a palm against dank wood sending a jolt through his back, pressed to embrace the post behind him in a reversed hold.

The hand slid noiselessly down knotted wood until it rested just above the crown of his head, hovering, mocking. Still Ulquiorra refused to move. The other man’s frown of displeasure was palpable in the air.

A cold hand ghosted over his neck, shoulders, to the tops of his arms until they reached the area where harsh rope interrupted the expanse of alabaster skin.

It was only when Ulquiorra felt the frigid shock of metal against his neck that he shifted, although his head remained down and his face wan. The sting of cold retreated, and the other lowered himself into a crouch, clinking silently.

Unwillingly, Ulquiorra’s vision encountered a fringe of cyan blue—a mocking reminder of the eternal open sky—and just as he turned from it, a weathered hand roughly seized his jaw, the motion devoid of all tenderness or unease.

“How’s it feel to be at the mercy of trash, ex-Captain-sama?” the intruder leered, baring pointed canines.

Neck twisted at an agonizing angle, Ulquiorra found his attention involuntarily pinned forward, to the other’s face: rakish, sun-kissed, framed by frothy slivers of the sky—the sneering visage of Grimmjow Jaegerjacques, his once first mate. He tore away.

Grimmjow’s patience snapped, and his hand traced along his belt, fingers dancing into the loop of a minute but unfailing dirk.

“I carved out this pretty emerald cuz ya wouldn’t stop looking at me,” Grimmjow drawled, tracing his blade along the blood-soaked bandage obscuring half his captive’s face. “Be a damn shame if I had to cut out the other cuz ya wouldn’t start lookin’ at me.” His blade bit into the dressing, drawing a fresh stain of maroon, but the dark-haired corsair remained steadfast.

Whether Ulquiorra had seen his bluff or merely had no love for his sight was difficult to determine, but Grimmjow removed his weapon after a terse impasse. “Face me, Schiffer. This ship is mine now. This crew is mine. These quarters are mine.”

His hot breath swept across charcoal lashes as the new Captain bent closer to his predecessor.

“You are mine.”

Unable to sustain his vow of silence, Ulquiorra scoffed, still refusing to look at the man who was once his underling. “You could not even best me on your own strength.”

Grimmjow’s face abruptly twisted into a snarl, shoulders sharpening. The knife in his palm spun a semi-circle before stabbing brutally into the floor centimeters from Ulquiorra’s ankle, sending up an arc of wooden splinters. “Of course I can! He—he just got to you before—”

“Then you had no hand in it,” Ulquiorra placidly accused, acidic green eye rolling to Grimmjow. “This ship belongs to Starrk. Not you.”

He struck a nerve. Grimmjow ground his teeth together, eyes blazing with blue white fire. He hated that look. “This ship is mine cuz I beat ya, Schiffer! Starrk wasn’t the one who set up the mutiny! Starrk wasn’t the one who began the attack! Starrk didn’t plan to outsmart you! Starrk only showed up near the end of it!”

“Without his help, you would have never—,”

Grimmjow slapped a callused hand harshly over Ulquiorra’s mouth. “You also said I could never take yer ship.” He motioned with his free hand to the corners of the room, void of the typical clutter of Ulquiorra’s papers. “But what d’ya see now?”

The jade-eyed male shifted free of the palm across his lips. “That is irrelevant; Starrk’s interference was—,”

“Starrk attacked ya because you burned his village,” Grimmjow returned just as evenly, refusing the bait.

“It was an order of Aizen-sama—,”

Ulquiorra was cut off by a feral bark of laughter. Grimmjow lodged his elbow against the wood of the post, leaning just so slightly over his hostage, radiant with amusement. His eyes were creased cruelly at the corners, irises a poisonous robin’s egg blue, flecked with tart apple green.

“Aizen-sama? Aizen? Of all things, you bring up Aizen? Tell me, Schiffer, where is your god now?”

“He is not my god.”

“You follow him like one.”

“Aizen’s station is far above yours, Jaegerjacques, but it does not warrant godhood.” Vitriolic juniper caught Grimmjow’s gaze. “In the meanwhile, trash like you can peacock about in stolen feathers all you want.”

He watched the way cyan eyes narrowed into icy daggers. “I don’t like the way ya talk.”

“I don’t care.”

With a flick of Grimmjow’s wrist, Ulquiorra felt something snap painfully against his knee—he hadn’t seen the blue-haired pirate draw the whip from his belt. Furious at himself for dropping his attention—the other was armed, after all—Ulquiorra squarely met his Captain’s demanding look.

Ulquiorra could not fathom it. “What do you want?”

“Your dignity.”

The younger faltered briefly, a flit of indignation across his face, swift as a hummingbird’s wingbeat, but it failed to escape Grimmjow’s keen observation.

“That is something you will never achieve,” Ulquiorra panned rapidly, rage creasing his brow darker than usual. “I will not ever—,” the insistent prod of a blade cut his protests short: an ounce more of pressure and the weapon would break skin.

“I don’t need you to do much,” the sky-eyed desperado enunciated, ever patient. He ran the cat-o’-nine-tails along Ulquiorra’s neck, drinking in the rising trepidation as each gnarled slat of the whip brushed sensitive skin.

“Just shut up and scream.”

~TBC~

*eyes bleed* …Yeah, I’m not in the writing mood atm. I will upload the original if I find my flashdrive. *eyes bleed some more*