A/N: Oh dear god, please kill me before this is read.

Title: Ascendancy over Superiority
Rated: M – Smut…
Pairing: Grimmjow x Ulquiorra
Genre: Drama/Angst – No romance. I don’t consider hate sex romance…
Summary: Ulquiorra was just doing what he did best – playing mind games. So if he wanted to fuck around, they’d fuck around.
Famous Last Words: Someone freakin’ stop me already!!

-deadpan-

Hierarchy, Grimmjow decided, is an unnecessary component to the life of a dead man. Life consisted of eating, sleeping and killing to survive. There was nothing to point out any type of passive democracy, nothing to stop a killing justly, nothing to fucking live off of unless you crush someone else. What would make the afterlife so different? Nothing.

Chains of command are only meant for the delusional and the weak that depended on the delusional for support. The most governmental thing in life, death, anywhere was war, and war, and war. Leaning on nothing; standing for yourself; shoving and pushing until you reach high enough to kick and kill whoever you want with no challenge left; that was life. There was no leaders, no followers, no rankings displayed by a gothic tattoo number on your body. Aizen-sama is self-conceited and gullible.

The only more gullible are the ones who follow him with complete trust and dependency. Those who feel their new lives are indebted to him over a simple act of giving power are morons, led onto believe the power won’t turn on them sooner or later when they believe they can challenge the unchallengeable because of the strength given to them; because Aizen-sama said so. Liar.

Grimmjow couldn’t help but find it ironic to the point where it was actually funny when the leader – but there are no leaders, only those who believe they are a leader – of the credulous morons himself, Ulquiorra Schiffer, posed to stop him from destroying a wall in his own room. What nerve, Grimmjow thought bitterly. Maybe he gets it from Aizen himself.

Neither spoke, nor did they make any move to shoo the other away. Grimmjow stared at Ulquiorra, who had his hands hidden in his pockets per usual, while Ulquiorra stared at Grimmjow, who was slouched forward in an almost feral and offensive position. The door, wide open, poured artificial darkness (anything under the surveillance of was artificial and disgusting) into Grimmjow’s room and shadowed Ulquiorra.

Moments passed, the mental clock ticked and ticked and ticked, until it was surprisingly Ulquiorra who took the first move from the doorway and stepped into the light of the room. Grimmjow let a vicious snarl rip from his throat threateningly, growing louder and louder with each step took closer and closer. He didn’t quiet down when Ulquiorra stopped five feet away. If anything, it deepened and became rawer with a killing intent.

“You, Grimmjow Jaegarjaques,” Ulquiorra spoke calmly and evenly. “You are nothing but an animal, with a mind-set of the untamed and wild, not fit cleanly to even be an Espada.” His comment was dull,

full of nothing – no emotion; thought; questioning; hate; it was a statement that made Grimmjow’s blood boil, hands clenching to the point where he was sure the blood had completely drained from them.

“Your actions should not be tolerated any longer.” Ulquiorra continued. Grimmjow felt his hands uncurl themselves, spreading his fingers, readying his muscles for a fight already. “You are a disgrace to all Arrancar and to Aizen-sama himself.”

The sound of the wretched name made him snap, uncoil and clear his way to the other man (not taking in a hint of surprise, never anything of the like, for emotion was a power worse than death for him), arms stretched out, hands wrapped around neck, nails digging into the white uniform collar with such hatred that his own Reiatsu pounded at them both. And Ulquiorra, of course, looked unsurprised to find himself trapped between the now closed door and a murder-bound Grimmjow. In fact, he looked a bit too relieved to see such a thing.

“What?” Grimmjow finally spat, disgusted with the look in Ulquiorra’s eyes. “Were you expecting something different? Maybe tact into a situation where I’m going to tear you limb from limb and feed you to a Menos?”

Ulquiorra, much to Grimmjow’s revulsion, closed his eyes, the things that actually allowed a shred of emotion into his face telltale of what he was thinking. “You have quite a way with words, Grimmjow.” Had it not be for the lack of tone in his voice, Grimmjow would almost think he was teasing him. Such an idea made Grimmjow torn between laughing and filling his blood with even more venom.

“If it’s any consolation,” Grimmjow growled lowly, clawing his way through the cloth around the smaller man’s neck. “You have quite a way with pissing me off.”

Ulquiorra didn’t even flinch when Grimmjow’s hand tightened to the point where the knuckles turned white. “Is it so that a Sixth, yourself, is threatening the a Fourth, myself?” With his own deathly white hand, he proceeded to peel the offending hand off his throat. Tossing the hand down, he sonido’d a good ten feet behind from Grimmjow, either for safety or mocking reasons. “It seems you have forgotten your place.”

“I don’t give a fuck about rankings!” Grimmjow roared violently while he spun around to look at Ulquiorra in his apathetic glory. “I’m sure you musta noticed today though, right?!”

Today, today, today was the day he had finally snapped, finally declared mental war, finally decided he wasn’t going to stand for shit anymore about remaking the dead world or the living world, neither which he cared anywhere close to more about than one day hoping to find Aizen-sama drowning in a pool of his own disgusting blood, preferably by Grimmjow’s own hands.

Today, today, today was the day Ulquiorra would show up and try once again to show him the path to the way one should act, the way one should pretend, they way one should lie to get what they wanted; how trying to deceive one higher and more powerful than you could work in the long run, when they finally destroyed themselves. Aizen would finally destroy himself.

Today, today, today was the day Grimmjow would show Ulquiorra how to truly be the Hollow they all once were without the guidance of a Shinigami with a trump card.

If Ulquiorra had any thoughts of making a snide remark back, he hid it undeniably well. Instead, he finally withdrew his hands from his pockets, letting one rest loosely on the hilt of his sword in a threatening manner. The other fell stiff at his side.

With a lack of answering, Grimmjow took that as the signal he needed, listening to the ringing of metal sing off the walls when he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Ulquiorra. The other remained motionless and cold, calculating Grimmjow’s slight movements (tensing of muscles, grinding of teeth clasping of hands on the hilt of his sword) with his jade eyes.

It wasn’t until there was a small shift in Ulquiorra’s head, a simple tilt to the left that Grimmjow flew.

And when he reappeared, right in the place behind where Ulquiorra had been with the sword raised and fully ready to swing down and slice through that head of black hair, Ulquiorra had transitioned himself another ten feet out away, this time in front of Grimmjow. He was out of reach again.

Grimmjow tried again, with the same result. Again and again and again until finally he barked:

“What, Ulquiorra? You’re brave enough to go on offensive and signal an attack but too afraid to block an attack?” His sword swung out, again aimed in Ulquiorra’s face.

This time, said Fourth’s spiteful comment slipped him. “How simple of you to need to be reminded that dodging an attack is a form of defence.”

As if Grimmjow’s observation had actually made its way through Ulquiorra’s seemingly impermeable outer layer, there was a flash, a disappearance and a sudden weighing down fluttering on Grimmjow’s extended arm.

Ulquiorra impossibly balanced himself on dully end of Pantera.

Slightly panicked, Grimmjow brutally twisted his arm sideways. This, in turn, only led Ulquiorra to turn his own lithe body, regaining more balance than beforehand on the flat end of the weapon in only a way he could manage.

Silently, he paced his way up Pantera, feet steady on the blade until he reached near a third of the way to Grimmjow. The Sixth stood paralyzed with shock and hate, all emotions aimed to the one using his sword as an acrobat’s tool.

Ulquiorra raised one hand, the hand not occupying his sword, and pointed a finger to Grimmjow’s head. No words were spoken as a cero charged at the point, green rays building on the tip.

Only then did it occur to Grimmjow. This was no war to Ulquiorra. This was no battle. This was a game. An significant play-by-play challenge from one Espada to the next for control, righteousness and most of all…

This was a game of dominance.

“So what will you do, Grimmjow? Drop your weapon and dodge the attack, or remain rooted in place and take the full damage. Either way, you will lose.” To Grimmjow, this clearly proved his assumption. He chose neither option.

Ulquiorra wasn’t out of reach any longer.

Ignoring the searing pain of the power following onto Ulquiorra’s fingertip, Grimmjow let one hand whip off of the handle of Pantera and grab his enemy’s wrist, flinging him easily into the wall behind him. Grimmjow, dealing with the stinging in his left palm, never glanced to see if Ulquiorra’s expression had briefly changed from its passive one. By the time he did look, the Fourth’s expression was once again renewed into stone.

The white bits of wall clattered onto their heads after the sickening thud Ulquiorra’s body had made against the wall, leaving both their clothes scattered with dust. Ulquiorra’s dark hair was powdered with drywall. The both glared darkly at each other, but Ulquiorra was the one to flinch away when Grimmjow’s hand pinned his own pale one to the wall. Perhaps even he did not realize he struggled at the bare contact.

Grimmjow noticed.

When this had first begun, Ulquiorra had no issue dealing with Grimmjow’s hand crushing his throat. Now, now that there was none of his uniform blocking the way from Grimmjow actually touching the bare skin in a threatening way, he showed weakness. It was slight, but it was something. Because of this, things had suddenly gained more interest.

Grimmjow grinned.

With one hand holding Ulquiorra’s in place, the other carrying Pantera, Grimmjow found himself leaning in closer to Ulquiorra, close enough for him to have to lean down to be eye-level. “Struggling, are you? Whoever would have thought you, the Fourth, Ulquiorra Schiffer, were capable of such a pathetic act?”

Carelessly, he tossed Pantera to the side in favour of fixing Ulquiorra’s other hand to the wall. The sword skidded across the floor, stopping a good way across the room. Ulquiorra seemed more disturbed by this act than when Grimmjow actually carried his weapon.

It didn’t just sink in that Ulquiorra was just doing what he did best – playing mind games. Alright, Grimmjow would bite. If he wanted to fuck around, they’d fuck around.

Again, it came to light that Ulquiorra was not-so out of reach any longer like he seemed to desire. Grimmjow decided to take full advantage of this recently discovered information. He wondered exactly how off-guard he could catch the Fourth, if it was possible at all.

That was when Ulquiorra learned that Grimmjow was one to kiss with all teeth.

Astounded with Grimmjow’s move, although never showing it, Ulquiorra found himself nearly tripping over his own feet when a set of lips moved harshly and firmly across his own. Instead, his back pressed more evenly along the wall, hands jolting from their set place. Grimmjow powerfully held them in place. Other than that, he remained motionless.

Grimmjow nearly growled with the irresponsive nature. Fuck, he was really hoping to get even a glance out of that.

Even throughout the kiss, (for lack of a better word, Ulquiorra thought bitterly) both sets of eyes remained open and staring. And although Ulquiorra couldn’t see Grimmjow’s entire face during that moment, he was sure the other would be smirking if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied. His eyes were grinning for him in some misplaced confidence.

Meanwhile, Grimmjow was having a hell of a time working Ulquiorra’s jaw open. His teeth bit and tore at the lips, already drawing blood which affecting neither of them, easily told to Grimmjow when Ulquiorra had no expression at all, if not a light screen of curiosity for Grimmjow’s sudden actions. He wondered why the Fourth silently questioned his actions at all, by now.

When Ulquiorra seemed intent on not responding and when both pairs lips were already smeared with a layer of blood, Grimmjow decided a new approach was needed to keep the pace going. Slowly, one of his hands trailed off a much paler one, brushing against the wall until it hit a head of dark hair. Grappling around for a moment until his fingers were threaded deep into locks at the base of Ulquiorra’s neck, Grimmjow pulled hard, making Ulquiorra’s head throw back. The horn on his helmet scraped across the broken wall pieces.

Grimmjow relaxed in spiteful credit when Ulquiorra’s mouth finally opened, even if slightly and during a wince of pain, and successfully slid his own tongue into the other’s mouth, prying the rest open wide for himself. It wasn’t long before he had explored every crevice, every tooth, everywhere.

For Grimmjow, comprehending why Ulquiorra had not stopped him by now wasn’t a puzzle. He himself had challenged Grimmjow earlier to a battle of intelligence and physical strain – but now that Grimmjow had his turn to decide, it was as if by not ceasing the flickering tongue nor allowing himself any openings was a form of accepting the battle.

Hell, he half expected to have part of his tongue bit clean off. It was reassuring to have it all in one piece.

Fully convinced already, Grimmjow dragged Ulquiorra’s wrist off the wall with his one free hand. Now he held it definitely in place in front of them, pulling the smaller Arrancar off the wall a step. The other hand remained buried deep in Ulquiorra’s hair with a tight grip, just in case.

Again, Grimmjow found himself having to move the pace along due to Ulquiorra’s lack of retort to the heated kissing. Leaving Ulquiorra’s hand in front of him alone for just a moment, he tore the zipper on the coat in front of him straight down till the flaps hung open and their bare chests slid across each other. Grimmjow was pleased to find Ulquiorra wasn’t as cold as he wanted himself to seem. Instead of taking a moment to grin widely at the unexpected heat, Grimmjow opted to trail his mouth down to the pale throat and leave behind a trail of red.

While he worked away at the tender column of flesh to try and tear any slight sound from it, Ulquiorra brought his one free hand up to where Grimmjow had knotted his own hand in hair in a futile attempt to make him let go. “Grimmjow,” he addressed evenly, as if what was going on was never actually happening and everything was as it should have been. “What exactly are you doing?”

It only took a moment, one single and insignificant moment, for Grimmjow to force his mouth to stop applying the harsh administrations and answer. “Think of this as an…” he struggled for just the right word, resting his forehead along the bony collar he worked on. “…experiment.”

When he had finished a somewhat decent answer, he decided to move down lower and start on Ulquiorra’s chest. Grimmjow, becoming more than a bit annoyed with Ulquiorra’s unwillingness to participate, tried to rip more black hair from the scalp with a furious tug. If Ulquiorra didn’t want to take any part in this, but didn’t want to back out at the same time, Grimmjow would keep certain he did what he wanted without any interference or complaints or interruptions. If he wanted to rip every hair out of Ulquiorra’s pretty little head, he would do it, and Ulquiorra wouldn’t stop him.

It wasn’t long before Grimmjow’s senses, control, hazed out and when they returned he faced scrapes and bites and blood – hell yes, lots of blood – all decorating Ulquiorra’s deathly pale skin. He hadn’t even realized when his own hands had left the knots of Ulquiorra’s hair and held his hips with a bruising grip, lifting him up to the point where his feet barely grazed the floor beneath them – but it had happened, and Grimmjow didn’t put him down until his own face, cheeks, throat were all stained with a scarlet gloss. And even then, when he did let him go, it was to only turn him around by the shoulders and push him into the wall with a firm hand on the middle of his back, right between the shoulders.

Blood dripped down the wall, curling itself in the crack of the floor, coming from only one person. Ulquiorra turned his head over his shoulder to look – not even fucking glare – up at Grimmjow with the unbelievably bright eyes that didn’t fit with his person. And it made Grimmjow furious when there was still no tone to his voice, no hate, no pleasure, no pain, and even his eyes didn’t hold curiosity anymore. His resolve to prove himself over Grimmjow mentally was overwhelming but hardly admirable.

“And just what is this exper—,” But Grimmjow cut him off with his hand covering Ulquiorra’s mouth violently.

“And just what kind of experiment would it be if I told you?” Grimmjow snapped back quietly into Ulquiorra’s ear. Ulquiorra didn’t try to respond, lips staying shut behind Grimmjow’s hand, even when Grimmjow nipped mockingly at his ear when he pulled back to shred the fabric keeping their bodies from touching again.

And just like with his chest, the process of blooding up Ulquiorra’s bare back took into play. Grimmjow decided red was a mesmerizingly haunting colour for the Fourth to shine dully in.

Maybe neither of them were surprised when soon Grimmjow’s own jacket followed, nor when Ulquiorra’s hakama or Grimmjow’s fell to the floor in a puddle one after the other.

Grimmjow nearly bared his canines when he let the hand covering Ulquiorra’s mouth dropped to hover around the base of his throat, just above the hollow hole. His other hand, meanwhile, jabbed his fingers to Ulquiorra’s lips with no explanation needed to convey what he was trying to say.

Ulquiorra firmly kept his mouth shut. This time Grimmjow really did bare his teeth in a vicious snarl. “You’ll regret that.” Grimmjow’s promise seemed to not affect Ulquiorra in the slightest, except maybe to amuse him a small bit. When Grimmjow saw this, he swore to make this as painful and regretful as possible.

And somehow, it hardly explained why he wrapped his hand back around Ulquiorra’s mouth, pushing the head into his shoulder, only to jam one finger, then two and three, into Ulquiorra’s tight entrance without a moment’s hesitation or mercy whatsoever.

Grimmjow vaguely wondered, as he leaned them both against the wall, if Ulquiorra knew how he felt the breath on the side of his finger quicken in panic, or how he felt the jaw underneath his hand clench firmly.

He also vaguely wondered, scissoring and burying his fingers deep, if he ever would have thought a mental battle could go this long and be so deranged.

Quickly his fingers turned drenched in blood thanks to scratching, prodding, tearing in order to find that place Grimmjow was looking for – whatever he was looking for, too caught up in the act to think straight. But when he did find it, he knew. Oh, he knew.

The jaw that had been set rigidly now gapped, eyes that had looked piercingly ahead became disoriented, mouth that emitted no sound whatsoever – a sharp, quiet gasp stabbed the room. Grimmjow had to bury the bridge of his nose into the crook of Ulquiorra’s neck to keep him from jumping the gun in victory. An overbearing sense of confidence flooded his senses, making his fingers pound deeper, harder, faster until when Grimmjow looked down he could see nothing but red staining the walls and floors and himself and – Oh god, how rewarding it was to see Ulquiorra looking suddenly so vulnerable andcovered in his own fucking blood.

Ulquiorra had lost.

Grimmjow had won.

--a heavy bite to the neck.

Ulquiorra had lost.

Grimmjow had won.

--back arching mindlessly.

Ulquiorra has fucking lost.

Grimmjow had finally gotten what he wanted.

And when Ulquiorra’s head threw back over the shoulder behind him, hair brushing past his cheek, Grimmjow found he couldn’t control himself at all.

A/N: I intended it to go further… but it seemed good where it was. Sorry to disappoint. Maybe I’ll make another one (obviously of this pair) if I gather more courage. Or I might even make a second instalment to this – I dunno.

I feel so… pathetic. I was pressured into writing this by my eleven year old sister and a thirteen year old cyber-friend (ribbonrebel31). Oh, how sad, cruel, depressing and dreadful life can be – just like this story, ironically.

Review would boost my confidence in this though… maybe push me to write more if you play your cards right. If I do add another part, be warned it will be posted under the user name 'Random Espada Conversation'.