Warning: Beware of the crude language and rampant Arrancars.
It was after an especially steamy lovemaking session that it happened.
(She'd learned never to use the term "lovemaking" in front of her lover though, unless she wanted to have a hole punched in her gut.)
Orihime reasoned that it was all the pleasure that had got to her head and having permanently turned her brain to mush because, however stupid she was believed to be by everyone, she wouldn't have made a mistake like that under any other circumstances.
Once he'd done his part and got as much as he could out of their time together again today, just like any other time Grimmjow got out of bed immediately, setting to the task of dressing himself as soon as his feet touched the ground.
He never bothered much with aftermath; he came, he screwed, he left—it was always the same.
He'd told her at the very beginning it would be this way so she wouldn't delude herself.
He'd warned her there would be no niceties wasted between them, no attachment of any sort involved. Those had been his conditions.
And she had accepted them, quite easily too. It was like a well-forged strictly business deal between professionals. Only with lots of sex thrown into the equation.
He'd put on his hakama and placed his sword under his black waistband, reaching for his jacket next with his back turned to the still winded girl on the bed behind him when she did that.
Orihime sat up, sheets clutched tightly to her ample bosom—the Arrancar seriously couldn't understand her unnecessary modesty; it wasn't like there was even a millimeter of her body he hadn't seen and explored extensively in the throes of wanton passion. She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, her hand which wasn't busy covering her form from his penetrating azure gaze stretched out in his general direction.
"Grimmy-chan, would you please pass me my dress? I can't seem to reach it."
She then proceeded to struggle futilely to do something she knew damn well she couldn't, her arm stretching out as far as it could and falling short a meter or two from the garment she required.
In cases like this, the tall man usually shook his unruly haired head with a taut sneering look on his sharp featured face; she looked absolutely retarded trying so hard at something she was well aware she wouldn't achieve.
And yet at the same time those pouty expressions she made while struggling made her look so very fuckable despite her infantile behavior. It was moments like these that semblances of moral dilemmas stirred within the Sexta Espada—to go for another round or not to go; the pros and cons for both were equally strong and reasonable and deciding on one was immensely difficult a process.
However, this time it was different. There was no way in freaking hell he could be aroused in any way after hearing that.
His flawlessly sculpted arm reaching out for his jacket froze in mid-air and his whole body froze, rigid. His twitching left eye and brow were the only parts of his still in motion.
They were also harbingers of the storm that was rapidly and irreversibly approaching.
"What—" Grimmjow almost sputtered out, head turning slowly—almost mechanically—to the side to look over his shoulder at her, "did'ja just say?"
The incredulous look in his furious azure eyes and the chance he had given her to undo some of the damage should've given her a clue that it wasn't as if he had not heard her, per se, but that he couldn't believe his sensitive Arrancar hearing. However, being her happy-go-lucky self she did not get it at all and foolishly repeated herself,
"My dress, please?"
"Before that," he ground out through tightly clenched unnaturally sharp teeth with barely contained rage. "Just what did'ja call me?"
Orihime seemed to be in thought for a second—with all her audacity, she dared look nonplussed, as though she didn't know how she'd overstepped her bounds—until a look of recognition dawned on her.
"You mean you don't like the nickname? I didn't really believe you would but I was hoping you would at least—eep!"
Her explanation was cut very short by the furious Arrancar who had literally pounced on her, forcefully pushing her back down on the bed and almost completely blocking her air pipe as his powerful long-fingered arm grip hastened on her neck.
"Who the fuck do ya think I am, woman? AAA!" He shook her roughly, the thumb of the hand holding her still digging into the spot just behind her chin, making her wince pitifully in pain. "Who the hell do ya think yer talkin' to, eh!"
Frankly, she couldn't comprehend the slightest what he was so angry about but she had to do some damage control soon, before he seriously injured her in his frenzy. He had fooled around with her some times, pulled her leg about being "angry" before but she could tell this was the real thing.
He was scaring her. She didn't want to be reacquainted with this side of him again. It horrified her.
"B-But… G-Grimmjow-kun, isn't it a bit… unfair of you that… you don't want to be given… any pet names but never… call me by mine?" He did not retort and did not let her go, but his hold slackened the tiniest bit, just enough to allow her to breathe freely. "Besides, I didn't mean to offend you—pet names are like endearments, a way to convey feelings and how one regards another—"
But the blue haired Espada would not stand for this. His brows narrowed further and his pointy teeth bared more.
"A'm not some fuzzy forest animal fer ya to refer to in such a disgustin'ly cutesy way, woman. A'm Grimmjow Jaggerjack, the Sexta Espada, and you will show me respect—do ya understand me?" He was now hollering atop his more than simply strong lungs, a positively insane look in his icy blue gaze.
"Gri—…mmjow, I… can't… breathe…" Orihime barely wheezed out, her eyes almost glassing over with the exertion.
The pathetic state her lover had thrown her in seemed to snap him out of his rampage. He released his hold on her immediately, turning his back on her to jerkily snatch his jacket from its place on a chair's backrest while she rubbed her assaulted sensitive flesh. She was sure this was going to leave a nasty bruise by that evening.
"Don' mistake me with yer idiotic human pals, princess. Don' think yer my equal jus' because we're fucking. Ya will only refer to me with utmost respect and veneration or next time I'll really suffocate ya fer yer impudence."
His tone was deadly serious and eerily calm—a combination that usually bid only deep trouble for the human girl. His meaningful threat echoed dully in the premise, lingering behind him even long since he was gone.
And if it hadn't been for the last year or so they had been together, Orihime might have truly taken to heart his morbid promise to her.
But at present she knew him well enough to know she had just pissed him off and, as usually, he reacted violently to the cause of his irritation.
She could partially understand it too—his manly ego was probably dealt a nearly lethal blow: some lowly human girl he just enjoyed fucking around with had taken the liberty to demean him by pinning such an insulting nickname to the infamous all-powerful Sixth Espada. It would have been odd and downright disgraceful for a man like him if he hadn't lashed out at first.
However, another thing she knew about him was that his threat was an empty one. While it was true that he enjoyed exercising some minor violence on her every now and then—it wasn't as bad as it sounded, really; think of a dog biting its owner's hand when it's in a really playful mood—she knew perfectly well he'd never purposefully try to injure her. If not for any other reason, she would be no fun playing with anymore if he broke her.
Of course, there could be no question that she would be punished for her thoughtlessness. But he would never kill her, not with his bare hands, not by himself.
And, surely enough, the next few weeks, sex was especially painful.
Grimmjow didn't know if the girl was either dumber than she looked, had absolutely no sense of self-preservation or, worse, both, but she did not listen to his instructions. She stubbornly continued calling him random pet names she claimed were 'endearments' even though she knew she was only further prolonging her punishment.
In due time, he grew tired of coming up with more and more creative ways to make their intercourse an unpleasant experience for her. He was on the end of his wits and she didn't seem to be relenting for some unfathomable reason.
Besides, he was growing tired—when she was in pain there was hardly any diversity to the sounds she made during the act. While he put all his skill to use, on the other hand, he would often be amused by her endless repertoire of different ways she could mewl, whimper or gasp out his name.
Grimmjow was many things—a soulless bastard, a shameless murderer, a foul-tempered asshole who was quick to jump the gun before he knew all the facts, usually crucially important ones—but he was certainly not someone who went back on his word. He was keeping to the rules to their warped relationship he'd set himself.
But… just this once he would make a compromise with his self-importance and allow her to call him whatever she pleased when they were in private quarters because it didn't really cost him anything to after all.
He let the matter slide.
However, when Orihime went a step further and tried to play with his soft hair after he'd fallen asleep one time after an especially exhausting day and even more exhausting night together, he made sure she knew not to repeat.
Pet name calling was one thing—he could learn to put up with it somehow, probably—but turning him into a pansy a little at a time was another altogether.
After Grimmjow was done teaching her a lesson she'd be wise to remember, she couldn't walk or sit straight for a week.
And, miraculously enough, Orihime didn't seem to mind as much as she should have.
A/N: This was an idea that just wouldn't leave me alone for a while. Whew, glad that's out of my system and into yours now. Tee hee.
Feel absolutely free share your thoughts and opinions on this lil' piece if you feel like it.