Nature's Finest Artwork

Chapter One: A Map of Him

It's not like they were doing this rarely and the mere act itself demanded it…

…But Orihime could safely say that she'd ever really been let to touch him, to feel him there in front of her, next to her, above her and all over her.

And she found that more than a little unfair because he always got to do whatever he pleased with her, he was the one who always got his way with her whether or not she initially felt like participating or not. (Because, while sometimes she'd been more than a little reluctant at first—their first time together striking out the most in her memory in that line of thought—she couldn't say that she'd ever been taken against her will; it was something he thought beneath him and what little moral code he had.)

It wasn't like he had actually forbidden her to touch him during their heated nightly sessions or anything—he was above such frivolousness as resorting to much eloquence in moments like that. He didn't really need to say it when every time her hand lingered anywhere on his body in a clearly explorative way he did something—changed positions, pinned her wrists over her head, anything that sprung to his mind which proved to be rather creative when it came to activities that were his forte like that one—to prevent her from continuing her curious mapping of his form.

She couldn't quite grasp why Grimmjow was so averse to letting her get to know him as well as he knew her. He seemed to like getting her attention during their nights together and the delightfully unbridled sounds of his appreciation were often enough an occurrence to let her know she wasn't totally abominable a bed mate.

Orihime's mind functioned in odd ways as her peers back in her home town knew well so it came as no surprise that her head often provided her with questions she couldn't supply answers to. And in turn those questions returned with an unmatched ferocity during the moments when she was all alone in her cell-like bleak room, counting away the seconds, minutes, hours and days of her life that she spent as a souvenir to a selfish man's equally selfish vagary.

Because it wasn't really like Aizen truly needed her there.

It was more that he could have her there and that he wanted to show everyone he could than anything else.

When she'd realized that she wasn't even necessary—just a passing interest, or maybe not even that much—she'd felt crushed under the weight of it all. She'd spent such a large portion of her life trying not to be a deadweight but none of it seemed to amount to anything ever. What was the point in trying then if she was doomed to fail from the very start?

It had done quite a number on her, that.

It was only self-explanatory that she wouldn't have been able to resist Grimmjow's advances which were more than welcome and even more impeccable timing-wise than she'd ever let him know.

And yet he never let her touch him—not in the way she sometimes wanted, not in the way he sometimes allowed himself to roam her.

And she found that more and more unfair with each subsequent time he entered her private quarters with only one thing in mind.

She'd tried denying him but that attempt had ended up in disaster—there was no way she could drive Grimmjow away when he was hell-bent on having his way with her.

She'd also tried being more persistent but that hadn't ended well either. He'd been exceptionally rough with her those times and after he'd left she'd had to use her healing powers on herself so Ulquiorra wouldn't see the bruises on her wrists and become even wearier of his fellow Espada's nightly excursions to her room than he already was.

Grimmjow had been so strict about keeping her as far from himself as he possibly could considering the type of relationship they had—if it could even be labeled that, she thought bitterly—that it came as complete surprise to her when he told her one night in that blood-curdling serious tone and stony expression he rarely donned on,

"Undress me."

Despite her having seen his naked form more times than can be accounted for, she felt her chest constrict and her throat seize.

The task of getting rid of the clothing—which was only good for being in the way, as far as his philosophy on the matter went—was always his and exclusively his duty. The one time she'd tried doing it in his stead, he'd shoved her against a wall and screwed her senseless, until she couldn't hold anything securely with her shaking fingers, not to mention the idea of undoing anyone's garments.

And yet there he was, standing stern on his words. 'Undress me.' It had not been a request; it was an order, one that she wasn't given the option of not complying to. But rather than the action itself, the implication of lifting his unvoiced prohibition of her touching his body more than was absolutely called for was what made her pulse quicken.

It was the first time she felt like they were being really intimate, even though he probably knew every nook and cranny of her body.

Orihime had been so taken aback by the suddenness of the removal of the subtle interdict that she hadn't moved an inch for a considerably long while. When she mentally shook herself back to reality she reminded herself with an inaudible wince that Grimmjow wasn't generally very fond of having to wait and that patience wasn't among his very few virtues.

However, when she uncertainly raised her gaze to meet with his—already able to see the displeasure and irritability with her inactivity—she was once again surprised to see only that same steadfast unreadable expression on his face from a minute or so ago, an unnatural forced calmness in his usually tempestuously blazing azure orbs that only made her blush harder under his intense scrutiny.

He was being deliberately patient with her. It was very awkward on her. She felt like she could die from the embarrassment right then and there from the abruptness of his demand, even though it was something she'd wanted to do for a long, long time…

After what felt like an eternity during which neither of them spoke, Orihime's loud intermittent breathing the only thing to fill up the silence of the suddenly suffocating in its tininess room, the young woman took a faltering step towards her lover, equally uncertain hands placed on his broad chest.

He observed her closely and mutely and the severity of his teal gaze so tightly following her every move unnerved her greatly. Still, she pushed on beyond her completely uncalled for self-consciousness, her hands sliding up his toned chest to his neck, fingers idly toying with the small hairs on the back of his head. She took a moment to look into those piercing eyes of his before breaking contact in the next second, unable to bear the weight of his glare for long because the depth of it that she was sure no one took the time to notice—that he didn't give anyone the chance to notice—sucked her away into a world where he was all that existed and all that mattered and she was scared to consider what it meant.

Her palms slid back down the sides of the strong column of his neck, burying themselves beneath the rim of his jacket as she felt the soft skin of the joint of his shoulder and neck. The skin on his body was so soft, as she'd repeatedly discovered, every time caught a bit unawares. He was so crude and callous in everything he did and was that it only seemed natural his flesh would feel that way too. But that wasn't the case. He was smooth and toned and sinewy muscle all over, so pleasant to the touch that he made for a lovely addiction, a fixation if you will.

And she was free to sate her fixation with his frame that night.

Feeling bolder at once, Orihime allowed her arms to glide further over his broad shoulders, helping ease the short jacket's weight from them effectively. With it out of the way, there was nothing to obstruct the view of his built chest from her curious gaze. Her breath hitched slightly but she did not halt her explorative mission, her palms eagerly shifting from travelling the length of his toned forearms and arms to their joins with his impressively sculpted torso.

Her touch was feathery light and just as evanescent as though he would vanish beneath her fingers if she were to be forceful in any way. But he did not scoff at her for her irrational behavior for whatever reason and this made Orihime even more confident in her quest to acquaint herself with him as much as he would allow her.

Her hands skimmed the vast expanses of smooth flesh of his chest, ghosting over the place where his heart should have been had he been as human as his appearance was, only to take a sharp turn south, soft palms arriving at his equally well-toned abdomen. She felt the impeccable form of each of his abdominal muscles, staring in awe how well-shaped each of them was.

And as she looked at him again, her hands following the trek of her gaze upwards again, she was stricken by the realization just how breathtakingly gorgeous he actually was, had been all along, when she hadn't taken the moment to notice.

She felt humbled by the perfection which lay in every single sinew of his form, which radiated off of him in thick waves in his nakedness. She felt humbled but just as hungry to see more, to have all of him for her curious gaze to marvel at.

So she fumbled with the top of his hakama, eager and yet languid in undoing it, in guiding it down the sides of his solid hips, down the length of his sturdy thighs and calves, to pool around his strong ankles which kept him grounded to the spot, following her every movement with only his eyes.

Orihime looked back up the long sculpted legs to meet his gaze from her position on her knees before him and she instantly flushed bright red. She recalled having a brief conversation on what kind of effect and thoughts seeing her in that particular place brought to his twisted head and tried to keep the trembling of her hands to a minimum as they travelled back up to remove the only remaining garment of his clothing.

Doing so only proved that he was, in fact, very much affected by her crouching stance in front of him in a setting like the one they were in. And the peculiar state he was in was very difficult to ignore as she stood before him once more, her frame so much smaller than his, towering at least two heads above her.

For a moment, Orihime took the chance to admire his overbearing frame in its entirety, in its complete bareness. And she was overcome by the godliness of his appearance.

In that moment, he was truly more of a daydream, a fleeting incorporeal vision which would vanish should she blink, than he was a man of flesh and blood and spirit standing in the room with her. He was so perfectly mould, with his chiseled chest and strong arms, abdomen with muscles in all the right places and powerful legs that she was sure that if she had to define him in some way, with as few words as she could, she could earnestly say he had to be nature's finest artwork. He had to be. Nothing else could be so… flawless and mind-boggling.

He took her breath away, just standing there, looking at her devouring every inch of him with her eyes, earning to touch him all over again, rain him with kisses and then stand over him again and marvel some more just to make sure she wasn't dreaming or making it all up because such inconceivable beauty of form couldn't exist in a world so ugly and ungodly as Hueco Mundo.

She looked at his sharp featured face, feeling the urge to kiss him but doing her best to resist it. She knew for a fact that Grimmjow wasn't very fond of kisses either, preferring more forward actions and displays of "affection".

She must have looked very pitiful right then and there, so overtaken by his presence and appearance that he bent to plant a kiss on her slightly parted lips of his own.

And when he did she felt it.

He was holding himself back.

While he was usually rampant and ravishing, Grimmjow now allowed her to do whatever she wanted with him for a change, trying to make a lasting memory for her for once. He let her be in charge this time, because he couldn't do gentle and sensual; he was too wild, too passionate and too domineering to be gentle and sensual with her.

So he would let her steer them in whatever direction she pleased for just one night.

Because he could.

Because it wouldn't cost him anything.

And because while it was nothing to him, it would make her happy.

He'd kissed her, just a brief brush of lips against lips and the way he'd looked into her steely grey orbs without having pulled back completely made her swell with emotion.

After discarding her own garments, she set to the task of memorizing every centimeter of his body with both senses of sight and touch because she couldn't be sure if a night like this would ever repeat itself.

At the end of it, when he'd fallen asleep and she was drifting off herself, there was no doubt in her mind—Grimmjow was definitely nature's finest artwork, in more ways than one.

It was a shame Orihime really knew better than to tell that to his face.

Notes: I really think that this would be the only level of "spiritual bonding" that Grimmjow can do. And I hope you enjoyed it, because I definitely did try my best with it. xD