isclaimer: Do not own Bleach and will not make a profit out of this fic. All characters©Kubo Tite

Upon the success of last year Mistletoe Kisses, I decided to write something again this year. Once again just trying to get into the Season Spirit and have fun.

These are mainly crack pieces, with barely no relation to the original series, I'm basically borrowing the characters and the setting. And unlike last years Kisses that were originally written as independent pieces and later I realised it did worked like a whole story. This time it was written as a story.


Grimmjow looked around the grand salon in Hueco Mundo's Palace - well, Aizen-sama's Palace, anyway - to the Hollows scattered about it. His majesty must have been in a good mood because every damned hollow seemed to be there: the Espada, of course, and their Fraccións; the Privaron Espada, some Números, and even some freaky looking Exéquias were milling around the usually empty Hall.´

Usually was the key term, but not today. Today, their lord and master ­- Grimmjow sneered at that - had the Hall decorated with strange gadgets and apparel. The rare, bare trees found outside in the immense desert that was Hueco Mundo were adorned with strange black and dark blue balls and scintillating grey stars and bells. Some of the trees had pink decorations on them; he suspected Aporro Grantz's hand in those. Besides, the trees were all twinkling with bright lights - that seemed to absorb Wonderweiss' eager attention - and to top it all off, some strange foliage was scattered about, hanging in mid-air, here and there.

Grimmjow wasn't quite sure what they were for; they seemed to have some white berries in them, so maybe it was food? But what a stupid place for food to be!

Anyway, it was all boring stuff, they were all just standing here, not doing anything except talk, or eat, or just look stupidly at the pretty lights.


Perhaps it was fine with Stark - he enjoyed not doing anything all the time - or with Ulquiorra - who rarely seemed bored by anything - but Grimmjow hated not being able to move, jump around, or fight someone.

ARGH! Just DO some - FREAKIN'- thing!

He flexed his muscles and jumped a bit in the same place, trying to release the tension. Looking around, not quite sure of what he was searching for, until he found it.



The Cuarta Espada stood by Aizen's throne, although the King - HA! - wasn't there, but roaming the room, accompanied by the fox and the dark shinigami. Just like the kings of the Human World, Aizen had the Espada study so that they could better understand their prey.

Ulquiorra stood there alone, guarding the throne like a faithful dog watching his master's place, as if afraid one of them would usurp it. Grimmjow didn't like it, all that devotion to an outsider, to someone who used to be an enemy. Then again, maybe the master had some reason to have it guarded, even if he had made them how they were these days.

But he wished Ulquiorra's calm and brooding loyalty was placed on a true King of Hollows, not a self-proclaimed one. But alas, loyal dogs don't bow to feline royalty.

In any case, he made his way to the pale Arrancar standing guard to the empty throne.


Green eyes focused on him.


At least there was acknowledgement, better than many of their previous encounters. This was starting out to be promising. He tempted luck further, sitting in the large stone chair, lounging Stark-like, with one leg draped over the armrest.

Ulquiorra's left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Almost!

Promising indeed.

"Remove your body from Aizen-sama's throne!"

Grimmjow laughed at the apparent outrage in Ulquiorra's voice - though nothing showed on his face - and remained on the oversized chair, his lifted leg bouncing.



And Ulquiorra took the bait. Almost as fast as if using sonido, the fourth Espada faced Grimmjow, his hands grabbing hold of the Sexta Espada's mid-section. His thumbs pressed on the inside of his Hollow hole, his fingers digging black nails into the sides, forcefully hauling Grimmjow off of the throne.

Grimmjow growled, baring his feral teeth and going for the jugular, the fangs scraping the pale white skin, settling on the inner side of Ulquiorra's Hollow hole.

Give as you get!

The attack had moved them from the throne - point to Ulquiorra, the faithful guard - but it had also made this dull do so much more interesting and Grimmjow allowed himself to grin at the small victory against the cold skin.

And he wasn't the only one amused. Several of the occupants of the Hall had turned in their direction at the feral growl and watched the altercation with interest. Even Stark had lost the look of complete boredom he always carried. He looked bland instead.

They lingered in that position - if not comfortable, at least interesting - neither wanting to give in to the draw. Grimmjow rather like staying this way, this close to Ulquiorra. It wasn't often he could be like so, for so long. The fourth Espada always kept his distance, never staying long enough for Grimmjow to enjoy his coldness, his greenness.

It was fun and arousing.

He tasted the deathly skin, that patch of white right in the middle of the 4. It tasted of nothing, of aloofness and disdain. Of green and blank emotionless-ness.

He felt Ulquiorra startle as he tasted, his hands moving reflexively, thumbs pressing deeper into his hole, before moving away, capitulating.

'Victory to the King!' Grimmjow's mind sang.

A spoiled victory though, the draw had been so much more pleasurable. The taste of nothing still lingered in his mouth, amid his fangs. He licked his lips, harvesting every ounce of it.

A shimmer on top of Ulquiorra's head, right next to his solitary horn, caught his attention; the damned foliage! He snatched it, noticing with growing pleasure that Ulquiorra didn't move an inch, not even an eye twitch.

Game on again, then!

Not giving in to the urge to tease, Grimmjow turned his attention to the thing, giving it a sniff; it was just a few leaves and a set of five white berries, scentless.

The scent of nothing.


He chomped it. He chewed it. It tasted of green, but not of nothing. He kept chewing.

"Idiot! You do not eat it!"

He stopped chewing, glancing at Ulquiorra.

"No?! So what do you do with it?" Grimmjow asked, a green leaf sticking out of his mouth, the occasional chew moving it about.

"You kiss under it."


"When standing under it, two people...," he seemed to over chew the word. "..two people will have to kiss. It is a human tradition."


Humans suddenly seemed less stupid somehow.

He spat it out, half chewed and put it back in place, just above their heads, his face right in Ulquiorra's.

Some rules were never to be obeyed, others meant to be bent and a few selected ones to abide by.

Grimmjow kissed Ulquiorra square on the lips, forcefully making his way into the mouth that tasted of nothing.

Ulquiorra imposed his languid, brooding pace, grazing his tongue on the sharp fangs, his thumbs pressing on the hole again.

Grimmjow be damned. He capitulated this time, huffing in pleasure.

Victory not to the king.