Disclaimer: I Don't Own BLEACH or the Song Comatose in Any Way, Shape or Form. BLEACH is Rightfully Copyrighted to Tite Kubo and the Song, Comatose, is rightfully Copyrighted to Skillet.

Rating: Mature Due to Sexual Themes, Alcohol Usage, Crude Language, Angst and Yaoi/Shounen-Ai/GuyxGuy.

A/N: An idea I had that really matched Grimmjow pretty well :) Ulquiorra's might be kind of OOC, though; I apologize for that =.=

WARNING: The following content may not be suitable for young readers; it contains suggestions of sex, includes angst, alcohol usage and yaoi/shounen-ai as well as crude language. No lemons but hardcore suggestions of sex. Plus, some spoilers to the Arrancar arc. You have been warned.


Ulquiorra awoke that morning (or, rather, what they called morning in Las Noches, even though it was still night) in a daze, a headache taking quick control of his forehead. He groaned from that miserable pain at his head before sitting up slowly, a pale hand reaching to his head, tangling themselves between the strands of his messy, ebony hair. Sleep, apparently, hadn't been kind to his appearance that night. He realized his hollow mask was not on his head, figuring it was somewhere nearby. He looked himself over now.

He was shirtless. For him, that was normal; he didn't usually sleep with a shirt. However, beneath the covers, he felt he was definitely nude. How else would his legs be able to feel the covers that he never usually felt? He looked back in his memory bank, returning with little results. The young Arrancar could find no valid reason for him being in this position…until he looked around the room, that is.

This area wasn't his own. It wasn't neat and perfect, as he usually kept his room. This room was clean but still slightly out of place. Some clothes were thrown upon the bed, a shirt hanging off a nearby chair, and, at the desk in front of the chair, were papers in a small, messy pile. He suddenly felt nervous but didn't show it. Instead, he wondered why, in the name of Hueco Mundo, he would be in another Arrancar's room.

Every Arrancar he knew was either trash or garbage in his eyes and he only visited them if he needed to. So, again, why would he have slept in one of their rooms? As quickly as the question was formed, another soul made his body go stiff in surprise, even if his eyes didn't show it.

"Hello, sleepyhead." A playful voice was behind that remark; a playfully sadistic voice. Ulquiorra's head slowly turned to his left and he tried to not scream his lungs off at the sight of a full-on, shirtless Grimmjow, sitting up next him with the covers just barely above his hips. His knees came up in front of him and the blue-haired Espada leaned his elbows against them, laying his chin upon his arms. "How's your throat?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ulquiorra demanded, trying to sound emotionless and not bothering to question why they were in bed…together…and pretty much naked.

"Well," Grimmjow said smugly, leaning back on his palms as he seemed to recall the events of the night. "With how many times you screamed my name, I was worried you might have a…sore throat," he explained and promptly smirked a lopsided grin, exposing his canines on one side. It was then that the pieces were slowly coming together in Ulquiorra's mind. He tried to not widen his eyes too much. Also, he forced his eye to not twitch.

We couldn't have, he thought to himself, suddenly clutching the covers at his hips. We didn't…the pupils of his emerald eyes grew small and he suddenly felt slightly self-conscious.

"What's wrong, Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow's voice snapped Ulquiorra out of his thoughts as he jumped five feet in the air, grabbed the nearest pair of pants he could find and sat against the opposite wall, the pants he grabbed covering whatever they could of his lower half. His thoughts ran wild for the first time. He may not be able to grasp emotions all that well but there was one that, for some reason, he knew fairly well; lust. He'd read about emotions and lust was one that seemed to drop humans into the worst scenarios, including one's like this. He, himself, didn't remember anything but Grimmjow seemed well-equipped with the knowledge the younger was craving.

"What'd you do to me?" Ulquiorra's voice came out stoic but still demanding…for the most part. Grimmjow now came to the foot of his bed, lying on his stomach as he laid his head on his crossed arms, keeping his lower half covered. His bright, blue eyes were playful and mysterious and the smug grin on his lips refused to leave its current residence.

"Nothing that'll kill you, that's for sure," the cat-like Espada responded teasingly. "You even seemed to enjoy yourself." Ulquiorra's right eye almost twitched. Almost. He wanted to kill himself, however. He wanted to kill himself and hope that, wherever he went in whatever afterlife he may have, he would be forced to be put through pain for the rest of eternity. After that, he would want to come back to drag Grimmjow's smug ass there too, and leave him there for a whole other eternity.

So caught up in his homicidal thoughts, Ulquiorra didn't notice that Grimmjow had stood and pulled on some pants and shoes. The Sexta was now working on pulling on one of his jackets. The emerald-eyed Cuatro watched him the whole time until the other was looming over him, hands in his pockets and that damn smug expression on his face.

"Se ya later," he said as his grin grew. "Cuatro Espada, Ulquiorra." With that, Grimmjow walked out of the room, door closing behind him. The moment the door clicked, Ulquiorra stared at the door. A new feeling overwhelmed him. A feeling of being used; a feeling of being used and thrown away. A feeling of being the trash that he dubbed on those around him. The worst part was that the culprit of this horrible feeling was none other than Grimmjow.

It was like Grimmjow had called him trash and walked away. But the other man hadn't done that; not once had he called him trash. That he was aware of, anyway. His green eyes continued staring at the door, a small part of him hoping that Grimmjow would return. Another part of him was yelling at him for thinking such frivolous things.

He felt like trash without even being told that he was trash. It was horrible. He knew he had been used and it felt like hell. The only problem was that he didn't know how Grimmow had done it. Maybe, then, it wouldn't seem so bad.

But he was stuck. Memories of the previous 'day' were fuzzy to him. The last thing he could remember clearly was having tea in the meeting hall with Aizen and the others. He was left with this miserable feeling, as well as the new headache, worst than the first, that was taking over. Bringing up his legs he buried his head into kneecaps and tried his hardest not to let these new feelings take over, even if he was alone.

Rubbing his forehead against his kneecaps he thought. And there he sat, in Grimmjow's room, thinking and thinking and then thinking some more. Nothing; not one clue as to how he got himself into this situation. For all he knew, he could've willingly walked into the Sexta's room and willingly given himself to the other Espada. But he denied that the moment the thought came into his mind.

He had accepted feelings of hate towards Grimmjow a good while ago; he was not about to admit that he would willingly do something like this with the man he supposedly hated. He sat back, leaning his head against the wall, and sighed silently. He tried to stay positive, which was something difficult for him to do. Maybe this was one big hoax, planned out by the other Arrancar, Grimmjow included. He figured there was only one way to find out.

Standing up and pulling on the pants he was holding, he quickly gathered his composure once again, searching now for his jacket. Finding it tossed across the floor he straightened it out as much as he could and pulled his arms through the sleeves, zipping it up to his throat afterwards. Once accomplished with that, he pulled on his own shoes and made sure he was decent enough to get to his own room and change. Finding his hollow mask, he placed it, carefully, on his head and proceeded. Fixing his hair, so it would be as straight as it usually is, he headed to Grimmjow's door and let out a breath.

Eyes trying to stay emotionless, his pale hand placed itself upon the door knob and he turned it, opening the door again and stepping out into the hallway. The coast was clear. Closing the door behind him, his hands, unconsciously, went to his pockets as he headed to his room just two doors over. He could hear his heart pounding, loudly, in his chest, suddenly. Also, he felt as if he should be looking in every direction.

Did paranoia come with feeling used? Was being nervous a side-affect of this miserable feeling? If it was, then Ulquiorra hated this more and more with each passing second. Of course, this was only adding to his hatred to Grimmjow. He made it to his room, finally.

Opening the door easily enough, he slinked his way in, closing the door silently…and locking it. He felt safer within the confines of his small abode; everything was familiar here, everything was where it should be. The bed was neat, the papers at his desk were atop each other in a perfect pile, and all his clothes were folded and put away in their specified place. It looked the exact opposite of how he felt. Even if he didn't show it, hiding it all behind a mask of nothingness, his feelings were in a jumble. They were messy, confused and strewn across his mind in a violent haze of trying to realize what had happened and what was happening with his emotions.

He sighed, yet again, and walked over to where his clothes were. In his current outfit, even if it looked exactly the same as the others, he felt unkempt and dirty. It may have been due to what had happened with Grimmjow but he tried to push those thoughts as far back into his mind as he possibly could. Extracting his jacket off of himself, he pulled on another one; neat, straight, and clean. Doing the same with his pants, he realized that he felt better, if only slightly. There were still terrible thoughts running through his mind; unwanted mental images taking turns to taunt him and words he could just imagine being spoken to him by the blue-haired Sexta.

He tried not to shudder, or allow his eye to twitch, for that matter. It was hard to do, with Gimmjow's words suddenly making their way into his mind.

With how many times you screamed my name, I was worried you might have a…sore throat, came the Sexta's taunting words in the exact voice from when they awoke. It worried Ulquiorra and he found himself looking around the room, making sure that the words he had recalled were truly just his thoughts and not that of the actual Gimmjow. Ulquiorra shook the thoughts away. He couldn't have screamed…so many times, right? If this mess was true and really happening, then he really hoped he hadn't. It was humiliating.

Sighing again, he placed his unkempt clothes on a chair. He would take care of them later. First, however, he decided he would go pay Aizen a visit, to see if he needed him for anything. Trying to ignore all that had happened to him already, including the now-fading headache, he walked towards his door and exited again, closing his door behind him. Pale hands making their way into his pockets, he began walking, seemingly calm.

Then paranoia came back.

The young man tried to ignore it, telling himself that, number one, no one was around and, number two, Grimmjow wasn't around. He should be calm and collected, not a nervous wreck. It wasn't like himself to be nervous. Very much not like him. Taking a deep breath, his nerves left him alone. For now, anyway.

He reached Aizen's room and stood in front of the door. Bringing a pale hand up, he knocked twice and retreated his hand back to his pocket. He heard no response and then turned and continued down the hall he was currently in. He was slightly grateful that Aizen was still asleep; it would give himself time to figure out this mess. However, work would've done well to keep him mind off of the horrible incident.

Oh well, he thought. Better to get this figured out now than to have it haunt me later. By his standards, figuring it out now sound much more attractive. The Cuatro continued walking until he reached the meeting hall and entered. He was slightly surprised to see many of the other Espada and much of te other Arrancar there but, of course, he didn't show it. Instead, he opted to walking to his indicated chair and taking a seat. When he did, however, it was then that he realized who it was he sat in front of.

Slowly, the Cuatro's bright, emerald eyes looked up and locked with Grimmjow's blue ones. A smirk pulled at the Sexta's lips; a playful, cat-like smirk that exposed his perfectly sharpened canines. Ulquiorra tried not to be too offended and pretended not to care, willing to let Grimmjow think that the Cuatro wouldn't dignify his behavior with a response. Grimmjow messed with him and that called for revenge. He was wiling to fuck with the Sexta's mind, allowing him to believe that he was as cool as collected as the night before the incident.

He took note now that he was receiving no odd stares from any of the others around him. It was as if they didn't know or didn't care. It briefly made Ulquiorra ponder over whether or not Grimmjow would willingly blab his little endeavor to all of Las Noches. It also made him realize that this was no prank set up by the rest of them. If it was a prank, it was set up by the Sexta only, seeing as he was the only one who seemed to know about it. Though, Szayel kept glancing in their direction but he ignored the Octava for now; the pick-haired man was probably just bored.

Aizen entered the hall and sat at his spot at the head of the table. Ulquiorra briefly wondered where the man had been before shaking the thought off and preparing his seemingly infinite patience for the man's droning session. The Cuatro didn't mind listening to Aizen—the man had created him, after all, so he owed him that much—but listening to the much of the same grew tiresome after a while. Silently sighing, yet again, he sat up straight and looked in the brunette-man's direction as he began.

And, so, it began. And it went on and on and on until Aizen could speak no more of what was on his mind. They concluded this wonderful meeting with some of Aizen's trademark tea before the Espada stood, stretched, and began leaving. Ulquiorra was the only one, that he was aware of, that was heading towards Aizen. As the pale, young man passed by Szayel, he noticed that the Octava tossed him a curious glance before continuing on his way.

Ulquiorra tried to not let that tiny act bother him; he ascribed Szayel's glances to nothing major. Surely they had nothing to do with Grimmjow. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. The Cuatro made it to Aizen and bowed respectfully.

"Ulquiorra," was the brown-haired man's simple greeting. The high-ranking man stood straight again and looked to Aizen, emotionless.

"Is there anything you need, Aizen-sama?" the Espada questioned, voice stoic. Aizen offered up a small smile.

"No, Ulquiorra, but thank you. You may rest, for now," Aizen told him, seeming very generous. The green-eyed Cuatro nodded once.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama," he said to the other man before turning on a heel and walking towards the exit. As he walked away, Aizen held a teasing smile on his lips before continuing on his own way. Ulquiorra, however, didn't notice any of this and continued, soon reaching the exit. As he walked past the doors, in his peripheral, he saw a certain blue-haired Espada leaning against the wall. Ulquiorra tried to ignore him.

The pale Espada continued walking without even bothering to throw Grimmjow even one glance. That didn't stop the Sexta from invading his mind, however. He wondered why the slightly older Espada would be outside of the meeting hall after everyone had gone to their respected room. Why did it seem as if Grimmjow was…waiting for him? The younger Espada shook that thought away quickly, reminding himself exactly who he was thinking of.

Letting out a breath, Ulquiorra was slightly relieved to have reached his room. Some proper rest sounded really good right about now. However, it seemed someone had different plans for him. A pale hand was placed on his knob and he twisted, opening it slightly. The moment that was done, however, the someone mentioned pushed him through the door and closed it, locking it as he pinned Ulquiorra's wrists above the pale Cuatro's head and prepared a bright, blue cero next to his face.

"Not a word," Grimmjow breathed. "Or I'll cero your head clean off." Ulquiorra's eyes looked into the blue ones before him but the Sexta refused to meet gazes. The Cuatro's eyes stayed emotionless, hiding the thoughts of curiosity behind them. But, alas, he did nothing but looked away from the cero currently aimed at his head. This was a horrible situation.

Ulquiorra may have been stronger than Grimmjow, but the blue-haired man had him cornered. One wrong move and he'd have his head blown clear off. He hadn't forgotten that faithful day when Grimmjow regained his ranking. He closed his emerald eyes and looked away, quickly feeling as the other man's lips tracing along his neck and down to his collarbone.


A/N: Sorry of anyone's OOC; it was the only way the story would work :P and, yeah, it's a songfic; the lyrics will come a little later :) possibly in the next chapter .:shrugs:. And, yeah, this is gonna be a little longer :P hope anyone who reads likes it, though! Please R&R, constructive criticism, no flames ;) thanks!