Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any intellectual property borrowed to create this story.

Warning: this is all kinds of graphic. Dark themes, Sex, and Violence ahead.

Maybe he had overdone it a little.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez strolled casually down the vacant hallway connecting Aizen's throne room to the Espada's residential towers. With him, trailing behind and leaving a residual crimson streak along the sterile tile, were the remains of the former Sexta Espada.

The severed torso bobbed up and down slightly in tune with Grimmjow's wide gait as droplets of blood seeping through half-cauterized flesh splashed against the stark white flooring.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have pulled something so flashy. His rage would have been better assuaged through a slower process that could have kept Luppi's body mostly intact. Now he didn't have much to work with, but he was grateful for what he had nonetheless. It was better than nothing, and his primary goal of regaining his position and standing had been accomplished more than spectacularly—not that he was trying for Aizen's recognition or anything of the sort. He worked his jaw, pondering how Aizen would interpret Luppi's demise.

The morbid rhythm remained unbroken all the way to his chambers.

Outside the threshold, Grimmjow grasped his baggage in such a manner that Luppi wouldn't drip over his furnishings and enact later vengeance upon his senses.

He proceeded inside.

As was all of Las Noches, the living area was a monochromatic gray and obscenely spacious despite the decadent amount of objects arranged professionally around the many rooms. Victorian-era lounge furniture was common as was other lavish stylings that the newly re-promoted Espada didn't particularly care for. The many plush daybeds and finely detailed armoires didn't really do it for him, but Aizen had firmly insisted on his top soldiers harboring these antiques for purely aesthetic reasons.

Or at least that's what Grimmjow had been led to believe. He knew Aizen wasn't foolish enough to think that he could sophisticate his army with tokens and tea ceremony. It was all a front to make Las Noches seem like anything but the prison it actually was. Well, at least the man had stocked his room with an extensive, though content-restricted, library sufficient enough to dispel the monotony of Hueco Mundo. A fight with a strong opponent was few and far between for an Espada, and those were the only ones that could hold his interest.

Languidly, the Arrancar made his way over to a small round enclosure past the living area. There he tossed the tepid carcass onto a granite table housed by a curved booth that rested against the sandstone wall. Circular windows were carved into the rock, offering an entrance for the pale moonlight while providing a view of the gargantuan domed structure below and the endless sands beyond.

He quickly got to work.

First he unsheathed his sword and expertly removed the groin without scratching the surface underneath; then the feet were removed. Finally, the hakama was torn from the isolated legs before all the waste was discarded outside. Much to Grimmjow's distaste, he had become finicky ever since becoming a hybrid which was why he regretted firing a cero into Luppi's chest cavity.

Finished with preparations, Grimmjow sidled into the seat and rested his back against the booth with a content sigh. He then picked up one of the appendages and sank his teeth into the dense muscle.

Cold... spent too much time getting here.

Most of the reiatsu had dissipated from the mutilated body, leaving the former Espada bland and unsatisfying. A meal was a meal though, and Grimmjow had no intention of wasting more than he already had. He continued to eat even when the melancholic energy of his superior crept into his chamber.

"The fuck do you want?"

Ulquiorra remained impassive. He stood with his hands at his side in a somber posture. A moment passed as he quietly observed the phenomenon playing out in front of him.

"Barbaric," he commented, reaching out for a polished bone and skimming over the smooth surface with a porcelain thumb. "Aizen-sama has requested that you report to the medical ward for a thorough examination of your regenerated arm." He paused, waiting for an answer. When he received nothing but a mixture of blood and saliva hitting his uniform, he continued. "I'm confused as to why you resort to such primitive practices despite having the ability to engage in activities far more civilized."

Grimmjow looked up from his food, annoyed and seemingly fatigued by the question.

"Civilized by whose standards, Aizen's?" he retorted coolly, making eye contact for a brief second before setting on the other leg. "If you were still an Arrancar but had never been influenced by those Shinigami, would you still give me shit about this?"

"I wasn't aware that you had the capacity for hypotheses," Ulquiorra replied in his usual monotone. A thoughtful expression marred his previously undisturbed features as he considered the question. "Perhaps not, but why would you persistently eat other Hollows when you are aware of an alternative?"

"An alternative from another species."

"Irrelevant," the Cuarta muttered. "We no longer need to cannibalize in order to survive, and yet more than half of the Espada still feed on Hollows when Aizen-sama has offered us better."

"Why's it better, 'cause he says it is? You should try thinking for yourself every now and then and stop believing everything the Shinigami tell you," Grimmjow spat between mouthfuls of thigh meat. "We ain't like them. They say we're half and half, but we're not. We'll always be more Hollow, always. Eating human or Shinigami food goes against our nature. Our bodies are made for eating each other. You can eat as many harvested animals as you want, but I know you still want something with high reiatsu levels. An Arrancar eating human food is like a lion eating fruit."

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do not assume that you know me, Grimmjow. You may have proven yourself capable of proper argumentation, but do refrain from taking such a condescending stance when speaking to me," he asserted dryly, causing his partner in the verbal spar to rise from his seat and approach him with an air of hostility.

"This coming from you?" the Sexta Growled, emphasizing the height advantage he had over his superior by glaring down at him with a challenging gaze. "You come into my territory, criticize me while I'm trying to eat after finally getting my fucking arm back, and you expect me to take your bullshit?" he shouted. The fire in his eyes contrasted the icy blue of his irises as he jammed his finger into Ulquiorra's chest. "That's asking for death."

"How barba-"

The black-haired Espada had planned to continue his retort while dodging Grimmjow's initial attack, but that had proven to be a feint and his carelessness had cost him the structural integrity of his nose. "I see," he murmured, ignoring the blood running down his face as his fragmented bones quickly rearranged themselves into their natural shape.

He agilely evaded the following jab aimed for his jaw and planted his foot into his opponent's midsection, sending him crashing over the table and into the wall.

"I will overlook this today only because it would be taxing if Aizen-sama needed to replace you once more," Ulquiorra droned, looking down indifferently towards Grimmjow's crumpled form. "Remember to visit the medical ward," he added and disappeared with a buzz of sonido before a vice-grip could lock around his neck.

"Bastard!" Grimmjow cursed, displacing a generous amount of the nearby wall with his fist. He wasn't injured. He was insulted, and as much as it pained him to admit it, full motor function and reiatsu circulation had yet to return to his left arm. That kind of handicap would have cost him his life if Ulquiorra had fought with the intent to kill. Still, his urge to utterly destroy the Cuarta surpassed any rational thought. However, Ulquiorra's retreat had put him outside of the range of his senses. The match was a draw… for now.

He pounded his hands on the table and hurled the remnants of his meal out the window, no longer in the mood for stagnant blood and cold meat. Instead, he strode across the living room and into his bedchamber where he shrugged off his jacket and crossed out onto the adjacent balcony after grabbing one of many decanters of alcohol imported from the human world.

I wonder if this is hypocritical?

He exhaled a mild amount of anger into the cold desert air and sucked down the harsh liquid as if it was nothing more than water. It wasn't hypocritical, was it? Alcohol wasn't sustenance. He didn't need it to survive, so that made it exempt from his previous point… or did it? No, he was simply taking advantage of what he had been presented with. He was using it for purposes other than emulating Shinigami.

Satisfied, he leaned against the railing separating him from a massive drop onto the dome beneath the tower. For a moment, he closed his eyes and felt the cool sand uplifted from the dunes bat against his exposed upper-body.

He wasn't going to the medical ward; he could tell that his arm would be fine thanks to the human girl, and he had no desire whatsoever to be subjected to any of Szayel-Aporro's pricks or prods.

But he did need to work off some stress, and drinking alone at night wasn't the way to resolve pent-up aggression.

A small flare of reiatsu from above his quarters told him that some of the other residents of his tower were also weary of Las Noches' tedium.

With a smirk, he returned briefly to his room in order to secure an additional, more social beverage before focusing his reiatsu to his feet and walking sideways up the outside of the spire. It was a longer trek than he would've liked at his casual pace, but he eventually scaled his way up to another veranda.

Once topside, he brushed the silk curtains away from the entrance into the tower's uppermost floor and padded into an ornate foyer decorated with an array of ivory sculptures and other tasteful artistry.

Tall candles casting dull yellow radiance were dotted around the antechamber, throwing off Grimmjow's sensitive night vision and tickling his nose with floral scents as he stalked across the marble floor. The light from the flames flickered over his face while he moved, highlighting his sharp features and giving him a feral countenance. Silently, he stepped through a narrow archway and into the neighboring room. Care was put into keeping the two bottles in his hand from touching together and ruining his infiltration

Upon successfully foraying into the next area, the Espada allowed himself to take in the expanded layout of the baroque-styled accommodations. Everywhere he looked there were fine rugs and other décor complementing the dim nocturnal ambience. He was in a parlor now, one adorned with luxuriant furnishings similar to those in his own quarters.

The excess sickened him.

In the center of the room there lay a circle of reclined chairs arranged purposefully with communal affairs in mind. Within that circle, four figures sat idly—mostly unaware of Grimmjow's approach.

"Impressive," a breathy female voice praised from its speaker's position atop an elegantly simple begère.

"Huh, did you say something, Harribel-sama?" Apacci called out from the other side of the arrangement. If her voice was any indication, the heavy lavender musk permeating the Tercera's abode had enervated her completely.

"To think you could hide your reiatsu at such a close distance," the dark-skinned woman continued, dog-earing her book and setting it down on a nearby coffee table. She folded her arms loosely over her chest.

Her vague comments served to rouse the rest of her Fraccion as well, causing them to correct their posture and look confusedly around the room for a sign of whatever she was talking about.

"Do you intend to crouch there much longer?"

"Damn it!" Grimmjow swore half-heartedly.

He broke into a cackling laugh when three surprised shrieks resounded off the walls.

Trademark smirk set firmly in place, he stood from his hiding spot behind Mila Rose and began ruffling her hair much to her chagrin

"What gave me-"

"Oi!" Apacci roared, refusing to heed Sung-Sun's whispered advice as she rose from her chair to confront the would-be intruder. "What the hell's your problem? You can't just sneak in here like that."

Beside her, the other girl buried her face in her sleeve. Honestly, how far did her sister think her authority extended?

"You don't see us breaking into your room and sneaking around," the tirade continued, with Mila Rose looking as if she would have joined in if she hadn't noticed the darkening cyan eyes that Apacci was dangerously oblivious to. She'd had enough experience with the Sexta to become familiar with the fact that his brutality was often spontaneous enough to the point where it seemed random. If he was in any way given the impression that someone weaker than he thought themself superior, then he would normally crush them without a second thought. Though luckily for Apacci, she had some leeway under Harribel's protection. Moreover, she had an odd but somehow steady relationship with Grimmjow and so probably wouldn't die…

Probably.

"It ain't like you're not good company half the time but-"

"Shut up," Grimmjow ordered gutturally.

The blue-haired Fraccion halted mid-sentence. A lump had abruptly formed in her throat, rendering her unable to speak. The only thing she could do was meet Grimmjow's murderous stare for a split-second before casting her eyes downward in submission.

The parlor was then submerged in a threatening silence until two strings of stifled laughter popped the hanging tension.

"Fuck both of you," Apacci muttered off-handedly toward her sisters as she returned to her seat. She refused to even look at the mirthful expression Grimmjow was giving her.

"Ladies, be civil," Harribel requested, immediately quieting the room to provide a better atmosphere for her resumed reading. "I thought I had made it clear that Grimmjow is our respected guest and that he may come and go as he pleases so long as he respects the rules of my territory. I expect you to treat him well."

"Yes, Harribel-sama." the trio affirmed in unison with bowed heads.

"Give 'em a break, Tier. We're just playing around," Grimmjow stated dismissively as he produced four saucers from his pocket and tossed them around the room, excluding the Tercera—who seemed to forever remain sober. All the while, he ignored the whispered rebuttal and the chastisement for addressing his superior by her first name. It didn't bother him; he'd known the woman for over a century and made of her what humans might call a 'friend'.

Well, he hadn't really put forth the effort if he was going to be fair. It had been Nelliel's meddling during certain circumstances that had led to the betterment of their relations. Regardless, her name was Tier Harribel, and he'd call her whatever the hell he wanted to.

Grimmjow smirked and once more turned to Apacci.

"Think fast," he hailed to the victim of his previous terrorizing, tossing a jug of chilled sake directly at her head.

Narrowly averting her face, it was caught deftly by the already-irate Fraccion.

"Pour for us, will ya?"

"What do I look like, your fucking servant? Pour your own damn drink!" Apacci huffed. She reeled her arm back in preparation for a throw that would have resulted in her being torn to pieces had a hand not softly clasped her shoulder.

Knowing full well that she was on thin ice, she spun around and caught her mistress' half-lidded gaze, stammering a quick apology. As most others were, she was helpless against Harribel's eyes which tended to convey all of her emotions in place of her veiled features. Like the sea, they could quickly change from serene to rancorous, complementing her character and vast power.

"In war," the female Espada began, her even-tempered voice evaporating the anger out of her subordinate, "if you let the enemy goad you into attacking and lose your senses, you will die." She gently guided Apacci's arm down to her side and returned to her seat where she popped her book back open. "Remain calm. Use your emotions only to your advantage, and guard yourself against manipulations. Now, I believe Grimmjow deserves your recognition for what is sure to be a future improvement in your temperament."

Apacci whipped her head to the side in disbelief and watched the Sexta as he suddenly found great interest in his empty saucer.

You can't be serious.

There was no way he hadn't been simply instigating her for the fun of it. Studying his eyes, a mild wave of awe struck her when she noticed them to have once again become frozen over, distant and ancient. She'd seen him with that look several times before, and it was only on those rare occasions when she could foster her respect for him. Apacci was aware, somewhat, of his history thanks in part to Harribel who had disclosed it with his permission. He was known to toy, known to instruct through roundabout means on a whim, and he was far older and more deserving of her fear than she had first thought.

"Don't worry about it. I don't think you'll ever be able to piss me off enough for me to kill you," Grimmjow chuckled, enjoying the sight of his favorite hothead pouring his drink with domesticated acquiescence. He brought the dish to his lips, smiling as he drank after he caught wind of a barely suppressed, 'I hate you so much'.

"I know ya do."

Once all who were participating had their saucers filled, Apacci sat back down. She took a long swig directly from the bottle. And it was a good thing she managed to swallow most of it because the remainder dribbled out of her mouth when a hard object landed on her stomach.

"If you aren't drinkin' for fun, then you can have that," the bane of her existence quipped.

Showing extreme restraint in mind of Harribel, she ignored the urge to release her Resurreccion and checked the second bottle's contents first with her eyes and then her nose.

It burned like hell, just the kind of thing she was craving at the moment.

"Whatever," she growled, content to sip on the Gosling's 151 until she could no longer care about Grimmjow's attempts at getting a rise out of her. She'd be lying if she said she didn't sometimes get some cheap fun out of their mock confrontations, but that didn't mean she particularly liked all the physical and mental abuse that came with them. Then again, some of the physical abuse turned out okay in the end.

With that, the next few hours went by smoothly. The initial enmity was drowned in alcohol, and even Harribel seemed to appreciate the sociality of her company whenever she spared a couple of words on a topic relevant to her interests. Though eventually, it grew late in Hueco Mundo's abstract sense of time, and the Fraccion went their separate ways one-by-one to either prepare for bed or simply have some time to themselves, leaving only the two Espada in the parlor.

Once she was sure the others were gone, Harribel marked her page and folded up her book.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," she started, signaling Grimmjow to get to his feet as she sat up. "I wanted to speak with you."

Instantly, his laid-back demeanor shifted into something solemn and reserved. "I was wonderin' why you didn't throw me out of here for being such a bastard to your servants."

"They are companionable adherents," the Tercera corrected. "And they are more than capable of handling themselves. I try to refrain from being overbearing."

"You shouldn't attach yourself to them too much, Tier."

Harribel paused inside the foyer and took a long breath of the lavender-rich air before meeting her acquaintance with a single aqua-colored eye. "I am aware of that," she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Enslaved soldiers of fortune should not anchor themselves to the weak, but… I can't keep myself from valuing each of them more than I would like to. It's because of-"

"Human emotions," Grimmjow finished scornfully. He understood that some Arrancar had inherited a full range of emotions while some such as him were denied certain sentiments.

"If you want to survive being expendable under Aizen, then you'll need to stay in control no matter what happens to them. Ya hear me, youngblood?"

The blonde smiled under her collar at the mention of her nickname. "I won't abandon them, but I won't lose myself."

Grimmjow sighed and rubbed the back of his head in defeat. "Good enough, I guess. So what'd you want to talk about?"

"Join me outside." The location meant that this was something not meant for Aizen's eyes and ears.

Both hybrids brushed past the silk curtains and took up similar poses at the edge of the balcony. For a while they stood there, neither one making an effort to acknowledge the other. It wasn't necessary for the time being. They simply watched the inverted moon together, too high to be bothered by sand and too old to find entertainment in Hueco Mundo's perpetual night.

Surprisingly, Harribel was the first to speak.

"I could tell that you had a fight with Ulquiorra earlier," she announced delicately, still facing outward unto the colorless desert. "Why?"

"He pissed me off and I was trying to eat."

"Who would have won?"

"…"

"I see," Harribel said with a long exhalation. Her long lashes came together in disappointment.

Meanwhile, Grimmjow was growing agitated. He couldn't see where this discussion was going nor why it needed to be kept secret, but his already low patience was wearing thinner.

"You fought him for your rank, right? Be honest, Tier, is he stronger than me?" he asked bluntly, venom dripping from his tone.

"Yes." The word left her lips as if it physically harmed her to say it.

She shook her head at some unspoken thought and then faced him fully. "But you know why that is. What happened to you—to us—was entirely beyond your control. If they hadn't taken so much from you, then you would not have to give any consideration towards a power like Ulquiorra's."

Harribel had brought him down kindly, she knew it. He deserved that much.

"I won't pretend to know what you've gone through and what you must feel every time you're reminded of what happened, but I believe that an opportunity for you to obtain what you lost so long ago is here in Las Noches. That is what I want to talk to you about."

This was something she would need to handle carefully. Her idea was plausible at best, highly risky on multiple levels, and it would all count on Grimmjow. She looked sincerely to his eyes. As she would have expected, his face was unreadable even for her. It was likely that he had already figured out what she was going to propose. It was the product of a collection of restlessly vagrant thoughts that had come about after learning of the abilities of Las Noches' newest pet.

Even if he could accurately anticipate what was to come, Grimmjow merely observed Harribel for the time being. His reiatsu was growing wild and oppressive.

"Grimmjow," she began again, softly. Under his gaze, Harribel felt she was on the verge of being disregarded. Already, the topic at hand had made him shift into something dangerous. It was an unspoken rule that members of their circle were not to discuss either Grimmjow's rank or power as an Arrancar, but maybe it was within her capabilities to sift through his psychoses if she spoke to him like the former Tercera had.

It was worth a shot. After all, her proposal was for the man Nelliel had known, not the Sexta.

"Heika," she addressed in the manner of her old companion.

Grimmjow stiffened noticeably.

"Tier Harribel," he answered. At once, his reiatsu vanished, retreating inside his body and making him spiritually undetectable. This was an ability unique to Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

"Don't call me that if you don't know what it means."

Harribel laughed wryly beneath the cover of her mask. "Nelliel was very kind to explain all of the titles you had given yourself. I will honor you this once if you would consider what I am about to ask of you."

"Fine." Grimmjow crossed his arms.

"That girl, the one who regenerated your arm, I suspect it's possible that she could undo your failed transformation and possibly the damage to your mask."

"Impossible." It was dismissed without even a second of consultation. "Even if she can do what Aizen said and 'reject' events, you're asking me to believe that she can make me a century younger. It took a minute for her to undo something that happened a couple of days ago. I've been here for a damn millennium, Tier. I sure as hell know the difference between a couple of days and a hundred years. Don't ask me to beg for help from someone you don't even understand."

Harribel said nothing in rebuttal. Instead, she walked towards the railing and gradually unzipped her mod jacket. Upon reaching the sandstone ledge, she turned, revealing her mask fragment to the man behind her in a sign of respect among hollows.

"It is true that I cannot comprehend her capabilities. However, Aizen also believes that the strength of her power is affected by her conviction. If you can sway her, then she may be able to do it in as little as a single night or perhaps even several hours. But you have to make her want to trust and assist you."

Grimmjow pondered the new information, a pensive expression overtaking his frustration. "Why me? She'd probably get attached to you or even Starrk before me. I don't mix well with humans."

"I know you don't. Still, the fact remains that she has to want to help you," Harribel said earnestly.

"Fine. If it's some beaten up human girl, then it wouldn't take my best effort, but what am I supposed to do if by some fucking miracle your idea works? Aizen'll probably have me wasted if he finds out I've become an Adjuchas again overnight."

"That's why we will change you back and have you evolve in a single night."

Grimmjow scoffed. He approached the female Espada and wordlessly demanded how she could accomplish something so ludicrous.

"The Octava has been farming Hollow bodies of his own creation, mindless things built and raised purely for consumption. They are simply masses of reiryoku. If things go well and I am able to obtain a fair amount of them, we will change you back to the pre-evolved state before your mask was broken and then feed you those synthesized Hollows until you transform. We will do this when Aizen and the Overseers are asleep, giving us roughly six hours," Harribel explained, relieved and confident that her plan was agreeable.

To her relief, the Sexta was mulling over her idea. Honestly, she hadn't thought the usually reckless Grimmjow would need so much convincing.

"Tier, right now I'm thinkin' I've been a bad influence on you." Grimmjow smirked and let his reiatsu flow again. "You're placing a lot of faith in shit you can't convince me that you're able to predict. 'Sides, even if everything turns out perfect and I get the black blood of a Vasto Lorde, it's up to Aizen whether or not all of Las Noches is thrown at me."

"He will turn you and keep you. It would be unbelievably foolish to kill or release you after you've reached your full potential," Harribel assured, barely trying to stifle the vague undercurrent of excitement in her voice. "We'll start tomorrow if you agree to do this. I'll give you until the 'morning'. As for now, I will be visiting Starrk's tower to inform him. You're welcome to stay in my territory so long as my Fraccion remain functional when I need them."

At that, Grimmjow's lips spread even farther apart. "Yeah, sure. Get all sweet for me. Just one question, why do you want to turn me back into the condition I was in at that time?" he asked candidly, watching as Harribel stepped atop the railing of the balcony. "I mean, we don't hate each other, but you being what you were with Nelliel isn't enough for you to risk your pretty head rolling around the desert for me. So," He locked his hand to her ankle and kept her rooted as he searched her face, "why are you so eager to make me stronger than you?"

The superior-ranked soldier hummed in amusement from her perch and wrested herself from Grimmjow. "I thought it would be obvious…" She dove off, trusting the harsh desert winds to carry her wish to the other Arrancar's ears.

"… To survive."

It was a better reason than any other.

She wished he would hurry up already.

Undoubtedly, whatever he was talking about with her mistress was important, but snakes were cold-blooded. That meant she was constantly frigid in her nocturnal, sunless desert environment. Of course the actuality of her cold-bloodedness had been endlessly disputed between she and her sisters, and Szayel-Aporro had yet to mention it during any of her physiological examinations. However, that didn't mean the possibility should be ruled out.

The point was that she was cold, and she'd rather be warm. Preferably with the aid of a certain azure-haired panther.

Honestly, he usually has such good manners when it comes to cultured women.

As if by some obscure summons, her door creaked open.

Grimmjow entered Sung-Sun's room noiselessly and surveyed the immediate vicinity. The reishi lamps had all been turned low, blanketing the chamber in a soft, ethereal aquamarine. In the center of the paltry glow, past arrangements of tall, narrow, and overall uncomfortable looking furniture, he noticed his item of the evening laying in her bed. Head turned mostly into the pillows, she wasn't fooling anyone. He could see her breath escape her at a frequency far too fast for slumber. He could hear her heartbeat, too loud and excited. And most importantly, he could smell the arousal which blanketed the room.

He could play her games if she wanted. He had all night.

Furtively, he crept across the floor and mounted her mattress with catlike grace before slowly making his way over to her still form. Once at his destination, he planted his hands on either side of her and leaned down to bury his nose in her olivine hair. His actions elicited a heated giggle from beneath him. Looking down, he noticed that a long sleeve had obstructed his view of Sung-Sun's lower face.

"What are you wearin' clothes in bed for?" Grimmjow grumbled, half annoyed and half entertained as he settled down next to the Fraccion and met her coral eyes with his own electric blue.

"I was cold, and Grimmjow-sama was taking too long with Mistress. If I wasn't aware of Harribel-sama's preferences, I would be jealous," Sung-Sun replied, a slight tinge of playful humor in her voice. "Speaking of which, where is she? Her reiatsu left my range a little while ago?"

"Gonna miss 'er? Sorry, woman. You're gonna have to make do with only me tonight," the elder Arrancar countered coolly, changing the subject.

"Don't talk nonsense," Sung-Sun breathed warmly, lifting herself up to allow easier access while Grimmjow lazily undid the zipper to her dress and quickly discarded the garment into some soon to be forgotten location. "I like being handled by a man much more than a woman." Even without her clothes, she already felt much hotter under the unwavering molten gaze that the Espada kept fully trained on her as he undid his hakama and propped Pantera against the wall.

She shivered when he pulled her flush against his naked body and began trailing firm bites along her collarbone, moving up until he finally devoured her mouth with his own. As a testament to his nature, he quickly subdued her waiting tongue, keeping it locked on her side of the kiss. He was on top on top of her, domineering, only allowing her the freedom of moving her delicate fingers through his hair and raking her nails down his back.

Soon, his hands found her breasts and began roughly massaging the soft flesh, causing a welcoming hum to reverberate through their conjoined mouths. He let out a muffled chuckle as he began experimenting with the different sounds he could create by pinching her nipples and carving shallow cuts into her bosom with clawlike nails. After a particularly loud set of pleasured mewls Grimmjow slid his left hand down Sun-Sun's abdomen as his right continued its assault. He arrived at her thighs to find them clamped together in mock defiance which was quickly overcome by spreading them apart with his thumb and forefinger.

With all the subtlety of a train wreck, he swabbed a finger over her sex and broke the marathon kiss with a laugh. "Soaked already, woman? Ain't you got any self control?" Grimmjow chastised, rising above Sung-Sun who managed to scramble the decency to blush. He smirked lasciviously at the sight of her blood running down her bare chest and into the hole in her sternum.

"Who's to say it's not poison," the serpentine woman moaned, gripping the back of Grimmjow's head and enjoying the feeling of his rough tongue dragging across her bust to mop up the crimson ichor. However, when he lingered at her nipples and her eyes rolled back down, she had to stifle a gasp at what had become of her lover. "You haven't been eating properly," she scolded, cold once again from the primal chill surging up her spine after coming face to face with a pair of burning sapphire eyes. "You're going feral."

It was true. Arrancar didn't necessarily require the consumption of Hollows to survive, but it was common amongst traditionalists like Grimmjow whom boycotted human food to become bloodlusted after periods where the quantity of reiryoku consumed wasn't enough to satisfy their hunger. That was what he was experiencing now, illustrated by his change in eye color. Luppi's dry corpse hadn't done much to steer him away after neglecting to eat subsequent his many missions to the Living World, and the spiritual energy in Sung-Sun's blood had sparked his appetite.

"Nothin' to worry about." Grimmjow cackled, catching his blue sclera reflected in his consort's eyes. "You scared? You've let me eat you plenty of times already."

"You're lucky I'm a-" Sung-Sun's voice hitched as her superior's canines sank into the junction between her neck and shoulder, "masochist," she finished, reaching down and guiding Grimmjow into her, enjoying the harmony of pleasure and pain as he began thrusting in tune with her grinding hips. Their pace quickened after synching with each other and establishing a mechanical rhythm, joining their bodies together with force beyond mortal capabilities.

Eventually, the female Arrancar abandoned her attempts at keeping up with him. The haze clouding her mind resulting from the drain on her soul and the sensory overload kept her from performing as well as she would have liked. Instead, she relinquished all control and fell into total submission.

Grimmjow hammered her against the headboard of the bed, sending Pantera skidding to the floor beside the couple while they filled the room with a chorus of animalistic growls and other utterances. As time wore on, he had pushed her to the point where she had to sit up in order to prevent her head from being rammed through the wall. Consequently, this allowed him to hit her deeper and at an angle that made her shudder and constrict around him every time he entered in order to provide as much blissful friction as possible.

Sung-Sun's eyes once again lost their level and moved up to the ceiling as her breasts bounced modestly to the inhuman tempo of Grimmjow's abuse. She was getting close and she could feel that he was as well. Next thing she knew, she had been pried from the wall and thrown back onto the mattress where her hands where positioned over her head in an iron grip. The action had torn the Espada's teeth from her neck, and he was now leaking lifeblood from his open maw down into her waiting lips. He lunged into her, dedicating one arm to securing her and the other to reach below her arching back to rectify her unresponsive behavior by forcing her backside up as he thrust forward.

The sound of skin smacking together replaced the once-abundant moans and snarls when Grimmjow enveloped Sung-Sun's mouth. Soon after, he abandoned binding her hands, allowing her to grasp his back in return for the choking grip he had wrapped around her throat, asphyxiating her at the moment of orgasm.

With a ragged cry, she tightened around him as she herself lost control from being so close to death. Completely unaware that her eyes had glazed over with a viridian sheen, she rode the waves of gratification and felt him come inside her, extending her own climax while the two vigorously pounded their thighs together until the space between them was thinner than air.

Following what seemed to them like an indefinite length of time, they slowly descended until they were no longer moving. The two remained still save for Sung-Sun's small quakes of ecstasy, and even those stopped before Grimmjow peeled himself off of her, finding twisted amusement in the sound that their sweat and her blood had produced. He laughed and she joined him when her throat recovered from the verge of being crushed.

Their mirth didn't go without an interruption.

"Oi! Would you two shut the hell up already?!"

Apacci stood in the doorway, pink dusting her cheeks as she came across the sight before her. "For fuck's sake, you're gonna bring the whole tower down," she amended sheepishly, growing agitated by pair of identically incredulous stares aimed her way.

"Hah? Weren't you standing there listening before you came in?" Sung-Sun pointed out blandly. "Why can't you take a hint like Mila Rose and leave us alone if you're going to be such a jealous thing?" She herself was a bit miffed at the intrusion. Moreover, she didn't even have a sleeve to cover her mouth—she couldn't be nearly as scathing without it.

"As if I'd be jealous of getting beaten up like some whore. And that stupid Gorilla's so drunk that she'll sleep through tomorrow," Apacci blurted out, hoping to dodge the previous observation. "'Sides, what's up with you both looking like that? Have you two been starving yourselves or something? You're eyes..."

It wasn't possible to ignore Sung-Sun's claim; Grimmjow had already picked up on what her sister had noted. "Don't think I couldn't feel ya out there too? The hell's your problem? There's enough voyeurs in this place as there is, so either get on with fucking off or come in." He watched with great interest as the younger Fraccion went through what seemed to be her entire emotional spectrum before she stiffened up completely straight when Sung-Sun suddenly appeared behind her and snaked her hands along her moderately curvaceous body.

"Oh," she exhaled sultrily into Apacci's ear, "was that it? Were you cold also, Apacci-chan?"

"Shaddup, and don't call me that! I hate that damn little sister shit!" the mortified Arrancar shouted feebly, doing her best to shake away Sung-Sun but failing miserably. Alcohol didn't agree with her as well as the other members of her tower. Within seconds, the older girl had violated both her jacket and hakama, simultaneously stimulating her breasts and growing wetness. The carnal mind of an Arrancar was such an easy thing.

"No use lyin', girl. I can smell you gettin' hot over there," Grimmjow chided, his glowing blue eyes teeming with mischief. "Join us or don't, your call. Either way, I'm far from stopping. So what's it gonna be, you comin' in here or you trying to sleep with the ceiling falling down on your head?"

He snickered when all he received was a defeated yet satisfied groan.

"Glad to hear it. Now take off your fucking uniform before I shred it."

Sung-Sun let loose a string of giggles at her fellow subordinate's reaction to the order and assisted Apacci with loosening her sash and top before letting the cloth pool up by her feet. Eagerly, she then guided her over to the blood and sweat stained bed, kicking off the top sheet and setting her down.

She sidled next to her and played with her larger assets with enthusiasm as she kissed her neck, easing her into a much more agreeable state of mind. Once that was accomplished and her frustration had been supplanted with lust, Sung-Sun shot a devious smile over to Grimmjow who took the hint and lowered his head between the girl's legs. She had to give him credit; he was good at what he practiced. Within seconds, he had Apacci pushing herself into his tongue, breathing heavily and radiating the need for satisfaction.

She just hoped that she wouldn't get too much attention. All the activity had caused her to be reignited with desire to have Grimmjow once more, but all that seemed to be put on hold when Apacci grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

Sung-Sun smiled through the affectionate contact, passionately mingling her tongue with the other woman's and then pulling away to stretch a gossamer string of red saliva courtesy of previous puncture wounds to her lips.

Suddenly Grimmjow didn't seem to be an immediate concern. He was far from being less than a necessity, but one thing was for certain…

This was going to be fun.

Several hours later, Grimmjow reclined back onto what was quite possibly the only pillow that wasn't coated with some kind of bodily fluid and stared up with a blank expression on his face. Idly, he noticed how the reiatsu lamps' fluctuations had yet to create any moving shadows. Beside him, Apacci had dropped out a couple rounds ago. Now, she was sleeping curled up almost on top of his chest and exhibiting the most serene look he'd ever seen on her face. On the other side, Sung-Sun was panting from sheer exhaustion and most likely blood loss. She heaved up and down from her spot next to her superior, worn but completely satiated.

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Truthfully, Grimmjow really didn't understand these sort of actions.

Sung-Sun was in love with him. He knew that, yet he couldn't understand it. It was beyond common for Arrancar to engage in sexual activities, but for most, like Grimmjow, they were simply acts of pleasure-seeking hedonism and more of a pastime than anything else. That was not the case for her. She was constantly lingering around, displaying odd affections that he didn't know how to handle. The only things he knew about love was what he had found through reading, and it annoyed him that it's prerequisites for establishment were about as solid as air.

Surprisingly enough, she seemed to be on track with what little he did uncover about human love. As a non-Hougyoku Arrancar, it would be exceedingly rare for her to harbor those sorts of feelings. Nevertheless, she routinely made empty contact with him, draping herself over him when they sat near each other, kissing him outside of sex, and doing other small, fruitless things that held no bearing with him. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy it from time to time—as they often led to a trip to one of their beds if they should make it that far—but it grated on him a little. If his annoyance ever outweighed his enjoyment of her affections then he'd make her stop even if Harribel had to try and punish him for it.

Speak of the devil.

A calm tempest of reiatsu entered the room and stood at the foot of the bed, scrutinizing the scene of carnal indulgence. "I caught the scent of blood," Harribel announced, her aqua-colored orbs moving across the chamber. "I assume this was all consensual."

"Of course, Mistress." Sung-Sun mumbled tiredly, unable to face the Tercera. She smiled to herself, content with the protection Harribel provided for her.

"Kinda," Grimmjow corrected.

"Very well then," the blonde sighed. She couldn't bring herself to understand why anyone would subject themselves to such torture let alone how they could want it. Regardless, a checkup wasn't why she was there; she knew that Grimmjow respected the rules of her territory. He wouldn't outright go against them and attack her companions, she knew that. It was just that a plausible excuse had been needed to enter the room in order to put on a show for Las Noches' security personnel.

That accomplished, she left and revealed a hastily scribbled note on the back of the door.

Starrk will speak with you tomorrow.

None of the cameras would have been able to read the text. It was scrawled at a nearly impossible small size. Only someone with vision trained from hundreds of years of hunting in the overwhelming blackness of the Menos Forest would have been able to make it out.

Grimmjow didn't know what to make of the message. Things were already coming together, and he hadn't even completely agreed to the whole idea yet. Without his inborn sense of self-preservation, he would have been onboard in a heartbeat, but the risks were far too heavy to be taken lightly. Aizen would not tolerate conspiring and the misuse of his prisoner even if it gave him the strongest soldier he had ever acquired. And it wasn't as if he could just tell him the idea either. It would be seen through instantly as the affront to his power that it was, and all he would say was sure to be something along the lines of, 'I can't risk the life of an Espada over such a fragile theory'. He'd shoot down the plan immediately and probably increase surveillance on every party involved with the notion if not punish them severely through some roundabout method.

On the other hand, if he did go ahead with it, then he could achieve the ability to better protect himself against the upcoming war. He wasn't blind; he could see that even the top three Espada were expendable when it came to Aizen's ultimate goal. Anything lesser was just fodder.

Harribel had seemed to notice this as well. Grimmjow imagined that her chief motivation for helping him lay in indebting him to protect the Tercera and her subordinates against Aizen when the time came that he saw their use as expired.

Grimmjow wasn't afraid of death, but he'd be damned if he met his end due to some other man's insane ambition.

If he evolved, then he could have a better shot at shaping his own fate—even more so if Aizen reused the Hougyoku on him as Harribel so firmly believed he would. He could make his own path, one to freedom that the others of his pack could follow. Should it all go as planned, he could even rise to rival Aizen in terms of sheer strength as improbable as that may have seemed. Initially, it felt impossible, but the thousands of what 'if's' rebounding off the walls of his mind weren't going to be ignored.

If only to risk his life on hope alone…

He'd do it. After all, he was in a situation where he could either die on either his knees or his feet if the plan failed. The possibility of his survival postwar at his current power level was next to none.

That settled it. Grimmjow would claim his natural born right as a Vasto Lorde.

Next to him, Sung-Sun stirred, sensing her lover's restlessness.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked groggily.

"The future," replied Grimmjow pensively.

"Can you afford to?"

When she would go and boldly say things like that, Grimmjow had to give the inferior hybrid a small semblance of respect. She knew as well as he did that they were doomed, and it had been out of that despair that she had given herself to him. The statement didn't imply that he was weak like he would have suspected had he not known her so intimately. It was her way of berating him for daring to focus on anything but the present in favor of a time when he most likely wouldn't exist.

The hell he wouldn't.

"We'll see."