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Dead in Love	By : crunchysalad Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters. I am not making any money from this piece of fiction.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
I kind of regret my whole idea of giving each espada a sex scene, because they turned out kind of weird. I guess you can always skip them if they're too much?
WARNING: This chapter contains NON-CON and SEMI-BESTIALITY (in the form of panther!Grimmjow).
Also, please help me decide what stories to work on next. You can take my poll (http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/24481-polls-by-crunchysalad/) but you have to be a member of the forum to vote. So if you're not a member feel free to just leave a comment.
Saka_Sandora and satterb, thank you for your comments! As always, I really love hearing from you guys. Thanks for sticking it out with me and my weird stories; it means a lot to me.

Chapter Three
He started off walking. But the sand was ever shifting beneath his feet, swirling and receding and pushing up against him again. It was hard to keep his balance, hard to make decent time across the vast space. It wasn't as though he had anywhere to go, as though he were in any kind of a rush, but it still grated. So he changed. His torso lengthened, his limbs contracted. Soon he was all sinew and muscle, a panther instead of a man. In this form he could traverse the desert with ease. He flew over the surface of the sand, the heated surface doing nothing to the thick pad of his paws, the harsh sun almost reflecting from his fur.
A small part of him wondered what he was doing here, but most of him didn't care. He was free, at least for the moment, at least until he had to go back to that gray city of metal and glass. With no regard to anything rational or real, Grimmjow made his way through the desert. After some indeterminable amount of time he slowed and stopped, ears perking and fur standing on edge as he sensed something a few sand dunes over, near an outcropping of tall, jagged rocks. Careful to make the least amount of noise possible, he started to sneak over, curious as to what it could be.
He came to near the top of the sand dune before he stopped. From here he could just barely see into the dip below, to the bottom of the space between several dunes. Well, well. . . there was a sight he didn't expect to see.
It was Ulquiorra. And not the Ulquiorra that Grimmjow had seen before in this desert. It was the Ulquiorra from the city. A brief question ran through his head, a small musing as to what this Ulquiorra was doing here, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Instead of questioning things, Grimmjow settled into that soft, sinking sand and watched the show.
Ulquiorra was being dragged over the sand by some tall, slender man with an elongated white mask over his face. Grimmjow was downwind of them, the desert breeze carrying every single noise that they made to Grimmjow's ears. He could hear the sand shift away under Ulquiorra's weight. He could hear the man's breathing, amplified and heavy through the holes in his mask.
The two men came to a stop soon enough at the dip in the dunes. The man let go of Ulquiorra's arms, walked back around to his legs. Grimmjow watched as he kneeled by them. Grimmjow watched as the man reached towards Ulquiorra's zipper with long fingers. And he watched as the man undid those pants, as he started to peel them off in clumsy, unpracticed motions.
Ulquiorra's cock and balls came into view, resting limp between his legs. Ulquiorra's breathing hitched, just a bit, though he remained unconscious. And then Ulquiorra was naked from the waist down, his lower body completely exposed, pants discarded next to him. Grimmjow licked his lips, hunched back so he was laying on all fours. His tail swung lazily behind him, hitting the sand with short thuds with each swing. He watched as the man tilted his mask back, just so, and a pair of pink, moist lips came into view. He watched as the man bent forward, as a tongue darted out. And he watched as the man licked and slobbered at Ulquiorra's crotch. Like an animal feasting.
At the slightest response, the man moved away. Ulquiorra's unconscious body was only half hard as the sound of fabric moving over fabric ghosted towards Grimmjow's ears. A thin sash fluttered over the breeze and onto the sand, and fabric crumpled down to the man's knees. His cock came into view, long and pointed up towards the sun, dripping just a little bit from its very tip. The man stroked himself, even as he stuck two fingers into Ulquiorra's little hole. Ulquiorra squirmed away and spread his legs at the same time, inconsistent fucker. Still asleep. The man held his hip to prevent him moving too much, jammed his fingers in farther. Pulled them out and forced them back in. Ulquiorra's cock was getting nice and stiff now, little whines of pleasure coming from out of his throat.
Grimmjow pulled back his lips. Revealed large, glowing teeth. Stuck his tongue out over them. He could smell it, could taste it inside the cavern of his mouth, the scent of Ulquiorra's arousal. He could feel his own cock grow, reveal itself from beneath the armor and fur covering his skin. Could feel the breeze and sand against its raw, exposed surface.
The man was done preparing Ulquiorra. He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound and moved his whole body between Ulquiorra's legs. Grimmjow could see the tip of the man's cock press against Ulquiorra's hole, just for a moment, before he pushed it in. It was an easy, smooth movement as he buried himself to the hilt. Perhaps Ulquiorra had been entertaining other gentlemen callers earlier in the evening?
The sound that came from Ulquiorra's mouth at the intrusion was a half-whine, half-moan. Even if he wasn't aware of what was happening his body was, and it seemed to be enjoying it. Ulquiorra's body squirmed and arched and hardened with each thrust of that stiff cock inside of him. Drip. Drip. Drops of pre-cum onto his stomach, like that leaky faucet in his cramped kitchen. Ulquiorra was still hard when the man finished. When the men thrust deep inside of him, stilled, then pulled out again. An anti-climatic and too quick end, but then again the man didn't know that he had an audience. Perhaps he would have put up a better performance if he did.
The man pulled up his pants, walked away. Grimmjow watched him leave. Listened to the shifting sand. The scent of Ulquiorra's arousal still hung heavy in the air, still was evident in the stiffness of his neglected cock. Once the man was gone, Grimmjow got up on all four paws and walked towards Ulquiorra. He wanted to have some fun too, after all.
A few steps, nimble feet carrying him yards in mere seconds. And then he was there, next to Ulquiorra's prone body. He shoved his face into the other man's crotch. The scent there sent a jolt to his groin. Musky and delectable, Ulquiorra's arousal mixed with the man's cum. He moved a rough tongue out. Lapped at Ulquoirra's still hard penis. The movement elicited little moans from Ulquiorra's lips, but Grimmjow didn't linger there for long. He licked over Ulquiorra's taint, over his asshole. But he didn't shove his tongue in. Didn't want to taste another man's jizz that clearly.
He wanted to fuck. He wanted to fuck Ulquiorra. And he was going to do it. He used paws and nuzzle to turn the other man onto his stomach. Ulquiorra stirred, made a noise that sounded like waking. Of all the bad timing. But Grimmjow wasn't going to let something like Ulquiorra waking up stop him. He placed his paw on the back of Ulquiorra's shoulder, careful that the claws didn't dig in too much. Ulquiorra moaned, in pain instead of pleasure, so apparently he wasn't completely successful. Not that he particularly cared.
Ulquiorra was stirring even more. A mumbled "what" in a disoriented voice. Grimmjow moved over him, large body almost completely covering Ulquiorra's smaller frame. He brought his mouth down to Ulquiorra's shoulder, the one his paw wasn't holding down. He bit into it. Just slightly. Just enough to hold. But the pain sent Ulquiorra fully awake, sent the man's body spasming in an almost involuntary attempt to get away. But the movement only made his ass lift up in the air, only made what Grimmjow wanted to do all the more easy.
Grimmjow thrust forward. And missed, his cock sliding futilely between Ulquiorra's ass cheeks. A few more times, then. Third time's the charm, and he felt his big, barbed dick slide into the body beneath him in one forceful thrust. A cry of pain and the body scrambled some more, but it was useless. Grimmjow wasn't letting go until he had gotten off. He kept thrusting into that soft, hot body. His dick felt so good. Felt like it was in fucking heaven. A low purr built up in his throat, stayed there. Ulquiorra's hole was getting wetter and wetter, some combination of Grimmjow's pre-cum and. . . blood? Maybe it was blood. Ulquiorra was yelling at him, telling him to stop, telling him to pull it out, but the noises only spurred him on, made him harder. It was so difficult to get Ulquiorra to be anything but indifferent, and it was his indifference that Grimmjow hated the most.
Eventually Grimmjow felt himself getting close. He felt his orgasm building, larger and larger, until it washed over him like a tidal wave. Semen shot out of his cock as he buried himself deep in that velvet tunnel. And only when it was completely done, the last vestiges of his climax replaced with afterglow, did he pull out.
As soon as he let go just a little bit, Ulquiorra turned on him. He was pushed onto his back, the movement knocking the breath out of his lungs. He heard an emotionless, matter-of-fact "I'll kill you." And then he felt fists colliding with his face and body. He was turning back, back to human form, and sent his arms up to protect himself. Tried to fight back. But all his body could register was pain. And then they were a moving pile of limbs, flailing towards each other as they rolled this way and that over the sand. The taste of blood in his mouth, and then there was a flash.
There were two Ulquiorras now. Grimmjow blinked. Looked around. The three of them were sitting on the sand, around a bonfire that crinkled and sputtered with flame and heat. It was nighttime, and cold. Grimmjow looked down at himself. No blood that he could see. No broken bones. He was fine. He looked over at the first Ulquiorra. His Ulquiorra. The man looked the same as always. Not happy. Not mad. Not anything. Grimmjow looked over at the second Ulquiorra, sitting right next to the first. This one was taller, skinner, a stretched out faun with black goat legs and hoofs. Segunda Etapa Ulquiorra, Grimmjow remembered, though he didn't know where he had heard the name. This Ulquiorra was completely blank, eyes dead of any kind of emotion or intelligence. His long, chord-like tail swung back and forth, tapping against the surface of the sand.
"This is fucking weird," Grimmjow muttered, looking at the two Ulquiorras sitting next to each other.
The words made Ulquiorra's head snap up at him. "So you're talking now. How do we get out of this place, Grimmjow? How do we get back to the city?"
"What the fuck do you care? You've got no attachment to that shit-hole. Or is it more drugs you're after?"
"Tell me," Ulquiorra said. His eyes flashed, unspoken threat within them.
"Fuck if I know," Grimmjow replied. "I always just end up back there, eventually."
"The man who brought me here," Ulquiorra said. "He travelled here at will. He can bring us back."
"You mean the guy who was fucking you when I found you?"
Ulquiorra's eyes flashed again.
"Good luck finding him."
And the conversation was over, returned to silence. Grimmjow wasn't sure how long they stayed there, not talking. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It could have been days. But at some point he fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again both Ulquiorras were gone. At least it was day time now. Grimmjow walked over to the spot the fire used to be, but it was ash now. Rapidly disappearing into the sand, and soon there would be nothing there at all.
Ulquiorra might have been in a hurry to get home, but Grimmjow sure as fuck wasn't. He was perfectly content here, here in his desert. He wondered through it at his leisure, uncaring of how much time did or didn't pass. It didn't really make a difference to him. He was moving over a singular spot, identical to any other spot of sand in that vast desert, when he felt the ground give out from under him. No time to run, no time to jump away. He was already waist-deep and being sucked into the sand. Grimmjow held his breath and gave a mental "fuck you" to God, who he was sure he'd be seeing pretty soon.
There was a feeling of being crushed. Pressure on every inch of his skin. And then it felt like he was being spit out. He spun and tumbled, landing with some pain on hard rock floor. He could breath. He was alive. He opened his eyes.
He was in some kind of underground cavern. The sinkhole he had fallen in from was, from this side, a cascading fall of sand. It let in just enough light so that he could see; otherwise, the place was dark, rocky, and cool.
"Well, well. Look at what the sandfall dragged in."
It was a lazy drawl, full of soft consonants and rolling vowels. Grimmjow looked up at it, saw a man silhouetted there, features obscure but build clear enough. Tall and muscular, leaning against the orange and red layers of rock wall. A step closer and Grimmjow could make out more details. Shoulder-length wavy brown hair, a small goatee. Furs draped over his shoulders.
"Who the fuck are you?" Grimmjow asked.
"Didn't your mama ever tell you that it's rude not to give your own name when you ask someone for theirs?"
Grimmjow frowned, pushed himself to standing position.
"Forget it," Grimmjow said. "I don't fucking care."
Two directions to go in, and Grimmjow set down one of them. Walk long enough and he was bound to either find a way out or eventually reappear in the city. His footsteps echoed down the hollow cavern, followed too closely by another pair behind him. Step, step, four feet in an order-less non-rhythm. It irked Grimmjow, the sound of someone behind him, the knowledge that someone was there.
Grimmjow snapped and turned. "Will you fucking stop that?"
The man blinked at him. Several times.
". . . This is the way home for me."
Grimmjow was frozen in place, mind wrapping around the fact that actual people lived in the desert. And not just mute freak shows like desert-version Ulquiorra, but actual, normal people, with the ability to speak and rationalize. Grimmjow stayed frozen as the man ambled around and started to walk past him. Before the man's footsteps faded away to nothingness, he started to follow. No place else to go, after all, unless he wanted to turn back around. As he walked behind the man he watched the man's legs, slow-moving and lanky. He watched the man's broad back, watched its minute movements as he moved.
After awhile a door appeared on the side of the cavern, made of primitively shaped stone. The man placed a hand on it, paused. Turned his head so Grimmjow could see his silhouette.
"You coming in?"
And then he was gone, sliding into the space that must be his home. Grimmjow stared at the dark hole left by the open door. He hesitated for just a moment, but then he followed the man in.
The inside looked the same as the outside. Sedimentary rock walls, shiny layers one on top of each other. The space was bigger, vaguely square shaped, instead of a corridor. A pile of furs that must be a bed lay in the corner, and conveniently shaped rocks made up a table and two chairs. A small hole near the top of one wall, barely big enough for a cat to get through, gave light.
"Grimmjow," Grimmjow said, docile for the moment. "That's my name."
"Stark." Stark sat down on one of the rock chairs. There had been something slung over his shoulder and he slapped it onto the table. The dead carcass of some small animal. A knife appeared in one of his hands and he started to skin it.
Saliva filled Grimmjow's mouth. When had he last eaten? When had he last been hungry? Well, he was hungry now. He slid down against the wall near the door, taking a seat on the cold rock floor.
"You from the city?" Stark asked, after several minutes of skinning and silence. The carcass was a lump of pink flesh now, and he started work on cutting it into pieces.
"Yeah. You're not?"
"I am. I just prefer staying here. It's quiet here. Time moves slow. . . I can just lay here and relax, no care in the world.""
Curiosity flared inside Grimmjow's mind. "How do you do that?"
"Hmm?" Stark blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I just. . . don't go back."
"You can control it? Next time I blink I could be back in that fucking city again. I never know where I'll be when I open my eyes."
Stark scratched his head, gave Grimmjow the once-over. Maybe he thought he was crazy. "That sounds like quite a doozy. But it's your problem, not mine. I'm more concerned with what's going on in the city. The fires still going on there?"
"Yeah," Grimmjow said. "But what's that got to do with you out here?"
The man sighed. "Don't tell me I've got to explain it. . ."
Silence stretched between them as Grimmjow waited for Stark to go on, though Stark never did.
"Yeah," Grimmjow finally said, through gritted teeth. "You do."
"Look. That city and this desert occupy the same space-"
"I want an explanation, not some weird bullshit. How can two things occupy the same space? And the desert's bigger than the city, so I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
A frown, tugging on Stark's lips. "It only seems bigger. It seems endless, because there are no landmarks to tell you otherwise. But it's the same size as the city, trust you me. They're opposite sides of the same coin. So when the city gets smaller, so does the desert. And the city's burning away."
Grimmjow leaned back against the wall. It was so cool against him, so comforting. It helped him think, somehow. He remembered his car ride. The city. . . it was only the edges of it were burnt. It was true, it was burning from the outside in.
"Pretty soon both these worlds will be gone," Stark continued. "So might as well enjoy the time we've got left. You wouldn't happen to know how big the city is now, would you?"
Grimmjow blinked. Thought about it a little bit.
"H through S," he said. "H through S streets are still there, at least on twenty-second street. But some of those streets were already burned up."
"Then they're probably gone by now. Doesn't look like we're too long for this world. . . or that this world will last much longer than us."
Grimmjow leaned his head back. Stared up at the stone cavern roof. Disappear? Just like that? For some reason he couldn't find himself feeling to much one way or the other about the idea. He should be angry, he thought. Or perhaps incredulous. But this quiet indifference. . . maybe he had been spending too much time with Ulquiorra lately. His apathy was proving contagious.
"I don't believe you," Grimmjow said, but as he said it he realized the words ringing through his head were 'I don't care.' Stranger shit had been happening to him, after all, so why shouldn't the world be shrinking as well?
"Doesn't much matter to me if you believe me or not. What matters to me. . . well. . ."
The scrape of the stone chair as it moved back. Footsteps, closer and closer to him, until he could feel Stark right there. Grimmjow tilted his head forward again, found himself staring at Stark's denim-covered crotch.
"Gets lonely here in the desert," Stark drawled. "If you're going to stick around, maybe you can put that pretty little mouth of yours to good use."
"You don't look like the type with money, and I'm not interested enough to do it for free."
"I've got food. You're hungry, aren't you?"
Grimmjow's eyes flashed towards the lump of rabbit-shaped meat on the table. Yeah. Yeah, he was hungry. He straightened up a little and leaned forward, hands coming out to pull on Stark's zipper. It opened easily, Stark's cock all but spilling out as it opened, long and limp. Grimmjow didn't waste any time, wanting to get business done with so he could eat. He took the large cock into his mouth and sucked. It was hot on his tongue and grew quickly, expanding more and more until he started to choke on it. At that point he tried to move off of it, but Stark's hands tangled in his hair and kept his head there.
Grimmjow gagged on the large cock as he felt it push down his throat. With all the expertise he could muster, he forcibly relaxed his throat muscles, enough that he didn't start choking on the thing. And he did it just in time, because Stark was pulling Grimmjow's face onto his cock even more, inch by inch. Grimmjow's fingers dug into Stark's hips. He cringed at the feeling of the long cock filling up his throat. But he didn't have any choice in the matter. Soon Stark had pushed Grimmjow's head completely onto his cock. Grimmjow's nose pressed hard against pelvic bone, buried in a coarse nest of public hair.
"That's right." One hand stroked his hair gently, the other tangled in it to prevent him from moving. "Take it. Take it all. Delicious, yeah?"
And then, hard and violent, Stark started to fuck his face. He pulled his cock out and slammed it back into Grimmjow's throat, over and over again. Each time Grimmjow's nose would smash into hard pelvic bone, each time his throat would barely be able to accommodate. It fucking hurt. He just tried to take his mind off of it and hope that Stark came as soon as possible. His mouth felt like it was going dry, and his throat already felt sore.
At least he didn't have to wait too long. Hands tightened painfully in his hair. They pulled him fully onto the cock, so that his nose was smashed against Stark's crotch. It was hard to breath, with a cock down his throat and his nose smushed up like that. He flailed, but Stark's grip was firm. The guy was strong. And then it came. Hot semen, flooding down his throat, oozing back up to fill his mouth. Like he was drowning in the stuff. And he swallowed, frantically, because it was all he could do to keep from choking. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Stark stopped coming. His grip loosened and Grimmjow scrambled away, coughing as he pulled his throat and mouth from that cock.
He bent over, drops of spit and cum splattering from his mouth as he coughed. He rubbed his throat, which felt strange and raw inside. And Stark, the fucker, just walked away, zipping up his pants as he did so.
"So." A lazy drawl that belied the events that had just occurred. "Do you feel like roast or stew?"
Grimmjow woke up and jumped to sitting position. Wait. Had he been asleep? He could feel fur on his bare skin. A bed. His throat and ass burned and throbbed. And what looked like a Stark-shaped pile lay snoring beside him. At least there was a satisfying, heavy feeling in the pits of his stomach.
Grimmjow got up, not bothering to pull on any clothes. Who the hell else was here? He walked out of the cavern, looking for a smaller one that Stark must use as a bathroom. He had to have something like that, right? And Grimmjow needed to piss. He made his way down the curving corridor, more and more irritated with each foot he passed without finding something. Fuck it. He'd just go in the middle of the hallway. Not like it was a real hallway anyway.
He grabbed his cock in one hand and let the piss fly, watched as it darkened the red stone in front of him. He blinked. Red stone turned to black sky. He blinked again. Lights, neon and fluorescent. He blinked again. The sound of traffic and crowds. The feeling of wind on his bare skin. And the city, stretched out all around him. Grimmjow blinked again, but the desert wasn't coming back. He was back in the city, pissing off some godforsaken rooftop, his urine arching out neatly to fall multiple stories down into the ground.
Grimmjow looked around. Looked to one side, then another. And blinked to see a man in a black robe staring back at him, completely confused.
A fraction of a second. That was all the time he needed to react. He threw himself at the man, tackled him to the ground, closed his hands around his arms There was a fight, both of them spiraling, the man trying to get away and Grimmjow trying to keep him there. It was Grimmjow who was the victor, once he had the man pinned to the wall, once he had his hands around the man's throat.
"What the fuck is going on?" Grimmjow snarled. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Get off! Even if I told you it wouldn't matter. You wouldn't believe me."
Grimmjow dug his fingers into the man's soft throat, hard enough to make breathing just a little bit difficult. "Try me."
The man sputtered in an attempt to talk, and Grimmjow relaxed his grip just a little bit.
"I'm a shinigami," the man said, eyes a hard glare.
Grimmjow felt a harsh laugh fall from his lips. "Yeah? Some kind of reaper or something? Here to escort the dead to fucking heaven?"
"No. Just here to check up on things. Just making sure that every thing's okay in purgatory."
Grimmjow felt his blood run cold, like it was filled with the ice-nine Ulquiorra loved so much. Purgatory. He laughed, a hollow sound. "Fuck. What the fuck is that? You telling me I'm dead? That we're all dead, just waiting to be sent off to heaven?"
"No. Not all of you."
A ringing, in his ears, but the shinigami was continuing.
"Purgatory is a world that's personal to any given person. When someone's soul is sent here, a world is created for him, filled with fragments of his memory and imagination. And when his soul is judged, when it's time for it to go somewhere else, the world disappears."
He felt altogether weak. His fingers couldn't hold on. His legs couldn't stand. He let go, quite involuntarily, and crumpled to the ground. Kneeled there, hands on his stomach. "So I'm dead? What the fuck. . . what the fuck is that."
Ulquiorra and every one else, were they just twisted shadows of his memories? People he knew when he was alive? But now he was dead and cold, body and bones buried six feet under somewhere else. Worm food. Grimmjow felt sick, felt his stomach turning. And the shinigami just stood there, eyes fixed to the side. But he stood. Didn't run. And Grimmjow could feel the pity emanating from him, even as Grimmjow let his head fell into his lap.
"No," the shinigami said. "This isn't your world. You're not the one it was created for."

Ulquiorra shivered even in the heat of the desert. His body felt weak, frail, and full of need. Ice. It needed ice, flowing through its veins and enveloping him in numbness. He hated it here. He hated this never ending desert. He hated following some deformed desert version of himself around aimlessly.
But what else was he supposed to do?
When it appeared, he thought it was a mirage. A mansion of English style, made out of something that looked like white bone, ivy and flowers creeping out of the desert to surround it. He froze, stared at it, as his desert form disappeared over the horizon. But it was something. Something different from sand and dunes. He made his way towards it, until he was at the open door. Two lines of some instrumental song kept playing, over and over, and just inside he could see a metal gramophone with a needle that kept skipping to and fro. The sound of feminine humming, and he followed it inside. Past rooms and hallways, until he was inside something of a breakfast nook, large french windows looking up out over a garden of flowers so faintly colored they looked like skeletons.
Seated at the table was a rather fit elderly gentleman, a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of tiny sandwiches in front of him. And dancing around him, humming as he served him, was a man with long, blond hair and a maid's uniform.
Ulquiorra coughed.
Both men froze. Stared up at him.
"My, my." It was the elderly man who spoke first, his tone one of a statesmen. All pomp and ego. "It must be my lucky day, to have such a pretty little thing wander into my manor."
The blond man frowned as eyes traced up and down the length of Ulquiorra's body. "He's okay, I guess."
"Now, now, Findor. Please do be hospitable. Why don't you go find another cup for our new friend."
"Of course, Lord Baraggan." But he was scowling, and as he exited the room he fluffed the crinoline of his skirts up like a peacock warning off Ulquiorra.
"Please sit."
Ulquiorra obliged. He had little else to do, and at least this was a respite from wandering the desert.
"You've heard my name, but I still don't have the pleasure of knowing yours."
"Ulquiorra."
Findor came back then. In his hands was clutched a hand-painted porcelain plate of the finest quality. And on that plate was an old aluminum can. He set it in front of Ulquiorra, poured some tea inside, and smiled.
"Please enjoy. Be careful not to cut your lips on the edge, dear, it's a bit jagged."
"How considerate of you, Findor." Baraggan made a contented 'hmph' noise as Findor went back to flitting to and fro like a hummingbird, this time to water the plants that dotted the room. "Now, what brings you here, Ulquiorra love?"
"I'm trying to find my way back to a city." Ulquiorra's mouth hung open for a moment as he realized that his city didn't have a name. That was. . . odd. Cities usually had a name, didn't they? But apparently he didn't have to worry about trivial things such as names, because understanding dawned on Baraggan's face.
"Ah. The city. An absolutely dreadful place. We moved out here to the countryside long ago."
Ulquiorra looked out the window. Beyond the plants all he saw was sand, stretching in every direction. It wasn't like any countryside he had ever imagined.
"Do you know how to get back?" he asked.
"I'm sorry to say that I do not," Baraggan replied. "Though I will be happy to host you in my humble abode. I'm sure you'll find it to be more than comfortable enough."
Findor brought a duster down hard on the table. Since when had he been dusting?
"Lord Baraggan," he said, voice clipped. "What about that man? That witch doctor? Doesn't he know how to get back?"
Hard eyes under long eyelashes turned towards Ulquiorra.
"I'm sure he could get you back in a jiffy."
"Perhaps, perhaps." Baraggan folded his hands in his lap. Smiled. "But it seems a shame to send company away so quickly. Especially such attractive company. I must admit. . ."
And here Baraggan leaned forward, a sly smile on his cracked lips. His voice, when he spoke next, was a conspiratorial whisper.
". . . This might make me odd, but I quite enjoy a man with a more feminine look."
A hand, under the table, found its way to Ulquiorra's lap, even as Findor glared at him. It kneaded his thigh, teasing, promising.
"I also enjoy it when they have nice, big cocks."
The hand trailed higher, cupped Ulquiorra's limp bulge through his pants.
"I enjoy riding those big, young cocks. And I enjoy seeing those cocks bob in the air when their owners are the ones riding me."
The hand was gone. Baraggan leaned back and smiled.
"What do you say, Ulquiorra? A little tit for tat? You help put some variety into my bedside pursuits, and I'll tell you where you can find this witch doctor."
Ulquiorra's eyes flashed to Findor, who looked livid.
"Fine," he said.
"And what about you, love?" Baraggan's hand disappeared under the crinoline of Findor's too short skirt. It seemed to be massaging his thigh, massaging his ass. "Will you share nicely?"
Findor pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. Still, he seemed loath to go against his beloved lord's wishes. "Fine."
"So. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"
Baraggan was the first to stand up, and he wrapped his arm around Findor's waist. They started to make their way out of the room. Ulquiorra followed, and it wasn't long before Findor was throwing open the doors to a bedroom, sunlight dimmed in large part because of dark, velvet curtains over the window. Baraggan made his way to a high-backed chair and sat down upon it as though he were a king sitting on a throne.
"Now," he said. "I'd like for you two to entertain me first. Perhaps some kissing and fondling of one another, while I watch, if you please."
Findor had an expression on his face like he had been asked to eat rat excrement. But he nonetheless obeyed, crawling onto the bed as he cast a glance back at Ulquiorra.
"What are you waiting for, then?" he asked. "Let's hurry and get this over with."
Ulquiorra only shrugged. Whether or not Findor enjoyed his company was of little concern to him. His type didn't swing towards the elderly, and he was just doing this to obtain information. Why Finder was so irrationally against him was beyond him. Ulquiorra climbed onto the bed next to Finder and laid on his side next to him. He reached forward, wrapped his hands around Findor's arms, and pulled him forward until their lips met. Lips pressed together. Tongues sparred. And hands ran up and down lithe, fit bodies. For all his earlier disdain, Findor didn't seem to mind their situation so much right now.
"That's right," Baraggan murmured, his voice heavy and hoarse. "But I'd like to see something a bit more. . . intimate."
Ulquiorra's hands wandered down Findor's side, his hips, his thighs. Swung back up and around to the front of his skirt. His cock was already hard and jutting out into the air, lifting his skirts up around it, so it was easy for Ulquiorra's hand to wrap around. As he started to stroke it, Findor moaned into his mouth and arched into the touch. An answering hand found its way to the front of his pants, where it made short work of opening the zipper and pulling his own cock out. Then they were each jerking off the other, hot hands on even hotter erections.
From there, it didn't take long before their cocks were pressed together and their hands were intertwined. Pre-cum flowed freely as they rubbed against each other, as both their hands intertwined and stroked in almost unison. Ulquiorra was only vaguely aware of the sound of Baraggan's chair being pushed back, the sound of heavy footsteps towards the bed, the sound of disrobing. But he was clearly aware as Baraggan's weight settled onto the mattress, shifting Ulquiorra's own body weight just a little bit upward.
"So many positions, so little time. If only I was a young man with the stamina I had back in the day."
Ulquiorra looked up to see Baraggan looking down, watching the two young men in their play. His large, calloused hand was stroking his own cock, hard and dripping from the view laid out before him. But then that hand moved. Baraggan reached out with both his hands, and wrapped each of them around one of the cocks in front of him.
"Go on and kiss each other, lovelies. I quite like watching that."
As Baraggan stroked them, Ulquiorra and Findor turned back to each other and started to kiss again. Ulquiorra's arms wrapped around the other man's shoulders and tangled in long, soft hair. Findor pressed against the embrace, bringing arms up around Ulquiorra's back. Chest to chest, pulling away at the abdomen only to allow Barragan unfettered access to their hard cocks.
"Now, how exactly shall we conduct this little dance of ours. . . I believe, Findor, that you're looking absolutely ripe for the taking."
Findor pulled away and beamed. Absolute and unnecessary smugness on his face.
"And Ulquiorra. I think I'd like to have your beautiful cock inside me, if you please."
Ulquiorra pulled away as Baraggan sunk between Findor's slim, long legs. Barragaon pulled the blond man forward by the thighs, until the very tip of cock met hole. And then, without preamble, he pushed in.
Findor's whole body arched as his eyes rolled up inside his head. He cried out in absolute pleasure, apparently accustomed enough to this that preparation was unnecessary. Ulquiorra moved away as they fucked and went to take up position behind Baraggan.
Baraggan was muscular, for his age. He would never have the body of a twenty-year-old again. . . he was stocky, and some areas seemed to have a definite sagging to them. But he was firm and fit, more so than Ulquiorra would have thought. Ulquiorra put a hand on his waistt, brought his other hand between those ass cheeks. Felt out for Baraggan's hole. And was surprised when, without much pressure applied on his part, two of his fingers just slipped in. Apparently Baraggan and Findor's "bedtime pursuits" were substantial indeed.
Ulquiorra pulled his fingers out and grabbed on to the base of his cock instead. He guided it to Baraggan's hole, slid it in, and started to fuck. It was loose but at least it was hot. For a long time he fucked Baraggan while Baraggan fucked Findor, staying relatively quiet as noises from the other two filled the room. Findor was the first to come, spraying clear semen over his maid's uniform. Baraggan followed inside Findor's ass before flipping Ulquiorra over and blowing him until Ulquiorra's load shot down his throat. All three sated, Ulquiorra tucked himself back in to his pants and zipped up.
"Where's this witch doctor you were talking about?" he asked.
Follow the freshly risen sun until it reached the center of the sky, then turn ninety degrees to the right and walk straight.
That instruction, so easy to follow incorrectly, was the only one that Ulquiorra received. He set out as soon as the sun came up the next day and started his new trek across the desert. He kept walking until nightfall, at which point he wondered if he was just walking aimlessly. But just when he was about to give up and stop for the day, Ulquiorra saw a trail of smoke from somewhere a few dunes away. He made his way there.
As he walked closer and closer to the smoke, the scene below came more and more into view. A small campfire. A small hut made out of what looked like bones. And a large, dark-skinned man, nude except for small bone fragments caught on strands that wound around his neck, over and over again like a large spider web. The campfire cast a red glow to his body. To his perfectly proportioned, perfectly muscled body. Ulquiorra, usually disinterested in such things, couldn't help but admire it, along with the thick, long appendage hanging between the two legs.
As Ulquiorra came closer the man looked up, peered at him from over the top of a gnarled wooden staff. But he didn't move or speak, just watched as Ulquiorra came closer.
"Zonmari," Ulquiorra said. "Are you Zonmari?"
"That is what I am called, yes."
A strong, even voice.
"Do you know how to get back to the city?"
Zonmari seemed to contemplate the answer, as though he didn't know it already.
"I do," he finally said. "To send someone to the city is a simple spell."
"So you'll do it?"
"It does require some ingredients. Entrails of a lizard. Water from a blood-cactus. Semen of the person being transported."
"Fine," Ulquiorra said. "I take it you have those first two things."
Zonmari nodded, made his way inside his hut of bones. Ulquiorra removed his clothes as Zonmari did so, waited while Zonmari came out. In one hand he held a glass jar, filled with a red kind of ooze. In the other hand he held what looked like butcher's paper. He set them both down on the ground, opened them up. A large finger scooped up some entrails, scooped up some ooze, and slapped them onto a large stone near the fire. He mixed them, dragged them into a pattern, chanted long strings of words. When he was done a simple mandala glowed on the rock, and he turned towards Ulquiorra, dark eyes smoldering.
"It's your turn."
"I'll need help."
At Zonmari's non-expression, Ulquiorra gestured to the thing hanging between his legs.
"I'll need that," Ulquiorra said. "It will be easier if I have that inside of me."
"If you must. But you must get it hard yourself, if you want it."
Ulquiorra nodded as he came closer. He kneeled before Zonmari, inspecting the large cock in front of him. Now, up close, he started to have second doubts about taking it inside of him. He placed his hand on one of Zonmari's thick thighs and traced a path with his tongue from the very tip of that cock to its base. He licked and sucked his way all over that cock. Up and down the sides, over the balls, over the underside. And then he opened wide and took as much of it into his mouth as he could. His cheeks and throat stretched out around it, and when he was done about half had disappeared between his lips.
He sucked and licked at Zonmari's meat for a long while. Large cocks could be difficult to get hard, had difficulties staying hard, but Ulquiorra was nothing if not diligent. He was rewarded for his hard work when Zonmari started to respond to him, when his cock finally stirred to life and started to harden. Thankfully, he wasn't much larger erect than he was limp.
As Ulquiorra sucked on that now hard cock, his fingers reached inside the jar that held the cactus water. It was slippery and wet, perfect for what he needed. Fingers completely coated in it, he brought them to his backside, and pressed them into his hole. He fucked himself as he sucked Zonmari, until he felt like he had a chance of taking that monster cock.
When Ulquiorra felt prepared he stood up. And Zonmari grabbed him, spun and pulled him, so that his relatively small back was pressed against Zonmari's large chest. An arm wrapped around his chest. Hot breath ghosted against his ear. And an even hotter cock pressed against his asshole. Ulquiorra cried out as it pressed into him, scrunched up his eyes in pain and pleasure. It hurt. It felt like he was being ripped in half. And it felt so damned good. He wasn't sure if Zonmari was all the way inside of him, but he didn't particularly care, because this much was more than enough.
Zonmari's arms hooked under his armpits, Zonmari's hands grabbed him around his head. And then he was actually being lifted into the air. His legs scrambled, wrapped around Zonmari's legs, and all the time they stayed connected to each other. And then Zonmari started to fuck him
Stars. That was all he saw. He swore he could feel Zonmari in his stomach, as impossible as that was. And Zonmari was fucking him so hard he felt like his guts were being punched out with each thrust. He let his body go limp, let it support itself on Zonmari's sturdy frame, as the other man fucked him raw. It felt good, like this, even as it hurt, even as his body protested with every movement in and out.
But his cock was still hard and dripping wet, letting out a steady supply of pre-cum. It was so hard it hurt, and flushed an angry red color. If his arms weren't locked by Zonmari's he would touch himself. But he could feel his approaching orgasm even without that, and then he could feel himself coming, dick shooting as his ass clenched around the monster inside of him.
The instant Ulquiorra's semen touched the glowing mandala, he was being ripped through space once again.
Ulquiorra blinked. He was fully clothed and on a staircase. His staircase. Hot and muggy, strangely so, though it didn't look any different than usual. He looked up. Down. Caught between two floors, he took a few steps up, until he could see a large painted '4' on the wall next to the door. His floor. He walked up, opened the door, stepped out into the hallway. The heat here was even worse. More smoldering than the desert. Almost suffocating. Ulquiorra walked towards his apartment, opened the door.
It was the sound that he noticed first. A roaring, cracking sound. It was strange that the overbearing heat was second, and the sight of flames outside his window was third. The whole city outside his window was burning. Every building, every structure, caught up in a metal bonfire.
And Grimmjow was on his bed, leaning against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.
Ulquiorra walked towards the window, doing his best to ignore the sense of burning as he did so. He stuck his head out the window. Looked left. Looked right. Everything was on fire, even the streets. Like some Christian or Islamic rendition of hell. He looked down. Even the first two floors of his building was on fire. Ulquiorra stuck his head back in and walked towards Grimmjow.
"Let's go," he said. "We have to get out of here being this building goes up in fire."
"Go where?" Grimmjow asked, voice dull and listless, eyes still dazed as they stared up at the ceiling. "Whole city's fucking burning. Even if it wasn't there's no point. No fucking point to anything."
"Let's go, Grimmjow."
Grimmjow turned towards him then, those blue eyes glowing with a red hue as they seemed to look right through him.
"How much of him did you put in me?"
"What are you talking about?" Ulquiorra didn't have time to deal with Grimmjow's insanity. It was hotter, now, he could feel it.
"The man I'm based on. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, real life version. How much of him did you put in me? Is he exactly like me? Or am I some twisted, bizarro version of him?"
"If you can't pull yourself together, I'm going to have to leave you here." Ulquiorra grabbed Grimmjow's arm, only to have the other man yank it away.
"You're the only real thing in this goddamned world, and you don't even know it." Grimmjow reared back, sent spit flying out to hit against Ulquiorra's cheek. "Fuck you."
"Fine." A word through gritted teeth. "Stay here."
Ulquiorra turned, walked away. He couldn't go downstairs; it was all on fire. He walked back to the window. . . the bottom few stories of the fire escape was also up in flames, consumed by the fire that had taken over the streets. A noise, behind him, and Ulquiorra turned to see that Grimmjow was getting out of the bed.
"You wanna go somewhere?" Grimmjow asked. "The only way to go is up."
The man was right. It was a vantage point at the worse. A means of escape at the best. Ulquiorra walked past him and out to the hallway, indifferent at this point as to whether Grimmjow would follow. But the other man did, steps sounding several feet behind him, as he made his way through the hall, up the stairs. They sounded ambling, slow. And yet Grimmjow managed somehow to keep up with him.
Ulquiorra wasn't sure what he was hoping for when he got to the roof. A way across the rooftops, perhaps, as densely packed as these buildings were. A path somewhere safe. But when he opened the door all he felt was blistering heat and all he saw were flames. He walked forward as red and yellow and white danced all around him. Not one building, save for his, wasn't covered in fire.
And, a few blocks away, burnt out black buildings were crumbling like so much ash, collapsing to the ground and blowing back up into the air. Clouds of soot hovered yards off the ground, swirling like mini-tornadoes. Grimmjow was saying something, but Ulquiorra couldn't hear him past the roar of the fire.
Ulquiorra walked up to the edge of the building. There was nowhere to go. There was nothing to do.
The fire had spread quickly. It was licking at the rooftop, about to climb over. Ulquiorra turned around, looked at Grimmjow, but Grimmjow wasn't there anymore. Flames stood where he used to be. Giant, eight-foot flames, and they were closing in on Ulquiorra. Soon he could feel them at his hands, at his feet, all around him. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.
Only to feel, in the very next instant, the absence of anything. Ulquiorra opened his eyes, confused. Only to see desert stretching all around him. But this wasn't Grimmjow's desert. This wasn't the desert he had been in before. The sand here was white. The sky was a dull gray-blue. Hueco Mundo, his mind supplied, though he wasn't sure where the words came from.
With nothing else to do, Ulquiorra walked. Walked past small, skeletal creatures that seemed to pay no notice to him. Walked past what looked like ruins, bone-white piles of rubble in the sand. With every step he took he felt like he was becoming more and more conscious. Like. . . like he had just been in a dream. But at the same time him was fading. He could see it when he looked at his hand, when he could see the scenery behind it. He was insubstantial. Partly transparent and disappearing fast.
And then, after miles of walking, he came across a rock. And leaning against that rock, bloody and breathing heavily, was Grimmjow. Ulquiorra walked up to him, took in the sight. It was Grimmjow, but he was different, half his jaw covered with a fragment of a skull, a strange hole in the middle of his stomach. There were minute differences as well. The shape of his eyebrows. The slope of his shoulders. The exact tone of his skin. But this Grimmjow, Ulquiorra thought, seemed familiar. More familiar than even the one he was used to.
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, real life version.
Grimmjow's earlier words echoed through his head, but he didn't have much time to think about it, because this Grimmjow was looking at him. Glazed eyes focusing on him.
"I thought you died."
A low voice, heavy with everything intangible.
"I felt your reiatsu go out while you were fighting the shinigami."
A laugh, clipped and depressed.
"Does that mean I'm dying too? What happens when a dead person dies, anyway?"
Another laugh, louder this time, before Grimmjow's lips drew into a line. Deadly serious.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I wanted to be the one to kill you."
An arm reached out. Fingers barely brushed his neck. A soft caress, heat radiating onto his skin where the tips of Grimmjow's fingers touched.
"Wait for me. Our next lifetime, we'll settle this."
And then Grimmjow's eyes were closing. He was still breathing. Just barely, but he was breathing. Ulquiorra wasn't sure if he would survive, but then he wondered if it would even matter. He could feel himself fading even more. When he looked down at his hand, it was almost entirely gone.
"Next lifetime," Ulquiorra promised, wondering when that would be.
He could feel himself disappear, and he wondered, in his last moment, where his soul was being sent now.

I'm thinking of writing a Porn!withPlot series in which Ichigo gets it on with everyone else. Vote in my poll (http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/24481-polls-by-crunchysalad/) to help me decide ^ _ ^
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Dead in Love