Ulquiorra's Grown-up Christmas List
Who: Grimmjow (shakethesound) and Ulquiorra (demacrado)
What: Eating cookies, clutching at their shattered minds; magic mistletoe.
When: This evening.
Where: Grimmjow's room.
Rating: ... PG... 13
Grimmjow was having a very, very merry Christmas season. At first he had been an unwilling Santa -- he'd been shocked and appalled when his hollow hole had disappeared, enraged when his zanpakutou had turned into a candy cane, irate when he had started to sprout facial hair, and so on -- but the castle had seen to it that he'd adjusted to suit his new rule. And adjust, Grimmjow certainly had. His past as an Espada was all but forgotten, and he was putting forth all his energy into decking the halls with boughs of holly, making his list, and checking it twice.
Ulquiorra trotted down the corridors, humming a festive little tune under his breath. Every once in a while he would stumble into a wall and, seemingly on purpose, bang his head into it repeatedly, while the cookies he carried tumbling around wildly in their festive red and green tin. There were also cookies in his pockets and in his cozy new white fur boots, bestowed on him by a curious sort of monstrous animal that had sobbed and called him "Sama Ulquiorra". He didn't know why he felt panicked about leaving his room without his clothes being stuffed with cookies. When he tried to think about it he usually ended up slamming himself painfully into walls, so he stopped trying.
When he reached Grimmjow's door he knocked out the tune to Jingle Bells on it and then stared contemplatively at a spider scuttling across the ground as he waited for Santa to come.
"Oh dear, who could that be at this minute at this hour?" Grimmjow got out of his seat, chortling to himself as he opened the door for his cute little elf. Such a kind-hearted fellow, Cuatro-chan was. The fourth most productive elf in all of the world, he'd say! It was no wonder Mrs. Claus doted on him so much.
"Hohoho! We're looking merry today, Ulquiorra!" He winked playfully, patting his very rotund stomach. "Are those cookies for me? Hohoho!"
Ulquiorra felt the strangest impulse, in the very back of his mind, to say "No," and crush the cookie tin into Grimmjow's face. Instead he giggled elfishly and, taking one last look at the spider, stepped into Grimmjow's room.
"These are from Mrs. Claus," he explained. "I only ate one." Or five. "And... sir. The castle... it isn't even nearly decorated... I... I'm worried. The children..." Ulquiorra broke off and slammed himself into a wall.
"Ow... Oh... Oh I love your quilt. Is that... egyptian cotton?"
For a moment, Grimmjow looked away sadly, eyes misting in benevolent concern. What if ... what if the castle really wasn't decorated on time? For some reason, there was a shortage of elves this year ... he wondered why. But he had to have faith!
"Ulquiorra," he said seriously. "We need to believe in the spirit of Christmas -- for the children, for us. We just have to believe! Isn't that what our forefathers taught us?"
Suddenly he felt like punching something. Instead he grabbed a cookie, and shoved it down his own throat, munching furiously. Furiously happily. Mrs. Claus did make the most delicious cookies.
"What forefathers. I mean. Yes. Forefathers." Ulquiorra pressed a hand to his forehead, which was beginning to throb. "I need a cookie, sir."
Strange words soared through Ulquiorra's mind in large, angry capital letters: SHINIGAMI. ESPADA. CERO. TRASH.
... What did it mean? What did it all mean? Trembling like a spider which knows that is is about to be baked into a pastry, he sat down on the edge of Grimmjow's bed, then flung out his arm. "I need a cookie give me a cookie," he demanded. "It... it's for the children."
Grimmjow gasped. Had Ulquiorra forgotten ... the true meaning of Christmas?! Stroking his beard rather seriously, he muttered, "By golly, Cuatro-chan. By fuckin' golly."
He grabbed another cookie and shoved it down his throat again. The pain was comforting. it reminded him of sand. The white sands of ... no, snow. He meant snow.
"JESUS. HAVE YA FORGOTTEN ABOUT JESUS?!" He threw a cookie down and stomped on it ferociously, before getting another one and chucking it at Ulquiorra's forehead.
The cookie bounced off of Ulquiorra's head and fell into his lap.
"How... dare..." he stammered, clutching for the plastic toy sword at his waist. "I mean..." He ate the cookie. "Thank you, sir."
There was a moment of bewildered silence, which Ulquiorra spent trying to remember what had just happened.
"Mrs. Claus said... we should be planning... for the big day. Do you require my aid, sir? There are cookies to be made, after all. Lights to be hung. Sweaters to knit. Children to... lovingly... caress."
Grimmjow stared in stunned silence, thinking over what he had done. Had he just ... spread anti-Christmas cheer?
Against one of his own elves?!
He looked at his large, calloused hands. Calloused from wrapping presents, guiding his reindeer, chopping trees, making lists ... calloused from love. And he had used them to spread hate. Hate and anti-fuckin'-Christmas cheer.
What was he becoming?!
Choking back an anguished sob, he threw himself on the bed. They didn't have beds like this with Egyptian cotton in Hueco ... Pole. Yes, that was it. His brain throbbed, as did his heart.
Ulquiorra stared at Grimmjow, awed.
Had his beard always been such a beautiful, pure snow-white?
Had his eyes always twinkled with such overwhelming benevolence and vigor?
Had his cheeks always been so pleasantly rosy?
Had his stomach always quivered like a bowl full of jelly?
Had his lips ever...
his lips...
Choking back a sob, Ulquiorra threw himself at Grimmjow and kissed him, madly, wildly, violently. His mouth tasted of mint and candy canes.
Grimmjow felt his heart drop (or was it, leap, like the frolicking penguins of North Mundo?) when his #4 (but #1 in his heart) elf kissed him. He ... how could he ...
His sparkling, emerald eyes ...
His porcelein skin that felt like velvet ...
The way he carried himself with such elegance, grace, and dignity ..
And there were -- cookie crumbs on his flower-colored, rosebud lips.
He returned the kiss passionately, holding Ulquiorra's delicate frame closer as he threw off his hat in a fit of glorious, beautiful, passionate passion. The magic mistletoe that he had hung above his bed for his and Mrs. Claus' "naughty time" was long-forgotten as he indulged himself in some delicious Christmas cheer.
Disclaimer~ Please overlook any and all spelling / grammar errors, as the players' minds have been shattered into such tiny little pieces that they no longer care.
What: Eating cookies, clutching at their shattered minds; magic mistletoe.
When: This evening.
Where: Grimmjow's room.
Rating: ... PG... 13
Grimmjow was having a very, very merry Christmas season. At first he had been an unwilling Santa -- he'd been shocked and appalled when his hollow hole had disappeared, enraged when his zanpakutou had turned into a candy cane, irate when he had started to sprout facial hair, and so on -- but the castle had seen to it that he'd adjusted to suit his new rule. And adjust, Grimmjow certainly had. His past as an Espada was all but forgotten, and he was putting forth all his energy into decking the halls with boughs of holly, making his list, and checking it twice.
Ulquiorra trotted down the corridors, humming a festive little tune under his breath. Every once in a while he would stumble into a wall and, seemingly on purpose, bang his head into it repeatedly, while the cookies he carried tumbling around wildly in their festive red and green tin. There were also cookies in his pockets and in his cozy new white fur boots, bestowed on him by a curious sort of monstrous animal that had sobbed and called him "Sama Ulquiorra". He didn't know why he felt panicked about leaving his room without his clothes being stuffed with cookies. When he tried to think about it he usually ended up slamming himself painfully into walls, so he stopped trying.
When he reached Grimmjow's door he knocked out the tune to Jingle Bells on it and then stared contemplatively at a spider scuttling across the ground as he waited for Santa to come.
"Oh dear, who could that be at this minute at this hour?" Grimmjow got out of his seat, chortling to himself as he opened the door for his cute little elf. Such a kind-hearted fellow, Cuatro-chan was. The fourth most productive elf in all of the world, he'd say! It was no wonder Mrs. Claus doted on him so much.
"Hohoho! We're looking merry today, Ulquiorra!" He winked playfully, patting his very rotund stomach. "Are those cookies for me? Hohoho!"
Ulquiorra felt the strangest impulse, in the very back of his mind, to say "No," and crush the cookie tin into Grimmjow's face. Instead he giggled elfishly and, taking one last look at the spider, stepped into Grimmjow's room.
"These are from Mrs. Claus," he explained. "I only ate one." Or five. "And... sir. The castle... it isn't even nearly decorated... I... I'm worried. The children..." Ulquiorra broke off and slammed himself into a wall.
"Ow... Oh... Oh I love your quilt. Is that... egyptian cotton?"
For a moment, Grimmjow looked away sadly, eyes misting in benevolent concern. What if ... what if the castle really wasn't decorated on time? For some reason, there was a shortage of elves this year ... he wondered why. But he had to have faith!
"Ulquiorra," he said seriously. "We need to believe in the spirit of Christmas -- for the children, for us. We just have to believe! Isn't that what our forefathers taught us?"
Suddenly he felt like punching something. Instead he grabbed a cookie, and shoved it down his own throat, munching furiously. Furiously happily. Mrs. Claus did make the most delicious cookies.
"What forefathers. I mean. Yes. Forefathers." Ulquiorra pressed a hand to his forehead, which was beginning to throb. "I need a cookie, sir."
Strange words soared through Ulquiorra's mind in large, angry capital letters: SHINIGAMI. ESPADA. CERO. TRASH.
... What did it mean? What did it all mean? Trembling like a spider which knows that is is about to be baked into a pastry, he sat down on the edge of Grimmjow's bed, then flung out his arm. "I need a cookie give me a cookie," he demanded. "It... it's for the children."
Grimmjow gasped. Had Ulquiorra forgotten ... the true meaning of Christmas?! Stroking his beard rather seriously, he muttered, "By golly, Cuatro-chan. By fuckin' golly."
He grabbed another cookie and shoved it down his throat again. The pain was comforting. it reminded him of sand. The white sands of ... no, snow. He meant snow.
"JESUS. HAVE YA FORGOTTEN ABOUT JESUS?!" He threw a cookie down and stomped on it ferociously, before getting another one and chucking it at Ulquiorra's forehead.
The cookie bounced off of Ulquiorra's head and fell into his lap.
"How... dare..." he stammered, clutching for the plastic toy sword at his waist. "I mean..." He ate the cookie. "Thank you, sir."
There was a moment of bewildered silence, which Ulquiorra spent trying to remember what had just happened.
"Mrs. Claus said... we should be planning... for the big day. Do you require my aid, sir? There are cookies to be made, after all. Lights to be hung. Sweaters to knit. Children to... lovingly... caress."
Grimmjow stared in stunned silence, thinking over what he had done. Had he just ... spread anti-Christmas cheer?
Against one of his own elves?!
He looked at his large, calloused hands. Calloused from wrapping presents, guiding his reindeer, chopping trees, making lists ... calloused from love. And he had used them to spread hate. Hate and anti-fuckin'-Christmas cheer.
What was he becoming?!
Choking back an anguished sob, he threw himself on the bed. They didn't have beds like this with Egyptian cotton in Hueco ... Pole. Yes, that was it. His brain throbbed, as did his heart.
Ulquiorra stared at Grimmjow, awed.
Had his beard always been such a beautiful, pure snow-white?
Had his eyes always twinkled with such overwhelming benevolence and vigor?
Had his cheeks always been so pleasantly rosy?
Had his stomach always quivered like a bowl full of jelly?
Had his lips ever...
his lips...
Choking back a sob, Ulquiorra threw himself at Grimmjow and kissed him, madly, wildly, violently. His mouth tasted of mint and candy canes.
Grimmjow felt his heart drop (or was it, leap, like the frolicking penguins of North Mundo?) when his #4 (but #1 in his heart) elf kissed him. He ... how could he ...
His sparkling, emerald eyes ...
His porcelein skin that felt like velvet ...
The way he carried himself with such elegance, grace, and dignity ..
And there were -- cookie crumbs on his flower-colored, rosebud lips.
He returned the kiss passionately, holding Ulquiorra's delicate frame closer as he threw off his hat in a fit of glorious, beautiful, passionate passion. The magic mistletoe that he had hung above his bed for his and Mrs. Claus' "naughty time" was long-forgotten as he indulged himself in some delicious Christmas cheer.
Disclaimer~ Please overlook any and all spelling / grammar errors, as the players' minds have been shattered into such tiny little pieces that they no longer care.