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Caves, Nelliel thinks to herself bitterly, are cursed.
Every single significant disaster in her life somehow seems to involve one in some way or another.
This particular cave is narrow, jagged, and reeks with the scent of dust and old blood. Outside, she can sense them— dozens of hostile hollows prowling the surrounding dunes of Hueco Mundo like starving wolves circling fresh meat. Their spiritual pressure ebbs and swells against the stone walls in nauseating waves, close enough that she can't fully relax for even a moment.
And as if that weren't already enough, her leg throbs viciously every time she dares to shift her body even slightly.
“We need to move,” she insists through gritted teeth, leaning against the cavern wall. “If they corner us in here—”
“Believe me, I’d love to,” Grimmjow drawls.
At that exact instant, his Resurreccion dissolves.
It vanishes in a weak flicker of spiritual pressure, collapsing off his body like smoke stripped away by wind. One second the feral panther-like form stands there towering over the cave floor, and the next Grimmjow is simply Grimmjow again— electric blue hair shortened back to normal, claws gone, the white bone fragments returned to their usual shape. Even his teeth look marginally less threatening.
He exhales sharply through his nose.
“There’s just one problem, as I’m sure you can see.” He gestures broadly at himself several times before raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m also running on fucking empty here.”
“At a time like this?!” Nelliel hisses.
The glare he throws her could slice steel.
“I’m sorry, exactly which one of us is currently capable of standing again?” he snaps. “I should just fucking leave you to die, I swear to God.”
The venom in his voice would be much more convincing if he hadn’t already dragged her halfway across the desert of Hueco Mundo to keep exactly that from happening. Nelliel smirks despite herself and shoots him a knowing look.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says lightly. “You might pretend to be an asshole, but even you can’t enjoy a cheap win like that.”
His expression darkens immediately— because he hates when she’s right.
“Well, what do we do then?” Grimmjow growls. “It’ll take forever for our energy to regenerate naturally.”
“It’s likely our only option,” Nelliel sighs.
Silence settles between them afterward. Not peaceful silence— tense silence, the kind that sits heavy in the air between two different predators forced temporarily into the same cage. Outside, distant shrieks echo through the sands.
Inside, Grimmjow paces once before dropping heavily against the opposite wall of the cave, arms folded over his chest. Nelliel watches him from beneath lowered lashes, trying not to focus on the blood streaked along his torso or the shallow rise and fall of his breathing; trying not to notice how exhausted he truly looks.
Minutes pass by.
Then—
“Wait.”
Her head snaps up right away. The look Grimmjow is giving her makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, solely because thoughtful Grimmjow is somehow significantly more dangerous than angry Grimmjow.
“What?” she blurts out, unable to help her curiosity.
His eyebrows lift slightly at her immediate response.
“It’s got something to do with healing,” he begins slowly. “I heard the annoying fucking shopkeeper talking about it once. Something about the difference between healing injuries and restoring spiritual pressure.”
Nelliel straightens a little despite herself, instinctively slipping into explanation, ever eager to showcase her knowledge in any given situation.
“Right,” she says. “The current theory is that once the body is physically stabilized, replenishing spiritual pressure becomes significantly easier. Damage forces spiritual energy toward survival first. Remove the damage, and regeneration accelerates naturally.”
There's a strange glint in Grimmjow’s eyes now, one that makes her suddenly, deeply suspicious.
“And your saliva,” he says carefully, “it only heals wounds?”
Heat floods her face rapidly— because of course he would bring that up. Her embarrassment delays her response just long enough for his expression to sharpen with tangible interest.
“Well... no,” she admits reluctantly. “Not exactly. I mean… I’ve never specifically tested whether it affects the recovery of spiritual energy.”
One of his eyebrows arches higher.
“So, there’s a chance,” Grimmjow says, voice dropping lower, “that contact with your saliva could help restore spiritual pressure.”
“No.”
His smirk appears instantly. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was absolutely an answer.”
“You don’t know for sure.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m letting you experiment on me!”
“Oh, now you care about dignity?” Grimmjow scoffs. “Little late for that considering your powers literally involve drooling on people.”
Nelliel glares so hard that she almost hopes it kills him. “My ability is practical.”
“Mmm.”
“And necessary.”
“Sure.”
“And you are being insufferable.”
“Yeah, probably.” He looks entirely too pleased with himself.
Nelliel folds her arms tightly across her chest, ignoring the pain screaming from her lower extremity. “Absolutely not.”
Grimmjow tilts his head to the side. “You got a better idea?”
“We wait.”
“We’ll get swarmed before then.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You can sense them too, idiot.”
Unfortunately, he’s right; the hollow signatures outside are growing closer by the minute. Grimmjow pushes himself off the wall with a quiet grunt, stepping toward her slowly now. Not aggressive, but not quite teasing either. Something worse: focused.
“You said it yourself,” he murmurs. “If healing the body helps restore spiritual pressure faster, then this might actually work.”
“Might,” she emphasizes.
“That’s good enough for me.”
“It’s not good enough for me.”
He stops directly in front of her, close enough that she can feel lingering heat radiating from his skin despite the cold cave air.
“So what,” Nelliel asks suspiciously, “exactly are you planning to do?”
Grimmjow answers by grabbing her jaw and kissing her without any sort of preamble or warning. The sound that she makes against his mouth is halfway between outrage and shock. For one stunned second, she freezes entirely; then he kisses her harder.
It’s not gentle, mostly because Grimmjow has never been capable of gentle anything for very long. His mouth moves against hers with rough urgency, sharp teeth grazing her lower lip as one hand slides into her green hair to hold her in place.
Nelliel shoves at his chest instinctively—
—and hates the way that he barely budges.
“Asshole,” she breathes against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he mutters, kissing her again without a second of hesitation.
The cave suddenly feels much smaller, much warmer. Her pulse stutters violently when his tongue brushes against hers, and Grimmjow makes a low approving sound deep in his throat like he’s won something, which only serves to irritate her further.
Nelliel grabs the front of his white jacket sharply, intending to shove him away properly this time, but somehow it turns into dragging him closer instead. Their spiritual energy flickers instinctively around them in uneven sparks, weak but reactive.
His hand slides from her jaw down her throat as the kiss deepens.
And despite herself— despite the danger outside, despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs, despite how utterly infuriating this man is— Nelliel can feel warmth beginning to unfurl low in her stomach.
Grimmjow eventually pulls back just enough for air. Both of them are breathing harder now. He studies her for a moment afterward, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then a smug grin slowly spreads across his face.
“…Huh.”
Nelliel immediately narrows her eyes. “What.”
“I think it worked.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m serious.” His grin widens. “I can actually feel a difference.”
“That is completely impossible after one kiss.”
“Maybe you’re just better at this than you thought.”
She opens her mouth to argue again, but Grimmjow suddenly leans closer, blue eyes glittering with unmistakable mischief.
“If your saliva’s so beneficial,” he drawls slowly, “then I don’t see why your other… fluids wouldn’t be.”
Nelliel stares at him, struck by his blatant innuendo— then smacks him directly across the face.
The crack of the blow echoes beautifully through the cave; Grimmjow merely laughs in response. The sound of the slap is still echoing faintly when Grimmjow turns his head back toward her with that same insufferable grin stretched across his face.
“You done?” he asks.
“No.”
Nelliel seriously considers hitting him again. In fact, the only reason she doesn’t is because his laughter— low, rough, genuine— has caught her so thoroughly off guard that her irritation briefly tangles with something dangerously warmer… which to her, is unacceptable.
“You are unbelievable,” she mutters instead, yanking her wrist free from where he had instinctively caught it after the slap.
“And yet,” Grimmjow says lazily, “you kissed me back.”
“I was trying to suffocate you.”
“Mmm.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure, you do.” The bastard actually looks smugger now.
Nelliel glares at him hard enough to peel skin. Unfortunately, Grimmjow has always treated hostility like affection with better branding. He leans back against the cave wall once more, rolling one shoulder experimentally before flexing his fingers. Then his expression shifts— only slightly, but enough for her to notice.
“…You really weren’t kidding,” he says.
Nelliel blinks. “About what?”
“That helping thing.”
He sounds almost annoyed by it. Grimmjow lifts one hand, crackling a tiny spark of azure spiritual energy between his fingertips. It’s weak— pathetically weak by his standards, but stronger than before. Nelliel stares with her eyes blown wide open.
“That’s impossible,” she says instantly.
“Does this look impossible?”
“It could’ve regenerated naturally.”
“In two minutes?”
“…Maybe.”
He snorts. “That’s not convincing and you know it.”
Nelliel hates that he might actually have a point. More than that, she hates the dangerous flicker of triumph in his eyes now. Because she knows Grimmjow, and Grimmjow with an idea is everyone else’s problem.
“Oh no,” she says immediately.
“Oh yes.”
“No.”
He pushes off the wall again. “Nelliel—”
“Absolutely not.”
“You wanna survive or not?”
“We are not conducting further experiments!”
“Coward.”
Her eye twitches violently. “I am not a coward.”
“Then prove it.”
“That is not how science works!”
Grimmjow steps closer again, and this time she notices the subtle difference immediately. The slight heaviness in his movements has lessened. His spiritual energy, while still depleted, no longer flickers as erratically. The idiot might actually be recovering.
Which means—
“Oh, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Nelliel groans.
He grins wolfishly. “You say that every time we spend more than ten minutes together.”
“Because every time somehow becomes worse than the last.”
Outside the cave, another distant howl rises through the sands, closer now. Both of them go still instinctively, and the momentary levity evaporates. Grimmjow’s gaze cuts toward the cave entrance, sharp and predatory despite his exhaustion. Nelliel feels it too— several hollows approaching from the eastern ridge.
Too close.
Too many.
A long silence follows, then Grimmjow looks back at her.
“…We need more time.”
Nelliel exhales slowly through her nose. She knows he is right, and judging by the way his eyes drag briefly toward her mouth again, he knows she knows it too.
“That expression alone should qualify as harassment,” she informs him flatly.
“Probably.”
“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Definitely.”
She should refuse on principle. She absolutely should. Instead, Nelliel reaches forward abruptly, grabs the front of his jacket, and pulls him down into another kiss before she can think better of it. Grimmjow freezes for exactly half a second, then he makes a rough sound low in his throat and kisses her back with immediate enthusiasm.
This one feels different.
Less shock, less argument. Still sharp around the edges— still Grimmjow— but slower somehow, drawn out with dangerous intent. His hand slides along her waist as though by instinct, claws absent now but no less possessive.
Nelliel hates how quickly her pulse betrays her, hates how warmth spreads through her chest when his thumb brushes against her side, and she especially hates the tiny spark of satisfaction she feels when his spiritual energy flickers stronger against hers in response. When they finally separate again, Grimmjow rests his forehead briefly against hers, breathing unevenly.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs.
Nelliel narrows her eyes right away. “Don’t.”
“That definitely worked.”
“You are so full of—”
A pulse of spiritual pressure rolls outward from him suddenly— stronger this time. Not full strength, not even close, but enough that both of them fall silent afterward. Grimmjow blinks once, then slowly, he grins. Nelliel covers her face with both hands.
“This is a nightmare,” she says into her palms.
“For you, maybe,” Grimmjow replies, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Personally, I think this is the best scientific breakthrough in Hueco Mundo history.”
“This is not a scientific breakthrough,” Nelliel murmurs weakly from behind her hands. “This is just a catastrophe.”
Grimmjow looks deeply unconcerned by that distinction.
“Call it whatever you want,” he says. “It’s working.”
He sounds entirely too triumphant for a man still covered in blood and sitting in a half-collapsed cave. Nelliel lowers her hands just enough to glare at him properly.
“You are never speaking of this to anyone.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” His grin sharpens. “Mostly because nobody would believe me.”
“Good.”
“Although…” Grimmjow tilts his head thoughtfully. “The look on Halibel’s face would be pretty funny.”
“You tell Halibel and I will personally kill you myself.”
“Worth it.”
“It absolutely would not be worth it.”
The hollow signatures outside shift again— closer still— and all of the humor drains from the cave a second time. Grimmjow clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“Tch. Still not enough.”
Nelliel can sense it too; his spiritual energy has recovered enough to fight briefly, maybe even break through the surrounding hollows if they’re lucky, but not enough to guarantee survival. Not enough to protect both of them, and they both know it.
The realization settles heavily between them.
Grimmjow studies her in silence for a long moment afterward, the earlier teasing fading into something with more intent. His eyes travel over her face carefully now, searching. Nelliel suddenly becomes acutely aware of how close they are standing, of his hand still resting loosely against her waist, of the heat trapped inside the cramped cave.
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters.
“Probably.”
“We should be focusing on strategy.”
“I am.”
“This is not strategy.”
“It’s working better than your plan, which was nothing.”
She opens her mouth to retort— and yelps softly instead when Grimmjow suddenly hooks an arm beneath her knees and lifts her clean off the ground.
“Grimmjow!”
“You can barely stand,” he says flatly, carrying her the few steps deeper into the cave. “Quit pretending otherwise.”
“I can walk perfectly fine.”
“You literally collapsed an hour ago.”
“That was… tactical.”
“It was pathetic.”
He sets her down against a flatter section of stone wall, though he does not move away afterward; if anything, he crowds closer, bracketing her in with one arm beside her head. As a result, Nelliel’s pulse jumps traitorously.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks suspiciously.
“Thinking.”
“That never ends well.”
“Nope.”
The cave falls quiet again. Too quiet.
Outside, the storm winds hiss across the desert entrance in low mournful tones, carrying distant hollow cries with them. Inside, all Nelliel can hear is the uneven rhythm of Grimmjow’s breathing and the violent pounding of her own blood.
His gaze flickers down to her mouth again, then back up to her eyes.
“You started the second one,” he points out.
“I was making a strategic decision.”
“Sure, you were.”
“I was.”
He leans closer.
“Then make another one.”
The challenge in his voice sends heat curling through her stomach. Nelliel hates challenges, especially from him, which is precisely why she grabs the front of his jacket again and kisses him first once more.
Grimmjow immediately makes a low approving sound against her mouth, one hand sliding to her hip hard enough to pull her flush against him. The kiss turns heated almost instantly— all sharp breaths and clashing teeth and months upon months of unresolved tension finally igniting at exactly the worst possible moment.
Very on brand for them.
Nelliel tangles a hand into his hair before she can stop herself, and Grimmjow shudders noticeably at the sensation— very interesting. He notices the exact second that she realizes it too.
“Oh, don’t start,” he warns against her mouth.
“You liked that.”
“Shut up.”
“You liked it,” she repeats smugly.
Grimmjow responds by kissing her harder, and it’s deeply unfair how effective that tactic is.
Their spiritual pressure stirs again around them in uneven pulses, weak sparks of blue and green flickering along the dark cave walls like living lightning. Nelliel can actually feel the difference now— the strange warmth spreading through her body, the slow replenishment of exhausted spiritual energy.
It shouldn’t be possible.
And yet—
“…This is insane,” she breathes when Grimmjow finally drags his mouth away from hers long enough for oxygen.
“Still working, though.”
His voice has gone rougher now, lower. Nelliel becomes suddenly aware that his hand has drifted from her waist to the small of her back, fingertips pressing against her through the torn fabric there.
Very aware.
She swallows hard.
“This cannot possibly be efficient,” she says weakly.
Grimmjow stares at her for one long second, then he actually laughs.
“Nelliel,” he says, sounding almost disbelieving, “are you seriously trying to optimize making out right now?”
“…Maybe.”
“That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”
She immediately shoves his face away with one hand.
“You are impossible.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“I hate you.”
“Nah,” Grimmjow murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he leans back into her space once more. “Pretty sure we’re way past that now.”
Outside the cave, the hollows are getting restless. Nelliel can hear claws scraping against stone now accompanied by low snarls. The shifting movement of bodies circling the entrance like vultures scenting weakness. It seems that time is up.
And somehow, impossibly, they are still here— pressed close together in the dim dark of the cave while spiritual pressure crackles weakly around them in uneven waves. Grimmjow rests his forehead against hers for a brief moment, breathing hard.
“…One more,” he murmurs.
Nelliel should object. She should say something intelligent, something practical, something about conserving energy or focusing on escape routes or literally anything other than instead thinking about the way his voice sends heat sliding down her spine.
Instead, her fingers tighten unconsciously in the fabric of his jacket.
Grimmjow notices, because of course he notices, and his eyes darken instantly— then he kisses her again, and this time there is nothing teasing about it. No smug remarks. No arguments. No sharp-edged banter used to disguise everything lurking underneath.
Just hunger.
The kiss crashes into her hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. Grimmjow’s hand slides firmly to the back of her neck, holding her there as his mouth moves against hers with bruising intensity— demanding, desperate, alive.
Nelliel feels it everywhere.
The scrape of sharp teeth catching lightly against her lower lip before his tongue soothes over the sting. The rough warmth of his other palm against her waist where his fingers flex instinctively into her skin. The violent pulse of spiritual pressure responding between them like wildfire finally finding oxygen.
She kisses him back just as fiercely, because there is no point pretending anymore. Not after all the months of fighting him. Not after every clash that felt suspiciously close to flirting. Not after him literally carrying her bleeding body across the desert instead of abandoning her like any sensible Arrancar would have.
Grimmjow makes a low sound against her mouth when she tangles both hands into his hair again, and the reaction that tears through him this time is unmistakable. His spiritual energy surges sharply in response, blue energy crackling violently along the cave walls in sudden brilliant arcs.
Nelliel gasps softly into the kiss as her own power answers instinctively. Warmth floods through her exhausted limbs, and the visceral ache in her body lessens. Spiritual pressure rushes back beneath her skin like blood returning to a sleeping arm— tingling, overwhelming, intoxicating.
Grimmjow feels it too; she can tell by the way his entire posture changes.
The exhaustion leaves him piece by piece beneath her hands. His breathing steadies. His spiritual energy grows heavier, denser, more dangerous by the second until the cave itself begins trembling faintly beneath the pressure— and still he keeps kissing her like he can’t stop, like he doesn’t want to stop.
The intensity of it leaves Nelliel dizzy.
His hand slides from the back of her neck down along her spine slowly this time, almost reverently despite the roughness that defines everything else that Grimmjow does. The contrast sends a sharp shiver through her. When he finally pulls back, both of them are breathing hard.
For one suspended moment neither speaks. Blue eyes lock onto hazel, and the air between them hums.
Then a hollow shrieks outside the cave entrance. Another answers.
Grimmjow exhales once through his nose and rolls his shoulders back slowly. The motion is fluid now, powerful again. Blue spiritual energy sparks violently around his body in sharp electric bursts.
Oh, they are definitely back.
A feral grin spreads across his face.
“There we go,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction.
Nelliel pushes herself fully upright for the first time in hours— and realizes instantly that the weakness dragging at her limbs has almost entirely vanished. Green spiritual pressure flickers smoothly around her in response, stable and strong. She stares at her own hands in disbelief for half a second before laughing softly under her breath.
“This is still the stupidest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says.
Grimmjow snorts. “Yeah, but it worked.”
Outside, the hollows begin converging toward the cave all at once, drawn by the explosive rise in spiritual pressure. Grimmjow steps towards the entrance first, cracking his neck sharply to one side as savage excitement lights his features. Then he pauses, and glances back at her. That familiar dangerous grin returns to his face.
“Try not to slow me down this time.”
Nelliel smiles sweetly—
—then drives her elbow directly into his ribs as she passes by him.
His bark of almost offended laughter follows her out into the storm and into the oncoming inevitable conflict.