A/N: this is for dementedpeach over at DeviantART. She inadvertently inspired this piece with her own Espada project, in which she draws some of the shinigami from Bleach as (durr) Espadas. The pic that piqued my interest in particular was the one that included Captain Ulquiorra fighting the 10th Espada, Orihime Inoue. The ulquihime fan in me could not resist, so here you go. :D

--

It is absurd to divide people into good or bad. People are either charming or tedious.

--

Minutes tick by, and then hours, and eventually the days in Hueco Mundo will bleed into weeks until Ulquiorra loses track of time altogether. He's not even sure what the higher-ups of Los Noches want with him anyway, just that they do. The only people more unhappy with the present housing situation are the arrancar themselves, especially that idiot Kurosaki – every time Ulquiorra catches his eye in the hall, the fiery-haired Hollow's nostrils flare and he gives him a sneer, displaying rows of perfectly even, brilliantly white teeth. Ulquiorra always stares right on back at him—bland, yeastless, unafraid, until Kurosaki either gets bored or annoyed, and is forced to look away.

Those in charge of this hostage operation try to impress upon him the severity of the situation at hand. "The Espada hate you. They want to kill you, Ulquiorra-san, rip you into pieces. But you're out precious commodity, our pet— you're one of us now, and we intend to keep you safe as long as you remain dear and complaint." But Ulquiorra has never been dear to begin with, nor complaint, and yet still he remains alive. Their feeble promises of protection may have worked on a weaker person, but Ulquiorra does not fear death, and certainly does not fear the elitist arrancar, with their arrogance and their tempers and their blatant stupidity. They're trash, all of them, and so the offer falls upon deaf ears.

They assign the least hostile of their ranks as Ulquiorra's jailor: Decimo Espada, Inoue Orihime. Inoue is, if at all possible, even less extraordinary than her fellow Espada, and only slightly more interesting than the average, run-of-the-mill Hollow: she's flighty, and dumb, and entirely too cheerful for the shinigami's tastes.

If it wasn't for the reiatsu suppressing walls, Ulquiorra could have crushed the girl like the insignificant vermin that she was, and be on his way. Instead, he has to simply has to bide his time, rely on the others (as much as he loathes to) to come and retrieve him. He idly wonders where his idiot lieutenant is, and just what's taking so long to rally up a rescue-party.

His thoughts are interrupted by Inoue as she comes sauntering in, shadowed by a trolley being pushed by a servant. He wheels it to the center of the room before bowing respectively out into the hall, but Inoue remains. Ulquiorra looks back from where he's been staring blankly out the window; the girl puts her arms behind her back when he notices her, beams at him in response.

"Dinner is ready."

Ulquiorra merely regards her silently. The petite Espada looks slightly unnerved by his statue-esque demeanor; she herself is always twittering, anxious. They couldn't be more unlike.

"Well, aren't you going to eat?"

Ulquiorra doesn't understand why she insists on lingering like that; she knows as well as he does that Ulquiorra will refuse to remove from his perch until she goes. The very sight of her is vexing, unappetizing—he just wants her gone. But this particular part of their day has become habitual, ritualized; she will stand here for another twenty or so minutes, purposely antagonizing him, trying to goad him into speech. She very rarely succeeds, and when she does, it's just a curt nod, or a handful of words. Really, he doesn't see why she bothers; he certainly wouldn't, if the situation were reversed.

"You never give any indication of your preferences," she says with a grand gesture, trying to imitate the elegant poise she hears him use when he does speak, "so I settled with preparing my favorite food for you to eat instead."

Great. So it's guaranteed to be disgusting, then.

"You don't have to be such a grouch, you know," she huffs, folding her arms across her ample chest, just below where the hollow hole rests. "A little chit-chat would probably do you some good, I'd think. Heaven knows it's got to be lonely, cooped up in here all the time."

"I prefer being alone."

His words don't have the desired effect; she lights up like a Christmas tree instead of appearing crest-fallen. She doesn't make out the meaning behind his speech, just distinguishes the noise. It's almost as though she didn't hear him at all.

He immediately regrets saying anything at all; speaking in itself is like an invitation, a request for Inoue to stay. The 10th Espada will linger especially long tonight, and by the time she finally gets bored and relents, his dinner will be cold.

Not that it matters either way, I suppose.

--

"Are you sleeping?"

Ulquiorra opens his eyes. He is not. "No."

The unwelcome figure in the entranceway quirks the one eyebrow not obscured by her ornate mask. Night has fallen in Los Noches, and everything is dark and still, save for this one intruder. Ulquiorra does not move from his position draped along the couch; he thinks Inoue is hardly worth getting up for.

"Do shinigami even need sleep?" Inoue asks interestedly, as she invites herself in.

"Do the Espadas?"

"The Espadas are transcendentbeings," Inoue says, trying to sound impressive. Ulquiorra is inclined to disagree; there is nothing transcendent about the Hollow before him. "We don't really need sleep, but sometimes we indulge in human pleasures for the novelty of it. Sleeping is fun."

Ulquiorra merely watches her, feeling mildly annoyed. He's already done with this conversation. "I see." He stares resolutely up at the wall, fully intending to ignore her until she goes.

"You're a powerful captain, aren't you? You must be, if Urahara-sama is trying to recruit you," Inoue says, and Ulquiorra can make out the girl in his peripheral, watches as her own gaze sweeps up and down his form in interest.

"I've always wanted to go to Soul Society."

"I'm sure they'd love to have you."

Ulquiorra turns his head just in time to catch the thoughtful frown. "You're making fun of me, aren't you? They'd love to kill me, you mean," and Ulquiorra thinks, well, yes, that's sort of the point. She wrinkles her nose at him. "I've never heard you make a joke before."

Ulquiorra says nothing. Inoue takes another step forward and now they're so close that Inoue could reach out and smooth out the inky waves of Ulquiorra's hair. She eyes those dark tresses as though she would very much like to.

"I thought the captain class would be sturdier. Your dress robes give the illusion that you're bigger than you really are, but I know for a fact that you're really just a wiry little thing."

"One's strength does not depend on their body's natural ability," Ulquiorra reminds her. "It depends on the intensity of their spiritual pressure."

"Which means diddly in a place that purposely stifles reiatsu," Inoue tells him with a smile, and Ulquiorra wonders just where she's going with all of this. "Even if they hadn't confiscated your zanpakto, I doubt you'd be able to stop me."

Ulquiorra suddenly grows wary. Stop you from what?

Inoue bends at the waist, and this time she really does reach out to touch Ulquiorra's dark hair. The shinigami throws hand up to deflect the movement, but Inoue merely catches him by the arm so that she can proceed. Ulquiorra is actually a little taken aback by the Hollow's brute strength; her hierro skin is like an iron shackle around his wrist – vice-like, unyielding.

"You look pretty like that," Inoue tells him fondly, and her free hand traces over the smooth, alabaster planes of his skin, down the inky emerald tracks and over the wetted, slightly parted lips. "They're so soft," she tells him in a voice barely above a whisper. "I've never kissed anyone before, have you?"

Ulquiorra, rendered immobile on the couch, doesn't dare speak in fear of encouraging her. Inoue's face hovers dangerously close, so near that Ulquiorra can make over every chip and tiny imperfection in her Hollow mask.

Up close, Inoue smells floral and minty all at once. Those half-lidded eyes dance across his prone form, lingering on places like the hollow of his throat and the shell of his ear. "No," she murmurs finally, her hold on him slackening as she straightens herself up into a standing position. "That would be inappropriate of me," she says, and just like that, she's retreating back into the shadowed halls of Las Noches, like a phantom stealing away into the night.

Ulquiorra remains lying rigidly where she left him for quite some time, until the thundering of his heart gradually slows, and all the taut muscles in his body gradually uncoil. Ulquiorra reaches up with his own digits, re-traces all the places that she had touched. He wonders just what had made her decide not to kiss him, and why he's so disappointed that she didn't.