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Ulquiorra found himself with an open elective during his third semester. It was the first time since middle school, and he considered leaving it empty until he noticed a course on ancient weaponry.
He arrived early and took a seat in the front row. The classroom was an amphitheater type with layered rows of seating that framed a single podium. Ulquiorra opened his bag and took out his notebook and a pen. Other students began to filter in, taking spots near and around him, but never next to him. Good. He didn’t care for university camaraderie or commiserating. Whatever they called it.
A man around his age with wild styled blue hair walked past him wearing a hockey Letterman jacket. He must have been one of the scholarship students. Ulquiorra lowered his eyes to his notebook, marking the class’s time and date.
The man walked up to the teacher’s podium and placed his binder on top. Ulquiorra tilted his head. Maybe it was one of the teacher’s assistants.
The man shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on the desk. He wore a blue button up underneath. He rolled back his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes roved over the students before landing on Ulquiorra. His lips split into a knife-sharp smile.
Ulquiorra’s heart stuttered, and he dropped his gaze back to his notebook. That… maybe he needed to start relegating himself to more social interaction. Going out to eat with Shūhei and Izuru once a month was clearly not enough.
The room continued to fill until the bell rang. The man lifted a remote, and the classroom doors closed at the top of the stairs. He put the remote on the podium and moved to stand in front of it, arms crossed.
“Mornin’. I’m Grimmjow. I’ll be teaching the weaponry lectures. As a heads up, I will drop and fail you if you don’t show up to class. I’m not your mom, not your friend. If you can’t handle the homework, get out now.” Grimmjow pointed to the exit across from him.
The assertion hit Ulquiorra hard in the chest. Most of his professors were strict, but this felt different. It almost felt like a dare.
Grimmjow turned around to fiddle with his binder. Then he was crossing the room to stand in front of Ulquiorra. He slid the paper in front of Ulquiorra and made eye contact. There was still a glimpse of his smile. His eyes were sharp, focused. “Attendance sheet. Sign it.”
Ulquiorra signed his name before he passed it to the next student. Grimmjow’s eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Good boy.” Then he was moving back to the podium. “So we’re gonna start at the dawn of man. Stone age weaponry was a necessary skill development not only meant for hunting animals, but also for waging war with other tribes.”
Ulquiorra’s ears burned. He felt a snarl rise in his chest, a demand to argue he wasn’t “good” at all. But Grimmjow didn’t look at him again through the rest of the class. Not even when Ulquiorra raised his hand to ask questions.
Grimmjow just shrugged, and said, “Floor’s yours, Casper.”
Ulquiorra’s mouth drew into a firm line. “Retracted, Professor.”
Grimmjow smirked. “So one of the earliest known weapons that we’ve uncovered comes from four hundred thousand years ago.” He pushed off the podium and began to pace the floor.
Ulquiorra lowered his attention back to his notebook. His eyes didn’t linger on the lines, nor did his pen move. He felt his attention drifting back toward Grimmjow instead.
Grimmjow gestured when he spoke, mimed holding the weaponry, and bared his teeth. He seemed less an instructor and more a stage player lost in his role. The heat of his passion blazed around Ulquiorra. He found himself watching Grimmjow’s movements. How fluid he moved when taking a step or pantomiming a swing.
Strong, sturdy build; Ulquiorra could see the flex of Grimmjow’s muscles under his shirt. Bright, sharp eyes that flickered over the room. He didn’t miss anything. It was easy to imagine him wielding the tools himself. In a different time, Grimmjow would have been a hunter, or a soldier. His hands were large, and Ulquiorra’s mind wandered. He left the image of Grimmjow’s fingers wrapped around thick wooden shafts in favor of more delicate materials.
Flesh.
A pale column of a throat. His throat. Or digging his fingers into Ulquiorra’s hips. Leaving bruises and marks and lines to prove Grimmjow existed. That he had carved something out of Ulquiorra. Something –
Grimmjow’s eyes turned toward Ulquiorra, and that damn smile returned with a flash of tongue to tooth, a quick wink.
Ulquiorra dropped his gaze to his notebook. He would not romanticize his teacher. He would not.
~*~
The bell rang an hour later, and Ulquiorra let out his breath. His lunges ached, and his fingers felt stiff. He’d spent the better part of Grimmjow’s lecture scratching down whatever sounded important. To his foolish mind, that was deemed everything.
The lecture hall emptied at a trickle. Ulquiorra remained in his seat to avoid the worst of the shoving and the horrid smells of unwashed university students. He folded his notebook closed and tucked it into his bag along with his pen. He didn’t dare look up to see where Grimmjow had disappeared.
Not that it did him much good.
“Hey, Casper.”
Ulquiorra lifted his head from his bag to see Grimmjow standing in front of him. Grimmjow rested a hand on the tabletop and leaned down. This close, Ulquiorra could see Grimmjow’s canine teeth were sharp. Natural, or…? His skin prickled at the thought of what they must feel like. He’d always liked men who bit.
“My name is Ulquiorra, Professor.” Didn’t Grimmjow care about his optics? University level education allowed for teachers to be less coddling than primary and secondary school, but an insult was an insult. Lawsuits were ugly affairs.
Grimmjow sniffed. “What’s your next class, Ulquiorra?”
Ulquiorra was used to people saying his name like a slur, or even a curse. He was not used to hearing it sound like a come on. His thighs squeezed together.
“Biology lab.” But not until the afternoon.
Grimmjow sucked his teeth. “Mm, so you got time.”
Time for what? If Grimmjow was looking for a teaching assistant, Ulquiorra held no interest. He would sooner –
“Let’s grab an early lunch.” Grimmjow shoved himself off the table and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.
Ulquiorra’s brain short circuited. That… well. That was a shot of dopamine. He stared at Grimmjow before he realized his teacher was serious. It wasn’t a joke, or even an insult. Not that he knew how it could have been.
Ulquiorra inhaled and let it out. “Isn’t that inappropriate, Professor?”
The lecture hall was empty now. Ulquiorra heard the door close. Grimmjow laughed, then he was leaning over the desk, a foot from Ulquiorra’s face. Ulquiorra could see the points of his teeth, every eyelash.
“You’re naughty, aren’t you? Ain’t inappropriate to eat, but if you want more.” Grimmjow licked his teeth.
Ulquiorra swallowed. This… he wanted more. But at what cost? Fooling around with a teacher would have his grades called into question. He would be marked. Branded. A male teacher was worse than a female one. This… Ulquiorra’s eyes darted to his hands. They trembled.
Grimmjow straightened. “Hey, fuck. Sorry. Was mostly teasin’ ya. You’re cute, but you’ve got my class for three months.” The sharp smile turned to a frown, and his eyes softened.
Ulquiorra inhaled. “You… it was a joke?”
Grimmjow scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I should say yeah, but I ain’t big on lyin’.” He rested a hand on his hip. “You are cute, and I like that sour lemon face you make. Yeah, that one right there!”
Ulquiorra was not making a sour lemon face. His jaw started to cramp. “You couldn’t have believed that would work.” Did he try this on all his students?
“I mean, I figured you’d at least agree to grabbin’ food. We’d talk, I’d see you were nuts, or you’d think I was a prick.”
“I don’t think you’re a prick.”
Grimmjow snorted. “That you’d know I was a prick. We’d call each other names, go about our business, and have this back and forth in class.”
The fantasies of Grimmjow as some clever deviant evaporated. “I understand. You’re stupid.” Ulquiorra gathered his bag and stood.
Grimmjow scrunched his nose. “I ain’t stupid.”
No, that was unfair. Grimmjow had managed to become a professor in a prestigious university. He taught a niche university elective that helped further historical fields. He was not stupid.
“You’re right. You’re an idiot savant.” Ulquiorra shouldered his bag.
Grimmjow shrugged. “Yeah, that one might fit better.” He scratched at his jaw.
Ulquiorra rolled his eyes and slid toward the end of the seats. Grimmjow trailed him.
“So that’s a no to lunch?”
Ulquiorra paused at the end of the aisle. He clutched his bag tight enough his knuckles ached. He turned to face Grimmjow. Looked down his nose at a man he had not even fifteen minutes prior fantasized about fucking.
“I won’t fuck you.”
Grimmjow’s lashes fluttered. “Wasn’t gonna ask you to.”
But he certainly acted like it. Ulquiorra exhaled. “Will you pay for my food?”
Grimmjow nodded, not unlike a big dumb dog.
“And you will be professional?” Ulquiorra pressed.
“I mean –”
“And you will be professional?” Ulquiorra hissed.
Grimmjow’s eyes widened. His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “Yeah, sure. Professional.”
Ulquiorra sighed. “Then I agree to lunch.” He stepped down from the aisle to stand beside Grimmjow.
Grimmjow tilted his head. “Diner food good for you?”
“As long as you’ll pay for as much as I eat.” Ulquiorra had always been considered gluttonous.
“Tch, like it’s that much?” Grimmjow turned on his heel and headed for the emergency exit.
“Enough to keep a bird alive.” Not that Ulquiorra saw fit to specify what species.
Grimmjow laughed and walked them through the courtyard. “I like that smart mouth of yours, Ulquiorra. Think you’ll make this semester interesting for me.”
Ulquiorra’s eyes lingered on Grimmjow’s back while they walked. Against his better judgment, they lowered. Grimmjow must have earned that Letterman jacket thrown over his shoulder by right. Ulquiorra looked away, considering. He could always transfer out of the class, or he could ride out the three months. It would almost be worth it. Seeing which of them had the stronger ego.
Ulquiorra murmured, “I don’t think you want that.”
Grimmjow opened the door into the diner and leaned in close. “Try me, Casper.”
Oh, Grimmjow was going to hate the taste of his own medicine; Ulquiorra was sure of it.