Bleach © Tite Kubo

Summary-

Everything's a game to Grimmjow. He is a violent drunk. A killer. A criminal. Possessive. Over and over again Shiro falls for him. And yet he hates him. Hates Grimmjow and his cruelty so damn much. But Shiro can't pull himself away. He accepts the abuse and the torture. And for what? In his hopes to one day see the brute change?

Warning: Strong sexual content and vulgar language. Violence, implied abuse, yaoi, dark themes and other such disturbing stuff. This will be a multi-chapter and yes, this chapter contains smut.

.I.

Watching himself fall to the floor again.

How amusing, it seemed, for the figure opposite him. A wondrously handsome man with the delicate features of a felinesque devil, hair crowning his head in a spiked cerulean fashion, accompanied by oceanic precarious eyes. He was such a fine looking individual. So kind he looked. He even flashed the women at the bar one of those welcoming, masculine smiles that reflected a man with a heart of gold.

But he didn't have heart of gold. Oh, he was far from it. Under the surface there was a murderer, a drunken killer and savage brute that wanted nothing more than to devour you and rope you in with his beautiful features and fool you into thinking that he wanted you for the sole reason of the investment of love. His appearance was a lie. Everyone about him, actually, was an outright lie. If he was a canvas then he was painted in luscious colors yet tainted by the foul bitterness of the image itself. He, as a canvas, would probably form the image of the devil himself. For he was a devil, in every respect. A blue devil masquerading as something that he was not.

Shiro collapsed this time. Bare legs quivered under him as the taller male pulled out and spared him no reach of sexual satisfaction and left him hanging, Shiro's knees buckling and his body trembling vigorously from the rough treatment of his form. As the other man halted his thrusts and then stepped back from him it then left Shiro with a staggering pain that made gravity coerce him to the floor. He landed in a heap. A stinging agony seared in his spine where he had been clawed at like an animal and his collar bone burned with the affliction of a bite mark which brandished the other's ownership to his sore flesh.
He could smell the distinct odor of alcohol radiating from the other male's clothing, the man towering over him and fixating him with those predatory eyes as if he was prey and nothing else. Looking down at Shirosaki as if he was little more than a mere plaything to be toyed around with. Shiro was his entertainment for the night, to be knocked around and fucked and then thrown aside once he had lost his use.

This was how things had always been. Of course Shiro had tired of it, but there was essentially nothing that he could do. The ruthless man that was Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had an unbending will and such threatening authority that no one dared defy him. He was living fear. Whenever Shiro tried to stand up to him it only earned the paler male a beating, a defiant fuck, a hurling hit to the head and a very vulgar array of insults. There was no changing Grimmjow, and no escaping him either. Particularly, like now, when he was drunk. The alcohol was the fuel for which Grimmjow became violent and it inspired all kinds of merciless behavior from the hulking plethora of walking strength. What didn't make Shiro feel any safer was that Grimmjow was a killer and a man of utter criminality; dangerous, daring and armed with a cruelly perceptive mind. The guy dabbled in drugs, drink, likely performed the local murders on the news, and was in essence the very being of impetuosity. The ways of how he avoided getting locked up in some distant prison puzzled Shiro deeply. He somehow evaded getting caught.

"Ya jus' gonna lay there?" Came Grimmjow's slurred tone, words tweaked with the audacity of drink. Drunkenness always seemed to distort his voice more than how Shiro's own was.

"'M gettin' up, 'm gettin' up," he repeated, aware that not answering to the drunk would earn him a secondary clout if he showed no acknowledgement.

Grimmjow was strangely able to keep himself looking well kept and his formal suits were always straight and tie perfect despite his mind being contorted by the drink and hardly being able to stay upright on two legs. Jaegerjaques always dressed well contrary to his roguish nature. He flaunted business clothing on his drunken nights. Sleek black suits and expensive tailored ties with white shirts. Grimmjow almost looked respectable. But that was on the exterior. And on the outside, as Shiro knew better than anyone else, Grimmjow could pose as anything he wanted to be.

What was actually happening here was that Grimmjow was in the midst of recovering from his latest glass of tequila and un-gracelessly humping and then proceeding to fuck Shiro against a brick wall at the back of a night club by demand.

It really wouldn't have looked like abuse to anyone else. The beating and the bruises were well sealed and Shiro had gotten to the point that the physical torture which Grimmjow ravaged on him no longer hurt anymore. Lord knows how the destructive damage that the brute dealt never seemed to get noticed by anyone. Shiro did his best to hide it but his porcelain pallor often revealed even the faintest of scrapes and reddened scrawls. Though he had been asked on occasion if he was being knocked around, Shiro denied it, claiming that he had fallen down the stairs or accidentally harmed himself by walking into an object.

The only thing defining what Grimmjow did as a sexual activity and what separated it from rape was also that Shiro had developed a lusting for the painful pleasure and, due to having to tolerate it, derived a deranged love of Grimmjow's bodily interactions. In fact, being used as a sexual object had become routine. Shiro had been a virgin before he had met Grimmjow and when their relationship had been in early stages the brute had fooled him with various means of passionate love making that had stolen away his innocence and prepared the pale male for the real side of Grimmjow that performed abusive and harsh, unrelenting sex. Being the drunk's toy for so long had almost made him shape a sense of immunity for it.

"Strip."

A pause. Then a hesitant and shaky breath was drawn, Shiro already half bare with visible orchid legs showing. But there was no objecting to the other's instructions and his drunken ruler was not one to be delayed unless Shiro was asking for another burst of easily-induced violence. There was only one advantage of the outcome of this and that was Shiro's inevitable pleasure. Having Grimmjow inside him was something that, much to Shiro's grudging dislike, he would enjoy.

The fabric adorning his upper body was detached and strung at his feet, Shiro untying the intricate laces that formed somewhat of a corset-like garment beneath his outer jacket. He did so with haste and kept one cautious eye on the swaying figure opposite him as he threaded slender tips through the bindings of his waist confining outfit. Soon clothing had pooled at his feet and he was clad in nothing but the coldness of the air.

But Grimmjow wasn't happy with the exposure of his naked body until he had Shiro shivering and pressed between the warmth of his chest and the icy surface of the wall. His own formal dressings had transformed from business-like to stark bare within the passing moments and the predator of a man was already cornering his prey to the base of the wall to initiate some kind of performance from the smaller male.

Whimpers were dragged from his vocal chords as Shiro was brutally shoved into the brick of the wall and discolored skin was scythed by the gruff surface as the stone tore at his paled exterior. It wasn't the collision that had ripped out his defenseless sounds however, the muffled growls and fierce clawing of hungry nails protruding into his flesh causing the despaired noises. As usual his partner was raring to go. Tanned hands glided swiftly over the sculpture of his torso and invaded the flesh of Shiro's hip bones while Grimmjow scavenged for any sensitive areas that he could find.

A lavish wetness of a hot tongue lapped a path over the shell of his ear, sharp canines teasing the skin of his lobe and followed by sucking at the curve of his jaw for a brief moment. Shiro had to admit that this behavior was extremely stimulating but he knew damn well that this was all to melt him down and make him surrender to the nearing penetration. Deceptive encouragement.

The raptorial treatment was then enforced as Grimmjow swirled a tongue over the column of his neck, proceeding to embed teeth into the velvet of his bruise tainted flesh and gracing him with a possessive bite on the throat. This clenching of teeth stifled an outcry from Shiro, who desperately restrained himself from screaming too high for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Not that the drunk was aware of his suffering of course. The controller never was.

Two sudden fingers were then snaked into Shiro's mouth and he guessed that this was going to serve as a weak lubricant to soften the entrance into his body next. But it wasn't for Shiro. It was only to ease to experience for the drunk. Because Shiro's comfort was a falsehood in these situations. Grimmjow dampened his fingers with the assistance of Shiro's azure tongue and the sucking of his whetted lips as he smeared saliva over the fingers in his mouth. Then Grimmjow withdrew his smothered fingers and - this part was never painless nor pleasant - caved his fingers straight into the stretched flesh of Shiro's bared opening. Despite the rush for the sex Grimmjow always made the lathering of Shiro's insides a vital point.

All too soon was that over and then Shiro was slammed violently into the brick again. Grimmjow traced a pattern along the slope of his abdomen and then firm hands steered him by the hips as he holstered the pale one upwards and, with Shiro bracing himself and knowing that lack of suitable lubricant would make this severely painful, was delved into and entered.

The devil's face was unseen as Shiro gasped and let piteous moans escape his throat, lashing obsidian painted nails into the spinal chords of Grimmjow's back as he eased out a helpless screech from the sheer pain of the intrusion. There was maddening pulsing in his lower body as he scrambled to keep himself propped upright and scratched recklessly at the other's back. Nails scrabbled at the drunk's muscles with infuriating detestation combined with sadistic appeasement. God, he hated him. Hated him so much. And yet he loved this.

Ramming into Shiro over and over, continuous bucking and thrusting paired with the deliverance of harsh pounding in and outwards of Shiro's body was done as Grimmjow buried himself deep inside and practically fucked away his alcoholic consumption. Relieving himself by means of tearing in and out of Shiro's body. Because that was all Shiro was in the hands of the devil. A tool. A toy to be used at the brute's disposal. The attainment of Grimmjow's temporary satisfaction. And this was how it was. An endless cycle.

Coarse groans were shed from the smaller male and his drunken boyfriend inflicted deep thrusts between throaty grunts and repetitive pushes as he bounced Shiro on the heat of his shaft. The faligious pain was easily endured by Shiro though, being used to such actions, and the muscles of his insides curdled and stretched in disfigured contractions as he suffered the sensations that made it seem as if he was being internally torn apart.

"G-Grimmjoww... Shouldn' ya be h-headin' back now?" He choked out, the movements jolting his figure about and making his vocal voicing quite the struggle.

There was an angry snarl as if he was an animal when Grimmjow was spoken to, as if Shiro's words were disturbing his activity. But nonetheless there came a reply. Slurred. "Sh-hut it," he hissed. "No."

Deciding that conversation was pointless in the face of a drunken Jaegerjaques, Shiro steadied himself as he felt heat twist inside his lower body and coil like a simmering spiral in the depths of his stomach. He was approaching an orgasm and being allowed to experience it this time.

Grimmjow's thrusts gradually elicited the achievement of it, and Shiro moaned out the other's name with a sort of victorious tone of voice as his muscles clenched and stung from the austere movements of the man interacting with him.

Observing as white fluid began to trickle from the tip of his aching erection, Shiro saw the essence stream down the length and drip pitifully onto the floor below him. Grimmjow ignored his accomplishment of release and continued working on his own satisfaction as he drove Shiro's battered body into the incline of the wall behind him. But Shiro didn't mind. He was enveloped in a pleasure high, and the pain could always be sustained by a tool such as his worthless self. He had developed immunity used to it.

Muscles were flexing from the might of the taller man before him. Grimmjow was a heavy one at pushing and he packed in so much force that Shiro felt brittle in comparison to the toned solidity of Jaegerjaques. He was like a fragile, mentally shattered pestilence under the supreme density of this merciless rogue. The devil was far stronger than him and dangerously so. Sex like this was intensely exhausting for him. No human should have to endure this much. But being the spare toy that he was, there was no room for Shiro's refusal.

"Done," Grimmjow muttered, the only audible sound coming from this mouth so far that wasn't somehow contorted by alcoholic influence into a slur.
And then the other filled him with his bodily liquid, the other male's juices warming the abused flesh of Shiro's rear as the one thrusting into him passed a tremor and then grunted loudly. Grimmjow then pulled out of him a second time, panting with worn out breaths.

When Grimmjow let go of him Shiro staggered and fought for balance. But he couldn't last. Even if his mind was headstrong his body certainly wasn't. The savage Grimmjow didn't ever go easy on the limits of his frame and he had no care for Shiro's stability or how much he could handle. So he whimpered and then fell, leaning against the wall for support but finding no comfort in its chilling brick surface. He was freezing. Battered. Left stained and bruised. This was the result of tonight's usage.

The other male - and amazingly, as Shiro could see he was clearly physically exhausted himself from that performance - was already attempting to drunkenly change back into his dressings. Grimmjow attached his shirt and did a messy job of it and then after many stumbles somehow managed to slip into his trousers. Huffing and the tousling of fabric in the tall male's hands could be heard.

Then before he knew it there was a stern fist in Shiro's hair and his ashen spikes were yanked on as he was pulled up, causing him to gasp and squirm from the torturous handling. "G-Grimm 's hurtin'! 'S hurtin'!" He screamed.

Words went ignored and Grimmjow seized him by the arm and hauled him up on his feet. However, he had seemed to take note of Shiro's harm, and he refrained from pulling further at his snow colored hair. But that didn't stop him from dragging Shiro off, the weaker male's feet trudging on the ground as he straddled the stones underfoot and was forcefully dressed by a drunk Grimmjow.

"Wha're ya doin'?" Shiro asked, having never been dressed by Grimmjow before like this.

"What the fuck does it look like? 'M clothin' ya 'course. Stay still," the words were snapped, almost growled out. "'M takin' ya to tonight's poker game."

"P-Poker game? But we're-"

"Shut it!" Came a fierce howl of a snarl, and Shiro was silenced by the fear inflicting height in Grimmjow's tone.

So Shiro allowed himself to be courteously dressed, garments applied again and the stains somehow not being outwardly noticeable on the material of his clothing. Grimmjow was rough with him and far from considerate of being kind as he swiftly wove the dressings over his form and masked the bruises and bite marks with fabric.

One perk to being this man's tool was that Grimmjow's criminal profits and vast wealth gained from his dishonest ways of earning his living was that Shiro was fitted in gorgeously expensive and self chosen clothes. He was given whatever objects he desired and never without shelter or food. However, the damage on his body and emotional stress that he withheld outweighed those foolish materialistic values. It was hell being stuck with this devilish Jaegerjaques, even yet still Shiro would not part from him.

No, Shirosaki was bound to this nightmarish devil. He was a puppet to this manipulative puppeteer and enslaved to him. Enshrined to him, even. There was no morals to him and he was a being of pure manifested cruelty and void of any known mercy or empathetic feelings, but even so there was something there. Something that roped Shiro to him and intertwined their lives. Even if he wanted to escape this heartless relationship then Grimmjow's possessiveness would never allow him to do it anyway.

And Shiro pondered to himself, now, of all moments; would he ever live to see the day that this killer would ever become a good man? Was he truly hollow inside or would there ever be a way to change him?

Thank you for reading~! Will upload the next chapter as soon as I can.