Hello readers!

Well, although I'm in the middle of writing two other stories (a GrimmHime and a UkiHitsu), I just had one of those epiphanies and I had to write this little GrimmIchi drabble. It is rated M for sexual content and a bit of language, although it isn't terribly specific. Just a little slice of lemon, through Ichigo's eyes.

Hope you like it!

- Illumination -

Moments

It was so wrong.

But in those moments of ecstasy, it really didn't matter.

In those brief seconds where his large hands gripped my hips, hoisting them up, I could have cared less what was moral. In those few glorious flashes of passion, I would give myself to him as he ravaged my body. His fingers would trace around my unclothed body that took on a slight sheen from his ministrations. His hot breath would pant against my ear as he brought us both to the brink of sheer pleasure, where nothing mattered but the man above me.

His teeth and tongue would tease me to no end, my hands twisting in the sheets as he finally entered my body; the body that belonged to him, which only he had touched so intimately. Helpless and pleading, I would cling to him as our essence became one. His unsteady voice would whisper nonsense in my ear. Legs entangling in my white sheets as he pinned me, teeth clamping down on my neck in bittersweet pain as he marked me. Fingers twined together as we moved together; the motions had become like second nature to the both of us now. I knew how his body moved; it was like an unspoken language that he had taught me.

Concise moments of affection occurred between us; those moments when our lips touched. However, kissing him was not an act of love; it was a battle for dominance, which he always won. It was an erotic dance of our tongues, and harsh teeth that sometimes left marks that bled. His hips pushed against mine over and over as he took what I had to give. My nails would dig into his hard skin as my spine arched into him. He had told me I still had an aura of innocence about me that he liked. But he had taken my innocence long ago.

He usually came on rainy nights. On my walk home from school, I would keep my eyes on the sky. Clouds were a warning sign. If the skies were clear, I knew I would sleep soundly. If not… I would stay awake, lying in my bed. I was never asleep when he arrived, but I pretended because he thought he was stealthy. When I heard the familiar thump near my window, the hairs on the back of my neck would rise.

When those brief moments of ecstasy took over, all common sense would leave my brain. Of course he was the enemy. Of course he was using me for pleasure. Of course I should be running, or fighting him off, or something; anything but spreading my legs for him. His piercing blue eyes went right through me, making me weak in the knees. I was under his spell. In those amazing minutes he would spend with me, I would completely lose myself, and everything I stood for and believed in. But my body overruled my mind during the nights he visited, and I couldn't control myself. I couldn't say no to him.

In the final stages of our passion, we were a frenzied, tangled, sticky being. Nearing both of our limits, he would go harder, faster, while gripping the handles of my hips. I would wince at the bruises left by his hands later. Caught up in the fervor that radiated from him, his name spilled from my lips repeatedly as my voice reached octaves that weren't accessed any other way. Falling over the edge, I would grip his shoulders as my body convulsed. Not completely lost in my own thrill, I would try to listen through my sounds of pleasure to hear him. It was in these wild moments of bliss that he would say my name, and in these moments only. Craving my name on his lips, I would cross my ankles behind the small of his back, arching as he finished inside of me. His groans were feral, thrusting harder and faster until…

"…Ichigo… Fuck…"

Cursing was second nature to him as well, and I'd grown used to it. But my name, falling from those proud, merciless lips, was all I could hope for.

We would lie there in sated glory, and another brief moment of affection would take place. He did not like the word 'cuddling', but that was all I could describe it as. "Lovers cuddle," he would say. And he would leave it at that, because I knew the rest of the sentence. We weren't lovers.

I would always fall asleep at that point, no matter how hard I fought to keep my eyes open. Perhaps it was physical exhaustion from exerting myself in erotic instinct with him. Perhaps it was the fact that it was usually early morning, just before the sun peeked up over the mountains. Or perhaps it was just the warmth of his body. But I would always drift off, his slowing breathing my lullaby.

He was right. We weren't lovers. Lovers would have taken it slow, caressing each other's bodies. Lovers would have touched their lips together tenderly. Lovers would bask in the afterglow together, and then wake up together, ready to face a new day. No, this wasn't love.

Because he was always gone in the morning.