She will just have to have enough heart for the both of them. -Nel tu Odelschwanck/Ulquiorra Cifer.
His chest is so empty, hollow, bared for all to see.
She feels a faint sense of morbidity as she trails her hand down his jaw, his throat, his collarbones - her fingers slipping as his skin tapers off and dipping ever so slightly into that small circular hole.
As if someone had punched the heart right out of him.
Though she cannot feel it herself (throbbing, pulsating, red-blood-pumping), she like to imagine one beating within her own chest, concealed as it is with her generous flesh and high-necked wraparound top.
His fingers are long and spindly, bone-white as they peel the pale cloth away; each faint brush against her more tanned skin makes her chest rise, her nonexistent breath hitch and tremble; never mind her ample bust, her ribs themself feel barely a barrier against his wandering hands.
Cool, soft and gentle, there's still a sense of deliberation, carefulness to his hands, his spidery digits. There's also the blank curiosity in his wide green orbs as they lower, then press firmly to the dimpled small of her back and she arches, lets out an audibly gasp-
and she decides it'll be fine.
She will just have to have enough heart for the both of them.
This pairing makes sense to me. -shrugs-