Author's Notes: I don't particularly consider this to be...romance...nonetheless, it is...to some degree. I don't really have much to say for it. It was a quickie. (Do not think wrong.) You know, a plot bunny that never leaves? Yes...just like that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. No, that belongs to Tite Kubo - the artist and author of it. I do not own this song, either. This song is "Pain" by Three Days Grace and, no, I have not used the entirety of the song's lyrics. No, I don't own them either, sorry.
Warning: VIOLENCE/GORE, WHAT COULD, POSSIBLY, BE CONSIDERED HATE SEX, SENSITIVE IDEOLOGY - RATED MATURE FOR A REASON!! Not suitable for minors or young readers!! (Who am I kidding? I'm a minor, myself.) You have been warned - this is not for the weak of mind of the faint of heart. I take no responsibility for mental-scarring.
Fingers entwined in the middle of the night – a free hand gripping ridiculous, naturally blue hair; a cry and a gasp resounding through cold emptiness; a lie whispered in the chilling heat of the moment – "I love you."
Pain, without love…
Strong, muscular tanned arms wrapped around a pale, cold shivering form; a gentle pull and a rough tug – clothing, now, discarded to the ground; a low hiss and a reverent word – "Beautiful."
Pain, I can't get enough…
"I…" A breath caught in his throat; a soft moan and his head lolls to the side in ecstasy – "Stop this."
Pain, I like it rough…
"No," A mocking laugh; even harsher movements, far too unfeeling and distasteful – "This is too good to let go."
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all…
"No, no, no…" Word repeated before silenced – a kiss, rough and tearing – teeth bite into skin and crimson begins to drip – blood. Eyes lose focus and fade into a blurry haze of lust. "More…" – a contradictory whimper.
You're sick of feeling numb…
"Gladly," A smirk resting on a maniacal expression – a cherry to top it; cerulean blue eyes flash with vigour and life – anger, this is vengeance and nothing but. "Do you feel it?" A rhetorical question meant to provoke pervades the silent noise of pants and moans.
You're not the only one…
Muddled thoughts and one spoken aloud – "Why are you doing this?" A pause supplemented with a gasp – "Why am I allowing you to do this?" There isn't an answer – there is none either can give.
I'll take you by the hand…
Not a word is spoken – a soft grunt and a violent thrust of the hips; not an ounce of self-control left – or ever was. Harsh, chapped lips meld with smooth, bleeding, black and white ones – a chaste kiss if it hadn't been for the blood.
And I'll show you a world that you can understand…
"Is this…" A shallow ragged breath is caught as black fingernails dig into the flesh of broad shoulders – a cry, much like a whimper, is heard but no one is there to hear it. "Is this…" A soft pant and a groan of pain and pleasure – a hiss of discomfort – "Is this love…?"
This life is filled with hurt…
"No," Without missing a beat, an answer is given – be it true or otherwise. "Never," – an addition to the answer is laid out in the open. It signifies completion.
When happiness doesn't work…
"I see…" A whisper lost in heated movements, "I understand…" Still unheard, is the answer to it all – the truth that neither grasps.
Trust me and take my hand…
Pale fingers – lithe and thin – grip and entangle themselves in soft locks of blue hair nestled in the base of his neck; truly a beautiful sight to behold. He isn't weak and he isn't crumbling – he is open, like a book with yellowed pages, torn at the seams from its leather binding – not broken, but open. He beholds it – the sight; blood splattered everywhere, a wonderland of colours – red, red, more red.
When the lights go out you will understand…
"Grimmjow…"
Pain, without love…
"Ulquiorra…"
Pain, I can't get enough…