A/N: Lately my days are filled with anger and drowned in lust. What I really want is some non-judgmental companionship. What I'll settle for is writing angry smut. This isn't angry smut though, although I might continue this short piece with something a little more involved on my other, "secret", deviantart account. Anyway, hope this entertains.


Sweet Depth

There were many times Ichigo believed he should have died but didn't simply because he couldn't. Mere mortal men bore not the burden of such choices. Fate held their hands and helped them pick out their inevitable end; not so was Ichigo's lot. Ichigo clung to life's hilt, its blade propping his spent body up like a crutch. Life was his weapon, and so long as War's clarion sounded, he could not sheath Life into Death.

But he could suffer.

"Stubborn bastard," Grimmjow spat, "fucking stubborn bastard!" There was a time when sea-blue eyes would have narrowed in malicious glee to see the warrior so battered, but Ichigo's blood on his hands was only chilling to Grimmjow now. The weak surges of breath beneath his staunching hands told the warrior monk that Ichigo was still alive, even if the young warrior lay limp in a pool of his own blood.

With a flurry of curses, Grimmjow tried to mould his spirit energy into the glowing arcs of a spirit invocation, his blood-soaked fingers almost slipping out of the complicated seals he barely remembered.

"Fucking HEAL, you bastard!" He growled, pumping his hands and the charged spell into the wound.

"Guh! Gurh- rgh- ghk!" Blood sputtered along with the gasps, but life began to stir in the depths of vacant brown eyes.

A relieved smile flashed over Grimmjow's pale scowl, and he thrust even more of his spirit energy into the spell. "That's right you fucking bastard, that's right…"

"Grimm… haah… jow…" The word was weak, but the emotion behind it was not.

"Fucking shut your cunt-hole!" Grimmjow snapped, even as his eyes warmed warningly.

"Grimmjow…"

"I'll kill you myself if you don't fucking shut up!"

Glazed brown eyes blinked in a slow frown.

"… haaah… safe?"

"You fucking killed them all, didn't you?"

Orange brows relaxed briefly before furrowing again.

"… haaah… hurt?"

"Fuck you!" Grimmjow would have punched the man if he didn't think it would kill him. "I'm not a fucking weak bastard who would let the likes of them lay a scratch on me! A weak bastard like you should just fucking die with a fucking polearm shoved up your shithole!"

"Yours… haaah… I want… haaah… your polearm up… haaah… up my shithole..." A ghost of a smile livened Ichigo's deathly pallor.

"Shit! Fuck! Fuck!" The warrior monk raged as weak tears slipped down despite himself. With tenderness so gentle it punished him, Grimmjow leaned down and kissed that impish innocence. Soft lips responded, with a life so fragile Grimmjow feared they would melt within the keen heat of his longing breaths.

"I'll fucking plug your fuck hole when I'm sure you won't fucking pass out on me." He promised in an angry hiss. "I want you to really feel how fucking pissed you've fucking bloody made me."

"…mercy…" Ichigo whispered contentedly.

"Fucking none." Grimmjow retorted with another vulnerable kiss before he resumed his healing.

Ichigo would not die, but he would suffer. Ever so deeply; ever so sweetly.