Parining(s): Nnoitra/Neliel
Genre: Dark/Angst
Warning: SEX! Vicious, hatefilled, passionate sex.

For the most part, their relationship is predictable. Well, their whole lives are predictable really, endless meetings and killings and moonlit hallways, so why should the way they interacted with each other be any different?

But it is all right with them. Because it iss predictable, it is also safe. They don't need to worry that some unexpected obstacle will come hurtling at them.

During the day, they go about their business. She likes to play with her fraccion, read and to look at the moon. He likes to try and kill her.

Their battles are the same every time. Uncreative insults on his part, and silent disapproval on hers. And they always end with him in a bloody heap on the ground, cursing as she walks away, not feeling as victorious as perhaps she should.

Then comes the sex, just a different battleground.

He pushes her up against the wall, and her head cracks painfully against the cement. Her legs are already spread, open and waiting, but he yanks them apart further because he can. He trusts into her brutally, causing her shoulders to rub painfully up and down. She is bent into an extremely uncomfortable position, with her legs forcibly hooked over his shoulders, and this is made even more straining due to the fact that he is so damn tall.

They are very vocal as they go about their business. He snarls like as animals when her nails tear into his hierro. She cries out with her head thrown back when his teeth sink into the sensitive flesh about her breast. And they both scream at the moment it all ends.

Sometimes they mix it up and he'll press her face into the mattress and take her from behind. But this only happens when she is in a generous mood.

If she is in a bad mood, however, she is the one doing the shoving and snarling and climbing on top. To remind him that she is the one who has always, and will always hold all the real power.

If neither of them have any pressing matters to attend to, they collapse together in a tangled mess upon the bed, their limbs sticking together with blood, sweat and sex. The contact is in no way intimate; none of it is because that would mean that they gave a shit, which they most certainly do not.

But life in Los Noches is forever being interrupted with unexpected events. An espada is replaced, some pitiful ryoka have to be taken care of, the likes. Because no matter how much we wish it, no routine can flow perfectly forever.

It started out the same as always. The shoving onto the bed, the feverish tearing off of the uniforms before he climbs on top of her.

But somewhere along the way it goes wrong. Her leg slips down from its customary position over his shoulder, and suddenly both lower limbs are wrapped around his waist instead.

He hasn't yet maneuvered her up against the wall, so they are more or less laying horizontally on the bed. Her hands slide up his shoulder blades and he feels her fingers in his hair, but not pulling or twisting or ripping at the roots, as she tends to do, but tangled loosely, and inflicting to pain at all.

He finds himself entirely surrounded by her and yet, she also fills him, her scent flooding his nostrils, and the sea-foam green of her hair is all that he can see. She is utterly wrapped around him and when they move it is slow. Her lips are brushing his jaw line and she moans softly, an alien sound to him.

And before he knows what's going on they are moving further and further away from fucking and into the unfamiliar and forbidden territory that is lovemaking, and it terrifies him a thousand times more than any monster he has faced in his considerably monster-filled life.

Afterward they lie facing in opposite directions, as far away from one and other as the bed allows, and they are both wide awake. But despite the physical distance the whole atmosphere is sickeningly intimate. She steals glances at him, trying to be stealthy, but he felt her gaze burning the back of his neck.

When he can't stand it any longer, he rises abruptly and makes his way to where she flung his uniform. He feels irrationally conscious of his nakedness, which he knows is ridiculous because he just had sex with the bitch, so he forces himself to walk nonchalantly to where the tattered thing lies.

He salvages what he can, not because he gives a damn if anyone sees him (he would kill anyone who looked anyway) but because he suddenly feels the overwhelming need to kill something, and though he can totally do that naked, the sand in that blasted desert just gets everywhere. And there are some places where sand should not be.

It turns out that killing a bunch of lowly hollows doesn't help much, because when he returns, hours later and covered from head to toe in gore, the fucking feeling still hasn't gone away.

So he decides that he simply will not stand for any feeling for her besides flat-out loathing, and maybe the occasional weakness of lust. He needs to get rid of the confusing connection that refuses to subside.

So over the next few weeks he redoubles his murder-attempts, trying out new and wacky strategies that he never would have dared before, out of fear for his life. He avoids her chamber at night as well, as difficult as it is, looking for any excuse to be unavailable. He volunteers for all of the night missions, and even goes as far as to beg a favor from Szayel in return that he gives her idiot fraccion a bad case of flu to keep her occupied.

It is while he's waiting in the ex-espada's laboratory that the plan comes to be. Everyone knows that the pink-haired arrancar wants desperately to regain his former rank, and that can be done by killing an existing member of the espada. The bitch will never expect him to team up with someone who had so recently fallen from grace. She will never see it coming.

And she does't. The next night he watches as her body plummets away over the side of the castle. He waits, as her reiatsu is sealed inside her body. He waits as he walks away from the scene without a backward glance. He waits for some kind of relief, or joy, or satisfaction that he has finally achieved what he has strived for so long to accomplish. He waits to feel anything different, for that strange emotion to disappear. He waits as Szayel is re-initiated into the espada, as the brand on his tongue is bumped a rank. Then another.

He waits

And waits

And waits…