Disclaimer : Bleach is not mine, and English is not my first language.
The first time they kiss, it's under a full moon.
A drunk, sad and pale moon.
He don't really know how it happened. But it happened. Here, in the desert, under a sky without any stars, the wind slashing their bones under their skins, painfully slapping their cheeks—oh yes, especially his, white, wan, softer than ever, the furrows dug by his eternal tears more heartbreaking than ever.
Chance—or was it fate?—brought them together right now. It's simple and clear.
He does not even remember why he is here, in the middle of this battlefield, between thousands of sandy dunes as white as snow, motionless like pawns on a chessboard. Thoughts are unclear. Memories are out of reach. His mind is wrapped in a cotton fabric, isolating him from anything that is not Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra.
Beautiful. Sparkling. Dazzling. His face lights up the darkness and his beauty is much purer than the moon and all the heavenly bodies together. Grimmjow thinks they should be jealous, because he had never seen such a light and his eyes seemed blinded by so much grace.
Does something like that really exist or is it just an illusion of his heart which won't stop beath widly? It should not be real in a place like this, surrounded by blackness, gangrened by lies, corroded by hate—it should not be real in a place where he is Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.
And however it is true.
Their lips blend as if they were created, designed for that—one hot and brutal, the other cold and gloomy, smooth. A firework that explodes in the middle of the sky, releasing when they scatter thousands, billions, glitters falling on their bodies. Blue and green. Green and blue. They are so combined that the bloody spectators are unable to tell who is who for a few seconds, holding their breath as if they were afraid to turn off the flame of a candle that lights a dark room.
But only a few seconds. Because it only takes the time of a kiss.
Long elegant fingers run through a wild blue hair, powerful arms surround deposed wings as to keep them from flying away.
He does not know why he feels as if someone is trying to choke him of bliss before stabbing him with pain.
Pain—where does it come from?
Two perfect green eyes—shining in the night like gemstones, drowned into an aquamarine feline glance. The air escaping from his lips lingers around them with a particular fragrance.
"Do you love me ?"
The ghost of a voice almost inaudible, with a bittersweet tone, seems to float in the darkness, ready to explode like a soap bubble in air. His throat tightens and he wants to laugh because it's the simplest question he was ever asked.
Because it is easy to lie.
"Hell no."
But also the saddest.
Because a lie is always uttered to hide a truth.
Something. Enough to make him permanently blind—a smile ? Or maybe a sneer, a mocking, bitter until the end. His black lips are curved in a grin that will haunt him forever, impossible to decipher, out of reach.
And the next second—nothing more. Nothingness. As if all the emptiness that had made him during all this time had just been released to plunge the world into the deepest level of despair. His hands grab the void with an exclamation of stupefaction.
But of course he knew what would happen.
He is now alone, his feet buried in the sand, screaming inwardly for some unknown reason, with the single company of the dust that spangle the space around him—so much dust that he could sneeze.
A fragrance of death.
Thousand pieces of Ulquiorra that fade into the wind after ensuring that they have finished destroying Grimmjow.
That's how things are. Even with love, they always try to kill each other.
The first time they kiss, it's under a full moon.
The first time they kiss it's also the last.
The first time they kiss, it's when he died.
The first time they kiss, it's when they died together.