Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
An Ulquiorra and Orihime oneshot (finalllly, I've been wanting to write these two forever). There is some hinting of Grimmjow/Ichigo, but only minor.
Warning! Angst, nongraphic mentions of sex, Ulquiorra. That's about it. Hopefully it's not too OOC.
You hang anchors over my neck. I liked it at first, but the more you laughed, the crazier I came. And the waves suck you in, and you drown.
x
insidious onset
x
Ulquiorra wants nothing more than to let her rot.
She is nothing but garbage and he tells himself this every time he (forces himself not to stare into her soft, questioning gaze) walks into her prison for the day.
She has long since stopped refusing to eat. He had quickly broken her of that foolishly human quality of stubbornness.
He is dutifully attending to her needs, going as far as allowing her conversation instead of simply ignoring her pitiful existence like he should.
To amuse himself, he tells her Kurosaki is as good as dead, that he will die trying to save her. He enjoys watching the way her heart visibly sinks.
Something inside him tightens and fights to break the surface, something dark and malignant. He wants to be the one to destroy Kurosaki, wants to take his clawed hand and chip away at his throat until there is nothing but bone and blood. The woman will surely wither at such a thought, shrink back and cry or scream.
Ulquiorra walks into the first day of Biochemistry with a frown that seems to be etched into his face permanently. Grimmjow used to tease him that he'd tattooed it there, just to prove a point of happiness never being in his future. That, in Ulquiorra's opinion, is entirely ridiculous and a result of allowing Grimmjow to speak to him.
Which is never a conceivable idea in the first place, really. The only reason he accepts the complete waste of life is because he was his roommate. A mismatched pair if there ever was one.
Thankfully, Grimmjow can be found usually across the hall of their dorm, pestering a one obliviously dense, Kurosaki. Sometimes Ulquiorra wishes Kurosaki would switch him for Ishida, but then realizes wishing is only for those without logic and realism.
He is thoroughly knocked out of his musings by the prospect of choosing a seat among the large body of chattering students. He can't comprehend the fact that it's the first day and everyone seems to already know each other. The class was extremely hard to get into, and Ulquiorra had to wait two semester's before he stood a chance.
Scanning the massive crowd with analytical, acidic green eyes, Ulquiorra spots the only available seat next to a petite girl with burnt orange hair. She has a spaced out look on his face, her large gray eyes staring slightly up toward the high ceilings of their room. She is not classically beautiful like his sister, she is a little disproportionate in body size which he notes doesn't displease him, and her lips are too thin. No, she is not beautiful. But for a reason Ulquiorra cannot discern, he feels himself drawn to her sunny presence like a moth to a flickering flame.
x
Ulquiorra wants nothing more than to let her rot.
Ulquorra says this to himself at night, watching over her restless form as she sleeps.
She deserves to die. He should end her misery, it would be so easy to slide his hands around her soft, pale throat and squeeze until she is lifeless and dead. So dead he would be free of her.
But Aizen-sama will not allow that and he knows he cannot will himself to accomplish his thought.
He, unwavering, can not harm her. She is…
Everything he is not.
X
The woman smiles at him as he takes his seat, setting his belongings down on the flimsy desks. He does not return her soft greeting, instead he just nods.
Ulquiorra watches her out of the corner of his eyes, as her chest rises and falls and her teeth peak out to clamp down on her lips.
There is something festering in the pit of his stomach. He recognizes this as want.
The instant realization has him blinking in rapid succession, shocked by his own admission.
He has never wanted anyone.
This woman with burnt orange hair that reminds him of the color of rust with eyes clouded like a storm, who he has not even spoken to, has awoken something foreign inside his body.
"Woman," he questions icily, turning his head of oil black hair and staring straight at her face, reddened and slightly pimpled on her forehead in patches. "What is your name?"
She spooks, letting out a little intake of breath. She must not have anticipated him acknowledging her presence anytime soon. She meets his gaze and grins. "Inoue Orihime."
Ulquiorra nods.
That is the end of their conversation.
x
Ulquoirra will never let her rot.
He places a pale hand across her forehead, stiffly pushing stray strands of her hair from her face lest she chew on it. She has done it before while in slumber. He finds it disgustingly amusing.
She is entirely too used to his presence.
She does not wake as he takes the same hand and trails it down, over the button nose and over her lips, outlining them with two long fingers. It seems he will never tire of simply looking at her. Something he would never admit to himself before, that he had found pleasure in anything.
Denying is for the weak. Ulquiorra is not weak. He will not deny himself.
He wants her.
He… desires her.
A snore catches his interest as she turns on her side, irritated by his attentions. This woman, she is by far the strangest human he has made contact with. All of her gestures fascinate him that normally wouldn't. It sickens him at the thought of enjoying this.
His confliction only serves to annoy him. So Ulquiorra stands from the bed, sparing a glance at her prone form, rising and falling gently, and leaves.
x
Ulquiorra and Orihime fall into a routine.
She makes him lunch and he walks her to her apartment every day after class.
He's not sure how or why, only that she's taken over his life and that he doesn't really mind. He's never had a girlfriend. She says that it doesn't matter, they don't need that label and to do what feels right.
He doesn't change.
She doesn't, either. Orihime talks too much when she's nervous and burns anything she cooks and has been in love with Ichigo Kurosaki since fifth grade.
The last bit is kind of a problem that Ulquiorra ignores. She has been entirely honest with him ever since the first day of hell, or rather, Biochemistry. He appreciates honesty above all else, so it doesn't matter.
When they kiss, softly and unsurely in her small apartment that is more than bare, Ulquiorra feels overwhelmed.
Years and years of solitude does that to a person. He has Grimmjow, but their friendship is unsteady and mostly onesided. Grimmjow is busy taunting and testing and prodding Kurosaki, anyway.
They have sex awkwardly on her twin sized bed with the lights on because they can't be bothered to get up and turn them off. Orihime doesn't seem to enjoy it and neither does Ulquiorra. Everything is either too hot or tight and he can't wait until it's over.
Orihime smiles at him when they're finished and lying side by side, pressed tight like a can of sardines. The smile is big and wide and sincerely happy even though what transpired wasn't great for either of them.
Ulquiorra thinks it wouldn't be so bad, to be with her. He has never had the luxury of comfort. But she, she is his now.
X
Her eyes are wide and fearless.
"Ulquiorra."
His name is all it takes. He understands what she is trying to convey. He should be angry, teach her what real fear is.
Instead his arm shoots out and roughly takes the back of her head, bunching the silky hair there and leading her to the bed. The springs creak as she bounces on it.
He takes her without an ounce of remorse. Her tears have soaked through the pillow, her lovely cries muffled by her fist.
He enjoys it.
He never touches her again until the end of his existence.
He is in his release and staring at her, about to die. Her hand reaches out and he thinks, are you afraid now?
But she never was.
X
So it's pretty short, I know this. And it probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I'm not even sure what I was trying to accomplish, but I figured I'd post it anyway, since it was sitting in my computer, forgotten.