It's been years since I have done a fanfic, and man, was it fun. In fact, it has probably led to another bout of doing some more random fanfics. Anyways, was inspired by the lovely song Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin, which just led into this beast. Hah.
Beta-ers: Adarox (Half the name for privacy reasons Hah)
Aceia, who did all the edits the first Beta did, for I am a lazy person. PRO.
Enjoy ~
Invisible Choker
Someone's Dissonance
He was in agony. Not any sort of physical agony from an injury, but rather an emotional sort of pain. For as long as he could remember it had gripped him, as if there was a constant invisible choker around his neck, suffocating him slowly, pulling tighter by the centimeter every day. He did not know why this agony held him—perhaps it was caused by a memory of something that happened a long time ago?—but it had been with him for so long that he simply could not remember. He wished that he could forget this internal pain as well as the vague memory but his mind clung to the remnants of both. This agony did not even show externally. No, he would not let people see what sort of pain he was in. He shunned them all. They were trash and other demeaning terminology, not worthy of his attention. He was stoic; neither his brows furrowing in distress nor his eyes twitching in annoyance when in public, surrounded by the peers he was desperate to keep away from him. He was thought of as an emotionless soldier; to be able to kill without emotion was a blessing. Yet, this man knew deep agony; it was a shroud that he was accustomed to very well. No longer did the internal, emotional pain affect him, rather it had become a dull numbness that he vaguely noticed.
However, there was one of his peers who did not stop trying to strike up conversations with him. He'd call the individual trash, unworthy of his position, anything to keep the other man at arm's length. He did not want anyone close enough to be able to read him. Yet the man continued to attempt conversations; conversations that became different methods of provoking him one way or another.
Ironically, his attempts to keep his colleague at arm's length aggravated every feral instinct within him. It was shocking that this one individual would always persist, no matter their rank differences, any inferiority complex that the stoic one may have placed on the other, or just the fact that the peer would die in a heartbeat if the emotionless one so desired. Yet he never attempted violence on the other, as the agony would become excruciatingly unbearable.
"Ulquiorra."
The stoic one's eyes narrowed at the sound of the persistent one, who was standing so annoyingly in his way. His voice amplified the pain he felt deep within his core. This ongoing struggle of provoking, probing conversations that never lasted more than a minute had been going on for months and the stoic one was tired of it. The shorter one stared into icy colored eyes, not saying a word.
"This shit needs to stop."
A pit started to form inside Ulquiorra, his mind racing as those green orbs just stared absentmindedly.
"There is nothing that needs to stop. Now move, Grimmjow." This was one of the nicer tones that Ulquiorra possessed, however it never sounded very pleasant. The Sexta didn't move, his large muscular arms crossing over his half bare chest, while towering over the smaller man.
"The winter war is almost here. There is no telling who will survive. So once again, this shit needs to stop."
The stoic one was mildly surprised at the seriousness of his tone. Grimmjow loved fighting—loved seeing the world bathed in blood—yet instead of being excited, he was unsure of who would survive. It was a very peculiar behavior change.
"Aizen will lead us to victory. There is nothing that requires concern." As though the shinigami was a God and Ulquiorra the prophet, he spoke of faith in the abilities of one man to lead a war. However, Aizen was not his God and he was not a prophet. The work he was given suppressed his suffering just enough so that he could function. The pantera wielder gritted his teeth, canines baring.
"A pawn to a false God. A false God—a man filled with empty promises—who means to fucking own us." The stoic one barely suppressed a shudder as his internal suffering flared. Ulquiorra almost gave himself away as the Sexta suddenly gripped his shoulder, his feline-like nails digging in just enough for him to notice a brief respite from the agony.
"He will lead us down a path of destruction, our kind's bodies being the steps to his destination." The jade eye bearer was unsure of the man's motives. Why was Grimmjow so serious and uncharacteristic? Was it for rebellion or other means?
"Let go of me, Trash," Ulquiorra spat, trying to get a rise out of the Sexta. Usually, the taller man would throw a fit over the term, canines bared and cursing belligerently at the other. However, the derogatory term did not even phase Grimmjow, an unusual lack of response which led Ulquiorra deeper in thought over the Sexta's strange behavior. Maybe he was getting used to it, taking them as pet names instead. There was also the possibility that Grimmjow was just ignoring it for once.
The Cuatra could easily force the other off him—both knew it was possible—and yet, Ulquiorra could not push him away, not when Grimmjow had somehow calmed the chaos if only for a few moments. The Cuatra's pale hands touched the bare chest in front of him gingerly, causing the teal haired man right eyebrow to rise.
"I know you hide so much shit behind that fucking mask you have up constantly. You can't even admit what bullshit this war is because you allow a shinigami to rule your fucking being." No…that was hardly true. The Cuatra was ruled by an emotion, not a being. The shinigami only eased the control the emotion possessed over him.
"Release me." Grimmjow was too close and the idea of attempting to comprehend Ulquiorra was not something the Cuatra wanted to happen. He wanted to get away from such probing questions. The Sexta was unbelievably close to his face, short breaths of warmth briefly caressing the stark white cheek.
"Sexta…" Ulquiorra breathed out in a low whisper, precisely monotone to not allow the other to detect a disturbance growing inside.
"You lost yourself. You can't see shit in your eyes." The shorter one's breath hitched, the only outward expression of the growing unease Ulquiorra felt. He had enough of this close contact; finally pushing the other away, rough enough to have the lesser Espada hit the ivory wall on the other side of the hallway they occupied.
-
The Cuatra could not sleep, his suffering was too intense. Nighttime gave him too much time to reflect. The conversation from earlier played through his head, and not even the soft light of the half moon could bring solace. The pain caused by Grimmjow's sharp nails had lessened the hold on the invisible choker just enough to allow him to breathe. He left the solitude of his room; he had to see if the absurd theory he created was true.
That was how he ended up in front of the Sexta's door, staring at the black number that contrasted with the stark whiteness of the hallway. Ulquiorra did not bother to knock, the handle slipping between his fingertips to push the door open. He knew the teal haired man would still be awake, and allowed the door to close after slipping himself inside. The pain swelled, and his mind raced in anticipation. His quiet steps led the superior Espada to hover beside the bed, staring into the icy eyes of the pantera wilder below him. Grimmjow was lying back, a thin ivory sheet covering the lower half of his body. His uniform jacket was tossed carelessly on the floor along with the usual loose white pants he wore.
"What the hell do you want?" The lazy mutter of words echoed in the disheveled bedroom quarters. Ulquiorra did not respond, green irises staring into blue before reaching down to press his hand on the bare chest. His fingertips could feel the eased, unnecessary breath Arrancars possessed. Presumably, they connected the species more to their past lives.
"Are you obsessed with my chest or some shit?" Ulquiorra could feel the uneasy shifting of the inferior one but did not care about his comfort level. He continued his ministrations until Grimmjow gripped his wrist and pushed it off his body.
The agony lessened at the contact. Yes, his theory was possibly true, yet it would take more than one trial to prove it completely. He stared at his own black fingernails unseeingly as he mulled over his assumption.
-
"What the fuck is your problem Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow growled as the Cuatra ignored him. Ulquiorra had a superiority complex that drove the pantera wielder absolutely crazy. He leaned up on one elbow, face inches away from the other.
"Think you're too god damn good to answer? Can't even fucking acknowledge me after you come into my fucking room without permission? I don't believe this shit." He watched through narrowed eyes as the Cuatra leaned down, the remnants of his mask grazing his exposed cheek. Raven strands of hair rested neatly on Grimmjow's tanned shoulder as the black and white lips parted, proceeding to nip at his collarbone.
Unlike the Cuatra, Grimmjow had no control when it came to his emotions. The teeth against his flesh sent a spike of pleasure through his being. It was unexpected and uncharacteristic of the higher ranked Espada to touch a person, let alone bite another in such sensitive places. Grimmjow knew something was different as Ulquiorra nipped him again. This time, Grimmjow could not suppress a small gasp.
"What is it you want from me Cuatra…?" he hissed between his teeth after Ulquiorra's teeth sunk into his collarbone for a third time. He shifted his legs, adjusting so that the Cuatra could not see the effect the biting was having on him. It was getting to the point where Grimmjow did not care what the other wanted so long as he got satisfaction, especially after the higher-rank Espada lapped up the droplets of blood the last bite had produced.
Still, Ulquiorra did not answer him. It wasn't like he had to—superiors were not required to answer inferiors—but this quiet game was thoroughly annoying him. With his free hand, Grimmjow forcefully pulled the other onto the bed, rolling over to pin the pale man down. His large hands gripped Ulquiorra's upper arms, leaning back to tower over the superior's small form. Light blue strands framed his face, brows furrowed in annoyance as he stared into the blank green irises.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" Grimmjow looked for any indication of a change in emotion, not bothering to hid the effect the Cuatra was having on him, his erection prodding Ulquiorra in the thigh.
"Release," Ulquiorra said. It was a vague answer which the pantera wielder took offense to; he was not a whore one could come to anytime they wanted. Nevertheless, it gave an opportunity. Grimmjow wanted some type of dominance over the raven-haired man, wanted to see more than a blank stare grace that face. Usually, the throes of lust produced such actions.
"You want release…fine…" Grimmjow leaned down, one hand working the zipper to Ulquiorra's jacket down, his mouth latching onto the pale skin that was beneath. Blood flooded his mouth at the bite, the pantera wielder thoroughly savored the coppery taste. Once the uniform top was undone, it was thrown aside, and he dragged his nails against the tattooed number on the left pectoral. The nails scratched down to the hem of the hakama, toying with the black sash that held it up.
"But we're doing this my way," he whispered into the exposed earlobe as he nibbled on it, desire laced in the words. Not getting a response, Grimmjow took the silence as agreement.
Ulquiorra shifted, his legs gripping either side of the teal-haired man's thighs. The black sash loosened as Grimmjow's sharp nails pulled the hakama down, finally exposing Ulquiorra completely. Calloused hands brushed against the Cuatra protruding hipbone, a shiver rippling through his body at the touch. Ulquiorra gripped Grimmjow's arms suddenly as he trailed his tongue over the number four. Grimmjow could feel Ulquiorra's growing need pressing into his stomach.
A feral smile crossed Grimmjow's face, a devious idea forming. The smaller man was rolled over so he could sit up, resting his weight on his knees, while facing away from the pantera wilder. Grimmjow paused, gazing at the slim, muscular form that was illuminated by the dim light of the moon. The pantera wielder nipped at the exposed shoulder blade, his right hand grabbing the other's pale hand while the other gripped the protruding hip tightly.
"Touch yourself. If you want this so much then fucking prove it to me Cuatra." Grimmjow placed the Cuatra's hand on his own erection, forcing him to wrap his fingers around the muscle and start pumping. He let go and gripped Ulquiorra throat once the superior started moving on his own, leaning over the Cuatra's shoulder to stare hungrily at the site.
"Faster Ulquiorra," he commanded and watched as he complied.
-
He could breathe; there was no dulling pain that normally persisted when following Aizen's orders. Ulquiorra knew it was due to the Sexta's influence. The way his breath touched the normally concealed flesh, how the taller one provoked him…this was what he needed to breathe. It felt nice, no matter how undignified the act was in front of company. He wondered during the act if the agony was due to needing something along these lines. His ruminations broke as his head was tilted until he looked up at Grimmjow. He parted his lips as the hand clenching his throat lessened and the fingers drifted up his neck towards his lips.
"Suck," The pantera wielder commanded, as he tapped three fingers against his Ulquiorra's lips. His pink tongue flicked out to draw the digits into his mouth. Ulquiorra did not know why he was letting it get to this point, allowing himself to be dominated, but he sucked on the fingers until Grimmjow removed them.
Ulquiorra was nudged down, lowered to the bed, as the wet fingers trailed down his back to his entrance. Ulquiorra continued to fist his penis as a finger was pushed into him. Despite the pleasure he felt, the sensation of having a finger inside him was awkward. Another digit was added shortly after, moving cautiously.
"I bet you thought I'd be some heartless fuck…make you bleed all over…didn't you?" Grimmjow's unoccupied hand grabbed a fistful of the raven locks, forcing Ulquiorra to look at him once more. His eyes were half closed, lips still parted as breaths came out in quiet pants.
"Answer me."
"No," Ulquiorra hissed as the final digit entered him to prepare for what was to come. The sharp nails grazed his insides, Ulquiorra arching as Grimmjow hit the bundle of nerves within. "Am I going to masturbate until completion or do you intend to do more?"
"Fine you little shit, you asked for it. If you want it so damn bad, suck my cock unless you want it to make it worse for you. This is the only preparation you will get." Ulquiorra released his throbbing erection, and turned around, finally able to see Grimmjow's nude form. He was only able to gaze at the Sexta for a few moments before the hand that was still entangled in his hair, jerked his head towards Grimmjow's neglected member.
His tongue licked the tip experimentally, before wrapping the dual colored lips around the heated muscle causing a groan to come out of Grimmjow's lips. He wasn't sure what he was doing and it was driving him crazy. Ulquiorra usually always knew what he was doing, it did not matter what sort of experience he had.
Ulquiorra moved his mouth over the shaft agonizingly slowly, teasing him to his fullest capability. The ivy colored eyes looked up into the glazed blue ones, noting the expression on the usually aggressive facial features. Grimmjow looked relaxed, at least as much as one could be in his current position. Once the Cuatra felt the other's erection was thoroughly coated, he slowly pulled his lips away. He was turned around suddenly, his upper body pushed into the mattress as the Sexta positioned himself behind Ulquiorra.
His pale hands clenched the white sheets, burying his face into the mattress as he felt Grimmjow enter. It was a swift motion, Grimmjow not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. While Ulquiorra appreciated the gesture, he was not a woman, nor did he wish to be portrayed as though he was. He moved just enough for Grimmjow to get the hint.
His hips moved back only to thrust in a moment later. Large hands gripped Ulquiorra's hips as he pushed forward once more, nails digging into the pale flesh. His ebony hair haloed his face, forehead pressed heavily into the mattress. Although the act of such desires caused a great deal of pain, the Cuatra thrived. He wanted it to hurt to a certain degree; it was something he was very familiar with. However, Ulquiorra would not allow the inferior Espada to hear any indications of how he felt. Any sound that threatened to surface was suppressed one way or another.
Ulquiorra could feel the ragged breaths against his heated flesh. It was an unusual sensation because sweating was not a normal function for the Cuatra. With each thrust the position was shifted until the Sexta finally grazed his prostate. His hands clenched and unclenched, the bed sheets folding in and out of his hands after every thrust. The pain meshed with pleasure, forcing Ulquiorra to stifle unwanted sounds. Sharp nails carved into Ulquiorra's protruding hipbones while Grimmjow's upper body splayed over his back. Teal hair stuck to his sweaty cheek, his muscles tensing up and signaling his impending climax.
His ivy irises came to life as he felt the pressure of the Sexta's canines on his shoulder blade, tearing holes into the porcelain-like flesh and staining it with blood. Droplets of the scarlet fluid rolled down his back with each thrust. The Sexta's right hand moved off the bruised hip, reaching for the hollow hole…where his heart should have been. He knew at one point when he was a human soul, his soul chain used to be there. Yet it had corroded, the reason behind it being little more than a vague memory. The calloused fingers barely grazed the hole, an unusual tingling feeling overcoming him. Yet at the same time, it was an empty feeling. Maybe it was the source of his agony.
"What is it you want from this Cuatra?" Grimmjow panted between thrusts, just before Ulquiorra felt him lap at one of the crimson wounds on his back.
Ulquiorra felt his body betraying him every time Grimmjow hit his prostate. He couldn't answer because to open his mouth would mean that he would release the moans of pleasure he worked so hard to suppress. Thighs quivering, he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to hold them back. His hands tangled further and further in the sheets as his penis ached due to a lack of contact. He wanted to touch it but he feared that if he reached down he would be unable to hold himself up. The thrusts, the biting, and the way those fingertips grazed the emptiness of his hollow hole combined to drive him crazy with pleasure. "Answer me Cuatra, and I'll give you the release you spoke of."
The Cuatra panted harshly through his nose against the mattress, the onslaught on his prostate never ceasing. He couldn't take it anymore; he shifted his own position, leaning his weight on the left elbow so his hand could travel to his painful need. Grimmjow moved to intersect his hand, removing his own hand which had been tauntingly caressing Ulquiorra's hollow hole and catching the free hand in his grasp.
"I…want it to let me go. I want…completion," the higher ranked Arrancar panted out quietly, but he knew Grimmjow's keen sense of hearing would pick up the humiliating words. He hated himself for it but at least he had not admitted to needed Grimmjow's touch. The superior Espada bit his bottom lip, not able to completely suppress the barely suppressing a groan. A strangled cry escaped the Cuatra before he could suppress it, as long fingers finally touched the neglected length, pumping it at the same pace as the thrusts. He was close; his cock pulsating in the hand causing his inner walls to grip Grimmjow's penis.
Ulquiorra let out another moan as he came, coating the Sexta's hand and the sheets. With a feral groan, Grimmjow followed, thrusting through his orgasm. His chest heaving, Ulquiorra laid there listening to the inferior Espada heave his own unnecessary breaths. It took a bit before Grimmjow pulled out of the other, and laid down beside Ulquiorra.
The Cuatra regained his composure after some time, taking in the whole experience. He could breathe. He could not remember the last time his breaths were not strangled by the invisible choker. He now knew who held the key to the release of his pain, even if only temporarily: the aggressive Grimmjow. It was an odd selection, one that Ulquiorra felt somewhat indifferent about, but to a degree, also at peace.
He knew this was not a start of a relationship or anything along those terms. No, it was only a need that demanded satisfaction.
"You can sleep here tonight." The teal-haired one muttered sleepily, pulling Ulquiorra out of his thoughts. There was no touching as one might expect in some fairytale romance. Ulquiorra just stared at the other as he fell asleep, fully understanding what this was before it had occurred. He was not a woman; he did not need to be held through the night after enduring a sexual act. He had no care towards the fluids that coated him and the sheets. Sleep was catching up to the Cuatra rapidly, his eyelids heavy.
For a few moments, he fought sleep, allowing one more thought to seep into his head. How long before the choker would return around his bloodied throat? The Cuatra decided that this was not a thought he wanted to mull over post-coitus, and finally allowed his eyes to close.