It keeps growing

I can feel it breathe

I have been trying to behave myself

He had tried to behave, really. (If behaving constituted snapping and snarling at the ever-prideful Neliel at every turn, then he had truly been trying.)

Neliel's holier-than-thou attitude grated on him. (How could she be holy when the smell of her revved up sex was far more distinct than the scent of rotting meat?)

That stupid, fuzzy as fuck feeling was growing. (He could feel it breathing, when Neliel drew close to simply mock him.)

Her arguments did nothing to sway him. He could never stray from the path he had taken.

If he had to name the stupid, fuzzy feeling, he'd call it love. (And he fucking hated the feeling with every fiber of his being.)

Neliel had to be unconscious, unaware around him. (Her eyes never once drifted down when he sported the fruit of her seduction, a certain stretching of the pants.)

Grimmjow could not figure out just what Neliel saw in him. (Of course, it was hard to say what she had seen in Nnoitora.)

The feelings she made him feel (because he knew that he wasn't making himself feel those fucked up feelings) were awkward as hell, and he hated them.

More than once he'd whispered a threat in her ear, only to have her body pinned against his a moment later, his back flat on the ground. (And it was then, and only then, that he realized he could never defeat the green haired lady.)

Those were the times that he was hers, and hers alone. (How could he belong to anyone else when she manipulated his body while barely lifting a finger?)

Grimmjow had to admit that the first time he'd fucked the bitch he'd found something so euphoric that nothing could get him higher. (Not even a battle could bring him the ecstasy that the woman brought him.)

The thing he hated the most was the fact that she insisted on cuddling afterward, claiming that she would freeze to death if she didn't. (Secretly, Grimmjow liked the feel of her silky skin against his muscles, and the trails her hands made soothed him to sleep.)

Still, he found her irritating, nothing more than a weak, foolish nuisance. (Like a tumor throbbing in his head, toxic, malicious, and requiring surgery to remove.)

What he wanted to know was why he couldn't get rid of her. (Granted, she was providing him with willing sex, and that obligated him to keep her alive.)

He really had been trying to behave himself. (The angry red marks on Neliel's buttocks were just proof that he needed something to take his anger out on, and that just happened to be the target.)

Neliel took Grimmjow's abuse in silence. (During the sex she was free to scream endlessly, and she took advantage of the opportunity, often deafening Grimmjow.)

Her favorite thing about the entire affair had to be the sex, and the violence. (Neliel was open about her masochism, but not so much about her streak of sadism.) She could never tell Grimmjow that it really got her off, his pain, that is.

He was often seething with animosity towards her, and though he reminded her of Nnoitora somewhat, she learned quickly what the aforementioned animosity stemmed from. (That being, of course, Grimmjow's inability to kill the woman he was fucking.)

She smiled sweetly, innocently, as she walked toward him, sending a swift kick to the center of his chest to send him hurtling gracefully to the ground, on his back. (She could have thought of a dozen other violent ways to accomplish the same task; however, she found that the one she had chosen suited her well.)

With barely a sound or batting of her lashes, she had relieved Grimmjow and herself of all articles of clothing. (She had come to relish the surprise written all over Grimmjow's face every time she did something of this nature to him.)

Her hands needed to perform no stimulation, for Grimmjow was already hard. (He couldn't understand why the hell he lusted after the bitch, when all she ever did was talk down to him. He also couldn't understand why he thought that being talked down to was sexy as hell.)

She mounted him fearlessly, her chin held high, her eyes cool and distant. (He couldn't say where exactly she was, but for some reason he hoped she was near him.)

She looked through him, rather than at him, but he pretended not to notice. He growled as she held her body out of reach of his hands, bringing her hips down upon his manhood, stiff and straight in the air. She made no sound to display her pleasure, nor did he.

(It was secretly a battle of wills. The first one to make any sound in pleasure lost.)

Her nails dug into his flesh to create long trails of bright red blood. (The fact that she made him bleed made him want to kill her, to fuck her into submission, to do something to wipe that smug smile off of her face.)

The only thing he could do was reach up as though to smack her face, but it turned out to be futile. (Her face was too high, damn her, her long torso, her beautiful, long, sweaty, hot, writhing body keeping the head far, far above him. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He hated that.)

The worst part was the fact that she made him come. (It was also the best part, and the only part besides the sex in general that he enjoyed.)

The other worst part was that she flung her body on him once she had finished, and the strength of her hold on him was too strong for him to struggle out of it. (He didn't even attempt to free himself anymore, for that only resulted in pain, and he was pretty damn sure he was no masochist.)

Grimmjow supposed if he couldn't get rid of the Neliel shaped tumor, he'd somehow have to find a way to live with her. (If the sex was on a curve of improvement, he thought he just might be able to find a way to deal with her impossibility.)

Facts aside, Grimmjow and Neliel knew that they were in love with each other. (The main reason they stayed together; however, was because they knew that eventually, they would lead to each other's end.)

-End- (For real, this time!!)