Chapter Ten: Be/hold Him

"You want—to see me." He pulls his head back, cocks it to one side.

"Y—yes."

"What have you been doing all this time if not seeing me?"

"Oh come on. You know what I mean. I—I want to see—all of you."

He is silent. His eyes are fixed on her, but he looks far away. Lost. The covers still between their hips.

"No. I won't permit it."

"Why not?"

"I have no need to explain myself." He flips onto his back again, wrenching the bedclothes over him, pulling them almost up to his neck so that his hole and number are covered. He stares at the ceiling.

She sits up, turns to him, and laughs. "You look so—funny! Like a—pouting little boy afraid of the dark."

A hand shoots out at lightning speed, seizes her jaw, pushes her head back. Not even lifting his head, he regards her coldly from under his eyelids, his gaze suddenly dead, reptilian.

"Woman. I have—against my better judgment—made myself familiar to you. I bear the responsibility for that. But I will not permit you to forget what I am. And I will not tolerate your mockery."

She looks back, unblinking. So cold. His arctic eyes. They change. Thaw and freeze again. In the time it takes to draw a breath. "I wasn't mocking you. It's just—play. Joking. Human play."

He releases her chin, drops his hand, sighs. "Fine. But remember."

"I'm sorry I offended you."

"It doesn't matter."

He looks at the ceiling again. Brooding. Entangled. Why did I. Twisted. No clarity any more. He thinks back to his resolution as he passed through the garganta. I will not go to her. But he did. Why. And now. Such effort and control. Such patience. For what. Demencia. Absurdo. He should rise, go to his own chambers.

Vacíos. So empty. My rooms. The shock of the thought-words widens his eyes. My wanting. Deseo. With. Not alone. Her. Like a spell. My mind.

And his insistent desire, left untended but surprisingly undiminished, unvanquished by the depressing turn the conversation has taken. The bedclothes heaped over the evidence fail to conceal it completely.

Her voice breaks through his thoughts. "What are you thinking?" She is still seated beside him, watching him. Her nakedness apparently untroubling to her, now.

"Nothing. That I should go."

"What? Go?"

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Yes. I'm neglecting my duties." But I still. I want.

"Ah." She sighs. A long pause. Then she smiles. "Before you do, would you—help me?

"Help you." His eyes still closed.

"It's so embarrassing."

"Ah."

"It's just that… I won't be able to… and you said I shouldn't…"

"What are you talking about?" He opens his eyes and turns his head to her in irritation. "I need to dress." Her chattering voice suffocates him. Next, no doubt, she'll begin to sob and wail again.

Taking a deep breath, feeling her face flushing, she spreads her legs in front of him and touches herself with one hand, cupping a breast in the other. "I'm not… finished. I'm still so… It wouldn't take long for you to…"

His eyes narrow as he assesses her, takes her meaning. So transparent. "Do you think I don't understand what you're attempting?" But—ah. I still. I want. To think of leaving and then her—the mirror?—without him. The pressure in his hips. The mad-scent again.

"I don't care if you do! It's easy for you. You just come and go as you please. And I'm stuck here waiting for everyone to decide what to do with me." The inevitable tears starting in her eyes.

His cool gaze in return. "Yes. And now I'm deciding what to do with you. You decide nothing." But. Oh. The smell of your body. Your pale weak softness, radiating warmth beside me. Oh. That wet centre. Your throbbing pulse. I feel it. I feel it.

"Oh." She leans back against her pillow. Reclining like this, she is even more exposed to him, her breasts softly rounding against her chest, the gentle curve of her belly, her parted thighs and raised knees. He rises to an elbow, regards her. Closes his eyes to listen to the mounting hum in his head. Opens them again to look directly at her cunt.

She looks at him, her lips parted, caressing her body. "So—what are you going to do with me?"

Demonios. This woman. His head, his head. The hot sensation. Swimming, muddy. And her body. Let her. Meaning? Want. He opens his eyes and sits up, and the bedsheets fall away from his torso, revealing his hole and gothic numeral.

"I've decided." He looks at her again.

"Mmmmm." She is lazily tracing the contours of her cunt with a finger. Her fingertip glistens with her returning wetness. For him, he knows. Her little game. Her weak little snare. But that's not why. Because I want. With her. See it through.

"I'm going to permit you to look at me."

Her eyes widen. "Really? But you said—"

"And then—no matter what—I'm going to…"

And he pulls the bedclothes away from his hips.

In eighth grade she and Tatsuki did a science project. Taxonomy. Mammalia. Distinguishing traits: air-breathing vertebrates. Hair.

And then the presentation. Standing at the front of the class with Tatsuki, Keigo raising his hand and asking her if she could write mammae on the board so he could spell it properly. She did it and only got it when the class erupted in laughter. Because she'd forgotten for a moment about her brand-new breasts. That they were a dirty joke. Mortification.

But Kurosaki-kun didn't laugh. And later nearly broke Keigo's nose.

When they were researching on line at Orihime's, they searched mammalia. Then mammalian reproduction. And on from there. The horror of nature's exuberance. The forked penis of the kangaroo. The gargantuan cock of the whale. Barnacles with organs bigger than their bodies. The os penis—a bone, down there—a feature of most mammals. Who knew?

The corkscrewed member of the pig. Even the dolphin. Kawaii! But with a massive prehensile schlong. Yuck! The penis fish of Korea! The biggest penis in the world!

Gross! Ewwww. We laughed and laughed. Till we almost peed our pants. Squealed at each new discovery. Lying on the floor on our backs laughing our guts out, kicking our feet. And then she—touched my breast—leaned over and kissed me hard and fast on the mouth.

And then we forgot about it, or pretended it never happened. My friend. Tatsuki. I miss you. I'm sorry.

And something else that night. Tatsuki told her something she'd read, about the witches in Europe. How the Devil was supposed to have a monstrous penis, huge and cold. It made the women crazy, made them sign a pact with him, give him their souls. And all of those demons in our own stories, raping human women. Their size. The women loving it. The women. Traitors to their kind, slaves to their desires.

Like me. When she told me that. I thought about it. A pretty demon, like in a manga. And later on, when she was gone, with my hands… And now, here.

But I'm here now. I'm sorry, Tatsuki. My life was… but I'm here. In an empty, cold place. Nothing nice, warm, good. And I have to—reach for something. Real. Or—beautiful. Even—a monster.

"Woman."

"Oh—sorry. I was just thinking. I—drifted off for a moment."

"You choose odd times for your reveries."

Without looking down, she reaches for the bedding and pulls it up over his hips again.

He hisses in exasperation. "Now what are you doing, woman? Satisfy your curiosity and be done with it. My patience is at an end."

Instead of replying, she moves over and swings onto him, her breasts falling onto his bare chest. She looks into his eyes.

"Not like that. Just to—peek. That's not what I meant. I want to look slowly. Like you looked at me."

"That was different."

"Why?"

Because I won't be made a vessel to contain the will of another. The desire of another. Do you not understand what I am. Estoy hecho una espada.

He doesn't answer, but lies still, his arms at his sides. She kisses his forehead, his temples. Her breasts sway against his chest, his chin. She feels the pull of his hole against her skin. Draw me in. Draw me in. He closes his eyes. I know. She licks his face as he licked hers, tonguing around his chastely sealed eyelids, licking and kissing his cheeks.

The streaks coming down from his eyes are even colder than the rest of his face, cold and metallic to the taste. Like iron. Pierce me. Up close they are so iridescent, insect-like, glowing. Lovely. He is silent, immobile as a statue. And then he opens his eyes. So close to hers. She gasps and presses her lips onto his. She attempts to hold his gaze, but it's impossible. Her body lurches with the effort and her eyes close. She sucks and licks at his impossibly exquisite mouth, while his tongue flutters like a moth through her lips and over her teeth. He too. He wants. It's all right. I know. You can.

He closes his eyes and moans, lightly, and she feels that, the vastness and hardness of him, against her groin. I know. I know. I'm not afraid. I want to look at you. He lifts his arms, buries his hands in her hair again, tugs at it. Seizes her tongue between his teeth and nips it so it bleeds. She hardly flinches as he bites her, as he savors her blood-taste, her warmth. You can. You can. She stiffens her tongue and stabs it into his mouth, sliding it in and out between his lips, spreading her blood on him. For a wild moment she feels fierce, bold, mad. I want to fuck you, Ulquiorra. With my tongue. Something. But his reiatsu flares, spreads, weakens her. His chest pulls on hers. She begins to dizzy, to falter. She pulls back from his mouth, rises, and sits astride him. His eyes fly open.

"You stopped." He looks up at her. Never before, under another like this. A peculiar feeling. Ay de los vencidos. No. Not bested. No, because I permit it. Why. This woman. From this angle the weight and size of her breasts is particularly notable. He studies them, reaches up, cups them in his hands, feeling their warm heft. She cringes almost imperceptibly.

"You're looking at—at them."

"Of course. Doesn't everyone? You can hardly expect me to ignore them in this situation."

"You didn't before. Ogle me. Ogle them. Not like Grimmjow. Nnoitora. They're so—big. So silly. A joke."

"You're silly, woman." That other time. Her words. How do I look—to you? In your words. "Do you—want to know what I think?"

"I don't know."

See it through. Nothing stays. Ridículo. But with. For her. Words. "In Hueco Mundo nothing is superfluous. Everything is just—as needed. Nothing more." His hands still cupping her warm flesh.

"In the world of the living—in your world—it's different. Waste. Abundance. Trees shooting out millions of leaves only to drop them again. Plants creeping over the earth, relentless. Insects, innumerable, crawling through the soil and winging through the air. The teeming little creatures of the forest, coursing, breeding, food for the bloody mouths of the others. The billions of you, darting everywhere, spewing words and actions without thought or rhyme. Your emotions, your chatter: excessive, uncontrollable. The heaving oceans, the cycle of water, rivers, rain. Abundance. Effulgence. Lushness. And roundness. Softness. Warmth. Blood. Pulse. Heave. When I look at your breasts, feel them in my hands, it's like—all of that. In my eyes. In my hands."

Her face crestfallen. "But you hate humans—the world of the living. You said so."

"I don't recall saying that. I think what I said was that humans sicken me."

A pause. Silence. She still looks doubtful.

"Onna. Here—" he squeezes her breasts lightly, then releases them. "Here—" he touches her neck. "Here"—he trails a finger down her chest, her belly. "Here." He thrusts his hand between her legs, then withdraws it again. "Here." And he presses his hand against the side of her face. "Insofar as anything does—you—please me." Yes. You. Woman. So weak. But powerful. And brave. It—yes. You please me.

His scant words, his gestures, like a benediction. She lowers herself to kiss his mouth again, then pulls herself away to kiss his throat. He closes his eyes, sighs. So slender. Nothing is superfluous. His collarbones. The hard musculature under his hierro. And the hole. She cautiously skirts it, keeping her kisses well away from its edge, but feels its pull. A cool breeze, a beckoning, like a mineshaft, a well, deep, dark. She licks at his number. Four. Four.

"You can."

"What?" She lifts her head from his chest, supporting herself on her hands. Examines his face. His closed eyes.

"What you did before. When I made you stop." His eyes snap open and transfix her. "Kiss it. The—hole."

Draw me in. She drops her head to it, smelling the faint sulfur odor she remembers from before. You can. Cautiously, she kisses its edge. His body moves almost imperceptibly, but he makes no sound. More boldly, she begins to taste him. She licks around the edges, then lets her pink tongue stray into the blackness beyond the rim. The pull makes her dizzy, and a corresponding reiatsu spike whumps her chest so hard she loses her breath for a panicked moment. But he remains immobile, his eyes still closed. I know. I know. Let me. So broken. Warm you. I know. She tongues him gently, then faster, feeling the icy smoothness. Damaged. So lovely. Dark. Dark.

"Now. Stop." He has opened his eyes.

"Oh—is it hurting again?" She sits up and astride him again, her head reeling like a drunk's from his heavy reiatsu.

"No. It's fine. I—learned something. But stop now."

She obeys, sliding down his hips to straddle his knees, then leaning forward to kiss his lower chest, hard, smooth. Adamantine. Quartz. Desert-born. She licks at his torso, moving lower, looking at him: slim, yet muscled and with remarkable latent tensile power. Like a cat… or something. So beautiful. Something. To reach for. Tatsuki. I'm sorry. I'm here now. Let me.

His belly. Smooth, cool, hard as the rest of him. Her hungry tongue, learning him. I know. Let me. His body stiffens as she slides further down his legs and tugs at the coverlet concealing his hips.

"What's wrong?"

He opens his gleaming eyes to meet hers. "Nothing. Just do it. Look then. But remember what I said. No matter what."

She pulls back the covers, her eyes fixes on his, and drops her eyes to his hips. She gasps, involuntarily, and he rolls his eyes.

"That was—we did—I can't believe it."

"That's why I told you not to look down. So now. Satisfied? Revolted?"

"No." And she laughs. "It's like—it reminds me of ice cream!"

"What?"

"You're not going to believe this, but the first thing that came into my mind was dolphins. And ice cream! Well, first you have to know that I love ice cream! And my favorite ice cream shop is this Italian place that has a kind of replica of a fountain, I think it's in Rome. And the dolphins kind of have this sculpty platey thing. I don't know how…" her voice trails off.

"Woman." His eyes closed again.

"S-sorry. I always seem to say stupid things."

"It doesn't matter."

She examines him more carefully. It's not like she has a lot to compare him to. It seems mainly—normal. But then that bony, sculpted plate. Attached. Fused. Fluted like his mask. Incredible. Pretty, actually, in a weird way. And—not possible—in her body. And the size. Surely this is superfluous.

She drops her head, plants a tentative kiss on the tip. Taking it into her mouth, unfortunately, seems out of the question. He sits bolt upright.

"What are you doing?"

"What you did to me."

"Don't."

"Why not?" She drops her head again and licks the underside of his cock from the base to the tip, where the bony plates from the upper part terminate. Here there is hierro, not bone, so surely he feels something. It takes a while, but eventually he moans.

"The warmth."

"Hm?"

"The warmth of your mouth. Moving on me." Oh.

There's a tiny slit at the top, and she slides her tongue-tip into it. He moans again. He feels it—there too. Again. , she quickens her movements, raising her gaze to his face from time to time to stealthily check his reaction. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted, his tongue visible. His frankincense odor intensifies.

Suddenly he sits up, seizes her, and in one brisk gesture flips her onto her back. Presses her arms into the bed. And throws himself upon her.

"What's wrong—Ulq—"

"Nothing. But it's what I said."

"What? Ulquiorra—"

"I let you look. But my patience is at an end. And now—" He bends to her throat.

"What?"

His teeth press into her neck. His voice low but clear. "No matter what. I'm going to fuck you."

Demencia. Absurdo.= Insanity. Absurd.

Vacíos= empty