[AliCe In Chains]
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
[Carnal Comprehension]
She didn't know what it was, what it was that drew her, that pulled her. She didn't know what it was that called her to him, unbidden- and she hated herself for it. She hated herself for it- but she went. There was no reason leading up to the decision, no thought, no will involved. Suffocated, smothered- her conscious devoured- and now prey to the will of something beyond her own control or volition. She went to him.
She didn't remember the walk there- the blaring horns viciously honked by angry drivers, the annoyed yells of people she casually brushed aside- the curious banter of her land lady as she glided past, the creak in the stairwell as she walked upwards. She didn't feel the warmth of the mid morning sun on her back, nor the rustle of the wind as it swept through the lengths of her hair.
His door- that physical barrier that kept him separated from the real world- cracked ever so slightly. The warmth of the sun she could not feel forsook her, and the cool darkness enveloped her as she walked in.
The lights were off. She did not pause. Unhurried, unrushed- feeling curiously dead and devoid of any and everything- she went to him.
The basement door was wide open, gaping, beckoning. The light was on, a beckon in the subdued dim of the darkened hall. She all but floated down the steps.
He was sitting- some far off part of her mind told her she had never seen him sitting in the presence of anyone, let alone her. But there he was- sitting in a metal wrought chair, one hand hung limply, touching the floor. With something that was not quite shock, but quiet acceptance, she realized that very same hand could hardly be called so. Covered in a layer of smooth black, the fingers now long grasping talons, aching to rip her apart. Blindly, she noticed the long coiling stretch of black and steel draped around the floor. It whispered against the concrete as it moved, drawing away from her.
She didn't speak- she couldn't. She was no longer Orihime, no longer even a sentient human being. She was-
"… I understand."
And instantaneously- she did too.
"…how…fitting. Onna, you could not even begin to understand the forces at work around you. It would be foolish of me to attempt to educate you. However- inevitably it seems- 'fate'…"-said as if he himself was aware of the folly of believing in it-"…has conspired against you."
But she was wordless, formless. Unbidden- she drew closer. She drew closer and her hands, soft as silk, drew lightly over the expanse of the shoulders she so adored. She could feel his gaze- cold yet comforting- against her even though his face did not rise to meet hers.
"…I will explain."
Warm hands- drifting around his neck, down the front of his chest, beneath the collar of his shirt. Ever so casually- around the hole that lay there like an open wound. She wasn't afraid. With a steady, marked curiosity, her hands mapped the outline of the pitch black circle, skirting its edges with a delicate wariness. Here was- contained power just below the surface and…tightly restrained madness. In this moment against him she-
"Regardless of my own volition, Murcialago it seems…has chosen you. Your soul has been branded- to thrive in the mortal world, it is not uncommon for hollows to feed from one mortal exclusively in order to avoid detection and sustain themselves for a short period of time. The reiatsu required to maintain this state has been depleted- as such, the call was instinctively made."
She wasn't afraid. Eyes black and empty, she allowed herself to feel him freely- hands tentatively smoothing along the expanse of his cold chest. It was a pleasure, a delicious pleasure- an almost instinctive, otherworldly desire to feel him- and be felt by him. To please him. Without the slightest hesitation- her life, her body, her everything- his to claim.
"The call is often answered by weak willed mortals who are hardly worth savoring. The success of this process hinges on the mortal- their capacity for spiritual compatibility, the strength of their will and the degree to which they themselves have been exposed to that which is not of this world. Onna, this merely means that your soul willingly heeded the call. How absurd…you never did do as I intended."
Ever so carefully- her hands felt him, touched him- and she drew herself nearer to him. Unabashedly leaning down, pressing the length of her chest against the back of his shoulder blades. A strange feeling that she couldn't quite feel- as if her body were numb, unaware of the motion- harder she pressed herself against him. She wanted to feel it. She wanted him to feel it. She wanted him to know that she was his. He was without equal, and she-it was his right to claim her. His right. And she would be honored. His power, his grace, his majesty- to become a part of that thrilled her. She drew her head nearer- pressing soft lips against the back of the pale column of his neck.
"This should not have been unexpected. A pure human soul has inherently more value. In the end perhaps…Octavia's plan finally came to fruition. Self preservation. How….pointless. There is no meaning to our existence- and yet he…they persist on living…."
More insistent now. 'Look at me'. Her lips pressed feverishly against the back of his neck. 'Please look at me'. Her lips, soft, delicate like the sweet scented petals of flowers beneath the sun, drew along the length of his neck. 'Acknowledge me. Please acknowledge me.' Tilting her head, her hair cascading over his shoulder as her lips drew tantalizingly slowly along the length of his jawbone. 'Please. Please.'
He did not spare her a glance, disregarding her advances with an immovable cruelty that thrilled her. Blatant admiration- for he was not one to be swayed so easily- and this was her pride. Her pride as his.
"Onna you are not yourself. This is merely the force of my reiatsu forcing you to submit. Although you perhaps have managed to maintain some semblance of what you believe to be a conscience, I assure you that none of this is being done of your own volition."
Words in the back of her throat- even though he had not given her permission to speak. She would bear any punishment, bear any manner of insult or injury, if only those eyes would look at her, if only those hands would touch her. She was his, to do with as he willed. She was his so why- why wouldn't those hands unleash her? Why wouldn't those eyes bring her to life? Because he was her precious…precious master. And the words found her.
"Please-" a murmur barely uttered, dredged up from the depths of the haze, the dark pit of her soul unleashed, brought to the surface. She wasn't afraid to beg. She would beg, on hands and knees, she would beg without the slightest semblance of guilt, regret or remorse.
"Please."
And her lips trailed along the length of his jawbone, and her fingertip circled that pit of blackness etched into the expanse of his chest, and her hands scorched a path down the front of his chiseled chest. The cold was so delicious, so delicious to her and she…she wanted…she needed…those hands. Those cold, unmerciful hands. Those eyes. Those bottomless pits of the deep. She needed- and she tilted his head back gently with her hands, seeing him through the haze, the gleaming amber pits of his eyes. And she knew he needed it, needed her- and she lowered her lips to his because he needed her-and his words-
And those eyes stared into her- and she could feel them, could feel the barely contained power behind them. And in a way she would never again be able to understand, something was in there- something was in there crawling beneath the surface. She wanted to know. She had to know. It was there on the tip of her tongue- she couldn't place it or name it but with him like this- she could feel it. As his, as his prey, as his willing sacrifice she could feel it.
It was-
But those eyes closed quietly, sealing the secret, drawing it just out of her grasp. The truth of him slipped away from her. His voice rung in her ear with a mind clearing clarity that struck her through the haze.
"Onna. I release you from the bonds my spiritual pressure has placed upon you."
And-
"You would be wise to leave, and not return. If you choose to accept these terms, I will have you freed from all recollection of these events. You will be able to return to your normal life relatively unscathed. That is the most logical course of action."
And….
And the haze lifted- the haze lifted as suddenly as a night wind carrying the fog away from the surface of the sea. And she blinked- and her eyes were wide and grey, the black void fading. Fading- and it was her- it was her standing there. It was her standing there looking down at him, her eyes staring into suddenly open eyes that were no longer gleaming emerald, but tarnished amber. It was her hands, delicately laced beneath his chin, it was her breasts placed against the length of his back, it was her heart, pounding in her ears. It was her flesh, her blood, rousing to life. It was her.
Her mind, clearing now, caught up with her body- and she snatched her hands away from him, stumbling backwards so fast that her feet crossed and she fell harshly to the ground. Her eyes wide, grappled with his, with the ever darkening amber, the serpentine slits that bored mercilessly into her own. She felt the breath catch in her throat- felt the breath catch in her throat- as his hair lengthened, as the pale pallor of his skin became whiter still. She watched with something that was not quite terror, not quite hysteria, bubbling in her throat as slowly but surely, from the side of his skull a horn began to protrude.
She gasped for breath that she could not find, as she tried to find words to explain to her dumbfounded mind what it was that she was seeing. Against the concrete, her hands shook with such force that her elbows quivered, threatening to buckle out from under her. Was this a dream? Was this a nightmare? Some horrible fantasy from which she could not escape? She blinked her eyes harshly, tears of something that she was sure was panic- threatening to blind her. It was just a dream, just a dream and it was him. It was just him and her- there was no need to be frightened, just a dream, just a-
She opened her eyes- and nearly screamed.
He'd finished undergoing his monstrous transformation, and the sight of this nightmare that only her imagination could concoct frightened her to the point that the tears sprawled over and down the expanse of her cheeks.
And those amber eyes stared at her from some pit deep within himself into which he had receded, ragged streaks of black descending from his eyes down the plane of his cheeks. Twin horns made of bone protruded from the depths of inky black hair, flowing down the length of his back- and white strips of cloth hung in taters around all encompassing wings of night. Like the wings of some great bat, stretched taunt over a delicate frame, filling the room with their size. And his arms were bathed in night up to his elbows, the talons impossibly sharp and lethal now, and she could easily imagine them at her neck. And the other remaining scraps of his torn clothing lay about him, at his now taloned feet, his waist and legs now cloaked in a mass of dark fur. And the hole-! The gaping hole, the gaping hole which bled black in a heavy stream that vanished into the darkness at his waist-
-and he sighed as if from some deep part of himself, sighed like the man who was told he was going to die, like one resigned to fate.
"This form frightens you." A statement of fact. Reserved, almost contemplative, as if he himself had not ever truly believed that such a thing were probable. But then- "It is to be expected." –resigned. Of course.
And she came to herself, casting aside her fear and her panic with all that was within her, violently up heaving at the unspoken sorrow in his voice. The words leapt to her throat, choked with her horror, her tears, and her love.
"I'm sorry! This is all my fault! I didn't get good sleep last night, I had a bad day- if it weren't for me and my stupid imagination you would be-" and she lost the words as she gasped for breath, precariously drawing herself to her knees, her hands clutched in front of her as if in prayer, eyes watering and wounded. And- there was a lapse as widened amber eyes took all of her in, and she could sense his confusion. Even now, even here- she could feel it as if this were unchanging reality.
"Onna…"
She didn't want to hear him say it, didn't want to hear him renounce her, not here! Not in this place, not in the only place where they could be!
"No, no I'm telling you it's all my fault! I'm really sorry, you've never looked like this before, I didn't mean to ruin you! It's only because I kept thinking about that princess and dragons foolishness that this is even happening-I promise it won't happen again I-"
And he stared at her, his face impassive, yet with a glint in the depth of his amber eyes that seemed almost…disbelieving. She choked on the words hastily, already regretting wasting precious time that she could never reclaim, precious memories made in the grip of slumber, fondly remembered and treasured right up until the moment when she opened her eyes. And those amber eyes- a noteworthy change that she would come to appreciate as she did all things regarding him- zeroed in on her. The cold couldn't touch her now- not here.
"Mortals…constantly diverting their attention from the inescapable truth. Onna this is not a dream."
She paused, blinking her eyes curiously at him, and rose to her feet. She stared at him without shame. A part of her- that acknowledged her mastery of this realm, demanded that she rebuke him. But the precious, doting heart of hers- told her that as much as she desired it, there were aspects of his character she could never change. And with some degree of bitterness she remembered that this wouldn't be the first time.
Her mind had an amazing tenacity and surprising creative ability when it came to dreams- when the haze set in- she could blur the line. The dividing line between dreams and reality- and sometimes she couldn't tell the difference. It was an adaptive ability she'd somehow managed to develop when she realized her life was lacking, when she realized she wasn't needed…and when she realized that surrounded by countless friends- she was alone. It was easier to live this way, caught in this blind, dreamlike haze. Here- he…she….could be anything her heart desired. And she knew this with a stunning clarity as he stood before her.
Even if it was hard to focus, hard to really understand what was real and what wasn't without physical, tangible evidence…there was no doubt in her mind that the Ulquiorra that stood before her right now- demonized as he was- was anything but the real thing. She knew dreams when she felt them- and she'd had many…too many. The haze that could snatch her up and away at the most inopportune times had always been because of him. Always. This was no exception. If this was the most interaction she would have with him outside of reality, dragon or no, she would take it. And in the moment it took for her to understand this, was within the very same moment in which she realized that this was as close as she would ever get.
"That…sounds like something the real Ulquiorra would say. I guess…I'm getting better huh?" She knew the edge beneath those words had to be sadness. But she cast it away. This realm was hers, and she was ashamed at her panic, her initial fear. Here she could be bold, without reality to bind her, and without him to stop her. Here- she could be whatever her heart desired and here- the gap between them didn't matter or exist.
She took a step nearer to him, a step unchecked by hesitation, or anticipation as her eyes roved over him.
"To be honest I'm a little surprised- I really did outdo myself this time, this is the most I've ever spoken with you in my dreams. Usually in most of them you're cruel and…you don't even acknowledge that I'm even here. Those kind of dreams…make me feel like I'm the stranger, like I'm the one that doesn't belong. And in some of them you're passionate…you don't hold yourself back from me. And if it's been a really good day…you're loving. Even if I know that…none of it is real…I'm willing to accept it."
Her voice drifted off as she smiled at him, smiled at him like the idiotic naïve fool that she was, smiling at him with open eyes. She smiled at him with an honesty and purity that thoroughly disgusted him, that nearly made him turn away from that bewitching power she alone possessed.
She drew closer to him during the silence, her eyes curiously taking in the length of him, as she rubbed at the stray tears on her face. Her eyes devoured him with a probing gentleness as she circled him, observing him from all the angles she could find. Her gaze roved over him proudly, without accusation or critique, but openly, with acceptance.
"I have to say though…my imagination really outdid itself this time- who would've thought wings and horns could have made you look so amazing? You really do look like a real dragon now- now if only this dream gave me a dress! Something nice and flowing- probably white- and I wonder why we're in your basement? I-"
As soon as the thought occurred to her she knew the answer. This basement. This damned basement. Where she had seen his perfect little façade shatter. Where she had understood what it meant to truly fear the one you loved. Where he had…touched her for the first time. It all made sense now, she couldn't help but think bitterly. The dragon's lair would be here. In the dark and dim, amongst smoke and flames, remembering her helplessness.
And his voice reached her ears again, a sigh that was not so much despairing as it was frustrated.
".….very well then Onna. For the sake of your psyche, assume this is a dream. Do not expect to ever again receive this courtesy…even this...is more than enough. I will once again give you the option: If you ascend the steps and leave this place- you will…'awaken.' If you forego that and decide to stay here, you will be…entrapped in a precarious situation from which you can no longer escape. There will be no further negotiation. Choose."
And those wide grey eyes stared at him and she-
-those wide grey eyes stared at him- and then they softened, they melted into twin pools of such warmth that it startled him, as a slow smile bloomed on her face. Her face filled with a warmth that could have made the most emotionally composed man weep. And the very essence of his soul squirmed with a hate so intense, so overwhelming that for a single moment his talons ached to rip her apart and devour her. And she could never feel it, the pits of his loathing for her, for this. Never feel this deep rooted hatred for her and her idiotic tendencies, for her and her trifling love, for her.
And she drew nearer to him with open arms, and he wanted to throw her away, disgusted with the indecisiveness within him, disgusted with the upheaval within him, the bitter tinged curiosity to let her come closer, the hate in his throat as he thought of that warmth. And she drew nearer to him, unabashedly drew nearer- her eyes never leaving his as she lowered herself to the ground beside him. Slowly, ever so slowly – she placed her head against his knees, her hair gleaming like the color of sunset against him with a silken whisper. He couldn't see her face- but he could almost imagine the sickening expression it would bear- warm eyes, gentle smile- the epitome of weakness. If he killed her now- if he killed her now- it would suit a mortal so foolish.
"If I could dream of you forever and ever, just like this, I would be more than happy. At least in my dreams…I can touch you and speak to you, and at least I can be with you just like this and you don't push me away. At least in my dreams…I can pretend you love me too."
And the words were soft whispers, the love in them tangible, heartfelt and- the hate raged in his chest. He did not enjoy the dull arrival of remembrance, a thought that he should have never given form. He remembered that he had wanted to break her.
"Only those living in shallowness and illusion avoid constant torture.There is no meaning to this, and yet you search for meaning still. This is only a futile attempt at masking the inescapable truth- that I will never fall prey to a concept as pointless as love. Any attempts to delude yourself otherwise will only result in self induced suffering."
And she deserved to suffer, this soft hearted fool, she deserved to suffer for this- the blasphemy of this. A mortal…and a hollow. The absurdity of this onna's ability to search fruitlessly for meaning within moments that held no discoverable significance or value was beyond amusement.
The sudden silence surprised him- as she softly clutched his hanging hand, the warmth of her small hand scorching the cold in his. She chucked bitterly, and the words that fell from her lips were resigned- accepting.
"You didn't think I knew that? If I could be with you like this just a little bit longer…then I'm fine with that."
She was willing to bear it. She was willing to bear anything. Anything small crap of hope she could find, she believed in wholeheartedly, without hesitation devoid of wariness or fear. The reality of this improbable situation grasped him within the very moment in which he realized she had learned nothing. Nothing at all.
The Rage.
Foolish. Naïve. Ignorant. Pathetic. Infuriating. To put such faith, such emotion into another who would easily denounce her and her idiotic whims. How meaningless. How pointless. How futile. He loathed that soft touch, the warmth of her hand, the soft skin enwrapped around his hand. He lamented that small form curled against him, the whispering murmur of her breath against his knee, he despised the whisper of her tresses, colored like the sky at sunset, murmuring against his cold flesh.
"You know…when you…did that to me I…I just…I don't know. I should hate you, I should…for doing that to me despite how much it…hurt me. But I couldn't. I know that if this were real, you would tell me how stupid I was being and you're right. I'm beyond stupid for…loving you. I could find someone who would love me back, who would hold me back, who would touch me with warm hands, loving words but…they wouldn't be you. Here- I'm not afraid to tell you. "
He would make her suffer. He would make her grieve. He would make her rage, loath, hate- he would break her, the fool. He would break her. He would break her because she would not give up, not give him up. He would break her because if she was the pinnacle of emotion, of joy and love, then he was the blackest pits of despair. Break her. Because it was his nature. Because she willingly held the keys to her own demise. How could she expect more from him, how dare she ask more of him? To ask more of him, to want more of him, more of him to put into this world, to be contaminated, dredged in its filth. The filth of the mortal realm- become immersed in its delusions, its naïveté, its foolishness. His very existence had no purpose, value or justification. The very notion of living when a meaningful existence was impossible in this world made his skin crawl. He had been content to sever emotional ties, resigned to an annihilating death without hope or regret, the last reaffirmation of the utter futility of living.
How dare she ask more of him? To suit her whims? It was the same- the same as the fools attempting to keep him alive in order to secure their own irreparable fates. It was the same. Attempting to tie him to this realm, to this feeble plain of existence. To bind him. Bind him with words, with love, the chains feeble but strong- but chains nonetheless.
"I decided that no matter what happens…I still can't change the way I feel. I know it's hopeless, I know that, I do…I know how you are…I don't have to say it anymore I know it. But when I think of you…walking away from me and…how lonely and sad you seem, but still proud somehow…it makes me want to be beside you. I'm not much of a woman, I know- I'm still too much of a child, everyone tells me so. But with you I feel like- I'm finally not afraid to be that woman I was meant to be. Confident and strong…to be worthy of your side."
The Rage.
Centuries past. Ages upon ages of chains. Of loyalty, devoid of all hope, will only for the sake of the master. For the good of the master. Nothing less, nothing more. Centuries of war, of blood, of sunless sky and eternal night. Of battle. Of bitter emptiness, loneliness, hatred, cold.
" I know it's selfish but I..I want to be the one you…look at with more than emptiness. I want to be the one to make you smile, the one to make you happy. It would be nice if I could reach you, maybe reach the part of you that you try to hide. It'd be nice if…I could be the one to make you see that love can find anyone. Even you."
She was foolish to think she could change that. Foolish mortal, pathetic fool who was as an infant to him, a handful of years full of light and joy and she dared to think she could change centuries of reality.
He had vowed to break her. He vowed to break her so thoroughly she wouldn't want to live, to breathe a moment more with the thought of him. He'd break her so thoroughly she would yearn for death. He'd break her. Crush that wavering heart in the palm of his hand. He'd break her. Break her. See if that delusional love would survive then. There was nothing for him within the fallible heart of one trifling girl. Nothing. This was a reality she refused to believe, and one he could not deny.
"I want to be the one that you love. And until then…I'm sure that…I'll wait. For as long as it takes, I'll wait."
And then those great gray eyes turned towards him, and in them was a warmth that made his chest squirm with the blackest of loathing, the strange semi-conscious awareness of a mind stuck between reality and dream evident on her face.
"I'm so stupid but I wish…", and her face tapered off into a whisper, a whisper as one lone tear drifted down the expanse of her cheek."…I wish you knew. I wish that I could tell you that. But we both know you wouldn't hear of that right?" And the heartbreaking smile on her face struck him- those eyes like wounds unnerved him.
The form- reverting, unwinding, releasing, unrestrained- it was this form, flooding his veins with power, the truth of him resurfacing, the madness, the scourge just below the surface. He held it accountable for these fruitless urges, the suddenly raw, untamed desire to make her suffer. Illogical, irrational, pointless. For what gain should one such as he attempt to prolong life? For what purpose should he with hold himself from the infinite black abyss that awaited him in death?
He knew there was no meaning in this. And yet….
…amidst the loathing, the hate, the void- there was…
…a slight interest. An insignificant, uncalculated complication.
-Is she not beautiful?
With skin, soft and warm, bronzed from countless days in the sun. Soft lips, smooth cheeks, colored pink. The graceful column of her neck, of her quickening pulse, her heart beneath the sloping curves of her chest. The small waist, the smooth expanse of legs bared beneath her skirt. The depth of gray orbs, intense, focused, enraged, joyful, depressed- the glittering jewels of her eyes that revealed her. This was life, life lived to the fullest extent, cultivated with the blessing of the gods. Was this not beauty?
-Is she not innocent?
Slightly quivering flesh- the way her eyes would meet his openly, devoid of fear, with such intensity and focus that it unnerved him. The way those same eyes skirted around him, avoided him, with a hidden shame, possessor of a secret she could not bear to share. The way small teeth would nibble at pink lips. The rush of blood to her cheeks. The way she shivered, subconsciously, when his eyes found hers. The way she'd kissed him with such passion, drew him nearer- then frightened at her boldness, pulled away- only to return. The way she pursued him- steadfast and devoted. The way she believed she could change him. The way she tried to make him understand. Was this not innocence?
-Can you not imagine it?
How could he? He did not dream.
-How wonderful she would taste?
A sickeningly sweet scent. To devour a flower, just beginning to bloom. To stain freshly fallen snow with blood.
-How pleasurable it would be to watch those dove grey eyes darken with despair?
He had seen them. Wide and disbelieving- broken- yet strong. Weary- yet unshaken. Sad- but resigned.
-Come now- is it not in your nature?
…His nature?
He did not believe in anything he could not see for himself. He renounced the existence of all he could not logically explain. If he could not come to a proper conclusion, the rejection of reality was imminent. He loathed the world, he loathed life with such intensity that he would welcome death because of it. If there was meaning, if there were a reason, it had long since been buried beneath the dredge of ages. And she…
-She is just ripe for misery- just ripe for-
And then he understood.
The heart. That damned heart. She spoke so easily of it- as if she held it within the palm of her hand. Just like- it was there, unseen yet felt- the cause of all of her misery- and yet the root of her happiness. A paradox he could not resolve. A reality he could not refute.
-Why not be gentle to her? Why not…make her your lover?
Octavia. He was not one to acknowledge defeat, especially when it was so cheaply won.
Nnoitra lost himself on the pleasure of the flesh. Grimmjow in the roar of battle. Syazel in his knowledge. Zonmari in his despair. Barragon rotting with his arrogance. Harribel in her silence. Nel with the last remaining streaks of her joy, the remains of her sanity in hiding. And others-lost in the depths of their loneliness.
-And he?
He understood.
"Onna. Your eyes. Close them."
And obediently, dark eyelashes kissed the tops of sun drenched cheeks, still glittering with tears. She tilted her head back with a wordless sigh of quiet acceptance, and hastily ran her tongue over her lips. He took it in-the sight of her neck bared before him like an offering, the scent of innocence drenching her skin.
And in that other world, the submitting would've been a complete repression of will, the sadistic binding of bodies. Not as a conjoined lover, but utilized as a means of power, a means of establishing the more dominant being. Those in power had the ability to keep the subordinated beneath them and this power was continuously established, continuously re-enforced. There were no places to hide, nowhere to run. If you were weak enough to be dominated, you garnered no pity. The weak suffered- as slaves to suit the appetites of the brethren who thrilled themselves on the taste of freshly spilt blood. It was only that- only the sudden need- the cold hard need of hunger. A hunger like he had never known, an all encompassing, ferocious and pressing need that was revolting.
Just this once. The last time, the only time- he would acknowledge the chains. He would revel in them. To test the limits of the heart. To test the limits of this so-called love. To explore the depths of this madness. But never again.
Clawed hands ghosted along her skin and she shivered as they bared her shoulders, grazed the tops of her breasts. And there- above her quivering heart- there- and a clawed talon traced the outline of that hole she could not see, the chain unwinding about her that she could not see. To remove her soul directly from her body would inadvertently kill her- so he would drink from her, feed on her.
And when he placed that dark kiss against her flesh, against that invisible circle of black, pain blossomed beneath her eyelids. A strangled cry of a pain so intense that it rivaled pleasure as it filled her, and unbidden his arms wrapped around that small quivering form. Not with love, nor with pleasure. But a cold, detached need as his hunger over powered him. She fell back and he fell with her, arms entwined around that quivering, trembling body as she shuddered in his arms, hands clutching as she squirmed beneath him. Perhaps she screamed his name, garbled by the intensity of a feeling she could not wholly identify or even begin to understand. Perhaps now she was truly afraid - he could hear the fear in her voice, wracking her lungs as she gasped aloud for breath. To siphon from the soul of a mortal yet alive- was an otherworldly experience which would ravage her memory, course through her body with a pain that was not yet pain, a pleasure that was not yet pleasure. And her body squirmed beneath him as he held her, the warmth of her skin fluctuating, growing hotter and hotter still, scorching the cold of his chest. And her breasts heaved beneath him as she gasped aloud for air, and the erratic tattoo of her heart reverberated in his head. And her hands grasped at him. Pushing him away. Pushing him away. Drawing him closer, closer still. The dull pain of fingertips, clawing feverishly against the impenetrable armor of his skin.
And perhaps now she was truly suffering, caught in a seemingly endless cycle of pain and pleasure.
-And his name was on the tip of her tongue like a sigh, like a prayer. Panted with some unbridled passion like an animal, whispered like a lover, screamed like a curse. Not yet a woman, not quite a girl- her body ground against his in a fruitless and subconscious attempt to sate something within her, unwinding, coiling, something far bigger than herself. And he understood it now as before, when that small form, the warmth of her- had been in his hands. When those eyes had begged him silently for mercy. When she forced herself not to make a sound, not to indulge him- and it had intrigued him, the depths of this 'love'- how much would she bear, how much would she suffer because of it- and how inevitably in the end she had broken beneath him. Now as before- she was broken beneath him, whimpering, tears prevalent in the depths of half lidded gray eyes, his name on her lips. But it was not as before- with the essence of her scorching his tongue. It was not as before- a thing done cruelly, detached and passionless- only to force the limits of her humanity, only to subdue her, to dominate her.
It was not as before- with the sweet taste of sunshine and rain, of smiles and tears on his tongue. It was not as before now, when she held him to her, not as before now, with that flesh beneath him. It was not pity of the plight she faced, the unrelenting heat flooding her body that she herself alone could not sate. It was not pity, remorse, or guilt. It was…a slight interest.
And she was blind as she screamed his name, as she ground her hips wantonly against him, as her hands clutched at him, as her legs spread beneath him. As she rolled her body beneath his in a fruitless attempt to draw nearer, ever closer to him. And he could feel her beneath him, feel her-
'Please! Please…! Please-!"
And the tears streamed down her face because she knew not what she was begging for, because she knew not what it was she needed to release her, because she knew not what it would take to free her from this limbo of the flesh as he fed from her, as he devoured the light inside of her. And she tossed her head in an agony that she could not contain, tears running in rivulets down the slopes of her cheeks, the column of her neck.
And he drew himself upward, with a sudden desire to see her face, with a sudden selfish desire he could not place- for her to say it again. To once more, with those lips- to once more as before, with her hands feeling him, to once more, with that blind gaze.
Say it.
And she knew. She knew as the tears came harder, she knew as her hands dug into the cold of his flesh. She knew when she met his eyes- and she tried to look away, but he stopped her with a clawed hand, and she could no longer refuse him. And he placed a clawed hand over that pulsating heart, and he squeezed with an intensity that made her scream.
"Please! Please-!"
And the words died on her lips, and he was overcome by a feeling he could no longer identify. Just this once. Just this once he would acknowledge it, he would give in to the depths of this baseless madness, just this once- and his grip tightened and she screamed anew, fresh tears in her eyes.
"I give my everything to you, you can have it! You can have it! You can have it- "
And there it was. Something- just below the surface knew this was not the heart he sought- but something deeper, something primal- the madness- the hollow he had long since repressed- relished the submitting of this onna, reveled in the subjugation, the unspoken binding. And she could no longer escape now, she had damned herself the moment their eyes had met. She had damned herself the moment she had refused to give up. She had damned herself the moment she gave in. Strong but weak, tarnished but pure, on the threshold of adulthood and youth- and now his. To break at his own discretion. Feed from at his leisure. Command as he wished.
-Why not be gentle to her? Why not…make her your lover?
He did not need a lover. There was nothing in him that believed in gentleness, kindness. There was only this sudden, pressing need. And devoid of pity, without remorse, without guilt- he would release her- not because of sympathy, but because of duty. Another claim. She was bound. And once more- for the last time- so was he.
His hands released her and he broke her feeble grip from around him. She cried out, reaching for him, trying to hold on to him- and like steel his tail entrapped her wrists. He drew himself down the length of her supple body, mechanically mapping the expanse of exposed abdomen, the slopping curves of her hips.
The last pleasure left to them- the human flesh- its mysteries, its secrets, its warmth- he would discover for himself.
It was only this once.
AN: I LIVE. BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME.
I've had this chapter ready for awhile now, but once again I am quite wary about uploading chapters now without a beta reader anymore since Idk what happened the the lovely one I had. All the same if anyone would like to help me out, feel free to let me know. But this squee worthy chapter HAD to be uploaded with or without boo boos following my discovery of Bleach Unmasked. But for now, here is the long awaited Ulqui-centric chapter (kinda) I'm not sure what I think about it yet, so let me know I'm failing at life right now due to shipping overload. That said, the hollow feeding theory is one that seemed plausible so I went with it. Will orihime remember it? Or will ulquiorra give her the grace of forgetfulness? I think it's too late for either of them now..either way please excuse my mistakes, I'm trying to get better. Also, I seem to finally realize that at the top of the page readers can adjust the font size/page coloring. The small font size and black background with white lettering REALLY suits the mood for this. But moving on to the biggest news-
If you haven't heard/read it yet, Ulquiorra unmasked is perhaps one of the single greatest events in the history of ulquihime since the moment orihime tried to grab ulquiorra's hand. I'M NOT SHITTING WITH YOU. It is literally a Ulquihime doujinshi that reveals ulqui's back story.
And for your squeeing pleasure?
-Newborn Ulquiorra in his hollow form
-the fact that he takes naps in ORIHIME'S JAIL CELL
-Orihime DOES call him ulquiorra-KUN
ARGH I'M SO EXCITED I CAN'T EVEN TYPE
SO BASICALLY THE FANDOM CAN NOW REJOICE. The scanlated version of the above stated comic can be found at bleachness or you can google Ulquorra Unmasked and probably find links to it.
So yeah Ulquihime is so fucking canon you wouldn't believe it. KUBO TITE SHIPS IT. -resisting the urge to stomp on the haters and non believers- Now I shall go cackle maliciously as I await the hoard of inspired fanfics/art to roll in.
That said, the brief comic tells you so much and so little. The speculations! The implications! And increasing possibility for a second coming, or kubo just trolling with us since he finally gave some fans what they wanted?
Discuss!
-Oh and I don't own bleach. and for damn good reason.
