Author: Hitachiin Shibo PM
Ichigo is dealing with heavy contradictions. M for strongly implied. Ichixgrimm DrabbleRated: Fiction M - English - Ichigo K. & Grimmjow J. - Words: 528 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 5 - Published: 11-15-09 - id: 5512987
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hi there. I love this pairing more than other other... maybe. Just a drabble... maybe. I might make a complimentary piece.
Disclaimer: I don't own bleach. duh?
Have you ever wanted to touch something and destroy it so badly all at once?
That's how it started. That's how it all started.
He came on strong, leading with his fists and his mouth, not his brain. Something in his intensity touched something within me and I fell into the same trap, leading with my mouth and my blade, not even considering actions or consequences unless they related to how my blade was moving.
I didn't know why he wanted to kill me, maybe to justify himself, his existence. Who knows? Maybe he was a psychopath with something against the color orange.
He was fierce. He was intense. He was strong and he was skilled. He was also cocky as hell. Couldn't stop running that damned mouth or his. His eyes were burning like blue flame with rage and a hatred I hadn't yet earned and couldn't understand. What did I do to make him hate me?
His hate was just there; not aimed at me originally but when it found a target it exploded. He was insane. Abso-fucking-lutely crazy. And all that insanity was pointed at me, turned against me.
We fought. Blade to blade, fist to face to chest to stomach. Eyes matched; anger over things the other hadn't done flared and we fought with a rage still barely constrained.
I lost. I had lost, and ended up with his fist thrust through my chest. Maybe he hated the sound of my heart. He laughed. He laughed as his hand rolled amongst my vitals, and I coughed blood with eyes wide. He smiled fiercely and threw me to the ground. He was still grinning as he told me not to fuck with him again. That I was weak.
I wasn't all that surprised when I woke up panting–my bed completely soaked, and not entirely from sweat–all the time afterwards. The dream was always nearly the same: Him thrusting, and not his fist, into me, and not into my chest. Completely dominating me and making me lose over and over again to him.
It was sickening, but I couldn't be surprised. And when I started to accept it, that's when it all started.
And I knew I wanted to hurt him so badly. I wanted to tear him into little pieces so that he couldn't grin maliciously and laugh and taunt me. I wanted him to die because of me.
And I knew I wanted to touch him so badly. I wanted him to touch me and taunt me and burn me with his fingertips. So badly my hands would spasm with my desire to reach them out to him. And I wanted to feel more alive because of him.
And that conflicting desire to fight him and fuck him- that's what started it all.
Review? Plz & Thanks.
Btw, I'll get back to my other stories, I lost my muse.