(A/N: Here's a first. I wrote this in chunks! I'm expanding my talent? Or something along those lines. I started with a block of lyric, and went from there. Well, I don't know...but I'm going to say that Neliel and Nnoitra are in character. Oh, and I forget if this is AU-ish or just anywhere at all. I guess the latter. Whatever, take it how you wish.)
Am I still tough enough?
Feels like I'm wearing down
Is my viciousness losing ground?
Am I trying too much?
Did I cross a line?
I need my role in this very clearly defined.
He needed to know. Who was he? What was his role?
Nnoitra felt as though he was wearing down. He was losing his viciousness—she was closing in on him. He could not let that happen!
Was he still tough enough? Oh, he was beginning to doubt himself.
Her eyes, brimming with cruelty, glared down at him from high above well-sheathed sex and jutting breasts. The thoughts in his head were of nothing but the lust he felt.
Had he crossed a line?
Had he gone too far in his need for her abuse? Had he gone way too far in demanding her sex? Had he gone far in insisting that he be the only one to lay a finger upon Neliel? He was jealous, he was possessive, and he was everything she hated in a mate.
And yet, in the boudoir, he was everything and more than she had ever wished for. The contradictions were too much for him to think of. He shoved them aside.
Nnoitra contemplated whether or not he was trying too much. Was his everlasting need for expansion too much? Was his want to try every possible abuse far too excessive?
He wished not, but he feared it was otherwise.
He needed his role defined in the clearest of terms.
And now it's starting up
Feels like I'm losing touch
Nothing matters to me
Nothing matters as much
I see you left a mark
Up and down my skin
I don't know where I end
And where you begin
"Oh." A shudder, a moan, a gasp of delight and a backward thrust of her head, her back arced upward deliciously.
It was starting up. Neliel did not know what to think anymore. She felt as though she were losing touch.
Nothing mattered. Long days found her lying in Nnoitra's bed, spending the duration stretched luxuriously, sated and spent. The light of a crescent moon drifting in through a partially ajar window caressed smooth, bare skin.
Nothing mattered. For weeks, she did not care about anything else. She did not care about her rank, her status, and especially not the fact that she was pleasing Nnoitra along with herself. She did not even realize the pleasure she was gaining from their lengthy encounters.
"Ah!" a sharp intake of breath, the warm sensation of blood upon wind-cooled skin, the biting of her lip, and her hands balling into fists, she realized her body was marked. She saw, and she cried out so softly.
He left a mark up and down her skin, her pristine, white skin.
The blood continued to flow from her skin, and from his skin. Their bodies, joined as one, their lips melded in a passionate kiss, her hands threaded through his ebony locks. Even after he had withdrawn from her willing sheath, still they were joined.
She had forgotten just where she ended, and where Nnoitra began. She forgot that she had ever been an independent entity, and that he had as well. She failed to remember that they were not one being, but two.
In truth, the fact that she and Nnoitra were two separate entities did not matter to her, and it would not for a long time.
He had left a mark; she had lost touch. Reality had failed her, and she had lost all touch with it. All she knew was the sex, and Nnoitra, and the smells that went along with it.
All she knew was the delicious feeling of his lips on the back of her neck, of his arms circling her waist when she was not expecting him.
The delicious feeling of being "loved" by a man who surely could not process such an emotion, though the feeling was false, that did not matter.
The scar, light pink and fleshy, stretched up and down her skin. Smooth and pink, it reminded her of him. Every time she stroked it mindlessly, his voice, his face, and his smell entered her.
Her finger traced the path of the scar, and Neliel found herself wishing she had that "love" again.
Nothing mattered as much as receiving the discipline she craved, she knew she needed.
I need your discipline
I need your help
I need your discipline
You know once I start I cannot help myself
She was help. She was discipline. She was everything, and just a little bit more.
He needed Neliel, and she in turn needed him.
Discipline was something that he knew he could not live without, though he fought against the bit at every turn.
Once he started, and once she started, both knew that they could not help themselves.
He needed her help.
She needed his discipline.
Every move, every word was a cry for help.
Every step that Neliel took to get away from Nnoitra was an affirmation that she needed him, and that he, in turn, needed her.
"Give me space, Nnoitra."
"You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"
"You are weaker than I. No matter how many times you dare oppose me, I shall triumph over you."
"It's not fucking right for you to be cocky! You're a woman among men who are worthier! Know your place in this godforsaken world!"
"I don't need you."
"I never said I wanted you. 'Specially a bitch like you."
Her gray eyes narrowed dangerously, decisively.
A small, delicate looking hand reached out, lifting toward the lonely, crescent moon.
A beautiful, innocent face tilted upward to follow it, and Nnoitra found the strangest of emotions building within him.
Guilt rose within him for seeing that goddamned expression upon her exquisite features. Innocence, and for all he put her through, he could not imagine what shred of that could be left. After all she put him through! How could she look that way?
And yet, he still needed her discipline, and her help. She still needed the same, and despite her underlying streaks of innocence, she knew that it was so, and it would always be so, until they came to an end and became separate entities as was meant in the beginning.
But how could she exist without Nnoitra? How could she exist with nothing to live for but the death that would bring her back to him?
Sometimes, he found himself thinking similar thoughts and deciding that he would die before Neliel, no matter the cost.