Ok peeps here is a new one about Ichigo and Uryuu. Its a lot angsty and kinda gritty, the darker side to their relationship.

It's done in Uryuu's POV

I would love to hear your thoughts on this so please review!

Now without further ado...


I walk in the darkness of the early night, going to a place I know I shouldn't go and it reminds me of how much I hate him. With every fiber of my being I truly do. I hate the arguments we have and the way he cocks his head just so. I hate it that he steals my breath away with just one look of his scowling face and burning eyes and how he kisses me hard enough to bruise my lips. The way he touches me in that certain way that has my back arching and fingers trembling, crying out for release. I hate myself more for loving each moment of it. And I simply can't stop.

It all happened that one night. We had argued again, like always. I had lost track of the arguments they seemed so numerous. I glared at him with the fire of a deep wrath lighting my eyes and he glared back, molten bronze boring into mine. He grabbed my wrist and maybe it was him or maybe it was me – although I would never admit it – and we were kissing. I hated it. Oh Kami I hated it so much… and yet I couldn't stop. Every move he made, pressing his body into mine left a tingle that enraged me more and I pressed myself into him hard, hoping that I left those tingles along the planes of his skin as well. He was unyielding and so was I.

We fell to the floor, the argument turning silent as we fought for dominance, fought each other and yet pulling each other closer at the same time. Clothing was torn, belts undone, their buckles tinking loudly in my ears as they fell to the floor. Then skin on skin and he was hot. I knew I probably was too but at that time I didn't much care. The silent argument we had was changing somehow to an end we both understood. When it was done no words were said and we went on, pretending like it never happened, our only reminders were the fading souvenirs of that night. Bruised thighs, bitten shoulders, sore lips.

I think it would have been better if it had been just that one time but it seems this kind of hate sinks under your skin and gets into your blood. Like a horrible drug addiction on an old junkie. I hate that I need it but I crave it all the same. I hate him for making me want it. I tell myself I don't need this, I don't need him and yet I keep going back for more. I see in his eyes that he hates it too, and still we meet, to have that silent argument that can only end in one way. Naked bodies, pounding hearts, sweat slicked skin, panting profusely. No one wins and yet we both do. And yes, I hate that too.

I walk on and I wonder idly if this will stop, if I will end it. Maybe one day my clenching stomach muscles will give way to a newfound willpower I never knew I had and walk in the opposite direction. I smirk at that. If I haven't found the willpower yet I doubt that I will find it later because each time he takes me or I take him that hateful fire grows. For the tenth time, or maybe the hundredth, maybe even the thousandth time – unlike our arguments I try not to keep count – I walk to that meeting place in the darkness of night. Each step echoes within me and I tell myself that I should turn around. I don't though, I never do. I see him in the distance, first as a shadow, black on black, then as a person, copper hair gleaming in the artificial light. My breath comes short at the look he gives me.

"Ishida." He says softly with no emotion in his voice.

"Kurosaki." I say back, just as softly, no emotion. And the silent argument continues as I pull him in to kiss me.

I hate it, and I love it, and I can't seem to stop.



Please review! I would love to hear your comments :)