the little death. grimmjow descries his inner masochist. au, yaoi, dark, mental illness, violence, sex. ficlet


la petite mort

a grimmjow/ichigo oneshot


They say that sex and death are the same. Different, but the same. Reaching orgasm and dying are alike because in order to reach that final moment, the one where you transcend worlds, you have to give up a portion of yourself, your control, your soul.

Grimmjow knew that all too well.


Ichigo had always been beautiful. Sunset tangerine hair. Coca-cola colored eyes, with a bit of honey for flavor. Skin kissed by the sun and just the right amount of freckles on that too angelic face. Warm smile, white teeth. Elegant neck and hands. Long legs.

He had totally consumed Grimmjow's every thought like a house fire, taking away anything he might have had before. But that's how love always is.

Even when he wasn't really Ichigo at all, he was beautiful. Even when he was the other one.

Grimmjow had never came up with a name for the other one. Never wanted to, really. Because that would make him, and what he did, real. It would make his own moans and pretty whimpers real, and not just fragments of a nightmare that he liked far more than he should. And it would also mean that Ichigo wasn't completely sane.

Don't call Ichigo crazy in front of Grimmjow if you like your bones intact and your blood still inside of your body.

He's not crazy. He's not. He's not.

Because Grimmjow loves him and he can't love someone who's crazy, can't love someone who punches him so hard his vision blurs and the room spins and he doesn't know what's going on anymore and he feels to see if any of his teeth have popped right out of his head.

He can't love someone who pins him to the mattress with some sort of ungodly strength and bites on his neck until there's blood running in little crimson rivers down his chest. The contrast of the red delicious apple liquid against his tanned flesh is stunning and the other tells him so.

But he can't love someone who wraps their hands around his neck until he's sure his face has turned a deep purple, until he gasps for breath and he begs and pleads only to be met with shrieking laughter that sound like broken church bells.

He feels dizzy.

How had this happened, again?

Oh right, he had walked out of the kitchen to find Ichigo slumped over the kitchen table, muttering to himself. This happened every once a while. Maybe two, three, times a year. Grimmjow knew what was coming, knew he should've probably restrained his long-time love. But something stopped him, made him shiver so hard in anticipation he had dropped the glass he had been holding to drop onto the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

He knew what would happen next and it didn't excite him, not at all, not one bit.

It's funny how in the worst of moments we can lie to ourselves, make our minds believe something that isn't really true at all.

Blood rushed to pool in his groin and his involuntary shuddering continued, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as the other took over the body he loved so much and walked up to him, grabbing a fistful of his electrically blue hair. Pain tickled at his scalp, and he bit his lip, not at the hurt, but at the pleasure.

"I came out ta play. Ya miss me, mah pretty blue kitty?"

Hot breath fanned over his sensitive skin, his neck, his cheekbone. A fist struck him on the jaw, sending him tumbling to the floor, laughter piercing the air as he hit the ground hard, groaning. Hands gripped his ankles and dragged him through the living room and into the bedroom. He didn't fight back. He didn't want to. Not that he could ever lay a hand on Ichigo's body even if he wasn't in it. He couldn't bear to see black and blue mar the face he loved. Loved so much it made his very soul ache. If he ever had one to begin with.

Because who could have one when they got hard from having their face smashed against the headboard so hard blood ran from his split lip? From having his hands tied behind his back with his own belt, the leather cutting right into the skin from being tied so hard?

"Blue an' red always look' so good on ya. I want to lick yer skin right off."

And he never wasted the precious time he had when taking over Ichigo's body, ridding them of their clothes and running his sinful tongue down the exposed flesh. It feels so rough, like sandpaper. And Grimmjow loves it.

The other one grasps the blue-haired man's hardened cock in a vise-like grip, watching as Grimmjow lets out a choked moan and his pretty water blue eyes roll back in his head. That infernal smirk on the other's face widens to epic proportions and he fists his own dick, pumping it. Grimmjow knows that the other one is getting his rocks off on this, his own mental war with whether this feels really, really bad, or really, really good.

"Ya like pain so much, don't ya, my little kitty slut?"

The other's voice is silvery and distorted, and it sets a fire to Grimmjow's blood. And then he knows, just like he always does.

"Y-yes," he stutters out, licking his dry lips. He howls when the other drags his nails down the flesh of his chest, leaving bright red lines in their wake. The droplets fall from fingertips like rose petals, staining his skin, and he can't get enough, won't ever be able to.

It's like the other has read his mind when he shoves a piece of cloth into his mouth, gagging him.

"Then shut tha fuck up and let me fuck ya real good."

Grimmjow's body betrays him yet again, shivering like it's bitterly cold.

"Don' worry now, he'll never find out how much ya like it."

He never believed in God and yet he prays that it's true.

And with that the other thrusts into him, nearly tearing him right in half and it feels amazing. The pain makes him feel like he's burning, smoldering. Soon he'll be nothing but a pile of ashes, smoking on the mattress. But he loves it and there's this coiling around his spine as the other hasn't let go of his cock yet and it's like a snake that wraps around the cord of his back like a python and he can't come and the pressure just keeps building and building.

It was so fucked up.

The other one keeps pounding into him like a jack hammer, recklessly stabbing his prostate, and he looks up into the face of the man he loves, knowing that he's not there.

Where does Ichigo go when he's not here with him?

His arms are above his head and the other has pushed his legs up so far that his back is arching off the bed. He's ashamed of the whimpers and delicate cries that are escaping his mouth and can still be heard through his gag, but his cock is just so hard he can't be bother to care about it much.

He knows he's bleeding from his entrance, the scarlet liquid likely covering the other's manhood. He wishes he could see it. It's so sick to be turned on by the thought that the other is making him bleed, making him hurt, but he can't help it.

Grimmjow can just picture what will happen in the morning, when he rises from his fucked up sex coma. Ichigo will be there, in tears at the sight of what the other one did to the blunette. And he will have to comfort his long-time lover, telling him that everything will be alright, when he knows that it won't be.

One day the other one will take over completely.

Grimmjow whines as the grip around his cock finally loosens and he's allowed to finally orgasm, white, pearly strings of fluid shooting out to cover himself in his own come. That must be the part of his soul leaving his body. He must have just died a little.

He can't wait for that day.


A/N: An effort in writing something with short sentences to show myself they're okay. And that I can still be dark if I want to be. :D

Soundtrack:

"Clown" - Switchblade Symphony

"Surgery" - Jack Off Jill

"Sweetest Perfection" - Depeche Mode