I'm so lost
I'm barely here
I wish I could explain myself
But words escape me
It's too late
To save me

I'm sick with apprehension
I'm crippled from exhaustion
And I dread the moment when you finally come to kill me

Moonlight fell upon the bed in a whitewashed room, illuminating a figure stretched out upon crumpled bed sheets. Light flickered over the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply in his sleep, illuminating a littering of pale white scars which marked the bare skin. Pale light trickled down from the moon through an uncovered window and danced over the room, touching upon black and white furniture; a dresser, a wardrobe, a simple sofa, a low table and a sparsely patterned rug covering white marble flooring until it came to rest upon the large bed which framed the colours of the boy in white.

The bold shade of his hair cut through the monotone of the room, the only colour in a world bleached by moonlight.

Moving as silently as the shifting light, another figure entered the room. Despite the calm that had remained unbroken, the boy shivered slightly in his sleep, as though the mere presence of the other had disturbed him on some unconscious level. The new figure moved closer to the bed, his hair dark and his body clothed in white so that he blended into the colours of the room like a noiseless chameleon. Eyes as black and cold as flint brushed over the person lying in the bed, and when a hand ran through soft orange spikes the eyes of that person snapped open, defeated ochre orbs as sharp and intent so to suggest that they hadn't just awoken.

This type of encounter was familiar to the both of them, it had become so that the young man with the scars upon his skin had ceased to put up any form of resistance towards the other upon these frequent visits. Instead he closed his eyes again with a soft sigh in anticipation of what was to come.

"Is that any way to greet your Master?" A harsh tug on his bright hair bought the boy sharply back to reality and his eyes snapped open. The hand tugged his hair again, rudely encouraging him into an upright position. The white clothed man used his other hand to grasp at the boy's chin, roughly forcing his head up to so that the soft brown eyes met with his own. "Don't act so emotionless Ichigo. It's not nearly so enjoyable when you do."

"What do you expect from me?" His words came out like a sigh from between cracked lips, the spark of life in his eyes flickering like a flame about to burn out.

"I expect you to do what you always do." The pale brunette smirked maliciously as he released the boy from his grip, his eyes never leaving those of the other as they played out the motions of their usual dance. "Put up a fight." He brought his mouth to within a hair's breadth of the boy's ear and whispered. "Try to resist me."

"Why should I..?" the shinigami's eyes were dulled with weariness. "It won't make any difference."

"Come now Ichigo..." That cruel smile curled at the lips of the brunette as he stroked the pale skin of the boy with mocking gentleness. "You of all people should know that there is always a point to resistance." He looped his arm around the waist of the younger man, pulling their bodies close.

"Don't…" The word caught in the shinigami's throat as the older man twisted cold fingers in the hair at the base of his skull.

"If you don't want me to," He whispered, bringing their faces to within an inch of each other's "Why don't you stop me?" Dark eyes flashed with barely concealed lust, just daring the boy to challenge him.

"I said don't touch me!" Ichigo cried, trying in vain to push the cold body from him.

"Make me." The monochrome man dared him with a hiss and another sharp tug on his hair, pulling his head back to allow him access to the paled skin of the boy's neck. Ichigo made a strangled noise in his throat as he felt cool lips press against the sensitive skin of his neck, a warm tongue caressing his skin as his master laid a trail of biting kiss marks down to the smooth curve of his collarbone.

As sharp teeth scraped along his abused skin, strong fingers ran down his exposed chest, tracing the contours of muscle and the rough outlines of scars down to the waistband of his white uniform trousers. He felt them stroke the bulge between his legs and he cursed silently at his body's reaction to the touch.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" he muttered darkly as he grit his teeth against the poisonous caresses. The dark figure smirked against his skin and languidly ran his tongue up the side of the boy's neck to catch a soft earlobe between his sharp teeth.

"Because it's so satisfying to break you down…" he bit down on the soft flesh, drawing a mixed gasp of pain and pleasure from the young shinigami, "to feel your body betray yourself to me. And I know you enjoy it as much as I do. Let me hear you." He whispered, hissing seductively in the shinigami's ear as he tortured his body with unwanted pleasure, revelling in his gasps and half muffled moans.

Reality had twisted in on itself, nothing worked in the way it used to. Nothing felt like it used to. His drab prison was eroding the person he used to be, contorting his image in disgusting ways. And the most twisted thing of all, the most sickening, fucked up thing about this whole situation, was that no matter how he tried, he always enjoyed it. Some part of him just couldn't get enough.

Each night time visit twisted his soul till it broke away in little pieces.

And piece by piece he was dying; piece by piece he was eroding, losing himself beneath the endless moonlit sky.

"Yes Aizen-sama."