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regasssaTitle: Mine
Pairing: Grimmjow/Ulquiorra
Requestee:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jikeidannin
Prompt: Blood or bleeding
Word count: <1000
Warnings: Mention of rape and torture
Rating: Light R all things considered. Rape is, after all, in the dictionary. The imagery is adult, but intrensically it's all just words.
A/N: Wow, it feels like forever since I wrote something dark (it's only been a few months), and this is quite short, but it was a lovely little exercise none the less.
Ulquiorra was trembling from exhaustion, his small body worn with scratches and bruises; a brown cloth clinging futily to the frail boney shape underneath it. Beneath the sweat and filth and blood there was very little left of the Ulquiorra that he remembered from before; the Ulquiorra that Grimmjow had been searching for all over this place ever since he had discovered from word of mouth that the fourth Espada had been defeated. If he'd been beaten he must be here -- not in the Court of Pure Souls, who wanted nothing to do with them, but maybe here, somewhere. Somehow.
He'd caught the slightest glimpse of him in Rukongai last week; just the tiniest vision of emerald eyes filled with such agony and despair that he had been instantly certain that it was Ulquiorra, even though he questioned what possible horrors could have made that expression so much more tortured than it had once been. When he'd discovered the truth; the Shinigami's dirty little secret in a back alley of Rukongai, where members of the Court of Pure Souls could come in secret and have half an hour alone with an ex-Espada for a few coins, he'd been unable to overcome the great, echoing rage that he felt deep in his chest.
His Ulquiorra. His Cuatra Espada, beaten and abused and raped for the amusement of Shinigami -- those noble Shinigami, who could do no wrong, but slaughtered Hollows because it was their so-called god-given right. Which one of them was the monster here? Was it Ulquiorra, blood tears stained onto his cheeks, black hair caked with sweat and come, and hollow fear echoing in the vacant depths of his once handsome green eyes?
Grimmjow reached for Ulquiorra, drawn, perhaps, by the urgent need to comfort him, but his once superior merely shattered under his touch like a sugar sculpture, falling down onto the ground and turning his face away. As he drew his hand away in horror, he realised that Ulquiorra was submitting. Had he been so crushed by what had been done to him that he crumpled at the slightest touch so as to try not to encourage any further hostility against him -- so that they would fuck him and leave? The anger came back, and Grimmjow growled, only growing more agitated as Ulquiorra curled up in the dusty grass. He wasn't sure, but the shaking of his body seemed to be punctuated by tiny little sounds now; like the Cuatra was crying. But he couldn't be crying. Not Ulquiorra!
This time when he touched him, Grimmjow was gentler than before, gentler than his mind really wanted him to be. Despite the freshly aroused hatred that clawed at his soul, there was also an intensity in his focus not to harm Ulquiorra that drew his hand down to stroke the filthy black hair, comforting him as lovingly as he could, despite not having any prior experience in the ways of gentleness.
For almost five minutes, Ulquiorra seemed to resist; but then he stopped crying, turning over hesitantly to blink wide green eyes up at Grimmjow and really see him for the first time, and then he lifted one broken hand toward him. Ulquiorra's fingers were all broken; all but his thumb, which reached out to brush tentatively against Grimmjow's lip, tracing the line of blood there from where had bitten through it in his frustration.
Even though his voice is shattered from screaming - even though the tortured sound made him want to hurt them all a million more times for what they had put his Cuatra through - there was something infinitely comforting about having Ulquiorra saying his name again; as though somehow if Ulquiorra could recognise him, then everything would turn out fine in the end. Grimmjow had to cling to that light of hope, because up until that point, he hadn't been entirely sure how much of Ulquiorra there was left to save.
Pairing: Grimmjow/Ulquiorra
Requestee:
jikeidannin Prompt: Blood or bleeding
Word count: <1000
Warnings: Mention of rape and torture
Rating: Light R all things considered. Rape is, after all, in the dictionary. The imagery is adult, but intrensically it's all just words.
A/N: Wow, it feels like forever since I wrote something dark (it's only been a few months), and this is quite short, but it was a lovely little exercise none the less.
Ulquiorra was trembling from exhaustion, his small body worn with scratches and bruises; a brown cloth clinging futily to the frail boney shape underneath it. Beneath the sweat and filth and blood there was very little left of the Ulquiorra that he remembered from before; the Ulquiorra that Grimmjow had been searching for all over this place ever since he had discovered from word of mouth that the fourth Espada had been defeated. If he'd been beaten he must be here -- not in the Court of Pure Souls, who wanted nothing to do with them, but maybe here, somewhere. Somehow.
He'd caught the slightest glimpse of him in Rukongai last week; just the tiniest vision of emerald eyes filled with such agony and despair that he had been instantly certain that it was Ulquiorra, even though he questioned what possible horrors could have made that expression so much more tortured than it had once been. When he'd discovered the truth; the Shinigami's dirty little secret in a back alley of Rukongai, where members of the Court of Pure Souls could come in secret and have half an hour alone with an ex-Espada for a few coins, he'd been unable to overcome the great, echoing rage that he felt deep in his chest.
His Ulquiorra. His Cuatra Espada, beaten and abused and raped for the amusement of Shinigami -- those noble Shinigami, who could do no wrong, but slaughtered Hollows because it was their so-called god-given right. Which one of them was the monster here? Was it Ulquiorra, blood tears stained onto his cheeks, black hair caked with sweat and come, and hollow fear echoing in the vacant depths of his once handsome green eyes?
Grimmjow reached for Ulquiorra, drawn, perhaps, by the urgent need to comfort him, but his once superior merely shattered under his touch like a sugar sculpture, falling down onto the ground and turning his face away. As he drew his hand away in horror, he realised that Ulquiorra was submitting. Had he been so crushed by what had been done to him that he crumpled at the slightest touch so as to try not to encourage any further hostility against him -- so that they would fuck him and leave? The anger came back, and Grimmjow growled, only growing more agitated as Ulquiorra curled up in the dusty grass. He wasn't sure, but the shaking of his body seemed to be punctuated by tiny little sounds now; like the Cuatra was crying. But he couldn't be crying. Not Ulquiorra!
This time when he touched him, Grimmjow was gentler than before, gentler than his mind really wanted him to be. Despite the freshly aroused hatred that clawed at his soul, there was also an intensity in his focus not to harm Ulquiorra that drew his hand down to stroke the filthy black hair, comforting him as lovingly as he could, despite not having any prior experience in the ways of gentleness.
For almost five minutes, Ulquiorra seemed to resist; but then he stopped crying, turning over hesitantly to blink wide green eyes up at Grimmjow and really see him for the first time, and then he lifted one broken hand toward him. Ulquiorra's fingers were all broken; all but his thumb, which reached out to brush tentatively against Grimmjow's lip, tracing the line of blood there from where had bitten through it in his frustration.
Even though his voice is shattered from screaming - even though the tortured sound made him want to hurt them all a million more times for what they had put his Cuatra through - there was something infinitely comforting about having Ulquiorra saying his name again; as though somehow if Ulquiorra could recognise him, then everything would turn out fine in the end. Grimmjow had to cling to that light of hope, because up until that point, he hadn't been entirely sure how much of Ulquiorra there was left to save.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-27 03:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-27 11:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-27 01:51 pm (UTC)this was... this made my skin crawl.
*sniffles*
I sometimes really love angst ^^
(no subject)
Date: 2009-04-27 02:04 pm (UTC)