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You and me, we are a tragedy in motion

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Ichigo twists his head against the pillow, sweaty curls of gold-orange hair sticking to his forehead, the back of his neck, the sides of his face. He sobs, audibly, when large hands slide up along his spine from behind, and it turns into a sigh of relief when Grimmjow drapes over him completely, chest to back, and the harsh, punishing thrusts are tempered by the new lack of leverage. 

He sinks into the mattress underneath them, smothered, safe, unseen, full, and the angle it achieves causes spots of colour to burst behind his eyes, even as Grimmjow sinks his teeth delicately into the nape of his neck. Makes him even prettier with yet another lovely ring of soon-to-be-scars. He has so many, now, littered over his thighs and chest from the start of the night. They've smeared his blood all over the bed. 

How long has he been here? He can't even remember how it ended up like this. What he was doing before the drag-and-push of Grimmjow inside him, large calloused hands sliding across his skin and stomach, further down between his thighs to press him apart for easier access, agile fingers that leave him soaking wet. 

"Tell me," Grimmjow purrs, and Ichigo feels the vibration all along the length of his body, skin on skin, it's so hot he can hardly breathe with how full he is; how pressed down upon, "-tell me you love me."

He manages a whimpery little hiccup and his whole body jolts underneath the arrancar when another short, deep, grinding thrust presses against his sweet spot and he doesn't just see stars , he sees galaxies

"Yes, I- I love you, I love you- " It's more a desperate plea than anything else, shaky, he can't get enough air into his lungs. 

Grimmjow snarls, pleased- Ichigo thinks it's pleased, at least, and his toes curl at the sound of it, fingers pressing tighter into the fabric of the pillow under his head. 

"Tell me that you'll let me breed you , fill you up." It's mocking, soft and derisive, and Ichigo shudders in fear at the mere concept of being pregnant, horrified - it would activate all of his dysphoria, except for the fact that his brain melted out of his ears hours ago, and that he's pretty sure he'd kill his own father if Grimmjow told him to, promised more of this. 

Please no, he thinks, but his voice betrays him. 

"Yes, anything , you can- breed me, if that's what you want-" 

Grimmjow laughs and tears bead at the corners of Ichigo's eyes. Fuck, thank God. Just something to make him scared. He doesn't even think he can get pregnant in this form. Not human, and the arrancar isn't exactly alive, either. Can hollows reproduce at all? He doesn't think so. 

Grimmjow presses his lips to the shell of Ichigo's ear, probably coloured a searing red, just like his cheeks, and hums. " Tell me you'll never leave me.

Dangerous, low. A warning, a threat and- something else all at once. 

He gasps- his vision is so blurry, and Grimmjow still hasn't slowed down at all. He feels like pleasure is being violently wrung out of his body, forced through him instead of simply given. Grimmjow is making him feel this way, not letting him. 

"Never- I'll- I won't ever leave you- " Something screams in panic in the back of his head. He doesn't care, can't focus on it. Not when he's being remade inside, pried open and conforming to the shape Grimmjow wants him to be. 

The chuckle the arrancar makes at his words sends him over the edge again, again, how long, how many times is it now, and he'd shudder and convulse if he could, but he's pinned under the greater weight of the other man. His eyes roll back--he cannot see. Doesn't even care. Can't think complex enough thoughts to even register that he's in a very fragile position. Back exposed to the predator

Grimmjow leans back upright again and Ichigo whimpers at the cold air on his skin, along his spine, shivers and sobs when Grimmjow goes back to the violent, bruising pace of before. It hurts inside, he feels like tenderised meat but the pain mixes with over-stimulation and pleasure and he can't bring himself to beg for mercy. His skin prickles, itches and rises into goosebumps at the lack of contact. 

"Are you mine, I-chi-go?" 

His mouth fills up with blood, and he realises he's bitten his tongue. When he opens his mouth, crimson trails down his chin and the curve of his cheek, and Grimmjow lets go of his waist with one hand to reach up and turn his face, fingers on his jaw, gripping tightly. He licks the blood away before releasing him, and Ichigo whines, pitiful. 

"Yes, y-es, yours, only yours. " He slurs it, messy, then firmly closes his mouth again, his vision spinning when he tries to keep his eyes open, so they close too. All he can taste is hot, wet metal in his mouth, and he whines again, an animalistic sound. 

Grimmjow has stripped his humanity from him. Pried it away from his spine and eaten it, left Ichigo nothing but his instincts and desperation, sword calloused fingers scrabbling at the sweat-soaked sheets. He's being ruined. It's the most terrifying thing he can imagine; being laid out like this, like an offering at an altar, a sacrificial little treasure to be broken. Eaten. 

Consumed. God, if he could only think past the overstimulation. Past the fullness. 

Grimmjow leans down again, and Ichigo obediently gathers the shaky energy he has left, arms trembling violently as he lifts himself up ever so slightly on his elbows to meet the other in a bruising kiss. He's pretty sure his split lip has reopened, the accidental cut that Grimmjow gave him with his teeth somewhere around the third orgasm. His lip is probably cherry red, with how Grimmjow sucked it in between his teeth to lick away the blood. 

Grimmjow drags his tongue along the inside of Ichigo's mouth, overwhelming. Makes it hard to breathe, his head spinning violently as he holds, and holds, wanting so badly to be good, even as the hollow sucks on his tongue, drags the smeared copper from the roof of his mouth, from his teeth. 

Grimmjow is always so eager to eat whatever he can of Ichigo. 

He pulls back with a purr, and Ichigo collapses again, arms burning with a fierce overworked ache, the cool fabric of the pillow a relief against his overheated skin. 

Claws fold over his hips, dancing over the skin before digging into soft flesh; just barely avoiding drawing lines of blood. His spine arches and his arms have long since become too weak to hold his head up. He passes out like this. To the brutal pounding of hierro smooth, silk-steel skin against him. If he had any remnant of his wits left to him, he’d realise that this was never an act of simple lust. It was always about more than the physical pleasure. Grimmjow gets nothing from the hot warm drag of his tight, swollen walls around his girth. He gets everything from the surrender. This is just another form of ownership. Of possession. Of devouring. 

Another way to claim . Grimmjow is a selfish creature. Possessive. Base and pleasure-driven. A being that thrives on personal satisfaction. As far as he is concerned, Ichigo has been his since the first fight. Since that first exhilarated grin they'd shared, teeth bared wide and blood on their skin. That one lucky hit, the interesting show of power Grimmjow hadn't been gifted with foreknowledge of. 

Ichigo isn't really responding, now. Too overwhelmed, exhausted. Grimmjow has sapped him of all energy. 

He doesn't stop. This is his body to ruin. Ichigo's little shivers and twitches and unconscious sounds are his. 

Ichigo's love is his. It all belongs to Grimmjow. And only to Grimmjow. He presses his face into damp orange locks, inhales deeply. Salt and sex and blood; and something so inherently Ichigo. Alive. Living and dead all at once. Earthy, like petrichor, almost. An oncoming storm, all black and red lightning. A natural disaster in glorious motion. He could get drunk off it. 

Hell, maybe he is. 

Maybe he's drunk on Ichigo. Maybe that's why he softens, pets at that slim waist, up bare skin to palm carefully over the silvery scars drawn over a too-visible ribcage. It's not gentle. He doesn't know how to be. But it's something. 

Maybe he can chalk it all up to being high off his scent, on his taste. He's had so much of Ichigo's blood, tonight. Surely that's as close to intoxication as an arrancar can get. Surely there's no possible way to be closer to having a heart, to living again, to filling his absence, where his chain ate into him- surely, just- pressing against Ichigo. Back to chest. All bare skin, heavy reiatsu. Warm and small. So tight and wet just for him. 

Surely it's as close to human as he can get. Possession. He might not be able to eat Ichigo, though he fantasises about it. Nothing quite gets him off like imagining his teeth in that hot flesh. Tear out that pretty, delicate throat and feast. 

But he can have this. He can ruin Ichigo for anyone else. No one could possibly look at all the marks Grimmjow has left him with and not know that this one is claimed. 

And that. That is the best part. Better than the way Ichigo sobs into the pillow and cums all over again in his sleep, slicks Grimmjow up all the way to the base of his cock. 

The fact that Grimmjow has what amounts to a god all to himself. Saviour of all three worlds, bitten and doped up on pleasure. 

All for him.