100 Theme Challenge 64 Style

16. Cry

Grimmjow was in heaven.

Grimmjow was in hell.

Grimmjow was in Hueco Mundo, and Ulquiorra was in Grimmjow.

Grimmjow writhed and groaned in sheer ecstasy, feeling Ulquiorra's ever-so-hard cock pound into him in the most wonderful way. The pale man's erect shaft was pulsing within him, and it was perfectly proportioned to bring Grimmjow the sweetest feelings of total arousal; long enough to reach that spot, with enough girth to tease it wildly, and with just the faintest hint of a curve that sent it ramming into Grimmjow's prostate every time. Ulquiorra didn't even have to try.

Grimmjow doubted Ulquiorra did, but that was something that he wasn't going to think about just then. No, all he was going to think about was the feeling of impending release, the coiling, heating thing in his stomach that burned him more and more with every thrust. His cock was so hard that it nearly hurt, and as Ulquiorra's body moved above his own those ghost-white, perfect abs just barely scraped against it. And oh, with every inward thrust Grimmjow's sac was caught between Ulquiorra's hips and his own. And if Grimmjow believed in a god (as he had when he was human) he would be thanking it right then. Nothing could be so perfect.

Even in his lust-crazed state, Grimmjow noticed everything. The way his back arched, the way he screwed his eyes shut for only seconds at a time because he wanted desperately to see Ulquiorra, the way he could feel Ulquiorra's heartbeat (that Ulquiorra swore he didn't have) through the vein on the underside of his cock as it rammed into his prostate, the way even Ulquiorra couldn't completely control his body in the moment like this, so close to the climax. He noticed the way that Ulquiorra's green, gem-like eyes were dilated, the way that Ulquiorra's flesh gleamed with sweat even in the minimal light of the Hueco Mundo moon, the way that Ulquiorra's powerful muscles flexed and contracted , the way Ulquiorra's collarbone jutted out just enough to cast a layer of darker shadow. He noticed the way that he himself was shaking, the way that his moans seemed to make Ulquiorra go faster, the way that as they escalated Ulquiorra too seemed to lose control of his breathing. And as he did, Grimmjow noticed how his chest heaved in the most graceful way around his blackened hollow hole, and how he could see the night sky shown by his window through that beautiful, horrible hole.

It was this way every time. Every time, Grimmjow drank in every detail. Every time, Grimmjow did all he could to keep from coming though he knew that Ulquiorra could hold out forever and forever if he did so please. Every time, Ulquiorra's impassive face twisted almost unnoticeably around his eyebrows in pleasure. Every time, Grimmjow moaned and screamed and cried out and Ulquiorra said nothing. Every time, Grimmjow succumbed to Ulquiorra's sheer strength, his grace, his beauty.

Grimmjow felt the white encroaching on him, readying to end his time like this, and he bit it back with a ferocity that terrified him. Did he really need this that much? He grit his teeth and made the noises of a dying animal, his body thrashing itself

Caround and trying to keep the end at bay. He was sweating like a hog, like any animal made for slaughter, his hips twitching and moving up to meet the thrusts and swirling the way Ulquiorra liked, his wild blue hair thrown about his face and pillow with a reckless abandon as he twisted himself into all sorts of shapes. But he couldn't hold himself back, he never had been able to, and his toes curled and he cried out as he came with intensity. He felt the way his body finally suspended itself in its chaotic motion, the way every muscle tensed wonderfully, the way the spurts and spasms of cum laced their way across his chest and toned stomach. And he felt the way Ulquiorra, inside of him now and fully seated, made a noise almost like a hiccup of breath as he came too.

Every time, Ulquiorra finished and took himself and left.

Grimmjow felt the full agony set in, the usual clawing coldness that reminded him of what it had felt like to become a hollow. He clenched his hands- that Ulquiorra never allowed to touch his marble skin for he deemed Grimmjow trash- in the sheets and unscrewed his eyes, even now taking in every feature of Ulquiorra as he steadied himself from his orgasm and prepared to walk away. The fact that he was still inside, the fact that it was his juices that dripped from around his cock, neither of these did anything to console Grimmjow. Grimmjow felt his blue eyes swimming with tears, tears that tickled across his cheekbones to his ears though he tried to hold them back. Of course he was the one to cry; he had always been the weaker of the two.

Grimmjow stared and stared and stared at Ulquiorra for not long enough at all, longing and need and a desperate plea for the return of the once-known human emotion 'love' welling in him. He did not try to hide his tears, though he despised them: he had lain himself open for Ulquiorra to see, and he would not take that back. For a split second as Ulquiorra saw these tears Grimmjow thought he saw an emotion, like worry, like concern, like guilt, flit over Ulquiorra's face, and it was that hope that made the rejection sting the more.

It was all he could do to withhold his sobs until Ulquiorra left the room.