Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Dead in Love	By : crunchysalad Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters. I am not making any money from this piece of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Saka_Sandora: Don't worry, it's a multi-part! Two more parts after this. Hopefully you like the rest of it.
Jules Mordecai: Thank you so much! You are such a sweetheart for saying all that, it really makes me happy to know people enjoy reading what I write. Now you have me a little nervous that I eventually will let you down, hehe, but hopefully you continue to enjoy my stuff.
satterb: Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always! No idea how the plot came to me, so I'm glad people are enjoying it (so far).
nivell: They are pretty fucked up, aren't they? But kind of fun to write that way :)
A/N: This chapter contains trans sex. A future chapter will contain het sex (sorry, slash fans, but every espada will have a smut scene with either Grimmjow or Ulquiorra, and that includes Tia.

Chapter One
The feel of leather underneath him, the sight of a speckled off-white ceiling overhead. There was a clock ticking in the background, each second a tiny click click. A pen tapping against a notebook. Where the hell was he. . . right. Ulquiorra had told him to see a psychologist. And then the police had made it a mandatory condition of release after his last arrest. Well, there was nothing wrong with laying on a comfy couch for an hour every now and then. Let them dissect and analyze him all they wanted, fuck if he cared.
"Where were you just now, Grimmjow?"
"Hmm?"
"It was as though you were mentally gone. You wouldn't answer any of my questions. Were you in your other world?"
An image of never ending sand dunes, the feel of blistering heat followed by chilling cold as day faded to night. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
"Nothing much to tell," Grimmjow said. In the other world, he was a king. Sometimes human, sometimes panther, he could change his shape at will. With one jump he'd glide over countless dunes. He was free there, free in a way he wasn't here. But that unbearable sense of loneliness. . . it crippled him, sometimes, made him want to curl up under a dune and sleep the ages away. The desert looked the way the city felt. Empty. "I've already told you everything."
"In that case, why don't we talk about that building that was burned down in the last arson attack? You were there again, weren't you? You seem to be at those scenes quite a bit."
"Doc, you accusing me of something?" Talking to a disembodied voice was always a little off putting, even if his doctor's heat was close enough to feel. The tick of the clock, the tap of the pen. . . they seemed to grow louder as the seconds stretched on. Or maybe he was being a little too imaginative.
"Of course not, Grimmjow. But I'd like to discuss what you said about the crime scene. You said you saw an opening to your other world."
"I did?" Then Grimmjow remembered. He remembered flames and the scorching heat they radiated. Too far away to burn him, but close enough to suffocate. He remembered figures, humans, dancing in the flames, chunks of them melting into nothingness. And he remembered the wall of the house next door. Looking like a sheet of paper with a tear through part of it. And through that tear, light blue sand dunes that seemed to stretch on to infinity. "Yeah. Guess I did."
"Do you feel as though there's some connection with the serial arsons and your other world?"
"Fuck if I know." He had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. A way to travel to the other world at will, whenever he wanted. But before he had reached it it had closed up, and his fingers had met only cold stone.
Maybe they were all right, Grimmjow thought, maybe he was crazy. But he was sure that everything was real. The other world, his skips through time and space. The was a reason for it, a reason why it happened to him. Maybe fate wanted him to solve these serial arsons. . . yeah, right. Like there weren't more reliable heros around. Like there weren't people who actually gave a shit.
A small, repeated ding filled the air. Five times and then a hand reached out to press down on the offending timer. The session was over. Grimmjow sat up, hands grabbing on to that cool leather. His doctor was smiling at him, just a small twist to his lips, amber eyes looking out through rectangular glasses that looked like they were made of bone.
"I hope you found this meeting productive, Grimmjow."
"Yeah. Sure. I feel less crazy already."
"I'm glad to see you still have that sense that humor."
The silence stretched between them. Grimmjow leaned back against the cool leather couch, swung his arms over the back of it.
"Isn't this where you say 'same time next week,' Doc?"
"Grimmjow, what do I keep saying? Call me Syazel." That smile spread, lips thin and pink like slices of salmon. Long, elegant fingers reached up towards those glasses and slipped around them. Soon the glasses sat, content to wait patiently, on the pale wood surface of Syazel's desk. "I don't have another patient for another hour."
The leather creaked as Grimmjow sunk even more into it. "What the fuck does that have to do with me?"
"I thought we could try some. . . alternative therapy."
"Misusing your authority, Doc?"
"Don't be that way, Grimmjow," Syazel said, his voice a low rumble in his throat.
If Grimmjow were to press his palm against Syazel's collarbone, he could probably feel the words forming.
"So what's in it for me, Doc?" Grimmjow asked. "You should know I usually charge for this type of thing."
"I'll make you feel good. A psychologist is supposed to make his clients feel good, isn't he? Besides, I'll give you a good piece of information. Maybe it's connected to your memory lapses."
"What is it? Some kind of psychobabble?"
"No. It's an honest-to-goodness, concrete piece of information. You look as curious as a cat, Grimmjow. Don't tell me you don't want to know."
Grimmjow shifted, laid back down on the couch. The speckled ceiling once again filled his field of vision. His palms once again touched down on cool leather. He threw his arms up and crossed them behind his head..
"Fine," he said. "But don't expect me to do any work. You want my dick? Then take care of it yourself."
"With pleasure." A turn of his wrist and a flip of his hair, and then Syazel reached down deep into his desk. He pulled out frayed white fabric strips that fluttered with convected air. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Do your worse."
Footsteps, muffled by carpet, traced a path from Syazel's desk to the couch. Directly by Grimmjow's hands. Rough cotton touched the sensitive skin of his wrists, dragged across it. And then it was pulled, tightened around him enough to hurt. His bound hands were tied to the small table next to the couch, then he felt fabric flutter over his forehead, slide over eyes. The strip of fabric was tied behind him and his world was reduced to light filtered through heavy white cloth. Without his eyesight Syazel's next movements were even louder than before. Footsteps leading to the middle of the couch, appreciative humming as hands ran over his denim-clad hips.
Those hands found their way to his zipper and undid his pants. The denim felt hard as it was pulled down over the skin of his thighs, dragging until it sat piled up at his knees. His groin and thighs were completely bare now. Syazels hands ran across his thighs, up and down, tickling the tiny hairs there.
"You really are quite the specimen," Syazel said. "Even when you're soft you're so big. Out of all my patients, your dick might just be my favorite."
"You do this with all your patients, Doc?"
"It's purely research, of course. A kind of Kinsey-esque survey, if you will."
First Grimmjow felt hot breath ghosting against his cock, then he felt soft skin nuzzling against it. The tip of Syazel's nose, the plane of his cheek. And then just the briefest hint of a tongue, darting out every now and then to brush against him.
"You're not going to get me hard with just that," Grimmjow said.
He could feel Syazel's thin smile spread across his cock.
"Oh, don't worry," Syazel replied, every word a hot whisper on Grimmjow's sensitive flesh. "I have more planned for you."
The length of a warm tongue pressed more boldly against him, lapping at him like a kitten at its milk bowl. Gently, slowly, up and down from the tip of Grimmjow's cock to right below his pubic hair. Grimmjow regretted, for a moment, allowing Syazel to tie him up. What he wanted was to bury his hands in that cotton candy pink hair and shove the man's mouth down on his cock. This foreplay shit was tedious.
But then a hot, moist mouth completely covered his still limp cock, and Grimmjow forgot about all that. The suction as that mouth swallowed around him, the friction as that tongue swirled around him, this was what Grimmjow wanted. He felt himself growing hard inside Syazel's mouth. The tip of his cock hit the roof of it before extending even further, trying to push its way down his throat. He could feel and hear Syazel gag around him, and the noise made Grimmjow smirk.
"Too big for you, Doc? It's a lot to handle."
His cock bounced as the mouth drew away and it was exposed to cool air. Grimmjow frowned, but he figured it would be back soon enough.
"I see that I might have to add narcissism to your list of ailments," Syazel replied. "Though, in this case, it might be justified."
Fingers curled around the base of his cock. That hot mouth wrapped around the head of it, more carefully this time. As it licked and sucked him, Grimmjow once again wished his hands were free. Wished he could shove Syazel's head completely down, until the man's nose was buried in his pubic hair and he could fuck the shit out of his mouth and pour enough cum down his throat to choke him. Instead he settled for thrusting upwards, as ineffectual as that may be. But Grimmjow's cock still hardened despited Syazel's slow pace, until it was solid as wood and leaking a steady drip of pre-cum onto Syazel's tongue.
"Lick my balls," Grimmjow muttered. "Suck on them a little bit."
He could feel Syazel smile around his cock before pulling back, leaving his cock to shiver in the now cool air. The hand that had been gripping the base of his cock started to move, squeezing and stroking him, and a tongue came out to lap at his balls. Grimmjow groaned as one of them was sucked into a waiting mouth. That tongue came back to swirl around it, lavishing it with attention. The same treatment was given to his other ball before Syazel pulled away to press kisses against his testicles.
"If I suck you off," Syazel murmured, "will you still have the energy to fuck me afterwards?"
"Fuck yeah. So why don't you get those lips back around my dick, yeah?"
His hips thrust up involuntary as his cock was sucked back into that hungry mouth. Syazel continued to suck the top half of it as he stroked the bottom. Several minutes and Grimmjow could feel himself getting close. That feeling built up in his dick and balls, growing stronger.
"I'm coming," he groaned.
Syazel removed his mouth, and Grimmjow wished he could see the good doctor's face as he came all over it. But as he felt his cock twitch and shoot there was only whiteness, only the feeling of his cum splattering over his lower abdomen.
"Suck it," he said. "Suck it before it can go soft again."
Syazel obeyed quickly enough, though it was in his best interest to do so. His mouth closed around Grimmjow's cock once again and started to suck. After awhile he withdrew, apparently satisfied with the state of Grimmjow's cock. Fingers dragged along the skin of his stomach, dipping into the cum that had fallen there.
"What are you doing?" Grimmjow asked. "Saving it up for something?"
"I'm shoving it up my ass," Syazel replied, "so that you don't rip me in half when you're inside me."
The leather beneath Grimmjow creaked. The cushions shifted, accommodating someone else's weight. He could feel someone else's skin on either side of his legs now, warmth pressed against him. And then he could feel a slick tightness, sliding down to envelope his cock.
"Fuck," Grimmjow said. It was all heat and softness and it felt so good. As close to heaven as he was ever going to get; maybe God had invented the pleasures of sex as a consolation prize for sinners. But theological debate wasn't what Grimmjow was concerned about right now, not when he was completely buried. He could feel Syazel's ass and legs settled on top of his thighs. Hands came to grip just above his knees, and that tightness clenched and re-clenched around him.
"Fuck. Stop doing that and move already."
And Syazel did. Up and down, that tight heat moved on and off him, over and over again. The friction was almosr unbearable. He wanted to shoot off into that heat, bury his seed deep inside of it. He thrust upwards every time it moved off, wanting to get back inside it again. He could hear Syazel's low breathing, his small gasps and occasional short moans. He wished he could just grab the slim man's hips and slam him over and over onto his cock. He pulled on his hands, felt the cloth rub his skin the wrong way. It was tied to tightly.
"Getting a bit impatient, Grimmjow?" Syazel asked, his voice a breathy moan. "I can speed it up a bit, if you want."
"Yeah. Fuck yeah."
The fingers on his knees tightened and the pace on his cock sped up. A sharp intake of breath rushed into his lungs. Syazel cried out, more cum splattered onto his stomach, and he felt the tight heat spasm around him. So close. . . a few more minutes, Syazel bouncing on top of him, and Grimmjow was coming too, spilling himself inside of the other man.
The fabric covering his eyes was ripped off and Grimmjow found himself staring up at the night sky, framed on either side by the tops of lit-up skyscrapers. He scrambled to his hands and knees. He was fully clothed. His wrists weren't sore. He pushed himself to his feet. His vision blurred, his limbs shook. A wave of dizziness and he was leaning against a nearby wall, clutching at his head.
Where was he? What had he been doing? He had to remember. Syazel had been telling him something important. Remember. Remember.
Pink hair brushing his cheeks. Blood flowing to his palms and fingers.
"Pick a direction. Pick a street. And just keep going."
"What the hell does that have to do with me?"
"Call it a hunch. I have a feeling it only has to do with everything."
The lightheaded feeling receded, if only a little. There was more, but he couldn't remember it. But at least he could stand without feeling as though he was going to fall. He stood up straight and started to walk out of the narrow street he had found himself in.
Pick a direction. Pick a street. Well, it's not like Grimmjow had anything better to do. He raised an arm and hailed a taxi.

Ulquiorra made his way down into the subterranean cavern that was his usual watering hole and took a seat at the darkest end of the bar. The light bulb above this section had blown out years ago and the owners had never seen fit to replace it, bless their souls. So Ulquiorra was afforded his little space of darkness in the middle of all the shades of gray around him.
Four minutes and a dirty glass was placed in front of him, bubbling with some strange brown concoction. His usual. No words were needed to complete the exchange, and most of the people who worked here knew better than to engage him in conversation.
Ulquiorra sipped his drink, relaxing minutely with each trickle of alcohol that burned its way down his throat. Halfway through he found that he was so relaxed he hardly minded all the people around him. All the cigarette smoke, all the useless jabbering about nothing in particular. It was all so pointless. How come people couldn't realize how pointless their lives were, how pointless they were?
Ulquiorra was done with his drink. A new one was placed in front of him, but this time the bartender's hand stayed wrapped around the bottom of it. Ulquiorra's eyes traveled up a white-clothed arm, past a black vest, to slicked back brown hair and a soft smile that was much more menacing than it seemed. Ulquiorra knew this man, knew that he could care less about whether his customers wanted to talk or not.
"What are you doing here, Ulquiorra?"
"I wasn't aware that I wasn't welcome," Ulquiorra replied.
The hand holding his glass relaxed, withdrew.
"My apologies," said the bartender, though he didn't sound remorseful in the least. If anything, he sounded highly amused. "I didn't ask to be antagonistic. I ask out of curiosity. I suppose I should have said. . . to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
"I'm looking for Yammy, or one of his men."
The bartender leaned back, crossed his arms in contemplation. "Yammy. . . hmm. . . I'm sorry to say I haven't seen him in weeks. A problem with his supply. Apparently the man is busy taking care of some. . . not so friendly competition, if you will."
Ulquiorra nodded and turned back to his drink. "Thanks."
"Of course."
The man walked away, but now there was a new presence at Ulquiorra's elbow. A tall glass, garnished with a cherry and slice of orange, was placed on the countertop next to him. It was accompanied by long fingers and perfectly manicured purple nails. Ulquiorra looked to the side to see cleavage pushed together by a good bra and little black dress. He looked up to see a manic grin and long, straight black hair. Everyone's favorite pre-op working girl.
"Ulquiorra," the woman said. "You looking for Yammy? Out of ice already?"
"Do you have any on you, Nnoitra?"
"Maybe I do," Nnoitra said, her voice a teasing hum. "But maybe it's only for entertaining dates."
"How much do you cost these days?"
"Fifty new credits for an one hour is the standard. You want extras, you can add them a la carte."
"Fine. Let's go."
Nnoitra got off her stool and Ulquiorra followed, leaving enough money on the bar to cover his drinks and tips. He followed Nnoitra outside and through some narrow alleys, then up a metal staircase that shook and creaked with their every step. At the top of the staircase was a door, leading them into a narrow hallway. Paint peeling from the walls and floors unfinished. Nnoitra led them through an unmarked door and then they were both bathed in purple.
It wasn't so much the furnishings, which were every shade of dull under the rainbow. It was the string of miniature lanterns the provided the light, filtered through crinkled purple paper. Ulquiorra seated himself on the edge of the bed, promptly sinking into the too soft mattress. Nnoitra was in the corner and Ulquiorra could hear the movement of paper and knick knacks as she rumbled through them. Eventually she emerged victorious, a small piece of tin foil beneath her fingers. A grin spread across those deep red lips.
"Now. Shall we have some fun?"
Ulquiorra's eyes focused on that little diamond of foil, gleaming silver in the dim lights. "What do you have in mind?"
"Just thinking you should get your money's worth." A voice almost like a leer. "Guys like you are just my type, after all."
Nnoitra leaned over, pulled down the fabric covering her chest. Two milky-white globes spilled out of her dress, forced up and out. Nnoitra walked closer, closer, until there were only a few inches separating them. And then she unfolded the paper, pressed the crystal against the very tip of her finger, and pressed it so it stayed sitting just above her left nipple.
"Come to Mommy," she said. "Let mommy give you what you need."
Ulquiorra traced his fingers over soft flesh, squeezed his hand over it. He brought his mouth around the brown nipple and sucked. It tasted like ice. Gallons of snow and slush, flooding over his tongue and down into his throat. He could feel the chill spreading through him and he loved it. He suckled on the breast in his mouth, not wanted to miss even a speck of that beautiful ice-nine.
A palm, firm against his forehead. Pushing him away. The nipple fell from his mouth, though a thin trail of spit connected them, if only for a moment longer.
"But that's not what you really need, is it? Baby wants a different type of milk."
Nnoitra lifted her leg up, placed her foot on the bed. The position spread her legs and lifted up her skirt, putting everything she had on display. Black thigh highs running up slim, somewhat shapeless legs. They were attached with slim ribbon to a lace garter belt that sat around Nnoitra's waist. She wore no panties. Instead, a half-hard cock hung in the space between her legs, stiffening with every moment that passed between them.
Nnoitra placed her hand against the nape of Ulquiorra's neck, pressed her cock against his cheek.
"Be good to Mommy, and I'll give you all the milk you want."
Ulquiorra opened his mouth and let the long piece of flesh slide in. He could feel it slide against the inside of his cheek, in and out, but only vaguely. As though he were partially numb. He shouldn't have been aware of it at all. But this drug was a weak shell of what it should have been, a thin layer of ice crowding his psyche without ever immersing it. He could hear Nnoitra's voice, moans and commands, but it seemed so far away. Eventually he was aware of being pushed onto the bed, his ass on the edge of it and his feet on the floor. His pants were removed, then Nnoitra was above him, around him, inside of him. Her tits were bouncing up and down as she fucked him. White, pale flesh. Brown nipples that seemed to be getting lighter, lighter, until they were the color of ice. Ulquiorra reached up and sucked one into his mouth, squeezed the other in his palm. In his mind Artic water flooding down his throat, so much more nourishing than mother's milk.
As he sucked on her tit he could barely feel her cock moving inside of him. In and out, painfully deep every time, each thrust hard and fast. But his body was growing more and more numb as the ice nine took over, his consciousness more and more dim. Until Nnoitra's tits and cock were barely in the periphery of his senses.
"Such a good boy. Are you ready for Mommy's milk now? Be a good boy and take it; take it deep inside of you."
Liquid heat was flooding into him, through his ass and into his stomach, but the ice was closing all around it, closing all around him, finally doing its job. And he was back, once again, in his snowy dream world.
Ulquiorra woke up to the sound of an alarm. A dull, monotonous cackle, muffled under layers of clothing and trash. There was purple all around him, and he realized that he was in Nnoitra's room. He sat up. The woman was gone. At least she had let him stay, instead of dumping his body in the alley way like last time. He got up and pulled up his pants, ignoring for now the dull ache in his backside and the dirty, sticky feeling between his thighs. He should leave. He should go home. Or maybe he should find Yammy or maybe look for another dealer. He was out, after all, and cheap stuff bought from prostitutes wasn't a long-term option.
Ulquiorra stumbled out of the room and out of the apartment building. Made his way through the alley ways until he reached a major street. Then he walked around for a little bit, orientating himself. It didn't take him long before realizing exactly what directly he should be heading in. He had walked a few blocks when he heard the sound of a car behind him. The sound of tires accelerating, the sound of tires braking, and a taxi cab almost ran into him as it stopped before him.
The window rowed down, exposing blue hair and blue eyes and lips that were set, strangely, in a straight line.
"Get in," said Grimmjow, "I want to show you something."
"I don't want to see it," Ulquiorra said, and started walking again.
In an instant the door to the taxi slammed open, a hand grabbed his arm, and he was being thrown into the vinyl backseat of the car. Grimmjow climbed in after him, door slamming behind.
"You ain't got a choice in the matter," Grimmjow said, before he turned towards the cab driver. "Go."
Ulquiorra rubbed his head where it had hit the inside of the door. He sat up, feeling the ache pulse through his head. He wondered why Grimmjow didn't seem to know anyone else besides him. He wondered what was so important that he was abducted off the street like this. He wondered how Grimmjow was going to pay cab fare, if he was intending to pay it at all. He got in position to run, in case they needed to dash away once they got wherever they were going.
"Look over there," Grimmjow said. "That yellow neon sign that says Wax Traxx. Remember it."
"Fine."
"Pay attention to where we're going. Pay attention to the street."
Ulquiorra tried to read a street sign as they sped past it. Tenth street. "How long is this going to take?"
"Just pay attention."
Ulquiorra settled in and watched the surroundings as they drove past. The city rolled by in silence, like a movie on fast forward. This part of the city looked exactly like the rest of it. Gray, boring skyscrapers. Neon lights that managed to look dull. Nothing of interest at all. He watched as they drove through the buildings, watched as they entered an area that was more. . . black and charred. Had the arsonists been this methodical? Ulquoirra looked over the burnt down buildings, huge piles of ashes. He didn't remember hearing that the arsonists had targeted whole districts, just isolated buildings. Though he wasn't so keen on keeping up on current events, so it was likely that there was much about the case he didn't know.
In a few minutes they were out of the burnt-down ruins of the city, back to normalcy. And ten minutes after that. . .
"Look," Grimmjow said, pointing, "it's the sign. The yellow Wax Traxx sign."
Ulquiorra looked and, sure enough, it was there. Something swirled in Ulquiorra's head, something strange, before it settled into nothing.
"So what? What does it matter?"
"Haven't you noticed? We've been going in a straight line. We haven't made one turn since we started. And we're right back to where we fucking started."
"I get that," Ulquiorra said. "I'm asking you why it matters."
Because he couldn't really bring himself to care. What difference did it make? He could agree that there was something strange and unsettling about Grimmjow's discovery, but he didn't see what it had to do with him. He wasn't going to live his life any differently because of it, so what was the point of getting worked up about it? But Grimmjow wasn't paying attention to him, wasn't really listening.
"Pay attention this time," he said instead. "Pay attention to the cross streets."
Ulquiorra frowned and wondered when Grimmjow was going to let him go. He decided to do what the other man asked, if only because it would allow him to leave sooner. K Street. L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S. . . then H, I , J, then K again. The Wax Traxx sign glared at them, once again, before thy sped past it.
"This city. It's shaped like a circle. You go out one edge, you come back in on the other side. Those mountains we can see in the distance? There's no fucking way to get to them. Might as well be fake. This little circle of a city, that's our entire world."
"So what?" Ulquiorra asked. "So these streets are a loop. How does that change anything?"
Grimmjow's eyes flashed, even in the darkness of the night. Like a cat under a street lamp. "You're fucking kidding me. You don't care that we're living in some kind of magical petri dish?"
"It doesn't change the way I live my life. It doesn't affect anything."
"But it could be the reason for everything!" Grimmjow's hands were fists at his side. "There's something fucked up going on, and you don't even give a shit. Maybe this has to do with the desert I keep seeing. Maybe it has to do with the arsons. Maybe it has to do with me."
Ulquiorra could feel his headache deepen and spread. "Remind me, again, why I should care about any of that."
"Fuck you. Fucking asshole. I'm going to try to get out of this fucking place. There's something else out there, I guarantee it, and I'm going to find out how to get there. Thought you might like to come along, but I guess not. It makes it easier for me without you anyway."
"Stop the car," Ulquiorra said. "I'm getting out."
This time Grimmjow didn't protest. He let the taxi pull over, let Ulquiorra get out. Ulquiorra took a few steps away from the car when he heard a window roll down, heard Grimmjow's voice call after him.
"You're rotting here, Ulquiorra! You're rotting from the inside out, and you know it."
Ulquiorra ignored Grimmjow and walked away. Whatever Grimmjow was planning, he could do it himself. Ulquiorra wasn't going to get dragged into that mess; he had his own issues to work out, his own goals to accomplish. He had a dealer to find.
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Dead in Love