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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Thank you to my reviewers!
Pendulum: Thanks. Grimmjow won't figure anything out until the next (last) chapter, but maybe you can piece it together = ) Though I haven't been giving great clues, haha. I read the summary of Thirteenth Floor on wikipedia and it's definitely similar to the end of chapter one. I'll have to check out the movie, it seems interesting.
Saka_Sandora: Sorry about the confusing writing. I'm kind of experimenting with a different style in this fic, and it's a bit hard at times. If I ever have the chance I might go back to change it. Do you have any suggestions as to how to make it more clear? If not, that's fine. As for this being a punishment. . . not exactly, but I think you're on the right track!
satterb: Glad you like it! It is really different from my usual stuff, and it's difficult to write at times, but fun experimenting with a different style. I'm trying to focus more on Grimmjow and Ulquiorra's sensory experiences rather than on traditional exposition, and it's nice to hear that you're picking on all those details.
Jules Mordecai: You really are so sweet for saying all of that. Thank you! As for where I get my ideas, I pretty much draw from everywhere. Things I've seen or read, songs I like, life experiences, etc. My fics start out as pretty simple ideas (thinking back, this one started because I wanted Grimmjow to f*** Ulquiorra while Ulquiorra was still asleep) but then evolve and grow as I plan them out (and I don't actually start writing any fic until I have at least a basic outline planned out).
nivell: Happy to hear you like it!

Chapter Two
He was going down a chain. Every person was a link, a new piece of information. It really shouldn't have been that hard to find one of Yammy's men, but it took him more than a few conversations, more than a few locations spread out through the city. His search finally led him to one particular city block, one that looked exactly like every other city block.
Ulquiorra walked from the sidewalk down a concrete staircase, came to a stop in front of a dark-colored wall. He knocked. There was a small rectangular panel on the door, at eye level, and it slid open with a creaking noise. A set of eyes peered out at him, dance music pulsing out from behind them.
"I.D."
Ulquiorra dug in his pockets for his card and pulled out a small square piece of plastic. He held it up to the small window. The panel slid shut and the door opened about an inch. Ulquiorra pushed it open and stepped into an environment he usually took great pains too avoid. Loud music, flashing lights, too many people. He looked around as he made his way through the club. It took much too long before he caught sight of a familiar figure, perched on a stool near the bar. Ulquiorra made his way there and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned to look at him, eyes hidden behind dark rectangular sunglasses.
"Ulquiorra. I never imagined you in place like this."
"I could say the same about you," Ulquiorra replied. "Are you selling any product today?"
The man shook his head, sending his long dreadlocks flying slightly around him. "There's been a problem with our shipments lately. You'll have to talk to Yammy if you want anything. He's in the back room; I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."
Ulquiorra nodded and made his way to a roped off staircase alongside one wall. A nod from the man at the bar and the guard there was pulling aside the velvet rope, letting him up. The dance music of the club ebbed away with each step Ulquiorra climbed, replaced by soft, calm music that was much less offensive to Ulquiorra's ears.
There was a room at the end of the staircase. A private bar, leather couches. Well-dressed beautiful people, making a show of sipping drinks and doing drugs. And in the corner, at a booth with a few of his men, was Yammy. The man was hard to miss; he towered over everyone else, a huge mass of muscle and fat. Ulquiorra walked up to the table and waited for Yammy to look up, waited for him to notice. Small brown eyes glowed slightly as they did so, and almost magically there was a space by Yammy's side.
"Ulquiorra. It's such a pleasure to see you."
Not a second after he had taken a seat there was an arm around him, almost engulfing him. He didn't particularly mind. If Yammy wanted to paw at him in exchange for some ice-nine, Ulquiorra was perfectly okay with that.
"I was hoping I could score some ice from you," Ulquiorra said.
"Sorry, my man." Yammy's voice was low and rumbling, like a blues melody. "Ice nine is in short supply right now. Some punk intercepted our latest shipment. Don't worry, though, once we deal with him I'll be in touch with you real quick."
Yammy buried his head in Ulquoirra's neck, lips brushing his flesh and nose sniffing along it. Yammy's other arm came around the front of him, hand gripping his knee. It almost felt like he was being smothered.
"You don't have even a little bit you can sell me, Yammy?"
A tongue traced from his neck up the side of his face, thick and rough.
"Not even a bit. There's too little of it to give away for just money. But maybe I'd be interested in something else."
"You have a room, Yammy?"
A low chuckle. "Yeah. Sure I do."
The hand on his knee was removed. The hand over his shoulder was moved to his back, pushing him forward. He was escorted out of the room. Out of the club. Into a waiting car, accompanied by Yammy and one of his bodyguards. They rode to an apartment building that would be classified as luxury in this city, in that it was clean and afforded more space than your average coffin. As soon as they got into Yammy's room Ulquiorra saw it: shiny blue metal, sitting on the living room table. He had seen cases like those enough times, and headed right towards it. But Yammy's hand caught onto the back of his collar and jerked him back.
"Whoa. Let's save that for later, yeah? I like my boys lucid when I fuck them."
He was shoved onto a bed, limbs spraying over the cotton bed sheets.
"Strip and get on your stomach. I want to see that cute little ass of yours."
Palms pushed himself up, into a position where he could better remove his clothes. It didn't take long to take them off. Shirt and undershirt. Pants. Boxers. When he was done he laid himself across the bed, the soft cotton gliding over his limbs and stomach. He spread his legs, knowing that's what Yammy wanted.
"Delicious."
Warm hands cupped the curves of his ass, pressed against them. Large fingers kneaded them. Lips pressed against the flesh of them. Yammy kissed him there, then sucked a small piece of flesh into his mouth, then bit down. A pattern repeated all over the curves of his backside. Then his ass was being spread, pulled apart, and he could feel hot breath moving over the cleft of it. Yammy buried his face there, breathing in, breathing out, and that thick, rough tongue came out to brush against him. It pressed firm against his skin and moved up and down, over his hole and taint and balls.
His eyes rolled up and his breathing slowed. That wet pressure against his most private of areas, he couldn't help but feel good. Yammy took his time, enjoying the feast laid out in front of him, enjoying Ulquiorra. Eventually the tongue stilled on him, came to rest in a specific spot. The very tip of it pressed against his hole, and it seemed to quiver and undulate its way inside of him.
Fingers gripped the cotton sheets. Legs attempted to spread apart even more. And that wet tongue was opening him up, spreading him apart. It felt impossibly long and thick, impossibly wet. Deeper and deeper, stretching his inner recesses to the limit. His body was almost protesting with the intrusion, except it felt so good. The tongue slithered in and out, twisted inside of him. It made him cry out and arch. Made him feel like he was splitting in half. But he couldn't help but love it, couldn't help but wish that it could go deeper, grow bigger, but then it was drawing away, leaving him strangely bereft. The tongue swiped over the surface of his hole one last time, then was gone.
Yammy shifted his body, and the bed shifted with him, like a canoe in a river. He draped himself of Ulquiorra like a warm, heavy weight. Teeth nipped at his shoulder and the curve of his neck.
"You taste so good. Just like I always thought you would."
The weight lifted, though Yammy's presence remained. Thick fingers nudged at his hole. They slipped inside of him and pulled him wide open, before something even larger was pushed inside with them. Ulquiorra's breath left him. He could feel it so clearly. . . Yammy's cock, Yammy's fingers. It slid completely inside before the fingers were pulled out, then there were hands pressing down on his back. Pressing him into the bed as that cock started to move inside of him.
There was pain. Too much friction as his cock was ground into the mattress with every thrust. Too much pressure as his chest was pushed into the bed. But also pleasure, pleasure that overwhelmed all that, just from getting fucked by Yammy's cock. It wasn't nearly as big as he would have thought, possibly didn't even compare to that tongue, but it was angled perfectly, was hitting everything good inside of him.
"What a sweet ass." Words like grunts, almost blending in with all the other noises Yammy was making. "I should have fucked you a long time ago. I'll give you all the drugs you want if it means I can get inside your tight little hole any time I want. How would you like that, Ulquiorra?"
Ulquiorra moaned in the affirmative, the pressure on his lungs preventing him from doing anything else.
"Yeah, you'd like it just fine. You'd love being my bitch, wouldn't you? Wouldn't matter how much my meat fucked up your hole, you'd still be begging for more if it meant you'd get some ice."
He was close, so close. But before he could come he felt Yammy still, felt Yammy pull out, felt hot cum hit his hole and drip down over his balls. Streaks and streaks of it, until he was a mess and Yammy was walking over to the sink to clean himself off. He moved off the bed a little, enough that he could reach underneath himself and jerk himself off. A few strokes later and he was spilling himself onto the bed, clear jets of liquid falling forward to darken light gray sheets.
Ulquiorra sunk into the bed again, sunk into his afterglow. Let his head and limbs sink forward until he was just a flesh-colored lump on the bed. He could hear footsteps coming out of the bathroom. He turned his head. He could see Yammy's belt, glistening gold. A large hand, tossing a foil packet onto the bed.
"Feel free to stay for awhile. The guard will lock up after you. Look forward to doing business with you again, Ulquiorra."
And then Yammy was walking out. Ulquiorra's vision shifted, focus changing from Yammy's retreating back to the small square packet in front of him. He reached out with shaky fingers and grabbed it. He turned it around. Four square crystals shimmered under the sheer foil. He guessed that was enough for now. Maybe it would even last until the next shipment came in.
Ulquiorra got up and walked towards the bathroom, got into the shower. When he turned the knob the water that came out was almost scalding, burning light red trails on his skin. But it felt good. He cleaned himself up, found a towel, dried himself off. Soon enough he had his clothes back on, ice tucked inside a convenient pocket, and was walking out of the apartment. He nodded at the guard waiting outside and walked out of the building.
As Ulquiorra walked down the street, he was surprised to see that Yammy's car was still parked there, sleek and shiny against the run down curb. He walked farther down the street, until he saw one of Yammy's men, standing against a wall with his gun drawn. Ulquiorra slowed down and finally stopped in front of the man, careful to keep his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary.
"What's going on?" Ulquiorra asked.
"Boss was leaving his apartment when we saw that Aaroniero bastard who interfered with our shipment last time. We took off after him. Hopefully we find and kill the fucker in the next half hour. . . there's a show on tv tonight I want to watch."
Ulquiorra nodded and walked away.
"You be careful, Ulquiorra."
He would have done it even if the man hadn't said anything. He kept his eyes wide open as he walked down the street, continually scanning the area. It was empty, but it nearly always was in this part of town. Every now and then he heard the sound of racing footsteps, the sound of unintelligible shouting. He tried to stay aware of his surroundings, but there was a limit to his senses.
He was walking past a perfectly nondescript side street when it happened. Arms reached out for him, jerked him backwards. He caught a glimpse of a long white mask like an oblong spade, two lines of four holes each running down the sides. A large jacket collar like a reptilian neck frill. Cold metal pressed against his neck, and within seconds Yammy and his men were surrounding him.
"Let me pass." A voice coming from the man holding him. Aaroniero, Ulquiorra assumed. "Let me pass if you want him unhurt."
Yammy's features disappeared and reappeared in the flickering street lights. He looked the same as he always looked. His eyes connected with Ulquiorra's.
"Sorry, Ulquiorra. Nothing personal, you know that."
Two large fingers gestured in the air. The sound came first. Then came the bullets, creeping towards him like they were in molasses. It was almost a cliché. But then a sound filled the air, something like fabric ripping, only a thousand times louder. Aaroniero jerked him to the side. Yammy and the others disappeared. The bullets disappeared. It felt like he was being ripped apart, every piece of his flesh pulled in a million different directions. His eyes shut as his mouth opened, too much in pain to even cry out. And then there was only black.

It was a little cool tonight. Grimmjow pulled up the collar of his jacket. Shoved his hands in his pockets. Leaned against the wall as he watched the cars ride by. Most of them went by so quickly all he saw were headlights before they disappeared. Every now and then one would slow and a dark silhouette would turn to look at him, before it went off again.
He had spoken some pretty big words to Ulquiorra. Saying that he was going to find a way out of this little fucked up world of theirs, that he was going to figure out what the hell was going on. Without having even a fucking clue where to start. Syazel wasn't around these days, though Grimmjow felt it was pretty fucked up that he couldn't find the man in the ten mile radius he had to work with. And he hadn't yet been able to find anyone else who knew about the anomaly. At least he didn't remember finding anyone. With his time skips and memory lapses, he could never be sure.
But right now, playing Sam Spade was going to take a backseat to procuring those items necessary for day to day living. In other words, he needed money. And there were only two ways he knew of to make money: stealing it and fucking for it. Or, as was the case sometimes, a combination of both.
A silver 1978 Chevrolet Camaro pulled up to the curb. Slowed and then stopped, engine still thrumming with all that power hidden underneath its hood. The windows were tinted a dark shade of night, and one of them was rolling down, bit by bit, until he saw short black hair and two glowing eyes. One the color of cold ice, the other the color of liquid amber. If Grimmjow had never met this person before he would have assumed her a man, albeit an androgynous one. Her manner of dress didn't help, dressed as she was in a tailored man's butler uniform.
"Get in," she said. "And be quick about it."
"Rude bitch," Grimmjow muttered, but he still climbed into the backseat.
The door had barely shut behind him when the car shot off. It sped through traffic, darting from lane to lane, car honks accompanying each movement. A haphazard way to drive, but Grimmjow was used to it. Soon they came to a familiar building. From the outside it looked like any apartment building, gray and rundown. But once inside. . . once inside, they were in a different world altogether.
Grimmjow stepped in through the front door, into the grand foyer of what appeared to be a mansion, if not for the rows of windows along the front wall. But directly in front of him stood two curved staircases, carpeted in rich red, surrounding a topsy-turvy gilded archway that led into the rest of the first floor. The apartment building had been gutted, and some twisted facsimile of a victorian mansion was built in its space.
The woman led him through the archway, through a small hallway covered in golds and reds, and into a small room that barely held the massive couch within it.
"Sit."
And then she left, door shutting behind her.
Grimmjow sunk into the couch, made himself comfortable in the antechamber. He always felt on edge in these kind of places, with their marble walls and silk drapes. Too cushy. Too unreal. He didn't mind coming here to do a job, but never stuck around for long afterwards. His fingers danced over the couch cushions, tapping one after the other, over and over again. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, counted cracks in the gold-plated molding.
Finally a small door in front of him opened. Another woman stepped out, all long wavy brown hair and cleavage spilling out from a too short maid's uniform.
"Mistress Harribel will see you now."
"Well ain't that just peachy keen."
Either the maid didn't hear the sneer in his voice or she chose to ignore it. She stepped to the side and bowed slightly as he stepped past her, as he walked into Tia Harribel's bedroom.
The first thing he saw were the sheer red curtains hanging over the canopy bed, moving just slightly from an open window breeze. The second thing he saw was Tia herself, clad in slinky silk charmeuse in front of her vanity. She was brushing her hair, set in Veronica Lake waves for the day. She didn't lift her eyes from the mirror even when Grimmjow came in, even when he took a seat on the bed.
"Before we start," Grimmjow said, "you should hear my new prices. Thirty for oral. Fifty if you want me to fuck you. And a hundred if you want to fuck me."
The brush stilled in shiny blonde hair.
"Do you hate bottoming that much, Grimmjow?"
"No. Just know how much you like topping."
Said, quite coincidentally, at the exact moment the maid appeared beside Tia, a small cushion in her hands. And on top of that cushion was a flesh-colored strap-on dildo. Tia waved her away.
"I won't be needing that today. I've been aching to have a man inside of me. I might want to try a few. . . different things, though."
"Different," Grimmjow said, "usually costs more."
Tia placed her brush down on a small silver tray, fluffed the ends of her hair with her hands. "Don't worry; I'm more than willing to pay your price, whatever it ends up being. Shall we start, then?"
"Yeah. Sure. It's your dime."
"Strip," Tia said. "Then get on your hands and knees."
Grimmjow bit his tongue to keep from spouting out at the command. He was never that good at taking orders, but Tia had money to throw away and all the willingness in the world to do so. And when it came to that kind of money, Grimmjow was willing to put his pride aside. Though that didn't mean that it wasn't hard to do so.
He pulled off his clothing, piece by piece, and dropped each one to the floor. The maid came to pick each piece up as he did so, folding them neatly and placing them in a short stack on the dresser. Once he was completely bare, goosebumps spreading over his exposed skin, Grimmjow got down on his hands and knees. He waited for whatever it was that Tia wanted to do to him. From his position he could see her slim feet, encased in black and crystal heels, and the smooth hem of her gown. He felt something slick and cool press against his backside. He turned his head, peered around his shoulder. The maid was behind him, in her hand a silicone device shaped somewhat like a capital letter 'T'. The longer end was pressed against him, seeking entrance.
Grimmjow made his body relax. The toy, previously pressing so insistently against his hole, sunk a few inches into him. His breath caught as it hit something inside his ass, as one of the shorter ends came to rest against his taint. He was careful not to move or shift, wary of the pleasure that would no doubt pulse through him if he did.
"It's in, Mistress Harribel."
"Very good. You can leave now."
Small footsteps click clacked against the marble floor, growing softer and softer, until they disappeared entirely.
"As for you," Tia said. "Go ahead and stand up."
Grimmjow closed his eyes and held his breath. For some reason, doing that almost seemed to mute the sensation, bring the pleasure down to more tolerable levels. He could still feel the toy moving inside him, outside him, rubbing against him in the most enticing ways as he moved, but it didn't feel as unbearably good as it could have. Once he was standing his cock was half-hard, and he hadn't even touched it yet. As if reading his thoughts, Tia spoke again.
"Don't touch yourself," she said. "If you do, you can forget about getting paid tonight."
Grimmjow nodded in response, opened his eyes. He saw that Tia was holding something slim and rectangular between her well-manicured fingers, her thumb on a little sliding button. She pushed it upward. Grimmjow cried out as a soft hum filled the air, pitched him forward. His arms clung onto a bedpost and he seated himself down onto the mattress. That thing was vibrating inside of him. And he didn't just feel it where it was in contact with his skin, he swore he could feel it throughout his entire groin. In his balls and at the base of his cock, those vibrations seemed to thrum and pulse. The pleasure was almost debilitating.
He watched as his cock started to harden more, watched as it started to leak. Eyes widening, he watched as stream after stream of creamy fluid started to come out, one right after the other. The consistency of pre-cum, it was the quantity that was surprising. Grimmjow watched as it flowed out of his cock, as it dripped in rivulets to form a small puddle. He could feel a light kind of tension, like pins and needles, filling his body, radiating out from where the toy was vibrating inside of him. There was a feeling of wanting to piss, and then he felt it. It felt like an orgasm, shuddering through his entire body, only it was an orgasm without ejaculating.
His breathing filled the room heavy and erratic, as his cock continued leaking seminal fluid. He looked up again, at the remote in Tia's hand, and watched as she slid that button to the next setting.
The humming increased. The vibration increased. He fell over onto the mattress, curling slightly into himself, watching as his cock leaked stream after stream onto the bed. It was only another few minutes before another orgasm wrecked through him, made his fingers shake as he clung to the bed sheets. And there was a tension building up in his balls and cocks. He needed to cum. He needed to shoot, and this toy wasn't getting him there, even if it was providing him with a different type of pleasure entirely.
"Stop," he said, surprised when it came out as a moan. "I can't take it anymore."
Tia's response was to increase the vibrations even more. Grimmjow cried out as he rolled onto his back. He could feel the silk sheets under him, could feel his fluids leak out his cock and start to coat the skin of his stomach. In the back of his mind he could hear footsteps stepping towards him, but it was hard to concentrate what with the overloading of sensations that he was feeling. The was the sound of fabric slinking to the floor, and then Tia was in his field of vision, nude save for the corset she was wearing underneath her dress. She had the fingers of one hand positioned around the remote, the fingers of the other buried under a thatch of kinky blonde pubic hair. They were moving in and out of her as she watched him.
"Making such a mess, Grimmjow. Don't tell me you've never had your prostate milked before."
Grimmjow bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, knowing that the money was worth more than his need to be an asshole. Tia was such a goddamned freak, but then he knew that about her. There was a reason she tended to pay for sex, after all.
To Grimmjow's immense relief, the remote was set to the highest setting already, he could see that now. At least it couldn't get any worse than this. Or better, he wasn't so sure. He watched as Tia got on the bed, watched as she squatted down over his cock. Her hand gripped the base of it, and then she was sliding down onto it.
Fuck. Fuck, it felt good. While Grimmjow liked men, he had to admit that a pussy felt, at least on a physical level, as good as an ass. A hole was a hole. It was tight and hot and wet, and it felt fucking incredible gripping his cock, and that was the only thing that mattered really, wasn't it? Tia sunk all the way down his cock, then pushed herself back up, building up a rhythm as she fucked herself on it. Her cunt felt good, but she was going to fucking slow. Grimmjow clenched his hands around her hips and flipped them over. He placed his hands on either side of her head and started to piston in and out of her like a sledgehammer. As hard and as fast as he could, so hard that the bed was screaming, sounding like it was going to fall apart. Tia was crying out like the freak she was, moaning a repeated litany of things like "fuck that pussy," "fuck me," "harder," and "fill me up."
"Fucking whore," Grimmjow muttered, figuring it was Tia's turn for some humiliation. Not that it was easy for him to talk, given the double stimulation surrounding his cock and coming from inside his ass. "You'd do anything for a big dick inside your cunt, wouldn't you? You like my big dick fucking you?"
"Yes! Fuck me harder! I love your big dick inside of me."
Grimmjow could feel that tension build up inside him, about to release. And then he came, harder than he ever had before, shooting what felt like gallons deep inside of Tia's pussy.
"Fuck," Tia moaned. "I can feel it. I can feel your cum shooting inside of me."
Grimmjow was barely done shooting when Tia flipped them over again. Grimmjow, feeling pretty out of it, let her. She came to straddle his face, and he got a close up view of her soaking pussy, some white cum visible at the entrance of her hole. He cringed. This wasn't his favorite thing to do, but he was getting paid, and knew full well that she hadn't gotten off yet. At any rate he wasn't being given a choice in the matter. She sat down on his face, smearing her cum-filled pussy all over it. Grimmjow could smell his cum, could smell her juices, as they rubbed all over him.
"Lick it," Tia said. "Stick your tongue in there and clean me up."
Grimmjow darted his tongue out, lapping at her pussy like he was a cat at its milk bowl. He licked all up and down the folds of her labia, then pushed his tongue deep inside of her. He wriggled it around as she squirmed on top of him, undulated it in and out of her. He brought one of his hands to her pussy, feeling inside those folds for her clit. It didn't take long for him to find it, and then he rubbed circles around it with his thumb, careful not to put pressure on the very center of it. Tia, he knew from past experience, was too sensitive there for direct play. With his tongue up her cunt and his thumb on her clit, it wasn't long until she came. A gush of liquid came out of her pussy, coating his tongue and dripping over his face, then she quickly scrambled off of him, too sensitive post-orgasm for any physical stimulation.
Tia lay down on her back, corseting breasts heaving with her deep breaths.
"My purse is on the table. Take what you want."
Grimmjow smirked as he made his way towards the purse, slipping on his clothes as he did so. He helped himself to all the cash in her wallet, even though it was much more than he could have reasonably charged her. The crazy bitch wouldn't mind, not with all the money she had. Money in pocket, he walked out of the building and debated what he was going to do next with his time.
He had walked a few blocks when something on one of the rooftops caught his attention. There, perched on the edge of the roof of some ordinary skyscraper, was a man. He was silhouetted against the moon, features hidden by the darkness. Black robes swathed his slim frame, billowed backwards in the wind. Something glimmered from his hip. Something sleek and gray. The cool metal of some kind of sword. And then he jumped.
Grimmjow watched as the man, defying the laws of physics, barely fell as he jumped. He landed on a rooftop some twenty yards away. Stumbled a bit as he did so, but then righted himself and stood on the building edge to look over the city again. There was something familiar about the man. Or, more accurately, there was something familiar about his clothes. Something that tugged at Grimmjow, something that he couldn't remember.
Grimmjow started climbing up the fire escape. Hands moving on cold metal rungs, pulling himself higher and higher. When he got up to the top he looked around, looked for the black-clad stranger. He was just a few rooftops away, standing in the same spot he had been when Grimmjow had started making his way up. Here the buildings were built closely together, scant yards of space separating each one. Grimmjow ran to the edge of the building and looked down. The people there looked like ants, the cars like plastic toys. Vertigo swept through him and he took a step back, before focusing instead on the rooftop in front of him.
He could do this. It wasn't very far, and he wasn't that weak. All he had to do was jump. He took a few steps back, then ran forward. He propelled himself off his feet, then all but fell as he landed on the other side, clearing it with several feet to spare. His knees felt like they were colliding into his thigh bones as he landed, but he had made it. He ran and jumped over a few more rooftops, until he was on the same one as the man. He could see his clothes better now. A black robe-like top, met at the waist by loose pants. It wasn't a style of dress anyone in this city wore, but for some reason Grimmjow felt like he had seen it before. He ran towards the man.
The man turned when Grimmjow was just a few feet away, eyes wide and mouth open in a small 'o.' Completely nondescript features. Not anyone that Grimmjow had any memory of. Grimmjow reached for him, but he jumped away, just as Grimmjow's fingers brushed against rough black cotton. The movement startled Grimmjow, made him pitch forward. His feet stumbled over the edge of the building. And then he was falling, faster and faster, as windows and glass walls flew up around him. The sounds of traffic and people were getting closer and closer. His limbs flailed as he struggled against falling, struggled against gravity, but there was nothing he could do.
The sound of ripping. The sound of screams. People's faces, shocked and scared as he fell past them. But instead of hitting the sidewalk, he kept falling. He closed his eyes. Felt his body slow, flip flop in a million different directions. And then he collided, back down, in hard-pressed sand. The breath was knocked out of him in the collision and he felt bruised all over, but he was alive. After a moment he stood up, careful not to fall on the ever-shifting sand dunes, and looked around.
Blue sand. Pink sky. He was back in his desert.
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Dead in Love