Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

100 Theme Challenge 64 Style	By : GrimmUlquigrrrl Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ulquiorra Views: 1631 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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13. Bed

Ulquiorra had liked his bed once. It was soft and allowed his body to sink in, but had a slightly rough texture to it that made him feel more relaxed and natural. The springs didn't press into the wrong places on his tender body, and his form had been imprinted in the bed as if it wished to remember the way he slept.

But his bed had become a thing he despised.

His bed was where his Lord took from him what he desired. His bed was where he sat in his own blood as the man who had created him beat him with a gentle smile on his face, where his strength and ideals meant nothing. His bed was the only place where he was weak, the only place where another being could wound him and have no repercussions. His bed was where his iron skin could do nothing to protect him from the atrocities committed against him, and where every blow to his injured body was a blow to his injured soul.

He thought numbly about this as he lay spreadeagled on his mattress again, his blood and his Lord's bodily fluids soaking into his sheets. He stared vacantly at the ceiling above his head, featureless and white as nearly everything else in this room; except his bed. His bed was spotted red. He didn't want to stay in that bed anymore- he could't stay in that bed anymore. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel like his bed.

He sluggishly forced his body up, off of the thing that used to be his bed. He knew it should hurt, but he felt nothing. He stumbled out of his room, fully naked and staggering. He knew what he looked like, dully, but it made no difference to him anymore. Everyone knew. Everyone had always known, and it didn't matter should they see him like this now; the blood ran down the inside of his thigh like molasses.

His footsteps were wet against the white, cold floor as he slowly began his walk. He wanted a bed. Where could he get a bed? Szayel. Szayel had a bed, in his room. He wasn't sleeping there, Ulquiorra knew, having put another bed in his lab long ago. He was on good terms with Szayel. Szayel would let him stay in his bed.

He swayed on his feet, jerking side to side with every step as his head rang. He was dizzy. Very dizzy. He had probably lost too much blood now from the wounds crisscrossing his back, even his incredibly healing speed not being enough to completely stop it with his current lack of reiatsu. Too much of it had already gone into keeping himself alive and standing. Standing in that long, tall hallway with not a soul in sensing region, although Ulquiorra's sensing abilities were hampered as if coated in wet cotton. He could be attacked easily in this condition. He didn't care.

He was reeling, head hanging low and swinging back and forth. His ebony hair swayed too, and he could see it with his vacant eyes. His feet were slowing, slowing, slowing to a near stop, and he couldn't feel them to make them move any more. He couldn't keep going. He couldn't keep going, but he wasn't there yet. He wasn't to that room, to that bed. This hallway was so long. So very, very long. His heavy body didn't want to move anymore.

He just wanted a bed. That was all. He staggered to the wall, leaning against it, seeing the gothic six just in front of him. A room. A bed. He flopped over, leaning half on the wall and half on the door, the door jamb pressing against his sternum, and slapped his hand against the door. He slapped again, and again, leaving bloody handprints on the thin slab of stone. There was a groan from inside, and a "Whaddaya want?" and Ulquiorra just slapped again, and again. He needed to get inside. He wanted a bed.

There was a growl, and rustling, and then the door opened to show a very pissed, halfway dressed Grimmjow. Ulquiorra didn't look up, swaying partway into the room as half of his support was gone, his chin on his chest just above his hollow hole. He didn't look up, he didn't move. Grimmjow uttered a quiet, almost scared, pitying "What the fuck?" His whole demeanor had changed. He had seen, had seen the blood and the cuts and the numbness and the brokenness, and was staring at it horrified.

"...bed," Ulquiorra muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "Your bed...can I...sleep in...your bed..." It didn't sound like a question to his own ears, it sounded like breath coming out in a very strange way, like exhaustion.

"Y-yeah," Grimmjow said, hushed, moving aside. Ulquiorra stumbled in, past Grimmjow, through the room, and finally allowed himself to collapse on the bed. Thebed. It was soft, and his battered body felt its embrace immediately. He sunk into it, the thin sheets not hiding the slightly rough texture of the mattress. It felt like his bed, like his bed like it used to be.

Grimmjow stood and stared at the white and red laying like a corpse on his bed. Ulquiorra couldn't see him, his eyes closed in the bliss he'd been missing for months. He felt like his blood was lead, weighing him down, but it didn't matter anymore. It felt good, to lay there and to not move. He heard Grimmjow's feet pattering against the floor, coming slowly closer, but not hesitant. Grimmjow stopped, seemingly right in front of him, and there was silence.

Then Ulquiorra felt the sheets, rumpled from Grimmjow's sleep, being pulled almost gently out from under his body. They were replaced, on top of him this time, light and airy and smooth. And Grimmjow could be heard walking around the bed, and the bed dipped as he got in. Ulquiorra felt an arm, a warm, strong arm, warmer than anything else Ulquiorra had ever touched, reach for his waist as Grimmjow scooted up against him. The blood between them squelched and bubbled up between the cracks as Grimmjow pressed himself against Ulquiorra's back. It didn't hurt. It was warm, incredibly, beautifully warm.

"Shit, your feet are cold as fuck," Grimmjow grumbled quietly, but he wrapped his own feet around Ulquiorra's nonetheless.

"Hmm," Ulquiorra hummed, content. Grimmjow sighed, not an annoyed sound, and pulled Ulquiorra closer. He didn't seem to notice the popping sound of an air bubble bursting out of the blood between them, or that he was likely covered in blood now, or that he would probably have to throw these sheets away.

Ulquiorra breathed in the comforting smell of another being, and fell into the deepest sleep he'd slept in a long time.
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100 Theme Challenge 64 Style