Untitled
Demolition Lovers
This was inspired by My Chemical Romance's "Demolition Lovers" Once again, I am against violence in relationships.
Grimmjow couldn't take the fact that his lover thought that his skimpy arse was better than the mighty Sexta. Honestly, what was that? The little shrimp was too short and skinny to be better than anything, especially Grimmjow. Yet said shrimp had the nerves to pick fights with the panther.
With a sigh, the Sexta glanced at his fist. He could have sworn that he had dislocated a knuckle last night when he punched the Bat. It looked fairly normal to him. But in a while, it might start to swell. At any rate, it was sore. Growling faintly, the Espada got up, and started pacing back and forth across the room. The nerve of the little asshole. When Ulquiorra got back from his mission to the human world, Grimmjow would kick his ass to Soul Society and back again. Just because he could.
They were supposed to be in love. But how, when they were both heartless, hollows, and one of them did not even believe that love existed? It made no sense to Grimmjow. It was pure irony. So then why did he keep telling the Cuatro that he loved him every opportunity? Even after some of their brutal fights, which resulted in one or both ending up in the infirmary, he still said it.
Just about then, he began to wonder if he were going insane. Maybe it was the white walls of Las Noches. He wouldn't be surprised if that were the reason. All he wanted to do was just take Ulquiorra, and run away from here. Just keep running. Until they reached somewhere sunny, where they could live in peace. No competition, no fights, just peace. Maybe then, they could both break out of their hazy mindsets and stop killing each other every waking moment.
The Panther shook his head, effectively knocking the thought out of his head. As if Aizen would ever let something like that happen. With a sigh, he cracked his knuckles, half wincing, and half relishing the wave of pain that came from his injured hand. He would be waiting for the bat, to finish what they started.
He doubted if either would stop until the other was dead. Well that was just fine by him
Grimmjow couldn't take the fact that his lover thought that his skimpy arse was better than the mighty Sexta. Honestly, what was that? The little shrimp was too short and skinny to be better than anything, especially Grimmjow. Yet said shrimp had the nerves to pick fights with the panther.
With a sigh, the Sexta glanced at his fist. He could have sworn that he had dislocated a knuckle last night when he punched the Bat. It looked fairly normal to him. But in a while, it might start to swell. At any rate, it was sore. Growling faintly, the Espada got up, and started pacing back and forth across the room. The nerve of the little asshole. When Ulquiorra got back from his mission to the human world, Grimmjow would kick his ass to Soul Society and back again. Just because he could.
They were supposed to be in love. But how, when they were both heartless, hollows, and one of them did not even believe that love existed? It made no sense to Grimmjow. It was pure irony. So then why did he keep telling the Cuatro that he loved him every opportunity? Even after some of their brutal fights, which resulted in one or both ending up in the infirmary, he still said it.
Just about then, he began to wonder if he were going insane. Maybe it was the white walls of Las Noches. He wouldn't be surprised if that were the reason. All he wanted to do was just take Ulquiorra, and run away from here. Just keep running. Until they reached somewhere sunny, where they could live in peace. No competition, no fights, just peace. Maybe then, they could both break out of their hazy mindsets and stop killing each other every waking moment.
The Panther shook his head, effectively knocking the thought out of his head. As if Aizen would ever let something like that happen. With a sigh, he cracked his knuckles, half wincing, and half relishing the wave of pain that came from his injured hand. He would be waiting for the bat, to finish what they started.
He doubted if either would stop until the other was dead. Well that was just fine by him