Experimenting
Warm, warm blood. Grimmjow loved it. The slick, sticky texture. The nauseating smell of rusted iron. The heavy, dead atmosphere. He loved being covered in it, in his enemy’s blood. And there he was, clutching to his favourite enemy’s mangled body. The bright orange hair was all but faded, covered in the crimson substance that clung to every strand. The brown eyes were empty, soulless and dead, the usual fire lost. The body was cut open and bore the insides, and blood covered almost every inch of the once tanned skin. Grimmjow licked at his own blood-covered lips, his crimson painted hands running through the faded orange hair almost adoringly as he stared with an admiring smirk at the dead body’s face.
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. He was so beautiful, even when covered in blood, even when his limp body was littered with bruises and cuts, even when he was slowly dying... He was so beautiful even in death...
Grimmjow pressed his lips against the cold dead lips he so adored. He laid the body to the floor, running his blood-tainted hands all over the already bloodied face and body. Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. Grimmjow had never felt more alive whenever he cuts the boy, tearing at his skin, stabbing him, ripping him apart. Grimmjow laughed a cold, hollow laugh. Shrill and maniacal, distant and void. His hands dug into the cold flesh and slowly, almost carefully, he tore it apart.
Bit by bit, Grimmjow tore away at the flesh, clawing at the cold meat like a hungered animal. Being King was all that mattered. The boy was nothing more than a passing phase of nonsensical love. But god was he so beautiful. So beautiful, and Grimmjow loved him. Ichigo would be his, his and only his. He would help Grimmjow climb up the steps to be King.
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. Do you know how much I love you, your body, your soul? Grimmjow grinned, blood mixed with saliva dripping from his lips, bone mask and chin. He licked at his own lips once more, then at his bloodied hands. Ichigo is in him right now. They were one, no longer separated. Grimmjow didn’t need to seek him out anymore.
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo...
Do you know how much I love you, Ichigo?
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Would be very grateful if you leave a comment of what you think of this....
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. He was so beautiful, even when covered in blood, even when his limp body was littered with bruises and cuts, even when he was slowly dying... He was so beautiful even in death...
Grimmjow pressed his lips against the cold dead lips he so adored. He laid the body to the floor, running his blood-tainted hands all over the already bloodied face and body. Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. Grimmjow had never felt more alive whenever he cuts the boy, tearing at his skin, stabbing him, ripping him apart. Grimmjow laughed a cold, hollow laugh. Shrill and maniacal, distant and void. His hands dug into the cold flesh and slowly, almost carefully, he tore it apart.
Bit by bit, Grimmjow tore away at the flesh, clawing at the cold meat like a hungered animal. Being King was all that mattered. The boy was nothing more than a passing phase of nonsensical love. But god was he so beautiful. So beautiful, and Grimmjow loved him. Ichigo would be his, his and only his. He would help Grimmjow climb up the steps to be King.
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo. Do you know how much I love you, your body, your soul? Grimmjow grinned, blood mixed with saliva dripping from his lips, bone mask and chin. He licked at his own lips once more, then at his bloodied hands. Ichigo is in him right now. They were one, no longer separated. Grimmjow didn’t need to seek him out anymore.
Ichigo, Ichigo, Ichigo...
Do you know how much I love you, Ichigo?
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Would be very grateful if you leave a comment of what you think of this....