Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

It was strange, she thought, that Aizen would leave her in his care. The most unnervingly blank, the most achingly void. He was perhaps the most impressionable of them all. His curious blankness was a blanket of white silently begging to be filled. Unknowingly he was calling to her, lost within that sea of nothingness, trapped between worlds as he sought meaning in nothing. How could she deny that plea so shaking in its silent intensity?

Perhaps it all had been planned. The distressed damsel made to save the dark knight from the monsters that haunted him. Or perhaps he found it unimportant, uncaring what his pawns would do so long as it served his plans. Surely, it couldn't work against him. Still the truth was undeniable…

How had it began? This strange fascination with his features. The details somehow escaped her as though the moments were but grains of sand slipping too quick between her fingers. Perhaps it was born of boredom? Perhaps it was something about him that night? She did not know. She only knew, at first, she was mesmerized, completely and utterly, by his eyes.

His eyes.

They seared into her as though capable of stealing into her soul, drinking in the blush on her skin and the shaking of her breaths. So close that startling emerald stirred unmentionable things within, stealing away her will…

Unfathomably deep. A vivid green surrounded by a sea of white. They captivated her, stealing her breath and stilling her heart. Like the coolest jade and shuddering seas, still waters, and cresting waves, she could see the world reflected in those eyes. What words did not say and form did not speak was so rawly expressed within them. She wondered how anyone could claim him without emotion. Those eyes, they spoke to her with such a somber intensity her heart ached.

His voice.

He spoke and she melted. Muscles tightening and twitching in anticipation. Those husky words caressed her senses, tickling across intangible things. She shivered already preparing for the inevitable fall…

She loved his voice almost as much as his eyes. Rich and deep and tainted with the slightest echo of sorrow. It moved through her sinfully, seeking the empty places within her and whispering against her skin. Like thickened cream and bitter chocolate she could almost taste it on her tongue, each word weighed with unspoken things. She thought she could listen to his voice forever, the dulcet tones seeping into her blood intoxicatingly so that it didn't matter how harsh the words or cruel the tone.

His hair.

Unbidden her fingers wrapped themselves in his hair, the texture so different than the cold bone of his half-helm. His breath fanned against her neck, his fingers moving in answer in her own heavy mane and she sighed, arching into the heat of his presence…

She was enamored of his hair. Soft and fine like spider's silk and dark as the blackest night. It curled around her fingers deliciously smooth and surprisingly light, so that she weaved the strands between her fingers, so curiously dark against her skin.

His mouth.

That sinful tongue swept against her pulse, drawing the supple skin into his mouth and she moaned, aching as those lips trailed, following the line of her throat to steal her lips. She shuddered against him and she could hear his startled exhale of breath as her hands slipped into his coat, teasing the muscles beneath…

Strangely dark and cold and cruel. She loved his mouth. Those lips turned in a perpetual from were so warm, so soft against her own. That tongue so sharp and occasionally scathing, it swept so deftly against her. That mouth, it burned hot as the fires of the deepest hell devouring her utterly with a surprising urgency and such a shocking sweetness.

His hands.

Those elegant fingers slipped beneath her clothes, slipping the buttons from their holes and sliding down a zipper. His name tore from her throat as he stroked her breast, savouring its soft weight as their garments fell about them. The hand in her hair angled her, surprisingly sure as he deepened his kiss and they were falling backwards into the softness of white sheets…

Long and thin with harsh knuckles. She though he had a pianist's hands poised and perfect in their unimaginable paleness. So deceptively delicate and unbearably strong, she knew those hands could easily crush her own. Yet graceful in their artistry, they played so skillfully against her skin seeking her secret places and tearing from her a burst of startled song.

His skin.

She was almost afraid to touch him, that pure white glowing in the faint light of the moon, but still she reached for him, her fingers brushing tentatively against that paleness. Those beautiful eyes fluttered closed and she was in awe of this being so strangely different and immeasurably powerful leaning into her caress as though he had never been touched before. She stroked against that skin, surprised at the shudder as she brushed against his hip…

He looked like something cold and hard as though the chill of winter were trapped within his skin. But he was warm, surprisingly and delightfully warm. Soft as petals, smooth as silk, his skin was like moonbeams made to life. Yet it was a deceptive softness, as though satin could be steel, and she could feel the unyielding strength of his muscles rippling beneath that impenetrable skin.

His taste.

Emboldened by his response her tongue swept against him, mimicking his previous actions. His mouth opened in a silent gasp and his hands caressed down her spine edging lower and lower so that she moaned into his chest. A faint flush of red marred that perfect whiteness and she looked up with dazed eyes as he gripped her closer, taking control of this union as he too was swept away by the intensity between them…

He tasted of rain against her tongue, sweet and clear with a strange metallic edge. Like summer skies before a storm, filled with roiling clouds and roaring thunder. Or winter mornings still and stark, when the world was white and clean and sharp. It was such a compelling sweetness made only sweeter still by the salt of sweat, and she found herself craving his coolness.

His scent.

She fought the scream as he stretched her, uncomfortably wide and unbearably hard. The first initial thrust always shocking. Her nails dug futilely against that skin and she buried her face into his neck breathing him in. Slowly she calmed, moving slowly against him and she could hear his pulse beating against his throat as this pressure winded tighter and tighter around them. Soon they were forgetting, losing themselves in the burning tide…

She couldn't quite place it, the subtleness of his scent. Curling about her with hidden secrets. It reminded her of the richness of the earth and of dark things lying just beneath the surface. Of lost dreams and broken hearts. Soft and dark it teased her senses, leaving vague impressions neither here nor there. She thought he smelled of shadows if shadows had a scent.

His face.

Hurried, frantic almost, she could hear her voice rising in a keening whine, incomprehensible words spilling from her lips as she coaxed him faster, both reaching for that intangible spire somehow rising higher and higher. She clutched him to her as though afraid he was going to disappear, feeling herself falling…crashing. She regained herself quick enough to see him breaking, that unemotional mask fragmenting as he gave; the arms curled around her crushing her almost painfully tight against him…

So oddly blank. So strangely white. She knew his face better than her own. Those eyes, that nose, those lips, that mouth, from pointed chin to arched brow, she knew his every feature. Deceptively fragile and hauntingly beautiful, he was like some half-finished Pierrot unknowing of his fate. Yet in those moments bound and bare, he looked so achingly beautiful, those eyes so wide and lost, that face contorted with that inexorable pleasure as he spilled inside her... It left her breathless.

His heart.

So warm. So right. She could feel her heart stuttering in her chest, desperately trying to calm as she sucked in shaky breaths. Gently she stroked the sweat slicked skin, an impossible tenderness overtaking her. Those eyes, ever observant focused on her something infinitely warm, bright in that sea of green, and she knew from that flicker of confusion he still didn't understand. Still she smiled as he drew the sheets over them. It didn't matter if he didn't understand. She knew well enough, someday he would realize it himself…

He swore he didn't have a heart and sought to learn its meaning. Yet twined like this, his breath against her neck and form ensconced within her own, she could feel it there frantically chasing after her own. That inexplicable warmth suffusing them and that hidden something trapped between their shuddering forms, it was proof of the heart beating within his chest.

And she swore, each time, he became a little less hollow and a little more whole.

Just a little something that popped into my head earlier and I just knew I had to write it down somewhere. Hope you enjoyed it!

And remember Review. It really makes my day!

-SacredRoseDream