Authors Note: This idea came up after viewing TheAngelOfLucifer's profile and a brief conversation between us. I had just gotten to the part with Uryu and Szayel Aporro and am still not exactly sure what I think about this pairing. This is very iffy ground I am trending upon. But I do like the voodoo plush idea, so I am attempting to write this.
Did you feel me touch you?
Chapter One: Not quite healed.
All of the damage had been reverted; Nothing remained but psychological scars. But those were perhaps, much harder to deal with. More so than physical scaring. Physical wounds would bleed, scab over, and eventually heal. Leaving only a scar behind; A small reminder of what one went threw.
Psychological wounds on the other hand, would bleed, and fester. Would the wounds heal? Perhaps. Over time and countless hours of therapy. But time and therapy were not options for Uryu Ishida.
He knew it would only be a matter of time before another battle would begin. More wounds inflicted, more scars to remind him of pain and suffering.
Therapy, was not, would never been an option. No that he didn't believe it would help. It might very well be quite helpful. Just not logical. Not for him.
After all, who'd believe what he had to say? No one would. It was almost laughable! He could almost see himself lying on a brown polished leather sofa talking to some stranger about monsters with no souls, whose goal was to destroy not only the world hey came from but the human world as well. No, therapy was not for him.
Uryu sat on the roof of the school, sewing things strewn about him. He was skipping class. Again. Third time that week. Why? Because he just couldn't handle the questions, couldn't handle the answers. He'd wanted to talk. In he beginning. But there was no one who would listen. It was to late now; He'd shut himself in and everyone else out. If anyone asked him how he was doing now, he'd tell them he was perfectly fine. Never better. But if someone had asked him how he was a week earlier? He would have broken down and sobbed openly. He wouldn't have been able to lie, he'd have spilled his guts and told the person exactly what he was feeling. How frightened he really was.
Uryu starred down at his project, carefully paying attention to detail as he stitched. He held the mess of material in one hand while the other weaved back and forth perfectly. His stitching was exact and perfectly measured. He wasn't feeling up to double stitching, or French stitching, but he was careful to reinforce his stitching. He didn't want the thing falling apart the moment he was done after all.
While stitching, his mind began to wander unnoticed, unchecked. It began to wander into dangerous territories. He began recalling his time in Hueco Mundo, more accurately, his time fighting Szayel Aporro Granz. He could still feel the smooth, thick skinned extremities wrapping around him; Encasing him with no hopes of escape. No matter how hard he struggled. He could feel the extremities growing slick as green-yellow tinged liquid was excreted from the top of his biological prison. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as the walls began to flex around him, crushing his body in a rhythmic slouching motion. A sucking motion.
Uryu gasped, dropping the bundle of material in his hand as the needle pricked his finger, drawing the smallest of crimson drops. He pushed the digit into his mouth and sucked a moment before releasing it and shaking the slightly throbbing finger into the cooler air. He scowled and starred at the offending appendage for a long while before sighing and removing his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose and a quite frustrated noise escaped him. Why are you thinking about that? He gazed down at his fallen project and sighed.
Uryu paced back and forth about his room; Tossing things in a collected panic; Phone plastered to his ear. "Don't worry, I'll find it." He said as he threw himself across his bed to look behind it. "No. No. Ichi-Ichigo would you shut u-Dammit I'll find it okay!" And with that mild out burst he hung up the phone with an irritated sigh. Damn Soul Reaper. He thought woefully as he lay across his bed. He couldn't believe he'd lost his project.
Orihime's birthday was fast approaching and Ichigo had requested that Uryu make a set of plush dolls for her. He'd agreed only after he'd heard the full request. A plush set with a plush doll Orihime, and a plush doll Sora. Uryu had been touched by Ichigo's thoughtfulness and agreed to the request without charge.
The Sora plush rested on the shelf above his bed, but the Orihime plush was no where to be found. Uryu groaned and covered his face. He couldn't believe he'd misplaced it. He didn't have time to make another, and he couldn't bare the thought of giving her only one of the plush dolls. Sure, she wouldn't know about the other one, but Ichigo would, as would he. He groaned again and rolled over, shoving his face into his pillow.
The castle was eerily quite. No games, no taunting laughter, vanishing doors-walls or corridors, or woeful cries of despair filled the castle with chaos. The Espada Szayel Aporro sat rigidly upon his thrown, glowering towards the opposite wall as though it had done something to offend him. He was annoyed. With himself, which only furthered annoyed him. Why should he be annoyed with himself? He was perfection! But if he was perfect, than why was he having in-perfect thoughts?
The pink haired mans brows furrowed, a quite snarl rising in his throat. Damn him. Damn him, damn that Quincy! His fist clenched, gloved fingers digging into gloved palms. Damn that taste! His brow relaxed and his ember eyes glazed over slightly. That delicious taste. His tongue snaked out and moistened his lips. I'll never forget that taste. His mouth salivated and he nearly purred; But the vibration beginning deep in his chest snapped hi back to reality. And in place of a purr of delight a snarl of disgust escaped him.
He was perfection! He shouldn't think of something as disgusting and inferior as that human!
Szayel Aporro's fowl mood reseeded and he hummed thoughtfully, tapping his gloved fingers against his lips. Perhaps the thought wasn't disgusting-he was perfect after all-no thought he had could possibly be disgusting. Yes, that delicious taste. His painted lips curled upwards and a low rumbling chuckle escaped him. "What a deliciously playful idea."
Authors Note: This will be a short chapter story. Not a one-shot. The chapters will be short, and I don't believe there will be more than five. I hope those who read this will enjoy it. I do hope to get some kind of feed back, after all I've spent a lot of time devising this twisted little fic.