Pairing. SzayelxIshida (mentioned TeslaIshi)
He stared out of the window, stared at the far, far horizon. Stared at this endless desert he didn't want to see anymore, never. He hated it. Hated this all white and black world.
Hated the fact that he couldn't escape it.
His eyes didn't leave the darkness out there; hadn't left it since he had woken up.
"You want to go?"
He didn't answer. Szayel knew far too well, and the Quincy wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"They have snow over in the human world now... I think you called it winter?"
Had he? He didn't remember... But he didn't remember much lately, so maybe he had. It didn't matter anyway.
"So quiet today?" Slender fingers cupped his chin. "You really should talk more, it might get uninteresting if you don't..."
Uryuu still didn't say a word. He had never intended to be iinteresting/i. Why in all the worlds were it always the mad scientists he had to run into?
"Maybe I should help your voice a little bit..." The man's hand wandered lower, and those long, cruel fingers wrapped around his neck, pushing the boy backwards until he hit the wall. "By forcing it into some action..."
Suddenly, the black haired felt a sharp pain in his left thigh. He didn't need to look at it, he already knew that it was some sort of a examination tool to observe the flow of his reiatsu. And again he wondered if Szayel did use those to give his own needs a scientific look or if he really was that perverted to be interested in something like this.
He didn't try to remove the needle though. He didn't fight back at all. In the beginning he had, but now, having lost everything... He had lost his happiness when he had seen Renji die. He had lost his pride when Szayel had defeated him. He had lost his dignity shortly after, being chained up and full aware while the pink haired espada performed his first experiments at him. He had lost his so-called innocence just a couple of days later, not to Szayel but to this blond fraccion of the scientist's friend. It had been yet another research project, and, as far as he had overheard Szayel's and Nnoitra's talk, they found it far more fun to watch him being raped than to do it themselves. Perverted bastards.
And he had lost any hope when he had met Orihime and she had told him about Ichigo's and Rukia's death. About Chad she didn't know either, but he was most likely dead as well... Seemed as if he was the only one of the group that had survived until now.
He wished he hadn't.
Because he actually hadn't. His body was still here, and some part, some very detached part of his mind, too. But the real Ishida Uryuu was dead, had been dead for long now. And much unlike the flowers that would return in March he wouldn't. There was no spring in Hueco Mundo. He would fade away in this unending December, and there would be left nothing but a hollow form quite soon. He pitied Orihime, but he knew too well that her state wasn't much different from his.
They didn't talk much at the rare occasions when they were able to meet, and when they did, it was mainly about school and the last summer's festivals. They would smile about how Ichigo had desperately tried to get the strawberry bobby pin at the tombola, just because his younger sister had mentioned that she liked it before and the orange-head hadn't managed to buy a birthday present yet. They would remember how they had visited Rukia shortly before leaving Soul Society more than one year ago and Renji had just tried to confess to Rukia when Byakuya had entered the room. They would tell each other all their pleasant memories of their childhood. And they would look at each other and know without a word that this time was over and that they would never be able to return there. Never would they go to the real world again.
Yet they weren't able to die. Not because they were afraid of it or didn't want to. Rather, because neither Aizen nor Szayel nor Ulquiorra would let them. Orihime was too mighty a weapon to be wielded against the Gotei 13, and Ishida was too fun a plaything. Or maybe the other way round... It had been long since they had known anything for sure, and even longer that they had cared.
But he wasn't even given the mercy of distraction from Szayel's doings. He couldn't but feel his body stir beneath those skilled, cold hands, couldn't but notice how his hips pushed forward, how his back arched. No use to try to stop it, he knew; if he didn't submit to whatever the espada did to him, he would be beaten into unconsciousness and as soon as his injuries were halfway healed the torture would be repeated – but then he would be drugged.
Submission was a lot easier and the outcome was the same, anyway...
He hated his body that was to excite so easily, though. He felt that he was reacting like a well calibrated instrument to the other's touches. The taller man knew him far too well, knew which places to stroke, where to lick, how to play him.
His body was treacherous.
No way to ignore how his body responded, how he pressed nearer to Szayel. How he craved for more. How it made him shudder with lust when he met an equal hardness down there. How he had gotten so very used to the constant abuse.
The boy didn't even twitch when firm hands spun him around and threw him to the floor. It had happened so many times before, though the pink haired man made it his hobby to change something every single time he took him. As if he had a bet about his creativity.
When he was flipped onto his stomach, the Quincy hissed with pain and tried immediately to rise to his knees at least. But Szayel didn't let him, holding him down with a light press of his index fingers against Ishida's buttocks.
"Nah... Down, there's a good boy..."
This cruel pervert didn't really plan to let him at the floor like this during the whole thing?! He might... break a certain something or...
He couldn't finish the thought, crying out in agony as the espada entered him without any preparation. Brutal reiatsu pushed its way into him splits of a second before the man's hard, wet hotness followed it, and it felt as if he was torn into two.
For minutes, there was nothing but pain in his world. He didn't hear his own cries when Szayel rocked his hips violently, he didn't feel when he slid out of him, he didn't even realize when his tormentor removed the needle from his thigh, dressed himself up and left the room.
He didn't move for more than an hour, and when he did, he just curled up, drew his knees to his forehead and tried to indulge himself in memories of the days he had spent with his grandfather, with his friends, with his mother...
But he couldn't. Those memories had become more and more blurred and faint lately, and now...
He couldn't hold back the tears streaming down his cheeks, nor the sobs emanating from the depths of his heart. He didn't want to, either.
He couldn't even remember their faces anymore. Not even his father's, or Ichigo's, or Chad's, or... Even Orihime was hard to remember, being less a human being than its shade lately.
The only thing burned into his head so gruesomely clear was Szayel's mad grin.
Nothing in his head that he wanted to be there anymore. Thus he turned his eyes to the far skies and watched the darkness over the desert.