Yylfordt was not happy, and that was putting it lightly. More accurately, he was beyond pissed. Szayel could feel this before his older brother even set foot in their mother's study where the two of them had been for an hour already, pouring over diagrams and discussing the physiology of newborns. It preceded him, an ill wind of hostility pressing against the thin, paper door, which silhouetted his lithe figure. They both looked up to greet him as he stormed in, lips twisted in a scowl and brows set in an angry V. He took one look at Szayel, scowled even more fiercely, and pointedly ignored him as he turned to Lady Tsukiyo.

"Okaa-san, I need to talk to you."

"Of course Yylfordt, you know I'm always willing to listen," she replied soothingly, inviting him to come sit down. He refused, standing stiffly and looking down at her, though his eyes would occasionally flicker over to Szayel.

"Alone. I don't want him listening," Yylfordt finally said. Their mother raised a brow.

"And what is it you so urgently have to talk to me about that you cannot resolve with your father? I don't think its fair to your little brother to kick him out in the middle of a lesson."

Yylfordt looked poised to walk out then, spine rigid with pride and righteous anger, and Szayel resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at him and make some sort of deprecating remark. However, his brother reigned in his impulse after a moment. Arrogant though Yylfordt could be, he still wasn't stupid enough to disdain Lady Tsukiyo after asking her help.

"It's about a girl, ok?" he answered tersely, crossing his arms, and their mother smiled at him sweetly.

"What about this girl?" she asked.

Yylfordt twitched, actually twitched, and looked over at him. Szayel looked back, keeping his face impassive, but inside he was smirking. With Yylfordt this defensive, it was bound to be something good.

"I don't want to talk about it in front of him," he repeated stubbornly. Their mother sighed.

"Yylfordt…"

"She called me pretty!" he shouted, half hysterical. A momentary silence followed this outburst while the blonde fumed, cheeks coloring impressively. Szayel stared, at first disbelieving that Yylfordt would lose his poise in front of him so spectacularly, then grinning, unable to help himself. He'd been struggling with this problem most of his life, and it appeared, from the magnitude of his hysteria, that this wasn't the first time Yylfordt had dealt with it either. He distantly remembered his mother telling him of Yylfordt's early years, how he had to struggle to prove himself to those around him that he was more than a pretty face, and all of a sudden his obsession with becoming the perfect successor to their father made sense. Yylfordt was fighting with his own complex.

His older brother didn't miss the grin, however, and promptly whirled on him.

"You get out now!" he commanded, but Szayel didn't budge. Just sat there, smiling up at him innocuously. Even Lady Tsukiyo was smiling faintly now, though she hid this behind one of her sleeves.

"Dear, I think that's all the more reason for your brother to listen. He has a similar problem as you well know."

"I'm not a weak little brat like him!"

"I'm not weak," Szayel objected, cutting in with a scowl. Yylfordt shot him a cynical look.

"Oh really? Then I guess you aren't still stuck in elementary swordsmanship either."

"Well at least I'm not stupid! You can't even put together a military counter formation that's halfway useful!"

"Shut the hell up!"

"You shut up!"

"Boys…" Lady Tsukiyo interjected warningly, but she was ignored by feuding pair who by this point were both on their feet and screaming insults at each other.

"Useless!"

"Ignorant!"

"Failure!"

"Moron!"

"Boys!" their mother shouted, reaching the end of her tolerance, and they both looked over at her startled. She gazed down at them, unamused, her eyes even a little cold. "Both of you, be quiet! This is a place of learning, not warmongering. Save that for the training grounds. You can shriek all you want and bash each other over the heads to your hearts' content with swords for all I care, but here you will respect my rules. Understood?"

"Yes, okaa-san," they both agreed sullenly, and she nodded, curt.

"Good. Now go sit down next to each other. Yylfordt, talk your problem out with your little brother. Szayel, listen to Yylfordt and do not make deprecating or sardonic remarks about what he says. The both of you, work out your petty little feud already. I'm going to leave and go have a walk in my garden, and by the time I get back I expect you to have reached some sort of truce."

"Mama," Szayel protested, and Yylfordt didn't look any happier. She sent them both unsympathetic looks, shook her head, and stood.

"Half an hour, loves. Or else."

With a delicate swish, she left the room, leaving them both to stand awkwardly with each other. The atmosphere was still tense from their fight, and without Tsukiyo to mediate, neither was sure what to do. Yylfordt was the one who flopped down first, sitting and crossing his arms. He glared over at Szayel expectantly, and the pink haired child followed his older brother suit. Sitting down, he pulled his knees up to his chest and stared woodenly ahead at the wall. They both remained this way for a minute or two before Szayel finally broke the silence.

"So…"

Yylfordt snorted.

"You are not playing psychologist for me. We're going to sit here until she gets back and pretend we made up. Got it?"

Szayel shot him a dirty look, uncurling his legs.

"I don't like the idea of listening to you whine any better, but she's going to know. She's not stupid."

"Well even if I went along with this, its not like you could say anything useful. You're only nine. What do you know about women?"

"You're only thirteen. I hardly think you can call yourself a man."

"I'm more of a man than you are."

"Which is why you're getting called pretty," Szayel remarked sarcastically. Yylfordt glowered, eyes burning a hole in the wall, and drew up his knees defensively. They now sat in opposite positions from the ones they'd began in.

"Look, I don't need to justify myself to you. You're even more effeminate than me. At least my hair isn't pink, and I can fight properly. Father is proud of me. He's not ashamed to call me his heir. I worked for this! What do you do? Nothing. You couldn't understand. You've already accepted that people think of you as a girl," his brother declared scornfully, brown eyes flickering over to him resentfully. Szayel felt the familiar old bitterness flare in his chest, and he glared back.

"No, you're the one who doesn't understand! I spent so many years trying to live up to you. Walking in your shadow. Feeling everyone look at me with disdain because I wasn't you. It wasn't until I finally accepted that I didn't have to follow the same path as you that I was able to escape that. I've worked for what I do too! Have you ever killed someone, Yylfordt? Have you? Have you ever actually cut someone open? Have you seen people bleeding, dying, convulsing? Limbs severed, stomachs gashed open and screaming themselves unconscious? Well have you? Because I have. I've done and seen all of that. And you still dare call me weak?"

Silence followed the aftermath of their denunciations as each brother looked at the other, understanding some of the conflict that plagued them better; Szayel realizing that Yylfordt had only made his success seem effortless. But Yylfordt was the one who seemed quieter when all was said and done, and Szayel realized he'd said too much. The details of their nightly lessons were supposed to be secret.

"Nii-san, I…" he fumbled, not sure how to recover from his impassioned outburst.

"What… the hell is it you do with mother?" Yylfordt asked, frowning, "Cutting people open? Killing? What are you talking about?"

"I… I can't tell you. She told me to keep it a secret from everyone. Just forget about what I said. Please?" Szayel begged, anxious. Although… it was his brother. He was family. Did the exclusion apply to him too?

"You talk about watching people die and yet you expect me to just forget? Isn't she teaching you medicine? Plants and bandages and splints?"

"Stop it!" Szayel cried, covering his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly at his brother's interrogation, "There's… there's more to it. But you can't tell anyone, ok? You know when mama healed your leg and arm? How quickly she did it, just placing her hands on you? That's magic. Magic, Yylfordt, and she's been using it to simulate war victims and the like through illusions. For me to practice."

Yylfordt paled a little at the word.

"Magic? Have you heard her call it magic?"

"Yes…" Szayel replied, confused by his elder brother's sudden trepidation.

"Shit!"

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, now apprehensive as well at Yylfordt's vehemence. Yylfordt shot him an incredulous look.

"You call me ignorant and yet you don't know? Think! Humans can't use magic! There are some humans who are blessed with the gods' favor who can channel their divine power, I'd just assumed she was one of them."

It was true. He'd made the observation himself when she'd first began to teach him. That humans couldn't use magic. But she'd said… she'd said they were special. Different. That the rule didn't apply to them. Szayel blanched.

"No… no way…"

"She's not human. She's… I don't know what she is, but she's not human. She's some sort of youkai. Or half youkai maybe…"

"But… Yylfordt, what does that make us?" Szayel asked, frightened now. He knew he was a little different. Knew his blood wasn't the same as everyone else's, but he hadn't really made the connection. Perhaps some part of him had held himself in ignorance, to spare him of the truth. All of a sudden, it became crucial, very crucial for him to know if Yylfordt was the same.

"I don't know," his elder brother replied, looking equally shaken. "I guess… we're not completely human either."

They both sat there gravely, eyes narrowed and staring off into space. But while Yylfordt brooded on this revelation, Szayel felt the question of their blood eat at him. He was poised to ask when Yylfordt laughed wryly.

"Suddenly being called pretty seems very minor," he remarked pragmatically, tucking a stray lock of his blonde hair behind one ear. Szayel looked at him dubiously.

"We get our looks from our mother," Szayel commented, and they both quieted at the real question.

"God… what does she really look like?" Yylfordt breathed, looking suddenly weary.

"Do we really look like this? Or is it an illusion?" Szayel remarked, eyes fixed on his hands. It was terrible, not knowing. The possibility that his life… their lives had been falsified.

"I don't know… have you ever noticed anything different about yourself?" Yylfordt asked, "You look more like her than I do."

Szayel's heart skittered nervously, and he clenched his hands, considering. What if he told Yylfordt and he treated him like he was some sort of monster? He didn't think he could stand that. Being ridiculed for his looks was bad enough.

"I… don't know either. What about you?"

Yylfordt shook his head, and Szayel felt his stomach knot. He remembered his mother had told him that her blood flowed most strongly in his veins, that Yylfordt had some of it, but it was very minute. The words took on new meaning now that he viewed them through a different lens. But how did that make sense? Yylfordt and Szayel were brothers. Why had he inherited more of her… otherworldly blood?

"But… she loves us," he said softly, "Whatever she is, she loves us."

"She lied to us, Szayel."

"She just didn't tell us the truth. She probably wanted to protect us."

"Does father know? Does father know he married a youkai?"

Szayel didn't know, but instinctively, he knew he didn't want Yylfordt telling him in case he didn't. He didn't want her to be hurt. She was, after all, still his mother. Szayel abruptly tackled Yylfordt to the floor without warning, and his brother's eyes went wide as he toppled backwards.

"… the hell?" he managed before Szayel cut in.

"You can't tell him!" he ordered wildly, "I don't care what she is, you can't tell him!"

"Szayel, get off!" Yylfordt huffed, shoving him away, but Szayel wrapped his arms around his torso and clung to him, refusing to let go until he'd heard him out and agreed.

"No! Let me ask her about it first! Please? Yylfordt, let me ask her…"

Unaccustomed to this kind of display from his younger brother, Yylfordt wasn't sure what to do with him. So he sat there, feeling that he should probably pry him off while the seconds ticked by, and ultimately did nothing.

"Ok… sure… whatever. But if she doesn't want to talk, then I'm telling father," he said, surrendering, and Szayel let go, sitting back on his heels while his brother pulled himself upright.

"Thank you, nii-san," Szayel said with a crooked smile, and Yylfordt grumbled, straightening his clothes.

"You're crazy, you know that Szayel? Absolutely crazy."

The pink haired child offered his older brother a serious look.

"Maybe, but think about it this way Yylfordt. If father doesn't know, what will he think of us when he finds out? Do you think he would still consider you as his legitimate heir? There are too many variables… too many things that could go wrong. So let me feel things out first. Then… we can decide what to do."

Yylfordt grimaced at his words.

"You're right. We can't be impulsive. But what are we supposed to do when she returns? How are we supposed to act around her?"

"The same way," Szayel replied practically, and Yylfordt shook his head.

"That's impossible. She'll know something is up."

"Then we confront her."

"I don't want to do that either!"

"Oh be a man, Yylfordt!" Szayel shouted, and at that very moment, the door opened. They both jumped as Lady Tsukiyo walked in, turning around to look at her guiltily. She raised an elegant brow at their culpable reactions, closing the door behind her.

"I take it you two have been having a lively discussion?" she inquired mildly. The two exchanged looks, then glanced back up at their mother.

"Ah…" stalled Yylfordt.

"Yes," replied Szayel.

"You two seem to have resolved your conflict," she observed. Silence followed her words as the both of them considered how to respond to her comment, but just as Szayel mustered the courage to ask the question they both needed to hear, Yylfordt spoke up.

"So when were you planning on telling us about what you are?" he demanded, and their mother blinked, taken off guard.

"What are you boys talking about-?" she began before Szayel cut in.

"Please don't lie to us, or say you don't know what we mean mama. You know perfectly well, so tell us. We'd like to know about the part of us that isn't human."

Lady Tsukiyo inhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering closed, and seemed to sway a little on the spot as she exhaled. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed more collected and offered the two of them a sad, rueful smile.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any to have this talk. But yes, you are correct. Neither of you is completely human, though I do question the conversation that led up to this sudden revelation. Weren't you two supposed to be talking about Yylfordt's female crisis?"

"That was never going to happen," Yylfordt said staunchly, and Tsukiyo sighed, walking over to them and sitting down.

"No, I guess not. But you can't blame a mother for trying. So what is it you want to know about your heritage?"

"Start with what kind of youkai you are," Szayel said, and their mother's weary look brightened, turning into a mischievous grin.

"Calling me a demon now? Really my loves, what gall. Who ever said I was a youkai?"

-.-.-.-.-.-

Waking up that next morning was probably one of the worst experiences of his life. The moment his eyes cracked open, he shut them again, not daring to look around in case he was dead after all. But as the ache that ringed his throat began to pain him, he forced them open again, and a flood of disappointment washed over him. He was still in the House, on his own bed, stiff and cold… but very much still alive.

Nnoitra was gone, of course, but he still instinctively looked around for him. For the evidence that he'd been there. But all that remained as evidence were the purple finger shaped bruises he knew to be around his throat. Szayel touched the tender spots absently; these too would fade, and then the only evidence would be in his own mind. The only way for Nnoitra's abuse to last permanently would be if he died.

But why hadn't he? Why hadn't Nnoitra killed him? He'd started, choking him. Cutting off his air. Killing him without spilling blood. He could have asphyxiated him, or twisted his neck easily. Why had he let him live? After turning on him… the practical thing to do was dispatch him. But for better or for worse, Szayel lived.

As the week crawled by, he only became more and more convinced that it was for the latter. He spent most of his free time in isolation, sitting out in the courtyard with a koto singing to himself while his eyes gazed blankly into the sky above, lost in the blue and white of the clouds scudding by. Several times on his way to and from his favorite spot, he'd pause by the poppies, gazing at them and knowing that in a drawer in his room, there was an easy escape, but he could never bring himself to act on these idle musings.

Some of the evenings he'd be called, and that in itself was a distraction. But those nights spent in the embrace of another reminded him too much of that which he'd rather forget and as soon as he was able, he fled from his room to the baths and submersed himself in the hot water, staying under the surface as long as his lungs could bear it and each time pushing himself to last a little longer, take another step closer to the edge… But Torako caught him at it once, dragging him up from his watery escape and reprimanding him. Chastised, he quit this, but he also avoided the other girls from then on as much as possible. They were reminders as well, of his situation.

And then at some point, the numbness faded. Dread replaced that feeling as the week drew to a close and Nnoitra's visit loomed near. He paced his room, feeling increasingly cornered and claustrophobic as time passed. He must have looked half mad, his hair straggling slightly out of its pinned coils with an intense, anxious expression on his face. His features looked a little drawn, for sleep no longer came to him easily. But as the day itself arrived, that manic energy changed again. He stopped stalking around the room and seemed almost to drift instead. He found his fingers lingered longingly over odd things; the wood of one bedpost, the glass of a bottle of ink, the silken, embroidered cloth of an obi… This last one he paused over, lifting it up to examine and pulling the cloth taut for a moment before listlessly letting it flutter to the ground.

In the hour before his client came, he finally sat down on his bed; to one side of him, his sheaf of papers, ink, and brush. In his hands he turned over the knife Nnoitra had given him, spinning it, shifting it, watching the light glitter off the hilt but never letting it come to rest. He'd done up his hair again, so that it lay neatly in placed, pink locks shiny and smooth, though the black and gold hair ornaments he'd been gifted took the place of his usual assortment. Outside the movement of his hands and the knife, he was preternaturally still. And it was in this state that Nnoitra found him as he entered.

Szayel didn't look up as he heard the door open, didn't even react. Not when the toes of Nnoitra's shoes came to rest on the perimeter of his eyesight. His amber eyes remained fixed on the sheathed weapon in his hands.

"Going to kill yourself? Or have you made up your mind to kill me after all?"

His hands stilled their repetitive motion, but Szayel still did not look up. It was the only indication that he'd heard.

"I think we established last week you aren't going to do that, so it must be the former then. Unless it's neither?"

He felt he could have imitated the old mannequin he used to work with pretty well right then, for he didn't even flinch as Nnoitra sat down next to him. But as the taller man ran a thumb over his cheek and leaned in to nip at the shell of his ear, he couldn't help the reflexive tightening of his hands on the knife he still held. He was treated to Nnoitra's next words breathed into his ear, his warm breath tickling the skin there and making his scalp prickle.

"What have you been doing with yourself this past week, Shizuka? You look dead."

Szayel closed his eyes, as if by shutting them he could ignore the man next to him. But Nnoitra wasn't one to be ignored. He felt the dagger removed from his hands, and the smooth wood of his brush placed into them instead. A weight on his lap followed as his papers were transferred there, and as he opened his eyes again, he saw Nnoitra's hand place the ink jar on top of these. He stared down at them for a moment, then finally looked over at him. This movement was rewarded with a grin.

"Go on then, I know you want to talk."

Szayel shook his head.

"Liar."

He felt Nnoitra's fingers in his hair, smoothing over the ornaments thoughtfully before he pulled them out slowly, one by one.

"You only think you've given up. Is that why you wore these? Why you have the knife? As a final presentation. Are you hoping I'll kill you?"

His hair unwound, falling over his shoulders, and as Nnoitra continued to speak, he felt weary. He didn't want to meet his eyes. Didn't want to trouble himself with his games anymore. But Nnoitra didn't let him turn away, one hand catching his chin and forcing him to look up. Szayel closed his eyes, only to feel Nnoitra's mouth on his a moment later. It was a fleeting kiss, very brief, for he broke away to speak again.

"Well I'm not impressed. You have to give me a better showing than this, Shizuka. Convince me you're not worth my time anymore."

Szayel's fingers reached for the ink pot, uncorking it and dipping the brush inside. His eyes flickered down to the page as he wrote out a short, apathetic reply.

Do whatever.

Nnoitra's good eye followed the brush strokes before returning to his. He let go of his chin.

"This isn't you."

You don't even know who I am.

"But this still isn't you."

And why do you care? If it's sex you came for, then have it. I can even pretend to reciprocate your passion.

"If I came for just sex, then I'd pick one of the other prostitutes here."

Then what do you want? What do you want from me Nnoitra? You bring me gifts, ask me about my past, pick fights with me for the sole purpose of emphasizing your own superiority, compliment me and build up my self worth only to break me down again… you beat me and then tell me to sing, and ask the words when I'm done. You… are both gentle and cruel. I do not understand you. I do not understand what you want. Why you come, week after week. Why you choose to spend your time doing this. Why, if I'm worthless, you still deign to pay for me.

Emotion crept into his face as he wrote, and he really couldn't help it. Despite his will to stop caring, bringing up his frustrations one by one, he relived them. All the confusion, the hurt that followed every one of his visits. The misery of not knowing, but still expectantly hanging on to the next time he saw him. He didn't know if Nnoitra would answer him, these questions that had been festering in his mind for two months now. He didn't really expect him to, but when he had finished, Nnoitra didn't remain silent for long. There was a minute's pause as his eyes swept over the words, reading them, then his mouth quirked upwards.

"And why does it matter to you? I'm just a client. A regular, but nothing more than a customer in the end."

Szayel scowled, writing out a cynical reply.

If you were just a customer, I would not have these troubles. I would not care why you were here. But you cross that boundary. You ask questions. You pry into my life. It is impossible for me to treat you the same, to think of you the same way. Not when you've played witness to me at my weakest... And you provoked that on purpose. You've seen me angry, happy, despairing. Why is it so important to you to see all these reactions?

This time, Nnoitra was quiet for much longer. Szayel looked up from his writing, searching his face for some sign of what he was feeling or thinking. Instead of an answer, he got an action as Nnoitra reached over to cork the ink and take away his brush and paper. Szayel's shoulders slumped forward a little as he perceived the conversation to have ended. Just as he suspected, he wouldn't be receiving an answer. And then he spoke.

"You've already got a good idea of the ways I work, even if I'm contradictory sometimes. But you want a reason why…"

Nnoitra said this musingly as he set aside the writing supplies, his katana and washizaki following as he untied them from his waist. Szayel eyed him warily as he placed his weapons on the floor, knowing what this foreshadowed.

"You probably think it isn't fair, me knowing about you and you not knowing a thing about me. Probably think my moods strange. So I'll tell you a little about me."

He untied the sash that kept his coat closed and shrugged it off, letting it drop as he reached for Szayel's obi. His arms circled him, tugging at the tie in the back, and Szayel felt the cloth loosen as he pulled it free.

"I come from a noble family; a feudal manor. But I'm not some retainer's son; I'm the son of a lord."

Nnoitra's fingers slid under the fabric of his kimono, teasing it open, slipping it down over his shoulders. One hand splayed across his now bare chest while the other cupped under his knees, lifting them so they were on the bed and no longer dangled over the edge.

"The only problem is, I'm the third son. I'm considered irrelevant. So you can see where this leaves me a little… upset."

He applied weight to the hand on Szayel's chest, pushing him down, and Szayel eased back into the cushions stiffly, not quite liking how calm he sounded. Anger he knew what to expect with, but he not this delayed reaction. He tried to soothe his prickling nerves as Nnoitra leaned over him, but it was a difficult task.

"So I rebel. I pick fights. I go out and sleep with whores and generally bring dishonor to my family. I don't try to be a perfect son, because I was fated by birth to never be heir. I'm the black sheep, but no one cares. I'm not important. They tolerate my activities because I don't matter."

Nnoitra's hands tangled in his hair, wrapping it around his fingers luxuriously, as if he were burying them in a bolt of fine silk. He seemed to like toying with his hair, whether because there was something particular about the feel he enjoyed or the fact it afforded him a tangible way of controlling him, Szayel didn't know.

"But that's such shit, you know? Such utter bullshit. Why sit and accept that fate? I'm not gonna fucking languish in that house, because even if I'm no one to my family, I'm still someone. I've got money. I've got power. And I can do whatever the hell I want. Even start my own house eventually."

Nnoitra pulled the hair he'd fisted around his hands taut as his tone became bitter, but his grip relaxed after a moment. He untangled one hand from Szayel's hair, letting it sweep down his chest, his thumb rubbing over one nipple almost thoughtfully. When he spoke again, his voice was back to the eerie calm of earlier.

"I've still got things to learn. I'm no idiot. I intend to take full advantage of the privileges my status offers me. But in the meantime… while I wait… I'm not gonna stand for being treated like a piece of trash by my eldest brother. No one's going to tell me what to do. That's my right. And that's where you come in."

Nnoitra's mouth found his collar, biting down, though not with enough strength to break the skin. His tongue flicked over the marked spot briefly, but his lips were soon brushing down his chest, nipping as he went. He rubbed their hips together, slipping a knee between his legs and wedging them apart. His breath feathered hot over his skin as his mouth paused its sensual progress to murmur the next part of his explanation.

"I wanted a scapegoat. Someone whose life I could play with, who I could control. Monopolize entirely and take my frustrations out on. But you turned out to be more interesting than I anticipated. A pretty young male prostitute, blindfolded and mute. You weren't some gutter bitch, but you were broken down. I was curious, of course. Especially after I realized you had the ability to escape if you really wanted to. But instead, you continued to let people use you."

His lips traveled back up his body again to his throat, and his tongue slid out to lick the skin there, teasing up his jaw to one earlobe, which he nipped at sharply. His tongue darted inside, and Szayel squirmed reflexively away to Nnoitra's amusement.

"I wondered how far I could push you, if it was possible to see what you were really like. It was apparent to me that you weren't some peasant. But as you opened up, grew more confident around me, it only made me want to tear you down again. You'd get insubordinate, forget your place briefly. Treat me like an equal. We're not, Shizuka. I pay for the right to make you mine. And I own you, all of you. Your thoughts, emotions, talents, body. So, I'm just exploring what's mine. Seeking a pastime, a diversion. What do I want from you? Everything. Everything you can give, until there's nothing more you can do for me."

He tugged the remainder of Szayel's clothes off before reaching for his own and stripping down. Naked, he hovered over him, gazing down into his amber eyes seriously.

"You haven't given up yet. If you had, you would have killed yourself the moment you woke up. But that isn't your right. You don't own yourself, as you pointed out. And I won't allow you to, not until I'm done with you. So live, Shizuka. Stop this pointless moping."

Nnoitra kissed him, spreading his legs and reaching between them. Szayel closed his eyes, feeling his body warm at the intimate contact, and he bit his lower lip to suppress a groan as Nnoitra slipped a long finger inside him. This was new; the other man had never done this with him before. A second joined the first promptly as Nnoitra crooked the tips, brushing his prostate. This time Szayel couldn't help the moan that escaped him as he shifted his hips up, but Nnoitra pulled his fingers back teasingly. Szayel opened his eyes to look up at him, craving the pleasurable sensation he was able to instill in him so effortlessly now. The grin he saw on Nnoitra's lips was obnoxious, and a faint frown crossed his face. Nnoitra's smile widened.

"I value what's mine, so long as it remains useful to me. And I've told you before, if you please me… I can make things very agreeable for you. You seemed to like that dog. If you want, I can let you see him again."

The… dog? It was still alive? Szayel's eyes widened. He didn't kill it?

Nnoitra's fingers entered him again, but quickly this time, jabbing his pleasure point unerringly. Szayel arched as the taller man set up a rhythm that quickly made his body melt, and by the time he replaced his long, callused digits with something more substantial, Szayel was barely conscious of the sudden change in girth. Only the increased friction registered- the pain he'd long grown used to -and the building pressure in his gut. And after they'd both come and collapsed, sweaty and spent, he had only a brief respite of a few minutes before Nnoitra's hands and mouth roved his body again, catching only the fragment of a husked sentence about a debt that required repaying.

A/N: I know I probably sound like I whine after every chapter, but I really didn't like this one. It was painful to write; I felt very little inspiration while writing it. The plotline felt rushed, dull, and generally unpleasant. It was pretty much a chapter of drudgery, nor did it turn out anything like it was supposed to. Plus, Nanowrimo rules say I'm not supposed to delete things and start over. Meh. But… here it is. May the next chapter be more to my liking. There are probably a few typos I missed because I really didn't spend much time reading over it.

Digno means dignified. I'll leave you to puzzle out why I named this chapter that way.

I have also realized while procrastinating on writing this chapter that the plot is going in a completely different direction than I had first envisioned. So the major changes I mentioned in the last A/N are actually even going to be postponed more chapters. (Woohoo…) But I like my new plot much better than the old one, which had a few plot holes. Which was actually why I did away with it. And none of you will care because you'll never know what would have happened anyhow.

Well, ta until next time. Read and review as always. You got Nnoitra's silly angst pot in this chapter I guess. Isn't he more obnoxious than ever? Just makes you want to smack him. (My I'm just in a cynical mood today, aren't I?)