"Beautiful."
He pulled the tray from the oven and a fragrant wave of heat rose up to meet him. Closing his eyes, he let the warmth caress his face and inhaled the sweet scent of baking pastries.
"I hate you."
A smoky odor followed the original sweet waft of steam, and although not entirely unpleasant a scent, it nonetheless caused him to wrinkle his nose in distaste at the idea of what awaited him. He placed his cargo of lightly browned cream puffs aside, as if by moving them away he could keep them from the other man's tainted touch. For surely, it was; on the rack below where his confections had baked sat another tray, this bearing dark, shriveled husks of pastries. He doubted that they could be called edible, let alone palatable.
"You're incredible. You truly are."
"Shut up."
"I'm not being sarcastic. I really mean that. I cannot conceive of how what you did is even possible. We followed the same recipe, used the same ingredients, and baked them for the same amount of time on the same heat in the same oven. So many controlled variables and yet… such different results. It's astounding. You defy logic."
"I don't need any shit out of you. I get enough from Hiroko."
"Haha! You're cursed, Nnoitra. Your karma is catching up with you in this incarnation."
"Fuck you! If that's the case then how come your cream puffs aren't burning?"
"Because karma doesn't really exist; you just suck at baking."
"That's it. I'm through with this shit," Nnoitra declared as he took off his hair tie and stormed over to the sink to wash up. Szayel tracked his progress across the room, offering him an insincere simper when he finished and turned back around to face him. Nnoitra crossed his arms and glowered at the pink haired man until at last he gave up on this and looked away with a disgusted snort. Szayel smiled to himself and turned back to his work, transferring the cream puffs to a plate and affixing a metal tip to the bag of whipped cream he'd prepared from scratch. One of them at least. He'd made a variety; each flavored differently. This one contained traces of ginger, allspice, and cardamom. Another had cinnamon, molasses, and pumpkin. Yet another creamed honey and almond. The fourth was ordinary whipped cream with a touch more vanilla added than the others. The pastry puffs themselves he'd infused with chai, his own personal touch.
Fruit tarts would be good to make. I want to try persimmon since it has such a unique taste, and pomegranate would be an interesting challenge with all the seeds…
He scrunched up his face as he concentrated on filling each of the puffs, alternating creams so that he ended up with a varied assortment. He wouldn't come close to using up all of it though. Perhaps Hiroko could make use of it in some project of hers? He was close to finishing when all of a sudden he felt Nnoitra's long arms snake around his torso, pulling him snug against his chest. Startled, Szayel reflexively squeezed the bag he was holding, and a great spurt of honey and almond whipped cream squirted onto his hand. He eyed the sticky mess sourly, tilting his head back to look the taller man in the eye.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd warn me before you do that. Look what you made me do," he remarked sternly with a disapproving twist of his mouth. Nnoitra grimaced, earlier irritation having apparently dissipated.
"What's the fun in that?"
"I avoid getting messy is what."
"So that's the only issue you have with it, right?" he prompted. Szayel sniffed arrogantly in reply.
"No, Nnoitra. The problem is that –gah!"
Szayel stuttered over his would be haughty reply, his mouth dropping open with surprise and his cheeks coloring as Nnoitra promptly grabbed his wrist and lifted the cream covered hand to his lips. Smirking, he licked off a ribbon of the sweet filling, his eyes holding Szayel's all the while.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded indignantly.
"Fixing your mess," he replied cheekily before licking up another curl. Szayel's pulse pounded in his ears and wrist, where he was acutely sensitive to Nnoitra's ministrations, but to his credit he didn't panic. Not immediately anyways.
Nnoitra finished cleaning off the last of the cream and angled Szayel's fingers towards his lips. Kissing them, he took the tips into his mouth and sucked while his other hand slipped under the hem of his shirt to stroke his stomach.
"Nnoitra!" he shouted, a note of apprehension leaking into his voice.
"Mmm?" the black haired man replied vaguely.
"The cream is gone. Stop molesting me!"
Nnoitra relinquished his hold on his wrist and sighed as he withdrew the hand on his abdomen. He did not however let go of him entirely, but remained behind him, disconcertingly close.
"Can't you lighten up just a little?"
"Not around you, regardless of how many times you ask. You'd take advantage of me."
"That's part of lightening up."
"Oh really?"
Nnoitra turned him, pinning him against the counter.
"Really," he assured him with a licentious wink as he pressed his hips flush with the other's. Szayel's face burned from the provocative position he suddenly found himself in.
"Well too bad. I don't feel like it," he replied stubbornly.
"Sure you do. You're getting' hot even while you deny it. Can't refute what your body's sayin'."
"Screw my stupid body! Listen to what I say!"
They both paused, and Szayel blanched. Why why why don't I think before speaking around him?
"Sure thing, Szay," said Nnoitra with a wicked grin. In a flash they were on the floor tangled up in each other. Everything was a whirl of color and heat; nothing made sense until he found himself flat on his back with his shoulders pressed almost painfully into the floor and Nnoitra on top looking insufferably smug.
"Don't you dare," he warned, slightly breathless from their flurry of activity.
Nnoitra smiled impishly.
"I dare," he whispered conspiratorially as he leaned in to kiss him.
"Mmph!" he protested as he wriggled underneath him. Nnoitra's response was to trap his arms over his head and kiss him harder. Szayel saw stars and gasped for breath as soon as Nnoitra released his mouth, dizzy from lack of air. As disoriented as he was, he offered little resistance to his advances until he felt the black haired man tug his pants down and slide his broad palms over his hip bones. Szayel drew his legs together and up defensively as Nnoitra levered himself over him.
"Don't make me force you," he cajoled as he worked his shirt off.
"You already are, bastard!" Szayel spat back, irate at his playful tone. He glared when Nnoitra wedged a leg between his locked knees and prized them apart.
"If its any consolation to you, you hold the record of all my interests for having lasted longest without getting' laid."
"So I'm only an interest? Well that makes me feel so much better about getting forced into having shallow sex with you."
"You're the one who asked me to listen to what you said. I'm just obligin' that command."
"Nnoitra- ah!"
He yelped as the man nibbled the tender flesh over his pelvis and squirmed as the region grew hot in response. Nnoitra chuckled and peeled away the last bit of cloth obscuring his prize- or began to. He was foiled before he could finish by Hiroko walking in on them. She stared at the panting heap for a moment before dropping off her load of dishes and snatching up one of the cream puffs.
"Your break ends in five minutes, Takeda," she informed him as she popped it into her mouth, looking totally unfazed.
"Damn," he replied with feeling, easing off Szayel.
"Indeed. A real shame. Do me a favor and get a room next time; this is where I make food that people eat. I need it to remain clean. There's even a room upstairs that is conveniently soundproofed. Or better yet! Have your fun after work when no one will inconvenience you by interrupting. Not that I care, but one must think of the customers."
"The customers… of course Hiroko-san. How inconsiderate of me."
"I expect to see you back in the shop groomed and fully clothed when your work day resumes," she said curtly before turning to leave.
"Yes," Nnoitra sighed melancholically as he stood and fixed his clothes. Szayel breathed relief as he sat up, feeling his cheeks flame as he pulled up his pants, straightened his shirt, and adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked askew.
"What are you sighing about? You've still got five minutes," the woman remarked with a saucy grin as she swept out of the kitchen. Szayel stared after her, eyes wide.
"Hiroko!" he yelled to her retreating back with indignation.
"Hiroko-san you little ingrate, and I don't get involved with Takeda's extracurricular affairs. Tough luck, kid," she called from the café.
"But you don't need to encourage him…" muttered Szayel. He glanced up at Nnoitra nervously, trying to gauge his mood. The taller man smiled at his pinched expression.
"Well, you heard the lady. I've got five minutes," he remarked brightly.
"That's no lady," was Szayel's dry response.
Nnoitra smirked and pulled him to his feet, putting an arm around his waist to steady him.
"She likes you. That's why she teases you," he said.
"And you?" Szayel asked.
"Driving people crazy is just a hobby of mine," Nnoitra replied lightly, kissing the top of his head before letting him go. The scientist was a little surprised by this gesture and voiced his confusion.
"You aren't going to try something?"
Nnoitra looked amused by his uncertain query and quirked an eyebrow suggestively.
"Five minutes- four now –are not enough to do anything worthwhile, but if you're still interested… you could always come over to my place later and do some baking."
"Ah, I think I'll pass on that offer," Szayel muttered wryly.
"Too bad… but it's your loss really."
"I'll endure somehow."
Nnoitra tied his work apron on and cast him a playful grin.
"Right. We'll talk after I get off. I've got somethin' I forgot to mention earlier that I want to discuss with you. Got sort of sidetracked, you know?"
"'Sidetracked' is a polite way of putting attempted rape."
"You're makin' me sound like a criminal, Szay," he said reproachfully as he swept out of the room to attend to the register. Maybe because you are one Szayel thought as he stared broodingly at the wall for the next ten minutes until Hiroko walked in and found him. She quickly put an end to his sulking.
"You gonna finish filling these puffs or shall I kick you out? You said you'd help with the baking today, so you damn well better live up to your offer."
"I volunteered Mrs. Hiroko; I did not indenture myself to you as an apprentice or a servant to be ordered about," he replied coolly, stirring from his spot.
"Same difference. The only thing voluntary means is that you can walk out whenever you want and not suffer repercussions. However, you are working with me and your reasons for working are not so pure that you may walk out without a care in the world. So as long as you are under my jurisdiction, you will do as I will, and I will you not to stew in that corner uselessly and take up space. Now get back to baking, or if you'd rather you could always wash the dishes instead."
"You are a frustrating woman, Hiroko-san," Szayel remarked as he walked back over to his station and continued filling the puffs.
"Ha. I'm merely your humble ego deflator," she retorted.
"You and Nnoitra both, and you're anything but humble."
"Shut up and fill those pastries faster. We're doing tiramisu next, then we're making truffles."
"Truffles! I do not know how to make candy, Mrs. Hiroko. I cannot help you there."
"Making candy is just like making anything else. Keep a cool head, be quick, and follow the instructions. I'll give you the pointers a recipe book doesn't, and the rest depends on an innate intuition, which you seem to have. I'll admit that candy making is more intuitive than other kinds of cooking, but you'll be fine."
"Very well," he replied, filling the last puff and carrying his bags of whipped cream over to the fridge, "But you don't strike me as a chocolatier. What is the occasion?"
"One of my underlings has their birthday in three days. Since you offered to help in the shop today, I figured I'd take advantage of that assistance today to get the truffles out of the way so I wouldn't have them looming over my shoulder later. Tiramisu doesn't take long to prepare, only chill, so that leaves us the rest of the day to focus on the chocolates. That'll free me up to make the recipes reliant on freshness in two days or so."
Szayel blinked at her, a little stunned. Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. Here was another side to the fiery, middle aged woman; a softer angle. But perhaps it had always been there, and he just hadn't taken note of it."
"That's surprisingly sweet," he said without thinking. The demon stirred. Hiroko's eyes flashed, and she grinned maliciously. Szayel regretted voicing his observation.
"I've changed my mind," she said in a dangerous croon, "In addition to the truffles, you're going to learn how to make liquor chocolates and bon bons from scratch."
"That's inhumanly cruel and vindictive, Mrs. Hiroko," he said reproachfully as he considered the enormous task ahead of him. His list of tasks to accomplish had just doubled while his time to do them remained the same.
"You can either complain and waste time or get to work and finish before I close shop. Grab the mascarpone and eggs while you're over by the fridge, will you?"
Szayel retrieved the requested ingredients with an exaggerated sigh of supreme suffering. He doubted he would have any down time between now and six, assuming they finished by six. He did not know how long it would take to make the candies, but he anticipated that they would take more than just a couple of hours. And if Hiroko had it out for him now, he doubted that her mood would improve over the course of the rest of the afternoon. The scientist briefly considered walking out as he'd pointed out he could do, but knew that, as she'd said, he wouldn't. Unless inspiration hit him, he had nothing to do with his day, and the hours would pass more quickly under stressful conditions than if he whiled away his time staring at the ceiling. And that was really the fundamental problem with being an immortal mastermind; after awhile, ambition ceased to be a driving force and things became incredibly dull. To the point where it could be used as leverage against him.
It's a very good thing for human dictators that they die before they can grow bored with their victories or the tedium would lead them to suicide. Perhaps they'd grow a conscience and become philanthropists? Shaking his head to clear it of his idle musings, he cracked open a recipe book and scanned the index for tiramisu.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Hiroko liked to see him squirm. Making the chocolates had been surprisingly simple, so simple in fact that he was left with a lot of downtime. She'd threatened and teased and coerced him into working hard, but once they started, he realized that their task wouldn't take much more than three hours. The after noon had passed more relaxedly than he'd anticipated. When they'd finished with all the sweets, she stored them away in another room, which contained its own refrigerator. It was the one she used for special circumstances, when she didn't want anyone touching what she made. It had a lock on it, to discourage nosy people, though he doubted if anyone would risk incurring her displeasure for a peak even if there wasn't a lock.
She'd left him to his own devices once she'd extorted from him the services she desired, in a decidedly better mood than usual. Szayel took the opportunity to flip through her recipe books and decide on his next project. He chose flan, a custard dish served with caramel on top, though this custard was firmer and held its shape. It was also, he found out, extremely tricky to make properly as the baker needed to have an intimate knowledge of the workings and quirks of his particular oven and tools. Failure to prepare it correctly resulted in a grainy, dry, over browned product. Szayel failed, twice, before he discovered the ideal temperature and length of time to cook it for, something Hiroko assured him was fantastic.
"Many never learn how to make it right," she'd remarked approvingly. He'd only grimaced and grumbled that it wasn't perfect yet; he still struggled with the caramel. At this she'd only grinned and left him laboring over the oven. It took him quite a few tries with the caramel before he'd achieved a product that was sweet, golden, and glossy without tasting burned. The most arduous part of the whole process was scraping the blackened caramel from the bottom of the pan each time he was unsuccessful, for Hiroko would not allow him to switch pans unless he felt like "doing extra dishes." He had plenty of those to do without adding to the burden. By the time he'd baked a pair of flans to near perfection and topped them with an adequate drizzle of caramel each and a sprinkling of brown sugar, he set them to chill in the fridge, cleaned up his work area, put away all the ingredients, and washed the dishes, he was exhausted both spiritually and physically. His human gigai demanded rest as it was quite unused to strenuous activity over a long stretch of time. Though he did not mean to, he fell asleep sitting upright in a chair. This was how Nnoitra found him when he walked into the kitchen after finishing his shift.
The human spotted the slender figure slumped in his chair, breathing softly and deeply. His pink hair fell into his face, obscuring it slightly, but there was no mistaking that he was asleep. He must have been very tired to have nodded off while upright, or to even have slept where someone could walk in on him and catch him in a vulnerable state. Nnoitra paused, half expecting him to sense his presence somehow in that uncanny way he sometimes demonstrated, but he did not wake. The scientist remained in his sleeping state, lips slightly parted and blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Nnoitra found it incredibly difficult to walk the remaining paces to him and just shake him gently.
"Wake up, Szay," he said patiently, trying to ignore the way he moaned softly in reply. He closed his mouth and shifted a little in his seat, but otherwise did not show any signs of waking. Nnoitra shook him again, a little more firmly. Szayel's eyelids fluttered and he stirred, a small frown twisting his lips into a pout, but still it didn't rouse him to consciousness. Nnoitra leaned in then, loosing some of his self restraint, and kissed him on the lips. This prompted a reaction; after a few seconds, Szayel straightened and began to wake. Nnoitra stepped back as he opened his eyes, stretched, and yawned dreamily. When Nnoitra came into focus, he offered him a sleepy smile, then looked around a little bewilderedly as he took in his surroundings.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, sleeping beauty," Nnoitra remarked as the other man grimaced.
"Did I really fall asleep in the middle of the kitchen?"
"Apparently so. You were sleeping like the dead."
"The dead don't sleep. That is an inaccurate analogy."
"Whatever you say. All I know is that you were out."
"This body is inconveniently fragile."
Szayel sat up but made no move to stand, he still looked tired, though in no danger of falling asleep. Twisting his spine to realign the bones, he looked up at the taller man musingly.
"There's flan in the fridge. You can have one of them," he informed him quietly. Nnoitra meandered over to the refrigerator and opened it, quickly finding the desert. He glanced over at Szayel as he selected his.
"Want me to bring you the other?" he offered. Szayel shook his head.
"That one is for Hiroko, to apologize for wasted ingredients. I've tried more flan today than I care for."
"You screwed up?"
"Abysmally."
"Wow. Maybe I should mark today down on a calendar. You actually failed at something."
"Multiple times."
"Wow," he repeated, shoving a spoon into the flan and scooping a piece into his mouth. He looked down at the desert critically, then ate another spoonful. After the fifth, he walked back over to Szayel and pulled up a chair across from him.
"It's good though," Nnoitra said, "Really good."
"It had better be. It gave me a lot of grief to cook."
"You should have some," he insisted.
"No thank you."
Nnoitra stuck his tongue out at him and stuffed Szayel's mouth with a spoonful of flan.
"Eat," he commanded. Szayel swallowed. It did taste good; creamy and decadent. Nothing like his earlier attempts. Nnoitra meanwhile continued the conversation.
"So I was wondering if you wanted to do something with me on Thursday?"
"As if I don't spend time with you every other day of the week?" Szayel remarked sarcastically. It was true. After the day at the amusement park, they'd begun to spend more time together. At least an hour or two each day. The expanding collection of plants and sprouting seedlings in his suite were a testament to that, though Nnoitra had yet to see them in that setting. The details of his home remained a mystery to the human, and every day, Nnoitra grew bolder in his advances. Whatever apprehension he'd developed seemed to have dissipated after the theme park. Today was a good example of that.
"Yeah, but Thursday is a special day. I want to take you somewhere new."
"Where?"
"Well…" he said with a rueful smile, 'It's more like to what. I want to go to a costume party."
"A… costume party?" Szayel echoed, his inflection making it a question even if it was an observation.
"Yes. Its kinda like a get together my old college is putting together. Not quite as stuffy as a reunion. Basically, it's a way to brag about what you've made of yourself so far, but superficial reasons aside, I think it could be fun."
"So we each select a costume to wear and go dressed as such to this social event?"
"Well," Nnoitra said thoughtfully, "I was thinking to liven things up, we could pick each other's costumes."
"Pirate," Szayel said immediately. Nnoitra gave him a questioning look, and the scientist elaborated on his ambiguous statement. "You are going to be a pirate."
"Any particular reason?" the human asked, bemused.
"I have an eye patch fetish," the pink haired Arrancar replied dryly. Nnoitra shrugged, grinning, and didn't question Szayel any further. The wry allusion was lost on him.
"I'll be whatever the hell you want, as long as you're going. And since you seem so taken with the idea… I'll enjoy picking out your costume."
Szayel went a little pale at these words, then his face reddened as he realized the trap he'd been suckered into.
"Nnoitra! You aren't going to… don't you dare pick anything weird! I will not go out in public wearing something humiliating!"
"Have a sense of humor, Szay. C'mon… you don't even know what you'll be wearing yet."
"Nothing dignified, I know."
"Nobody will know you, and everyone will be dressed strangely. It's a costume party; you aren't meant to be dignified. You're just supposed to have fun. So, is it a date?"
Szayel pursed his lips but nodded, agreeing.
"Alright Nnoitra. I'll go, but you have to have the costume to me the day before, so if I don't like it, I'll have time to make adjustments. Take it or leave it."
The taller man looked slightly exasperated but did not try to argue the point. He only shrugged before pulling the scientist into a one armed hug, the other still occupied with the flan.
"Guess I'll have to make do. But you know? It isn't fair that you get to pick my outfit and I don't get to pick yours," he remarked as he released the smaller man. Szayel offered him a condescending look.
"We'll see. I'm not saying that I won't wear what you pick, just that I reserve the right to refuse to wear it. Now do you by chance have some measuring tape around the shop?"
"As a matter of fact, we do," said Nnoitra, "What do you want it for?"
"I need to take your measurements so I can have your costume fitted properly," Szayel replied. Nnoitra smirked, a lascivious glint brightening his eyes.
"Does that mean I get yours?"
He reeled them off briskly, denying him the embarrassed reaction he knew he wanted, and Nnoitra frowned, heading off to retrieve the tape.
"You're no fun," he said as he returned and passed it to Szayel. The scientist grunted and wrapped the tape around the taller man's waist, pulling it tight.
"Tough," he said, "You're the one inviting me so put up or shut up."
"Shoulda left you sleeping," Nnoitra grumbled, "You're more obliging that way."
Szayel glared and tightened the measuring tape so that the human was forced to exhale the breath left in his lungs… leaving him with no air to speak with.
"And you're more cooperative when you can't breathe," the scientist retorted with a smirk. Nnoitra rolled his eyes but relented, the lure of oxygen too great to hazard a snarky comeback.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Szayel eyed his handiwork on screen with a critical expression, then nodded, pleased.
"Lumina, Verona," he called. The twins, who'd been waiting for their master to finish his design choice for the past hour and occasionally offered opinions or advice when solicited, stepped up to flank him.
"Yes-" Lumina began.
"Szayel Aporro-sama?" Verona finished.
Szayel gave them both irritated looks.
"I've told you before to stop doing that before I strap you to my operating table and sever your vocal cords. It's obnoxious."
"Of course," they said in unison, and he swallowed the urge to do something unspeakably horrible to the pair. Those two were getting cheeky, with their impish half smiles and irreverence of him sometimes, but it would be far more trouble than it was worth to replace problem was, they knew this.
"I've completed the order. Send it off to the company and fill out the billing details. I expect the order rush delivered, of course."
"Yes Szayel-sama," they replied, and Szayel gave them a warning look They ducked their heads respectfully, but beneath their dark curtains of hair, he knew they'd be smiling. Impudent creatures. Szayel felt the urge to mess with them, and this one he indulged.
"I've seen the summer wardrobe, and I must say… it could use some work."
The pair tensed, shoulders going rigid, and he smirked to imagine the expressions they were making.
"Ah… of course. Completely out of line," Lumina stuttered nervously.
"We'll fix it right away!" Verona added, voice cracking with anxiety.
Szayel smiled serenely.
"See that you do."
He dismissed them to their work, then drifted over to his laboratory, connecting to Nnoitra's number with a thought.
"Hey," he said when the other answered, his lips curling into a smile, "How are things coming along on your end?"
-.-.-.-.-.-
Wednesday. Nnoitra would have received his package by now, as he'd warned the black haired man the day before. He'd managed to refrain from describing it to him, preferring to let the other discover the particulars of his costume on his own. Of course, he wasn't expecting Nnoitra to have his to him until the day of, regardless of his conditions.
How wrong he was. A package sat conspicuously on the table when Szayel arrived for his daily afternoon visit. It claimed all his attention as soon as he stepped into the shop, becoming a morbid point of fixation. Nnoitra grinned at him as he came over, still staring, and slid the package across the table top.
"Why the surprise? You said to have it to you by today, right?" he teased.
"Yes, but I was not expecting…" Szayel began, picking it up and turning it over in is hands. The weight and feel of it gave no indication as to the contents, and it was wrapped in a black paper that he knew would not expose the clothes within to external scrutiny. The only way to know was to open the parcel itself. His hand twitched, moving towards the gold ribbon that crisscrossed the surface of the paper.
"Open that when you get home," Nnoitra ordered, and Szayel paused. His fingers twitched again with the powerful urge to tear the bindings off anyways, but he managed to control that impulse. His face was sour with disappointment as he left it alone, and Nnoitra chuckled as he leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.
"You'll see it soon enough. Then if it's really terrible, you can ditch it. But you know… it would really make me happy if you'd wear it."
Szayel made a sound of disgust and turned away from Nnoitra's kiss.
"Like I care," he said primly. The human smiled and stood.
"Right. So I was thinking we could take a walk down to the waterfront for lunch today."
-.-.-.-.-.-
Szayel inhaled as he freed the clothing from its wrappings.
No way. No, this is just…
"Nnoitra, why…"
The pink haired man groaned as he let the costume drop from his hands and sat back on his couch heavily, face twisted with consternation.
"Why do you have to do this to me?" he asked of the air.
Was he serious? Or was this just a joke? A test? Did he really believe he'd wear it? Or… was he just assuming he'd bring is own costume regardless and decided to pull out all the stops?
And why is this such a dilemma to me? Why am I even conflicted about this? Giving it a minute's consideration?
He stared at the heap of beautifully sewn clothes that lay discarded on the floor and buried his face in his hands. It was all too confusing… and it wasn't supposed to be. He was supposed to be clear on his own limits, right?
Szayel left the room and its unsettling new addition, combing a hand through his hair. Now was one of those rare times he didn't want to think; just shut down and ignore the reality around him. But being who he was, that was as likely to happen as he was to stop breathing willfully. Try as he might, he'd think in the end.
"I said I wouldn't wear it if it was too humiliating," the scientist said brokenly to no one in particular. His only response was the quiet ticking of his clock and the burble of a fish tank Nnoitra had given him the idea to set up a week ago.
-.-.-.-.-.-
They saw each other again Thursday afternoon, as usual. The details of the day faded away in his mind, hazed by the oppressive presence of the decision that waited for him at home. Nnoitra had noticed how preoccupied he looked, but tactfully refrained from bringing the topic up. His silence only made him feel more cornered, and by the time he bid him farewell and returned to his suite, it weighed like a death sentence on his mind.
He had to decide. The clothes still lay on the floor where he'd left them the evening before. Skirting the pile, he angled for the bathroom. Once isolated here, he hunched over the sink and let his fingers clench the marble bowl until they turned as white as the stone they gripped.
"Shit!" he breathed, the word flying from his mouth half gasp and half exclamation.
The scientist stood there for several minutes, feeling the ebb and flow of emotions threatening to overwhelm him like the thoughts that plagued his mind unceasingly.
I have to make a decision. Do I wear it or not?
He had time. If he was really desperate, he could even make himself a costume. But would he? The scientist sighed, letting go of the sink, and looked into the mirror. A wan face stared back at him, pale and confused. It was an effigy of anguish, so troubled it seemed at the verge of breaking down. He seemed…so ordinary. Szayel touched his cheek and watched his double mirror the action, not quite believing the expression of anguish he was making.
And all over some clothes? Pull yourself together; this is ridiculous. This is…
"Human," he whispered, finishing his thought aloud, and the word was an epiphany. Tonight he would be a human in the eyes of everyone who would appraise him. So what did that make him then?
"Just a lost soul. Another lost soul who no one knows."
And wasn't that the point of a costume party? To pretend to be someone one wasn't? No one would know him as Szayel. He didn't have anyone to maintain appearances for. Himself? That was psychological; a set of expectations coded by society. Nnoitra?
You can ditch it. But you know… it would really make me happy if you'd wear it.
"Like I care," Szayel said, parroting his own reply from a day ago. But his lips curled into a wry smile and he straightened, coming to a decision.
That was the problem in the end. He did care. Shaking his head at his own hopeless stupidity, he walked out of the bathroom and retrieved the package from the floor.
"Well," he remarked lightly, "If I'm going to dress up, I wont do it half assed."
Nnoitra was going to get more than he'd bargained for. So much more. An elfin expression flitted across his face as he resigned himself to the evening ahead and shook out the outfit, holding it up to eye level. I'd better get a truly classic response when I see him, or I'm walking out on him then and there. The scientist smiled at this thought, his will bolstered, and took a steadying breath.
"Like cake…" he murmured unconvincingly, and stripped. He wanted to be clean… and it was easier to style hair when it was wet.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Szayel's breath caught as he felt all his air compressed out of his lungs. He'd discovered something worse than roller coasters and sick days; corsets.
"Dear god, how did women from any time period manage?" he gasped, struggling to inflate his oxygen deprived lungs. He promptly abandoned this endeavor as Verona tightened the laces further, and he lost himself to a lightheaded delirium. Surely this would kill him. He'd pass out and die from a lack of air and then he'd have to defibrillate his gigai or something tedious like that.
"Please bear it, Szayel-sama. I'm almost done," Verona announced, and he felt her tie off the laces in the back. The scientist ventured to breathe and found himself coughing instead.
"…truly the invention of a sadist. Even I'm not so twisted to imagine a socially accepted torture device," he muttered faintly. Verona came around to stand in front of him and fanned his face.
But I'm the masochist to wear it anyways…
"Do you need assistance with anything else?" his female Fracción inquired mildly.
He shook his head and waved her away, and she promptly left him alone in front of the mirror with the rest of his ensemble. His hands smoothed over the ruffled dress he wore, finger tips plucking at the lace edged borders conscientiously. Oh that dress… Szayel sighed, staring at his reflection doubtfully.
Leave it to Nnoitra to pick something so kinky. And to his Fracción for helping; the company it came from was the same he'd ordered Nnoitra's from.
It took after the romantic style; bedecked in beautiful silk and satin ribbon… lace and ruffles and pleats and luxurious flounces of cloth. But the cut was more modern; where the length of the skirt would have swept to the floor in a traditional dress, this one boldly ended above mid thigh, covering him… but just barely. The rest of his legs were obscured by sheer stockings that ended just below the skirt line, revealing a narrow strip of bare skin, and his feet were encased in a pair of knee high boots that laced up the sides and added a few inches to his height. The heels were actually rather frightening, and he wondered how women managed to walk in such contraptions.
The dress itself was of a simple design, nothing too fancy. No sparkle or extravagant stitching. The corset was burgundy silk and ribbed, dipping down in a V shape until it reached his hips whereupon a mass of layered flounces, alternating black and burgundy, lent them false fullness and definition. The flashes of white lace, which edged the lower layers, were striking, but inevitably drew the eyes down. As if to compensate for this, an arresting cravat of white, that tied around his neck, cascaded down his front, the frills ending just above the dip in the corset above his chest.
That was another thing. Szayel ran a finger across the line where cloth ended and skin began. It was a misleading line, a false one. The corset did more than narrow and shape his waist; it added too. To a part of his figure that didn't exist, and with today's materials, an accurate deception. He tried not to fixate on the new swell of his body, preferring not to think of it too much. If he did, he'd find himself getting flustered at the thought, and that was something he absolutely couldn't afford to do. Things had to seem natural.
There wasn't much left to add. The sleeves; he pulled these on. The fabric tied just below his shoulders and billowed out to full cuffs. His nails he'd already trimmed and buffed till they shined. It was time to apply the make up. Opening the kit Verona had brought him, he rifled through the various cosmetics before selecting a tube of plum colored lipstick that reminded him of the color of the markings in his Resurrección. The blush was a damask rose, applied lightly along his cheekbones to give them definition. He went for a layered effect with the eye shadow; a light pink undertone that morphed into a dusky shade of pink and finally a dusting of purple around the edges. His eyelids he rimmed sparingly with black eyeliner, then a thin line of white to bring out his eyes and mascara to lengthen his lashes. Enormous and stunning; an eye catching amber that verged on molten gold. If only this form didn't have weak eyes… for tonight, he'd replaced them with clear contacts. He set the kit aside, wondering how Nnoitra would react. Eccentrically as he dressed at times, he didn't apply make up. Ever. The scientist didn't intend to enlighten him as to how he'd learned either.
Last was the hat. A silly little thing a quarter of the size of a real one that was meant to be tied on with a ribbon under the chin. It was decorated with colorful feathers that trailed and a false but convincing floral arrangement. Szayel undid the pins that held his hair curled and arranged the pink locks into soft waves that hung around his face charmingly. It was a messier look, one that reminded him of his earlier days as an Arrancar. The hat went over this, and he positioned it at a rakish angle on his head. Taking a shallow breath, he stood a little shakily and looked at himself in the mirror.
Tall and model thin, with a narrow waist and a defined but not exaggerated chest. The skirt gave the impression of hips that didn't really exist and teased the imagination. And it was amazing, truly amazing at what a change of clothes and some make up could do. Looking at himself, Szayel didn't see a cross-dressing man. He looked…so natural, carrying off this outfit. Like it suited him. Even if it was all, everything, artificial. A feeling of disappointment welled up within him, and he sat back down. A burble of laughter rose to his painted lips.
"I guess I'm just too good at playing pretend," he remarked wistfully to his beautiful reflection, who stared back with eyes haunted by a strange emotion.
He forced himself to stand again and practice walking in his heeled shoes. And gradually, painfully, he grew accustomed to both the limited steps he could take and a shallower breathing pattern. He was, however, in no mood to walk Karakura City dressed up as he was at night, and so he took the easy way out by opening a Garganta a block away from the café.
The back door was open since the shop proper had closed four hours ago, and the only business maintained at this time of night was strictly illicit. The shop never really closed, just to the general public. After hours, it became a hotbed of shady activity as the rest of the Family came home. Szayel passed through it and into the kitchen area of the shop, materializing from the darkness beyond the door.
A group of members loitered around a collapsible tale that had been dragged out of the closet, many of them faces he didn't recognize. He'd met some of the others on his evening outings with Nnoitra, but the majority of the gang remained unknown to him. Which was well enough; he didn't particularly care about the other mobsters. Wondering at the occasion that had drawn so many from their retreats to the shop this evening, he spied cake on the table and recalled Hiroko had mentioned it was the birthday of one of her underlings today.
"Takeda, your date is here," she said to Nnoitra, who was chatting amicably with another man. He paused in his discussion immediately, looking up. As soon as he saw Szayel, his eyes widened with shock. The scientist smiled back and stepped into the light.
"I'm here to steal Nobu for the evening," he announced, and the others shot each other sly glances at his words. The man sitting next to Nnoitra nudged him in the ribs.
"You're staring," he informed him with a smirk. Nnoitra shook his head, as if clearing a cloud from his mind, and stood. Szayel saw he was already in costume. The admiral's jacket fitted him perfectly; not clingy, but not loose either. It was a gorgeous navy blue with gold lapels and ivory cufflinks shaped like daggers. A red sash hung at a crooked angle off his waist, and the tan trousers he wore disappeared into a heavy pair of black boots. His hair was worn loose and wild today, the top of his head covered by a black officer's cap, and a gold chain hung around his throat. It was the skull and cross bone insignia on the cap and the patch that covered his left eye that gave him his air of roguishness and hinted that the well dressed man pandered to a more illegal line of work. But oh, that eye patch…
"Szayel?" his pirate asked, uncertain.
"Yes Nnoitra?" he returned mildly. Nnoitra blinked, still looking disoriented.
"You look…" Nnoitra trailed off, and Szayel waited. The other man swallowed, finding his words. "God, you look incredible. To be honest, I didn't expect you to wear that."
"I might as well. You bought it with my money. Or rather, my dear assistants forwarded the bill to my account."
Nnoitra's mouth quirked into a smile, but he still seemed bewildered. Guess he bought it as a joke after all. Somehow, he found this thought disappointing.
"Yeah, they approached me Tuesday evening and helped me navigate the company's catalogue. I thought you'd sent them at the time, since they introduced themselves on your behalf."
"Ah yes. Lumina and Verona… I knew you'd get along," Szayel remarked, and Nnoitra grinned. He seemed to have shaken off the most of his surprise, for his expression turned devious as he walked up to him and put an arm around his shoulder.
"I'll have to thank 'em later. For now, lets go to that party."
"You rude bastard, Takeda. Aren't you going to even offer him a slice of cake before dragging him off?" Hiroko interjected, "It may be your birthday, but that doesn't give you an excuse to forget your manners."
"It's your birthday?" Szayel asked, looking up in surprise. Nnoitra rolled his visible eye at Hiroko.
"Yeah, it is. But-"
"Why didn't you tell me! I'm your boyfriend god damn it!"
"Well I wanted to keep it secret. I woulda told you later."
"And I suppose you would have used that information later to guilt me into doing something for you."
Nnoitra kissed him on the lips, stemming his caustic words. He made an irritated sound, but subsided, albeit sulkily.
"Of course," Nnoitra replied when he'd shut up. Szayel hmmed to himself, but didn't inquire as to what. He'd find out later.
"I don't have a gift for you," he said sullenly, and Nnoitra gave him a squeeze.
"You wore the costume, didn't you?"
Hiroko coughed, drawing attention to herself. They looked over.
"The chocolates, Grantz,"
"Chocolates?"
Oh. His moodiness evaporated as he suddenly realized why she'd had him make them. He disentangled himself from Nnoitra, following the woman, who marched over to her private fridge. Upon unlocking it and looking inside, Szayel saw she had already packaged the chocolates he'd made in neat cellophane bags tied at the top with silver ribbon. He looked over at her wordlessly, and at her nod, reached in to pull them out.
"I figured he'd pull something like this, so I had you unknowingly prepare a gift," she said.
"And here I thought you didn't interfere with Nnoitra's affairs."
"I don't," replied Hiroko, "But its fun to mess with him and frankly, you're going to need all the help you can get tonight."
She gave him a purposeful once over, and he found himself getting a little self conscious. Hiroko was someone he knew after all, someone he'd have to interact with again. At his faint wince, the woman grinned and shut the fridge, relocking it before she led him back to the kitchen.
"You don't look bad, kid. You just wouldn't be mistaken for male in a million years. Good luck."
The café manager passed him off to Nnoitra, who waited by the doorway. Still feeling utterly ridiculous after Hiroko's appraisal of him, he offered the packages to his date without comment. There were three different bags, each containing one of the three sweets he'd made. And they didn't contain all he'd made either; he guessed that Hiroko had kept two thirds of each batch for everyone else, which was probably a good thing since he'd made quite a lot.
"You didn't make these by hand, did you?" Nnoitra asked as he inspected his gifts.
"Hiroko instructed me in how to make them and assisted, but yes; I made them myself."
Nnoitra gave him a funny look as he tucked the small baggies into his pockets for later.
"That's amazing. Reminds me of how people would give each other handmade chocolates on Valentine's day, though that's not so common anymore."
"Hmm."
The taller man wrapped an arm around him and escorted him out of the door, waving a farewell to the others over his shoulder. Their retreat was met with catcalls, and Szayel felt himself tensing up in response. Noticing his discomfort, Nnoitra struck up a conversation.
"Why'd you humor my request?"
"I found myself obsessing over what to do, and I decided that wasn't right. That no one would know me anyways and… because I figured, well you said it would make you happy."
Nnoitra's ever present grin faltered for a moment, and he seemed to be caught unbalanced. His recovery was swift, but some of his surprise still showed in his words.
"Oh really? I just sort of said that. I didn't think you'd pay it any mind. I mean, you've always struck me as a proud person."
Szayel paused, face darkening. But under the defensive expression, another lurked. He couldn't quite place it himself, only knew it wasn't something he'd felt often. The scientist struggled to pin a name to it. Pain, he finally settled on. It was pain he felt, and this distressed him. Frustrated by this revelation, he turned and punched Nnoitra in the arm.
"I am a proud person, and do you know? That was my downfall the last time, because I was too arrogant to see past my own limitations. No, I was too arrogant to even conceive I had limitations. I used to be convinced I was the pinnacle of achievement. A perfect being. And I was forced to realize in the cruelest of ways that I'm not. I won't stop being proud because I have good reason to, but don't question my actions when I deviate from the set persona you ascribe to me. I'm not so two dimensional."
Nnoitra rubbed his arm where Szayel had hit him, looking once again taken aback and a little dazed for the third time that evening. The scientist made a frustrated sound and sped up, unwilling to wait for the other's reaction. But it never really came. Nnoitra only lengthened his pace to catch up after a few minutes.
"This way," he indicated once they found themselves in the more heavily urbanized districts, and proceeded to guide him through the many twisting streets. Their destination, once they reached it, was what appeared to be a rented out nightclub. Inside, Szayel could see the lights were dimmed and colored lamps lit, lending the place a mysterious ambience.
And there were people. So many people. They milled about, a disorienting crowd dressed in the most outlandish costumes. Szayel needn't have worried so much about his looks; he wasn't tame in comparison per se, but he certainly wasn't the most arresting attendee. Rather than relaxing at this discovery, he felt uncomfortable. He unconsciously stood closer to Nnoitra, taking reassurance in the solidity he offered.
"You went to school with all these people?" he asked as he watched a pair dressed up as a geisha and a samurai stroll by.
"Yeah. And this isn't even the half of them, but its not like I know them all personally," Nnoitra replied. He on the other hand seemed to be loosening up in this large gathering. He was in his element; surrounded by chaos, life, and noise. Szayel envied the ease with which he adapted to his environment, while feeling claustrophobic himself.
"Relax Szayel, you'll be fine."
"You're always telling me that."
"Well its true."
All the same, Nnoitra didn't leave him to fend for himself. If anything, he happily took advantage of his discomfort, pulling him close. And though the scientist felt he should probably pull away to show him he wasn't feeling so clingy, the truth of the matter happened to be that he was. Rarely… no, never had he had to mingle with so many people at once. It was hot and crowded, the mass of humans around him very reminiscent of one large, breathing animal. And he felt like the outsider, the invading pathogen.
Well, it would seem this beast had no immune system. It did not seem to find difference with the pink haired new arrival and his lanky companion, parting to admit the pair. Nnoitra towed him over to the bar and installed him in one of the stools, thus giving him a much needed respite from the chaotic tide.
"So now we're here. What exactly did you have in mind, Nnoitra?" Szayel inquired of him.
"Eh, see you in drag, spend the evening with someone I actually want to talk to, and generally chill away from the shop."
"You don't want to greet your academic acquaintances?"
"Sure. Might be interestin' to see a few, but you look like you're gonna pass out on me."
Szayel frowned indignantly, sliding off the stool.
"I'm not so weak, Nnoitra. I don't need coddling."
"Yeah, I know that. Just pressuring. C'mon; lets go see what other sorry dregs of my undergrad class decided to turn up to this lively gathering."
He took his hand and led him through the throng, weaving his way expertly through the multitude of bodies.
"Takeda!"
A man's voice gave him pause, and Nnoitra turned to see the one who'd addressed him.
"Hey Fujiwara," Nnoitra replied with a grin. From the way his face lit up, it was plain to Szayel that this was someone Nnoitra genuinely cared to stumble across.
"Oh please. Just call me Jun, would ya?"
"Jun-kun?"
The man named Jun winced at the childish rhyme coming from the pirate's smirking lips.
"On second thought, I remember why we stuck with last names," he amended, "Anyways, how've you been? Doing anything with that liberal arts double major of yours? And who is your friend?"
Szayel observed with curiosity that Nnoitra's genial grin faltered for the barest of instants. A blink and he would have missed it, the guarded, wary expression that flitted across his face. Apparently Fujiwara had, for his easy smile was as exuberant as ever.
"Szayel Aporro Grantz, and no; I've been slummin' around for the last four years."
"Well you look damn fine for someone whose been "slumming." I'm envious. Maybe I should quit my studies and find a nice rich gal to go steady with," Fujiwara replied with levity. Nnoitra gave him an amused look, and got a cheeky grin in return.
"But anyways, I'm being rude. Fujiwara Jun, and may I say it's a pleasure to meet you?"
Nnoitra's old friend, for that was what the scientist assumed him to be based on his familiarity, extended a hand to shake. Szayel accepted it, feeling tawny, warm fingers envelop his own pale, tapered ones. Jun's eyes brightened and his touch lingered a second longer than necessary, but the other man let go before the action could be called clingy.
"The pleasure is mine, to meet one of Nobu's friends," Szayel replied evenly, keeping the tickling feeling of foreboding out of his face. This person was no threat to him, but he could prove to be someone… troublesome. Nnoitra in turn looked like he was about to say something, but Jun spoke up again.
"Ah, Nobu? Wow, you two really are close. I'm jealous," he said jokingly as he pounced on Szayel's casual first name usage. "Maybe we can all catch up together then? I'm feeling out of the loop."
Nnoitra opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut off before he had the chance to voice his thoughts.
"Nobu-chaaaaaaan! Oh my god, Jun, you are such an asshole running off on me like that! Why didn't you tell me you'd spotted Takeda?"
The petite woman pushed her way through the crows to stand by Jun, looking indignant. A pink flush crept to her cheeks, whether from her indignation, the heat, or the glass of wine she cradled in one hand. Szayel appraised her, noting how she played up her almost childish looks. She had a sweet face and a dainty, diminutive frame, small hands with perfectly manicured nails and a wide eyed, innocent look to her that implored protection. However, there was nothing childish about her hips and chest, and she showed off her figure spectacularly in a slinky, shoulderless dress that cut off around mid thigh. A collar circled her throat, and hanging from it, a bell. A convincing tail dangled from beneath the dress, and nestled in her hair were a pair of tufted ears. Her feet sported an impressive pair of stilettos, and he found himself wondering how she maintained her balance with such ease. A cat then, and inspecting Jun, he realized the man was dressed up in a vaguely canine fashion, with a choke chain hanging from his neck as his unique fashion statement.
Szayel decided he didn't like her on the spot. The simpering, the smiles and feigned outrage and coquetry… it was all false. There was nothing innocent or childish about her; she was a manipulator just like him. And oh how he despised that trait in others, especially when it was turned on him.
"Huh, who's this?" she asked, clinging to Jun for support. Her words were light and lilting, but he knew she wasn't really so irreverent. There was a harsh callousness in her pretty eyes and a subtle chill that pervaded her aura that hinted otherwise.
"Takeda's date," Jun supplied, making as if to pull her into his arms, but the woman brushed past him dismissively, coming to a halt in front of Nnoitra.
"So you've got a new girlfriend, huh? I hear you work through them pretty fast."
"Boyfriend, and yeah. The rumor's not unfounded. But he's playin' hard to get," Nnoitra replied. There was a tenseness in his posture when he addressed her, and Szayel found himself growing a little irritated. Those two had history, and he was willing to bet it was more than just as "classmates."
"Boyfriend? Wow, you sure know how to pick them. But what a coincidence. Did you know Jun and I were going out now?" she tittered.
"I'd guessed from the matching costumes," Nnoitra said.
"So what have you been doing for the last four years?"
Szayel's feeling of irritation piqued as he listened to them converse, and with a sense of wonder, he realized he was jealous of this woman who commandeered Nnoitra's attention. She gestured animatedly while she spoke, showing off her clothes and body subtly. She was flirting, and though he was willing to bet Nnoitra knew it, he was still attentive to her. Feeling a twinge of betrayal, he put a hand on Nnoitra's arm. The taller man peeled his eyes away from Kimiko- as he'd learned her name to be by listening –and looked down at him.
"I think I'll leave you three to catch up," he said, his voice managing to sound perfectly even, "After all, this is a reunion. I'll find you again later."
Nnoitra nodded, his attention reclaimed by the cat girl who protested his departure in coy, pouting tones, but who he knew was glad to have gotten rid of him. For someone who was dating another guy, she sure didn't have any reservations about hitting on Nnoitra. With a sense of disappointment that he hadn't made an effort to get him to stay, Szayel meandered back over to the bar and retreated to the relative isolation of one of the stools.
Here was a novel prospect; one of Nnoitra's old lovers coming back to haunt him, because from the way she acted, that's all she could be. Not once in all his musings had he seriously considered the possibility that he would be dropped. Not so soon anyways. And it didn't really matter, because he was over her and he was current history, right? He found himself having doubts. Where he sat, he could not observe them. As a matter of fact, he'd done that on purpose. But his paranoia was starting to become a hindrance, and giving in, the scientist abused an ability he'd never found occasion to before.
The comChips really were useful; more so than people realized. Back when cell phones were popular, there was the risk of a phone line getting tapped and conversation listened in on. As the comChip system was unhackable, this problem was rendered obsolete. With the exception of himself, of course. There was a reason the system couldn't be hacked; it required the use of a custom Kidou spell he'd designed. To access it would require the hacker not only to not be human, but brilliant in their own right. Thus, it was secure because the Shinigami did not care enough to delve into Earthly inventions and discover his system. He uttered the incantation under his breath, closing his eyes as the conversations in the room sharpened and grew louder. He filtered among these voices until he found Nnoitra's, then focused on this, closing off the links to all of the rest. Using this method, he heard Nnoitra's own words and the words of those in his immediate vicinity through the chip installed in his head.
"I remember the day you first confessed to me. That was like, so cute! You were super awkward."
"You were gorgeous. I thought you'd never notice me."
"I'd noticed you, but I like a man with backbone. Its sexy when you act all dominant. I always liked how confident you are."
Kimiko's words were spoken almost in a purr, and though he could not see them, he could imagine her sidling up to him. The bitch, he thought with a scowl as he resisted the urge to card a hand through his hair, which would have mussed it up. Instead, he settled for twirling a spare strand of it around his finger while listening, but after a minute he closed the connection with a disgruntled sigh, not caring to listen any longer.
"Sighing? At a nightclub? You need a drink."
The cheerful voice caused him to turn around in surprise. Jun had materialized from the crowd while he was brooding and looked unusually happy for someone whose girlfriend was giving him the cold shoulder.
"Fujiwara-san, didn't you want to catch up with Nobu?" Szayel inquired neutrally.
"Yeah, but Kimi's got her mits on him at the moment and I won't be able to get a word in edgewise for the next ten or twenty minutes, so I figured I'd buy myself a drink while I was waiting. Anything you fancy?Its on me, since I've already got my wallet out and all."
He waved the slender, black leather case like it was a magic wand, and Szayel found himself indulging in a bemused smile at his playfulness. This response seemed to encourage him, for he promptly pulled a stool up and sat down next to him.
"Scotch," he asked of the bartender, then glanced over expectantly at Szayel.
"A pomegranate cranberry vodka mixer, on the rocks," Szayel supplied at his wordless prompting.
"Nice," commented Jun upon his choice when it arrived, "Did you intentionally chose it for its color?"
Szayel trailed a finger through the rosy liquid idly, licking up the drops when he grew bored with this and his finger cold.
"No. I picked it because I felt like it," he replied haughtily.
"Well it still suits you. So how long have you and Takeda known each other? You two seem pretty steady."
"I've known him for awhile. You could say we go back a ways."
"Funny," Jun said, "He never mentioned you."
"We hadn't seen each other in quite a few years. Only recently did we get reacquainted by chance."
"Really? You're a Westerner, but you speak Japanese like a native. How long have you lived here?"
"Decades," Szayel replied ambiguously, and let him draw his own incorrect conclusions.
"So you're all but short of being born here, huh?"
Szayel offered him a sly smile and took a sip of his drink.
"Correct. I wasn't born here in the technical sense of the term, but I consider Japan as the land of my birth." Or rebirth rather, but that would sound odd to the ears of his companion. He found he enjoyed this game of telling half truths and observing how they were interpreted according to personal bias. He took another sip of alcohol, savoring the sharp, tart tang on his tongue.
"Japan is a good place to live, if you're financially well off."
"I am."
"Oh?"
He could feel the other man's interest deepen as his already charming smile grew more compelling. He exuded charisma, a trait that might draw others to him, but beneath that veneer there was an oiliness to him that Szayel found unpleasant. He was too suave, too genial to be completely honest.
"And what do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I'm an inventor," Szayel said demurely, replacing the article "the" with an "an."
"Ah, so you went to one of those schools. Well, from the look of it you're a successful person. Should I look for your name on the up and coming list?"
"I am already well established. However, I keep my name and profile anonymous. You will probably never hear of me, even if you buy my products. I wouldn't say I avoid publicity, but I don't want to mingle my personal life with my work."
Jun seemed to find this amusing, for his eyes swept his body appraisingly and he smirked.
"I can see where you might run into trouble with the Paparazzi," he remarked jokingly, and Szayel gave him a smile in return that he didn't really feel.
"I'm not mad enough to wish that fate on myself."
Fujiwara laughed, then downed the rest of his drink and stood up.
"I like you. Man, it's a pity you're male and spoken for. But alas… life is unfair."
Szayel swirled the last of his pink alcohol before finishing it off as well. It was clear to him that Fujiwara intended to drag him off, and he wasn't in the mood to spend the night brooding at the bar. As he expected, the other man steered him onto the dance floor, maneuvering as effortlessly through the crowd as Nnoitra had earlier.
"Since those two are occupied, how about we dance and chat for awhile?" Jun asked him with a wicked look. Even before Szayel could answer, it was apparent the request was not so much a request as an inevitability. Szayel nodded anyways, and Fujiwara slid a hand down to rest on his hip while the other found his shoulder and lingered there lightly.
"Ever dance?" he asked, and Szayel shook his head. "Nothing too complicated then."
"Please. I am unaccustomed to walking in heeled shoes."
"If you feel like you're falling, just lean into me and I'll catch you."
"I'll keep that offer in mind."
Szayel felt when Fujiwara took lead, shifting them left, and Szayel mirrored his steps. It began slowly, respectful of his novice ability, before they fell into a rhythm. Szayel thought he would lose his balance a few times at the beginning, but Fujiwara's skill compensated for his early mishaps, preventing them before they could really manifest. Still, his near accidents caused him to rely on the other man, and before he realized it, they were extraordinarily close. But their proximity didn't have the same effect on him as with Nnoitra, a fact he was glad for.
"Ballroom dancing at a night club?" Szayel asked lightly, having noticed some of the provocative "dancing" many others engaged in around the room.
""Its not ballroom. Too casual for that, though I have taken a few classes. Women seem to love a man who can dance."
"How shameless of you to admit openly."
"What can I say? I'm a womanizer. Takeda is too for that matter. Though he goes both ways, he definitely swings more towards heterosexual relationships or else the guys he dates have to be very pretty. Actually, I don't want to sour the relationship but you should probably know he's not… well, how to put this delicately…"
Szayel's lips curved into a pretty smirk as he looked up into Jun's brown eyes, his confident expression muting the other's vacillations.
"Oh, I know Nobu is attracted to me on the most base and superficial level. I don't delude myself into thinking that my feelings are reciprocated."
Fujiwara blinked, clearly not expecting such a blatant answer.
"You… know? And you are fine with this?"
"I understand his motivations better than most, I should like to think. And regardless of how he feels, I cannot reconcile my own attraction. I understand that he is dating me for my body and my money."
"You could probably do way better though. What is it about him you find so appealing?"
Szayel's face took on an expression of amusement as he saw what the other man was angling towards despite his profession to being straight.
"Oh? You don't think I'm aware of that? Liking someone is not a rational thing. But tell me, since you seem so interested, what do you do for a living?"
Fujiwara took note of his sudden playfulness and pulled him closer to execute a turn. When he replied, his voice was just as playful.
"Nothing impressive. I'm finishing up a graduate degree at S University, but I'll have a degree in law when I'm through."
"A lawyer? What kind?"
"Patents and copywrite infringement. I'll get to settle the big intercompany disputes."
"It certainly pays well," Szayel remarked.
"Not as well as being the CEO of a company, but I don't have the innovative mindset or the patience to set one up. I'm content to stand on the lower rung that's already been built instead of building a new one myself."
"So you are a parasite on society then?"
Fujiwara seemed to find this idea highly entertaining, for he grinned, flashing a smile of immaculate teeth.
"I guess you could say that. You've got an interesting outlook. You call me a parasite, yet somehow it doesn't feel like an insult."
"That's because it's a fact," said the pink haired scientist.
"Ha ha! Man, I really like you. You've got a fun sense of humor. Very dry. I love it."
Fujiwara's hand slid down to his lower back, and Szayel realized their bodies were very close to touching. Simultaneously, he took note of the fact that they were no longer in the thick of the crowd, but had gradually drifted to less densely populated parts. Here, the lights were dimmer, not pulsing with the Technicolor lighting that lit the dance floor. There was a sultry feel to the air here, away from the life of the main mass of guests; an illicit aura almost, very heavy and languorous, but marked with an electric thrill of anticipation. Instead of making excuses, Szayel found himself intrigued. Intoxicated by the unusually charged atmosphere, the risk it promised, and his own awareness of the other's not so pure intentions. Or perhaps that was the alcohol speaking? That warm relaxed feeling that took the edge off his apprehension and lessoned his nervousness. Whatever the case, his words were spoken far more seductively than they ever would have been with Nnoitra.
"Is that all you like, Fujiwara-san?" Szayel inquired, and the man's friendly smile took on a touch of cunning. Their polite if undercurrent plagued conversation took a more serious turn as he let more of his actual motivations seep into his words.
"No. You got me. I'm envious of you two, or more specifically, Nobu."
They were coming up to a wall, Fujiwara's posture marked by a tautness he hadn't expressed before. Szayel shifted a little in his hold, considering his options. He had several, some more practical than others, and he tossed these around his mind as he stared up at Jun from beneath curling lashes.
"You have a girlfriend, Fujiwara-san. You shouldn't feel envy," he said softly, playing the unassuming card. The other man leaned in, and he felt his back pressed up against the wall.
"Kimiko? She's about as slutty as they come. It's really more of a convenience relationship; I don't feel anything special for her."
His voice was warm, soothing, and though he was being assertive about his intentions, he wasn't being aggressive like Nnoitra. It was a deceptive ensnarement; he was the type to get you into bed before you realized he'd even swept you off your feet. Szayel smiled, amused.
"Then you can't say you feel anything 'special' for me either. We've known each other for all of twenty minutes."
Fujiwara's hand slipped down the back of his leg, cupping around his upper thigh. His hands teased upwards below the hem of the dress, playful as he pressed against him. His other hand tilted his face, brushing against his jaw as he leaned into him.
"You don't care with Takeda. Can't I replace him? Besides, we're really a better match."
He murmured these words, hot breath brushing his mouth before his lips did. Szayel let him kiss him for a moment, feeling the light caresses intensify, until he felt teeth graze his bottom lip. The myriad considerations filtering through his mind settled on one, clear thought, and offering a half lidded, sensual look, he reciprocated his advances. Szayel wrapped his arms behind his shoulders, arching up into his hold like a cat, and kissed him back.
"You want to play with me?" Szayel breathed invitingly, and Jun responded by nipping his mouth harder. The hand under his skirt hitched the leg it lingered on up so he half straddled his waist, and Szayel found his pulse heightening in response to the foreplay. He was aware of the warmth that built between them where they touched, and the experience was addicting. This game was empowering. He was in control here, even if the other didn't realize it. It was hard not to chuckle into his mouth at the thought.
"Szayel."
His voice gave him pause, and his amber eyes widened as he broke away from Fujiwara awkwardly.
"Nnoit- Nobu…" he said blankly, looking hopelessly at the person he liked. The sudden guilt and tension that flooded him colored his words. Jun seemed to recover with more ease, casually wiping the lipstick from his mouth.
"I was going to ask if you wanted to dance, but…" Nnoitra looked at Fujiwara pointedly, "It seems you already have a partner."
"I thought you did too," remarked Jun, "How was Kimi?"
"Obnoxiously persistent. For someone who dumped me years ago, she seems to have trouble letting go."
"She's a possessive little bitch, isn't she?" Fujiwara laughed, "But she's fuckin' hot."
Nnoitra offered him a wan smile, hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, but I'm definitely over her. I'll be stealing Szayel back from you though, since it is my birthday after all and I'd like to pursue my own ulterior motives."
"Oh yeah. Happy birthday. Hey, no hard feelings, right? I wasn't really being serious," Jun said lightly.
"I know," Nnoitra replied, and reached out to tug Szayel away. The scientist followed, feeling horribly self conscious at being caught in such a compromising situation. That wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to see that. But, maybe…? He glanced over to see Nnoitra's expression, and there was a rare anxiety on his face that he hadn't seen before.
"What were you going to do to him?" he asked unexpectedly as they found themselves on the opposite side of the club. Szayel looked at him, caught off guard.
"Pardon?" he asked, not quite believing his ears. Nnoitra stopped walking, and turned him so that they faced each other. His hands rested on his shoulders, and he unconsciously exerted more pressure than was comfortable.
"What were you planning on doing to Jun? The last time you did something like that, you…"
He let his words hang. Szayel frowned, a flash of annoyance flitting across his face.
"Do you know what he was doing to me? Planning on doing? And the first thing you ask is not how I feel but how I planned on punishing my molester?"
Nnoitra flinched, looking equally as frustrated as he. The pressure on his shoulders increased as his stress levels did.
"You coulda made an excuse. You didn't have to go along with it. I mean, my god Szayel; this place is full of people. Of course I don't want them all to get caught up in your revenge. And I was gonna warn you about Fujiwara… how he's a player an' all, but I got distracted and you left and then he left and-"
"Oh shut up, Takeda. I'm not an idiot. I'm not rash. What would've happened between us wouldn't have affected anyone else. And you got distracted? By a former flame? You've got no right to point fingers; you're as much of a player as he. Of course I wasn't going to stick around and watch you two flirt. Maybe, just maybe I felt a little bitter over that. A little jealous," Szayel interjected acidly, looking away from Nnoitra and folding is arms over his chest. Nnoitra caught his chin and forced him to look back at him again, and his heart fluttered at the intense look in his visible eye.
"Well damn it, I feel angry too! How am I not supposed to, seeing you do that with him? His hand was up your skirt and you weren't protesting. Shit…. why is it always others you're so free with…"
Szayel's eyes widened as he came to the revelation that Nnoitra was jealous. Worried about him causing a mess and engaging in mass murder, yes… but jealous. A hint of color crept into his cheeks. Could it be his feelings weren't… completely unreciprocated? Or was it just that the tall human was frustrated he wasn't on the receiving end of what he was after? Regardless of the reason, he was somewhat mollified by this little outburst. Half the time, it was hard to tell what Nnoitra was really thinking. Removing Nnoitra's hands from his shoulders, he went up on tip toe- a dangerous move given his precarious sense of balance at the moment –and gave Nnoitra a shy kiss on the lips. It was the first time he'd initiated one between them.
"Sorry," he murmured, "But hearing that makes me happy."
Nnoitra looked down at the pink haired scientist, dumbfounded, and then he touched his mouth as if to reassure himself that the kiss had really happened. His fingertips came away with a purple smear, which he rubbed off between his finger and thumb.
"Are you drunk Szayel? Your breath smells like alcohol," he asked hesitantly.
Szayel sighed.
"Hardly. Buzzed, yes. Drunk? No. I kissed you because I wanted to, not because I'm under the influence of alcohol."
An enigmatic expression entered the human's eyes, and he reached down and took his hand into his own, broad one.
"You know, there's really no point in lingering here. Just old memories. Not worth it." He gestured around the room, pulsing with light and noise and movement. The air was redolent with the very human musk of sweat, alcohol, pheromones, and the artificial perfumes they wore to disguise the animal smell. Humans never wanted to admit the fact they were from the same, base roots as every other living being. That somehow they were special, yet it was places like these where they clustered to socialize that their cultivated images broke down. Ironic, when events such as these began with the intention of civility.
"Shall we leave?"
Nnoitra's question brought him back to the present conversation, and addressed him lightly.
"If you want. It's your birthday after all."
They wove through the block that milled around the door, enduring another couple minutes in the muggy room, then they were free of the nightclub. The evening air was cool and refreshing to breathe, and Szayel relished the feel of it on his skin, stretching instinctively. Though he hadn't really been, he'd felt cramped inside the building, and it was nice to revel in his newly gained space. Nnoitra still held onto his hand, though he was no longer leading him. Rather, he'd fallen back into an unhurried pace, respectful of his limited speed, and walked alongside him.
"Where to now? The shop?" Szayel asked mildly to fill the quietness of the night as they came to a crosswalk and paused. It wasn't an awkward silence, and he wouldn't have minded leaving it unbroken, but he did want to confirm their destination. Nnoitra glanced over at him, a glimmer of some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes.
"Actually, I was wondering… if you'd be willin' to well, spend the night at my place?"
Szayel tensed a little, anxiety working its insidious poison on his body as he looked up at the taller man, then away again. He made no move to cross the street, just stood there; thinking. It was a multitude of thoughts and emotions that tumbled through his mind, and stressed, he unconsciously nibbled his bottom lip. It's his birthday, but is that any reason to cave? He meant to work this angle from the beginning, make me feel obliged. He squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching a little from his nerves. Then again, don't I want to? I just don't want it to be meaningless. In the end, I'm paranoid that will be the last of it. How contemptible, my sad reliance.
The decision was painful, his indecisiveness even more so. He should tell Nnoitra no, but oh… how he didn't want to. He wanted to go along with him. There was the strange impulsiveness back; he desired to take a risk. To take a gamble. Perhaps the alcohol was affecting him more than he'd thought?
Nnoitra seemed to have grown uncomfortable with his silence, and retracted his offer with a twinge of disappointment in his words.
"Never mind. We'll walk back to the shop. I shouldn't have ask-"
"No."
Szayel interrupted rapidly, opening his eyes, then clarified haltingly.
"No, it's… alright. I'll do it. Spend the night."
Nnoitra's face broke into a smile, and Szayel was glad to see that it wasn't gloating or lewd, but open. There was even a measure of relief.
"Really?" he asked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. He'd expected to be turned down, only to meet with this change in fortune. "You aren't going to change your mind on me, are ya?"
"No," Szayel said, getting a little flustered that he insisted on pushing the topic. He didn't want to think about it anymore than he had, or he knew he'd go back on his impulsive decision after all. Recognizing this, Nnoitra eased off on his exuberance.
"Great," he said, stepping into the street. And that's when Szayel heard the gunshots fire.
To be fair, he did hear them sound, but the significance didn't register in Szayel's mind until he felt the lead bullets rip through his body. Everything burned, a blaze of white hot agony that drove him out of his mind with pain. The world slowed to a crawl around him, an indistinct blur as he pitched forward. Twisted flesh, ruptured organs… one lung was riddle through with holes, and the other fluttered uselessly, trying to make up for the loss of the first. His heart jack hammered in his chest with fear, pumping out his own blood swifter than he could comprehend that he was dying.
Nnoitra.
Amid the haze of pain and adrenaline, it was his only coherent thought. They're trying to kill him again. With a gasp, he caught himself as he stumbled and seized Nnoitra's arm. The man looked shocked, frozen. No time. Szayel picked him up in a display of superhuman strength brought on by the chemicals flooding his system and bolted around the corner of the building they stood in front of just as a second volley followed at their heels.
There was a jolt as his soul attempted to separate from its injured vessel. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay even though every nerve in his body was screaming at him to get out. Thoughts swirled around him, hallucinations and vivid memories brought on by the pain.
He was back in Las Noches, surrounded by a familiar terrain of sand and artificially blue skies. The broken sword in his chest pulsed, the only indication that he was still alive. Dying… dying, but how could he tell? How could he really be so sure that he was still alive?
I could be like the distant star whose light still shines across the galaxy for eternity even after I died long ago…
Nnoitra. He concentrated on his name, on the man before him who still looked bewildered, but comprehension was dawning in his eye. He was opening his mouth to say something, but Szayel couldn't hear anything; just the roaring in his ears and the sharp, echoing rapport of the gun shots. His hands rose of their own volition, crimson with blood… his own? and wove a net of golden light about the human. Kidou. He murmured the incantation, not even hearing the words that left his numb lips. A marvel that he could move them… Nnoitra was still saying something, and dimly, the words registered through the membrane that blocked his hearing.
"Szayel!"
His name. He closed his eyes and shuddered as his soul again attempted to wrench itself out of his gigai, but managed to complete the warding Kidou. He wouldn't be touched now. Not by human weapons.
"Glad… you're safe… don't move," the scientist choked out, and this time he couldn't overcome the jarring disconnect. He was ripped brutally from the gigai, and it crumpled forward against Nnoitra, terribly still. But even though the physical pain quickly subsided, there was no way to escape the illusory agony that haunted him and replayed relentlessly in his mind.
How many centuries? How many millennia did I lay dying?
"Szayel, what the fuck?"
Nnoitra again, bringing him back. He looked ready to stand, mortified by what for all intents and purposes was a corpse in his arms. He leveled a cool look on him, forcing him down with his eyes. Appearing more together than he really felt, he composed a few, empty words.
"I told you not to move."
Ice was what his words sounded like. Fury was what he felt, so hot he couldn't express the sheer depths of his rage. There would be no game this time. The world was hazed in red; he wanted only one thing. Swift and decisive retribution. Unbeknownst to him, his face twisted into an odd mask of an expression; there was savagery in the angled planes of his face, but his lips were curled back into something between a snarl and a grin. It was a chilling, bloodthirsty expression; it was not sane. Nnoitra shuddered as he watched the scientist reach for his sword, an instrument he'd never drawn, and freed it from its sheath. The blade gleamed with a silver-blue light as he raised it above him and opened his mouth, then in a swift motion, plunged it down his throat. Sip, Fornicarás … No preamble, no play. His reiatsu surged as he rejoined with the power he'd long ago sequestered from his body and bound into a weapon for the sake of a more human appearance and greater power. Even the wave of pain and pleasure he felt when his wings sprouted damply from his shoulder blades did not lessen the frenetic obsession that compelled him. He did not groan at the sweet ache as he might usually, but pushed it to the back of his mind. The Arrancar spared Nnoitra a glance before he turned away from him, unwilling to dwell on his expression.
If they wanted it, they'd have their god of death. Their own, personal avenging angel. They should feel privileged; he did not go to such lengths for just anyone.
A flicker, and he disappeared from view only to shimmer back into existence on the other side of the street where the bullets had come from. Or that was what his Sonido might have looked like to someone who had a high level of spiritual energy. The air crackled around hi, a miniature sonic boom following his unnatural speed. His golden eyes scanned the area predatorily, quickly fixing on a group of three snipers moving to get a better shot of their target. Three dead men. In another step, he was in their midst, although they were ignorant to his presence. But not for long.
Their eyes widened when he exerted the full force of his spiritual pressure on the trio. Perhaps he was only the Octava, but his reiatsu would feel crushing to an ordinary human. Indeed, one dropped to his knees looking green in the face and trembling fiercely. The other two looked around wildly, guns raised and reeking of primal fear. Szayel's wings lashed out to strip them of their defenses, tearing the guns in half so that they were rendered useless and cartridges rained down like silver stars from the weapons. The third man's gun he confiscated but did not ruin. Instead, he kept it for himself, turning it over in his hands.
So many ways to kill them in this form. He could make clones of them and have them torn apart by invisible doppelgangers. Or dolls; watch them write on the ground like animals while he took them apart piece by piece from the inside. Or he could to do them what he'd done to Namikawa; infect them with himself and play them off in a battle royale until the last, sniveling wretch had only his own pathetic life to take. So many Kidou spells he could use; create a barrier with negative pressure in their lungs that would force a vacuum. Their chests would collapse inwards and their own snapping ribs would impale them. Set upon them a consuming fire that would leave even their bones no more than white ash. Place upon them a leprous curse that would eat away their bodies and watch them scream in horror as stinking, necrotic flesh slid off their skeletons. So many options, so many creative possibilities, but as he considered them all in that instant, he knew that none were the option he was looking for. They were all indirect methods of killing, and the pink haired Arrancar did not want to be the puppeteer; he wanted to be the executioner.
His wings extended towards the men again and wrapped around them, hauling them up so that they hung suspended in the air. Tendrils curled around one's throat as he applied a teasing pressure against his trachea, but he wasn't really in the mood to play and ceased this activity soon. Hefting the gun, an automatic rifle, he took aim at the first one's head.
It was incredibly satisfying to watch the metal slugs shatter his skull. It burst apart like a watermelon dropped from a height. A shower of red spattered the area as chunks of gray cranial matter flew from his now headless corpse. A few gory gibbets flecked his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe them away as he casually took aim at the next man. This was the one who'd felt so oppressed by his spiritual pressure; who'd been unable to stand. Szayel aimed for his legs and let another rain of bullets rip through them. They were reduced to twisted stumps quickly, and he arched back, a bestial scream tearing from his lips before it terminated in an ominous gurgle as Szayel shot his throat out mercilessly. He discarded this and the headless one, focusing his attention on the remaining would be assassin.
He was praying. Religiously. Fervently. Prayers and appeals rose from his lips, and his face so wan with fear gazed skyward imploringly. Intrigued by this display, Szayel held back on killing him immediately.
"Oh Lord Almighty in Heaven, deliver me from my sins for I have transgressed-"
The man choked as Szayel aimed for his stomach and emptied the last cartridge into his abdomen. A keening whimper made it through his blood frothed lips before he fainted from the pain, and Szayel cast him aside disgustedly.
"You'll have no Heaven, only Hell," he informed the unconscious man contemptuously, privately wondering what hurt more; the metal in his mutilated flesh or the acid now eating through the perforated holes of his stomach and disintegrating his insides.
Having accomplished his revenge, his ire abandoned him, leaving him tired and strangely empty. He stood there for a minute looking over his bloody handiwork before turning away from the senseless carnage. It was nothing like his last murder; that had been an artistic message, and a pleasurable experience. This was crude, savage, but in itself a message. He'd lost his humor.
Nnoitra still sat where he left him, surrounded by his shield of gold light, the bloody, prone gigai in his arms. Szayel let the barrier fall wearily, and the black haired man surged up to confront him, but stopped. Szayel looked down at himself, covered with fleshy gobbets and blood and assorted other unpleasantries, then at his hands, which had somehow managed to get dirty even if he hadn't touched his victims. He could feel the other's eyes upon him, taking in his changed appearance, and let him stare. Why not? This form was closer to his true appearance, and it wasn't like he'd ever see him like this again.
"What did you do with that sword to make you like… this? Was that magic?" Nnoitra asked. Szayel shook his head, wings fluttering slightly in reflection of his distaste for the term.
"It isn't magic. I really don't like that term. I make use of my spiritual energy to perform what you call 'spells' and I call Kidou. But this transformation is different. My zanpakuto, my sword, is a physical manifestation of the Hollow power I sealed away to become an Arrancar. When I release and rejoin with it, I regain some of my Hollow attributes. How you see me now is the closest you will see me for how I truly look."
"What do Hollows look like?"
"Vaguely animalistic, some much more strongly than others. You took after a mantis."
"And you?" His eyes were fixed on the four, trailing appendages that branched from his shoulders.
"You don't need to know. All I will tell you is that I am something difficult to kill."
At the word kill, Nnoitra blanched, clearly regarding his near run in with death. His attention shifted down to the mangled gigai he held in his arms, then back up to Szayel.
"Your body doesn't look like its in good shape."
Szayel touched its clammy flesh, trying to establish a connection, but was repulsed. He withdrew his hand, glancing up at Nnoitra. It was dead; truly dead. It wasn't fit to be the vessel for a soul anymore. He could try to salvage it, but doubted his chances of success.
"Yes, its very hurt. I need to repair it immediately," he commented more optimistically than he felt. "Help me carry it home, would you?"
"Uh, sure. Wait, home?"
"Yes Nnoitra, home. I need to get it back to my lab. And after what just happened, I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Szayel released his Resurrección, feeling his spiritual energy swirl around him and reform into a sword, which he resheathed at his side, then drew a line through the air with one crooked finger. A crack rippled through the night sky before them, yawning open to reveal the vortex of swirling energy that was a Garganta. Nnoitra looked alarmed, but Szayel motioned him through.
"We're taking a shortcut. Don't worry, I won't let you die."
"What the hell is that?"
"A Garganta. Essentially, an interdimensional portal. It cuts down on walking time."
"You just get more and more bizarre."
"Then what about you? The last time, you were in shock when I killed someone."
Nnoitra laughed, a note of hysteria he'd managed to keep down slipping into the sound.
"Are you kidding me? I'm just barely keeping up conversation for the sake of my sanity."
Nnoitra finally stepped in after another moment's hesitation, and Szayel followed, focusing on materializing the path in front of them, but from the tension in Nnoitra's shoulders, he discerned the man was nervous. Well, he probably should be. It was all too easy to lose control of the rift and die here. Relief was evident in his posture when they finally stepped out into Szayel's living room, and the scientist allowed the Garganta to close behind him without so much of a trace of its former existence.
"Feel free to look around I suppose, now that you're here. But I must attend to my gigai," he said, hoping he wouldn't get into anything too private. Nnoitra passed him his body, and Szayel accepted the awkward burden from him.
"S'fine. I need to make some calls anyways," Nnoitra replied, Szayel left him by the couch just beginning to pace as his eyes focused on a distant contact, and made his way towards his lab. He paused just beyond the doorway, listening though hidden from sight, and heard when Nnoitra's call went through. The man took a sharp breath, his pacing beginning in earnest; Szayel could hear his self control slipping as he spoke.
"Hiroko, what happened! Where are you? The blood? Oh, its not mine. I'm fine. It's Szayel's blood actually. He got hit in my place. No, he's still alive. I'm at his place actually. They ambushed us just outside the nightclub. Oh… god, Maeda?"
Szayel shut the door softly, feeling that he was intruding on something private. Nnoitra's voice was trembling with emotion as he spoke; if he didn't know better, he'd even say he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. But he was stronger than that. He'd keep it together, if barely.
The scientist carried his gigai over to an operating table, laying the ruined vessel across the sterile metallic surface. He stood back to appraise it and was struck by an odd chill. It was like seeing himself… dead on the table. He was reminded again of his close call in Las Noches and shivered. Twice now. He'd experienced the agony of death twice now. Did that make him fortunate? To still live? Or was he unlucky for having gone through what each individual should only have to go through once?
It was a futile endeavor if he'd ever seen one, to revive his gigai. He pulled on nitrile gloves even knowing the attempt would get him nowhere, but it was something he had to do. He was compelled to save that fragment of his identity, that weak human body he'd suffered a cold for, had cooked for, had slept for… He'd lived more in his gigai the last month and a half than he had in two centuries. With a sigh, he prepped the body and set to work.
-.-.-.-.-.-
As predicted, it was a failure. There was too much damage. He was better off creating an entirely new gigai. Walking into the living room, he found Nnoitra sitting on the couch and staring off into space broodingly. He looked over at Szayel as he approached.
"How'd it go?"
"I'm officially dead for the present; I'll have to make a replacement before I can go out in public."
Szayel sat down next to Nnoitra and sighed, one of many times that evening.
"How troublesome…" he murmured.
"So…" Nnoitra began awkwardly. He seemed very anxious about something, and Szayel looked up at him expectantly.
"Yes?"
The taller man struggled to compose his words for another minute before he could voice them in a more or less controlled manner.
"The shop was hit. They were targeting Hiroko, but Maeda stepped in and took the bullets for her. You've never met him, but you saw him. I was talking with him when you arrived. There were some other serious casualties, but no fatalities aside from him. Hiroko got hit too, and she's in the hospital with some minor wounds."
He paused, staring off into space again, and his leashed emotions threatened to overwhelm him just sitting there. He must have been so conflicted, to be driven so close to the brink.
"I told her you'd done the same, that you were alive though and that I'm with you. But I should go see her and the others. Some are hurt badly."
"And what good would your presence do them, Nnoitra?" Szayel asked quietly, "What good would it do them if you put yourself at risk for becoming another fatality?"
The scientist's face pinched into a frown as he leaned into the human. He'd been so obsessed with the prospect of dying, he hadn't paused to think of Nnoitra's own finiteness, but now it hit him with a crippling weight. It was chance that had spared him; pure chance. Even now, he threatened to slip away from him. Szayel panicked at the thought and clung to him, an action that caused Nnoitra to startle and stare down at him with consternation.
"Don't leave. Please, just stay. You can visit them tomorrow, but…"
His own voice sounded laughably frail to his own ears, and a pained look entered Nnoitra's eyes. At last, he offered him a wry half smile and returned the embrace.
"If I asked you to let me leave, would you?"
"No," Szayel replied.
"I'll stay here then," said Nnoira, indulging his selfishness, and Szayel loosened his desperate hold on the other man, settling for just leaning into him. A warm trickle of blood against his cheek startled him, and he moved away from Nnoitra in alarm. The other winced at the pressure he'd just put on his wounded shoulder.
"Nnoitra, you're injured! Why didn't you say anything?"
"Oh… uh, I've been distracted," the taller man offered half heartedly.
"Don't be stupid! That needs treatment."
He was up and crossing the room in an instant to retrieve medical supplies from his lab, despite Nnoitra's protesting that he was fine. Szayel glared as he returned and shoved the forceps into the bullet wound a little more forcefully than necessary, grasping the metal slug and pulling it out. A spurt of blood and a curse from Nnoitra followed as he applied the gauze pad and pressure to the artery. The flow slowed after a few minutes as the wound began to clot, then finally stopped, and Szayel finished by wrapping it up in antiseptic ointment-laced bandages.
"You're being awfully attentive tonight," Nnoitra finally remarked as he put the materials away again.
"You want me to reopen your wound?" Szayel threatened with a prim sort of irritation. Nnoitra quickly shook his head.
"No, I'm good. But it's ironic… I'm finally at your place, on a couch with you, and you clinging to me and refusing to let me go home. But I'm too fucked to do anything about it. Talk about karma."
This was spoken lightly, flippantly. He was trying to inject humor into a topic that weighed over them both. Szayel would have liked to play along and take his mind off things, but found he couldn't. Instead, he perpetuated the solemnity.
"You're so fragile, Nnoitra. So transient. You die so easily, and you will die some day. I couldn't even repair my gigai, so if you'd been shot?"
He wrung his hands, hunching over them.
"I wouldn't have been able to do a thing for you. Not a damn thing. I feel so powerless. The only thing I can do is keep you somewhere safe and isolated from the world, but that's no option because that isn't really living. So what am I supposed to do? Watch you walk away? And I'll have to, I know, and I will… but just for tonight, I want to delude myself that I don't."
Nnoitra absorbed his words silently, and when Szayel looked into his face, he saw reflected there confusion. He seemed conflicted about something. At last, he reached over and pulled Szayel on top of him so that they lay stretched out across the couch. But despite the position, there wasn't anything provocative about his action. It was a generous gesture, one free of subtext.
"I'll be here in the morning, so feel free to pretend," he said softly, his voice surprisingly subdued. Szayel allowed himself to relax against him, not questioning the gift horse he'd been presented.
"What a terrible birthday…" he breathed, letting his eyelids flutter shut. He felt exhausted; mentally and physically drained. Nnoitra didn't immediately reply, so when he finally did speak up, Szayel couldn't be sure he'd heard him correctly through the cottony mire of sleep that engulfed his mind.
"Oh… it wasn't completely bad…"
Author's Notes:
So many things to say... but so little of your time I want to waste... First up, I'll start out with thank you's. Thank you Banana Nut Crunch for carrying me through the early chapters. Though we've fallen out of contact due to my terribly long downtime between updates, I want you to know I really appreciate your commentary. And here are your damn cream puffs; I hereby dedicate this chapter to you as I promised I would.
Katakanion; you definitely spurred me to work on this chapter again so thanks for that, though I uploaded it weeks after I said I would. I loved discussing crack theories about plot holes in Bleach with you. :3
Xylexia... omg, what would I do without you? Thank you so much for beta-ing this chapter and generally providing me with support when I rant about my OTP. D: Cuz boy do I rant... Without you, this chapter probably wouldn't have finished coming into existence for another month or so. All your crazy obsessive reviewing was fun to read too.
To everyone else, I am so sorry this took so long. Honestly, two and a half months is unforgivable. But now its up. The 12th chapter. And its hella long. 17.5k words. *Cracked laughter* And you wonder why it took me so long to update? Hopefully it's worth it.
Ok, now for some commentary.
... you know, I think this chapter speaks for itself. I'll leave you to draw conclusions. As a side note, Szayel is wearing that lacy black and red lingerie under his dress he found in his closet the other day. (Because the skirt is so short, it was either that or nothing.) And yes, he has pet fish. No, you aren't imagining things.
Read and review as always! Guilt me into updating sooner, mer her her. 83 To you people who do review, you're friggin' amazing. I love you all. And hopefully, the next update won't be nearly so long away. D: I'm also uploading a "oneshot" as an apologetic treat for you guys, so look for that if you're interested.
