(Major Warning: Non-con scene in this chapter)


Chapter Forty Six:

Ichigo held a hand up, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He felt like he'd been walking for hours. Time didn't seem to work the same way within Las Noches, maybe it was because of the never ending sunlight overhead but he couldn't sure how long had passed since defeating Aaroniero anymore. The overwhelming excitement at his victory, and the release of his Bankai had worn off.

The voices in his head had begun to quieten, he was grateful for the peace and quiet but his anxiety grew as he felt the swelling power of his Hollow. He could only assume Shiro's increasing strength was the reason he could no longer hear the siren call from the sands. It was like a great pressure building up from the base of his skull, pushing up to shove everything else aside. He felt like his head had become a balloon and Shiro was a fountain of water filling it until it burst.

It hurt. Not an agonising pain, it was a dull ache he couldn't get rid of. Annoying and persistent. It was exhausting, tiring, he felt his eyelids getting heavier with every passing minute.

He knew Shiro was doing his best to fight the need for dominance but... Ichigo wasn't sure how much longer the Hollow would succeed in combating that urge. He could feel Shiro, on a spiritual level now. He was all... War and conflict. Primal. The albino craved everything cardinal with a rabid hunger for blood and sex and pain and battle. He needed battle. Needed war. Needed skin on skin contact. Needed furious hatred entwined with breathtaking lust in a bloody display of dominance over another soul, or submission beneath someone stronger.

Letting out a hiss, Ichigo paused his wandering, allowing his eyes to roll across his surroundings with annoyance. He had no idea where he was going. There were so many buildings, all empty. He had expected to see another Arrancar, or even another Espada by now given the death of one of their own. But there had been no one. Nothing.

Was Las Noches so large that they hadn't realised a battle had been fought?

Shaking his head, he knew that couldn't be true. He'd seen Aizen's cameras, he knew his fight hadn't gone unnoticed. Perhaps this was just another test. To see how long he could cope before going utterly insane. Perhaps on the precipice of madness Aizen would appear to him as a balm to sooth the lunacy and the psychopathy, offering a hand of kindness to guide him back up into balance and serenity.

It was a frightening thought. But not as terrifying as the split second he questioned whether or not he would accept that offer.

Groaning, Ichigo stopped completely. Clicking his tongue against his teeth in frustration as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't start giving in now. He couldn't start wondering what he would do when he finally came face to face with Aizen. It was obvious, wasn't it? Aizen had kidnapped Byakuya. Aizen had allowed him and Shiro to kill the Kurosaki family. He couldn't... He wouldn't surrender to him.

But the strain of containing Shiro's madness was getting worse. Despite the Hollow trying his best, he could feel his resolve crumbling. He could hear his laughter echoing inside his head. He could feel Zangetsu's fear. The Old Man couldn't do anything to help, Shiro was stronger. And... Part of him, no matter how small, was tired of fighting.

His Pesquisa was no longer detecting the reiatsu of his friends, irrational fear prickling at his heart as he feared the worst. Reaching out, he rested a hand against one of the colossal red pillars he had begun to pass, hanging his head as he tried to steady the waves of fear riding through him. They weren't dead. He had no doubt that someone, anyone, would have found him by now to taunt the fact if they had all been killed. Which meant that had been captured and were being contained somewhere with their reiatsu suppressed. They weren't dead.

Closing his eyes, Ichigo tried to muster some courage. He couldn't quite believe that he was falling apart in the middle of Las Noches when he should have been raging and breaking through every barrier to get to his loved ones. What was he doing? Why was he so tired? Why was it getting so hard... To open his eyes...

"Ichigo!"

Zangetsu's bark in his head made him jolt, sucking in a gasp as the first thing he saw was a snow white hand resting on the red pillar. Jerking backwards, Ichigo's eyes widened as he stared down at his skin, his nails had turned black and the swirling white was spreading up his wrist. He felt himself tremble, breath stuttering as he let out a shout, punching the pillar with all his might as he raised his reiatsu in response.

Teeth clenched, scowl fixed he watched as tanned skin slowly fought back. He almost collapsed as his hand returned to normal, gasping for breath. He could feel Shiro's regret, his reluctance... He could feel his strength failing him.

Clenching his fingers into a fist, he swallowed hard. He couldn't afford to hang around any longer, he had to find Byakuya. He had to break him out of whatever prison he was in. And then they had to go and find their friends. It wasn't negotiable. It wasn't questionable. It was certain. It was decided.

He took one step forwards, eyes widening as a burst of pain erupted in the back of his head. For a moment he thought it was down to Shiro, but as his legs gave out beneath him and his body hit the sand he realised his Hollow was entirely innocent for a change. Ichigo's eyelids fluttered defiantly for a few seconds before they slipped shut, his fingers slackened around Zangetsu's hilt as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Aibou?"

Shiro's voice was naggingly loud. Too close for comfort. Ichigo felt like he was swimming. Not entirely awake but also no longer entirely asleep. He opened his eyes, surprised to find himself in his Inner World instead of in Las Noches. He could see Shiro standing opposite him, the Hollow's expression was full of unusual panic and concern. He could see his pale lips moving but no sound was coming out, he could see a pungent black reiatsu crawling around the Hollow's legs, binding him, holding him back. Ichigo felt himself frown, eyes slipping shut again.

"Aibou?"

The voice was luridly close to him, making a shiver run down his spine. Soft puffs of breath rolled over his neck as warm lips grazed his skin, slick tongue dipping into the crevice of his collarbone. Fingertips ghosted his chest, dragging lower and slipping beneath his coat, tugging it open with little effort.

"Aibou."

That nagging voice was more persistent. What did Shiro want, that he was determined to pester him while in the depths of sleep? By the Soul King he wished he was back in Soul Society with Byakuya, waking up in his bed to the touches and actions that were currently driving him wild, nails incessantly digging into the flesh surrounding his lithe hips.

"AIBOU!"

The strawberry was snapped from sleep by the pool of Hollow energy that swirled within his body, the feeling of Shiro forcibly taking control just long enough to make him open his eyes to the real world. To Las Noches. Gold pricked eyes canvassed by inky blackness widened dramatically as his startled gaze was met by angry emerald orbs.

Ichigo released a gasp of surprise, the feeling of Ulquiorra's nails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood was alarming, more so when the breeze against his bare skin made him realise that his coat style shihakusho had been torn from his body, leaving him in nothing more or less than his hakama.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He was rattled, hand flying out instinctively towards where he had left Zangetsu, his gaze snapping around when he failed to find the black and red hilt of his Zanpakutō, faltering as he saw it bound far from his reach, "Get off me!"

"I have tried to understand you." Ulquiorra's voice was oddly strangled, not at all like his usual dispassionate timbre, a frown settling on his face as his nails dug deeper, feeling as sharp as talons, "Tried to understand the draw. The enticement. The interest. But I simply cannot grasp it."

Ichigo released a throaty cry of pain, certain the Espada was clawing directly at his hip bones, "What are you... Talking... About?!" He exclaimed, hands flying downwards to grip the Espada's wrists, trying desperately to prise those fingers from his skin as he felt heated blood rolling down his sides.

"Aizen-sama." The response was simple, apparently meant to explain everything, "He... Cares for you, in ways he has never cared for any of his Espada. Had any of us betrayed him as you did, we would have been executed without question. And yet you remain alive, to continue being a thorn in his side. He would no more hurt you than himself. Why? I do not understand. I have tried."

Arching, the strawberry let out a strained breath, "Does it matter?!" He snapped, growling as the tang of metallic liquid hit his Hollow heightened senses, drawing Shiro's previous desires back to the forefront of his mind, "We have a lot of history, it's not exactly... Ngh, something I'm over the moon about either!"

Seemingly taking his words on board, Ulquiorra slowly sat back, remaining straddled over his body despite languidly withdrawing his fingers from the bone deep gouges he'd created. The usually apathetic Espada lifted his hands, blinking as he seemed to inhale the scent of Ichigo's blood, his tongue swiping out along one finger slowly, "How unexpected. I was under the impression that you were a Shinigami, with a Hollow's Soul lingering in your mind... And yet your blood smells and tastes like that of a Human. I caught a brief... Scent before, in Karakura town, but believed I was mistaken. Why would a Human interest Aizen-sama, after all?"

"I'm complicated." Was all Ichigo said before he jerked his head forwards as hard as he could, smashing his forehead into Ulquiorra's nose.

Leaping to his feet as the Espada stumbled back, stunned by the force of the blow, Ichigo made a dash towards his Zanpakutō. Fingers spread wide as he came within a hair's breadth of snatching up the hilt, he released a choked cry as a blood stained hand coiled around his throat from behind, wrenching him backwards and throwing him at one of the nearby red pillars with force.

Letting out a cry of pain as he made contact with the impossibly hard rock, the sunset haired Shinigami's vision blurred as he slid back down onto the sand, landing on his hands and knees as his body threatened to give out on him. Eyes flicked upwards as a shadow fell over him and he spat blood as a foot crashed painfully hard into his side, flipping him onto his back; another kick struck his stomach, bending his body awkwardly. The foot came down a third time, and he felt several of his ribs break under the force, a shout escaping him.

He couldn't believe how much stronger Ulquiorra was compared to Yammy, and Aaroniero. He couldn't believe he had ever managed to injure this Espada at all, it really had been a fluke! Just how strong was Ulquiorra?!

"Complicated? Don't be ridiculous, you're nothing more than uneducated trash, like the rest of your rabble of friends." Ulquiorra's voice was sharp, "A Human doesn't belong at Aizen-sama's side. A Human could never stand on par with the likes of us Espada. To think he wants you leading us? As one of his generals? I will not allow it. I will show him just how weak you are, Ichigo Kurosaki. I will make sure he no longer desires your presence, and then I will obliterate you from my sight."

Fingers tightened around his throat again and Ichigo found himself lifted off the sand, dangling in the air, a reminiscent flashback to Byakuya's kidnap. Digits tightened, crushing and strangling and choking. His hands flew upwards, desperately trying to prise freedom, trying to find even the smallest gap permit air back into his lungs.

"Shiro... Help me..."

Silence.

Black spots were forming in his vision, unrelated to the darkness already swirling due to Shiro's presence, his mouth opening and closing urgently with the need to draw breath, to summon life giving oxygen and reishi into his body. Despair growing, he clawed violently, eyes rolling in his skull as his feet kicked listlessly against the body holding him.

Face suddenly pressed into the sand, Ichigo heaved a retching breath as the fingers around his throat disappeared, fisting a tight grasp in his locks of hair instead; his vision flitted in and out of focus as his mind adjusted to the close shave with death, fingers dipping into the fine grains beneath his body in confusion as saliva dripped from his lips.

A quivering jolt ran through him as he heard fabric tear as his hakama was ripped from his body, leaving him exposed and naked. His heart thundered and trembled as recollections of his first night in Fugai flashed before his eyes, the knowledge of exactly what was coming washing over him like a sickness bug, leaving him cold and rooted to the spot.

He realised with a putrid thought, that it hadn't been Shiro teasing him while he slept. His lecherous Hollow hadn't laid a finger on him. It had been Ulquiorra. The same touches were being applied now, yet they were harsher, harder, haughty and cruel.

The Espada's fingers tightened in Ichigo's hair, keeping him pinned securely in place as he leaned over him, teeth sinking distressingly deep into his shoulder, ripping through the skin and drawing blood. The sensation of canines rending their way into layers of muscle drew a reluctant screech from the Shinigami's lips, feeling his fingers tingling in response.

He writhed, trying urgently to squirm away from the dark haired Arrancar, recoiling as his free hand clenched tightly on his waist, preventing even the smallest of movements. Ichigo let out a howling combination of resentment and distress as he was caged like an animal, his fingers scraping through the sand, trying to find a grip on something tenable, something that could anchor him. But it was too soft. Too fine.

"SHIRO!"

He couldn't understand why his albino counterpart had gone so quiet. All that promised debauchery and liberal desire silenced in a mingled moment of terror. Was... Was Ulquiorra that strong that even Shiro was afraid?

The feeling of the Espada forcing his way into his body was agonising, Ichigo was screaming out with the cramping discomfort, every movement brought a fresh spasm, a new soreness, a misery that cut deeper than any sword. He could feel Ulquiorra shivering above him, soft pants of breath undulating over his bare back as teeth finally tore free from his shoulder, the pace of the thrusts picking up, growing faster and more forceful. The soft snarls that were escaping were conjoined with the sensation of reiatsu being pushed into his body, forcibly ripping into his own as an added insult.

Squeezing his eyes shut as he refused to shed the tears that had built, the strawberry let out a final sharp cry of pain as the Espada pushed deep, Ulquiorra's climax washing over him with a wanton breath of sickly delight.

His body cringed, flinching as Ulquiorra pulled back abruptly. The sound of rustling material reaching Ichigo's ears and he felt his body quivering with an intolerable rage and self-disgust, panting harshly against the pain racking his body from head to toe, he dragged himself forwards, blazing eyes latched onto his Zanpakutō once again.

A hand fastened around his ankle and tore him back, worming a grunt from him as he bit down on his tongue, he threw up at the sudden ripple of pain that shot through his back, legs and belly. His vision blurring as unconsciousness threatened to swallow him whole. His breath hitching listlessly as the coldness of steel pinched his throat, unable to move without some part of him making contact with Ulquiorra, he shuddered as he felt black and white lips press against his ear as the blade bit into his skin.

"I do not know how you managed to injure me in the World of the Living, but it will not happen again." Ulquiorra's voice was cutting deeper than his sword, "Aizen-sama deserves better than trash like you lapping at his ankles in hope of your next meal. I simply won't allow it."

He could feel blood running down his throat, trickling between his pectoral muscles and splashing out onto the sand, his heart was thundering so harshly against his sternum he was sure it would break loose. A glance to the right showed him one of Ulquiorra's hands, tightly gripping the pale green hilt of his Zanpakutō, and a glance to his left showed the Espada's other hand pinching the end of the blade between his fingers, pulling it closer. His hands were still stained with dried and fresh blood from his assault, the way it seemed to sink into pale skin made Ichigo shiver.

A garbled mutter of desperation escaped Ichigo's lips, Ulquiorra's desire to kill him was tangent, the air was thick with it. He could almost see the sweeping ringlets of black malevolence weaving around them both, jagged and calamitous, edging closer like an offensive poison dripping through the sand.

This couldn't be the end, could it? He'd come so far... Fought so many battles... Tasted defeat and victory in equal measure. He'd never given a single thought to what might happen if he died before reaching Byakuya. Every time the idea came to him he had batted it aside with reckless abandon. He'd refused to acknowledge it as a possibility.

Was this how he was going to die? Pinned down like a caged beast, raped and brutalised by one of Aizen's monsters? Trapped... Alone... Frightened... That wasn't him. That wasn't what he'd fought for! That wasn't who he'd tried to become! He was better than that! Stronger than that!

Except... He wasn't. He was trapped, and he was alone and he was... Frightened. He was so frightened. He was sickened and disgusted and humiliated, embarrassed and... He felt very small. He felt dirty. His skin crawled with revulsion unlike anything he'd experienced before.

Facing up to Aizen's treatment of him had been on an entirely different level to this. He knew, even if his emotions and memories hadn't been intact, his 'relationship' with Aizen had been consensual. Willing. Wanted. But this... This wasn't... This was forced and... Wrong.

He could feel himself breaking. His willpower, his defiance, his strength. He could feel it all crumbling away. Without his determination, his resolve to fight... What was he? A scared little boy sitting in a sea of unfamiliar blood.

Ichigo was dying. The blade was cutting deeper with every breath. Ulquiorra's hate was a wave to be reckoned with. He was dying. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He watched as the inky swirl of black sclera peeled away, his gold tinted gaze turning chestnut, despair swallowing him whole.

As surprising as it was, as the blackness began to take him Ichigo could only think one thing, it wasn't what he'd expected to wonder about on the event of his death, but it was the only prominent thing screaming in his head at the time.

"Shiro... Where are you?"