Szayel groaned as he struggled to push himself off the floor. He supposed, in a way, he was lucky Ulquiorra hadn't used his full strength. Otherwise he would've been nothing more than a pile of ash on the floor. Still, getting hit by a cero head-on wasn't exactly a walk in the park.
He had barely gotten to his feet when Szayel heard Ulquiorra sonido to him. He looked up. Ulquiorra glared, a ruthless look on his face.
"Prepare yourself, Szayel," he spat. "I'm not holding back." The moment Ulquiorra finished the sentence he let out another cero, incinerating the spot Szayel had been moments before.
The Octava Espada leaned against one of the walls in the hallway, sighing. But it was short lived. He shouldn't have needed to use that much energy to sonido. Then again, considering his current state, Szayel supposed it made sense.
"Running away?" Ulquiorra asked, stepping closer.
Szayel scoffed. "It's not in the nature of an Espada to run away, now is it?"
Szayel pulled himself to his full height—which was quite a feat, considering the damage he'd already incurred—and slid his zanpakutou out. In doing so, he noticed for the first time the state of his uniform. The top was barely hanging on by a few threads, his gloves completely gone, and his hakama more than slightly singed.
If Szayel didn't know any better, he would've sworn he saw Ulquiorra smirk. But as fast as it appeared, it was gone again. Without warning he lunged at Szayel with his hand. Using his zanpakutou, it took all Szayel's strength to push Ulquiorra back. Even then, he still received some of the damage from Ulquiorra's attack.
Damn. There was no way he could hold his own against Ulquiorra, even if he hadn't been on the receiving end of a cero. Sparring of this nature was never a strength of his.
After the first minute Szayel cut off what remained of his top. He didn't like the idea of being exposed, but the fabric had become a hindrance. The two Espada continued fighting. During this time a group of low-level Arrancar, who had apparently heard the ruckus from a couple of halls away, had come to watch the fight.
If it could be called a fight. Fighting would imply two fighters throwing attacks at one another. This was not a fight. They probably came to see someone get the crap beat out of them.
All Szayel could do in his condition was guard from the flurry of Ulquiorra's attacks. Even then a couple of the attacks pierced through. Szayel heard the cheers of the Arrancar around them, but forced himself to block it out.
Focus, he told himself, ignoring the pain in his wrist. There were more ways to fight than with swords and physical attacks. Those kinds of attacks could wound much deeper, took longer to heal.
Szayel smirked. "I thought you said you weren't going to hold back."
"It isn't in my nature to rush," Ulquiorra said, an edge to his voice. His attacks slowed to a fraction of their original speed.
Soft chuckling echoed throughout the hall. The other Arrancar murmured in confusion at Szayel's laughter. "How ironic. Despite our differences, we're more alike than either of us would care to admit."
Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You haven't noticed the sadistic streak both of us possess?" The barrage of attacks ceased momentarily. "Unless, of course," Szayel continued, noticing how close to home the words were hitting, "you don't think killing your target in a slow, agonizing manner isn't sadistic. You know what the only difference is between you and me? At least I'm willing to admit it."
Szayel slashed at Ulquiorra quickly, catching him off-guard. A fine scratch appeared on the Cuatro Espada's cheek, perpendicular to the green tear marks staining his face. The other Arrancar murmured in surprise, mixed with a bit of awe.
"I wonder," said Szayel, before he could stop himself, "what Orihime would think if she knew what her precious guard-san was truly like."
Suddenly Szayel found himself pinned to the wall, Ulquiorra's hand clenched around his neck. Not enough to cut off his air supply, but uncomfortable nonetheless. Ulquiorra glared at him with a wrath none had ever seen.
"I have to wonder the same about you, Szayel," he said, his grip tightening. Ulquiorra leaned in, so only the two of them could hear. "Were you planning to throw her away, like she was some guinea pig, when you were done screwing with her head?"
Szayel's eyes narrowed. "You don't know what you're talking about. You wouldn't understand."
"I understand enough," said Ulquiorra, louder than before. He released Szayel and pointed his finger at the other Espada's chest. "If you are in such a hurry to die, I will not stop you. This ends now."
Szayel quickly took his zanpakutou and brought it to his mouth. He cursed inwardly. He hadn't wanted to release against someone like Ulquiorra. But unless he did, Szayel knew he wouldn't stand a chance against another cero. Even in his released form Szayel wasn't sure how much longer he could last.
Just as Ulquiorra was about to release his cero and Szayel was about to finish the phrase for his release, a calm voice called out:
"What the hell is going on?"
The low-level Arrancar departed, scattering this way and that. Once the hall had been cleared, the two Espada's gaze fell upon a visibly perturbed Harribel. The cero forming on Ulquiorra's finger disappeared. Szayel placed his zanpakutou back into its sheath.
"Fighting in such a manner," said Harribel, her arms folded across her chest. Her heels echoed in the hall as she approached. "You dare call yourselves Espada?"
Neither Ulquiorra or Szayel looked at her.
"Szayel," Harribel said. "Go get healed."
The Octava Espada struggled down the hall until he was out of sight, leaving Harribel and Ulquiorra alone.
"Why did you intervene?" Ulquiorra asked, hands returning to his pockets.
"I returned the favor. That is all," Harribel said. "That one mission. At that time, you—"
"I know what favor you meant. I told you repayment was unnecessary and, more importantly, unwanted. What I am uncertain of is how this is a 'repayment.'"
"If the Szayel had died, even someone like you, as close as you are to Aizen-sama, wouldn't get away without severe punishment. If you were anyone else, you'd be killed without a second's hesitation. But because it is you, Aizen-sama might've simply taken you down a couple of ranks—or perhaps removed you from your post as that woman's guard." Harribel noticed Ulquiorra shift uncomfortably. "Now you understand why I did what I did."
Ulquiorra turned away.
"Why were you fighting Szayel in the first place?" asked Harribel. "Does it have to do with that woman, with the rumors going around about the two of them?"
There was a strange look in Ulquiorra's eyes. "Yes. And no. It's not one thing, but the culmination of many. It's…complicated."
"I see." Harribel shook her head. "What is that woman doing to the two of you?"
It took all of Szayel's strength to make his way to Orihime's room. The pain from his wounds hadn't registered yet, but his body struggled regardless. He supposed he could've eaten one of his Fraccion, but then he would've missed the opportunity to see Orihime's powers firsthand. He had been been anxious to investigate them since they met.
Szayel pushed the door open, surprised to find Orihime standing right in front of him.
Orihime gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. She had sensed Szayel's reiatsu for some time, coming closer, and had prepared herself for his visit. But she hadn't expected him to come in his current state. She took his hands, mindful of the numerous abrasions, and pulled him in. The door shut behind them as she led Szayel to the couch.
"Shun'ou. Ayame," she said, and touched the clips on the side of her head. Two points on her hairpin shot out and created a small yellow shield over Szayel. Orihime placed her hands above the barrier, focused on reversing the damage. Her hands were as shaky as her voice sounded. "What happened? Who did this?"
Szayel didn't answer right away. The barrier was warm, he realized, just like her. "A sparring session with Ulquiorra gone out of hand," he said, watching her eyebrows furrow in concentration. "It's nothing to worry about."
Orihime looked up from her work, less than convinced.
"I assure you, it's not as bad as it—"
Szayel looked down. A number of gashes riddled his body. His skin was startling to peel away, singed from Ulquiorra's cero—and who knew what else. Had he been a human, or even a low-level Arrancar, he would've been dead from less.
"Okay," he said finally, "it is as bad as it looks."
Orihime closed her eyes and laughed, though it was devoid of any humor. Sweat formed on her brow. When she opened her eyes, a frown tugged at her lips. "It's…so hard…to reject. It's like there's another reiatsu wrapped up inside your own that's keeping me from healing you."
"That would Ulquiorra," said Szayel, rolling his eyes. "Seems I'll have to heal myself through other—"
"No," Orihime said, her jaw clenched. "I can do this. I know I can."
She went back to work, her eyes closed as she concentrated even harder. More sweat formed. Szayel could tell the attempted healing was taking a toll on her body. Orihime leaned over him, as if she were about to faint.
"Orihime, that's enough. You shouldn't overexert yourself for something so foolish. I'll heal on my own."
All Szayel needed was one Fraccion, and he would be as good as new.
"No!" This time there was an edge to her voice that Szayel had never heard before. Almost like desperation. "I can't—I won't—Please," Orihime said, "I can do this. Just…talk to me. This silence is becoming overwhelming."
Even in his injured state Szayel could overpower her, but her eyes—they were so resolute. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Eventually he nodded, noticing her smile as he did. They sat in silence for a bit, her shield basking them in soft light, as he though.
"Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?"
"I don't think you're asking me about that one American movie, are you?" asked Orihime, forcing some humor into her voice.
Szayel smiled, even though he had no idea what Orihime she was talking about. He understood her need for humor in this situation. "It refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings can create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately alters the path of a tornado—or delays, accelerates or even prevents one from occurring. The flapping wing causes a small change in the condition of the system, which starts a chain of events leading to larger changes. For example, if the butterfly had not flapped its wings, the tornado's path would've different. Of course, the butterfly cannot literally cause a tornado. The energy in a tornado is larger than the energy in the flutter of a wing. The butterfly can only influence certain details."
"Finally!" exclaimed Orihime. "Your wounds are starting to heal."
He could feel Ulquiorra's reiatsu slowly but surely unweave from inside his wounds. His skin was reforming, returning to the state before it had been mangled. Szayel glanced at Orihime. She seemed a bit drained, but no worse for the wear. Her body was less tense now that the hardest part over.
"That sounds a bit far fetched, even for me," Orihime said, and then looked at Szayel. A blush formed on her cheeks. "That a butterfly flapping can influence something as big, as powerful, as a tornado."
"It's only a theory," said Szayel, with a shake of his head. "Besides, the principle makes more sense in a philosophical viewpoint: that the small events we take for granted can have huge consequences on the future."
Szayel stopped and chuckled.
"What is it?"
"I was just thinking: if Aizen-sama had never assigned Ulquiorra to that mission, we would've never met."
Orihime didn't respond. The two sat there for a while, lost in their own thoughts, as she finished healing Szayel's wounds. When the last gash closed up, the two points returned to her hairclip.
"Thank you, Orihime," Szayel said, standing.
Orhihime did the same, her cheeks a deep shade of red. "You're welcome."
Szayel stared at her. He didn't notice any one thing in particular, but instead viewed the whole and approved of what he saw. Nodding, he turned, ready to return to his domain, when a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. His eyes widened.
So that was why Orihime was blushing. He had been shirtless the whole time.
How did he not notice?
It was like being under her shield again. Only not. Szayel felt her warmth around his waist, on his back, and most notably, on his chest, where her bare hands rested. It was a mixture of pleasure and torture. He didn't know if he wanted Orihime to continue holding onto him or to push her away.
"Orihime." Szayel's voice cracked. Why did it crack? And why was his mouth so dry? He was reminded of when she was sick, after she'd cleaned the rice from her fingertips. "You need to let go."
Orihime shook her head, clutching him tighter. Her chest pushed into his back. Szayel forced himself to stifle a moan—or whatever noise was trying to escape his lips.
"I was so worried," Orihime said, and rested her cheek on his back. Unshed tears formed in her eyes. "I could tell something was wrong. I sensed it the closer you got. There was something wrong with your reiatsu, but I couldn't figure out what. When you opened the door, I just—I couldn't believe. I knew it had to be bad, but I couldn't imagine anything that bad."
Szayel closed his eyes and felt Orihime do the same. Her eyelashes fluttered against his back.
"You need to let go." If Orihime didn't release him soon…
Orihime shook her head again. "It wasn't sparring gone wrong, was it? Ulquiorra—he did this to you on purpose, didn't he?"
Szayel concentrated on forming his answer, but it was difficult the longer she held onto him. "Yes."
Orihime nodded into his back and loosened her grip around his waist.
But it was too late. Szayel felt the last of his self-control slip away. He grabbed Orihime's arms, forcing her to face him, and pressed his lips against hers. He relished the feeling, more than he thought possible.
Orihime's body tensed beneath his fingertips. Through half-closed eyes, he watched her eyes widen at the contact. Eventually her eyes slid shut, and only then did he close his. Her hands held onto his arms for support as she tentatively returned the kiss.
Szayel forced Orihime against the wall and released his grip on her arms. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks. Her hands moved up his arms, her left resting against his chest while her right moved to his head, pulling him closer as her fingers wove into his hair. A few strands of her hair brushed against his chest. Szayel groaned, pushing until he was flush against her.
His tongue followed the line of her lips, demanding entrance. Orihime complied but stiffened as she felt his tongue enter. Szayel traced the inside of her mouth, small shivers coming from her body. He took pride that he was the one causing them. Soon he felt her tongue slide against his, uncertain and so much smaller than his, but undoing him more than he had her.
Their lips parted.
Orihime released a small whimper, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, as Szayel placed his mouth on her chin, his tongue making small circular motions, as if to lap up invisible raindrops from her skin. His left hand moved to her hips, kneeding small circles into them that mirrored the actions of his tongue, while his right hand slid up her side, brushing against her breast. His mouth moved up her jawline. He repeated the action for every inch of skin until he reached the juncture where her jaw met the lobe of her ear.
Szayel pulled back and watched the small pants coming from Orihime's lips, her face flushed and eyes glazed over. His fingers brushed over the collar of her uniform and undid the first button, then the next, until they were all undone. Orihime eyes widened, but she was unable to protest when Szayel took her into his arms and placed his lips on her neck, careful to avoid the chain of the necklace he'd given to her. She held him, pulling him close, as he placed another kiss and another and another. Her head arched back to allow him more entrance.
When he was finished Szayel rested his head in the crook of her neck, his eyes closed as he listened to the rapid beating of her heart. Orihime's fingers moved through his hair, brushing the strands aside. They both sighed.
Nothing would ever be the same again.