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The Coronation of Self	By : NarakusKoi Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1068 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor do I make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Coronation of Self
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
Warning: This chapter contains triggering content! Please avoid if underage, averse to the idea, or if non-consensual sex is a trigger for you.

The Coronation of Self: Chapter Two

By: Ryoko

Szayel had decided that the best way to kill someone of his prospective blackmailer's caliber would be a drug overdose. The man looked to Szayel as if he consumed illegal substances on a regular basis. This would be simple, easy, and arouse little suspicion if the body were found.

He had prepared a syringe full of a powerful opiate for the occasion. Now the only thing he needed was for the man to show himself. Szayel should have asked for a specific time, but he had been distracted. Now he was stuck. He hadn't even gone to work that day, thus making his coworker's friendly jab a reality. This irked him, but not as much as the fact that he was grounded, at the beck and call of a man of the lowest order. It was humiliating, really. Szayel would have to take out his frustration on the man's corpse.

Finally, at around six, the doorbell rang. Szayel turned from the window, where he had been enjoying the view as he contemplated his little problem, and let the silk drape fall closed.

The man was wearing a pair of black jeans and a ratty looking, sleeveless tank top this time. His combat boots were loud on the tile as he walked in, the few metal bracelets he had on his left wrist jangling against each other. The outfit met Szayel's expectations.

Before he could say anything, the man was heading into his kitchen. Szayel closed his mouth, along with the door, and followed him. Instead of heading for the living room, the man had found Szayel's refrigerator and was now busy rummaging through it.

"The hell kind of shit is this?" he asked, as he pawed through shelves filled with fruits and vegetables.

"Are you blind? Food, of course."

"Of-fucking-course, that isn't what I meant. Where's the junk? All I see is chick food." He held up a container of hummus and seemed to be struggling with its pronunciation, so Szayel relieved him of it.

"I'll thank you to halt your pointless exploration there," he said, as he returned it to its proper place.

"Ain't pointless. I'm hungry."

"How unfortunate for you," Szayel said, his tone as deadpan as his expression. When the man didn't give up his search at this, he sighed and brushed him out of the way with a hand to the chest. Szayel grabbed several stalks of celery and some carrots and closed the door to the refrigerator. He washed them in the sink, then shaved the skin off the carrots and cut everything up into manageable pieces. These he arranged on a plate, which he handed to the man. There was a point to this little exercise besides the obvious. If the man would trust Szayel with something like this, he might let his guard down later. The man took the plate and scowled at it.

"You call this a fucking meal?"

"I am not here to serve you." Even though that was what he had just done.

"That isn't what-ah, fuck it. You got any sauce or anything to help me choke this shit down?" the man asked, as he squinted his eyes at the vegetables. He stuck out his tongue in a gesture of disgust, and Szayel was struck by how long it was. He supposed it was fitting given the size of his teeth. Szayel rolled his eyes, but retrieved a bottle of ranch dressing from his refrigerator nonetheless. He had intended to give him a small portion, but the man plucked this from between his fingers with a grudging, 'thanks.' He proceeded to dump a wasteful amount all over the vegetables, with a large pool in the center of the plate, before handing Szayel the bottle back. Moderation was a concept clearly lost on him.

The man brushed past Szayel, holding the plate high as if to guard it from harm. Szayel washed his hands and then followed. He found his prospective blackmailer sitting in the exact same spot as the previous night. He already had several slices crammed into his mouth, and was chewing with it open. No manners either, but then, Szayel already knew that. He eyed the grey spot on his white rug with disdain before sitting down on the opposite sofa. The man shoved another four pieces into his mouth with a grimace, then spoke with his mouth full.

"'ts -gusting." Szayel made to fix his glasses. His breathing was deep and even. Keep calm, he told himself. Don't let him provoke you. This might have worked, had the man not decided next to wipe his ranch covered hand all over the sofa. Even Szayel's superior skill as a thespian could not stop him from rising from his seat. But the man didn't seem to recognize what had happened. He made a gagging noise and then handed Szayel the soiled plate, as if he had stepped up just to serve him.

Szayel could do nothing but take it. He spun on his heel and strode back into the kitchen, taking advantage of this reprieve to slam the dish into the sink and then wash his hands again. Truly a disgusting individual. If he had left the plate... No, he didn't want to think about any further damage to his precious decor.

Szayel rejoined his prospective blackmailer just in time to see him wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, and then drag said hand down his jeans. Szayel stopped next to him, standing tall.

"Let's expedite the process, shall we?" If his prospective blackmailer dragged things out any longer, he might ruin all of Szayel's careful plans by making him angry enough to shove the man through a window.

"Sure." The man rose, and Szayel led the way into his bedroom. There was a suitcase full of fake bills ready for his perusal. It was waiting for him on the bed. Szayel unzipped it and stood to the side.

"I think you'll find everything is as it should be," he said. As the man reached in and began to thumb through the bills, Szayel slipped behind him. The man picked up one of the parcels and whistled.

"Shit, yeah!" Szayel took the opportunity to relieve his pocket of the syringe he had prepared.

"I'm so glad you approve." Szayel's tone was dry, belaying the building sense of anticipatory excitement he felt. He eased a little closer and raised the syringe high before jamming it down hard into the man's side. Two things happened in the space of a moment. Szayel depressed the plunger, and the needle shattered. His eyes widened. What had...?

The man whipped his head around, his eyes narrowing at the spreading stain. He grabbed Szayel's hand before he had the chance to move it and twisted. Szayel let out a pained cry and dropped the syringe.

"Fucking knew you were a psycho! You think I didn't come prepared?" he said, his tone almost a snarl. Before Szayel could offer a reply or even move to defend himself, the man shoved him back into the wall. His head smacked against it, causing his vision to blur for the moment. But the man wasn't done. He punched Szayel in the stomach before letting him drop, boneless, to the floor. He clutched his stomach and tried to rise, but the man gripped him by the hair. This caused his already throbbing head to send a renewed message of pain to his brain. Szayel groaned and screwed his eyes shut. His glasses slipped from his nose and dropped to the floor, but he didn't let this stop him. Szayel was not one to accept defeat in such a calm manner. He kicked the man's knee, causing him to stumble and fall. Unfortunately, he kept his grip on Szayel's hair, and so both were dragged down to land in a tangled heap. He felt some of his precious hair tear free, but was distracted from this as the man slammed his face into the ground. Without delay, his opponent gripped his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Don't fucking move, asshole," he said, but Szayel paid him no mind. He attempted to rise, but a knee slammed down into his back, forcing him to the floor. He could hear the man panting even as he struggled for breath. The side of his face felt numb where it was pressed against the floor. Not a good sign.

"Alright," he said, barely managing to choke the word out. This was the worst possible outcome, but Szayel was powerless to change it. For the moment. The man grunted in reply, but did not remove either of Szayel's sources of pain. Instead, he pressed down harder.

"Coulda been so nice and easy for ya, but now the price has gone up." Szayel was almost completely out of breath now. He couldn't even move his head to nod. The man seemed to notice this. He relented the tiniest amount, and Szayel was able to breathe. The man removed his knee, but kept his grip on Szayel's hair and arm as he hauled them both to their feet. He pushed Szayel forward and at the suitcase, which was somehow still in place. "This shit's fake too, isn't it?"

"Of course no-" The man gave him a vicious shake, and Szayel gasped in pain.

"Don't lie to me."

Szayel swallowed. It wouldn't do him any good to continue with his charade now.

"Yes."

"Tch. Fucking knew it." Without preamble, he shoved Szayel into the suitcase, using his body to brush it off the bed. It banged to the floor, money flying everywhere. "As conniving as a woman. Guess I'll have to treat you like one, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Instead of answering, the man let go of Szayel's hair. He was relieved until he felt that hand palming his ass through his pants. All the color drained from Szayel's face. "What are-"

"Shut the fuck up," the man said, as he reached around to undo Szayel's zipper. He caught the man's hand in his own before he could complete the motion, but received a painful twist of his other arm and was forced to let it go. The hand withdrew only to yank his pants down. They dropped to his ankles. The man tore Szayel's underwear down next, his breath heavy on Szayel's neck.

"There is no need for this," he said, his voice a little uneven. His blackmailer palmed one of his ass cheeks and then squeezed.

"You think I'm stupid? You tried to fucking kill me. Like hell I'll let that go."

Szayel could feel the burgeoning erection digging into his back even as he spoke. He grit his teeth. He was not an animal, and certainly not something to be used by a man like this. Szayel had far more pride than that.

"Get off," he said, his voice pregnant with menace. The man only laughed and shoved a finger inside him. Szayel gasped through his teeth.

"That's the idea, ain't it?"

Szayel kicked back, but the man dodged it. He shoved Szayel down until his face was buried in his soft bed. The footboard dug into his hips. The finger inside of him moved, and he felt like he might vomit.

"Shouldn't have fucked with me. I was gonna take the money and run, you know," the man said. Szayel hardly heard him. He was too busy fighting against his comforter for room to breathe. The man's hand left him, and he chuckled. By the clinking sound he could also hear, Szayel gathered that he had found the restraints screwed into his footboard. Cold metal around one of his wrists confirmed his suspicions.

"Ya should have said you like it rough." The man dragged Szayel's other arm out from under his body and pulled it to the first one. A moment later and he was restrained and unable to escape. Even if he could have fought the man off, he would still be held to his footboard by the chains connecting to the cuffs. But that didn't mean he wouldn't try. The man withdrew and Szayel made to vault over the footboard and onto the bed. A hand stopped him short and he cried out as his thighs slammed down on the metal footboard.

"Where are you goin'?" The man dragged him back. All Szayel could do was groan as his flesh was abraded by the metal. He heard a rustling sound and craned his neck to look behind him, but everything was a blur. A second later and he felt the man parting him.

"No, don't." Any further reply was cut short as, without preamble, the man thrust inside. The sensation overrode any other feelings of pain. Szayel was singularly focused on the excruciating slide of the man's cock as it entered him. He wilted against the bed, willing himself to relax and admit the monstrous appendage that just kept coming and coming and-Szayel really felt like he was going to be sick now.

"Fucking tight, but you've done this before, haven't you?" the man bit out as he finally, mercifully, finished his forward movement. "Kinky bitch."

Hands gripped his hips, fingernails digging into his flesh, as the man began to pull back out. Szayel could hear those metal bracelets of his clinking, and did his best to focus on that sound instead of the fact that he would be violated again in the space of a moment. The second slide was a little easier than the first, but that was not the man's doing. Szayel was breathing slow and deep, forcing himself into utter relaxation. Before he knew it, they were on three, four, five, six. As the man picked up the pace, Szayel began to lose count. His world was narrowing down to past experience as he blotted out what was happening to him. Soon, he began to rise to that rhythm.

Of course, the man had to notice. He felt the rumble of his chuckle through the entirety of his body as the man leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Little slut." He licked the shell of Szayel's ear with that abnormally long tongue and Szayel gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

The man didn't seem repulsed by his lack of a favorable reaction. Szayel shuddered. He kept his eyes closed and imagined other, more pleasant, occasions. Aaron had had strong arms, just like these. And he had been rough too. As long as the man kept quiet, it was easy for Szayel to save himself with this comparison. But, of course, that couldn't last forever.

"Thought a mouthy bitch like you'd have plenty to say." The man's voice was harsher than usual, his breathing shallow. It jolted Szayel from his temporary reprieve, but he offered no response. The man didn't seem to mind this either. He increased the pace once again, and Szayel was forced to concentrate on simple things like the slide of silk sheets against his face. His own unwilling erection was being abraded by the metal, but this did nothing to halt his arousal. His thighs were forced against the footboard in the same painful succession.

Time stretched to infinity, but Szayel heard the man's guttural grunt and felt him pull out. This was followed by a warm spray over his back and arms. The sudden stillness was irritating. Every part of him ached, and without any pleasure-however uninvited it had been-to distract him, this was all he could focus on.

The man leaned over to croon in his ear.

"Not bad." He smacked Szayel's ass and laughed. Szayel could hear a rustling noise, and soon after that, footsteps.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone smooth and even. He didn't want the man to come back, but he didn't want to be left here like this either.

"Be seein' ya. Next time, this shit better be real."

Szayel raised his head and winced. He unglued trembling thighs from his metal footboard and attempted to stand straight. His assailant couldn't be serious, could he? But it seemed he was. The retreating footsteps did not halt, and all too soon, he heard the slam of his front door.

The sheets were done for, but if he acted quickly enough, Szayel might still be able to spare the carpet the same fate. He sighed, then raised one aching leg at a time to climb on his bed. It was awkward, but at least he could lay down this way. There was a key, of course, but Szayel was too worn to do anything but rest for the moment. He heaved a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing as the breath whooshed from his lungs.

-----

The sun burned low in the sky as Szayel made his way inside his favorite cafe. His steps were measured and even, if slow. The little bell on the door tinkled, announcing his arrival to the waiting man. Szayel made his way around circular tables, patrons, and baristas alike, until he found Aaron's familiar face. Szayel slid into the booth across from his old friend and finally deigned to remove his large, black shades. Szayel folded his arms, clad in long sleeves, on the table and smiled.

"So, did you find anything?" Szayel asked, as he took in Aaron's blue suit. As impeccable as always. He had yet to disappoint Szayel, as far as these things went.

"Boy, did I ever. You wouldn't believe who you've gotten mixed up with," Aaron said, his jovial brown eyes belaying the hidden scorn that Szayel knew was there. He arched an eyebrow.

"Is that so? I suppose you won't need the extra sample I brought, then."

"No, the print on that cigarette butt was more than enough. But, really, he's a tough guy. I almost didn't believe it."

"As always, I am in utter suspense." Szayel was prevented from saying more by the arrival of a barista. A girl in her late teens with blonde hair and the flighty attitude to match.

"Two mocha lattes?" she asked, and Aaron nodded.

"That would be us." The barista set down the cups of steaming coffee.

"Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

Aaron flashed her a disarming smile.

"Sure thing."

She walked away with a little bounce in her step, and they were alone once more.

"You ordered for me?" Szayel asked, as he took a sip of the rich blend.

"You've got pretty predictable tastes, Szayel."

"Perhaps." Szayel's smile was fleeting, but genuine. "More importantly, just how long are you planning to make me wait?"

Aaron sighed.

"Alright. Well, this guy's pretty big in the underground. He's got a lot of priors, but only one conviction. People are really afraid of him, you know?" Aaron ran a hand through his short, brown hair and then let it drop to his lap. "We've been looking to get some dirt on him for a while now to bring him down."

Szayel quirked an eyebrow, but did not bother to rise to this bait.

"That could be anyone."

Aaron sighed again.

"You want specifics? I get it. Well, the guy is something of a fighter. He's got a reputation for violence, and seems to have his fingers jammed in anything he can reach. Prostitutes, drugs, and it's known he got on the wrong side of the Caravaggio family once. The fact he's still around should tell you a lot."

Szayel could have surmised as much on his own. What he was really looking for was something more identifiable.

"And his name?"

"Officially, Norton Jones. But he only goes by Nnoitra Jiruga, so that's what everyone on the street calls him." Aaron cleared his throat. "We could really use a break, Szayel."

It was Szayel's turn to sigh.

"I'm well aware, but unfortunately I can't help you." The fact that his assailant, this Nnoitra Jiruga, was some kind of jack of all trades with regards to illicit activities did not detract from the fact he had Szayel in quite the uncomfortable position. "I'm certain I don't have to explain why."

Not to Aaron, of all people. They knew each other too well. Classmates, friends, and former lovers. Both had a passion for acting and shared the joy of being duplicitous. Szayel still recalled with fondness the time they had tricked a fellow classmate into bed with them, only to leave the girl scarred by the experience. Nothing that would give them away, of course, but Szayel was certain they lived on in her nightmares for quite some time afterwards. They had each helped the other out of a few tight spots in their long history.

Aaron's eyes bored into his for a moment, and then he relaxed. That misleading smile was back as he propped an elbow on the table.

"If you say so, Szayel."

"I do." For a few moments, Szayel allowed his displeasure to show in the downward quirk of his lips. Then he smirked. "Tell me more."

Aaron mirrored the expression.

"There's not much more to say."

"Come, now. Do you really expect me to believe that?" He had no time for Aaron's games. Not now.

Aaron grinned, then took a sip of his coffee.

"I assume you want to know where he hangs out."

Szayel's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, I would like that very much."

"It isn't much, but I've heard he likes Delway's Bar." Aaron placed his hand on Szayel's arm, and he did his best not to flinch at the touch to his tender skin. For once, Aaron seemed completely serious. "Be careful, Szayel." He seemed about to say something else, but stopped and brushed Szayel's sleeve up. This revealed his sore, red rimmed wrist.

"I knew you didn't look so good." Szayel let out an exasperated sigh and made to pull away, but Aaron caught his wrist. He winced at the contact. "You'd never wear long sleeves out of season."

Szayel rolled his eyes.

"As you can see, I've made an exception." He let his arm fall limp, and Aaron relaxed his grip. He turned Szayel's hand in his own and eyed the mark there.

"Using something new?"

"You could say that."

Aaron smirked.

"Doesn't do anything for you."

Of course it didn't. Nnoitra hadn't bothered to ask his permission or use them properly. But for Aaron to joke like that... Szayel took his wrist back.

"It's none of your concern." He hadn't told him about the rape, and he didn't intend to. Let Aaron think it was the work of an overzealous lover. Szayel was far more comfortable that way. That he had been bested and sullied by the lowest sort of man was an almost unbearable shame. He had been stewing over it for the entirety of the previous night as well as all that day.

Aaron's eyebrows lifted high.

"If that's how you want to be." His eyes were dancing with that familiar mirth. It didn't matter what Szayel said now. Aaron would still be amused at his expense.

"I didn't come here for that."

"Of course not," Aaron said, even though Szayel could tell he was entertaining thoughts of a lascivious nature. He'd always been put out that Szayel had stopped sleeping with him, but Szayel didn't care. Aaron was acceptable to his standards, but he refused to settle for anything less than the exceptional. Aaron was great, but not extraordinary. He didn't even have the willpower to pursue his real dream of acting, as Szayel had-his personal affairs notwithstanding. Instead, he had gone into the FBI. This made him infinitely more useful to Szayel, but was not enough to persuade him to continue the relationship.

Szayel cleared his throat.

"I have to go." He slapped down several bills and rose, taking his coffee with him. "Thank you for looking that up for me."

Aaron leaned back in his seat. He watched Szayel's every motion, and Szayel knew that when he turned, those brown eyes would be glued to his ass.

"Anytime," came the answer. It seemed casual enough, but Szayel could tell Aaron was mentally calculating his debt to him.

Szayel nodded, and turned to leave. As expected, he felt that gaze boring into him all throughout the store and even onto the sidewalk. It was not until he was turning the corner that the tingling sensation faded. He began a brisk pace despite his pain as he headed back to his car. The sun had gone down, but the street lamps were not on yet. Rush hour was beginning to wane, and there were fewer pedestrians around.

As Szayel passed the first alleyway, a lanky arm came out and pulled him inside. Coffee spilled all over his pants as he dropped the cup. He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand quickly clamped down on it. Szayel's other arm was twisted behind his back. The resounding pulse of pain that sprang up his spine made him see double for an instant.

"Goddamn smart of ya to be meeting with a suit like that in public."

Any doubt Szayel had about the identity of his assailant faded at the sound of that voice. He sagged a little as he feigned resigned acceptance, but Nnoitra's grip did not loosen.

"Think I'm real fucking stupid, don't you? Well, you're the dumbass here, bitch! I'm not falling for your act." Nnoitra shook him, twisting his arm higher, and Szayel let out a pained gasp. It was muffled by those awful fingers of his. He dragged Szayel further back into the alleyway, but Szayel still offered no resistance. Despite what Nnoitra had said, he knew he had a chance to turn things around on him here. It wouldn't be a dramatic shift, but it would make him feel a little better.

Szayel waited until they were hidden behind a dumpster before making his move. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and then bit down on the imbecile's hand. Szayel jerked his head to the left. He felt something tear before his mouth filled with blood as Nnoitra's curses invaded his ear. He let Szayel go, and he turned to run. Before he made it two steps, Nnoitra was on him. He kicked Szayel in the back and he went down on the dirty asphalt. Newspapers fluttered around him as the stench of rotten meat and urine filled his nostrils. In this momentary confusion, Nnoitra landed a savage kick to his ribs. Szayel gasped and coughed, feeling his bones creak in protest.

Something in his mind snapped, and before he knew it, he was on his feet facing the scum. Nnoitra had his fist raised for another blow, but Szayel caught it with his arm and turned it aside. He delivered a hard punch to the man's sternum, sending him back a few steps.

It was happening again.

"You fucking-" But Szayel was on him again. He delivered several blows to his face and, following this, kneed him in the groin. Nnoitra's head snapped back and forth, and then he went down on one knee.

Szayel stood tall and triumphant over him. He felt like himself, yet not. He should have been in pain, but instead he felt nothing.

"You believe that you have the advantage here, but that is not the case."

Nnoitra heaved to his feet and, again, if his glare had had any power over the physical realm, Szayel would have been cinders. He wiped a hand across his face. This left a bloody trail down the front of what Szayel was coming to consider his customary white tank top.

"The hell I don't. Ya caught me by surprise just then, but it won't be happening again." That infuriating leer was back, and he seemed to be appraising Szayel. For his part, Szayel wasn't sure what he had expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't this. He couldn't say why, but it felt as if the danger had passed for the moment. Adrenaline was still thrumming strong through his veins, but he felt the return of his many aches and pains. His disconnection from reality faded, and he sighed.

"I have enough evidence to prosecute you for your crime against me, Nnoitra Jiruga. That makes us even."

If Nnoitra was surprised that Szayel knew his name, he didn't show it. He only shook his head.

"No, it doesn't. Not by a long fucking shot." He was still leering. "How are ya gonna explain that to the police, huh? What a rich bitch like you was doing with a guy like me?"

"They will not be so quick to believe your nonsense."

"That's what ya think, huh?" The man scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll think I'm a fucking liar after seeing the juicy evidence I got on ya."

Although Szayel felt a pang of anxiety run through him, his expression did not change.

"And what, exactly, would that be?"

"You'll see. So go ahead and do it. Call 'em." Really, did he think Szayel was an idiot? The man had nothing on him. Even if Szayel were anything less than fastidious in his methods and the worst were true, it wouldn't mean a thing as it was obvious Nnoitra was lying.

"Now who is putting up a front, hmm?" he said, his voice tinged by amusement. Nnoitra's leer was unwavering, and it was only this that gave him pause. He certainly had a good poker face.

"Think I'm shitting ya? Fucking call 'em then." He chuckled, the now-familiar sound low and dark.

Szayel rolled his eyes.

"I tire of this little game. Goodbye." He turned and began walking away, straight down the alleyway. Szayel dodged the rough hand that threatened to crease his sleeve. He turned to glare at Nnoitra for his continued audacity.

"Find someone else to attempt blackmail on. I'm through with you." He brushed past Nnoitra, slapping that same hand aside, and began walking back toward the sidewalk. If Nnoitra wouldn't leave him alone, it would be better to be in a public place. This time he kept his gaze glued to Nnoitra's back-for he hadn't yet turned-as he walked.

"I asked you before if you'd cleaned out yer car. Wasn't for nothing, yanno."

Szayel froze midstep. He sighed. It seemed impossible, but the man might actually be telling the truth. And if he did have evidence, it would be very bad if he were to reveal it. Very bad indeed.

"What do you want?"

Nnoitra turned, his lips stretched wide in an inhuman looking grin.

"Now that's more like it. Where's yer car?"

Szayel hesitated, transferring his weight from one foot to the other, before answering.

"Why?"

"Always with the fucking questions. Where's the trust?"

"How ridiculous." It truly was, especially after what had happened. Or, rather, what Nnoitra had done to

him.

"Not like I ever gave ya anything you didn't deserve."

Szayel supposed that was true. He really hadn't done anything until after he had been provoked. That still didn't mean Szayel trusted him though. But it was better than nothing.

"Fine."

"Lead the way!"

And Szayel did. However, once they were seated in his beautiful Lexus, he began to doubt his decision. As predicted, Nnoitra lit up as soon as he made it inside the car. Everything would need to be washed now.

Szayel cracked both windows.

"You couldn't have done that while we were outside?" he asked, although he suspected the man was doing it just to irritate him.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Szayel rolled his eyes again.

"At least tell me where we are going." Nnoitra hadn't said a word more about what he wanted, and Szayel was growing impatient. He gripped the wheel perhaps a little too hard as he reversed out of the parking space.

"Take a fucking guess," Nnoitra said, as he leaned forward and blew smoke into the vent. Szayel's eyes narrowed. It could be any number of things, of course, but he had a suspicion.

"Given your obvious proclivities, I assume you want money."

"No shit." He whispered this directly into Szayel's ear, causing him to lean away as he began the downward descent into the lower level of the parking garage. Nnoitra's breath reeked of tobacco.

Szayel offered nothing in response but a noncommittal grunt. He was concentrating on driving, and the delicious appearance of the other cars in the facility. It was always a pleasure to park here. Luxury was apparent everywhere, although Szayel was well aware there was an underside to everything. That was represented by the man currently staining his own precious vehicle with his presence.

Szayel continued to distract himself as they neared the exit to the parking garage.

"Take a left," Nnoitra said, as he settled back into the car's patent leather seat. Szayel's fingers tightened on the wheel before he turned on the signal. A yellow Mercedes sped by, and Szayel took off after it.

"I don't suppose you're going to enlighten me as to our destination, are you?" Szayel felt the car shift gears as he accelerated. Beside him, Nnoitra was still puffing away on his cigarette. When he didn't answer right away, Szayel rolled down both windows all the way before locking the controls. "Well?"

The man winced and brought his arm in from where he'd had it resting on the door. He turned his cigarette

and cupped it to keep it out of the wind.

"So fucking touchy! Just relax and drive. I'll tell ya when we get close." Nnoitra stuck the cigarette between his teeth and then began to fiddle with the controls. Smoke billowed out of his nostrils. For a moment, Szayel was so distracted by the filth that he didn't notice the Mercedes's brake lights glowing bright. He looked up just in time to slam on his brakes and skid to a halt mere inches from the other vehicle's bumper. A loud thump announced the collision of Nnoitra's palm with his dashboard. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, and this was the result.

"Fucking be more careful." Nnoitra scowled at him. It was an expression Szayel had no problem returning.

"Put it out. Now." He wasn't driving an inch further until Nnoitra ceased to be a distraction. His vehicle, precious as it was to him, could be replaced, but any injury to his mind was a problem. The body, also, would mend, but if he lost even a fraction of an IQ point to Nnoitra he was going to kill him. Not that he didn't already have designs on this. With more information on his opponent, Szayel was all but unstoppable. All he needed was time. Which Nnoitra wasn't giving him. His annoying voice cut short any further murderous musings.

"You like your leather, yeah? Then just fucking drive already." Szayel frowned, but put his foot back on the gas pedal. The threat was a valid one, as Szayel knew from past experience. It seemed he had no choice but to tolerate the man's rudeness or else risk his property. Szayel kept his eyes glued to the road so as to avoid looking at his unwelcome guest. After another minute, Nnoitra instructed him to turn left again.

Szayel now had a real idea of where they were heading. It seemed Nnoitra was taking them to Szayel's bank. He should have guessed as much. Nnoitra didn't even have to tell him to take the next right or left. Szayel rolled into the lot and parked the car. He sat stiffly in his seat as Nnoitra finished the cigarette and tossed it out of the window. He made a motion for Szayel to roll both up, and he did so.

"Now, why don't ya be a good little bitch and go fetch me two grand?"

Szayel didn't utter a word. This was to the man's apparent surprise as his laughter regaled Szayel as he exited the vehicle. It was only cut short as he slammed the door. Szayel trudged over to the ATM where it was glowing brightly against the brick of the building.

It was disconcerting in the extreme that Nnoitra was aware, not only of his bank's location, but of his banking habits as well as the bank's own policies regarding his account. As a platinum member, Szayel was entitled to certain benefits of which the regular customers were unaware. A higher withdrawal rate was one of them. Szayel might have overlooked Nnoitra's awareness of his financial habits had he not quoted that specific number.

His opponent was far more cunning than he had previously thought. It seemed impossible that he was working alone. To that end, Szayel would have to make different plans. If it didn't end with Nnoitra, he couldn't start with killing him. No, he needed to pay everyone involved their appropriate dues. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it seemed he was stuck with Nnoitra for now.

Szayel fed his card into the machine and punched in his personal identification number. He would change it as soon as he got home, just in case. This was another perk of being such a wealthy and valued customer. A few commands later and the ATM began to spit out an endless stream of bills. When Szayel finally had the requisite amount in his waiting hand and the transaction was completed, he turned on his heel and headed back to the car. It sickened him, but he would have to play into his opponent's hands for now. For this, he would surely concoct a grotesque punishment.

Szayel tucked the money into his pocket and opened the door. He slid inside and started the vehicle. It purred to life as Nnoitra lit a second cigarette. Truly a professional. He wasn't even asking for the money. Not while under surveillance from the bank.

"Well, ya gonna drive or what?"

Szayel rolled his eyes as he put the car into drive.

"Make a right," Nnoitra said, pointing in the direction with his lit cigarette.

Szayel rolled both of the windows down again as he granted Nnoitra his obedience.

"Trying to smoke here, yanno." Nnoitra glared at him as if Szayel was the one in the wrong.

"I'm well aware." He may have had to obey Nnoitra's demands until he found out the truth behind the matter, but that did not mean he had to play nice with him. Szayel was a superb actor, of course. He could have pulled it off, but he had no reason to do so.

Nnoitra flicked his ashes on the floor of Szayel's car instead of out the window, and Szayel was forced to admit that he might have to reconsider.

"At least use the ashtray." Szayel's fingers were white where they gripped the beige wheel once again.

"What's the matter, princess? Got a problem?" Nnoitra leered at him, and Szayel grimaced.

"If I do roll it up, will you use the ashtray?" It was decided. He was never going to let this imbecile into his vehicle ever again. Nnoitra's irreverent attitude was more than he could bear.

"Only one way to find out." Nnoitra was still leering, and Szayel was left to take the only real option available to him. He rolled up Nnoitra's window.

"That's more like it." Thankfully, it seemed Nnoitra was good to his word. He dumped the ashes into Szayel's never-used tray and sat back. "Now, about that money."

Szayel handed over the minuscule amount without a word. Nnoitra stuck his cigarette between his teeth and thumbed through the bills.

"Turn in there." Szayel looked where he was pointing. It was a shabby looking 7-11, certainly nowhere he would have dreamed of stopping on his own. Nevertheless, he rolled into the lot and parked near the edge of the storefront. Both the interior and exterior lighting around the place was dim. There were only two other cars in the lot. A beat up looking F-150 at the gas pump and an aged blue Honda parked a few spaces away. The building had the same unsavory air as the man himself, a seedy undercurrent that permeated the surrounding atmosphere. Szayel wanted no part of it. Thankfully, it seemed Nnoitra wasn't going to be staying long.

"Meet me here tomorrow, same time. I'll be expecting more dough. And it better be legit or..." Nnoitra leered at Szayel, his gaze travelling down his body. Szayel, in turn, cocked an eyebrow.

"You caught me by surprise. It won't happen again," he said, returning the man's earlier words to him.

Nnoitra's leer seemed to intensify, the malicious intent that was present becoming magnified.

"That a challenge?"

Szayel sensed the danger and sought to defuse it by rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively.

"Are we done here? I have places to be, you know." Anywhere but where he was.

Nnoitra exited the car in a swirl of smoke. He leaned in, blowing the horrible stuff inside.

"Tomorrow," he said. Then he slammed the door. Nnoitra leaned on the wall, his leer directed at Szayel as he pulled away.

Notes: I wrote all of this before the Hell Arc/movie/thing/whatever came out, so obviously my ideas about Szayel Aporro and Aaroniero predate the new canon. I have issues with how KT portrayed Szayel in that short, but I am nobody to say anything to him. Anyway! There are a lot of things I think I could have done better in this chapter, but it is what it is. I also think I may write just a bit too much of their banter, but that is because it pretty much takes on a life of its own. I swear, it feels as if I'm simply transcribing sometimes.

If there is anything that needs clarification (or omission, etc), please let me know! I haven't really revised my work just yet.

Dedicated to Emochromatic and Sakurazukamori6, with a special shout out to Xylexia. Thanks for the support, everyone!
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The Coronation of Self