Darkest Blue

Chapter 4: Scream

"Scream, Scream, Scream,

the way you would if I ravaged your body.

Scream, Scream, Scream,

the way you would if I ravaged your mind."

- Avenged Sevenfold

Ichigo stared blank eyed at the unnamed arrancar that was currently weaving bandages around his wrist. Every inch of him ached; the slightest movement sending sparks of pain shooting off across his body. His time spent here, he didn't even know how long it had been. In this place there was no sun to chart the passing of days. No calendars either; evidently the citizens of Las Noches didn't care much for timekeeping. Aizen knew. Aizen probably knew right down to the minute how long he'd been captive here for. Another piece of information to keep in the psychological warfare against him. Bastard.

He hadn't yet been allowed to see Orihime, of course. That had turned out to be just another one of Aizen's little tortures. Dangle a prize and use it to exert control over the boy. Carrot and stick. He had been healed by her, more than once, but never allowed to see her. Aizen only permitted her to heal him when he was on the verge of death, (this usually happened when Gin was involved,) and only when he was fully unconscious. He couldn't even feel her, that was the worst part. The reiatsu that always lingered after she healed him, that damn collar prevented that from even catching hold of that fleeting glimpse of her. He supposed that the denial of this friendly contact was even worse than the omnipresent pain that came with the torture. And, Gods, that was far from easy.

Though he supposed it was physically impossible, it felt as though every bone in his body had been broken and splintered a thousand times over, every muscle torn, every drop of blood drawn from deep wounds to paint the pristine floors of the palace, that silver haired fox with his cutting smile towering over him while those ceaseless brown eyes watched. Aizen, he always watched, like he enjoyed it. That sadistic bastard.

The pain and the humiliation was truly agonizing. He had a natural resistance to pain, refined by his countless fights and the injuries that followed, but this was something else entirely. There was no distraction from this pain, no escape. His energy was constantly drained; all he wanted to do was sleep all the time, but he couldn't. He couldn't sleep for fear of the nightmares that would come along with it. He dreamed in shades of red now, seeing his family, his friends, knowing that he would probably never see them in reality again. He saw them wounded and killed and he felt the ever constant ache of his wounds and broken bones. He nearly always woke screaming.

The arrancar, obviously too lowly to be granted with a visible number, finished up with the bandages and turned to leave, eyes declining to meet with the boys, heels clicking on the marble floor. Ichigo had long given up trying to communicate with any of these arrancars, finding them blank and unresponsive. He shivered in the cold air, feeling slowly returning to his body after the initial numbness that came with the treatment. When his wounds were deemed insufficient to justify being healed by Orihime, he was bandaged up by one of the peons, a strange cream scraped all over his body to numb the pain and accelerate his healing, making him heal at the rate of an arrancar. He hated being treated, being manhandled as he lay there like a limp doll, blood dripping everywhere and he powerless to do anything about it. He couldn't even heal without being given that goddamn cream. It was sickening just how out of control he was here.

But he hadn't caved. No matter how he was pushed, no matter how many times that fox carved up his flesh and shattered his bones, the same question was always met with the same answer. As he lay, bloody and broken upon the floor, that strong hand holding his head aloft, once again forcing their eyes to meet, each time he looked deep into those hellish brown pits and each time that question passed lips parted in a matter of false gentleness, the answer was always the same.

'Are you going to obey your master yet, Ichigo?'

'…Fuck you.'

'Pity.'

'Never… I'll never give in to him.' Ichigo reiterated this thought as he did every time he woke in this situation; to remind himself; to keep himself focused and sane. This was a battle of will and Ichigo would not cave. He slid his body down so his bare feet brushed the cold floor, recoiling for a moment in reaction to the temperature. Trusting in his shaking legs, he limped noiselessly from the room, pausing in the corridor in a hopeless attempt to get his bearings. Every corridor and room in this place looked the same and he could not hope to navigate them alone. Usually he was escorted back to his room by the arrancar that pieced him back together, but this time he was left alone and this was an opportunity. Though he did not really believe he could escape in his current condition, he would still take pleasure from the slight rebellion that came with disobedience. He might even be able to cause some trouble if he was lucky. Letting his instinct choose, he followed the seemingly unending corridor along to the right, injured leg dragging slightly.

Aizen had been observing the boy, as he always did after such 'sessions'. He liked to watch the reaction, the pain and frustration so restrained in defiant eyes. Initially he hadn't planned on torturing the boy in this way, knowing the response he would get. Pain was not uncommon to Ichigo and skilled though Gin was with his zanpakutō he believed this method of persuasion to be ineffective. Nonetheless, he decided to let Gin have his fun with the boy, and he would admit to it not being entirely useless. Entertainment was scarce in this place, and he found it quite fascinating to watch as Gin worked upon the orange haired youth. He had seen battle carved soldiers cracking under the tender mercies of his silver haired lieutenant faster than this one boy. It had taken him days to scream, and Aizen wasn't satisfied until he did so, surrendering at last to pain and fear and weakness.

But, despite the enjoyment of observation, Aizen felt that now was the time for a more personal touch. Gin had pushed him to the brink, all he needed was a good hard shove to take him over the edge, and Aizen would be the one to deliver it. As Ichigo left the medical room so Aizen departed from his throne, making his way along corridors that were as familiar and navigable to him as the back of his hand. He moved in total silence, no rustling of cloth, clicking of heels nor sound of breath could be heard from the ex-captain as he crept towards the prey wandering blind in his lair.

The chill in the air seemed to have increased tenfold, the atmosphere pressing in around Ichigo, making breathing difficult. Shivers ran helter skelter along his skin, caused partly by the sudden drop in temperature but mostly by the knowledge that came with this change. Aizen was near. He always had this effect on Ichigo, creating a feeling in the air as though the entire building was pressing in around him, fear constricting his throat and limbs. Bastard. Hands clenched into fists as he stumbled instinctively through the corridors, the floors so cold that he felt as though they could ice over any moment and stick him to the ground. His breath came in shorter and shorter gasps; he was hyperventilating, how embarrassing. Making a desperate attempt for air, an attempt to fight off the impending panic, he forced his airways open wide and inhaled deeply, cold air making his head spin until he tripped and fell over his own shaking feet. He fell on his side upon the bitter floor, striking his head and sinking his teeth into his lip as he did so. There was barely enough time for this minor pain to register before a strong hand clamped itself around his throat, dragging the shinigami's weakened body upright and slamming him against the wall.

'Where are you wandering away to pet?' that velvet voice murmured from a place too close for Ichigo's comfort. He tried to speak but no words would come out, that hand putting pressure on his throat made it only just possible to breathe, but rendered speech impossible. The boy was instantly aware of just how uncomfortably close their bodies were, Aizen had him pressed tightly up against the wall, one hand constricting his throat, the other winding its fingers in his hair and those eyes were level with his, boring a way direct to his soul. A strong chest pressed against him, a leg intertwined with his own and memories of the last time they had been this close flashed to the forefront of Ichigo's mind. The helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him once again reared its head, closely followed by fear and the slight but ever so sickening pleasure of such close contact. He could feel the older man's heartbeat against his chest, a slow and steady rhythm that brought with it the illusion of the physical contact that he longed for; but not here, not now, not with this man.

'…L-let me… g-go.' The auburn haired boy choked out. Those teeth raked up and down his neck as the hand tangled in his hair moved downwards, fingers lingering over his lips as he gasped in desire and revulsion. Ichigo squirmed at the intimate contact, his neck was such a sensitive area and he couldn't suppress the moan that slipped from parted lips as that sinful mouth pressed itself upon his skin. Aizen smirked, it was a beautiful sight, seeing Ichigo flushed, confused, frightened and aroused all at once. He should have done this sooner; the boy really was much more attractive when he was in one piece. He trailed his hand downwards, tracing the lines of Ichigo's collarbone, flitting downwards to tease a nipple through the cloth.

'Ah!' Ichigo yelped in reaction to this new sensation, 'S-Stop it, stop!' The ex-captain grinned maliciously in reply,

'What's the matter pet? You certainly seem to be enjoying this,' His hand moved swiftly to caress Ichigo's inner thigh; 'Your body is practically begging for it, you little whore.' Anger flashed in those ochre eyes,

'I'd never beg for it, not from you!'

'Ah, but from someone else perhaps? Someone like, Urahara Kisuke?' He spoke the name slowly and deliberately, drawing out each syllable with deliberate cruelty and taking sadistic pleasure from the shock and horror shown in the boy's widening eyes. Ichigo felt as though the ground had fallen out from beneath him, the mention of that name, the fact that Aizen knew his feelings rendered him almost speechless.

'How… How did you know that?' he croaked pathetically.

'Did you really think that in all that time and torment we found out nothing? You talk in your sleep pet, when you have nightmares and call out to be saved, or when you dream, it's always him you call for, him you reach out to.'

Those lips pressed again to his neck, one hand slipped beneath the boy's robes, massaging his growing erection while the other clamped itself over his mouth to stifle the cries and moans that slipped from his lips.

'But don't worry, he's not coming for you. He'd never want for a pathetic child like you. He trained you; he made you what you are... You're just an experiment to him.'

He turned the boy around, slamming him harshly into the wall, grasping his wrists and wrenching them above his head, pinning him there with enough force to bruise. Ichigo's robes fell away as easily as if they were never there, and as the cold air struck his body fully fledged panic kicked in as he cried out in utter fear, limbs flailing uselessly as he tried to thrash a way out of this situation, terror increasing tenfold in pain and shame as those fingers worked a way into him.

He swore to himself that he would not give the bastard the pleasure of hearing him scream, but at the sensation of tearing and fullness, the intermingled disgust and pleasure as the traitor pushed inside of him he could not suppress that cry as it tore itself from his throat, causing his tormenter to grin widely and sadistically as the redhead in his grasp gave in to the roaring fear that had become an ever present emotion within him. As he thrust inside of the boy he leaned in to brush lips against his neck and ears, tongue darting out to touch flaming cheeks as he licked away the desolate tears that escaped eyelids squeezed together so tightly as to block out the reality of the situation. He spoke again as he ran hands over the shinigami's chest and face, gripping his jaw firmly and forcing their lips together in a bruising kiss before whispering against his mouth.

'And you're a failed experiment at that. Nothing more. You're all alone here Ichigo…'

Ichigo bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood once again, his hands clawed the wall, nails scraping against the smooth surface. He must not scream or, God forbid, moan. He could not possibly show any more weakness that he already had but, oh God, he was being split open, the pain was nothing like he'd experienced before, emotional and physical, it was dirty, discomfort mixed with the building pleasure and sickening feelings of disgust and utmost shame. At the mention of Urahara's name his cheeks had flared dreadfully, and he was rendered sick to his stomach as he imagined what the man would think of him now, now he had been dirtied and defiled by his greatest enemy.

And as his captor lent in to nip his ear to murmur his final blow, he realised that all his fantasies, hopes and wishes had been completely dashed upon this rock of reality. There was no escape, no hope, and no love to be shared between them. He'd never exactly had an ordinary life but why did even his infatuation have to be totally impossible and extraordinary?

'Ichigo,' that poison laced voice whispered softly as sharp teeth nibbled his earlobe, 'No one is coming to save you.'

And as realisation set in, he understood that his imprisoner was wholly correct, he was pathetic, he was a worthless failure, and he was entirely, overwhelmingly alone in this situation.

The question was once again repeated,

'Are you going to obey your master yet, Ichigo..?'

And this time it was met only with sobs.