[Log] Sousuke Aizen, Gin Ichimaru
Title: Coercive Persuasion
Characters: Aizen (formative), Gin (lcpdragonslayer)
Timeline: 25 February 1939
Rating: PG-13
Summary: How Aizen persuaded Gin to take a desk job at his construction firm.
Two days, three hours and fifty-seven minutes. And counting. He gazed at his watch about three times a minute, after which he would lower his hand to his side and make a soft 'mm'. It was hot - it was really hot here, but it was cold too. He was sweating, and he was not sure if it was from the heat, or if it was cold sweat.
His hands were starting to shake. Unconsciously, that is - whenever he noticed, he would try and stop those fingers from trembling, and grip onto his pants, or keep them occupied somehow.
It had been two days, three hours and fifty-eight minutes past his last scheduled shot. It used to be just recreational - 'a shot a week' kind of thing. He'd gotten used to the drug over time enough to do testing for Mister Aizen, and increasingly, his tolerance to the heroin had grown, so he would have to take more at a time, and take them more regularly.
Soon he'd grown dependent on the drug, and he was up to taking a full shot every three days just to sleep soundly at night and function properly the next day.
It had been exactly five days and four hours since his last shot, and he was growing restless. The needles and drugs in his room had all vanished - and while he could probably live without it for a few more days, it was slowly driving him insane, like a buzz at the back of his mind, nagging at him, draining his energy, depriving him of sleep while fiddling with the coherency of his thoughts.
And here he was, standing behind and a little to the side of Aizen at the door leading to the basement, about to tour the fucking 'wine cellar' of Aizen's new-ish house.
Get. The fuck. Out.
“That bo o’yers is turnin’ into a hob-head. I know he’s testin’ them goods fer ya but ya know how all them ‘testers’ end up.”
“He’s fine and stop calling him my ‘bo’. He does have a name.”
“Yeah? Then why he never answer to it, huh? Dun’ get mad, Sou. I jus’ thought ya outta know ‘bout it since yer pretty fond of that kid. Don’t get why but that ain’t my business, eh? Lemme know if ya need help handlin’ it…”
Aizen replayed the conversation he had with his partner a couple of days ago in his head as he descended into his new wine cellar and smiled darkly. He didn’t like it when people tried to interfere with his private business and he’d made it very clear from the beginning that everything regarding Gin fell in the category of ‘private’. But those Italians… They just didn’t get it.
They called it ‘family’; threw big words like ‘honour’ and ‘pride’ around, all the while forgetting that in this line of business, the only thing that truly counted was power and to obtain that all one needed money. Money he had enough and it was time to take it a step further. And for that to happen, he needed someone he could trust, which he already had. Unfortunately, that person could be a little uncooperative sometimes.
“Well, what do you think?” Turning around, the man smiled at Gin. There was a fine sheen of perspiration covering the young man’s forehead and he noticed that the nervous twitching had increased. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it’d be which was a relief but which also meant that this wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped.
Being shown around a place he had never been before, he was supposed to be curious and look around and be amazed at the sheer size of the place and marvel at its construction.
However, his gaze was glued firmly to the ground. It was pitch-black - he could hardly see the outline of his feet on the floor, and he was physically worn, half-lidded eyes with dull blue irises looking at nothing but the darkness.
A burning itch was eating away at his arm. It was intermittent, but each time it came back fiercer, lasting longer, and there was no way he could make it go away. He started scratching his arm, but he couldn't ease the itch away - it felt like it was in his veins, in his blood, and scratching at the surface was futile.
He barely registered Aizen's words - they were like background noise, floating around. He perked up a little as he met Aizen's gaze, and those blue pupils disappeared again, a small almost wavering smile on his face.
A smile so artificial, a smile so forced.
He swallowed, and gazed around briefly. Presumably Aizen had asked what he thought of the place. It was cool, dark, spacious and empty. There was not much to say. And if he wanted to say something he would have to control himself - he was on the brink of snapping at the older man. There weren't many people who knew where he kept his drug kits around his room, and he didn't appreciate having them confiscated. Aizen never had a problem with his drug habits, and there was no reason why he should start caring now.
"S'nice," he said, lowering his head, hiding a scowl, trying to sound as not-sarcastic as possible. "Real nice." He was still scratching his arm - he had been all along - and the flesh had gone red and raw. It was going to start bleeding soon, and despite the fact that he'd probably be surprised at how that ended up happening, he wouldn't stop scratching until the itch went away.
'Now get me the fuck outta here and gimme my stash back.'
“Isn’t it? It will look even nicer with proper lighting.” Reaching up, he tapped at the light bulb - the single source of illumination down here - sending it swinging in small circles. Shadows moved back and forth, licked at his frame and moved towards Gin before they returned to him.
Aizen didn’t have a problem with the younger man’s drug habit. As far as he was concerned, the silver-haired man could do whatever he liked as long as it didn’t interfere with his performance. However, it was a habit which made him vulnerable and Sousuke Aizen hadn’t come this far without knowing how to exploit the weakness of others.
“The upper level hosts several very lovely and spacious rooms,” he said, keeping his tone conversational. “I thought that you could make one of them your home study.”
He was unable to suppress the growl that surfaced as the light flickered back and forth. It was obvious that the man hadn’t cleaned his room out of his drugs just so he could show him around the house and talk about the ‘lovely and spacious rooms’ and the wine cellar which had no fuckin’ wine in it.
“I don’t DO any WORK,” he started, trying to calm down, but he was twitchy and all he wanted to do was punch Aizen in the face and make him return his heroin so he could get off and try and be normal for the next few days. “I don’t NEED a study.”
He didn’t want to snap - really, he didn’t, but he was angry, and breathing a little faster, a little harder, and that BLOODY ITCH IN HIS ARM WAS NOT GOING AWAY, and he couldn’t help any of it. He was trapped - helpless, and growing desperate, and needy, and Aizen’s prolonging of his torture was not going to help return him to his best of moods.
“Ah-” A sharp sting in his arm, and he looked down. A cut down his forearm, and droplets of blood forming on its surface. He pulled his hand away, eyeing the blood forming crimson rivulets down his arm. It itched even more now that he was bleeding, and he was shaking his leg, and just- GOD DAMN IT.
He couldn’t take this anymore. He glared at the ground and moved his hand over, starting to scratch his bloodied arm again.
Aizen slipped his hand back into his pocket and tilted his head to the side, his smile losing some of its warmth as he took in the damage Gin was doing to his arm. It looked quite uncomfortable, he thought, and it made him feel a little guilty for putting the younger man through this but it was necessary. Sighing, softly, he closed the distance between them.
“You might not need one right now, Gin, but eventually you will." Reaching out, he put his hand over Gin’s to stop the scratching. “It’ll be inevitable, I’m afraid. As vice president you’ll have to do some work,” he added softly, “to keep up appearances. We’ve talked about this, remember?”
He groaned softly as Aizen's hand touched him, and willed his bloodied fingers to stop moving, to stop scratching. The itch was there, and it was killing him, but it was slowly subsiding again.
He didn't want his hands to shake - not when Aizen could feel them trembling, like that - but he couldn't help it. Aizen's words were floating in and out, and he could make out the general gist of the conversation even though his mind refused to try and think coherently about a response.
Yes - they had had this conversation before. His response was an adamant no - he had never even been to school before, and he never had the patience to sit still for more than five minutes. He wouldn't take the job - he would rather leave and go back to living on the streets again. At least he was always doing something all the time - things that weren't sitting there, answering phones, doing paperwork or attending meetings.
He didn't think... He didn't think Aizen would go to these lengths to make him say yes. He wasn't willing, but he was being left with little choice. His gaze darted from left to right, and he took a step back, trying to pull away from Aizen, trying to leave the only person that kept him safe, and the only person that could torment him this way.
"I don't... I don't..." He shook his head lightly, strands of silver falling over his face. Don't do this to me... Please...
“You don’t…?” Aizen asked softly and tightened his hold on the younger man’s hand. It wasn’t really necessary since he didn’t believe Gin would bolt but because he hoped it would quell the shiver. Gin looked miserable and he couldn’t imagine how much more miserable he must have felt.
There was an easy way to put an end to all this. All Aizen wanted was a ‘yes’ and he couldn’t understand why the silver-haired man wouldn’t give it to him. “Gin,” he said, bending his head to catch at least a glimpse of the other man’s face. “I need someone I can trust in that position. Someone who...” A slightly irritated sigh escaped him when he realised that the shivering was getting worse. “I’m asking you to watch my back. Can you do that for me? Will you do that for me?”
‘Just say yes and we’ll both get what we want. Why do you have to be such a frustratingly stubborn child?’
It hurt - it hurt, not only physically, not only because he craved so much for what he needed - but because Aizen was being so gentle to him. Aizen wanted a 'yes', and he was coaxing it out of him in the most painfully sweet manner.
It was all he could do not to melt, right there, curl up and groan until the torment subsided, until the withdrawal symptoms faded.
His hand - the one on the arm that THANK GOD didn't itch like a persistent burn - moved up to grip at his hair, to taint it with blood as he retreated a few more paces back.
He wanted to run - he wanted to run, he wanted to stay here, he wanted to kick Aizen in the nuts and laugh about it, he wanted to hug the man - he didn't know what he really wanted to do.
"I can't-" he started, his voice an exasperated choked sob. "I can't..." He shook his head fervently, panting lightly. A desk job like that would kill him. He wanted to support Aizen - to be with Aizen and do what he wanted was the only thing he lived for - but he didn't want to become a useless paper-pusher.
He looked up at Aizen, wide pools of blue; a mixture of pain, fear, confusion dancing in despair. He had walked down a path of darkness, and the vicinity was a pitch-black. He was lost, and at his limits, not knowing what to do, not knowing where to go.
And the only person he trusted over these years had led him here.
"Please..."
This was it. Breaking point. Free fall towards rock bottom.
Aizen watched the breakdown calmly, feeling strangely detached from the situation. He wasn’t a cruel man by nature; he certainly didn’t enjoy seeing Gin like this - a sobbing, bleeding mess. Didn’t take satisfaction in the fact that he’d pushed his second this far but he realised that he wasn’t exactly disturbed by it, either. It was that realisation that unsettled him.
If he could do this to the person closest to him on purpose without drowning in guilt…
What kind of man did that make him?
He wrapped his free hand around Gin’s wrist and pulled him closer. “You can,” he said, resting his cheek against the younger man’s bent head.
“And you will…”
Against his will he stumbled forward, and all of a sudden the cold space that was in front of him was replaced with a warm body.
He didn't know what to do - Aizen- Aizen... He... He didn't understand why the man had driven him so far, like this. He didn't understand why he couldn't get someone else to do it. They'd been together for 7 years now, and although they never always agreed on things, they'd been close. He couldn't describe their relationship, and every time he tried there was always a problem with the way he worded it.
He found comfort, despite everything that was happening at once - despite the fact that he was being forced to make a decision that he knew he would regret for the rest of his life, despite the fact that it was Aizen who instigated it, despite the fact that his mind was whirling and his body was screaming for relief, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was just...
Just...
He slipped his hand away from Aizen's grip and wrapped his arms around the older man, stifling soft sobs against the man's chest. He couldn't take it anymore - he didn't have the energy to fight, he didn't have the energy to argue - he didn't want to argue in the first place - he didn't have the energy to put both of them through this.
"Okay..." he murmured, shaking lightly against Aizen. He would probably have trouble standing upright if he wasn't holding on to him.
"I'll do it... I-I... I'm sorry..."
Aizen smiled softly when Gin wrapped his arms around his waist and felt it widen when he heard the softly muttered ‘okay’. He relaxed a little. Now that that was done, he was glad it was over. He embraced the younger man gently and simply held him.
“Thank you,” he muttered into strands of soft silvery hair and ran a soothing hand over the narrow back. An apology lingered on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say ‘I’m sorry’, too, but before it could spill over his lips it disappeared. How strange. He did feel remorse for having resorted to that kind of means to persuade his companion to do something he didn’t want but it seemed as if it wasn’t strong enough to merit an honest apology.
Maybe it was better that way.
Characters: Aizen (formative), Gin (lcpdragonslayer)
Timeline: 25 February 1939
Rating: PG-13
Summary: How Aizen persuaded Gin to take a desk job at his construction firm.
Two days, three hours and fifty-seven minutes. And counting. He gazed at his watch about three times a minute, after which he would lower his hand to his side and make a soft 'mm'. It was hot - it was really hot here, but it was cold too. He was sweating, and he was not sure if it was from the heat, or if it was cold sweat.
His hands were starting to shake. Unconsciously, that is - whenever he noticed, he would try and stop those fingers from trembling, and grip onto his pants, or keep them occupied somehow.
It had been two days, three hours and fifty-eight minutes past his last scheduled shot. It used to be just recreational - 'a shot a week' kind of thing. He'd gotten used to the drug over time enough to do testing for Mister Aizen, and increasingly, his tolerance to the heroin had grown, so he would have to take more at a time, and take them more regularly.
Soon he'd grown dependent on the drug, and he was up to taking a full shot every three days just to sleep soundly at night and function properly the next day.
It had been exactly five days and four hours since his last shot, and he was growing restless. The needles and drugs in his room had all vanished - and while he could probably live without it for a few more days, it was slowly driving him insane, like a buzz at the back of his mind, nagging at him, draining his energy, depriving him of sleep while fiddling with the coherency of his thoughts.
And here he was, standing behind and a little to the side of Aizen at the door leading to the basement, about to tour the fucking 'wine cellar' of Aizen's new-ish house.
Get. The fuck. Out.
“That bo o’yers is turnin’ into a hob-head. I know he’s testin’ them goods fer ya but ya know how all them ‘testers’ end up.”
“He’s fine and stop calling him my ‘bo’. He does have a name.”
“Yeah? Then why he never answer to it, huh? Dun’ get mad, Sou. I jus’ thought ya outta know ‘bout it since yer pretty fond of that kid. Don’t get why but that ain’t my business, eh? Lemme know if ya need help handlin’ it…”
Aizen replayed the conversation he had with his partner a couple of days ago in his head as he descended into his new wine cellar and smiled darkly. He didn’t like it when people tried to interfere with his private business and he’d made it very clear from the beginning that everything regarding Gin fell in the category of ‘private’. But those Italians… They just didn’t get it.
They called it ‘family’; threw big words like ‘honour’ and ‘pride’ around, all the while forgetting that in this line of business, the only thing that truly counted was power and to obtain that all one needed money. Money he had enough and it was time to take it a step further. And for that to happen, he needed someone he could trust, which he already had. Unfortunately, that person could be a little uncooperative sometimes.
“Well, what do you think?” Turning around, the man smiled at Gin. There was a fine sheen of perspiration covering the young man’s forehead and he noticed that the nervous twitching had increased. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it’d be which was a relief but which also meant that this wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped.
Being shown around a place he had never been before, he was supposed to be curious and look around and be amazed at the sheer size of the place and marvel at its construction.
However, his gaze was glued firmly to the ground. It was pitch-black - he could hardly see the outline of his feet on the floor, and he was physically worn, half-lidded eyes with dull blue irises looking at nothing but the darkness.
A burning itch was eating away at his arm. It was intermittent, but each time it came back fiercer, lasting longer, and there was no way he could make it go away. He started scratching his arm, but he couldn't ease the itch away - it felt like it was in his veins, in his blood, and scratching at the surface was futile.
He barely registered Aizen's words - they were like background noise, floating around. He perked up a little as he met Aizen's gaze, and those blue pupils disappeared again, a small almost wavering smile on his face.
A smile so artificial, a smile so forced.
He swallowed, and gazed around briefly. Presumably Aizen had asked what he thought of the place. It was cool, dark, spacious and empty. There was not much to say. And if he wanted to say something he would have to control himself - he was on the brink of snapping at the older man. There weren't many people who knew where he kept his drug kits around his room, and he didn't appreciate having them confiscated. Aizen never had a problem with his drug habits, and there was no reason why he should start caring now.
"S'nice," he said, lowering his head, hiding a scowl, trying to sound as not-sarcastic as possible. "Real nice." He was still scratching his arm - he had been all along - and the flesh had gone red and raw. It was going to start bleeding soon, and despite the fact that he'd probably be surprised at how that ended up happening, he wouldn't stop scratching until the itch went away.
'Now get me the fuck outta here and gimme my stash back.'
“Isn’t it? It will look even nicer with proper lighting.” Reaching up, he tapped at the light bulb - the single source of illumination down here - sending it swinging in small circles. Shadows moved back and forth, licked at his frame and moved towards Gin before they returned to him.
Aizen didn’t have a problem with the younger man’s drug habit. As far as he was concerned, the silver-haired man could do whatever he liked as long as it didn’t interfere with his performance. However, it was a habit which made him vulnerable and Sousuke Aizen hadn’t come this far without knowing how to exploit the weakness of others.
“The upper level hosts several very lovely and spacious rooms,” he said, keeping his tone conversational. “I thought that you could make one of them your home study.”
He was unable to suppress the growl that surfaced as the light flickered back and forth. It was obvious that the man hadn’t cleaned his room out of his drugs just so he could show him around the house and talk about the ‘lovely and spacious rooms’ and the wine cellar which had no fuckin’ wine in it.
“I don’t DO any WORK,” he started, trying to calm down, but he was twitchy and all he wanted to do was punch Aizen in the face and make him return his heroin so he could get off and try and be normal for the next few days. “I don’t NEED a study.”
He didn’t want to snap - really, he didn’t, but he was angry, and breathing a little faster, a little harder, and that BLOODY ITCH IN HIS ARM WAS NOT GOING AWAY, and he couldn’t help any of it. He was trapped - helpless, and growing desperate, and needy, and Aizen’s prolonging of his torture was not going to help return him to his best of moods.
“Ah-” A sharp sting in his arm, and he looked down. A cut down his forearm, and droplets of blood forming on its surface. He pulled his hand away, eyeing the blood forming crimson rivulets down his arm. It itched even more now that he was bleeding, and he was shaking his leg, and just- GOD DAMN IT.
He couldn’t take this anymore. He glared at the ground and moved his hand over, starting to scratch his bloodied arm again.
Aizen slipped his hand back into his pocket and tilted his head to the side, his smile losing some of its warmth as he took in the damage Gin was doing to his arm. It looked quite uncomfortable, he thought, and it made him feel a little guilty for putting the younger man through this but it was necessary. Sighing, softly, he closed the distance between them.
“You might not need one right now, Gin, but eventually you will." Reaching out, he put his hand over Gin’s to stop the scratching. “It’ll be inevitable, I’m afraid. As vice president you’ll have to do some work,” he added softly, “to keep up appearances. We’ve talked about this, remember?”
He groaned softly as Aizen's hand touched him, and willed his bloodied fingers to stop moving, to stop scratching. The itch was there, and it was killing him, but it was slowly subsiding again.
He didn't want his hands to shake - not when Aizen could feel them trembling, like that - but he couldn't help it. Aizen's words were floating in and out, and he could make out the general gist of the conversation even though his mind refused to try and think coherently about a response.
Yes - they had had this conversation before. His response was an adamant no - he had never even been to school before, and he never had the patience to sit still for more than five minutes. He wouldn't take the job - he would rather leave and go back to living on the streets again. At least he was always doing something all the time - things that weren't sitting there, answering phones, doing paperwork or attending meetings.
He didn't think... He didn't think Aizen would go to these lengths to make him say yes. He wasn't willing, but he was being left with little choice. His gaze darted from left to right, and he took a step back, trying to pull away from Aizen, trying to leave the only person that kept him safe, and the only person that could torment him this way.
"I don't... I don't..." He shook his head lightly, strands of silver falling over his face. Don't do this to me... Please...
“You don’t…?” Aizen asked softly and tightened his hold on the younger man’s hand. It wasn’t really necessary since he didn’t believe Gin would bolt but because he hoped it would quell the shiver. Gin looked miserable and he couldn’t imagine how much more miserable he must have felt.
There was an easy way to put an end to all this. All Aizen wanted was a ‘yes’ and he couldn’t understand why the silver-haired man wouldn’t give it to him. “Gin,” he said, bending his head to catch at least a glimpse of the other man’s face. “I need someone I can trust in that position. Someone who...” A slightly irritated sigh escaped him when he realised that the shivering was getting worse. “I’m asking you to watch my back. Can you do that for me? Will you do that for me?”
‘Just say yes and we’ll both get what we want. Why do you have to be such a frustratingly stubborn child?’
It hurt - it hurt, not only physically, not only because he craved so much for what he needed - but because Aizen was being so gentle to him. Aizen wanted a 'yes', and he was coaxing it out of him in the most painfully sweet manner.
It was all he could do not to melt, right there, curl up and groan until the torment subsided, until the withdrawal symptoms faded.
His hand - the one on the arm that THANK GOD didn't itch like a persistent burn - moved up to grip at his hair, to taint it with blood as he retreated a few more paces back.
He wanted to run - he wanted to run, he wanted to stay here, he wanted to kick Aizen in the nuts and laugh about it, he wanted to hug the man - he didn't know what he really wanted to do.
"I can't-" he started, his voice an exasperated choked sob. "I can't..." He shook his head fervently, panting lightly. A desk job like that would kill him. He wanted to support Aizen - to be with Aizen and do what he wanted was the only thing he lived for - but he didn't want to become a useless paper-pusher.
He looked up at Aizen, wide pools of blue; a mixture of pain, fear, confusion dancing in despair. He had walked down a path of darkness, and the vicinity was a pitch-black. He was lost, and at his limits, not knowing what to do, not knowing where to go.
And the only person he trusted over these years had led him here.
"Please..."
This was it. Breaking point. Free fall towards rock bottom.
Aizen watched the breakdown calmly, feeling strangely detached from the situation. He wasn’t a cruel man by nature; he certainly didn’t enjoy seeing Gin like this - a sobbing, bleeding mess. Didn’t take satisfaction in the fact that he’d pushed his second this far but he realised that he wasn’t exactly disturbed by it, either. It was that realisation that unsettled him.
If he could do this to the person closest to him on purpose without drowning in guilt…
What kind of man did that make him?
He wrapped his free hand around Gin’s wrist and pulled him closer. “You can,” he said, resting his cheek against the younger man’s bent head.
“And you will…”
Against his will he stumbled forward, and all of a sudden the cold space that was in front of him was replaced with a warm body.
He didn't know what to do - Aizen- Aizen... He... He didn't understand why the man had driven him so far, like this. He didn't understand why he couldn't get someone else to do it. They'd been together for 7 years now, and although they never always agreed on things, they'd been close. He couldn't describe their relationship, and every time he tried there was always a problem with the way he worded it.
He found comfort, despite everything that was happening at once - despite the fact that he was being forced to make a decision that he knew he would regret for the rest of his life, despite the fact that it was Aizen who instigated it, despite the fact that his mind was whirling and his body was screaming for relief, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was just...
Just...
He slipped his hand away from Aizen's grip and wrapped his arms around the older man, stifling soft sobs against the man's chest. He couldn't take it anymore - he didn't have the energy to fight, he didn't have the energy to argue - he didn't want to argue in the first place - he didn't have the energy to put both of them through this.
"Okay..." he murmured, shaking lightly against Aizen. He would probably have trouble standing upright if he wasn't holding on to him.
"I'll do it... I-I... I'm sorry..."
Aizen smiled softly when Gin wrapped his arms around his waist and felt it widen when he heard the softly muttered ‘okay’. He relaxed a little. Now that that was done, he was glad it was over. He embraced the younger man gently and simply held him.
“Thank you,” he muttered into strands of soft silvery hair and ran a soothing hand over the narrow back. An apology lingered on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say ‘I’m sorry’, too, but before it could spill over his lips it disappeared. How strange. He did feel remorse for having resorted to that kind of means to persuade his companion to do something he didn’t want but it seemed as if it wasn’t strong enough to merit an honest apology.
Maybe it was better that way.