Devotion - Aizen/Gin fic [Bleach]
Title: Devotion
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: anal, oral, m/m, spoilers up to about chapter 316 of the manga, ~3000 words
Summary: This is the only devotion Aizen absolutely requires of him. To hear him give it so freely, so fervently, sends a spear of heat stabbing through Aizen's core.
In Hueco Mundo, the passage of time is strange. Aizen Sousuke knows this. He himself doesn't feel it, but he has seen the subtle bewilderment on Tousen's face when he realizes it's been a week, or a month, since last he set foot in Soul Society.
He knows that time is passing slowly for Gin. He's seen it: pale fingers tapping on a table when Gin thought he was unwatched, a certain lowering of eyebrows that suggests Gin's thoughts are far away. And he knows, because he has given Gin very little to do since they arrived here.
When Aizen enters his subordinate's room, Ichimaru Gin is slouched in his chair, his face lit by the glow of the display screen. Aizen approaches, sees him fiddling idly with the controls. On the screen, the small figures of the invaders act out their desperate heroics, their motions blurred, their faces obscured by static. The power that they hurl at their opponents seems insignificant, compressed as it is on the monitor.
But no matter how small, how insignificant they look, power fills the air tonight. It swells and pulses all throughout Hueco Mundo. It is a low thrum in Aizen's bones.
"Who's gonna win?" Gin asks, closing off a corridor with no occupants.
"It doesn't matter." Aizen looks down at Gin's long, thin hands, and then at his sharp chin, and he feels that power throb inside him again.
"I could kill 'em in a heartbeat," Gin says. It isn't a boast; they both know it for the simple truth that it is.
It is a request that Aizen ignores.
"Are you bored here, Gin?" he asks, with a kind smile, one more suited to his old face, one that would look more at home under a pair of thick-framed glasses.
"Nah, I got stuff to do," Gin grins at the monitor, and he decisively opens the door he'd just closed. Aizen laughs softly, and Gin finally looks up from the screen.
Gin stares for a moment, his smile spreading as he reads the expression on Aizen's face. Languidly, he pushes his chair back and turns to face his superior.
Aizen steps forward until he's standing in front of Gin's seated form. He looks down at Gin's spidery fingers on the control pad, then back up to his face. The cold blue glow of the viewing screen highlights Gin's translucent skin, his silvery hair, illuminates Gin's inscrutable smile in a way that makes him appear inhuman.
"I brought you here for a reason, Gin," Aizen says after a few heartbeats. "Is this enough for you?"
"It's more than enough, Aizen-taichou," Gin reassures him, leaning forward and smiling his liar's smile.
Aizen reaches out to run a broad thumb against the corner of his mouth, the narrow, wide-stretched lips. Gin's skin is slightly cool, as most things are in Hueco Mundo, and his lips are dry. Fine silver hair tickles the back of Aizen's knuckles when he draws the very tips of his fingers upward, to brush against Gin's cheekbone. It's not as much a show of affection as it is an enjoyment of Gin's face, a tactile exploration. Aizen is making a topographical map of this unearthly expression. Among the hundreds of Gin's smiles, all subtly different, this is the one he can never read.
This smile is the reason he'd decided to bring Gin with him.
Certainly Gin is a capable fighter, surely he is intelligent and crafty and able to do any number of things that Aizen might require of him. Ichimaru Gin has slain countless Hollows, has commanded armies, has been irreplaceable in Aizen's plans throughout the years. And yet, so far, there has been no fixed purpose for him here, in the endless night of Hueco Mundo, nothing Aizen has needed from him and only him but this: to be a thread of uncertainty in Aizen's tightly-woven world.
Gin curls his fingers around the back of Aizen's hand and draws it to his mouth. His tongue slides out, shockingly warm, and glides along the index finger. "Is this my purpose, Aizen-taichou?"
The same smile's still there, stretched wide around Aizen's fingers and the outstretched tongue. Aizen studies the exact slant of his eyebrows, calculates the precise width of the mouth, from corner to corner.
"Yes," Aizen says, not entirely a lie. He will allow Gin to take that as he wishes.
With a quiet laugh, Gin lets fall Aizen's hand, and he stands.
Gin turns away from his display and brushes past Aizen. He glances back over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold into the bedroom, and then Aizen follows.
"Nice night," Gin says conversationally, standing before the bed. But there is a tension in his shoulders that belies the casual words.
Nice is not the word for it. Aizen can feel it, growing and swelling... there is death in the air. Reiatsu and egos clash throughout Hueco Mundo, and the violence of it all suffuses the very air they breathe with a dark vitality. Aizen can almost smell the blood, and it has his own blood rushing hot through his veins.
For Gin, it must be even more potent. Aizen enjoys the thrill of a fight, and the satisfaction of a hard-worn victory, but his enjoyment of it is nothing compared to that of Gin, who at times seems to live for it.
Abruptly, Gin steps toward him and wraps a cool hand around the back of his neck. They are of a height, and their thighs brush together as Gin leans in. Smiling.
"I can hardly think with all this going on," he says, and he presses closer, his hand tightening in the thick hair at the nape of Aizen's neck. A lie, Aizen is sure, but he's grown used to the small deceptions Gin has used over the years, the transparent excuses he finds to tumble them into bed together.
"It's intoxicating, isn't it." Aizen can feel the heavy warmth of Gin's arousal where it presses against him, just to the inside of his hip.
"Yeah," Gin sighs, and he digs his hard cock into Aizen's lower belly.
Aizen isn't going to make him work for it. Not tonight, not when he's stricken by the same lusts - lust for victory, for blood, for the feel of Gin's body pressed against his own, hard and trembling and slick with sweat.
Gin's breath is warm on the side of Aizen's face, and it comes out faster when Gin slides his hand down Aizen's belly to his sash.
"Can I, Aizen-taichou?" Gin asks, his tone just this side of mocking, as his fingertips drift downward to trace the swell of Aizen's sex.
"You may, Gin," Aizen allows. Kind but magnanimous, as if it's a favor he's granting. He will allow Gin to act the part of the devotee, as he knows it amuses Gin to do.
Because he cherishes the fact that Gin is not, in fact, utterly devoted to him. He would be disappointed if he was. Absolute devotion is necessary in some, and Aizen knows well how to cultivate it, but he's known from the beginning that he'd never have it from Gin.
Nor does he want it. From Gin, he needs an equal, inasmuch as God can have an equal. Everyone around him is transparent. Tousen will Do What Is Right, implacably compelled by his moral code. Grimmjaw will rebel. Ulquiorra will stop at nothing to follow his orders. He has built an army whose actions and motivations he understands without having to think, and who understand nothing of him but his strength.
But Gin... is anything but transparent. Even to Aizen, who has known him for a hundred years, Gin can be remarkably opaque. And Gin understands him, in a way that might frighten him were he a lesser man. He is confident that were it to come down to it, he could destroy Gin effortlessly.
But it won't come down to it, not tonight, not when he's offering this pleasure to Gin, not when the blood in the air is promising a different kind of pleasure to come. Gin's mouth descends on his hardening flesh, hot and wet and experienced. Intimately familiar with Aizen's anatomy, infinitely knowledgeable about what pleases him, and what does not. Aizen smiles, and Gin hums around him, the sharp corners of his mouth curling up hard around Aizen's cock.
That smile finally disappears as Gin's mouth goes soft, and then tight, lips moulding around the girth of Aizen's hardness. Gin's eyes are still narrow slits, but they disappear behind the silver curtain of his hair as he leans forward, taking him down, swallowing him deeper until his nose presses against thick brown curls. He pulls back, and Aizen draws a deep, slow breath as he sees his own shaft glistening with saliva, sees the rim of his head catch against Gin's upper lip before it pops out of Gin's mouth. The swollen glans is suffused with blood, a deep, dark pink against Gin's pale lips.
"Aizen-sama," Gin whispers, his breath hot against Aizen's wet flesh. Still playing at meekness. "Do ya want me?"
Settling back onto his heels, Gin slides his uniform off his shoulders with a quiet rustle of fabric, and he tilts his head back and to the side. This bares his neck and collarbones to Aizen, makes his hair slide across his forehead, all out-of-place, and it's such a submissive pose that Aizen has to smile. It's pure and perfect artifice.
"Yes, Gin. But not like that."
"Like how, then?" Gin's smile hardens, and the way he lifts his chin makes the tilt of his head arrogant, now. A thin sliver of teeth shows between his lips as he parts his thighs, and Aizen can clearly see his arousal, outlined and emphasized by the folds of cloth that drape around it.
"Like this," Aizen smiles, and he grabs a fistful of Gin's jacket and yanks him to his feet. He kisses him, hard and hungry, and his reaitsu flares in reaction to another huge clash outside. The sudden surge of power catches Gin unawares, and he reacts by clutching at Aizen's hips, fingertips digging hard into flesh, and moaning into Aizen's mouth. Aizen lets his power swell, lets it spike and expand, and he feels Gin tremble against him.
Which is just as well. Because no matter how confident Aizen is that he can handle anything Gin would throw his way, it doesn't hurt to remind Gin of that fact.
And then he feels Gin unleash his own reaitsu, and they clash for only a second before they twine smoothly together, pulsing in syncopy, hammering at the walls, making Aizen's skin tighten and then prickle with goosebumps. He knows that others can feel this, knows that some will be terrified, paralyzed by the sheer physical shock of it, doesn't care that most will know what it signifies. This has always been Gin's place, and there is no part of Aizen that feels shame.
Aizen shoves Gin backwards, and as soon as Gin crashes down onto the bed, Aizen is over him, pressing him into the mattress with his hips. It is difficult to draw a full breath, and Aizen knows that it must be worse for Gin. And that Gin likes it that way.
It is with a touch of regret that Aizen reins in his reiatsu. Gin gasps and pants, flooding his system with much-needed oxygen as Aizen peels their clothing away, and he's still breathing heavily when Aizen parts his skinny thighs.
"Like this," Aizen repeats as he thrusts wet fingers into Gin's body, two of them, hard and fast. Gin hisses and digs his heels into the mattress, and pushes back against the pressure, an active, eager participant. He watches Aizen, smiling, always smiling, even when his face is mottled pink and beading with sweat, and Aizen watches his own hand as it travels over Gin's chest. Over the hard points of his nipples, and the harder ridges of his ribs. A sharp hip comes up hard into Aizen's palm when he curls his fingers inside Gin's body, and then Gin presses the crown of his silver head into the bed and groans, his cock bouncing up over his taut belly.
"Good," Gin says, his voice low and thick. Heavy with desire, all of his earlier, teasing lightness gone. "I love it like this."
Aizen doesn't answer, but instead he slides his fingers out of Gin's body and presses a hand against Gin's heaving belly as he lines himself up. He looks down to watch the slick, blood-dark swell of his head nudge against Gin's pink hole and then squeeze inside. He feels the lean muscle of Gin's abdominals harden as Gin bears down to welcome him.
And then he is inside, and he covers Gin's body with his own, and drops his face to Gin's throat, rolls his hips forward. He thrusts deep and Gin's back arches, fingertips clutch at the peaks of Aizen's shoulder-blades. Gin is making a low, rasping sound in his throat, one that gets louder when Aizen digs in deep.
The memory of blood is in Aizen's mouth when he presses his lips against Gin's throat. His tongue glides along Gin's arched neck, over the adam's apple that feels nearly sharp enough to cut through the stretched skin, and then Aizen lifts Gin's ass and presses his shoulders hard into the mattress.
"Yeah..." Gin rasps. "C'mon."
Aizen sees the faintest glint of light between Gin's heavy eyelashes, and then Gin's mouth drops open in a harsh moan.
"This?" Aizen asks as he draws himself out and then stabs back in, feeling like he's tearing through Gin's body.
"Yeah-hhh... " Gin breathes, his voice hitching with their bodies' shared rhythm.
It builds, and it builds, swelling nearly to its peak now. Aizen groans appreciatively when he looks down to watch Gin's precisely etched stomach muscles flex in time with the deep thrusts of his cock. Gin's hands are on Aizen's hips now, and they slide around to grip and squeeze his tense buttocks, and a shiver of heat prickles up Aizen's spine.
"Mmmh," Gin moans, eyelids flickering, and Aizen reaches between them to wrap his fingers around Gin's stiff length, sticky with pre-ejaculate. It's as if this is a signal for them both; Gin draws a deep breath as Aizen exhales just as heavily, and now they're moving to a new rhythm, a deeper, more primal one that has them both grunting and sweating. Aizen's hand quickly becomes slippery with the pre-ejaculate he's coaxed out of Gin's body, and his strokes become faster, his thrusts harder. His muscles burn with the exertion.
"Yeah, yeah... " Gin encourages, and he brings his hands up to Aizen's shoulders with a guttural curse. His heels dig into Aizen's backside, and his insides twist and tighten around Aizen's driving cock.
It's delicious to coax these reactions out of Gin, with no manipulation at all. It's heady, and fills Aizen with a galvanizing thrill. He leans his head down and breathes against the side of Gin's face, breathes in the combined scents of their bodies, their sweat, their arousal, the sheer power which is pouring out of them in waves, unchecked once more. He imagines that were they elsewhere, where the walls weren't built to withstand godly amounts of reiatsu, the entire building would have crumbled down around them.
As he's about to crumble. His whole body is tight and thrumming, and he knows exactly what to do to bring Gin along with him.
"We go... tonight," Aizen murmurs into the shell of Gin's ear.
"Ahh!" Gin clenches around him like a fist, digs his bony fingers into his shoulders. His cock jerks and smears its stickiness against Aizen's shuddering stomach.
Aizen pushes himself up so that he can look down into Gin's face. He sees ecstasy there, in the high color on Gin's cheekbones, in the damp spikes of hair plastered to his forehead, and a fierce triumph.
"Will you kill for me, Gin?" Aizen asks, breathless as he nears his end.
"Yes, Aizen... taichouuu... " Gin trails off into a strained groan, and his lips stretch across his face, baring all his teeth in a grimace of pleasure.
"I... will--" Gin chokes out as he paints his own belly with hot semen.
This is the only devotion Aizen absolutely requires of him. To hear him give it so freely, so fervently, sends a spear of heat stabbing through Aizen's core. The heat gathers and twists as Gin spends himself, clutching the sheets with white-knuckled hands and hissing through his teeth; it swirls and coils, burning through him like molten iron. Aizen moans out his pleasure as it rushes through him, and his arms shake as he comes, deep inside Gin's body and hard enough to rob him of his breath.
In the wake of that draining release, Aizen breathes deeply and watches Gin pant underneath him, and he feels that power surround him again. With a slow smile, he draws it around him like a mantle, feels it settle over his shoulders, into his bones and muscles. He has never felt more confident that he can accomplish his goals than he does now, on the cusp of battle, with his softening penis still buried in the body of his second-in-command.
Without ceremony, Gin extricates himself from the open cage of Aizen's arms, and without shame he cleans himself off. They dress in a pleasantly tense, anticipatory silence.
"I will," Gin says once more, with his hand resting on the hilt of his zanpakatou, where it belongs. "When do we go?"
"Now." With one more glance at Gin's still-flushed, still-smiling face, Aizen sweeps out of the room.
Gin is right behind him, perfectly in step.
END
_______________
(A/N): I'm starting to get more familiar with the characters and the universe, but please feel free to point out any mistakes/inconsistencies/bad characterization/cliches, as well as typoes and whatnot. Any kind of feedback is appreciated! ^___^
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: anal, oral, m/m, spoilers up to about chapter 316 of the manga, ~3000 words
Summary: This is the only devotion Aizen absolutely requires of him. To hear him give it so freely, so fervently, sends a spear of heat stabbing through Aizen's core.
In Hueco Mundo, the passage of time is strange. Aizen Sousuke knows this. He himself doesn't feel it, but he has seen the subtle bewilderment on Tousen's face when he realizes it's been a week, or a month, since last he set foot in Soul Society.
He knows that time is passing slowly for Gin. He's seen it: pale fingers tapping on a table when Gin thought he was unwatched, a certain lowering of eyebrows that suggests Gin's thoughts are far away. And he knows, because he has given Gin very little to do since they arrived here.
When Aizen enters his subordinate's room, Ichimaru Gin is slouched in his chair, his face lit by the glow of the display screen. Aizen approaches, sees him fiddling idly with the controls. On the screen, the small figures of the invaders act out their desperate heroics, their motions blurred, their faces obscured by static. The power that they hurl at their opponents seems insignificant, compressed as it is on the monitor.
But no matter how small, how insignificant they look, power fills the air tonight. It swells and pulses all throughout Hueco Mundo. It is a low thrum in Aizen's bones.
"Who's gonna win?" Gin asks, closing off a corridor with no occupants.
"It doesn't matter." Aizen looks down at Gin's long, thin hands, and then at his sharp chin, and he feels that power throb inside him again.
"I could kill 'em in a heartbeat," Gin says. It isn't a boast; they both know it for the simple truth that it is.
It is a request that Aizen ignores.
"Are you bored here, Gin?" he asks, with a kind smile, one more suited to his old face, one that would look more at home under a pair of thick-framed glasses.
"Nah, I got stuff to do," Gin grins at the monitor, and he decisively opens the door he'd just closed. Aizen laughs softly, and Gin finally looks up from the screen.
Gin stares for a moment, his smile spreading as he reads the expression on Aizen's face. Languidly, he pushes his chair back and turns to face his superior.
Aizen steps forward until he's standing in front of Gin's seated form. He looks down at Gin's spidery fingers on the control pad, then back up to his face. The cold blue glow of the viewing screen highlights Gin's translucent skin, his silvery hair, illuminates Gin's inscrutable smile in a way that makes him appear inhuman.
"I brought you here for a reason, Gin," Aizen says after a few heartbeats. "Is this enough for you?"
"It's more than enough, Aizen-taichou," Gin reassures him, leaning forward and smiling his liar's smile.
Aizen reaches out to run a broad thumb against the corner of his mouth, the narrow, wide-stretched lips. Gin's skin is slightly cool, as most things are in Hueco Mundo, and his lips are dry. Fine silver hair tickles the back of Aizen's knuckles when he draws the very tips of his fingers upward, to brush against Gin's cheekbone. It's not as much a show of affection as it is an enjoyment of Gin's face, a tactile exploration. Aizen is making a topographical map of this unearthly expression. Among the hundreds of Gin's smiles, all subtly different, this is the one he can never read.
This smile is the reason he'd decided to bring Gin with him.
Certainly Gin is a capable fighter, surely he is intelligent and crafty and able to do any number of things that Aizen might require of him. Ichimaru Gin has slain countless Hollows, has commanded armies, has been irreplaceable in Aizen's plans throughout the years. And yet, so far, there has been no fixed purpose for him here, in the endless night of Hueco Mundo, nothing Aizen has needed from him and only him but this: to be a thread of uncertainty in Aizen's tightly-woven world.
Gin curls his fingers around the back of Aizen's hand and draws it to his mouth. His tongue slides out, shockingly warm, and glides along the index finger. "Is this my purpose, Aizen-taichou?"
The same smile's still there, stretched wide around Aizen's fingers and the outstretched tongue. Aizen studies the exact slant of his eyebrows, calculates the precise width of the mouth, from corner to corner.
"Yes," Aizen says, not entirely a lie. He will allow Gin to take that as he wishes.
With a quiet laugh, Gin lets fall Aizen's hand, and he stands.
Gin turns away from his display and brushes past Aizen. He glances back over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold into the bedroom, and then Aizen follows.
"Nice night," Gin says conversationally, standing before the bed. But there is a tension in his shoulders that belies the casual words.
Nice is not the word for it. Aizen can feel it, growing and swelling... there is death in the air. Reiatsu and egos clash throughout Hueco Mundo, and the violence of it all suffuses the very air they breathe with a dark vitality. Aizen can almost smell the blood, and it has his own blood rushing hot through his veins.
For Gin, it must be even more potent. Aizen enjoys the thrill of a fight, and the satisfaction of a hard-worn victory, but his enjoyment of it is nothing compared to that of Gin, who at times seems to live for it.
Abruptly, Gin steps toward him and wraps a cool hand around the back of his neck. They are of a height, and their thighs brush together as Gin leans in. Smiling.
"I can hardly think with all this going on," he says, and he presses closer, his hand tightening in the thick hair at the nape of Aizen's neck. A lie, Aizen is sure, but he's grown used to the small deceptions Gin has used over the years, the transparent excuses he finds to tumble them into bed together.
"It's intoxicating, isn't it." Aizen can feel the heavy warmth of Gin's arousal where it presses against him, just to the inside of his hip.
"Yeah," Gin sighs, and he digs his hard cock into Aizen's lower belly.
Aizen isn't going to make him work for it. Not tonight, not when he's stricken by the same lusts - lust for victory, for blood, for the feel of Gin's body pressed against his own, hard and trembling and slick with sweat.
Gin's breath is warm on the side of Aizen's face, and it comes out faster when Gin slides his hand down Aizen's belly to his sash.
"Can I, Aizen-taichou?" Gin asks, his tone just this side of mocking, as his fingertips drift downward to trace the swell of Aizen's sex.
"You may, Gin," Aizen allows. Kind but magnanimous, as if it's a favor he's granting. He will allow Gin to act the part of the devotee, as he knows it amuses Gin to do.
Because he cherishes the fact that Gin is not, in fact, utterly devoted to him. He would be disappointed if he was. Absolute devotion is necessary in some, and Aizen knows well how to cultivate it, but he's known from the beginning that he'd never have it from Gin.
Nor does he want it. From Gin, he needs an equal, inasmuch as God can have an equal. Everyone around him is transparent. Tousen will Do What Is Right, implacably compelled by his moral code. Grimmjaw will rebel. Ulquiorra will stop at nothing to follow his orders. He has built an army whose actions and motivations he understands without having to think, and who understand nothing of him but his strength.
But Gin... is anything but transparent. Even to Aizen, who has known him for a hundred years, Gin can be remarkably opaque. And Gin understands him, in a way that might frighten him were he a lesser man. He is confident that were it to come down to it, he could destroy Gin effortlessly.
But it won't come down to it, not tonight, not when he's offering this pleasure to Gin, not when the blood in the air is promising a different kind of pleasure to come. Gin's mouth descends on his hardening flesh, hot and wet and experienced. Intimately familiar with Aizen's anatomy, infinitely knowledgeable about what pleases him, and what does not. Aizen smiles, and Gin hums around him, the sharp corners of his mouth curling up hard around Aizen's cock.
That smile finally disappears as Gin's mouth goes soft, and then tight, lips moulding around the girth of Aizen's hardness. Gin's eyes are still narrow slits, but they disappear behind the silver curtain of his hair as he leans forward, taking him down, swallowing him deeper until his nose presses against thick brown curls. He pulls back, and Aizen draws a deep, slow breath as he sees his own shaft glistening with saliva, sees the rim of his head catch against Gin's upper lip before it pops out of Gin's mouth. The swollen glans is suffused with blood, a deep, dark pink against Gin's pale lips.
"Aizen-sama," Gin whispers, his breath hot against Aizen's wet flesh. Still playing at meekness. "Do ya want me?"
Settling back onto his heels, Gin slides his uniform off his shoulders with a quiet rustle of fabric, and he tilts his head back and to the side. This bares his neck and collarbones to Aizen, makes his hair slide across his forehead, all out-of-place, and it's such a submissive pose that Aizen has to smile. It's pure and perfect artifice.
"Yes, Gin. But not like that."
"Like how, then?" Gin's smile hardens, and the way he lifts his chin makes the tilt of his head arrogant, now. A thin sliver of teeth shows between his lips as he parts his thighs, and Aizen can clearly see his arousal, outlined and emphasized by the folds of cloth that drape around it.
"Like this," Aizen smiles, and he grabs a fistful of Gin's jacket and yanks him to his feet. He kisses him, hard and hungry, and his reaitsu flares in reaction to another huge clash outside. The sudden surge of power catches Gin unawares, and he reacts by clutching at Aizen's hips, fingertips digging hard into flesh, and moaning into Aizen's mouth. Aizen lets his power swell, lets it spike and expand, and he feels Gin tremble against him.
Which is just as well. Because no matter how confident Aizen is that he can handle anything Gin would throw his way, it doesn't hurt to remind Gin of that fact.
And then he feels Gin unleash his own reaitsu, and they clash for only a second before they twine smoothly together, pulsing in syncopy, hammering at the walls, making Aizen's skin tighten and then prickle with goosebumps. He knows that others can feel this, knows that some will be terrified, paralyzed by the sheer physical shock of it, doesn't care that most will know what it signifies. This has always been Gin's place, and there is no part of Aizen that feels shame.
Aizen shoves Gin backwards, and as soon as Gin crashes down onto the bed, Aizen is over him, pressing him into the mattress with his hips. It is difficult to draw a full breath, and Aizen knows that it must be worse for Gin. And that Gin likes it that way.
It is with a touch of regret that Aizen reins in his reiatsu. Gin gasps and pants, flooding his system with much-needed oxygen as Aizen peels their clothing away, and he's still breathing heavily when Aizen parts his skinny thighs.
"Like this," Aizen repeats as he thrusts wet fingers into Gin's body, two of them, hard and fast. Gin hisses and digs his heels into the mattress, and pushes back against the pressure, an active, eager participant. He watches Aizen, smiling, always smiling, even when his face is mottled pink and beading with sweat, and Aizen watches his own hand as it travels over Gin's chest. Over the hard points of his nipples, and the harder ridges of his ribs. A sharp hip comes up hard into Aizen's palm when he curls his fingers inside Gin's body, and then Gin presses the crown of his silver head into the bed and groans, his cock bouncing up over his taut belly.
"Good," Gin says, his voice low and thick. Heavy with desire, all of his earlier, teasing lightness gone. "I love it like this."
Aizen doesn't answer, but instead he slides his fingers out of Gin's body and presses a hand against Gin's heaving belly as he lines himself up. He looks down to watch the slick, blood-dark swell of his head nudge against Gin's pink hole and then squeeze inside. He feels the lean muscle of Gin's abdominals harden as Gin bears down to welcome him.
And then he is inside, and he covers Gin's body with his own, and drops his face to Gin's throat, rolls his hips forward. He thrusts deep and Gin's back arches, fingertips clutch at the peaks of Aizen's shoulder-blades. Gin is making a low, rasping sound in his throat, one that gets louder when Aizen digs in deep.
The memory of blood is in Aizen's mouth when he presses his lips against Gin's throat. His tongue glides along Gin's arched neck, over the adam's apple that feels nearly sharp enough to cut through the stretched skin, and then Aizen lifts Gin's ass and presses his shoulders hard into the mattress.
"Yeah..." Gin rasps. "C'mon."
Aizen sees the faintest glint of light between Gin's heavy eyelashes, and then Gin's mouth drops open in a harsh moan.
"This?" Aizen asks as he draws himself out and then stabs back in, feeling like he's tearing through Gin's body.
"Yeah-hhh... " Gin breathes, his voice hitching with their bodies' shared rhythm.
It builds, and it builds, swelling nearly to its peak now. Aizen groans appreciatively when he looks down to watch Gin's precisely etched stomach muscles flex in time with the deep thrusts of his cock. Gin's hands are on Aizen's hips now, and they slide around to grip and squeeze his tense buttocks, and a shiver of heat prickles up Aizen's spine.
"Mmmh," Gin moans, eyelids flickering, and Aizen reaches between them to wrap his fingers around Gin's stiff length, sticky with pre-ejaculate. It's as if this is a signal for them both; Gin draws a deep breath as Aizen exhales just as heavily, and now they're moving to a new rhythm, a deeper, more primal one that has them both grunting and sweating. Aizen's hand quickly becomes slippery with the pre-ejaculate he's coaxed out of Gin's body, and his strokes become faster, his thrusts harder. His muscles burn with the exertion.
"Yeah, yeah... " Gin encourages, and he brings his hands up to Aizen's shoulders with a guttural curse. His heels dig into Aizen's backside, and his insides twist and tighten around Aizen's driving cock.
It's delicious to coax these reactions out of Gin, with no manipulation at all. It's heady, and fills Aizen with a galvanizing thrill. He leans his head down and breathes against the side of Gin's face, breathes in the combined scents of their bodies, their sweat, their arousal, the sheer power which is pouring out of them in waves, unchecked once more. He imagines that were they elsewhere, where the walls weren't built to withstand godly amounts of reiatsu, the entire building would have crumbled down around them.
As he's about to crumble. His whole body is tight and thrumming, and he knows exactly what to do to bring Gin along with him.
"We go... tonight," Aizen murmurs into the shell of Gin's ear.
"Ahh!" Gin clenches around him like a fist, digs his bony fingers into his shoulders. His cock jerks and smears its stickiness against Aizen's shuddering stomach.
Aizen pushes himself up so that he can look down into Gin's face. He sees ecstasy there, in the high color on Gin's cheekbones, in the damp spikes of hair plastered to his forehead, and a fierce triumph.
"Will you kill for me, Gin?" Aizen asks, breathless as he nears his end.
"Yes, Aizen... taichouuu... " Gin trails off into a strained groan, and his lips stretch across his face, baring all his teeth in a grimace of pleasure.
"I... will--" Gin chokes out as he paints his own belly with hot semen.
This is the only devotion Aizen absolutely requires of him. To hear him give it so freely, so fervently, sends a spear of heat stabbing through Aizen's core. The heat gathers and twists as Gin spends himself, clutching the sheets with white-knuckled hands and hissing through his teeth; it swirls and coils, burning through him like molten iron. Aizen moans out his pleasure as it rushes through him, and his arms shake as he comes, deep inside Gin's body and hard enough to rob him of his breath.
In the wake of that draining release, Aizen breathes deeply and watches Gin pant underneath him, and he feels that power surround him again. With a slow smile, he draws it around him like a mantle, feels it settle over his shoulders, into his bones and muscles. He has never felt more confident that he can accomplish his goals than he does now, on the cusp of battle, with his softening penis still buried in the body of his second-in-command.
Without ceremony, Gin extricates himself from the open cage of Aizen's arms, and without shame he cleans himself off. They dress in a pleasantly tense, anticipatory silence.
"I will," Gin says once more, with his hand resting on the hilt of his zanpakatou, where it belongs. "When do we go?"
"Now." With one more glance at Gin's still-flushed, still-smiling face, Aizen sweeps out of the room.
Gin is right behind him, perfectly in step.
END
_______________
(A/N): I'm starting to get more familiar with the characters and the universe, but please feel free to point out any mistakes/inconsistencies/bad characterization/cliches, as well as typoes and whatnot. Any kind of feedback is appreciated! ^___^