Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

What was Meant Broken	By : teechanlestat Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Aizen/Gin Views: 1338 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine; no monetary rewards earned for making this fic either--it's a thankless job apparently. (CTRL C, CTRL V) Give it a rest.

Chapter List
- 1-Kagapon (Past)
- 2-Subong (Present)
- 1
- 2
A silver mist of a drizzle fogged the afternoon sky with something so unlikely in a desert it was beautiful. The drops swirled with the iridescent colors of the rainbow, dancing for show with the breeze, the fickle sand. This was unusual. It was a sign. Heaven was bleeding. It was an omen.
Gin was on a battlefield. They called them the “Ribu Grande”…things, beings or so believed crossed between the most powerful of Hollows and the most archaic of demons. Yes, demons. Who would’ve thought the after world has an after-world and that now it was reaching out to break them. Soul Society in danger. In between realms it was in grave danger.
Gin was wounded. He had been fighting isolated from the rest of the other shinigamis without aid. He had lost the men assigned to him, his vice-captain, and a handful of others who sought to protect the land from the invasion that by now appeared endless. He had gone away with plenty of them but still they continued to pour in—these monsters—from a gaping hole in the sky. They were too much for him to handle alone. Help was so far away, if help ever came at all.
He had come back to Soul Society and had been there ten years to count. Right after Aizen’s imprisonment, he had nowhere else to go but back. The welcome had been less than pleasant: he became a prisoner himself. But since Gotei lacked much of the talent to stay effective after the Arrancar, they had to take him back, really needed him back.
He after all had posed no equal threat to them in any way so it was considered a wise decision no matter how deadly and desperate it seemed. Yet of course it should be for Gin Ichimaru that things be not like before they had found out about the deception of Aizen-sama. They returned him as a captain on a leash; for ten years abided by special rules, under control—always under control. And to put it simply, he was a captain with no other purpose to the society but this…to battle…because the enemies were far stronger now than even the Gotei—lacking any certainty in strength—can take. And had he not been the right hand of a god thus making him the perfect choice?
Gin had fallen.
He had exhausted his reiatsu beyond desperation and now it had taken its toll on him. He was now drained, tired, bloody…Panting, broken, trampled down, he’d found the solace of the hot sand, damp to his fingertips as he sought to flex immobile hands and reach for his zanpaktou. Too late for any rationalization, any thought. His movements he’d left all to the reign of his powers had all but made him a blank war machine, unconsciously hoping the others might reach him in time and that these beasts will not advance further beyond the invisible borderline he drew with his stubbornness by not letting them through.
But then now it’s all over was it? He could fight no more and the realization just hit him when he had been stopped dead in his tracks, powerless, and just bashed to the side. Heavy. He felt so damned heavy. The air was thick. It was all a blur. Gin Ichimaru could no longer process the fatalities. His own body had by now failed him. Was he to die like this?
No.
Dark clouds whirled like a tornado was coming forth. Gin’s bleary eyes had tried hard to just physically see what was going on but the sands had blanketed him like it had blanketed his dead comrades scattered about. He half-heard howls, half-heard voices. The others? He couldn’t feel anything. His senses had gone numb and number, without sensation. Then just that, the winds shifted direction, making for itself that tornado around him. What was this? He couldn’t possibly be dying away now was he?
No.
He heard a voice through the haze. He tried to move but couldn’t still, too tired, sleepiness falling around him in thick drapes of darkness. A cool hand on his forehead. He muttered something to that other person, but he himself couldn’t make up anything out of what he’d just said. A wonder he could feel so comforted right now in the midst of this dilemma, the loss of the battle, the loss of power.
Rest…
It was a sweet suggestion. The man whose shadow now towers over him, oddly Gin processes to be the one causing the earlier magnificent drizzle. Familiar drizzle. Gin heard him laugh lightly.
It should be. You forget me; I am stabbed by the thought.
“Sosuke…”
Hai Kitsune. How are you?
Bastard…Gin’s mind in its blurry state still afforded to curse and that made the other laugh, mentally passing on the amusement.
He calmed the winds, the sands stopping in their dance, obeyed. His will was all it took…and the Ribu Grande in pieces lay scattered across the desert. He had destroyed them all for the many reasons he had to, but in the core of it all, because they laid claw on his, as he calls him now, forever favorite. And because this was how gods he believed should deal. With immediate and unhesitating extermination if they did not favour the going-on. And wasn’t he a god? He was Aizen Sosuke. He had escaped even the depths of Soul Society—and once again they didn’t know it.
Casting a long glance at the battered Ichimaru, Aizen Sosuke all but smiled knowingly.
Ten years he tested Gin before he revealed himself. But surely he expected he would survive; it was worth a god’s wait. Gin was stronger now than he had been long ago; more capable to fit in his plans than he used to. And surely by now this rebellious man had learned his lesson hard; about not biting the hand that had fed him. This time he’d best think twice about slashing his master if he ever should dare again.
The god laughed…his voice was an echo in the wilderness and in Gin’s muffled mind, he had no form but this sound and an old memory of a face. He felt him bend over as if investigating. Gin’s mind was nonsense. Consciousness was beginning to flee him in this state though some form of inborn stubbornness had him holding on to it.
Gin heard him ask, How was ten years in Hell? –without words. Easy to figure out that from now on, conversations would go mostly like this.
Must I answer you Aizen-sama?
No, he didn’t need to. The other knew what happened to him here, why he was here. The nights in chains and seclusion. A prisoner after an ordered kill; donning only the captain’s garb for symbolic reasons then back to the cell where they kept him until the next stronger hollow showed itself. Rangiku had long left him. The others didn’t seem to care. He was Soul Society’s tool of war.
But he did wear that smile didn’t he? The ever so unnerving smile that makes people wonder. It made the lesser shinigamis distrust him beyond compare. It caught those who knew him from before a level of discomfort still. They thought he knew something when in fact he doesn’t and that kept them all at a distance from the “Chained Captain”, which was good. Gin Ichimaru didn’t want anybody near him ever again. He needed the distance. He needed his solace.
“Always the one to question. Did not that character made you my preferred ally?” something seemed promising with that smile Aizen wore, if later Gin could remember that he did.
“Kill me…here or…I die…here,” the broken shinigami somehow found his voice, so weak, before he totally collapsed into nothingness; the final ounce of strength robbed from him completely. He lay there on the sand, unmoving. And Aizen was unmoving as he was for some moments.
Then the god’s eyes narrowed, he stood upright but still remained looking down upon his torn ex-right hand. He knew that Gin had changed within the last decade. And to bring him back to that form he wanted may take some work. But he was Aizen. The only time things would become impossible for him, was the time when he could no longer accept that they were possible.
The answer was neither. Neither Gin’s death by his hand or by his state of health in this desert would fit in his grand scheme of things to be.
“Bring him.”
The host of Arrancar bowed solemnly upon the command. A flourish of robes and the sands came to life and covered their tracks as he and his band disappeared into the late sunlight.
~*~
It had been five days since Gin awakened from his coma-like sleep and found himself to have been spirited off by Aizen to what he later discovered was the Neu Hueco Mundo. And in a splendid palace called the Citadel he was at a loss of thought.
The place was vaster by comparison from the old palace of Las Noches, bigger in stature, piercing the ever-dark sky with towers upon towers of marble smother to the touch by comparison to that of the old palace. It housed its own people—the sacred Arrancar—and a bevy of other ‘creatures’ Aizen either summoned or created for some purpose. By far it was also grander; leaving the cold minimalistic style in the ruins of the old palazzo and replacing its black and white with scarlet, purple, gold—the colours of the gods so says Aizen. And he’d told Gin he should get used to it.
The Citadel’s confines where an overwhelming labyrinth it seemed...what didn’t change however was the fact everything could be so easily manipulated. It had such a complexly entertaining Surveillance Room that although similar to Las Noches’ was, as humans like Ichigo Kurusaki put it, thrice ‘hi-tech’. Gin however had not strayed there even once, nor even passed the door when before that was the one place he’d be so easily absorbed. A surprise for Aizen that even when he’s told him this, the younger man all but shrugged, and confined himself to the places Aizen directed: a room, the throne hall, the gardens. He could effortlessly lead Gin and he’d follow unquestioningly. Oddly enough when somehow the god wanted a bit of rebellion from him; now that he’d given him back his freedom and was once more under someone more powerful than the Shinigamis.
But Gin was not being himself. Ah, the decade has changed him indeed. He referred to call himself an open book with no sense of pretence left whatsoever...
Gin tapped the water with his fingers and caused little ripples to form around them. This was a rather lavish bath he’d been led to dip in, under a massive canopy of large pillars and a vaulted ceiling, surrounded by candles like he was a saint in need of them. The circumference of it dropped to nothing—the entire room was suspended over the edge—if one was to look below hard enough the bath didn’t even seem to have a bottom at all! Like standing on glass; walking on water. LasNoches didn’t have half this luxury, if not at all. He so often complained (jokingly) about it before.
“Would you rather the Old Palace then, Gin?,” it was Aizen; Gin had somewhat been oblivious to his presence. He was constantly around, watching him, which wasn’t that of a shock.
“No. I ain’t that nostalgic enough to ask it from you, Aizen-sama” replied him, turning just enough to see the god from the corner of his eyes. “Nor am I that foolish.”
“But still…I can make one for you in a heartbeat. All you need is ask,” the other all but smiled, saying this without any hint of boastfulness because he knew that anything conceivable was achievable for him.
He sat on one of his many thrones scattered across the Citadel. It seemed they didn’t consider it a waste to erect a seat worthy of their god here everywhere; each one being made so notable a furniture for the charms of their sire. This particular seat was on a platform of stone over-looking the bath, the steps leading to the pool. Perhaps so Aizen Sosuke could take his pleasure whilst Gin—or whoever—w added in the water.
Stripped of his regalia, don only in an immaculate open robe that flowed to the floor, Aizen seemed to be ready to take a dip himself. But he just sat there, resting a regal head on a knuckle, lounging lazily like a god would when he holds the world in his fingertip. His body seemed awfully appropriately built, hair slicked back with the trademark stray strand. He had sculpted himself in an image that spoke a million things it seemed, but most of all of one word floated to the surface when one saw him: power.
Gin sighed. I bet you could my lord, but, again, I ain’t that much of a fool for it, he thought.
The expression on Aizen’s face shifted slightly, don’t mock me, Kitsune. Then turned to the Arrancar to his left and with a dismissive gesture of his hand told him simply, “Leave us.”
The Arrancar bowed respectfully, turned a heel and was gone in an instant. He was the Arcana Isa, the number one in Aizen’s newest army. They dubbed him the Fool whose reiatsu was said to be somewhere a fourth of Aizen’s by comparison—and Aizen was a stronger man, so this minion must be something else on the battlefield. He also didn’t have the distinctive mark of a gaping hole alike to the Hollow from whence he’d certainly come. All the new ones where more akin to shinigamis; they were more whole, complete, human? No not like that.
Gin turned away from Aizen to once more play with the mirror surface of the water. His feet seemed to be standing on something invisible and at any time he could fall, or something might pull him under, but that wouldn’t be so. Then he mused just as he felt Aizen moving, “You sure wasted no time to surround yourself with even stronger allies.”
He heard the other laugh. “The wise wouldn’t prefer to go to battle with weaklings.”
This version of the Hueco Mundo had a different hierarchy, and of course on the very top was Aizen Sousuke. The Arrancars made up everything else, and it was the race in general, but gone were the Numeros and demoted were the Espadas—the term reduced as merely reference to Arrancar who can fight and wield with skill. So right to say that everyone was an Espada in this Neu Hueco—ALL its people can wield with skill. Just like how Aizen would have it.
But certainly there had to be the best in the lot. This time Aizen calls them his Arcana—twenty-four in number, styling their titles like the human Tarot cards: the Fool, the Sun, the Moon, the Empress…they were given as privilege and as a sign of supremacy to choose subordinates much like the Espadas once had chosen their Faccion.
This time though, instead of “faction” they were called Talum—literally meaning ‘sharp’, or the sharp edge of the Espadas which can cut enemies—and instead of an unlimited number of underlings as the old one-to-ten might have it, Aizen made his Arcana choose but eleven as a maximum number.
Challenges were welcome if any Arrancar should desire to get a spot, thus the Arcana and the Talum change members a lot. Gin found all this out when he woke up one morning and discovered the Fool in his room waiting patiently. He said without much emotion that he was being assigned to him as a personal Arcana. They were all loathe to touch him, and when even the Arcana Apat, the Empress, dared to raise hand to feel his silver hair, she was immediately chastised and almost lost a limb.
It was a relatively new thing. Gin was not used to being followed as he had always ever since been the one to do that. But then again, Aizen said it plainly, “Get used to it. I will not have my Platys Vas walking around even in the Citadel unguarded.”
Aizen had rid himself of his robe and let it fall gracefully unto the floor. Bare-foot, he made his way to the last step while Gin waited, feeling him near. A quiet shift in the water and he knew he was in the bath. Then he merely stood there, like a statue a distance off where Gin was, not moving a muscle. There was a pause in the atmosphere. A solemn silence. Then Aizen whispered, “It would be better if you would be your old self around me.”
“Is that a command I must obey?”
“I’ll oblige you if you wouldn’t…”
Gin turned to the god, “I bet it would make your life a little more exciting—what with all this an’ that respect you’re getting. No one seems to challenge you anymore, ne? You expect that from me I guess…”
Aizen crossed his arms, a feline shift, and chuckled, “Don’t mock me Gin.”
The former vice-captain assessed his superior. The other’s entire being was more than confident. He met Gin’s eyes with a radiating authority that said ‘I do what I do and no one can prevent me’. It wasn’t arrogance, no, never arrogance. It was the aura of a man who knew that when he gave his word and said he would, he can do more than just deliver. His threat was the same as his promise.
Aizen had been this way back then. Even when he was still just the bespectacled captain on whose division every shinigami would like to be part of. His stride made him popular. His gentleness made him the friend. His manner on the battlefield made him the most respectable.
He won everybody because he was confident he could. And thus he betrayed everybody because he was also confident he could.
Gin sighed, “Of course not Aizen-sama…wouldn’t think of it.”
Blankly, he dipped his hands in the water and made a basin with his palms. But he just watched the fluid pass through his fingers instead, loving the way the droplets caught the menace of the candles. He imagined Aizen’s face contorted by the shadows, knowing his own might as well be in this light.
Then he felt the god move. There was something intensely sensuous about the manner with which he made his way to stand but a few inches behind Gin. He was very bold indeed. And with the loose barrier of water between them, the silver-haired one could feel the desire quietly emanating. They were both naked in the bath. It made Gin’s heart beat in his ears with a somewhat anticipating thud-thud-thud. He had always wondered when Aizen was going to do it again…to take him, devour him like he always did back in the old days.
“Would it be wise, Aizen-sama…to keep me around so close again? I might go tryin’ to kill you.”
With much gracefulness, Aizen scooped up a handful of the water and let it trickle down Gin’s left shoulder. It made the other shiver, somehow gasp lowly in a form of instinctive reaction. Gin swallowed. Aizen smiled.
“Would you even dare to?” he bridged the gap between them and gently wrapped his other arm around Gin’s waist. He wet his hair with another handful of water ever so lightly. The trickle was cool to pale skin and so was this god’s voice to his ear. “…you suppose?”
A nibble on the lobe and Gin exhaled, his fingers finding the hand of that arm snaked around him and rubbing suggestively. He grinned despite himself, “you’d be better off with someone like Kaname-kun. Where is Kaname? Is he dead?”
Aizen laughed, flicking his tongue out and licking at the rim of that ear just with the tip, teasing a bit, “Alive and well. But I sent him on errands that you shouldn’t be minding because they’re not your trouble. You aren’t my right-hand anymore.”
“Oh?”
Gin paused ten threw a pretty head back as unawares he’d been caught by Aizen’s fingertips trailing from in the water up his hip and on an exposed nipple. A little twitch at it to silence him for a moment. Then a loose moan escaped his lips as Aizen began torturing him with it.
You were wondering when we should do this, were you not?
Guess I shouldn’t try to anticipate.
“Yes,” Aizen kissed his ear when he’d dropped both his hands and gave in to that simple ministration. “That would be wisest.”
The younger shinigami’s nipple has already hardened in response; he found the other in the same condition when he’d sought to play with it. His own arousal was curving, they both could feel it, and the control Gin was allowing of him was serving well to intoxicate.
Aizen moved his hands, shifting them off only to rake them back up, fingernails scraping mercilessly to make Gin arch closer to him. He licked his lips as his kitsune parted his. He attacked the nipples again, squeezing them and tugging, sending tiny vibrations of mixed pain-pleasure up Gin’s spine. Very lovely, this simple torture.
“Mmmm…if I ain’t your right hand anymore, then what will I be in your world, oh great Aizen-sama?” Gin tilted his head to the side. His god nibbled on the juncture where the neck and shoulder met, before biting down. Gin’s breath caught, literally stopped as Aizen licked up the mark he made and went up, higher his neck, like the human vampire would taste skin. This was hot. Aizen was hot. He was throbbing below. Gin was hotter.
“So what am I to be? Servant? Slave? A nice piece of meat for your dogs?” the younger of them could all but whisper.
“Prinsipe…that’s what I want you to become in my realm,” the god answered in his ear where the nibbling, licking trail had stopped. “I want you to be my Platys Vas.”
Platys Vas—a wide vessel, a proper, perfect container—he had heard mention of this before from that personal Arcana Isa of his. Gin believed it had already been explained to him but he’s not actually one to admit he’d grasped the entire concept. But it involved spending much time in Aizen’s presence without any promise of leaving. You will be entirely connected with our god, the Arcana had said. Curious.
In one fast sweep, Aizen had spun and pushed him towards the edge of the pool. The shove sent him splashing, hands flying in time to catch against the marble boundaries of the bath before he would slide under or over the water. What lay beyond the bath was a scary abyss the older man made sure he knew about. I won’t rescue you if you plummet. You just have to help yourself…Aizen’s smile seemed to say.
Gin did not move. He swallowed before frowning at the other’s actions. Damn if he didn’t look so sexy; cornered on the far edge with no space to go. Aizen just stood there, a hand on his naked hip, oblivious it seemed to the fact that the fluid barely covered all necessity. But he wanted to show off. He wanted Gin to know once more the desire of him; physically would be the way to start.
“And what if I refused to be this Platys Vas of yours? Ya could have chosen someone else.”
“Would you want it to be someone else?” Aizen was one moment standing there, the next he was face-close to Gin, his body bent, moulding itself against Gin’s contours, his clean chest. This ex-vice of his was pulsing marble, and when he took him in the confines of Seireitei before, he flushed beautifully all over. He non-admittedly missed that.
“There were others, I assure you,” Aizen planted his hands firmly to hold Gin in that position. “But you may say they have been found lacking below my measurement.”
Gin could imagine he had lost interest in that drifter Kurosaki. Tousen Kaname was always the blind zealot of justice and was equally useless—and pointless. And the Arrancars since he could remember were nothing but mere tools of war to a man like Sousuke. Albeit the fact was that they were his subjects, and that this Neu Huueco Mundo was populated by them.
But Gin was a…an entirely different thing: he had always been a worthy conquest for Aizen, hasn’t he? This enigma that puzzled his patience and taxed his imagination like no one could. So it shouldn’t be a question somehow that he was chosen for this.
The kiss that inevitably came was forceful, bruising. It tore a throaty moan out of the man under him and made him tremble. Tiny waves lashed on the water; their bodies making ripples. The candles dissolved into imagination. Aizen was passing on something into that kiss and belatedly Gin processed to be a thin line of reiatsu. He broke off, surprise marking suddenly open eyes—which happened quite rarely and Aizen was the only one who could ever make them. The god could see through them very lovely eyes. Reminiscent of kind skies, and he smiled.
Now Gin was more than merely a ‘snake with cold skin’; he was very responsive indeed, very acutely aware of sensations. Perhaps the results of the last decade he hadn’t been by Aizen’s side.
“Don’t act like I shocked you, please,” the older man teased, giving them both a little space for thought. By now both bodies were wet, bathed by either bodily sweat or water. Gin had his hands immobile, looking straight at this man before him like they’ve never been acquainted.
When he found his voice, “How exactly would you turn me…into that vessel you say?” and turned away, eyes narrowing again to the fox’s and lips pursed in some manner of annoyance.
Aizen found that quite irresistible. He always loved a cornered prey—or at least one who looked the part enough to bait him. But this seemed like a genuine reaction. “I told you…your old self kitsune. You’re no longer in chains.”
Gin thought, I’ve always been in chains. And you always made sure to keep the keys.
Aizen laughed, his voice bouncing around through the pillars in true amusement, you never had troubles with that before.
Before Gin could react, the god went back to the chase and engulfed the younger shinigami in a flurry of hot, open-mouthed kisses, biting at his lip, thrusting in a tongue possessively. A way to keep the other in check. He had to direct him into the sensation once more. It was about time.
Gin’s response wasn’t disappointing. He’d always found this so erotic, to be seduced by his ‘captain’ in the dark. Happened often in Seireitei in the comforts and silence of the corridors. Happened frequent in Las Noches where they purposely got themselves lost in the hallways just for the fun of it. Will happen a lot more than that in the Citadel perhaps. Because he had a hunch that maybe being Aizen’s vessel would require it.
“Now. For your question…”
Gin grabbed a fistful unto the marble as suddenly Aizen’s hand found his erection in the water and stroked, pressured it firmly, hard…it brought back into memory the first days in Soul Society; that oh-so-wanted abuse of authority. The older of them was good with it. He had, by the time he met Gin, seduced quite a number of subordinates and played with their fancies of him. Then with a flick of Kyouka Suigetsu merely dismissed them as very erotic dreams. Left much of the populace wanting like how Gin was wanting now.
“Ah…-sama…” sweet, dripping, begging…
Aizen drew in closer as if they weren’t closer enough, toying with him under the water, letting Gin support them both as he let free fingers comb about here and there on Gin’s body. Like striking fire. The water might as well been a hole in hell. It burned, and wasn’t helped much by the fact Aizen was using his reiatsu to add to the pressure his movements were making. Gin couldn’t focus on everything.
“We’ll start with the number of requisite spells—I’ll need to batter your body and soul with them,” Aizen whispered, ever the seductive sensei. Gin had craned a neck up as he squeezed him down, both so he would listen and also feel. “We’ll need to work out your spiritual facilities and maximize the potential. I’ll teach you to be powerful.”
Teach you—that should be the word to use meaning something else in Aizen’s vocabulary. His ‘tutorship’ was beyond par, but hadn’t it been extremely unorthodox?
Gin felt lips again. This time it was making tiny vibrations on his neck. Aizen’s other hand had found his hair and strung itself there, kneading the scalp and swirling strands almost mindlessly yet not entirely mindlessly. His captain never lost control to desire…never even once especially to desire. Even if it meant he refuted the feeling.
Gin sighed. More tightly Aizen stroked his groin. He made it ache so much! And all the while pressing his own quite near his silver-haired subordinate’s thigh. That too was a heavy sensation for the latter. It promised so much in the next moments—assuming Aizen would give him the pleasure. Sometimes he’d just tease him, arouse him too much…only to sit back and watch him suffer. Gin almost prayed it wouldn’t be that tonight.
Gin panted, “Sounds like…hng—hard work ne?…aahhh!”
He had to bury his face unto the god’s shoulder, just had to support himself. Some manner of electricity was crawling up his spine, tingling on his skin. Later Aizen would tell him those were the first stings of the spells he was told of. For now, he just let him savour the additional pleasure it was producing. There it went again—Gin’s deliciously broken intakes and exhales.
Aizen complimented himself with a chuckle. The other was a sweet battle: to slowly have him succumb to the purpose would be an ultimate delight. He would turn him into a worthy Platys Vas one way or another.
“Hard work makes Captains and Arrancars; in the same way that it had turned a man into a god, it would make you my greatest construction.”
Gin arched despite himself; he felt so hopelessly out of control! It was a struggle to gather his wits which broke and scattered all over the surface: the cause being this devil of a being that has him obviously wrapped around like a thread. A strong pressure crept around them both, somehow alarming. It was an obvious reminder: Do as I please and never again raise your sword in defiance. Your will be mine alone.
Gin sighed. It felt so damned good as Aizen slowed down a bit in his stroking, easing a finger over the tip to tease the slit and gliding at it with the fluid. They had all the time, but then again, the god didn’t want to take that much. He sped again, almost bringing Gin to end in the friction produced by water and reiatsu. But this was still far from over.
“A-ahh!!” Gin stuttered, a cat rubbing himself against his master, needing the touch. It was all that’s important. Aizen watched all this with suppressed flourish, relishing the fact he had him where he wanted. Gin lifted a leg up around the god, just as well, open for the next phase of this natural exercise.
“I will not guarantee it be painless when the spells start tearing through your skin to bury into your very essence,” whispered Aizen into his ear, nibbling the border of the lobe. “But there is another way that should be less hurtful—” quoting Kaname, “the path with least bloodshed.”
He didn’t leave it for Gin to ask exactly what it was. He showed him instead.
Gin did almost slip loose but held onto the god as the latter thrust two unrelenting fingers inside his unused hole. In a movement without warning or any hint of compunction, a menacing amount of reiatsu was added into the mix, pushed roughly inside over and over, which serves to pound further in what Aizen uttered next into his former vice-captain’s lithe body.
It affected to his soul the Poetry of Phoreus and Gin had to raise his own reiatsu (almost involuntary as its rival had already run unimpeded, seeming to aim to crush him or tear him apart from that point of entry out) to keep himself from being swept away and shredded to pieces. At the moment it was so easy to occur.
The vulnerability of it! The sheer helplessness! The way Gin held on and allowed it was maddening. The god would have had him then and there but it wasn’t the time yet for that. And Aizen had to curve his intentions to the proper, as it should, tucked away for later. Like wine to the senses. He denied his desire and with full concentration, conjured as he pleasured Gin ruthlessly,
“On the eve of winter, the hush of moonlight.
The verge of Spring sunlight to behold.
Ripples on the crystal waters, break…
Dark skies shatter…the heavens weep, the gods crumble forth.
Open the Gates oh depths of Soul…
This poetry be the prayer…
Release it to the winds.”
Part one done with. I'll just add a part two if things turn out great with work at DH. Who knows. Bye----------------------------------------Bye!
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

What was Meant Broken