Not sure how to title this
Feb. 19th, 2007 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
petroniaPosting over here because it's done, more or less.
Aizen/Gin, pre-series, HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE SHOTA CONTENT ALERT srsly guys this is not a drill. Takes place near the end of "All The Way..." (between sections nine and ten, to be precise), and possibly raises more questions than it answers. ^^;
***
Moments passed; the dust settled. Eventually what resembled a bundle of rags became visible, lying on the ground just beyond the far edge of the pit. Aizen approached it, skirting the aforementioned void and other landscape features. The formerly smooth walls and floor were dotted with explosion craters, and he had to watch his step.
The soul cutter had not disappeared, interestingly enough, although it had reverted to what Aizen assumed were its default proportions. Wakizashi-length, or perhaps child-length. Time would tell. Time.
The experiment was open-ended.
Its owner lay limply at its side, limbs jutting at awkward angles. The silver hair was clotted with fine yellow sand. Aizen nudged the prone form with his foot, not ungently.
A hand shot out and latched onto his ankle.
"Captain," said the boy. He was smiling; his features were unmasked. He held his head as if it cost him effort to lift it from the ground, but the small fingers exerted iron-strength, digging into Aizen's flesh. Nails bit through tabi and pricked skin. "Captain... that really hurt."
"Did it now?" said Aizen. "Can't be helped, I'm afraid." He half-knelt, half-bent, and gathered the boy up in his arms. No screams or struggling. At first the boy wouldn't let go, and then he did, with a sigh like air escaping from his lungs. He was feather-light. Aizen took to shunpo.
By the time he reached his destination his burden was clinging of its own accord, burrowing against his chest. The sensation was charming, as if he had rescued a small sodden animal from natural disaster.
"Let's have a look at you," he said. He didn't bother to lay Gin out on the bed. Instead he sat him on his lap, flush against his own body, legs dangling to either side. He ran both hands over Gin's collarbone, out to the shoulder, around and down his arms. No bones seemed broken, and Gin didn't twitch. The docility was unexpected, but the same could be said of his survival. It was all novel territory.
He undid the ties of Gin's tunic and slipped his hands under the fabric, pressing against each individual rib in turn. That earned him a shiver, and an indrawn breath at what must have been a pernicious bruise. Gin's head fell back against his shoulder, silver hair tickling his throat.
A temporary refuge, Aizen thought. The creature would warm soon, enough to bite. I am what I am, and you should not have taken me at my word... He laid his palm over the softest part of Gin's stomach, deliberately, and drew it downward to cup between Gin's legs. Another shiver.
"Has anyone ever done this to you?" he murmured in the boy's ear. The tone came out more clinical than he'd intended. Gin made a tiny, abortive motion, as if uncertain whether to turn his face away.
"Yes... no."
How interesting. "Did you kill them?"
Gin looked up at him. His pupils were dilated, irises like new blood edging the black.
Aizen felt the corners of his lips quirk. He fisted his free hand in Gin's hair and tugged his head back, sharply, in order to crush the boy's lips with his own. He kissed aggressively, with teeth and tongue, not giving Gin the chance to break away. At the same time the motion of his hand was steady and gentle. The boy was nowhere near full-grown, but he responded well enough.
After a minute or so Gin made a stuttering noise, low in his throat, and his nails raked the back of Aizen's hand. Aizen relaxed his hold and shifted their weight, lowering Gin back onto the bed. He lifted Gin's hips and pulled the tattered trousers down to tangle around Gin's knees.
The boy struggled, finally, when he was penetrated; he scratched and bit, trying to twist around and kick out. Aizen had to hold him down. He pinned Gin's wrists behind his back and thrust in, using his weight, not bothering to make it kind.
"I didn't acquire her," he said. In the same tone of voice another man might have said, Relax; don't fight it. It'll feel good soon, I promise. "She wasn't strong enough to be worthwhile; it would have consumed her. Bound for the Twelfth, in all likelihood... But I can tell you what district they're in, now. You'll be able to catch up to them. If you hurry."
Gin was shuddering, under him – around him – gulping for air. But he hadn't cried out, hadn't said a word. He was certainly as warm as could be expected.
Aizen shifted his grip and began to move, eyes half-shuttered, looking as always for the key. A trigger; a tipping point. At length he found it, and Gin arched against him, gasping, damp with sweat. Aizen freed his arms and leant forward, pressing against the tense curve of the boy's back and nipping at his throat, just above the jugular pulse. He reached under the boy's canted hips and took him in hand.
In the end Gin still left marks – reddened half-moons on Aizen's right wrist, scratches down his upper arms and sides – but Aizen was feeling charitable by then, and inclined to let him do as he pleased.
***
He slept, to see if he would wake when Gin left. He didn't.
Aizen dressed again, and retrieved his glasses from the drawer in which he'd left them that morning. He took up Kyouka Suigetsu. Before he left the room he ran a hand over the sheets; they were still damp in a couple of places.
"Well," he said. "One more beginning among others."
Aizen/Gin, pre-series, HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE SHOTA CONTENT ALERT srsly guys this is not a drill. Takes place near the end of "All The Way..." (between sections nine and ten, to be precise), and possibly raises more questions than it answers. ^^;
***
Moments passed; the dust settled. Eventually what resembled a bundle of rags became visible, lying on the ground just beyond the far edge of the pit. Aizen approached it, skirting the aforementioned void and other landscape features. The formerly smooth walls and floor were dotted with explosion craters, and he had to watch his step.
The soul cutter had not disappeared, interestingly enough, although it had reverted to what Aizen assumed were its default proportions. Wakizashi-length, or perhaps child-length. Time would tell. Time.
The experiment was open-ended.
Its owner lay limply at its side, limbs jutting at awkward angles. The silver hair was clotted with fine yellow sand. Aizen nudged the prone form with his foot, not ungently.
A hand shot out and latched onto his ankle.
"Captain," said the boy. He was smiling; his features were unmasked. He held his head as if it cost him effort to lift it from the ground, but the small fingers exerted iron-strength, digging into Aizen's flesh. Nails bit through tabi and pricked skin. "Captain... that really hurt."
"Did it now?" said Aizen. "Can't be helped, I'm afraid." He half-knelt, half-bent, and gathered the boy up in his arms. No screams or struggling. At first the boy wouldn't let go, and then he did, with a sigh like air escaping from his lungs. He was feather-light. Aizen took to shunpo.
By the time he reached his destination his burden was clinging of its own accord, burrowing against his chest. The sensation was charming, as if he had rescued a small sodden animal from natural disaster.
"Let's have a look at you," he said. He didn't bother to lay Gin out on the bed. Instead he sat him on his lap, flush against his own body, legs dangling to either side. He ran both hands over Gin's collarbone, out to the shoulder, around and down his arms. No bones seemed broken, and Gin didn't twitch. The docility was unexpected, but the same could be said of his survival. It was all novel territory.
He undid the ties of Gin's tunic and slipped his hands under the fabric, pressing against each individual rib in turn. That earned him a shiver, and an indrawn breath at what must have been a pernicious bruise. Gin's head fell back against his shoulder, silver hair tickling his throat.
A temporary refuge, Aizen thought. The creature would warm soon, enough to bite. I am what I am, and you should not have taken me at my word... He laid his palm over the softest part of Gin's stomach, deliberately, and drew it downward to cup between Gin's legs. Another shiver.
"Has anyone ever done this to you?" he murmured in the boy's ear. The tone came out more clinical than he'd intended. Gin made a tiny, abortive motion, as if uncertain whether to turn his face away.
"Yes... no."
How interesting. "Did you kill them?"
Gin looked up at him. His pupils were dilated, irises like new blood edging the black.
Aizen felt the corners of his lips quirk. He fisted his free hand in Gin's hair and tugged his head back, sharply, in order to crush the boy's lips with his own. He kissed aggressively, with teeth and tongue, not giving Gin the chance to break away. At the same time the motion of his hand was steady and gentle. The boy was nowhere near full-grown, but he responded well enough.
After a minute or so Gin made a stuttering noise, low in his throat, and his nails raked the back of Aizen's hand. Aizen relaxed his hold and shifted their weight, lowering Gin back onto the bed. He lifted Gin's hips and pulled the tattered trousers down to tangle around Gin's knees.
The boy struggled, finally, when he was penetrated; he scratched and bit, trying to twist around and kick out. Aizen had to hold him down. He pinned Gin's wrists behind his back and thrust in, using his weight, not bothering to make it kind.
"I didn't acquire her," he said. In the same tone of voice another man might have said, Relax; don't fight it. It'll feel good soon, I promise. "She wasn't strong enough to be worthwhile; it would have consumed her. Bound for the Twelfth, in all likelihood... But I can tell you what district they're in, now. You'll be able to catch up to them. If you hurry."
Gin was shuddering, under him – around him – gulping for air. But he hadn't cried out, hadn't said a word. He was certainly as warm as could be expected.
Aizen shifted his grip and began to move, eyes half-shuttered, looking as always for the key. A trigger; a tipping point. At length he found it, and Gin arched against him, gasping, damp with sweat. Aizen freed his arms and leant forward, pressing against the tense curve of the boy's back and nipping at his throat, just above the jugular pulse. He reached under the boy's canted hips and took him in hand.
In the end Gin still left marks – reddened half-moons on Aizen's right wrist, scratches down his upper arms and sides – but Aizen was feeling charitable by then, and inclined to let him do as he pleased.
***
He slept, to see if he would wake when Gin left. He didn't.
Aizen dressed again, and retrieved his glasses from the drawer in which he'd left them that morning. He took up Kyouka Suigetsu. Before he left the room he ran a hand over the sheets; they were still damp in a couple of places.
"Well," he said. "One more beginning among others."
