Ichimaru Gin had never had a little brother. As he sliced away the stiff black robes that clung to the boy before him, he wondered what it would have been like to have one. The boy grunted behind a rope gag, but Gin ignored him.
Gin had played with other children, in his own way. They had never enjoyed his games quite as much as he had, but that wasn't Gin's fault. A brother, though? A brother might have understood his… tastes. A brother could be taught to receive, to be open to all the fun Gin's games had to offer.
Shinsou slipped, biting into the boy's flesh and drawing blood. The boy's eyes pinched shut, and his jaw seemed to clamp around the ropes. Gin was sure it wasn't from the pain. Pain like that little cut would never phase this one – a boy who had forced himself to endure just as much pain as Gin himself once had. There was always a price, for being great. Those who paid that price willingly were very familiar with pain.
No, the pinched eyes, the gritted teeth, those were something else entirely. Gin ran his fingers through the spiky, unkempt hair. He caught that hair in his hand and pulled sharply. The boy's eyes opened and met his own. The boy pulled at the hemp ropes binding him to the wall, and grunted again as the coarse fibers grated across flesh already red and welted from struggling.
A brother would understand all of Gin's games, would understand all the fun there was to be had in them. A brother would understand the rules. No means yes. Pain is pleasure. Never stop until someone is dead.
Gin finished his cut, and the robes fell away from the boy, exposing a well-muscled chest. His body belied his youthful features, more youthful than Gin usually usually enjoyed, but this particular boy was a very, very special case.
The place where Gin had cut him, just above his last rib, oozed blood in a steady stream. Gin touched his hand to the wound and smeared the blood across the boy's chest. The red was a startling contrast to the boy's pale skin and the hair that matched Gin's own. He brought his hand to his lips and licked off the blood. The smell of salt and iron filled his nose and fueled his lust.
Gin used Shinsou to slice the hakama next, and this time he purposefully cut into the boy's legs. Not deeply, just enough to leave slow trickles of blood dripping down his hips. The boy's eyes were still open, and they were so full of hate that Gin had to bite back an ecstatic moan.
And then the boy was naked, except for a few scraps of cloth left where his hands and feet had been bound against the wall. He didn't blush, which was a shame. All Gin's other toys blushed. He loved to see their embarrassment. Kira, was especially alluring when his cheeks were red, when he stammered weakly for Gin to stop. Shame was such a powerful aphrodisiac. But this one was a special case, and power was a stronger aphrodisiac than shame could ever be.
He wanted to take the boy right then. The hunger, the obsession, almost overwhelmed him. But games had rules, and he knew he couldn't cheat this time. The boy wasn't his brother, though Gin saw so much of himself in those teal eyes that sometimes he could forget. In any case, the boy knew the rules better than anyone but Gin himself.
The bindings on the wall stayed, but Gin slid the point of Shinsou up along the boy's neck. As it found the ropes of the gag, it bit into his cheek drawing another thin stream of blood. There was no acknowledgement of the pain in those eyes. Just hatred.
The ropes left red burns on the soft flesh of his face as Gin cut them away. And then he was down to the last one. It frayed. It strained. The anticipation in Gin's stomach was like ice. The rope broke and fell away, and the boy spat at him. The boy tried to speak. His voice was a hoarse rasp, as if it took every ounce of his willpower not to scream. Not yet, anyway – Gin would see to it that he screamed until his voice was gone before the night was through. He coughed, and the sound grated against Gin's ears deliciously. When the coughing fit ended, he looked back up at Gin and his voice was frozen fury.
"Get this over with, you bastard. I want my turn, too."