Warning/s: Spoilers for Soul Society arc. Blood play. Violence? Typical Gin awesomeness.
Gin leans against the open doorway of Aizen's room, eyes slightly open in a rare moment of seriousness. He studies the naked form standing a few metres away, back turned towards the door. The man before him is looking at himself in a full body mirror, his chest slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His hair is wet and it sticks to his neck. Gin watches as lines of water race down his neck, his chest, his thighs, and then come to a stop on the cold floor beneath their feet.
Aizen's face remains stoic, but his hands are shaking. Gin isn't sure if it's because he's cold or if he's shaking for another reason, and if it is for another reason, the silver-haired shinigami wonders what it could possibly be. He takes sadistic pleasure in the thought of potential fear in the man, but he has to doubt it. There is nothing this man, this leader, is afraid of, and Gin is sure of it. He likes to think he knows him better than that; Gin is a silent observer, and he knows that the brunet is a solid figure.
"Gin," he whispers, and Gin smirks as a hand beckons him closer. "Come here."
Gin pushes himself off of the doorframe, not at all surprised that his presence was noticed. He had stopped trying to mask it long ago. He leaves the door open because he knows it gives the man thrills, and to be honest, he too likes the idea of maybe being caught. There is little light in the room; a single candle that flickers on the table casts shadows on their faces.
Gin stands behind him now, eyes curled upwards as he stands just behind Aizen. He peers over the broad shoulder in front of him in to the mirror, unable to stop a shiver as their eyes connect. Letting a smile embrace his lips, he drags a finger down Aizen's spine, restraining a laugh as the man's eyes flutter closed.
"Ne, Aizen-sama, open your eyes," Gin says, amusement in his voice. When the man promptly ignores him in favour of placing a hand against the edge of the mirror to lean on it, his body weight sagging as Gin's hand winds around his waist, Gin's smile falters. He frowns instead, wraps his fingers around Aizen's flaccid cock and squeezes. "I said open your eyes, Sousuke."
They've switched roles already, and while Aizen's eyes are hard and cold, Gin is very aware that he loves every second of it. Moving his hands, he pushes Aizen to his knees and kneels down behind him, trailing his lips along the back of his neck. He bites down on a particularly sweet patch of skin, and as he laps up the blood his nose catches the soft scent of Aizen's shampoo. He finds it impressive that the man cares so much about how he presents himself when he lives around the filth of the Espada. It's another core part of Aizen, and Gin has to bite back a laugh at the moans escaping the man's lips; Gin thinks Aizen is a little full of himself.
"Ya got superiority issues, Taicho," Gin says, because he knows being referred to like that turns him on even more. "You're so far up, an' ya got your head in the clouds." Gin smirks. It's a marvelhe is allowed to get away with so much, and Gin counts himself as very lucky.
It doesn't matter how powerful the brunet becomes, because at the end of the day, Gin is allowed to do whatever he wants with him.
He stands up, licks the tangy blood off of his lips, and before he knows what's happening he has his robe undone. He lets it fall to the floor and he watches for a reaction in Aizen's eyes, but he can see none. Good, he thinks,it's more fun to force it out of him.
He drops his hand to Aizen's head and grabs a fistful of drying hair, jerking his head around. "Ya know what to do," he orders, tightening his hold. He smiles slowly as Aizen turns himself completely around, the man's eyes focusing on Gin's erect arousal with a sort of lust and submission that Gin can't help but enjoy. And as the silver-haired man fucks Aizen's mouth, he laughs inwardly. "You're my whore, yeah? You're such a whore."
Aizen's eyes close as he sucks Gin dry, tongue swirling around in patterns that are almost like a war dance, and Gin has to tighten his grip as he crumples to the ground, his face burying deep in to Aizen's shoulder. He takes shallow breaths and rubs the man's head soothingly, perhaps in a sort of apology for his rough treatment earlier, or perhaps he's just too caught up in the moment to realise what he's doing.
He takes the man's lips with his own and he silently appreciates the fact that Aizen's glasses are history; it's much easier to press close together now.
"On your knees, Aizen-sama," he whispers against his lips, and sits back to appreciate the absolute perfect of the other. It's no wonder the man thinks so highly of himself; Gin would too if he had that body.
Once he has complied and turned around to the mirror again, his back arched and his knees digging in to the cold floor, Gin smiles. He places a thin hand along the lower part of Aizen's back and takes pride in the shivers he is able to elicit. He draws the hand lower still, cupping one of Aizen's ass cheeks, unable to hold back an amused laugh. Even the skin on his ass is perfect.
"Gin…" Aizen urges, looking at the silver-haired man through the mirror. Gin's eyes harden and he lifts his hand only to bring it back down again in a swift motion. The resounding smack echoes throughout the room and Aizen winces.
"Who said ya could talk?" Gin hisses, watching as a soft red colour erupts on the abused skin. "Who gave ya authority to do that, Taicho?" He moves his hand, replacing it with his lips, his tongue. "Or maybe you like being treated that way…" Gin mumbles and makes a low noise deep in his throat. Aizen's mouth opens slightly, almost daring to speak again but then it closes, and Gin realises that perhaps the man is more desperate for this to be over than he thought.
Gin smirks, a devious idea forming in his mind as his hand trails to Aizen's tight opening. He inserts a finger, not giving the man any warning because that would be a sign of caring, which Gin does not. He wants this just as bad as Aizen does. Aizen moans, head hanging low as one of his arms collapses underneath him. He rests on the elbow instead. As another fingers is inserted, and the two stretch the man apart, Gin kisses the small of Aizen's back. "Do you need release, Taicho?" He asks, voice dark.
Aizen bites his lip, nods, and Gin crawls up, placing his back flush against the others. He leans in and whispers in his ear, "Work for it, then."
Gin removes his fingers and sits back once again. In no time Aizen has turned around and is pushing him backwards. Gin groans as his head smacks against the floor. He probably loves the pain more than the brunet straddling him now does, and he muses that at least it's fitting.
Aizen slams himself on to Gin's reformed erection, and both men moan at the suddenness of it all. They're breathing is fast and laboured, picking up the pace. Gin's hands grip Aizen's waist with a bruising strength, and Aizen throws his head back as he controls the rhythm.
Gin lazily watches the man's face contort as he comes, sticky fluid shooting on to Gin's heaving chest. Gin thinks that he that is the luckiest man alive in these moments because he is the one giving Aizen this pleasure; he is the one Aizen needs. He might be Aizen's bitch in the day, but at night, when nobody is watching and it's just them, he has command. It's given him quite an ego, he understands, but he's alright with that.
Aizen may have had the first god complex, but Gin believes he could give him a run for his money.