Inspired by a Tumblr prompt: "I'm right here. Do it."
Heed the rating; violence and sexual content found herein.
They're choked out, the words, every syllable grating as they're pushed by that silver-clad tongue through his teeth — but it's difficult to sound confident, even defiant, with a sharp knee digging into your stomach, its twin on your chest and a man too skinny at first blush to even think of putting this much pressure on one's throat.
There's blood staining his teeth, Shinji notices, but the would-be god looks disheveled, the locks of mahogany that gleam with chestnut and copper highlights downcast and whispering against the features of his traitorous lieutenant.
(Sakanade shrieks as she is pushed inch by inch in a wet grind of sound through Sousuke's shoulder, working on severing tendon and muscle fibers, the blade sliding out of the man's back red and wet as Aizen's mouth can be, as warm as it is and Shinji knows all too well how warm and wet that mouth is—)
the scream the god would let out is cut off by a mouth on his, the tongue of the older man sliding to sample the blood. Saliva touches copper and iron, a tongue brushes the hard surfaces and Aizen gasps as heat curls in his stomach, his free hand fluttering feebly on its grip at one sleeve-covered bicep, the other pinned beneath rubble, arching without meaning to, crying out in pain as there's the dig of steel in his shoulder.
Even he's not immune to pain, not like this.
The others are scattered, distracted; no one notices Shinji and Sousuke, sees that thin hand on the proud neck squeezing tighter and tighter, asphyxiating the god to the point of his blacking out before it's relaxing and he lets Aizen shake and cough, rasping, wheezing, choking on oxygen over and over as the fingers start to tighten again, digging against the veins that bulge, the ligaments and everything else—
Aizen's chin lifts, he gasps for air, shifts beneath that body, the weight that's too familiar, too wanted and his body is responding to the stimuli; Shinji notices, of course and his eyes are bleeding ink now, the whites muted out by darkness that he stained the older man's soul with.
It's so simple to break a soul.
But his mouth gapes open again, gasping for air that won't come and the sneer of the shark grin, the too-predatory curl of the mouth, it screams an alarm through his thoughts but the lieutenant can't fear him, not even now as the older man shifts on his body and then grips at his traitor's face. Sakanade isn't pulled free but tilted, earning another shriek of pain against Shinji's palm as she gouges that too-perfect body that won't even have a scar later, he bets and pushes the edge against Sousuke's throat.
The cut is shallow but there's blood welling up and slim lips latch upon the flow, hungry, his teeth tearing at the skin, yanking at it, threatening to rip it open while he's straddling Sousuke now, hips undulating together as they push towards one another. The pain is only heightened by the pleasurable friction and Shinji feels his bangs being stirred as Aizen pants through his nose, moaning in pain and it's amazing what the brunette's pain is doing to him.
Shinji feels like he should worry in some distant part of himself.
But no, one hand remains pressed over Sousuke's face and the other is clawing at the shoulder that isn't impaled, fingertips yanking at skin harshly, pulling at it, scratching viciously and their hips move, they move and push harder, thrusting against one another, the fight and adrenaline and so many emotions that neither party are willing to examine closely driving them.
It's Aizen that finishes first, a shuddering yell warming Shinji's palm as he bows upwards in a fashion that's too familiar, one that will haunt the blonde's dreams for days to come — but even if his mouth hadn't been covered, no one would've heard him because the captains and Espada were tearing at one another, both sides bleeding red rain onto the ground but their private little show is theirs and in this moment, he's Sousuke's conqueror and Shinji's teeth bite viciously onto the cut he's made, tearing at it deliberately and he rides the anger-lust to fulfillment, shuddering with a snarl even as he pulls back and slams his fist as hard as he can into those handsome features.
Shinji had had a lot of practice in how to hit over the years. He was very good at getting his shoulder behind the blow.
Aizen's eyes were narrowed, his cheeks flushed and covered in blood as he was, smelling of sex and violence and that damnable mix of tea and jasmine and ink that lingered even now and of copper tang, Shinji wanted him so bad that the term 'refractory period' meant nothing as he felt himself surging with lust again—
but no, there was Ichigo diving down towards them, having found them at last and only slowly did their eyes leave one another as the teenager slammed into the ground nearby and Shinji was pulling himself to stand, grateful for his black pants as he grinned a grin that curdled the ginger's veins and made his skin crawl while those dark eyes turned back to his prey.
Another time, then.