There was a fatal mistake that almost every tyrant, brilliant ruler, or jut general power seeker made. This was the mistake of assuming you have control just because your subordinates dissemble into the lovely façade of subordination whenever you are around. It was a fatal mistake, easy to make unless one was truly wary. But if one was truly wary, it would be much harder to ascend to the position of power that one's hopes and dreams desire so voraciously. Thus, the mistake continued to occur, like some kind of paradox in a twilit world with sketchy guidelines of power and rank and authority.
If you asked Aizen, he would deny having made this mistake until the end of time.
If you asked his most trusted subordinate, he would only smile.
Granted, his most trusted subordinate was always smiling, but when the question passes your lips that smile increases just a little, stretches his face just a little bit more, until he looks both astoundingly intimidating and you know that you've hit a soft spot.
Indeed, Aizen Sousuke did not have everything under control. He merely thought he did and his subordinates played the part very, very well. In theory, that would mean that he did, in fact, have control.
But Ichimaru Gin knew much, much better.
It was a bit of a thrill to fool what he honestly considered the most potentially powerful being in three dimensions. It made him feel like he had control, that he had power where the supposedly unstoppable Aizen did not. When he fooled the so-called God, for once he didn't feel like the lost little boy who learned to eat whatever the ground offered and share only when it would be beneficial to him.
What he refused to believe was truly, he was still that same boy, taking his nutrition from power and sharing that power with nobody. After all, it was an unspoken thing, this dissembled subordination. To speak of it was to allow the chance that Aizen would find out.
Theoretically, any truth can be found out anyways. But Aizen was so shrouded in his blinding power-induced illusion that it was almost as if Gin had taken Kyouka Suigetsu into his own hands and woven a pretty little unreality for him to sink into smiling, because he thought he had won.
Oh, he had won. He had won the battle he had been fighting, and Gin had helped because he could care less about anything but himself, but he was fighting in the wrong direction. Destroying Soul Society was something that required little effort when one had such an advantage like Kyouka Suigetsu. What would come of it once it was destroyed, Gin didn't particularly care to understand. He knew only that there would be some kind of imbalance of souls in the transient world and the poor humans would likely work themselves into a fatal chaos.
According to the only textbook he had ever read, it had happened before. It tended to happen every five thousand years. A shame it was for those who happened to be trapped on the edge of this generation of humanity.
But Gin could care less, really. He was safe in the hollow world, after all.
The only thing that he had to concern himself was wiping the conceited being that Aizen had likely been since birth (or rebirth or whatever it was called) off of his cold, marble throne. What he would do then, he wasn't sure. The hougyoku he was likely to merely crush, or attempt to and then let it gather dust when he failed. He didn't care. He had no concern for the Espada because if they tried to rebel against him, he knew he could kill them without even having to stand.
Three thousand years ago, they might have called him a stoic. Gin was more realistic than that; he knew in fact that he was only a hollowed out excuse of a soul that had somehow been misplaced into Soul Society. In essence, he decided, he was merely a hollow without such barbaric tendencies or a hole and of course with a more evolved figure. Some kind of missing link, perhaps.
(The more optimistic of his acquaintances had taken to calling it apathy. Gin didn't like the word apathy; it just had such a miserable connotation that really took away from the point of the word. He liked his own conclusion much better.)
"Gin."
Hooded ice blue eyes peered up at the booming voice, it that was so hypnotic that it even fooled its owner into thinking he had some kind of power. The honey-thick voice took on a more amused edge as it caught what was supposed to be Gin's gaze.
"You've taken quite a liking to my chair, I see."
"Mm, Aiz'n-taichou ain't th' only one likin' power, ya know." He allowed his voice to take on its normal carefree lilt, masking the sarcasm and even menacing foreshadowing that the words would have implied to anybody privy to the inside of Gin's head.
Fortunately for Ichimaru Gin, he is the only one privy to anything going on inside his head at any given time.
Stepping closer with wide, confident strides, Aizen was suddenly mere inches from Gin's face, and the slighter man's grin stretched knowingly. A soft (too soft for a shinigami, anybody should've realized) hand cupped the side of his face, allowing warmth to bloom. Obediently, he stood, nearly flush to Aizen, and allowed the larger man to lead him away to the bedchambers.
It was amazing (amusing) that a man who claimed to be so above humanity had such a human desire left within him.
--
It wasn't that Gin was an expressive person during sex by nature, far from it – he allowed himself to become expressive. Sex was an excuse for him to allow his body to take over and his mind to not necessarily shut off, but seep through the crevices of his brain to make room for the liquid pleasure that shot through him.
Aizen mistook this for love.
In the afterglow of it all, Gin liked to laugh about that.
More recently, Gin had discovered that he could think quite clearly while detaching himself from his body, allowing it to react in a human nature, willing and pliant beneath Aizen's hungry fingers. He used these times, with Aizen's presence surrounding him and Aizen's skin flush against his own and Aizen inside of him in a crude attempt to make two beings one to focus on his hatred of the powerful ruler of Hueco Mundo.
That day was really no different; Gin teased Aizen all the way to his room with nipping little kisses that could have been interpreted as playful and wandering hands that positively oozed that fake air of innocence that drove Aizen crazy. When they made it just past the door, usually Aizen was incensed enough to toss him to the bed, which Gin found he didn't really mind. Usually by then he had detached himself from his body, anyways; he likely wouldn't remember many of the details of sex.
Their intercourse had never been very gentle, because there was no need for it and both of them knew it. Gin's body could tolerate, and even enjoy, high levels of pain and he allowed Aizen to use that to his advantage as he entered him with barely any stretching and using only saliva as lubricant. As his body reacted like a perfect puppet to rough thrusts and tightly gripping hands, his mind was entirely one-tracked. It was almost like some kind of mental pep rally, concentrating on it so much. An emotionless person by nature, he had to keep the flames going, of course.
And then he saw the metallic glint of his sword.
It was almost as if he was seeing it for the first time and his mental self, the one that was residing somewhere in depths of the brain that are entirely immune to sex or pleasure or any of that, well his eyes shot open. The possibilities, this Gin whispered to him in a rather creepy manner. He could do it right now, and nobody would ever care.
Ichimaru Gin had always been quite whimsical. He didn't like to put thought and reason to things, because his natural sense of logic would find a way to counter it. This was the reason why he found his bony hand reaching for the weapon faster than he could think about it.
It was, quite ironically, the finishing thrusts of Aizen's orgasm that stopped him. They were right against his prostate and his body just couldn't follow his mind when a sensation that intense flowed through him. With a luxurious groan, the brunette collapsed on top of the bony body he got so much pleasure from and then rolled over, pulling Gin's sweaty frame to him in some kind of semblance of an embrace. Because of this position, he thus couldn't see Gin's frown in the dim light as he continued to stare at the tantalizing gleam of the sword just out of arm's reach.
Foiled.
But it was no matter. Now that the chance was gone, he could think about it, and he was almost glad that he didn't. The timing wasn't right.
No, Aizen Sousuke would die when his time came. It would certainly be by Ichimaru Gin's terms, but it wouldn't be as easy as a stab wound during sex.
After all, Ichimaru Gin has been told if not apathetic, he's the most sadistic person in three worlds.