The next day found Juushiro alone in the room he had been placed in, pacing back and forth. The front of his shihakusho and Captain's haori were drenched in dried blood from the violent attack he had suffered and now, he just couldn't work out what to do. He had tried everything to get out of the room, but Aizen had put reiatsu restraints on him, blocking his reiatsu and rendering all but physical means of escape impossible. The only problem was that his body was far too weak due to the illness to be able to do it.
"Why is this happening to me...?" Juushiro mumbled to himself, such distress foreign to him. He was used to being near undefeatable, his immense spiritual pressure, age and experience making him forget that things like this could still happen. "Wasn't I... good enough...?"
Ukitake continued to pace, feeling as if he were being suffocated, despite the large room he was in. He felt as if someone was choking him, sucking away his life force, drawing in anxiety and fear and the uncertainty of the unknown. Had it really been so long since he had suffered such a miserable defeat by someone, he had forgotten that such emotions still existed within him?
"Shunsui..." Juushiro whispered, looking over at the door as if he expected it to open and his pink flowered kimono-wearing lover would walk in and take him away, much like the images a child would picture after hearing a fairy tale of the prince rescuing the princess. "Shunsui, why haven't you come yet...?"
Juushiro would never decide if it were just coincidence or some higher being torturing him, but the door was opened and Aizen walked in, flanked by Ichimaru and Tosen. He smirked devilishly, his reiatsu fluctuating in what Ukitake could only guess was sick enjoyment.
"Did you sleep well?" Aizen's voice was warm and caring, just a hint of the cold intentions breaking through. "Hmm, Ukitake-san?"
"Leave me be," Ukitake said, backing away slowly. "I do not belong here. Please; stop what you are doing and release me!"
Aizen laughed. He reached out and grabbed a lock of white hair. He studied it carefully, caressing it with tenderness before he yanked harshly on it, emitting a small yelp from Juushiro. "I know you don't belong here – but you don't belong back in the Soul Society, either. You belong to me, and only me. Forget about your slacker of a lover; you'll never see him again. From now on; it's just us."
Juushiro didn't react as a hand slapped his face, leaving an ugly red mark in its wake. He kept eye-contact with his abuser, not wanting to show any weakness. He bit his lip as a hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him against the wall behind him, but he didn't say anything.
"As long as you be a good boy..." Aizen whispered, leaning in close as his eyes shined in excitement, "...I'll let you live. But misbehave, and I'll make sure you die slowly and painfully."
The hand around his throat was cutting Ukitake's air off, causing subconscious distress due to his illness always having made breathing extremely difficult and down-right impossible at times. Tears welled up in Juushiro's eyes as his breathing hitched and heart raced. "...Let me go..."
Aizen just tightened his grip, laughing as a pale hand reached up and tried to pull the hand from Ukitake's throat. When Juushiro started to thrash, his eyes wide with terror, the brunet knew he had found Juushiro's weakness; suffocating him. The man was too prideful to break easily, but with this knowledge, Aizen knew he could ruin the Captain with ease.
"I'm finding this quite enjoyable," Aizen spoke to the other two Shinigami behind him as he removed his hand and dropped the older to the ground. He surveyed the trembling male who was grasping at his throat in desperation, the other's horror his enjoyment. "How far do you think he'll break in this state?"
Tosen shrugged while Ichimaru's smile widened. "Maa, ya should beat him and remind him o' his place, sir."
"That was what I was thinking." Aizen leant down and grabbed hold of the white hair again. He forced Juushiro to his feet by ripping on it before he aimed a powerful punch into the pale flesh of Juushiro's throat, effectively causing more difficulty breathing and heightening the panic Ukitake was experiencing.
Tears dripped down Juushiro's throat as his chest heaved heavily, trying to suck in air through what felt like nothing more than the empty body of a pen. He thrashed, small droplets of blood dripping down his chin.
Aizen watched this in sick amusement, unable to deny the way it turned him on immensely. He kneed the taller male in the stomach and then knocked the long, skinny legs out from beneath Juushiro. He kicked repeatedly into the fragile chest until the sickening crunch of broken bones sounded along with a loud cry of pain and the unmistakable gurgle of choking on blood.
Despite the frailer Shinigami's thrashes, Aizen still managed to pull Juushiro's hakama off and throw them somewhere behind them. He reached out and grasped the flaccid member in his hands, loving the high-pitched keen of terror Ukitake gave. He stroked the organ in his hands a few times before he moved one hand to his own clothing, ridding himself of his bottoms.
"So scared." Aizen smirked. "Don't worry; it won't hurt too much; I'm sure you're used to this."
Ukitake's eyes widened and a loud cry escaped his lips as Aizen shoved himself inside of his battered body. He tried to get away, but he was in more pain than he had felt in centuries. His lungs felt as if they were being skewered and the blood poured from his mouth in rivers, pooling in his throat. His chest was causing him agony he had not felt from his illness on one of his worst days, and the rough way Aizen was thrusting into him jostled his body violently, amplifying the pain in his upper torso.
What pushed Juushiro over the edge was when Aizen's thrusts became so painful, blood flowed down and stained his thighs and the floor beneath them. The pain was just too much; his whole body was in agony. He could feel himself slipping into oblivion but, for once, it was welcome; anything to get him away from this pain.
Aizen laughed that cruel laugh as Ukitake's body fell still, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over. He pulled himself off Juushiro and looked towards Ichimaru and Tosen.
"Go and fetch Szayelaporro for me, Gin," Aizen said calmly. "We will patch him up and leave him to rest for tonight."
Ichimaru left with a cheerful okay and returned just minutes later with their pink-haired medical Espada. They watched as Szayelaporro knelt down next to the injured Captain and begun to heal him.
"Don't heal him completely," Aizen instructed. "He needs to know who he belongs to. Perhaps broken ribs will be enough of a constant reminder for him."
Szayelaporro smirked. He did as he was told, making sure to leave the Shinigami's ribs broken, healing only the injuries received to his rear and the lung that had been punctured among other wounds from the beating.
Aizen turned to his two accomplices, a smile on his face. "This is going to be such fun."
Several hours later~~
When Juushiro awoke, he was aware of the pain in his chest and difficulty he had breathing. He hated himself more than ever for having shown such fear – such weakness – towards someone like Aizen. He couldn't stop the tears of hatred that rolled down his cheeks and he rolled onto his side, not sure of where he was.
The white-haired Shinigami soon became aware of others in the room with him when Aizen's cruel voice spoke, a level of arrogance Juushiro had never heard in someone's voice until now.
"I believe at some point during our interactions together here, you told me I would never break you." Aizen laughed. "Looks like I've succeeded."
Slowly, Ukitake rolled back over, fixing the brunet with such a hateful, angry glare, someone would have thought he were another person. His voice was so cold, so bitter and full of pain, this couldn't have been the same man who was always forcing random and unwanted gifts on others with a bright, happy smile.
"I. Hate. You." Juushiro's eyes narrowed even further, the tears falling harder and tasting salty on his tongue. "I will kill you."
Aizen laughed again and turned to walk away. "We'll see, Ukitake-san. We'll see."
Several hours later~~
The next night came faster than Juushiro would have liked. He had been in the infirmary for the majority of the way, still dressed in his bloody shihakusho. He hadn't seen anyone in that time until around what his sense of time told him would have been around nightfall.
Aizen strode back in, his cocky smile plastered on his face as he moved immediately to the older Shinigami's side and forced him to his feet. Juushiro struggled to get away, but he was too weak, his body injured and mind exhausted from his ordeal.
In silence, Aizen had dragged Juushiro back to his private room, dumping him on the ground long enough to close and lock the door behind them. He dragged the struggling male over to the bed and threw him on it, causing a pained cry from Juushiro as the other's broken ribs caused pain.
"Leave me alone!" Juushiro cried in between struggling for breaths. He kicked out at the younger male as Aizen came closer to him, but it was pointless; he had still managed to be pinned to the bed beneath the stronger male, his clothing forced from his body.
Juushiro's yells and screams of protest were ignored as his legs were draped over strong shoulders, and they were soon replaced with screams of agony and pleas for Aizen to stop. But, of course, Aizen didn't stop; he only went harder.
When Aizen finally finished what felt like years later for Juushiro, he dropped the sweaty, exhausted male to the bed.
Juushiro didn't cry this time, but he wasn't far off it. He was lying on his side, his breathing harsh and laboured as his injury amplified the difficulty. He tried to shrug off the hands that grabbed him, but they persisted, rolling him onto his back.
In a moment that felt like Juushiro were associating with another person, Aizen cleaned the older Shinigami down with such care and tenderness, Juushiro couldn't help but relax slightly. He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that, at every second, threatened to overwhelm him.
"So sweaty," Aizen muttered as he wiped the towel down the other's body, removing sweat, seed and grime from the pale, fragile body. "So frail. Prizes need to be taken care of, don't they, Ukitake-san?"
Ukitake didn't reply; he was too busy relenting to the oblivion that had come for him, escaping from this reality he could never have expected in all of his long lifetime.