This was perhaps the very first time Rangiku ever witnessed Aizen Sousuke sleep. His face betrayed the mind inside, and left his face smooth, emotionless, without simmering hostility and self-absorption. In effect, sleeping Aizen was the lasting remnants of Captain Aizen, the man everyone presumed they knew and many loved. Rangiku mistakenly segregated herself from that category; she had glimpsed a darker side to the calm, agreeable captain. When the man had first possessed her in bed he compromised himself. Although his control was phenomenal she had still cringed and drew closer to the beast trapped behind once warm, understanding brown eyes. The call was nothing short of intoxicating. In spite of the tangling seductions she still had had no imagination to conjure the affects of the true waiting animal. And now as he lay upon his back, dead in slumber, Rangiku burned. She traced her collarbone where teeth marks bruised her skin.
She truly hated this man. His body contorted her hate into a tangible form that sparked unbelievably when their mouths touched, like a cold storm meeting hot air. Natural disasters occurred. And yet here she was, forgotten, and he fully exposed. Of course her zanpaktou was nowhere near the room, but the finicky feline yowled deep behind her thoughts for being left alone in a strange place. Perhaps snapping the bed post, or strangling or smothering would suffice. Rangiku blandly observed his breathing, the rise and fall of the chest she studied well with her teeth and tongue. It would not do if she died alongside Aizen; she had to stand while he fell. The calm drive steadied her thundering heart, and she wrapped herself in the blanket, moving to the sliver of a window overlooking the barren desert of Hueco Mundo.
Pressure in the atmosphere shifted.
He was smiling, she could tell. Her skin crawled in that almost embarrassingly warm way, and the moment became heated. She was trapped between Aizen and the stone cold wall, just as she fool-heartedly became trapped between Aizen and Seireitei, between the plots and the oblivious. Honestly Rangiku would reclaim her oblivious card anytime, any day. But the depth of this involvement, at which she never could have guessed, rooted far beneath the fresh hate.
When Aizen released her, dismissing Rangiku with a smoldering kiss that poured fire down into her toes, she wandered the halls. Trying to recall Orihime's directions and any landmarks—which did not exists seeing as the entire place appeared consistently the same—Rangiku finally stumbled upon an open room, and cautiously went inside. The destruction of Las Noches had not touched this room surprisingly, and the simple bed covered in simple coverings sang to her tired mind. The bold dark colors and decorations of Aizen's personal chambers threaded ache through her head, like a hangover. And the aftermath of their unbridled, heavy attentions completely wore her out.
Heaving herself into bed, Rangiku slowly drifted off to sleep with a familiar scent wrapping around her.
Through more halls and across to a small tower half exposed to the unchanging elements of Hueco Mundo Gin retracted his long fingers from a control board. He rose from the chair, walked to an open wall panel where wires writhed and disappeared. He took one and, turning to watch the white lines crawling across the broad board, ripped the wire from the wall. A particular section of lines, indicating manipulative halls and doorways, winked out, then glared red, little words blinking a warning of the loss of power.
Gin left, locking the door behind him.
He knew Aizen was a very confident man, very patient. Aizen's mind was amazingly focused and contorted. Gin, however, was not a very patient man, and his thoughts, while not bent in such a manner as his captain's, was equally twisted and curved, much like his smile. Constant confusion and intimidation tactics were practiced to each their own technique. These facts drew Aizen to Gin when he was but a child and kept the mastermind warped around his pride: a ward, a true cohort, a son even. The one difference between them rested in the inevitable affliction of one woman, whom Aizen had taken into uninhibited danger when Gin had left her behind for that exact reason.
Call it an Achilles' heel.
Matsumoto Rangiku unmistakably registered as a weakness when presented under the watchful eyes of her one-time lover and friend. For Aizen Sousuke, she should be nothing less.
After all, Gin and Aizen had so much in common.
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Alright folks…I'm scared that I might have to raise the rating. I know it's already T and T is a good rating to be at. I'll try to keep it like it's been but this story seems to be going in a direction a little rougher than I've ever gone in. I will try but I must go where the muses lead me. And at the moment the muses aren't showing me many glimpse of the future... Just a heads up though.
On a lighter note, thanks for stopping by!