One Moment
Chapter 7: All Lies Ever Told
Characters/Pairings: Aizen, Starrk, Yamamoto, Neliel, Grimmjow, Harribel, Lilynette, and Shunsui. Cameos by a bunch of people. Aizen/Starrk, hints of Shunsui/Starrk.
Rating: Very, very R.
Words: ~8600
Summary: Starrk remembers, and he understands.
Warning: Vague descriptions of dub-almost-non-con sex, complete bastardisation of stories, concepts and ideas, gore, immense fucked-upness… Oh, and length. This chapter is long, guys.
Notes: The song lyrics are used are from Nick Cave's Where the Wild Roses Grow. It is one of the creepiest songs in existence, and it is perfectly fitting for Aizen and Starrk's relationship in this fic.
From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
As she stared in my eyes and smiled
For her lips were the colour of the roses
That grew down the river, all bloody and wild
Heartbeats uncountable Starrk has spent in the desert, and he has never known the colour of the sands until Aizen-sama has shown it to him. He reaches out, flattening his hand on the white, white wall in front of him, stretching his arm as he pushes it up and up. The ceilings are so high here in Las Noches, arching higher above him than even the mountain of bones that he has left behind.
Las Noches is a castle raised from the sands itself, the grains packed together to form walls and dorms through a skill named kido. When Aizen-sama told him that tale, Starrk has felt a strange, aching longing in his chest; a wish that his Lord had found him sooner, so he could have watched the castle being built.
It had been such a strange thing – and still is – to feel something more than a constant, devouring want for companionship.
His thoughts are drifting.
Opening the door, Starrk steps into Aizen-sama's rooms. Everything here is white as well, the only spots of colour the warm brown of Aizen-sama's eyes and hair. The man smiles at him, and behind Starrk, the door is pushed shut again with just the barest nudge of Aizen's reiatsu.
The sound echoes, bouncing off the sheer emptiness that sits between the walls. Starrk's eyes half-lids as he listens: he will never tire of it, the way that the air itself seems to tremble around him. He can feel it shiver against his skin: in this room, his hierro is non-existent. Aizen-sama's power washes over him and strips him down, forcing his body to become as powerless as it looks, no more powerful than an average human soul.
Aizen-sama walks towards him, every single footsteps he takes loud against the stone. Starrk takes in the sight, the very first steps he has ever taken by Aizen-sama's side still seared into his mind: three sets of footsteps left behind on the sands, more precious than anything else could ever be.
"Starrk," Aizen-sama murmurs.
His hand is warm on Starrk's jaw. Starrk smiles, tilting his head towards the hand, letting the soft-silk of the skin caress his own.
"You called for me, Aizen-sama?"
"I did," Aizen-sama's eyes are warm and his smile is kind, and Starrk finds his breath hitching in his throat when he leans in and presses a kiss into his hair.
"How are you settling in?" his Lord and Master asks, his voice ghosting over the curve of Starrk's ear.
Slowly, Starrk pulls away. "Las Noches is beautiful," he says hesitantly. "But the others here…"
Although Starrk doesn't remember having anyone else beside him but Lilynette, he still recognises the look in their eyes whenever his new comrades look at him: anger, resentment, fear. He has tried to reach out; tried to convince them that he wants nothing from them than their presence, but none of them ever seem to believe him.
Every time he extends a hand, he is met only with snarls, growls, and, on one memorable occasion, a bite that had nearly crushed the blue-haired Arrancar's teeth.
"I cannot convince them to befriend you, Starrk," Aizen-sama says, and though his smile is still gentle, Starrk cannot help but duck his head down in shame. "I have given you comrades with whom you can stand beside without causing their deaths; it is you who must win their friendship."
"Yes, Aizen-sama," Starrk says, because Aizen-sama has told him that nothing can be had without earning it through effort.
"I have given you comrades with whom you can stand beside," Aizen-sama repeats, and his fingers tip Starrk's jaw upwards to look into his eyes again. Starrk blinks, curious, and Aizen-sama's smile widens.
"Let me tell you a story." Letting go of Starrk, he walks over to the black-sheeted bed. "Come, sit here beside me."
Starrk goes willingly, folding his legs and almost perching at the edge.
He waits.
"Once, there was a boy," Aizen-sama starts quietly. "He had a friend he loved dearly with all of his heart, a friend who eased the dreadful loneliness of his days.
"One day, he saw something he should not have. He saw three men hold his friend down and take something from her. And the boy was angry, terribly angry, for his friend was his, and he had sworn to protect her. But he was only a boy, and though there was power lying under his skin, he was still very weak at the time. There was nothing he can do but hide and tremble with rage. Somehow, though, he managed to find strength to follow those three men when they left his friend, taking what they had stolen from her with them.
"The men brought the boy to a demon. What they stole from the boy's friend was the price they were willing to pay for more power, more strength. You see, Starrk, these men had people they wish to protect as well; friends whom they hold close to their hearts."
Slowly, Starrk's eyes fall shut. He lets himself sink into the feeling of Aizen-sama's thumb stroking his jaw, the sound of his voice surrounding him.
"The boy was reckless and stubborn. He rushed forward, pushing the men aside from the strength of his rage. Standing in front of the demon, he offered himself to the creature entirely. He wants power, he said, and if the demon wishes for a sacrifice in return for it, the boy offers the whole of himself for the power to kill these men, to protect the girl whom he holds so close to his heart."
Aizen-sama leans forward, his lips brushing over Starrk's temple. The touch sends shivers down Starrk's spine, and he shudders.
"The demon looked between the boy and the men, and he laughed. He held what was stolen from the boy's friend in his hand, and granted the boy's wish. In that moment, the boy grew into a man, and he became so powerful that he killed those three men instantly. They died with their eyes wide, screams still stuck in their throats."
There is a noise in the base of Starrk's throat, trying to escape. He swallows hard, trying to not imagine the sight of those men's eyes as they died; trying to not think of the screams of those who had once tried to approach him.
"Do you know why the demon chose the boy, Starrk?"
Starrk shakes his head. Aizen-sama chuckles, his fingers stroking through Starrk's hair, moving down to cup the back of his neck.
"They were selfish creatures, those men," Aizen-sama tuts. "They tried to offer the demon what is not rightfully theirs, and so they were punished. The boy, however… the boy knows the meaning of selflessness. The boy knows that everything that has been given must be repaid."
Opening his mouth, Starrk chokes on his reply when Aizen-sama shoves him onto the back. His eyes are wide as he stares up to the man who now looms over him, and his breathing quickens when he feels that thumb – the skin searing hot – stroke over his throat.
"Aizen-sama—" he tries to say.
His Lord chuckles softly. His hand on Starrk's throat gentles, stroking up and down. His pulse beneath the skin feels like a pinned butterfly, fluttering hard beneath those fingertips.
"Do you know what selfishness means, Starrk? It means to take without giving back."
Starrk's eyes are wide and staring.
"I have given you comrades with whom you can stand beside…" Aizen-sama murmurs. "Am I really asking for so much in return?"
Despite the loneliness of the desert, Starrk understands. He is like those three murdered men who tried to take without giving anything in return. Aizen-sama has given his deepest wish, so to repay him…
To repay him, he must give all of himself.
"No, Aizen-sama," he says quietly. Beneath Aizen-sama's fingers, his breathing has evened out once more, and he finds more strength flood into his body as Aizen-sama smiles at him.
"Whatever you wish of me, I will give."
Slowly, Aizen-sama's hands stroke down his body. Fingers hook over the collar of the uniform that Starrk has been given. The buttons fly apart immediately at the touch of the powerfully heated skin, and Starrk finds himself fully bared to the other man in the matter of seconds. And that large hand is splaying out above his ribs, fingertips brushing his collarbones, resting right above the Hollow hole that had once been his heart.
"I thought you would understand," Aizen-sama whispers. "You truly exceed every single of my expectations, Starrk."
The warmth of Aizen-sama's praise nearly, almost, overwhelms the fire of his fingers on Starrk's thighs. Starrk finds his legs being yanked apart; finds his lips crushed underneath Aizen-sama's; finds that his body being penetrated by a searing length that starts an inferno deep within him that threatens to tear him apart.
His back arches. Water; there is water on his face. Starrk gasps, his head tossing side to side.
No.
The word struggles in his throat, a prey caught in a spider's web. He stares upwards, eyes unseeing… but those fingers have changed, becoming gently warm once more. Aizen-sama moves, driving into him even as he jerks Starrk's head backwards, forcing their eyes to meet.
Within those darkened eyes he sees an aching loneliness that echoes his own. The loneliness of a man with too much power, power he has no wish to have but which he has no ability to be rid of; power that wraps around his limbs and tears apart all those around him; power that drags him higher and higher, until his hands can no longer touch anyone else for fear that they will break apart like gossamer; power that has him reaching out fruitlessly for those who gather at the bottom, wishing that their eyes and smiles will turn towards him.
Ah.
Starrk thinks he understands now. Aizen-sama has told him that he has spent a long time searching for Starrk; months upon months combing the wide wasteland of sand, seeking for bones… for the signs of another just like him, whose every touch causes death. In the desperate hope that, perhaps, death will cancel out death in the end.
"Aizen-sama…" he whispers, his voice choked. With the weight of pain, the weight of understanding.
"Starrk," Aizen-sama says. And when Starrk reaches up with tremulous fingers, Aizen-sama leans down and kisses him.
It feels like the first breath of rain-heavy wind in a desert, cool and refreshing, full of promises. Promises hidden in the corners of Aizen-sama's mouth as he smiles, promises hidden in his fingertips as they stroke over the edges of Starrk's Hollow hole, making him tremble with pleasure that he has never thought possible
"Give me your pain, Starrk," Aizen-sama whispers into his ear. "Let your sacrifice bring me pleasure."
Like the boy who has made the greatest of sacrifices for the protection of a friend who knows nothing, Starrk surrenders the whole of himself.
The very first time, Aizen-sama takes him over and over, until his voice is hoarse with screaming, and his face streaked with salt.
Aizen-sama's fingers have burnt the water away.
When he knocked on my door and entered the room
My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
He wiped at the tears that ran down my face
"Thank you, Neliel Tu Odelschwanck," the old man intoned, slamming his heavy cane onto the floor. Neliel nodded, stepping back from right in front of the judge's pedestal where she had been giving her testimony. Starrk tried to remember what she said, but it was all a blank.
The ghosts of his memory had stolen his attention and taken its place.
"Grimmjow Jaegarjaquez, former Sexta Espada," the Captain-Commander continued, turning his beady-eyed gaze towards the man. "Come forward."
Grimmjow scowled at the order, but vaulted over the railing from the audience's stands nonetheless. He shoved his hands into his pocket and sauntered towards the old man, looking as if he had chosen to go instead of being called.
"Yeah?"
A white-haired man with strangely pupil-less eyes took a step forward, catching Grimmjow's eyes.
"Do you swear upon your own soul that you will speak the truth, and nothing but the truth?"
Exhaling explosively, Grimmjow dragged a hand through his hair. "I ain't got any reason to lie, do I?" he asked. "I'm not like him." He jerked his head towards Aizen.
"Do you swear?" the white-haired man pressed. Starrk really should find out his name.
"Yeah, yeah, I do," Grimmjow grumbled.
The old man nodded – Starrk should figure out his name too – before he looked at Grimmjow, folding his hands.
"We know that you are one of Aizen's Espada, one of his top-ranking soldiers in his army," he intoned. "Why did you join him?"
Grimmjow barked a laugh. "'Cause he offered me power," he drawled.
The silence following his words was oppressive enough for Grimmjow to notice it. His mouth set into a thin line for a long moment before Neliel managed to catch his eyes. She shook her head, and he rubbed a hand over his face irritably.
"Fuck, okay, fine," he grumbled. "Look, you Shinigami don't know what it's like in Hueco Mundo. The weak ones you've got here… they won't survive; they'd be eaten the moment they enter."
He shoved his thumbs into the hem of his pants, shoulders hunching. "You gotta have power. Without power, you're food. Without power, you gotta keep running, over and over, and you gotta hope that you don't meet someone stronger who'd eat you. There's no place in Hueco Mundo for weaklings unless it's as a pile of bones at someone's feet."
Starrk winced slightly. He clenched his hands, holding them in his lap.
"I got sick of running," Grimmjow said, shrugging. "So when that bastard there," he jerked his head towards the man, "told me he could give me power, why the hell would I refuse? I figured I'd wait it out until he kicked the bucket, then find my own place."
The old man raised a long eyebrow. "You were so confident he'd die?"
Grimmjow barked a laugh. "He's a Shinigami, and you lot never last long in Hueco Mundo. It's a shithole and you're all too soft."
"Does that mean that he has done nothing to harm you, then?"
"Fuck no!" Grimmjow exploded. "He had that blind bastard take my arm!"
Giving Grimmjow, who was obviously in possession of both arms, a narrow-eyed look, the old man asked softly, "What do you mean by that?"
Starrk knew this story, and he tuned out immediately: he didn't want to think about how he had done nothing about Grimmjow's punishment; how he had believed whole-heartedly that Aizen was justified. His eyes started drifting around the room.
Light… light glinting off white, surrounded by black. The strange stick-like things in the white Captain's hair.
White amongst black. It was familiar.
The courtroom jerked, and disappeared.
On the second day I brought her a flower
She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
I said, "Do you know where the wild roses grow
So sweet and scarlet and free?"
"Aizen-sama…"
Hands are pinning him to black silk sheets again, a mouth pressing against his throat. Starrk should have no pulse, for he has no heart, but in this room, he can feel the fluttering of his skin against Aizen-sama's lips; a shallow, rapid thing.
A butterfly in its last throes, pinned to a wall.
"Aizen-sama…"
Is that voice really his, so tremulous, so afraid? Starrk does not want to be selfish; does not want to take without giving. He has taken so much from Aizen-sama already; has surrounded himself with the feel of people around him, taking comfort in the subtle press of reiatsu against his with every moment he spends in Las Noches. He has been given so much, so surely this… this should not be too much to offer in return.
And yet a part of his mind is screaming in denial. Yet his body will not obey his desperate commands to relax for the insistent press of Aizen-sama's fingers; yet his very instincts demand for sour bile to rise in his throat with every kiss.
"What is it, Starrk?"
Brown eyes finally lift to meet his. Starrk winces as fingers leave his body, and he tries not to flinch when Aizen-sama streaks red wetness over his cheeks.
"Why do you do this?"
He clicks his mouth shut immediately, but it is too late: the question has already torn out of him, having built up for days – too long.
A moment passes. Starrk holds his breath in the back of his throat, and does not dare to move.
Slowly, Aizen-sama pulls away from him. His white clothes strokes over Starrk's bared skin, and his eyes narrow as they turn cold.
"Do you know what the humans believe to be the gods of their world, Starrk?" Aizen-sama asks. He sits on the edge of the bed, his back to Starrk, his shoulders entirely stiff and unmoving.
Starrk blinks, confused. His mind sings suddenly at those words, at the story and knowledge hidden underneath, and he barely restrains himself from crawling forward. He knows, instinctively, that Aizen-sama will be angry if he does so.
Instead, he sits up, folding his hands in his lap. "No, I don't," he answers quietly.
"There are many gods," Aizen-sama begins. He is murmuring, barely loud enough to be heard. Starrk has to strain his hearing to catch the words, forcing himself to not move forward. "In the minds of humans, every province, every village, has its own patron deity who guards and watches over them."
Starrk nods, not even knowing if Aizen-sama can see him, but hoping that it will not ensure that his Lord does not stop.
"No human has ever seen a god, of course," Aizen-sama continues, shrugging. "Yet they still believe. In times of flood and famine, humans sacrifice what little they have, giving to the gods in hopes of having a better harvest. Not once do they ever suspect that the gods that they pray to might be the ones who had sent the famine or flood. Their faith in the goodness of their patron is absolute."
Aizen-sama chuckles, the sound low and dark.
"Perhaps they only believe in such a thing due to their lack of power and their pitiably short lives," he muses quietly. "But, Starrk…"
He turns suddenly, his gaze catching and holding Starrk's own. Slowly, his smile widens even further, sharp at the edges.
"There is something admirable in their purity of their faith, isn't there?"
Starrk gasps as a hand grabs his chin, nail digging into his skin as he is dragged forward. Aizen-sama's eyes pin him down, force him to not move, and Starrk feels as if every breath he has ever taken is being dragged out of him.
"I have favoured you much, Starrk," Aizen-sama murmurs. "Despite Barragan's protests, I have made you the Primera based on your power alone. What human will not be desperate for such favour? What human will not be willing to trust entirely to a god that has shown that so much grace?"
Starrk knows his mistake now. He lowers his eyes and bows his head.
"My deepest apologies, Aizen-sama," he says, his tongue tripping slightly over the formalistic language. Aizen-sama has been trying to teach him the shape of more complex sentences lately, and though Starrk does not understand the use of it, he has learned eagerly. Perhaps if he shows that he has taken all those lessons to heart, Aizen-sama will not be angry.
"I will not be selfish any longer."
"Selfish?" Aizen-sama repeats, sounding surprised. "What makes you think of that?"
"The faith you have in me must be repaid," he answers quietly, lifting his eyes to meet Aizen-sama's brown ones. "I have been very selfish to have doubted you."
A moment of silence passes before Aizen-sama laughs, low and deep and full of warming mirth. "Ah Starrk," he says, stroking one cheek. "I will never cease to be surprised by the quickness of your mind."
"Aizen-sama?"
"Truly, you have exceeded my expectations," Aizen-sama says, smiling. "It has barely been a week since I have first taught you the meaning of selfishness, and yet you now understand it perfectly."
Starrk closes his eyes, letting his Lord brush his lips over the trembling lids.
"I am not selfish, Starrk," Aizen-sama breathes into his ear, teeth grazing over the curve. "You will be rewarded for your faith and your eagerness. There is no need for you to sacrifice your pain for my pleasure today."
Those brown eyes are approvingly gentle when they rest on him, and Starrk lets himself be pushed back onto the bed. He spreads his legs willingly, gasping lightly when Aizen-sama kisses him, opening his mouth to allow that tongue to stroke over every single inch of his mouth.
He is surrounded by warmth, Aizen-sama's strong, irrepressible reiatsu surrounding him. Every inch of his Lord's skin that touches him feels good, like… like something he cannot describe, for he has never felt it before. When Aizen-sama slides into him, his fingers warm and gentle upon his thighs, Starrk finds the words.
This is what faith and favour of a god feels like. This is what it means to have done well.
Starrk arches up, surrounded by pleasure, invaded by heat.
In that moment…
In that moment, he swears that he give this man his every desire. There is no longer anything within Starrk that he will not be willing to sacrifice. If he has to give up his life to make this man the ruler of Heaven that he so wishes, then so be it; his life is forfeit.
After all, Starrk is not a selfish man. He will not take the pleasure his god gives without giving in return.
On the second day he came with a single red rose
He said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?"
I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed
"If I show you the roses will you follow?"
Grimmjow was laughing. The sound of his mad, raucous cackling was loud enough to pierce through the fog in Starrk's mind, whipping the wisps of memory away by its sheer harshness.
"Fuck, that's damned rich!" he was saying through gasped breaths, holding his stomach. Starrk blinked, staring at him before flicking over to the old man, who looked stern and unamused.
"Answer the question, Arrancar," the old man stated frostily.
Straightening, Grimmjow met those dark, slitted eyes. He grinned wide, baring all of his teeth.
"Hold him down and slit his throat," he said, still chuckling. "Tie him up and all of you stab him until he's dead."
The laughter died suddenly, and the usually volatile man shook his head, strangely solemn. "Do it however you like, but make sure he's dust and bones at the end of it. If you don't… you'll end up regretting it."
"You have such faith in me, Grimmjow," Aizen drawled suddenly, and the sound of his voice – his real voice – startled Starrk so much that he would have jumped if Lilynette wasn't still sitting on him.
He forced himself not to turn to look.
"Faith?" Grimmjow sneered. "You've got it all wrong. I know you, you piece of shit. You're a goddamned vampire, and you'll suck the life out of anyone unless you're a pile of dust."
Aizen opened his mouth, but before he could say another word, the old man was slamming his cane onto the ground.
"Enough!" he thundered, voice echoing loudly in the courtroom that was suddenly filled with fire-tinged reiatsu. "The accused has not been given permission to speak. You will be silent."
Slowly, his attention turned back to Grimmjow. "Your suggestion will be considered, Grimmjow Jaegarjaquez. You may return to your seat."
"Finally."
The old man ignored him, lifting his eyes to scan the crowd once more before his gaze stopped.
"Tier Harribel, former Tercera Espada," he called. "Come forward."
With her usual regal fluidity, Harribel stood from her seat. She walked towards the judge's pedestal, her shoes tapping rhythmically on the ground. Her face was a complete blank even when she caught Grimmjow's gaze and the man snarled at her.
The Captain-Commander's lieutenant – Starrk noticed the First Division badge on his arm for the first time – requested for Harribel to speak the truth, and she agreed.
"Are your reasons for joining Aizen Sousuke's army the same as the other two who had already testified, Tier Harribel?" the old man asked.
Harribel shook her head. "No," she said quietly. Her voice was so soft that Kyouraku's shoulders brushed against Starrk's as he leaned in.
"He promised me a world without sacrifice."
"Elaborate."
She closed her eyes. "I am sickened by the state of Hueco Mundo," she murmured. "Grimmjow sees it as being ruled by power, and though he is not incorrect, his viewpoint is merely typical. I see it differently."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Starrk watched as Neliel put a hand right over Grimmjow's mouth, stopping him from interrupting Harribel.
"In Heuco Mundo, strength and survival is only possible when there is sacrifice," she continued in the same quiet voice. "I became a Vasto Lorde by sacrificing the lives of all those around me, and I am sick of it. I sickened of hearing the screams of the dying; I sickened of having to constantly kill just so I will not be destroyed."
Suddenly, Harribel's gaze caught his. Starrk's breath hitched in his throat.
"Aizen promised to give me my dearest wish, using it to win my loyalty."
The look in Harribel's eyes… it was so achingly familiar. The pain of being betrayed; the grief of having what one so dearly desired snatched out of their hands by the same person who offered it…
Starrk's hands trembled. He tore his eyes away from her.
For the third time, the courtroom disappeared.
On the third day he took me to the river
He showed me the roses and we kissed
And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
As he knelt above me with a rock in his fist
"Come here, Starrk."
Starrk steps into the room, hesitating only a moment at the door. His eyes are fixed upon Aizen-sama's face, at the upward curve of his lips, at the warm brown eyes. He tries to find the hint of loneliness there that he had found but a few weeks ago, but it is absent, hidden away: Aizen-sama only allows it freedom when he takes Starrk to his bed, when he joins their body together, when Starrk's blood paints his skin until the scent of metal nearly overwhelms that of sex and salt.
He finds himself seeking for that connection between them for it is the only thing that gives him the urge to wake up whenever he finds himself falling asleep. In the desert, he has slept for so long for it is the only thing that eases his boredom; here, in this castle made of packed white sand and lit by a sun that never moved, he sleeps to ease the itching urge beneath his skin, the buzzing whispers in his mind.
"You called for me, Aizen-sama?"
Aizen-sama beckons him with long fingers bent inwards. Starrk slouches towards him, his legs sluggish as they have been recently. He hides his hands in his pockets.
Fingers curl over his jaw, thumb stroking over the light stubble of his beard, as Aizen-sama lifts his head to stare into his eyes. Starrk's breath hitches when he finds it: that small hint of loneliness reaching out to him from the depths right before Aizen-sama gives him a gentle smile.
"I need you to do something for me," Aizen-sama murmurs.
"Anything," Starrk promises. "Anything for you, Aizen-sama."
The whispers start to shriek in his mind; Starrk silences them. He does not wish to be like those three men; he does not wish to be selfish and give nothing for what he has taken.
Slowly, Aizen-sama turns his head to the side. For the first time, Starrk notices the broken Arrancar chained to the walls. He stares at it, taking in the feral eyes and the sharp teeth exposed by the thin lips drawn back into a snarl. The mask fragment on his face is a large horn jutting out from the top of his head, slashing down its face before curving into a sharp curve at its jaw.
Even in this room where his powers are muted, Starrk notices that the reiatsu that the Arrancar owns is barely a whisper in the still air around them. It is, at most, a newly-evolved Adjuchas. Starrk wonders, dully, if it is even capable of speech yet.
"Do you know why Barragan and all those below you follow me, Starrk?" Aizen-sama asks.
Starrk blinks at him before he shakes his head. He suspects, but he does not know; and, selfishly, he wants Aizen-sama to tell him, to fill his head, so empty of memories, with knowledge.
Aizen-sama smiles, his thumb stroking over Starrk's lips.
"It's because I'm the most courageous man they had ever met," Aizen-sama murmurs. "I am afraid of nothing."
Stepping away from him, Aizen-sama walks over to the nameless Arrancar chained over the wall. His large hand drops down onto red hair, stroking the strands between his fingers before he grips tight and yanks the head backwards, exposing its throat. The Arrancar growls, snarling wordlessly as his teeth snaps, trying to bite.
"Today's lesson will be on courage," Aizen-sama tells him, still smiling. Starrk tries to not shiver, although he cannot help the urge to clench his fingers into fists inside his pockets.
He beckons at Starrk again, and Starrk stumbles forward, his legs moving on automatic. His eyes are drawn towards the snarling Arrancar, surely newly-made by the Hogyouku, like everyone else in Las Noches.
(Except Starrk. Yet another way his power and strength has separated him from those around him.)
"Kill him."
At the sound of the world 'kill', the Arrancar starts to struggle. His thin, human-like wrists strain against the chains pinning him to the wall. Eyes, once blue in colour, has turned bloodshot, the sclera almost entirely red. Spittle flies out of its open mouth, landing on the front of its white uniform tunic.
A memory tugs at Starrk, vague images forming at the back of his eyelids. A creature covered in fur, standing on all fours, with eyes much like this creature, growling and snapping at everything around it, wild and…
Rabid. A rabid dog.
Starrk knows that he is a wolf. The voices in his mind scream even louder than usual, but the sight of Aizen-sama's questioning, warm eyes silence them. He opens his mouth, but no words escapes.
He swallows.
"I don't like to kill, Aizen-sama," he finally manages to say. His voice sounds weak even to his own ears. He remembers the first time that he has questioned Aizen-sama, but surely… surely this is merely a statement of fact?
Aizen-sama sighs heavily. He lets go of the Arrancar, and he is immediately in front of Starrk. His power is so great that not even this room can rob him of it, and Starrk forces himself to not tremble when Aizen-sama grips his chin and kisses him forcefully. Lips scorch his skin; teeth that feels like fire itself tears it open. Blood drips down the corners of Starrk's mouth, staining yet another uniform shirt with red.
Slowly, Aizen-sama pulls away again. His hand, when it strokes Starrk's cheek, is gentle and warm.
"You are afraid," Aizen-sama says, his voice soft but undeniable. Brown eyes strips away Starrk's words, tearing away at his skin, leaving him trembling as raw nerves at exposed to his gaze. All of Starrk's newly-built defences have been torn away, leaving him exposed like he has always been in this man's eyes.
"Courage, Starrk," he says, his voice calmly cutting through the rising whines of the Arrancar right behind him, "is fearlessness."
He smiles.
"Can you be fearless for me?"
A thumb strokes over Starrk's bleeding lips, spreading red over his skin, the scent of metal over the air.
"Will you be fearless enough to kill for my sake?"
Starrk cannot breathe. He stares over Aizen-sama's shoulder to the Arrancar on the ground. It is whining now, aware and intelligent enough to know that it will soon be destroyed. Forcing air through his teeth, Starrk turns to look at Aizen-sama again.
There is such hope in those brown eyes now.
"Don't disappoint me, Starrk," Aizen-sama says quietly. There is a hint of danger in his tone; not the threat of pain, but one of the heavy, crushing weight of failure. Starrk's hands tremble in his pockets, and he wants, suddenly, to turn and run away.
But he will be alone again, and surely…
He swallows.
"I can't use any of my weapons here, Aizen-sama," he says; a hopeless, last-ditch protest tangled up with agreement.
Aizen-sama laughs, the sound rich and deep. He leans in, his lips brushing over Starrk's temple, right over his hairline.
"You have your hands, don't you?" he asks, fingers crawling like a spider over Starrk's throat. "You need nothing else for a creature like this."
Before Starrk can react, before he can give in the instinctive urge to retch at the thought of ripping apart someone (not something, someone) with his bare hands, Aizen-sama is already stepping back, looking at him expectantly. Starrk stands there, motionless, his mind screaming, his body aching for the oblivion of sleep.
Then he takes a step forward, lifting his hands from his pockets. He stares at them; stares at the sight of Aizen-sama's fingers, reaching out to remove one glove. The stark black of the tattoo sears itself to the back of his eyelids.
"Don't let me down.
"My dear Primera."
Starrk gives a moment to wish, desperately and hopelessly, for powerlessness, for surely it is the only thing that can remove the weight of Aizen-sama's expectations from his shoulders. Such a heavy weight, crushing all the air out of his lungs, making him dizzy…
He bites down on his own lips and rushes forward. Though he wants to do nothing else, he does not close his eyes.
His nails are short; they are not claws and he does not remember them ever being so. But there is strength in the bones of his hand, power in his very grip. He seizes the vulnerable throat, tearing the skin. Blood spills immediately, but the skin is still remaining, an open flap framing the windpipe inside. The Arrancar's mouth opens as it thrashes, gurgling, blood spurting all over Starrk's hands, uniform, face…
Fingers grab hold of the exposed trachea, ripping it open. Starrk knows, then, that he will never forget the sound: the high-pitched wheezing of air escaping the mess that has once been a throat. He strikes, desperately, almost unseeing, grabbing hold of the mask on top of the Arrancar's head, breaking it, half-tearing his face off as he rips the bone apart.
With one last soundless shriek, mouth open and spilling red, the Arrancar collapses and turns into dust.
Starrk trembles. He stares at his hands; stares at the pieces of flesh sticking on his fingers. Grey spots shiver at the corners of his eyes.
And Aizen-sama is suddenly in front of him. Starrk watches dully as his Lord takes his hand, raising it to his mouth. Aizen-sama licks the blood clean from the back, until the gothic tattoo of the number one is once more exposed.
Then Aizen-sama grabs his face with both hands, crushing their mouths together, forces the taste of metal of blood onto Starrk's tongue. Starrk gasps, trying to pull backwards, but Aizen-sama shoves him down onto the floor, pinning him to the ground with one hand as his lips stretch into a bloodstained smile.
"Magnificent," Aizen-sama breathes. "That was a truly a magnificent display, Starrk."
Starrk does not move, barely reacts as Aizen-sama pulls off his hakama, as Aizen-sama digs fingers into him to open up his body. He jerks when Aizen-sama scrapes over a spot inside him, making pleasure burst inside his body; seize when Aizen-sama's tongue slides over the edges of his Hollow hole, making his body shiver.
"Starrk."
The sound of impatience in Aizen-sama's voice pulls Starrk's focus back to him. He blinks, staring at the other man blankly before realising that Aizen-sama is on top of him, his cock inside him, and Starrk feels almost nothing.
"Starrk."
His hair is grabbed, forcing him to look into those brown eyes. Starrk's own grey-blue ones widen when he sees it again: the aching loneliness within the depths, nearly drowned out by the anger at the edges.
"Don't ignore me, Starrk."
Surely beneath that harsh growl is a plea; a plea to not be turned away from, a plea to not be abandoned…
Starrk breathes in hard through his teeth, using the lingering taste of red to force his mind into complete silence. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Aizen-sama's shoulders, fixing his gaze on brown eyes so he doesn't see the streaks of blood he leaves behind with his touch.
"I'm not ignoring you, Aizen-sama," he says.
Aizen-sama stares at him for a moment before he smiles again: gentle, warm, nearly beatific.
He takes hold of Starrk's legs, folding them into half before he fucks him again; fucks him into the pool of blood; fucks him into the floor where an Arrancar – almost like Starrk – has once been chained, struggling in a desperate attempt to live.
Like the first time, Aizen-sama's fingers burnt the tears dry.
On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
As I kissed her goodbye, I said, "All beauty must die"
And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth
"Starrk-san?" Kyouraku was whispering by his side, his hand shaking Starrk's shoulder hard. "Starrk-san!"
He jerked, dragging a breath through his teeth. The air tasted of ashes.
Blinking, he turned towards Kyouraku, eyes still wide from the memories that had dragged him into their depths. Kyouraku looked at him for a moment before saying, gently, "It is your turn."
Ah, right; his testimony. Harribel was always halfway back to her seat. Starrk lifted his head, meeting her eyes for a moment. The dreadful similarity was gone – her gaze was as impassive as always now, though she nodded to him before she walked, straight-backed, to her seat.
"Coyote Starrk and Lilynette Gingerbuck," the old man called, slamming his cane onto the ground. "We do not have all day to wait for you."
Starrk shrugged off Kyouraku's hand before exchanging a glance with Lilynette. She was looking at him with solemn eyes, reaching out. Wrapping his fingers around hers, they walked down the steps, footsteps in tandem, before turning towards the high pedestal where the Captain-Commander was.
They stood in front of him and lifted their heads to meet his gaze. Starrk could feel the heavy weight of the stares of all those around them, but he only swallowed a sigh.
He swore to speak the truth mechanically. By his side, Lilynette's voice sounded small.
"I presume that your reasons for following Aizen were different from the rest," the old man said, lifting an eyebrow at them.
Starrk lidded his eyes. "Lilynette," he prompted softly.
She could read his mood well enough, and though he could see her pouting, she complied without complaint.
"He promised us comrades," she told the floor.
"Comrades?" the scepticism in the old man's question was hurtfully clear. The gasps of surprised – and not few disbelieving snorts – around them brushed his hair.
"Shut up!" Lilynette yelled, glaring hard at everyone around her. "Shut up, all of you! You don't… you can't even understand what it was like!"
Biting her lip, she straightened, staring up at the judge, sitting all the way up above. "We used to be one. But we… we were so strong that everyone who came near us died. All of them… every single one… they dissolved the moment they tried to get near us." Her voice was starting to shake, thickening with tears.
The room was silent.
"There were only the mountains of corpses. They were so tall, taller than we were… they were all that we could see. And we were alone… we were so so alone…"
She gulped for breath.
"We had each other, but it… it wasn't the same. Starrk is me and I am Starrk. It's not enough. It's not enough, and we wanted… we just wanted…"
"Lilynette," Starrk interrupted. She looked up to him, single pink eye gleaming wetly, and he placed a hand on top of her mask fragment. "It's alright."
Sighing under his breath, he turned his attention to the Captain-Commander. It had been unfair and selfish of him to force Lilynette to answer when her wounds scored as deeply as his. Starrk wasn't a coward.
"Aizen was the first person who could approach us without dying," he said quietly. "He came to us and offered us comrades. He told me that there were people who were strong enough to withstand being around us." Aizen had also offered to make him weaker, but Starrk didn't say that; he didn't want the Shinigami to be more wary and afraid of him than they already was.
And it wasn't lying by keeping back some of the truth, was it?
"We were one Hollow, and we split apart into two just so we wouldn't be alone anymore," he continued, staring at the wall beyond the old man's shoulder. "He offered us our dearest wish."
"Did he fulfil his offer?"
Starrk laughed, sharp and bitter. "I cannot answer that question, and neither can Lilynette," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You have to ask them," he jerked his head towards the other Arrancar in the room, "if they have ever considered us as comrades."
"Nope," Grimmjow's voice rang out clearly. "And you're a stupid bastard for even wanting something that dumb."
He heard Neliel's fist connecting straight with Grimmjow's face; heard his shouted "Ow!" Starrk closed his eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "He didn't."
The old man folded his arms upon the pedestal, peering at the two of them with sharp, beady eyes from beneath heavy lids. Slowly, he cocked his head.
"Given your efforts during the battle, I shall ask you this which I have not asked of the others," he said slowly. "What crimes has he committed against the two of you?"
Starrk blinked. He wanted to laugh, but swallowed it down immediately by glancing at Lilynette. She sighed heavily, and he turned his attention back to the old man.
"None," he said simply. "He only lied."
Lies could hurt; lies could break. But they were not crimes.
"You do not consider him trying to kill you to be a crime?"
"Soutaichou-san," Starrk said slowly. "If I attempt to label trying to kill your opponent a crime, then I will be consigning Harribel, Grimmjow, Lilynette and myself to that bench," he nodded towards the direction of Aizen, deliberately not looking at his face. "After all, all of us fought against the Shinigami."
He shook his head. "I am not such a fool."
Behind him, he heard Kyouraku stifle a snicker.
The old man's eyes had opened just a fraction more when Starrk spoke, but they fell once more again before he nodded. "Very well," he said. "What of Ichimaru Gin?"
"Huh?" It was Lilynette who spoke this time. Starrk was only blinking slightly stupidly, surely belying his previous words. He was so focused on Aizen and he had nearly forgotten that Ichimaru was on trial as well.
"Did Ichimaru Gin commit any crimes against the two of you?" the old man elaborated, sounding impatient.
"Uh," Starrk said intelligently.
Lilynette snorted. "Nah," she shook her head. "I think we're way too boring for him to do try anything."
"Did you witness Ichimaru Gin committing any crimes during your time in Las Noches?" the old man pressed.
Starrk's other half stuck a finger inside her ear, digging at it. "I don't think even you Shinigami would consider being really annoying a crime," she shrugged. "Even if you do, he was annoying at people like Ulquiorra and Yammy, which means he's kind of doing the rest of us a favour, because those two are assholes."
"Ulquiorra's not that bad," Starrk commented mildly.
"He is an asshole," she asserted firmly. "He goes around saying 'trash, trash, trash' like it's the only word in his vocabulary."
"He never called me trash," he corrected her.
She kicked him on the shin. "That's because you're ranked above him and he has this weird fixation with rank. Which makes him even more of an asshole because he calls me trash all the time."
"Ow," he muttered. Shaking his head, he tried again. "Seriously, Lilynette, he's not that bad. Just kind of… stiff."
She gave him an unimpressed look. "You have no standards."
"I'm not denying that Yammy is an asshole," he pointed out, because it needed to be said. "I have standards."
"Your standards are crap."
There was laughter. Starrk's eyes widened, breaking away from his argument with Lilynette to look around them. Grimmjow had his head thrown back, practically cackling, while Neliel looked confused next to him – Ulquiorra and Yammy must be after her time, then. Harribel, however, was laughing into the high collar of her tunic – her shoulders were shaking. And so was Kyouraku's, though he was trying to hide his mirth beneath his straw hat. Ukitake's lips were twitching.
The other Shinigami looked absolutely poleaxed.
"Enough!" the cane slammed down again, and Starrk winced as the smell of fire assaulted his nose. The sound of laughter died instantly.
"Are you two quite finished?" he glared at them.
Lilynette opened her mouth, probably to say something inappropriate. Starrk grabbed her, shoving his hand over her mouth before he bowed.
"My apologies for the interruption, soutaichou-san," he said hurriedly.
The old man stared at the two of them for a long, silent moment. Lilynette was struggling in his arms, but eventually subsided so Starrk could let her go. The moment she was standing straight again, the Captain-Commander continued.
"I have your word that Ichimaru Gin had committed no crimes upon the two of you, and you have witnessed none being committed?"
Starrk shook his head. "No, sir," he said quietly.
"Hm."
Another long moment passed. Lilynette started to fidget, and Starrk was reaching out to her to calm her down when the old man spoke again.
"What shall be Aizen Sousuke's rightful punishment, in your view?"
Lilynette went completely still. Starrk's hand twitched, and he straightened. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head and turned right towards Aizen.
Although he had expected this – he guessed that was the question Grimmjow was answering during the brief moment Starrk was paying attention to his testimony – he couldn't help the way his pulse was suddenly pounding in his ears. Especially not when those brown eyes were fixed on him, with that terribly familiar knowing smile on his lips.
"Imprisonment," he said softly. "He should be imprisoned for however long he might live, cut off of contact with anyone else, with only the voices in his head as company."
He paused for a moment, taking in the way Aizen's eyes were silently narrowing, before he continued.
"My suggestion is not based on revenge, soutaichou-san," he said, "but on understanding Aizen's character."
"Explain."
Starrk nodded, gaze still fixed on Aizen's as he continued, "I have seen the loneliness in his eyes, and I know it is not a lie." He knew it too well to not be able to recognise the insincerity. "But he possesses arrogance enough to make-believe himself to be a god, enough arrogance to see all those around him to be clay. His greatest desire, and what gives him most satisfaction, is to see people around him behave according to what he thinks they should. He glories in the hatred in your eyes, for then you acknowledge his power over you. You acknowledge his existence."
He licked his lips nervously, hearing the sudden spate of whispers that was filling the courtroom. Starrk knew it was true; knew now with a clarity that he was absolute certain about even though he could not know where it came from.
His mind had always put the pieces together far faster than he could find the words to articulate; faster than he had ever wanted it to.
"If you try to kill him, then it will be his victory, in his eyes. But if you imprison him and forget about him… it means he no longer exists. The loneliness he feels will consume him from the inside, and he will be destroyed entirely."
"Starrk."
The low growl made a mockery of Aizen's usually smooth voice. The calm, smug look in Aizen's eyes that Starrk had gotten so used was destroyed, replaced by hatred and rage.
Making sure that his eyes stayed open, Starrk smiled, bitter and cold.
"The lesson I learned best from you is about yourself."
He did not lie: Starrk understood Aizen perfectly. It did not mean that he was healed; it simply meant that he knew how to turn away.
And he did so now, facing the judge once more.
The old man was looking at him with dark, contemplative eyes. After a moment, he nodded sharply.
"We will take your suggestion into consideration," he intoned. His gaze rested on Starrk and Lilynette both for a long moment.
"You may return to your seats."
Starrk bowed once more, taking Lilynette's hand into this as they walked back. He stared straight ahead, trying to ignore but all too aware of the many pairs of eyes that were fixed upon him. At least they weren't looking at Lilynette, though that was a cold comfort.
Kyouraku leaned in once Starrk had sat down, and those grey eyes, though thoughtful, were bright with mirth.
"You are a terrifying man, Starrk-san," Kyouraku said lightly, smiling out from the corner of his mouth. "I am very glad that I don't have to fight against you anymore."
Starrk's eyes slid towards him, and he cocked his head. "Like recognises like, taichou-san," he murmured under his breath.
After all, it was only this morning that Kyouraku had practically ripped his entire being apart with his eyes and words alone.
The other man's eyes widened slightly before he chuckled under his breath. "Ah, then I suppose that we match each other well, then?"
Blinking, Starrk looked at him. He opened his mouth, wanting to know what Kyouraku meant, but he didn't have a chance. The male Visored with the blond hair and wide grin was walking towards the Captain-Commander.
So he left the questions for another time, simply leaning back slightly to listen instead.
Notes: The first story Aizen told Starrk – about the boy, his friend, the three men, and the demon – is, of course, a bastardised version of Gin's first meeting with Aizen. The second story, about the gods of provinces, is a bastardisation of Japanese Shinto practices.
Seven chapters and way too many words, but I hope that my characterisation of Aizen, and the reason behind his relationship with Starrk, actually makes sense now. Thank you for staying with me all this while.
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. There is a lot happening here. I hope the pacing works.
As always, reviews will be loved.