Bleach: The First Cut
This is for riddering, as I heard she was feeling down and might like a bit of warped Arrankar/Aizen/Hinamori triangle stuff. There will be three parts; this is the first. Concrit most welcome.
The First Cut
by cinnamongrr1
It was almost insultingly easy to infiltrate the boundaries of Soul Society and steal into the enclave of Seireitai. Grimmjow wondered at the lengths the ryouka had to go to in order to accomplish the same, but then dismissed it as another example of exaggeration on Ichimaru’s part. The man seemed incapable of telling the truth when a lie could be employed.
No matter. Grimmjow stole toward the 5th division headquarters and effortlessly scaled the side of the building. It was dark, his reiatsu was sealed down tight, and everyone was so involved with their own sad little worlds that not a one noticed a blue-haired Arrancar peering through the windows at them.
He had trouble deciding which one she was. To have captured Aizen’s attention so completely, she had to be lovely and buxom, a veritable goddess among women… but Aizen had also mentioned, repeatedly, how short and slight she was. With a pang of regret, Grimmjow turned away from the window where a rather fine specimen of womanhood was currently disrobing for the night.
Another floor up, and he found what he sought; a mere slip of a girl, her plain face drawn and sad. Skeptical that she could be “the one”, Grimmjow decided a test was in order. He angled his mouth to the edge of the window and whispered, “Aaaiiiizzzeeennn.”
Her response was everything he could have hoped for. She went stock-still, her eyes the only thing that didn’t freeze, darting up and around as if the sound could appear to them in thin air. Yes, this was the famed Hinamori Momo. There was no need to test her further, but Grimmjow had always enjoyed twisting the knife.
“Aaaiiizzzeeennn,” he sang again, a little louder.
This time, she dropped the comb in her hand and rushed to the window. Hands on the sill, she leaned far out, her face lit with a hope so achingly vivid that Grimmjow understood for the first time why his lord might be so entranced by her.
In a flash, he had the bag over her head (and unable to stifle a giggle at the irony of it) and her body slung over his shoulder. He shunpo’d to the outskirts of Rukongai and leapt once more into the rift between worlds. Back in Hueco Mundo, he released the bounds on his reiatsu with a sigh of relief, and noticed for the first time that she hadn’t made a sound, or tried to fight him. It made him suspicious. Once in his quarters, he plunked her down in a chair and whipped off the bag.
“Why didn’t you struggle?” he demanded, glaring down at her.
She blinked several times at the brighter light (huge eyes, utterly guileless and entreating, how he hated them) and breathed deeply of the fresher air.
“You came to bring me to Aizen-taichou, didn’t you?” she asked haltingly.
It was on Grimmjow’s lips to deny it, but then he remembered what Ichimaru had told him once: you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Grimmjow wanted to catch a fat, juicy fly.
“Yes,” he replied easily. “But only if you do exactly as I say.”
Slowly, she nodded, and he couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face. This was fun. He dragged a chair directly in front of her and sat in it, so close their knees touched, and leaned toward her until their lips were just a hair’s breadth apart.
“Tell me,” he began, “what you did to make him unable to forget you.”
She blinked again, this time in surprise. “What do you mean?”
His eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean. What did you do that, no matter what I try, it’s never good enough? Never as good as what you did?”
She appeared genuinely confused, but Grimmjow wasn’t buying the innocent act. No woman who could imprint herself on the soul of his lord the way this one had could be so clueless.
“Don’t lie to me!” His hand shot up and thrust into her hair, snagging on the bun at the back of her head. She winced and cried out in pain; he ignored it. “You know what I’m talking about!”
Alarmed at his sudden anger, Hinamori shook her head frantically, hands out to fend him off. He stood and dragged her off the chair by his handful of her hair, then tossed her to the floor and worked at the ties to his clothing. He peeled open his hakama on one side and grabbed her hair again.
“Show me,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Show me what you did to make him yours so entirely.”
Hinamori braced her hands on his thighs, pushing away with all her might. “I did nothing,” she insisted, eyes steadfastly lifted to his even as tears leaked from them. “Nothing different, nothing special.”
Grimmjow’s rage shifted; he recognized that this was getting him nowhere, and he was losing patience. Why not employ some of Ichimaru’s craft, and Aizen’s duplicity? He channeled his fury into the impetus for something else.
“Alright,” he said after a while, and his grasp gentled in her hair. “Let’s try something else.” He almost laughed at her expression of relief. “You show me what you used to do to him, and I will bring you to him.”
Her face was a riot of conflicting emotions; hope/despair, relief/apprehension, and disgust mingled with a rather intriguing amount of reluctant interest… it would seem that beneath her prim façade, Hinamori Momo was somewhat of a voluptuary.
“Do you promise?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. Her breath was hot as it wafted across his soft cock, and he felt himself begin to harden. The atmosphere in the room changed, seeming to thicken a little, and at its center was this tiny girl who had what he wanted. Suddenly, it was important that she agree, that she touch him.
“I promise,” he replied, a little confused at his newfound urgency as he beckoned her closer, his hands still in her hair but far more kind than before.
Shyly, she opened her mouth and took him inside, sucking lightly on the swollen crown of his cock while her tongue rubbed against the tendon beneath, and all the while her eyes were locked on his. She was waiting for his reaction, he realized, needing his approval, and he let out a groan of appreciation.
“More,” he said, voice husky, and felt his eyes drift closed. “Take in more of it.”
Her hands slipped up his thighs to clasp his hips, and Hinamori obediently took more of him into her mouth, her tongue never resting, but always moving, slithering against the underside almost to its base. Then, alarmingly, she pulled off, and Grimmjow’s eyes flew open in alarm.
“Aizen-taichou,” she murmured, “won’t you look at me?”
Ah, he realized, and nodded, locking gazes with her even as he guided her mouth back onto his cock. She moved her head fore and aft, stroking him within the supple circle of her lips, and Grimmjow felt shivers ripple through him at the prolonged eye contact. There was something harrowing about it, this electric connection between the two of them, made more disturbing by the dreamy cast to Hinamori’s face as she worked his cock.
She really was seeing Aizen instead of him, her entire being focused on tending him and bringing him pleasure. It threw into sharp counterpoint Grimmjow’s own actions when he was with Aizen, how he would rub himself against Aizen’s leg or use one hand to stroke himself to completion as his lord thrust into his mouth. Hinamori’s ministrations were selfless, utterly designed to pleasure her lover without concern for her own fulfillment.
He saw, now, that it was no matter of mere technique that bound Hinamori to Aizen, and he to her. It was a complete submission of the self for the other’s gratification, and one that demanded as much as it gave. Aizen needed to be made the whole center of one’s world in the same way that Hinamori needed to have him be that center. It was a symbiosis of dependence-turned-pleasure, and Grimmjow knew with sudden, breathtaking clarity that he’d never be able to subject himself to that extent.
He was too greedy, too selfish, too eager. He wanted Aizen’s approval just as much as Hinamori, but could not content himself with waiting until Aizen deigned to give it to him. He would never be able to replace her, usurp her, erase her from his lord’s memory.
Anger welled within him once more, fierce and hot, and another emotion: jealousy. This plain, weak girl held more power simply because of who she was, and in the way her adoration tasted just a little differently from Grimmjow’s own. He wanted to ruin it, this fragile fantasy she’d built, and let her know in no uncertain terms that he was not Aizen, was not anyone but himself. Abruptly, he pulled away from her.
“Aizen-taichou?” she asked. Her lips gleamed wetly, and her face was dazed at being ripped from her daydream so suddenly.
His hands went under her arms, and he flung her without ceremony to the bed. “Hush, Hinamori-kun,” he crooned, and began to undress her. “Don’t you think it’s time for me to do you the same favour?” For he had figured out the best way to turn her little dream to a nightmare, to reverse the roles, to make “Aizen-taichou” the supplicant and Hinamori herself the receptacle of attention.
“But…” There was true distress on her face, real confusion. It never went this way, Grimmjow could tell, and reveled in her dismay.
“Relax,” he told her soothingly, unable to keep from smiling at how fun it was to get her to submit to him. “Trust your Aizen-taichou.”
Slowly, she nodded and went limp in his grasp, even raising her hips to let him slide her hakama off. He parted her legs and found her drenched, fiercely aroused from her tending to him earlier. Grimmjow had never been with a female, but knew the basic mechanics of it all, and figured that sucking had to be a universal pleasure.
He sealed his lips around the little hard bud of flesh at the top of her slit and gave a hard pull with his mouth. She screamed, limbs flailing around him almost comically. Grimmjow wondered if he’d hurt Hinamori until he saw a fresh flood of moisture seep from her. Well, then.
He tentatively lapped at her, tasting the slickness that coated her from stem to stern, and found it not objectionable- a little salty, a little sweet. He cleaned her of every trace of it, his ears drinking in the sound of her moans and sighs, before paying attention to her clit once more.
This time, her cries were lower-pitched-- throaty, even- as she writhed beneath him, and it felt like a personal victory when her hands found his hair, threading through and pulling. He worked her clit until she was panting and shaking, almost weeping at the intensity of it all, and then pulled away.
She cried out wordlessly, alarmed, reaching for him. Her eyes were bright, nearly feverish. “Please!” she entreated.
Grimmjow rolled away from her, sitting at the head of the bed with his back against the wall. His cock, still hard as granite, was aching for release and he could tell she was already somewhat ashamed by how passionately she’d responded to him, but he was determined to destroy her little delusions as thoroughly as possible.
“What’s my name, Hinamori-kun?” he asked silkily, idly stroking himself and enjoying how her gaze was drawn to the motion, how she licked her lips unconsciously, how her little nipples stiffened with arousal.
“Ai-Aizen-taichou,” she said after a long pause, but it sounded forced.
“And what do you want, Hinamori-kun?”
“I want to bring you pleasure, Aizen-taichou.”
“And take none for yourself?” he goaded, smiling at the guilty flush spreading across her cheeks and down her chest. “You were wet for me, Hinamori-kun, and I distinctly remember you pulling my hair, crying out-“
“Enough!” she interrupted, fists pressed to her temples. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” replied Grimmjow. “I want to come. How you choose to make it happen is up to you. You can use your mouth, but that doesn’t take care of your own arousal, does it?” He trailed his fingertips down the length of his cock, cupping his balls in his other hand. “Or you can fuck me, and we can both get off.”
Her conflict was a lovely thing to see; she was aroused, terribly, and the illusion of Aizen was crumbling around her. She desperately wanted to reconstruct it, but doing so would mean rejecting her body’s own sensual imperatives. She saw, then, what he’d done to her, and the choice he’d forced her to make. Ignore her own need for climax and thus maintain the subjugation she’d always had with Aizen, and live with frustration; or she could throw it all away, and claim the pleasure that was hers for the taking.
“What will it be, Hinamori-kun?”
For a moment, she trembled on the edge of a precipice; Grimmjow found himself holding his breath as he waited for her decision. For a long, tense moment he honestly had no idea which way she would go; then she exhaled and seemed to grow smaller, somehow, settling herself between his legs.
Her tongue was warm and wet as it lapped against him, laving both cock and the fingers still wrapped around it, and Grimmjow was torn between relief at the sensation and almost wrenching disappointment that she was stronger than he; that her will to self-delusion could not be conquered.
This time, at least, a tiny voice whispered in his mind.
“Aizen-taichou,” she whispered against his balls, nuzzling then with her nose before mouthing one skillfully, her little hand fondling his cock in long, lazy strokes. And still her eyes were fixed on his, somehow impossibly innocent in the face of the debauched picture she presented.
Grimmjow couldn’t help it; he’d wanted it to last longer, but he was not one to deny himself, when it came right down to it. Heat rushed through him, and pleasure snapped the fine thread of control he’d maintained thus far. He came in great, heaving gouts, the first spurt flying wild, but Hinamori swiftly latched her mouth onto him and eagerly swallowed it down, massaging his balls the whole time.
He felt his vision go dim, so intense was the sensation, and she was a vision, a dreamlike figure edged in grey. She was smiling. Loathing for her welled up in his throat, bitter and foul, and he pushed her away.
“Get dressed,” he gasped, putting his own garments to rights. Her confusion was palpable, but she said nothing. He crammed the bag over her head and once more fled to the portal, tearing a hole in the fabric of the heavens and leaping down into Soul Society. He discarded her in her room, ignoring her soft cries of a name that was not his, and fled back to Hueco Mundo.
The next time he was summoned to attend Aizen-sama, he did not feel the usual rush of anticipation.