Gift Porn! Aizen x Gin: "The Illusionists"
Whoot! I made a deadline. This is for the Holiday Fic Exchange at bleach_bdsm and it's my first time writing this pairing.
Title: "The Illusionists"
Author: joyinthedance
Requested by: libekory
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: Powerplay, slight dubcon, light S&M, illusion-play
Summary: Gin messes with Aizen by sitting in his throne. Aizen, and the throne, have other plans.
Disclaimer: Kubo owns all.
A/N: This is my first time writing this pairing. Hope you enjoy it! <3
For once, Aizen was not seated on his throne. Gin looked around the room, senses piqued for a ripple of reiatsu. Nothing. Just the empty hallway in icy monochrome. With a grin, he stepped forward, cocked his head to listen for the slightest of sounds, and without further caution, sat down in his superior’s seat. The stone throne was hard and surprisingly warm. Gin chuckled silently to himself. Aizen was probably not far away. He almost wanted the lord of Hueco Mundo to see him sitting there in his imposter’s pose.
Some few minutes after Gin had situated himself comfortably in the throne, he felt a cool pressure on his wrists. He looked down to see shackles forming, made of rapidly multiplying crystals, binding his hands to the arms of the great chair. Before the lighting-fast shinigami could move, his wrists were locked in place.
“Fancy yourself King of Hueco Mundo, do you?” a soft voice inquired behind him.
“Just keepin’ yer chair warm for ya, Aizen-sama,” Gin purred innocently.
Aizen stepped around to the front to face his subordinate. “So I see.” He paced in front of his captive.
“It’s sure comf’table.”
“I would hope so, Gin, because you’re going to be there for awhile.” He leaned in to tower over Gin, with the fiery spark in his chestnut eyes that bespoke wicked intentions. He urged Gin's body forward and with deft fingers parted the front of his subordinate's white robe.
Gin didn’t love Aizen; that went without saying. But oh, did he love Aizen’s mind. He studied it like a puzzle, a perfectly constructed, intricate scheming machine. It made him smile. Gin knew, or thought he knew, that Aizen wasn’t actually touching him. Aizen probably had no interest in actually touching him, or anyone; in soiling his pristine hands which were drenched in metaphorical blood, reserved for the Hougokyu alone. Those were not Aizen’s splayed fingers parting his robes and gracefully ghosting down his abdomen, arousing the downy hair on his skin as they descended. And yet, he wasn’t entirely certain that Aizen wasn’t calling his bluff, relying on Gin’s knowledge of Kyouka Suigetsu in order to really, corporally take advantage of him. Not that Gin would have minded. Trying to figure Aizen out was entertaining, but he certainly didn’t want Aizen to know he was trying so hard. All Gin ever showed him was his mask of a grin, the sincerest loyalties laced with the shadow of a doubt.
“Now,” said Aizen, “You are wondering where my hands really are.”
Gin smiled, breathing in deeply as Aizen’s fingers effortlessly undid his hakama. “Maybe. But you, Aizen-sama,” he replied, “you’re wond’ring what I am wond’ring.”
Aizen’s lips curled upward, and he cast his prey’s hakama aside. “Don’t be impertinent, Gin.” He ran a warning finger along the edge of his subordinate’s throat, then traced the path again with the warm of his tongue. Gin inhaled sharply, thin wrists straining against the diamond-hard bonds - constructions, perhaps, of Aizen’s zanpakutou. Even if the contact was real, the shackles might be an illusion. Just a game. Wasn’t it all just a game? Gin smiled.
Aizen’s hand trailed delicately down Gin’s naked body. What lay beneath that composed refinement? Pain, of course. Each of those fingers capable of so much pain. But for now, only pleasure. For now.
Aizen was shirtless, his white hakama billowing in the light reiatsu wind. Straddling the bound Gin, he began to lick and nip at his pale throat. Aizen never really kissed him. He imagined that Aizen never kissed anyone. Gin regretted not being able to move his hands. They didn’t always play bondage, but it was definitely Aizen’s favorite arrangement. In Aizen’s fantasies, Gin imagined, the whole world would be in shackles.
From where Aizen hovered, one of Gin's bound hands could reach his pelvis with a little effort. Noting Aizen’s fortuitous position, Gin moved his hands as far inward as they could go and slipped them into the hakama slits on either side of his master’s hips. A ripple of bemusement crossed Aizen’s face.
“Well now.”
Aizen allowed himself to be pleasured for a few moments. Gin’s smile deepened, and he licked his lips. He caressed the well-defined angles of Aizen’s hips, the muscular thighs, the thick hard shaft erect and patiently hidden in white folds. The brunet released a low, breathy sigh. Aizen let him tease, but there was no question of who was the master. And would Gin ever want to deprive Aizen of the pleasure he got from control? Of course not. Aizen craved power; Gin craved the intrigue. It was the simple act of betrayal that titillated his senses, the casting about of suspicions like lures on a silver fishing line -- not the goal, but the deception itself. Sex could be much like war, but war was just a game. Aizen, or Aizen’s illusionary shadow, could string him up and top the shit out of him, as long as Gin got to make him squirm a little bit. After all, Gin might have his hands tied, but for the time being he was still the one sitting in the throne.
Aizen dragged his fingers forward between Gin’s legs, passing over his opening, then moving forward to cup his balls so lightly he almost wasn’t touching them. The bound man’s back slinked upwards into an arch as Aizen palmed Gin’s erection, a calm hand pumping steadily. Gin’s legs spread further apart, and his shoulders sank down the back of the throne to give Aizen better access to all his sensitive places. Aizen loosened and dropped his own hakama, sliding up against Gin and slipping unslicked fingers inside him. Gin winced and cried out a little, but his thin smile never shattered. That was his Aizen-sama: raw, brutal, yet graceful. His body relaxed slightly around Aizen’s fingers, now craving harder, deeper touches.
“Aizen-sama…”
As Gin pushed back against his fingers, Aizen slipped them out and eased his hard length inside Gin’s trembling body. Gin relaxed as much as he could as he was penetrated, taking in the sweet fullness of his master’s manhood. Aizen began to move inside him, thrusting lustily at the perfect angle to rub Gin’s sweet spot. Gin moved with him encouragingly, ignoring the awkward angle of his bony shoulders grinding into the hard stone as his lower half was lifted clear off the throne. The slap of sweat-slicked skin on skin echoed faintly in the marble hall. The only time Gin had ever seen Aizen break a sweat was in bed - or, as the case happened to be this go-round, on the throne. He gave the man points for creativity.
“Still comfortable?” Aizen taunted calmly, almost disguising his quickening breath.
Gin moaned and panted like an animal. Comfortable? Nah…more like divine. He was being fucked by Aizen; most of his minions could only dream of that. He relished the raw internal burn, the beginnings of bruises on his wrists. His vertebrae ground against the back of the throne, and the arousal rose within him with each of his master’s angled thrusts, each stroke of his skillful, sword-callused hands over his erection. Aizen's eyes were half-lidded in lusty trance. In the back of his mind, Gin knew that Aizen was at his least powerful in this moment. On the cusp of climax, the controlling leader was almost vulnerable, letting go of the reins for a moment as genuine ecstasy took over.
Unless, of course, it was all an illusion.
Aizen continued to pound into him, harder and faster against the hard smooth stone. The brunet was no longer making the effort to tend to Gin’s erection, instead bracing his hands on the arms of the throne, just inches away from Gin’s. Touch me, Aizen-sama, he begged silently. But as the pace of Aizen’s thrusts increased, it was clear the captain had only one thing on his mind. Over and over he drove into him, bring Gin closer, closer, and yet not close enough. Too late he saw Aizen’s intentions. With a deep shudder of release, Aizen spilled into him. Gin’s own satisfaction would have to wait. His erection throbbed, painfully hard and neglected as Aizen rose and slipped back into his clothes. The lord of Hueco Mundo cast a last glance at his partner before exiting the throne room, leaving Gin’s hands bound and his body exposed.
As the shackles disintegrated, particle by particle fading into the atmosphere. Gin smiled and shook his spun-silver head. Damn. That bastard. Took what he needed and left. He stroked his still-hard shaft a few times, almost idly.
Just a game. Aizen always won.
Title: "The Illusionists"
Author: joyinthedance
Requested by: libekory
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: Powerplay, slight dubcon, light S&M, illusion-play
Summary: Gin messes with Aizen by sitting in his throne. Aizen, and the throne, have other plans.
Disclaimer: Kubo owns all.
A/N: This is my first time writing this pairing. Hope you enjoy it! <3
For once, Aizen was not seated on his throne. Gin looked around the room, senses piqued for a ripple of reiatsu. Nothing. Just the empty hallway in icy monochrome. With a grin, he stepped forward, cocked his head to listen for the slightest of sounds, and without further caution, sat down in his superior’s seat. The stone throne was hard and surprisingly warm. Gin chuckled silently to himself. Aizen was probably not far away. He almost wanted the lord of Hueco Mundo to see him sitting there in his imposter’s pose.
Some few minutes after Gin had situated himself comfortably in the throne, he felt a cool pressure on his wrists. He looked down to see shackles forming, made of rapidly multiplying crystals, binding his hands to the arms of the great chair. Before the lighting-fast shinigami could move, his wrists were locked in place.
“Fancy yourself King of Hueco Mundo, do you?” a soft voice inquired behind him.
“Just keepin’ yer chair warm for ya, Aizen-sama,” Gin purred innocently.
Aizen stepped around to the front to face his subordinate. “So I see.” He paced in front of his captive.
“It’s sure comf’table.”
“I would hope so, Gin, because you’re going to be there for awhile.” He leaned in to tower over Gin, with the fiery spark in his chestnut eyes that bespoke wicked intentions. He urged Gin's body forward and with deft fingers parted the front of his subordinate's white robe.
Gin didn’t love Aizen; that went without saying. But oh, did he love Aizen’s mind. He studied it like a puzzle, a perfectly constructed, intricate scheming machine. It made him smile. Gin knew, or thought he knew, that Aizen wasn’t actually touching him. Aizen probably had no interest in actually touching him, or anyone; in soiling his pristine hands which were drenched in metaphorical blood, reserved for the Hougokyu alone. Those were not Aizen’s splayed fingers parting his robes and gracefully ghosting down his abdomen, arousing the downy hair on his skin as they descended. And yet, he wasn’t entirely certain that Aizen wasn’t calling his bluff, relying on Gin’s knowledge of Kyouka Suigetsu in order to really, corporally take advantage of him. Not that Gin would have minded. Trying to figure Aizen out was entertaining, but he certainly didn’t want Aizen to know he was trying so hard. All Gin ever showed him was his mask of a grin, the sincerest loyalties laced with the shadow of a doubt.
“Now,” said Aizen, “You are wondering where my hands really are.”
Gin smiled, breathing in deeply as Aizen’s fingers effortlessly undid his hakama. “Maybe. But you, Aizen-sama,” he replied, “you’re wond’ring what I am wond’ring.”
Aizen’s lips curled upward, and he cast his prey’s hakama aside. “Don’t be impertinent, Gin.” He ran a warning finger along the edge of his subordinate’s throat, then traced the path again with the warm of his tongue. Gin inhaled sharply, thin wrists straining against the diamond-hard bonds - constructions, perhaps, of Aizen’s zanpakutou. Even if the contact was real, the shackles might be an illusion. Just a game. Wasn’t it all just a game? Gin smiled.
Aizen’s hand trailed delicately down Gin’s naked body. What lay beneath that composed refinement? Pain, of course. Each of those fingers capable of so much pain. But for now, only pleasure. For now.
Aizen was shirtless, his white hakama billowing in the light reiatsu wind. Straddling the bound Gin, he began to lick and nip at his pale throat. Aizen never really kissed him. He imagined that Aizen never kissed anyone. Gin regretted not being able to move his hands. They didn’t always play bondage, but it was definitely Aizen’s favorite arrangement. In Aizen’s fantasies, Gin imagined, the whole world would be in shackles.
From where Aizen hovered, one of Gin's bound hands could reach his pelvis with a little effort. Noting Aizen’s fortuitous position, Gin moved his hands as far inward as they could go and slipped them into the hakama slits on either side of his master’s hips. A ripple of bemusement crossed Aizen’s face.
“Well now.”
Aizen allowed himself to be pleasured for a few moments. Gin’s smile deepened, and he licked his lips. He caressed the well-defined angles of Aizen’s hips, the muscular thighs, the thick hard shaft erect and patiently hidden in white folds. The brunet released a low, breathy sigh. Aizen let him tease, but there was no question of who was the master. And would Gin ever want to deprive Aizen of the pleasure he got from control? Of course not. Aizen craved power; Gin craved the intrigue. It was the simple act of betrayal that titillated his senses, the casting about of suspicions like lures on a silver fishing line -- not the goal, but the deception itself. Sex could be much like war, but war was just a game. Aizen, or Aizen’s illusionary shadow, could string him up and top the shit out of him, as long as Gin got to make him squirm a little bit. After all, Gin might have his hands tied, but for the time being he was still the one sitting in the throne.
Aizen dragged his fingers forward between Gin’s legs, passing over his opening, then moving forward to cup his balls so lightly he almost wasn’t touching them. The bound man’s back slinked upwards into an arch as Aizen palmed Gin’s erection, a calm hand pumping steadily. Gin’s legs spread further apart, and his shoulders sank down the back of the throne to give Aizen better access to all his sensitive places. Aizen loosened and dropped his own hakama, sliding up against Gin and slipping unslicked fingers inside him. Gin winced and cried out a little, but his thin smile never shattered. That was his Aizen-sama: raw, brutal, yet graceful. His body relaxed slightly around Aizen’s fingers, now craving harder, deeper touches.
“Aizen-sama…”
As Gin pushed back against his fingers, Aizen slipped them out and eased his hard length inside Gin’s trembling body. Gin relaxed as much as he could as he was penetrated, taking in the sweet fullness of his master’s manhood. Aizen began to move inside him, thrusting lustily at the perfect angle to rub Gin’s sweet spot. Gin moved with him encouragingly, ignoring the awkward angle of his bony shoulders grinding into the hard stone as his lower half was lifted clear off the throne. The slap of sweat-slicked skin on skin echoed faintly in the marble hall. The only time Gin had ever seen Aizen break a sweat was in bed - or, as the case happened to be this go-round, on the throne. He gave the man points for creativity.
“Still comfortable?” Aizen taunted calmly, almost disguising his quickening breath.
Gin moaned and panted like an animal. Comfortable? Nah…more like divine. He was being fucked by Aizen; most of his minions could only dream of that. He relished the raw internal burn, the beginnings of bruises on his wrists. His vertebrae ground against the back of the throne, and the arousal rose within him with each of his master’s angled thrusts, each stroke of his skillful, sword-callused hands over his erection. Aizen's eyes were half-lidded in lusty trance. In the back of his mind, Gin knew that Aizen was at his least powerful in this moment. On the cusp of climax, the controlling leader was almost vulnerable, letting go of the reins for a moment as genuine ecstasy took over.
Unless, of course, it was all an illusion.
Aizen continued to pound into him, harder and faster against the hard smooth stone. The brunet was no longer making the effort to tend to Gin’s erection, instead bracing his hands on the arms of the throne, just inches away from Gin’s. Touch me, Aizen-sama, he begged silently. But as the pace of Aizen’s thrusts increased, it was clear the captain had only one thing on his mind. Over and over he drove into him, bring Gin closer, closer, and yet not close enough. Too late he saw Aizen’s intentions. With a deep shudder of release, Aizen spilled into him. Gin’s own satisfaction would have to wait. His erection throbbed, painfully hard and neglected as Aizen rose and slipped back into his clothes. The lord of Hueco Mundo cast a last glance at his partner before exiting the throne room, leaving Gin’s hands bound and his body exposed.
As the shackles disintegrated, particle by particle fading into the atmosphere. Gin smiled and shook his spun-silver head. Damn. That bastard. Took what he needed and left. He stroked his still-hard shaft a few times, almost idly.
Just a game. Aizen always won.