Gin stood at the broad window, looking out on Hueca Mundo. "Such a strange place," he mused.

"Strange enough to regret coming?" his captain murmured from the couch behind him, and Gin turned, lifting a brow.

"You brought us here," he pointed out in a tone of innocent surprise.

"Answer me, Gin." Aizen’s tone was cool, but his mouth was quirked faintly.

"I just did." Gin leaned against the sill, head cocked teasingly. They played this game of perfect respect and sly defiance, and he always looked forward to seeing how Aizen would end it.

After a moment, Aizen chuckled and held out a hand, beckoning and commanding, and Gin came to it. He let himself be pulled down to the couch and laid back on the thin, soft cushion, smiling.

"So you’ll follow me anywhere," Aizen stated, hands sliding under Gin’s coat to find the ties of his white hakama.

"Everywhere," Gin agreed, and smirked as Aizen lifted his bare leg over the back of the couch. He wiggled his toes cheerfully and listened for the stiff, stifled silence of the two arrancar girls who attended the door, who were just as infatuated with Aizen as little Hinamori had been. Likely to the same end. The high couch back would block most of their view, but that was all right. For most people, imagination was stronger than reality.

Not that he really needed extra reason to moan as his captain’s cock pushed into him, but it added a little something.

Other thoughts faded away, though, as Aizen spread him out and fucked him, held him all the while with intense, inhuman eyes, sharp enough, heavy enough, to plane the surface of space and time flat. Gin gasped under them. Every thrust rocked him, curled his spine, and Aizen’s strong, square hands held his thighs stretched as wide open as they’d go.

Aizen never held back in any way, and Gin loved that.

"Making sure of me?" he asked, husky.

"I’m quite sure of you," Aizen murmured back.

Gin finally shuddered and gasped with the rush of heat through him and Aizen smiled, intent and unruffled. He fucked Gin firmly for another few moments, keeping him opened up, before drawing back. Gin could never tell when, whether, Aizen had come, and he loved that control, too.

Aizen leaned over him, one hand curving around the back of Gin’s head, carelessly gentle, and kissed him, and the sound Gin made, low in his throat, had nothing of teasing in it—only surrender.

Picking up the conversation as if they hadn’t paused, Aizen murmured, "So, will you be the first before my throne?"

Gin savored the ambiguity of the question and looked up into his leader’s brilliant, distant, immediate gaze for one bare moment, stripped and exultant.

"Yes."

End