The Slippery Slope [Bleach, Aizen/Gin, PG]

[darklightshades.livejournal.com]

Title: The Slippery Slope
Author: darklightshades
Rating: PG
Warnings: Vague spoilers for Gin's motivations if you haven't finished the Fake Karakura Town arc. Otherwise it's nothing but very blatant innuendo and two villainous villains doing what they do best.
Prompt Bleach, Aizen/Gin: PDAs - a man must get his amusements where he can
Word count: 3000~
Summary: Years later, Gin would maintain that he was the one who'd done all the seducing. Aizen would beg to disagree.
A/N: Prompt is for the 20th, but am posting a little early because my weekdays are normally hideously busy.


It was apparent to anyone who had met him that Aizen Sousuke was a generous, well-mannered soul, thoroughly deserving of the fierce adoration of his Division. What was less obvious to those thoughtless Shinigami whose who had become so very fond of the man, and who baselessly assumed that Aizen was fond of them in return, was that there was no veneer quite so successful at keeping people at arms length than the mask of polite friendliness. It was a devastatingly effective barrier, invisible simply because no one chose to see it, but somehow no one noticed that for all his kindness, Aizen's demeanour did not invite intimacy. No one dared to claim impertinent closeness, and the sanctity of the man's personal space was respected to an unthinkable degree.

Except by Gin, who set about imposing his own presence inside that boundary from the very first week of their acquaintance.

Subtly, of course. Small gestures, easily dismissed as the actions of a child who didn't know any better not to crowd too close, when in fact Gin did know far better than anyone but Aizen himself would have guessed. He was keenly aware of the nuance of power-plays; of what would have been too much, too carelessly disrespectful, and what was merely daring. Gin had promised Aizen fearlessness, and playing the part of a hungry serpent meant he didn't even have to pretend that when he stood in Aizen's shadow he wasn't silently calculating how far Shinsou would need to reach to go through the man's heart, or that whenever his fingers hooked like tiny fangs into Aizen's sleeve they weren't searching out some point of weakness that others might have overlooked.

Aizen himself wasn't fooled. The sideways glances he gave every time Gin brushed against him said as much, but he allowed it to continue in what Gin had originally thought was a dangerous show of hubris. Later, when Gin came to understand Aizen better, he realised it was simply because he'd had no reason to fear any attempt Gin might have made then. It would never have reached him, but perhaps it had amused him to allow Gin the pretence of it; the temptation of unguarded proximity all the encouragement Gin needed to stay recklessly enthralled in Aizen's orbit.

The rest of the Division was blind to the undertones. Gin had been privately amused at the way they'd smiled and nodded at him while he was silently plotting to kill the man they were all so unbearably attached too. Most of them seemed to have come to the conclusion that Gin – isolated by his young age, his prodigious talent, and his disquieting personality – had taken refuge in the company of their easy-going Superior in an almost endearing fashion. No one thought twice about it.

At least not until a few years later. By that stage Gin was just reaching the height of Aizen's shoulder, and the rest of the Division had plenty of experience to tell them Gin wasn't remotely timid enough to need the security of their Captain's personal space, and was most definitely old enough to know it was inappropriate to take such liberties with it. Even Gin's reputation for eccentricity didn't quite quell the scrutiny or rampant speculation.

Some believed (not entirely without reason) that this was Gin's particular way of mocking their Captain. Surely, they thought, Aizen-taichou was too reserved and too proper to recognise and reign in the rebellious nature of their vindictive Lieutenant, who was too powerful to truly condemn but who walked the fine line of malicious insubordination whenever he thought he could get away with it. The way Gin seemed to flaunt Aizen's respect and the sly familiarity it implied earned him dark glares from his subordinates, as if such a mild reproach would have the desired effect of making Gin stop instead of encouraging him to keep doing it in an exaggerated fashion just to see their offended reactions.

Then there was a second, much more absurd theory going around that Gin suspected might have arisen from some unwise subordinates' desire to smear his reputation. If he ever figured out who had started it, they were due for a very uncomfortable chat about why most people found it wiser not to talk about Gin at all.

Because the idea that he was smitten with Aizen Sousuke was one he found equal parts ridiculous and hilarious, although he could almost understand the signs that others might have misinterpreted as some form of affection. A less cynical mind might see Gin's closeness as a desire for attention, his unusual attentiveness to Aizen as a form of devotion, to say nothing of the incidental touching that had lost any overtone of innocence it might have once had.

The idea was so delightfully deluded, Gin really couldn't help himself. Toying with his subordinates was one of the few entertainments he indulged in, and the thought that someone might pull Aizen aside and try and warn him of Gin's supposed infatuation was too amusing to resist. It was an interesting challenge, too, because while Gin had donned any number of masks to hide or mislead about his intentions, he'd never tried this particular act.

From the scandalised way their squad members began averting their eyes, Gin suspected he was really rather good at it. It wasn't even that difficult to feign coyness in Aizen's presence, to let the touches linger a moment longer, to find excuses to let his hands roam a little further than they should. The subtle injection of innuendo into their conversations came almost naturally, and even when Gin's attempts became less covert and more obvious, Aizen continued to feed him perfectly guileless replies that only made Gin's flirtations more blatant, in one instance driving their Sixth Seat from the room in a fit of blushes.

At that point, Gin had assumed Aizen was in on the joke, and was equally amused by it, but no more than that. He was above such things, after all, although he allowed Gin to have his petty diversions at the expense of their subordinates.

In retrospect, it was a bit optimistic to have thought Aizen hadn't really taken notice of Gin's recent behaviour. Or that the fact that he'd never reacted to the permissions that Gin had taken meant that he never would. Gin's position was a privileged one, and despite what the whispering, accusatory rumours about exactly what Gin had done to achieve his rank, there was no doubt in his own mind that he had earned it.

Missions suited to the calibre of a Lieutenant didn't come up quite as often as Gin would like, and in his case the thrill of anticipation always had an air of tension. Aizen purposefully chose only the assignments Gin could barely succeed at, forever setting the bar just a little higher, forcing Gin to prove his worth and his loyalty with his life at stake.

It was almost worth it simply to see the offer of the challenge burning in Aizen's eyes like a tamed inferno, the gentleness of his smile shed for a sharper expression – one only Gin ever got to see.

“It won't be an easy mission,” Aizen warned him, sounding so perfectly sincere and concerned Gin was really amazed that he could keep such a straight face. “I expect your report by the end of the week.”

Which meant Gin would be working on a deadline, with little time to exercise the kind of care required to hunt such a dangerous Hollow. He smiled even more brightly, inclining his head in an artful pretence of deference. “I'll only need three days. Wouldn't want you to miss me if I was gone too long.”

Aizen chuckled, and Gin knew the difference between an empty sound and one filled with genuine approval at his audacity. He preened inwardly.

“Of course,” Aizen agreed. “Do try not to be late. Oh, and Gin?”

He'd just been turning to leave, and somehow in that fleeting instant he hadn't been looking in Aizen's direction, the man had closed the distance between them, his hand coming up to catch Gin's chin. He froze, instincts failing for one critical second, caught off-guard by the suddenness of it. He expected, for a perilous moment, a reprimand, a chokehold, or perhaps the unpleasant finality of the sudden snapping of his neck, but Aizen merely held him still and pleasantly offered, “Do be careful.”

Gin blinked in bewilderment as Aizen returned blithely to his desk and resumed his reports as if the moment had never occurred, leaving Gin to make his way out and try to pretend his heart hadn't jumped up to his throat. His own fingers traced the outline of Aizen's hold, trying to figure out what it had meant.

He was forced to put it out of his mind, however. The mission was every bit as demanding as he'd expected, equal parts invigorating and horrifying in ways that would have made any rational person rethink the wisdom of obeying Aizen Sousuke for any length of time, even if it were only a means to an end.

But Gin had never claimed to be rational, and in any case, he was finished by the third day. The opportunity to vaunt over his success overrode the absurdity of the situation; that Aizen was willing to risk one of his most valuable allies simply because he could, and that Gin was gleefully defiant in his survival for the dubious reward of Aizen's approval and the chance to risk his life again the next time Aizen felt so inclined.

Gin never questioned his own satisfaction with the arrangement too deeply...nor did he dwell too long on the fact that he'd allowed his hand to be stayed time and time again from openings he might have taken to put an end to things. It was easier to convince himself that the timing wasn't right, that he wasn't close enough yet despite how thoroughly he'd infiltrated Aizen's spheres of influence, his personal space, crossing the physical distance if not the power gap.

The memory of the (light, careful, utterly deceiving) grip on his jaw reminded him that he should probably be more careful about that from now on, but he couldn't allow himself any sign of wariness; emotionless snakes did not feel...and they certainly did not miss their deadlines, no matter how much his abused body would rather he made his first visit to the 4th Division's barracks instead. No, if he delayed, midnight might slip past him before they were done piecing him back together, and even if Aizen undoubtedly already knew he was back in Seireitei and would never so much as suggest his disappointment verbally, Gin would be able to sense it. And maybe the next mission Aizen picked out for him would be utterly impossible instead of merely hideous.

Besides, Gin had earned his right to gloat. He made for the 5th Division offices, knowing that Aizen would be working late, and apparently tonight he wasn't the only one. From outside the door Gin could hear the murmur of extra voices, the serious intonations suggesting there was probably some kind of important meeting going.

Oh well. Gin rapped sharply on the doorframe with his knuckles.

“Enter.”

Nearly half their seated officers were present, and even though the office wasn't a small one the room felt noticeably crowded. They regarded Gin with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. Obviously no one had expected to see him. Gin gave his best wolfish grin. “You wouldn't be discussing important matters without me, would you, Aizen-taichou?”

“Gin.” Greeting, admonition and amusement all in one. If they'd been alone, Aizen might have smiled at him. Since they had an audience, however, the man only regarded him gravely and remarked, “You're injured.”

“Oh, this?” Gin shrugged carelessly, as if it wasn't painful to do so. His sword arm was resting in a sling that had been hastily crafted from a length of his sash and most of his sleeve. Even so, the angle in which it rested didn't look quite natural. “It's fine. I thought you'd want my report, but it seems you're busy.”

The words were delivered innocently enough, but half the officers winced as if it had been an accusation; they'd come to know Gin well. Most of them were probably despairing the turn of events that had trapped them in a relatively confined space with their unpredictable Lieutenant, who could be especially vindictive when he had an injury to excuse his ill-temper.

Not that Gin had ever needed excuses for such things.

Aizen had risen from his desk. Gin pretending to ignore him, baring teeth at their subordinates instead in a smile that was menacingly unfriendly. “Strange how it looks like everyone got an invitation to this little get together except me. Aren't Captains supposed to come to their Lieutenants first? I mean-”

“Gin,” Aizen said, more firmly this time, and in the same moment his hand came to rest on Gin's collarbones as if it could halt the words in place before they reached his mouth. Gin looked down at it first, and then at Aizen's face, not looking at his expression which was only a talented mask, but at his eyes.

Others might have crumpled from that look, but in spite of the gentle chiding in Aizen's voice, his eyes proposed a challenge. Gin willed his pulse not to stutter and realised rather belatedly that this was Aizen's patient vengeance for Gin's sly advances. No matter how audacious his behaviour had been, Aizen had allowed it but had never once reacted. His composure had never broken because his control was so absolute, and he wanted Gin to know that.

On the other hand, Gin couldn't deny that having Aizen's hand over his heart made his mouth go dry, and he was very keenly aware that he'd struggle to wield Shinsou as naturally with his left hand. He was affected. Aizen might as well have said, I play these games much better than you can or ever will.

But Aizen was a gracious winner, and Gin sensed he could take this moment to gracefully bow out of this unspoken, unsolicited competition if he conceded his loss and forfeited the right to keep playing, but...

He reached up a hand to touch Aizen's wrist. He couldn't quite evoke that same insinuation of all-consuming force, but his thumb nail was a knife poised against Aizen's veins. He eyed Aizen from under the fall of his hair. “I made you a promise, didn't I, Captain?”

He thought he caught the corner of Aizen's mouth twitching in approval before it was brought back in check. “I didn't forget. I intended to come see you after the meeting. I thought it was a discussion best conducted privately.”

Gin didn't dare look at their audience. He was already having enough trouble trying not to simply leer at Aizen and cast aside all pretence of subtlety. “I can come back-”

“You're already here,” Aizen interrupted firmly. “Though not all in once piece, it seems. Let me see.”

His hand slid across to Gin's shoulder, sliding the tattered remnants of his collar aside with a grace that was inherently sensual even though Gin had to fight back a hiss. The bruises ran from his shoulder down to his arm, dark and colourful, and the bone beneath shifted in a not-very-pleasant fashion at even the lightest of touch.

Gin shuddered slightly, his breath quickening, and he couldn't entirely blame those reactions simply on the pain. His kosode slipped further, leaving half his chest and back unnervingly bare. He managed a tight smirk, refusing to falter. “Be gentle with me.”

Somewhere to his left, someone coughed quietly. Gin had just about forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. “Uh...Captain?”

Those who weren't staring in fixated disbelief where very determinedly looking at the floor, out the window, or in any direction but theirs. Gin struggled not to snigger. Aizen was the very image of equanimity. “This meeting is adjourned until tomorrow morning. I apologise for keeping you all so late.”

There was relief and confusion in equal parts. Oh, it was all very scandalous and inappropriate when Gin was doing it, but Gin could already see most of their seated officers internally convincing themselves that there was nothing wrong at all with the things Aizen had said or done. Gin almost wished he hadn't forgone that kind of credibility, but he'd probably also have found it boring.

He waited until the last of their subordinates had scurried out, and then arched an eyebrow at Aizen as the other man blithely returned to his desk. “Finished already? Things were just getting interesting.”

“We can continue, if you like,” Aizen offered, and this time he did smile in that razor-sharp way Gin appreciated; the way moths appreciated flames. “After you've taken yourself to the Fourth. You'll be of better service to me with both arms intact.”

Gin laughed, gingerly covering up his naked shoulder again. “You don't want my report, then?”

“I believe I said,” Aizen remarked, his voiced honeyed and full of significance, “Later. In private.”

Gin was no longer entirely sure how much of the innuendo was purely artifice and how much Aizen actually meant. He almost wondered if it was a mistake, taking up the gauntlet Aizen had thrown, but the reckless curiosity of hungry serpents got the better of him. He told himself he was only interested to see where Aizen would finally draw a line and refuse to cross. He would, surely.

Gin fashioned a shallow bow, pretending he couldn't feel that impression of heat, the threat of burning, a confident grin fixed in place. “Yes sir.”