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There are two catalysts, of a sort. A compounding of factors that slot against each other and disrupt the dust that has built up in the wake of routine. A real predator knows how to wait; how to lie still enough that it falls out of focus. That demands conviction. The quotidian is tricky though, and the mundane sneaks up on you in its disarming quiet.
Gin sees himself a predator gone complacent, left in the wake too long and gotten too comfortable in the foliage and dark. He's not fallen asleep, but it's something like that.
It dawns on him on the birthday of his 60th year, having made his way to Rangiku's room at the 10th Division barracks - a bottle of sake, shared between the two of them. Everything they share is private now, hidden away by Gin for the sake of Rangiku's reputation and safety, but his birthday has always been hers. Even Aizen knows this, and won't press, but will buy him dinner the day after instead; their own tradition that fell into place in-between the years.
That's the first thing he realizes; that he himself has fallen prey to habit. Habit that has clawed into his soft underbelly, and threatens to disembowel. Time was an accomplice, the way it lulls and trudges along with or without you; uncaring if it leaves you behind. Gin feels acutely abandoned.
The night with Rangiku should have been pleasant, but instead, he felt bested. His mind concerns itself with arithmetic: how many years since he found Rangiku close to death, since he graduated from the Academy, since he became Aizen's lieutenant and since he swore revenge. 47, 44, 25, 47. He has now been at Soul Society for 60 years, and for the first time, he sees what a solid block of time that is.
Time is strange in Soul Society, or so it is said. Gin doesn't have another frame of reference. One’s growth ebbs and flows with spiritual energy, and all he knows for sure is that it's been a very long time since he was child, and longer since he had last been afforded that naivety. He cannot remember the last time he fit the boy prodigy character, having awkwardly outgrown the image and settled into his Shinigami adulthood decades ago.
He was still Aizen's Shinigami, though. Still his right-hand man and Vice-Captain. Even if he doesn’t know for how long. He hears how others talk about his abilities when he shadows Aizen about his daily tasks. They'll probably be itching to promote Gin soon. There's no way someone with his spiritual strength would not get noticed, even if they find him unpleasant or untrustworthy - it's a matter of another position opening up. But Aizen wouldn't like that, at least not yet. He enjoys this point they've reached, even if hates the constant masquerade of the Soul Society, Aizen fancies that Gin as his Vice-Captain is a truth among the lies.
Aizen enjoys this point, even as Gin suffocates and finds his night with Rangiku ruined.
He and Rangiku haven't slept with each other in years; their lives are separate now. 8 years, Gin's mind helpfully supplies as he leaves their get-together early, and tipsy, and angry. Holding himself against a wall on his long walk back home he realizes that it is his 60th birthday, and Sosuke Aizen should have already been long dead by his hand.
He's never been one that hesitates before a final blow. But it’s been tricky, he insists, to no one but himself. He’s not the only underling under Aizen - most our loyal, most are blind, and they would trace it back to him and burn him in retribution. Aizen is too powerful, even though he already knows the trick to Kyoka Suigestu. Gin keeps expecting things to eventually line-up perfectly but they never do, and never will, so he settles instead into his collar, into the cage however gilded that Aizen would keep him in.
Perhaps, he admits to himself in the shadows of his room as he begins his crawl into bed, that it’s easy to love the hunt. He and Aizen were alike in that way. Gin has figured out all the ways they are the same and all the ways they differ, in the time they have been together. He has spent years watching him and has become an expert in the task. Perhaps he fears what will be left of him after this quest of his is complete. Perhaps he fears there won’t be anything left at all.
That is catalyst number one. Gin lets it simmer. The second comes consecutively, more racked coals under Gin’s already foul mood. He’s tense and regretful the following day for having left Rangiku worried, and for knowing that he had a dinner with Aizen to sit through tonight.
It’s not like dinner is a strange occurrence. He and Aizen have this false camaraderie they engage in; they like to spar with their words and pass it off as friendship. No one else seems to match them step for step. They keep each other on anxious toes, they know each other better than anyone and it makes for habit.
Gin once again concerns himself with arithmetic and wonders how many cups of tea he’s missed the opportunity to poison - impossible to know, but the incalculable vast of them weighs heavy. Tonight will start the count at one again and it grinds.
The second event that triggers him however is the following: as he waits for Aizen to finish his shift at the barracks, he leans against the wall and finds where the man stands in the far distance. He knows his Captain’s reiatsu by memory, and it’s easy to map him out amongst any landscape. Aizen's chatting with Momo, again, and Gin scoffs internally. Even from where he stands he sees the telltale signs of a seduction won. The girl doesn’t even meet his eyes, but she smiles, blushes, at every word Aizen feeds her. It’s a routine he’s seen Aizen do constantly, even latently, and Gin knows it well.
It makes him wonder why Aizen never tried that trick on him. It makes him wonder why he never tried that trick on Aizen.
He thinks that this has gone on far too long and that he needs to wrestle back control. The distaste he feels upon seeing the pair morphs into a contemplative depression that even Aizen picks up on while they eat. He wants to think Aizen’s fretting then is performative, they’re out and around people, but Gin knows he’d do it in private too. Just find a way to be crueler about it there perhaps.
It makes him wonder what Aizen’s reactions would be, if next time they were alone at the barracks or in the Captain’s office, he let his hand linger too long on his back. If he stared seconds longer at his lips, let their hands brush against each other with more purpose. Aizen would never turn him down - he wants to keep him happy.
That’s the thing too, Aizen has always made a good pitch as to why he shouldn’t kill him: Aizen’s made it very clear how special Gin is, to be let into his inner plans and closed doors. Aizen gifts trust, and promises of power, hints of equality among partners. Gin doesn’t believe him, for who could ever be equal to God, but he understands the appeal. He understands the appeal of a man who would see him murderous and bloody, and respond with a smile. There’s something to feeling accepted with no judgment and there's an intimacy about conspiracy.
All calculated though, to keep Gin at bay. If Gin demanded physicality as a pledge then Aizen would adjust. Whenever Gin finds himself in the position of breaking down patterns and making predictions of others like this, is when he truly fancies himself Aizen’s student. He imagines being Aizen too often, spends too many hours a day charting out what might be the man’s thoughts.
This is how dinner passes, with Gin caught up in his own mind. When they part to leave he thinks, 60 years, and he thinks of Momo, and he thinks he can’t keep putting off fate. In-between Aizen’s small talk and good-byes, Gin finds himself possessed: he reaches out to grab him by the sleeve before he leaves. The man wasn’t expecting that. He looks back at Gin curiously.
“Is there something wrong, Gin?”
“Let’s have a drink together. What do you have stored away at your place?”
The look Aizen gives him is of one who has started playing a game - it’s what he’s always liked about Gin, that he keeps him amused and busy. It’ll work for these purposes.
“I have a nice bottle of sake I’ve been meaning to open,” Aizen says.
The taste of the bottle Rangiku bought for him still lingered bitter on his tongue, but with his false smile already in place he replies, “That’ll do.”
They walk in silence all the way back to Aizen’s private captain wing, along quiet streets in the dark. If anyone sees them, they don’t really; no one ever really notices Gin, who’s long been a shadow. Who has long been such an expected fixture by Aizen’s side that everyone just tends to blur him out.
When they arrive, Gin sits down at the table in his living room and lets Aizen serve them both drinks. He idles with the cup for only a second before gulping it down, to a disapproving raised eyebrow but he needs the courage. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but something needs to happen. Has it not been enough time? Has it not been enough hatred?
Aizen sips, before putting his own cup down, “What’s on your mind, Gin?”
“I’ve just been thinking a lot, captain.”
The responding smile he gets is fond, but Aizen doesn’t know how to wear it kindly, “Well, that’s no good, is it?”
Gin hums in agreement as he pours himself another cup.
“Are you worried about our plans?” Aizen ventures, “I wouldn’t want any doubts to plague you.”
“No,” Gin says quickly, “I’ve no doubt you’re on your way to godhood already.” It’s said with an undercurrent of sarcasm, but will stroke Aizen’s ego nonetheless. When in doubt, that was often a safe route to choose. Gin continues, “Maybe I’m just wondering where I’ll fit into that.”
“There’s a place for you at my side, always,” Aizen says easily. Too easily. Gin’s teeth grit under his ever-present smirk and for some reason it hits him like the smell of blood and it forces out spite he forgot was there, after defaulting to repression for so long. It’s an anger so indignant it burns. He doesn’t believe Aizen.
“At your side huh, like poor Momo?” Had he thought about it more, they aren’t the words he would have chosen. He’s more deliberate than this usually, but he feels more frayed under the current circumstances and it accidentally breeds honesty.
Aizen doesn’t seem particularly surprised by this outburst and it angers him further. Aizen only tilts his head, expression still under control and almost professional when he says, “It never seemed to bother you before.”
His teeth are still grit, and he realizes he doesn’t trust himself to respond so he takes another sip of sake. There’s a déjà vu, to the flavor, to the chill of the night.
Aizen won’t allow him a moment of peace, “Are you jealous, Gin?”
It’s the first thing said all night that causes Gin’s smirk to drop, because it’s right and wrong, all the same. It is a wholly inadequate and purposefully inflammatory framing of things, but in an abstract way the truth still rests in its folds. If he was jealous of Momo, it was not for the way she occupied Aizen’s attention, no, he had no interest in that. If he was jealous of Momo it was because her feelings were so blissfully simple, in a way that had been continuously denied to Gin since the very beginning of this game.
He could not deny it; there was a part of him that foolishly longed to accept Aizen's polite facade at face-value, like everyone else. Instead, Aizen has burdened Gin with the undeniable truth of himself, in all its viciousness. Gin feels burdened with how much he truly knows Aizen, the real Aizen that lies obscured. He lives a life gaslit by those around him, by the compliments and starry-eyed looks of suitors who fall so easily to his captain’s spell, who could never bring themselves to tear down the veil and see what Gin himself has always known
When he looked at Aizen, he saw past it all, and couldn’t understand how no one else seemed to be able to. Perhaps it’s because a snake can sense another snake, can make out its own shape reflected back to itself in the grass and leaves. Two snakes camouflaged and poised to jump.
Gin swallows the last of his cup of sake, and it burns unpleasantly at the back of his throat. He needs to wrestle the situation back into his hands so he stands, walks over to Aizen, and crawls into his lap. Aizen was not expecting him to do that, and it’s in a micro-expression reigned back in before anyone else would catch it. Gin catches it though.
As Gin wraps his arms around Aizen’s neck he fancies himself a boa constrictor wrapping around his next meal. There’s a rush in imaging that he might eat him whole; a fantasy he knows, but he relishes the momentary hesitancy in Aizen as the man brings his hand to rest on Gin’s hip.
Momentary is all it is, however, as Aizen's other hand comes to rest on his lower back, and pushes them closer together. Feeling where their bodies press against each other makes his breath hitch, and Gin wishes he could take it back, erase it from Aizen's memory. It's too late, and the sound calls out something in Aizen intense and frightening that's realized it's been delivered dinner. The shift happens too quickly, and Gin finds himself scrambling to catch up once more.
No, he thinks, I'm the one hunting you. Gin leans in for the kiss first, pushes against the solid weight of the man with aggression. Aizen awaits him opened-mouth and allows Gin to direct their rhythm - an allowance, all it is - but he'll take it. It's a frustratingly pleasant sensation, Aizen's experience shows through and his lips are soft and kissable.
It's just like Gin to throw himself into the thick of it when he's barely ready, to be overwhelmed by the tide, and be forced to ride it out. That's how he feels, when they start grinding each other, feeling where Aizen's arousal has started to harden against his own. There's an intensity between them that's a living thing all its own and Gin feels triumphant in leaving Aizen quiet, for once.
He remembers his hands and begins to roam the expanse of Aizen's back and the skin on the back of his neck. Aizen still holds him at his waist firm. Gin's fingers begin to pull at his clothes, trying to pull back the robes from his chest when Aizen suddenly halts and holds Gin back by the wrist. Suddenly, Gin can feel his reiatsu in the air like an oppressive force. It's not at full power, but just enough to remind Gin that it was there.
"Is this really what you want?" Aizen asks. Gin can hear the underlying accusation in the question - you've never wanted this before, so what are you planning? It’s in the way he is suddenly aware of their difference in power.
"You're telling me this wasn't part of your grand scheme, for me to stumble upon your seduction and come out wanting?" Gin says sarcastically.
"I'm glad to hear your high estimation of my manipulation abilities," Aizen says before putting on that one smile, the one Gin hates, "I didn't realize you were this invested."
Gin recoils at the words, enough he fears he might snap at Aizen for the implication. He doesn't, he's well-practiced, but it is conscious effort to keep his smirk from wandering off. He picks out his next words with equal parts resentment and careful thought: "With all the years I've given you, you still doubt me."
Aizen gives him this look like he sees through him; like he's translucent. The dread it fills Gin with is ice, but there's no way he knows Gin's intentions. If he knew, Gin would be dead. If he knew, he would have never allowed them to get to this point. If he knew, why would he tell Gin all those things and keep him so close?
It could be a strategy, Gin thinks, Aizen always has ways of staying several steps ahead.
"You're the one who still seems to doubt me," Aizen says, "by comparing yourself to Hinamori of all people."
Gin wants to scoff. A chess piece is chess piece, whether it’s a rook or a knight. Both can be disposed of if the need arises, and Aizen has never been one to spare much thought for casualties. Gin can take no comfort in it.
Aizen continues, "What Hinamori sees is an illusion. Her admiration for me makes her useful, but all I need from her is her blindness."
"Then what do you need from me?"
"Your understanding."
The understanding that Gin has gleaned from his time with Aizen is that he was a lonely man. A man that deals only in brutality and lies, making the former the more honest of the two. He wonders if he sees Gin, a man of violence himself, and sees a kindred spirit. Physicality has never been the point. There's never been a need to seduce Gin over to his side, because they already stood on the same side of the veil. Separated from others permanently and doomed to isolation.
Separated from everyone except each other, wherever that leaves them. Gin wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“I wouldn’t consider anyone else as my vice-captain,” Aizen says to his silence. Gin swallows hard and thinks, is he that confident about where they stand? That Gin will remain loyal or if not, that he’ll be easy enough to put down? Aizen lets go of his wrists, and Gin’s hands return to grip at Aizen’s clothes. His reiatsu hasn’t backed down.
“You ask a lot, captain,” Gin says, “I’ve told you before that I’m a snake, and I’ll just do what I want.”
Aizen asks a lot, and lies too much. Can’t fathom what reciprocity might actually look like and is loyal only to himself. Gin’s always thought Aizen taking him on was simply an exercise in stroking his own ego by molding a protégé in his image. He still believes this, but it matters little when Aizen’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, and pulls him closer.
Their foreheads rest against one another, and Gin feels taken in. He thinks again, he couldn’t have stuck around this long he hadn’t seen the appeal. If he didn’t enjoy some of it. He squeezes his eyes shut against Aizen, whose gaze is as intense as the spiritual pressure that he refuses to let up.
Gin isn’t intimidated that easy; won’t let go that easy. He leans back in to recapture his lips, this time with clearer aggression, with biting until he feels how Aizen smiles against him. Aizen pushes him onto his back with inhuman speed, and Gin’s legs fall open on their own accord to accommodate the body on top of his. Here Aizen has dropped the pretense of being a docile lover and pins both of Gin’s wrists back against the floor mat.
There aren’t many times where Gin’s mind quiets around Aizen - too occupied trying to read him, and predict what cup of tea might be the one to poison - but it’s quiet then. His mind stills with the feeling of Aizen rutting against him, of shedding clothes and roaming hands.
Aizen lets Gin fuck into his fist, while he devours his neck in kisses; all the while he can feel the man’s own erection digging into his hip. It becomes pleasurable quick, and soon enough Gin’s hips lift off the ground to meet his touch. He lets himself be loud - it’s what Aizen seems to like, and the man responds in turn - and it’s easy when the sensation makes him so heady.
Aizen pulls away just before he’s about to come and he whines with it. The man shushes him with a kiss and Gin thinks that’s just like him. Aizen carries him from the floor to the bed in swift and graceful movements, and that‘s where he fucks him proper. He takes his time opening him up with his fingers; takes his time until Gin starts begging and pushing back from being kept on the edge too long.
When Aizen enters him and bottoms out, it’s with a low groan and Gin’s head rolling back onto the sheets. He feels so full with Aizen in a way that’s a satisfying culmination. The stretch burns and overwhelms but it’s pleasant where Aizen rubs inside him insistently. When Aizen starts fucking him steadily he asks, hoarse but still too composed for Gin’s taste, “Is this what you wanted?”
Gin wraps his legs around him tighter in response, “No, harder.”
It startles a laugh out of Aizen who obliges by grabbing his hips closer and pounding into him with such a rhythm that the bed creaks and that will later make Gin grateful that the Captain’s quarters were so separate and private. Gin doesn’t very last very long after that. When Aizen tells him to touch himself, he does, and it all peaks in a moment of blind pleasure; he tenses and spills over himself. Aizen’s thrusts speed up, chasing after his own release in turn while Gin lays there boneless, wordless moans of encouragement leaving his mouth with little thought.
“Don’t I give you what you want, Gin?” Aizen says against his ear, his face nestled into Gin’s hair as he fucks him.
Gin nods. Gin grips onto the sheets tighter as Aizen’s thrust stutter and as he comes inside of him with a low groan that turns Gin on despite being long spent. They fall into each other’s mess, laying content and Aizen more relaxed than Gin thinks he’s ever seen. Aizen leans over to kiss him, lazy and satisfying in the afterglow, before cleaning the both of them up and tucking them into bed.
Exhaustion settles into Gin like a sickness, from the sex but also the folding over of all his emotions. Rage and frustration sunk into his bones and despite the fact that it is Aizen who settles behind him, he is overcome with the urge to curl into him and sleep. He doesn’t though, and instead waits.
There’s no way to tell for sure how much time passes; must be an hour, maybe two. All Gin knows is that the night has begun shifting colors and Aizen’s breathing has long evened out. When he looks at Aizen’s sleeping face, he expects to see both their long-written doom reflected back at him and instead sees only a man. A man who considers himself God, and who very well might be with the powers he holds and if allowed the powers he lusts for.
His Zanpakto is still in the other room, but Gin is very quiet. It would be inconsequentially easy to slip out and find his weapon, come back, and finish the deed here. Slit Aizen's throat while he sleeps. This was what his mind's eye had constructed when he invited himself over and asked for a drink, though he hadn’t necessarily expected it to materialize so quickly. He finds being handed the opportunity to kill his nemesis, his captain, to be less liberating than he expected.
Instead, he is frozen in indecision, and hates himself for it - he imagines how easily this could be traced back to him and if he would be caught or executed. What does it matter, he thinks bitterly, this can’t continue, because Aizen would drag them both down and then the world and either way he looks at it there’s nothing awaiting him but death or ruin. It would be kinder to kill them both.
That is to say, he might as well do it now and put an end to it all, but he doesn’t. He briefly entertains the idea of leaving though, going to Rangiku and explaining the mess he’s gotten himself into but it’s out of the question. Too dangerous to put her in that position, he thinks. That and sharing the truth with her would mean all the unpalatable bits too.
All the moments where Gin chose to kill, not just because Aizen ordered it, but because he wanted to, too. All the spying, and the cruelty, she would never understand. Aizen does, though, and there’s the rub. That Aizen might have seen through his honey pot attempt and offered his own.
Poised are two snakes, pretending not to be snakes. They lie frozen still in the wake, biding their time to strike. Gin bides his time and curls into Aizen’s side to sleep.