Work Text:
While Gin’s appointment as captain raged on outside (an event everybody used as an excuse to consume absurd amounts of alcohol), Gin, the star of the night, was hiding in a storage room.
To call it a “storage room” was generous. In reality, it was a cramped, dusty closet that hadn’t been used in decades, if not a century. The only furniture inside was a wooden table, probably once intended for flower arrangements or some other long-forgotten task. It was impractical, taking up half the space and serving as little more than a collector of dust.
Gin leaned against the closet door with his back, the cool surface pressing against him offering little relief. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, trying a breathing exercise to calm the storm brewing inside him. It didn’t work. The heat simmering under his skin refused to dissipate. He knew he should be outside, greeting guests he didn’t care about and partaking in formalities he despised. But he couldn’t.
Not when Aizen made sure he couldn’t.
How could he ignore the stares Aizen had been throwing his way all evening? Discreet, pointed stares that ignited a fire within him while everyone else remained blissfully unaware. Aizen was infuriatingly skilled at it, conversing easily with guests, accepting congratulations about Gin’s promotion with that same polished charisma he always wore. Gin, meanwhile, was trapped across the event hall, surrounded by insincere well-wishers who despised him as much as he despised them. And yet, no matter how many eyes were on him, Gin couldn’t shake the weight of Aizen’s stare. It was as if Aizen wanted Gin to remember that his promotion meant nothing when it came to who truly held control between them.
It was a stare, nearly unreadable, yet heavy with undeniable force. Gin could see Aizen’s pride—because even though this was all part of Aizen’s carefully constructed plan, there would have been no captain promotion if Gin weren’t truly fit for the role. Not without the use of Kyoka Suigetsu, that is. Not that Aizen ever had to worry about that. Aizen had chosen him because he knew Gin was more than capable of obliterating any low-ranking shinigami or aspiring noble vying for a captain’s position in the Gotei 13. He knew Gin would bulldoze through them all, fair and square, and he was right.
(Gin recognized what Aizen always saw in him, but when he was put on the spot, the white haori handed to him by Yamamoto himself, Gin couldn’t help but conclude that if not for Aizen’s plan, he would have never pursued becoming a captain. It just wasn’t for him.)
But even as Gin recognized the pride in Aizen’s eyes, there was something more. A fire burned beneath that cool exterior, something fierce and raw. It was so subtle that only Gin would notice the slight tightness in Aizen’s jaw, a rare sign of restraint. It confused Gin and left him helplessly aroused. The look was a potent mix of lust, possessiveness, and carefully hidden jealousy that Gin couldn’t entirely decipher. Whatever it was, it left him painfully hard, a fact becoming increasingly difficult to conceal beneath his robes.
Perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through his system, poured freely by guests insisting he celebrate, or perhaps it was Aizen’s deliberate absence. Aizen hadn’t approached him all night, hadn’t exchanged a single word or taken the seat beside him. It felt as though Aizen had intentionally left him to bask in the spotlight, though to Gin, it felt more like being thrown into a pack of wolves. And while Gin was usually good at navigating social interactions and wriggling out of uncomfortable situations when necessary, this still felt like a betrayal. A slap in the face, even—especially considering Aizen’s heated stares from across the event hall. Whatever the reason, it left Gin’s lips dry, his pulse racing, and his body more turned on than it had ever been in his life.
It was too much. With a theatrical cough, Gin excused himself, claiming he needed air, only to flee to the nearest space devoid of prying eyes: the closet.
He had been hiding there for five minutes, desperately trying to cool down. Gin prided himself on being shameless—unbothered by others’ opinions, especially since becoming Aizen’s lieutenant—but even he drew the line at being seen in the middle of his own after-ceremony party with an obvious erection.
Gin’s focus and effort to control the heat inside him were abruptly cut short by someone attempting to push the closet door open. His eyes widened at the unexpected intruder, whose presence carried no distinguishable reiatsu. In fact, they had no reiatsu surrounding them at all. But Gin didn’t have time to make sense of that. Panicked, he pressed his body weight harder against the door, hoping that whoever it was (someone who had no reason to be here and definitely hadn’t seen him enter) would assume the door was locked and leave.
That hope was shattered in an instant. The person on the other side forced their way inside with such strength that Gin nearly stumbled into the opposite wall (not that it was far, given how absurdly small the closet was, barely fit for anything, let alone flower arrangements as the dusty table suggested).
Gin’s mind reeled for a split second, scrambling for an excuse to explain why he was in here. But it turned out to be entirely unnecessary. The intruder wasn’t just anyone; it was Aizen.
Aizen shut the creaking door behind him before turning to look at Gin with an eerily calm expression. The tight space forced them into an almost face-to-face proximity, and Aizen’s addictive scent (one Gin hadn’t had the chance to enjoy all night) hit him instantly, making his cock throb even harder.
“We’ve got to make this quick,” Gin said with a playful smile, attempting levity as he reached to shrug off his white haori.
Before he could, Aizen grabbed him, turning him around and pressing him firmly against the table, fully clothed, his wrists pinned behind his back in a bruising grip.
Slightly confused but no less turned on, Gin strained his neck to glance back at Aizen. The look on Aizen’s face was almost enough to make him come on the spot. The silent message was clear: the haori stays on.
Aizen’s hand on his neck forced him to face the dusty table again. A shudder ran through him as Aizen leaned down, brushing the fabric aside to press a kiss on his nape, a part of his body more sensitive than Gin would ever admit. Lips, tongue, and teeth followed, marking Gin with ferocity. Gin could feel a lovebite blooming, the tender skin throbbing, only to be attacked again as Aizen sucked on the already bruising spot.
The overstimulation had Gin moaning softly, squirming under Aizen’s relentless hold. Escape was impossible with his wrists trapped and Aizen’s grip tightening in his hair, not that Gin would ever want this to stop. Even if he wanted to escape, his knees had gone weak, muscles numbing under the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.
Aizen suddenly let go of him, but Gin knew better than to move his hands from their position. He kept them in place as Aizen bunched up the haori and inner robe, forcing Gin to hold the fabric behind his back, keeping it out of the way while Aizen swiftly undressed him from the waist down.
Before Gin could feel a chill, Aizen’s body draped over him once more. Gin attempted to glance back at Aizen, hoping for the kiss that still hadn’t come. As though his thoughts were read, Aizen captured his lips. The kiss was brief but full of passion, and before Gin could bite Aizen’s tongue in a half-hearted attempt to fight back, Aizen abandoned his lips to take his earlobe into his mouth instead.
Gin groaned as Aizen dropped his entire weight on him, forcing him to remain still. Aizen’s hand reached for his face, a thumb swiping over his lips, coaxing his mouth open. Gin wasted no time licking around the fingers Aizen pressed against his tongue. His eyes watered at the intrusion, the moisture almost turning to tears as his neglected cock throbbed with desperate need. Aizen’s weight bore down harder, keeping Gin’s naked arousal trapped between him and the table, suffocating, leaking, and completely unable even to grind for a shred of relief.
Aizen removed his fingers from Gin’s mouth before reaching between them, steadily pushing them against Gin’s entrance until they fully slid inside. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him, but the sensation still had him almost shouting. The sound was instantly smothered when Aizen’s hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him.
“Keep quiet,” Aizen ordered against his ear, his voice was rough and authoritative, and Gin felt the command more than he heard it. Aizen’s fingers dug deeper, pressing into that spot that had Gin helplessly moaning behind his hand. The moans were muffled, but they couldn’t be stopped.
It had become clear by now that Aizen was intentionally not using Kyoka Suigetsu to soundproof the room (and if he did, he made sure Gin believed he hadn’t). It was sweet torture, a game Aizen excelled at. Gin could feel Aizen playing with him, restraining him while coaxing every sound from his throat. Aizen wasn’t just keeping him quiet; he was pushing him to the brink, marveling at how Gin’s body betrayed him.
Suddenly, the delicious feeling of fullness that kept him from going mad disappeared along with the hand over his mouth. Gin almost whined at the loss of Aizen’s fingers inside him. He was about to scoot back, hoping Aizen was ready to fuck him, but Aizen’s hand found his wrists again, holding them firmly.
“Stay where I put you.”
Gin obeyed without question, his mind spinning from the sound of Aizen’s voice—a tone full of authority, like a final lesson in dominance before Gin officially became a captain himself. It would have been amusing if Gin weren’t so insanely turned on. Aizen had gotten him all hot and bothered, pulling him away from the party, only to have him like this: pinned against the table and fucked in his newly acquired captain’s attire.
Gin wasn’t inside Aizen’s mind, but he could guess what this was about. From now on, whenever Aizen saw him in the white haori, he’d be reminded of this moment—Gin holding it aside, letting Aizen fuck him fully. It was a reminder that, whether Gin was his lieutenant or a captain, he would always kneel and bend over for Aizen. No one else would ever hold that place or have the right to see Gin like this.
Just thinking about it had Gin panting. His face was flushed, his bangs stuck to his forehead, his vision blurry from unshed tears, forced to face the table and wait for Aizen’s touch.
When Aizen finally entered him, Gin bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, his fists tightening around the fabric he was holding. He almost wished for Aizen’s hand over his mouth again, muffling the moans escaping him. But that was wishful thinking. Aizen’s hands were busy elsewhere, holding Gin’s hips in a bruising grip, keeping him still as Gin writhed beneath him.
Aizen fucked him slowly, savoring the sight. Gin fought to stay still, resisting the desperate urge to push himself back onto Aizen’s cock. Instead, he used his voice, pleading like never before.
“Sousuke, faster—please,” Gin gasped, unable to lift his head from the table, too weak to try again. He glanced at Aizen from the corner of his eye, hoping to convey how wrecked he felt, silently begging Aizen to push him even further, to ruin him completely.
Aizen paused, still deep inside Gin, and shifted his position. With practiced ease, he maneuvered Gin until he was lying on his side atop the table, the new angle making Gin’s body burn with a fresh wave of pleasure.
“Captains don’t beg, Gin. They demand,” Aizen said slowly, his voice like silk, as though giving Gin a lesson.
With one arm holding Gin’s bent legs up, Aizen resumed his thrusting, harder and faster than before. Gin’s moans spilled freely, and this time, Aizen didn’t try to silence him. The drag and pull of Aizen’s cock inside him was mind-numbing, so good it had Gin nearly sobbing, gasping, and begging, “Don’t stop. ”
Amid the pleasure, Gin finally freed his arms from behind his back, his hand mindlessly searching for Aizen’s. In less than a second, Aizen’s warm fingers interlocked with his own, squeezing tight, reassuringly, as if Aizen had immediately noticed his sudden need for touch. Gin squeezed back, digging his nails into Aizen’s hand.
Gin let his eyes fall shut, focusing on Aizen moving inside him, savoring each powerful yet calculated thrust that brushed against his sweet spot without fail. He was so close to coming—only from Aizen’s cock, just as Aizen always ensured. His own cock pressed against his stomach, red, leaking, painfully hard, and twitching with each thrust into that bundle of nerves inside him.
Suddenly, voices echoed from outside, quite a few of them. The sound only excited Gin further, pushing him closer to the edge at the thought of possibly being caught in the act. It was a fantasy he indulged in, even though he knew Aizen would never let anyone see them—would never allow anyone to see Gin like this.
The voices grew louder, getting closer, and Gin would be lying if he said that the slightest hint of fear didn’t flicker through him. His moans faded to barely audible sounds, almost without him realizing it. But Aizen only fucked him harder.
Any fear crawling up Gin’s spine at being caught melted away in an instant, turned into overbearing pleasure by nothing but Aizen’s knowing gaze. Gin’s orgasm didn’t hit him like a sudden crash. Instead, it built slowly, almost torturously, rippling through him in waves that seemed endless. His cock leaked furiously, his release nearly soaking into the fabric of his bunched-up robes. There was no end to the pleasure, each of Aizen’s thrusts dragging out the orgasm, leaving Gin unable to come again, trapped in a constant state of bliss.
His thighs twitched in Aizen’s grip as a familiar warmth exploded inside him. Gin unconsciously clenched around Aizen, drawing out a guttural moan that had Gin almost hard again.
Aizen leaned down, capturing Gin’s lips in a gentle kiss. Gin sighed, enjoying the buzzing in his mind as Aizen kissed the last of his energy out of him. How he wished he could bathe in the aftermath of such an orgasm, fall asleep with Aizen’s cock still inside him.
But he couldn’t. Not with the party still raging outside, demanding his presence for the usual formalities.
Aizen returned to the event hall first, with Gin joining him moments later, just enough time to avoid raising suspicion about their absence. Gin spent the rest of the party drinking his sleepiness away. Every so often, his eyes would meet Aizen’s across the room. The expression on Aizen’s face had shifted. No longer perplexed, it was now a pure look of possessiveness, a sly smirk that seemed to savor Gin’s discomfort as he watched him squirm. And Gin could only carry on with the conversation, trying to seem as normal as possible, despite the constant reminder of Aizen’s cum leaking out of him.