Welcome to my Bleach Fanfiction dumpster.

Character fics:

Aizen:

In Darkness They Grow (SFW, multiple POV)

Shinji Hirako:

Only Idiots Don’t (SFW, comedy)

Pairing fics:

AizenxGin:

Crumb (SFW)

Less than a Color (SFW)

Illusory Warmth (SFW)

Lil' Cruelties (NSFW, Dead Dove)

AizenxShinji:

At the Bottom of the Mirror (SFW)

From His Mistakes (SFW/NSFW mentioned)

The Distance (SFW)

Straight for the Heart (SFW)

Bitter Aftertaste (NSFW)

Far from Perfect (NSFW)

AizenxUrahara:

How deep (is your hate)? (NSFW)

Only to Collide (NSFW)

AizenxTosen:

See No (d)Evil (SFW)

Aizenxreader

He probably should have reacted by now, stopping the intrusive hand and voicing his protest. He doesn’t. Because the touch isn’t entirely unpleasant. On the contrary. The jolt it sends through his synapses can be interpreted only as positive reinforcement.

Captain Hirako immediately notices his lack of instinctive recoil. The man shoots him one of his exaggerated grins, baring his white teeth and squeezing a little harder.

“Since when?” Shinji asks without any explanation. He sounds almost casual, perhaps even teasing.

It creates a small ripple in Aizen’s unwavering confidence because he can’t be certain what his dear Captain is implying.

“Since when, what?” He tries to clarify the context, masking his unease at not predicting the answer. “Captain?”

Hirako looks at him with that patronizing gaze, a glint of amusement dancing alongside fake pity. His palm is gripping Aizen’s buttock, cupping it through the fabric of his uniform.

“Since when did ya start simpin’ for me, Lieutenant?”

The question lands plainly, without sugarcoating. Aizen subdues his impulse to quickly deny it all. But his initial instinct is followed by a strong urge to explain himself, to argue. Because it is an incredibly inaccurate assumption to consider his tactical interest in Shinji Hirako as a form of attraction.

It is true that Aizen is performing his gentle persona, offering his Captain nothing but kindness and his coy, charming smiles. But Aizen puts that mask on for everybody in the Gotei. His politeness toward Shinji is no exception. There’s nothing personal about it.

It is also true that he observes his Captain closely, memorizing his habits and studying his moods. But this is strategic. This is learning the patterns of an enemy. He will use it later to avoid getting caught. So what if he knows Shinji’s favorite dish, the room temperature he prefers and the tune he tends to hum? It’s all useful data stored in Aizen’s brain. He has a perfect recall, that’s all.

Perhaps the instances when he used his Perfect Hypnosis to disguise himself as another person might have seemed like too much effort for such a trivial objective as speaking with his Captain about mundane things. And perhaps he crosses some personal boundaries every time he cast an invisibility spell just to follow Shinji around and spy on him doing nothing, or to sneak into his quarters to watch him sleep.

What Aizen does has an explanation. What he feels, however, is a different story. His curiosity toward the man he serves under never struck him as illogical. But there were a few moments when a different thing unexpectedly emerged.

Each time Hirako refused to follow his script, dismissing Aizen and ending their conversation, the disturbing sensation came over him, cutting through his balance and buzzing inside him like an angry hornet. This unnamed discomfort thrashed and circled, crashing against Aizen’s inner walls until it stung. The pain lingered, swelling and hurting for hours. These little events shouldn’t bother him, and yet he dwelt on every single one.

Shinji’s latest question nearly sparked that buzzing, and Aizen has to calm himself before it escalates. Strangely enough, after a quick analysis of his own reasoning, it looks like his Captain isn’t entirely wrong. Neither his curiosity nor his irritation point toward affection for Shinji Hirako; however, the touch is definitely telling him something by spreading the unsettling warmth across Aizen’s whole body.

Telling a lie now will ruin the moment. Telling the truth… Well, what is the truth?

He meets Shinji’s eyes, smiling at him faintly. The answer is already forming on his tongue.

“Since the beginning,” he says, and his voice doesn’t waver. No matter if this is the truth or not.

What he really means is: from the moment I saw you, from the second I realized you’re sharp enough to never trust my act. From the very beginning I knew you were perfect for me. My ideal Captain. My ideal foe.

He says none of these things, of course, the pretense needs to remain. But that small crumb of sincerity he just shared is enough to make him feel the thrill.

Or perhaps this sudden rush of excitement is caused by Hirako’s adventurous hand. The one that is still resting on his buttcheek. Not rough. But deliberate. Like it was meant to stay there.

“Since the beginnin’, heh?” Shinji’s laid-back tone is now tainted with a hint of understandable suspicion. Aizen catches it, but it’s not like he minds. They don’t require trust to engage in this little game of mutual exposure. “That’s an awfully long time. Look at ya, ain’t ya the patient one.”

With a fluid motion, his Captain steps closer. And suddenly his shoulder is touching Aizen’s arm. The man leans in, his grinning face level with the side of Aizen’s neck. His hot breath brushes against the skin.

“What were you thinkin’ in that head of yours?”

Another one of those provoking questions. Aizen almost shivers; his Captain’s close proximity does strange things to him. It makes him want to act instead of being patient. It’s dangerous because there will be no turning back.

Hirako must have sensed that temptation, after all, he is an observant man. That’s why this interrogation is happening in the first place. Aizen recognizes the reason behind it, the end goal and the method. And yet he allows himself to play along. He tilts his head as though in withdrawal but in fact this gesture exposes his neck even further.

“Captain, please…” he utters with feigned modesty. “Your behavior is inappropriate.”

“’Cause what ya just confessed was certainly proper?”

Even though the words sound accusing, Aizen notices a poorly hidden glee underneath. More importantly, Shinji leans even closer. His lips are inches away from Aizen’s skin by now.

He could have moved away but he chooses stillness, waiting for his Captain to back down or press on. He is not the one to decide, after all, he is just a subordinate in their professional relationship, no matter how much stronger or more competent he is.

“Does it bother you, Captain?” he asks, lowering his voice to come across as genuinely worried.

“Not really,” Hirako replies smoothly with his usual carelessness. Then he actually chuckles. “If anythin’, I find it hilarious. Watchin’ how much it bothers you.”

The annoyance starts to buzz underneath his skin. Aizen knows the cause. He despises being read too clearly. The impulse to deny the truth returns. He suppresses it. But he still has to say something.

“Shouldn’t it bother me?” he asks and then pauses, trying to fish for some kind of reaction. When he gets none, he simply continues. “Most captains would find my attention... inconvenient. I don’t want this revelation to affect our professional relationship.”

“Liar.”

Aizen falls silent. The blunt delivery reminds him of dissection. It cuts so swiftly through his layers and strikes exactly where his buzzing lives.

“Ya want your lil’ confession to affect our dynamic,” Hirako states evenly and there’s a cold precision to his mocking tone. “Ya hope it will change how I see you. But Sōsuke… even if I felt generous enough to indulge your silly fantasy, it would change absolutely nothing. D’ya know why? Because you’re a liar. Just lyin’ to yourself now, instead of me.”

With that, the hand leaves his backside unceremoniously and his Captain finally moves away from him. Where there had been contact, only the itching absence lingers. Aizen’s skin crawls as though he had been stung.

He cannot soothe the aching place without first acknowledging its existence. So he pushes that thought aside without searching for its source. Unfortunately, the sensation swells inside him further. And before he knows it, he’s already made his choice.

He moves.

One short step across the tatami, and the distance Hirako created is crossed.

Standing a head taller, Aizen lowers his gaze. He meets his Captain’s eyes and steadily holds his stare. This is already too direct and he is aware of the consequences, of breaking the rules that his lieutenant persona would have never broken.

Shinji doesn’t retreat, doesn’t step away. So Aizen takes another step. The space between them shrinks to something absurdly fictional.

Then Aizen leans down, inch by inch. His nose nearly touches Shinji’s golden hair. The subtle scent of camellia oil draws him further in. He can’t help but breathe it in. As deeply as possible.

The flinch is minimal but Aizen registers it sharply, standing far too close to miss any detail. Hirako lifts his chin and tries to take a step back but Aizen’s hands are quicker. He wraps them around his Captain’s waist, trapping him in place.

“Then indulge me just this once,” he murmurs, his face a breath away from Shinji’s heated cheek, “…and I will take my time to show you how genuine I can be.”

Eyes sharp and focused, Aizen chases the micro-expressions and when his Captain opens his mouth to reply, he leans for a kiss.

He presses his lips lightly, carefully, not exactly hesitant. He is ready to be shoved away at any given moment.

But the shove never comes.

Shinji’s body tightens as though the man braces himself. Aizen senses his stress under his fingertips. Yet the kiss continues uninterrupted. His Captain allows that. More than just that. He allows the small pause and then another kiss.

Hirako’s passivity contrasts with his apparent permission and it confuses Aizen, discouraging him. If avoidance is his Captain’s strategy, too bad, it will not stop Aizen from kissing him again.

He presses his lips against Shinji’s, more decisive this time. Denying him reaction is a calculated move. Hirako truly is a cruel man. But Aizen isn’t exactly a gentle soul either. If he must, he will force the response out of his dear Captain, teaching him how to cooperate. His hands move from Shinji’s waist to cradle his face, his thumbs resting firmly against his bony cheeks. The skin feels so smooth, so warm under the touch. Aizen kisses him harder, like Shinji belongs to him.

Hirako responds to him at last, his lips reluctantly engaging with the act. This change triggers a sudden burst of satisfaction, sending a wave of liquid heat down Aizen’s abdomen. He does his best not to show how eager he is to continue. If he pushes it too far, it will threaten to destroy his carefully crafted facade, leaving him exposed.

He breaks the kiss before it gets too messy, or perhaps it is already too late to hide his obvious enjoyment. Shinji looks at him with a stern, chilling glare. Aizen can’t pretend not to bask in that anger, shimmering so vividly behind his Captain’s eyes.

“Are ya done?” Shinji asks sourly with an undertone of criticism. The animosity and tension tremble between them like a sore muscle after overstretching it.

Aizen’s thumb caresses his cheek in a measured gesture. Not yet, he wants to say with that touch alone.

“Do you hate me, Captain?”

The words slip past his lips, softer and quieter than initially intended. A small, fleeting smile graces Aizen’s face. His eyes are wide open, fiercely fixed on Shinji’s.

“Hate ya? Nah,” Hirako replies, dismissive and unperturbed as ever. “Ya flatter yourself, Sōsuke. Ya don’t deserve my hate.”

This stirs an internal turmoil, not a buzzing, not a sting, but an avalanche of violent thoughts and emotions rolling through his mind. He doesn’t let them surface, of course, but his body freezes for a breath too long.

His Captain’s lips curve into a smirk.

“That’s enough indulgence for one day, Lieutenant. We’ll get back to this some other time.”

As Aizen leaves the office to return to his quarters, the sun has already set and the moon is out. He appreciates the cold air against his skin, it still feels too hot for his usual state.

He doesn’t rush, instead he takes the time to analyze the events of this evening. Hirako’s hand, Hirako’s words, Hirako’s lips against his own. The buzzing follows him, trapped inside his chest, louder than he wishes to acknowledge. It nearly distracts him from sensing a concealed spiritual presence. A shadow awaits on the rooftop next to his quarters. A small, familiar figure. Ichimaru Gin.

The boy realizes at once that he’s been spotted. He leaps down from the roof and joins Aizen’s side.

“Workin’ late again?”

The question is voiced lightly, as if the little snake believes he can trick Aizen with his false innocence.

“Do you need something, Gin?”

The boy looks up, trying to read his expression. The serpentine curve of his hungry smile splits his young face in half like a nasty wound.

“Just makin’ sure we’re still proceedin’ with the… plan tomorrow?”

“What made you think we should not?”

“You,” the boy answers flatly with a lazy shrug. “Stayin’ late in the office, alone with Captain Hirako…”

All at once, he was suddenly able to perceive Gin’s intentions, and the intensity of this experience took him by surprise. It was much more than Aizen had anticipated, deeper than anything he normally had to process. The profound resentment seeping from the sword was both cold and hot, bitter and sweet, raw and calculated at the same time…

It was a baffling clash between his meticulous mind and the overwhelming force of intrusive emotions. They were too complex for Aizen to neatly name them and categorize, too unstable to put a label on them and move on.

He had believed he understood Gin’s anger, but it must have been just a vague idea. He had known, of course, that the boy despised him dearly. However, knowing something and experiencing it firsthand turned out to be incompatible.

When he thought about it, he had tasted Gin’s hatred before. He had kissed it from those lying lips each time the two of them had mingled in a fit of desire. The ugly way Gin wanted him when they had indulged in bodily pleasures had made Aizen wonder where the contempt ended and the attraction began.

The killing intent had always been there – in Gin’s narrowed eyes, in his cruel touches. But Aizen would have lied if he had claimed he never enjoyed the beautiful brutality of their shameless acts.

So when Shinsō entered his ribcage, it felt almost familiar, as though Gin let something honest slip at the peak of his pleasure. And Aizen was taken aback by this slip simply because it was too open, too uncomfortable.

It violated their unspoken agreement to share their bodies and their paths, but never their truths. Now their long-term game had reached its climax, and Aizen realized how much was left unsaid. Not about the poorly disguised animosity, but about that unsettling thing that lay buried underneath. About the thing that shouldn’t have been there and yet it bled through the sharpness of the blade.

Aizen felt it inside himself. Incomprehensible. Defying all logic.

It was Gin’s childish hope of keeping Aizen to himself despite the burning desire to kill him.

As Gin pulled his sword free and the blood erupted from the wound, Aizen hissed in a jolt of pain. He was still very much alive, which meant Gin had disappointed him. The attempted murder was rushed and amateurish. And so it had failed.

Now it was Aizen’s turn to return the favor by cutting his lover down. But before he could do so, Gin’s deceitful fingers found their place on Aizen’s bleeding chest.

“Ya should be glad,” the silver-haired boy said with a vicious glee. “Ya get to die with a hole in yer heart. Isn’t that what ya always wanted?”

Aizen didn’t reply, sparing them the embarrassment of being sincere. However, they both knew Gin wasn’t talking purely about the Hollowfication. There had been a void all along where Aizen’s heart should have been. Would it change anything if he admitted that he had tried to fill it?

There had been times he nearly believed it had worked; times when Gin had asked exactly the right questions, followed by the quiet comfort of needing no answers. When “perhaps” and “almost” had been hanging between them like raindrops on lashes, trembling with the knowledge of being fated to fall.

But in the end, it was never complete. And maybe… this was for the best. Had he trusted Gin, he would have regretted it now as these smiling lips whispered the word “Bankai.”

There was a gaping hole, nothing more. Not in his heart, only in his chest.

A lack of attachment could be kinder sometimes.

Hirako’s wide, toothy smile was gone, his lips parted as he let out a quiet hiss. Both his wrists were pinned down to the tatami, firmly held in Captain’s Urahara larger, stronger hands.

Their lips were inches apart, glossy with kisses and sake. Shinji’s lower lip was red and slightly swollen, Urahara’s bite had left a little mark there. But even after the bite, Hirako didn’t quite try to push him away or scold him.

Urahara must have taken Shinji’s submission as a permission to continue, that was why his other hand slipped with such confidence under the man’s black hakama. Hirako’s legs parted, encouraging the touch. His lips parted even wider, as though he expected yet another kiss. But Urahara didn’t intend to oblige. He lowered his head, focusing on Shinji’s throat. His teeth found the other man’s Adam’s apple. The bite tore a haunting gasp from Hirako’s mouth.

The two Captains were getting reckless, and the scene appeared too intimate for the prying eyes.

Yet Sōsuke kept watching, absorbing every detail from the safety of his favorite Bakudō – Kyokkō.

It was a good thing he had followed his Captain tonight. Had he not, he would never have witnessed such a revealing display of vulnerability and instinct. The moment Shinji had caught Kisuke’s hand and sipped from his cup, Aizen had actually considered leaving the two to their little game. However, the discomfort of watching such obvious seduction got mixed with something darker that grew inside him, raised and finally resurfaced.

How dare his Captain take the gift from him and come to share it with Kisuke Urahara?

Aizen had selected that bottle of sake with far more precision than the occasion required, and yet his precious Captain hadn’t even considered inviting him to sample it. The sense of injustice, perhaps unreasonable, quietly continued to eat at Aizen’s mind. He stayed and watched the scene unfold. Just as he had predicted, the Captains’ behavior quickly became deeply improper. It was escalating further with every kiss and bite.

The two hadn’t even moved deeper into the room, staying in front of the open backdoors that led to the inner garden. Hidden under the spell, Aizen stepped closer to the engawa – close enough to hear every whisper and catch every moan.

It annoyed him. The fact that these images and these sounds pricked at something raw and aching inside his own body. He kept watching, of course, he wouldn’t miss such an opportunity to see the two of his important enemies locked together in a fit of primal, animistic heat. However, he soon discovered with a painful certainty that he himself wasn’t fully immune to bodily urges. His fists clenched on their own as he observed his Captain’s lustful body squirming under Urahara’s touch.

Why did it have to be Urahara? The only man who could possibly match Aizen’s own brilliance?

He blamed it on sake; the carefully chosen gift was supposed to grant him at least one cozy evening with his distrustful Captain. Instead, it was used against him in the most cruel way – introducing his rival into their private game.

A wave of something hot, something that Aizen couldn’t recognize right away, spread beneath his ribs like a sealing Kidō. It sparked a dangerous thought: what if this was on purpose? What if his Captain had somehow deciphered his interest in Kisuke Urahara’s research?

Was it even remotely probable that the two men had known he would be watching them tonight? Were they doing those things just to make him feel that way? This made no sense from a logical standpoint, Aizen understood that.

Still, deep down the unsettling sensation didn’t disappear. It thrived, whispering nonsense in the back of his head. He pressed his lips together as he watched Urahara stroking Hirako. His own body responded to that spicy image.

He didn’t know exactly which one of them he would gladly switch places with, if he only could. The urge to touch himself ran through his veins, and he had to suppress it before it took hold.

This devious sake always brought to the surface people’s worst impulses.

Aizen avoided drinking. Yet he felt drunk on his own unfulfilled desire.

Shinji hummed low in his throat, enjoying Kisuke’s attention. His head turned to one side, his eyes falling right at the spot where Aizen stood, hidden.

“How long are ya plannin’ to watch?”

It took Aizen a second to process the words, and another to evaluate his situation.

His breath caught in his chest as he stood frozen in place. How long… How long had his Captain known he was there?

Urahara paused his caresses as well, now staring at the exact spot right outside the room. It was hard to tell if he was surprised or not because he wore the same sly smile as before.

“Well, this is awkward,” the man said lightly, trying to make himself sound embarrassed, but his body language contradicted his statement. He seemed perfectly confident, and not ashamed in the slightest. “You can come out now, Lieutenant Aizen,” he added in a lighthearted tone. “We won’t be mad.”

So it was a game after all, the one designed to mock him. Aizen was skilled at playing all sorts of mind games – that was the sort of challenge he never backed away from.

He released the spell, making himself be visible. Then he sank into a deep, respectful bow.

“Captain Hirako, Captain Urahara,” he said quickly, faking nervousness. “Please accept my sincere apologies for disturbing you. I was just…”

“Save yer lies for someone who falls for them, Sōsuke,” his Captain interrupted. He sounded irritated but not half as dangerous as he usually did. His narrow eyes swept across Aizen’s body, lingering especially on his lower part. “I know exactly what ya were doin’. If ya like watchin’ so much… why don’tcha come closer. Bet Kisuke wouldn’t mind.”

Urahara only smiled at that – a smile that wasn’t innocent at all.

“Should I bring another cup?”

“No need,” Hirako replied, not even waiting for Aizen’s decision. “My holier-than-the-Soul-King lieutenant doesn’t drink,” he explained with a barely concealed disdain. “He only pretends he does when he thinks I’m watchin’.”

His Captain’s gaze lingered obnoxiously long on the spot where Aizen’s hakama was pressing too tightly to the bulge underneath. Painfully aware of his arousal, or rather of how visible the evidence was, Aizen clasped his hands in front of himself. A gesture that might pass as modesty. The truth was, he experienced no shame – not in the usual sense. If anything, he felt mild irritation over the loss of control over his own body, and over the perception the others had of him.

He blinked twice, putting on the act of the good-lieutenant and trying his best to sell the innocent look. But inside he was buzzing with pure, undiluted thrill. It was very exciting because their offer was real. And he was going to take them up on it just to test how far this would go.

“Captain, do you mean it?” he asked meekly, not moving an inch from his spot.

“I told ya to quit playin’ dumb,” Shinji huffed. His cheeks were visibly flushed either from frustration or the alcohol in his veins.

Urahara had released his wrists by now so Hirako lifted himself from the tatami, resting on his elbows. However, his swollen erection still rested in the other Captain’s hand. Aizen pretended not to stare but his Captain beckoned him with a tilt of his head.

“Get in here,” the man ordered. “And not another lie. Consider this yer lucky day.”

Without prolonging the hesitant act, Aizen slowly climbed up the engawa and entered the room. He sat down next to Shinji’s head, on the opposite side of Kisuke Urahara.

Urahara didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a glance, his eyes stayed low – focused entirely on Shinji’s body. This little detail pricked at Aizen’s pride, not strongly but enough to be registered as internally disrupting.

The Captain of the Twelve resumed his rhythm – a smug smile on his face, and a chilling sense of control in his every stroke. His steady hands made Hirako’s back arch instantaneously. Aizen observed, absorbing the scene and learning as he watched.

His own fingers twitched involuntarily, driven by the impulse to touch his Captain’s head, his smooth hair, his flushed face. He subdued that instinct. It was too soon to engage – he would rather wait for the right moment, for the perfect opening.

“Feeling a bit adventurous, aren’t we, Hirako-san?” Urahara murmured, enjoying the other’s responsiveness and frivolity. “So… what’s between the two of you?” he asked lightly, almost as an afterthought.

“Nothing,” Aizen told him, perhaps a little too quickly to be considered genuine.

“Mind yer own business, Kisuke,” Shinji for once actually agreed with him, his lips twisting in a sour grimace of displeasure.

“Curious way to put it.” Urahara grinned. “Considering I’m taking care of your business right now.”

Shinji didn’t smile at that, only clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Very funny… Now, do me a favor and use that clever mouth of yours for somethin’ other than tellin’ lame jokes.”

Hearing that request spoken so plainly made Aizen’s own erection twitch beneath the fabric. Even more so as Urahara lowered his head and stuck out his tongue for a tentative taste.

His hand twitched again, but he pressed it back down.

Urahara playfully teased his Captain, licking the tip as though he never intended to go any further. It caused Shinji’s hand to snap down to the sandy-blonde hair in a desperate attempt to force the other to take him deeper.

The Captain of the Twelve didn’t indulge him, instead, he brushed his smiling lips against the reddened tip. It could be read as a gentle kiss. But it was delaying the pleasure, it was a display of who was really controlling the game.

A thought arrived, sudden and visceral, telling Aizen that he should have been in charge. He was surely better at this than Urahara. He could make Shinji moan, begging for more.

This time he let his hand move from his lap. Slowly, it reached toward his Captain’s face. His thumb brushed lightly against Hirako’s lower lip – a touch as brief as a summer breeze.

Then he pressed harder; his thumb came to rest against the soft pink of Shinji’s mouth. It forced those narrow lips apart. His Captain grunted, but didn’t stop Aizen, didn’t even flinch under the intrusion.

Aizen savored the sensation under his fingertip, feeling the softness and warmth of the lips that had told him to stay away so many times before. He waited patiently for Urahara’s next move, and when he made it – finally taking Shinji deeper – only then Aizen pushed his thumb inside, entering the wet warmth of the mouth.

His dear, filthy Captain sucked on his finger greedily and kept letting out the most wanton sounds. After a few moments of repetitive motion, the game began to bore him, so Aizen decided to replace his thumb with his index and middle finger. The angle he used forced Shinji’s mouth wide open. The drool pooled at the corners of Hirako’s mouth. The sight of his Captain swallowing his fingers triggered a pleasant tingling between Aizen’s legs.

He pulled out his fingers, testing how sticky they had become; a string of saliva stretched between them like a spider’s web. His eyes never left Hirako’s as he brought his hand closer to his own face. Then he licked the saliva off his fingers.

A faint taste of sake spread across his tongue. He closed his eyes, just for a second, imagining it was his Captain’s mouth that he was tasting.

Shinji’s lustful voice snapped him back to reality.

“Hey, Sōsuke.”

The words came out raspy, and this unusual roughness in his Captain’s tone did strange things to Aizen’s self-control.

“Ya look like you’re dyin’ to taste me,” the man said mockingly. But everything about this situation meant that it was absolutely no joke.

Sprawled across the tatami, with his long hair spilled around his head like a stain of gold, Shinji seemed vulnerable in the most tempting way.

“Come closer. I might let ya,” he baited.

It was enough for Aizen to dive right into this challenge.

Dipping his head low, he claimed his Captain’s lips. His tongue once again found the taste of sake.

Hirako moaned into their kiss, perhaps caught off guard by his possessive side that Aizen let slip into that action. Seconds had passed, but none of them wanted to break the contact. Neither one pulled away. Their tongues collided in a fierce exchange much like blades in a violent battle.

When they finally broke apart, Shinji looked like a mess, and Aizen felt his own face grow hot in an uncontrolled, ugly manner. He turned his gaze toward Urahara who seemed to take a break from pleasuring Hirako. Their eyes met for the first time tonight and Aizen’s excitement rapidly spiked.

Kisuke Urahara looked at him with his full attention, and the sheer force of this gaze sent chills down Aizen’s spine. Because unlike Hirako’s, these eyes pinned him down, shimmering both with desire and fascination. They lacked the emotional fire that his dear Captain could provide. Instead, they offered something colder – something that Aizen recognized, as though he was staring at his own reflection.

It was effortless dominance and constant calculation barely concealed behind those gray irises.

“My turn,” Urahara said slyly, his hand already reaching for the edge of Aizen’s collar.

His rough fingers curled against the soft fabric and pulled him in until their mouths crashed together in a forceful kiss. Urahara’s tongue forced itself past Aizen’s lips, and Sōsuke was able to taste more than just sake this time. This time… it was the flavor of Shinji’s cock.

Without closing his eyes, he gave in to that kiss, letting Urahara set the pace and the angle. The warm, intoxicating sensation that must have felt like being drunk washed over his body from the inside.

The direction in which the events were heading, made him think that, indeed, it was his lucky day.

The only problem was, Sōsuke Aizen didn’t believe in luck.