party favors! ft. gin ichimaru, sosuke aizen, and shinji hirako
silly little drabble inspired by this request from the lovely @temarcia (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) happy (one hour early where I am) birthday aizen!
Ever since he made Sosuke Aizen his target, Gin understood the kind of person he would have to become. He perfected the dance of deception, the callousness of killing, and maintained just enough of a personality to keep the Fifth Division Lieutenant interested — but not so anomalous as to cause concern.
What Gin failed to consider, however, was the fact that — no matter how much blood he spilled — he was still a child compared to his comrades. This was easily forgotten in schemes and battles, where he could outsmart and outperform some of the Soul Society's greatest, but today it's staring him in the face in the form of red lace and sheer fabrics.
"Let's see just how much they like him now," the Fifth Division Captain, Shinji Hirako, grumbles as he pushes the door open to Aizen's office. He's carrying a small basket of women's panties, tossing Gin an unimpressed glance in the process. "He's makin' ya do his reports again?"
Of all the Soul Reapers he's met, Gin finds Captain Hirako the hardest to face. Perhaps it's because he's one of the few that does not fawn in Aizen's presence; Gin worries that, if Captain Hirako detects even a hint of mutual distaste, he'll pick away at it until Aizen can smell the blood of Gin's duplicity.
"I offered … and he always re-does them anyway." Gin shifts awkwardly, unable to contain the blush dusting his pale cheeks at Shinji's haul. Shinji notices, and a self-satisfied smirk washes over his features.
"So y'didn't wanna go to his lil' birthday party? Aren'tcha sad yer missin' it?"
"Lieutenant Aizen didn't want one to begin with…"
"Of course he didn't." Shinji's expression sours. "Anyway, Aizen always brings some fat cats t' his office after events like these. Likes to liquor'em up and hear 'em sing his praises. Y'should probably make y'rself scarce."
Gin frowns, eyes flitting back to the basket of delicates. Shinji sighs.
"Aw, fuck it. Y'r gonna rat me out anyway, might as well just do it witcha here." He plucks a frilly pink number from the basket and drapes it over the corner of Aizen's bookshelf. A little blue thong becomes an accent on the coat hook. Soon, the basket is empty — and Aizen's office is an array of color and chaos. "Not that yer gonna listen t'me, but Captain's orders … don't tell Aizen y'saw me here."
The Captain's assumption that Gin will report him is a fair one, but oddly enough — he doesn't. Maybe he's too entranced by the pretty fabrics ... or maybe he's simply overjoyed by the irate expression that overcomes Aizen's features when he enters his office with two nobles in tow. It's hard to say.
"Ah…" Aizen's glare is cold. Assessing. But while Gin may still have some kinks to work out regarding his interactions with Captain Hirako, and true, building an immunity to women's panties is now on his to-do list, he's at least familiar with this dance.
"I took a break and they were here when I got back," Gin shrugs. "I thought it may have been a birthday gift from … someone."
The answer is suggestive enough to turn the nobles' looks of mild disgust into coy congratulations. Aizen — not so naive as to outright believe Gin, but not stupid enough to ignore the genius of his recovery — gives him a small nod.
"Very well … ahem … I will tell her that her gift was received." Aizen steps toward his modest liquor cabinet, collecting three glasses and a bottle of sake, outwardly shameless about his office's new decor. He addresses Gin without looking back, words clipped authoritatively. "Now clean these up and leave us."
