#cas i invite you to the scene of the murder of your own feelios

[keikakudori]

"Do ya expect me to feel sorry for ya? Rottin' in here... I'd say you earned that." There was a blade in Gin's voice, the way it cut through the darkness of Muken before he was fully formed, fully visible, a ghostly figure flanked Aizen's throne akin to a predator prowling forward seeking the most vulnerable angle to strike from. Wisps of white trailed in tendrils, leaving transparency in his wake, an ethereal sight -- but Aizen would fix that, soon, wouldn't he? Ah, yes, a blink and then there would be no more rolling fog, no see-through features. Gin steadied into this abyss fully materialized, as though he had been here all along. Maybe he had. Maybe this was Hell, not a physical cell beneath cold grounds -- but Hell. "You oughtta suffer," and Gin moved closer, always closer, always moving like a beam of light through dark cloud, a fleeting snowflake in a billowing blizzard. He circled towards the back of Aizen's throne, languid steps soundless, featherlight -- and turned his head enough so that Aizen could witness the ripping grin upon his lips as he stepped out. Circling, circling...

Until Gin craned his neck and leaned himself against the armrest at Aizen's left, closer to his heart this way. "I only wish I could've been the one to do it." A graze, slender fingers parted from an oversized sleeve in favor of reaching out, seeking that Hogyoku still housed within him -- as though a phantom of before; when Gin reached out to impart upon Aizen his deadly poison, his gift embedded within Aizen's heart. Kill'im, Kamishini No Yari.

" -- wish I could've plucked this thing outta your chest, at least."

And hidden eyes revealed, albeit barely, sharp as his knife-like voice. Snarling smile. Gin leaned away, dropped his hand from Aizen's chest, and regarded Muken idly, as though admiring it. This darkness.

"This'll have to do, though, won't it? We don't always get what we want, after all. An' that Hogyoku sure looooves keepin' you from dyin', doesn't it? Convenient." A shrug of his shoulders, a sigh. A return of Gin's gaze upon him. Fingers snaked up -- simultaneously subtle as a slowly constricting bout of scales and as abrupt as a fanged strike -- gripping underneath the other's jaw, holding tightly. "Yeah, this'll have to do. You'll live, and live, and live and liiiiive on down here, y'lost your chance to die when ya killed me."

            restfulness was not always an easy thing, and he had only but begun to stir from another bout of unawareness. time oozed by him, slowly over him, around him -- he was encased in the darkest of ambers, preserved, whole, crystallized within the sap that dripped upon his thoughts. how long had he been out this time? there was no way to gauge the soft tread of those cats paws, the soft ticking of seconds. he had tried, at first. tried, unable to not do so. when had he given up? the periods of unawareness made it impossible. sometimes he tried before his mind would swim back down into the dark, start counting, lose seconds, start again, again, again-- a tick-tick-tick counted in the beating of his own heart, in the drumbeat of muscle behind bone, thumping loud and strong in the dark. somewhere he had the vague awareness of thirst. how long since he had felt the desire for water, for food, for the soft breezes above. he could scarce imagine them now. 

            but he was aware of more, another, of a voice drawling and leaving him to stir in feeble, fitful starts as his eye pulled open slowly. how could he be the brightest thing in here, he wondered, as he let out a soft groan an absentee flex of fingers and toes and arms as much could be done in the restraints. but the words were SHARP TODAY -- as if today had any meaning whatosever in the deeps of muken. did he laugh? he might have, once. but the oppressive weight that bore down on his bones, his marrow, his heart -- ah. he could not slide free of it. but the bite. he knew that bite. so gin was angry with him this time, was he? their last parting had been far more cordial, a soft laugh, a brush of a finger over aizen’s cheek as if he were trying to pull him from the block of white that held him, arms stretched out to his sides, pinioned in place. his was the butterfly’s fate, but no wooden frame and no glass pane held him. but still, he was restrained, unable to move more than his head, his eye.

            ❝ i -- ❞ hoarse. his voice was hoarse. different from last time. different. his voice had been surer then. had he laughed as gin had teased him, commenting on how he looked ever so much a pirate, cap’n, y’know -- like in those books’n’songs’n’stuff. gin had sat in his lap and it had felt good to pass whatever vague sense of time there was with him so close. it had feltt good. 

skip.

            more solid now, more of that sinuous motion -- gin looked solid now, eyes squinted shut, smile curling up towards his ears. vulpine. the predator that he had concealed but for those times when they had hunted together. how he had dared nips and sharper bites, dared blood being drawn. gin had ever had a way around him -- aizen knew he was allowed to touch only at the younger man’s own allowance. gin always had strict rules and this was no different. his breath heaved for a moment as he inhaled and then his head was lifting as he found the younger man drawing close. there he perched on the throne, an echo of hueco mundo, though he did not slide into aizen’s lap the way he so often would back then. it had amused gin to do so, attempting to disrupt the flow of aizen’s rhetoric, his pronouncements. sometimes he would start to wiggle, see how fast an audience would be ended, see how fast aizen would turn to pin him to the throne or yank him back to their shared rooms.

              he had laughed as he’d done so.

skip.

            gin there, on the arm, so close. if he could but shift his arm a bit, he would settle his fingers on that hip, apologize for whatever he had done. they never had an anniversary, not the way others did. they were not like that. theirs was not only lovers, friends, companions -- but captain and lieutenant, master and right hand, elder beast and younger and enemies and compatriots and conspirators. but gin could be vicious when he had done something to irritate him, done something to forget -- had he forgotten-- no, surely he would have remembered. it was too important to forget. perhaps they were not a traditional couple, but aizen would still find something for gin every year. he remembered the scarf he’d gotten him, once. silk, embroidered with gold thread, waves of blue and silver running over the material in undulating patterns.

            he wondered where the scarf was.

            no.

            awareness had his head snapping up.the commen of suffering drawing his gaze to the snake that encircled his throat. living jewelry gin had been, coils of moonlightt paleness ever snug upon his neck, where he could reach up and touch them. his hands strained from where they were pulled out to his sides, trying to reach up. his lips parted. but something about it today told him no, no, do not touch him. he will shatter you. he will break you. no -- he could not touch today. 

            ❝ i-- you could-- you could right now-- i wont stop you -- i won’t -- i promise that i won’t stop you if you want to crack my ribs open and take it--  ❞

            you can have it if you want it. the cost was too high. the cost. i didn’t count the cost and i thought i could but no the cost was something else something else i never planned on i never planned on this on us on you on you being there with shinso in hand i never counted it i never counted it i never i never i didn’t i didn’t count it i was so stupid--

            but those eyes. 

            gin had looked at him once -- once, before there had been kurosaki ichigo and mugetsu. the eyes had been filled with a pain that had registered, detached, clinical upon the thoughts of the man who had called himself gin’s taichou. they were not pained now. he found his words were failing him today. the darkness seemed to be there in place of his heart, a heavy lump that did not move, did not beat. his heart was gone, wasn’t it? kamishini no yari had swallowed it up. just like gin said. he had devoured aizen whole and he’d never known it. aizen hadn’t either. not until it was too late and he had found himself heaving then, trying to tear at the restraints. because no -- no -- gin could not be gone. yet he knew too that blow he had struck at gin’s chest in cold echo of the fingers on his won -- knew how to slide the blade in, twist it, cut and sever and rip and tear and he had done that -- he had done that to him.

            gin. i’m sorry, gin-- 

            fingers at his neck. he had thought it would be fangs. it should have been fangs. strong fingers they were, holding securely to his neck, gripping without mercy. gin always liked it when aizen got breathless, liked to hold and hold and hold -- how long would he hold him now, like this, like this here and now. he didn’t try to fight it. he just accepted, chin lifted, eye widened, that thick hair curling over the nape of his neck as he strained for more. anything more than jsut a hold. he wanted a kiss. he wanted those fingers clawing at his chest. take the damn thing. TAKE IT. I DON’T WANT IT NOW. NOT ANYMORE. I WANT YOU. 

            ❝ i don’t-- want it-- ❞ he managed around that choke hold. ❝ not -- at the cost of you, gin -- not at the cost of you-- ❞ 

            those fingers tightened and he found his eye squeezing shut for a moment but the pressure didn’t release. his eye opened, gazing upwards, swimming iwth a pain that should have had him on the floor, weeping like a child. he knew what it was like to feel his cells dying. he knew what it was like to feel bone shattering into nothingness, what it was like to feel his body open and loose -- how his left arm had dangled, held by shreds of his torso. there had not been blood, not for that. he didn’t know if he had appreciated that or not.

            you always looked beautiful when you were covered in it -- when you were panting, disheveled -- i always wanted to lick it from your face, see if you would accept it, bite me, taste mine INSTEAD--

            but he was speaking now, speaking words he had before, speaking words that had never been fulfilled. gin would just SMILE WHEN HE DID SO BUT THEY WERE FLOWING FROM HIS LIPS YET AGAIN. how many times must he beg before gin had mercy on him? mercy, from a snake, a snake that delighted in his torments. gin could be cruel. but didn’t he deserve it? aizen knew he did. how ragged his soul felt, flapping, loose. he had wounded himself. he had killed himself that day. hadn’t he killed himself? yes -- he had, hadn’t he?

            ❝ do it -- kill me -- if you ever loved me, kill me and tear it out. please gin -- please--  i’m so tired of being without you.❞

                                                i already lost my heart the day i killed you and i didn’t know it. i’m already dead. you’re just burying my body and i simply remain unaware of it.