A/N: One-shot Aizen/Grimmjow drabble written for the same friend I'm usually found guilty of writing requested smut for. There isn't enough of this pairing about...-shifty eyes of the closet fangirl-
Disclaimer: Bleach was created and is owned by Tite Kubo.
Submission and control.
That's what it was all about.
Who was stronger, who was more dominant; who had the power to back up the commands they gave.
Sweat was beading on his brow, slipping down his cheeks from his mussed hairline and glistening on his shoulders: a single strip of light from the doorway casting a glittering line down his strong chest.
Grimmjow was a simple creature, once you got right down to it. His loves and hates were obvious and uncomplicated; his motivations straightforward and true to nature. One could almost liken him to a wild animal: all power, hunger, noise…
Aizen's eyes focused again as the rasped cuss pulled him from his thoughts, and they looked down into lidded, hateful blue ones – smiling a little at the hate they saw burning there.
"I'm surprised, Grimmjow…" the former shinigami captain said, his slow, deep voice seeming to relish the taste of the Espada's name on his tongue. "I was certain you would be more resilient than this…"
His fingers quickened, pearly moisture slicking his palm as it moved it unforgivingly on Grimmjow's erection.
The Arrancar bit back a groan, the muscles in his jaw and stomach alike straining as he fought the urge to buck.
"I would hate to see you beg…" Aizen murmured in amusement – his thumb sliding across the head in circles.
A fresh bead of sweat ran from Grimmjow's temple, catching the light as a long, throaty groan escaped him.
"Bastard…" he managed through clenched teeth. "Th-this is-…fucked up…S'exactly what you w-want me t'do…"
"What I want, Grimmjow, is quite simple…"
Those fingers – those pumping, tugging, teasing, merciless fingers – suddenly removed themselves from the Espada's length, and for a moment he was left panting and unwillingly cursing their absence. It was only a brief moment until their touch returned, however, and his eyes widened. This time, it was in a far less desirable place.
"No fucking way in hell!!!" he growled, muscles straining as he struggled against his bonds. "Get the f-FUCK!!!"
Aizen's finger pressed deep and was quickly joined by a second – thrusting tortuously in and out of the tight, hot passage.
"What I want, Grimmjow," that deep, calm voice reiterated. "Is for you to submit to me."
Even in his current circumstance – tense and flushed and fighting to escape – the Sexta Espada managed a dark grin at the man's words.
"Hn. C-can't even…nngh…keep tabs o-on little old me…Aizen-sama…?" he snarled throatily.
The fingers quickened cruelly, curling inside of him, and Grimmjow swore loudly – his erection straining harder than ever against his stomach.
"It seems a more lenient punishment will not do…" There was a sigh (perhaps not an entirely sincere one) and a rustling of fabric in the dimness. "I had hoped you would not push me to such measures. It seems, however, that you need to be reminded thoroughly of whom it is that you answer to…"
There was no expletive in his vocabulary for it, as the ex-captain's fingers ceased their work and withdrew once again, only to be replaced by something even worse than the last time.
Unable to keep his voice behind his teeth, Grimmjow gave out a noise that was at once a roar of pain and a groan, panting harshly as Aizen pressed their hips together and filled the Espada to breaking point.
It was hot; it burnt like fucking hell and it hurt ten times that, but still the Arrancar's body was trembling for the next thrust, the next shred of friction – anything to relieve the unbearable ache of his own arousal as it twitched above the void in his middle.
"Still no begging?" Aizen's voice bore an edge of strain to it now, too – accompanied by a slight noise of effort as he lingered for a moment and then began to pull out again. "Perhaps I did underestimate you after all…"
Grimmjow yelped as the unbearable thickness began to recede, only to swear and buck his hips helplessly as it slammed back in a second later.
Aizen picked up a steady rhythm, one hand holding Grimmjow's hips tightly while the other strayed to the blackletter 6 on his back, setting the Arrancar's skin tingling.
"Tell me…Grimmjow…" The thrusts picked up a little in pace. "Who is your master?"
The Arrancar bit his tongue for fear of groaning, blue eyes blazing hotly beneath their lids.
A particularly hard thrust took Grimmjow by surprise and he tasted blood – moaning a rough cuss.
"F-…Fuck you…" he snarled weakly.
"Who, Grimmjow…?" Aizen repeated, as though he hadn't said anything.
"I-I ain't…gonna fuckin' s-say it…!"
The rhythm grew ever faster and harder, until Grimmjow's body was arching like a bow – his jaw clenching and unclenching, body burning up until he could barely hold back the sounds tearing themselves from his throat.
"H-haah…H-hurry up…and f-fuckin' f-finish me already!!!"
"I have yet to hear your answer…" Aizen disagreed – his pace not slowing in the slightest. "Tell me, and the torture will cease."
His pride still present in the craning of his neck and the fierce flashing of his eyes, Grimmjow's body was nonetheless crying out for release in a way that he simply could not ignore and survive to tell about it.
The words finally, forcibly dragged from his lips, he opened his mouth and panted in a rough rasp:
"Aizen-…s-sama…I answer-…to Aizen-sama…"
Above him, the ex-captain's lips curled into a subtle, handsome smile – his hand finding Grimmjow's length and gripping it firmly.
Even as the first jarring shock on the last mile to orgasm slammed through his hips, the blue-haired Espada lifted his head and glared at Aizen from beneath heavy lids – his bangs plastered damply to his brow.
"…Now hurry up and finish me off, you prick."
It was over in a matter of heartbeats – and hurried ones, at that. The next thing Grimmjow knew, utter fucking bliss consumed him and he was straining against his bindings, head tipped back, mouth open in a groan and hips flush to Aizen's as two men came hard: something warm and sticky spattering itself up the Espada's torso.
There was an interlude of silence, broken only by ragged breathing, before Grimmjow felt something slide itself across his chest, smearing rapidly cooling moisture. Then his head was lifted, and those same two fingers pressed themselves against his lips – forcing their way past and into his mouth.
What he tasted on them was salty and viscous and still warm.
"Remember that taste well, Grimmjow," Aizen's voice told the bristling Arrancar to the sound of hakama being replaced. "For that is the taste of submission."