A/N: No, I am NOT obsessed about Aizen and Gin. Not at all.
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine. If it was, it'll be an Aizen and Gin tale.
Inspired by a oneshot from the.amethyst.alchemist, "No Air". That was lovely and poetic.
No one ever asked why Aizen Sousuke was so intent on taking the seat of God. They knew what the ex-captain was going to do, what he intended to do, and for them the line of inquiry stops there. No one really asked why.
Then again, if anyone had asked, Aizen would just smile that enigmatic smile.
Ichimaru Gin didn't ask. He knew.
"I wish we didn't have all these obligations as captains, Aizen-sama," Gin murmured. They still had about an hour before they had to return to Seireitei, back to their respective roles, putting on their masks again. Become aloof and distant again.
"We are here in this world, and so we obey the laws," Aizen had said simply, his fingers lingering in silver hair cradled in his lap, before the hand slid to the slender neck and closed around it.
Gin peered up and he smiled crookedly, arching into the hand. "I can still breathe, Aizen-sama."
Aizen looked at his former lieutenant's smirk and answered with a tender kiss and a flexing of his fingers.
In all honesty, Aizen had no intention of razing Soul Society to the ground. He had grown up there, learned and trained there, met Gin there. Just the last factor alone guaranteed the continued existence of Soul Society.
Even the Gotei would remain, for memory's sake.
He owed them that much.
But Gin had felt restricted, stifled, claustrophobic in Seireitei. Although the younger shinigami had tried his best to blend with the crowd, they ostracized him. Gin had tried to be who they wanted – and they shunned him. Then he trained himself to be one of the best. They now resented him.
The denizens of Hueco Mundo didn't.
To be fair, most of Hueco Mundo's residents were mindless, wandering, pathetic schmucks. The small percentage with consciousness beyond the next meal were mostly fearful of their new overlord. The even smaller group of elite arrancar viewed themselves as Aizen's instruments, and they were all loyal. But not all of them liked Aizen – not an issue for the former captain. He needed their strength, not their love.
All of them welcomed Ichimaru Gin, far more than they welcomed Aizen Sousuke.
Not for that biting wit, not for the immense strength – when it came down to language and power, the arrancar were able to find the equal or better of the silver-haired captain. But there was something Gin could do that Aizen couldn't.
Ichimaru Gin accepted every hollow he came across. The strong, the weak, the beautiful, the ugly, the horrifying, the incomplete... Ichimaru Gin treated all as equals.
Oh, not equal to him or Aizen, but equal to each other. His cutting sarcasm and poison-laced words were dealt evenly and equally among all, his grins and teases shared among all. There was fairness and justice even beyond Tousen Kaname's grasp of the concept.
From the arrancar to the lesser hollows, none were spared, and none were excluded. Gin moved carelessly and sinuously among them, teasing, laughing, killing, under the indulgent and watchful eye of Aizen. The arrancar bowed to Aizen's strength and fearlessness, but they revered Ichimaru Gin for his acceptance.
They feared him also, of course, but that had been fear grounded in understanding and love. Now all of them avoided him because they knew what he could do, not because of what they suspected he could do.
It made all the difference.
Perhaps, if they knew the extent of Aizen's emotions for Ichimaru Gin, the Gotei might have prepared earlier.
Even before Gin made captaincy, Aizen had planned.
He took Las Noches, rebuilt it into a fortress. He recruited adjuchas and stronger gillian, molded them, and, using what meager resources he had initially, crafted the first arrancar, elevated the early Espada, created Fraccion.
Times would change. People would change. Expectations would change.
Once Gin revealed the potential in him, he would be called away from Aizen's side. It was inevitable. And Gin would have to play the role of a captain, bound to honor the rules, bound to uphold the law. They would be – in the eyes of the shinigami – equals. They had to maintain a distance because it wasn't done for captains to be involved, not in that way. They had to be role models, after all.
"I can't breathe," Gin said when Aizen drew the younger captain into his arms. "I can't breathe anymore. They accuse me with their eyes and sentence me with their gaze. Everyday. Before I've done anything to deserve it."
"They are fools," Aizen answered, kissing Gin on the back of his neck. "They're not worthy."
Gin relaxed into the embrace, whispering, "I can breathe only when I'm with you."
"I am always with you." The reassurance was silently stated, and fiercely repeated. "I will always be with you."
Gin had held onto that reassurance, as Aizen broke all ties between them and Soul Society.
He could feel the stranglehold fading and the cold, clean air rushing into his lungs.
It felt good.
Gin chuckled softly while they snuggled in their bed. The confused, reproachful gaze of Matsumoto Rangiku was now nothing more than a fading memory, and Gin was tired after an eventful day. "The seat of God, eh?"
"You'll need more than Hueco Mundo to play in," replied Aizen, burying his nose in tousled silver hair. "I'm certain you'll need more sunlight. Fresh air. Boys and girls running around, screaming and shouting."
"We could always go to the beach if I needed target practice," suggested the former Third captain. Then he sighed, running his hands along his captain's muscular legs. "At least now I can breathe easier."
Aizen pressed his lips into that silver head. He would give anything, to keep that relaxed and pleased expression on Gin's face forever.
What was the world compared to that?