Hey guys, back with more. So, this is a request from Axel, one of my faithful readers! I haven't worked with Shinji before, so I hope I did alright here. As usual, please enjoy, and I'm not too proud to beg for reviews!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Angst, rape, oral.

Axel, hope this is what you were looking for.

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

Stephen Crane, 'In The Desert'

Shinji wasn't convinced that 'caught' was the right word to describe his current predicament. He had sacrificed himself, really, to create a distraction that would give Hiyori time to flee - which, for once, she did. Naturally, as any proper sacrifice would result in some trouble, he was 'captured', though he didn't quite feel as though he had been 'caught'. There was more to it than that.

It just didn't seem like it.

He had been in his cell for a couple of days, supposing that the dust was settling one way or another on the outside. Somebody had to win, though he wasn't entirely convinced that either side had a clean line on it. It was just as likely, he supposed, that anybody could burst in to save him at any moment as it was that he would be dragged off to his execution by one of those creepy arrancar.

With nothing else to do, he waited. There wasn't any sense in trying to get out; who would see him playing hero? The place was sealed tight and he was well aware his reiatsu had been limited anyhow. He had no doubt that Aizen had considered and accounted for every possible attempt that could be made at escape. He was just that kind of guy.

If asked, he wouldn't have admitted that he was somewhat worried about what his ex vice captain was planning. The man was capable of just about anything.

And Hiyori. He was still numb to that. Impossible. Every time he thought of it he felt as though he was dreaming, felt as though he would see her again. When he got out of there, he promised himself, he'd get his ass kicked again, take her feet right in the face.

That was what he wanted.

And everyone else.

And Ichigo.

He couldn't begin to imagine what Aizen would do to the boy, but he knew the man had a talent for changing people forever - for the worst. Mercy, however, was not among his many skills nor was it included in his astounding well of knowledge. Ichigo was just a kid, Shinji thought, a particularly badass one, but a kid just the same. Good old fashioned fighting was one thing; Shinji had to hand it to him: he could take a beating. But Aizen really wasn't the sort to stop at a beating for someone who had given him trouble.

There was a bed in the room, though he hoped he wouldn't be sticking around long enough to use it for its rightful purpose. Rather, he sat on the edge and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands.

He tried not to think.

"We're having something of a get-together," Aizen explained, again smugly settled into his throne.

Ulquiorra stood still, awaiting orders.

"I'll need you to bring my guests along. I've invited - Gin, Shinji -"

"Shinji, Aizen-sama?"

"Ah, yes. Room number three, I believe. If not three, then four. He's a thin, tall man with blond hair. He will respond to his name."

Ulquiorra nodded.

"And bring me Ichigo as well - you know Ichigo?"

"Of course, sir."

"Ichigo, and Grimmjow. If you can't find Grimmjow, bring me Nnoitra."

Ulquiorra bowed, and turned on his heels to leave the grand throne room.

"Thank you," Aizen called after him, though his smooth voice only echoed in the the empty stone chamber. The espada never heard it, and even if he had, he would not have known what to say.

Aizen's usage of the word 'invited' was, of course, misleading. No one was aware of the 'get-together' save for the host himself, as Ulquiorra quickly discovered.

He went firstly to Gin's chambers, steeling himself for the interaction. Like nearly all of the others - with the sole exception being Nnoitra, who seemed somewhat indifferent - Ulquiorra hated Gin. The man had a wicked way of alienating others, slinking around and surprising them with strange and cryptic comments, veiled threats, lewd offers. All of it was evidently some personal in-joke he had with himself, as none of his various suggestions were ever fulfilled. Halibel had, on one occasion, complained to Aizen about his behavior - with the utmost respect, of course - and the Lord of Hueco Mundo had seemed to find it humorous. Gin was nothing but a harmless, mischievous thing, he had assured her, not to be taken too terribly seriously.

The last part Ulquiorra respectfully disagreed with.

Gin typically sensed the reiatsu of anyone who approached his door and tended to emerge to maneuver behind them without their noticing, preferring to sneak up on them and start some odd conversation.

Yet that wasn't the case. Ulquiorra arrived at his door and waited silently for him to appear, but nothing came of it. Disconcerted, he knocked on the vast stone door, and listened intently for some recognition. He expected an enthusiastic welcome, but there was nothing.

It was certainly inadvisable, but Ulquiorra was on orders and tended to be difficult to dissuade: he pushed that heavy monolith of a door open just slightly, enough to peer in and be heard.

Inside, the room was black and seemed boundless. The thin strip of white light which crossed the room revealed only white stone floor until - a pair of narrow, red eyes.

Gin was laying on the floor, staring directly at Ulquiorra with a dark, dangerous look. The espada instinctively took a step back. Faint whimpering could be heard, though nothing more could be seen in the pure darkness.

"Aizen-sama requests your presence," Ulquiorra explained after a moment of hesitation.

"I'm busy," Gin hissed.

"He asked that you come immediately."

"Aizen's an understanding kinda guy. He'll be fine."

"He sent me specifically to bring you to him now."

"Go, Ulquiorra."

The muffled whimpering went on even as the espada turned with undignified haste, closing the door behind him.

The others weren't difficult to collect. Even Grimmjow was surprisingly cooperative, which greatly behooved him: Ulquiorra wasn't interested in dealing with any further frustrations at the moment, and was still somewhat unsettled by the fear Gin had managed to induce in him.

They made a strange crew: Grimmjow hauling Ichigo - wounded enough to at least be quiet - and Ulquiorra, leading Shinji along by the reiatsu limiting collar. Both Vizard's hands were bound behind their backs tightly; Grimmjow took advantage of that fact by pulling the redhead behind him by his arm, periodically dislocating his shoulder before casually shoving it back into place with a sickening sound of bone sliding among muscle and cartilage.

Shinji didn't say anything and he didn't resist. He followed along silently, tensing when Ichigo yelped in pain.

Ulquiorra was entirely unsure of what to do when they arrived at the throne room. Aizen hadn't given him particularly clear directions, and, while he knew the man was up to something indecent, he couldn't estimate the choreography of it. He gestured for Grimmjow to lead both of the captives ahead of him, so that he could motion to Aizen things they couldn't see.

Aizen locked eyes with him. Ulquiorra shook his head. No Gin. The shinigami smirked faintly and glanced to the side, musing. He supposed he did owe Gin something of a honeymoon, considering that he'd let him take the blonde captive. All he had intended was to give Shinji a little regression into some painful memories, but Tousen wouldn't agree to it anyhow, and it was still possible without Gin. Aizen remained unfazed, motioning for Grimmjow to bring both Ichigo and Shinji to his throne.

He stopped them before Grimmjow pushed them to ascend to the high platform upon which the throne stood.

"Show the boy," said Aizen, "to the side." A vague motion to the right of the platform informed Grimmjow, and he roughly pulled Ichigo to that place, that dark, cold place in the shadow of Aizen's throne, and brought him to his knees. He was out of their sight then; the lord relied on Grimmjow's bitterness and malice to keep the boy subdued, though neither he nor Shinji could see the pair.

Ulquiorra hung back, near the doors which, upon Aizen's unspoken command, had closed. If there was an order, he would be ready to receive it. Hands in his pockets, he waited.

Aizen's attention, however, was then purely on Shinji. He straightened from his languid pose as he peered down at the man he had once looked up at.

"It dismays me, Captain," Aizen spoke evenly, "that we must meet again on such terms. I should have liked things to be quite different. Yet, here we are." He ended on a sigh, and then, with a wave of his hand, invited Shinji to ascend the stairs to the throne.

Shinji stood still.

"Nutty as ever, eh Sousuke? Now you've got a fancy chair. Not my style but I'll give you credit anyhow."

It was that damn nonchalance that Aizen had hated him for, not only in his general character but specifically with regard to him.

"I think you've misunderstood me, Captain. Let me make something clear. Grimmjow?"

A grunt echoed from the hidden side of the platform.

"Encourage our guest."

A strangled cry broke out, and it was Ichigo. Shinji blanched.

"Knew you were crazier than you looked, even now," he spat.

"Grimmjow?" Aizen called again.

Another broken shout of pain, muffled then, by something.

The Lord of Hueco Mundo gazed down at his prisoner, eyebrow quirked, quite satisfied with his particular form of persuasion.

"I won't venture to assume that the boy is a virgin," Aizen mused, gazing intently at Shinji, "but whether he is or not is, in this case, inconsequential. Grimmjow has rather peculiar anatomical attributes" - a short, sharp laugh came from the shadows - "that would render the whole matter - well. I can speak for Ichigo when I say he would very much appreciate your cooperation."

Shinji's heart pounded. Aizen was capable of anything, sure, but he hadn't thought of anything like this. Having him torn apart by wild arrancar vultures with hundreds of thick teeth? Possible. Letting one of the espada use him for experimental target practice? Probable. Killing him? Almost certain.

But this was - unspeakable.

Shinji began to ascend the stairs to Aizen, trudging along with slumping shoulders.

Nothing I can do now.

That was to say, he realized there was nothing he could do for his situation, and he wasn't exactly sure that he could really do anything for Ichigo's. Rules laid out by Aizen didn't seem particularly reliable to him. Grimmjow was a loose canon in any case.

He reached the throne with his hands in his pockets, slouching. Aizen sat before him, a satisfied, serene smile lightening his disarmingly soft eyes as it often had. Shinji's memory was immediately called upon. Aizen was always deadliest when smiling.

"What do you want, Sousuke?"

He heard his voice echo on the stone.

"I'm afraid our roles have changed, Shinji," Aizen replied calmly, "I am called Aizen-sama."

"My bad, Aizen-sama."

It didn't surprise Aizen that Shinji was insolent. He always had been. There wasn't anything compliant or hesitant about him, which had always been frustrating as his vice captain. In a sense, it was offensive: how could anyone stand before his throne like it was a street corner when it was an altar?

"On your knees, Shinji."

The blond stilled and thought about arguing, but there was that bastard in the shadows, he could hear him whispering something sinister, chuckling, and the boy whimpering. Aizen cocked his head to the side as though amused.


"No," Shinji broke in, lowering himself to his knees on the white marble, "fine, fine. Voila."

The words 'so now what do you want?' died in his throat.

He knew what Aizen wanted anyhow. He just wasn't going to start things, wasn't going to give in before he was forced to. Again, he waited.

"Come to me, Shinji."

So spoke the Lord of Hueco Mundo, and in his voice was an ethereal depth that echoed in the white stone cavern and in the mind, that was as endless and boundless as his person, something inhuman, something that could not be contended with or fully understood.

On his knees, Shinji crawled to him, head bowed.

"I made you what you are," Aizen told him, slipping his fingers beneath his captain's chin to bring their eyes to meet.

Shinji clenched his jaw and said nothing.

"I remind," Aizen went on, "these children of mine all the time: I made them what they are. And you see?" He turned his head to face the edge of the platform beneath which Grimmjow presently held Ichigo captive, "there isn't anything they wouldn't do for me. And I love them. I suspect you won't cooperate with me, Shinji, but I also believe," he began to stroke his cheek, bringing the pads of his deft fingers from his chin up his jaw, "that you can be persuaded."

The speech ended as abruptly as it began, and the blond closed his eyes as the rustling of cloth he had entirely expected followed. The high arms of the throne, frigid slabs of pale marble, obscured the process.

"Go on, Shinji. Look."

Aizen was amused when the Vizard lifted his eyes firstly to lock with his own. He smirked, aroused by the knowledge that Shinji was still indulging in rage and indignity and disgust, despite the petty uselessness of it all.

"We'll come to that," he murmured with a dark paternal gentleness, stroking his captive's hair, "intimacy. Look ahead now. Go on."

Shinji supposed there wasn't any sense in putting it off any longer, waiting for some kind of miraculous intervention. Maybe Kensei would burst in, or Love, Rose, anybody, Lisa, maybe some of those damn arrancar who were tired of his very situation would start an uprising, maybe Aizen would just roll snake eyes and be unable to get it up. Happens to everybody sometimes.

Not that time. Not any of it. Oppressive, eerie silence created and reigned over, manipulated and perpetuated by Aizen-sama.

It was an awkward motion, straightening on his knees and pulling himself up by the arms of the throne for a better angle. As Aizen had demanded, he looked downward, into his lap, and stared blandly. For some, it would have been aggravating to force such torture on someone only to have them react like seasoned prostitutes. Not so for the shinigami. Draining the vitality out of Shinji was something he hadn't even accomplished with hollowfication. It was only then, with his ex-captain hesitating before his sex, that he seemed truly and finally hollow.

A few more minutes followed, and, without warning:

"Grimmjow, -"

But before he could finish the command, the boy was whining deep in his throat, a broken sound suggesting the trailing fringes of puberty, intermixed with reluctant, burnt out tears.

Shinji straightened immediately and trembled; the sound wasn't ending, Ichigo was in pain, he couldn't imagine what the espada was doing, the boy was crying, he didn't cry, but he did cry, weeping, - was that begging? -, and god, it continued on, wouldn't stop, his thoughts raced, what - what to - how to make it -

He dipped his head down and took the tip of Aizen's cock between his lips, sucking with more enthusiasm - a dreadful, burning enthusiasm - than most of his lovers had known. Practiced fingers threaded into his hair, urging him forward with a gentle insistence, massaging as one would a willing participant.

Ichigo's voice ceased, replaced by nearly silent weeping, and Shinji's own labored breathing, only through his nose.

"Good, good. Very good."

Aizen pushed it deeper and gave a slight start.

"You've pierced your tongue. Mm, very good. You have - mm, - talent, captain."

Suddenly those fingers twisted in his hair sharply and forced him forward, meeting him with an equally hard thrust. Aizen didn't stop even as Shinji's chest burned for breath, even as he squirmed weakly, his own breathing and Ichigo's life locked in contest in his mind. Darkness had just begun to shade his vision when he was released - only slightly - and he took the opportunity to gulp in air.

"We aren't through," Aizen reminded him, as if the presence of his rigid cock resting on his tongue wasn't enough to make him aware.

Hoping that he could avoid force if he replaced it with his own vigor, Shinji returned, bobbing his head up and down, eyes squeezed shut, gulping in choked breaths as his knuckles whitened on the arms of the chair to steady him as he moved.

"Suck, Shinji," Aizen moaned, "I can fuck you. Suck."

It was a threat, and so Shinji tried to obey. It only obstructed his breathing, but he thought of Ichigo, wondered if he was receiving the same treatment - it made him sick - and so he did suck, his cheeks dragging along the shaft of Aizen's cock with every stroke.

The shinigami was running his fingers through blond locks, praising with a tender touch, almost comforting.

Shinji gagged, halting his movement for a moment as he tried to settle himself as quickly as possible, swallowing a couple of times and taking a deep breath.

"That won't help you," Aizen murmured, as though in secret, "gag yourself if you'd like, Shinji, but I am a patient man, and I haven't ever been deterred."

His stomach turned and he blanched; a cold sweat had long since settled over his skin, and he shivered in the freezing, vast chamber. He became aware then that he could hear the echo of his own ministrations - a faint slurping and his hindered breathing, little grunts now and then - and he again clamped his eyes shut as if to drown it out.

Drown it all out.

Aizen was holding him by both hands then, one grasping his shoulder tightly and the other still tangled in his hair, forcing him closer and closer. Shinji could feel tears at the corners of his eyes, and he thought he could taste their salt - but they hadn't fallen, and the taste was Aizen, close to the edge.

He moaned rhythmically, quietly, as subtly and cruelyl as anything he ever did.

"Swallow," he hissed sharply, and Shinji was steeling himself to obey when he felt the torrent of warmth at the back of his throat, choking him; he wanted to cough, needed to cough, but Aizen's cock was thrust firmly inside, and he waited, tears finally falling, for him to withdraw.

At length, his mouth was empty save for a thick chemical taste. His jaw ached as he brought his lips together; they trembled against one another, stretched to cracking at the corners. Again, Aizen was stroking his cheek.

"How does it taste, Shinji," he asked, bringing his fingers up to smooth the tangles out of blond hair.

The Vizard finally allowed himself to cough, but let nothing fall to the floor.

"Does it taste bitter?" Aizen went on, "Do you like it?"

Shuddering, he ran his sleeve over his lips.

"You will like it," came his Lord's assurance, as tender as any declaration of love, "they all do, in the end."

Shinji wept, finally, and shook his head, no, no.

Anything but this.

"You didn't think I would, did you?"

He hadn't.

"You expect more."

He did.

"You're right."

He sobbed.

Thanks for the read, and please review! And if you wanna request something, I'm always all ears. Love you guys!