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“So, I take it that he didn’t fuck you before he left?” Kisuke says, sliding his coat off his shoulders. It falls on the floor, and the pennies he keeps in one of the pockets go jing then clung as they hit one another and the tatami mat.
The dim glow of the night light washes out all colors in the room, except for the warm shade of amber casting over the furled futon, the shoji, and the walls. The window is wide open, and the blinds are rolled all the way up. Kisuke remembers rolling them down this afternoon to shield the room away from the hot early-summer air – his least favorite, it clings to the skin and sucks moisture dry at the same time. It makes him crave a bowl of ice while knowing the thirst won’t be quenched afterwards. The twisted fact is that it’s not all that better at night either. Same stickiness, same suffocation.
“Since when were you under the impression that he didn’t?”
It is accompanied by a smirk and a spread of legs - not wide enough to get a full view, but not shy enough to hide the glistened soft folds either. They look tender, reddened, and used .
Kisuke is aware he’s biting down on his own teeth and clenching his jaws. He still is when he unties his samue jacket. It, too, slides off his frame smoothly, leaving his skin exposed to the much loathed air.
Aizen is already naked. Stripped bare of fabric and shame. It feels as though it’s his own room, and Kisuke is the guest. Some years ago, Kisuke would feel nothing less than pleased and welcomed. Seeing his perfect body – all spread out and eager for the taking, Kisuke would call it home , where he was warm and sheltered. Here, he could lie still and feel the flow of time just rushing by, knowing that if he let himself be carried by it, all his worries would be diminished, his wishes fulfilled, and dreams unshattered. However, Aizen is – “ feels like ”, he corrects himself – a burrow now. You think its opening leads straight down to its bottom, and you can just let yourself fall through and through until you are met with soft and warm soil, but just less than a meter in, you’re met with a wall, a chamber of dirt whose exit is also its entrance. Then you realize you’re lost. You have no idea of how many more chambers there will be, and which turns are the right ones.
He’s still so beautiful, but his beauty is no longer yours. Perhaps, he has never been to begin with. Kisuke tells himself. It makes anger rise in his veins.
“I thought I told you not to strip yourself,” Kisuke says, stepping closer. His samue pants tent at his crotch uncomfortably. Aizen looks at him, with a flutter of lashes, a smirk, and a look of sultriness that makes Kisuke unclench his jaws and breath out.
“I thought I told you to close the shop early,” he says, lukewarm tone. He sounds calm and unprovoking, but his actions say otherwise. Aizen sits up, moves towards him, gets on his knees and reaches up to unbutton his pants.
“And for whose pleasure is it that I have to wait, Kisuke? Surely, this is all about–,” Aizen says, unknotting the strings of his samue. Kisuke doesn’t let him finish either thing. He grabs him by his chin, hard enough to hurt, and just stares at him.
“That’s quite bold of an attitude for someone who came crawling for a dick he can’t forget.” Kisuke wants to grab his hair and yank his head back to expose his slender neck. Wants to see the muscles that ripple slightly with every turn of his head, every swallow. He wants to leave a mark, so Yhwach can tell where his precious little thing has been when he’s away. He doesn’t do it.
Outside the window, there’s a sweet cacophony of leaves rustling in the wind, dog barking in the distance, and the occasional rumble of traffic. Kisuke wonders if it sounds like this where Aizen is living now. Probably not, since it’s a gated residence somewhere uphill, on which houses are featured on the magazines he has for sale on his newspaper rack out front.
“Can’t answer?” Kisuke asks. Aizen is still wearing his tight-lipped smirk. He tightens his grip on Aizen’s chin. It looks like it hurts, so he stops.
“The bigger your words, the more apparent how equally into this you are, Kisuke.”
Aizen tilts his head a little. Kisuke runs a finger across his bottom lips, then the straight slope of his nose and the tail of his eye. His skin feels like clean cotton bedspread. It makes Kisuke more aware of how rough the pads of his fingers are.
When Aizen reaches for his pants again, he doesn’t stop him. He lets him unbotton and pull them down. His cock is achingly hard, and Aizen is lecherously pretty, staring up at him with hunger in his eyes. He loves – loved – the way they darken to nearly black in the dark and turn amber in the sun. Most of the time they do the talking for Aizen before his mouth.
He knows Kisuke likes it when he wets the slit and licks along the big veins with his tongue. He does exactly that. Kisuke tries not to place a hand on his head and push. He even bites back a groan. Aizen wraps his lips around the head. He applies no pressure, only warmth and the inviting wetness accompanied by quick flicks of his tongue. Kisuke can feel hands caressing the back of his thighs.
When he pulls away, both his lips and Kisuke’s cock are spit-smeared. He opens his mouth to say something, but Kisuke shoves his cock back in it. This time, he grabs him by the hair. It has gotten a bit longer, nearly passing his nape now.
Aizen moans throatily. Kisuke stops pushing to wait for him to adjust. When he brings his hands up to grip at his base, Kisuke knows he’s ready. He starts sliding his lips along his entire length, head bobbing to the rhythm of Kisuke’s hand in his hair. When it’s slick and drippy enough, he adds extra strokes from the base to the crown with his fingers encircling firmly. He does that until he feels like he needs to gasp for air. Then he turns to placing kisses along the underside of his shaft and cupping Kisuke’s balls.
He sucks Kisuke off messily and sloppily. His spit, mixed with Kisuke’s precum, drips down his chin and falls on the ground.
“You’re so fucking good at this, I can't deny,” he says breathily. Aizen hums an “ I know ”.
Pleasure pools around his lower half. Restraining himself, he touches Aizen’s hand that is wrapping around his cock and gently nudges his head backwards. His cock slips out.
Aizen licks his lips and wipes spit off his chin. His hair is disheveled, and his lips have turned a darker shade. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are also dusted with a layer of blush. It’d look even prettier if Kisuke had the white light on.
Like silk through fingers, Aizen lies back down on the futon and spreads his legs.
“Come here.”
He raises an arm like he’s beckoning Kisuke to come to his embrace and drop himself on top of him. When Kisuke does that, Aizen wraps his arm around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. No, more like a make out. It’s hasty, eager, all over the place, more tongues than lips, and shallow.
Kisuke returns the manner. He maps out Aizen’s neck, shoulders, and chest like a scavenger remarking its own previously stolen territory.
He lingers on his nipples. Grazes his teeth against them and pinches them with his hands. They turn red and raw. Aizen arches his back. Kisuke can hear him breathing raggedly.
His skin carries an unfamiliar - Kisuke knows very well it belongs to Yhwach - scent of musky wood and vetiver cologne. Months and months ago, it was white flower and birch. Kisuke still keeps those bottles of fragrance Aizen left behind; he wears them from time to time.
He comes back to kiss him on the lips and left ear and the sensitive spot behind it. Aizen shivers a little. Kisuke’s stubble must have been ticklish against the skin. In the meantime, he lets his hand travel down between Aizen’s legs. He parts them even further apart, teasingly ghosts his inner thigh, and places two fingers on his cunt. It’s already slicked up with his arousal fluid in-between the two outer lips.
Kisuke applies some pressure to his clit, and the response to that is instant - Aizen gasping and squeezing Kisuke’s bicep.
Aizen knows how to use his mouth; Kisuke knows how to use his fingers. He knows how to poke, prod, and pry the body beneath him open to its own liking. His muscles have memorized the tempo and the signs, and every louder moan and sharper exhale are the trigger.
Slick gushes out when Kisuke spreads open the sensitive folds. He pins them open with his index and ring fingers. His middle finger glides up and down the exposed velvety flesh inside.
“Mind doing that thing you know I– ah ,” Aizen’s words slur into a soft moan as Kisuke eases two slick-coated fingers into his entrance. He doesn’t go deeper than two digits before curling them and presses a thumb against his clitoris because that’s how Aizen has always liked to be fingered.
“Like this?”
Aizen doesn’t respond. Instead, he spreads his legs obscenely further apart, twists his hips, and claws at Kisuke’s shoulder like he’s afraid Kisuke is going to run away.
As Kisuke increases his speed, going in and out of his sopping cunt, his string of moans turn into pleads and whines. He doesn’t hide his face in embarrassment or try to suppress any sound. Underneath his sultry, unreadable demeanor and stone-cut features, he’s perfectly pleased with being pleased by Kisuke. Maybe by Yhwach and others, too.
That is what makes him so addictive to be with. He’s a burrow, and Kisuke is a mole rat. Stupid and a victim to instinct, it keeps on digging. Despite knowing what’s hiding within the chambers, he can’t stop himself.
“More,” Aizen says.
He places a quick kiss on Aizen’s lips then flips him over on all fours. He fucks Aizen with his fingers a few more times until he looks back at Kisuke with lust-filled eyes and lips mouthing his name. Without missing a beat, he replaces his fingers with his cock and starts ramming into his still-gaping cunt. It’s more slippery, tighter, and much warmer than his mouth. The heat runs from his crotch to his lower belly, manifesting itself in an invisible force that makes him move faster; each next jab is more violently deeper than the last. His grip on Aizen’s hips, he thinks, are strong enough to leave marks later.
Kisuke realizes he has forgotten to put on a condom, but Aizen doesn’t look like he minds. He writhes and cries and pushes himself back against Kisuke to let him enter all the way to the hilt.
Dirty gasps and huffs, desperate moans, alongside the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, fill the room. All the other noises of a calm night he has heard before refuse to be in the presence of obscenity.
“ Ah , harder–”
Kisuke keeps his eyes glued to the body in front of him – square shoulders, elegantly sculpted back, small waist, and deep lower back dimples. All of that, all of that used to belong to only Kisuke.
The anger from before creeps back in again. It slithers its way up his body. Infiltrates and suffocates him.
“–Kisuke.”
Kisuke lowers himself down, resting the majority of his weight against Aizen’s back, with cock still stuffing inside him and being hugged tensely by his cunt. He can feel the way Aizen stretches around his shaft.
“Say my name again,” he orders. If Aizen’s still his, Kisuke will bite him hard enough to draw blood. Mark him up where everyone can get a glimpse at the moment they see him.
“Kisuke.”
He plunges in as deep as he can until he can feel the fleshy walls squeezing down around him then pull back out all the way. It earns him a needy cry from Aizen.
“Again.”
“Kisuke.”
He repeats his movements. This time, his hand reaches for Aizen’s clit. His cunt starts squeezing immediately, and hips buck all over the place. His body is overwhelmed by two sources of pleasure. It’s almost like he doesn’t know whether to arch his back to feel his cunt being filled up or buck his hips forward to chase after the sensation on the round nub of nerves.
“Only when,” Kisuke says, “only when you have a dick inside you that you’d behave.”
Aizen feels insanely good, sounds insanely good, and looks insanely good.
Not long after, he begins to writhe and pant with his face buried in the sheet. Knowing he’s close, Kisuke maintains his speed.
He kisses Aizen when he orgasms, swallowing all of his whimpers and moans and holding him still as his body convulses. He gets so wet and tight Kisuke nearly gives in to his own climax as well.
After he calms down, Kisuke lets him take a breather before flipping him onto his back and resumes thrusting into him. He feels like there won’t be that many thrusts left until his own orgasm engulfs him. When it does, Kisuke hurries to pull out, but Aizen stops him by wrapping his legs around Kisuke’s hips, keeping him still and in place. There’s that same smirk on his face.
“ Fuck .” Kisuke grunts as he shoots his loads deep inside Aizen.
He slumps on top of Aizen, not bothering to roll onto his side. He pets Kisuke’s head and runs his hand up and down his back in soothing motions. They don’t say anything to each other.
Some minutes later, Aizen pushes him off to go to the bathroom. Kisuke can see a line of his own cum running down the side of his left leg. He stops by the wardrobe to grab a new towel. His movements are natural and relaxed, free of any hesitation because he has done this a million times before. He wonders if Aizen still keeps the key to the house and whether his name is still saved as a single heart in his phone.
When Kisuke hears the shower running, he gets up and tidies up the room. He throws his clothes in the washer. Aizen’s clothes are neatly folded and placed on the cabinet Kisuke uses to store clothes that he feels too lazy to iron and fold sometimes. Back then, Aizen hated it. “It’s giving you an excuse to not do it,” he said. Then he went and did it for Kisuke.
Aizen’s phone buzzes under the futon. Kisuke takes it and puts it on his desk, without looking at whoever has just texted him.
He changes into a new pair of boxers and sits by the windowsill staring outside. It’s less cloudy than last night, but still the stars aren’t all that much visible. He doesn’t think they have ever been. There’s a stray cat jumping from a roof to another one across the street. It’s not the black one that he usually leaves food out for. This one is white with orange stripes.
The air is cooler compared to the last hour – the early sign that the night is starting to turn into day. It licks across his skin, leaving behind a shivery phantom touch.
He hears the bathroom door clicks open. His nose picks up his body wash scent on Aizen before his eyes can see him. It feels dangerously familiar; his heart aches a little. His naked self invades Kisuke’s line of vision as he makes a beeline for his closet. He knows where Kisuke keeps his shirts. He pulls out a black one that’s two sizes too big and puts it on. It’s one of those shirts he wears with those loose fit jeans on days when he’s not running the shop. It’s one of those shirts Aizen used to wear the morning after a night of fucking quite some time ago.
He stops by Kisuke’s bookshelves and takes a good look. He seems to notice the books that are newly bought.
The books he reads, Kisuke doesn't get the appeal of. Kafka, Dostoyevsky, Steinbeck, and Soseki.
“With a mind like yours, you should.” Aizen used to say. After Aizen left, he did. That was all he did – reading – for a long time.
“Interesting,” Aizen comments, though his tone is anything but interested.
Kisuke reaches for his box of cigarettes on the nearby desk. It’s already half empty. He pulls out one and a lighter, taps the filter end on the side of the box and lights it up.
A minute or so later, Aizen sits down beside him. His hair is damp at the nape, probably from the water splatting. Kisuke reaches over and gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze.
“Does he hurt you?” Kisuke asks.
Aizen steals the cigarette from his hand and takes a long drag. He exhales the smoke in Kisuke’s face. Smells burnt and sweet.
“Only when I want him to,” he says.
“Does he read the books?” The books you love .
“He does,” he says. Another drag. “Sometimes, I wish he didn’t.”
“You don’t regret leaving me, do you?” Kisuke asks. Aizen looks away to the yard out front then back at him like a cat that is suddenly distracted from his toy by a bug flying by. He places the cigarette butt on Kisuke’s lips and waits for him to inhale before answering with a smile. Not a smirk, but a smile, like he’s somehow jubilant and content that Kisuke can finally say something he wants to hear the whole night.
“What gives?” Aizen puts out the cigarette on the ashtray Kisuke always leaves by the windowsill. He doesn’t remember where he bought it.
“If you did, your ego wouldn’t let you come back here,” Kisuke says, “You wouldn’t be able to face yourself, let alone asking me to fuck you.”
He barely finishes his sentence before Aizen replies. It’s almost like he knows what Kisuke is saying and that he has all the answers drafted and waiting.
“You see, Kisuke,” he says, stroking his fingers tenderly down the side of Kisuke’s face, “you know me so well, yet you are always making questions out of things you already know the answers to–”
He pauses like he’s picking out words from his mind. “I love your mind just as much as I hate your guts. Yhwach is everything you aren’t.”
Kisuke doesn’t feel angry, or sad, or torn. He feels relieved.
“So, you hate him but love his guts.”
Aizen kisses him. Slow and deep and savoring. He tastes like Kisuke’s mouthwash and cigarette.
“I’ll stay the night,” he says in-between kisses.
Kisuke doesn’t give much of a verbal answer. He just pushes Aizen down on the floor, dives between his legs and eats him out. Makes another mess out of his cleaned body. Lets him ride his cock as they share another cigarette.
The things Aizen does, the way he loves, or does not love, Kisuke, and all that is between the two of them, Kisuke has never and probably will not understand. He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care when Yhwach sends him texts after Aizen has fallen asleep next to him in bed looking as beautiful as he was the day they first met. He doesn’t care that he’s making home out of dirt walls in a burrow.