“I’m… Not your pet.” The first thread of defiance since being bullied to the ground. “I don’t…” belong to anyone but myself.
A trembling hand releases the floor to reach, tentative and slow, for Aizen’s leg. Fingertips lightly touch at the thick black seals along his calf and Grimmjow’s hold is so loose it slips near immediately. No effort is made to push or pull the limb, he’s not so presumptuous to think he could get away with such an act without being degraded further.
His head shifts a little further, the glimmer of a blue eye peeking out from between dark lashes. His mouth parts, panting around the the pressure, in his skull, behind his eyes, over him. It feels like loss.
He catches Aizen’s eyes - fixating on the silver and purple and - Grimmjow always thought he’d make a good hollow. Powerful. Regal. Everything Barragan wasn’t. Grimmjow never thought that’s what Aizen wanted though. Thought he, like every shinigami, was too disgusted. Using them to his own ends.
Grimmjow always knew this. He knew! He tried to warn the others, kept on his guard, never let anyone in. Never let Aizen in.
“Aizen-s-sama,” it’s almost a plea this time. What’s he asking for? Forgiveness? Deliverance?
He still wants.
He’s hollow first. Hollow’s hunger. His fear does nothing to diminish his desire for this power. The feel of it on his skin. The taste of it on his tongue. How badly he wants Aizen.
The hand at Aizen’s ankle flexes, he’d turn if he could. Bare his throat, offer an undefended line to his guts, to the gaping wound in his stomach. Aizen would take it all if he were given it. He could take it all even if he weren’t. Consume everything Grimmjow is, was, and has to gift him.
Grimmjow is no pet, but here, now, he will obey. How could he not?
❝ you are still my sexta, grimmjow. one of my espada. a god felled i might be, BUT I AM STILL YOUR LORD AND MASTER. ❞
there was something almost vicious hovering in the air over grimmjow, a cold threat, the way a knife could play along a spine, the tip catching in the divots where vertebrae separated from one another when the back was arched and hunched, bared to the threat that was that deadly sharpness. and sharp was aizen sousuke and his intensity, sharp in ways that none could truly perceive of but one other person. how dangerous the being which stood over grimmjow now, his foot made no attempt to lift from that head, no attempt to bear down and crush the skull as if it were a ripe fruit. he simply kept the espada pinned, reminding him of his place. and power ebbed from aizen, flowed, oozed, a syrupy dredge that pushed past the thick bonds of the very thing which kept him tied to muken. the weight of it bore down on him, unyielding, heavy as a black hole.
how could aizen stand it so easily?
a god he was, sight unflinching, bearing in the way that grimmjow sought to offer obeisance. he did not pull his leg back, did not seek to force more than this for now. the espada had been his; he had collected ten blades, determined to aim them towards the vital organs of the seireitei. how easily he had felt his plans unfolding and yet they had failed in the end. but there were still rules – and within aizen slept something hollow and hungry, something that proved he had transcended, blurred the boundaries, that he was NOT OF THE NATURAL ORDER. to be a god was to be a monster and he was monstrous. already monstrous before he had ever ascended to this state, now he was further beyond that, farther, echoing in a realm that was his and his alone. ah – what a terrible thing that was. how terrible was he.
no attempt to mock, however, came from his lips as the hand fell to the ground and grimmjow’s head shifted to stare up at him, a singular eye of powder blue seeking out the stare that was cold as wrath. grimmjow had stepped upon territories which were not his. ever had there been a snake intertwined with the god and in that absence, there was something decidedly UNHINGED about aizen sousuke now, former captain of the gobantai.
something downright feral. how dangerous. after all, shinigami and hollow were not supposed to blend, were they? no, surely not. but he had done so, stepping between those realms, stepping further between such things. had he known what he would become with the hogyouku’s aid? surely, he must. but the cost had been high and he was somewhat lessened from his time in muken. oh – not in terms of power – but in simply whom he was. still, aizen had to admit grimmjow had grown stronger. most others would’ve had pieces of their skin burning from his presence – even breaking down, apart. he wounded others with his nearness if he was not careful about it. he could make a nod, however, to the fact that grimmjow had become better. and yet–
if grimmjow was not careful, those jaws might close around his neck anyways and devour his life. aizen was not above that, if the sexta thought so. he had threatened to devour the one grimmjow dubbed his prey. how serious that threat had been was up to interpretation – and the one person who might have said whether it was jest or not was not here at his side. ah – would he be doing this if gin was there? hard to say. but the god could be dreadfully cruel if it benefitted him. this was not cruelty, however. this was the return to a dynamic that grimmjow would understand.
and then –
❝ – how interesting. ❞ he sounded mild as he gazed down at the espada, mild in consideration – and then that foot was shifting, lifting away, to settle back onto the ground. ❝ it seems you are capable of swallowing your pride after all, grimmjow. i am surprised you are capable of doing so. ❞
what was pride to him? he had thrown it away and this was but a man who knew too much, saw too much, who was going to leap at that neck if grimmjow did not play his cards carefully. he watched to see how he rose and if grimmjow was intelligent enough to come up to his knees, no more, his hand was left to reach out and a finger hooked behind the fragments of his mask as aizen bent in, downwards, bringing his face close enough that there was no looking from the eyes that stared down into the cerulean deeps, as if to transfix the hollow where he remained. the fingers – those? those were a threat. a pure, simple threat.
know your place, espada.
yes - he had used them. but he had, in equal measure, respected them - if in his own way.
❝ what do you want from me, grimmjow? ❞