Sinner

I also don't own Shakespeare's Othello

A/N: Look, I know I suck…a lot, and I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but know that I will never fully abandon this story. I just started at a very strict conservatory, that leaves very little time for anything but work. However, now that I’ve finished my first semester I am going to start managing my time better and updates will come more frequently. Thank you so much to all that reviewed, I probably wouldn’t have even got this chapter up if it hadn’t been for you guys. You guys are love.

Personal response to reviews should be up in a few days. Thank you all so much.

TillThatTime

Also, I added in some Shakespeare, I am not a fan of Shakespeare though I have read almost all of his work and I am very familiar with it. However I do love Othello, mainly for the character of Iago, but don’t worry, you wont have to have read Othello to understand this chapter.

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Of Shakespeare and the Quatro Espada

Silver hair fell haphazardly into closed eyes as Ichimaru Gin leaned heavily against the door of his room. His grin was set firmly in place, though perhaps a little more strained than usual, and he could feel his erection straining uncomfortably in the confines of his white pants.

That boy had gotten to him.

Not just in the physical sense, though judging from his current predicament, that was certainly the case as well, but really in every possible way that one person could affect another. His memory flashed back uncontrollably to moments before when the brat had arched under him, his mouth open in panted pleas as his body and mind betrayed him in every sense of the word. Ichimaru had won. Had defeated the boy in every way possible, in every sense that he had always promised with his words and hands.

Ichimaru Gin did not lose.

Did not break.

Did not falter.

So why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest and he marveled at the fact that the quick paced beating was further proof that he had one at all. It would have been so easy for him to lose control. It would have been so easy for Ichimaru to rip those simple clothes from that tiny and graceful body and just...

...fuck...

And even now, Ichimaru wasn’t so sure that it would have been rape. That Hitsugaya Toshiro wouldn’t have felt every second of intimacy and wanted it. Truly wanted it, the way only his body could admit when his words would not.

But...

Ichimaru wanted the words as well.

"I don’t know!"

He didn’t want that. He wanted "God yes!" or even "Please no!" But he wouldn’t take indecision. He wanted everything given to him, body and mind. He wasn’t going to take it from him. It had to be given. In this matter, in this case, it had to be given. Only once Hitsugaya said what they both knew was true would he actually bend that little taicho’s body and mind and fuck him until that word didn’t even make sense anymore.

But why was this?

Why did Ichimaru, who never before had hesitated to take what he wanted, to steal what he felt he deserved, feel the need to wait until Hitsugaya knew for sure. Understood completely.

Actually wanted him.

Hitsugaya’s words of indecision had struck him, and forced him from that lithe body, had walked him out that door and away from the object of his dark cravings. When all this time it was supposed to be Ichimaru who had the control, Ichimaru who called the shots.
It seemed Ichimaru did not hold all of the power this time around.

He wondered briefly if he actually ever had.

Perhaps they played a particularly dangerous balancing act in which both sides pulled and were pulled and neither knew who would win and whether or not they cared to.

Or perhaps Ichimaru Gin thought too much.

He had never really thought of it that way before. He had always believed that his thought process was the very reason that he had survived. Nothing had ever been given to him. He had always had to struggle and fight and scratch his way through, and by his mind and skills alone, he had made his way to the top. It was never easy for him, but ideas came quickly and irrevocably easy. His mind was his saving grace.

And right now it was killing him.

Every step away from that trembling body had been harder than the last, and this was no longer a game of cat and mouse.

Not when the cat had ceased to exist.

They were both being defeated, and it seemed neither one had a chance of winning.

It took him a second to realize the laughter that was piercing through the silence was his own. He wiped his hair from his eyes.

Smiling, always smiling.

He was going to lose, it was true, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to drag that little brat down with him. Ichimaru would succeed in at least that.

He would continue this little manipulation he had grown so fond of, and he would lightly poke and prod until everything was destroyed and all that was left was the knowledge of defeat and the feel of that tiny body pressed against his own.

He was Ichimaru Gin after all.

However, there was a slightly more important matter to attend to at the moment.

With quick steps he made his way over to the monitor that he had had set up personally in his room, apart from the actual control room that gave a visual look of all the corridors in the Las Noches. This was his own private screen, and it was to be viewed by no one but him.

He had discovered that he was quite the possessive bastard.

He flicked on the switch for the screen, the angle already set perfectly, showing him the young captain laying on his bed where Ichimaru had left him only moments ago, oblivious to the camera that was watching his every move.

Ichimaru coveted his own privacy, he didn’t have much sense of others.

He licked his lips.

He watched with rapt attention as the petite figure writhed on the bed, his pink lips parted as high pitched whimpers came from that deliciously pale throat of his. His legs were spread as Hitsugaya planted his feet on the mattress, his hips thrusting up slightly into the air.

And that hand…

The very hand that Ichimaru had placed there was moving back and forth with unsure but honest movements. Disgusted eagerness reflected in the way it rubbed and pulled, itching to bring relief that was beyond the point of wanting.

It was innocence, pure and simple. The way Hitsugaya bit at his other unoccupied hand, though the sounds he was making emerged nevertheless. The way tears of desire, and pain and hate were flowing freely over those baby soft cheeks, unnoticed by their source. The way those toes curled into the sheets as those slim hips thrust in erratic movements. It was so dirty…and yet so…

Clean.

Hitsugaya never made a move to undo his clothes. He never touched his nipples or yelled out the obscene words of dark encouragement. And the way he moved his hand over the cloth of his pants…

Ichimaru wondered how often Hitsugaya actually touched himself.

Or was the young taicho too uptight for even that?

The whole display was oddly beautiful in its awkwardness, which was really a perfect description of the little neko himself.

Ichimaru’s knees were trembling.

He was mesmerized.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, especially when that hand began to speed up and those whimpers of pained pleasure increased in volume.

It was only a matter of time…

And then it was happening.

That body was arching deliciously off the bed, his mouth falling open as a harsh cry ripped itself from his throat.

And the word Hitsugaya screamed as he came was unmistakable to Ichimaru’s ears.

“ICHIMARU!”

And with that Ichimaru was leaning on his desk for support, the feeling of wetness already making itself known in the inside of his pants.

He hadn’t even realized he was close.

He had come without touching himself, without being touched by another. Hitsugaya’s words and actions were enough to push him to the edge, and the knowledge that there was only one person that Hitsugaya was thinking of as he drove himself to the brink of insanity was enough to hurl the ex-taicho off the cliff.

Ichimaru grinned as he struggled to regain his breath.

This was probably not good…

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He remembered a time before he became a shinigami, when he had wandered the streets of Rukongai, unwanted and alone, and he had come across a discarded book thrown uncaringly into a pile of garbage on the street.

The Works of William Shakespeare

Some writer he had never heard of with a book he had never heard of that someone had obviously brought from the human world. He didn’t have much taste for such useless objects.

However, even after he had already decided to try to sell the book in order to get some form of sustenance, he remembered his then much smaller fingers opening the torn and worn pages of the book, and his eyes falling upon a language he recognized, though he didn’t know how-He didn’t think much on his life in the human world- and he had sat down on the street and begun to read, unnoticed by the souls that passed him, unless they were turning there heads to sneer at him like the street urchin they viewed him as.

He flipped through pages upon pages, finding the writing to be difficult to understand, and even when he did understand he found the dialogue too contrived and too unrealistic to suit his fancy. However, to this day he still remembers coming across one play in particular.

It was entitled Othello, and though it was just as disgustingly eloquent as the man’s other plays, something about it held his attention.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, pronouncing every word in his head, even the ones he didn’t understand, but the sky turned dark and the pages became harder to read and the air became cold, and still he squinted and shivered and read.

Captivated completely

And after he had finished he had sold the book and ate some delicious baker’s bread.

He had locked away the tragedy that was Othello, thinking not much on it as the decades passed…

But now…

Once again those words were making themselves known.

As he sat on his bed, his pants still sticky with sweat and come, he thought of Othello and laughed, because even he didn’t know how his mind worked sometimes.

His eyes drifted to the screen that was still on, watching the rise and fall of his chibi’s chest, as he laid curled in the fetal position on his rumpled sheets.

And has he look at the beautiful, annoying, ethereal brat he was reminded of Desdemona, the leading heroine of the play. The symbol of goodness, beauty and all the other bullshit that had ultimately led to her own death.

As a child he had hated her.

He had always thought she was too naïve, too forgiving to ever be of any real interest, real depth. Her death had been the only thing beautiful about her in his eyes.

But now…

Hitsugaya was the beautiful Desdemona, and intrigue, lust and disgust warred inside of him at the thought.

Though he hoped that perhaps Hitsugaya would not be so easily broken as she was.

As a child it was always the character of Iago that caught Ichimaru’s attention. The pronounced villain of the play, and villain he was. Iago manipulated and coaxed every single character into his hands, his only thought, his only desire, was to bring destruction in every way possible. It was almost as if Shakespeare had wanted to put a devil on stage and the end result had been Iago.

It wasn’t so much Iago’s end intentions that drew Ichimaru to the character, but rather the sheer intelligence that the character used to enact every part of his plan.

Iago’s kindness to the faces of the people he destroyed was darkly intoxicating to the young Ichimaru.

And now there was no doubt in Ichimaru’s mind who donned that role now. He had come across another Iago years after reading about the first and he had been just as equally intrigued and he had followed the villain of his own story into this world of nothingness.

However, he could not see himself as the hero Othello, the blubbering, passionate, good-natured idiot who had been so easily tricked, so easily manipulated.

He found it hard to believe that he would fall so easily prey to Iago’s trap, no matter how blind he was to the evil that lurked there, because Ichimaru was not stupid. He knew full well that black had a far easier time corrupting white then the gray that consumed Ichimaru body and soul.

It seemed he didn’t even have a place in his own comparison.

He snorted, it really was amusing to be captive in his own mind.

As he stood, his intention to turn off the screen that showed the resting Desdemona, he froze.

“Ah, Ulquiorra.”

He turned to see that petite espada standing in his room, and he made a mental note to perhaps put up a better guard around his room.

Ulquiorra did not acknowledge him with words, but Ichimaru watched as green eyes fell briefly on the screen before turning back to plant themselves unwaveringly on Ichimaru’s face. Ichimaru let his own eyes wander to the espada’s neck, noticing the dark red spot contrasting on the pale white skin that was barely peeking behind Ulquiorra’s collar.

“I see ya’ve been enjoyin’ th’ rather unruly pleasure that is Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.” Those bright eyes narrowed slightly at the comment but other than that there was no sign that Ichimaru’s words had affected him at all. Oh, how Ichimaru loved playing with this particular arrancar. All the others were too easy to rile up, and Ichimaru loved a challenge. “Do tell me, is he gentle with ya, or is he jus’ as aggressive as always when he fucks ya?”

“Ichimaru-sama, this has never worked in the past before. Is there a particular reason that you keep on trying?” Was Ulquiorra’s monotone reply, however Ichimaru did notice how the espada was clutching the hilt of his sword a little too tightly. He giggled aloud at this, and his eyes settled on the twin tails of green tears that adorned Ulquiorra’s face.

“Mah mah, why sucha sad face, Ulqui-chan?”

The smaller espada failed to see the humor.

Ichimaru let out a long sigh, over exaggerating his disappointment at not being ale to get a rise out of the quatro espada. “Is there something ya need, Ulquiorra-kun?”

“I have come to inform you that Aizen-sama has called for Hitsugaya Toshiro to be brought to his private chambers.” Ulquiorra’s reply was curt and Ichimaru froze at the words, his eyes locked with the emerald ones across from him.

“Have ya come ta warn me then?” He saw Ulquiorra’s eyes flit to the screen once more, a small smirk tugging rarely and almost unseen at the corner of his pale lips.

“No, Aizen-sama ordered me to tell you.”

Ichimaru’s grin faltered slightly at these words and though he recovered quickly he was sure the perceptive arrancar had seen it. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but much softer than it had been before. “Has he sent ya ta gauge my reaction, Ulquiorra?”

Ulquiorra’s face was unreadable as he turned on his heel to leave. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ichimaru-sama.”

As the door clicked shut, Ichimaru turned to face the screen once more, watching as Hitsugaya still slept soundly atop the covers.

He was right, this wasn’t good.

And Aizen Sosuke was definitely the Iago of this story.

And no matter how many times your read it, Iago always won in the end.