The Fine Art of Disobedience

The Fine Art of Disobedience
by: Ryoko (Naraku's Dark Soul)


“We agreed you would not follow me here.” Aizen’s voice was warm, the underlying threat obvious.

“I go where I please,” Byakuya replied, halting in the doorway as Aizen seated himself on his overlarge, white sofa. The room was as colorless as the furniture, as sterile as the rest of the vile place. It all reminded him of the twelfth division with its equally repulsive captain. With an audible sniff, Byakuya stepped inside and allowed the door to close behind him.

Aizen’s only reply was to chuckle as he leaned back against the plush sofa cushions.

Eyes narrowed, Byakuya remained silent. He knew Aizen’s good graces only went so far, but he had yet to find the other man’s limits and didn’t mind either way. There really wasn’t much he did care about these days. Aizen had taken everything from him even as he had given Byakuya anything he could ever have desired. The man was the epitome of the double-edged sword, good and evil, sadism and compassion irrevocably intertwined within his twisted psyche.

Not that Byakuya minded. Aizen had awoken something in him, a long-slumbering, hardly noticed part of himself he had never really thought about before. Now that this fierce desire had been stirred, it could never be put to sleep again. Byakuya neither wanted nor needed this craving, this yearning, to end. If it did he might start to think about other things, about the fall of Soul Society, about the fact he was merely one of a handful of surviving Shinigami, and he did not want that. It was far better to lose himself in the sinful pleasures Aizen offered than live in a perpetual state of hatred and hopelessness for the rest of his life.

Blinking several times to clear his thoughts, Byakuya stepped forward, close to Aizen, who only smiled.

“I assume you went against my wishes for a reason, Byakuya.” Aizen’s gaze was impassive as he leaned his head against his hand, his elbow perched on the arm of the sofa. Again, Byakuya said nothing, instead choosing to take the last few steps into the center of the room, facing Aizen.

“Nothing to say? Then strip.” After a moment’s hesitation, Byakuya obeyed, removing one article of clothing after another and letting them all fall to the floor. Exposed, Byakuya fought down the urge to shiver under the other man’s piercing gaze. No one else would have noticed this minor weakness in the stoic former noble, but Aizen always did. “Sit. Spread your legs,” he said, his smile widening almost imperceptibly.

Byakuya made a move to sit on the sofa, but Aizen stopped him with a glance. “The floor, Byakuya.”

Months ago, he would have hesitated; now, he simply sank onto the cold ground at Aizen’s feet. What use was there in resisting? The harsh blows Aizen had dealt to Soul Society had also affected him, cracking his formidable pride. The shattering of such came later, also by Aizen’s iron will. Thoughts of all the other man had done to him, of warm hands on his body, of the acid tongue that whispered despicable, sweet lies made Byakuya shudder. He hoped Aizen thought it was simply because of the cool stone against his bare flesh, but one look at the other man told him otherwise. The smirk was barely there, but Byakuya recognized it; Aizen knew he had Byakuya right where he wanted him.

“Now, touch yourself,” Aizen commanded as Byakuya settled in position, his legs bent at the knees as he leaned back on his elbows. He raised his hand and complied without a word. In the past, he might have subtly disobeyed, playing with his knee or some other innocuous part of his body. Not anymore. His hand trailed down his chest, pausing to tweak one of his nipples, before sliding it down his abdomen to wrap around his hard cock. He did not hesitate in pleasuring himself, any lingering vestige of pride having long gone. Aizen watched him with those simultaneously kind and malicious eyes. Although he betrayed no signs of it, Byakuya knew the other man was enjoying himself. After all, it was Aizen who had pursued him, Aizen who had spared him for this purpose, and Aizen who had broken him to the point he enjoyed it as well.

“Yes, like that,” Aizen stipulated, as Byakuya played with the head of his cock, fingers massaging the slit. Byakuya suppressed a moan at the feeling of his fingers on himself accompanied by the other man’s honeyed voice sliding down his spine. He pumped himself with his fist, his hand sliding smoothly up and down his dick again and again. It was good, but so much better if Aizen would simply touch him, fuck him. At this thought, Byakuya leaned back on the cold stone, his other hand going for his ass. He slid one finger in and could not hold back a moan this time. But it was still too little. Byakuya added one, two more fingers and pumped his hands in time with each other. The pain of each dry intrusion was outweighed by the pleasure he took in degrading himself this way in front of the other man.

“You look good like this, Byakuya,” He almost missed Aizen’s words. He was sweating, nipples erect as he writhed against his hands. The patented Kuchiki control only went so far; he was nearing his breaking point.

“Come.” An innocuous demand like most others, but something snapped at this. His rebelliousness came back, directed in a new way.

“Touch me,” he sighed, speaking for the second time since entering Aizen’s chambers. He was trembling from the effort of holding himself back, but something in him would not let him completely submit. That part of him that had atrophied to the point of uselessness flared to life, redirecting itself and demanding his attention. “I want you to…”

He never saw the hand that slapped him. His head swung to the side so hard his vision went white for a moment. The pain in his cheek was immediate and let him know it was more than a superficial injury. Blood seeped down his cheek from his friction burned skin and dripped onto the floor. An instant later and Aizen was there, hands clutching Byakuya’s head. He smirked and leaned in, his tongue sliding up Byakuya’s jaw, his mouth then covering the fresh wound.

“Come for me, Byakuya.” Aizen fisted a hand in his hair and Byakuya sucked in a breath, unable to let it out, as he came all over himself.