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A white world washed black

WARNING: Do not read if you are under the age of 17, This story contains hard core Slash/ Yaoi/ Abuse. Do not read if any of these things offend you!

[I do not own these characters]

Yaoi, Smut, Bond, Slash, Abuse, Angst


One sided Aizen/Ichigo

Chapter one

"Aizen, what more business could we possibly have with this child?"

Aizen sipped wine, savouring the rich taste of the deep red liquid and looked at Gin with mild contemplation. He had started to wondered that himself, but it had been a fleeting thought at best. Maybe not wise, but he was far from a danger now. The battle was won, it was cause for celebration; not worry. Few of the Espada had survived the battle, though their were enough Arrancar available to fill the positions. Not as strong, but just as much willing.

"Do not trouble yourself with this, Gin." He took another sip, then set the glass aside. "You seem overly concerned about him, but not of the orange haired child. Why is that?"

"Aye, well she is quite useful to our goals, ’ave you forgotten?" Gin continued to give Aizen is foxy grin, despite his thoughts against what Aizen was thinking of.

"Oh, it's very clear in my memory, have no doubt." He smirked, tilting his head back a little and tapping his fingers on his throne. "Perhaps she is why I keep that boy alive. Do you not see why, my friend?"

"Ah, quite o‘ shocking pastime I must say, would ’ave never expected that much from you ." Gin gave a throaty chuckle, leaning on his rested elbow. He too drinking a small glass of wine, the red liquid swishing in the glass that occupied his left hand.

"Call it a personal delight." He shrugged his shoulder slightly, and looked back to him questioningly. "The hollow?" The man took on sip of his drink, his eyes still fixated on Gin’s slanted own.

"Well apparently Gonji was able to create the choker he wears strong enough to subdue the inner hallow. The reiatsu radiating off him was hard to confine, but I’m guessing because the boy is still locked up Gonji succeeded in this new experiment. Even now Kurosaki's reiatsu is tremendous, but stable since we put the limiter around his neck. With that he should be nearly as helpless as dear old Orihime chan." His smile broke from ear to ear. Oh how he loved to speak about the orange haired girl. She was after all his favourite past time. His sole entertainment.

Aizen nodded, pleased with the report. "Is he prepared?"

"Aye, quite the struggle he put up, but the job was done non the less." Gin chuckled once more and downed the rest of his wine.

"Very good, You may leave."

Gin nodded his head and went to make his exit, but he stopped just before he reached the wide doors. "I don’t suppose I will be seeing you for a while ne?"

"I'll be celebrating in my own way," he chuckled soft, the sound floating hauntingly through the large hall.

Gin gave a snort in humour, he turned lightly on his heel, almost a bounce in his step. As he walked away he raised his hand in good bye, his word ’latter’ filling the emptiness of the grand hallways. Aizen sat and listened to the silence with his absence and twirled his forefinger in his wine. Victory was indeed sweet. He licked droplets off his fingertip, and smirked. Today the young boy would be decided whether or not he lived or died. Though no questions would be asked, and in reality the teen would not really have much of a say. Aizen pulled his finger slow from his mouth and stood to go greet his ‘confined‘.

His footsteps made no sound as he moved through out the hallways, his white cloak swaying as he walked, taking his time to get to his intentions. The pale halls of the palace were covered with shadows, the moon dancing light here and there. He loved the solemn colors and dull textures of Hueco Mundo. It made Seireitei seem childish with it's bright color and radiant sunlight. Soon the place would be put under his rightful destruction.

He ran his fingertips through his dark and lush hair as he moved along like a phantom. His nerves felt alive with anticipation for what was to come, but no one would be able to tell by his calm and cool exterior. Thus the so called position of being king in Heuco Mundo. Trust was never an issue, just the proof of his strength and determination was enough to win them over.

The door was ahead, and he stopped before it when he reached the threshold, placing his hand on the cool, dark wood. He closed his eyes and smiled when he felt the reiatsu that was coming from the room. Yes, still strong but he could feel the obstruction from the limiter restricting Kurosaki's ability to do anything with it. His hand slipped to the knob and he stepped in, letting the door shut behind him, the sound a echoing thud in the large chamber.

Kurosaki's back was to him, his head bowed leaning itself against a wall as he was shackled, hung by his bound wrists that were secured above his head, the thick chain hooked solidly to the higher end of the wall. A single Torch that was fastened on the wall flickered a soft glowing light over his naked back. The remains of the black shinigami material still hung dangerously around his hips and covered his legs, but just barely through jagged rips. His feet planted directly on the ground, with his knees slightly bent, no doubt tired from being locked up for so long.

Aizen stood silent momentarily, watching him hang there and breathe soft, his hands gripping at the chain connected to his shackles. He was certain that the young man knew he was the one standing behind him, but Kurosaki had yet to utter a word, or make any move in acknowledgement. His eyes were closed, forcibly to what Aizen could tell. His eye lids straining to keep closed, most likely refusing to acknowledge the current circumstances. Aizen couldn't really blame the boy for his lack of greeting. What was there to say in the face of death? Long seconds ticked by as he watched, letting his eyes trail over the muscles of his slim back. Kurosaki's knees shifted, making his body move against the wall. Aizen heard the sound of a pained hiss and slowly smirked. Not so silent after all.

"Thinking of escaping?" He got no answer, so he walked over to and around his motionless body and flipped him around with one quick movement. He met narrowed eyes and a sneer. Not the expression he was looking for, but he was more than pleased with it. "A look with such vicious intent. If your skill was as daunting as your looks, you might have never been caught." Ichigo’s rage burned, his crusted and bloody lips parted.

"Shut up!"

"Oh dear." Aizen watched his face twist with fury and loathing, and his body jerked threateningly toward him, but in his bound state he only fell back against the wall weakly, earning a small grunt in pain as his back met the wall with a thud.

"Careful Ichigo, you don’t want to push yourself closer to death."

"******** you," his words spoken through his teeth. Letting a sharp growl escape his throat.

"Extraordinary. I didn't think you'd still have so much fight left." He eyed the black metal collar that was placed tightly around the red heads neck with satisfaction, then looked up at the strong curve of his chin. His mouth frowned deeply. Dried blood covered the side of his face and his torso from the last battle, but the wounds had been healed by the Orihime child. "You are quite the mess Ichigo."

Again he was met with the same silence as when he entered the chamber instead of a sharp curse. A small table was set up like he'd ordered and he dunked a clean wash cloth in a bowl of warm water. He rang it out, with a soft tsk as if he was annoyed he had to clean the young man of old blood. He moved to wipe his face, but he jerked his head away defiantly.

"Let's be pleasant, shall we?" Aizen grabbed his chin tight enough to make him hiss with renewed pain. He wiped soft and delicate along his skin in contrast to his hard grip. Pulling back, released him to rinse the cloth, watching the water turn pink in color and he swirled it around.

"What is the point of this?" His voice lost some of it's sharp edge, turning to weary confusion.

"Surely you don't like being covered in blood?" he asked, bringing the cloth back up to wipe along his chest.

"You know what I mean, dammit! Why am I here?!"

"Your emotions are like a rollercoaster, but you are very young." He continued to clean his skin with soft strokes, wiping over muscle and contours with special care, rinsing as the cloth got soiled red. "Perhaps that is another reason why you failed to save the girl."

"Is that it? You want to rub it in my face?" He sighed soft and watched his enemy. "And you think I'm the one who's childish." His whole body ached to the bone. The fixed position he was in prevented any kind of comfort or real movement, and if he tried he only felt his wrists burn from being chained for so long. He wanted to be away from this monster, but he was trapped completely, chains or not. "Why are you doing this?" he asked after minutes of eerie silence and soft brushes.

"In battle, blood is unavoidable. Fresh, wet, deep red in color. I do enjoy that very much, but when there are not swords brandished for the kill, blood is merely offensive." His tone was as gentle as his swipes with the cloth, but it masked a cold indifference. When he was finally done he folded the cloth and set it aside neatly next to the bowl.

"You're sick!" Ichigo said, and watched him warily. The whole cavity spoke of pain and torture. This charade was all the calm before the storm that was sure to come. He was afraid, but had the strength to hide it well enough, or at least he hoped he did.

"You're allowed your opinion, but only so much." He smiled and went to move closer. Ichigo found the will and threw up his leg to knee his gut, but he cursed when it was easily caught and pulled up higher, Aizen bringing it to rest on the sides of his waist. Pain flared up his back even so, he attempted to rip his limb back from his captor's body and was put off when it was forcibly held there. "What is this? I am being as pleasant to you as I can Ichigo.”
"Pleasant, my a**! Let go of me!" He grunted and twisted his body, fighting the muscle spasms to bring his other leg up to knock him away. It was a failed attempt, as Aizen swatted the leg back down with little to no ease, keeping Ichigo’s other leg secure against his hips. Aizen gripped him harder and yanked his hair in a tight hold to get his attention, Ichigo hissed through clenched teeth and refused to stop struggling.

"Oh yes, you are going to be entertaining," Aizen mused softly, looking deep into his honey eyes with a gaze of possessiveness. He let him go without warning and moved across the room.

"********!" The sudden drop of his leg jarred his back and he groaned low, placing his feet back down and trying to regain his balance, straightening both knees as well as he could in an up right position. He lifted his head to see what his tormentor was doing, only to look down again when he saw him smiling satisfyingly. All he could do was brace for the inevitable pain. He closed his eyes. His wrists were getting numb. He wasn't sure if that or the pain was worse. He chanced another look at Aizen and found he was no longer smiling, but looking at him with derision.

"Tell me, substitute shinigami, what made you possibly think, you could waltz into my palace and take what is not yours anymore?"

"Orihime is not yours! She belongs to no one…. And she unquestionably doesn’t belong to your sorry a**," he croaked through a dry throat.

"That's inspiring," Aizen chuckled, and began to pace slowly back and forth. One arm slanted across his chest with the other arm resting above it, chin in hand. "How you got to Heuco mundo, I was not aware there were other ways..."

"Maybe you just weren't important enough to be in on the secret," Ichigo muttered.

"Cute. Still have that fire, I see. Well, I haven't really gotten started with you yet, so there is plenty of time for you to be humbled." He looked at the young man, is hand stretched out towards the shinigami, as if to shake his hand. "Congratulations on failing so miserably, it is only a true shame your friends got away." He smirked as ichigo’s face softened.

“I’m glad….I would never want them in this-” Aizen laughed, directly cutting him off.

“Oh Ichigo kun! Stop trying to be the hero. If you think about it more thoroughly, they left you behind, ensuring their own safety above yours. So why try and protect the people that abandoned you?” Aizen’s smiled pulled further, Ichigo became silently right after his words. “Why try and care for the people, who are more then willing to forsake the infamous Ichigo Kurosaki, leaving him in the hands of Soul Societies biggest enemy?”

“Shut up…” Ichigo’s eyes stayed planted firmly on the ground. His chest flaring from anger. Aizen only continued his taunt.

“And they didn’t even try to get you or dear Orihime chan back after you were captured.”

"Stop it," Ichigo muttered. Aizen chuckled at his barely audible words, he moved back towards the shinigami and ran the back of his hand across his cheek as if to caress him. Ichigo jerked his head back from the sudden touch against his skin.

“What’s wrong Ichigo kun? Does it hurt to know, you were betrayed by the very people you called your friends?”

“Shut the hell up! I was not betrayed! They knew they wouldn’t be able to save us both….it was a precaution …. I’m glad they didn’t stay…They might have been captured by the sick ******** that stands in my way!” Ichigo spit, his saliva reaching Aizen’s left cheek. The mans eyes narrowed dangerously, while one pale hand wiped the substance from his face. Sharp pain spread accross his face before he could register what was to happen next. Aizen had slapped the shinigami, leaving the tortured skin to redden and swell.

“Tsk, Tsk, Ichigo kun. I Think I am going to have to teach you a lesson. You need to realize who is in charge.” Aizen’s eyes bore into Ichigo, sudden chills of fear ran through the younger shinigami’ s spine.

"Well then. I‘d better get started. Shall we?" He moved back from Ichigo and walked to the side of him. Ichigo bit down the instinct to plead, his breath hitched when harder when Aizen disappeared from his view momentarily, to only realize the man stood a few feet away from him. Aizen took a few more steps back and let his eyes roam, much to Ichigo's distaste. The taller and older man began to move towards Ichigo once more, taking small tantalizing steps. Each movement the man made sent tiny shocks of fear to Ichigo’s head. Unconsciously, His eyes flickered towards anything else but Aizen.

“What…What are you doing?” Ichigo cursed. If he could he would have hit himself for the weakness and fear that shown through the sound of his voice. Aizen never answered and came to a full stop in front of the shinigami. Ichigo finally met his eyes, and at that moment he truly regretted returning the look. Aizen’s eyes were burning with an unknown emotion to Ichigo. His made Ichigo feel stone cold. His eyes portraying such dominance it made him feel nauseous. ‘Am I finally going to be killed?…’ His thoughts were cut short when he felt warm hands rest themselves on his hips. His eyes shot open with the sudden contact of the mans skin.

“Don’t touch me you b*****d!” Ichigo attempted to shake the hands loose from his body but failed. His hands held the young shinigami firmly In place. Aizen clenched his hands, holding the boys hips in a painful bruising hold.

“Ah my dear strawberry, such hateful words." He narrowed his eyes, mustering up as much distinction he could when his face twisted in disgust. "Would you prefer I called you Ichigo?"

"Why does it matter you twisted freak?" Completely disregarding the warning bells that were going off in his mind, he continued to lash out.

"Ichigo, it is." Aizen smirked. His thumbs pressed hard into Ichigo’s lower waist, as he continued to take hold of the shinigami. Ichigo let an unstoppable gasp slip through his lips. “Oh what’s wrong my dear Ichigo kun? Were you expecting something else?“ Aizen asked when he saw Ichigo's horrified expression.
"What....the hell is this?" Ichigo rasped. The chains holding him clanked and shook when he shifted.

"Your future," Aizen answered softly, swiftly dropping the black cloth to the floor that barely clung on to his bruised hips.

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