Little Games

"When one has nothing to lose, one becomes courageous. We are timid only when there is something we can still cling to."

Ichigo let his eyes slip shut as the sensations ran across his skin.

Sparks flew through him at the touch, reverberating in his body and pooling heatedly in the pit of his stomach. Electricity fizzed beneath the skin, his stomach a swirling mass of excitement and anticipation. With his eyelids shut tight he was left entirely in the dark and in the inner blackness he focused on the outer physicality of the sensations, relying on memory and familiarity to fill in the gaps left by sight.

He knew his partner better than he knew himself, the only man whose skin had ever brushed against his own in such a way that set his body alight from the inside out.

The redhead's chest was bare, his skin exposed to the cold air but laid upon by a warm body. A hot, moist tongue ran patterns across his chest, dancing along the curves and lines of muscles and skin, flicking with teeth across his nipples, dipping languidly into the hollows of his hipbones. His breath caught as a pointed nose nuzzled gently at the skin just above his crotch, warm breath stirring the exposed organ below as his hakama was swiftly removed by long fingered hands.

He twisted his wrists uselessly against the bonds that encircled them, trapping him firmly to the headboard.

Just one of their little games, he told himself.

He knew him. He could feel his silky blonde hair as it fell against his skin. He could smell the soft, musky scent of soap and the bitter underlying tang of whatever experiments he had been working on that day. He could hear his kind voice, humming an amused tuneless noise as he pressed soft kisses to his neck. His stubble scratching at him gently as that mouth brushed against him, teeth nipping roughly at his abused skin. Long fingers ran lightly up the side of his neck, feeling the shivers that were drawn from him at the juxtaposition of light and harsh touches. They reached his face, running along the curve of his cheekbone. They ghosted over his closed eyelids and he felt sharp teeth and warm breath leave his neck.

"Open your eyes."

The voice was harsh. Cruel and edged with sadism.

It was not the voice of his lover.

His stomach dropped as freezing air flooded in, the warm breath playing in his ear turning cold as his frail construction of illusion broke. All of the heat left his body, draining outwards into the icy fingers that brushed against his bruised, broken skin. But still he screwed his eyes shut tighter than before, trying desperately to hold on even as the warmth of memory slipped away around him.

"Now." The voice commanded in a hiss as the cold fingers moved to twist nails into his chest, breaking the surface of the skin and drawing red warmth from within. "Unless you'd like me to gouge them out again."

He shuddered involuntarily, instantly feeling sick to his stomach as that memory reared at the forefront of his mind. Cold fingers reaching inwards, freezing him and blinding him as they tore away the jelly of his eyes, the pain reaching higher, deeper than he had ever experienced before. He had nearly died then, like on so many other occasions since he had been brought and bound to this place. Most nights he wished that he had been allowed to die; he should have gone on the battlefield alongside his comrades. That was where he belonged, not lying awake in the bed of the man who had destroyed everything and everyone he had ever loved, longing to be released into the eternal blackness where they lay.

He would never forget the look on Orihime's face when he had opened his restored eyes and seen her standing over him, enveloped in her healing orange glow. She had begged him then, pleaded with him to stop antagonising the Lord, to stop pushing him for the sake of his prideful defiance. And the tears in her eyes forced him to relent and swear promises that they both knew he would be unable to keep. But she did not beg him so piteously anymore.

She did not say much of anything nowadays.

She could have healed herself of the damage their captor had caused to her on the occasion that she had spoken out against Ichigo's treatment, everybody knew it, but she chose to remain mute. The only form of protest left to her. Aside from this incident she was barely touched, she was too valuable to have any real harm allowed to befall her. No-one but Ichigo seemed to mind that she had refused to heal her own vocal cords, the pink scar on her neck standing out vibrantly against her moon-paled skin. After all, she didn't need to be able to speak to heal them. Though he had pleaded with her empty eyes to reverse the damage Ichigo knew why she had done it; she too was tired of crying and screaming pleas that would forever go unanswered into the empty night.

That event had shown him the depths of his master's sadistic madness if nothing else. And though he had not been able to force himself to bend unconstrained to the Lord's will that incident had dulled the blade of his pride somewhat. The memory contributed greatly to the sickness that washed over his stomach whenever the ex-captain touched his face in the parody of gentleness that he so loved to play before the coming of pain.

Cold fingers pressed lightly against his eyelids.

"Look at me."

The voice spoke with total authority. And the fingernails scraping his skin promised that he would not hesitate to fulfil his threat if Ichigo did not obey. He swallowed hard, choking back the sour bile of his stained pride. Amber eyes opened hesitantly and met his reality. For he was held not by the lover of his memory, but by his greatest enemy.

Sōsuke Aizen leant over him where he was bound upon the white bed, his face dark at the redhead's attempt at defiance as his mask slipped. He barely bothered to conceal his feelings before Ichigo anymore, the shinigami boy had become nothing more than decoration to him now.

He asked a question that they both already knew the answer to.

"Who were you thinking about?"

Ichigo grit his teeth, muttering like a sulky child as he turned his head to the side to avoid that hellish gaze.

"No-one."

Aizen's scowl deepened momentarily before he composed himself, wiping all traces of emotion from his face. He grabbed Ichigo's chin roughly in one hand, fingers gripping tighter than was necessary as he forced the redhead to turn his head back to meet his gaze. His voice was low and dangerous despite the apparent neutrality of his facial expression.

"Do not lie to me pet."

And there it was. That name. That fucking name. Ichigo felt his lips curl in a snarl at the connotations of that hated title. The label that marked him as a belonging, a toy constantly broken by its sadistic owner. No more than an object to be used upon a whim. Anger rose in his throat to compete with his pride, bursting and overflowing, overpowering his own weak sense of self-preservation.

"Him!" He spat as he set free the temper burning in his throat. He struggled uselessly beneath the man holding him down. "It is always him! I will always belong to him! Never to you!"

Aizen's expression never changed, but beneath the mask lay the twin emotions of rage and a twisted sense of pleasure. He never got tired of destroying the boy, of ripping him right down to his core and taking him to the edge of his sanity. For just when he seemed to have become subservient and broken, a willing pet bound to his master, something within him would flare up again. The fire that possessed his very being would not allow him to ever fully submit, no matter how it died and dulled a spark would always come along to reignite it. Sometimes it seemed that the spirit had gone out altogether; sometimes the redhead would be silent for days, would serve him willingly for weeks, but just when Aizen thought he might grow tired of playing with him it would blaze and set his veins alight with the excitement of getting to break the shinigami boy down all over again.

His tone was hard and set, betraying nothing even as his mouth twisted in a smirk that spoke to promise pain and darkness.

"We'll see about that."

Ichigo cried out, a strangled roar of rage and pain as the demon went back to work upon his body. His arms strained hopelessly against the rough bonds which held back his arms, denying him even his small, useless acts of resistance. The harsh, dim light of the ever present night played upon his pale skin. Once lit by the rays of the sun, now shrouded in shadow and moonlight as his master ran his cold fingers across its scarred surface. Teeth buried in the skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, thin trickles of red dripping down where sharpness pierced the surface in a vampiric display of possession and aggression.

Aizen drew back, his lips marked with flecks of red. And the hellfire burning in his eyes told Ichigo exactly what was about to happen. What always happened to him at the hands of the madman.

The socket junction of his arms and shoulders protested as he was pulled further down the bed. His legs were pushed back despite his futile protests, muscles straining as his knees were forced up and back at an uncomfortable angle. Cold fingers circled his entrance, but he knew that his outburst would have earned him no preparation this time. Only well behaved pets were given such luxuries.

He shut his eyes and waited.

When he felt Aizen push into him he couldn't help but scream. He had been ripped and stretched and broken and bled so many times that it should have stopped hurting, but each time his body was healed by Orihime the physical act itself was rejected. His body restored to an almost virginal tightness so that his insides were never allowed to get fully used to being penetrated by the larger man.

He tried to keep his eyes closed, tried to shut the madman out, but a sharp violent thrust from his master had them snapping open no matter how hard he fought against it. There would be no slipping into memory or fantasy here, no escaping his reality.

"You will look at me when I fuck you." He growled against Ichigo's ear as he pulled out and pushed roughly back in, savouring the cries and the expression of pain and pleasure that laid claim to the redhead's face as his pace increased, pounding ruthlessly into him as he dominated the shinigami's pale body. "And you will know that it is I who owns you. I who made you. I who have destroyed your world. I who have scraped every inch of that man from your body."

Ichigo arched his back up off the bed as he cried out, his wrists straining against the bonds digging into his pale skin. His right leg rested upon Aizen's shoulder, pushed back against his body with each hard thrust, his left twisted around his masters waist. Those cold hands played across his body, gripping his hips, curling around the small of his back to pull him deeper into each hard movement. He tried to bite his tongue to choke back the pained noises of defeat and humiliation but still they came soft and straining from his lips, encouraging the cruel smile that twisted his master's face.

Every small comfort was denied him, his body tormented in just the right ways to force cold pleasure upon him through the pain. He had long ago decided that he would rather take the pain and his master had long ago realised that pleasure could be just as cruel a torture as pure agony. He was hard, so hard that it hurt, and Aizen took full advantage of that fact. Each deep thrust made his body tremble, fresh gasps bursting forth from his lips as he shook, heat burning in the pit of his stomach.

Aizen smirked deeper as he ran his hands along Ichigo's arms till they came to rest upon the bound wrists. He held them there for a moment as he moved, gripping the redhead's wrists and running his fingers across the rough rope that encircled them. Their foreheads met, resting against each other as they rocked together in time with the motions of Aizen's thrusts. Disgustingly intimate and cruelly close.

"Would you like me to release you?"

They both understood the double meaning in that question and they both knew what the answer would be. Ichigo hated himself more than ever at these times, when his body begged him to relent, eventually, inevitably overpowering his mind and his senses.

"Yes…"

It was barely a whisper, not enough to satisfy Aizen.

"Ask me properly pet." He hissed as his pace increased, his wandering hands keeping Ichigo wavering on the edge, between pain and pleasure, between anticipation and release.

The urge to close his eyes was almost unbearable, but he knew what would happen if he did. So he kept them open, facing his inescapable situation. He looked right into the dark irises of his captor, entirely unlike the soft greys of his love, and he felt what little was left of him eroding as he crumbled to pieces in the demon's hands once again.

"Please, Aizen-sama."

"Please what?" He purred softly, nuzzling their noses together, their lips barely brushing in a cold imitation of a loving gesture.

"Please, let me come." He half choked, half growled the strangled request and felt his heart shrivel and die a little more in his chest as the betraying words left his lips.

Aizen just smiled that same cruel smile.

Suddenly the bonds were released but Ichigo didn't have enough time to appreciate his newfound freedom, however faux it may be, before he was pulled up into a new position that gave him even less leverage than before. Aizen forced him on to his lap without pulling out, continuing to move inside of him as strong arms laced around his back, holding him close enough to feel their hearts beating in synchronisation. The sudden change in angle made Ichigo cry out as the ex-captain pushed hard against his prostate. His feet kicked uselessly in the sheets as he was forced to awkwardly straddle his master. His hands clawed frantically at Aizen's back leaving faint pink scratches in their wake, an act that always only served to fuel the traitor's passions. It had used to mean defiance but now caught as he always was in the dark web of pain and pleasure he no longer knew if it stood for encouragement or opposition.

They moved together, scratching and growling, biting and swearing in their frantic dance. Ichigo's mind was slipping, falling into darkness and illusion until he couldn't tell if he was trying to escape the touch or breathlessly begging for more.

All he knew was that it never ended. There was no reprieve until they were both spent and with Aizen that could take many rounds of varying degrees of sadism and gentility. Ichigo could never outlast him, his body used and abused until he begged for respite. Aizen loved to hear him beg and was never satisfied until he did, watching the pain and loss cloud his bright eyes as his mind slipped further into the abyss each time.

The pain and pleasure peaked in one blinding explosion that flooded his body from the inside out. His hand tightened into clawed fists upon his partner's back, tight enough to break the skin of a lesser man but leaving no mark upon Aizen. His body tensed and constricted around his master, his tightening heat drawing an almost simultaneous orgasm from the ex-captain as the redhead cried and unintentionally arched his body against the other man. The hands caressing his back moved to fist in his hair, tugging on it sharply while teeth bit at his exposed neck as Aizen rode out his own end inside of him.

Ichigo's vision went white, his mind blank. He barely noticed as he was pushed carelessly from his master, used and thrown aside as he always was. He felt the heavy weight of the other man leave the bed as he lay there upon crumpled silken sheets, struggling to catch his breath.

His vision slowly unfogged as his breathing evened out, his bruised chest rising and falling beneath the pale light of the moon. Neither spoke. Ichigo had long ago learned that he would receive no answers to his questions and cries of weakness served only to please his master further. He expected nothing but further torment, he knew that they had barely stared this round and was surprised when he looked up to see the ex-captain redressing himself. Aizen caught his curious glance and smirked at the naked exhausted boy on his bed. Eyes glazed over with lust and anger, body scratched and bruised but still living, still fighting, still resisting.

He leaned down to take Ichigo's lips in a soft kiss, cold fingers clutching at his chin to hold his head upright as the redhead's eyes fluttered, his body weighed down by the force of his lethargy.

"Sleep now pet." He smirked softly as he broke the kiss. Ichigo eyes struggled to focus as those fingers rubbed softly at his jaw. "We can play more later." Ichigo scowled softly at those words, his lips mumbling a retort too soft to be heard.

Aizen gave his chin one last hard squeeze before dropping his head back down upon his bed. In the corner of his mind Ichigo heard him leave the room and was thankful that he would be allowed to rest for now. The last thing he saw was the stained white of the bed sheets before, finally allowed to close his eyes, he slipped gratefully into unconsciousness and the comforting illusion of his dreams.

The first breath of the morning came hard as always, the cold air flooding his chest along with the harsh realisation of reality. Ichigo sighed softly as his consciousness reformed, stealing away the dreams of a world now forever lost to him.

It took a moment for his senses to focus in on his surroundings, his mind shying away from the truth of his situation which was always so harshly enforced upon awakening. White walls, white furniture, white crescent moon mocking him as its soft light crept through barred windows. And worst of all, white sheets missing the stains that had somehow vanished into the dark of the endless night, his blood and sweat and seed seemingly absorbed into cleanliness by the pristine cloth.

He knew what he would see when he opened his eyes, and so he usually kept them shut for as long as possible, lying listless on the bed until his master returned to play.

But something was different this time. His ability to sense reiatsu had never been great and it was now further hindered by the restrictions Aizen had put in place upon his power. But he had been practicing and little by little he was beginning to feel again, his own small act of defiance against his imprisoner. But there were things he would have known even if he had no power whatsoever. And he knew that there was something else in the room, something that used to be so right now feeling so wrong.

Ichigo opened his eyes and what he saw lying on the pillow beside him made his mind screech to a screaming, blank halt.

He sat upright slowly, not allowing his eyes to stray from the object for fear that it would disappear, would cease to exist and melt away into the dreams of his sleep. He scarcely dared to breathe as he reached out a shaking hand towards it, his body rigid and mind a shattering blank. His fingers brushed against it and electricity shot through his body.

He smelt a hauntingly familiar musk, then the sharp metallic tang of blood.

He was out of bed in an instant. His legs barely held him as he staggered to the bathroom, hands clasped over his mouth as he gagged. He almost didn't make it to the toilet in time, his hands clawing at the side of the porcelain bowl as he dry heaved. Three long rattling breaths as he tasted bile in the back of his mouth, his body trying desperately to expel that sensation from within. When the vomit finally came it burned a way up his throat, thin hot liquid escaping his lips and splattering against the white.

When he finally finished he sank back against the cold floor sucking in deep desperate breaths, his fists clenching and unclenching as nails dug into the palm of his hand. It had been a long time since he had last been sick, a sharp change from how it had been at the beginning. His stomach and his heart had slowly become hardened against his treatment in the eternities that he had been held in this place and he barely had the need to expel his insides anymore.

But this was different.

He sat with his back against the wall, arms wrapped around his legs as he hugged them close to his body and buried his face in his knees. He remained that way for what seemed like hours, motionless but for the soft rising and falling of his chest as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

After everything he had been through; watching his comrades, friends and family die; having his skin bruised and broken and sliced into by blades and knife like fingers, branded and marked for all to see; the loss; the degradation; the humiliation; the rape… This was the cruellest of all the tortures, saved for last. The final breaking point. He could feel himself cracking, his insides fragmenting as what was left of his inner world shook and cracked to pieces.

He had thought that he had fallen so far that it would not be possible for him to break any further. But he had been proven wrong once again. The bastard just loved doing that, letting him dangle on the edge of the precipice before delivering that last hard shove. He felt sick for letting Aizen manipulate him like he did, knowing fine well that his master would have watched the incident with a sick sense of glee. He had gotten so good at hiding his emotions now, at showing little reaction when he was touched and baited but this… this was so far below the belt, beyond even his practiced ability to hide.

His grit his teeth as his hands balled into fists, hot anger flooding his system to protect against the cold numbness of the overwhelming sorrow. It burnt up inside of him and he stood, wiping away the tears that had formed but not dripped from his eyes. His legs held him now, though they still swayed slightly as he walked. He almost slumped against the frame of the bathroom door when he reached it but seeing the newest arrival in the room caused that burning rage to shoot up his throat, giving him energy enough to stand.

Aizen sat upon the bed, the pristine white sheets barely creasing beneath him. In his long fingered hands he toyed with the object, regarding it with an expression of disgust and amusement. The thing that he held, the object that had caused such a violent reaction from Ichigo, the icon that still gave him shivers and threw up memories of warmth, silky hair, sharp eyes and soft lips. The one thing he would never forget, nor forgive.

In his cold hands he held Urahara's hat.

"Such a filthy thing." Aizen's lips twisted in a cruel smirk, his upper lip curling as he twirled the ragged blood-stained hat between his fingers.

"Don't you touch it!" Ichigo growled, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers clenched into fists and his nails bit into the palms of his hands, the small pain going unnoticed as a fight that he was not aware he still possessed burned red hot through his veins. "You have no right!" He spat. Rage and sorrow collided in his eyes, shining with the moisture that he would never allow to fall in front of his man.

"Doesn't a victor have the right to his earnings?" The smirk that twisted Aizen's face intensified at the look of shock and horror that took hold of Ichigo's features as he realised.

"You…" Ichigo froze, his body turning to ice upon the spot, his voice hushed as the breath left his body. "It was you."

He had dropped hints, laid teases and torments but Aizen had never directly admitted it before, always keeping the most tortuous information from him. The cold shock fought the hot anger in Ichigo's stomach and he found it suddenly difficult to speak, an icy hand compressing his larynx as he struggled for words.

"I knew it."

"Say it." Aizen dropped the hat back down upon the bed, in an instant moving to challenge him. Bodies dangerously close as he dared his captive to admit what they both knew.

They were so close Ichigo could feel the madman's cold breath upon his face. So close that he was captured by those terrible eyes. When he spoke his voice was so frail, so weak that it was almost strangled by all the ice in the atmosphere.

"You killed him…"

Aizen reached out a hand to caress the redhead's face, fingers cupping the line of his jaw, a thumb stroking gently over his cheek. Ichigo trembled beneath his touch, with rage or fear it was hard to tell. His eyes shone with pain and loss and Aizen was struck by how beautiful he was in his frailty.

He drove the knife in deeper.

"Do you want to know how your love died Ichigo?" He murmured, "How bravely he faced death for you? How pathetic he was when he realised he was powerless to protect you?" Ichigo's eyes darkened, his insides beginning to warm again. "Do you know what I told him before I shoved my blade through his throat?" He leaned in closer, lips brushing against Ichigo's hair as he whispered cruelly in his ear. "I told him everything that I was going to do to you… My only regret is that he did not live long enough to witness me fucking you."

"You bastard!" Ichigo snarled low and animalistic, gritting his teeth as the levee broke within him. He grasped the wrist of the hand that gripped his face and tried to push the brunette from him, but he stood immovable as stone.

He had known. He had always known that his lover was dead. Had felt his loss like that of a piece of his own body being cut away. But hearing Aizen admit it, to know for certain that he was the one who had killed Urahara, was like a knife to his already failing heart. He had always known that there was nothing left to fight for: his family, his friends, his world, all gone, dead or worse. As far as he was aware only he and Orihime were left, but even she was no longer the girl he had known and loved so dearly. She had broken beyond redemption a long time ago, too fragile for this place. The person she truly was had died, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell who barely recognised him anymore, with empty eyes and no voice.

And now he knew for sure, the only way Aizen could have possessed that hat would be to have taken it from his lover's cold body.

Was this how it felt to have nothing?

Hot and cold collided in his stomach and exploded, ripping up through his veins to burn in his heart. A sensation that he had lost the ability to conjure from the moment Aizen had thrown him down and stripped the powers from his body returned and ripped through his trembling form. Winds that had never before blown in Las Noches whipped up around him, emanating outwards from his body and the whiteness of the room was obscured by the colossal force.

He was boiling up in the eye of the storm, burning hot and cold, his body freezing as it scorched. His skin trembled with the force of the power renewed within him, his hair standing on end like static electricity. He could no longer see Aizen or his surroundings, could no longer feel or hear or smell anything outside his own storm.

Everything went white, motionless, soundless and peaceful. For one fragile moment which seemed to stretch out endlessly before him he was weightless.

Then suddenly, the familiar weight of cool metal upon his back.

When his feet touched the ground, his shockwave was unleashed.

The marble walls simply crumbled around them, unable to stand up to the massive outpouring of power and Ichigo was thrown backwards through the shattered marble and out into the cold Hueco Mundo night. He hit the ground hard, gritty specks of white sand filling his mouth as he gasped for breath. He could only afford himself a second to breathe, lying on his back in an indent in the sand before he was back upon his feet, sword raised instinctively before him, eyes scanning his dust clouded surroundings.

Through the hole in the wall of the palace, his captor emerged.

"Now now Ichigo," He tutted as he swung his sword lazily. "Surely you have learned by now that this kind of behaviour will only lead to further pain?"

For the first time in what must have been years, Ichigo smiled.

The very fact that Aizen had drawn his sword meant only one thing: he was scared. Ichigo had just become a viable threat once again. It had been kept within him for so long: all the power, his reiatsu, that pain, the suffering, the loss. And it had all just been unleashed within one devastating tidal wave. He knew that it wasn't sustainable, the wave would wane and break against the shores leaving him powerless once again, but not before it completed its final purpose.

When he moved he was almost surprised, his body seemed to remember how to fight even if it felt like his mind had forgotten the scent of bloodlust long ago. He spun through the air like silk, bringing Zangetsu down to scream against Kyōka Suigetsu's blade, revelling in the vibrations that rang through the metal of the two zanpakutō. Aizen blocked easily but pushed him back instinctively, like he was afraid to let the redhead get too close. That was good, Ichigo could use that fear. It was about time to pay him back with some of it.

He spun round again, and this time Aizen flew to meet him. Their swords met and screeched as they moved apart, Aizen tried to flash-step behind him but he felt the attack before it came and jumped out of its path, losing only the tips of his hair in the process. He knew Aizen wouldn't be holding back, whatever damage was done to him could be healed away by Orihime so long as he still had a shred of reiatsu left, but the fact that he had been aiming for his head was still a little chilling. He spun on the balls of his feet again as he anticipated the next attack, bringing Zangetsu up to side-swipe Aizen's zanpakutō out of the way. The Lord hissed in annoyance as he caught his balance, sweeping to the side as Ichigo lunged for him and dancing away.

This was getting annoying; there was no way that Aizen was going to allow him to get close enough to strike him. He was suddenly strong and he had always been fast, but Aizen was God-like in his powers. This would be a losing battle and he would be made a captive once again, the cycle ever repeating until he was finally allowed to die. Which, judging from the fact he was nothing but a spirit body now, may not be for thousands of years. He wasn't scared, because he knew that there was nothing more than Aizen could do to him that he would feel. He had been utterly stripped down, his core exposed.

There was only one way out now.

He raised his sword again and saw Aizen smirk, somehow knowing that he had realised it was a futile battle. But he took up his own sword in defence as Ichigo moved to challenge him. The redhead was left wide open as he swung Zangetsu behind his head, mouth opening wide to call out his strongest power.

But the words never left his mouth, for in his gut there was a sharp sudden pain and he knew instinctively what it was. He could feel the too familiar reiatsu of Kyōka Suigetsu buried deep within his gut, too deep to be removed ever again. His arms fell weakly to his sides as he slumped forward, burying the blade deeper within him, feeling the hilt push up against his stomach as his blood spilled over his master's hands. Aizen tutted softly as he twisted the blade, laughing at the choked noises of pain coming from the shinigami that had just impaled himself upon his blade.

But he was close enough now; he had his opening. He gripped Zangetsu tighter in his hand as he pulled his head back to catch Aizen's mocking gaze.

"This is for Urahara." Ichigo hissed, his eyes flashing wildly as they connected with Aizen's. In those terrible eyes, for the first time ever, he saw fear.

He took off Aizen's head with one clean stroke.

Zangetsu's blade cut through skin and bone like butter, the edge sharpened by the fear and pain that Aizen had hoped would blunt it. It completed its motion in a graceful arc, blood flying from the blade to splatter against what remained of white walls, dripping and soaking into white sand. Aizen's body fell away as it began to crack and fragment into spirit particles, thumping heavily into the ground, but his sword remained buried within Ichigo's gut. He welcomed it. The corners of his lips curled in a soft gesture as he fell to his knees, splashing into a pool of blood that he knew was only half composed of Aizen's.

Zangetsu fell from his hand, thumping softly into the sand beside him. Ichigo let his head fall back, eyelids half lidded and fluttering against the oncoming darkness. He looked downwards for a moment and smiled as his gaze drifted over Aizen's head frozen in the expression of fear, half buried in sand and turning the white powder red.

"Bet you didn't see that coming." He murmured softly. "Fucker."

His limbs were going numb, a feeling creeping up from his fingertips that should've been cold but rather felt comfortingly warm. His head was spinning, his eyes losing focus. He knew what was happening, and he welcomed it like an old friend.

His soul started to crack and splinter, inside his head he could feel the hollow spitting insults at him but it was too late for even the creature to take control, too late for his horse to carry him from this final battle. He coughed and felt hot metal in his mouth as red splattered against the ground, joining the growing pool that belonged to both of them. Captive and captor, servant and master, winner and loser. It mattered not any longer, they would both end the same way.

He took a deep rattling inhalation of precious air, feeling the blood pooling in his throat, gurgling up over his lips as he let go, falling backwards into the sand. As he hit the ground he took a moment to consider that he felt no longer felt pain and exhaled his last soft sigh of breath.

He let his eyes slip shut as a familiar hand slipped into his own, fingers finally once again finding the spaces between his fingers where they belonged.

As Ichigo Kurosaki died it was not Death that took him by the hand.

When he opened his eyes he was somewhere else entirely, warm and light, far from the pain and suffering that had become the undercurrent of his existence.

And he was no longer alone.

He smiled softly as those familiar fingers squeezed his own, and whispered his name like a mantra as the other man smiled back at him.

"Hey, Kisuke."