A/N: This is a oneshot AU written for the AiGin fanclub, because they are spreading the AiGin love and also because they requested for it. NOT going to be a multi-chapter, people – I love you and all, but I really have to finish the other fics first.

Hope you guys like it!

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London in the fall is foggy and muggy, but I am nonetheless reluctant to leave this benighted city.

"Master, the gentleman is still here," whispers Alexis Woods, the youth employed by the distinguished gentleman, Aizen Sousuke. He thinks I cannot hear him, seated so far away from them, close to the fire. The Japanese man merely nods and Alexis scurries away to shelf the newly arrived volumes.

I smile behind the book I'm pretending to peruse. It had been such a find, locating a Japanese here in London. He was one of the very few who had dared step outside the island to this country of 'ghosts', as the natives of Japan called the Englishmen. Aizen Sousuke had followed an anthropologist out of his homeland and then took over this shop – my research on him unearthed the hard work he put into learning the language at age 29, and for the past six years he has been running this very bookshop in place of the anthropologist.

He passes by behind me, ostensibly to clean the window, but obviously trying to figure out my true intentions. I smile at him politely and return my attention to the volume in my hands. It is Rousseau's The Social Contract. I glance through the words, aware of the vast naivety that powered the writing of this book. The author plainly thought that people could govern for the better good of everyone else.

Stupid fool.

The ugly and unvarnished truth is that people are selfish and ignorant. Give them some power and they will want more power. I have seen it happen again and again, from my birthplace in the mountains of Japan until I reached Europe.

Here is another who has come from where I came. His dark brown hair, casually combed back, is a marked difference from the carefully brushed hairstyles worn by the Europeans. Aizen Sousuke has chiseled features that helped him blend into the community, though his speech and mannerisms still hinted of the Far East. His genteel manners and warm smile earned him friends in this unfamiliar place.

He reminds me of home, wherever home is for me.

Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? Usually one would start with giving their name. Arian, Rajat, Galvin... I have many names. The one I am using for the moment is Gin. Silver, like my hair.

He is watching me again from behind his glasses. He is always watching, not because he is a shopkeeper – such a crass and menial job for such an exquisite specimen! - but because I have been coming here for nigh three weeks, always browsing, never purchasing, and always staying from dusk until the moment he turns out the lights.

Only the boy Alexis has yet to notice that Aizen has been delaying the closing of the shop. They think I do not know what they are discussing. It is quite logical, really. I am at the far end of the store and they are in the back. Alexis is not happy that I am still around, and Aizen is reluctant to chase someone from his shop.

I have enough of teasing them tonight. Alexis has been most patient, but like any other boy his age, he has only so much patience before he snaps. Besides, if I leave now, I can get to a good vantage view. Bowing to Aizen and then to the youth, I wrap my coat about me and step out into the night. As I walk away I wonder how long it would take for Alexis to get Aizen up into the cozy attic loft where they have their trysts.

Smiling to myself even more widely, I duck into an alley. The streetwalker who is there approach me with a saucy grin, but back away when I bare my fangs. She whips out her plain little cross. Evidently a person who lives in the shadows, as I do: she recognizes what I am.

"Leave, girl. I have business here tonight," I tell the harlot, and she runs out to purvey her wares in another alley. She is a brave one, selling herself all by her lonesome. A gent could have his way with her and then beat her up and leave her for dead. Such cases are not uncommon, here in the city. The gentry pretend there is nothing to see other than the refined and delicate, but living about the muck I see how the city is ready to burn.

Dear gods this place stinks. I search the wall for footholds and identify a few. Then I leap up with ease and climb over the roofs before I draw the shadows about me. They are just entering their hideaway.

Carefully I lift a tile aside and peer into the small room. Aizen is holding the boy already, the kisses hungry and rich. I flick my tongue over my lower lip, imagining the taste of the man filling my mouth. Alexis moans softly as the older man assist in disrobing him, flinging aside the shirt and jacket, and now Alexis is fidgeting with his trousers.

"Please, master, I hurt," he cajoles. He rubs himself against Aizen and groans brokenly. I chuckle to myself at the not-so-innocent seduction.

"Hush, Alex," says Aizen, carefully moving over Alexis. The young man of about fourteen, sixteen perhaps, reaches up and removes Aizen's jacket before helping the adult to remove his shirt. Aizen clasps Alexis close and shushes him. "We have to be quiet."

There is no light in the little room and the thin mattress probably provides little to no support, but neither takes note as Aizen begins to run loving hands over the boy. I like the muscles of his back: not too defined, but still powerful. It will be smooth and anticipatory when I run my hands over his skin.

The youth is already spreading his legs, the little whore. If I were Aizen I would tease him and deny him a little longer. But the older man strokes Alexis, murmuring gentle, loving words as his hand caresses the heated length of the young man. I wonder what he will say to me when I am touching him, or what he will want me to say. The boy arches off the mattress, helpless and desperate, and I tweak a grin. I am right: Aizen is more than what he appears to be. They are more than what they present to the world.

He slides wet fingers into Alexis, drawing a soft, helpless cry that ignites my lust. I scent their sweat and the barest hint of blood in the room below. Alexis is pleading again, his hands reaching for Aizen blindly. I held my breath as the older man catches Alexis in his arms and they flip over, with Alexis straddling Aizen's hips. Carefully the youth is lowered and he throws his head back, his body shuddering. Aizen without his glasses is even more handsome, the poised, controlled mask replaced with an expression close to feral. The boy covers his mouth as Aizen moves him, the stifled cries no doubt even more alluring with the abandoned passion of Alexis' body. I close my eyes and inhaled; the sharp tang of the boy's seed mingled with Aizen's unique signature and I shivered with need. Then I opened my eyes in time to see Aizen peak, holding the youth so tightly I half-believed the boy would break in two.

As Alexis slips forward to rest on Aizen's body, I stare into the unlit room, memorizing the scene. Aizen's blinks a few times to clear the perspiration beading his brow, then smiles lazily before kissing the young man on his brow. They cuddle.

I grin with appreciation and eagerness.

Such a find.

I slot the tile back and move soundlessly down to the ground. A longing floods my veins: I am hungry.

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Aizen Sousuke was meant to be dinner, not a full-blown obsession. I was looking for a meal in the street when I saw him walk past with Alexis, both carrying bags of food. They looked respectable and were talking like master and apprentice, but as I sidled closer I caught their scents wrapped about each other, and also the dark bruising on Aizen's neck that was almost but not yet hidden by a tall collar.

In the end my dinner was someone who had intended to rob them.

The next evening I killed a thief who was scouting out the bookstore.

The rest of the seedy underworld received the message: Aizen Sousuke and Alexis Woods were under someone's protection, and that someone was very good at killing. They wised up.

I will not allow others to steal my prey from me.

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The next evening I turn up as usual. To my surprise only Aizen is there.

"The sun sets and he appears," he says with a small smile. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening," I reply. "It is strange that you are alone tonight."

He adjusts his glasses. "Not strange at all, sir. My helper has to stay home today, on account of his sick grandmother and also because he caught a cold."

I take the seat I always do. "He must be terribly careless with his blankets to have caught a cold."

"Perhaps," laughs Aizen. "I would not know."

"No," I concur with a knowing smile and locking gazes with him. "You would not."

He stands opposite me for the first time. I study his face as I have been doing and realize that he is even more than I have hoped for. That supreme confidence in his bearing... he must be one from the samurai class. But why is he here, so far from home?

"Will you like some tea?" he asks courteously.

I incline my head. "That would be perfect."

He prepares tea much as if it is another form of chado, all rituals and grace. As he pours the amber liquid into a fine china cup he pauses. "Sugar or cream?"

I like the look of his large hands. Strong, firm fingers with well-cared-for nails. I beam at him. "I like sugar in my tea."

Aizen passes me the sugar pot and I stir in some. He picks up a sugar lump with the tongs and stirs it into his own teacup. "I prefer sugar as well."

"I would've thought you enjoyed the taste of cream more," I say blandly. To his credit he doesn't react at all. "Say, where is your usual banyan? I thought you appeared rather refined in it."

"It's being cleaned right now." His eyes meet mine, calmly challenging me to state why the sleeping robe was dirty. I sip my tea and look down at the table. Aizen speaks again, his voice steady. "Sir, you've been coming to my store for some time. Has nothing interested you?"

"There is one, but I am hoping for more," I answer readily. "Still, I've yet to see anything that really captures my interest. Most of the books you have are far too... what's the word?"

"Unpolished?"

"Human." That piques his interest. I tilt my head to the left, wondering how he will run with it.

He smiles. "I suppose that is the frailty of all authors." He stirs more sugar into his tea and drank, his brown eyes watching me over the rim of the cup. "What would you write about then?"

"The transient nature of mortal life," I reply, closing the book I picked out earlier. "Everything is so... fleeting. Like the breeze; just when you register its presence, it's gone."

"Perhaps," he concurs absently. We hear distant thunder at the same time, and I get up from my chair. He stands as well. "You are leaving now?"

"I should go before the storm catches up on me," I say and shake hands with him. His hands are warm and comforting. No wonder the boy Alexis fell for him. "Thank you for the tea."

At the door he steps out into the street with me. "I will like to know your name, sir. After all, we see each other practically every night."

I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Call me Gin." His scent is musky and luxurious. I relax my defenses for an instant, let his presence be all I sense. When I step away he has a quiet smile on his face.

"Gin, is it?" he asks. "May I address you Master Gin from now on?"

"Of course." He moves to reenter his domain. I put a hand on his left arm and inquire, "Aren't you going to let me ask for your name?"

Aizen merely bows his head and walks into his store. As the door closes he says, "You already know it well, Master Gin. Be safe."

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I turn up every night, and every night Aizen stops whatever he is doing to sit and talk with me. Our topics range freely: religion, politics, fashions, women, dramatic plays, good food in the area, art, the colonies. But our discussion always avoids the issues of family: I have none, and he has left his. No matter what we start talking about, we always end with a chat about the killer that is running rampant in London, the fellow who calls himself Jack the Ripper. He has just sent a second postcard identifying himself as Saucy Jacky, though I believe that both letters are hoaxes. They are crudely written and the language only borderline literate.

A killer like Jack will not be as crass as to reveal his inferiority in the world of letters. He has already shown himself to bask in the glow of power and authority: over women, over the poor, over life and death itself.

Aizen disagrees, but it is in the debate where I find relaxation. I enjoy speaking to him as an equal. For two hours every night I forget that I am immortal, that he is mortal. I forget that intense hunger for life pulsing through his veins, forget the incredible warmth I know he possesses. And every night after our talks, I hunt with more vigor and enjoyment than ever.

Alexis grows increasingly uncomfortable with my intimacy with his master and older lover. Aizen is aware of it, of course; the man is not stupid. Nonetheless he keeps up with the chats. I suspect that he is lonely too, intellectually. Here, there aren't many people who can tell him what I can, because I have seen and done so much more than others. Now and then I hear that some gentlemen of a certain caliber visit him, but because he is a proprietor they think him beneath their stations in life.

Young, pathetic, self-obsessed fools.

If they see what I can see, they will never let this diamond of a mortal out of their sight.

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"Alexis is fond of you, is he not?" I ask one evening when rain pours down outside. The boy has gone home for the night, visiting his ailing grandmother.

"And I of him," Aizen replies swiftly. He has draped his banyan over himself, the dark green cotton robe a swath of warmth about his body. He knows I admire the robe when he wears it: I have been very frank in expressing my liking.

I have been invited to dinner and the food is excellent. Aizen cooks for himself, as he barely has enough to pay for Alexis' wages and certainly not enough to hire a housekeeper. Though the store does a steady trade, Aizen's money goes towards the upkeep of the shop and towards his stock of reading material rather than his own comfort.

I can't understand that, though I suppose those books were luxuries in his own perception. We have never spoken of his life prior to England; evidently he has renounced all claim to his motherland. Perhaps he isn't here of his own accord?

"Brandy?" he asks quietly. Everything he does is soft and quiet, as if fearful of waking someone. Even when he holds Alexis in his arms he is nearly silent, letting his body speak for him. But the fire that they have when they are together ignites my passion as though I am part of their lovemaking. They always go to that room in the attic. Initially I wonder why, then realize that that is the only place they cannot be overheard through the walls and the only place where people are unable to see into.

He doesn't know about me, of course.

I take the glass from him and sip. With his glasses on, Aizen is almost mild and bookish. Then he takes the glasses off and the light within shines out: the light that drove the primordial to explore, to battle, to lay claim to the vast lands before him.

"Master Aizen," I ask as I sit down in his study – the store is closed and I am in his private quarters, "are you content with your life?"

"I have my books and Alexis has my love," he says, not hiding his relationship with the youth from me. "There is nothing else I desire. A simple life suffices, Master Gin."

I toast him. "To a simple life then."

"A simple life."

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There are times you are cruel because of the sheer thrill of it. Alexis is barely keeping a lid on his jealous fury, mainly because he thinks no one knows of his liaisons with his master. Aizen calmly removes my hand from his knee for the third time as he sits forward to pour us more tea.

"Master Gin, your opinion on the latest murder?" he inquires coolly, though not without glancing at his young lover fretting behind me.

"Such a sordid topic," I retort. My hand slides from his knee up his breeches again, and he again removes my hand. He hasn't rebuked me yet, so I merely smile and trace the curve of his neck up to his jaw with my eyes. "Still, I do believe the police are barking up the wrong tree. They aren't even looking in the right place."

"I hope the matter will end soon, though. It is becoming worrying for the ladies."

I raise an eyebrow and my smile widen. "You believe in protecting the ladies of the night?"

He sips from his cup. "It isn't by their own choice - which woman would willingly sell of themselves for men to use and abuse?"

"You are very kind," I compliment and catch a glimpse of the glowering Alexis in the mirror nearby. I am not reflected and I adroitly shift to my right, nearer to Aizen.

"I merely think all humans are created equal," he says. He does not move away.

After an hour the gaze behind me has turned into rivet-boring drills. With a wide smile and then a nod at the young man behind I stand up. Aizen stands as well and walks me to the doorway. We loiter at the entryway and Aizen helps me into my overcoat to guard against the fog, then hands me my bowler hat.

As is our custom, I lean forward to bid him goodbye, adding, "I think your boy is feeling neglected."

"Is he now?" Aizen whispers in return. There is a heat in his eyes that stand out starkly against the polite expression on his face.

"If you're not certain, I can relieve him of his frustration," I breathe out, edging closer. A muscle in his jaw twitches. I grin and stroll off with my umbrella held against the wind. He watches as I walk down the street, and then I wave to him as I turn down an alley.

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I stay away for two nights before my curiosity catches up with me again. It is much too late for a tete-a-tete: I settle for observing their kisses from the windows. When the boy disappears into the back of the shop, Aizen looks troubled. I frown slightly - that expression does not become him. I shall make arrangements to remove it.

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The season is fading out. But here in the city, it is always wet and gray. Even the prostitutes and beggars have retreated to warmer and cozier spots away from this derelict and academic district. Then again, most of the prostitutes have chosen not to work until the murderer is captured. Saucy Jacky is making a name for himself too.

I insinuate myself into the house and watch from the dark rooms of the house. Aizen is not willing to let Alexis return home by himself. I run a finger over my lower lip, feeling sated by my meal earlier. They are gently kissing in the corridor and the young gentleman is trying to get Aizen to go further, but the older man refuses quietly, contenting himself with kisses and touches.

After Aizen sees the boy to his bed, I emerge from the shadows. When he comes out of Alexis' room he notices me standing there in the hallway. He is startled for only an instant, but nods a greeting at me and beckons for me to follow him.

"I wonder."

"What do you wonder?" he asks, walking towards a narrow door. "My room is this way."

"You are alone with him in this place, with the store downstairs. Why not take him in his bed?" I inquire.

He half-turns and there is a mysterious smile on his face. "The attic is the only place no one else can hear us," he says. "And it also is the only place where only you can witness us, is it not?"

I am pleasantly surprised. I did not think he knows about my presence, but he is much more perceptive than I initially believe. "Or perhaps you do not wish to foster fond feelings for the boy and thus locate your trysts in a place without warmth or comfort?"

We are at the door to his bedroom. He opens the door and I stride in, my footfalls as silent as a cat's. There is only a bed and a stand for a basin, along with a closet for his clothes. It is too dark to make out other details for mortal eyes, but I grin appreciatively.

Oh yes, Aizen is not a stupid man.

He shuts the door and locks it, much to my surprise.

"Who are you, Master Gin?" he asks. "What do you want?"

I lift both eyebrows but do not turn around. "That's not playing the game, Master Aizen."

"You are the only one playing," he accuses. "I have been watching you. Who are you?"

Smiling broadly, I start to walk towards him. As I stalk closer he stiffens and his breathing picks up pace. I can smell him in every corner of this room, he suffuses this space with his essence. I can hear the slow, deep breath he is trying to take, hear the thunder on his heart, hear the infinitesimally soft scrape of his heel back against the door.

I decide to show him. In the blink of an eye I have my palms flattened against the door, enveloping him within the circle of my arms. We are almost the same height and he is not cowering. I lean forward and breathe in his scent again. Like liquid gold, flowing into me and filling up the emptiness within, shining forth with life and vigor.

"I have been so lonely for such a long time," I whisper. "So long, that even I am affected."

"How is that relevant to my query?" he says, voice steady even though I can decipher the undercurrent of uncertainty.

My body shifts closer. I can feel his warmth emanating from that perfectly sculpted frame. My voice deepens slightly. "Who am I? Tell me, Master Aizen. You have an answer."

"I do not know what you are," he says, eyes closing against my proximity. "But I know what you're not."

In a flash he has a cross pressed to my left cheek and I snarl, stumbling back. Aizen stares at me, eyes widening as he takes in my true face.

"Vampyr," he breathes out. "You're not human." He halts and studies me almost quizzically. "So it is true. There are vampires in this world."

"Aye, there is one before you, Master Aizen," I say. The sizzle of that accursed stick ebbs away, leaving a faint sting.

"I think... I think you are Jack." Aizen exhales and licks his lips. He brandishes the cross. "This room is sealed. You will not be able to escape."

"Why would I want to?" I ask, folding my hands behind me. "I have you here, and a bed."

He reaches for the door and I am there again, gripping the handle and then, with a sudden bout of whimsy, snaps it off. Aizen jolts and backs away. He glares at me and states evenly, "Alexis is already gone. He has gone to tell her about this."

"Tell who about what?" I ask, switching back into my human appearance. "The witch down the lane? She's already dead." I leer at his pale, shocked face. "What did you think I had for dinner?"

He is very courageous, I realize, as the man looks at me with no fear nor pain in his eyes.

"Monster," he calls me. I do not disagree.

"You think I am Jack the Ripper?" I inquire, sitting on the bed. The flush over his cheeks, unnoticed except for the rise in his body temperature. "Why do you say that, Master Aizen? And how do you know I am a vampire?"

"I guessed. I felt you in the street, months ago." Aizen tells me, the cross unwavering, answering the last question first. "You wanted him. I could sense your lust for him."

"Not for him," I correct his statement casually. The smile widens. "Not for him."

Comprehension strikes him hard as he struggles to understand. "What do you want of me?" he manages to question.

I prop my head on a hand. "I wanted your blood because I was hungry. Then I desired your attention because you are intelligent and sensitive. And now... I crave everything you possess. Master Aizen, my friend, you have lighted a flame in me that cannot be put out - and I will have you."

"No," he snaps, stepping forward. "You are a killer."

I kneel on the bed, my hands resting on his biceps. He tenses on feeling the casual strength behind my hold. I pull him closer and murmur into his neck, "I can give you so much more in return, Master Aizen." He reacts slightly to my mouth on his skin. I go on softly, "You know this is not your place, cooped up in a small building, making love to an undergrown boy in the attic. I can give you so much more, bring you places you have yet to see, do things beyond human comprehension. Give yourself to me to receive tenfold, hundredfold in return."

"I am contented with my lot," he says, swinging the cross back in my face. I grab his wrist and twist it. The wooden cross clatters to the floor and he runs for it and holds it aloft again.

I sit back on my heels and laugh. "You will tire before long, my friend. I will have you then, whether you wish it or not. I will savor you like no mortal has ever savored you; I will bring you to the edge and not let you fall until I am pleased to do so." My eyes open a little wider. "Do you want it, my friend?"

"No," he says, though a hint of doubt crawls into his voice. "I am not your friend. You are a murderer, Jack."

"I am not Jack." I slide one leg off the bed and then the other, carelessly stripping my clothes off. His arm does not lower. I amble around the bed and he backs away, eventually colliding with the bed. I grin and lick my upper lip. "It is too dark, Master Aizen. Let there be light."

Flashy gypsy trick but it works. The candle wicks burst into sudden flame and the crucifixes on the walls stare down at us. I look around.

"A rather tasteless display, don't you think?" I ask. With a quick leap I am straddling his hips and have twisted the cross in his hand out of his grip. It clatters to the ground. He tries to fight me off but is unable to do so. I pin him to the bed and nuzzle into his neck, where life pulses just out of reach. My tongue traces the length of his neck and he grunts, turning his head away. He hardens beneath me; the flush in his cheeks appear to beckon for more. I smile and lick his ear. "Master Aizen, you know me as I know you."

"What do you mean?" he inquires, as if hypnotized by my tone. I lick and explore his ear and he moans aloud now, shivering.

"I know your beliefs, your principles, your passions. This tiny shop will smother you, kill off the flame that you have. It will be a sin to let you descend into commonality. It is already a sin to be subject to these pathetic human laws and traditions, Master Aizen. You are worth more than this. You deserve the world under your heel." I kiss his eyes and relishes the increased fluttering of his lashes.

"You know nothing," he retaliates huskily, his breathing picking up pace. I grind my hips down and then lick his lips before pressing over his mouth. He clamps his mouth shut. No matter - he will submit before long. His hands, still pinned, tries to free themselves by fighting my hold; I roll my hips even harder into him and he groans before twisting his head to the side. "You are a sadistic monster."

"Monster I am, sadist I am not," I reply, resting my head on the strong shoulder. He is still struggling, but his efforts are distracted by the heat of our hips pressing together. His tongue moistens his lips unconsciously and I lap at his collarbone, murmuring, "I am not Jack, Master Aizen. I did not kill them."

"Liar. You are a vampire - a monster - you killed them."

I chuckle and suck at his adam's apple. He smothers a groan of sensation, hips thrusting his hardness up into mine. "You heard about those murders, with blood all over the place. I am a vampire."

He falls silent, understanding my point. I take the chance to rip his shirt open and run one hand up his chest. For a bookstore owner he has kept himself in superb physical shape. I suppose even in this city of rain and fog he has continued to practice martial arts. His dark brown nipples peak and I lick over the nubs, tracing a pattern about each. He stifles the sounds deep in his chest and I laugh before nipping at his flesh. He cries out and squeezes his eyes shut.

I take the risk and release his wrists. He weaves his hands into my silver hair, holding me close to his skin. I whisper assurances and slide his trousers off. Although this isn't the first time I have seen his erection, it is the first time I am so close. We nuzzle together and the glint in his eyes darkens.

"You know what to do," he whispers as a command.

"I know," I answer and position myself over him. As he fills me up I bite down on my lip. He is big, bigger than I expected, and the burn is so very delicious. I am shaking; his large warm hands reach for my waist and steadies me. Then I open my eyes and he shudders. I lower my torso so that our chests can slide together and he can embrace me. I nibble on his chin when his gaze seems fixated on my eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I... I never thought you would have eyes the color of the sea near my home." He sounds almost wistful. "I thought you would have eyes the color of blood."

"They change color according to my mood," I tell him. "Now is the time for pleasure." I begin moving and he holds me, our rhythm gradually matching and ascending. I have had lovers before, but Aizen and I fit together in a way I haven't expected.

Unwilling to let me lead he rolls us over and begins to pound into me. I wrap my legs about him and draw him closer, the slaps of our wet flesh paralleling our grunts and soft cries. He is merciless, driving himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder; the scent of blood-copper raises my hunger as well as the keen edge of pleasure until I crescendo with a strangled shout, spattering us both with my release. He continues thrusting and I grasp at his broad shoulders until he stiffens. The feel of him releasing in me brings another sharp pang of desire racing through my veins. Aizen falls on top of me, his weight a warm and wet blanket for my cool frame.

I want him even more now that I have had a taste.

Gradually the sounds from below get our attention. Someone is pounding on the door to his house. I release him, wincing at the slight sting of the burn on my left cheek, and he darts up from the bed. Without the handle he cannot open the door.

I concentrate my hearing on the noises coming up through the floor. "It's the police," I tell Aizen as I pull on clothes.

"Why would the police be here?" he wonders aloud.

I shrug. "Perhaps your darling Alexis has gone to them?"

"He wouldn't," says Aizen confidently.

"He's only a child. Seeing the dead body of a woman will do wonders in the changing of a person's mental facilities," I state with utmost calm.

"He wouldn't go to the police, because after he reports you to the witch he would have been picked up by his father's men," says Aizen. There is a hint of sorrow, but he continues, "His father will not allow news of his son engaging in acts of gross indecency to spread. He will not run the risk."

I walk up to him and place a hand on the small of his back. "You informed his father that he was living with you? Who is his father?"

"Lord Forrester."

One of the high-class nobs then. He has been using me to discourage Alexis' interest in him. I shake my head and rest my brow on the back of his neck. "They have entered. The detectives say... they say not to let the Ripper escape and to seal all entrances and exits."

"There is a window," he murmurs. "You can escape."

"Why should I?"

He does not look at me. "You are innocent. Those murders were done by humans. Why take the blame?"

I laugh softly and kiss the back of his neck. "I didn't know you cared." Then, more seriously, "If I leave, you will be the one arrested. You are not a citizen of Britain - they will bury you in the back of a cell and let you rot." Another pause. "They are here."

"Go," he urges me.

I smile crookedly and then knock him out with a blow to the back of his head. I have just enough time to toss him to the side of the room before they get here. Then I roll my head back and crouch down. They are hammering on the door. Idiots. If Jack really was here, he would have leaped through the window to his freedom. Anticipating the massacre that is to come, I grin. The door smashes open and the leading policemen see me.

The truncheons are out, pointing at me. I growl and reveal my true face.

They have just enough time to widen their eyes and utter one shriek.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Aizen wakes, his head cradled in my lap. We are travelling on my own coach.

"Where... what happened?" he asks before he groans. "My head..."

"I knocked you out," I say and press him down again. The coach is well-sprung and I barely feel the bumpiness of the road. "We are going to the United States of America. The ship leaves tonight."

He blinks. Then he shuts his eyes. "How many did you killl?"

I smile but do not reply. Aizen tries to sit up and this time I let him. He stares at me. "Why can you smile with such serenity?"

"Why are you still here talking to me?"

"It's considered impolite to answer questions with questions, Master Gin."

"I have always been very honest and polite with you, Master Aizen."

We gaze at each other before he smiles. "Thank you, Master Gin."

"You are very welcome," I touch his mouth and he takes my finger into it, sucking gently. I lean in and we kiss, his hands capturing my face and his lips dominating mine. I linger in the delicious feel of his tongue thrusting into my mouth, diving into all the hidden places. With a quiet grunt he yanks me into his lap and gropes over my body, rubbing into my groin until I begin to respond. I arch into his caresses and then pull away to kiss his ear, murmuring, "You're always welcome, Jack."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A/N: I set this story in 1888-1889, around the time of a certain notorious serial killer. You know to whom I refer.

I tried writing it as a story in the 1700s (as requested) but my brain shut down trying to imagine Aizen in breeches and puffy shirts.
They Do Not Suit Him.
On the other hand, overcoats and hats are very much his style, I think.

Hope you all enjoyed the story and please review!