He's on his knees when he comes back to himself, staring at the ground with tears blurring his vision. They haven't escaped yet, still lingering in his eyes, but they threaten to at any moment. Oh god. No wonder Aizen has turned out the way he is.

"Kurosaki, look at me."

He looks up without thinking about it, finding Aizen similarly on his knees before him, and has to suppress a shudder at the nearly identical looks. No, he can't think like that. Regardless of the similarities, Aizen is not his father, the reiatsu he can feel escaping the traitor's control should be proof enough of that. He looks at Aizen, really looks, and that manages to ease the borrowed tangle of emotions. Aizen's hair is a touch darker and wavier than his father's – just as the child had noted – and combined with the tiny differences in facial structure, it's enough to relax him.

"I suppose I should assume you're being pulled through my past?" Aizen asks with a laugh, and if he hadn't gotten the inside look at the older man's mind, he probably wouldn't have picked up on how strained it is. Aizen's tone is perfect to an outsider, but to him it's full of carefully hidden bitterness and pain.

"Bits of it," he manages, swallowing back the lump in his throat and closing his eyes. After a moment he manages to fight back the tears enough to reopen his eyes. "You?"

A tight smirk twists Aizen's lips as he responds, "The same. Unpleasant bits and pieces, pivotal moments I suppose."

He winces, eyes closing for a brief second at the thought of his own past, and snorts. "Think this is the throne judging us?"

"Then I'd imagine we're both quite unworthy. That must come later."

The world goes black.

He presses down into Kisuke, relishing the arch of the pale back and the bitten back cry of pleasure. "Enjoying yourself, Kisuke?" he asks with a well deserved tinge of smugness, smirk very firmly twisting his lips.

Kisuke pants, pulling against the grip he has on the younger man's wrists. "You're a basta- Ah!" A sharp thrust and a simultaneous twist of his free hand – which is quite securely wrapped around Kisuke's cock – cuts the younger man off. He leans down and places a soft kiss to the skin just below Kisuke's ear, and then another to the darkening mark he'd placed – earlier in their encounter – on the side of the younger man's throat. He can feel Kisuke trembling against him and allows himself a moment of pride for that.

He's been looking forward to this night for weeks, since Kisuke had agreed to date him on a more long term basis. The younger man had been pushy and demanding, but once he'd made it clear that he was at least a little old fashioned and wasn't intending to just straight out fuck him, Kisuke had calmed down. In the end he'd waited almost a month and a half, and he's making sure that it's a night Kisuke won't forget for a very long time. He's rather less experienced with men than women, but a slightly awkward conversation with Shunsui and his own research has more than prepared him.

Kisuke twists under him and the younger man bites at his bottom lip, hands clenching where he has them pinned to the small of the other man's back. It's his personal way of gauging how far he's pushing Kisuke. While he is physically stronger than the younger man due to their respective builds, there's no way he could actually pin Kisuke if the younger man didn't allow him to. After all, Kisuke is being trained in second division tactics, and he's pretty sure by this point that Kisuke can break any hold he can get him under due to that training.

So as long as Kisuke allows his pin, he knows the younger man is enjoying himself.

He sets a pace that's leisurely and – he's sure – absolutely maddeningly slow, rolling his hips in deep thrusts. Below him, Kisuke arches and breathes harshly against the sheets of the bed, grey eyes squeezing shut. He gives an equally slow stroke along Kisuke's cock and closes his eyes for a moment at the whine of frustrated pleasure he receives for his efforts.

"Sousuke…" the younger man hisses, and he presses lips against the back of Kisuke's neck, smirking.

"Yes, Kisuke?" he asks softly, feeling the younger man shudder against him.

"Stop teasing, yeah?" Kisuke says in a trembling voice, and he can hear the thread of desperation in the younger man's tone. Understandable. This won't be Kisuke's second or even third orgasm of the night, he can imagine the younger man is stretched pretty thin at this point.

He releases Kisuke's wrists and bends to press a kiss over the younger man's spine, between his shoulder blades. "All you ever had to do was ask, Kisuke," he murmurs.

He leans back and moves his free hand to Kisuke's hip, gripping tight enough to hold but not enough to bruise. In an instant he turns his slow, rolling, pace hard and fast, slamming deep into the younger man with each thrust forward. Kisuke arches and cries out in response, his freed hands clenching handfuls of the sheets in white knuckles. At the next thrust he moves his hand in a synchronized stroke along the younger man's cock, and has to bite back a moan at the clench of muscle around his own dick.

He doesn't even have to ask to know that Kisuke is at the breaking point, and that knowledge brings his long held back release rushing forward with the force of a tidal wave. Still, with the iron control he's so perfected over the years, he forces it back down.

"Sousuke!" Kisuke gasps, and a moment later the younger man goes stiff and still for a long moment before shuddering and giving a deep moan. He can feel Kisuke's cock pulse in his hand before wetness spreads, smearing over his hand and undoubtedly the sheets beneath them. He relaxes his control, feeling the orgasm build at the base of his spine as he slams into the younger man. It explodes out of him just a few moments later.

He shudders and groans, leaning down over the heaving back of his bedmate and pressing his forehead down against Kisuke's shoulder as the release courses through him. Kisuke gives a muffled groan, twitching beneath him, and he grits his teeth to tamp down the urge to bite into the younger man's skin. Once he can think straight again he releases Kisuke and drops down to rest at the right side of the younger man, calming his breathing and letting his eyes shut to linger in the afterglow.

"Just one?" Kisuke asks breathlessly, and he flicks his eyes back open to look at the younger man. Kisuke is watching him, grey eyes tired but curious, and a tiny frown creases the younger man's forehead. He doesn't have to ask to know what Kisuke is talking about. While he had driven Kisuke into four separate orgasms, he had not indulged in the same for himself, he never does.

He gives a small smirk, reaching out with his left hand and brushing Kisuke's ash blonde hair away from his eyes. "I find my pleasure in driving my partners out of their minds," he murmurs, watching the younger man shiver under his touch, "not in my own releases."

Kisuke watches him for a moment before shrugging and pushing himself up to sitting with a light smile before wincing. "Oh, I'm going to be sore for days."

He chuckles, rolling onto his back and watching the younger man stand and start to gather their discarded clothes from the ground. "Think of it as a reminder," he says softly, and Kisuke snorts.

"I'll be sure to tell Yoruichi-taichou that when she asks why I'm out of commission." Kisuke's tone is light, teasing, and the blonde tosses his uniform at him with a grin.

He catches it and rises from the bed, starting to redress. "Alternatively, you could just tell her you were sparring, if you'd rather not spread this night around."

Kisuke offers another grin, one eyebrow rising. "Do you normally give your sparring partners hickeys, Sousuke?"

He smirks and tosses the top half of his uniform back onto the bed, stepping forward and lightly capturing Kisuke's wrists in his hands. "Only when I like them," he says quietly, bringing the younger man's wrists up one at a time to press light kisses to the pale skin, "unless they ask nicely."

Kisuke tugs his wrists away and shakes his head with a smile. "You're quite the piece of work, Sousuke," the younger man states before turning for the door.

He watches as Kisuke slides open the door, and his smirk flickers as it opens to reveal two people leaning against the opposite wall. Two people, that during his month and a half in service to the eighth, he's become quite familiar with. The first is Yadomaru Lisa, the eighth's sixth seat, her black hair loose around her shoulders, and the second is the fifth's vice-captain, Hirako Shinji, strangely straight teeth bared in a grin.

"So?" Shinji asks cockily, and his stomach drops as Kisuke leans casually against the doorframe, the younger man completely at ease and obviously expecting this.

"You owe Lisa and me money, Shinji. He's absolutely fantastic." He restrains the urge to step backwards at the words as Shinji curses and shoves off the wall.

"Damn! I knew that was a bad bet." Lisa laughs, Kisuke echoes it, and he feels anger stir in his chest at the noise. No, Kisuke is better than this, isn't he? Hasn't he spent the last month and a half making sure that Kisuke wasn't like one of the other hundred men or women following him around for the chance to warm his bed? Had the younger man really spent all this time with him just for some bet?

He steps forward as Kisuke slips through the door, raising his right hand to rake through his hair as he leans against the opposite side of the wooden frame. "May I ask what the bet was?" His tone is soft, the anger and something dangerously close to hurt hidden behind his perfected mask. No one looking will see anything but curiosity and amusement.

Lisa offers him a smile, eyes flickering over his still bare torso, and he gives no reaction to the blatant eyeing. Let her look if she wants, he's fairly sure that after her next words there will be absolutely no chance he'll ever bed her.

"Actually, we had two bets going," she says, a touch of hunger in her tone, "the first was how good you actually are in bed, which Kisuke and I just won with the guess that it couldn't all be talk, and you had to be pretty damn mind blowing to get the reputation you have. The second was how long it'd take Kisuke to get you to fuck him, which none of us are collecting anything on since you held out way longer than any of us thought you would."

He gives a tiny hum of understanding, carefully controlling his reiatsu and expression to not reveal the disgust and anger starting to build into a dangerous ball of energy in his chest. "I see, mind if I ask why you picked me as the subject of your bets?"

"That's easy," Lisa smirks, her green eyes returning to their wandering of his skin, "you're an Aizen." The easy statement hits him like a blow to the gut, and for a brief moment his mask drops as a wave of pure fury crashes into his mind and wipes out all thought but the urge to slaughter all three of them. His left hand twitches to grasp the sheath of a sword that isn't there, and the absence of it under his fingertips brings him back down. He has himself under control again the second afterwards, eyes flickering over the group to see if they'd noticed.

Lisa's eyes are still firmly involved with visually molesting him, and Kisuke is turned away, but Shinji is watching him with sharp wariness. So, Shinji had seen his momentary loss of control. That is going to make things interesting later on. The vice-captain visibly swallows and straightens, and he recognizes the flawed mask of someone not entirely skilled at the art of hiding emotion.

"I mean, you must know how famous your family is for its looks," Lisa continues, oblivious, "The chance to fuck one of you, so worth taking."

He forces out a chuckle that still manages to sound natural, letting his head tilt to rest against the doorframe, and Shinji clears his throat. "Let's go, huh? It's pretty late and I'm sure Aizen would like to get some rest before tomorrow."

Lisa agrees with some reluctance, starting off down the corridor, and Shinji follows her after a moment. Kisuke lingers and turns back to him, an easy smile twisting the lips of the younger man. "If you want me to stay, I'm game. I don't normally stick around after a fuck, but I'd make an exception for you."

Does Kisuke truly not understand the significance of what he's done? The younger man must,at the very least, know that he cares more than just wanting a single night, that he wouldn't have courted him for so long if he had only intended this to be a friends with benefits deal. But then the only possible answer is that Kisuke does know his feelings, and simply doesn't think that this will change anything. Perhaps the younger man merely expects that he won't care about the bets. If so, he's sorely mistaken.

There's not many things that Kisuke could have done to break his respect and trust faster and cleaner than to remind him so brutally that, in the eyes of the public, he is an Aizen above all else. He'd thought the younger man saw what he was behind the persona he's built, that a shared intellect meant more than his status as an Aizen, but apparently he'd been wrong.

He gives a tiny smile, mask carefully in place. "How long did you think I'd wait?" he asks softly, and Kisuke's eyes widen in surprise before the younger man laughs. The sound bites at him, driving the betrayal deeper, and he struggles to remain visually unaffected.

"I said four days or nights, whenever we spent together." Well, that explains why the younger man had been so pushy at the start. "Do you want me to stay?"

He almost laughs, but manages to repress the reaction down to a small smirk. "No, you should return to your division and get some sleep."

Kisuke shrugs and steps forward, right hand coming forward to rest on his chest as the younger man leans in for a kiss. He straightens off the doorframe and turns his head away, feeling Kisuke's lips brush against the side of his jaw. The younger man draws back and he can feel the confused vibration of Kisuke's reiatsu against his senses.

"Sousuke?"

He gives a short amused noise but doesn't look back at Kisuke, reaching up with his left hand to pull the younger man's hand off his chest. "I think," he says softly, "it's Aizen, Urahara-san." He takes a single step backwards and releases his grip, moving his left hand to the edge of the sliding door as he lets himself take a last look at Kisuke – no, Urahara. "Good night," he says with cool politeness, "and good luck in your endeavors."

He shuts the door in Urahara's face, ignoring the wide grey eyes, and turns back to his bed. However, the idea of sleep doesn't hold any appeal to him. He's too wound up, has too much emotion bottled under his mask that he can't possibly let out here. He needs to go somewhere, needs to get out and vent either at something or to someone.

His first thought is Shunsui, but he shuts that down almost instantaneously. Not only is the older man his captain now but Shunsui has never seen anything past his mask, and he has no desire to reveal anything else of himself to the older noble. Let Shunsui continue to believe that he is the quiet, bookish, shinigami he appears to be.

His lips twist in a thin smirk. Well, there's reallyonly one other option, isn't there?

While he doesn't particularly want anything to do with his father, the older man is the only other viable person he can speak to. His father knows that he's not what he acts like, so he'll have no need to pretend around him. He can be himself, vent as himself, and his father won't be surprised by it. As a bonus, he can't stomach the idea of someone being sympathetic or pitying towards him right now, and he's not even entirely sure his father knows what those particular emotions feel like, so there's no danger of that.

Mind made up, he redresses and then moves to the window, snagging Kyouka Suigetsu from the top of his dresser along the way and sliding her into his sash. She hisses in outrage and he gets a flash of long white hair and narrowed blue eyes in his mind before she speaks.

"Sousuke…"

"I know," he answers easily, speaking in barely more than a murmur, "let me speak with my father, then we can decide what payment is due." She voices agreement, fading into the back of his mind even though he can still feel her fury reflecting his own.

He slides the window open and pulls a foot up to the sill, pushing out of it in shunpo without hesitation. His family's house is at the edge of Seireitei, clustered with the rest of the minor noble houses, and even with his best speed, it's ten minutes travel. He doesn't use his best, so it takes almost seventeen. Someone would inevitably notice a shinigami moving that fast, and wonder where they're headed. If he limits himself it's less suspicious, and he wants no attention called to him right at the moment.

His stomach still turns a bit as he lands in the front yard of his house, looking up at it. He hadn't thought to come back here for a long time, if ever. Yet, here he is.

He strides forward, easily masking his emotions, and opens one of the sides of the double door leading inwards. It swings open easily and he steps inside, quieting the mess of emotion that sparks as his eyes flick around the familiar settings. As he lets the door swing shut a servant appears, a younger black haired woman that he distinctly remembers from his youth. She descends the stairs in a hurry, giving a low bow as she approaches.

"Aizen-sama, it's a pleasure to see you again!"

He almost laughs. Yes, of course it is. Even if she – and the rest of the staff – had hated him as a child, now that he's grown and can actually do anything about it, it's a pleasure. He's not in the mood for this right now, not in this house.

"No it isn't, and I'd prefer if you not lie to my face in an attempt to appease me," he nearly snaps. Her eyes widen in shock and he gives a cutting smile that makes her pale and step backwards. "Where is my father?"

She swallows before stuttering out, "The study, Aizen-sama."

He moves away without another word, a single step of shunpo taking him to the top of the stairs before he turns left and continues down the hall to the first door on the right. He steps inside without knocking or calling out or anything, and his father – sitting in one of the two armchairs before the fire, looks up at his entrance. Brown eyes widen in momentary surprise before the mask slips back down and his father gives a small smirk.

"Sousuke, I wasn't expecting to see you for at least a few more months," he lets the door shut and strides across the fire-lit room to stand by the other armchair, "yet here you are. To what," his father pauses and then gives a small laugh, "or should I say who do I owe the pleasure?"

He doesn't need to voice his confusion, or even really show it. The barest flicker of the emotion in his eyes prompts a smirk from his father. "Sit down if you like, Sousuke, I won't bite." He takes the invitation after a moment's pause, easing into the armchair and meeting his father's gaze. "To answer your unvoiced question, I can smell the sex on you from here and even if I couldn't, there are stray traces of your partner's reiatsu on you." Of course, he should have known better than to be so careless. "So? I imagine whatever happened must have shaken you quite severely if you felt the need to seek me out, given your dislike – perhaps bordering on hatred."

He watches his father for several long moments and the older man returns his gaze without so much as a twitch. "Urahara Kisuke is the one you should be thanking," he says softly, and his father raises an eyebrow.

"The Rukongai brat?" He murmurs agreement and turns his gaze to the fire in front of them. "Not the greatest of your choices, Sousuke. Those from Rukongai can be fascinating, but are hardly ever worth the complications that come with them. Did he do something specific, or did you simply realize the respective difference in class?"

He almost leaps to Urahara's defense before quelling the urge, letting his eyes flicker shut as he gives a soft snort of bitter amusement. "He reminded me, quite expertly, of what I am. And, perhaps the worst of it, is that he didn't appear to understand why I would have issues with being bet upon behind my back." A glance over at his father provides him with a cool mask of indifference, but his own experience with masks lets him pick out the curiosity in the identical brown eyes. "I was chosen as the subject of two bets. How good I was in a sexual sense and how long it would take Urahara to bed me. I suppose it was foolish of me to assume that Urahara might be able to understand me simply because we share a level of intellect."

His father makes a sound of amusement, and when he looks over the older man's eyes are turned towards the fire. There's a knowing glint in his father's gaze, a thin smirk on his face, and the lack of teasing or humiliation actually relaxes him by a fraction. "You don't seem at all surprised, father."

His father looks back at him, one eyebrow raised. "That would be because I'm not, Sousuke. Like it or not, you're an Aizen, and it's too late to do anything about that now. You might try to hide it beneath that hair and the glasses – which I notice you left behind – but in the end all anyone has to do is look at you to know your heritage."

"And is that all I am?" he demands, eyes narrowing, and his father gives a small shake of his head.

"No, but it is all people will ever see. You may as well get used to it, Sousuke, Urahara's behavior is the least of what people will attempt." His father pauses, watching him for several long moments, before continuing. "It doesn't matter what you accomplish, Sousuke, not really. Even if you become a captain, you will be Aizen-taichou, not Sousuke. The world will only ever see you as an Aizen, so you should start to think like one."

"What do you mean?" he asks softly, and his father smirks.

"The Aizen family is known only for its looks, Sousuke, and we've cultivated that to be our defining feature. But beauty is useless without a brilliant mind behind it." Suspicion settles in his chest, blanking out some of the emotion, as his father continues. "Let people believe that we are nothing more than pretty faces if they wish, but never allow yourself to believe it for even a moment. Conceal your mind, your skill, your cunning, and your ruthlessness behind your looks, and twist those around you to be loyal to that persona. If, or when, you strike, no one will believe you capable of the damage you can inflict."

He absorbs the information, eyes narrowed, and finally answers in a smooth tone, "Is that truly how you expect me to behave, father? I think you've overestimated my ability to be like you."

His father bursts into laughter, head tilting back in the pure expression of amusement, and when the older man finally quiets a large smirk still remains. "Please, Sousuke. Lie to others, lie to me if you wish, but don't lie to yourself. I was taught to be this way, but I never had to do the same to you. You are an Aizen at heart, more so than me or any other member of our family."

"I'm not-"

"What is your sword's power?" his father demands, smoothly cutting him off.

"Kyouka Suigetsu creates a mist that covers the battlefield and changes my enemy's perception of friend and foe." The lie is easy, one he'd concocted with Kyouka herself once he'd discovered her name. While she doesn't enjoy being portrayed as something she's not, she understands the necessity of it.

His father's eyes are amused and the older man gives a soft laugh. "Bullshit, Sousuke. Why don't you tell me Kyouka Suigetsu's real power?"

He's speechless for a brief moment before his lips press tightly together and he reevaluates the man before him. It's obvious that his father knows far more than he lets on, and he has to wonder how much the older man actually knows about him. Does his father know the extent of his genius, of his powers, of his skills?

"Kyouka Suigetsu," he starts softly, and she purrs in his mind with satisfaction at finally being named as what she is, "is illusion based. When I activate her release anyone who sees it is caught under the hypnosis she casts, permanently as far as I am aware, and from that point on I can switch whether they see my illusions or not as I wish. My illusions cover all the senses, reiatsu included, though obviously I cannot recreate something I have no experience of. Her only weakness, as far as I know, is the requirement that my opponent must see the release."

His father gives a smirk and raises an eyebrow. "And you still choose to argue that your true nature is not deception, Sousuke? Come now, you're smarter than that." It bites to admit it though, and he turns his gaze away and back to the fire. "Accept who you are, Sousuke, it will make life easier in the long run. People will not understand your true personality, I'm sure you know that, but that does not mean you need to or should hide it from yourself."

Accept what? That he is smarter than anyone he has ever met except Urahara? That at eighteen, he holds enough power to match a vice-captain? Even better, that he actually has the skill to use that power? What about that no one, except his bastard of a father, has ever been able to see past his mask, and most likely no one ever will? Or that he is cold and ruthless and logical naturally, and his father is right?

His father is right.

"What are you trying to force down my throat, father?" he asks, pulling every inch of his pride forward. It doesn't help. He can hear the note of tired defeat in his own voice, and if he can hear it that means his father can too.

His father gets to his feet, moving to stand beside his armchair. He almost flinches when a warm hand settles on his right shoulder, but he doesn't look up. "Perhaps the most useful thing my own father ever told me was this, Sousuke. An Aizen doesn't have an equal."

Anger stirs and he stiffens under his father's hand, snorting. "Except you, of course," he snaps, and his father gives a low hum of amusement and withdraws his hand.

"Did I ever claim to be your equal, Sousuke?" his father asks softly, and that gets him to turn his head. He watches his father move across the room to the desk at the opposite end of the small room, slowly getting to his feet.

"What?"

His father looks back at him from where the older man is rifling through the top drawer of the desk, one eyebrow raised. "You already know it to be truth, Sousuke, I shouldn't have to tell you." His father straightens and turns, shoving the drawer shut and standing tall. "I have never claimed, nor will I ever claim, to be your equal. Normally I would have taught you that you would only find equals inside our family, but in your case, that isn't true and never will be. Even for an Aizen you stand on a level of your own, Sousuke." His father gives a thin smirk and his head tilts slightly to the side. "You simply don't have an equal, and I doubt you'll ever find someone capable enough for the title."

The simple statement eases something in him, and like his father has pulled some kind of inner plug, his emotions simply drain out of his system, leaving behind only the cool logic of his mind behind. It's true, and hadn't Urahara driven that home for him? The younger man matched and – he'll admit this only to himself – perhaps even exceeded his genius, but despite that he was still stronger, and clearly Urahara didn't understand the first thing about him. Even to Urahara, who could speak and debate at his level, he was nothing more than an Aizen. What are the chances, realistically, that he'll find anyone else with an intellect as high as his? And of those chances, what's the likelihood that person will also be able to see beneath his mask, and match his power?

Nonexistent.

He can't stop the cry of denial that rips itself from his throat as he comes back to himself, a thick shudder wracking his frame. No, no, no. It's not true, it can't be. Aizen can't truly be that disillusioned and that resigned. It contradicts the entire image he's built up of the older man, all that smooth intellect, and confidence, and an impenetrable core. How could Aizen have lived through two hundred years thinking like that?

"Kurosaki!"

He almost instinctually lashes out as a hand curls around the side of his neck and pulls his head up none too gently, forcing his gaze up to meet Aizen's. "Do not lose yourself, Kurosaki. We can't afford it at the moment." He breathes shakily, staring into the brown eyes, and he catches hidden pain in them that would have been indecipherable to him before.

Before he can think about it or curb the urge, he pushes forward and wraps his arms around Aizen, burying his face in the crook of the older man's neck. "You stupid fucking bastard!" he manages, clenching hands in the white cloth of the other man's uniform.

Aizen stiffens against him, barely breathing, and the reaction wakes all of his instincts as a protector. In some strange way that he will not be examining right now Aizen is important to him, and he doesn't ever let the people important to him suffer. He grips tighter for a moment and then releases the older man, leaning back and glaring up at him.

"You're a fucking idiot," he snaps, and Aizen's eyes widen in clear shock. It's not exactly the emotion he was looking to inspire, but it'll do for now. "Equality isn't as black and white as you want it to be, and just because someone isn't as smart or powerful as you, doesn't make them worthless! Can't you see that?!"

The world goes black before Aizen can respond.

He's in the air when he feels Yamamoto's reiatsu step out of a gateway, and immediately he rechecks his illusions. Even if he could be completely sure about his ability to defeat the old man - which he most certainly is not - they can't afford the distraction right at the moment. So it's really better that he just avoids the possibility all together. If Yamamoto was to discover them, things would get messy very quickly.

He feels Kurosaki's reiatsu flicker in response, and he can feel the wariness in it. Right, one of Kurosaki's alternate lives had died in Yamamoto's flames, hadn't it? He imagines that's probably not the best of memories to have, and is probably contributing to Kurosaki's nervousness.

He lands on Soukyoku hill easily, taking only a single glance behind him to insure that something terrible has not happened to Kurosaki - which he wouldn't put past the boy, he seems to draw trouble like a magnet - before reaching into his robes and withdrawing the unassuming metal key. He might wonder about its validity, if he couldn't feel the power surrounding it. It stings at his palm even as he holds it, sharp needle pricks of pain that demand he release it at once. Now, if his research is correct, it should be a simple matter of feeding the key enough energy to create a gate to the King's realm. It should be nothing he can't handle, not with the power he has.

He holds it out in the palm of his hand - more for show and ease of concentration than any tangible reason - and opens his reserves, letting his reiatsu spill into the air around him before gathering it and turning it on the key. It responds almost instantaneously, glowing a bright white and rising to float above his hand.

Then, without warning or any kind of tell, quite suddenly the key's slow intake of energy turns into a gaping maw. He jerks and staggers at the abrupt loss of power, eyes squeezing shut and brow furrowing in a grimace as the key hooks sharp claws into his stores. His instincts scream to close the flow of power, and in the back of his mind Kyouka Suigetsu shrieks a warning at him as his illusions falter for a brief moment. He stabilizes them as well as he can, though they're not nearly up to his usual par, since the key won't let him stem or even control the power it's taking from him.

He has a moment of worry that the key is some kind of trap that will simply devour his reiatsu without ever stopping, before skin touches his and fingers interlace with his own. His eyes snap open and he looks over, finding Kurosaki beside him.

The younger man closes his eyes and just… relaxes. There is no other word to describe it. Kurosaki's control slips away and power floods out of the younger man, breaking over him like warm water at a beach. The key releases its hold on him and turns its sights on the feast laid out before it, absorbing Kurosaki's power without pause. He watches in awe - an emotion he has almost no experience with - as Kurosaki simply allows the key to take what it needs, an apparently limitless supply of energy being brought forth from the depths of the younger man's soul.

How Kurosaki has ever been defeated, if the younger man has this ridiculous a supply of reiatsu, he can no longer fathom. Though, to be honest, Kurosaki has always been unfathomable to him. A mix of so many different things – shinigami, human, hollow, and now he knows the boy is part quincy too – that he should spend all his time fighting the opposing sides of himself, and yet Kurosaki improves, learns and grows at an absolutely amazing rate. To add to that is a formidable and unwavering desire to protect anyone the younger man considers important, even to the extent of self sacrifice, that he's never seen in anyone even remotely as powerful as Kurosaki.

Though that desire to protect is a little absurd, considering how quickly Kurosaki absorbs people into his circle of friends and allies. Kurosaki doesn't – can't – know, but he doubts there are more than a handful of people left in the upper ranks of Soul Society that wouldn't lay down their lives for the younger man in a heartbeat. And yet still, somehow, Kurosaki had been left to shoulder almost all of the war on his own. How can Soul Society possibly be that callous and oblivious?

True, the visual age of a shinigami is hardly ever representative of their actual age – Hitsugaya is almost fifty if he remembers correctly – but that doesn't apply for Kurosaki. The boy had only been fifteen at the start of all this, and he's barely seventeen now. Kurosaki looks older, and perhaps that has led the residents of Soul Society to forget the teenager's true age, but the reminder of his youth can be seen in his eyes.

The younger man is so young, so innocent, so naïve, and so blind to all the horrors that exist in their world. There has to be a part of Kurosaki that knows this, he'd seen the recognition of the truth of his outburst in the King's room reflected in the younger man's gaze. He'd seen the slight yield of brown eyes and the impotent anger in them as Kurosaki had stared at him.

But then he has also continuously underestimated Kurosaki, regardless of the universe. Perhaps Kurosaki is fully aware of how unfair it is that he has so much weight on his shoulders, perhaps Kurosaki knows how foolish Soul Society is in believing that he is their only hope. True, apart from Yamamoto, Kurosaki is the only person he is aware of that stood even the smallest of chances against him, but that chance was still miniscule. And perhaps, Kurosaki knows that.

In the captain-commander world, he had underestimated Kurosaki's determination, and in the slave world, it had been his loyalty. Then the Aizen of the universe where Kurosaki had taken his place as ruler of Las Noches had just underestimated that Kurosaki in general. As a quincy it had been skill, and finally the college professor version of him had been completely floored by the ease with which Kurosaki trusted and the depths of that trust.

By that pattern, he must be underestimating his own Kurosaki in some way. But regardless of what exactly he is missing, he knows when the moment occurs and it is revealed that he will not expect it.

Kurosaki seems to have this incredible ability to knock all of his expectations to the ground, either by surpassing them or simply by avoiding the issue altogether, and he has never been able to figure out quite how the younger man does it.

He watches the key drift forward, glowing a brilliant light blue color, and the outline of a door form in the air with similar colored light. It fills in as the key fits itself to where a handle normally would be - almost indistinguishable in the light from the door – and the light solidifies into a dark wooden door as it slowly swings open. The doorway glows white, and he feels the rush of power that the key is taking from Kurosaki slow to a trickle and then stop.

Despite the absolutely massive amount of energy that had taken, he can't sense the slightest trace of exhaustion or fatigue in the younger man, nor does his reiatsu seem any weaker. It's astounding, even humbling, that this teenager, this boy, is capable of such an insane feat and doesn't even seem affected by it.

Kurosaki's eyes flick open and the younger man gives a small gasp, eyes widening in surprise as they fall on the doorway. The younger man looks over, meets his gaze, and he feels Kurosaki's hand tighten reflexively where their fingers are still interlaced. He knows his mask is down, that his astonishment and the wonder he's feeling at Kurosaki's accomplishment is on display, but he can't seem to hide it at the moment. The younger man's reiatsu is still loose and relaxed around them, inviting – he'd call it coaxing, if he thought Kurosaki was actually controlling it – and warm as it slides around him and his own tightly controlled power. Kyouka Suigetsu makes a pleased sound in his mind, vibrating at his side and obviously basking in the impressive power.

Maybe…

Shouts echo in his ears and Kurosaki's eyes jerk to the side as the younger man releases his hand, the reiatsu drawing sharply inwards and back under the teenager's control. He feels cold without it, and that combined with Kyouka Suigetsu's sharp hiss of irritation brings him crashing back down to reality.

No.

Kurosaki's power is impressive, but that is all. To think that the younger man is, or can be, anything to him but a useful tool to ascend to the throne with is ridiculous. Besides, he won't go down that road again if he can help it.

He wipes the emotion from his face and looks over, making a quiet sound of amusement at the horde of shinigami clustered at the other side of Soukyoku hill.

"I suppose we should go, shouldn't we, Kurosaki?"

He takes in a sharp breath, hands coming forward to brace against the ground. Pain is bright in his chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth to smother a groan of it. Watching Aizen get that close to thinking of someone – especially him – as more than a tool and then being yanked away from it had, does, physically hurt.

He knows firsthand how amazingly shut off Aizen is from everyone else, and the thought of living so long without considering anyone as a friend or even an ally is terrifying. No. He can't let this continue, he just can't. Somewhere along the line, Aizen became important to him, and the older man is so close to thinking the same of him. If he can just push it that little bit forward, force Aizen to see him as a person…

Warmth rushes into him and he arches, eyes snapping open as pure, unbridled, power fills him like he's an empty glass that someone's pouring water into. He can't summon the breath to cry out, but his hands curl to fists in reaction to the feeling of being so incredibly charged. It feels like static is crawling across his skin, like he could look down and see the energy and reiatsu leaping around him. It doesn't exactly hurt, but by the time the flow of energy ceases, he feels strained, like a single breath or another drop of power could expand him beyond what his body and his soul can take.

He moves carefully, his spine unbending as he lowers his head and brings his hands up, looking down at them. He actually can see it. There are flickers of light blue and black energy winding around his hands and sparking from his skin like electricity, and as he stares the knowledge that it's temporary lights in his mind. He's overcharged, unused to the power, and that shows in the tiny bursts escaping him. As soon as his body acclimates this particular effect will stop.

Wait, how does he…?

Just like that, he is aware.

The room around them does not exist, it is simply a mental reconstruction that both his and Aizen's minds have created to fill the emptiness of the throne's testing ground. He could remove it if he wanted to and return them to reality, but there's no real need. As soon as the test is done, they will both be returned to where their physical bodies are, standing in the King's realm. The test will be done once Aizen passes, since he already has by accepting Aizen as he is and deciding – even subconsciously – that he trusts the older man.

He shivers and his eyes snap up as, in front of him, Aizen gives a humorless laugh. "I suppose I have been rejected, hm?" the older man says quietly, brown eyes full of cold steel, but not entirely concealing the sharp bitterness in them.

"No, it's not-" Aizen smoothly cuts him off.

"Please Kurosaki," Aizen says, a hint of reproach in his tone as the older man gets to his feet, "there's no need to sugarcoat things. You are quite literally leaking power from your pores, so don't attempt denial. You have been accepted to the role of King, and I have not. It's really that simple." He follows Aizen to standing, eyes wide, and the older man needlessly straightens the collar of his white overcoat. "I will of course stay on as an advisor, if you like, but I imagine it would not be a popular decision." The older man gives a rich chuckle.

"Out of curiosity, what of my past did you get to see?"

He swallows and raises a hand to rake through his hair. "Uh, when you met Shunsui as a kid, your graduation from the academy, the night with Urahara plus the visit to your father after, and then right before we came here when we opened the gateway."

Surprise flickers in Aizen's eyes at the last scene before the older man's face closes down into a mask that is unreadable even to him. "Is that right? It seemed there was a pattern going there before that last memory." Aizen's tone is guarded, just barely questioning.

"I think," he starts, pausing for a moment to figure out the correct way to phrase it, "that it was almost a turning point, that's why it fits in."

There's a moment of silence where somehow Aizen's face closes off even more before the older man speaks, his voice flat. "How so?"

He winces at the tone. "For a second there, you started to consider I could be something beyond a tool to use to become the King. You almost decided to trust me."

Aizen's lips quirk in a tight smirk as the older man shakes his head slightly, brown eyes closing for a brief moment. "At this point, Kurosaki, I'm not even certain I am capable of trust. Given that you've seen the important bits of my past, I imagine you understand why." Aizen chuckles, amusement rising in the older man's brown eyes. "You know, I've gone from being an Aizen to the Aizen, and I'm not sure if that's an improvement or not."

Maybe it's his new powers as the King, or some sudden understanding, but the words leave him before he can even think about them. And as soon as he says them, he knows they're right.

"You're just Aizen to me," he says softly, meeting Aizen's eyes squarely.

There's a sharp moment of silence where Aizen's eyes widen and the older man freezes for a moment. "Excuse me?" Aizen finally asks, disbelief ringing in his tone.

"You're just Aizen to me," he repeats, "You're not an Aizen or the Aizen, you're just Aizen." He shrugs, turning his eyes to the ground. "I didn't know your family until now, and I didn't know shit about you either, before the King dragged us into that tour. To me, you're just you. Maybe my perception of you as a person has changed pretty drastically over the course of this tour, but that doesn't change you being you."

He looks back up, meeting Aizen's gaze with a tiny smirk. "Come on, Aizen, you've been in my head too. At this point you have to know how bad I am at lying, and I know how good you are at reading people, so I know you'd be able to tell if I was bullshitting you."

Aizen watches him for several long seconds, disbelief openly in his eyes. "What's the point of telling me this now, Kurosaki? I have already been rejected as King."

He shakes his head, gesturing at the room around them. "If you had then we would have gone back to the throne room. It's not done yet. To pass you need to trust me and accept me as I am, which is not as a tool thank you very much."

Aizen raises an eyebrow. "You trust me, Kurosaki?"

"Yeah," he answers easily, shrugging, "knowing why you're an arrogant bastard made things easier, but I never would have gone through with all this if I didn't trust you at least a little, Aizen. My 'determination to protect' is pretty much what drives me, but it wouldn't have been enough to make me work with you if I didn't think you were decent under all the masks."

"Decent?" Aizen scoffs, eyes narrowing. "I've killed before, Kurosaki, without a thought or so much as a flicker of regret or guilt, and I will do it again. You don't mind that, or all the less pleasant traits of mine you must have seen while being pulled through my past?"

He grits his teeth for a second, eyes narrowing. "There are things I don't like about you, Aizen, but I can accept them. I wouldn't ask you to change, and that's only partially because I know you wouldn't even if I asked."

"Very true," Aizen says softly, a tiny smirk quirking the older man's lips, "it's good that you at least know me that well."

He answers the smirk before it fades under what he knows he has to say. "I'm not going to be your adviser, Aizen, or your queen or whatever else you want to call it. We're going to be partners, you know that's how it has to be for this to work," he pauses, fully aware that his next words are going to flip a few switches for Aizen, "you have to accept me as an equal."

In an instant Aizen is fully focused on him, jaw set and eyes narrowed. The older man's mouth opens and he quickly speaks, "Look, I'm not as experienced as you, or as skilled, and I'm definitely not as intelligent as you are, but I'm not an idiot either, and what I can match you with is power. But more importantly…"

He swallows and ducks his head for a second, finding courage in the power he can feel thrumming in his veins and sparking off his skin. Even if Aizen does get monumentally pissed at him for this, which is really likely, there's not much the older man can do to him with the powers of the King in his hands.

"I'm not Urahara," he says softly, meeting Aizen's eyes and watching the older man flinch slightly, "and I'm not your father either. I can't promise I won't ever betray you because you were right. If I had the right incentive, I would betray you, and so would anyone else. But what I can promise is that if I ever do, you'll know why, and it'll be one hell of a reason. Alright?"

Aizen studies him, face completely neutral, for what feels like forever. He endures it silently, with a tiny bit of squirming, before finally Aizen visibly relaxes and the older man's brown eyes warm.

"Yes, I suppose I can accept that, Kurosaki."

No sooner are the words out of Aizen's mouth then white light flares and the older man arches with a startled gasp. He has to shield his eyes as the white light streams towards and into Aizen, and his breath catches at the pure power he can feel being poured into the older man. After a moment, he manages to lower his hand, squinting, as the last of the light disappears inside the older man. There are the same sparks of power jumping from Aizen's skin and circling the other man's hands, but Aizen's are pure white as opposed to his light blue and black.

As Aizen reopens his eyes and relaxes from the arch the world around them starts to dissolve, and he can feel the pull of the real world calling. Aizen meets his gaze, and there's an easy feel to the reiatsu escaping the older man. It's probably the most relaxed he's seen Aizen in all the universes, and he smiles in instinctive response.

"Ready?" he asks softly, and Aizen smirks in answer.

"Of course."

Just like that, they are back in the throne room, each with one hand stretched forward to touch the black stone. He slowly straightens up and lets his hand drop to his side. He can feel the power buzzing beneath his skin, and he knows instinctively that with a thought he could feel every inch of this room and change it how he wanted to, that he could manipulate the spirit particles that the spiritual realms are made of to his liking. That extends to the shinigami as well. He can feel the presence of the royal guard behind them, knows their ages and their powers, and exactly how strong each of them is without even having to think about it.

He looks over at Aizen and finds the older man regarding the throne with a slight frown. He barely has time to wonder what Aizen is thinking about before the older man is speaking.

"It looks uncomfortable," Aizen answers simply, looking over at him, "that's what I was thinking." Aizen pauses and the older man's eyes widen a little. "But you didn't ask, did you?" He shakes his head and Aizen gives a slight noise of interest, the older man's left hand rising to touch his own chest. "I guess we are connected more then we could have imagined."

As if Aizen mentioning it has brought it to his attention he can suddenly see the flow of reiatsu between them. No, more than reiatsu, it's actual spirit particles. It looks like nothing so much as dust particles in light, and there's a steady flow both from him to Aizen as well as the reverse.

"So what, we can hear each other's thoughts?"

I suppose. He flinches a little at the voice, which is clearly Aizen's, even though the older man's mouth hadn't moved. "We should probably speak with the royal guard," Aizen continues softly, a questioning tilt to one of the older man's eyebrows.

He nods and turns to look down the few raised steps to the main part of the throne room, and as Aizen turns with him, their hands brush and the air gives a tangible shiver. Before his eyes the world changes, a wave of power washing out from both of them and leaving a different room in its wake. The high white walls turn to darkly paneled wood, though the tapestries spread across them stay, and the entire room seems to shrink a little so it's less church-like. The dais they're standing on drops so it's only a single step up, and a rug pops into existence beneath their feet and covers the entire dais, dark red to match the one running down the center of the room.

The feel of his clothes changing around him makes him turn his eyes downwards and he gasps in surprise. The white clothes he'd borrowed from Aizen have turned into heavy – though they don't actually seem to weigh anything – black robes that are edged with shimmering gold, and, thank god, he has shoes again. The sleeves fall most of the way down his hands, wide like his shinigami uniform, and the standard hakama remains, though it's black now. He glances over at Aizen, expecting the same, and his eyes widen at the sight that meets his eyes. Aizen's clothes are the same as his but dyed all in white – though there's the same gold trimming – and there's a thin golden circlet resting on the older man's brow with a black gem at the center of it. He knows without having to check that there's a similar circlet on his own head, and the knowledge brings a tiny smile to his lips.

We really did it. Aizen looks over at him, smirking.

"That we did, Kurosaki."

"So what now?"

Aizen chuckles, leading the way towards where the royal guard is gathering at the end of the hall. "Isn't that part obvious, Kurosaki? Whatever we want."