Hinamori walked across the room to him and placed her hand on his shoulder lightly—only to ask if he could spare his attention. He stopped his writing, lit from the darkness by a small light, and turned his body to face her. Glancing fondly at her hand, he enfolded his own around hers and slid their fingers together. An idea was on the tip of her tongue, so close to moving her lips along except for the way she hadn’t yet realized at all how she would express her thought. His face, titled up to her, was full of undemanding curiosity.
He knew her so well.
“Captain, I—“ and she ducked her head. This was not something she could ask for, not without too much silliness, but the idea of saying it in words at all paralyzed her speech. She could not tell or inform and in this existence she could never demand. Not what she presently wanted.
Instead, she moved her hand from his touch to rest on his leg. There was pleasantness in the touch, a warmth she took comfort in. She balanced herself in that way as she bent her knees and lowered herself to the ground.
“Hinamori,” he began in a tone of voice she was unsure of. Though they sat with their knees almost touching she looked up at him, ignoring the flush on her face and the jumble her insides were putting her through. It was difficult to keep his gaze though there was no shame in this, only a novel feeling. (And slight terror, she thought in a masterful effort of discouraging herself.)
“You never have to feel,” he began and paused.
“--there is no need or necessity.”
There was not but she found a small haven of expression when she bent her body as if she was bowing and rested her cheek against his thigh. She could hear him take a deep breath and then his strong hands slipped under her arms. Her head darted up and she made a noise of objection, thinking he would move her away, but instead he held her steady when he unfolded his legs and leaned back.
Moving was awkward—almost too awkward and Hinamori was worried that he would begin laughing and he had every right to laugh at this spectacle but she could not have done anything more if he had.
Though a small smile touched his lips when Hinamori looked over him where he lay completely on the hard floor and asked him if he was comfortable.
“Ah, well. Quite,” he lied charmingly.
“Though perhaps,” he grabbed her hand from where it rested on his chest, slightly pressing him down, and sat up.
“It would be easier like this,” he said once he was leaning back on his elbows.
Hinamori was not quite used to feeling her cheekbones (press against her cheek and should they do that? Do they normally?) and she knew her face must have turned unmistakably and deeply red.
She moved again herself, on hands and knees, further up his body and only untied his robe when she felt steady, supporting herself with one leg bent between Aizen’s and the other on the outside. After smoothing away the fabric with her hand, she padded her fingers along the warm, firm skin of his abdomen.
Not for long, though, because there was a matter further down that she would—that she had meant to attend to from the beginning.
Her left palm she placed on the floor near his waist so she could lean forward and wrap the fingers of her free hand around him. His cock moved within her grasp and she caught her breath for just a moment before she brought her head down just barely.
Closed her eyes.
Pressed her lips against the head.
And blinked her eyes open wide at the experience. At how she realized that this was nothing like kissing and she could not perform blindly.
With a fixed stare, she opened her mouth and slowly, so slowly pushed her tongue out from between her lips and, finally, she ran her tongue over the tip of his cock. A deep moan caused the warmth in her stomach to grow stronger: a small success but an even greater pleasure.
She continued then, rolling her tongue in short, repeated movements. Opening her mouth wider as she moved her tongue further along the underside of his cock, she felt strange and excited and pleased to be doing this: something she had thought about only abstractly. Like so many lessons in school, an activity she had been worried about became almost easy once she began.
The taste was still unexpected but she realized she enjoyed the rhythm of stroking her tongue down, down, down, and then tracing her way back up to hear the small pants her captain could make or the rustle as of one of his hands clenched and unclenched the fabric of his robe.
Though she hadn’t before, she did timidly move her eyes to look up at him. She noticed first with small, cowardly relief that his eyes were closed. Then she took in a small bead of sweat on his forehead, his mouth slightly open, and his flushed face that had also become a flushed neck. Her heart felt quite ready to explode, beating at a frantic pace from seeing the effect this had on him.
She might have been moving her tongue more idly, slower: his eyes opened. She darted her gaze back down and felt her skin prickle under the knowledge that he was watching her and he knew she had been watching him.
He shifted to one side and when he smoothed his free hand across her cheek, she stopped.
He breathed out her name, the syllables full of pleasure and entreaty. Her shoulders she raised first and then her head, looking at him with embarrassment. She tilted her head and smiled, abashed, hoping to express to him without words that she knew she was unbearably silly, especially about this. Words were what she feared and what she didn’t want to hear—praise or none, she felt that anything said would discourage her.
Instead of speaking he nudged her chin up with the gentle pressure of a knuckle, leaned forward, and kissed her. It was slow and calming at first, his lips pressing against hers. The trembling of her mind stopped. The sense of heat across her skin and inside her belly no longer made her feel weak. She felt her own desire, not only in her robes pressing between her legs when she pulled herself closer to him, but also in her hands holding the sides of his face and her lips mouthing around his bottom lip and her tongue darting inside his mouth.
The sound of their breathing, desperate and loud, was all she heard in the pause after their lips moved apart. Other sensations crept in as her breaths came more naturally and an overpowering giddiness moved her hand and head down again.
When she curled her lips back and closed her mouth around him, she also closed her eyes for the first time since she had begun. She shuddered slightly as she breathed in through her nose and felt him shudder as well. She began to move, forward and backward, each return of her head bringing him further into her mouth.
She had hoped—she had thought everything was being done correctly until he gripped her shoulder and began saying her name. Awkwardly at first, his voice hitching around a breath and then urgently. Wait, she thought loudly to herself and to him. She was still discovering the feel of this, the movement that was almost rhythm, the enormous entirety of her small actions.
The thought that perhaps there was power in this walked into her mind but then reality kicked the notion into the horizon until it was a minuscule speck. Suddenly and with a choked, guttural noise from the back of his throat he thrust himself further into her mouth than she was prepared for and he came.
Hinamori’s eyes shot open and she jerked her head back so he slipped out of her mouth. Trying to swallow but also gagging, she pressed her hand over her closed lips to stop the contradictory instinct and turned around so she was not facing him.
Lost inside the moment with her own thoughts cycling inside her mind so quickly she could not pick out any one and focus, she did not hear him move. She only knew he had when his arms came around her and he hugged her back to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered even though she wasn’t sure what she meant.
He sighed and she felt his breath hot across the back of her neck. The skin there suddenly felt so sensitive.
“I think perhaps I should apologize,” he said seriously but his words had a hint, a small promise of lightness.
“No!” she yelped immediately.
“...not at all,” she added quietly. Hinamori wiped her hands on her robe and then covered her entire face. She was worried she might begin smiling or even laughing.
“Then it seems no one has anything to be sorry for.”
“Y-yes,” she choked out, certain that relief must be a horrible enemy to make her shoulders shake and conquer her best attempts to keep her lips from spreading into a smile. When he began complimenting her, she decided that the small store of vanity she kept inside was an even worse foe.
Though he did look pleased once she moved her hands away, no longer hiding the small smirk on her face, and that was more than enough encouragement.