Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Misguided Manipulation ❯ 03: How Hard They Fell ( Chapter 3 )

Title: Misguided Manipulation

Pairings/Characters: Stark/Ichigo, Urahara, Aizen, Lilinette

Rating: M

Warning: Language, spoilers, smutty male/male, slight OOC

Words: 5085

Description: Sent to the Living World on Aizen's orders to recruit Ichigo to his cause, Stark finds himself led astray by the orange-headed teen. What a surprise.

 

 

Chapter Three - How Hard They Fell

 

Stark hit the ground with a grunt, spat out the dust that choked his mouth, and abruptly rolled back onto his feet. All without missing a beat. And seconds before a black-edged zanpakutou careened towards him, narrowly missing where his head had just been. And he hadn't even drawn his own blade yet.

 

The kid was getting better and better each day. Perhaps it was time Stark stopped holding back and actually took Ichigo a little seriously.

 

Skidding to a halt in front of a rocky outcropping, Stark dragged his arm across his face, wiping sweat and grit from his eyes. The dust was making visibility near impossible, and only his other senses told him where Ichigo was. Standing right in front of him a few feet away, Zangetsu still drawn and ready.

 

“I can still sense you, Ichigo!” Stark called out and peered through the thick, brown haze in the air. He didn't want to admit it, but he was actually breathing heavy.

 

It was like Ichigo was getting faster and faster, and he could better predict Stark's moves now. Like he was adapting to Stark's method of fighting, the way he plotted out an attack and moved across the battlefield. The Espada had learned things about Ichigo as well, but it was nothing like this. It was almost like Ichigo was made for battle, that he evolved with it. Fascinating.

 

The thought of it burned in Stark's blood. There was nothing more arousing than the sight of determination glimmering in Ichigo's eyes, turning the honey-brown irises a gleaming silver. He was glorious in the midst of a fight, attacks smooth and instinctual. Jaw set, the streaks of blood only making him that much more alluring.

 

It was becoming increasingly harder for Stark to concentrate. Especially since all he wanted to do was throw Ichigo to the ground and molest him fully. Lick away the blood, rub his hands over bare skin, and swallow Ichigo's cries of pleasure.

 

Damn. This was getting out of hand.

 

“Shut up!” Ichigo roared across the barren expanse, echoing in the underground training center. “I'm trying!”

 

“Not hard enough!” Stark returned and slid silently to the side as he prepared to dodge another of the boy's reckless attacks.

 

Not hard enough his ass. If he got any harder even oblivious Ichigo would see it.

 

A growl of exasperation was his response, and Stark resisted the urge to chuckle. Subtlety was definitely not Ichigo's style, but he tried to teach it to him anyway. It wouldn't hurt for the boy to be more rounded. Not every battle could be won with his hack-away-until-it-stops strategy.

 

On the edge of Stark's senses, the ripple of Ichigo's reiatsu was a very noticeable impression. He didn't know if that was because the Vizard really wasn't attempting to hide himself or if he was just attuned to Ichigo by now.

 

Glancing around, Stark peered through the rising dust, slowly settling after Ichigo's getsuga tenshou faded, leaving remnants of his reiatsu behind. He was slowly shifting his position, senses stretched to see if he could guess Ichigo's next direction of attack. Sometimes, it was easy to tell what the boy had planned. Other times - a narrow miss that nearly took off his right ear - he couldn't predict what Ichigo was thinking at all.

 

It was suddenly very quiet. Stark tipped his head to the side in consideration. The dust sank towards the ground, and he could make out grooves cut by Ichigo's reiatsu. But of the teen, he couldn't see anything. Or feel anything for that matter.

 

The first Espada let his lips stretch towards a grin. The teen was learning after all. He reached up and flicked a hand through his hair, only to have the skin on the back of his neck prickle. Reiatsu surged, a wonderful mix of Hollow and Shinigami flavored with Ichigo, and Stark very casually took a step back to narrowly avoid the burst of black-red energy that careened by him. Close enough that he felt the heat of it.

 

Another sharp burst and Stark whirled, lifting his hand to toss a cero at Ichigo, who had suddenly materialized behind him. The boy blocked it with the flat of Zangetsu but didn't seem perturbed that his brilliant plan had been ruined. He was pushed back several paces by the force of the rather weak cero.

 

“Behind you,” Ichigo called out with a smirk.

 

And Stark's eyes widened as he felt the oncoming surge of reiatsu. Another getsuga tenshou. Damn but he was getting faster at firing those things. The Arrancar leapt into the air, determined to evade what he belatedly realized was a pretty weak attack. Ichigo had wanted him in the air. But he'd realized it too soon.

 

Wind whipped around him along with a flurry of dust brought about by the burst of energy. Thanks to it, Stark didn't see Ichigo when he burst into the air and darted forward. He threw up his hands for defense, but the teen didn't intend to actually hurt him. The flat of Zangetsu knocked him out of the air, and Stark lost his footing, plummeting back to the surface.

 

With a grunt, Stark hit the ground ass first and landed directly on a rather pointed rock. He hissed with the sudden jab of pain but didn't have time to curse his clumsiness as Ichigo landed, suddenly crouching over him, making a rather menacing shadow.

 

“Gotcha,” the teen panted, driving Zangetsu into the dirt near Stark's head with a final-sounding crunch of metal through rock.

 

Stark's eyes flickered between Ichigo's position and his face before he held his hands out in defeat and dropped them to the ground. “Okay, so this time you did. That makes what? One out of five?” He shrugged. “At least, it's progress.”

 

“Fuck you,” Ichigo returned without any real heat and dropped his hands from Zangetsu's hilt to his knees, which currently straddled Stark's hips. “This isn't exactly easy.” One palm swiped at his forehead, smearing the blood from a superficial wound. His face flushed from exertion, eyes bright with success.

 

In short, he looked really, really fuckable.

 

Unconsciously, Stark licked his lips and then cursed himself for making that motion. “Ah, don't worry about it,” he replied, digging one elbow to the ground in an attempt to rise from his current position. “As they say--”

 

Ichigo's eyes weren't really just brown, he suddenly noticed, probably due to how close they were. They had little flecks of gold in them, too. And he had some really long eyelashes for a guy. They were near enough that he could feel the puffs of air as Ichigo's breathing gradually returned to normal.

 

“--practice makes perfect,” the Espada lamely finished.

 

His mind really had just stuttered out for a second there, hadn't it? And he was the one who was supposed to be in control! Where had all his composure gone?

 

He suddenly wondered if there was such a thing as being too close. However, that thought abruptly spiraled back out of the pit it had crawled from and flittered from his mind. In the next moment, Ichigo had closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth over Stark's. The Arrancar's eyes widened in abject surprise at the half-clumsy but determined kiss, firm yet testing.

 

Stark's free hand flailed out, grasping hold of Ichigo's shihakushou as the teen's lips pressed more firmly against his, threatening to throw him off balance. His own body was flushing with heat, libido doing a happy dance. And this really wasn't helping the situation currently throbbing within his hakama. Ichigo really had no idea how sexy he was...

 

The kiss ended, leaving Stark unconsciously following the departing lips before he caught himself. Ichigo stared at him, and he was staring back at Ichigo. The air between them was so charged, they could have lit an entire block of houses.

 

And for the first time in his life, Stark was absolutely speechless. “That was--”

 

“--not what you expected?” Ichigo offered, though by the burning in his cheeks and the cautious cast to his eyes, he seemed to be expecting a strike.

 

“That would be putting it mildly,” Stark returned and licked his lips once more as if to savor the feel of Ichigo pressed against him. He was two steps away from grabbing the teen and throwing him to the ground. “You--”

 

“What?” Ichigo asked, and it would have been indignant were it not for the blush staining his cheeks. “You're hot.”

 

Stark's fingers scraped against the ground as he forced himself not to just tackle Ichigo. “We're supposed to be enemies.”

 

“Right. Enemies who happen to train together,” the boy countered. “Glad we got that straightened out.” And with little warning, he once again kissed Stark, sealing his mouth over the Espada's with a puff of warm air.

 

A sound that embarrassingly couldn't have been called a whimper echoed in Stark's throat as he parted his lips, drawing Ichigo in. A hand lifted, curling itself in the Arrancar's hair, fingers pressing against his scalp. Tongues met; Ichigo's tentative at first and then gaining in confidence. He tasted like sweat and blood and then something a bit sweeter, the rich darkness of chocolate.

 

Stark gave up on his control. It was gone with the wind anyway, melting under Ichigo's rather aggressive affection.

 

Another hand emerged from nowhere, curling fingers around the only thing keeping Stark up and abruptly pulling it out from beneath him. He tumbled backwards, Ichigo landing atop him with a faint grunt. Lips and teeth clacked together with a slight sting before the kiss continued, not losing an ounce of desire from the brief interruption. And Stark groaned, the change in position putting his groin in direct contact with another. He felt an answering hardness slide against his, setting his senses aflame.

 

Stark never would have expected Ichigo to be this aggressive. He wondered how long the teen had been harboring designs on him and why he hadn't noticed. At least, it explained the complete disinterest in that busty chick.

 

Teeth nipped at his lips, dragging him out of his thoughts, and Stark's hips arched upwards to rub sensuously across Ichigo's clothed groin. Above him, Ichigo moaned into his mouth, a sound that shot straight through his senses. Reaching up, Stark grabbed the boy's hip and dragged him down further, grinding against him.

 

He felt sand dig into the back of one hand beneath thick fabric, Ichigo curling his fingers and pressing it against the ground. It was only a bare impression on the edge of his mind, however, swallowed up by Ichigo's passion. He stopped thinking then and just started feeling, body moving on instinct alone.

 

Fingers rubbed across his scalp and drew his head backwards as Ichigo broke away from his lips, breathing hotly into Stark's ear. He groaned, heat shooting through his body. Sparring had already gotten him worked up, and this was only making it worse. His arousal was trapped within the confines of his hakama, and Ichigo ground down against him, sending sparks of pleasure racing.

 

He gasped, fingers tightening in their hold. Fire flooded his veins, building a crest of want. Stark felt the brush of Ichigo's hair against the side of his face and moaned as the Vizard's hold tugged at his scalp. The prickle of discomfort made him squirm with desire.

 

Warm lips moved across his skin. Ichigo's mouth latched onto his throat, tongue flicking over his skin and surely tasting the sweat and dust. He didn't seem to care, growling a little in his chest as he sucked hungrily. And Stark moaned, surprised and turned on as all hell by this aggressiveness. Where was the shy teen who blushed at the hint of bare flesh?

 

Gloved fingers - he was still wearing his gloves! - curled in the front of Ichigo's shihakushou tightly as Stark bucked up against his rolling motions. It was sloppy and messy, nothing like the smooth moves Stark was used to making. But it filled him with a fire nonetheless, one that threw all reason out the window.

 

Teeth scraped over his throat, and Ichigo's mouth moved lower, his tongue carving a path of erotic intent. Stark gasped, fire twisting and curling in his belly like a tight coil waiting to be unleashed. He felt Ichigo's chin bump the remnants of his Hollow's mask, sending a trill of pleasure down his spine.

 

And then a warm, wet tongue followed without any hesitation, licking across the pale bone, and Stark abruptly lost it. He hissed through his teeth, hips rolling upwards as release crested over him, spilling into the confines of his hakama. Like a damn kid unable to control himself.

 

He gasped, body shaking from the force of his release. Above him, Ichigo smirked and pulled his lips back from the remnants of Stark's mask.

 

“Don't look so smug,” Stark gasped, flexing his fingers against Ichigo's hand. The teen was distracted. It would only take one push…

 

Ichigo hovered over him, arousal flushing his cheeks even as he relished in his minor victory. “Can't I?”

 

His own smirk returned and slid slowly across his lips. It was all the answer Stark would give. He felt his power flex as he surged upwards, surprising Ichigo with the sudden mission. With one great heave, he flipped the teen over, forcing him to land hard on his back. The moment of stunned shock was all that Stark needed to capture two smaller wrists in one hand and pin them above Ichigo's head.

 

“Pinned you,” Stark returned casually as he straddled Ichigo's lower thighs, effectively keeping him from moving. Not that it seemed he was making an actual attempt to get away or anything.

 

Ichigo bucked up against him, a half-hearted attempt at testing the restraints. “Maybe I let you,” he countered with a flash of fire in his eyes, darkened with lust.

 

The Espada brought his free hand up to his mouth, biting on the end of a fingertip and slowly pulling off one glove. He spat it off to the side, out of the way.

 

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Stark purred, dropping his bare hand to Ichigo's hakama. He rubbed the heel of his palm over the hardened shaft beneath the thick fabric.

 

Heat staining his cheeks, Ichigo gasped. “Ah… Gonna… back up that talk?”

 

“So mouthy,” Stark breathed, leaning over and nibbling on Ichigo's ear as he rubbed over Ichigo's clothed erection once more.

 

He was gifted with another breathy moan as his tongue curled around the shell of a rather sensitive ear. Stark's hand busied itself with undoing the complicated knot of the obi and drawing down the confines of the hakama. Ichigo's cock sprang into the air eagerly.

 

Stark chuckled to himself. “And no fundoshi,” he breathed hotly into the teen's ear. “How bold of you.”

 

“Shut up,” Ichigo hissed, all indignation and bluster. But it degenerated into a moan as Stark wrapped his fingers around the teen's arousal, already seeping at the tip. It was utterly clear that it wouldn't take long.

 

He rubbed his thumb over the moist head, smearing the fluid everywhere, and stroked Ichigo firmly. As he had anticipated, Ichigo surged into the touch, hips bucking hungrily upwards. Stark had just known that he wouldn't' be so reserved. Ichigo really had no idea how sexy he was.

 

“Gladly,” Stark purred and dragged his mouth across the curve of Ichigo's jaw, faintly tasting the blood that had dried there only to capture the Vizard's lips with his own.

 

His tongue swept into Ichigo's mouth, coaxing his tongue to tangle. Gloved fingers flexed around Ichigo's wrist, though he didn't think the teen had any intention of trying to escape. It was the illusion of dominance more than anything.

 

Ichigo twisted and flexed beneath him, hips rocking upwards into Stark's fist. The Espada wasted no time in stroking firmly, knowing that the teen was already on the edge as it was. There would be plenty of time for teasing and play later. Or at least, he desperately hoped so.

 

Stark nipped gently on the Vizard's bottom lip, sucking hungrily at his tongue. He couldn't get enough of that odd taste, sweet and bitter both. And simply listening to every erotic sound that Ichigo made in his throat was enough to stir Stark's interest once more.

 

Breaking away with a gasp, Ichigo sucking air into his mouth as he threw his head back, Stark couldn't resist the expanse of throat stretched out before him. He dropped his head and mouthed the thin skin, flicking his tongue over Ichigo's flesh. He tasted sweat and grit and the lingering scent of Ichigo's soap, whatever it was. Intoxicating.

 

He increased the pacing of his strokes and was rewarded for his diligence when Ichigo suddenly cried out and arched his back. Power rippled over Ichigo's body in a short tidal wave of bright blue and black-red sparks as he lost control and liquid warmth spilled over Stark's fingers. He hurriedly covered Ichigo's mouth with his own, swallowing up the erotic screams. He touched Ichigo gently through the last of his tremors, waiting until he was through before releasing him.

 

Rather pleased with himself, Stark brought his fingers to his lips, licking away the traces of Ichigo's release. The teen watched him with a surprised look, eyes avidly staring at the sight of his tongue lapping over his fingers. Stark didn't mind the audience, just glad that he wasn't receiving an expression of disgust.

 

Ichigo tugged lightly on his trapped wrists. “Mind letting me go?” he asked, voice thick with stirring want.

 

“Maybe I want to keep you,” Stark returned evenly and licked his lips as he dropped his free hand to the ground beside Ichigo's head. He was beginning to feel a rousing arousal once more

 

Brown eyes darkened at the comment, fingers twitching but not making another half-hearted attempt. “That would be a good idea, if I didn't suspect Urahara-san to show up any minute now.”

 

“What?”

 

Even so, Stark could feel that something was approaching. It was only noticeable because it was a distinct lull in the reiatsu that was swirling around them, out of control in the wake of their lust.

 

“Che. Pervert.” He released Ichigo's hands.

 

The teen lowered them from above his head, rising to a sitting position as Stark pulled back a pace. “Not much of an insult since he already knows it.”

 

“Well, he has rotten timing.” Stark smirked, trying to ignore the mess in his hakama at the moment. He really needed a bath.

 

“One might say I have the best timing,” the shopkeeper stated, suddenly appearing on an outcropping of rock above them. He was leering down at the two of them, an unfolded fan fluttering in front of his face. “How I wish I had remembered to install those cameras sooner.”

 

Ichigo scowled up at his master, face burning with a blush. “Try it and die, geta-boushi.”

 

“My, Kurosaki-kun, threatening me already?” Urahara chuckled amusedly. “It seems only fair since you are using my training grounds.”

 

“I need a bath,” Stark idly commented, having no shame when it came to that sort of thing. “And a change of clothes,” he added a second later.

 

There was a moment of silence that was broken only by the sound of Urahara beginning to laugh, unable to hold it in. “There's a washroom upstairs, Primera-san. Feel free to use it.” The fan snapped closed.

 

“He probably has cameras in there, too,” Ichigo muttered, and it was cute how he still blushed. It was good to know that the aggressive behavior didn't complete lose sight of his charming shyness.

 

“And I'm sure we can spare something while you wash your clothes!” the tittering shopkeeper added, raising the volume of his voice to be sure they heard him.

 

Ichigo's scowl only deepened as he tossed his master a firm glare, which caused Stark to chuckle. “I can assure you, your master holds no interest for me.” He moved towards the teen, hands in his pockets as he lowered his voice.

 

“It's not that.” With a sideways look and a deeper flush invading his cheeks, Ichigo squared his shoulders. “I just don't want that pervert to look at you.”

 

Such honesty! It was so cute!

 

Stark forced himself not to jump the teen once more than and there. As much as he would have enjoyed it, he was ever aware of Urahara standing over them and watching. And he didn't feel like sharing.

 

Instead, he stepped closer to Ichigo and lowered his tone until it was a carnal whisper in the Vizard's ear. “Want me for yourself then?”

 

Ichigo scowled. “You should get it already. I can't make it any clearer.” And with that, he stormed ahead of Stark, snatched up Zangetsu from where Stark had rolled them away from it, and stalked towards the exit.

 

Rolling his shoulders, Stark languidly followed along after the Vizard, all the while fully aware that Urahara had been watching them. He stopped long enough to retrieve his glove, sliding it back over his fingers and concealing the tattooed mark.

 

Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.

 

- - -

 

Stark was woken from a rather recuperative nap when Lilinette jumped on his stomach, heel-point first. His eyes flew open, and he groaned, grabbing the young Arrancar with one hand as he lazily rolled into a sitting position.

 

“I'm up,” he grouched and fought back a yawn.

 

It was tiring trying to teach Ichigo this, that, and the other. The boy was quick on the uptake and learned things with startling speed, but still, some lessons required lots of patience. And more often than not, Ichigo wanted to practice, practice, practice until he'd beaten it into his head with a sledgehammer.

 

For a moment there, Stark was really worried about his stamina.

 

“Pooh!” Lilinette muttered, waving her arms in the air as she tried to get free from his hold on her. “Aizen-sama's gonna be mad if you don't hurry up.”

 

Stark blinked as he tried to clear away the fog of sleep from his mind. “The boss wants me?” he repeated, making certain he heard her correctly.

 

“Why else would I bother you?” Lilinette returned with a kick of her dainty legs. “Put me down, Stark!”

 

Despite himself, Stark chuckled and obediently set Lilinette back onto the floor, making sure she didn't wobble when he did so. “What does he want?”

 

Flipping a hand through her hair, as though wishing it were long enough to toss it over one shoulder, Lilinette shrugged. “He didn't say. He just sent Ulquiorra-sama to come get you. Ulquiorra-sama wasn't too happy about that.”

 

“You mean he actually expressed emotion?” Stark replied amusedly as he rose out of his bed with his usual lackadaisical grace. Ulquiorra strongly disliked playing fetch, though he endured it for the sake of his Aizen-sama.

 

Lilinette stomped a foot on the floor. “You know what I mean!” she huffed, and Stark chuckled again, patting her on the head.

 

“Thanks, Lilinette. I'll head over there right away.” Ruffling her hair once more just to irritate her, Stark adjusted his clothing and headed for the door.

 

Aizen summoning him was nothing unusual were it not for the fact that they were embroiled in making plans and plots at the moment. The lord of Hueco Mundo rarely had time for much else, and if he wanted something done immediately, he usually called on Ulquiorra, who was all too quick to do his bidding. Not that Aizen wanted much done at the moment. Plans were being laid and put into effect. The final war was on the horizon, most of the preparation was already completed.

 

Besides, Stark was already in the middle of a mission. Perhaps it was that which Aizen wanted to discuss. Admittedly, Stark had made little progress. At least on Aizen's desires. As for his own, well... he supposed becoming Kurosaki Ichigo's lover was far from what his boss intended, unless of course it provided the path for Ichigo joining Aizen's side. But even Stark knew at this point that Ichigo wouldn't be coming to Hueco Mundo. Nothing would convince him to do so. Especially since Stark refused to be so honorless as to invoke Soul Society to turn on him by revealing the truth. That was just cowardly.

 

Hands in his pockets, Stark made his way to the throne room, certain that Aizen was waiting there. He loved to make a statement sometimes, standing on his lofty seat and looking down on them. And if indeed there was an interrogation in the future, Aizen liked to be certain he was intimidating as possible. Stark would admit if only to himself that knowing Aizen could rend him limb from limb without breaking a sweat was just a bit disconcerting. He'd never show it, however.

 

Ulquiorra was waiting outside, face as impassive as ever. He didn't even react when Stark lifted a hand in greeting, merely moving to open the door before he'd even drawn that close.

 

“Yo.”

 

“Aizen-sama is waiting,” the fourth Espada replied placidly, voice a low monotone as he pushed open one of the double doors. It didn't even squeak, something which had always bothered Stark immensely.

 

Everything was too damn perfect. And white. By Kami, he hated white. Not that black was much better.

 

Stark sighed. “Ulquiorra, you really have to work on getting a personality,” he commented off-handedly before passing by the other Espada and stepping into the silence of the overtly large throne room.

 

Ulquiorra's response was to close the door behind him with a final click. He was as uncommunicative as ever. Stark was glad to see that so little changed in Las Noches.

 

Stepping inside, the first Espada glanced around briefly before his eyes settled on Aizen, patiently waiting at the other end of the throne room. As expected, it was utterly empty, though he wouldn't have been surprised if Ichimaru was lurking about in the shadows. That man was damn creepy, sometimes even more so than Aizen.

 

“Stark,” the boss greeted the moment he drew near. “I assume you were sleeping?”

 

Ah, he was known all too well. “Apologies, Aizen-sama,” Stark replied with all the respect he could muster. Why, he even abandoned his lazy drawl. “I'll be sure to be more punctual next time.”

 

Dark brown eyes gazed down at him with amusement but betrayed little else. “Tell me about our little project in Karakura. How is it progressing?” He leaned his chin on one hand, elbow folded against the arm of his throne.

 

Stark hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering how much he should tell. And that hesitance right there was something important. He understood that. It had always been that way with him. He didn't serve Aizen first and only. He had his own mind, after all.

 

“Slowly,” he finally answered. “But I think I'm getting closer.”

 

The lord inclined his head. “How close?”

 

Stark gestured vaguely, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot in discomfort. “Well, Kurosaki's a stubborn kid. I'm working to win his trust for now. Then he'll be more inclined to listen to me. He's loyal once you get that trust.”

 

Too loyal, Stark remarked to himself. And far too trusting once Ichigo thought you were his friend. They were good qualities, he supposed, if not a little naïve.

 

“I see.” Aizen gazed at him, searching almost for some sort of dishonesty. “And the Shinigami?”

 

It seemed strange for Aizen to be asking him that sort of thing. Stark had thought the boss had his own network of spies located around Seireitei. He didn't think that Aizen would need any information on them.

 

Stark shook his head. “I don't know. They don't tell Ichigo much, so by proxy, I don't know much either. They haven't been around as much lately though. Probably up to something.”

 

“And none of them have noticed your presence?” The question was far too casual.

 

He started to reply in the negative, thinking only of Ichigo's friends, until he remembered the shopkeeper and his dubious comments. “There was one,” Stark replied carefully. He pondered just how much he should divulge without making it obvious he was hiding something. “Ichigo's master, Urahara Kisuke, but he doesn't seem to care. Seems to find it funny that I'm hanging around.”

 

And there it was, just a tiny flinch, a flicker of interest in the lord's eyes. He recognized the name. He recognized it all too well. Stark just knew that Urahara was dangerous. He was instantly glad that he hadn't immediately made an enemy of the man.

 

“Perhaps he is biding his time,” Aizen murmured aloud, and Stark had the distinct impression that he wasn't supposed to hear that comment. It was as if Aizen had known of Urahara but hadn't really expected him to make an appearance.

 

Finally, Aizen lowered his arm and straightened on his throne. “You know nothing of the movements of Soul Society then?”

 

“Aside from the fact that they are gearing up for the battle? No.” He paused to consider. “They are training extensively. And a small group sticks close to Kurosaki, but otherwise, it has been quiet. Only two from Soul Society are around regularly anymore. The redhead… Abarai. And the Kuchiki girl.”

 

“Hmm.” Aizen's response was noncommittal.

 

He watched Stark for a moment more before he stood, signifying that their rather short audience was over. “Continue attempting to win Kurosaki-san to our side. His aid is most invaluable.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Something flickered across Aizen's expression briefly, almost like amusement, before he turned away from Stark. “See that you do.”

 

The final command echoed through the throne room as he vanished into the shadows behind his high, white throne. Stark was left watching his exit with a faintly uneasy feeling settling in his chest. Not that it was unusual for Aizen to want to understand the status of a mission. He just couldn't shake the feeling that all wasn't what it seemed.

 

Narrowing his eyes, Stark whirled on his heels and headed back towards his room. He needed to talk with Lilinette and catch up on the gossip around Las Noches. He'd obviously been spending far too much time in Karakura.

 

- - - - -