Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ His Azure Eyes ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter Two: Zaraki/Byakuya

 

Byakuya would readily admit that until recently he had led a simple life.

 

He remembered a time when he had been nothing but a hotheaded youth, chasing Yoruichi across the Seireitei as he desperately tried to excel his rival at shunpo. He remembered a time when his biggest concerns were his inability to control his emotions, and how his grandfather would spend days at a time teaching him the art of meditation. He even remembered the day he had became captain. It had been during the same time as Ichimaru Gin's promotion and he remembered a feeling of relief, knowing that he wasn't the only one who would be starting a new position full of such responsibility, knowing that there was someone in the same boat as him who he could potentially turn to.

 

Little did he know how easy it would be to run Squad Six, how he would be forced into a monotonous lifestyle where he would miss the days of Yoruichi-san stealing his hair-ties, or where he would grow to depend on his pointless talks with San-Ban-Tai-Taichou to keep him sane. He would even grow to yearn for love outside the walls of the Kuchiki manor, a place where the people were real and so much more interesting, where he could ignore the confines of etiquette and rules and be himself.

 

Ah, it was all so simple. He was a man who had no real worries or concerns, a man who worked solely so that his house would prosper and his squad would succeed, a man who was told how to dress, act, talk and even write. He never had to think for himself, never had to worry about a thing, he never even had to understand the working minds of others for it seemed the world revolved around him. If disliked a scarf a new one was brought, if a maid annoyed him then she was fired and if he were hungry a feast would be brought before him. He had heard many people claim to be jealous of his life, longing for the material goods that he had and the status he owned, and he had heard many others that pitied him for his lack of freedom and sheltered existence. Byakuya however had not made up his mind upon the matter. It was after all easy to criticise but appreciation took effort. Despite the downsides of his lifestyle he was still a sight better off than many others, and for that he would not complain at all. In fact there was only one complaint he had:

 

Hisana.

 

It may have seemed odd to some people for him to find a complaint in Hisana, for after all she was - truly and honestly - the love of his life. He would never do anything to desecrate her memory or dishonour her in any way, she was a perfect being with a soul so pure she would surely be reincarnated as a beautiful lady, one with a life befitting someone of her kindness. To this day he could remember his exact feelings he felt when they had first met. First he felt his mouth open and his eyes widen, a sense of shock upon seeing her beauty and fine features, then he had felt his lips go dry, his heart race and his mouth feel full, and finally he felt the emotional rush one feels when witnessing something so pure, angelic and godlike that it cannot possibly be real. Was it love at first sight? Yes. Was it a never-ending, undying love? No.

 

Truthfully, had she had a full lifetime, he wasn't sure their relationship would have been able to sustain itself. He loved her so much that to this day, nearly fifty years later, his heart bled for her in memory and cried to be by her side, but rationally he knew that his feelings were perhaps no more than an unrequited, one-sided crush. They were at first so deep and powerful that it was easy to confuse them with love, for it was true he'd never loved before to know the difference, and it was also true that his opinion of her was as something godlike, perfect and angelic, an image that no living person could ever live up to. She was someone he had idealised to such an extent that he never truly knew her, he only the perfect image he wished her to be, even intentionally becoming blind to all her faults and disobeying his family to be with her. He also knew - as she even admitted - that she did not love him as a wife should, only as a friend and nothing more. The confession had never broken his heart, it had only made his resolve to change her mind all the stronger, as if his own undying love could convert her heart.

 

Perhaps they had both been foolish . . . He had a childhood crush upon her based on sentimentalised ideals and values, treasuring her as one would a painting without truly knowing the subject on which it was based, he had mistaken a youthful feeling of adoration with the serious, adult emotion of affection. She in turn had abandoned her sister to be with him, thinking that money and wealth could buy her happiness, and that her deep affection with Byakuya could over time grow from platonic into a real love. It had never occurred to her that one cannot force their heart to love, one must feel it from the start somewhere deep from inside themselves, or water the seed so that it grows over time. She loved him as a brother, a friend, and a confidante - never as a lover. They were simply not meant to be.

 

Over time - should she have lived - they would probably have grown distant, `divorced' inside their own home as she raised children in a loveless marriage and he had his secret affairs, both loving each other as friends but resenting the other for holding them back. It would not have worked out. They were young, innocent, naïve and most of all they were not right for one another. How could they be?

 

Yet he couldn't help but still love her! His heart yearned for her sweet smile, her gentle touch, her softly whispered words, he would smile in memory of her naked skin under his fingertips or the way she would shudder in pleasure, and he would cry in memory of the times in which she'd whisper `I love you' or how they'd walk hand in hand under the sakura trees. He loved her kindness and strength, her determination to make amends for her wrongs, her trying every moment of every day to love him and to be the wife his family wanted her to be. He loved her! Did it matter whether it was a crush, a friendship or even a brotherly affection, did that matter when he felt such a deep need for her that transcended life and death, did it matter what type of love it was when it was simply love? It was that love which stopped him from hating her, stopped him from loathing her, even when he knew that this was all their fault, the both of them, together . . .

 

Had she not died he would never have adopted Rukia, she would never have met Ichigo, the Hogyoku would have never have left Urahara's hands and entered Aizen's, and the war would never have begun. He would still have his friend Gin to idly talk to, he would not have to worry about which suicidal-psychotic soul would try to replace one of the vacant captain seats next, and Aizen would not be currently trying to destroy all they held dear . . . and most of all he would not have some rude, insolent, redheaded youth insulting him by forgetting to address him correctly. All in all, if she had not died, if they had not even met, then the Seireitei would not be in chaos and there would not be so much pain and suffering.

 

Perhaps it was wrong to place such a heavy blame on Hisana, but he could not help it, he couldn't help but blame himself for the events unfolding the way they had or for doing the things he had done. Even if he had still adopted Rukia then he should have allowed her to become a seated officer, at least then she would have never have gone to Karakura and none of this would have happened, he had a choice even then to stop this and he had chosen wrongly. No, the blame then wasn't upon Hisana but on him, he was the one who had made the mistakes and he was the one who needed to suffer. He was the one who must suffer.

 

Then again would Hisana want him to suffer? Would she resent him if he did or be hurt by his own hurting? Or would she be angry with him, furious he could allow such harm to befall Rukia and himself, disgusted with the man he had become? If he allowed himself to shed a tear would he betray his family and their code of honour, if he allowed himself to feel pain would he betray Hisana and all she died for? How was he supposed to feel? What was he supposed to do? His whole life he had been taught to hide his feelings, to be in control of all he felt, and now he felt like he was slipping and could not find his pace. He felt like he was losing all the control he once had, and he wasn't sure how to pull himself up again, not when his whole world would not stop spinning, not when he wasn't sure whether he should hate himself or merely the world around him that had forced this burden upon him. Five years he had been with her, five years! Now what? Now what was he? Was he merely a captain again, merely a boy again? What he wouldn't give for those carefree days, those days when life was so simple. What he wouldn't give for that freedom he once had, that he never realised he had, and what he wouldn't give to know if he'd ever have it back, if even for one tiny moment . . .

 

He drew in a heavy breath and tried to get control over his emotions.

 

He could not cry, he would not cry. He was Kuchiki Byakuya, head of his family and older brother to Kuchiki Rukia, it was his duty to be a leader of his family and a role model to his men, and to do that he had to be strong, powerful, in charge. It didn't matter that inside his chest his heart felt like a heavy weight, something that held him down and choked the very breath from him, nor did it matter that he could help feel the heated tears in his eyes as his very soul felt trapped, tortured and torn. The pain was something to be endured, something accepted and put up with, for to give into it was weak, pathetic and a shame to his entire house. He could not give in. He would not. If he must cry he would do so silently during his bathing hours, where the water would wash the salty tears away, where there would be no proof of such a weakness save for the shameful memory in his mind.

 

He swallowed hard and carefully put his brush down against the paper.

 

To give into emotions was weak, he had no choice but to distract himself and channel his feelings into something productive, and in this case that was his calligraphy. It was a hobby he had grown to both love and hate, it allowed him that self-expression so often denied to him and the freedom he so craved, the control of being able to write as he wished and express himself as he wished, a helpful coping tool. Yet he also hated it, hated it for being the `perfect hobby of a nobleman', hated it for being that same subject the traitor Aizen enjoyed, and hated it for always managing to convey the emotions to the world he longed to stay hidden.

 

In that instant he could see the imperfection of his work. He could see the slight shake to the first stroke, and how the third was slightly out of alignment, and the way the whole kanji seemed slightly too large made him wince. To anyone else it surely would have looked perfect, but to Byakuya he could see the inconsistencies and mistakes, and it made him sick. Whilst it felt good to express his pain on paper, to show the world what he was not allowed to, he could not help but feel he had dishonoured himself and his clan by achieving something less than perfection. It felt as if the very act of this mediocre piece of calligraphy had ruined everything he stood for, as if its very existence undermined his entire being. Why he carried on was beside him, he should have stopped the moment he saw his shoddy handy-work, and yet the fluid movements of his wrist as he allowed his soul to be poured into his work was too much to hold back, forcing him to carry on. He couldn't stop even if he so wished to. It was beyond his control now.

 

He wasn't sure how long he became lost in his task of writing, fighting away tears as he sat elegantly and poised within his private study of the Kuchiki Manor, but it seemed at least an hour or so had passed. He had retired to his study once dinner was completed, he had prayed to Hisana and had bathed and cleansed himself of the day's troubles - currently he sat in a casual, white yukata ready to retire to bed when need be. His night was merely to be a simple ritual in which he would finish his calligraphy, sign his remaining reports, then retire to sleep, but - as he had said so often - his life was no longer simple . . .

 

His thoughts and feelings were cut off dead when his door was flung wide open, allowing a cool breeze to blow through and rattle his papers and blow at his loose locks of hair.

 

It was not unusual for people to `barge in' as such. Recently Yachiru-chan had broken into many of his rooms and played havoc with `secret tunnels', all of which he'd managed to destroy and close off, save for the one to the Female Shinigami Association Headquarters, but that was only because he knew exactly where that room was and he knew if he'd destroyed it then Yachiru would only move it some place else. It was also known for Ichigo Kurosaki to barge in on occasion, destroying what little respect he had for the boy dead, making him come to loathe the disrespect that the boy showed, and hope to all that was holy Rukia would never come to date him. Yet these were really the only two people who dared disturb his peace, except for perhaps Yoruichi. So to see that man standing there was not only confusing, unacceptable and an insult, but down right infuriating also.

 

After all, what right had Zaraki Kenpachi to break into his house and his room?

 

It was not only an incredibly odd occurrence, but it was made even more incredible by the very expression and look that Zaraki seemed to wear. Byakuya - although loathe to admit it - would not deny the other captain had a certain . . . rugged good look, one that made someone who was inclined that way at once moisten or harden at the sight. He was tall, powerful, scarred, muscled and generally everything one expected from a masculine, manly man, one whom made you feel both submissive and weak, wondering what it would feel to be underneath such a strong body. Not that Byakuya ever felt that way of course. Good heavens no, Zaraki was a commoner and a low-life, street brawler, nothing more. There was no way Byakuya would ever consider him in such a sexual manner, but regardless he would not deny his certain appeal.

 

At the moment said man was standing in his doorway with a look of confusion plastered upon his features, it was always odd to see Zaraki perplexed for the man was so uncaring his usual concerns were solely on the pleasure of fighting, he simply did not allow himself to ponder deep matters in order to become confused. He was also wearing his hair long and down, it seemed almost silky and light, complimenting him in a way that ridiculous spiked hairstyle did not, and the unusual sight of this man with hair natural and flowing spiked Byakuya's interest. However it was hard not to find the utmost offence at someone demanding entrance to his room, without knocking, who was also a commoner no less! What right had this man - attractive or not - have to interrupt a private moment?

 

“May I help you?” He asked coldly.

 

Kenpachi didn't respond at first, in fact it was as if he hadn't even heard the question itself, instead he merely leant forward and forced his head into the room, looking around with a mixture of bafflement and awe. The awe Byakuya could understand, after all such fine and expensive furnishings and large spaces must surely be foreign to a man like Zaraki, but at the same time his look of confusion was not entirely understood by him. Perhaps his confused state was a result of his being in a new, unexpected environment? If that was the case then Zaraki was not the man he had thought him to be.

 

“Yo,” Kenpachi grunted, jerking his head upwards, “You seen Yachiru?”

 

“Indeed I have not.”

 

“Huh, shame.”

Byakuya gave him a cold look before returning to his calligraphy. Whilst it was true he felt some form of primal attraction to Zaraki, as well as an interest in his sudden arrival and odd appearance, it was not enough to make him lower his guard or abandon his self-respect and talk to a commoner. Zaraki was beneath him, a man with little to no intellect who loved the thrill of a fight and nothing more, there was no way he'd ever understand Byakuya's complex emotions or desire to be left to his hobbies in peace. There was also no way he'd ever learn manners or respect.

 

It was as he told Renji, no matter how hard you reach for the moon you shall never obtain it; you may only sink in the pool as you try to own a reflection, regretting chasing fantasies when you could have lived for reality. Perhaps Zaraki didn't want the things that Renji did, perhaps he did not want to be a noble or even to defeat one, but the fact remains he was not - nor would he ever be - an equal to a Kuchiki, and for that he would forever be no more than an untrained animal to Byakuya's humanity.

 

He lowered his brush and began to paint a new word upon his parchment, continuing his task as if no one were around him, refusing to even make eye contact with the man in his domain: “I am, however, inclined to ask why you would think your daughter to be in the manor of a noble family? Particularly without your knowledge.”

 

“Huh, like you don't know.”

 

Kenpachi huffed loudly and stepped inside the room, closing the door forcefully shut behind him. The very action caused Byakuya at once to bristle, he could feel his entire body tense as if preparing for battle and his awareness had suddenly increased tenfold. His skin felt electrified, his senses heightened, and his grip upon the calligraphy brush was so tight his fingers felt bruised. It was not that he distrusted his fellow captain as such, but it was human instinct to feel wary in such a situation. He was after all naked save for his white, evening yukata and kneeling on floor whereas Zaraki stood tall above him, still fully clothed in his uniform. It was impossible to feel anything but vulnerable, especially when the door was now closed making escape or calling for his guards difficult, not that he needed to flee or call for help of course, but the fact remained he now felt caged and it was a feeling he greatly disliked.

 

He watched lazily from the corner of his eye as Zaraki collapsed upon the floor beside him, legs crossed and arms lazily hanging upon his knees, and if that wasn't common enough he was even hunching his back as if he hadn't a care in the world. The very fact he could sit next to Byakuya as an equal, that he could act so casually and relaxed as if he were not sitting with a superior, was very offensive.

 

There was a part of him that treasured someone ignoring the rules, the stifling etiquette and formal hierarchy, a part of him that relished someone fresh and real in his life, able to treat him not only as an equal but as a mere man. He loved the thought that there was someone in the whole of Seireitei whom he could be honest with, that his airs did not affect and his attitude did not bother, but at the same time it was something he also hated. He hated how Zaraki threw his whole perception of the world upside down, how he made him doubt his own class and status and crave someone with whom he could be an equal, he hated how no matter how hard he tried he could not force the man's respect.

 

Perhaps that was the thrill? Perhaps the rush and love came from having someone whom he could not control, someone who was free and enjoyed his company solely for who he was and not what he was, even when Zaraki antagonised him and fought with him it was always because he saw Byakuya as an equal, as someone who was not above the law but a part of it. No one ever saw Byakuya that way. Rukia idolised him and treated him as a god, Renji held him as a standard of perfection and a rival who must be overcome, even the other captains bowed at his requests and acquiesced at his demands, and although Ichigo Kurosaki forgot his honorifics even he treated Byakuya with nothing but respect. Was it possible this was why he had not yet turned Zaraki away? Did he crave for someone to let down his guard with, who would not mock him for shedding tears or chastise him for showing emotion? Was it possible he craved for the company of - dare he say it? - an equal?

 

Drawing in a deep but silent breath he continued to write, almost holding his breath after a few moments to force his emotions at bay. There were still tears threatening to spill, cheeks that threatened to rouge and a heart that threatened to ache, it was only by meditating silently and breathing deeply he could keep his persona solid. He would not break, or at least not in front of a man like Kenpachi, even if it was something he craved he knew he could not. He was like an eagle and Zaraki like a snake, and one should never show weakness to those lower on the food chain.

 

“I shall ask you one more time,” He said calmly, “What is it that makes you believe your daughter and lieutenant to be within the residence of my manor?”

 

Zaraki shrugged as he lazily traced his eye down the long piece of parchment. He was sitting merely a few feet away from Byakuya and there was a heady scent of sweat and exertion from the man, one that wasn't necessarily unpleasant but uniquely belonging to Zaraki, something that Byakuya had never smelled before. It was possibly this luring aroma was merely due to their close contact, but something told Byakuya it was from perhaps forgoing a needed bath. That thought should have disgusted him but as he realised, the smell was not a bad one, in fact it reminded him slightly of both battles and sex, something powerful and unforgettable.

 

“What's it to you anyway? I'm here, aren't I? If you wanted me gone that badly you'd have kicked me out long before now. You know that and I know that, so don't act all snotty with me when you know damned well you couldn't care less.” Zaraki said the words so casually and with such a tone of wisdom that Byakuya could not bring himself to feel angry, after all his words held a thread of honesty and he could not deny what he had said. “If you must know, Kuchiki, little Yachiru has a meeting with the female Shinigami or whatever they call themselves, when I asked around the other captains told me the meeting room was somewhere in your manor. Odd really, didn't see you as the sharing type.”

 

“Indeed I am not, but each time I seal off that particular room your lieutenant rebuilds elsewhere. I have since learnt that it is best to allow them access to that room, in return they will cease to make modifications to my manor, and I have back that privacy I once lost. If you would like I will lead your momentarily to the meeting room.”

 

“Nah, forget it. Let Yachiru have her fun, it's too late now anyway.”

 

“Too late for what, may I ask?”

 

Zaraki gave a toothy grin and grunted noisily. It was something that mildly piqued Byakuya's interest and cause him to turn his head slightly, his eyes lifting for a brief second behind thick, black lashes to look upon his new companion.

 

He felt a pang of curiosity and longing when he saw that face before him, something he did not understand nor like, a feeling as if he was in the company of a man most mysterious and interesting, but one whom was safe and capable of protecting him against harm. The very expression Zaraki wore was one of `still waters run deep', a subtle smile that suggested a heavy thought behind it, one of which could run for pages for its detail and depth, something which was more than the bloodlust one came to expect from him. He could see the way that brown eye shimmered and glowed, seemingly looking at the paper but actually observing Byakuya, and he could see the way the scars pulled and tensed with each unseen facial movement. His face was alive, writhing with motives, desires and a history unlike any other, and his little grunt which accompanied it made it seem like any words to follow would be little more than smoke for a magical act, something to distract him from any real issue.

 

“Ask all you like, Kuchiki,” He said with a slight laugh to his voice, “If you must know that bastard Komamura overheard how Sasakibe recommended a god awful hair treatment to me, so he decided to recommend one of his own, you know? I tried it out and look at it! It's worse that what that bastard lieutenant suggested, it'll take days to get back to normal, if not weeks! Last time I trust a dog with a man's issue.”

 

“This relates to Yachiru and `being late' how?”

 

“Well I got the treatment done after tonight's drinking party, supposed to have been having some words with my third and fifth seat but they never showed up, seeing the sort of questions Yachiru's been asking me I can guess why,” He glared harshly at this, to which Byakuya knew better to question, “By the time I got it done it was time for my bath, with a body like mine I have to bathe daily, but I got to get Yachiru in the baths too ready for bed. I can't start my nightly routine until I finish hers, she might be strong after all but she's still a little girl, got to get her sleep. I wanted a bath really badly too, try and fix this flipping mess that's my hair, but it's too late now, it's got to be nearly midnight. Silly girl.”

 

Something warmed in Byakuya about Zaraki's concern for his adoptive daughter and lieutenant, although he'd known the man had a strong affection for the girl he'd have never have guessed he'd have shown true paternal feelings. Here was the strongest captain in the Seireitei, feared by men and women alike for his tremendous power and bloodlust, and yet he worried about a little girl's nightly routine and found it his duty to make sure she bathe and sleep properly. It was . . . sweet, which was probably why Zaraki was glaring at him as if to say `tell anyone and die', but it was something that truly and really warmed Byakuya's heart.

 

Hisana had wanted nothing more than a child, and when it was found that she couldn't she spent her last few years looking for Rukia, and it was Rukia who Byakuya later came to adopt into his family. It was as if children - even Yachiru - came to represent everything Hisana had wanted, the childhood she had never had, the image of everything pure and kind he had came to see in her. Not only that but his whole life he'd spent alone, there had been his grandfather of course but their relationship was more of master and pupil, and his relationship with his sister seemed to be one of hero and hero-worshipper. There had never been anyone in his life that was his equal, his friend, someone he could worry about and who would worry about him in return, and he longed for that unconditional love and friendship such a person brought with them.

 

He envied Zaraki, he truly did, but yet he could not understand why the man found it necessary to linger in his room with him? Confess this parental nature and instinct that was surely secret within him? Why did he suddenly see Byakuya as a confidante?

 

Whilst he was deep in thought Zaraki spoke up: “Hey, what you're writing, it's a Japanese love poem, isn't it? Eighteenth century or some crap like that, I'm sure of it, something about how freedom isn't moving around like we want, or even choosing to take in a new breath, but wanting to get it on with someone and knowing that even if you can't that they want it, you want it, and society can't stop you wanting to fuck their brains out.”

 

Byakuya cringed noticeably. “That is the general - if not ineloquent - gist of it, yes.”

 

If he were to put the poem more eloquently it would be this: man's freedom is but an illusion, an illusion where even our rights to movement are not our rights but privileges, where our paths are chosen in many ways by others, indeed even the breaths we take or the stars we count are but products of society, rules and allowances. The true freedom lies within the mind, not the physical body, and what symbolises the mind more than anything is love. No matter how our families, friends, governments or societies try to constrain us they cannot force us to love against our wills, we give our hearts freely, and so even if we cannot be with the one we love our heart is always free to give away, and so we are with them in spirit.

 

It was one of Byakuya's favourite poems, symbolising his very love for Hisana, a forbidden love in which everyone forbade and denied, and yet his heart yearned for her and his feelings could not be quelled. Even when death forced them apart his heart beat on, beating for her, living for her, calling out to her in the night when no other soul would do, when no other being could call forth his love and devotion. To hear it all put forth so bluntly by Zaraki should have angered him, enraged him, and yet all he could do was coldly accept such a simplistic outlook as a part of what made Zaraki unique, in the same way that holding the pain of the past was a trait unique to Hisana. It was strange to think of the two in the same thought, the same breath, and yet somehow he could not help but relate the poem to Zaraki also, for not matter how much his heart may find a . . . curious interest in Zaraki he could not act upon it, for such a common man could in no way be a friend to a nobleman such as himself. His heart was indeed free to ponder such a relationship, but it could not be, for not one other part of him had a claim to such freedom, and eventually any love they may have - platonic or romantic - would die just like the sakura blossoms, the light of day or the glow of Hisana's beauty . . .

 

It was hard to describe and yet something called him to question the tone of Zaraki's voice and his knowledge of the poem, wondering how not only he could understand the kanji but also the nature of the poem, and where he could possibly have encountered such a text. He should not have cared, he should have been above such idle curiosity, and yet something about Zaraki made him genuinely interested. This was a man in love only with the sight of blood, a man of a poor background in the worst area of the Rukongai, a man with no appreciation of the arts, and yet he recognised the poem almost immediately - how?

 

Byakuya could not help but wonder if he had become insanely lonely to seriously find an interest in this man, and yet his heart still throbbed in pain, ached in that caged solitude he had enforced upon it, but somehow Zaraki's brutal honesty, indifferent nature to social status, and casual nature soothed that ache somewhat. It made him feel almost as if someone out there not only understood him on a basic human level but also truly had an interest with him, for Zaraki was a man so different, so completely opposite to him, and yet he always treated him as an equal. It was hard to accept but Zaraki was different enough that he was an enigma, something unique and special that Byakuya was loath to admit he wanted to understand, come to know, and yet he should not have felt that way. He should not have felt his loneliness subside with the possibility of unravelling the mystery that was Zaraki; he should not have felt himself safe in an enclosed room with a man who considered himself his equal, proving this by challenging him on multiple occasions to fights. He should have felt tense, angry, offended, disgusted, repulsed or perhaps even frightened; he should not have felt relieved. He should not.

 

Drawing in a shuddering breath he tried to hold back the hurt and conflict from appearing in his features, his heart felt heavy and plagued with afflictions, grieving the loss of his wife and feeling the guilt and horror that he could feel a possible love for another, wondering if she'd ever be able to forgive him for that betrayal. She may after all have not loved him, but hadn't he claimed to have loved her? Yet he felt such loneliness and pain, he needed to share his burden, and he could not hold such emotions in any longer, his mask was crumbling and soon tears would need to be shed else the dam would burst. He could not go on like this, but he must. His clan depended upon him to be strong, to be controlled and collected, he could not let his guard down, but what would happen if he didn't?

 

He eventually broke the silence with a simple question: “How does a man like you know of this poem?”

 

Zaraki scoffed noisily and threw his head back, his now silky locks throwing themselves over his shoulder as he did so. The look was flawless and almost attractive, drawing Byakuya's eye to that raven hair and making him wonder within his mind what it could feel like through his fingers, but then the thought of Hisana, Rukia, his clan, his squad, his reputation . . . it all came flooding back, making him regret his desire. It did not matter that Zaraki held a handsome expression, that his solid figure made him look dependable and secure, that one wished to be held in his arms and lost within his overwhelming reiatsu, all that mattered is these feelings were forbidden. He could not feel this way. He could not . . .

 

“Huh, where'd you think?” Zaraki spat, “I bet for a man like you it's nothing but pretty words with some sort of romantic notion, but for men like me it's more than that. Back in the Zaraki District they used to use that poem as a eulogy to the dead, well at least those of us who had enough humanity in us to read and bother burying those suckers. None of us had any freedom, not one fucking ounce of it, so all we could do was follow our hearts whenever we could and just be happy that you noble lot couldn't take that away from us. You might have our money, dignity and even our rights, but we can still feel what the fuck we want. My love was the thrill of the fight, and I chased that thrill into the Seireitei itself. What does a man like you know about undying passion? I bet to you it's all meaningless, makes me sick too, saying hollow words parrot fashion makes them no more than a lie. To me they have meaning.”

 

It was then something inside Byakuya broke.

 

It was not the insult, not the accusation that he could not understand such words, not even his misconception of Zaraki, pinning him as a brute of a man with no soul, it was the feeling of such overwhelming depression held back by a mask of indifference, then to feel the cold hands of that man ripping his mask away. He wasn't sure how Zaraki managed it, what in his words or tone made Byakuya doubt himself, hate himself, loathe his life, but somehow he'd succeeded in doing just that for now Byakuya could feel nothing but pain, and overwhelming pain at that.

 

Was Zaraki right? Did he not have a soul? Could he truly not bring himself to shed a tear even now about Hisana's passing, his loss of good friends and family, and the war that threatened the lives of so many? Could he really keep such an impassive face and hold back even the faintest of scowls, grimaces or laughs? Was he truly such an unfeeling man? He was like Zaraki, he had a heart that longed for things desperately needed and wanted, a heart which craved - not the thrill of a fight - but the warmth of another, and even now he wanted nothing more than to be held and to hold back, to have someone reassure him and comfort him, to tell him all would be well. Yet he was alone. No one would hold him, hug him, soothe him, no one would ever listen to his complaints even if he dared to voice them, no one would laugh at his jokes for they felt too distant from him to want to, no one could ever understand him, need him, want him. He was for all intents and purposes alone. Alone with no one to love him or desire him, alone even back then when his grandfather saw him as nothing but a pupil, Yoruichi as nothing but a rival, Hisana and nothing but a friend. He was alone and that would not change, it could not. He craved for more, longed for more and yet he could not even so much as express that, he didn't even know how. It hurt and yet he could not fix it, could not mend it, it hurt and it would keep on hurting as it had always done, and because of that these words before him were hollow. The poem was a lie. His heart would long but it would never be free, he was born in chains and his heart had yet to shed them. He could never be free. He could never be loved.

 

Byakuya could not stop it even if he tried, but he could control it to a degree, he could lessen the edge and maintain that control he needed to keep, that he must keep. He could not give in fully to his emotions as it would be weak, a shame, a disgrace to all his clan stood for, and yet what did it matter? That one sole tear that shimmered down his cheek told it all. That one tear meant a loss of complete control.

 

“Are you crying, Kuchiki?”

 

Zaraki had noticed. He was not surprised, he could feel that silver drop of liquid rolling down his cheek and staining the kanji for `love' that lay on his paper, allowing the black ink to swell into a large spot that would forever mark and tarnish what `love' meant. He felt the humiliation at being caught in such a weak moment consume him, he could feel that red hot anguish at being seen in such a state, a state no other had seen in him in save his late wife, and to know his image was now forever soiled in Zaraki's eyes made him feel physically sick. He was forced to lower his brush and breathe deeply; hoping to all that was holy the painful fate of mockery would be over soon, for after all how would Zaraki ever understand this? Even if he could why would he care? He was alone, and Zaraki would not offer him - for the first time in his life - the hand of another to guide him through this, for Zaraki was not that type of man.

 

“Forgive me,” Byakuya all but whispered, “It seems I do not have such mastery over my emotions as I would wish to believe. I apologise sincerely to you, Zaraki-Taichou, for putting you in such an awkward situation.”

 

“Forget it. Just tell me,” Zaraki quirked up an eyebrow and glanced to Byakuya, a look without menace or judgment, simply a look of consideration and - unexpectedly - empathy, “What is it that can make the great Kuchiki Byakuya cry?”

 

“His heart.”

 

At this mortifying confession he lowered his head and prayed for his ancestors to forgive his weakness, his very being felt swallowed by his devastating embarrassment, hoping that to all holy beings Zaraki would forgive this outburst. He'd expected many things to occur. He'd expected condescending laughter, he'd expected Zaraki to get up and leave in disgust, and he'd even expected the man to shrug it off and continue his search for Yachiru. What he did not expect however was to feel large, strong arms wrapping around him, arms that he had not seen move, especially move in such a manner that was unheard of for their owner. He could barely believe it, and yet it was true: Zaraki was holding him.

 

There was nothing in the gesture. There was no lust, no love, no pity, merely one man moving around the parchment to sit beside another man in pain, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as if this was nothing more than congratulating him at a wedding, or consoling him at a funeral. Zaraki was even looking into the distance, and only one arm lay across Byakuya's shoulders, and yet to Byakuya it was the kindest, grandest, and most loving gesture he had ever received. No one, and he meant no one, had ever dared or dreamt of laying an arm around him in such a manner. It was an act of empathy rare to Zaraki, an act of consideration that showed his feelings counted for something, that his feelings were not the disgrace he knew them to be, that the feelings of his heart mattered to someone if just for a second. It was that sudden relief, the sudden feeling of compassion and understanding, that caused him to weep silently and lean into Zaraki.

 

He pressed his head against Zaraki's chest to hide his own tears, to hide his sickeningly weak expression which conveyed his own pain, a pain that no one should ever see, and as he leant into that hardened chest he felt the older man physically jump, surprised and shocked at what had now occurred. The very feeling of Zaraki pulling away devastated him in a way words could not express, the relief he felt had now gone and was replaced with a feeling of oblivion, of humiliation which required death, for he had shown himself at his weakest to a being he believed he could trust, and now he was being rejected. He pulled away to regain composure but before he could that arm tightened around him, and another came up, also wrapping itself around him, so that now he was being held and essentially cuddled by Zaraki, the demon of Squad Eleven. He had no idea how this had occurred but he no longer cared, all he cared about was that now there was somebody who was holding him, comforting him, that he was not alone. He had the warmth of another to guide him. He had not been rejected.

 

“I got no choice but to hold you,” Zaraki mumbled, “It's weird enough holding Yachiru when she's upset, but to be holding Kuchiki Byakuya, the Ice Queen of the Seireitei is plain weird. Not that I mind at all, but just so you know, if you tell anyone about this I'll castrate you in your sleep and shove the remains down your throat. Got that?”

 

Byakuya smiled slightly and felt a soft, short and quick laugh emit from his throat, one that shocked him completely; “I dare you to try it, peasant.”

 

“Cocky, little bitch, ain't you?”

 

He surprised himself by ignoring the insult and allowing himself to nuzzle into Zaraki's hold. His face was pressed against that muscular neck, breathing in the deep heady scent as he instinctively sought out more, and his hands had crept up to hold tight upon the eleventh captain's haori, using it as an anchor for his overwhelming emotions. It was as if by holding onto his fellow captain, curling up beside him, that he could keep himself firmly routed in reality and remind himself that his emotions did not control him, it was as if Zaraki were a solid reminder of his own status and position, reminding him that he must regain his composure or lose face. Yet that was the strange thing, a part of him did not want to save face but merely sought to lose himself in Zaraki's hold. He had never felt safe before in the arms of another, never felt able to trust another to this extent or even find someone wiling to hold him in such a manner, and yet here he was in Zaraki's arms, allowing himself a brief moment of comfort and weakness.

 

It was an incredible feeling to experience such consideration, kindness and empathy, and the rush he felt from being an equal to someone and feeling secure enough to allow them to hold him was overwhelming. He could feel Zaraki's hands holding firmly onto him, feel the other captain lower his head so that his chin rested upon Byakuya's hair, and hear him breathe deeply as if absorbing his scent. Could it be that Zaraki was as lonely as he was? Could it be that he needed someone else also?

 

Byakuya couldn't understand it but he knew he heart was aching, crying out for the touch and love of another, and here was Zaraki, offering him a small token of kindness, and perhaps open to offering him more. He felt an almost duty to repay this man, he had after all distracted him from his task and burdened him with his weight of emotions, and at the same time he felt humiliated and angry, frustrated that it had to be this man to see him in this way. He wasn't sure what he wanted or needed. Did he throw Zaraki out in order to regain control and save his dignity, or did he relax and continue to nuzzle into him for that desperately needed warmth and love? It was an impossible choice, but his instincts told him that he wanted - needed - more. No one had ever shown him this compassion, no one had ever held him, no one had ever comforted him, and it was something that made his heart swell and his pain dissipate into a cooling tide that was beginning to ebb away. He still hurt but that pain was lessened, and he could not help but wonder if by increasing this closeness he could not perhaps make the pain go away entirely . . .

 

Was it foolish to think that physical closeness would help ease things? He surely owed Zaraki something for his display of thoughtfulness but the man did not want money, conversation or lessons and what else could Byakuya offer? He would not fight his fellow captain without reason, it was base to enter a physical altercation without provocation, and he needed to respond to Zaraki somehow, in a way that the man would appreciate. It wasn't just that. He longed to be close to another, longed to feel their touch and hear their heartbeat, to know he was not alone and had someone with him to share in one simple moment, and even if that moment was fleeting, even if it was a meaningless, physical entanglement to the other party, it was still a moment where he could forget his loneliness and pretend he was loved and one with another. Just one distraction, just one moment where he could forget his solitude and enjoy a moment of pleasure, just to forget, to forget his duties, responsibilities and past regrets! Did it matter if Zaraki was a commoner? He would readily admit to feelings for the man, feelings he could never act on, but it was not as if Zaraki would ever find out, to him it would be no more than a one-night romance, a one-night fling. Byakuya was not the sort to demean himself to pleasuring others, particularly those beneath him, but he needed this . . . he needed to forget.

 

Gently he raised his head and allowed his lips to brush against the sweat-stained, tanned skin of that column of neck, a movement so graceful and elegant it may have been nothing but an innocent accident, even if he could feel Zaraki shudder beneath him as his hot breath ghosted flesh. He soon proved his action to be more than accidental however when his soft, velvety lips pressed forcefully against him, soon parting ever so slightly to take in that tangy taste of perspiration.

 

He felt Zaraki shudder once more and so decided to press his advantage by sliding his body closer, pressing light kisses further up until he had reached the earlobe, at which point he began to blow lightly upon it before nibbling lightly, using his tongue to lick paths upon it. This act of foreplay caused Zaraki to grunt and jerk his body reflexively, giving Byakuya the perfect opportunity to lift his body and crawl onto his fellow captain's lap. It was a brave and bold movement, but Byakuya was a man who took what he wanted and did not believe in beating around the bush, so instead he trailed his kisses down that strong, prominent jawbone and lightly bit and sucked at indeterminable points ever so often.

 

He could not yet feel an erection beneath him, but he was complexly virginal to acts between men and so it was hard to tell if this was normal or not, but he knew from experience that one thing could always arouse him: a kiss of passion. Byakuya himself could already feel his member hardening, so pleased with the warmth of strong arms around him and a hard chest inches from him, he felt so safe straddling Zaraki and so secure with on his lap, sitting upon his crotch. He enjoyed the feeling of being close to someone, it made him forget his loneliness and made him feel alive if only for a moment, and the fact he was naked save his yukata gave him a feeling of vulnerability that added to the rush. Yet he knew hat he was doing was wrong, for if it was right then he would be able to look Zaraki in the eye, but instead his shame and humiliation prevented him from doing so. He would enjoy the moment but he could not give fully into it, for after all a liaison with a commoner was strictly forbidden and whatever he felt for Zaraki he knew Zaraki did not love him, if this went further he would be allowing himself to be used and that went against all he stood for. Was he willing to go that far? Could he go that far?

 

He closed his eyes quickly so as to avoid looking at Zaraki too closely, and then pressed his lips abruptly against the eleventh captain. His lips were rough, chapped and dry, the lips of a true man who was always amongst the elements and not sheltered in a way Byakuya himself was, and yet the touch of those lips lit something deep within him, a fire that stirred in his loins and made his flesh hot to the touch. In a few short seconds he had parted his lips and stroked Zaraki's with his tongue, licking lightly to ask permission for entrance, and right away Zaraki allowed invitation. At once they were locked in a slow, sensuous kiss, one without the desperate need of lust but one with something deep within it that sparked a feeling deep in Byakuya's heart. It was lazy, like when one kisses their partner after awakening from a deep sleep, and yet it was full of love as Byakuya felt his body pulled tight against Zaraki's. He could feel that had chest against his and the sudden pull made him gasp for air despite being lip-locked with another, and as his tongue worked and explored his new lover's mouth he relished in the unique tastes he experienced, loving how rough the other's tongue was or how sharp his teeth were.

 

Then suddenly a hand was gone from his back and came up to grip his chin, holding tightly to grab his attention and forced his head right back, breaking the kiss almost violently. It left Byakuya with no choice but to make that eye contact he so dreaded.

 

Zaraki's tanned cheeks were flushed red, his eye dilated to the point it was nearly completely black, and his lips swollen from a rather enjoyable kiss, and as for the parts below . . . Byakuya's yukata had been dishevelled enough that it hung low off his upper body, stopped only from falling by his arms, which were hooked now around Zaraki's neck, and below his legs were displayed either side of Zaraki as the yukata had slid up, and through the flimsy material he could feel a heavy arousal. It was poking Byakuya along his perineum, making itself known only centimetres away from his virgin hole, and making it obvious Zaraki was interested in his unspoken proposal. So - with that being said - it was a mystery to Byakuya as to why the larger man would stop.

 

“Fuck, you need to stop this, Kuchiki.”

 

Byakuya gave a rather puzzled expression, his eyes burning from his previous tears; “Oh? May I ask why you seem to think we should cease this activity?”

 

“Because you were fucking crying just two seconds ago, that's why,” Zaraki growled, sliding his hand along that porcelain skin of his lover and sliding his fingers into silky, smooth hair. He gave no warning when he suddenly yanked hard, forcing Byakuya to wince despite being determined not to, “If some bastard took advantage of Yachiru it wouldn't even be legal for me to say what I'd do to him, and so I'm not going to take advantage of you either. Not many rules I have, but one of them is never do to someone what I would hate to happen to her.”

 

“That logic is flawed. You engage in casual sex, drink to excess and kill daily - you wish for her to engage in those activities too?”

 

Zaraki laughed loudly and pulled Byakuya down for a kiss, before parting with a panted breath, “Sure. If she dies in battle she dies with honour, if she drinks she'll have lots of fun, and if she screws someone fully consenting then she'll have the best time ever. Using someone when they know they're being used isn't really hurting them, because they're just using you in return, but to screw someone who's not aware of it is sick. If I screw you now, when you're crying like some snot-nosed brat, then I'll just be using you without your consent. I'd be no better than a scumbag rapist.”

 

Byakuya flinched at those words.

 

He could feel his heart swell somewhat that Zaraki had some compassion, sympathy and moral standing in which he would feel guilt in taking him, but at the same time it was as if he doubted Byakuya's competence in deciding for himself, in reaching his own decisions. It was as if by deciding `Huh, you're just too upset to decide' he was taking away Byakuya's freedom to choose, a freedom denied to him his entire life by his clan, duties and occupation. It just made him want to reassert himself, to prove that he wanted this, needed this, and he felt a sense of pain that Zaraki could think this would be anything other than consensual. There was only one thing that scared him however, and that was with Zaraki's confession of doubt he felt a swell in his heart of . . . warmth, a feeling that enveloped him and made him feel secure and safe, like his own needs came first, and in return it made him feel a form of openness to the man before him. Was this a feeling of love or attraction, or merely a newfound admiration and respect? Regardless he needed Zaraki, he needed to feel needed in return, needed that distraction from his pain and to feel one with another person once again.

 

He gently trailed his hands away from Zaraki, tracing his muscled shoulders and arms as he went, his long and lithe fingers brushing against that solid muscle, hidden beneath his shihakusho. He could feel Zaraki's eyes following his fingertips, watching him with a keen interest as he eventually moved his hands down to his own yukata sash, and with one swift movement pulled it away, dropping it carelessly on the floor beside them. He could see the larger captain swallow hard and feel him shift beneath him, and with a subtle smirk Byakuya slipped off his yukata and allowed it to fall behind him, leaving his body completely naked and exposed . . .

 

At once Zaraki began to ogle the body sitting upon his lap, with legs spread upon either side of him, and hands now back up and wrapped around his neck, leaving Byakuya in a completely vulnerable position. His long, black hair fell over his shoulders, sliding down over his high cheekbones, prominent jawbone and finally lying gracefully over his defined pectoral muscles and abdomen. His abs weren't so well defined or muscular, but his stomach was flat and it was obvious he took care of himself, but the fact he hadn't a masculine stomach just added to his lithe look, and his almost hourglass figure. It wasn't quite a feminine appearance but it was a fragile one, a noble one, and a beautiful one. It made Zaraki's mouth water, reminding him that this man was of a higher status than him but also easier to break, it made him want to take his time and be careful, give over control to the younger man lest he hurt him without intending to.

 

His slate grey eyes were so alluring too, looking upon Zaraki with an expression of need and desire but also conflict, as if he was unsure what to do now or even what he wanted, but their dilation and how they narrowed upon him showed him how much love and lust the man had hidden away. His skin was snow-white all over, obviously not prone to spending long hours outdoors which again marked him as a noble man, and his arms and legs were so elegant, slightly defined and yet slightly soft, his lips firm, soft and moist, begging to be kissed.

 

Yet the part of him Zaraki loved the most was that long, shapely cock nestled in a bed of thick, black curls. He adored the slight bend in it, the way it was so long it would surely hurt to be inside someone but at the same time too thin to cause any real pleasure, as if it was there merely to show off and never use, as if he was born to be the `catcher' in any relationship. It was already so hard and aroused, its head bouncing lightly upon Byakuya's stomach as if demanding attention, and a tiny speck of pre-come had already formed on its tip. To be so aroused after just one kiss, even if that person was naked, just wasn't normal for a grown man who was getting laid on a regular basis, it was like Byakuya was sexually no more experienced than a teenager, getting hard at the first hint of sex. Had it been that long since the man had last gotten laid? Were the rumours true that he hadn't been with anyone since his wife died all those years ago?

 

Zaraki licked his lips and moved his hands to take a grip on either side of Byakuya's waist, feeling how thin and shaped the man was, how soft and smooth his skin was to the touch, and relishing how even that small stroke of his own rough fingertips on such an innocent place had the younger man gasping and blushing. He leant forward to capture the sixth captain's lips, opening his mouth wide as if to consume Byakuya, kissing him so deeply and passionately he felt as if he was trying to devour the other man's soul. He loved the way the noble's head would tilt to allow him access, how his tongue would hesitantly explore Zaraki's mouth only to be forced back by the more dominant man, and how he tasted so sweet like bananas but with a hint of spice. The kiss was hot, needy and desperate and soon Byakuya was forcing back little moans that caused Kenpachi to grow harder by the second, just knowing he was breaking the younger man, making him give into his carnal desires. After a minute he moved his hands downwards to clasp at Byakuya's buttocks, holding them tight and squeezing them like a ripe peach, massaging them firmly so that his new lover would writhe and led out needy, high-pitched breaths as he tried not to cry out. The sounds were so addictive he'd never get tired of them, in fact his mouth watered with the arousing idea of what other sounds he could come to provoke from him.

 

Again he pulled back. He drew in a deep breath and licked his lips in an animalistic way, his eyes heavy and hooded, his teeth showing as his mouth pulled back into a ferocious smile, eyeing Byakuya like a predator with prey.

 

“Enough, Kuchiki,” He said, voice hoarse with lust, “Put on your yukata and walk away.”

 

Byakuya lifted his head to look down at his companion. Despite his emotional turmoil and raging arousal he was furious this man could tell him what to do in such a manner, that he could blatantly give him a command and expect him to follow it, like Byakuya was the dog and Zaraki the master. It made him even more determined to follow through with the act, to make this brute of a man realise just who was really in charge here. Sure, Byakuya was possibly weaker, he was grieving inside and about to be on the receiving end to their little game, but he was also of a higher status and because of that it was his opinions that mattered and his commands that were followed. He would not allow Zaraki to think himself better of a Kuchiki.

 

His heart was beating in a way he'd never experienced before, so fast he was sure it would burst, and yet it wasn't the beating heart of arousal but of nervousness and fear, a nervousness he had not experienced since his first night with Hisana. It didn't matter that he was determined to do what he was about to do, he still felt frightened inside in a way he did not wish to admit; frightened he would be unable to go through with it, frightened it would hurt, and most of all frightened he would feel like he was betraying his wife, Hisana . . .

 

His hands shook slightly as he lowered them down to Zaraki's lap. He accidentally brushed against his own arousal in the process and caused himself to hiss loudly, bucking instinctively in pleasure, before fighting back his blushing body from reacting further. Byakuya reached his hands forward and placed a tentative touch to the bulge in Zaraki's hakama, feeling for the first time the hardness of another, and curious at the slight wet stain that was growing where the tip of the member must have laid. It was strange to be so close to an area so intimate and private of another person, it was far from what he had experienced with Hisana, completely different in fact, and he was unsure if he was able to satisfy another being when he had found it incredibly difficult to satisfy his wife. After all, he was a virgin when they married and her anatomy was by far different to his, and it wasn't as if he'd ever received any words of advice or heard how these things were to work, as far as he knew he'd not often caused her to orgasm (if at all), and he was scared that he would be equally as inadequate at this - especially after instigating it. Still, he would not back away now, and instead he pulled loose the sash of Zaraki's uniform, and pulled down his hakama, his eyelids fluttering in shock as he realised the fundoshi most Shinigami wore was absent on this man, instead allowing his rigid member to spring out freely into the air.

 

The sight of the other man's arousal caused a shiver of fear to race through Byakuya's body, sending a course of adrenaline into his blood. The man was fairly largely endowed, definitely living up to rumours and his status as a `manly man', he was not quite as long as Byakuya but certainly a lot thicker by far, making the noble wonder how he should ever fit such a member inside him without being torn in two. His length stood weeping slightly, red and in need of touching, and at the base stood two large balls which added to the look of a stallion or a demon. It was rather intimidating but he didn't have long to ponder before his thoughts were interrupted.

 

“I'm warning you, Byakuya,” Zaraki said, ditching the honorifics and family name for a more intimate feel to their soon-to-be fuck session, “I don't play nicely with my toys, sometimes they break.”

 

Refusing to show fear Byakuya scoffed at this. “What a coincidence, Zaraki-Taichou. I do not play nicely with my toys either.”

 

He had expected Zaraki to laugh at that, mock him or be amused by his display of arrogance and open challenge to the other, but instead he appeared somewhat stern and serious, observing him with narrow eyes and his smile now wiped from his face. It was as if he were truly worried for Byakuya, but the younger man knew this could not be the case, for Zaraki was the Demon of Squad Eleven, he did not feel sympathy or empathy for anyone. His look must surely have been of disbelief or indifference, nothing more or nothing less.

 

After a brief moment had passed Zaraki had lifted his hand to Byakuya's mouth and let his fingers touch his lips, rough and calloused pads tracing over his soft skin. The command he issued was brief and succinct:

 

“Suck.”

 

It was the first time ever that Byakuya could remember obeying a command of a peer, and more importantly wanting to obey it. He opened his mouth immediately and felt Zaraki slipping in his first two fingers, it was an odd and strange sensation, his mouth feeling full and tasting a bitter taste upon the other's flesh. Instinct of course told him to bite down or pull away but of course he didn't, instead he let his tongue lick up and down those to digits whilst Zaraki's left hand kneaded his buttocks and made him moan despite his makeshift gag. He soon began to suck hard upon them, sometimes allowing his teeth to lightly scrape the flesh but mainly allowing his hollowing cheeks to eagerly consume them, almost as if mocking the act of a babe taking nourishment from a mother. It didn't take long for Zaraki's fingers to be thoroughly coated with saliva, or for Byakuya to start moaning like this was the act of oral sex itself, and not just a parody of it.

 

Zaraki soon smirked devilishly and removed his fingers quickly, leaving Byakuya panting and open-mouthed; his lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed crimson as a thin trail of saliva ran down his chin. It was a deeply erotic sight and one that made that dominate and desperate side of Zaraki take over, making him crave more and take what was owed him. With a fast, strong pull upon Byakuya's buttocks he pulled the man upwards, so his weight rested entirely upon his lower legs and knees, and so his head was now higher than Zaraki's. It caused him to look down at his would-be lover and press their chests tightly against one another, but it also meant that Byakuya's arms were now fully encasing the older man, so that he was essentially holding him romantically and affectionately.

 

With Byakuya seeming relaxed and into the moment he decided to carry on that one step further. Whilst he kept his left hand below to hold up the other's weight he allowed his right hand to trail downwards, the dry digits lightly stroking a line down his spine and causing him to shiver in delight, meanwhile he began to kiss softly on Byakuya's neck, causing the man to finally give in and give a soft moan. Zaraki couldn't help but smile at the sound, using his sharp teeth he'd nip and bite on that unblemished, untouched neck causing his lover to buck and groan, and then he'd swipe his tongue across, sucking and kissing, as if to make up with his harsh bites with generous kisses. He wanted to mark Byakuya. He wanted everyone to see love bites over his neck and know he'd been taken, to know that someone had finally claimed him as their own and that the man had finally gotten laid by a god.

 

His lover was clearly distracted by now, and so he parted the cheeks of his rear with his hand and allowed his fingers to ghost that untouched hole, trailing his wet fingertips over it so that he could feel it winking back at him. Then - slowly and gently - he pushed in his middle finger. He could feel Byakuya grunt harshly and so he began to administer harder, more passionate love-bites and kisses to his neck, distracting him as he slid his finger further in. It was an interesting feeling, by far different to what he'd felt when preparing his other lovers in the past, Byakuya was clenching so tightly he could feel a pulse - his own or Byakuya's he wasn't sure - and his lover was so tense it was hard to push inside him. He made sure to go slowly, to follow the natural contours of Byakuya's body, and enjoy the feeling of each ridge of muscle pushing past him, but still he could feel his lover tensing, panting and worming around as if he was getting a prostate exam and not foreplay from a sex god. Zaraki was forced to roll his eyes and try not to give into the temptation and jamming his finger in hard, just to teach the prissy little prince a lesson.

 

“Fuck Byakuya, you're too goddamn tight,” Zaraki growled, moving his finger rhythmically inside his lover to prepare him for more to come, “You need to relax, it won't hurt then and I won't have to tear you when I go in.”

 

He paused for a second and soon felt Byakuya relaxing; it made him smile and chuckle slightly to himself, then carried on thrusting inside with his finger. It seemed like the Ice Queen was melting a bit now, loosening up enough to get into the swing of things as he experimentally clenched down occasionally and shifted for deeper penetration, then after a few more seconds he'd start moaning and allowed his hands to run all over Zaraki's clothed body. He seemed to be exploring every inch of skin he could reach, determined to feel every muscle even those beneath Zaraki's kosode and haori, and his breath was coming out in short and harsh pants.

 

Zaraki smiled to himself and slid in another finger, it was hard to get in at first - what with the virgin entrance probably never being stretched before - but he managed, and amazingly enough Byakuya remembered to stay relaxed too, although he hissed slightly and dug his nails into his lover's shoulders. He couldn't believe how tight Byakuya was, and he could only hope it wouldn't hurt himself or his lover to take him, but then again if a little pain was necessary for a truckload of pleasure then it had to be done. He slowly began to scissor his fingers as he thrust up and down, loving how Byakuya was beginning to writhe against him like a bitch in heat, and when he grazed that pleasure spot deep inside the reaction was amazing. His lover arched his back until it looked like it would break, threw back his head so that his long locks dangled behind him and exposed his throat, and then let out a heart wrenching moan of complete lust and desire. In those few moments he looked like sex personified, and the small sheen of sweat that marked his skin made him look completely in need of being ravished. It was obvious to Zaraki he wouldn't be able to wait much longer.

 

Removing his fingers he noted the groan of disappointment in Byakuya's voice and chuckled lightly, he pulled back his hand and spat as much as he could into his palm, loving the look of complete horror and disgust that his lover gave him. It seemed that even in the heat of passion, even when he was about to get fucked out of his brains, that Kuchiki-sama could still throw a hissy fit over something so dumb and necessary to a smooth, good fucking.

 

“Grow up,” Zaraki growled, “I got to coat my length somehow, unless you want me to go in you raw? Won't lie to you, it'll be a bitch with just spit coating it, but it's not like a little girl like you would carry lube around, is it? So I suggest you stop looking so bloody horrified and just enjoy yourself.”

 

He rolled his eyes and quickly lowered his hand around his length to coat himself. At the very touch he moaned loudly, a sound coming from deep in the back of his throat that touched something deep inside Byakuya, causing his stomach to flutter and his breath to escape him. It seemed that Zaraki was enjoying his momentary masturbation, hissing in pleasure when his hand would twist slightly on each upward stroke, or his finger dip into his slit in order to move the pre-come about with the saliva, and occasionally he'd even reach down to twist or pull at his balls. Byakuya could only lick his lips and shudder at the sight, admiring everything about Zaraki and liking the show a lot more than he'd care to admit.

 

Suddenly he found himself dropped down slightly, not enough so that he was once more resting on Zaraki's lap but enough so he could feel that eager head of his penis teasing around his hole. He carefully moved his hands to grasp hard on Zaraki's shoulders, fearful somewhat of being dropped even though those large hands on his waist kept him steady and kept his balance. It was strange but he could find himself instinctively moving so that the other's penis was now pressed against his hole, and what was stranger was how it seemed to perfectly fit, like two jigsaw pieces fitting together. It made him want to press it in, take it deep inside him, it was a feeling of completion he'd never experienced when he'd taken Hisana - or at least not on a physical level - and he was beginning to crave more. He could feel his own hand moving behind to grip Zaraki's length, loving how hard it felt but how its outside somehow felt soft, it was a strange mix and he loved how the foreskin moved in his hand, he wanted to one day explore that length in detail.

 

“Ready?” Zaraki rasped.

 

“I believe so.”

 

His lover laughed slightly and nipped hard on his shoulder, hard enough to draw a small amount of blood and make him yelp out loud, thrusting down enough so that the head of the penis began to breach him, and that now both his hands were back upon his lover's shoulders. He opened his eyes wide to look upon Zaraki nervously, suddenly feeling vulnerable by how his body was naked and Zaraki's was not save for his member. It made him shudder and feel a stab of fear deep within him.

 

“If you're ready,” Zaraki mumbled, forcing Byakuya down enough so that his mushroom head was now fully inside him, stretching him and warning him about what was to come. The head was always the hardest part, so the fact Byakuya merely gasped, grimaced and flexed his anal muscles as he got used to it said a lot about what was to come. “Then beg me. Beg me to fuck you.”

 

Byakuya shook his head forcefully, “The day I beg you is the day I lose all rights to call myself a Kuchiki. I suggest you take me now before I am forced to spread vicious rumours to your men about how you wear women's underwear, and I believe I could easily obtain a pair to plant in your squad's barracks.”

 

“You wouldn't dare,” Zaraki growled, sliding Byakuya down so that another inch slid into him, causing him to open his mouth in a wide `O' shape and clench hard onto Zaraki's shoulders, “No one would believe such a lie anyway.”

 

“If you do not take me now then we shall soon see what people believe,” Byakuya panted, “So do it. Take me.”

 

“As you wish, Kuchiki.”

 

With that he let go of Byakuya's waist completely and let the man drop fully onto his shaft, he ignored the look of complete shock on Byakuya's face and merely grinned demonically. He threw his own hands back behind him to support his own body weight during the process to come, the last thing he needed after all was to fall backwards during the passionate lovemaking to come, meanwhile he looked up to see the face of his lover contorted into both pleasure and pain.

 

It seemed that Byakuya was being stretched to his limit, feeling the stretch of muscles never used before in such a manner, but at the same time as the stretching burn of pain he felt there was also bliss, a feeling of electric hot pleasure coursing through his veins as his prostate was brutally smashed, leaving him choking on air itself as his body was wracked with the sweat of heaven. The pleasure felt was just as intense for Zaraki who could feel his member held in a vice-like grip of ecstasy, each fluttering of Byakuya's inner walls causing him to leak out copious amounts of pre-come and groan loudly in bliss, it felt like he was being milked for all he was worth and God he enjoyed that feeling. He could feel himself bucking up instinctively as he sat cross-legged on the floor, Kuchiki towering above him as he paused to get used to the feeling of being filled. The sight was delicious, erotic and arousing.

 

It had to be said that this wasn't his favourite position, or even one he'd tried much in the past, but it was perfect for Byakuya's first time, it would enable him the freedom to control the movements, speed and power and also almost guarantee him that his prostate would be struck on each thrust, causing him pleasure rather than discomfort. What shocked Zaraki most was that he actually rather enjoyed this position, it allowed him to feel every inch of his lover's body, feel his chest pressed right against his and smell the heavenly, honey-scent of his hair as it grazed his face. He felt thrilled to see every inch of perfect skin, amazed at the velvet like feel of Byakuya's insides and the sound of his voice moaning, groaning and his taut facial expressions were all like being in the presence of an angel. Considering it was the guy's first time with gay sex he was acting like a goddamn pro.

 

It was then that he felt Kuchiki rising upward, using his shoulders to gain leverage, and then just as forcefully drop himself back down. The movement caused Zaraki to growl animally, and drive his nails deep into the tatami floor, leaving permanent scars in its surface. The feeling of friction was delightful, almost too much to bear and so tempting he just wanted to throw Kuchiki down on the floor and fuck his brains out, his self-control was waning slightly and when he heard the uncontrolled moans of pleasure from Byakuya he nearly came then and there. To hear the man give into gratification, to see him lose his usual control, it was too erotic to even describe . . .

 

“Kenpachi.”

 

Oh God, that was his given name, to hear it used so breathlessly and with such a tone of adoration and lust made his vision blur, sending hot waves of delight coursing through his member and flood his entire system. To hear Byakuya moaning his name like a whore, to give up his façade of stoic coldness was too much, it was so amazing that it made him thrust up and strike that pleasure spot inside his lover, causing him to almost scream, and he allowed one hand to free itself to wrap around his lover's member, causing him to actually mewl.

 

“Oh lord, Kenpachi,” Byakuya moaned, moving faster and faster as he tried to set his own rhythm, Zaraki thrusting upwards as he tried to match it, “Kenpachi, Ken, oh Kenpachi.”

 

Byakuya's member felt wet under his fingers, leaking so much pre-come it was obvious there was long before he spilt his load, and as Zaraki's hand worked up and down his length his inner walls would spasm, sending such amazing feelings shooting through Zaraki he could almost die. His hand sped up considerably, feeling his lover move up and down even faster now, bobbing up and down at an erratic and impossible pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the cold, traditional room. There was a slight squelching noise, possibly from Zaraki's member being shoved into that now far-from-virgin hole, or possibly from Zaraki's tight grip on that hot, long member whose head was sliding along his abdomen with each upward lift. Byakuya was now coated with sweat, tiny bead forming on his porcelain skin only to visibly fall between them, meanwhile Zaraki - who needed a bath a day as it was - was soaked so much his uniform was now stained with it, and yet he didn't care, the smell of sex was so heavy and alluring it was impossible to care.

 

He'd never pegged Kuchiki as a vocal lover, but as he began to rampantly fuck himself on Zaraki's penis it became evident he truly was. He was losing all the self-control he'd before had, giving into a moment of sheer freedom and abandoning the restraints of his daily life and the pain of duty, and instead was allowing himself to make the most beautiful expressions and noises. He'd mewl as his prostate was hit, moan as his penis was pumped hard, and all but scream the pleasure became to much, and in a haze of lust would find himself saying the name `Kenpachi' over and over again like a manta. It was as if that name could ground him, keep him safe and anchored in reality as his body lost itself to the planes of lust and love.

 

It was hard to say how long it had gone on for - ten minutes, twenty, thirty . . . all Zaraki knew was that this was one of the best fucks he'd had in his life, and with one of the most meaningful men he'd known. It wasn't even just that feeling of heaven, it was knowing it was Byakuya that he was feeling it with, knowing that it would be something forever shared between the two of them. Maybe he was growing soft in recent years, but he felt something for this man, something deep inside that made him want to repeat this experience and be with him outside of work, outside of fights and outside of even sex. The thought was not a good one, it made him question himself and his identity as the cold-hearted, bloodlust warrior, and so he picked up the pace and began to thrust up hard, powerful fucking Byakuya as much as he could.

 

“Oh Kenpachi!”

 

Suddenly he could feel Byakuya clenching down insanely tight around him, followed by his body going stiff and taut as he let loose a powerful scream that - by all rights - should have brought the manor running to them. He could only assume some smart-ass servant had sensed their reiatsu and heard them talking and fucking, warning everyone else not to interrupt their little session. His lover's mouth was wide to an extreme, as he held hard onto his shoulders, and suddenly a large sticky mess exploded over his fingers and onto his kosode. It would surely stain but as Byakuya thrust one final time he couldn't care less . . .

 

Not long after Zaraki found himself thrusting hard up into Byakuya, and bit down painfully into his lover's neck, drawing blood and marking him as his. The sheer wave of nirvana that echoed through every part of him was almost too much to bear, almost making him pass out cold where he sat, and he could feel himself unloading into that tight heat that was Byakuya. Wave after wave of come left him, leaving him wondering if it'd ever end or even if he'd came so much even in his teenage years, and eventually he felt it seep out over and onto his own balls and hakama. The afterglow was so overwhelming, amazing and fantastic that he collapsed backwards onto the floor and dragged Byakuya along with him, kissing him fanatically as if it were his first ever kiss, both of them moaning loudly despite it all being over.

 

Then - with a soft movement - Zaraki rolled them over and pulled out.

 

He looked down into Byakuya's eyes and smiled. The other man looked thoroughly sated and at peace, but more importantly he didn't show an ounce of regret and seemed to find a deep love from somewhere within him, looking at Zaraki with an expression of infinite kindness and desire. Zaraki couldn't remember ever being looked at that way, and - despite how he wanted not to - found himself grinning like a Cheshire cat and licking his lips in anticipation of a possible another go. He could see them perhaps working out long-term, they were completely compatible sexually so all that was left was to try things out romantically, if it worked out then after a while he could be a part of Kuchiki's life, and he could be a part of his and Yachiru's. The pleasure he felt at the thought of being with Byakuya was confusing, but not unpleasant, but who knew, maybe it was just the afterglow talking.

 

After a few moments Byakuya spoke: “I do believe you kicked out when you rolled us over, my yukata is now covered with ink, it is completely ruined.”

 

Zaraki blinked a few times before turning his head and looking behind him. He had indeed kicked over the inkwell, overturning it so that it left a large rectangular stain on the white fabric, and even knocking the ink stone itself all over the place so that large marks covered the poem and tatami. It amazed him that would be the first thing for Byakuya to comment on after such wild sex, but it just went to show the male's personality. Still, it was almost an insult that out of all the things the man could comment on, it had been a stained yukata.

 

“Huh,” He mumbled, “Yachiru was right, you really are a peacock.”

 

Byakuya's eyes twitched dangerously at this, and his former stoic expression came back so his smile was eradicated and his indifferent mask was replaced: “Speaking of Kusajishi-Fukutaichou, I must warn you that you're currently displaying yourself crudely and covered with semen on your clothing. This room is one of the few with a secret tunnel still attached, and the Female Shinigami Association meeting is very nearly finished, meaning that any moment Yachiru will be here to ask for some sweets before heading for home.”

 

“W-What? You're kidding?”

 

“Indeed I am not,” He said sternly, “You have five minutes before she arrives.”

 

Immediately Zaraki began to tuck away his member and frantically try to make himself look presentable, he was starting to panic when he couldn't wipe away the stains on his clothes or the ink markings on the floor, and after a minute or two seemed ready to have a meltdown. Byakuya however tried his best to hold back a smirk as he gracefully slid back on his soiled yukata, planning on disposing of it as soon as he'd had a fresh bath and found something new to wear.

 

Tomorrow he would find Zaraki and speak to him about the matter that had happened just moments ago, with any luck the other man would be open to beginning a relationship. Today however he simply found it amusing to see Zaraki in such an outright panicking state, even going so far as to quickly mumble a `thanks, that was great, but I have to go. Tomorrow we'll talk, okay?' before running out of the door, and away from the manor. The reason he found the whole scenario amusing was simple, firstly was that he was sure Yachiru was having a `sleepover' at one of the other female lieutenant's houses, and secondly that the secret tunnel to this room had been sealed and destroyed months ago. Zaraki did not need to know that however, after all it was much more fun this way . . .

 

Nobody called Kuchiki Byakuya a `peacock'.