Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ His Azure Eyes ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 4 )

Chapter Three

 

A/N: This was originally intended to be three chapters including the intro, but due to requests I have added one more. This story is now `complete', but I won't exclude the possibility of future chapters. Huge thank you to everyone who reviewed:

 

I haven't had time to proofread it all, so please forgive any minor errors.

 

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The progression of events had been altogether unexpected . . .

 

Life in the Seireitei typically evolved at a slow, leisurely pace where even the most urgent of events tended to have a way of drawing themselves out. Hisana's death had taken five long years, Ukitake-Taichou's illness - despite being fatal - had resided inside him since his time at the Soul Academy, and even Aizen Sosuke's betrayal had taken the better part of a century to come into effect. In the world of the living Byakuya understood the process of actions and reactions, where any deed committed would cause another deed to take place, and in the process - like ripples in water - a chain reaction would occur in which multitudes of people would be affected by one small choice.

 

His life was not like that. His life was one of stillness, solitude and structure, a life in which no matter how many stones one threw there would never be a ripple in the pond, never a splash in the water. When he had caused trouble as a youth his boyish nature was gradually worn down, until at last he was a Kuchiki and what could be proudly called a man, and when he had adopted Rukia no real words had been said and she had been absorbed into the family as if she had always been there. There was a part of him as a boy that wanted to be disciplined severely for his games of Shunpo-Tag with Yoruichi, or chastised for his choice in allowing Rukia into the family, and more than that a part of him longed to see consequences to his actions. He longed for the day in which his closeted life of monotony would yield something real and raw, something in which he could truly say he had made an impact on those around him, or they upon him. He was a Kuchiki, proud and controlled, and yet am immature side to his personality craved for some disorder, just to know that he would finally see those ripples on the pond's surface, just to know that for one moment in time he had caused something to occur that otherwise shouldn't. That he had an actual impact on the world.

 

It was true that this had occurred somewhat with the arrival of the Ryoka. It was a classic example of `be careful what you wish for', in which his very heart was torn asunder with the horrific pain of facing his sister's potential death. He was faced with the knowledge that he would watch her die as Hisana had died, that he would be unable to prevent it, knowing he was helpless yet again. That devastating feeling of inevitability hadn't been the only emotion to completely overwhelm him either, for when he felt the pain of losing a loved one the grief of his parents accompanied it, and the realisation he had made a promise to them in direct conflict with that of Hisana.

 

His parents had conceived him, carried him, born him, raised him, nurtured him, they had taught him everything about life and what it had meant to be a Kuchiki, and to them he owed his entire existence and soul. He had for them an unconditional love in which he could never hope to repay, his debt to them was simply too great, and so when they had died a part of him died too, leaving him with a gap that was too great to be filled. He had tried to mend things with a promise. He swore to them that he would never break a rule again, he would abide by the law and he would be everything a Kuchiki should be, he would be a role model for his people. It would be to him that the common men should look up to and aspire to be, knowing that he was a beacon of virtue and would never break a law or rule for as long as his life demanded it. He would honour his parents' memory by being everything they could ever want, and he would give his life to uphold that sacred image. He would make amends for his previous wrong against the family by doing this one deed, by keeping this one promise . . .

 

Then Rukia was to be executed.

 

It was a fate that on its own was devastating, enough to force him to shed tears in the privacy and sanctuary of his private bath, and enough to make him pray to Hisana and his ancestors for guidance and hope. He had came to love this girl as his sister, teaching her all he knew about nobility and conduct, teaching her to be all she could be whilst protecting her from harm and nurturing her abilities. She was a perfect child, a perfect teenager, a perfect woman and it was to Hisana that he had promised to protect her, to nurture her, to love her and to make sure she stayed perfect and stayed safe. He had promised to make sure Rukia would be free from pain, from harm, that he would love her always, and yet he could not fulfil his promise! He had reneged on the most sacred of promises and broken his word to the woman he had loved, and in turn betrayed his sister.

 

He could not save Rukia without breaking the law of the Seireitei, thus dishonouring his parents, but by leaving Rukia to die he was betraying his promise to Hisana to keep her safe. No matter what he chose he would be betraying someone he loved, he would be breaking a fundamental moral code! To let someone die was a sin, but to break a law was immoral, no matter what he did he would be damning his soul and committing a grave error, and even though his heart screamed at him to save Rukia, to do something to allow her to live, he did not. He chose to let her die. It was something so despicable that even Rukongai trash like Zaraki-Taichou and Ichimaru-Taichou had chosen to mock him; even they with their subhuman ethics and common ideals could see his sickening choice and error.

 

He couldn't even express his guilt, he couldn't even express his grief, for his clan demanded perfection and so he must retain a calm, collected façade and his expression must never falter. Inside his heart was breaking, his very foundational beliefs of what it meant to be human had been destroyed, he no longer knew who he was and what he stood for, and yet he could not express one ounce of it! To this day he did not understand how his fellow captains could bear to work alongside him, knowing that he was willing to sacrifice his own sister for the `greater good', and how Rukia could bear to look at him he did not know. Surely she must hate him for being so cold, indifferent, so unfeeling to her cause? He had looked her in the eye and told her she was to die, he hadn't even looked her way as she stood to be executed, and even though for both of those events he was moments away from screaming aloud in frustration . . . she would ever know. To her viewpoint he could be nothing but an emotionless monster, a shell of a man without a heart, and yet she still loved and adored him. Why?

 

The strange part to him was that despite his actions, despite Aizen's defection and the appearance of the Ryoka, despite how the entire Seireitei was thrown into chaos, his own life had not changed in the slightest. He was still head of his clan, he was still Captain of Squad Six, and he was still the idolised brother of Kuchiki Rukia, and nothing - nothing - had changed.

 

The rain from the clouds had not fallen, the ripples in the pond had not spread and the wind had not rustled the leaves in the trees: there was an action but not a reaction, there was progress but with a status quo, and there was that dichotomy of life that said `nothing shall touch Byakuya, but all shall touch his heart'. It was something he'd came to expect, the inevitability of nothing and the longing for something, he'd grown used to the yearning of his heart and knew well it would never be satisfied, and so he had stopped hoping for more in life. He knew not to expect love, desire, friendship or equality for these were things he could never obtain, and no matter how much he longed for companionship he knew his heart would always ache, for a Kuchiki must suffer eternal solitude, knowing no man or woman could ever touch them. So after all that had happened to him with Zaraki he had not expected anything to happen, expect perhaps a broken heart.

 

He had been wrong.

 

He remembered waking up the next morning feeling once more alone. He'd of course bathed after his encounter with Zaraki, then retired immediately to bed, sleep had come quickly and been exceptionally pleasant, but then morning came . . . There had been no arms wrapped around him, no breath massaging his neck, no warm words of gratitude. There had only been a cold room, cold sheets and a cold silence. He could remember feeling his heart clench and tighten, knowing his was completely alone and had allowed himself to be used, knowing that his fix for his heart had indeed been short-term and now he felt nothing but humiliation and repulse. He could imagine how Zaraki would hate him, mock him, laugh at his moment of weakness, and suddenly facing what would be a mortifying, humiliating Captain's meeting in little over two hours time had him terrified. He couldn't face that man! He couldn't! Not after all they had done, not after he had worn his heart on his sleeve and shown his most vulnerable state to a man who could not stand him . . .

 

The strange thing was his worry had been over nothing. He had barely set foot into the meeting room before Zaraki dragged him outside, lecturing him for playing an immature prank when they could have spent the night together, and then said he was meeting Kuchiki again that night whether he liked it or not. Byakuya had no idea whether to be furious or relieved! There was a part of him that longed for the touch, kindness and love of another, but at the same time how dare a low-life commoner speak to him in such a way? Zaraki had no right to make such demands! Yet . . . despite those demands Byakuya had allowed him access each night for a month into his manor, where every other night they would make love, train or simply sit in silence, absorbing whatever moment was between them.

 

He couldn't quite be sure what was happening between them, but he was certain that in his heart of heart's that they were a couple, however unofficial, secretive, and private they kept their relationship. It was impossible for him to believe that Zaraki loved him, and no matter what he felt for the other man he would never be allowed to have him as a lover, partner or husband, and so he could not say for certain where their relationship was headed. If Zaraki did not love him then his heart would no doubt eventually be broken once more, and yet if these few special moment together staved off his loneliness he was willing to bear it, even if that meant a devastating blow later. The pain he felt was too acute, too brutal not to allow a glimmer of hope into his life, for Zaraki indeed made his heart swell in a way he had not felt since Hisana, and he could only pray that these moments of joy would last. Yet what if Zaraki did love him? What then? He could surely not disobey his clan by allowing a ruffian to join their midst, and he could not be expected to help raise Yachiru when he was already in charge of Rukia. Could their relationship last or was it doomed, floating in the water like a fish without the soul to swim . . .

 

Indeed, it was all progressing much too quickly, so much so that he could not process his thoughts or feelings and nor could he say for certain just what it was Zaraki wanted, and so he was forced to take a day off to meditate silently at home, hoping that the peace would allow him to come to a conclusion. His fukutaichou understood well that Byakuya was not to be disturbed, and however worried (or not worried) Zaraki was he would not descend the Kuchiki Manor in the daytime, and so he was free to have a day of rest.

 

The only problem was it seemed no one had told that to Yachiru . . .

 

Currently he stood at the end of the main corridor in Kuchiki Manor, looking down the vast length to where the door to his bedroom stood, and although he wanted nothing more than to retire for a short period, to gather his thoughts and consider his situation, he could not. There was an obstacle in his way unlike any other, for it seemed that Yachiru - like the time she was given a scooter for her birthday - had decided to try out a new toy in his halls. It would not be possible to pass her until she had stopped or calmed down, he could of course Shunpo or keep close to the wall and skilfully evade her, but that would not be dignified; he was a Kuchiki, he must act like one.

 

The little fukutaichou of Squad Eleven was currently skating down the hall on an odd contraption, one he had once heard of from Hisana: roller skates. It was true she looked adorable as she bent in half, moving quickly with a large smile on her features and a true twinkle in her eyes, and the way she waved her arms and legs made it clear the infinite energy her age allowed her. Her cheeks were alight with a crimson flush, her little lips echoed out a giggling laughter, and each time she reached the end of the corridor she'd give a graceful spin and turn the other way for more fun. He admired the way her shihakusho bellowed in the breeze she created, found it cute how she'd drag her Zanpakuto behind her, and he was smiling inside at her innocence, naivety and youth. She was truly a breath of fresh air to his manor, a symbol of life and change, something special and sacred. Zaraki was lucky to have her as a daughter . . .

 

It was not possible however for him to express such a love for the girl, not when her wooden skates were leaving scratches on the floor, or her girlish laughs disturbed his peace. It did not matter how serenely cute she was this was still his home and he was still a noble, he had concerns that a mere child could not comprehend and an image to maintain she would not understand, and this behaviour simply would not do.

 

“Yachiru,” He said softly, not even flinching as she came within inches of him and barely came to a halt in time to avoid a collision, “I must ask what you think you are doing in the corridor of my manor.”

 

The little girl giggled lightly, her hand coming up to her lips to hide her laughter in a rather ladylike way, making Byakuya wonder where she had learnt such an elegant gesture. It certainly wasn't from her barbaric father, so perhaps it came from one of the female Shinigami at the Female Shinigami's Association? If so then perhaps the group had more of a beneficial element to its members than he once thought.

 

“I'm skating, silly!”

 

“I can see that,” He replied calmly, closing his eyes to allow his temper to stay reigned in and so no distractions could take place, “I believe you misunderstood my question. I meant to ask `why are you skating in this particular area?'”

 

“Oh, that's an easy question! Kenny got mad at Baldy for wrestling with Feathers in the admin room, so Baldy is trying to make Kenny happy again by making me happy too! He made me these wooden skates, they're lots of fun! Kenny said that because you're my new mommy you wouldn't mind if I played here.” She crossed her arms and gave a sharp pout, “There's not much room to play in the Eleventh division.”

 

“I see. Carry on . . .”

 

“Thanks, mommy!”

 

Byakuya gave a visible wince at her words and tried hard not to let his frustration show. It was hard to say if Yachiru was being purposely trying, saying such things to get a rise from him whilst knowing it would be impossible to discipline her without the wrath of Zaraki, or whether she was simply being innocent and sincere, saying what she said without any idea of the implications of her words. It didn't seem to matter either way what her motives were, for no sooner had he given her permission to carry on had she skated right down the corridor and out of sight, hopefully to torment some poor servant and to stay out of his hair.

 

It was indeed easy to rid oneself of Yachiru but her presence left an undeniable impact on a person, even after she herself had left. Her pranks were notorious amongst the Shinigami, such as purposely redistributing Soul Candy so as to humiliate those who used them, and her most frustrating prank of all which was the creation of secret tunnels and a swimming pool in his manor. Yet Soul Candies could be destroyed, pools could be destroyed, secret tunnels too could be destroyed, the humiliation of being called `mommy' by a child unrelated to him could not be destroyed.

 

The rage inside him now overtook his previous depression and doubts; in fact with each passing moment he could feel a fire in his veins that spoke of the need for unnecessary violence, a cloud of red over his eyes that impaired his judgement. It was a deep offence, and for that he desired compensation for this feeling. The very word had an implication of someone weak, feminine, submissive, it also implied a deep relationship with the child that required a great deal of responsibility and trust, and it would also send a message out that he was in an intimate relationship with the child's father. The implication that he was weak was a great insult, one that dealt a deep blow onto the pride of his clan, cutting deep into the flesh of a great and noble family, insulting not only himself but also his entire ancestry in the process. The implication that he had a parental bond with Yachiru was also an implication he wished to deny, for without the explicit consent that came with the father's permission to exert discipline and punishment he could not call himself a parent. Indeed it would mean that the outside world would look to him to exert an influence over the child which he could not, it would mean he would be unable to change her behaviour whilst the world looked to him to do so, it would mean being humiliated at a deep level for failing as a father, a job at which he never asked to have. Yet worst of all was the fact - by that one word alone - she had associated him with Zaraki Kenpachi . . .

 

To his knowledge this was the first ever time she had addressed him by that term, and to his knowledge she had only been told of their relationship but yesterday, that meant that she had not yet had the time to refer to him by such a ridiculous word to any one else. That was so far a small relief. The problem lay in that should she say such a thing to him outside of this confined environment there would no doubt be hell to pay, for at once the whole of Seireitei would know of their relationship, they would know that the great Kuchiki Byakuya was intimate with the demon Kenpachi.

 

How could he possibly reveal to the world his feelings for that man? Zaraki Kenpachi was a brute of a creature, living solely to lust himself on the blood of others, killing the previous captain for his title, and uncaring about the delicacies of etiquette and respect. He was a common man from the Rukongai, poor and pathetic, and whilst it had been a great dishonour for him to marry Hisana she had been from one of the better areas, not from the furthest most region of that hellish place. If he were to be seen courting Zaraki his family would be shamed, he would bring great dishonour to his clan, and he would lose all respect. Indeed how would he face his men? How could Kuchiki Byakuya stand as captain when he could not even stand as head of the Kuchiki family? He was already sullying himself, dirtying himself, by allowing the touches and caresses of Zaraki, but to openly admit their relationship to the world, to allow this man and his daughter into his life . . . it would require a change in his outlook, betraying his family's expectations, humiliating himself in front of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. It would require him to lose his identity, to forego everything he stood for, to become somebody else. It would mean lowering himself, and that was something he was unsure he could do . . .

 

Yet what would it mean if he were to deny himself the right to see Zaraki? He may hate himself for feeling such things but he could not deny loving the man. There was a certain rugged charm about Kenpachi in his looks, the way he could smile and yet still retain a hint of danger and passion, or the way he always appeared so masculine and domineering in a way that the softer, pampered Kuchiki could not. He most of all loved being treated as an equal and not being put on a pedestal, he enjoyed the conversations they had and the language of the common man, the way he could say freely what was on his mind and not worry of how it may appear, it was indeed a freedom unlike any other. He could truly be himself around the older man, for what did a commoner care about etiquette, appearances, customs or traditions? It didn't matter about honorifics, if what he said was acceptable, if his opinions would be an influence on others, or even if he held his hands wrong whilst drinking tea, or sat in an inappropriate position. Zaraki only cared about the basic necessities, providing someone treated him with respect he couldn't care about the little details, and perhaps that was the way it should be? It allowed Byakuya to have a freedom he'd never in his life had before, it allowed him to just be himself, whoever that self was . . .

 

It was a deep conflict, one he'd experienced often in his life, one that came with the duties and responsibilities of being a noble, a captain and a man. Did he sacrifice his desire for Kenpachi to please those around him, or did he reject the proper traditions expected of him in order to achieve true happiness? He was head of his clan, no one could disown him for his decision, and yet it was deeply rooted in him to make the right decisions, to do what was best for his people. Would it be hypocritical to try and merge a new life with an old? Would it be wrong to be with a commoner, perhaps to even marry him, whilst still clinging to old traditions and ways? Was it even possible to combine the two?

 

Byakuya drew in a deep but silent breath and began to slowly march to his room. The sudden quiet was only broken for a moment by Yachiru skating once more along the halls, breezing past him quickly enough so that she ruffled his scarf and haori in passing. He glanced down at her and watched her move with a smile, feeling a spark inside himself of both joy of her happiness but worry should he speed cause injury to herself, it was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, but one that caused him to almost glow inside. Was this truly a maternal feeling? Had Zaraki seen a part of him that he had not recognised until this moment, a part that sought to protect and nurture a being younger than him? No. What foolishness. He was being sentimental, not maternal, and as a Kuchiki he should recognise that and chastise himself for such an unfitting emotion . . . and yet he couldn't help but issue forth the warning that came out of his mouth, as if something had compelled him to say it.

 

“Watch your speed, Yachiru,” He said loudly, refusing to even turn around to give her eye contact, “Should you crash into an object you may cause yourself pain and break something of value, I trust you to be careful.”

 

“Aw, but Baldy says its okay to break stuff, he says we can just replace it!”

 

“Baldy -,” He clenched his hands firmly and tried not to growl at his mistake. This girl was truly a bad influence on him, “Madarame-san is not in charge of this manor. Many of these items can not be replaced, and therefore you shall not break them, if you do I may be forced to remove all sugary foods from your presence.”

 

“Aw, no fair! I'm telling Kenny!”

 

He waited a few moments for the sounds of her to die away before continuing his walk to his room. He was certain he could feel the familiar pangs of a migraine coming on, the sharp pain in his temples and the nauseous feeling in his stomach, along with very mildly blurred vision which would no doubt evolve into temporary blindness should he overriding stress continue.

 

Upon reaching his bedroom he slowly opened the door and slid inside, closing the door firmly behind him, relishing the fact that - alone in the sanctuary of his private sphere - he could finally just be himself, act as he wished, and worry about no one save himself. His room was bare save from the necessities but that was just the way he wanted and needed things, it meant that there was no distractions, no unnecessary items to draw away his attention from important matters; this was a room solely for meditation and sleep. It would be here he could finally focus on the issues that mattered to him, it would be here he could think things through alone and come to some sort of resolution, where he could finally say `this is what I want'. To just be able to say those words would be heavenly for him, a huge relief and a weight off of his shoulders, to just make that decision whether Zaraki would or would not be in his life, be a part of it as much as Rukia or Renji were. He longed so much for a clear-cut answer, if someone could just tell him with certainty `this is what you must do' he would have perhaps cried tears of gratitude, but as it was it was up to him and him alone. No one could make this decision for him, and for that he hated himself. It was a burden, a duty, a responsibility, and how could he expected to bear such a heavy weight alone?

 

It was with a sigh that he turned around to retire to his bed, and it was with another heavy sigh that he caught sight of Kenpachi lying in said bed. The man was thankfully fully dressed in his uniform, complete with Zanpakuto tucked into his side, and he was grinning at Byakuya with a smile that spoke of power and amusement, and it was a look that Byakuya did not approve of.

 

What right did this man have - lover of his or not - to enter his private domain without explicit permission and to lie on his bed? This was his personal space, a space set aside for his use and his use only, and this man - this commoner - had intruded upon it and contaminated it, marking it with his presence in a way that was not acceptable. If Kenpachi had asked for permission then Byakuya would certainly not have denied him, for this man was his lover and his companion, if they were to possibly make a future together there could be no secrets and all must be shared, but as it was this was nothing but a mark of disrespect and dishonour. It was a sign that Zaraki had not considered his feelings, had not cared for his opinion or privacy, and the way he grinned as if to say `it's nothing' goaded a feeling of anger inside Byakuya that he longed to act on. He could not help but wonder if he had entered Zaraki's private rooms what would have happened, would the man have been hypocritical and demanded a duel, or would he have been understanding and kept this same smile on his features?

 

Byakuya at once bristled and tore his line of sight away from Zaraki. He focused instead upon a small Buddha statue in the far corner of his room, one that he often used as a figure of inspiration in the lonelier hours of his life, reassuring himself that Hisana's karma and pure spirit would have led her to a greater life than what he had offered her. He gently removed his scarf and folded it neatly, placing it gently on a small table beside the door, before taking off his haori and placing it carefully on top so that his numbered insignia was on show.

 

“Yachiru is looking for you.” He said coldly to Kenpachi.

 

Zaraki gave a short, rough laugh as he shifted his position on the bed. He raised his leg to use it as a place to rest his arm, but his movement caused his Zanpakuto to get in the way, and so - with a forceful, aggressive movement - he removed his sword and threw it carelessly across the room. Byakuya didn't even blink at the noise of metal clashing hard on the tatami mats, but he did issue forth a sharp look of exasperation towards his lover. How in the world did that man ever hope to speak to his Zanpakuto and learn its name when he couldn't treat it with an ounce of respect?

 

“Heh,” Zaraki grunted, shifting again to get comfortable, “She won't find me. Ayasegawa is collecting her in a few minutes to take her to the pound, told her she could get a dog, so thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and punish my fifth seat by making him take her. I've asked him to stop by Komamura's too; hopefully Yachiru can cause him some trouble by wanting to take him home. Bastard.”

 

“How thoughtful of you.”

 

“That sarcasm I hear? Anyone would think you weren't happy to see me.” Zaraki beamed brightly at his own words, his lips parting to reveal teeth that seemed more predatory than they should, “Can't a guy check up on his boyfriend when he takes a day off work? Got to make sure you're alive, I can't fuck a dead man after all.”

 

“Oh? `Boyfriend'? `Man'? Are sure you do not mean to refer to me as a girlfriend or perhaps as a woman?”

 

Zaraki could recognise that pissed-off tone anywhere, it was the exact same tone that Yumichika took with Ikkaku when they were having some sort of lover's tiff, and it was a tone Zaraki hated. If you were fucking angry with someone then why couldn't you just tell him or her like a man? The people who beat around the bush, who used sarcasm or irony, those who hid what they felt were cowards, people too afraid to just come out with what they felt or wanted. He hated those people, and besides it was just so much easier to be honest. He wasn't a mind-reader, the last month between them had been filled with training, fucking, conversation and love-making, if he was expected to just know what was wrong when it all seemed to be fine, then Byakuya was a goddamned idiot and a moron.

 

“Do I?” Zaraki grunted, “Last time I checked you were all man, so unless there's something you're not telling me, Kuchiki, then I'm pretty sure you're my fucking boyfriend. So if you got a problem man up and tell me, because at the minute you're acting like a menstrual woman.”

 

Okay, judging by the twitch in Byakuya's eyes that was probably the wrong thing to say, but he wasn't going to lie to the guy he liked or use a bunch of pretty words to make his statement seem nicer, he was going to tell it to Byakuya like it was and screw the consequences. The way Zaraki saw it the guy was either mature enough to grow up and talk things out or he wasn't, hopefully it was the former but he could deal with the latter if he had to, in fact it could be fun to get into a fist-fight with an equal even if it was over something so petty . . . then again any excuse to fight was a good one. He loved the passion of fighting, the adrenaline, the desperation, the emotion; he loved the thrill most of all and to feel that with someone he loved was the best kind of fight, as long as it wasn't a fight to the death of course.

 

He wasn't sure why but for some reason a fight with Byakuya didn't really seem worth it, not at that particular moment anyway. It was strange because like he'd said he loved to fight, especially his sparring with his lover, but he knew Byakuya was pissed off like some teenage girl who'd caught her sister wearing her favourite dress, and the fact the guy he was supposed to love could be such a freaking immature wimp pissed him off. It meant that if they headed into a fight he couldn't guarantee he'd hold back, and the last thing he wanted was to do serious damage . . . Huh, that was new, doing damage to his opponent was what he lived for! Why was it that Byakuya was different, why was it with this man he wanted to hold back and refrain from hurting him? He had to be going soft, maybe he should start a fight just for the hell of it, just to remind himself that he was a man and not a mouse, that it didn't matter whether he fought Byakuya or cut him in two, because what mattered was the battle and not the people. Still, for some reason something held him back, and he yearned to hold Byakuya and find out what was wrong, even beat it out of him, but the thought of killing him wasn't there. It was hard to comprehend. Maybe this was what love was, not wanting to kill the other person even when they were acting like pissed, little bitches.

 

“If you must know,” Byakuya said softly, carefully placing Senbonzakura on its allocated rack on an alter opposite the bed, “Yachiru told me something rather interesting. It seems you have told her I am her new `mommy'.”

 

“That's what got you so worked up?” Zaraki grunted loudly and rolled his eyes, “Fine. I'll get her to call you `father' instead. Even a noble like you can't complain about that.”

 

“What if I do find a complaint with that?”

 

“What? You want her to add `sama' on the end of it, like that weird sister of yours? It's always `onii-sama' this and `onii-sama' that. Heh! What kind of moron shows anyone that level of respect, especially some bratty brother? You need to teach that kid some backbone, Kuchiki.”

 

“You miss my point.” Byakuya replied harshly, “It is not the term she uses but the meaning behind it. I do not think it appropriate that she refers to me as `mommy', `father' or any other word which implies a parental relationship with her.”

 

“Oh, I get it . . .”

 

He watched as Byakuya carefully removed his uniform. His back was turned so that Zaraki was unable to see his face, but he was left with a perfect view of flawless, porcelain skin as his lover allowed each item of his uniform to slide slowly and sensuously off his limbs, each item falling gracefully like water droplets cascading down a smooth surface. The view was spectacular, to see his lover naked only feet away from the bed they so often made love in, that long and lithe body and those firm, muscular buttocks, it was a sight many men would pay to see.

 

Had this little show have happened at any other time then Zaraki would have admitted to being fully aroused, probably even going so far as throwing his lover down on the bed then and there and pounding him unconscious, but as it was that was the furthest thing from his mind. He may have been nothing but a dirty `commoner', but he knew enough about nobility to realise what they said was never what they actually mean, and the offence he felt at Byakuya's words made his heart beat faster, his shoulders tighten and his eyes narrow. He could feel that flood of adrenaline coursing through his blood, he could feel that shot of the drug that always forced his body into the movements of battle, urging him to defend, protect and dominate. The anger was already seeping into his mind, clouding his judgements, blocking his common sense, and the fury and feeling of protectiveness that overcome him was enough to make him want to leap off the bed and punch that prick in the face then and there.

 

Only one thing stopped him from that surge of violence he'd be unable to take back, and that was his love for Byakuya. He may have hated him at that moment, loathed and despised him, but he knew if he raised a single fist to the man it'd be `abuse' and that Byakuya would not easily forgive him, and for some reason the thought of going a long time without him - even a lifetime - pissed him off more than that one short moment of anger itself. This was a problem that could be fixed, but if he were to take a physical shot at that cocky Kuchiki it'd be a relationship broken for good.

 

The problem was it didn't help that Byakuya could strut around naked as he searched for a yukata to wear, even bending down to the low shelves of his antique wardrobes indecently, as if trying to seduce Zaraki. It wasn't that it aroused Zaraki or made his lover irresistible, it was that Byakuya was trying to manipulate him. He was trying to dodge the issue, dodge the offence he'd just caused, and try and make Zaraki forget with the promise of hot sex to come. In fact there was a word for that: whorish. It made Byakuya - in his opinion - look cheap, shallow and superficial, thinking with a mentality that `if I seduce him he'll forget', thinking that sex would solve it all. Well, sometimes it did, sometimes when you were single a quick and pointless fuck solved a lot, but with the person you loved you expected something deeper and more meaningful, you expected honesty and to solve your problems and not just temporally gloss over them with a makeshift band-aid or sex. It was offensive enough that Byakuya thought so little of Zaraki that he'd fool for it, even worse to see his lover demeaning himself by acting like a whore, just to avoid an important issue.

 

The thing was that by denying Yachiru the right to call Byakuya `father', `mother' or even just a parent, he was doing two things: he was undermining their relationship and he was insulting his daughter too.

 

He could forgive the first one. Zaraki and Byakuya had been `dating' for the past month, and although Zaraki was pretty happy he would admit that their relationship had been top secret from the others, and he'd admit that that pissed him off. Okay, so he was a commoner, he fucking got that already! He knew that Kuchiki couldn't be seen to be dating him, it's dishonour his clan and ruin his name and all that other stuff, but after a month of sleeping together, training together and getting to know each other it was kind of like `leading him on'. Byakuya was doing everything a man in love would do, saying all the things a man who wanted a long-term relationship would say, and who could fault Zaraki if he'd assumed that had meant the man had wanted more? Any rational being would assume they were in a serious relationship together.

 

It didn't matter though, they'd never really sat and discussed where things were going, and Kuchiki had been honest about his snobbery and prejudices from the very start, so if Kuchiki didn't want to be the `mommy' to Zaraki's `daddy' then fine. It wasn't as if he could expect a nobleman to want to be seriously in a relationship with a commoner, and if he wanted to carry on with the behind-the-scenes relationship then fine, let him. Zaraki could wait a while, but he certainly wasn't the type for games, so if Kuchiki really couldn't get his act together then he would be gone in a flash. However that did not - under any means - excuse the slight to Kusajishi Yachiru.

 

By refusing to let the girl think of him as a parent it kind of denied his relationship with Zaraki, because - after all - you had two parents and everyone knew Zaraki was Yachiru's, so anyone else who was a parent to Yachiru had to be close or intimate to Zaraki. It was implied, because that's how `parents' worked. However it was so much more than just that . . .

 

No one knew or suspected that Byakuya and Zaraki were an item, meaning that if Yachiru suddenly started calling Byakuya `mommy' they'd assume a lot of things; maybe the girl was desperate for a role-model she could relate to, maybe she had an odd girlish crush on the man, or maybe Byakuya had been on so many missions recently with her father she'd come to see them as a `pair'. The idea that the two men were an item would be the very last thing people assumed. In fact Yachiru was even prone to calling a few of the female Shinigami `aunt' at times, and no one ever objected to that, so if Byakuya was suddenly all pissed off it was because of one thing: he was a noble and Yachiru wasn't.

 

That was what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Yachiru just wasn't good enough to be associated on any level with that goddamned Kuchiki clan! Byakuya saw himself as a noble, as an intelligent man with pursuits in calligraphy and who enjoyed moonlit walks, a man whose one scarf cost more than a guy like Zaraki could earn in a year. He was a man who looked down on the `Rukongai scum' despite having a sister from there, a lieutenant from there, fellow captains from there. To him Yachiru wasn't refined enough, smart enough or polite enough. To a man like Byakuya she was just a hyperactive, snot-nosed brat who caused trouble and lacked `breeding', and no doubt even if a noble like Kira, Shihoin or Kuchiki had raised her she still wouldn't be good enough, she'd still be the brat from common blood. Would he deny it? If he outright said to Byakuya `you think you're better than Yachiru, don't you? That's why you don't want her calling you it?' what would his lover say? Ha! He knew exactly what he'd say, and the very thought pissed him off!

 

Yachiru was his little girl. She may have came from so-called `common' stock but she was twice the person that Byakuya was, after all could he master his Zanpakuto to a lieutenant level before he'd even hit puberty? Could he gain the respect of a squad full of adult men before he was even an adult himself? Yachiru was kind-hearted, generous and a brilliant daughter, even when she was jealous of that Ryoka riding on his shoulder or annoyed at Ikkaku for insulting her, she could still act with grace and respect. He had no doubts that one day she'd be a fine captain, a wonderful woman, and she may even make it into a noble family herself and throw the rules of the Seireitei onto its head! No one - no one - insulted his little girl and lived, not even his damned lover and `boyfriend'.

 

“Say what's on your mind, Kuchiki,” Zaraki growled, sitting upright so that he was now cross-legged and glaring at his partner as he removed that stupid hairpiece of his! “What's really the issue here? It can't be the gender reference as I said I'd fix that, I said I'd get her to call you `father' instead. So what is it? Say it. Go on: say it to me! You don't think she's good enough, do you? You think we're both Rukongai scum, you just don't want to `soil' your name by being associated with her on a personal level! Well! Is that it? Is it?”

 

If he wasn't watching Byakuya so closely he might have missed the visible wince. His partner's shoulders and head actually moved slightly in pain of those words, and in his three-quarter profile it was clear how pale his skin had become and how his eyes had became almost sunken. In fact the yukata he had finally chosen was being clutched so tightly in his hands it seemed sure to crease, if not rip, he held it firmly against his chest as his head bent low and his hair cascaded in waves all around his face. When he turned he seemed like a broken angel and Zaraki suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, it was an emotion he couldn't understand at all, surely if anyone should be guilty it should be Byakuya? Everything Zaraki said he meant and he had a right to say it too! It was Byakuya who was in the wrong, so like hell would he let himself be manipulated into feeling like he was the wrong one, he just wouldn't.

 

“Well, go on and say it.” He snapped again, “I want to hear it from your lips. I want to hear why it pisses you off so much to hear Yachiru call you `mommy', why it hurts you that a kid might actually look up to you and like you, and why you'd deny a child that.” He curled his lip harshly and snarled out, “Her parents died right before her eyes, when I first met her she was alone in a sea of corpses, the first thing she did when she came out of hiding was touch the blood of my enemy, and you want to deny her the right to a mother-figure. You would really deny her that? You make me sick.”

 

Byakuya replied so quietly he might not have spoken at all . . .

 

“Speak up, Kuchiki. I can't hear you.”

 

“I said it's not what you think.”

 

Zaraki could almost believe him. Those words were so broken, lost, almost as if they were spoken by a man greeted with grief, or recited by a child with the weight of the world on their shoulders. It was a heavy, low sound with an almost unheard cackle to it, as if its owner was due to break into tears. To see the great Byakuya Kuchiki so heartbroken was a rare sight for Zaraki, and he knew not one living person had ever seen him like this, so emotionally naked and vulnerable, it was a testament to how much the noble trusted him and how far their relationship had come in such a short amount of time. Here Byakuya stood nude, his heart on his sleeve, and completely exposed in every way in front of his lover. He no longer stood as a noble, as a captain, as head of his clan, instead he stood as a mere man silently asking for understanding and patience.

 

In his hands the fabric he held rustled lightly, his grip on it becoming impossibly tight as he unconsciously wrapped it around his fists and raised it higher to where his heart beat. On closer look it appeared to actually be a fine, rich kimono of probably priceless worth, its dark blue colour was so vibrant that it seemed to light up the room, and for the first time ever Zaraki noticed just how much that the colour of ocean blue could complement his lover. On the hem and along the edges were flowers he could recognise as being the symbol of Squad Six and the symbol of the Kuchiki clan, and the main design itself seemed to be of silver and pink threads revealing images of dragons and cranes, both flying side-by-side in harmony. The size of the thing was large enough for an adult, but it certainly wasn't meant for a man, in fact it would have barely fit Byakuya should he have tried it on. What he was doing with a woman's kimono, and such a formal and elegant one, Zaraki had no idea.

 

“I admit that I was offended and humiliated by the term `mommy',” Byakuya confessed, raising the kimono to his face so that he could bury his face upon it, almost as if it was an item of comfort in the same way a child would often have a blanket or teddy, “It had strong connotations of someone feminine, submissive and weak. You were willing to change that to `father' and that did ease my feelings somewhat, but as I said my main complaint was not with her wording but the meaning of the words themselves.”

 

“Just spit it out, will ya?”

 

Byakuya sighed and carefully began folding the kimono in his arms; “If I must be truthful with you then I shall. A part of me finds it frustrating to be given a title but with none of the responsibilities that come with it, it means nothing to be called a father if I cannot act as one. Yachiru is a sweet girl but not without her flaws, if I was to be called her father I would want to act as one also, that would include teaching her, nurturing her and in particular disciplining her. Today I told her not to break anything, she merely told me that Madarame-san said it was fine and that she was to complain directly to you.” He gently placed the folded kimono on a bare but clean shelf in his wardrobe and stroked it with his long fingers, “How must it look to the outside world when a father cannot even discipline his own child?”

 

Zaraki smirked. So that's what had Byakuya's hair in a knot? He was just pissed off that he couldn't treat Yachiru the same way that Zaraki had a right to. It was kind of . . . cute in a way, showing that the Ice Queen did have some paternal/maternal instinct, that he really did think of the hyperactive child in some loving, familial way. It kind of warmed his own heart with pride, it was as if his own little daughter could bring about a sense of protectiveness and parental instinct even within the coldest of adults, and it showed a power in her that most of his men didn't have. Not that they needed to be `cute' in order to win peoples' hearts, hell no, then he'd have a wimpy-ass squad like those idiots from Squad Four, but it still made him proud that his little girl could have such an affect of people, that she could be so well liked. It was probably true, when he got older he'd have to keep the men away with violence just to keep her protected from that lecherous lot, that's if she didn't already have them wrapped around her little finger.

 

“Heh,” He replied with a large smile, “That's what's got you so worked up? You want to be a real father to her? If I didn't intend to give you those same rights then I wouldn't have told her to call you `mommy' in the first place, as far as I'm concerned you're welcome to -.”

 

“There is more.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “Of course there is . . .”

 

Byakuya pulled his hand away from the soft fabric and turned to fully face his lover, but the moment his fingertips came away from the kimono a visible mask of pain came over him. His lips seemed to pull downwards, his eyes became downcast and his body became lifeless, it was as if his naked form had been drained of every last ounce of energy it had, as if they strange piece of attire had stolen a part of his very soul, as if he had nothing more left to give. When he walked around the western-style bed it was as if another man had possessed Byakuya's body. He still walked gracefully, respectfully and like how you'd expect a nobleman too, but something was off, and Zaraki couldn't help but notice how it seemed as if his lover was dragging his body slightly, as if his limbs were too heavy to carry or his body was too much of a burden to bear.

 

It was strange to see the rich man acting so down on his luck, and Zaraki wasn't quite sure what to think or say, he was usually brimming with confidence but after seeing Byakuya like this there was a fear that any harsh word would break the man, and if he said anything kind and soft then it'd be like a lie, he'd be pretending to be someone he wasn't, and that was just as much as an insult as any harsh word could ever be.

 

He watched carefully as Byakuya rounded the left side of the bed and stood by Zaraki's side, at any other moment in time he would have definitely been lusting after the man, he was standing facing the wall so that he stood profile to Zaraki but his crotch was right at eye-level and considering how he was still naked . . . Heh, maybe after a whole month Zaraki had finally taught him to ditch the modesty and be comfortable around him, that honesty and openness were acceptable around people you loved, that if you truly trusted someone then you had nothing to hide. It was a nice thought, much nicer than accepting the most probably truth, that his boyfriend was just too upset to care about anything such as appearances, or where he stood, or what implications it had. In fact it was most likely true that he was only ignoring his usual airs and graces because he was upset, made obvious by how his hands were clutching at the bedside table and how his body was slightly hunched over as if in pain. His eyes were clenched shut and his hair was slowly falling over his shoulders to obscure his face and expression, his whole demeanour speaking of the seriousness of what was to come.

 

“That kimono was Hisana's.” Byakuya said in a voice as soft as silk. “You may not know this but our noble family has a tradition stemming back for generations. When one of our clan marries the bride's kimono is saved and treasured, then on the day that the couple's firstborn child comes into the world we wrap that child in the wedding kimono, and it is in that cloth to which we introduce that child to the family, other noblemen and to any visitors who come on that day. The idea is that the wedding kimono symbolises love and fertility, it symbolises a union between two souls that brought about the existence of that child, for that child to wear such an item on the day of its birth means that throughout its life it shall be imprinted with those qualities. It shall grow up as a harmonious person who shall one day enter a marriage of its own, have a child of its own and repeat the tradition that it encountered at birth.

 

“You may know that Hisana, unfortunately, was unable to bear any children of her own. Therefore she decided to save her wedding kimono for Rukia, so that she may wear it on the day of her own marriage, but Hisana was a sentimental and loving woman, and so she decided to leave a special gift of her own . . . She decided to use her own money, her own skills and her own servants to create a beautiful kimono anew, one of her own design, and when it was done she entrusted it to me.

 

“If I were to take a bride then that bride's kimono would be the one our child would wear, and so the kimono she made was to be for my bride to wear, as a final gift from Hisana, a symbol of her blessing and her support. If I were to take a husband - even a great oaf of commoner -” Zaraki rolled his eyes again. Only Byakuya could insult someone in the same breath as he told a story of beauty and undying love, “- then my husband would of course not wear a feminine kimono on our wedding day, and so our child should wear the one she custom made by hand. She was ill for the full five years of our marriage, getting worse with each passing hour, and so it is safe to say her blood, sweat and tears went into the making of that fine piece of clothing. When I lift it to my lips I can smell her sweet perfume even now. I shall be honoured for any child of mine to wear it.”

 

Zaraki could sense a `but' coming.

 

The story was indeed sweet, back in the Rukongai life was short and brutal, any length of time you could spend with a loved one was cherished and so, despite his manly and brutish appearance, he could appreciate the sentiment. He could appreciate how someone could love another so much that they were willing to do one final deed to show that, that they would try to do anything they could so that their spirit would live on, reminding those around them of that feeling they had. He would admit that he had no idea how those people expressed love, they had no money to buy or make gifts and it wasn't as if he was the loving sort to ever need to express that emotion, in fact the only person he'd ever loved until joining the Seireitei was Yachiru. That was an easy love to express, but something like what Hisana must have felt was a mystery to him, something so abstract and obscure he couldn't comprehend it fully, he could only have a vague idea of what it meant. It was kind of like a foreign song, you could hear the tune and understand the basic emotion, but the complexities were lost on an ear that wasn't tuned to it. He was a commoner, sure, but surely love was love?

 

“I have told you this story for a reason, Kenpachi,” Came Byakuya's lonely voice, “That kimono I just retrieved was the one made by Hisana. You see I looked upon that kimono a few nights ago; I looked upon it and thought of giving it to Yachiru when she was older. I actually thought of giving it away . . .”

 

Even a commoner like Zaraki could figure out what was going on in that nobleman's heart. He himself had once had someone he loved and lost, someone whom meant enough to him that he'd named his daughter after them, and so he knew the feeling of what it meant to give something away of theirs, something that wasn't rightfully yours to give. `Yachiru' was not a name he had claim to, it was the name of the one he'd cared for, and the day he had given that name to Yachiru he had felt an overwhelming sense of honour and pride for that little girl, but also a sense of guilt. It had been as if he had betrayed her namesake, giving away something of theirs that wasn't really his, and most of all it was like he was giving something up, letting them go, and it was a pain that no one ever really got used to. Not only that but names were special to Zaraki, they meant an identity, a purpose, that someone loved you enough to give you a meaning by defining you with a name. It had felt like by giving Yachiru someone else's name he'd taken that away from someone, and it wasn't a nice feeling at all.

 

It had taken him a long while to figure out that it wasn't names, objects or the such that made up a person, that kept them alive, it was their memory living on inside you. In the Rukongai memories were all people had, and so he figured Byakuya giving up that stupid kimono was probably the same as him giving up that name.

 

“I get it.” Zaraki said calmly, “You think highly of Yachiru and you love her, you wanted to show her how highly you thought of her by giving her something that's precious to you. You think that by doing that though you're betraying your wife's memory, that you're probably replacing her or forgetting her by letting items that were once hers slip through your fingertips. Am I right?”

 

Byakuya nodded silently.

 

Zaraki may have been a brute bent on bloodlust, but he still could occasionally utter some nuggets of wisdom that revealed truth to the adage `still waters run deep', and sometimes his empathy could be so profound that one had to wonder how someone of his background could ever have came across it. He had heard from Renji a story from Madarame-san about Zaraki's words to him when they first met, he had even heard from that Kurosaki boy what words had been spoken to him during his first battle with Zaraki, but never had he truly believed the man actually capable of such wisdom his followers proclaimed of him. He had certainly not believed Zaraki capable of empathy with a noble, especially not when battle wasn't concerned.

 

“Kuchiki, where I come from we don't have long with the people we care about, and we learn a simple truth,” Zaraki cracked his neck and casually turned around so that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the floor, “Love isn't anything more than time spent with a person. You spent every minute with that woman, right? Well that was love. She was a commoner like me, you didn't even have to get with her in the first place, and when she got sick you could have easily dumped her ass, but you didn't. The fact you stuck by her probably meant a lot to her. She knew you loved her and you should know she loved you, else she wouldn't have trusted you with Rukia or made that stupid kimono, am I right? So suck it up, Kuchiki. You aren't betraying her; you're just letting her move on, you're letting yourself move on. That ain't a betrayal, that's just life.”

 

“You speak so crudely and yet I am loathe to admit a grain of truth to those words.”

 

“There you go again. Can't you ever compliment someone without throwing in an insult too? Stuck-up scum.” He slowly stood up and turned around so that although Byakuya's back was to him he was facing his lover completely, “Listen here Kuchiki, you nobles have to produce an heir, that's life, so when little Byakuya Junior is born give them the damned kimono. It's enough that you've freaking let Yachiru into your life, that you were even willing to share your home with her and let her make adjustments. You're always carrying sweets around for her too and you just admitted she's a daughter to you. So forget the kimono, use it as it was intended, your daughter won't mind one bit.”

 

They still had a long way to go . . . It was obvious that Byakuya still was battling with grief and depression, that everything he did he had to relate back to his wife and ask for approval from a ghost of his past, but it was also obvious he had deep feelings for Zaraki too. He also loved Yachiru and it was obvious now, from his actions and intent, that he wanted to be a father to her too and - even if they ever broke up - he'd still continue to be an influence in her life. In fact Byakuya would probably be open enough after this little `heart-to-heart' to let his little girl call him `father' (or most likely `daddy') in public. So in a way they were already like a family, their only problem came with Byakuya's inner conflict: duty or love, his clan or his lover. Unfortunately that was a problem the noble brat had to work out for himself, even if he did choose Zaraki there was no reason that the clan wouldn't learn to accept him like they did Hisana, or why they couldn't have a Kuchiki heir of their own, so it was just up to Byakuya. He had to make his own choice, he had to be a fucking man and stand on his own two feet, make up his own mind and pick which path he wanted to follow, and personally Zaraki had a feeling that whatever he chose the results would be very interesting.

 

He carefully came to rest his large, calloused hands on his lover's bare shoulders, holding the flesh firmly under his fingertips as he tried to massage away some of the stress, release some of that burden that made his lover's skin tighten. His digits seemed to work magic on Byakuya as at once he began to calm and relax, his body softening into the touch, he even seemed to lean back for more as his head fell to once side, his long black locks sliding down his back to leave his long column of neck bare. Kenpachi was certain there wasn't a more beautiful sight in all of the Seireitei, and when - after a few minutes - he felt Byakuya's hands covering his own, gently caressing the backs of his hands, he smiled. It wasn't a grin or a smirk, but a true and sincere smile of desire and affection, and he was grateful that the noble had his back to him, because he'd be damned if he let him see him with a smile on his face, he'd be mocked for sure and no one mocked Zaraki Kenpachi.

 

He pulled back away from Byakuya quickly. It was a soft movement so as not to alarm his lover, not to think he was pulling away in revulsion or contempt, and he made sure not to move more than a foot away so that the damned nobleman would be know that Zaraki wasn't leaving him, that he was only taking a step back to make the moment easier on them both.

 

Truthfully his reasons for meeting Byakuya were originally not so pure, he'd been aware that his lover had taken the day off from work and wanted to take advantage of that in his break, hoping for things to lead into something physical, with things as they now were his motivation for being here had changed. Of course with a handsome, young, naked man before him he still had the urge for sex, but there was something more to it that was hard to place. Byakuya was hurting, he had opened his soul in a way that nobles were forbidden from doing, showing emotion he wasn't supposed to have, and that showed a hell of lot of trust in Zaraki, trust he didn't intend to break. In fact knowing that the other man could feel such trust, affection and loyalty to him just made seeing him in pain all the more awkward and uncomfortable, it made him want to do something to make it better, but what he had no idea. He knew sparring tended to cheer up Ikkaku, sweets for Yachiru and for some reason shopping for Yumichika, but with a deep-seated emotional problem, and one that affected not only a nobleman, but also a captain and his lover . . . It was hard to know what comfort to offer.

 

There were a few things he could think of that would ease Byakuya's pain, the first was innocent physical contact, being a noble Byakuya seemed to have been deprived basic gestures such as hugs, touches and kisses. It wasn't as if Byakuya was therefore starved for affection or craved attention, but Zaraki had soon learned that a well-meant hug would mean the world for his lover, because to Byakuya it showed that someone not only thought of him as an equal but simply a human being, a human being who needed love and affection as much as the rest of the world. Hell, sometimes even stroking the guy's cheek sometimes caused him to smile or blush, and it made Zaraki wonder what kind of sick world it had to be to deprive someone of basic human contact, to make them think that basic human courtesies weren't normal or signalled disrespect. Oh yes, the Kuchiki's were so godlike that the least symbol of friendship or kindness had to be a sign of offence, because who could possibly ever be equal to a Kuchiki? Heh, he'd even heard that Rukia kicked Ichigo to the curb because he `dared' to touch Byakuya, with an outlook on life like that no wonder the nobles were so screwed up and inbred. Still, the only other thing he could think of to soothe a soul was sex, and he doubted that even if they `made love' Byakuya would appreciate it, in fact he'd probably see it as a shallow manipulation, or a sign of a one-track mind that only appreciated one thing. So Kenpachi decided the easiest thing to do was to simply show affection.

 

He shrugged his haori off onto the floor and tugged off his kosode quickly, allowing his bare chest to come on show, and he could see Byakuya's head lifting slightly at the sound of clothing being removed.

 

He had no idea whether his sudden interest was because he was excited or worried, but whatever it was happened to be anyone's guess. If Zaraki had to honest though for once the removal of clothes wasn't a precursor to sexual acts, it was simply to level the playing field and make Byakuya feel more comfortable. The poor idiot had to feel vulnerable and wary walking around his room naked as the day he was born, at least if Zaraki shed some clothes too it might make him feel less exposed, more of an equal . . . if equality was even a concept he was aware of that was. He left his hakama on so that his lover wouldn't get the wrong idea, and then stepped forward once more, this time wrapping his arms around Byakuya's waist.

 

The embrace was heart-warming to the both of them. Zaraki could feel the soft, supple flesh of his lover's back pressed against his own hard, muscular chest, and the feeling of heat against him was more reassuring than he liked to admit. He relished the smell of sweet perfumes that came from that porcelain skin too, his face buried into Byakuya's neck as he inhaled deeply for more, and each time Byakuya moved his hair would waft and that cinnamon aroma would flood his senses. His arms were wrapped tightly around that thin waist, Byakuya's hands gripping his forearms for a sense of balance and also protection, holding onto him as if to reassure himself that his lover's touch was real in itself, and letting his eyes close to take in the moment.

 

“Byakuya,” He said softly, his lips moving hypnotically against sensitive flesh, “If you're expecting me to say a lot of sentimental clichés about how it gets easier in time, or that I'll never leave you, then you're going to be disappointed.”

 

It was best to go with the truthful approach; if there was one thing Byakuya appreciated it was honesty. If he lied now then he'd be no better than that damned fool Kurostuchi with his hollow words and constant lies, and he'd be no better than that traitor Aizen who had everyone's minds twisted under a web of deceit. He wanted to be better than them, a true warrior and a true hero, he wanted to lead his troops into battle with a clear conscience and he wanted to die a man respected and admired. If he lied now he'd be a failure as a captain and a bastard for a lover.

 

“I won't lie to you because I know that Hisana's death will always hurt. You loved her, she died, that caused you pain - it's tough shit, nothing you can do about it, but it's because you can't do nothing about it that it pisses you off, and so it should. There's always going to be times when you miss her, so I won't say `it'll get better' because this is as good as it'll get.” He breathed deep and placed a chaste kiss on Byakuya's neck, “As for me never leaving you? We're Shinigami, Byakuya, we are born for battle, we live for battle and - for us lucky ones - we die in battle. The Winter War is coming, and although I'll fight by your side against any Arrancar there's a good chance one of us could die. I love you too much to make empty promises I can't keep. What I'll promise for you though is that I'll never stop fighting, I'll fight until the day I can't fight anymore, and even if I have to show that pretty face of yours up on the battlefield I will, I'll kill as many of our enemies as I can and hopefully I'll do it by your side. I may leave you, but it'll never be voluntarily. I swear it.”

 

The tears that flooded Byakuya's face were bittersweet.

 

Even in the midst of crying he still appeared graceful, elegant and - above all else - beautiful. His head was turned to one side so that his long expanse of neck was on show to Zaraki, the long column perfect and flawless like an old Romantic painting, and his hair was so smooth, straight and sensual as it slid over pale skin, framing his perfect face with its high cheekbones and angular jaw. His cheeks were stained red like aging blood, with silver tear-trails running over them so that they seemed to stand out majestically, and his grey eyes seemed to almost swim in a salty ocean of their own.

 

It forced Zaraki to release his hold and gently trail his hand up along that smooth chest, wiping away those salty tears in a rare gesture of kindness, and at once Byakuya reacted. He turned his head slightly so as to look up at Zaraki with eyes wide with shock and appreciation, and his face so picture perfect it could have came out a magazine, an expression so calm and statuesque it made Zaraki swallow hard in desire. How was it the man could look both ravishing and broken all at the same time? It wasn't possible, surely if someone was in tears like that with such a heartbroken expression then your response should be disgust, revulsion or - if you were like those pussies in Squad Four - sympathy? Yet Zaraki didn't feel that way. It was like by cracking that mask, by allowing some true slither of emotion to seep through the cracks, that Byakuya was now a truly human, vulnerable and real person, that he was more approachable than ever before. Then to feel Byakuya pressing his face back, to nuzzle into his hand, it was more than he could bear. To feel the other displaying such open affection was mesmerising and almost erotic, it was something so intimate and sensual, something so out of character and yet so in character, a side of Byakuya that he'd show no one but Zaraki, only Zaraki.

 

“Thank you,” Byakuya whispered.

 

“If you're so thankful then why are you crying, Kuchiki?”

 

“Because I believe that I may be in love with you,” Byakuya said with words so full of sadness his confession sounded more like words of condolence, “I am a Kuchiki and yet I am in love with the Demon of Squad Eleven. What will my clan say? What will my men think? I should hate you, despise you and even now I cannot deny that you are nothing but a commoner, so why is it that I seek your company and cherish the moments when we are together?”

 

“Heh, you make it sound like loving me is a curse.”

 

“It is.” Byakuya said in a voice a bit to definite for Zaraki's liking, “Yet I would not trade this feeling for any other. I may be a fool for allowing myself to have these emotions, but I feel that I love you. I think I am in love with you, Kenpachi.”

 

“Good, because I love you too.”

 

At those words he gently cupped Byakuya's chin and lifted his face up on level with his own, then with one slow movement he locked his lips tenderly to his lover's, relishing in the soft intimacy of the moment. Immediately he could feel his lover parting his soft, moist lips and allowing their kiss to deepen at once. He could feel the familiar hot, wet length of Byakuya's tongue gliding into his mouth, tasting everything he had to offer, exploring inside him with gentleness and passion that he'd never before experienced from a lover. It was as if Byakuya was expressing through that one kiss all the love he felt in his heart, moving so slowly it was almost teasing and torturous, but pressing his mouth so hard against Zaraki's it was almost as if he sought to consume his soul. It was loving, caring, graceful and everything that a kiss should be, nothing like he'd ever experienced, and even though that fiery passion of lust was absent Zaraki still wanted more, because never had he before experienced such an intense expression of desire.

 

He could feel himself hardening through his hakama, his member stirring itself awake as interest in his lover grew and, although the process of arousal was slow, the more Byakuya kissed him the more aroused he felt. The kiss seemed to be growing faster, needier by the moment, and each time they pulled away for even a second they would find themselves gasping loudly for breath, before reaching down again for that addictive taste of one another. His hands were already beginning to explore the vast expanse of Byakuya's chest, stroking softly and lovingly over his flesh as if trying to comfort the man who stood with his back to him. Zaraki hoped to god that this was leading somewhere, because already his length was hard as hell, pressing firmly against his love's buttocks, the only barrier that thick veil of his uniform.

 

With a sharp gasp he pulled away from Byakuya's mouth and thrust hard against his partner, making it clear that although he loved him dearly that patience was hardly his virtue, but this was still more than sex. It was more than lust or the heat of the moment, it was about love and displaying affection and adoration, it was going to be what Byakuya called `making love' and not just a quick fuck.

 

“Now that the sentimental crap's out of the way,” He murmured, placing firm kisses to hollow of Byakuya's neck, “How about we skip to the fun part?”

 

“Always the romantic . . .”

 

Zaraki grunted in amusement as he carried on despite the complaint.

 

He began to trail kisses along Byakuya's neck, nipping occasionally before lathing the area with his tongue, slowly making his way up to his lover's ear, teasing the spot just behind that he'd long ago discovered to be a secret erogenous zone for his partner. He always loved the little, high-pitched keening noises Byakuya would make as he gnawed carefully at the spot, leaving miniature love-bites and kisses all around it, and he loved how the other man would lean back into him, his right hand coming up to become entangled in his hair. The bells on his locks soon fell out to the floor, and his style was officially now somewhat less perfect than before, but what did it matter? He had the perfect body of Byakuya pressed against his, like two pieces of a puzzle, and those long fingers caressing his scalp as he massaged his lover's neck with his tongue and lips.

 

His left hand slowly wormed itself away from Byakuya in order to reach his obi, gently pulling it open so that his hakama fell immediately to the floor, and with a few well-placed tugs his fundoshi joined alongside it. Now as he pressed his body firmly against his lover's it seemed somewhat electrified, his skin was placed tightly on naked skin so that he could feel every inch of Byakuya from his feet to his head, and with his body now completely aroused his member was now fully nestled between the two firm, round globes of Byakuya's buttocks. The feeling of pressure from either side, the heat from that enclosed flesh, and knowing he was just an inch or two from that waiting and pleasure-inducing hole caused him to groan loudly and buck against his lover. It was an electric sensation, one that sent waves of pleasure throughout his body, that caused his whole private region to throb and ache with desire, sending flames of arousal and need throughout him. He could already feel the ebb of pre-come leaking from his tip, and the rush of adrenaline as he moved against his lover.

 

Byakuya pressed back firmly against him as he began to bite at his neck, this time making sure his actions were forcefully enough to leave a mark, to leave no doubt in anyone's mind that Byakuya belonged to him, that they belonged to each other. Already the noble was starting to moan, and as Zaraki's hands began to trail in separate directions, his right up towards a pebbled nipple and his left down to an aching cock, those noises only grew louder and louder.

 

When those deft, strong fingers came to his nipple, and gently began to roll and twist, he couldn't help but arch his back and grip harder upon Zaraki's hair, pulling so tight he heard the gruff man grunt in pain. He could feel hard shivers coursing through him, seeds of pleasure taking root, causing him to writhe almost away from the touch, moaning low deep within his throat, bucking backwards against Zaraki so that both their bodies seemed to move and slip, positioning his lover directly below his waiting hole. It took all his self-control not to thrust down unprepared, and so he carefully moved himself away, just enough not to risk accidental penetration, but not enough so that Zaraki would lose his beloved friction between his lover's cheeks. At this point his eyes were half-lidded, his pupils dilated in desire, and his vision clouded with passion. It was hard to see anything except the dizzying heights of passion he was being drawn to, those large and skilful hands on his body as Zaraki's hot and heavy breath panted on his skin, and all in all it was too overwhelming to fully express, to fully appreciate.

 

It was then that Zaraki's left hand reached down and grabbed firmly onto his cock, causing Byakuya to buck once more and let out a less than manly groan, his free hand coming up to clasp his lover's neck for some support. Like always Kenpachi had amazing skill when it came to making Byakuya feel not only loved but desired, needed and appreciated. He could feel the love from the gentle, soft caresses and sensuous, careful touches, never too firm or forceful, but always just enough to make him feel pleasure at the same time it felt like his lover was exploring his body, marking each and every inch of him for memory, and relishing in a moment that felt like it could last forever. It was slow but passionate, careful but fulfilling, and as that hand stroked him slowly up and down, twisting on each upstroke, he felt chills of excitement and waves of ecstasy flooding his body. It was strange, but even after a month together and love-making that hand still felt foreign upon his skin, like he'd never felt it before and hadn't come to expect it, and yet it felt so right! It was so perfect and so impossible to hold back the groans that escape his throat, loving the way Zaraki paid such perfect detail to every inch of him.

 

Byakuya grudgingly moved his hand away from his lover's flesh to reach down into the bedside table, bending just slightly in order to pull open the drawer and remove a large bottle of lubricant.

 

The very item itself caused an intense blush to darken his already flushed cheeks. It indeed still embarrassed him to have to face the item even now, and having it beside his bed would be mortifying should anyone ever find out, but Zaraki had been the one to purchase it and had insisted it be kept in the bedroom at all times. The first time when they had used merely saliva some damage had been done, and Byakuya had ached all day the next day, and when lubricant was brought a while later it had been kept in the bathroom, which - according to Zaraki - ruined the mood when someone had to go and fetch it. Still, to have to reach into his own side-table and remove it himself, to even admit that he would be needing it, it was still rather embarrassing for him, even if there was no one there to see it other than his lover.

 

He jumped visibly and with a moan as Zaraki twisted upon his member and gave a flick to his nipple, sending waves of pleasure through him once more, but when that large hand moved to the bottle he swallowed hard, despite the fact he knew better than to show fear or emotion to a man like Zaraki. It seemed almost a weakness to him, even during the act of making love, to show such emotion, and it was terrifying to know that little by little Zaraki was breaking down those walls he had taken so long to build, making him show a part of himself he'd spent his whole life fearful to show.

 

He watched as Zaraki quickly coated two fingers and then moved his hand behind Byakuya, moving it briefly to his upper back to push him forwards. The gesture caused Byakuya to glare as it seemed so distant, so informal, but he gripped the edge of the table nonetheless and placed his trust in Zaraki. He loved the other man deeply, but to be taken from behind seemed so impersonal it caused him to tense at once; it was position he cared very little for. Yet he realised that with them standing perhaps Zaraki had purposely chosen not to let him turn around so as to make things easier, perhaps he'd done this so that he had something to hold onto, so that entry would be less painful, still he hated the idea of expressing their love this way . . .

 

“Huh, tense already?” Zaraki grunted, hand hovering over Byakuya's buttocks, “Relax, I'm just going to prepare you, when I take you it ain't going to be from behind, I know how much your prissy, little self hates it. So chill, okay?”

 

At that reassurance he relaxed at once, letting himself trust his lover completely and give his body to him. He hissed loudly in pleasure at the feeling of Zaraki's fingertips circling his entrance, teasing his hole into gaping open without slipping inside, allowing him little slithers of pleasure that seemed to lead nowhere but promised so much. He wanted to see Kenpachi's face, look him in the eyes and whisper words of love to him, but he trusted the man completely with his life, and he knew that if he promised to take Byakuya in another position - one that allowed eye contact - he would, his word was always good. Before he could think another thought he felt the first of those fingers entering him, slowly pushing its way inside and taking him by surprise.

 

Byakuya gasped loudly, throwing his head back as he arched his back, forcing himself downwards to grind against the invading digit. The feeling of another inside him, especially the man he had came to love dearly, was a sensation he'd always cherish and adore. It made him feel so connected to the other both spiritually and physically, and to feel his innermost area stroked, stretched and massaged by the thick, rough finger of Zaraki Kenpachi was a mind-blowing experience, one which he was sure plenty would be jealous of. Zaraki always knew exactly where to touch, how forcefully to be, what movements to make, and the act of preparation in itself could sometimes be just as amazing as the main act, the man appeared to be an expert and nothing he did seemed to be wrong in the slightest. His nerves felt alight, his body soft, pliant and susceptible to anything Zaraki wanted, and as he inserted another finger his body - now used to such acts - readily accepted it, relishing in the sensation as Zaraki began to scissor and stretch him. His fingertips occasionally brushed against his prostate, causing Byakuya to all but scream, forcing Zaraki to take a sharp hold of his member to stop him from coming too soon. When those fingers were removed there was a sharp sense of loss, one that left him gasping and panting with the pleasure that had been inflicted upon him.

 

Suddenly he found himself spun around and given such a loving, romantic kiss he was unaware that Zaraki was capable of, the kiss itself was full of such love and adoration he felt he could melt at the very sensation, his body turning limp in Zaraki's hold, then - with a quick tug - he found himself pulled up onto the table, sitting upon its very edge as his lover came and stood directly in between his open legs . . .

 

The kiss continued, this time slowly and gently as Byakuya wrapped his legs around his lover's waist and allowed his hands to rest upon firm shoulder blades, in return Zaraki's own hands ran all over his body, sometimes teasing his nipples and at others massaging his own back in large, circular movements. He felt entirely consumed by his lover, as if they'd became one even before the main act had begun, and then slowly the kiss ceased and a hand came to rest in his long locks, another back upon his hot member, ready to begin stroking at a moment's notice.

 

“You ready, Byakuya?”

 

“Of course,” He replied breathlessly.

 

The moment he gave his answer he could feel Kenpachi pressing against him, gently slipping inside him as if they had all the time in the world. It was certainly a stretch as only a minimal amount of lubrication and preparation had been done, but they made love so often that the pain was barely there, instead he felt nothing but a familiar sense of fullness, of oneness with the man he loved. It was an almost indescribable feeling, to feel his lover's thick length rubbing against his inner walls, opening him in a place so private and personal, and to feel so exposed and yet somehow without that feeling of vulnerability that should come with it. He could do nothing but groan loudly and hold tightly onto Zaraki's back, the older man grunting loudly as he finally fully sheathed himself inside of Byakuya. His member pulsing inside his lover as those inner walls fluttered around him, squeezing him and teasing him pleasurably. They paused for a brief minute, their eyes locking together, both hazed in lust and love, and suddenly Byakuya found himself consumed with another kiss, one that caused tears to sprinkle at his eyes.

 

It was nothing like it'd been with Hisana. Although he'd loved his wife very much he knew she never held that same love for him in return, and in retrospect he had perhaps idolised her more than he'd truly loved her. Zaraki however returned his feelings - albeit in his own brutish way - and his feelings for Zaraki were stronger than anything he'd ever felt. He loved how there was finally someone, other than perhaps Ichigo Kurosaki, who could simply call him `Byakuya', who thought of him as an equal and as a friend, an ally and someone of worth. To be locked in both mind and body with someone he loved, and who loved him in return, was an experience like no other. He felt complete emotionally and physically, and the release and sense of security was too overwhelming to endure, it was impossible not to shed tears of happiness.

 

When Zaraki finally broke the kiss he pulled away to see the tears in Byakuya's eyes and smiled, an expression so sincere and far from his usual grins that Byakuya found himself blushing despite his wishes not to, then - with an unusual act of kindness - Zaraki began to kiss away each of the tears on his lover's face, before finally resting his head in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply a scent uniquely Byakuya.

 

It was then he started to move. He was slow at first, excruciatingly slow, pulling out little by little so that Byakuya could only moan at his loss and gasp loudly as slowly he was refilled, that long length pressing back in, brushing lightly against his prostate so that he instinctively used his legs around Zaraki's waist to help thrust back against him. The pace was slow but hard, each movement forcing him to feel exactly what his lover wanted, and each movement always hitting the exact right spot. Zaraki's breath ghosted his neck and ear, sometimes he'd blow lightly as he thrust inside causing hot gusts of breath to tease his ear, making him moan at the tingling sense of pleasure it caused him.

 

His body felt overwhelmed with heat, the pleasure that coursed through him made his skin burn like an inferno, a deep flush of crimson to cover his chest and body as he felt the beginnings of an orgasm to stir. Kenpachi's body seemed to completely cover his own, and the feeling of heat emanating from the muscular man sent electric shivers down his spine, causing him to moan all the louder. It seemed that the slow, sensuous pace was more torturous than he'd imagined, expressing their love in such a way was almost painful for how good it felt, and already a thin sheen of sweat was breaking out over his body and upon Kenpachi's. It made it hard to grip onto his lover, and in return he could feel himself starting to slide upon the top of the desk with each thrust, his buttocks soaked with sweat, pre-come and lubricant.

 

Yet despite just beginning their session of love-making it seemed Zaraki was already close to coming, because at once the speed had picked up enough that there was a soft sound of balls slapping against skin and the table had begun to rock. It was still moderately slow but it was fast enough to give them both the well-needed push into a mind-blowing orgasm, and hard enough to make the table bang hard against the wall, where he hoped very much his sister and servants were not occupying the room next door at that moment in time. He could feel Zaraki marking his neck with soft bites, complete with masculine grunts and panted breath, and his own inner walls were fluttering around his hard shaft in an almost continuous pace, and his own vision was already becoming hazy with bliss. He was close, very close . . .

 

“Kenpachi,” He gasped, pecking soft kisses onto any part of Zaraki's neck he could reach, “Kenpachi!”

 

Suddenly the hand on his member seemed to pump harder and faster than before, his partner thrusting inside him almost erratically and before Byakuya knew it he was coming hard and fast.

 

He threw his head back, baring his throat fully to his lover, a thick covering of sweat coating his skin as he swallowed audibly, mouth wide open as he practically screamed aloud. His hands clutched tight enough into Zaraki's skin to leave bruises, and his legs pulled the man so deep inside him his prostate was stroked one last time as he came, making his orgasm all the more powerful. He could feel his own hot seed covering his stomach, long ropes of it coating his skin as if it would go on forever, and his body seemed overtaken with a feeling of complete bliss, as if he'd reached the peak of nirvana itself. Inside him he could feel a hot blast of liquid and heat, and as his own member softened he heard Zaraki give a primal groan and pull out of him, his own member of equal state.

 

Byakuya was tempted to collapse back against the wall, but he needed the touch of his lover and the feeling of closeness, and so he fell forward and wrapped his arms around Zaraki, relishing the heat from the other's body and the smell of exertion and sex. He barely even noticed as his body was lifted from the tabletop and placed lovingly in the bed, with the same respect and love one may give a sleeping child or an injured maiden, and yet what surprised Byakuya was he didn't feel a sense of annoyance at being treated as a fragile object, instead he felt a sense of peace and gratitude, a sense that his lover respected him so deeply. When Zaraki crawled in beside him he instinctively moved closer, curling up against Zaraki in a way that was certainly not how a Kuchiki should act, showing far more affection than he should, and yet he felt so content and peaceful he could not regret his decision to display such affection.

 

After a few minutes he felt strong hands stroking his hair, pulling lightly on his raven locks to disentangle unseen knots and smooth out his features, it was such a rhythmic movement and the afterglow was so strong that he could feel himself falling into a peaceful sleep. It was far beyond what was expected of a Kuchiki, and to let himself fall into a slumber and let down his guard around a commoner was ridiculously foolish, and yet for some reason he could not help it. He trusted Zaraki. He could not fully understand why, but he did. He trusted him.

 

“I think it's about time I left,” Zaraki murmured, nestling his face into the top of Byakuya's head, enjoying the moment of intimacy, “If I stay any longer people will get suspicious, can't have them gossiping about the beloved Kuchiki clan, can we?”

 

Byakuya frowned at the obvious display of sarcasm. It typically signified a low wit and someone with enough resentment of an issue to make it clear via humour, but not enough backbone to make clear their frustration and discuss it in a mature manner. However Byakuya was far from being a slow-witted man, he could clearly see the source of Zaraki's frustration and anger: the older man wanted to make public their relationship, he felt slighted for having to keep things secret, as if he were not good enough for Byakuya. It was true his status was far lower than his lover's, but as far as Byakuya was concerned he had long ago proven himself an equal to any Kuchiki, and someone worthy of his love . . .

 

“Let them say what they wish, Kenpachi.”

 

“Oh? And what happens when they work out we're an item? What happens when darling baby sister or wonderful grandfather find out their precious family member's dating scum like me? People talk.”

 

“Then let them,” Byakuya said through a tense breath, “I have nothing to hide about my affairs, particularly ones I wish to make long-term. If people wish to talk then let them.”

 

“Byakuya?”

 

He gave a warm smile and tilted his head to reach Kenpachi's lips, drawing the man into a deep and sensual kiss, one that expressed the depths of his emotions. When he pulled away he looked deeply into his partner's eyes, making sure not to break eye contact: “Let them.”