marinliliz | [Building From The Ashes] IX. Ingrained (Reply)

[Characters]: Kuchiki Byakuya and Abarai Renji.
[Pairing]: ByaRen.
[Word Count]: 1020
[Finished]: 30.August.2009
[Beta]: not beta-read
[Contents/Warnings]: AU/Character-Death
[Rating]: PG-13 bordering on R
[Notes]: Have you, perhaps been wanting to know just how far our boys had taken it before all of this mess started? Then this is the chapter for you. It wasn't what I had initially planned, but Byakuya wasn't willing to just let go of the memories. Well it didn't matter, I like the end result and Byakuya can get bored by the Kuchiki elders next time.

Be aware that the rating is a bit higher in this but it's nothing too blatant or crude, just some heavy petting.

And finally just letting you know that from now I'm back to the usual scheme of chapter/week. And later down the fall, I think I'll have to start posting every other week.

I. Mind Sight Sound | II. Search Incessantly | III. Battleground | IV. To Get To Renji | V. Evil Plots | VI. Recount Regroup Retreat | VII. Secession | VIII. Return Home

Disclaimer: Do not own Bleach and will not make a profit out of this fic. All characters © Kubo Tite

Byakuya woke in the green-walled room, next to Renji. Turning on his side, he watched the familiar face looking for signs of change. The skin was less clammy but still deprived of that wonderful colour – he was even paler that Byakuya – but his breathing seemed steady and with a good rhythm. A hand still held fast to Zabimaru but the other lay in the space between their futons, where Byakuya had let go in his sleep. He held the hand again, tracing the cold fingers, one by one, before bringing his lips to the palm and kissing it.

“Good morning, Renji,” he spoke softly and tried to feel the reiatsu in the air. It was recognizable as Renji’s but there was something missing from it, like Renji wasn’t right next to him but very, very distant. Byakuya searched his knowledge of spirit energy to determine if it was just the comatose state or if there really was permanent damage to his fukutaichou’s reiatsu. He should ask Unohana-taichou for more details, but that meant leaving Renji. And Byakuya didn’t feel like he had the strength to leave Renji right now.

In the battlefield, after Renji had gone into saviour mode – mimicking Kurosaki Ichigo’s trademark resolve – Byakuya had had the strength to destroy all the enemies that had come his way with only Senbonzakura by his side. When that last horde of Gillian had come out of nowhere and it all seemed hopeless, he had held strong until the last one of them had been obliterated and before collapsing to the foul sand, his last thought had been of Renji.

I won’t let you! Renji had said, but here he was lying like the dead and Byakuya wasn’t sure he could keep the strength.

***

Carefully placing his head on Renji’s bandaged shoulder, Byakuya inhaled deeply, reacquainting himself with Renji’s scent. How could he have forgotten such a strong, recognizable scent? It should’ve been ingrained deep in his skin, a part of him by now. They had been so deep in each other that Byakuya should reek of Renji even after all these weeks and yet he only smelled blood, weakness and Kuchiki in himself.

He nuzzled his face to the bony shoulder and then to Renji’s neck, where the scent was richer, headier, trying to bring memories, then lazily sat back up and held the limp, cold arm – the one not holding Zabimaru’s hilt – and again, pressed it to his lips, then across his cheek copying Renji’s first tentative touch to him, some night after a training session between the two of them. Dirt, Renji had claimed but then his hand had traced Byakuya’s left eyebrow and then trailed down to his ear, lingering just a moment too long on his lobe.

At the time, it had felt odd but Byakuya had paid it half a mind, attributing it to another of Renji’s eccentricities, like his terrible taste in headwear or his unusual habit of marking the achievements of his life on his skin, as satin black tattoos.

Now, Byakuya retraced that first touch with these stone cold fingers, tracing across his brow, trailing down to his ear. It didn’t linger on his lobe.

The scorching sensation that that first touch had ignited in Byakuya – consuming, addictive – had driven him to seek it again. And then their dance had begun. Byakuya had lingered after work hours; had watched more intently his fukutaichou; had sought Renji for training sessions. And Renji had known, had played the game and, on a moonless night, just outside the main gates to the Kuchiki Manor, had sucked the breath out of Byakuya with a frenzied kiss. There he had learned not only the smell but also the taste of Renji. And it had lingered on him, feeding the attraction.

Now, Byakuya touched the lifeless-like fingers to his lips, but they didn’t taste of Renji, they weren’t warm like Renji’s; they lacked the passion and fire.

Then, he had craved more: longer touches, steadier caresses, the feel of Renji’s body pressed flushed against his skin. And if the contact with Renji could not be attained quickly, the burn would flare up again. Agonizingly so. And so they danced, like moth and flame.

Now, Byakuya let the limp fingers slide down from his lips, caressing the skin of his neck, eliciting a brief shiver, a pale comparison to the shattering tremors those fingers, warm, had drawn from him. The cold hand was made to travel down his chest, forcefully pulling open the light summer yukata, exposing pale skin and a dark nipple. He brought the hand to it, but it lacked the steady touch to make it pebble, to stir him lower.

After awhile, anywhere and everywhere had been a good place for encounters; for heated crushes of bodies and rushed kisses; for hands inside uniforms and grinding on tabletops; for scorching mouths and devilish tongues.

Now, Byakuya led the hand to his navel, his own on top, lending heat and warmth, keeping it there by force. Tentatively, he let go of the hand on his navel, hoping against hope that it would stay in place, pressed there in remembrance of a favourite place. It didn’t hold. It fell to Byakuya’s lap and in a desperate attempt to rekindle the burn, he crushed it to his genitals, weighing, reaching, craving... Surely here it would flare alive, warm and groping like only Renji could.

It didn’t.

Not only didn’t Renji stir, Byakuya too was limp, cold, dormant. He took his hands away, not bothering with Renji’s. His head dropped to the white-ligatured chest, remembering that last night as they waited for Yamamoto to drive Aizen and his army back to Hueco Mundo.

***

“Because I won’t let you!” He was petulant.

“Won’t let me?!” It was challenging.

“I won’t let you! He was unyielding.

“How far do you want to go?” It felt hopeful

“... far.” He was determined.

“That’s quite an accomplishment.” It was stunning.

“Even further...” He was tentative.

“Renji...” It needed caution.

“Shut up! We can die tomorrow.” They were scared but had burned the sand beneath them.

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Next: X. Sleeping Arrangements