Bleach fic: Eyes Closed (1/1)
Jan. 29th, 2013 11:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lucymonsterTitle: Eyes Closed
Rating: R
Pairing: (One-sided) Byakuya/Renji
Warnings: Voyeurism, masturbation
Summary: Kuchiki-taichou washes away the blood and sweat after a long battle. Renji looks on, and wishes.
It’s warm and humid, the air heavy in the aftermath of the first real rainstorm of the season. Each small gust of wind shakes the leaves overhead, sending droplets of water cascading down onto the head of the man hovering in the bushes by the riverbank. He doesn’t dare move to wipe his face, so the water beads on his forehead, drips into his eyes as he scrunches them shut, one after the other, to blink it away. He refuses to close both eyes at the same time.
His presence here, concealed in the bushes like some skulking woodland creature, is unforgivable - but he stays anyway, too captivated by the vision before him to care about the looming consequences of his inevitable discovery.
They’ve been out field for almost a week now, and the uniform that hangs neatly over a low branch of the tree he now hides behind is in clear need of a wash. Dirt and blood and sweat all vanish into the black fabric of the shihakushou, but the white haori betrays the long days of relentless toil and battle its owner has seen. Further down the slope, in the cold running water of the river, Kuchiki-taichou is washing the blood from his hair.
He stands with his back turned, immersed to the hip, scooping up water in cupped hands to sluice off caked blood. It pours down over his shoulders in rivulets, dark crimson against pale unblemished skin made luminous by the soft evening light. Renji’s eyes sweep greedily over his figure, drinking in the lean musculature of his arms, his narrow waist and hips, the tantalising curve of perfect hard buttocks disappearing into the water below.
Not a drop of that blood belongs to the captain, Renji is sure of it. Kuchiki-taichou is too formidable a fighter to bleed for such an unworthy battle as that which they have just won. It’s the blood of their enemies, nameless and countless foes whose remains have been left to crumble to dust on the battlefield where they fell, and it swirls and eddies in the surrounding water until the steady current drags it away downstream.
He watches, rapt, as smooth slender hands comb through inky black hair that clings to the captain’s neck and shoulders. The torrent of blood is slowing now, thinning; the water flowing down his back now is tinged with only the faintest copper. Renji’s hands are hot and sweaty where they clench by his sides, breath coming quicker through slightly parted lips. He is spying on his own commanding officer, shamelessly violating the privacy the man had come all the way down to the river to seek, and the aching heat between his legs belies his best efforts to feel disgusted with himself. Disgust could not be further from his mind - Kuchiki-taichou’s body is like sculpted marble, strong and lithe and flawless, and Renji wants in a way that he can’t remember ever having wanted before. He wants to wade out into the chilly water of the river and rub the bloodstains from the captain’s skin and hair with soft worshipping hands. Wants to sink his teeth into the smooth skin of those broad shoulders just to learn whether they know how to bruise. Wants to drop to his knees, all dignity stripped from him, wants to feel Kuchiki-taichou’s hand fisted tight and unforgiving in his hair as he buries his face between those powerful thighs and commits the captain’s taste to memory.
Wants that solid, tangible proof that Kuchiki-taichou has noticed him, has found a use for him even if only in such a base task. Wants the acknowledgement from a man who has never once acknowledged him.
Slowly, carefully lest the movement give him away, he begins to palm at his crotch.
The captain has finished with his hair, and is washing the rest of his body now - his hands scoop more water over his chest and back, every movement purposeful, economical. Renji watches pale fingers digging briefly into the flesh of a shoulder, kneading at the knotted muscles there, and his own hand clenches tighter around the bulge in his hakama. He wishes Kuchiki-taichou would turn around, even though he knows it would double his chance of discovery; he’s surprised that the captain hasn’t picked up on his reiatsu already, or been alerted to his presence by the crackling of twigs and leaves beneath his feet, by the hushed sounds of his breathing. His skin feels unbearably hot, and far too tight for him; the pressure in his groin intense enough that he has to bite his lip to stifle small sounds of need and pleasure. He knows that soon the captain will be coming out of the water, and in all likelihood will discover him lurking there in the bushes; he’s desperate for release, desperate to come with his eyes on Kuchiki-taichou’s beautiful nude body, and he quickens his pace as much as he dares, holding his breath now, nearly doubled over where he stands as he works his hand inside his hakama and begins to stroke himself in earnest.
A spike of adrenaline races through his veins when the captain finally turns around, and Renji leans forward to brace himself heavily against the tree trunk as he takes in the hard planes of Kuchiki-taichou’s chest, the toned, flat stomach with its thin trail of dark hair tracking a path down between sharply sloped hipbones. He’s coming out of the river now, leaving behind the last modesty granted by the water, and Renji’s fingers are gouging into the soft bark of the tree and he’s biting his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. It takes only a few more rough strokes and then all of a sudden he’s gone, everything exploding in a hot shuddering rush as he pours forth his release.
He realises his eyes have clamped shut, and when he opens them again it’s to look straight into steely grey that registers too much surprise for anger to have settled in yet. Hot, sickly humiliation and dread come flooding into his stomach, and he realises that he truly has been caught, that there’s no way to explain away his trembling body or the sheen of sweat on his forehead, or the damp mess seeping through the front of his hakama. He bows his head, speechless in his shame, and prays that his death will be swift and not too agonising.
The seconds pass, torturously slow, and no blow falls.
When he can bear it no longer, Renji looks up again. Kuchiki-taichou is still there; he’s shrugged into his uniform, and is fastening the obi around his waist without so much as looking at Renji. Wet hair clings to the side of his face, and he’s so exquisitely attractive that Renji almost whimpers just looking at him. Once he’s finished adjusting his uniform he lifts his eyes to meet Renji’s, and there is nothing in that cold gaze but indifference and contempt. And Renji realises, with an awful lurching twist of his stomach, that that’s all the retribution he’s going to receive - that a man like Kuchiki Byakuya is not going to bother stooping down to punish such a lowly being as he. No words are exchanged, no further glances spared, and the captain simply sweeps past him back towards the camp, too high above Renji to acknowledge his transgression any further.
His knees hit the ground with a heavy, jarring thud.
Rating: R
Pairing: (One-sided) Byakuya/Renji
Warnings: Voyeurism, masturbation
Summary: Kuchiki-taichou washes away the blood and sweat after a long battle. Renji looks on, and wishes.
It’s warm and humid, the air heavy in the aftermath of the first real rainstorm of the season. Each small gust of wind shakes the leaves overhead, sending droplets of water cascading down onto the head of the man hovering in the bushes by the riverbank. He doesn’t dare move to wipe his face, so the water beads on his forehead, drips into his eyes as he scrunches them shut, one after the other, to blink it away. He refuses to close both eyes at the same time.
His presence here, concealed in the bushes like some skulking woodland creature, is unforgivable - but he stays anyway, too captivated by the vision before him to care about the looming consequences of his inevitable discovery.
They’ve been out field for almost a week now, and the uniform that hangs neatly over a low branch of the tree he now hides behind is in clear need of a wash. Dirt and blood and sweat all vanish into the black fabric of the shihakushou, but the white haori betrays the long days of relentless toil and battle its owner has seen. Further down the slope, in the cold running water of the river, Kuchiki-taichou is washing the blood from his hair.
He stands with his back turned, immersed to the hip, scooping up water in cupped hands to sluice off caked blood. It pours down over his shoulders in rivulets, dark crimson against pale unblemished skin made luminous by the soft evening light. Renji’s eyes sweep greedily over his figure, drinking in the lean musculature of his arms, his narrow waist and hips, the tantalising curve of perfect hard buttocks disappearing into the water below.
Not a drop of that blood belongs to the captain, Renji is sure of it. Kuchiki-taichou is too formidable a fighter to bleed for such an unworthy battle as that which they have just won. It’s the blood of their enemies, nameless and countless foes whose remains have been left to crumble to dust on the battlefield where they fell, and it swirls and eddies in the surrounding water until the steady current drags it away downstream.
He watches, rapt, as smooth slender hands comb through inky black hair that clings to the captain’s neck and shoulders. The torrent of blood is slowing now, thinning; the water flowing down his back now is tinged with only the faintest copper. Renji’s hands are hot and sweaty where they clench by his sides, breath coming quicker through slightly parted lips. He is spying on his own commanding officer, shamelessly violating the privacy the man had come all the way down to the river to seek, and the aching heat between his legs belies his best efforts to feel disgusted with himself. Disgust could not be further from his mind - Kuchiki-taichou’s body is like sculpted marble, strong and lithe and flawless, and Renji wants in a way that he can’t remember ever having wanted before. He wants to wade out into the chilly water of the river and rub the bloodstains from the captain’s skin and hair with soft worshipping hands. Wants to sink his teeth into the smooth skin of those broad shoulders just to learn whether they know how to bruise. Wants to drop to his knees, all dignity stripped from him, wants to feel Kuchiki-taichou’s hand fisted tight and unforgiving in his hair as he buries his face between those powerful thighs and commits the captain’s taste to memory.
Wants that solid, tangible proof that Kuchiki-taichou has noticed him, has found a use for him even if only in such a base task. Wants the acknowledgement from a man who has never once acknowledged him.
Slowly, carefully lest the movement give him away, he begins to palm at his crotch.
The captain has finished with his hair, and is washing the rest of his body now - his hands scoop more water over his chest and back, every movement purposeful, economical. Renji watches pale fingers digging briefly into the flesh of a shoulder, kneading at the knotted muscles there, and his own hand clenches tighter around the bulge in his hakama. He wishes Kuchiki-taichou would turn around, even though he knows it would double his chance of discovery; he’s surprised that the captain hasn’t picked up on his reiatsu already, or been alerted to his presence by the crackling of twigs and leaves beneath his feet, by the hushed sounds of his breathing. His skin feels unbearably hot, and far too tight for him; the pressure in his groin intense enough that he has to bite his lip to stifle small sounds of need and pleasure. He knows that soon the captain will be coming out of the water, and in all likelihood will discover him lurking there in the bushes; he’s desperate for release, desperate to come with his eyes on Kuchiki-taichou’s beautiful nude body, and he quickens his pace as much as he dares, holding his breath now, nearly doubled over where he stands as he works his hand inside his hakama and begins to stroke himself in earnest.
A spike of adrenaline races through his veins when the captain finally turns around, and Renji leans forward to brace himself heavily against the tree trunk as he takes in the hard planes of Kuchiki-taichou’s chest, the toned, flat stomach with its thin trail of dark hair tracking a path down between sharply sloped hipbones. He’s coming out of the river now, leaving behind the last modesty granted by the water, and Renji’s fingers are gouging into the soft bark of the tree and he’s biting his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. It takes only a few more rough strokes and then all of a sudden he’s gone, everything exploding in a hot shuddering rush as he pours forth his release.
He realises his eyes have clamped shut, and when he opens them again it’s to look straight into steely grey that registers too much surprise for anger to have settled in yet. Hot, sickly humiliation and dread come flooding into his stomach, and he realises that he truly has been caught, that there’s no way to explain away his trembling body or the sheen of sweat on his forehead, or the damp mess seeping through the front of his hakama. He bows his head, speechless in his shame, and prays that his death will be swift and not too agonising.
The seconds pass, torturously slow, and no blow falls.
When he can bear it no longer, Renji looks up again. Kuchiki-taichou is still there; he’s shrugged into his uniform, and is fastening the obi around his waist without so much as looking at Renji. Wet hair clings to the side of his face, and he’s so exquisitely attractive that Renji almost whimpers just looking at him. Once he’s finished adjusting his uniform he lifts his eyes to meet Renji’s, and there is nothing in that cold gaze but indifference and contempt. And Renji realises, with an awful lurching twist of his stomach, that that’s all the retribution he’s going to receive - that a man like Kuchiki Byakuya is not going to bother stooping down to punish such a lowly being as he. No words are exchanged, no further glances spared, and the captain simply sweeps past him back towards the camp, too high above Renji to acknowledge his transgression any further.
His knees hit the ground with a heavy, jarring thud.
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Date: 2013-01-31 12:21 am (UTC)I looked up that book, and it seems really interesting! I may have to buy it and have a read. Tone and characters really do make a massive difference - in this case, so much of my enjoyment of the pairing comes down to playing around with the power and status differentials. Which means that a lot of situations tend to get ugly where ugliness could just as well have been avoided by characters on slightly more equal footing.
As for your idea - I really really love that! Of course, let nothing get in the way of the o-fic rewrite; to be honest I'm just so thrilled to have written something that inspired any response!fic musings at all. So thank you for sharing that with me!