lucymonster | Bleach fic: Flesh and Blood (1/1)

Title: Flesh and Blood
Rating: R
Pairing: Byakuya/Renji
Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Summary: The illusion of perfection runs only so deep. Renji learns that Byakuya is not always as untouchable as he seems.

Renji’s not exactly sure what he was expecting. Something ethereal and otherworldly, perhaps, something that transcended the humble five senses. Soft breath, quiet dignity, maybe the faintest scent of sakura blossoms; skin that’s cool to touch, like the cold bearing of the spirit wrapped within that skin.

Porcelain, alabaster, ivory and onyx - those are the kind of pretentious, flowery words that Renji would use, if pressed, to describe the exquisite unearthly figure of his captain. Steel, silk, velvet. Midnight features on a canvas of the purest white, like untrodden snow. He doesn’t know quite what he was expecting once he got close enough to touch, but what he’s getting now isn’t it.

He still can’t believe that it’s worked, that he’s actually talked the stoic, unreachable head of the prestigious Kuchiki clan into taking him to bed. Byakuya’s skin isn’t cool at all - it’s hot, burning, and it chases the lingering winter chill from Renji’s hands where they slip beneath layers of thick fabric to caress as much of his body as they can reach. His breath, too, is warm - it rushes quick and ardent against Renji’s neck as the captain mouths at the sensitive spot just by his ear and sends little shocks and shivers of pleasure down his spine. There’s nothing ethereal or otherworldly about the body that presses against his as they fumble at the ties of each other’s clothes with thoughtless, impatient hunger - it’s solid flesh and blood and muscle, and it’s so real that Renji’s head is spinning and his knees feel shaky.

The captain’s weight when he bears them both down on the futon is real as well, and Renji gasps to regain his breath through kisses that started out soft, seductive, but are now careless and ravenous, desperate and lust-driven. Nor is there anything delicate or mysterious about the unmistakable outline of Byakuya’s arousal where it presses against his thigh; a shudder of heat passes up Renji’s spine and he flips them over, straddling the captain and trailing a path down his body with hungry, sloppy lips and tongue. There’s no hint of sakura in the scent that fills his nostrils - it’s just sweat and skin, natural and assertively masculine, and it smells exactly like a regular body and nothing like the shimmering embodiment of perfection that Renji has been chasing for so long.

Renji’s been around, and he knows what bodies are like - flawed and needy and human, however much Seireitei’s leading men and women may sneer at that term. He’s been around, but for the life of him he’d never have guessed that a man like Kuchiki Byakuya would feel and smell and taste just like a person, like a body, like a real, flawed being with needs and wants and appetites that demand to be sated. He should taste like wealth and quality and poetry, should smell like metaphor incarnate - should feel different, somehow, like he doesn’t quite belong on the same earthly plane as everyone else.

But he’s beginning to learn that underneath the chilly exterior, Byakuya is just a man - just a man, whose heart pulses hot blood through his veins like anybody else, whose breath quickens and catches without a thought for composure as warm, soft lips skim across his stomach.

It doesn’t get any more poetic when Renji’s mouth wraps around eager, waiting hardness - honestly, it just tastes like dick, nothing special, and Byakuya’s groan of pleasure isn’t silky and elegant but urgent, guttural, wanting. It’s so beautifully, deliciously prosaic; Renji hollows his cheeks and sucks, and the captain’s hips snap up off the bed on pure primitive instinct.

He thinks he’ll get Byakuya off just like this, but the noble has other plans; a hand reaches down to fist in his hair, pulling painfully upwards, and from there it’s all a tangle of limbs, a mess of gasps and moans and curses, as they grind against each other at a pace that’s rough and demanding and almost violent. Renji suspects that he’s the first to come, but it’s hard to tell; their cries mingle together and sticky semen coats both of their stomachs and it’s so damn good that Renji doesn’t even realise he’s biting, actually biting into his captain’s shoulder to stifle the last quiet little sounds of satisfaction. Byakuya bats half-heartedly at his head with one hand until he recalls himself and unclenches his jaw, and apparently that’s as much as the captain can be bothered to do; his head falls back on the pillow and his body goes limp in satiated bliss as harsh breaths gradually quieten and slow.

Renji manages to clean them both off with the corner of a bedsheet - he’s pretty sure there are servants who’ll take care of the dirtied linen tomorrow - and then that’s about all he can do, too. He flops back down on the futon with a muffled thump, and he figures he’ll leave if Byakuya decides to kick him out, but the captain already seems to be drifting off to sleep. Too comfortable where he is to leave on his own initiative, Renji simply curls himself up under the sheets, and he falls asleep surrounded by the lingering smell of sweat and sex and the sound of deep, even breathing beside him.