dracoqueen22 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-05-04 09:44 pm
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-05-04 09:44 pm
Entry tags:
Bleach - Burning in the Skies - UraAizen
a/n: Here's another drabble from my Seireitei Monogatari collection. Please enjoy!
Title: Burning in the Skies
Characters: Aizen/Urahara, Shinji
Rating: M
Warning: boykisses, massive spoilers
Series: A Thousand Suns, sequel to Tomorrow in a Bottle
Description: Kisuke wakes from a memory, wondering what’s truth, what’s lie, and if he’ll ever forget either of them.
Dedication: For Emyrei, who wanted this pairing.
The sound of a lock clicking into place is what makes Kisuke blink and glance up from the stack of paperwork he’s been bent over for the past few hours. He swears something in his neck creaks as he forces his head up, brow lifting in surprise at the sight of Aizen-fukutaichou standing in front of his door. He looks perfectly innocent. As though he hasn’t just been caught stepping into a superior’s office and locking the door behind him.
“Aizen-fukutaichou?” Kisuke greets and is surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. He swears all his muscles groan as he sits up, forcing his fingers to unfurl from around the brush as he leans back in his chair, back popping like an old man. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
One dark eyebrow lifts in disbelief as the vice-captain approaches his desk with lips curled in a faint smile. “It’s lunchtime, Urahara-taichou. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Come to think of it, the twelfth division has been sounding rather quiet in the past few minutes. The lack of noise has only been a small blip on the edge of Kisuke’s mind. He’s been far too focused on these supply requisitions, disciplinary notes, and weekly updates on the progress of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute for the captain-commander. Still, his stomach chooses that moment to grumble weakly, sounding as though it had been complaining for quite some time and Kisuke has only just noticed.
“Ah, so it is,” he replies and tilts his head to the side, looking up at the brunet with amusement coloring his tone. “Hirako didn’t ask you out to lunch?”
Aizen – or Sousuke rather, they are alone right now after all – leans forward. His hands plant flat on Kisuke’s desktop so that they are almost eye to eye, despite the furniture between them.
“I would’ve ended up treating him if he had. I snuck out the back while Sarugaki-fukutaichou was distracting him.”
Kisuke laughs, thinking of the volatile relationship between his second seat and Hirako. They are much like siblings, constantly at odds but loyal to one another.
“So you came here instead?”
Sousuke leans forward and reaches for his free hand, fingers stroking over the inside of Kisuke’s wrists. He does that for a full minute without making a verbal response. Just ghosting his fingertips over skin and sending a chill down the captain’s spine.
“Kisuke,” Sousuke finally murmurs.
And just the sound of his name in that tone, that voice, makes Kisuke shiver.
“Kisuke… your division has all gone to lunch.”
“How convenient,” the blond comments and lets the heat curling through his body show in his eyes. He’s hungry, yes, but food can wait. The hunger building in him is now of a different sort. “I don’t recall properly making this office mine.”
It is Sousuke’s turn to laugh, rich and full, as he slowly brings a hand to his lips. First kissing a palm and then drawing a finger into his mouth, warm tongue flicking over the single digit. It brings to mind other places Sousuke’s tongue could be useful, and Kisuke shifts in his seat. He feels himself grow within the confines of his hakama.
“What did you have in mind?” Sousuke questions, breath a warm puff over Kisuke’s spit damp fingers.
He licks his lips pointedly. “It involves you circling my desk, for one thing,” Kisuke suggests, voice thick with rising desire. He clears his throat noisily.
“I think I can manage that,” the brunet allows, humor dancing in his eyes behind those clunky glasses.
Without losing his grip, he moves around the desk. Kisuke turns in his chair to face him and looks up to meet Sousuke’s eyes.
“That’s better,” Kisuke whispers and reaches up with his free hand, curling fingers in the front of Sousuke’s shihakushou and gently pulling him down.
He sees Sousuke smile before their mouths collide, Sousuke teasing with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Fingers stroke slowly over Kisuke’s wrist. A touch that for all its innocence, sparks sexual tension through his entire body. Visions of all the things they could be doing in this office pour through him and fill him with heat. Sousuke’s free hand curls against the side of his neck, thumb gliding over his throat as he pulls back.
“I think we could stand to properly initiate your desk, don’t you?”
Kisuke groans deep in his throat at the thought. He glances once at the paperwork he’s been working on since the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, it’s something of a necessity to the captain-commander, and he isn’t pleased that Kisuke has been ignoring it.
“It can wait,” Sousuke says, and his lips brush Kisuke’s, a tantalizing tease. “I might even be convinced to help you.”
What exactly he planned to help is a lingering promise between them.
Kisuke wakes to a startling blackness, only a thin stream of light peeking through the blinds of his room. It’s still dark outside, still nighttime, the middle of the night. Once again, dreams of the past have kept him from finishing the night in sleep.
Kisuke curls on his side and tucks a hand under his cheek, closing his eyes to linger in the last images of his dream, the lingering sensations. There’s a wetness, a heat, burning at the back of his lids, but he swallows it down over a lump in his throat. If his fingers are trembling, he pretends not to notice.
He won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Kisuke knows this already. Four hours seems to be the maximum before the memories get too much. He wonders if this is Sousuke’s final revenge, forever tormenting his one-time lover with the past and the future that should have been and all that Kisuke has slain with his own hands.
He doesn’t have to look to see the zanpakutou lying on the floor next to his futon, carefully placed right next to Benihime. Kisuke reaches out a free hand, lays his fingers over the sheaths of both blades, feels an answering pulse from each. Kyouka Suigetsu should have no reiatsu, no pulse, no life. But she vibrates under his fingers, hums and resonates in tune with Benihime.
That irritating heat again banks at his eyes, and Kisuke keeps his lids firmly shut. Concentrates on sensation instead. The cool smoothness of the sheaths. The lingering trace of reiatsu. The fragrance of the laundry detergent on his sheets and an underlying smell that seems to come with him everywhere he goes. A scent from the past that stubbornly lingers.
It’s been weeks, months, half a year, and Kisuke hasn’t forgotten. Not a single moment, not a single memory. He closes his eyes and still feels the warm stickiness of blood on his hands. He still sees the last look in Sousuke’s eyes. Still feels the way his own heart betrayed him, wishing for this man’s words to be the truth.
Kisuke hates that he still believes.
He can’t help but wonder how much of their past was a lie, a falsity, something meant to gain his trust. The same mask and persona Aizen Sousuke wielded for everyone else, the same that Kisuke was treated to. How far did he go in his pursuit of godhood? Who else had he spun into his seductive web? Was breaking Kisuke part of the plan or just an unexpected bonus?
The blond swallows over another lump in his throat and forces himself to sit up, casting the covers aside and situating his robe around his body. He’ll do no good lingering in bed, waiting for a rest that won’t come. Thinking in circles, over and over, doubting himself and the past and the things he wants to believe but shouldn’t. He doesn’t know what would be better in the long run. Not anymore.
Without thinking of the whys, Kisuke tucks both Benihime and Kyouka Suigetsu into the sash of his nemaki and pads softly out of his room, opening the door to a quiet, dim hallway. Years in the second division have taught him ways of moving around in the dark, but he is drawn to the spray of light coming from the kitchen. Along with the persistent aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“What is it?”
The captain hums, examining the strange substance currently cradled in the palm of his hand. “I’m not entirely sure yet. I meant it to make us stronger, and it does that, but not quite the way I expected.”
Sousuke’s eyes seem all the brighter as he stares. “Stronger? Why?”
“Why not?” Kisuke shrugs and turns, setting the orb he had created – still nameless – back into the stand. A light pulse of power dances on the end of his fingertips and briefly connects him to it before he pulls back. “Isn’t that the nature of a human being to constantly seek more power? And isn’t it the nature of the scientist to strive to break down preconceived barriers?”
Sousuke inclines his head, leaning forward to examine the orb in its resting place. Seemingly fascinated by the play of light against the quartz-like substance.
“You are brilliant.”
The blond feels himself flush before he can stop the embarrassing reaction. He’s not so modest that he doesn’t acknowledge his own intelligence. But it sounds different and feels different, when coming from Sousuke somehow. He doesn’t need to be validated by this man’s approval, but he likes it nonetheless.
“What will be even more brilliant is if I can figure out a way to properly harness its abilities,” Kisuke replies, trying to hide the warm flutters in his belly. “Until then, it’s nothing more than decoration.”
“Even so, you’re already one step closer to your goal,” Sousuke comments and leans back to focus on him. “Not many people can say that.”
Kisuke resists the urge to preen. Instead, he lifts a hand, tangling his fingers in strands of brown hair to drag Sousuke in for a kiss. It’s not so much that no one has ever believed in him before or that he’s never had any support because that would a lie. Yoruichi wouldn’t have put him up for the position of captain if she hadn’t believed in him. But there’s something to be said about hearing the words from the mouth of your lover. Something immeasurable.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen into more. For Sousuke’s arm to slide around the blond’s waist as he pulls them together. For Kisuke himself to grip onto Sousuke’s shihakushou, well aware that this is his private laboratory and that there’s little – if any – chance of someone walking in on them.
For now, Kisuke’s new invention sits to the side, forgotten, in the wake of far more pleasurable pursuits.
“Hey.”
He blinks out of the memory and stares into the kitchen. Kisuke is reasonably surprised to find that Shinji is awake, fingers curled around a warm mug, blinking sleepily as he stares off into the distance. Eyes flicker his direction and notice him immediately.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Shinji drawls in a hoarse voice, gesturing to the empty seat at the table.
“Something like that,” the younger man answers and helps himself to the sweet-smelling tea, glad that Shinji has already brewed some and he doesn’t have to risk making some for himself. “Why are you awake?”
Shinji shrugs, taking another pointed sip of his tea. “Even someone like me has nightmares.”
Nightmares.
Kisuke is all too familiar with those. Only his don’t take the form of corpses and battle and blood and pain. They are an agony of a different sort. They are visions of a blissful past that have become tainted by the truth of the present. Kisuke almost wishes he could wake up screaming, terrified and guilty like so many others, as opposed to waking with this hole in his chest and a growing sense of emptiness.
He inclines his head and takes a seat, letting the strong aroma of the tea – chamomile he guesses – waft toward him. It’s just enough to chase away enduring memories of Sousuke’s scent that refuse to leave him alone. He’s still convinced it must be Sousuke’s last revenge of some kind, some way that Kyouka Suigetsu is carrying her master’s final wishes. Why else would she have remained after his death? Why else would she allow Kisuke to be the only one to bear her?
“Ya couldn’t have saved him, ya know.”
Shinji’s voice cuts through the silence. His eyes watch his friend, so knowingly, and Kisuke hates the pity he sees there. Just as much as he’s glad someone cares enough to pity him.
“I never even considered it.”
Shinji scoffs behind his cup. “Liar.”
Kisuke sighs. He taps a finger on the table for a second before moving his hands to his lap.
“He didn’t think of himself as needing saving. And I can’t honestly say he was wrong either,” he explains.
Shinji works his jaw for a moment. “Now that one yer goin’ ta have ta explain ta me.”
“His methods were a little overzealous and destructive, but his goals… his goals are not beyond my understanding,” Kisuke says and finds the fingers of his free hand quietly stroking over Kyouka Suigetsu’s hilt. She seems to thrum in agreement with him, a pleasant and warm hum perfectly in tune with Benihime.
“So what?” Shinji shifts, and a frown twists his mouth. “Yer goin’ ta finish his work fer him?”
Kisuke shakes his head. “I have no desire for godhood. Even I can see that it would’ve destroyed the delicate balance we maintain.”
He won’t ever admit aloud, however, that he has considered it on occasion. A god has no limitations; the power is completely unsurpassed. Kisuke could accomplish things he can’t as a mere mortal or Shinigami. He could fix the things he’s broken.
He could see Sousuke again. Ask all the questions that still simmer in the back of his mind, burn the tip of his tongue. Find out what was truth and lie, achieve some peace.
“But he was right in other things,” Kisuke adds, after realizing he has fallen strangely quiet. He clears his throat pointedly. “Soul Society’s due a change.”
Shinji exhales slowly, giving Kisuke a sharp look. But then, he grins.
“Phew. Ya had me worried there. For a minute, I thought his megalomania had rubbed off on you.”
Kisuke’s eyes narrow. “He was not crazy.”
“Nope. Just another guy with delusions of grandeur,” Shinji comments and tosses a pointed look in Kisuke’s direction, ever directly honest. “Who couldn’t see the values of the things he already had.”
That squeezing, pulling sensation in his chest returns. Kisuke swallows thickly.
“I’m only Shinigami after all. What interest would I have held to a man who was to be god?”
“More than you’d think.”
His friend rises to his feet, yawning noticeably and glancing at the sky beyond the kitchen window. Dawn comes swiftly, but it’s not as though they have anywhere to be. Shinji pauses in the doorway on his way out, fingers tapping a nonsense rhythm on the frame.
“Fer what it’s worth, Kisuke, I don’t think everything about Sou-chan was a lie. If there’s anyone who saw his true self, it was you.”
Kisuke snorts. An attempt at disbelief but more or less an action to conceal the stab of hope that slashes through him. Shinji leaves him alone to his tea with a murmured goodnight. Kisuke sits and stares into the distance, sipping quietly at the chamomile, trying to erase memories of the past that refuse to go away.
Sousuke laughs. “You can’t make that move. It’s against the rules.”
The captain twists his jaw stubbornly, finger still poised over his piece. “No, it’s not,” he argues and tilts his head to the side, looking over the board again. For all that he can see, it’s a perfectly legitimate course of action. He’s so close to beating Sousuke for once; he can taste it.
Fingers cover his own as Sousuke gently slides the piece back to its former position. “No, you can’t,” he repeats patiently. “This is not a ranging piece. It’s a knight, which means--”
“--that it can only jump at an angle,” Kisuke cuts in, tone frustrated as he concedes that Sousuke is indeed right.
Drat. In his eagerness for victory, he’d forgotten a key point.
“I remember.”
“Just making sure,” the vice-captain returns and lifts his hand, running fingers through his hair that’s lying loose around his face. “So I’ll pretend I didn’t see that move, and you can try again.”
Kisuke sniffs, sitting back in his chair. “Don’t give me any favors. I can take my licks as they are owed. Make your move.”
It irks sometimes that Sousuke is by all accounts younger than him but Kisuke is often the one who is more childlike.
Smiling to himself as though amused, the brunet proceeds to do just that. “You are improving,” he states as a piece clicks across the board, effectively boxing Kisuke in place. He never gives the blond any leeway for his amateur status, and for that, Kisuke is grateful.
“Not fast enough,” the captain grumbles and eyes the board intensely. He’s sure there’s still some way he can turn this around to his advantage.
He leans forward, eyes moving from piece to piece, looking for the perfect move that will grant him a victory. Mind considering possibility after possibility, thinking steps ahead of himself, picturing Sousuke’s defeat.
And then a hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lingering with a very distracting touch. The blond startles, looks up, and gets a glimpse of Sousuke’s eyes before a mouth descend over his. Kisuke’s first thought isn’t even to protest, as much as it is to participate. Sousuke’s lips are warm and inviting, and Kisuke is the first to introduce tongue, despite the awkward nature of the kiss with the game board stretching perilously between them.
“That is an unfair move, Aizen-fukutaichou,” Kisuke murmurs into the kiss, all tactics effectively tossed out the window.
Sousuke chuckles, a warm puff of breath over Kisuke’s mouth. “All part of my strategy, my dear.”
“Cheater,” Kisuke mumbles, but it’s half-hearted at best.
He’s not really interested in the game. Not anymore.
* * *
a/n: The title of the song and the series was borrowed from Linkin Park's newest album. Also, there is a fourth part in this series. Whether or not there's a fifth part, I'm not sure. But there's definitely a fourth. It's already been finished!
UraAizen is my pairing of choice and I love writing it. This series has a special place in my heart so I hope you enjoyed it!
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
Title: Burning in the Skies
Characters: Aizen/Urahara, Shinji
Rating: M
Warning: boykisses, massive spoilers
Series: A Thousand Suns, sequel to Tomorrow in a Bottle
Description: Kisuke wakes from a memory, wondering what’s truth, what’s lie, and if he’ll ever forget either of them.
Dedication: For Emyrei, who wanted this pairing.
The sound of a lock clicking into place is what makes Kisuke blink and glance up from the stack of paperwork he’s been bent over for the past few hours. He swears something in his neck creaks as he forces his head up, brow lifting in surprise at the sight of Aizen-fukutaichou standing in front of his door. He looks perfectly innocent. As though he hasn’t just been caught stepping into a superior’s office and locking the door behind him.
“Aizen-fukutaichou?” Kisuke greets and is surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. He swears all his muscles groan as he sits up, forcing his fingers to unfurl from around the brush as he leans back in his chair, back popping like an old man. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
One dark eyebrow lifts in disbelief as the vice-captain approaches his desk with lips curled in a faint smile. “It’s lunchtime, Urahara-taichou. Or haven’t you noticed?”
Come to think of it, the twelfth division has been sounding rather quiet in the past few minutes. The lack of noise has only been a small blip on the edge of Kisuke’s mind. He’s been far too focused on these supply requisitions, disciplinary notes, and weekly updates on the progress of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute for the captain-commander. Still, his stomach chooses that moment to grumble weakly, sounding as though it had been complaining for quite some time and Kisuke has only just noticed.
“Ah, so it is,” he replies and tilts his head to the side, looking up at the brunet with amusement coloring his tone. “Hirako didn’t ask you out to lunch?”
Aizen – or Sousuke rather, they are alone right now after all – leans forward. His hands plant flat on Kisuke’s desktop so that they are almost eye to eye, despite the furniture between them.
“I would’ve ended up treating him if he had. I snuck out the back while Sarugaki-fukutaichou was distracting him.”
Kisuke laughs, thinking of the volatile relationship between his second seat and Hirako. They are much like siblings, constantly at odds but loyal to one another.
“So you came here instead?”
Sousuke leans forward and reaches for his free hand, fingers stroking over the inside of Kisuke’s wrists. He does that for a full minute without making a verbal response. Just ghosting his fingertips over skin and sending a chill down the captain’s spine.
“Kisuke,” Sousuke finally murmurs.
And just the sound of his name in that tone, that voice, makes Kisuke shiver.
“Kisuke… your division has all gone to lunch.”
“How convenient,” the blond comments and lets the heat curling through his body show in his eyes. He’s hungry, yes, but food can wait. The hunger building in him is now of a different sort. “I don’t recall properly making this office mine.”
It is Sousuke’s turn to laugh, rich and full, as he slowly brings a hand to his lips. First kissing a palm and then drawing a finger into his mouth, warm tongue flicking over the single digit. It brings to mind other places Sousuke’s tongue could be useful, and Kisuke shifts in his seat. He feels himself grow within the confines of his hakama.
“What did you have in mind?” Sousuke questions, breath a warm puff over Kisuke’s spit damp fingers.
He licks his lips pointedly. “It involves you circling my desk, for one thing,” Kisuke suggests, voice thick with rising desire. He clears his throat noisily.
“I think I can manage that,” the brunet allows, humor dancing in his eyes behind those clunky glasses.
Without losing his grip, he moves around the desk. Kisuke turns in his chair to face him and looks up to meet Sousuke’s eyes.
“That’s better,” Kisuke whispers and reaches up with his free hand, curling fingers in the front of Sousuke’s shihakushou and gently pulling him down.
He sees Sousuke smile before their mouths collide, Sousuke teasing with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Fingers stroke slowly over Kisuke’s wrist. A touch that for all its innocence, sparks sexual tension through his entire body. Visions of all the things they could be doing in this office pour through him and fill him with heat. Sousuke’s free hand curls against the side of his neck, thumb gliding over his throat as he pulls back.
“I think we could stand to properly initiate your desk, don’t you?”
Kisuke groans deep in his throat at the thought. He glances once at the paperwork he’s been working on since the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, it’s something of a necessity to the captain-commander, and he isn’t pleased that Kisuke has been ignoring it.
“It can wait,” Sousuke says, and his lips brush Kisuke’s, a tantalizing tease. “I might even be convinced to help you.”
What exactly he planned to help is a lingering promise between them.
Kisuke wakes to a startling blackness, only a thin stream of light peeking through the blinds of his room. It’s still dark outside, still nighttime, the middle of the night. Once again, dreams of the past have kept him from finishing the night in sleep.
Kisuke curls on his side and tucks a hand under his cheek, closing his eyes to linger in the last images of his dream, the lingering sensations. There’s a wetness, a heat, burning at the back of his lids, but he swallows it down over a lump in his throat. If his fingers are trembling, he pretends not to notice.
He won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Kisuke knows this already. Four hours seems to be the maximum before the memories get too much. He wonders if this is Sousuke’s final revenge, forever tormenting his one-time lover with the past and the future that should have been and all that Kisuke has slain with his own hands.
He doesn’t have to look to see the zanpakutou lying on the floor next to his futon, carefully placed right next to Benihime. Kisuke reaches out a free hand, lays his fingers over the sheaths of both blades, feels an answering pulse from each. Kyouka Suigetsu should have no reiatsu, no pulse, no life. But she vibrates under his fingers, hums and resonates in tune with Benihime.
That irritating heat again banks at his eyes, and Kisuke keeps his lids firmly shut. Concentrates on sensation instead. The cool smoothness of the sheaths. The lingering trace of reiatsu. The fragrance of the laundry detergent on his sheets and an underlying smell that seems to come with him everywhere he goes. A scent from the past that stubbornly lingers.
It’s been weeks, months, half a year, and Kisuke hasn’t forgotten. Not a single moment, not a single memory. He closes his eyes and still feels the warm stickiness of blood on his hands. He still sees the last look in Sousuke’s eyes. Still feels the way his own heart betrayed him, wishing for this man’s words to be the truth.
Kisuke hates that he still believes.
He can’t help but wonder how much of their past was a lie, a falsity, something meant to gain his trust. The same mask and persona Aizen Sousuke wielded for everyone else, the same that Kisuke was treated to. How far did he go in his pursuit of godhood? Who else had he spun into his seductive web? Was breaking Kisuke part of the plan or just an unexpected bonus?
The blond swallows over another lump in his throat and forces himself to sit up, casting the covers aside and situating his robe around his body. He’ll do no good lingering in bed, waiting for a rest that won’t come. Thinking in circles, over and over, doubting himself and the past and the things he wants to believe but shouldn’t. He doesn’t know what would be better in the long run. Not anymore.
Without thinking of the whys, Kisuke tucks both Benihime and Kyouka Suigetsu into the sash of his nemaki and pads softly out of his room, opening the door to a quiet, dim hallway. Years in the second division have taught him ways of moving around in the dark, but he is drawn to the spray of light coming from the kitchen. Along with the persistent aroma of freshly brewed tea.
“What is it?”
The captain hums, examining the strange substance currently cradled in the palm of his hand. “I’m not entirely sure yet. I meant it to make us stronger, and it does that, but not quite the way I expected.”
Sousuke’s eyes seem all the brighter as he stares. “Stronger? Why?”
“Why not?” Kisuke shrugs and turns, setting the orb he had created – still nameless – back into the stand. A light pulse of power dances on the end of his fingertips and briefly connects him to it before he pulls back. “Isn’t that the nature of a human being to constantly seek more power? And isn’t it the nature of the scientist to strive to break down preconceived barriers?”
Sousuke inclines his head, leaning forward to examine the orb in its resting place. Seemingly fascinated by the play of light against the quartz-like substance.
“You are brilliant.”
The blond feels himself flush before he can stop the embarrassing reaction. He’s not so modest that he doesn’t acknowledge his own intelligence. But it sounds different and feels different, when coming from Sousuke somehow. He doesn’t need to be validated by this man’s approval, but he likes it nonetheless.
“What will be even more brilliant is if I can figure out a way to properly harness its abilities,” Kisuke replies, trying to hide the warm flutters in his belly. “Until then, it’s nothing more than decoration.”
“Even so, you’re already one step closer to your goal,” Sousuke comments and leans back to focus on him. “Not many people can say that.”
Kisuke resists the urge to preen. Instead, he lifts a hand, tangling his fingers in strands of brown hair to drag Sousuke in for a kiss. It’s not so much that no one has ever believed in him before or that he’s never had any support because that would a lie. Yoruichi wouldn’t have put him up for the position of captain if she hadn’t believed in him. But there’s something to be said about hearing the words from the mouth of your lover. Something immeasurable.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen into more. For Sousuke’s arm to slide around the blond’s waist as he pulls them together. For Kisuke himself to grip onto Sousuke’s shihakushou, well aware that this is his private laboratory and that there’s little – if any – chance of someone walking in on them.
For now, Kisuke’s new invention sits to the side, forgotten, in the wake of far more pleasurable pursuits.
“Hey.”
He blinks out of the memory and stares into the kitchen. Kisuke is reasonably surprised to find that Shinji is awake, fingers curled around a warm mug, blinking sleepily as he stares off into the distance. Eyes flicker his direction and notice him immediately.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Shinji drawls in a hoarse voice, gesturing to the empty seat at the table.
“Something like that,” the younger man answers and helps himself to the sweet-smelling tea, glad that Shinji has already brewed some and he doesn’t have to risk making some for himself. “Why are you awake?”
Shinji shrugs, taking another pointed sip of his tea. “Even someone like me has nightmares.”
Nightmares.
Kisuke is all too familiar with those. Only his don’t take the form of corpses and battle and blood and pain. They are an agony of a different sort. They are visions of a blissful past that have become tainted by the truth of the present. Kisuke almost wishes he could wake up screaming, terrified and guilty like so many others, as opposed to waking with this hole in his chest and a growing sense of emptiness.
He inclines his head and takes a seat, letting the strong aroma of the tea – chamomile he guesses – waft toward him. It’s just enough to chase away enduring memories of Sousuke’s scent that refuse to leave him alone. He’s still convinced it must be Sousuke’s last revenge of some kind, some way that Kyouka Suigetsu is carrying her master’s final wishes. Why else would she have remained after his death? Why else would she allow Kisuke to be the only one to bear her?
“Ya couldn’t have saved him, ya know.”
Shinji’s voice cuts through the silence. His eyes watch his friend, so knowingly, and Kisuke hates the pity he sees there. Just as much as he’s glad someone cares enough to pity him.
“I never even considered it.”
Shinji scoffs behind his cup. “Liar.”
Kisuke sighs. He taps a finger on the table for a second before moving his hands to his lap.
“He didn’t think of himself as needing saving. And I can’t honestly say he was wrong either,” he explains.
Shinji works his jaw for a moment. “Now that one yer goin’ ta have ta explain ta me.”
“His methods were a little overzealous and destructive, but his goals… his goals are not beyond my understanding,” Kisuke says and finds the fingers of his free hand quietly stroking over Kyouka Suigetsu’s hilt. She seems to thrum in agreement with him, a pleasant and warm hum perfectly in tune with Benihime.
“So what?” Shinji shifts, and a frown twists his mouth. “Yer goin’ ta finish his work fer him?”
Kisuke shakes his head. “I have no desire for godhood. Even I can see that it would’ve destroyed the delicate balance we maintain.”
He won’t ever admit aloud, however, that he has considered it on occasion. A god has no limitations; the power is completely unsurpassed. Kisuke could accomplish things he can’t as a mere mortal or Shinigami. He could fix the things he’s broken.
He could see Sousuke again. Ask all the questions that still simmer in the back of his mind, burn the tip of his tongue. Find out what was truth and lie, achieve some peace.
“But he was right in other things,” Kisuke adds, after realizing he has fallen strangely quiet. He clears his throat pointedly. “Soul Society’s due a change.”
Shinji exhales slowly, giving Kisuke a sharp look. But then, he grins.
“Phew. Ya had me worried there. For a minute, I thought his megalomania had rubbed off on you.”
Kisuke’s eyes narrow. “He was not crazy.”
“Nope. Just another guy with delusions of grandeur,” Shinji comments and tosses a pointed look in Kisuke’s direction, ever directly honest. “Who couldn’t see the values of the things he already had.”
That squeezing, pulling sensation in his chest returns. Kisuke swallows thickly.
“I’m only Shinigami after all. What interest would I have held to a man who was to be god?”
“More than you’d think.”
His friend rises to his feet, yawning noticeably and glancing at the sky beyond the kitchen window. Dawn comes swiftly, but it’s not as though they have anywhere to be. Shinji pauses in the doorway on his way out, fingers tapping a nonsense rhythm on the frame.
“Fer what it’s worth, Kisuke, I don’t think everything about Sou-chan was a lie. If there’s anyone who saw his true self, it was you.”
Kisuke snorts. An attempt at disbelief but more or less an action to conceal the stab of hope that slashes through him. Shinji leaves him alone to his tea with a murmured goodnight. Kisuke sits and stares into the distance, sipping quietly at the chamomile, trying to erase memories of the past that refuse to go away.
Sousuke laughs. “You can’t make that move. It’s against the rules.”
The captain twists his jaw stubbornly, finger still poised over his piece. “No, it’s not,” he argues and tilts his head to the side, looking over the board again. For all that he can see, it’s a perfectly legitimate course of action. He’s so close to beating Sousuke for once; he can taste it.
Fingers cover his own as Sousuke gently slides the piece back to its former position. “No, you can’t,” he repeats patiently. “This is not a ranging piece. It’s a knight, which means--”
“--that it can only jump at an angle,” Kisuke cuts in, tone frustrated as he concedes that Sousuke is indeed right.
Drat. In his eagerness for victory, he’d forgotten a key point.
“I remember.”
“Just making sure,” the vice-captain returns and lifts his hand, running fingers through his hair that’s lying loose around his face. “So I’ll pretend I didn’t see that move, and you can try again.”
Kisuke sniffs, sitting back in his chair. “Don’t give me any favors. I can take my licks as they are owed. Make your move.”
It irks sometimes that Sousuke is by all accounts younger than him but Kisuke is often the one who is more childlike.
Smiling to himself as though amused, the brunet proceeds to do just that. “You are improving,” he states as a piece clicks across the board, effectively boxing Kisuke in place. He never gives the blond any leeway for his amateur status, and for that, Kisuke is grateful.
“Not fast enough,” the captain grumbles and eyes the board intensely. He’s sure there’s still some way he can turn this around to his advantage.
He leans forward, eyes moving from piece to piece, looking for the perfect move that will grant him a victory. Mind considering possibility after possibility, thinking steps ahead of himself, picturing Sousuke’s defeat.
And then a hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lingering with a very distracting touch. The blond startles, looks up, and gets a glimpse of Sousuke’s eyes before a mouth descend over his. Kisuke’s first thought isn’t even to protest, as much as it is to participate. Sousuke’s lips are warm and inviting, and Kisuke is the first to introduce tongue, despite the awkward nature of the kiss with the game board stretching perilously between them.
“That is an unfair move, Aizen-fukutaichou,” Kisuke murmurs into the kiss, all tactics effectively tossed out the window.
Sousuke chuckles, a warm puff of breath over Kisuke’s mouth. “All part of my strategy, my dear.”
“Cheater,” Kisuke mumbles, but it’s half-hearted at best.
He’s not really interested in the game. Not anymore.
a/n: The title of the song and the series was borrowed from Linkin Park's newest album. Also, there is a fourth part in this series. Whether or not there's a fifth part, I'm not sure. But there's definitely a fourth. It's already been finished!
UraAizen is my pairing of choice and I love writing it. This series has a special place in my heart so I hope you enjoyed it!
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.