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Penumbra	By : Sardonicista Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2583 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The author does not own Bleach or its characters, and does not earn any profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-I
- 2-II
- 3-III
- 4-IV
- 5-V
- 6-VI
- 3
- 4
- 5
Penumbra, Chapter Four

Splashing one last handful of cold water onto his face, Byakuya made a blind reach for the towel to the side of the washbasin, but not before a trickle made it down his neck and into his collar. He sighed and brushed wet hair back from his forehead, making one last attempt to dry off before tossing the cloth aside and turning away.

                He moved away from his dressing table to stand and stare idly into the green expanse of garden beyond his bedroom, an orderly assortment of grass, shrubs and stone shrouded in thick mist. Bathing was a losing battle on steamy summer days such as this, humidity combining with sticky sweat to form a ubiquitous and unwelcome undergarment despite every effort to banish them. Byakuya eyed his yukata, cerulean blue cotton peppered with dark damp spots, and contemplated composing the evening’s letters and calligraphy in the buff.

                “I’ll not be emulating the Kenpachi,” he winced and turned away from the door, as a vision of the Eleventh’s captain and officers fighting, laughing and drinking themselves blind in the rain ran unbidden through his mind’s eye.

                He settled in at the low writing desk as the scent of mud, rain and rice wine came to life with the memory. Pulling himself out of his nostalgia, he noticed the bowl of cold barley tea that had appeared at his elbow and nodded, waving the servant away with thanks and a polite refusal of supper.

                It was, after all, too hot to eat.

                Or, you’re just not hungry for food.

It was no surprise, he decided, that his most unhelpful thoughts were spoken with Shunsui’s voice. The man had a way of infiltrating Byakuya’s routine even when they scarcely saw each other, be it with nonsensical hell butterflies, kidou booby-traps or the damned shadows that were continuously rearranging the books and furniture in his office.

                Byakuya opened a blank scroll with care, contemplating which brush to use. I’m not sure if I’m being pranked or courted, he smiled a bit as he selected a brush with a long, black lacquered stalk. And Renji seems to find it amusing that my office should be more chaotic than his own.

                As he reached for the inkstone, Byakuya froze as he felt a tug on his sleeve. I should be getting used to this, he decided as he looked around for Yachiru to no avail. He glanced at the tatami, then along the far corners of the expansive room. The shadows, for the time being, were behaving themselves.

                He began to prepare the ink as a cicada started its aria beyond the door, even as a whisper of a laugh – a woman’s laugh, low and throaty- floated in on the non-existent breeze. A moment later, the staccato giggle of a child followed, and the hair on his arms stood up straight.

                “A summons,” he surmised as his sleeve was tugged on again. He frowned at the tea, the parchment, and the situation but came to his feet anyway. Kyouraku had never employed this method of interruption before, and that in itself made him curious.

                Byakuya didn’t bother to summon his manservant, opting to dress himself in whatever kimono was closest, in this case indigo silk with an unusual silver grape and vine motif. No sense in making a fuss when it’s just as likely to be ripped off and tossed aside. The kenseikan he left in its cloisonné box on his dressing table, Senbonzakura likewise in an ornamental rack on the wall. He looked to his zanpakutou and its elaborately carved saya, expecting an affronted dismissal from the sword spirit. After a long moment, quiet approval brushed against his consciousness before falling silent.

                Curious.

                Rather than make his leisurely way through the manor, Byakuya stepped through the door to the gardens and leapt onto the roof with a burst of shunpou.

                Though no more curious than me running like an errand boy at his beck and call.

                He stood there for a moment at tree level and tried to sort out exactly where he was going. Byakuya was very perceptive when it came to reiatsu sensing…and his quarry was equally adept at masking his presence when it suited him. The nearby maple branches swayed in the stirring breeze, a hopeful sign of an upcoming rainstorm, when a sudden urge to go to the First Division hit him.

                “Very well,” Byakuya murmured to no one in particular and set off, alighting on roof tops and the occasional tree branch as he found his way into the heart of the Soul Society.

                It did not escape his notice that flirtatious feminine laughter answered him.

                Gray and green-tinted daylight still filtered through the oversized white halls of the First Division, though even that flickered and started to fade as the rainclouds closed in.

                Byakuya moved through the maze of halls without a sound. The rustle of fabric and creak of hinges greeted him at every set of tall, red doors in his path, though what stood out to him as he went was the pervasive mood of the place. It was hushed, somber even…though he could swear that more than one guard met his gaze with something like relief.

                There was no laughter nipping at his heels now.

                He peeked into the closet-cum-office that Shunsui had lately occupied only to find it empty and smelling of must. Turning and considering his options as the fusuma panel slid shut, he decided to look in the least likely place. Byakuya walked towards the former Head Captain’s office as an expectant silence closed in and grew nearly deafening as he approached. With his ears ringing and pulse inexplicably accelerating, he stepped towards the great red door.

                The paired doors swung open for him and he entered. Yamamoto’s office had always reminded him of Kuchiki manor, in that both were sprawling and sparsely furnished. The hulking red columns and bleak white walls only served to accentuate the echoing emptiness of the space, Byakuya decided as he entered the cavernous room. Were it not for the balcony affording a commanding view of the Seireitei, the ‘office’ would have little to differentiate it from the storage areas in the bowels of the Twelfth; the mere thought of the contents of said warehouses made him shiver and shelve the thought completely.

                Byakuya had made several strides into the room when he noticed the desk was vacant, the chair and wall hangings exactly as they were when Yamamoto Genryusai had commanded the Gotei Thirteen. He blinked at the office furniture when a gust of wind blew in, bringing with it the cloying odor of sake and fetid sweat. Turning to approach the balcony, he walked around a pillar and stopped in his tracks.

                Even at the Eleventh, he had never seen a pile of bottles, casks and barrels quite like this. Byakuya took a few moments to try and identify a feasible footpath through the rubble, swatting away flies as he surveyed the scene, before giving up and flash-stepping to balance on the railing of the balcony instead. In the far corner, surrounded by clay jars and masked by a sakkat, was slumped the long and snoring form of one Kyouraku Shunsui.

                Byakuya remained on his perch for a good minute, frozen in disbelief. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, forcing himself to relax the muscles of his shoulders and jaw. The wind picked up and carried with it the first few drops of rain, a few warm, fat droplets landing on his neck and back. He exhaled and leapt down, nudging a few bottles aside with his sandals so as to get closer to the Captain Commander.

                Shunsui continued to snore, even as the Kuchiki tipped back his hat and prodded at his hip with his waraji. Byakuya crossed his arms and stared at him as the rain began to pelt the tile roof in a steady rhythm. As Shunsui did not rise in response to the silent summons, Byakuya sighed and crouched down to lift one heavy arm over his own shoulder. He stood slowly and shifted the taller man so that his weight was evenly distributed over his back and shoulder. The scent of musk and unwashed man hit him hard and easily overpowered the sickly-sweet spirits that had been spilled hither and yon over the crowded floor.

                Byakuya frowned. Not at the older man’s weight, nor at the heavy rain and now-gusting wind that sprinkled his hair and clothing. Pressing his lips into a thin, humorless line, he exhaled sharply through his nose and decided where he…no, they, would go next, and vaulted over the balcony with Kyouraku slung over his shoulder.

                The journey back to the Kuchiki demesne went more quickly than Byakuya had expected – it was not the first time that anger lent him speed and strength. His indignation faded somewhat as he hauled his drunken colleague into his bedchamber – the capability and efficiency of his household staff never failed to impress. An extra futon had been placed perpendicular to his own bedding, and his manservant supplied a washbasin full of steaming water and a stack of clean linens before Byakuya even had time to remove his shoes. The servant stood at the ready, awaiting further instruction as they both looked down at the disheveled Kyouraku.

                “Leave us,” Byakuya decided. He toweled off his hair and eyed the comb and assorted soaps as the manservant bowed his way out of the room.

                Peeling off the outer, thoroughly soaked kimono and setting it aside, Byakuya knelt to plan his strategy. He pried off Shunsui’s sandals and tabi, which prompted said man to stir and giggle in his sleep.

                “Ticklish after all. Why am I not surprised?” Byakuya rolled his eyes and reached for Shunsui’s obi.

                “Hello, beautiful,” Shunsui slurred as his larger hand landed heavily on Byakuya’s.

                “You drunken fool,” Byakuya extricated himself and untied the knot, despite Shunsui’s help.

                An amused rumble escaped from Shunsui and he shifted until he was spread-eagle on the futon. “You sound much too serious for someone stripping me naked in a strange place.”

                “It is only strange to you. I happen to live here.” He shifted Shunsui this way and that, freeing one long, muscled arm from the sleeve of the soiled shikakushou. “When was the last time you bathed?”

                “Hard to say.” Shunsui rolled onto his side as Byakuya pulled off the rest of his top. “Nanao said something about trying not to drown myself…”

                “Indeed.” Byakuya folded the shitagi and started working at the hakama ties. “It seems that your lieutenant does, in fact, value your life.” He paused and frowned. “Why is it that you do not?”

                Byakuya had worked the hakama off and assumed, by the silence, that Kyouraku had passed out again. He gave the fundoshi a quick tug and startled when Shunsui spoke.

                “A man can only lose so much before he loses himself.”

                Shunsui rolled over, sighed heavily and resumed snoring.

                Byakuya let his hands curl and uncurl on his knees as wisps of steam rose up from the washbasin. He blinked at the water, exhaled, and went to work. He counted himself as fortunate that Shunsui slept soundly, as it made his task much easier. In fact, he found himself moving without thought, his hands following a routine he had performed countless times before. The details were different, though, and Kyouraku posed challenges he’d never encountered before – the size of him, the thick, dark body hair that took much more water to rinse as one might expect- but in the end, a sponge bath was a sponge bath, and he considered himself something of an expert.

                He moved to the head of the futon and contemplated the last and most difficult task. Byakuya pulled out Shunsui’s hairpins and set them aside, untying the lopsided bow of his ponytail with a deft couple of tugs. Selecting a wide-toothed comb, he started a slow and careful incursion into Shunsui’s tangled and sweat-soaked curls. Hisana’s hair had been smooth and straight…and thin, by the end. He had learned to comb very gently indeed, so as to cause any more of her fine black hair to fall out.

                Byakuya looked down at the mahogany comb, at the still-glossy waves of Shunsui’s hair that cascaded over the pillow. Shunsui snored even more loudly on his back, but his face was slack and relaxed in sleep, his eyepatch askew. Byakuya repositioned it and began to dampen and shampoo Shunsui’s voluminous locks even as his throat grew tight.

                He was grateful that his hands knew what to do, that muscle memory could continue on heedless of the ache in his breast. Thunder rumbled behind him, over him, rattling the doors and the framed parchments on the wall. Lightning flashed soon after and filled the room with brilliant white light that flickered on and off while the storm raged on. Strobe lighting aside, Byakuya rinsed the hair as best he could, combing it out one last time as the rain grew heavier and the thunder eventually receded.

                Coaxing the slumbering Shunsui onto his side once more, Byakuya tied the man’s thick, wet hair back with a fresh tie. He didn’t feel quite as enthusiastic about cajoling the man into a fresh yukata, so he simply pulled the covers up to his shoulders and considered it settled. The bathing supplies were set aside before he had time to think about it, and Byakuya found himself standing and staring out at the gardens again, at a loss.

                Shunsui snorted, mumbled something in a baritone rumble, and snuggled further into the bed. Byakuya turned to watch him and the gentle rise and fall of his chest in sleep. It didn’t seem right to join him, and he was much too awake to make for his own bed. With one quick glance to his neglected writing desk he decided to sit at the edge of the futon, to watch the rain and wait for the old memories to subside into the storm.

                It was dark when he woke up with a stiff backside and a crick in his neck. Byakuya was about to lift his head from where it was pillowed on his now-numb forearms and bent knees when something moved in his hair.

                He froze.

                It wasn’t an insect, unless it was one with very…wide teeth…

                The comb continued to move through his hair in even strokes, gliding without resistance. Byakuya thought about moving, or at least shifting to see whether it was Shunsui or one of his disembodied emissaries. On further thought, he decided against it.

                Byakuya closed his eyes and let the rain lull him back to sleep.
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Penumbra