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The Limits of Denial	By : gypsygrrl420 Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5607 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and I do not make any money from these writings. I just like to play with the characters

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Excepting the fukutaicho of the 11^th, who rode upon her captain’s shoulder more often than not, tradition decreed that a lieutenant’s place was several paces behind their captain—close enough to hear any order given without their taicho needing to raise his or her voice, but distant enough to clearly delineate the difference in rank. Serving under Tousen, Shuuhei’s place had been a precise three paces behind and two to the right, a number that was never to be deviated from, even if he was injured or on the verge of losing consciousness, and the fukutaicho had drilled himself mercilessly until three-behind-two-to-the-right came as naturally as breathing.

The position had been so deeply ingrained that even after eighteen months without having a captain to follow, upon Muguruma-san’s reinstatement he had automatically taken up his old position without thought, relieved to once again have a white-clad back filling his vision. Muguruma-taicho, however, was not Tousen. After more than century away from the rigid military structure of the Gotei, the silver-haired Vizard had little patience for ‘pointless, asinine traditions’, and had demanded that his lieutenant walk at his side, where he could see him and not feel as if he were ‘talking to himself like an idiot’. It had taken Shuuhei months to break himself of the habit, and every so often—usually when his captain was in a particularly irritable mood or Shuuhei himself was feeling off-balance and needing familiarity—he would find himself falling behind the older man, his brain unconsciously measuring out three-behind-two-the-right until his taicho would huff an irritated sigh and reach back to drag him back to his side.

Emerging from the shouten, Shuuhei automatically slowed to allow his captain to take the lead, still dazed by the fact that his captain was in Karakura and wasn’t planning on getting rid of him after all. In fact, he had all but praised him, a benediction that he knew he shouldn’t crave as much as he did, but one that he was grateful for none-the-less.

He was still embarrassed that his taicho had witnessed him yelling at Urahara-san over something as petty as a uniform, especially as the shopkeeper’s motives had been purely altruistic in nature, and though Muguruma-san had been polite enough to overlook his fukutaicho’s appalling breech of conduct, Shuuhei himself had not. He owed Urahara-san an apology, and promised himself that he would seek out the former captain just as soon as they returned to the shouten to deliver it.

A leather-clad hand wrapped around his wrist, startling him back to the present, and he looked up to discover that his taicho was frowning at him, brows lowered in a familiar scowl of annoyance.

“Maybe if I tie you to my side you’ll stop this,” he said, and Shuuhei felt his face flush as his traitorous mind supplied him with an mental image of being bound to the older man, only they were both naked, and horizontal.

His captain’s eyes were lambent in the bright sunshine, and he allowed himself to be tugged gently forward till he stood beside the Vizard.

“That’s better. Now I can see you,” the older man commented gruffly, releasing his arm. Shuuhei tried to ignore the pang of disappointment at the absence. Just because his taicho found him to be a capable lieutenant and had said he didn’t want anyone else didn’t mean he wouldn’t change his mind if he found out that Shuuhei was lusting after him. Even though fraternization between members of the same sex wasn’t frowned upon within the Gotei--wakashudo was a long-honored practice in their society—he’d never seen his captain display even a hint of interest in any kind of romantic entanglement, with either sex. And considering his stance on where a fukutaicho should stand relative to their captain, Shuuhei rather doubted the older man would bed a subordinate, not when one took into consideration that most officers would never dare to decline the advances of a taicho. The few that did found themselves skipped over for promotions, or an excuse was found to demote them, or on extremely rare occasions—and these cases were almost impossible to prove, though no one doubted their occurrence—fell victim to ‘accidents’ or ‘Hollow attacks’ or ‘training mishaps’. And lower-ranked officers never pursued higher-ranked ones, not unless that superior officer made some sort of clear indication that such pursuit would be welcomed. Anything else would be career suicide—or actual suicide, depending on the officer in question.

So no, Shuuhei had better get his act together and banish all these disturbing, absurd little fantasies about his captain, before his taicho figured out his lieutenant’s stupid little crush—even if said crush wasn’t exactly little anymore, especially since said crush was no longer a little, manageable thing. If Muguruma-taicho ever found out, dismissal from his position would be the least of his worries—

“—hei. Hey, com’n, snap out of it, kid!”

A broad, warm palm closed over his shoulder, shaking him gently, and he realized he’d zoned out once again, and that his captain was trying to get his attention.

Face heating under that golden-eyed stare, he shifted minutely so the older man’s hand slipped off his shoulder, making sure that it didn’t seem as if he had done so intentionally. Muguruma-san’s temper was formidable, and easily roused by the littlest of things, and he knew shrugging off his hand as if his touch burned would be taken the wrong way by his captain.

“My apologies, taicho,” he said quietly, striving to keep his expression neutral but not closed off. Kira had once told him that if he made his face too blank, it immediately gave away the fact that he was hiding something.

The Vizard’s brow furrowed. “You okay? We can go back to Urahara’s if you’re not feeling up to dealing with the idiots today.”

Like that would help. Right now, the Vizards offered a welcome distraction from his inappropriate thoughts and unruly body. The slim-fitting jeans the shopkeeper had given him lacked the voluminous folds of his hakama, and it would be immediately apparent if he grew aroused. Standing so close to his captain, he could detect the faintest hint of the soap he had used earlier that morning—bright, sharp lemongrass—layered over a rich, loamy scent reminiscent of earth after a heavy rainfall, and Shuuhei could feel his body stir in ill-timed interest.

He offered his captain what he hoped passed for a tight smile, but knew it looked more like a grimace.

“I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m fine,” he answered.

The Vizard’s frown deepened, the weight of his gaze almost tangible. “There’s no need to run yourself down, Shuu—Hisagi. We can just as easily go see those idiots later, or tomorrow—”

“I’m fine, taicho. My body isn’t quite used to being able to grab more than an hour or two of sleep a night and is still adjusting to the lighter work load.”

His captain’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and for a breathless moment he thought that the older man had seen through his lie—but the older man finally nodded and the lines marking his forehead eased.

“Just let me know if you want to go. I know how exhausting being around the rest of them can be, and they won’t be offended when—if—you decide you’ve had enough of them,” he said.

Shuuhei let out the breath he’d been holding, his own eyebrows drawing down in a frown that hinted at the spark of irritation his captain’s words engendered. Tired or not—and he was tired, exhausted actually—he could handle a day in the Vizards’ company. He wasn’t about to let them get to him again, not in front of his captain.

“Yes, taicho,” he answered, and forced his feet to move. As much as he didn’t want to go to the warehouse to endure another day of being ignored by most of the Vizards save for Kuna-san, who seemed to think he was her personal doll, he didn’t want his captain to think he was unable to fulfill his duties as a fukutaicho and change his mind about keeping him. He’d endured far worse things in Rukongai and his early years in the Academy than putting up with someone playing with his hair and some silent treatment. And hopefully, with his captain there, the Vizards would perhaps decide to stop making his mission difficult and cooperate for once.

He had a feeling he would be doomed to disappointment, but as they say, hope springs eternal—or something like that.

Squaring his shoulders and hoping he didn’t look like a man heading to his own execution, he lengthened his stride to catch up to his captain, who was waiting with thinly veiled impatience a few yards down the mostly-deserted street.
Kensei allowed Shuuhei to knock on the warehouse door. Even if the ‘mission’ was a farce, he knew his lieutenant took his duties seriously—and he didn’t want to run the risk of making Shuuhei think his captain thought him incapable or lacking in any way.

Plus, it allowed the older man to fall back a step or two and devote several moments’ time to appreciating the way soft, worn denim clung to Shuuhei’s mouth-wateringly perfect, gorgeous ass. His palms fairly itched with the need to touch, to hold; he wanted to bend his fukutaicho across the nearest flat surface and worship every inch of his long, lean body, spread him out and taste him, open him up with fingers and tongue…

The battered metal door squealed on its hinges as it was yanked open by a scowling Hiyori, jolting him from his reverie. Shuuhei was offering the tiny blond a deep, respectful bow—and the tiny blond Vizard aimed a smirk at Kensei over the younger man’s head, obviously having caught the direction of his gaze.

“Took you two idiots long enough to get here. People generally go on romantic strolls at night, you know, not in the middle of the day,” she said, spinning on her heel and stalking back inside, muttering under her breath. Kensei was treated to the beautiful sight of a blush creeping across his lieutenant’s face.

“I—She—Dammit!”

Well fuck, who knew Shuuhei could blush? And his sputtering was fucking adorable. The Vizard-taicho clapped his second on the back and offered what he hoped was a sufficiently sympathetic grin.

“Don’t worry about her, Hisagi. She teases everyone she likes.”

He received a look of patent disbelief. “That’s her ‘liking’ me? I’d hate to see what she does to people she doesn’t like,” the younger man said, eliciting a laugh from his captain.

“Yes, you really would. Com’n, sooner we get in there, the sooner we can leave and maybe relax a bit,” he replied, curbing the urge to rest his hand at the small of his fukutaicho’s back as he ushered him inside. Despite the fact that he’d decided to woo his lieutenant, he wasn’t about to do so in front of the other Vizards and risk them ruin things before they even started with their teasing—and they would tease them both. Kensei because they loved pissing him off, and Shuuhei because fuck, who could resist making the kid blush and stammer and look more adorable than he had any right to be?

Still, he found himself walking just a little too close to his lieutenant, halving the usual distance he kept between them, smirking to himself when Shuuhei’s breath hitched and grey-green eyes flashed up to his face and away, a soft flush of pink edging along high cheekbones. His Hollow crowed inside his head, but for once he didn’t bother trying to shut it up. He was pretty damned pleased with himself too. He’d resigned himself to having to wait until they had left the Vizards’ warehouse before he could implement the first stage of ‘Operation: Woo Shuuhei’, but was quickly revising his original timeframe. As long as he kept it subtle, he could work on deepening his fukutaicho’s awareness towards him while they were at the warehouse without his former companions picking up on what he was doing.

‘Kensei, you’re not exactly known for subtlety. I think you should stick with your original plan and wait until we leave. Hisagi will not respond well to our companions’ teasing, and you risk losing him completely,’ Tachikaze interjected, his disapproval fairly flooding the Vizard’s Inner World.

‘Eh, don’t listen to him. I still say you need to just toss him down and claim him. None of this wishy-washy ‘wooing’ crap. We could have had him purring under us months ago if you’d just listened to me and Tachi and pulled your head outta your ass. At this rate, we’ll all be dead of old age before you actually nut-up and claim him properly, or he’ll leave us and find someone else who ain’t too scared to take what’s on offer,’ his Hollow sneered.

‘Both of you need to shut the fuck up,’ he snarled, and surprisingly, they did. They’d been over the night before, into the early hours of the morning, when he’d been lying awake in bed trying to figure out the best way to win his brat, and he’d spent those sleepless hours shooting down their suggestions—his Hollow’s as overly lecherous, and Tachikaze’s as ridiculously conservative.

He mentally shook off the irritating mix of heavy disapproval and barely-leashed, violence-tinged sulking swirling about his Inner World, focusing instead on more important things—such as the blur of white-and-green, hyperactive ex-fukutaicho barreling towards himself and Shuuhei.

“SHUU-SHUU-CHAN!”

His current lieutenant winced, a whole range of emotions flitting across his face before he schooled his expression back to his default careful neutrality—if Kensei hadn’t been watching him so closely, he would have missed the fascinating mix of embarrassment, resignation, and a tiny thread of pleasure the younger man felt at Mashiro’s enthusiastic greeting—and offered the tiny terror a needlessly deep, overly formal bow of greeting. Kensei wanted to haul him back upright, but knew doing so would be overstepping. Shuuhei was, at times, frustratingly proper. The older man blamed it on the stuffy atmosphere of the Gotei and a childhood spent clawing his way out of Rukongai, and wondered, not for the first time, if things would have been different had Kensei and the others not fallen victim to Aizen’s plans all those years ago. Then again, if events hadn’t occurred the way they had, it was probable that he wouldn’t have met Shuuhei at all. Who knows what would have happened to the strong, gorgeous kid who had defended his friends so fiercely from a Hollow but burst into tears once the danger had passed. Like in Rukongai was hard; life in the higher districts more so. Add in the fact that even as a kid Shuuhei had had pretty strong reiatsu, making him an attractive meal prospect for a Hollow and one of the rare souls that needed to actually eat food—well, that he survived at all was a miracle in itself.

Shuuhei’s hero-worship of him had always been an uncomfortable thing, but Kensei was suddenly aware that it had helped Shuuhei survive his childhood, and driven him to doggedly pursue a position in the Gotei, despite his humble background. That he had risen through the ranks as quickly as he had—yes, maybe Tousen’s machinations had been a part of it, but mostly it had been because of his own hard work, stubborn determination, and a fierce need to live up to a dizzyingly high level of self-imposed expectation—only served to underscore the strength that lie at the younger man’s core, and brought out a side of Kensei that he didn’t know he even possessed. He wanted to spend the rest of his life cherishing the beautiful, incredible man that was currently putting up with his former lieutenant’s inane chatter with a level of patience that Kensei could never hope to achieve. It took every ounce of willpower he didn’t know he had to keep his hands to himself; he was fairly itching with the need to take his fukutaicho somewhere much more private and make up for all the time they had lost due to his own stupid need to deny what lay between them.

“I see you came along to protect your precious fukutaicho from the big, bad wolves, Kensei.”

Shinji’s grin was wide and mocking, brown eyes glinting up at the taller, broader Vizard as he strolled casually across the open space that served as the Vizards’ common room. Kensei scowled, darting a quick glance at his lieutenant, but Shuuhei was focused on Mashiro—or he was ignoring Shinji’s jibe. Clamping a gloved hand around the blond’s bicep, he dragged Shinji away from his second.

“Leave him alone, Shinji. You got a problem with me, you take it up with me, not him,” he growled, once he had dragged the former captain far enough away from any potential eavesdroppers. He didn’t want Shuuhei to feel as if he believed him incapable of handling himself, but at the same time, he wanted to protect his fukutaicho from Shinji’s rapier tongue.

Shinji shook off his hand, aiming a glower up at the silver-haired man as he made a show of rubbing his arm. But his expression turned serious a heartbeat later. “I don’t have a problem with either of you, Kensei. I was just teasing. You do look like a guard dog, hovering around him the way you are. You want to keep your infatuation a secret, you need to stop growling at everyone who comes near him.”

Kensei scoffed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it ain’t ‘infatuation’, idiot. And I don’t hover.”

Shinji raised a brow. “No? You were practically on his heels when the two of you came in. As oblivious as he is—and he can give Kurosaki a run for his money in that department—even he’s not that blind. Keep acting like this and he’s gonna figure out you want to bend him over and fuck that truly perfect ass permanently stupid—which, by the way, looks particularly edible in those jeans. I do hope, for your sake, that he doesn’t dress like that back in Soul Society. You’d fending off his admirers in droves.”

Kensei managed to swallow back his instinctive growl, but only just.

“His uniform needed repair and Kisuke loaned him some of Kurosaki’s clothes. And his ass is none of your business.”

The blond smiled slowly. “Never thought I’d see the day when the great Muguruma Kensei would fall prey to the green-eyed monster.”

Kensei bristled, temper simmering just under the surface as he stared down the Vizards’ de facto leader. “Show some respect, Hirako. Shuuhei is a highly capable and valued officer of the Gotei—of my division—not some pretty-faced, empty-headed eye candy here for your entertainment. Start treating him as such.”

Brown eyes gleamed, though Kensei wasn’t sure if Shinji was laughing at him or not—for once, the toothy smile aimed up at him lacked its usual smirking twist. “Of course, Muguruma-taicho. We never doubted his capabilities as a fukutaicho. Anyone can see that he’s wound tighter than a spring…we just thought we’d help loosen him up a bit, before he winds up finally snapping and going on a rampage across the Gotei.”

Kensei frowned at the blond, both at being called ‘Muguruma-taicho’ and at the other man’s assessment of Shuuhei. The kid was overly tense, yeah, but hardly the type to go off on a rampage. He opened his mouth to say so, but Shinji forestalled him.

“You have seen his shikai, right? Hisagi-san might act all calm and collected, but that’s just what he wants everyone to see. If Tousen hadn’t gotten his hands on him, he would have fit right into the 11^th with that zanpakutou of his. I bet he’s a sight to see when he lets loose completely.”

Kensei’s frown deepened. Yeah, he’d seen Shuuhei’s shikai, and knew all about the damage Tousen had done to the relationship being Shinigami and zanpakutou spirit; the kid was less hesitant to use it, but he still preferred to rely on its bound form and kido when fighting. Maybe Shinji had a valid point.

“We’re working on it,” he said curtly, not wanting the other Vizard to see that he had scored a point. He didn’t like hearing that they’d been making Shuuhei’s life difficult on this pseudo-mission, but if wasn’t being done out of some misplaced anger at Kensei, but because they actually thought Shuuhei needed a safe outlet to let loose—their Hollows made them stronger, faster, and harder to kill—well, maybe he had misjudged his former companions, and maybe he could stop feeling quite so guilty about sending Shuuhei on this farce of a mission.

“Well, that and it’s been awhile since we had fresh meat to spar with. I figure if we piss him off enough, Hisagi-chan will offer more of a challenge. We’ll still wipe the floor with him, but it’ll take more than a few minutes if he’s mad enough.”

And there is was—Shinji’s main reason for messing with his lieutenant. He should have known the Vizards were not nearly so altruistic. But Shinji was severely underestimating Shuuhei. Kensei’s grin was as wide and sharp as a shark smelling blood in the water.

“He’d last more than a few minutes, Shinji. He took down Arrancar and Tousen, all on his own, all without losing control. You push him too far, and he’ll be the one wiping the floor with you,” he replied, smile widening even further at the thought. Shuuhei all focused and calm in a spar was a gorgeous sight; Shuuhei finally letting go of all that ridiculous fear and truly letting loose against opponents he needn’t be afraid of hurting permanently? He shifted his stance as his cock gave an interested twitch at the mental images his traitorous brain was producing, thanking kami that his cargo pants were loose enough to hide his growing arousal. He really needed to think of something else, fast.

“So, now that I’m here you’ll be on your best behavior, right? No more silent treatment? No more teasing?” he asked, changing the subject before Shinji noticed his reaction and decided to use it as ammunition.

Shinji’s smile widened, head tilting so his eyes were shadowed by the brim of his cap, but a glint of amusement lit his gaze as he looked across the room at the tall, lean figure of Kensei’s fukutaicho.

“I suppose we can behave ourselves—with the right incentive, of course,” the blond answered, looking back at Kensei. The silver-haired Vizard narrowed his eyes.

“How about you guys behave, and I don’t kick your ass?”

If anything, the gleam in Shinji’s eyes grew sharper. “I’d like to see you try, Kensei. You’ve been off in Soul Society, sitting behind a desk doing paperwork. Shit, I bet your eye candy over there could hand you your ass these days.”

‘Did he just really—’

‘Yes, Shirosei, he did. Piano-toothed bastard needs a lesson in who’s the “soft” one around here,’ Tachikaze snarled in his head, and Kensei bit back a groan, struggling to rein in his temper. Bad enough the damn Hollow was getting pissed off; Tachikaze joining in was just asking for trouble. It irritated him that Shinji was at least partially right; since his return to Soul Society, he’d had to restrain himself when training with his division. It had been some time since he’d pulled his Hollow mask and went all out in a spar.

“Do you really want to find out how rusty my skills have gotten, Shinji?” He couldn’t prevent the watery growl of his Hollow coming through, but then again, he hadn’t really tried. Maybe a good spar was in order—kami knew he needed an outlet for the sexual frustration that had been dogging him for months, his hand not really doing more than taking the barest edge off.

Shinji, the bastard, just laughed, tilting his head up so the light hit him square in the face. “Nah, wouldn’t want to kick your ass in front of your boy. Might hurt your chances with ‘im. How about you and Hachi go pick up supplies and you cook us all a nice meal, eh? We kinda miss you in the kitchen, and you can show off your culinary skins to Shuu-chan there. I hear the kid likes to eat, and you know what they say—fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Kensei scowled, opened his mouth to tell Shinji to fuck off, and then stopped, blinked. That, actually, wasn’t a terrible idea. His gaze slid to Shuuhei’s lean figure, seated now on the couch beside a happily chattering Mashiro, considering. The kid was all sleek muscle and angular lines, tall and slim to the point of skinny. After he’s been reinstated as the 9^th’s captain, his first order of business had been to take back the workload that was rightfully his; he’d taken one look at his new fukutaicho and had wondered how the hell the kid had managed as long as he had, doing the work of taicho, fukutaicho, and running the newspaper on top of that. The kid had looked like a zombie, all skin and bones and eyes shadowed by exhaustion and loss. It had been months before Shuuhei had managed to regain some of the weight he had lost, for the smudges of sleepless nights to fade beneath his eyes, and more than once Kensei had had to yell at his lieutenant when he’d found him asleep at his desk in the middle of the night, a half-empty cup of tea cold at his elbow and uneaten bento at the edge of his desk. His friends would tease him about eating, and there’d been disturbing rumors floating around about the 2^nd division’s lieutenant and table scraps.

Cooking for Shuuhei, in the safety of a group setting, might be a step in the right direction.

“Fine. But I’m not making anything too fancy, and I’m not paying for supplies. You want me to cook, you have to provide the food,” he said at last, looking back down at Shinji. The blond grinned at him.

“Sure thing, Kensei. We even saved your apron for you.”

Kensei groaned, and hoped Shuuhei didn’t laugh at the sight of his captain wearing a frilly pink apron.
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The Limits of Denial