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Tuesdays with Shuuhei	By : Yatzuaka Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 6320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own, nor make money from anything Bleach related. More's the pity.

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The voice promising to protect her was so very soft. The arms around her were not. They held her too close, tight. Claustrophobia clawed her insides. She tried to remember why he was carrying her and came up blank.
By the time she woke up the next day everything had changed.
~*~
She should have guessed it would be him at her door. Crouched above him, her knee square on his carotid artery, she felt stupid for not anticipating his arrival. It was Tuesday after all.
His smell filled her nostrils. A claw she recognized as her own hand swooped into her field of vision and dug into his hair. She felt her nails scrape his scalp viciously. The sheer rage she felt coursing through her wasn’t something she was used to allowing herself to feel. It was one of those things Gin had told her was unattractive and the rule was if it was unattractive she couldn’t do it.
Damned skippy she looked unattractive now… Probably like a madwoman. Hah.
His eyes opened, disgustingly long black lashes framing those pretty eyes. She felt like ripping them out of his skull and shoving them down his throat. She felt like she was invincible in her rage. She wondered why she’d let herself slide into despair – AGAIN – over something as stupid as a man.
“I am angry,” she said simply, all her warring interior parts in complete and utter unison for once.
Rangiku Matsumoto, lieutenant of the Thirteenth Court Squad, uncrowned queen of the cynics, tried to remember any time she had acknowledged that simple emotion. The sound of someone gasping for breath intruded.
Yes, yes, she had other business to attend to.
She moved her knee aside, releasing his neck, but kept his arms captive under her legs. Her hair (still smelling faintly of harsh cleaning supplies) curtained them from the rest of the world. Rangiku snorted in disgust and let him up.
~*~
He’d known she would be pissed when he’d shown up. How could she not have been? She had every right to be royally ticked off. He’d… had a relationship timeline overlap. OK, he’d cheated. But, still, he’d not expected a knee in the throat. Although considering who he was referring to, perhaps he should have. And here things had been going so well…
She was worth it. She was superior to anyone he’d ever met, the guy he’d gotten the tattoo for included. Hisagi was pond-scum. He had come to realize that over the last few weeks. Maybe he deserved this.
His body ached to react to the lack of oxygen.
When she finally let up he tried to stop himself from gulping air, and only partially succeeded. His lungs felt like used gym-socks, but he kept his eyes open. Strange that he should feel both gratitude and dissatisfaction that he was no longer her intimate captive.
Who knew what else she would do with him now that he wasn’t trapped under her body.
As he tried to decide whether he felt more scared or excited, he waited for her next move and tried to modulate his breathing.
With the flood of oxygen it occurred to him that everyone should have a memory that they hold close, something precious. The last few decades he’d held the moment that he’d sensed a kindred spirit in his former captain in that place. He had longed for that sense of acceptance for so much of his life. How strange that he’d ended up taking that for granted- that peace of the safe knowledge that he belonged right where he was in life. Now, he had to stop himself from thinking it had all been a front, a stupid lie. When had his peace become those stolen moment with her? Why hadn’t he recognized that?
He didn’t blame her for the anger. He couldn’t blame her for the look of utter disdain she wore as she leaned close looked him square in the eye.
“Get out.”
It was just two words, two simple monosyllabic words. Why did they hurt so much?
Later, when he thinks about that moment, the crystalline quality of the memory never surprises him.
Everything- the way the candle light filtered through her hair and cast little yellow gold streamers down her cheeks, the way her mouth looked as her lips shaped the words, the way her breath tickled his face as she spoke, the smell of lemon cleaner in her hair- he knew as it happened he’d remember it all.
His eyes closed and he heard what had to be the rustling of fabric and hair, felt the release of her weight on his body as she rose and a rush of cool air. Then she was once again seated across from him- almost absurdly prim, every trace of the anger she’d spoken of gone, reduced to nothing more than a flush across the bridge of her nose that trailed to the apples of her cheeks.
Suddenly it occurred to him. It was like he’d taken the dare and stuck his tongue to a frozen light-pole, so sure that he wouldn’t get glued to it. And didn’t he feel like a fool when he was proven wrong. See, he’d never even realized it… that he was good and proper fucked. Struggling against it would only tear his tongue, if he continued with the metaphor. The only way to get loose, since no one would be coming to his rescue, was to admit it, if only to himself.
He loved her.
~*~
He seemed a little stunned. Honestly so was she. Where the fuck had those two words come from? Ran could have sworn when she bent her head forward so far their noses practically touched, that she was about to rip his throat out with her bare hand, a la Patrick Swayze in Roadhouse (a movie Urahara had once tried to convince her was an excellent documentary-style period drama about authentic American life when she had expressed a passing interest in visiting the country).
Instead, she’d given him a stern, but surprisingly quiet order to vacate the premises?
And, true to form, she was conflicted when he’d left without so much as a backward glance. That fucker.
Her fingertips beat a harsh, staccato rhythm against the tabletop. The sound was annoying, but when she stopped she found the silence equally so. Wandering around her apartment trying to find something to do didn’t help. She’d cleaned up too damn well and there wasn’t any busywork left.
Arguing briefly with herself, she slung on some grotty old sandals and headed towards her favorite dump. Soon she was in her favorite corner stool, close enough to the bartender to get his attention, but far enough away that he’d be busy dealing with his other customers to talk to her.
She was two shots deep in her first bottle of sake when she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door’s protesting squeal as it opened on a broken track. Her gaze was drawn from the designs she drawn with condensation on the bar at the noise.
Shit. Fuckity fuck.
~*~
Slinking back to his quarters had felt like the cowards way out. Especially when his mind helpfully reminded him that she’d likely signed on for what was at best a very dangerous mission and was at worst a one way trip to being dead.
Hisagi looked around, seeing the usual detritus that regularly infiltrated his living space. It was a particularly dismal feeling to realize he loved and lost. That she’d be gone and might, hell he knew it as well as anybody and should just admit it, never come back.
It seemed like ages ago he’d sent those idiotic notes, wondering why he’d thought she’d be stupid enough to fall for them. Why had he allowed himself to carry on with the silly, little girl when he had a woman who had seemed to enjoy his company, and one who he had admired for so very long?
The answer was obvious and didn’t speak much towards his character. He’d been flattered by the attention of someone so young and attractive. She’d been easy- easy to be around, easy to order around, easy to handle. Rangiku was a lot of things, but she was never easy.
He had to see her. Had to try one more time, before it was too late.
His feet pounded the ground as he flat-out ran through streets he’d forgotten even existed. People he passed registered vaguely in his peripheral vision, but none had any clear features, reduced to unimportant, amorphous blobs. When he was certain he’d found her, somewhere deep in the heart of one of the more unsavory neighborhoods the Shinigami like him (former residents too embarrassed to admit to their roots) generally avoided, he took a few seconds to calm his breathing and to survey the building he stood in front of.
She sure had picked the most anonymous freaking crap-hole he’d seen in a long time, in which she’d be guaranteed to not meet anyone from the Thirteen Court Squads. As the door squealed and an old man shoved him aside, he realized he’d been standing there fiddling with his armbands for far longer than he’d intended. He was scared, which was not something he liked to own up to or give in to.
Breathing deep, he tried for his best macho look as he walked in. All eyes swiveled his way.
So much for the element of surprise, he thought, rather grimly, as he met her eyes from across the dismal room.
~*~
At least he had the good grace to look ashamed, she thought grimly as she watched the unfairly handsome fuckwit walk towards her. Turning from him pointedly, she resumed the serious business of getting drunk. She was leaving tomorrow, and she would be gods-damned if she let that douche-hole ruin her perfectly good buzz. She spared him only the briefest withering glance when he slid onto the stool next to hers.
The bartender looked dubious when Hisagi asked for two bottles of sake, but apparently greed overcame his better judgment and he obliged the request. Rangiku was tempted to fling money on the scarred wood counter and run screaming into the cool safety of the night, but pride had her ass locked to the stool. Quiet resolve to rise above the situation had her holding her tongue (along with the dim worry that the bartender would actually grow some balls and toss her out if she started a scene).
She smiled faintly at an ancient man with a checkerboard grin she recognized from earlier trips to the bar.
“You should do that more often,” her unwanted seat-neighbor said.
She raised an eyebrow, not deigning to answer the ridiculous statement so obviously meant to draw her into some sort of back and forth communication. She sipped from her cup carefully several times in rapid succession, meticulously draining it to the last drop. Then she poured the last of the bottle in front of her into the cup and repeated the process of delicately sipping and pointedly ignoring.
In short order she’d finished her single, lonely-looking bottle, and after digging discreetly in her cleavage for cash, she stood to leave.
“Sit for the love of the gods, please. I won’t talk, just sit and have a drink with me. I know I don’t deserve it, but shit, Ran, I can’t stand the idea of you leaving tomorrow and that you…” his voice had turned that shade of gravelly that never failed to make her panties wet before his words trailed off.
She knew what he’d say next and she didn’t want to hear it. She was, in fact, excessively grateful that he had enough sense to shut the fuck up.
Matsumoto was well aware of the mission before her. She might play at being stupid, hell she might actually be stupid considering some of her choices, but she knew what the deal was. She’d almost hoped for the result he was circling around actually saying. Death.
Uncomfortable now, both mentally and physically, she settled back into her stool, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead of saying anything else, he filled her glass and watched her expectantly. Struggling once again with warring interior voices and emotions, she tried to keep her face as blank as possible as she lifted the cup. In uneasy silence (bless the ever-wonderful third rule), she drank with a man she really, really no longer much cared for.
~*~
Somewhere between the second and third bottle of subpar sake, she’d started to make eyes at the door. Throwing caution to the wind, he’d basically told her that he was well aware he was dried dog vomit, and that he was honored that she had stayed her sword when she could have cut him down to size. Oddly enough, her response of, “Well, wasn’t sure I could slice that small,” was comforting.
Another bottle had her yawning. When she didn’t tell him to shove his head up his ass when he offered to walk her home, he felt cautiously optimistic. Even more so when she stepped through her door and didn’t shut it in his face immediately.
When she looked at him with that speculative look, he thought that he may have to do something he hadn’t felt the need to do in years: Find a shrine and make an offering come morning.
~*~
Somewhere between her deciding to stay and finishing her first drink, she’d forced her thoughts draw away from the morbid and in her quest for anything at all else to think of had inadvertently looked at Hisagi’s profile. He was pouring himself another round, unaware of her scrutiny. He was still pretty fucking cute, even if he was a disloyal, big-mouthed dick-head.
As soon as the word dick flashed in her mind, her attention was immediately divided. Some thoughts flew in the southern direction, while the ones that remained rational tried to talk the others out of being horny. It became clear by the second bottle of sake she would have to leave, or suffer the consequences. She promised herself that she would leave after just one more drink at least three times before she gave up the pretense.
She yawned a few times, stretching her mouth a bit wider behind the shield of her hand each time. Just as she was about to give up on trying for subtlety, he thankfully decided to make the big apology she expected since he’d shown up at her door earlier in the evening.
How much simpler it would have been if she’d just not answered the door, or better yet was able to exercise even minimal restraint. She wouldn’t have been about to make yet another ridiculously terrible choice. Even armed with complete self-awareness, Rangiku Matsumoto was still going to fuck Shuuhei Hisagi to within an inch of his life.
That didn’t mean she had to let him in on that quite yet. She enjoyed watching him squirm all the way home.
~*~
Rangiku didn’t bother with further pretenses once the door was shut. Her clothes made a path to the bedroom. She ignored the urge to pick them up, fold them and arrange them carefully in her hamper. By the time she got to her bed, she was naked. She turned and watched as he hesitated in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, she spread her arms and fell backwards. The thud as she hit the mattress echoed slightly.
She was fully aware that she was making a huge mistake. Somehow the astronomically large error in judgment was the very last thing on her mind. Catastrophe could wait until the morning.
No man had the right to look as good as he did in what should have made him look like an ass. Who wore sleeveless shirts all the time, anyway? Douche-bags, that’s who.
It was unexpected that when he finally came into her room that he dove for the bed, still fully clothed. Callused hands dug into the skin of her thighs as he pried her thighs apart. Not that it took much effort. His face was buried between them in seconds.
Though she had brought him back for that very purpose, the first swipe of his tongue took her by surprise. A swell of emotions took hold of her as he lapped at her. The gentle scrape of teeth against her clit sent of her over the edge before she had a chance to examine them any closer. It had been too long since the last orgasm for her to attempt to hold back.
His clothes chafed her sensitive skin, annoying her tremendously. Her strong fingers trembled she clawed at the offending fabric, trying to find purchase and leverage to rip or tear. She felt his smile against her as he grabbed her wrists and held them down. His arms pressed her thighs further apart as he shifted his grip from her wrists to her hands. His fingers slid between hers. Their palms pressed together as he held her in place.
Her body shook as conscious thoughts drained from her mind. His tongue trailed over her labia, trailing silver bright sensations across her. She tried to shift, tried to force him, closer, deeper, closer, more. When his tongue finally circled inside, she shuddered. A sigh turned to a whimper and she felt as he raised his head. Had his arms not held her thighs against the bed, she would have wrapped them around his head until he gave her what she wanted. As it was, he was being deliberately obtuse.
Her eyelids fluttered open when he didn’t continue, didn’t do anything but prop his chin on her pubic bone. Words stuck in her throat as she looked at him. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. His lips tilted at the corners, the dim light in her apartment catching the moisture on his face.
She couldn’t look away as he ran his tongue over his lips, desperate for that tongue to be elsewhere on her body.
He squeezed her hands gently before releasing them, allowing his own to trail down her lower body. Grasping her feet, he pushed them further up the bed, raising her knees above his head, her legs cradling his torso.
“Stay like that, please,” he whispered across her skin, eyes still unnaturally bright in the dimness.
She wasn’t used to the look in his eyes. It made her uncomfortable and she felt a deep flush of heat steal over her face and neck and further down, down until she was sure even her toes were fuchsia. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t find the strength to manage it. Her eyes were still locked on his when he dipped low again.
Nothing could have prepared her for the tenderness in his touch. This time he left no fold untouched, every bit of her welled with moisture and feeling. Heaviness suffused her limbs and it became harder to think. A wave swept over her and she gasped as the climax claimed her.
Still his eyes held hers.
It took a few moments for her to regain herself. He stood over her, looking as ridiculously good as he always did. His eyes, dark, warm, full of emotion were so bright it hurt in a way she hesitated to identify.
He slipped off his armbands, his choker and his uniform so quickly, she was almost startled by his nudity. For once her brain shut down and she was free to just enjoy the view. The long lines of his body were exquisite formed, mouthwatering. Candle light played on his muscles, defining their strength. For a long moment the two hung suspended in time, admiring the way flickering light played with their features, bringing the best to the forefront and leaving the rest in shadow.
When he slid on top of her, she felt all of him, skin to skin. The hair on his body tickled her, sparse though it was. His breath marched up her body in slow, so very slow increments. Small puffs of air lingered over her mound, her tight belly, her navel, her ribs, her breasts and nipples. When his face was level with her neck she automatically craned her head to the side. Hot, sake-scented dampness shot across the tingling nerves in her neck.
He settled into her. She found herself cradling his hips with her thighs, his weight almost pleasant, almost too much to bear as he braced himself on his elbows. The warmth of his body was all over her. Rangiku couldn’t remember ever feeling so much of someone else all at once. The closeness wasn’t overwhelmingly claustrophobic, as it rightfully should have been.
“Turn your head,” he whispered, letting his breath tickle the shell of her ear.
She closed her eyes slowly, unable to stop the slightly embarrassing shiver that ran through her. When his finger pressed her chin, she allowed him to nudge her face around. Seemingly of their volition, her hands trailed down his back to cup his cute, little, round ass. When he didn’t do anything other than breathe deeply in and out, she opened her eyes out of sheer curiosity.
She realized that his eyes weren’t black or dark brown like she’d thought, but the loveliest, darkest shade of navy she’d seen.
The pressure of his cock at her entrance increased fractionally, and despite her own attempts at obtaining penetration, which ranged from the subtle to the forceful, he didn’t do more than rub against her. He tantalized her, then simply smiled and shifted out of the way when she tried to roll her hipsjust so yet again. It was mildly disconcerting to have him staring at her so closely. The confusion she felt at his continued evasions made her frustration sing.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she asked, trying to inject authority in her voice and failing miserably. Gods, she hated it when she whined unintentionally.
“No, I’m not,” he said so softly, she strained to hear him. “Don’t worry, Ran. I’ll take care of you, just… relax, please?”
He kissed her then, just a soft brush of their mouths. She wanted more. Right then, that instant. Her tongue darted out of her mouth to follow the contours of his lips, glad when he finally opened them and stroked her tongue with his.
His hips shifted forward and he slid slowly, so very gently, all the way into her. She’d never breathed so deeply before, exhaling so her lungs felt completely flat before she inhaled and they were full to bursting again, Shuuhei-scented air thick in her throat. Full, finally filled, finally, finally. She was triumphant; she knew that he wouldn’t waste any more time and would finally give her what she craved.
Only, he didn’t move.
She gripped his cheeks, letting her nails sink into the fuzzy skin there. He hissed a little and she caught the sound with her mouth.
He pulled away from their kiss and grinned at her, “You are so very impatient, Ran. Give us a minute to enjoy this, will you?”
His forehead dipped low again, touching hers, his midnight gaze finding her through the black of his hair. With exquisite care, he pulled his hips back, thrusting slowly back only when he was about to fall out.
Not enough. More.
Please, more.
The heat was tremendous, flames licking her inside and out. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears as he finally let loose, finally pounded, finally gave her what she needed. It registered that the screaming that overtook the thump-thump-thump of her heart was her. Hers was the voice that would surely be heard through her building, her compound, the whole soul society.
Colors and pretty pinpricks of light danced behind her eyelids. Nerves sang and her soul flew.
Herself again, she recognized her folly.
~*~
Gods, she was incomparable. Still, it wasn’t long before reality intruded on her- he knew the moment it did. Her pussy was still clenching his now spent manhood, and he knew. She’d remembered herself, and she was closing him off. Her surrender to him and them and what they felt like together was over, and he’d be kicked out any second.
He played stupid, and when he rolled off of her, he grabbed her hand and held it over his thundering heart.
“Knew you’d fuck me,” she said distinctly as she pulled her hand away and rolled off the bed, the ‘told-you-so’ thick as her usual treacly sarcasm.
She swirled a ratty robe around herself, and gave him an arch look.
“Got an early morning, so it’d be best if you left, Hisagi.”
He managed to keep his voice in check until she closed the door behind him without so much as a by-your-leave.
“We didn’t fuck, damn you.” We made love.
Gods, he was such a flipping loser.
~*~*~*~
DUDE. I was majorly thrown when I saw the last couple of episodes of the Aizen arc. I had to re-write a shit-ton of the Gin related stuff I wrote for what was supposed to have been this chapter. After editing and what-not, that will have to wait till the next chapter. But, hey, shiny new chapter right here... And there's smutty goodness.
Placebo is the owner of this chapter title, and while I wish that I could claim I wrote the song (or made money from it), I naturally didn't.
God, money would be great right about now. But, in place of the wonder of cold, hard cash, you could just let me know what you thought... Good, bad or indifferent. It's what makes all the second guessing and endless hours of writing and re-writing and re-writing the re-writes so worth while.
Happy summer, loves! (Or winter, depending on where you are...)
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Tuesdays with Shuuhei