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Kaleidoscope	By : severuslover Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3201 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and I make no money what so ever from writing this

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
JePi Thanks for the review! *hugs* get some sleep now I understood and appreciated it lol :D. Heres a gift. Hope you enjoy.

“Rise and shine, Abarai-kun!”

The curtains were flung back allowing unusually bright morning light to shine through and into his eyes.

It woke him up instantly, but only because he was only lightly asleep after having gone to bed just two hours prior.

Sighing loudly, he threw the nearest pillow over his eyes.

Renji was in dire need of a dictionary. He knew what the word ‘apprentice’ meant, but the same could not be said for the inhabitants of the Kuchiki residence, mainly the man servant. He may have mistaken it as another meaning of the word slave.

For over a fortnight now, he’d been part porter, part maid, part handy man, part everything the man could find for him to do.

Not that he minded that much, but his mind was so preoccupied that all he wanted was a quiet little time to ponder.

The mystery that was Kuchiki Byakuya.

After the visit from Ukitake-san, Renji thought everything had been settled between them. Not back to normal. They would never have that easy normality again. The rift that formed between them would take more than a good night’s sleep to fix. Renji was willing to forgive and forget by the next day, Kuchiki, he was learning, was more complex than that.

Fine. Renji would do more, give more, and be more of what he wanted. He would gladly do whatever it took to make it up to the man. If only he could see him.

He did not turn up for any of the meals the next day. The large dining room felt like a vast, lonely wasteland.

Is this how Kuchiki felt eating alone like this every day? Granted Renji lived alone so he ate alone but it never felt this way before.

It had become such a habitual thing that he woke up early now, dressed and presented himself there without having to be fetched or told to. But it would always be the same. Empty. He was given no more explanation than that the master of the house was feeling ‘under the weather.’

He felt like something was missing. That small human contact that was shaping something within him – within them – suddenly vanished. Well Ayasegawa and the various household staff were technically humans too, just not the one he… what?

Wanted?

Craved?

It was all so stupid and confusing and maddening. He wanted to paint away the feelings, but he would not be allowed even that.

Ayasegawa kept him so busy that he only had nights, which meant little to no sleep after he’d gotten all his frustration out on paper. Exhausted both mentally and physically, his head would hit the pillow, grateful for a bit of rest, only to woken up mere hours later.

The things he painted at night were stacked and hidden under his bed, unfit to grace the walls like his other musings. Shaded or sketched, colored or left monochrome, all of them were the man whose face would not leave his head. Plus there was no need to make Ayasegawa anymore privy to his business and tease him more than he already did.

There was an upside to all this gloom and drudgery. He’d received a check from the gallery. He opened it and gasped at the number. He couldn’t believe someone had bought his painting. And for a price that his commission could be this much! He was near hysterics. He pleaded desperately with Ayasegawa to see Kuchiki. He wanted to share this good news with his teacher – and at the back of his mind to let it be a ‘Ha! And you thought I couldn’t do it!’ kick to the crotch. He was denied over and over again until the excitement eventually tapered off and he stopped asking altogether.

“I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep for a little bit,” he whined, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Of course, I’m sorry. How rude of me to ask you to help out around the house. You do pay rent and cover the cost of food, lodging and the supplies you paint so happily with everyday. Where are my manners.”

“Ok, ok! I get it. The sarcasm is not need so early in the morning. What is it now?”

“The gardener is out today with a family emergency. I’d like you to cut the grass in the front yard. It’ll take but a few minutes. It should always be kept well groomed. A concept I fear is lost on you.”

“It is well groomed!” he snapped, not taking lightly to being insulted and conscripted to manual labor so early. Renji was no fool. Well… not all the time, but he knew that fucking front yard would not take minutes to mow.

“It clearly needs trimming, Abarai-kun,” Ayasegawa said slowly, using a falsely sweet voice, setting tea down on the table.

Renji threw his sheet off and marched over to the window. “It hasn’t even sprouted yet. There’s nothing to cut!” It was true. The lawn was leveled, the topiary perfectly groomed and flowers arranged to compliment and show off each other. The gardener was worth every penny he was paid.

Ayasegawa whipped his shoulder length hair importantly and turned to leave.

“I’ll just inform Kuchiki-shi that you don’t wish to see him today,” he said with a mysterious glance back, pausing just before the door.

“What? Wait –”

Ayasegawa smiled. “Kuchiki-shi had requested your company after you were finished with this small task, but it’s clearly too much for you. I’ll just – ”

“I-I didn’t know,” he replied, suddenly breathless at the mention of a potential meeting with Kuchiki. Renji wouldn’t dare refuse this chance to see him after two long, painful weeks.

He threw on some old clothes and went dutifully to the gardener’s shed without another word of complaint.

~~~~~~~~~~

The humidity in the room was startling for an October day. It could give the sizzling days in summer gone a run for their money. His purposely didn’t want air conditioning as was in the rest of the house. He wanted this room to always be natural, in the arms of the seasons and whatever they brought.

He made his way over to his bathroom to dampen his face. The reflection looking back at him with uncertain grey eyes was not the proud, noble Kuchiki Byakuya.

He was undoubtedly not himself.

Days like this always succeeded a visit from his sensei. Ayasegawa could be counted on, to ensure he was not disturbed and to take care of anything – business or personal – in his stead.

He looked around the room which served as his art room, where he did all his paintings that were submitted to the gallery. It was, as were all his rooms, a palette of whites and creams.

Those colors had always soothed him, suited him.

His eyes floated annoyingly to the windows and sounds of a lawn mower coming from the outside.

He would not look again. He’d being taking calculated glances outside for about an hour now. It was hindering his progress with the work he was doing.

He sat back down on the bench in front of his easel and surveyed the unfinished water color picture in front of him. The hair was not right; he’d need to do more blending to the white.

Picking up the brush, he hesitated momentarily. That incessant noise beckoned him to make a choice.

He was impressed with Ayasegawa’s knack of keeping Renji busy while simultaneously keeping an eye on him and making sure he didn’t wander around.

He’d heard Ayasegawa complain about Renji’s reinvention of his quarters on more than one occasion, so he took the new found vacancy of the apprentice’s room as a chance to see it for himself. He didn’t know why it interested him so, but unless he satisfied the curiosity, it would continue to be a nuisance.

So he did.

One afternoon, when Renji had been asked to run an errand, Byakuya slipped in unnoticed by anyone. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was indeed surprised.

For a person such as himself accustomed to clean lines and soft colors, the barrage of images made him take an involuntary step back at first. He might have been livid if this wasn’t paper stuck to the wall – it could easily be removed – so he understood Ayasegawa’s outrage.

Every style he could think of – acrylic, oil, sketched, in every color in the spectrum there was, Renji had included it in his paintings. Byakuya scanned them slowly, allowing his eyes to take in every one.

Paintings of flower fields, wild and unbound, bursting with colors. Underwater images of shoals of fish swirling among corals. A small boat navigating a swamp by the light of fireflies.

Some that were imbued with his frantic energy at the moment of their creation, no real picture or method, but colors devouring each other.

And then there were others, places that Byakuya had thought maybe Renji had been; a park with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals scattering across a cobble stone path, a forest floor strewn with red and yellow autumn leaves – Byakuya noted that this was outside his property – a vendors tray showing an array of fruits and vegetables; shiny, red apples, ready to roll out and land at his feet.

But just above his bed, rested what would be – in Byakuya’s opinion – the most captivating and telling of the lot.

A busy street at Christmas time, lights strung everywhere, powdery snow falling, couples hugging and holding hands and one hand, the focus of the picture without one to hold.

Rolling scenery seen through a train window, the view beyond it endless plains of grass blowing in an unseen wind, framed by mountains, a hand touching the glass almost longingly.

The blue sky beyond the tops of trees, through splayed fingers, reaching to touch the sun.

They all had one common denominator; a solitary hand in the foreground, from the perspective of the painter. It was an effective way of inviting the viewer to imagine themselves in the scene, seeing it through the painter’s eyes as if through their own.

The one that struck a chord deep within him, was one he had no trouble inserting himself into, identifying with. He could imagine it was him, looking down and seeing his bare chest, from his stomach down covered in his pristine white sheets as he lay, his white carpet, sparse furnishings, early morning creeping though his curtains. And then he would look beside him and see nothing, letting his arm drape across an empty bed.

Needing to touch something but finding nothing there. Reaching out…

Byakuya swallowed a pang of sorrow.

It was a myth that you could figure out a person by looking at their paintings. The most warped minds could paint the scenery of heaven to wring tears from holy men.

Renji was vastly different, and like his sensei saw before him, so could he now. Renji’s artwork was an embodiment of himself. There were no falsities, no pretences. Just pure representations of what he saw.

He wondered the outcome, if Renji were to render his likeness to paper. What did he look like through his eyes?

Byakuya would never dare say it, but that moment, he envied him. He was his own person, a unique being able to imprint himself wherever he went, on whatever he touched. He was not what anyone wanted him to be, expected him to be, unlike Byakuya who was merely a being of wishes. A wish for a perfect heir, a wish for someone to carry on the family name, a wish to forge and maintain connections with those in power.

He never painted from within, something that his former teacher always chastised him for.

“You’re not a tool for the Kuchiki family. You are Byakuya. Paint what Byakuya would want to paint.”

And he would still do what he knew would look appropriate and make his family proud because that was how he was raised. Taught and told how to speak politely and curb unnecessary prattle, how to walk with the grace of a noble, what his hobbies should be, as was befitting of a Kuchiki, how to rein his emotions in and cover them with a mask of self importance.

He was a name without an identity, no redeeming quality to tell him apart from his blank canvas, while Renji was a kaleidoscope.

A man of his standing – he was also taught – should never apologize to one beneath him. Seeing the painting he had quarreled with Renji about almost made him reconsider. It was nothing like the critic had said. He knew well enough not to put too much stock into those people but he still lashed out at him. He also knew he’d hurt his feelings, something he had not meant to do.

After the trip to his room Byakuya continued to visit every other day, to see if anything new had been added and to stare at the picture of the hand reaching across the empty bed.

The noise from outside floated in through his thoughts and he sighed softly. He knew he would not be able to finish today. He stood up and took another peek outside to quiet his curiosity one last time before seeing about lunch.

As expected, he’d saw what he’d been seeing the entire morning but with a slight difference. Abarai-san was still mowing the lawn. But his shirt was noticeably missing.

The Kuchiki heir froze, gripping the curtain.

He’d seen hints of them on his forehead, beneath his hair and on his neck when he wore certain clothes, but he never knew they spilled so far across his body in such an intricate pattern. The jagged lines of tattoos ran across his sweat soaked chest, slithering along his biceps whenever he moved. They ran down his spine, he glimpsed, when the man backed him, pushing his hair up and off his skin in a messy knot.

A small noise escaped his throat, looking down at the muscles constricting in his back as he stretched his arms up to restrain his hair, silently wiling him to turn around again. He did, granting Kuchiki a better view of how they caressed the taut muscles of his abdomen, flowing seductively over his hip bone, disappearing within his pants, his escaping hair a trail of fire over his shoulders. Byakuya was surprised that a thing he generally considered tacky and crude, could be so seductively articulate on a person. Each flex of his muscles made his grip on the thin lace a little tighter.

He swallowed, his mind conjuring images of fingers tugging at the waistband of Renji’s pants, pulling it away far enough from his body to take a peek inside, to see just where those tattoos ended.

As the white prison suited him, using his body as a living canvas suited Renji.

Byakuya watched for no more than what his self control would allow, before painfully removing the half done painting of a subject he’d done plenty of times in favor of sketching a new one for the first time in ages. A strong supple body, adorned with markings, hair full of color.

He spent the greater part of the morning and mid afternoon, losing himself of the shading and accentuating the long limbs

~~~~~~`

Renji came back in a sweaty, tired mess. What he was led to believe was a task that would only take an hour, took four. The sun was unforgiving. He realized he was tricked halfway through. It was too late to turn back by then.

This would be the first time that he’d forsaken his wonderful warm water supply. The cold drops rolling down his back felt like a tall glass of chilled lemonade. He exhaled audibly, feeling the cold seep all through his hair, down his buttocks, cooling him instantly. He never wanted to get out. And he wouldn’t have, if not for the promise of seeing Kuchiki.

His head was pressed against the wall, just enjoying the feeling of the water running down his thighs when he sensed a presence in the room. That vein on his forehead throbbed, alerting him to who it was without looking. The shower enclosure had no curtain and the glass wasn’t frosted – it certainly wasn’t a place for the shy. He didn’t move to cover anything, turning to face him stark naked. He’d learned his lesson by now. The amount of times Ayasegawa strolled into his bedroom to wake him, or barged in when he was dressing was alarmingly high, but it allowed him to accept one obvious actuality. Ayasegawa did not in fact give a flying fuck about anything going on below his waist. Not one. Attaching a pink flamingo down there might’ve garnered more attention than his penis. The disinterest did loads for his self esteem.

“Oi, can I get a little privacy?”He asked in a bored tone, hoping it would incite him to get irritated and leave. Asking why he was there was out of the question.

Ayasegawa’s shoes were off and the legs of his pants rolled up around his knees. His suit was still impeccable.

“No. I’m here to wash your hair.”

“I can do that myself, thank you,” Renji replied, turning around to face the wall again.

“It is Kuchiki-shi’s request.”

“Why would he request that?”

“You tell me, you mongrel.”

Renji bared his teeth in true mongrel fashion. Skeptical, but compliant, he allowed his hair to be washed. He figured there was no way the man servant would do something like this on his own accord. It was gradually becoming obvious that he’d allow a hole to be ripped open in his chest if it came as a formal request from that man. Boy was he losing his edge. He sat on a low bench and leaned his head back into the tub, Ayasegawa scrubbing his scalp with his knuckles.

That Kuchiki wanted his hair to be washed made him a bit self conscious. Was that why he was always staring at him strangely? Did he create a snow storm every time he moved his head? Was Byakuya secretly watching it fall onto his various possessions and cringe at the thought?

Renji was a guy. He didn’t wash his hair that often. It would be a pain to dry it at the length it was. He’d never been to a salon either. That was too much of a hassle. A little comb here and there every couple of days was fine in his book.

It was supposed to be something soothing, but having Ayasegawa looming over him didn’t feel soothing at all.

When it was washed twice with shampoo and conditioner he was led to the vanity in his room which he’d never used, where it was dried with a towel and then blow dried. Then his hair was combed through and the tangled, frizzy edges trimmed. A sweet smelling lotion was applied and rubbed in from scalp to ends.

Then came the brushing. Minutes of brushing. By now Renji was tired of the whole thing.

Were this being done by anyone else, it might have felt luxurious, but this was just taking up the limited amount of time he could spend with Byakuya.

Just when he was about to fall asleep, he felt his hair being tugged and pulled in tight. Ayasegawa turned him around to face the mirror, holding over to admire their reflections together.

“Like it?” he asked with unmistaken pride, smiling at his handy work.

Renji made a non committal noise in his throat. It didn’t matter to him.

It was in one loose braid falling to the middle of his back, the end tied off with a rubber band. What faintly aggravated him was the prissy little lock of hair he’d curled with his finger and let drop into Renji’s face. That was bit overkill. He may have kept his hair long but the dirt kept it masculine to some degree. Next thing you knew he’d be getting his hair curled into Victorian ringlets and sporting lipstick. He shoved it out of his face earning him a hard slap to the hand and a glare.

“Watch it, these are precious tools used to craft masterpieces.”

Ayasegawa laughed. Renji took offence to that.

He decided to wear a tie-dye shirt that had become his favorite. It was the only one that fit him properly. His laundry day was tomorrow so he had to wear the only jeans that were left.

He felt a small nervous flutter in his chest walking behind Ayasegawa on the upper left wing of the house to Byakuya’s personal room.

No one else was allowed to see him. He grinned when Ayasegawa told him this.

They stopped at large oak doors and Ayasegawa knocked three times.

“Enter.”

The flutter accelerated at the sound of his voice and then stopped the minute the door was open.

It was very bright. That was the first thing he thought. He looked up to find the source to be four sky lights, pouring shafts of daylight all over. The effect was ethereal. Kuchiki was sitting by the window, chin propped on his knuckles as the afternoon light danced on his hair.

It was the most casual Renji had even seen him. He wore a white puffy shirt that would have not looked out of place on a pirate. Renji would’ve made fun of this very snooty choice of clothing if it hadn’t looked so friggin good on him. The neckline was cut low, and every time the wind rushed through it, it exposed the length of his neck and the line of his collar bone. His eyes were lowered to an open book on his lap, which he closed it and then looked up at his guest.

It was an eternity in a long minute, that they held each other’s stare, taking in the faces they hadn’t seen for weeks. Renji saw his eyes fly immediately to his hair and was glad that it was done properly for once – feminine curl and all. They ran slowly over his shirt and then his pants. His lingering eyes made him feel self conscious and uncomfortable. He hated these jeans. They were so tight he couldn’t even wear underwear. They also slung very low on his hips, exposing the skin of his belly where the shirt did not reach. These were probably horrible choice of dress in Kuchiki’s opinion. Renji had no control, they weren’t his clothes.

Renji didn’t know the time was ticking by until Ayasegawa cleared his throat, pushed him inside and shut the door.

He felt so awkward all of a sudden. What should he say? He wanted to see him for so long and now he was speechless.

“Are you feelin’ better?” A tad brusque but a good conversation starter. It was the polite thing to ask a recovering person about their health.

“Somewhat,” he replied solemnly.

Renji didn’t wait to be invited, he sat next to Byakuya, bending one of his legs on the couch so he could sit to face – and proceed to stare at him. Kuchiki wasn’t the least bit unnerved.

His face was pale, smooth and angular. If he shaved he did fucking miracles with a razor to get such skin. His cheeks looked a bit sallow. All him looked sallow. Without that imposing suit, he shrunk a bit. His shoulders weren’t broad, his collarbone prominent. His wrists so small, hands so thin. Almost sick. And yet sick could never be worn by anyone so beautifully.

“It’s been too damn long,” Renji growled. Since I’ve seen you.

“Indeed it has been sometime. I trust you’ve been keeping busy?”

“Yah, wild, crazy parties every night. I had a blast bein worked to death. I didn’t miss you by the way.”

Byakuya gave him what Renji poetically named the ‘id-smile-if-I-could’ look. Or maybe it was a ‘your- ignorance-offends-me-you peasant’ look. He preferred to think positive.

“Have you kept up with your painting?”

Renji snorted. “As much as I could.”

“Keep practicing.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Renji took a good hard look at this man. This man who never showed emotion, never raised his voice. Never smiled nor laughed. And yet being with him was not dull for him. There wasn’t a single time where he thought of him as boring. More like a man with a lot to say and no way to get it out.

He decided that he wasn’t so scary and that he would – dare he say it – try to be his friend, along with being an apprentice.

This meant being himself fully. What better way to encourage the other to do the same?

He sighed and stretched his arms dramatically, simultaneously flopping his head down on the noble’s lap. Byakuya appeared mildly surprised but did not tell him to move.

Renji knew he wouldn’t. Byakuya was not a ‘laid back’ person. He was more along the lines of unconcerned and other than the breakfast incident, he’d never reprimanded Renji for speaking his mind nor called him out on any of his bad behavior. He was still surprised he allowed him to touch him so easily though. He really wasn’t back to his usual self.

“I’m really sorry for tryin’ to run away and for shoutin’ at you. I hate ta bring it back up but I feel like I gotta clear the air. I let you down. I know I’m pig-headed. I won’t do it again.” He tried to sound as sincere as he felt.

“It’s all in the past, Abarai-san.” Looking down into Renji’s expectant eyes he added, “I was too harsh.”

“Yeah, you were.” Renji threw him a not so playful glare. It was as close to an apology as he was going to get. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what Ukitake-san said. I realized that every time someone didn’t like my work I’d start to doubt myself. I’d wonder if I really had skill or if I was just wasting time and money. Their opinion meant so much to me… even though I knew this was what I wanted to do for myself, I made their approval matter too much …to the point I felt lost.”

Byakuya was looking down at him as he unloaded his heart but did not reply. Renji narrowed his eyes.

“This is the part where you say you were like that too when you first started out.”

“I was never like that,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Right, I forgot you were born in a suit and tie,” he joked.

He received another ‘id-smile-if-I-could’ look.

“You do have a gift. Don’t let the idle opinions of others make you squander it.”

Renji eyes widened and he sprung up. Did he hear correctly?

Byakuya subtlety motioned his chin in the direction of the door and Renji’s eyes followed.

His jaw hit the floor. Above the door was his painting of the sea. Realization dawned on him; one, that he’d forgotten to tell Byakuya the thing he was killing to see him and tell him – about the fact that his painting had sold, and two, that Byakuya was the buyer.

“You-you bought it?”

Byakuya gently closed Renji’s open mouth with his index finger and nodded. Renji’s heart pounded at the voluntary contact.

“W-What do you think of it?” Stupid question brain, he bought the fucking thing! What do you think he thinks of it! But that puppy dog in him wagging his tail and waiting expectantly wanted to hear him say it.

Byakuya stared at it wistfully, prompting Renji to look at it as well.

“Is there a place like that?”

“Yeah, I went summers ago with friends. This is how I remember it,” he responded, mind still racing that Kuchiki was the one who bought his painting. Why?

“I think it would make someone long to go there. It feels… alive,” he said softly after a long pause. “I should like to go there sometime.”

“I’ll take you one of these days. Just the two of us,” Renji assured him eagerly, feeling a rush of gratitude, admiration and affection. Nothing else graced the white wall other than his artwork.

During the course of their conversation neither realized how close they were, until Byakuya turned to look at Renji and found the distance unsettling. Renji’s body was about to combust from heat at being caught in the pull of his grey eyes from such proximity.

Byakuya did something then; the small gesture would change their entire dynamic.

He reached across, running his hand through the hair that curl that hung in his face, letting the strands fall between his fingers. His eyes became heavy, seductively lidded and for one heart stopping moment, Renji thought he would lean forward and kiss him.

The feel of the other’s breath rushing against his lips was divine. But it was his eyes that did the most damage, halting his movements, capturing him, stimulating him. It felt so very good to be this close to him, to count his individual lashes inches away from brushing his face. His body stiffened when he felt another body part do so. He knew instantly that Byakuya had felt him tense up too, because he snapped out of whatever trance he was in and his hand fell away, back to his lap.

“I’d like to rest now. You may take your leave,” he said softly, turning away.

Renji felt winded and disappointed but agreed. Without the aid of boxers and the lack of space his pants accommodated, it would be hard to hide the growing bulge.

“Yeah.”

He walked over to the door on wobbly knees. He glanced over his shoulder but Byakuya was staring out the window again as he’d found him.

“Could you come to breakfast tomorrow?” he asked – pleaded.

He got no reply.

“Please?”

After a few seconds, he got a small nod.

He left quickly after that. If he stayed any longer he might actually entertain the silly idea that Byakuya felt anything other than indifference toward him.
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Kaleidoscope