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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.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to take a long walk off of a short pier, but something stopped Rangiku. Sliding the door open a bit more, she waved him inside, and gestured to the cushions next to the low table in her living space. Wandering into her kitchen, she considered for the briefest moment changing her clothes, doing her hair- in essence going full-on girlie. Then a little voice in her head shamed her for even thinking of it: Have you learned nothing?
Propped against a counter in her narrow kitchen, she hung her head hung low as she contemplated her options. Should have, would have, could have told him to fuck off. Not too late to do that. She peered around the corner, studied his profile for a moment. Every cell in her body rebelled at the thought of tossing him out on his ear, while intellectually she knew it was the best, safest, course of action.
Tea, she’d make tea, and be rid of him. Nothing untoward could happen over tea, surely.
It took far too short a time to prepare it and carry the pot and cups back to him. She’d have preferred to put this off indefinitely, but there was little point in procrastinating. She set the tray in front of him, and lowered herself to her knees.
“Tea, Hisagi-san?” she asked holding the pot aloft over her best cups, as if his presence was completely normal, as if she wasn’t holding back the tremors in her hand.
He nodded, silent and wholly male presence in her quarters. She poured carefully, holding her sleeve away with her other hand, in the traditional manner. Sometimes, the little ceremonies made it easier to maintain control.
~*~
Shuuhei’s eyes followed the partially revealed line of tense muscles in her forearm, then up, to her bare neck, up to her face. She looked nervous, though she was plainly trying to hide it. Why now? we wondered, why he had gone to see her right then.
The answer was so simple. He’d waited enough. Patience only took a man so far before it poisoned him. Look at Renji.
He took a tentative sip of the brew when she’d finished pouring for herself. Frankly, he’d have preferred something a bit stronger, but he supposed that tea was better than her slamming the door in his face outright.
“Hmm, this has an interesting flavor,” he finally said to break the dense stillness between them.
Her head dipped and her face was curtained by the fall of her hair for a moment. He was sure he could see the beginnings of a smirk.
She looked back up, face remarkably impassive as she said, “Yes, Captain Unohana said rose-hip tea has wonderfully relaxing properties. I think it’s kind of got an interestingly puke-y sort of aftertaste.”
He choked.
“Sorry,” she said, not looking in the least like she meant it. “So, why are you here? Some news the Old Man wanted shared before business hours today?”
“No, nothing like that, I just-,” he removed the hand plowing through his hair as though he was a nervous first year, and looked at her.
She was so alive, so close. He could reach out and touch her. He took another sip of the ‘interesting’ tea, and wondered how he could have stayed away for so long.
“I’m sorry Ran.”
She tittered, an affect he knew was phony, but which nonetheless set his teeth on edge.
“Hisagi-taicho,” the emphasis on his rank was impossible to miss, “I’m sure there’s nothing for you to be sorry for. Now, Histugaya-taicho had wanted to broach the subject of a sort of inter-mural -”
“Damn it Ran, you know what I mean. Don’t start that bureaucratic crap right now, please,” he interrupted her.
Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she closed her big, baby blues briefly.
“As I said, Captain, there is nothing that needs to be apologized for. Now, if there was no other point to your visit, I have an early appointment I have to prepare for, and I’d like you to leave.”
She looked at him expectantly, with infuriating reasonability, obviously waiting for him to stand and go.
Shuuhei Hisagi had a death wish. There was no other explanation. He watched from a far corner in his mind as his hand reached up- Fuck, man! Don’t do it, you’re just begging for an ass-kicking now- and cupped the side of her face, thumb grazing a path across her cheek. Her gaze was crystal clear on him and her scent spiked all the way into the deepest parts of his brain.
“I miss you.”
She shook off his hand and stood, paced a around a bit. She turned on him suddenly, at the point in her circuit that left her in front of the Haineko’s stand. Oh, you are so in for it now! He tried not tense, was unsuccessful in not wishing for his own blade. Purely for self-defense purposes.
“Don’t. Just don’t,” she made a slashing motion with her hand.
“I can’t help it,” he gave a helpless little laugh, though there was little amusing about the fix he was in. “I think of you, you know. Wonder how you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with. If you’re happy.”
“What right do you have-?”
He cut her off, “None, I know. But I still can’t help it.”
He stood now too, uncomfortable with her towering over him, looking at him like he was a mere bug to be squashed at her whim. He twitched with the need to touch her again. She was so much the same as she’d been, so beautiful it hurt.
When he took the few steps to stand directly in front of her, it was a compulsion, not conscious propulsion that made his body do it. Her body was stiff under his hands, but he pulled her close and inhaled the scent of her neck and her hair. He caught her wrists between them when she reached up to push him away, and held her as near as he dared.
“You smell the same,” he said, “like sake and sunshine.”
She finally got proper leverage and pushed free, “Are you drunk? Gods,” she mumbled something more under her breath, undoubtedly something nasty about his character, penis size or stamina, maybe.
With her, who knew? Shuuhei was just truly thankful that she hadn’t taken the engraved invitation he’d given her to kick him in the nuts. She sat again, gesturing for him to retake his place across the table from her. He didn’t, instead sitting at the corner, closer to her, no table between them, only a foot of empty tatami separating them. And years of mistrust and lonesomeness. How did one bridge such a gap?
Rangiku’s posture was rigid, but the movements of her arms and hands, as she sipped the sweet, slightly rancid, now cooling tea, were still so gracefully fluid.
“Why did you come here? Surely not for tea and to say you missed me?” her tone emphasized how preposterous she found the very idea to be- more like the imperious Matsumoto-sama he remembered than she’d been around him in a long time.
He couldn’t let her make him feel ridiculous for wanting her, for missing her, for loving her. She thinks you only want her for one thing, stupid. Make her think otherwise.
“Do you know how it felt all those years ago, having you run off to what I knew,” he clenched his hands tightly, nails biting into his palms, “was going to be your death? To watch you go through the Senkaimon without even looking back for me once? To watch you almost bleed to death in front of me, to have you one minute and then fucking it all up so badly that in the next moment you can’t even stand the sight of me?”
He wanted to reach out, touch her, kiss her, wanted to simply shake her into understanding so he wouldn’t have to make a further fool of himself. I want you, so, so bad. You, not just your body.
“You never even see me, not really, not in the meetings we’re both at, not when we pass each other on the street. You can’t even make polite conversation with me anymore. I miss you Rangiku Matsumoto, even when you’re right there. And I wish you could forgive me and would look at me again.”
He was shaking. Him, a captain, shaking like a leaf, trying as hard as he could to keep his emotions in check.
“And that’s what I came here to say. I’ll leave now and-,” he tried to mean it, to be sincere, “won’t bother you again.”
Shuuhei was up, sliding on his sandals and out the door as quickly as he could. As he stood in his own quarters just a few minutes later, he wondered how he’d be able to convince himself that he hadn’t taken the cowards way out. The only evidence he’d ever been there at all were the little red crescent-shaped marks he’d dug into his palms.
~*~
A couple of days later, Matsumoto stopped trying to persuade herself that he hadn’t really been there at all- that his odd visit had been nothing more than a figment of her drunken imagination. Since she’d determined (quite certainly) that she was no more crazy than usual, she reluctantly admitted that it had actually been him, Shuuhei Hisagi, who had sipped tea with her, not some fantasy wraith created by her sick mind.
The question then became: What would she do about it? She decided that nothing at all was the wise course of action.
Though she’d been expecting to see him at the weekly meeting between the lieutenants and captains, she wasn’t exactly prepared for the way it would make her feel. She looked at him dispassionately, noting the evident fatigue, the tenseness in the way he held himself, the cold gaze.
The distance she aimed for between them felt, for lack of a better word, unpleasant now. It was oily on her skin and left a feeling in her gut like she’d smelled rotten fish.
He nodded slightly at her after the meetings conclusion, the barest hint of one- more like a involuntary muscle spasm. He didn’t make any other movement towards her, not the slightest hint of heat or longing. She hadn’t imagined it, the vomitous tea or the apology, she knew she hadn’t…
She made some lame excuse or other to Toshiro - not like anything’s getting accomplished anyway, too freaking distracted - and went to the bar she’d come think of as her own. Even if she no longer drank quite as much as she had, there were still those occasions when the lubricant of booze, glorious booze, was helpful. When she left the bar at sunset, she gave a little wave to the familiar old man. His smile had fewer teeth than before, but it was no less warm.
It took a different type of courage to stand there in the open and knock on his door than it had to open hers for him, but the liquid variety she’d imbibed in shored up her defenses nicely.
Everybody will know you been here, they’re probably already talk-talk-talking about it now, can’t you just hear the grapevine rustling? Shut up! I’m doing this, and I won’t let me talk myself out of this. Hush you! Uhm, me.
There were thousands of reasons to leave before he answered. Rangiku Matsumoto concentrated on the few ones that would keep her there. It went deeper than simple curiosity, though that was certainly the bigger part of it.
He looked like he’d been sleeping when he answered the door, eye lids heavy and hair mashed practically flat against one side of his head. What would his price be for affection?
Nerve had brought her this far, and she needed to act before it failed her.
“Can I come in?” A more complicated question than it sounded. It took so much out of her just to say those four little words.
Confusion muddled his dark eyes, but he turned around and left the door open for her to follow.
“Haven’t got much in the way of… well, anything to offer you, but you can sit here if you want,” he said as he kicked a pile of clothes to the side. He seemed minutely self-conscious about the state of his quarters, but she hadn’t come by for an inspection. She’d have failed him if she had, but that was neither here nor there.
She sat on her knees, as she almost always did when she wanted to be at the ready; her ass poised delicately at her heels, balls of her feet and toes aligned carefully for maximum balance. Body coiled, ready to spring up at any moment, should the need for escape become too great to bear.
He lowered himself directly opposite her, legs splayed out in front of him, one hand propped behind for balance, the other ruffling his soft spiky mane. Obviously, there was no concern for the readiness of flight for him.
There was an itching, burning need to twitch her fingers over the strands of hair in his face, to smooth back all that inky blackness and look at his exposed face.
Quick, before she lost her courage: “I’m looking at you now.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. The muscles in her thighs tightened and she memorized the path to the door; one, two, three steps to the left, another three in a straight line, bend over to grab sandals, slide door, and out, sandals in hand. Ten to twelve seconds at the most and she’d be free and…
“What did you say?” a soft, disbelieving whisper, just loud enough to leave her rooted to the spot.
She reached across the table, one hand braced against the top, the other stretching out towards him. The tips of her fingers traced the scars’ path down his face. The flush of heat would show on her skin, she just knew it. The blush was the curse of the pale, which was why she tried to keep up a good tan, as a sort of camouflage, but she’d been indoors lately.
Leaning back, she found her way into a more comfortable kneeling position than she’d been in before, her feet curled under her. He moved quickly enough to be just a blur, the sound of wood clattering in her ears before he was there, right in front of her.
For all his haste in moving to her, he took his time in actually touching her. The motion that brought his hand to her face was slow, as of he didn’t want to startle her. She sighed when contact was finally made, leaning her face into his touch just a bit. Of their own volition, her eyes closed. This is nice.
She felt something warm brush her clavicle and jerked a bit. A few puffs of air against her skin, warm and soft. His lips again, this time on her neck, little kisses, his licking tongue under her ear, along the curve of her jaw. She shuddered, torn between not liking the attention to those parts of her body, and liking it too much.
(Never let anyone near your throat, Rangiku. It leaves you vulnerable to any number of potentially fatal attacks.)
His lips were warm and tasted like her skin when he finally pressed them against her mouth. She felt the question as clear as a bell. Kiss me back?
Rangiku opened her lips, swept her arms around him and pushed against him, wanting to forget. His left arm came up behind her, and she felt his hand settle loosely on her neck. His other hand roamed, from her face to follow her beating jugular down, down her chest to the top-most curve of her breast. Shuuhei hesitated there, not really touching her, a sentiment she found sweet.
A short bob of her head and he cupped a hand against her, feeling her through the layers of her uniform and under-clothes. A faint warmth; not nearly enough contact, not nearly enough of him. She wanted heat.
Her fingers danced on the sash of his uniform, slipping a bit at the knot. It had been a while, and… and everything seemed to be working right, her parts and his. One of the stray thoughts bouncing around in her mind caught and held. Is he as into this as me?
He groaned into her mouth, the sound all the incentive she needed for her fingers to finally find purchase. Guess we’ll find out soon enough…
Their arms caught and tangled as they maneuvered to get clothes off. It seemed so complicated, their movements were so clumsy. Their hakama in particular seemed extraordinarily difficult to remove. Finally, after what seemed prodigious effort, they were both naked. Down, girl. It’s not like you haven’t his equipment before.
She told herself that she was just shaking because of how very near he was, and the eventuality of sex- finally, after so long- not because she was scared. You don’t exactly forget how to do it, right? Insert tab a into slot b. Simple.
(Closeness is always a mistake, remember that.)
His hand was so warm and real in hers as he led the way to his bedroom, to the messy, unmade futon with sheets that smelled like him alone. She let him pull her down; let him nudge her back into the thick mattress until she was spread out next to him. He was skin and muscle, heat and currents, blood and bone. Shuuhei Hisagi was real. His fingers traced across her skin, exploring the length of her thighs.
She sighed like her lungs were bottomless as he found swollen-slick folds, as his mouth continued charting familiar territories on her breasts. Panting now, as he stroked deeper, found a wonderful rhythm with talented fingers. Her touch skittered across his back, finding his soft flesh over hard muscles- an irresistible combination. Up: lovely, strong shoulders. Up further: thick, dark, slick hair.
Focused elsewhere it was easy to forget those lips, that tongue. She arched up, like someone had yanked a string tied to her navel, when he found the old scar on her belly. Old and faded, but still puckered- a reminder of ultimate failure. Rangiku slammed her spine back down onto the futon, instantly aware and even more insecure.
She freed her hands from his hair, knew she’d pulled maybe just a tad too hard when he’d licked it. It. The scar. No big deal, everybody has them. He has them. Say something!
“Sorry,” she shrugged, pulling away slightly, making room to sit up. ‘Nonplussed’ seemed a perfect word to describe his reaction.
“You really think I’d care about something like that?” Shuuhei asked slowly as he followed her lead and propped himself up on an elbow. Head tilted at the slightest angle as he sucked his index and middle fingers, he was the picture of boyish curiosity.
Something in his neutral tone made her feel small. He rolled over, a display she should really have enjoyed more, all that yummy flexing and- shit. What a scar.
“They don’t mean anything you don’t want them too. This one just means that I should probably keep a better guard up next time I fight. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The half-crooked smile was what did it for her. Put it aside for now, examine his logic later. You’ve got a perfectly wonderful penis right there, just focus on that. Time enough for regret later. She reached for it as she leaned in to kiss him. Something about it reminded her of all the other times, when he’d been tied up and at her mercy, that she’d touched him like this; intimately, as if she had the right.
His breath burst into her mouth and those arms of his wrapped her up. Part of her wanted to claw to be let go, but she blocked that off and concentrated on the texture of his skin where it pressed against hers. She yielded to gentle pressure, allowed him to push her back into the mattress.
Right back where they were, but different; him licking her in the strangest places (the hollow of her hip, the creases under her breasts, her ribs, her scar) and her trying to be OK with the special attention he paid to her disfigurement by maintaining the even caresses of her hand on him.
Then her conscious mind wandered off, leaving her in blessed peace, and she was just there, enjoying the duality of pleasure. Him touching her, her groping him, little pleas for more from both of them - passing the torch back and forth between them, finding what worked for them this time. He likes it when I swirl my hand over the head after a few long, firm strokes, she thought, adoring how much he squirmed and made those tiny noises in the back of his throat.
It seemed incredible she’d gone so long without this. She contorted to reach his cock with her mouth. Just like she remembered it, just like she’d done in so many unacknowledged dreams. Smooth skin stretched taut across the hard center, pulsing and moving as if it was its own separate entity. In her mouth, it was salty, musky, seeking as it went rushing over her tongue, her palate. Her nose filled his scent. She rubbed her legs together and over his, for friction. For heat.
The pace his fingers had set inside seemed to stutter as she worked him further back into her mouth. She moaned, then he gasped and that was it. She choked a bit on his cum, hadn’t entirely expected it so soon. He pulled out his almost soft cock, exhaling slowly, his fingers tickling her shoulders as she curled on her side, licking her lips.
“My turn,” his raspy voice was like a new piece of hard honey candy, all sharp edges in her mouth and sweetness on her taste-buds.
His eager hands arranged her limbs enough to allow him space between her thighs. There were no instructions needed, no guidance to give, since he just seemed to know what she wanted. The sensations of his tongue slipping between her folds overtook her in no time at all. Her clit felt like it was beaming. She was already on the precipice when he dipped a finger below his chin and curled it just so.
Bright turquoise stars pin-wheeled across her vision and blood sang in her veins as she broke free and howled.
She’d somehow forgotten how brilliant it was to have someone there to lend a hand, or a tongue, as it were.
Rangiku Matsumoto laughed as languidness stole the ability to move from her body. Laughed and laughed.
~*~
I love this woman, he thought, as he licked his lips clean and rubbed his wet chin on his shoulder. She was laughing out loud. Not a giggle or suppressed snort, but mouth-open-wide-all-her-teeth-exposed, not-a-care-in-the-world laughing. He didn’t fight the answering grin, just went with it and flashed her his pearly whites.
“Liked that did you?” he asked as she settled slowly.
Her glow, her smell on him - in him, the fitfully continuing hiccupping of her laughter, the unguarded-ness of it all it all combined and made him feel as light as a feather.
“Fuck yeah,” she slid a sly, sideways glance his way, made his toes tingle with that look, “let’s go again.”
He’d have laughed had there been any blood left in his head. Duty calls. He was stilling grinning like a loon as he draped himself across her length, letting his body rub on hers. When she made a low, purring sound in her throat, his ol’ pal jumped appreciatively, demanding more attention.
She knew somehow what he wanted, what he needed, and urged him faster with her hands, moving to wrap those mile-long legs around his waist while he palmed a generous breast. Aiming his cock with his free hand, he used it to smooth a path down from the top of her slit to that place. That warm space between her legs, the one he’d kept dreaming about.
Satiny, wet, sultry heat as he pumped his hips, gliding inside, smooth as silk. Shuuhei wanted more than anything to go as slow as humanly possible, so he could memorize the path his body took him into, but he needed to pound into her, make her scream for more. Take your time, stupid, he told himself as the need grew exponentially, slow and steady wins the race.
Her nails almost broke skin when he was finally seated as deep as he could go. It was by the narrowest of margins he didn’t bawl. Only with enormous effort did he halt the impending orgasm, solely by virtue of the desire to show off for her. Look ma, no hands!
Inhale, exhale. He took slow even breaths as he rested his forehead next to hers and held her face in his hands. He smelled her, Rangiku Matsumoto, sake and sunshine, his own familiar scent and that other fragrance, the one that was them both, mixed. Sex. Gods, he’d missed the tang in the air that sex left. Heady stuff, that.
His intentions were good, but he’d neglected to take her into account when he’d resolved to go slow. Her hips lifted, her hands pulled, her body milked him.
“Faster, harder, c’mon more, know you want it,” she whispered in his ear, her trembling breath urging him on as much as her words.
It was a siren call in his head, the up top and the one down below - the one being put to the best sort of use – impossible to resist. What the lady wants, the lady gets, glad she had less patience than him. His hips swung quicker, lancing her deep, the feeling of being surrounded by her infinite for a moment.
Oh, good. She’s right there with me, he thought in monosyllables because his brain is incapable of anything too complex, anything other than her. Time stretched thin before it shattered. Before he shattered, became millions of tiny atoms floating down.
“Needed that,” she mumbled into his neck.
He rolled off of her, not wanting to crush her, felt sort of bereft at the loss of full body contact, but happy, so bloody happy, that she was there with him.
“Me, too,” he agreed, “up for another round?”
The sharp bark of laughter she gave, coinciding with a deep, rosy flush which reached down to her chest, was all the answer he needed.
~*~
Rangiku didn’t remember falling asleep, but considering she was surfacing to consciousness it must have happened at some point during the night. I was listening to him talk, resting for a few, getting ready for the fourth, or maybe fifth, run and must’ve passed out. She blinked a few times, a little taken aback by the lingering smell. A sensory reminder of the evening’s events.
She tried to reconcile what she knew she’d done and who she’d done it with. The sex had been freaking awesome, but that hadn’t really ever been her problem with him. It was the other stuff she got tripped up over.
She rolled over, expecting to see him, but didn’t. Couldn’t quite decide whether that was a pleasant surprise or not, if she’d wanted him there when she woke. Probably for the best this way, she decided. If she had to do the walk of shame, she didn’t want him there to see it. She’d just slip out as soon as she fumbled her uniform back on. She’d leave him a note or something, thanking him for a nice time. Or did one not do that?
She racked her brain for anything she might have learned or heard about proper exit procedure after a one night stand. ‘Cause that’s all it was, right? Right. Now, where were her panties?
After a quick search didn’t reveal her underwear or her shitagi, she gave up, preferring instead to throw on what she could find. Hopefully, it was early enough that no one would be around to notice that she was only partially dressed. She held her breath and scrunched up her face as the wood frame slid smoothly along the track when she eased the shoji screen open.
“Hey.”
Shit. Busted.
“Hey,” she said, trying for cool, worldly and failing miserably as her voice betrayed her by squeaking out the word at a good three octaves above her normal range. Smooth, real smooth.
By the temperature of her face, she estimated she bypassed the becoming, pink blush and went straight to beet-red in a second. Were these situations always so fucking awkward?
She cleared her throat and tried for a normal tone of voice.
“You, uh, haven’t seen my panties anywhere, have you?” she figured she might as well ask. They’d been kind of expensive, after all.
He almost-smirked, as if he was vaguely amused, although by what, she had no idea.
“I scrounged up a pot of tea. Do you want a cup?” He dangled her pink silk panties - damnit I just fucking bought those - from a finger.
A blatant challenge. It wasn’t often she was hit by the dual urge to strike someone down and kiss them at the same time. Infuriating man.
She flounced over and sat, biting the inside of her mouth to stop from wincing at the muscle twinges from the previous nights exertions. She snatched the empty cup from the table and held it out for him to fill.
“Lovely morning isn’t it?” she asked tightly, after taking a few sips.
Gaah, she wanted to spit it out, that nasty rose-hip tea that tasted like something regurgitated by water buffalo. But she didn’t. She’d drink the whole blasted cup with nary a whimper for the stupid underwear he’d folded and stuck in his sash.
“Yup, sure is,” he said and leaned over.
She surprised herself by kissing him back.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
There’s still another chapter or two to tie up loose ends and what not, so we’re not quite done yet. Not sure at this point what that’ll entail- more smut undoubtedly :), but we’ll see what else.
I was attempting (and failing- thanx Comcast- you rock!) to upload this today, and found a wonderful review from mevenia (You are too sweet! ‘Words’ was an enormous pain in my ever-expanding ass to write and you saying it’s your favorite- WOW! Floored…). Thank you so much- the smile has not left my face for hours (despite internet issues).
I had a blast writing this chapter, but I’d love to hear what all y’all think so review, people! Please?
Chapter title is an old Oasis song. The album Definitely Maybe popped up randomly in my work playlist- I’d forgotten how much I loved their early stuff- and I drew a fair bit of inspiration from this song in particular. But of course, it is not in any way mine, nor do I make anything off of it
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Tuesdays with Shuuhei