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Out on the front porch, ryokan’s maître d’ sidled up to Byakuya to say, “Of course your bodyguard would be more comfortable waiting outside, my lord? Or, given the rain, perhaps in the kitchen? He’s welcome to use the back entrance.”
“I didn’t bring a bodyguard,” Byakuya replied in confusion, until he noticed the way she warily watched Renji. Ah. Well, Renji was in uniform with Zabimaru at his side. Though Byakuya was similarly armed, he wore a moderately simple kimono, not unlike something a minor noble might chose. Given Renji’s relative height, and the fact that he naturally acted the part of protective lieutenant, perhaps it was a genuine misunderstanding. Patiently, Byakuya explained, “Renji is my guest.”
She flinched. Looking between Renji and the prominent spot in the center of the room clearly reserved for them, her face paled. “Oh.”
Byakuya frowned, trying to fathom the maître d’s continued hesitation. Yes, Renji had purpling bruise on the side of his nose and there was a clump of dirt stubbornly clinging to a spike of crimson hair jutting from his topknot, but he wore the uniform of a shinigami. That should be entrance anywhere.
It was true that the majority of the guests at the inn tonight appeared to be families, but surely any inn inside the Seireitei must cater to shinigami. And, there’d been none of this when Rukia had been his guest a few days ago. She’d worn the shihakushô. Starting to feel irritated, Byakuya asked, “Is there a problem?”
For his part, Renji was pretending not to notice that the problem was him. He casually rested his clasped hands on Zabimaru’s butt cap, and glanced around as though admiring the various lanterns and decorations strung up overhead. But, Byakuya could see the slight reddening of the skin above his collar and the way his jaw muscles jumped.
“Perhaps my lord could wait for a private table in the back? I’m sure it would be no more than twenty minutes. We have a lovely waiting area.”
Private had its advantages, but the insult was now perfectly clear.
There was a hierarchy to tables, as Byakuya well knew. The back was reserved for the lowest classes. Maître d’ looked ready to lead the way to the waiting area, but Byakuya refused to follow.
This was intolerable. He’d never been asked to wait. Nor had he ever been offered a back seat.
“I’m sorry; did you not receive our reservation?” Byakuya asked. His voice grew a little louder and more insistent, and he looked pointedly at the only empty table in the middle of the busy inn’s dining room. “I believe my steward made it clear to the owner that I would be making a final decision regarding whether or not to award the Kuchiki warrant tonight?”
Truthfully, Eishirō had done no such thing. The point of tonight had been to be incognito. Of course the reservation was in the Kuchiki name, but it had not indicated that it would be for himself, the clan head.
The maître d’ looked at Byakuya intently. Her eyes widened in recognition when she suddenly noticed Senbonzakura at his side. She shot another look at Renji, almost plaintive, as though willing him to be something less… bedraggled and rough. Finally, dropping into a deep bow, she said, “A thousand pardons, Kuchiki-sama. Please forgive me. Without the kenseikan I didn’t recognize you.”
“Indeed,” Byakuya said. He put enough ice into his tone to make it clear that he knew the truth and was, in fact, counting it against them.
She swallowed nervously. “If you’d come right this way?”
As they walked into the dining room, the conversation hushed. Normally, Byakuya would attribute such a reaction to himself, but he wasn’t in haori or kenseikan. Moreover, as they moved further in Byakuya caught a few whispered words here and there. They were frightened murmurs of ‘Eleventh Division?’ and ‘look at the tattoos!’
The tattoos.
Of course Renji’s tattoos must have been part of the maître d’s concerns. But, Byakuya didn’t even see them any more—or at least no longer the way other people did. Though, perhaps he never had, since he’d been attracted to them from the beginning.
Since before the beginning, really.
Byakuya still remembered the sight of Renji, shirtless, that first time he’d gone to inspect the lowly Sixth Seat that had been recommended for lieutenancy—his vacant lieutenancy. The sun had beat down hotly on the barren hard-packed dust of the Eleventh Division’s well-worn practice yard. Kenpachi had been his usual belligerently irritating self, and the place stunk of too many unwashed men. Byakuya had almost left in disgust without seeing Renji. But, then Renji strode out into the field in nothing but ragged hakama, with the massive toothed blade of Zabimaru over his shoulder. All else disappeared. Byakuya had been utterly captivated by everything about Renji. But especially those lines, so bold and confident and wild—so much like the man beneath them. And, then to see him fight, watch the tattoos shifting with each movement of muscle and sinew, hair glowing like the inner flame of some ruby jewel….
A gem Byakuya simply had to possess. He’d wanted to take Renji back to the Sixth that instant, and add his own name to the brush strokes of Renji’s body, claim him so utterly that no other dare touch him.
These people with their hurtful whispers, what did they know of the magnificent beast that belonged to him?
“Ignore them, Renji,” Byakuya said, boldly taking Renji by the hand and giving his calloused palm a supportive, loving squeeze. “You’re with me now.”
Renji shot Byakuya a curious look, but returned the squeeze before letting go. Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, he added, “I told you this wasn’t my kind of place.”
“It won’t be mine either, if they can’t treat you with common decency,” Byakuya said, loud enough for the maître d’ to overhear. They were standing at their table in the center of the room now, so Byakuya let his gaze sweep the dining area to challenge any of those who stared at Renji. “The Vice-Captain of the Sixth Division deserves everyone’s respect.”
Eyes slid away, but Renji was blushing furiously as he settled onto the floor. He seemed to consider seiza a moment, but then gave up and sat tailor-fashion.
“I don’t know about that,” Renji said gruffly, as he lifted the lacquered chopsticks from the hashioki and gave them a look like he was worried they were breakable before setting them back down carefully. “You should have been at the meeting this afternoon, Taicho. It was a disaster. Rukia didn’t even show up. Ikkaku got drunk. Matsumoto and Yumichika were completely useless. I’m pretty sure Hitsugaya-taicho hates me now. It was embarrassing. I wish you were in charge.”
“I doubt I could pass as a high schooler,” Byakuya said. A serving girl came with a pot of tea and set it brewing in the middle of the table.
“You think I will? Because you know, I hear facial tattoos are big among the fifteen to eighteen year old set. And, little Hitsugaya looks like he’s in primary school,” Renji muttered. “Eh, that’s nothing. What I’m worried about is that we’re going to get our asses handed to us.”
“That’s the point, in a way, is it not?” Byakuya said. “You’re there to test the strength of this new enemy.”
Renji looked surprised at that thought for a moment, and then shook his head, “I guess. I just wish you or Kenpachi or one of the other big time heavy-hitters were coming along. I hate writing reports that start ‘and then they wiped the floor with us…’”
“Kurosaki will be there. And, you shouldn’t discount your own strength, nor that of Hitsugaya-taicho.”
Renji just continued to shake his head. The server came out with the first course, an appetizer of kakure ume. It was garnished with a fried horsetail shoot.
“Sure looks pretty,” Renji said admiring the foamy light pink custard in its clear glass bowl that showed off the darker purple layer beneath. He lifted it to his nose, and pulled back sharply. “Whoa, what the hell is it?”
“It’s a delicacy,” Byakuya explained. “Pickled plums and fish milt.”
“Milk?”
“Milt, as in semen,” Byakuya said taking a bite of the smoothly salty concoction, enjoying the tangy undertones of the pickled plum sauce.
Renji placed the bowl back down on its platter, his eyes wide. “Fish jizz? You’re kidding me. Wow. Okay. See, where I come from cream is more of an after dinner treat… you know, if you’re lucky.”
“Renji!” Byakuya admonished, but he was trying not to laugh.
Picking up the spoon, Renji dug in, “Well, at least I know I like the taste of it, eh?” Renji put some in his mouth and tried it. “Hmm, yeah, wow, awkwardly… familiar, though very fishy. Yours tastes better.” Before Byakuya could react to that little comment, Renji stared at the spoon seriously and asked, “So how do they get the fishes to do their thing on cue, show them fish porn?”
“They’re caught during mating season and frozen in a state of… incompletion,” Byakuya explained.
“Aw, the poor little guys didn’t even get off,” Renji said finishing the appetizer in two bites. He looked at the remaining fried garnish in his spoon. “And top it off with ‘tail’—horsetail, no less? Is this whole meal going to be some kind of smutty pun?”
“I hope not,” Byakuya said, trying to keep his smile under control and failing miserably, “Though it is up to the chef. Usually the theme is seasonal, but, perhaps ours has a different focus in mind tonight.”
Renji lifted the teapot’s cover and glanced at the leaves inside. Apparently deciding they’d steeped enough, Renji poured Byakuya’s tea. “So courting starts with fish cum custard, huh? You sure know how to treat a guy.”
“Ah, that reminds me,” Byakuya said, reaching into the interior pocket in his kimono. “I have a small gift for you. It’s just a little something for you to remember me by.”
Though he’d been fighting the remnants of a wicked hangover, Byakuya had painstakingly folded the orange-colored paper around the small box so that the ‘bow’ was an origami image of a twisted snake raising its head. He was particularly proud of the tiny folded fangs and the orange ruff he’d managed despite clumsy, shaking fingers. They reminded him of Zabimaru’s bankai.
“Whoa! Look at this!” Renji said clearly genuinely impressed, and he held it up near the edge of the table as though he were showing Zabimaru. Then, after a moment of wide-eyed admiration, he gaped at Byakuya, “You did this yourself?”
“I did.” Byakuya nodded, and couldn’t repress a fond chuckle. “But the gift is not the box, Renji.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I can stand to take it apart. It’s so cool. I mean, look at it! It looks just like a mini Zabimaru!”
“Yes, that’s what I was trying to evoke,” Byakuya felt his face flush a little at Renji’s enthusiasm. “There is a way to undo the paper at the sides. Let me show you.”
Renji handed it back, and Byakuya very carefully peeled away the folds, so that the box could slip out without destroying the origami wrapping. He returned both to an awestruck Renji, who looked like a giant kid being shown the workings of a puzzle box for the first time. Renji seemed uncertain what to do with the gift itself, though, as it was somewhat gauche to open presents right away, particularly in public. So, Byakuya prompted him with a smile, “Please open it, Renji. I want to explain it.”
Lifting the lid of the small box, Renji looked inside. His face was curious, at first. Then as he lifted a slender silver chain to see the fang-shaped, bone-white shard attached at the end, it seemed to dawn on him what he had a piece of.
“The kenseikan,” Byakuya nodded into Renji’s inquisitive gaze. “Even the shattered pieces were too valuable to leave behind on the battlefield. I had this one made into a necklace for you.”
Renji’s face fell a little, crumpling, “But, uh, I—“
“I know you hate the kenseikan, Renji. But, hear me out. This is a very symbolic gift I give you. It represents me in a way nothing else does. However, the day that it was broken was the day my heart changed. You and Zabimaru began that process, and I hope that it will end when I adopt an heir and am no longer required to wear the kenseikan at all.”
Renji slipped the necklace over his head as the serving girl came to collect their bowls and present the next course. It was collection of slightly more substantial appetizers presented in a covered partitioned box. Byakuya decided not to point out that among the various options there was dried ovary of sea cucumber as well as pureed lily bulb ball garnished with caviar. It appeared the chef was, in fact, in a bit of a scampish mood.
As Byakuya put some of the caviar on Renji’s plate to try, Renji was turning the sharp shard of the kenseikan over in his hands. “I’ve always wondered, what’s it made of?”
“It’s an alchemical amalgam. A combination of nephrite, white jade, as a stabilizing element, and the mask of a Hollow,” Byakuya said, nibbling on a deep fried gingko nut. “Legend has it that the first Kuchiki lord wore his as a trophy, a symbol of what he protected his vassals and retainers from. It may seem like nothing to us today to be a slayer of Hollows, but there were far fewer shinigami back then. There was no Gotei, no Academy, no law to require that zanpakutō be employed in the defense of humans and the weak from Hollow attack. In fact, many shinigami were completely lawless and used their strength for selfish personal gain. So the first Kuchiki wore the kenseikan to show that he was different from the others and that he offered his zanpakutō to serve and protect the greater good of the Soul Society. And thus became one of the True First shinigami.”
“Kind of like a sheriff’s badge,” Renji offered, admiring the shard with renewed interest. “This is why upholding the law is so important to you. Your ancestors were the first cops.”
Byakuya dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I suppose you could think of it that way. Each heir wears the kenseikan to renew the promise to serve and protect, to declare our willingness to uphold the way of honor, the code of bushidō.”
“That’s really cool,” Renji said sincerely. He let the necklace fall against his chest. “This is cool gift. Thanks.”
“I only hope it’s not an empty promise,” Byakuya said with a sigh, as the server came with the soup course. “Aunt Massay threatened me with your life. She wants me to marry her candidate immediately or she’ll use some sort of evidence against you. She seemed to think it was enough to see you imprisoned or worse.”
Renji sniffed his soup cautiously before sipping some. “Prison? For what? Nothing we do is against any law I ever heard of.”
Byakuya nodded. “It’s a mystery, but her confidence is unnerving.”
“Lot about her gives me the willies,” Renji murmured, looking at his empty soup bowl, as if wondering where the food had gone. He glanced at the kitchen, “Are they ever going to give us anything that’s more than two bites?”
“Eventually. In fact, the larger courses should be starting next,” Byakuya said, taking a sip of tea. Normally at this sort of meal they’d be drinking sake, but Eishirō must have sent a butterfly ahead requesting an alternative. Thank fate for that man. Byakuya had no idea how people stomached the whole ‘hair of the dog’ remedy. Just the thought of sake again made his stomach flip.
Or maybe that was just worry about Aunt Masama and her cryptic evidence.
Luckily, there were no charges or accusations strong enough to pull Renji from his assignment in the Human World. No matter what it was, it would have to wait, and that would buy them time to counter it. Still, Byakuya would need to neutralize the threat quickly or he might end up married with babies on the way before Renji even returned.
The server arrived with a plate of thin slices of fugu sashimi, beautifully arranged to look like a translucent chrysanthemum blossom. In keeping with the chef’s theme there was a garnish of salted, grilled shirako, the blowfish’s highly prized sperm sac.
Renji laughed seeing it. “Jeez, this is just all about blowing, isn’t it?”
“I apologize,” Byakuya said. “I had no idea tonight’s meal would be so blatantly suggestive.”
“Heh, it’s alright,” Renji said, curling his tongue out to pull in a slender slice of blowfish into his mouth. “It’s funny, and I get the jokes, you know?”
“Indeed,” Byakuya agreed. In some respects, this was a perfect way to introduce Renji to the concept of kaiseki. The connections were broad… and bawdy. In fact, it was a nice nod to the two of them, as many of the items on the menu so far were incredibly rare and expensive. So, it was a noble feast with a certain low class appeal. Putting more sashimi on Renji’s plate, Byakuya said, “I’m beginning to suspect our fried course will be octopus testicles.”
“I like octopus,” Renji said, trying the shirako. “Ain’t never eaten their balls, though—at least not that I know of. I didn’t even know they had any.”
“They’re quite good,” Byakuya said. “But perhaps the chef isn’t planning to be quite so obvious.”
When the steamed star-cut ox penises arrived, Byakuya just sighed. After explaining what they were to Renji, Renji let out a hearty laugh and announced. “I love this place!”
Even dessert ended up being suggestive, with candied orchids that couldn’t look more like rampant phalluses.
When the chef came out to see how they’d enjoyed the meal, Renji stood up and clasped his hand, giving it a strong shake. He slapped him on the back with a happy laugh, and said, “You’re a genius, man!” Then, leaning into the older, gray-haired chef’s ear, Renji murmured something that made the chef start and then chuckle.
“And you, Lord Kuchiki?” the chef asked nervously. “Are you as pleased?”
“The initial service was disappointing, but your presentation and skill has charmed both Renji and myself,” Byakuya said in acknowledgment.
Renji nodded again, and, with a wide grin, reiterated, “Genius.”
The chef continued to look at Byakuya hopefully, until Byakuya said, “Provided that it’s made clear that all members of the Gotei Thirteen will be given a respectful choice of seating, I will grant the warrant. However, I will not tolerate news that anyone in shihakushô, no matter their rank or appearance, has been barred or denied access. If I hear of even one instance of mistreatment of a shinigami, the warrant will be revoked.”
“But, my lord, what of the Kenpachi? What of his Division?”
Byakuya considered for a moment. After all, even the Kuchiki sento made provisions to exclude members of the Eleventh. But, he shook his head, “Your prices already discourage a certain element. Kenpachi Zaraki would have no patience for a twenty course meal, no matter how delectable. No, I must insist that the uniform of the shinigami be respected or the Kuchiki Seal will not be granted.”
The chef bowed deeply, “It will be as you say, my lord.”
As they swept from the room, Renji nodded appreciatively, “You tell ‘em, Taicho.”
#
After a meal like that, Renji couldn’t help but feel frisky. As he’d told the chef he’d had more cock tonight than in his entire misspent youth. Besides, it was turning into a beautiful night. The rain had stopped and a half-moon peaked through thinning clouds. The air held a bite of cold, but everything smelled fresh and new, like it always did after a rain. It was his last night here in the Seireitei, possibly forever, and Renji wanted to enjoy it. So before Byakuya could go into shunpō, Renji put a hand on Byakuya’s shoulder, stopping him at the corner of a wide boulevard. From behind, he leaned into Byakuya’s ear and purred, “How about some dessert? I’m hungry for a little cream… the really tasty kind.”
Renji could feel the heat instantly radiate from Byakuya’s cheeks. “Renji,” he admonished, though desire roughened his voice. “We can hardly go back to the estate with my aunt there.”
Brushing aside silken hair, Renji nibbled on Byakuya’s neck just over the collar of the light blue nagajuban he’d worn under his kimono. Renji prayed there were only a couple of layers or his proposition was going get… complicated. Into Byakuya’s flesh, Renji murmured, “Who needs to go back? I see an alcove in that wall over there. Come on. How long’s it even going to take? Ten minutes?”
“What exactly are you offering?” Byakuya asked. His tone was serious, but he leaned back into Renji’s body. “Aren’t you still angry…? That is, you gave me the impression I shouldn’t expect anything.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to get a hard on from food,” Renji teased, kissing anywhere he could find exposed flesh, and letting his tongue tickle an ear. “Damn, if I haven’t been thinking about your cock in my mouth since that first appetizer. Interested?”
Byakuya let out a little moan despite being in a semi-public space. “Yes,” he hissed, grabbing Renji’s hand urgently, “Yes, very much so. But, let’s but find a more sheltered spot. Quickly.”
Hand-in-hand they dashed through the neighborhood. Byakuya must have spotted what he wanted, because he pointed and said, “There.”
It’d do, Renji decided. It seemed to be the back gate to some minor noble’s estate, but it was deeply inset. Overgrown tangles of ivy added an extra layer of secrecy. It abutted a private, narrow street probably used for deliveries, given the crates stacked all along the wall. If they positioned themselves right, they’d be pretty well hidden from any passers-by.
Once in the shadows, Renji insistently pressed Byakuya up against the wall and caught his mouth in a deep kiss. Sugar from dessert lingered on lips and tongue, and Renji devoured it all greedily. His hands moved toward the obi sash at Byakuya’s waist. All they needed to do was get things loose enough to slide open the folds of the kimono. Hell, if they couldn’t, Renji swore to god he’d just crawl under it to get at what he wanted.
Byakuya’s fingers clutched Renji’s neck and hair, dragging him deeper into the kiss with surprising passion. Renji opened his eyes to drink in the sight of trembling eyelashes and flushed pale skin. Gods he was going to miss this! How he adored these precious moments when the hard, cold mask slipped and Byakuya’s passion showed so plainly on his face.
Renji would have stayed like this forever, but his body ached for so much more. He just had to have the taste of this man in his mouth. Besides, he could feel the object of his desire hardening in the space between their bodies.
Pulling away from sweet lips, Renji licked and kissed and nipped at cheeks and jaw. He started downward immediately, but before he could go to his knees, Byakuya caught him by the elbows. “Renji,” he moaned, his eyes half-lidded with arousal, “Would you… take off your shirt for me? I want to see your tattoos one last time.”
Standing back up, Renji gave himself a little room to shoulder out of the kosode and shitage. Twisting his arms back around inside the sleeves, he pulled them out through the center. He managed not to get tangled up in the kenseikan necklace. Then he scrunched the fabric down until it fell around his waist, and, just like that, he was shirtless and exposed. It was a move he’d perfected for hot summer days.
But, Renji had no time to feel cold tonight; the heat from Byakuya’s gaze flushed his skin, until he thought he must be steaming in the cool, moist air. Even in the moonlight, Renji could see the way Byakuya’s pupils dilated widely. His mouth opened slightly like he was imagining tasting skin.
Suddenly, Byakuya’s body pressed close, silk against Renji’s skin. Byakuya’s hands frantically ran along the lines on Renji’s biceps. Dipping his head, Byakuya’s mouth found a spot just below Renji’s collarbone and sucked hard. Renji was pushed against the other wall briefly, cold rough stone against his back. Then Byakuya stepped away, as though to admire Renji’s body in the moonlight.
“Right there,” Byakuya said. The tip of his long-boned finger traced the red mark he’d made in sweeping motions as though writing something, “That’s where it will appear: the Sixth Division camellia, the Gentei Reiin. I will finally be part of all these enchanting marks, written on your skin.”
“Finally?” Renji huskily asked into Byakuya’s hair, gathering the scent with a deep sniff. Looking down, he could see Byakuya was still tracing something over and over on his skin. Renji suddenly recognized the characters being pressed into his flesh. It was the kanji of Byakuya’s name.
“Yes, if I could, I would write myself into the lines of your body.”
“You already have.”
Byakuya caught his lips in a brief kiss, and then looked deeply into Renji’s eyes. “Would you let me kiss them all, one last time?”
“Oh god, yes,” Renji said, marveling as Byakuya bent low to start at the lowest line visible just above the waistline of his hakama. Hair tickled his stomach, and his flesh raged between the sensation of Byakuya’s cool, wet tongue and his own hot, fevered skin. As Byakuya made his way upward, Renji bit his lip to keep from groaning, his hands twisting up the fabric of his pants to keep from entangling themselves in Byakuya’s hair. But, when Byakuya had reached the lines of his chest, Renji couldn’t hold back, his fingers slid through silken strands. The calluses on his palms snagged the fine fabric of the kimono on Byakuya’s shoulders.
Nibbling his way up the lines on Renji’s neck, Byakuya’s question was like a command in Renji’s ear, “Now the back?” To Renji’s happy grunt of consent, Byakuya added, “Put your hands on the wall.”
“Heh, am I under arrest, sheriff?”
“Hmmm, perhaps I’ll have to search you. There’s something very suspicious in your hakama.”
Renji thrilled to hear Byakuya playing like this. It was the rarest of the rare treats. Though, honestly, Byakuya was better at it than he was. “Nah,” he said with a toothy smile as he turned around. “That’s no weapon, officer. I’m just happy to see you.”
“Perhaps so, but I believe it deserves careful inspection.” Byakuya’s lips were at Renji’s tattoos, while his hand slipped through the wide slit on the side of his hakama. Renji spread his legs and arched into Byakuya’s hand as it pushed under the tails of the shitage and kosode. Byakuya’s other arm encircled Renji’s chest, his thumb finding the nub of erect nipple. As Byakuya expertly stroked and pulled and tweaked and teased, Renji struggled against the wall, his fingers digging into crumbling stone. Spread and held like this, he felt more completely under Byakuya’s command than all the times he’d been restrained by kidō or obi. “Yes, oh, yes,” he moaned with pleasure, bucking back into Byakuya, who played him skillfully until he came hot and panting, his sweaty forehead pressed against the cold stone wall.
As soon as Byakuya released him, Renji spun around. He drove them back against the other wall, kissing anything he could find and fumbled for Byakuya’s sash again. “Now,” he growled, “My dessert.”
“Yes,” Byakuya hissed back, “Yes, Renji, please hurry.”
At last the stubborn kimono parted, revealing pale, trim chest. Renji let his lips worship every angle and plane of Byakuya’s sculpted form. On his knees, like a devotee, Renji scrambled with the remaining fabric, twisting it wildly out of the way, until finally he bared flesh to uncover what he’d been thinking about all night. He admired the perfection of it a moment, and said, “That’s what I’ve been starving for.”
Renji tried to remember the way Byakuya liked things to go, but he was too anxious to get his mouth around any part of that blazingly gorgeous, tasty cock. Byakuya didn’t seem to mind. Nor did Byakuya protest when Renji’s hands grasped at his hips lightly. In fact, Byakuya reached to grip Renji’s topknot, encouraging his enthusiasm.
How long until he’d have this again? What if some Arrancar got lucky and this was it, the last time ever? Renji let his hand gently sweep the curve of tight ass as he sucked Byakuya as deeply and as powerfully as he could, trying to swallow him up, take him completely.
Byakuya’s knees buckled, even as he started to thrust, hitting the back of Renji’s throat briefly. But, Renji managed to keep taking him in, letting himself get lost in the amazing sounds Byakuya was making. At first, Byakuya sounded like he was supplicating a mantra that combined Renji’s name with god, over and over again. Then they became wild, almost animalistic sounds—nothing like Renji had ever heard before.
Renji sped things up to keep in time with Byakuya’s thrusts. Then, Byakuya actually allowed himself a barely choked-back scream of pleasure that, if it could have, would have made Renji come again. Renji reveled in the exquisite taste of the richest, most sumptuous cream. When he’d swallowed the last of it, he smiled dreamily. “Fuck that fish stuff, yours is the best ever.”