Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Not A Thing
A/N: Lemon; "Love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love." - John le Carre
It wouldn't have been fair to say that she outdid Hisana. A comparison just wasn't called for. His beautiful wife had given him love in her own way, one that he would forever cherish, nights that he would never forget. But Yoruichi held a flame of her own. A wild, excitable little blaze that she liked to release in that new game of theirs. It was just unfortunate that it had taken a century for the players to be prepared.
Dark-skinned and fair, she was every bit of the prowling beast whose form she fancied. Playful, sly, pleasant to touch and be touched by. In the gardens and among the flowers, a favorite place, she nuzzled against him, purring as the confines of both were strewn across the ground. Fingers wandered, with generous vocal response. Her back arched, the leaves of the still-growing plants sliding lightly against her skin.
Byakuya had always heard men say that they were unfaithful because "she never made me feel like this." Being a proper man, a sensible man, he'd never once believed in those words. If a man truly loved his wife, then he never would have broken her heart, and fallen into the arms of another. Were he to break his own belief, and let loose those words from his lips, it would still be a sin, even now. He had always loved Hisana, would always love her. Saying that she'd never given him that joy would be a falsehood.
He couldn't desecrate her memory in such a fashion.
Truthfully, there had been a time or two where he'd thought back to the woman who lay before him, wondering how she'd fared over the years. But he'd never wanted her, never imagined having her, never wished to be away from Hisana for her.
A hand moved slowly down her spine, the other drawing meticulous patterns across her inner thigh. It was a quiet moan, almost like laughter as her own fingers played across the faded scars of his back and shoulders. All his reminders of stupid mistakes. Inexperience, to say it kindly.
A warm night as the one above them was what had called them here, behind a tall old tree, skin soaking in the scent of grass and orchids.
She didn't beg, even as his hand worked its way within. Just a smile playing across her face, teeth threatening him in the silence. He flexed his fingers, Yoruichi's body quivering with a moan, moving with him. It was then that her own hands work their way downward, across his chest, replying with a tug as she wraps around him.
As they drew closer, each of them a needed piece of the puzzle, he began to wonder just how he'd ever wanted her gone so long ago.
It had really been like some unreal phantasma. A fearful dream, the likes of which mere children only conjured in the night. Their world had been at peace for so long, with so little to worry about save for keeping order in the capital, and skillfully maintaining the balance of the human world. And then what? The walls had easily crumbled around them. People had vanished, a traitor was named, not proven, and she had aided him in escape.
A hundred years of silence followed.
A hundred years that had spoken volumes to him.
The fact that he had felt betrayed, meant that there had been something in his heart.
It must have been undeveloped, or perhaps dormant, the things that he felt for her. A boy, an easily riled boy as he had been, would have denied such things thousands of times over before so much as considering them as possibilities. And he had. He'd decided that he disliked her, not quite hated, and that all she was good for was bothering him.
But, even having her with him now, in such ecstacy, Byakuya decided that nothing had needed to be any different.
The world had stopped spinning for a time, and at uncanny intervals, but it had always started back up again.
