Disclaimer: Bleach world and characters belong to Kubo Tite
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Byakuya didn't think life could get much more awkward for Abarai-fukutaichou than it was at this moment. There he stood in his red-haired glory, shifting his weight from side to side, big hands clenching into fists, only to loosen again.
Renji cleared his throat, nervous and tense, frustrated at his inability to just shut up.
"I'm sorry…"
"It's pretty awful, isn't it.
"I tried my very best."
Impassive, grey eyes rose from the piece of paper held in long-fingered, tekkou-clad hands – dismay battled surprise behind the impassive mask – and finally he spoke.
"Shh, Renji."
His eyes returned to the good mulberry paper in wonder. A simple haiku was written on it with careful precision. The energy of the strokes testified to the scribe's struggle for every bit of control over the characters, the brush having been grasped too firmly in the determined hand. The script was jagged, eschewing all but the most obvious curvatures yet it did not lack a certain sense of flow. There was nothing subtle about it. Even the character for "moon" lacked the crescent-shaped flourish Byakuya liked to bestow upon its left side. Stiff…and yet, it had a certain fire of its very own.
Crimson
Midnight hair veils perfect moon
Tempting
"Renji, what are your…feelings…?"
Abarai Renji's eyes widened in shock at the entirely unexpected question. His captain was not in the habit of ever discussing feelings. Yet the expectant silence forced Renji to reach within himself and recall the countless hours of secret calligraphy practice in the middle of sleepless nights. All that expensive calligraphy paper, desecrated with ill-proportioned characters and ink splotches and marks bearing signs of too much or too little ink on his brush – all disposed of in utmost secrecy. The words, inexpertly put together, reworked, carefully considered.
Countless biting reprimands as to the quality of his handwriting flooded his mind. And there were those utterly humiliating, awkward calligraphy lessons Kuchiki-taichou had given him in an effort to improve his hand. Not that taichou wasn't a good teacher – he was – but Renji couldn't help but feel like an utter, clumsy idiot in his presence.
"Right now I feel fucking humiliated." He felt color rise up his neck, spilling over the strong, chiseled cheek bones. "Here, give it back, taichou. I'll just toss it."
"Abarai." Byakuya's voice held only the mildest rebuke. "I like it. Forgive my curiosity – but what were you feeling when you wrote these words?" Calligraphy and mindset were intimately connected, and the artist in Byakuya detected an interesting clue.
Renji looked at him. This was their first Valentine's Day. What did he feel back then? He flushed even deeper, recalling his earlier haiku attempts which would have embarrassed Byakuya beyond measure. They were explicit and raw and full of passion, and not fit for the light of day.
Renji cleared his throat. "Well, you said you don't recognize this newfangled human holiday. And I'm good with that. I never expect anything. But I get all this stuff from other people, y'know? So I thought it would be nice to get something for you, except you have everything, so I wrote this thing. I thought it was good at the time but now it sucks." He looked at Byakuya beseechingly. "May I have it back, please?"
"No." Byakuya stood and came around his desk, stopping only a handspan away from the taller man, the poem still in his hand. Renji noted that his grey eyes hinted at warmth and curiosity.
"Please open the front of your shihakusho."
Renji eyed him, incredulity in his flushed face. "Why?"
It was the "please" that set his hands in motion and Renji loosened his top, revealing a finely muscled, tan chest accented with tribal tattoos.
Byakuya's right hand stroked the black and white layers to the side and his left lifted the poem up to Renji's chest. The office remained still for several heartbeats.
"Incredible." His voice was hushed, narrow lips quirking up.
"What?"
"Renji. Your calligraphy. It resembles your tattoos."
The redhead gave him an incredulous grin. "Is that why you had me standing here, sweating it? I thought you hated it. I thought it totally sucked."
Sensitive fingers traced a part of the jagged pattern – with just a bit of imagination it vaguely resembled the kanji for "moon" – and with Zabimaru responsible for these designs, Byakuya flushed with a warm feeling of what it might possibly mean. He leaned forward, disregarding his own workplace rules for as long as it took for his lips to brush his fukutaichou's sensuous, red lips.
Byakuya felt a generous hand ghost up his hip and press him in as those red lips claimed him, pleasuring him, caressing the corners of his mouth with tender murmurs that meant something – something specific, important. Distracted from the kiss he strained his ears to hear the words Renji half-whispered with those deep amber eyes closed, his nostrils greedily inhaling Byakuya's scent. He allowed it, eager to hear the words….
"Inside…your heat so tight and wanting…surrender."
Byakuya's eyebrows rose as he maintained contact with his mercurial lover, careful not to stem the flow of words.
"Cold heat…passion under icy flow…winter."
He stirred nervously.
"Grey ash…embers light your gorgeous eyes…white thighs."
He could feel his cheeks flush lightly.
"Sharp teeth…sharp love along the jagged line…bite marks."
A slight whimper of a moan passed from his mouth to Renji's and blood left his upper body, leaving him somewhat light-headed.
"Impale…your name ripped from under you…so full."
They heard a knock on the door and flew apart from one another: Byakuya back behind his desk, Renji into the nearby kitchenette, fixing his clothes.
"Enter," Byakuya said in an even, preoccupied voice, brush in hand. He appeared the same as ever. His visitor came, talked, Byakuya nodded briefly, the visitor left papers and departed. Only after the door closed, he realized he did not remember a single word the messenger uttered.