The lamp casts a pool of yellow gold across half the room. At the edge, partially swallowed by darkness, he can see them. Skin gleaming as bodies flex and move. Tantalisingly brief glimpses of more, of shadowed places concealed by cloth and wall and mat. Lips meet, caress, and part again, the touch lingering in the matching of gazes, in the trembling stroke of fingers against flushed cheek. In the quirk of a smile, the synchronisation of hitched breath and low contented laughter.
Byakuya presses his hand flat against the wooden frame of the door and leans closer, air rushing in his lungs. Watching them in such a private moment is wrong but he can't help himself. They fascinate him. Always.
Separate, they are Ukitake-senpai and Kyōraku-taichō, respected teachers and plagues on his life and temper. Together, like this, they are day and night, tangled so close around each other that the boundaries between them seem to blur. And it moves things within him that he doesn't understand.
Not the mechanics. That, he understands perfectly well, thank you. He is not stupid. Animals mate and it is hardly any great mystery. It's the rest that confuses him.
Two of the greatest captains the Gotei has ever seen, they are unquestionably strong, far more so than anyone Byakuya knows, even his grandfather, and yet tied up with that strength is an openness and vulnerability with each other that seems anathema to everything Byakuya has been told a shinigami should be.
Thoughtfully he settles back on his heels and stares up at the sky. There is something here he is missing, some lesson they are not imparting during his hours of instruction with them. Is it this weakness that makes them so strong? That would seem to make the most sense, after all the essence of a shinigami is balance thus it would be logical that strength should be tempered by weakness.
Do they perhaps deliberately turn to each other in order to remain balanced within themselves?
In the silence of the night all sounds seem loud. The distant plop of fish in the lake behind him, wind rustling through the reeds, the quiet croak of a frog. The unmistakable tread of foot on board from inside the room.
Not even his fastest shunpo could take him far enough away to avoid capture as the screen draws back. Byakuya hangs his head as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, shamed as much at having been caught as he is by his condition. His clothing is askew, his arousal obvious. He may fool himself that this watching is purely intellectual, but his body knows differently.
Embarrassment burns so furiously in his cheeks that he almost misses the first few words that Kyōraku says. "Well, well, what have we here? Not that I blame you, boy, he's beautiful to watch. And you've found yourself a spot with quite the good view after all. "
The amusement is so far from the reprimand he's expecting that for a moment all Byakuya can do is stare at his feet in miserable confusion. Then that rich deep voice rolls again and Kyōraku continues, "Though if you're of a mind to make a habit of voyeurism, you'll have to get a better control of your reiatsu. I daresay they could feel you right over in the main barracks."
The accusation pricks at Byakuya's pride. "My control is excellent," he snaps, chin lifting defiantly.
Kyōraku beams down at him, looking oddly naked without his usual hat and pink flowery kimono. The plain green yukuta he is wearing is only loosely tied and gapes across the chest, and Byakuya finds his gaze captured by crisp curls that fade to rough bristle up neck and cheek. The skin beneath is bruised in places and blood rushes to Byakuya's face yet again as he remembers what actions accompanied the marking.
He freezes as breathy laughter comes from inside, and hears Ukitake say, "We haven't broken him then. I was a little worried when he surrendered without so much as a token protest."
"Not broken at all," Kyōraku booms, "Though perhaps a little squashed."
A swish of cloth and Ukitake appears at Kyōraku's shoulder. He is wearing the pink instead and it makes him looks oddly healthy. "Do you want to come in?" he asks and Byakuya can't answer for fear he will stumble over his words, because much as he would prefer to be a million miles away right now, part of him is desperate to join them. But surely not how they mean.
By sheer force of will, he gathers himself enough to dip a shallow bow and say, "Thank you for the offer, Ukitake-senpai, but it's too late for tea. I should go home."
"He thinks you're offering him tea, Jyūshiro," Kyōraku comments with great good humour, "You must be losing your touch."
"Hush," scolds Ukitake, his dark brows tugging down, and then turns all of his considerable attention on Byakuya, who just manages not to fidget. "This is not an invitation to tea, Bya-kun," he continues, "though it could be simply that if that is all you want. I…" he hesitates, gaze flicking briefly to Kyōraku, who shrugs. Ukitake huffs and then more decisively adds, "We thought you might finally like to join us rather than watching as you have for the past few months."
They'd known? All this time Byakuya thought his behaviour unobserved and they'd known all along! Stricken, he stares at Ukitake unable to fathom an answer.
"Now you broke him," Kyōraku tuts.
Large hands grasp Byakuya's shoulders and he's guided though the door and for the life of him, he cannot think of a way of stopping it. He doesn't want to be here, in this room, with the empty sake jug and the bed mat with its rumpled covers and oh… Eyes fluttering closed, he inhales, feeling his body stir in response to the smell of them still lingering on the air.
It's such a bestial thing, so unworthy of his rank and breeding that he immediately blushes yet again and wishes he could drop dead when Ukitake laughs softly. But it's a kindly laugh, not at all mocking, and so Byakuya survives it somehow and finds the courage to open his eyes again.
He's standing alone in the middle of the room. They are seated back on the bed mat and they're kissing.
Byakuya's knees fail him at the sight and he sinks to the floor, hands gripping his hakama as he watches, greedy for every detail he's been denied by distance while outside the doors. Kyōraku's hands entrance him. They seem impossibly large and clumsy and yet, twined in Ukitake's white hair, they are as delicate as a kidō master's weaving spells.
As he watches, Kyōraku takes Ukitake in his arms, one supporting his back as the other cards through his hair and the kiss they are sharing seems to Byakuya to be a thing of legend. It has a depth and meaning that must transcend the simple touch of lips because no physical sensation could move such great men so. Byakuya knows this because he is no stranger to the physical. He regularly brings himself to climax and thus is at least not a complete novice in such matters.
As the kiss ends, and Ukitake drops his chin, colour rising in his cheeks as he laughs softly just like he did before, Byakuya shuffles forwards determined not to miss a thing. His foot scrapes on the tatami and immediately he is pinned by twin gazes. They burn through his nerves like the morning sun through mist and heat builds in his belly. When Ukitake holds out a hand, he needs no second invitation. He wants to try for himself, to taste those lips and touch that hair.
"Careful," Ukitake murmurs as Byakuya almost falls in his haste to come closer. Kyōraku has released him and he is all Byakuya's.
Tentatively, almost breathlessly, Byakuya kneels in front of his teacher, tongue flicking across dry lips. He is a starving man at a banquet, presented with such riches that he knows not where to start.
Before he can hesitate for long, Ukitake leans forward and the kiss he places on Byakuya's lips is a gentle as a butterfly's wings. Byakuya's eyes flutter closed. He feels the touch with every part of him, as though it holds him cradled in careful hands. It is chaste and sweet and when it ends, it takes his breath away with it.
Throat tight, he opens his eyes and swallows. Ukitake is looking at him, a small frown marring his beautiful face. Byakuya smiles and reaches out, hand drawn to that heavy fall of white hair.
It is as soft as he imagined. It slips through his fingers like silk as he watches enthralled, unable to really believe that he is here and that this is allowed. When a hand cups his chin and turns his head, he goes willingly, and finds a different pair of lips taking him.
And this is a taking. A possession. Where Ukitake's kiss suggested, this demands. Kyōraku's tongue traces the seam of his lips and he opens for him without hesitation, and then deep and driving, his cheek cupped by a large hand, he is consumed.
Under that expert touch, he falls apart, body surrendering as though to death itself. The world moves around him. Bodies shift. Hands loosen his hakama, tug at his shitagi and kosode until naked skin breathes cool evening air. He shivers, though not from cold. He didn't think it was possible to feel this much, for simple physical sensation to be so overwhelming.
Some part of him, the Kuchiki part that his grandfather has trained so well, thinks he should fight this. That this submission is unmanly, not fitting for his rank and station. As a warm body presses against his back, and his hands fist the front of Kyōraku's yukata, scraping rough hair against his fingers, he ignores it. There is no one here but the three of them, no one to see, no one to judge. For once he is not going to care.
His head is spinning by the time Kyōraku pulls away. Still he tries to follow, a faint cry welling in his throat as Kyōraku smiles and presses a finger to his lips. Byakuya steals it, sucking it into his mouth and curling his tongue around the tip, rubbing it against calloused skin, and has the pleasure of seeing warm grey eyes roll at his inexpert ministration.
"He's going to kill us, Jyū-chan," Kyōraku murmurs and tugs his finger free. It gleams in the dim light and Byakuya wants it back. Having it in his mouth is arousing him even more and he never wants this feeling to end.
Instead he is tugged back against the strong body behind him and Ukitake says, "But it will be a magnificent way to go, at the hands of our star pupil."
It's a silly compliment, not even well timed, but it's just like Ukitake, as is the careful hand which takes Byakuya's and guides it towards his own body. "Show us what you like, Bya-kun," Ukitake says as their linked fingers close around Byakuya's length.
Byakuya gasps, eyes closing and body arching at the sensation, and for a brief terrible moment he thinks he will disgrace himself. With nothing but sheer stubbornness, he clings to the edge and, as the seconds pass and Ukitake doesn't move, begins to claw his way back into control. His breath is heaving, frantic deep pants that threaten to make him see stars until Kyōraku leans in again, pressing a gentler kiss to his lips this time.
"Relax," he rumbles. "We don't mind if you come. It's not going to end there if you don't want it to."
Oddly, being given permission actually helps. When Ukitake begins to move his hand, rather than fight the sensations, Byakuya rides them, splitting his focus between the demands of his own body and the way Ukitake feels behind him. He's furnace hot, and breathing heavily, something that gives Byakuya a fleeting moment of worry before he realises it's arousal not illness that's brought it on.
Arousal because Byakuya is in his arms.
Byakuya can't help the small triumphant smile that creeps onto his lips. He squirms back against Ukitake, and almost freezes when what is very evidently an erection nestles neatly between his buttocks. But really, what did he expect. It's no different to the one in his hand and the one so clumsily hidden beneath the front of Kyōraku's bulging yukuta. So instead he cranes his neck to offer his lips for a kiss.
Ukitake accepts, his free hand cupping Byakuya's jaw and taking some of the strain from his neck as their lips meet. It is a very good thing that he does because, when Kyōraku pushes a leg between Byakuya's and presses in tight against his front, erection nudging against Byakuya's until the two slide together, Byakuya almost thrashes free of both of them. Only the tight grip that Ukitake has on him keeps him in place.
"Shh," Ukitake croons soothingly, but the sensations are incredible. This isn't like a simple hand, either his own or someone else's, this is new, better, different in ways that sets off nerve endings Byakuya hardly even knew were sensitive. It's almost too much. The heat of it, the slide of skin, the rough prickle of hair brushing against his nipples, and he can't decide if it feels good or if he wants it to stop.
The lips on his neck make his mind up for him and he abandons everything in favour of clinging to Kyōraku's shoulders. He has to. He is drowning in the physical, caught in currents that have stolen sense and time and reason. He breathes, feels skin against his cheek, turns and mouths at it, desperation driving him to push and press and gasp for more. A hand, larger and rougher than his own, gathers their erections together and the firm stroke of it sends Byakuya soaring within moments.
Heat spirals up and down his spine, his breath catches, and he whines, nails digging into solid muscle as he tries to bend and thrust, the urge to come taking him so hard and fast that he could not resist it if he tried. An arm braced across his chest holds him steady and lips crash down onto his, devouring his cry as his pleasure peaks, spilling from him in long lingering pulses of wetness that pull an answering shudder from Kyōraku when they land.
In the aftermath, there is nothing but scent and heat and the rapid thud-thud-thud of blood in his veins. Slowly Byakuya's breath evens out and reality comes crawling sheepishly back on cramping legs and numb hands. He takes a deep re-centering breath and, though he's still shaking, they ease away from him, giving him space. Air rushes in, turning sweat-slicked skin chill, and Byakuya shivers with a combination of aftershocks and cold.
Ukitake immediately tugs him close again. Covers are pulled up and voices burr quietly above his head. And a thought spawns in Byakuya's sleepy, pleasure-soaked brain. He wants this. Whatever it is that these two have, this depth of love and understanding that allows them to invite another into their bed and give as generously as they have, he wants it too. And someday he'll have it.
Someday, the perfect person will come into his life and when they do, he will embrace the opportunity with both hands. He will not hesitate. He will fall in love, and no one, not family, nor tradition, nor Kuchiki pride will stand in his way. Because, in the end, that is what makes the difference. That is what takes them and makes them strong.