Summary: 'Kuchiki Ginrei had commissioned him to paint a portrait of his grandson, Kuchiki freakin' Byakuya, the twenty fifth head of one of the great four noble clans.'
Renji is commissioned to paint Byakuya's portrait, and both noble and painter find themselves increasingly enamoured with each other. As Renji's painting draws to a conclusion, both are disappointed that these tedious sittings must come to an end.
Authors note: Recently I found a mountain of notebooks in my room, all un-posted fanfictions which I wrote four years ago; I'd completely forgotten all about them. I decided rather than let them go to waste, I may as well upload them.
This is one of them.
If you enjoy it, let me know and I will do my best to finish it. Thanks for reading : )
Resisting the urge to wring his hands nervously in anticipation, Abarai Renji continued to wait in the large hallway with his fingers laced together behind the expanse of his broad back, the digits trembling ever so slightly, much to his own embarrassment.
No matter how hard he tried, the bronzed male couldn't help but feel intimidated by the looming mansion and its seemingly endless and winding corridors; he felt like a foreigner here, and he knew certainly that this hideous feeling of not quite 'fitting in' was not entirely a mere figment of his imagination. He knew that he must have looked quite a picture standing beside the lovely crisp wallpaper and the finely varnished doorframe. He glanced up at the high ceiling, an odd sense of awe pulsing through his veins as he studied the smooth plastering and the glittering chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. It was quite a contrast- Renji was dressed in his usual attire, perhaps beginning to slightly regret his decision not to dress for the 'occasion'. A white vest top clung to his well-defined torso, the straps slightly askew to accommodate his broad shoulders. The small expanse of fabric did little to conceal the black tattoo's marking his tanned skin, the smooth and intricate lines of his body art decorated him in a tribal fashion.
With a pair of paint flecked black jeans slung low on his hips and a matching bandana tied to his head, Abarai certainly wasn't dressed to impress, but dressed for work.
He never initially cared what his clients thought about his choice of attire, however he found that stood in the spacious hall of the Kuchiki mansion, he was beginning to care ever so slightly…
Every inch was polished to perfection, and beneath the natural light that shone through the enormous windows everything seemed to shine and glisten artificially. He knew that he was gazing at the hall and its intricate furnishings like a child in a sweet shop, yet no matter how much it irritated him, he could not bring himself to look away for just a single second through fear of missing something completely marvellous. He was becoming hypnotised by the minute by every glorious detail, and for a brief moment he forgot about the insecurities that had formerly been plaguing his thoughts.
Upon arriving, the red head had been greeted by what could have only been one of the many staff that skivvied after the aristocratic nobles. He had been an undeniably handsome young man, whose face remained unmarred by any lines or even the faintest hint of freckles. He sported a head of soft blonde hair which seemed to glow beneath the warm summer rays of placid sunshine; this was accompanied by a pair of fascinating blue eyes, which were narrowed slightly as they studied Renji with a judgemental gaze. He was unmistakeably of Caucasian decent, and even after he had spoken using his dreary monotonous voice, the crimson haired painter was still unable to detect the exact country of the boy's origin.
The mysterious blonde had failed to introduce himself, and in a sharp tone he'd commanded for Abarai to follow him.
The short walk across the ground floor of the mansion had been silent and awkward for most part. Although unused to the fashion in which he'd been addressed, Renji found himself feeling exceedingly thankful for the absence of small talk and petty attempts at conversation. He'd almost complimented the boy on the fluency of his Japanese, but had quickly decided against it, certain that he wouldn't appreciate it.
They were strangers, yet Renji had felt the beams of hatred emerging from the blonde like perspiration. Every narrowed glare emitted in his direction made the red head feel as if he'd entered the mansion without wiping his feet, as if he were traipsing mud across the polished floor with each echoing boot step. And so he'd followed, and had been led along the winding corridors like a hound following its master, eventually being left in the empty hall waiting to be summoned.
It almost seemed like a dream.
The longer he stood there, the more it felt like judgement day. With the amount of fuss and orderly routine present in the tidy mansion, it almost felt as if he were trying to obtain an audience with God.
He could feel the nerves wreath and coil in the pit of his stomach, and something within him seemed to tighten the more he thought about the possibilities of the day ahead. The job itself was highly unlike anything he'd done before, that he was sure of.
Kuchiki Ginrei had commissioned him to paint a portrait of his grandson, Kuchiki fucking Byakuya, the twenty fifth head of one of the great four noble clans.
Suddenly, the door opened with an audible click, and the same stone face foreigner appeared, his polished shoes tapping soundly against the wooden oak floor. With the same uninterested tone, he addressed Renji formally, as if he were an offending piece of dirt clinging to the bottom of his expensive black shoes.
"Master Kuchiki will be with you shortly," he said, gesturing to the doorway with his gloved hand. "Please make yourself comfortable." The words were forced, that much Renji could detect. They left the man's lips in a horrid fashion, almost as if he'd been sorely tempted to vomit in addition to his hospitable statement. "I hope everything is to your satisfaction."
"Thanks," Renji replied almost inaudibly, uncaring that he'd brushed shoulders with him.
It was the first time that he hadn't needed to bring any materials with him to a portrait commission, although he hadn't been too surprised. He was quite sure that the Kuchiki's could afford the expense, and eagerly approached the easel that stood in the centre of the large room, accompanied by a small table laden with a variety of tubed paints and tools, which included a range of brushes, clean palette knives, a few sheets of crisp drawing paper, a pin, and a bag of charcoal power, as he'd been promised.
A feeling of giddiness seized him as he approached the blank canvas, all too aware of the exquisite décor and most of all, the splendid view from the large open window, through which a warm summers breeze drifted, the scent of the Sakura blossoms tainting the air with a unique fragrance that lingered in his nostrils prominently. Accompanied by the warm apricot rays of sun, the beautiful sight of the mannor gardens amidst the peak of summer was simply breath taking, and Renji found that the scene struck a chord within him, a chord of inspiration, and he had not been aware of its existence.
He vowed that not even the greatest artist of all time could replicate such a scene in all of its glory- one could not appreciate the delicate Sakura blossoms and the humming bee's weaving amidst the greenery unless they witnessed it personally. Renji knew at that moment that he had to include it in his painting, regardless of what Ginrei requested. It was simply breath taking, and he wondered, did the occupants of the mansion appreciate its beauty as much as him?
Renji couldn't think of a better sight to awaken to in the morning, regardless of the fancy architecture and useless interior design. Even if he were living in accommodation far worse than his hell hole apartment, he'd still be a happy man, ecstatic even. He couldn't think of anything more inspiring than watching the sun rise from here, this perfect view from the window.
He didn't care about the polished pane of glass or the vase of splendid flowers perched upon the windowsill. Nothing could compare to the natural wonders beyond the glass. Renji simply didn't care for the rest, this man made creation of a mansion that represented the true ignorance of man.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting from Kuchiki Byakuya, aside from an aristocratic attitude and a horridly inflated ego.
He didn't know much about Kuchiki Byakuya except his wealth and impressive influence amongst the other 'big shots' on the upper tier of the social scale. Young Byakuya Kuchiki was known as one of the 'Gotei Thirteen', whom were considered to be the thirteen most influential figures in society in modern history. They were people with contacts, ambition, and as some would say, in most cases they were the puppeteers that pulled the strings, all with some degree of power.
Extending a single hand, Renji took a palette knife from the small table beside the easel and began to trace the smooth and polished surface with his fingertips, studying the large room with a curious gaze.
It was just as he'd expected- large, fancy, exaggerated, and completely and utterly useless.
It had no personality, nor did it have the appearance of a room that looked well used and lived in. It was much unlike his small apartment, which was almost certainly lived in, very well lived in indeed.
Although it was rather on the small side and the area was much to desire, Renji had grown accustomed to the dingy rooms and the irritating noise of traffic and his noisy neighbours. Although it wasn't much, it was home, at least for the time being. He'd thought about moving on several occasions, because the area itself did little to inspire him. His current work had taken a more dismal turn away from his usual fantasy orientated pieces. The crimson haired painter had chosen to produce more controversial works, drawings and paintings which reflected the familiar scenes he witnessed on a daily basis, dismal circumstances which he'd experienced first-hand- life as a third class citizen in society.
As he studied the leather bound volumes of books situated on the large book case, he knew deep down that somewhere within his heart, he should have felt envious of the lavish lifestyle that Byakuya lived, enraged perhaps, regardless of the fact that the man was a complete stranger to him.
He felt nothing, not even as he admired the golden framed paintings that lined the wall above the elaborate fireplace.
There were three paintings in total, all of which appeared to be portraits of members of the Kuchiki family, both living and deceased.
With the palette knife still in his hand, Abarai approached the fireplace with several long strides, his footsteps sounding audibly against the polished oak floor as he walked. Craning his head slightly, he narrowed his eyes as he examined the supposed 'art' with a critical gaze. The first was of Sōjun Kuchiki and his wife, a portrait of the married couple sitting in what appeared to be an exquisite lounge, sat beside each other contently with what appeared to be genuine smiles, unlike the solemn expression of an older Kuchiki Ginrei in the second portrait, his arms folded formally and a fierce flare present in his sharp grey eyes. Sōjun Kuchiki and his wife looked significantly young in the scene, and Renji wondered if it had been an arranged marriage. 'That's what these nobles do, isn't it?' he thought, elevating a brow inquisitively. The painting although old, was fantastic, and he couldn't deny the artists ability. Everything had been executed perfectly.
Although it pained him to admit it, this Sōjun guy looked like a decent man; with a warm smile and a friendly lavender eyed gaze, he looked like the kind of man that would make a wonderful companion. He looked nothing like the arrogant persona of a noble that Renji had produced in his head, although paintings were unreliable and could be deceiving.
Glancing at the crimson scrawl in the bottom left hand corner of the varnished canvas, the painter acknowledged the fact that the signature was quite unfamiliar to him.
He averted his attention to the final painting, of what appeared to be another Kuchiki and his wife- A man with long black hair that cascaded across his shoulders, and a petite woman with a large mauve eyed gaze. Although he paid no particular attention to the detail, he could see quite clearly that there was a formality that existed between them. Although sat close beside each other on an exquisite couch, everything seemed painfully forced- or perhaps it was a mere figment of Renji's imagination.
There was an audible creak as the door opened once more, followed by the sound of footsteps, and an audible cough from a charcoal haired assistant, who announced in a respectful tone, "Abarai Sir- Master Kuchiki will be with you-"
"You are dismissed Shinji," a piercing voice interjected firmly, causing Renji to turn promptly on his heel.
"I was ordered to accompany you until the end of today's sitting Sir."
"I do not need to be watched like a child, regardless of what my grandfather says," he added in a sharp tongue. "Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir," the sheepish replied, and Renji watched as the lad began to cling to what remained of his obedient composure, hands behind his back to undoubtedly conceal the slight wringing of his hands.
"I am grateful for your obedience, however at this time your absence would be most appropriate. I am sure it would be quite a dull experience for you to simply watch me sit inanimately for an entire sitting."
"It would be of no hindrance to me Sir-"
"You are dismissed."
The sombre haired assisant disappeared swiftly, leaving a single dark haired male lingering momentarily in the door way, rose tinged lips pursed together in a thin line and his slate grey eyes narrowed as he studied Renji's most intriguingly dressed figure briefly before closing the door behind him with an audible click.
Renji could only guess what the man was thinking as he studied his attire with those glassy grey eyes of his, a pair of eyes which appeared to be capable of piercing through him like the blade of a butcher's knife. He recognized those unique irises from the painted figure on the canvas above the fireplace…
The painter widened his eyes in recognition and hastily lowered his head, greeting the noble with a somewhat forced bow.
"I'm-"
"You must be Abarai Renji," the Kuchiki stated blandly, examining the painter rather profoundly with an intense gaze. "My grandfather wished to greet you in person, however he is currently preoccupied by another engagement. He sends his sincerest apologies."
"Pleased to meet you Sir," he said in a voice that he hadn't been aware of possessing, resisting the urge to grimace at his own vocabulary.
"Kuchiki Byakuya. The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure."
Byakuya examined the painter with a curious gaze that seemed to linger longer that he intended, studying each and every detail from the fiery crimson red hair on his head to the black, paint flecked boots worn on his feet. The noble hadn't been sure what to expect, although he was certain of one thing; he hadn't anticipated a man of this nature, that was for sure. Abarai was quite unlike any of the painters whom he'd been forced to idly sit for before, many of which had been stone faced and foreign, much older than the young man stood before him. Although older, the lines of age marring their skin had promised experience and wisdom, and as far as the young Kuchiki could see, Abarai's skin was almost certainly marked, rather intriguingly so, however it was not induced by age or time. The black lines adorning his bronzed flesh were quite evidently self-inflicted, and seemed to crawl up his thick neck and coil around his arm's like a snake- it quite reminded him a venomous adder he'd once seen on his travels in Europe, grey with a dark, striking black zigzag pattern marking its back.
The black markings appeared to adorn each of his arms, as well as the neck, and if Byakuya looked closely he could also see them creeping from the confines of the black bandana tied to his forehead. They appeared to be almost everywhere, including above each pectoral of his chest, situated snugly beneath the collar bone.
The noble wondered with mild curiosity, what drove a man to brand his flesh like cattle?
With his long crimson hair tied into a ponytail, he could see an athletic neck and the thickly corded muscles that twitched beneath his tanned skin- The Kuchiki found it difficult to believe that such an apparent brute was capable of producing anything artistic in the slightest.
"I must confess Abarai, I am not in the slightest bit thrilled about having to sit for another portrait; however my grandfather seems to be slightly elated at the idea."
"I'll try to make this as painless as possible for you Sir," Renji said with a slight, but forced smile. "Is there anythin' you had in mind ?"
"I have not had the time to ponder such trivial matters, however I am certain of several things. I will not tolerate ridiculous poses."
"Understood," Renji replied with a slight nod, reaching for a pad of drawing paper and holding it to his chest, tucking a pencil behind his ear. He drummed his fingers on the pad as he began to think, eyeing the lovely scene from the window with a hint of passion present in his lively, burning eyes.
"I would however, like something different."
"Different Sir? How so?"
"My artistic knowledge is limited, however I am certain of one thing. Many a man can simply copy what he sees- the actor imitates the behavior of those around him, the sculptor reproduces what he sees, and the painter duplicates his surroundings and transfers it to the canvas." The Kuchiki raked an elegant hand through the soft black hair that cascaded across his back and shoulders, quite a contrast present between the sombre strands and his flawless, ivory skin. "If that is what I wanted, I would simply ask for a photograph Abarai."
As time passed, Renji became increasingly aware of the nerves furrowing in his gut as he attempted to draw the noble, who was perched quietly beside the window. The more he tried not to notice the handsome Kuchiki, the more he became enticed and intrigued, and dare he suggest, perhaps even slightly, marginally infatuated…
The sun came streaming through the glass, illuminating Byakuya's ivory skin and accentuating his flawless complexion, causing a gloss to shimmer over the strands of his ravenous black hair that cascaded across his back and shoulders. Renji decided that everything about him appeared to be seemingly perfect, from his immaculate black suit to his calm and collected demeanor.
Renji's pencil began its decent across the paper as he acknowledged those beckoning steel grey eyes, accompanied by a flurry of thick lashes and a defined, masculine brow. His observant gaze saw everything, from the contours of the Kuchiki's skin to the slight upturn of his perfect nose, not forgetting those rose tinged lips…
He resisted the urge to frown, trying to focus on the task at hand. 'I can acknowledge that he's good lookin' without fancying him… right?'
'Wrong,' a voice responded from somewhere in his head, mocking him thoroughly. It was from this point that Renji attempted to avoid making eye contact with the Kuchiki whenever possible, as if he were trying to escape being transformed into stone by the piercing eyes of Medusa and her serpent companions that adorned her scalp instead of locks of hair.
Despite his stubborn denial, the crimson haired artist couldn't deny the fact that he'd been trying desperately to fight the heat that threatened to gather in his cheeks, like the delicate pink hue of the blossoms scattered across the manors beautiful garden.
'If only the guys could see me now,' he thought dismally. He hadn't informed anyone of his most recent commission from Kuchiki Ginrei, and he intended for it to stay that way.
As Byakuya continued to sit motionlessly beside the window, basking in the sun's glorious rays, he relished in the pleasant sensation of the warmth upon his ivory skin and the delightful caress of cool air kissing his cheek, delivered to him through the marginally open window, the long, gilded lilac curtains fluttering with each breath of the wind.
He found himself listening to each sound of the lead pencil scratching against the paper in a repetitive fashion; he'd taken to glancing longingly through the thick window pane, gazing through his slate grey eyes as the petals of the Sakura trees began to drift through the air in a delicate flurry, tangling in the long blades of grass and the branches of the trees as they made their descent across the garden.
There, in the warm sun beside the shimmering water of the large Koi pond, if Byakuya looked hard enough he could almost still see the familiar and well-dressed figure of his father walking across the broad expanse of the lawn, his ravenous shoulder length black hair becoming marginally tousled by the cool breeze.
It was here from the large window that he'd watched the man lingering in the garden as a young boy. He'd watched Sōjun loose himself in the suns company for what had felt like hours, pressing his hands to the cold window pane curiously, as if he were trying to reach right through it in order to retrieve his father from his wonderings. Now, a considerable number of years later, Byakuya understood the meaning behind his father's glassy lilac and blue tinged eyes. It had been bought on by an emotion he had already yielded to himself on those dark and lonely nights- grief, the fist clutching at ones heart and offering a painful squeeze.
As the sound of Abarai's sketching continued, Byakuya watched the intriguing chirping and hopping of a black feathered bird, observing the way it watched the pond's contents with a hungry, amber eyed gaze. How very lovely it would be to be free…
He wondered curiously if perhaps Sōjun had walked through the gardens with his wife to watch the fantastic sunset, just as Byakuya had longed to do with Hisana. Instead, he had pitied her poor health and sacrificed the pleasant evening air by choosing to sit alongside her, overwhelmed by the daunting silence and humid mansion air.
Glancing idly to his left, Byakuya released a tedious sigh, watching Renji gaze back and forth between sitter and paper, submerged in artistic passion. His apparent dedication was rather admirable.
Suddenly, there was a prompt knock at the door, which barely stirred the artist from his apparent 'trance'.
"Enter," the Kuchiki responded in a languid tone, a slight frown marring his handsome features upon witnessing a familiar charcoal haired figure peer sheepishly around the open door.
"What is it?" he asked airily, unable to restrain the slight frown of irritation creeping across his brow.
"Forgive my intrusion Sir," Shinji began apologetically, "there is a gentleman here to see you."
"Gentlemen do not call uninvited," Byakuya retorted in his usual calm and composed demeanor. "Does this gentleman have a name?"
"Aizen Sosuke Sir. I informed him that you were most busy and would be unavailable, however he adamantly insisted that he would not leave until he'd spoken with you."
The young Kuchiki's face fell to a frown, which did not escape Renji's attention. The artist ceased his sketching momentarily, observing the darkening of the nobles lovely grey eyes and the manner in which his long, elegant fingers curled into a loose fist, clutching as the fabric of his attire.
With a stunning flare burning in his eyes, Renji could only imagine what the man looked like when he was really angry- simply gorgeous.
"Tell me," Byakuya said in a dismal voice, "where is he now? Did you escort him to the lounge?"
"No Sir, not the lounge, but the-"
"Library," added Sosuke, strolling through the open doorway in his usual languid fashion, white coat draped over his left shoulder and a blue, leather bound novel in his right hand, the letters on the cover a rich gold. With a pair of glittering eyes he examined the book with a slightly scrutinizing gaze, longing to trace those elegant gold letters with his fingertips.
"What a dull library it is," he exclaimed, offering his coat to Shinji, who took it rather hesitantly from him. "One would assume in a library more than a century old there might be something of interest to read. Apparently you Kuchiki's seem to have quite a bland taste in literature."
"And I suppose you read often?" Byakuya asked boredly.
"I suppose so."
"I see. Then, it is most unfortunate that you haven't seemed to acquire any knowledge from your reading. Honestly, I am surprised to learn that you are not entirely illiterate."
Sosuke merely responded with a smile, a sensual yet sultry voice dripping from his lips like poison. "You are certainly sharp today Byakuya- how you wound me," he said, clutching his chest in mock defeat. "Although I must confess, you look quite lovely when you want to wrap your hands around my throat. I couldn't think of a better way to die…"
"What do you want?" the Kuchiki asked bluntly, adopting a sour tone.
Aizen took the liberty of taking a seat upon one of the splendid armchairs, draping his feet over one of its arms as he began to eye the fading tapestry. "I would like to indulge myself in your company for a short while," he replied with a charming smile, delving a hand into his soft, brown hair as his attention began to drift once more.
Although Renji tried hard to absorb himself in his sketching, he could feel those beady eyes upon him. The man, to him, seemed to be the personification of arrogance. His glittering, curious eyes were like daggers piercing through the air, and Renji felt a bitter shiver crawl down his spine like fingernails upon a chalk board as Aizen finally acknowledged his presence.
"Another portrait? I am quite surprised! Although I hope he is much better than the last- Spanish if I recall…. It seems everyone failed to tell him that the renaissance is over."
"Abarai Renji Sir," the painter said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to annihilate the brunette with the sharp tip of the palette knife sitting innocently beside the canvas. 'I could make it look like an accident,' he thought, 'and maybe if I'm lucky, I can use his blood instead of opening the oil paints…' He clutched the pencil in his hand tightly with great force, so much so that the wood almost began to splinter.
Aizen studied Renji with an inquisitive gaze, his ring clad fingers tapping idly upon the armchair as he did so, before confessing, "You will find no paintings in my home, as I would never be there long enough to admire them. I am married to the office as it seems, I only wish that I could file for a divorce…"
The crimson haired artist bit hard on his lip and attempted to ignore the man's presence, although it seemed impossible no matter how hard he tried. There was something about the conceited brunette that shattered his concentration like glass.
He'd heard of Aizen vaugely- everyone had.
Aizen Sosuke was the founder of Las Noches, one of the largest corporations in the world. His influence dominated finance, and extended to various aspects of modern society, including one of his favorite's, architectural design. Judging by the regal man he saw, Renji supposed that what Aizen lacked severally in personality, he made up for heavily in good looks and charm.
Although it pained Abarai to admit it, no one could deny the fact that the bastard was certainly handsome, and Sosuke himself seemed to be fully aware of what his reflection had to offer him; this was reflected in the manner in which he presented himself to the world. His current choice of attire seemed well cut and crisp, and Renji was accusingly sure that the single outfit probably had more expense than the contents of his entire wardrobe. The brunette was dressed in a collared black shirt with several buttons left open to reveal a delicious expanse of collar bone and skin. The shirt was accompanied by a white blazer adorned with silver cufflinks and a pair of matching white trousers, and of course a pair of spotless white shoes.
The color white itself was supposed to symbolize innocence and purity; however Aizen's choice of attire did little to conceal the blackness of his soul, and Byakuya knew with uttermost certainty that the brunette's intentions were not strictly honorable.
Much to his own misfortune, Kuchiki Byakuya had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with the mystery that was Aizen Sosuke at an elaborate function several years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago, and Byakuya could remember little of the occasion itself, merely the most trivial of details.
He could remember a few things with a clarity; he'd been hounded by the elders to attend, simply because it would be unheard of to decline an invitation from the great Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni. Of course, the young Kuchiki hadn't possessed any interest in fancy parties or dinners, particularly ones plagued by figures that were the most unpleasant of company. In fact, he'd almost considered feigning illness to escape the dreadful experience, but of course like many events he'd been obliged to attend, Byakuya had arrived without a single fuss, pretending that he'd simply wanted to be there…
Throughout that single evening, the young Kuchiki had acknowledged those intense eyes festering upon him, and had promptly tried to ignore their lingering, watchful gaze. Before their initial encounter, Byakuya had certainly heard of Sosuke, from the basic facts to the more dismal and questionable rumors that continued to follow the brunette like a dense fog wherever he went.
Aizen wasn't usually one to take an interest in other people, however when he did, he grew greatly intrigued by them- immensely intrigued.
That night at Yamamoto's elaborate and most formal party, Byakuya had become Sosuke's next unfortunate victim.
As Sosuke continued to explore the leather bound book in his hand with his curious fingers, he spared a lingering glance at Byakuya, becoming increasingly intoxicated by the furious scowl that the noble displayed and reserved especially for him. There was something about those narrowed grey eyes that stirred something within him, sparking his interest increasingly like a fuse. Every passing second was not simply enough- he simply wanted more.
He wanted to see how far he could exceed his limits and how far he could push those invisible boundaries before something snapped viciously- he enjoyed infuriating Byakuya endlessly, and could not think of anything more entertaining.
"I see something in my library did take your interest after all," the Kuchiki noted, examining his manicured fingernails with an idle gaze, "although I did not assume that you would be the type to enjoy children's fiction."
"I wouldn't have found it if it hadn't been for such a peculiar sight- the same book bound in every color, the same contents from cover to cover! I must say, I thought they all looked rather lovely with the exception of the yellow leather- it quite offended my eyes, although I should like to borrow this one if you don't mind."
"Be my guest," Byakuya replied, "you usually do as you please anyway. Haven't you somewhere to be? You are a very busy man after all…" 'No doubt the book will give him an excuse to return at a later date,' he thought dismally.
"I always have time to infuriate you Byakuya," Aizen said somewhat flippantly. He placed the book on the arm of the chair and abandoned it briefly, returning to his feet and approaching Renji with immense curiosity, eager to catch a glance of the penciled image coming to life upon the paper. As he approached, Renji stiffened somewhat slightly in response.
Renji didn't know Aizen at all, but he knew immediately that he hated him, and he should like to make a painting of the regal brunette burning in the fiery pits of hell, being burned to smithereens and torn gradually limb by limb. It wouldn't make it to any galleries, but it would certainly be a proud part of his personal collection, the collection of unseen canvases that took up space in the spare room of his apartment. Perhaps he'd even send it to Byakuya as a gift; judging by the discontented expression marring the nobles handsome face, he knew that maybe the man could appreciate such a gesture. Perhaps the Kuchiki would even find somewhere to hang it in the manner, where he could observe it at his own pleasure on a frequent basis…
Or perhaps as always, his imagination was becoming much too aggressive again.
Attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible, Renji tried to conceal his sketch by adjusting his grasp; with Aizen peering curiously over his shoulder, it was almost impossible to concentrate at all, and the artist found himself forcing his fingers to move stiffly in a sketching motion, the pencil grinding harsh lines across the page.
"May I take a look?" the brunette asked, gliding a hand through his hair in a languid motion.
"Be my guest," Renji replied, his voice emerging stiffly from his lips almost mechanically as he resisted the urge to mutter an ensemble of colourful curses under his breath. 'Nosey bastard,' he thought sourly.
Sosuke examined the sketch inquisitively with a pair of warm brown eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly as if he were trying to decipher the meaning behind the penciled lines upon the paper. Although incomplete, the figure resembled the young Kuchiki without question. The man in the sketch had the same well defined cheekbones, deep piercing eyes and a flow of dark hair that cascaded across his back in smooth, ebony strands. It was clear that Abarai hadn't missed a single thing; there was every detail no matter how minor, from the fine tip of the nobles nose to the insignificant creases in his attire.
It was a superb mystery to Sosuke how he had learned to acquire such skill. Everything about Abarai Renji appeared to be boisterous and flamboyant. Yes, it seemed to Sosuke that the guy seemed to be slightly rough around the edges. With little care for presentation and an athletic bulk of impressive muscle, Aizen was almost sorely reminded of Grimmjow. With a head of bright hair and a firm gaze, the two were strikingly similar, although Jagerjaques single, inky black tattoo couldn't compare to the intricate tribal looking patterns adorning Renji's skin.
Amidst the splendid grandeur of the Kuchiki manner, the crimson haired artist provided quite a striking contrast.
"Quite a resemblance," the brunette uttered, "self-taught I presume?"
"I guess so," Abarai replied, resisting the urge to scoff at the man's attempted compliment, unsure whether or not he should be feeling insulted.
"You capture his personality well," Sosuke acknowledged in a low voice, barely audible to the painters ears, "strikingly handsome yet slightly venomous."
Renji could only deduce one thing, and that was the fact that he was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the pompous and conceited individual standing so close beside him.
'Deep breaths,' he thought encouragingly, 'be nice, even if he does belong on the end of your palette knife…'
There was a hard knock on the door, and Byakuya responded with the dull command, "Come in."
The Kuchiki immediately recognized the smartly dressed male, who wore a black suit with a matching waistcoat, accompanied by a well ironed white collared shirt, his straight black hair styled neatly to perfection, accentuating his cheekbones. Byakuya was not particularly attached to any of his staff, however he could not deny the ever to subtle feeling of favorability that he held for Sebastian. The man was a perfectionist, from his neat and tidy appearance to his impeccable timing.
'Another foreigner,' Renji noted to himself observantly as the pale man entered the room with a courteous bow. The crimson haired male wondered dryly if perhaps the head of the Kuchiki family had a 'thing' for Caucasian guys- either that or the Kuchiki's were trying to keep up to date with the most recent trends amongst the upper class of society, which happened to be Caucasian staff. Like accessories and women's handbags, staff and personal assistants were always coming in and out of the trending season, beckoning back and forth between being simply 'fabulous' and 'boringly outdated'. 'Fuckin' aristocracy,' he thought, 'bet they're all illegal or something…'
"I am here to inform Sir that his driver Mr Jagerjaques is here."
"Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten- this afternoon I am dining with Gin," Aizen said in his sultry voice, retrieving the book he'd borrowed most favorably from the disappointing library. "Perhaps this evening I shall read him a bed time story," he added with a smile, reading the title aloud as he admired the exquisite gold lettering on the blue bound cover. "The tales of Senbonzakura- how simply enchanting."
"Sebastian, please escort him out," Byakuya said, much relieved that Sosuke appeared to be well on his way to leaving. He averted his gaze towards the window, choosing to conceal the expression of obvious discontent that began to mar his features. How he despised Aizen, a man who always managed to coil him thoroughly like a tightly wound spring; the brunette was quite aware of Byakuya's irritation, and he simply thrived upon it as if it were his only oxygen supply.
"Try not to miss me too much, Byakuya." And with that, the brunette strolled through the doorway whilst displaying a contented smile of satisfaction as he left in the manner in which he had entered- languidly and carefree.
Byakuya released a quiet sigh of relief, his shoulders lowering visibly as if a weight had been lifted from them. Despite Aizen's absence, his presence still haunted the room like a stubborn spirit, lingering in the air like a storm cloud looming overhead in the broad expanse of the never ending sky.
"I apologize for the interruption," the Kuchiki uttered with slight sincerity. "His inconsideration continues to astound me."
Before Renji could realise, he snapped like a twig beneath the sole of his foot, unable to retrain his ebbing temper any longer. "Fuckin' prick! I should have used his brains to varnish that canvas-"
"Abarai!" Byakuya scolded sharply, concealing his amusement as the painters eyes began to widen in sudden realization.
"Shit- I mean- Sorry, but he's-"
"Intolerable, despicable, irritating, and most certainly quite conceited also. Now that we have both acknowledged these facts, could we please continue?"
"I'm actually finished for today Sir," Renji said with a faint blush of embarrassment tingeing his nose and cheeks. He tried hard to ignore the feelings of disappointment that lingered within his chest; he didn't want to return just yet to the dingy and damp confines of his apartment, leaving the beautiful Sakura blossoms behind. He wanted to stay and enjoy the fantastic breeze drifting through the window that was slightly a-jar, and he wanted to savor the view that lay on both sides of the glass, even if he did detest the décor with every fiber of his body.
"Please excuse me; I have other matters to attend to. That is quite enough sitting on my part for today," the Kuchiki said quickly, getting gracefully to his feet. He gave Renji a final glance, pretending that he was not observing the shy artist toying with the pencil in his hand awkwardly.
The noble was quite unsure what to make of such a peculiar scene. He supposed that it should have appeared to be almost slightly comical in way, broad shouldered and muscular bodied man exhibiting the behavior of a nervous school boy.
"I will see you as soon as my schedule allows," he said, taking one last glance at the view from the window before turning promptly on his heel, heading for the door and reaching for the polished silver handle, uttering finally, "I will send someone to escort you out."
And with that, he left Renji alone in the large sitting room, the artist in question feeling quite intimidated by the looming chandelier and the mahogany furniture which he considered to be something of an eyesore. Everything he looked upon almost seemed to be gazing back at him knowingly, mocking him inanimately.
So Byakuya had left as gracefully as he'd entered, his head held high with the utter most confidence. Everything about him had appeared to be prim and proper, from his attire to his posture, and that voice which emerged from his lovely lips like silk, drifting through Renji's eardrums and causing something to coil inside of him deep down with his gut.
Before arriving, he'd expected to meet a lousy, stuck up, rich and rude aristocratic bastard, who would look down his nose at him as if he were something offensive stuck to the sole of his shoe; he'd been undeniably, partially correct. The aristocratic demeanor was there, as was the sense of hierchy, yet there was something entirely new and refreshing about him that Abarai just couldn't put his finger upon.
With a weary sigh, Renji began to flex his arms, arching his back as he stretched to relieve the stiffness of his taut muscles, wincing as the motion produced a series of cracks and clicks.
He glanced at the sketch upon the paper and began to trace the lines with his calloused fingertips gingerly, being careful to avoid any smudging. He followed each line and curve he if he were trying to memorize it by touch and it was at that precise moment he thought, "He's out of your league."
It was eerily silent in the halls of the Kuchiki estate; Byakuya could hear nothing but the audible ticking of the clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth repeatedly behind its polished glass case.
He lay, legs tangled in a pool of silken sheets, his long black hair splayed across the white pillow and his arms protruding from beneath the layers of fabric, resting above the duvet in a casual fashion.
Several hours had passed since the noble had announced that he was retiring to bed, and he had yet to fulfill his body's demand for sleep. For a while he had tossed and turned in frustration although eventually he had surrendered choosing to lay on his back and gaze at the high ceiling, occasionally glancing at the beam of moonlight that streamed through a narrow gap in the long lilac curtains.
Even hours after Sosuke's departure, Byakuya found himself still reeling with irritation at the brunette's sudden decision to 'visit'. He knew with great certainty that the man's intention were most definitely not honorable; in fact, with every passing day the Kuchiki became more and more suspicious. He was not a man who had distasteful intentions; however the sight of a regal Aizen displaying a sultry smile was enough to rouse the violent intentions within him.
It seemed that the brunette simply existed to cause him misery.
The elders continued to hound him, insisting that making ties with Sosuke would strengthen the stability and reputation of the family, however Byakuya couldn't think of anything more repulsive than making any sort of ties with him. The thought alone was enough to make his toes curl.
It was true that Aizen Sosuke caused him to experience a fluctuation of emotions, however they were quite entirely, and most thoroughly negative.
It was now that Byakuya realized that he should have declined Yamamoto's invitation those many months ago. He should have feigned illness or perhaps bribed his driver not to take him…
His thoughts drifted to Abarai Renji, and the tiresome commission of his portrait organized by his insistent grandfather. It seemed to him that the location of those unusual tattoos remained engraved in his mind, as was the striking colour of the man's flamboyant red hair. It was all so vivid in his mind, so much so that it was almost as if he was still sitting in that spot beside the window, feeling that intensive gaze linger upon him heatedly like the rays of the warm sun.
This man didn't- shouldn't have mattered to him in the slightest, including his accent, fine muscles or apparent taste in casual clothing.
It didn't matter to him at all, yet he could not leave that lovely spot beside the window, listening to the lead dance feverishly across the paper-
It worried him.
Abarai Renji administered a blank stare towards the canvas situated in front of him, a small bag of charcoal powder grasped firmly in his right hand, the limb poised slightly in front of him as if he were about to extend it- he didn't, continuing to gaze absently, absorbed in deep thought.
It was late, exhaustingly so; the moon hung low in the sky emitting a striking pale gaze, illuminating the urban landscape and exposing it for what it truly was- a man made monstrosity composed of shabby apartment complexes and cracked concrete, lit by a series of street lamps, their artificial glows dying embers in the dark.
On the highest floor of the complex, even Renji couldn't escape the roar of traffic and drunken brawls of the intoxicated locals. He did however have the best view of the city. He was able to look down upon the surveying scenery and admire it for what it truly was- a dump.
In the early hours of the morning the tattooed artist had been trying to sleep, instead succumbing to his body's natural instinct to migrate towards the canvas, dressed in his night time attire, which happened to consist of nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts that hung low on his hips. The blind was down and the lights were on, although the painter still found himself narrowing his eyes wearily as if he were submerged in complete darkness.
He raked a hand through his hair, the vivid red strands free from their usual restraint and cascading down his back in a long crimson flow. Usually, Abarai preferred to work in natural daylight, however currently he found himself unable to care; the disappointing energy saving light bulbs would have to do.
The sketch of Byakuya was sitting on top of the canvas, fixed to a sturdy easel in the far corner of the room. The sketched image had been pierced with a fine pin, the holes following the penciled lines with clear precision. Carefully, Renji took the bag of dark charcoal powder and began to dab over the paper, his hand moving of its own accord.
'I should be asleep,' he thought bleakly, 'or I'll be cranky in the mornin'…'
He released an audible groan, remembering the he'd promised to meet the gang for a sociable drink… He could already imagine Ichigo mocking his tired form, commenting on the dark crescents that hung beneath his eyes, uttering something along the lines of, "Hey Renji, I see you have new tattoos under your eyes- you look like one of Rukia's panda plushies!" Then as always, the painter would inevitably make a light hearted jab about Kurosaki's hair, telling him to politely take his comments and go back to the fruit bowl.
Renji could think of better things to do than drink away his rent money, however somehow his guilty conscience would always con him into attending, because he didn't see much of his friends anymore- he was too busy trying to make a living. Art was a lengthy process, and in order to pursue his dream career Renji often had to sacrifice his social life.
Eventually, Renji set his brush aside and admired his handiwork, deciding that perhaps evading sleep hadn't been such a bad idea after all.
Craning his neck, he glanced tiredly at the clock which hung on the wall behind him, the mechanical ticking audible amidst the noise of traffic and the occasional yell, courtesy of his noisy neighbors.
No matter what hour it was, there always appeared to be some kind of noise violating his eardrums. He'd grown partially accustomed to it over time, however sometimes time just wasn't enough; occasionally he would find himself pacing the small confines of the apartment, trying to concentrate through the sheer racket. It had only been several nights ago when the apartment below had decided to throw a party. Renji had spent that particular night in the early hours of the morning resisting the urge to tear his hair out.
Eventually he had succumbed to the noise, spending the remainder of the night buried beneath the duvet, contemplating the idea of indeed tearing his hair out and using it to strangle the bastards downstairs…
Abarai had acknowledged a long time ago that he possessed a dangerously short temper.
In his bedroom, situated on the wall opposite the narrow window, a small dent remained on the left side of the door frame, misshapen and wounded by an alarm clock that had gotten into a disagreement with a disgruntled painter.
It was now ten past three in the morning, and Renji sluggishly hauled himself to his room, bare chested and bare footed as he dragged his feet across the cold laminate floor, turning out the lights with the flick of a switch. In the darkness, he stumbled his way across the assault course of abandoned items of clothing that were scattered carelessly across the floor.
He sunk deep into the covers with a weary sigh, and it was a matter of minutes before he succumbed to a deep sleep…
Renji awoke with a bitter groan, a string of curses perched on the tip of his tongue.
He opened his eyes, his bleary gaze fixated on the lengthy tank situated by his bedside. Through his hazy vision he was able to distinguish the owner of those ominous black eyes, which were accompanied by a flickering tongue and a lengthy body covered in dark scales.
"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" he asked the snake, who continued to stare suspiciously. "Don't you have a mouse to eat or somethin'?"
Zabimaru inched closer towards the glass and began to flicker his tongue, hovering indecisively as he rewarded Renji with a long, hard stare, as if he were trying to look into the depths of his very soul.
"What do you want?"
The painter shifted to lean against the cold headboard, legs sprawled out in front of him in a tangle of sheets. The covers pooled at his waist, exposing a large proportion of impressive tattoos and an admirable physique, muscles gracing his arms and torso as if they'd been carved by the hands of a sculptor. A splay of crimson strands pooled at his broad shoulders, cascading down his back in a length crimson tangle, tousled marginally from sleep.
Much to his irritation, Zabimaru continued to stare as his body slithered across the tank, eyeing his master with a beckoning sway.
"You're actin' weird today. Maybe I should turn the temperature down in there-"
There was an audible hiss as the snake reared its head, parting its mouth to reveal a pair of ominous sharp fangs. Renji retorted with a languid flip of the middle finger, delving a hand through his hair.
"Whatever. Keep that up and I'll get you stuffed and use you as a draft excluder."
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.
"I'm out," he yawned, still propped against the headboard wearily, sinking into the soft mattress. Prying himself from the bed, Renji stumbled lazily through the assault course of his apartment, a familiar voice emitting from the other side of his front door. Renji approached the easel and covered the canvas with a sheet to ease his paranoia.
"Wake up you lazy bast- OW! Rukia!"
"What have I told you about swearing?"
The door swung open, revealing a scantily clad Renji exposing a broad expanse of bronzed flesh, leaning against the doorframe and emitting another yawn.
Ichigo smirked in amusement before uttering loudly, "Rise and shine Renji! It's a beautiful day!"
The painter responded with a silent glare, acknowledging his visitors with an irritated grunt.
"It's too early for this shit," he said bluntly, rubbing his bleary eyes as he struggled to adjust to the blazing sunlight.
"Are you hung over?" Rukia accused, placing a hand on her hip.
"No," Renji replied sharply, sauntering back into the dark apartment and leaving the door ajar, a silent cue for his friends to follow.
They entered the dark sitting room after leaving their shoes in the narrow hallway, and Ichigo couldn't suppress a smile of amusement as Rukia approached the curtains and proceeded to tug them swiftly open, the entire room suddenly bathed in blinding sunlight.
The rays of glorious sunshine streamed through the window, causing Renji to hiss in response, attempting to shield his eyes. "Put it back," he protested meekly.
"Not a chance," Rukia replied, folding her arms in disapproval. "You need some daylight in here Dracula, and please- put some clothes on!"
"Maybe later," Renji retorted with a shrug, eyeing Ichigo suspiciously as the teenager began to approach the easel with an outstretched hand, as if he were about to tug at the cloth concealing the large canvas-
"Don't even think about touchin' that," Renji warned, causing the Kurosaki to freeze, recoiling his hand like a scolded child, "or I'll cut you into lil' pieces and feed you to Zabimaru."
"What's the secret?" Ichigo asked, raising a brow inquisitively, "you doing nudes now or something?"
"I wish…."