Discombobulated
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach! Also, the song Renji sings is 'Can't Take My Eyes Off of You' by god-knows-who. It's one of my favorite songs, and (hopeless romantic warning) I'd love it if someone danced with me to that. :lovelorn sigh:
A/N: the summary couplet was found scrawled into the back of an old biology notebook in a handwriting that was certainly not mine…a friend suggested I make a fic out of it, and it seemed to suit this couple. I don't know if the couplet is from a song, or one of my classmates wrote it (I did have an awful lot of poetic mates who had to scribble into every available surface) so I guess I ought to disclaim that too.
Summary: Your subtleties, they strangle me, and I can't explain myself at all. And every night, every time, back into your embrace I crawl. ByaRen, AU.
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The dinner party was a formal affair, and it made Renji nervous. He didn't do formal. Formal could throw its skinny ass off a cliff as far as he was concerned. The food always made him sick (caviar, whoever invented caviar definitely needed to be shot in the balls), his tux never fit him as well as it should (although Rukia went out her way to assure him he was positively jumpable—to Ichigo's irritation) and he never could maintain his manners for long (how the hell was he know how loudly you were supposed to laugh at a joke?).
Byakuya, naturally, was in his elements at such parties. His tuxedo always sat on him like a second skin; the food never disagreed with him (or even meekly protested against him), and, being born into the aristocracy, he knew exactly how to talk with people.
Renji was a little lost. Normally Rukia would be present to propel him through all the embarrassments (he'd long ago given up the thought that the older Kuchiki might ever be his knight in shining armor) but tonight was her anniversary, and Ichigo had insisted that they spend it exclusively with each other.
He hovered on the edge of a group of men that seemed vaguely familiar, grinning bashfully whenever they laughed. Eventually, the group drifted apart, and he was left alone and irate. A waiter wandered by with a platter of champagne flutes, and Renji snagged one in the passing. He gulped it down hastily, which he was sure was some terrible violation of etiquette, but frankly, he didn't give a damn. A few more glasses later, he was rather tipsy (alcohol and Renji weren't the best of friends) and wandered over to Byakuya, looping his arm through the dark haired man's.
A polite if frosty silence fell over the gathering as Byakuya interrupted himself to look at his lover. When some time had passed and no one said a word, a woman passed a catty remark about unrefined drunks. A smattering of titters broke out, and Renji guffawed loudly. His partner, however, was unamused, and it showed in the careful hardening of his eyes as he took in the woman who'd spoken.
"Surprising that you should say that, Akina," he said in his demure voice, "How is dear old Nao anyway? Still busy with his…secretary?"
The laughter returned, but with an uneasy tinge. Renji laughed too, far too loudly. Byakuya turned his austere gaze on the redhead, who immediately quieted, chastened.
Later, back home, after the party, his anger was more evident. It was never obvious, not to anyone who didn't know him well, but Renji did know him. Very well. Very well. His anger was evident in the way he undressed with a vicious sort of care, the way he tensed as he rushed to help Renji to the bathroom before he threw up, in the way he pulled out the warmer comforter from the closet. Renji knew he was angry, but he couldn't pinpoint how he knew. He settled for pushing his lips against his lover's in a mute and slurred apology. Byakuya accepted his offering with a hint of smile.
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Renji hummed a nonsense tune as he waltzed about the house aimlessly. He supposed he ought to try and lend a hand with the housework—Byakuya had certainly been dropping enough hints—but figured, no, he was really far too stereotypical a male to do something so considerate without having messed up something first. He pas de bourree'd on impulse, and smacked himself for being so silly. A goofy grin bloomed on his lips, and his humming gave way to a song.
"I love you baby, and if it's quite alright, I need you baby to warm a lonely night; trust in me when I say…oh pretty baby! Don't bring me down I pray! Now that I've found you; stay—" he stopped short as he caught sight of the brunet in the doorway of the house, a curious expression on his face. It seemed like a tic, but Renji's expert gaze knew it for what it really was: amusement and adoration and exasperation and annoyance being quartered neatly in four.
"You're impossible."
"Put in a witty quip from me there," Renji grinned before leaning forth to kiss him. A very small sigh escaped the shorter man's lips, and that little gesture contained a world of affectionate remarks for the redheaded male.
"I'm inconvenienced here, Renji."
"Are you asking for this to be moved to the bedroom?"
"Certainly not," the other man teased his neck with kisses, "Merely informing you that I am uncomfortable in our current position."
Renji rolled his eyes and dragged him off to shag the life out of him. "Only you can make a come-on sound like scientific fact," he told Byakuya.
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The redhead groaned and rolled over onto Byakuya's pale expanse of chest. "Mmmm. I love the smell of a Kuchiki in the morning."
"Must you so blatantly allude to the fact that you slept with my sister?"
"I didn't allude to anything," Renji snapped indignantly, "You made it out that way—stop smirking!" It was true. The man's lips were tugged at the corners by some invisible force.
"I'm not smirking."
"Liar," Renji sulked.
"Put in a witty quip for me there," Byakuya said quietly, waiting for the redhead's words to sink in. Renji scowled before pushing his head into the crook of his lover's neck.
"It was stupid experimentation. We were in college. We were best friends. And you—hah. You barely knew I existed!"
"It lasted fifteen months," Byakuya said calmly, "Experiments often take a shorter period of time."
"Why the fuck are you on me about this the moment I wake up!?"
"I'm not on you. I was a few hours ago. I got off when you insisted I bottom."
Renji snorted loudly, and pushed away from the shorter male. Sliding out bed, he lugged his naked self to the bathroom and only paused to look over his shoulder and have the last word.
"I love you, you big stupid inconsiderate crass dick."
Kuchiki Byakuya never let anyone have the last word. Not even his precious Renji. "Dick? Obviously. Big? I will accept that. Stupid? I beg to differ. Inconsiderate? I am wounded. Crass? I hardly think I am worse than you."
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Tepid water pressed in on him, choking the breath from his throat. It was laced with toxins, and he wasn't there to save him—oh, what to do, what to do?
"Byakuya," he whispered, as though saying the name would bring him here. The water twisted viciously around him, searing his skin. It was poison, it was killing him, it was horrible, it was—
"Renji."
And with that one word, the nightmare was dispelled. Quietly spoken, untouched by worry, confident in its ability to stop whatever was assaulting him. Warm, liquid brown eyes opened to find his face hovering over him, the tiniest of creases between black eyebrows marring that beautiful, serene face.
"Nightmare," the redhead gasped.
"Yes," Byakuya agreed, "A nightmare."
"I love you," Renji said, expecting the usual neck nudge from his lover, his own subtle way of returning the declaration of affection. Instead, Byakuya captured his lips in a heated, searing kiss, and dove his hand into Renji's pants to stroke his dick tenderly.
"I love you too, Renji," he said, and showed him in a rare display of emotion exactly how much.
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Thanks to the reviewers who helped me fix my mistakes! Renji is now taller, and pas de bourree is now spelt correctly. (But I couldn't get the accent to work. :pouts: