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SHINIGAMI HATE ANGELS
6. That Night When You Wished It'd Just Be Morning Already
Byakuya had never spent the night with Renji in his master bedroom. It was always one of the many guest bedrooms. It made sense, Renji thought, why soil the bed you're going to sleep in? He thinks this over as he lies naked, dirty and alone between thin sheets that are moist only in certain places. He looks at the reddened rims around his wrists. They'll become bruises tomorrow, he muses. Think of it as a lover's gift; it's a bracelet- only of contusions.
He'll have to wear long sleeves tomorrow- when tomorrow comes. He smiles and covers his eyes with his hand. Swallowing hard, he feels something like a cough scratching his throat. He swallows it down. Tomorrow, he'd agreed to meet Ichigo at his Dojo; only Ichigo didn't know about it yet. This was an agreement he'd made with Rukia. One he wasn't regretting, but still one he wasn't looking forward to. He feels a scratch in his throat. He swallows it down.
He shifts uncomfortably and notices the bed sheets are sticking to his backside. He pulls the sheets away from his skin; but it still felt as if something gummy was dried onto him. He reaches down and touches it with his finger. It stings. He brings his hand over his eyes and examines the deep red shimmer on his fingers. Blood. Little bits of scabbing stuck to fingers like stubborn flakes of cooked oatmeal. He lets his body collapse into the mattress.
He wonders why it is that he can bleed so well, and still sleep so unsoundly.
7. The First Time
They'd discussed it verbally. It was only a passing conversation at dinner. They'd bring it up in brisk sentences before asking the other to pass the potatoes. Once they'd talked about it during a television commercial. Just talking about it didn't make Renji nervous; although it made Byakuya shift uncomfortably. "Sure," Renji would drawl, "I can do that. I sure can't offer mush else." Neither of them could really say whose idea it had been. "If that's your thing," Renji would say, "sure. Sure, I can do that," and then he would relax into the furniture. Just discussing it wasn't serious. To Renji, it didn't mean anything. It wasn't real yet.
"Alright," Byakuya said. "Then how about tomorrow? What time is appropriate?"
Renji didn't even take his eyes off the television. He was watching the fight. "Um," he said, partly distracted, "I don't know." He'd said, "whenever."
Tomorrow evening, Renji is sitting back in that same chair. His hands are wet and shaking.
Byakuya is in the next room, drinking. He raises a tiny, glass cup to his lips and drinks from it quickly. He sets the empty glass on the cupboard and lets out a slow, shaky breath. He clasps his hands together and shuts his eyes for a moment. Another drink. Maybe two.
Renji's foot is shaking. His body feels cold; his stomach feels heavy. The fine hairs on his arms are raised as he waits silently and impatiently. If he's going to do this, he thinks, if he's really going to go through with this, then Byakuya better start it soon.
"Okay," Byakuya's voice travels from the doorway. It's slightly lazy, sounding only a bit drunk. His jaw clenches as he waits for Renji to move off of the couch.
Renji nods and stands. He follows behind Byakuya and they amble quietly through the house. They walk slowly through the halls, passing the same rooms over and over in silence. Finally, Byakuya stops in front of one. He reaches slowly for the handle and then opens the door roughly. It bangs against the wall, but doesn't startle either of them. Byakuya doesn't enter the room.
A few minutes pass and Renji begins to sway on his feet. He pushes past the other man and walks a few feet into the room. After another moment, Byakuya steps in and shuts the door. He turns on the light and begins to undress. Both of them moved with automatic precision, disrobing just as they would if they'd been alone. It was easy to follow simple habits.
Renji had left his clothes in a disheveled pile; Byakuya folded his neatly and stacked them onto a dresser. For a few minutes, they stood there naked, finding interest only in the walls and ceiling. "Maybe we should have googled this first," Renji offered, not sure if he was amused or serious.
"We start on the bed," Byakuya said, unmoving.
Renji says, "right," and then sits on the edge of the bed. "We need lube, too," he adds, still unsure if he was actually being serious or not.
"I don't have a thing like that."
They were silent for another few moments.
"Can we use margarine?"
"Sure," Renji says, and then he says, "wait. Am I the one… you know… on the bottom?"
"Yes."
"Then no. No margarine."
"How about Vaseline?"
"That'll never wash off."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Uh," Renji says, trying to think of something. Rukia comes to mind. Rukia had always used baby oil to remove her mascara. She said it was mild and stayed on her lashes all night and even conditioned them. Her lashes were never so soft and healthy. "Baby oil," Renji says, "we use baby oil."
"Alright," Byakuya nods. "And," he pauses, "where would something like that be kept?"
"I don't know. This is your house. Where do you keep it?"
"I'm not sure. My assistants do that sort of thing."
"They shop for you and put it away?"
"I'm not in the house often. Why should I bother to manage to it?"
"I'm not sure. Check the bathroom? Maybe the medicine cabinet?"
Byakuya nodded and wandered into the guest bathroom. Renji listened to the noises of rummaging, although he was trying to focus on something else. He'd rather think of anything else- well, excluding Rukia. He didn't want to think about her right now either. What would she think about this? He didn't want to know.
Byakuya reentered the room with the cheap, bottled mineral oil. He pressed a precise, dollar-sized amount in his palm and threw it toward Renji; who caught it automatically. "Lubricate yourself," Byakuya ordered, as he turned to face the wall again.
Renji handled the bottle in his hand as Byakuya begun to handle himself. Renji glanced over, noticing that Byakuya was also trying to get some life into his lower regions at the same time. Okay, Renji tells himself, time to get on with it. He wasn't sure if he was sure, but this wasn't the time make sure. He tells himself, now or never. Just do it; and he flips the bottle upside down.
He squeezes the bottle and too much oil drips onto his fingers. It leaks onto his leg. No big deal, he thinks and tosses the bottle on the floor. He rubs the oil into his hands, making sure to coat his fingers a little too judiciously. Once he realizes he's stalling, he glares at his shining fingers as if they were opponents. No way, he thinks. There's no way he can do it. Then he reminds himself that he's a brave man. He is imperturbable and audacious. He's the kind of man who asks questioners later. A doer.
He lifts one side of his leg off the bed and slides his lubricated hand underneath. He pokes his fingers around his anus and is thankful that it wasn't Byakuya who was doing this. He pushes a finger into his rectum and tries not to look nervous or annoyed. He slips in another finger and experiments with wiggling one at a time. In a situation like this, Renji thinks, it's perfectly natural to feel ridiculous. The way he feels, it's perfectly natural. Everyone sleeps with his or her landlord, right?
He slides his fingers out and wipes the baby oil from his fingers onto the bed. After this, Renji plans to scrub under his fingernails. He's going to soak his entire hand in a sink full of suds- anything to get the smell off. Maybe even a sink of beer.
The sound of bare foot steps tears his attention away from his still glistening fingers. He looks up and sees Byakuya toddle over toward the bed, walking oddly either from his previous over-consumption of alcohol or his swollen and stiff erection, which was standing tall between his legs. A clear strand of gooey liquid stuck to his abdomen where the tip of his phallus occasionally poked him. He didn't ask Renji if he was ready, he just climbed onto the bed.
Renji laid down on his back, his knees bent and his eyes wide and expressive. His heart pounded noisily. He could feel his blood pumping through his body. And then he felt something warm and slick poking him between his butt cheeks. He ignored all his instincts to panic. He tells himself I'm a doer, I'm a doer, I'm a doer. And then it slides into him further and further. It was hard and warm and alive. It felt as if it was palpitating inside him. He lets a hissing breath escape between his teeth as it sinks wholly into him.
Renji had been with a man before this. One man. Ask him about it and he would say, "it's a long story" and leave it at that. This time, however, it feels different. It doesn't feel entirely like sex. He doesn't even feel entirely awake.
Byakuya pulls out of him, and then digs back into him. He repeats this movement all the while he's grunting and gasping. The way his face is moving, Renji can hardly recognize him. The man above him doesn't seem as cold and distant as he normally should be. Byakuya, humping into him, seems less grand and hostile. Then again, it was hard to keep the same opinion of someone whose thighs were slapping against the backs of your legs.
Byakuya's back arches and he pushes his pelvis forcefully forward into Renji. Renji winces at the sudden, deep intrusion. He feels Byakuya's phallus idle inside him, humming and hot. It spurts strongly once, twice and pauses briefly before releasing the rest of the warm, syrupy goop weakly into Renji's rectum.
He listens to Byakuya's laboring breath, ghosting over his neck in the dark. The man hovered for a moment before regaining himself and abandoning the bed; picking up his folded pile of discarded clothing and leaving the bedroom. Renji swallowed down a scratchy feeling in his throat. He kept repeating the same thoughts in his mind. He asks what have I done? What have I done? What have I done?
8. The Surprise Meeting At The Dojo
It was late in the evening, but there were no stars yet. Renji walks into the building; he drags himself up a flight of stairs. From behind the door, he hears the shouts of men and women. He hears short, terse grunts. As he steps through the doorway, he hears the familiar sound of skin slapping against kicking paddles. Over the commotion, Ichigo's voice is shouting, commanding. He paces on the foam mats with his arms resting at his sides and his eyes narrow and focused.
Through the crowd of students dressed in loose, white uniforms, Ichigo stares directly at Renji. His eyes stick to the vibrant, red-haired man staring back at him insolently. He tries to look away, to re-focus his attentions to his students, but finds himself frozen. All around him, the crowd of white is moving and shouting. They're kicking over their heads and hopping quickly on their toes. Everything seems to be in motion except for him. And he can't seem to move.
Renji sat on the benches during the class. He waited quietly, so quietly that no one except Ichigo took notice of him. After another hour, the class was dismissed and herded into the locker rooms.
"What do you want?" Ichigo blurts out as he passes Renji. The moment he'd said it, he'd regretted it. Strangely, he was excited that Renji was here. It elicited a curious craving in him; however, he didn't know where to direct that instinct.
Renji smirked. He rolled his shoulders lazily and turned his palms upward. He peered at Ichigo with an expectant look in his dark, red eyes.
"What?" Ichigo asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Renji had an ability to make others second-guess themselves. It was uncanny, although Ichigo didn't think so. He shifted uncomfortably and repeated, "what?"
Renji smiled. "Nothing," he says and hops off the bench. "So where's your master? Or are you the grand master?"
"What?"
Renji echoes, "what."
Ichigo's brows pinch together. He was tired and impatient, still, he felt oddly elated with Renji around. He felt a tug at his belt. Looking down, he notices that Renji was grabbing onto his karate black belt. "What are you…?" Ichigo says, notably not cringing or shrinking away.
"Checking your stripes." Renji briefly examined the three golden bands embroidered onto the end of the belt. "Third Dan, eh?" he says, "you're definitely not the grand master." And he smirks again as he lets the belt drop from his hand.
Ichigo's left eye narrowed as the opposite brow twitched upward. "So," he says, "what of it? Is that what you came here for? To criticize me?"
"I'm not criticizing you," Renji says, his features softening. It catches Ichigo a little off guard. "You're criticizing you."
"What do mean by that?" he asks quickly.
"I was just making an observation," Renji says, planting his palm on his chest. "You created a negative implication for that observation." He smiles unnaturally wide, "Personally, I think you're great."
Ichigo tries to decide if Renji is genuine or not. Renji seemed to be the type of guy who could be shady at times. He was always mysterious, but sometimes it shifted from charming to threatening. Renji was unpredictable. That made Ichigo anxious.
Renji sighed. "Relax Ichigo, would you?
