Chapter Four:
"We're making too much money," Kobarua crisply informed him.
Kuchiki had not planned on visiting his cousin during this trip to the modern world, wishing to flash directly to Reiko's apartment. That morning, he had received an urgent missive from the man, and he could not neglect his duties for voyeurism. "That is not usually a problem," was the dry reply.
"It is now," Kobaru offered him a sniffer of bourbon. "People are snooping around, looking for the great Byakuya Kuchiki,"
"You used my name?"
Kobaru smirked sardonically. "It is your money, Byakuya. I only manage it, and Japan is oh so aware. Most think you live on the other side of the world, elbow deep in American war and money. Others think you're a recluse who's afraid of his own shadow. And that's why you built this tower.
"The problem is good and bad people are looking into us. Politicians solicit money, street gangs want protection fees, yakuza want us to do business. We're hard pressed to remain detached from all groups,"
Kuchiki drank slowly. "No crime,"
"The right crime is the most profitable," Kobaru argued for the sake of money. "But not worth losing what we have already created. What of legitimate business ventures?"
"I do not want the Kuchiki named tarnished in any way," replied Kuchiki. "I need this family to be faultless,"
There was that need again. An unknown figure was in the game. Whatever Kuchiki was hiding demanded immaculacy, and that was perturbing. It was one chess piece Kobaru could not move, but its impact was limitless.
"I will use my best judgement," he nodded and sipped on his iced bourbon.
***BH***
Yes, she had seen him. She had seen this man so much, that his presence offered her comfort in the dark of the night. He had never spoken to her, never moved to interact with her. Hisana knew him intimately, though, and was ready for him to say something to her. Her attempt to draw him into conversation was fruitless.
When he first ghosted into her room, her entire body had tensed. She could always sense when he was near; there was a heaviness about the air. It made her skin prickle, her heart race, and it always made her feel safe. He was so familiar, like a word that was on the tip of her tongue that she could no longer remember. His face was fuzzy, but it tickled the corners of her mind and she knew that she had known him before. She just did not know from where.
This man would not hurt her, at least she knew that for certain. He had looked so stunned that she had deigned to speak to him that Hisana had felt foolish. Rather than wait under his startled gaze, she pretended that it had not happened. Her schoolwork had never been more interesting than it was during those tense moments.
He had left her as soon as he arrived. It could have been anger that drove him away, or surprise, fear even. She felt his absence acutely. After that, she promised herself that she would make him stay. He had some questions to answer, and she had never been one to shy away from confrontation. It drove Dad crazy sometimes, but her mom had been just as tenacious.
His fortnight sojourn ended on a Friday evening. Dad was going to be working late, and sent the take-out guy with food. A night without having to do this dishes excited Hisana, so she accepted the free meal and settled onto the couch for a well-deserved TV marathon. Sure, there was homework to be a done, and her socioeconomic midterm needed to be defended. It could wait, and be tomorrow's problem. Tonight, she wanted serenity and to veg out.
Byakuya watched as she spooned something into her mouth, so fast he was surprised that she didn't choke. It was greasy; the paper container was spotted from where the oil had seeped through. She did not hold it gingerly. She knew that she would not spill it. A drama was on the flatscreen, and two lovers mourned their forbidden tryst.
She smiled and licked her teeth, hungry eyes greedily absorbing every nuance, every fiery touch. It could be used as fodder in her dreams. Take-out set on the coffee table, she drank heavily from her Diet Coke. Miyako still gave her hell for drinking it, but Hisana would rather give up all the sweets in the world than the nectar. Nothing was better than Diet Coke.
Hisana saw his reflection in the TV, before she felt his presence. That was odd. Normally she felt him coming from miles away. He must have been tying extra hard to keep her from speaking to him. Did he not want her to know that he was watching her? Who did he think she would tell?
Her plan was already cemented in her crafty mind, thanks to Miyako's advice and titillating nature, but she was going to make him wait. She certainly had to. So she watched her dramas, lost herself in the entrancing story, and once she even screamed in frustration at Keiko, but never did she look at him. He remained ignorant of her awareness. That was pivotal.
When the sun was beginning to set, and Hisana could put off her plan no longer, she switched off the flatscreen, and put the leftovers in the fridge, before heading to her room. Hers was at the end of the hall, with a private bathroom. Dad tried to give her the best. Hisana loved her room. It had wooden floors, unburnished and rough on her feet. The pipes in the ceiling were exposed, and she had hung vines of flowers and lights from them. In the night, they glowed like stars. Her bed was large enough, a double with fluffy lavender sheets, and more pillows than any person needed.
Since his last visit, Hisana deliberately rearranged the room. She wanted him to be on his toes, ready for anything. The desk was by her door, with her back to the window. If he wanted to watch her study, she would let him, while watching him in the dark screen of her computer. Her vanity stood by the door of the bathroom. The first time he had entered her bedroom, it was a faded white. Dad refurnished it for her last spring: it was now a deep brown, almost black, and the same Christmas lights were wound around it. She liked to soft light if she chose to read late into the night.
Her bed, that glorious bed, was on the far well. She wanted to be able to look at the window, and the doors––anyway that he might come in. She wanted to see him when he did. He followed her into the room, confident in her routine. She always showered in the morning, before school started. Less grease in the hair that way. He was sure that she intended to sit at her cluttered desk, bent over her books for hours on end.
That was how she preferred to spend her evenings when Dad was home, and some game was on. Tonight, she had the apartment to herself, and intended to make the most of it. Headphones still on her vanity, she grabbed her robe and stole into the bathroom. The water burst from the facet, and steam billowed in the tiled room. She took it slow, and relaxed into the heat, letting it work out the knots in her back. Calm, centered, controlled. Hisana let her mantra infuse her body and soul. She could do this.
Hair still up high in her messy bun (and mostly dry, despite the steam's best efforts) Hisana sauntered out the bathroom, in nothing but her robe. Discretely, she searched for him, because he would be there. He was as good as a guardian angel, safeguarding her if Dad was out for the night, making sure she did not go home alone in the dark. He was not around often, but just enough for her to recognize him.
He was in the corner of the room, by the window but out of the moonlight. He did not want to her see him.
Byakuya watched, unsure. Something felt different. He searched for any other soul in the house, for any Hollow that might be nearby. There was nothing. Just Hisana, humming to herself, headphones still discarded. Perhaps that was it. She was not listening to her monotonous music.
Instead, she turned off the ceiling lights, leaving only warm glow of the vanity. Massaging her face wearily, he assumed that she was tired, and would retire early. Good. In bed, she could not get into any trouble.
Lotion in hand, Hisana sat on her fluffy bed, surrounded by pillows. Squirting some of the plum scented goopiness into her hand, she rubbed her arms up and down, massaging gentle circles with her thumbs. No one wanted to touch dry or cracked skin. She repeated the ministration on her legs, wiggling her freshly painted toes. She briefly wished that she had painted her nails, or at least had taken off the chipped polish. If this guy would announce his visits, she might have time to primp more.
Now for the fun part.
Tracing slow paths on the inside of her thighs, Hisana arched her back and slowly lowered herself onto the pillows. They held her high, not caving in from her weight. Her breath hitched as she thought about what she was going to do. Knowing that he was still present, she began.
He watched this little vixen lay back, and immediately he knew what she was up to, why the room had felt so charged. A good man would have excused himself, and let her finish in private. This was a very intimate act, and she deserved solitude. Byakuya could not move, though. His legs suddenly seemed incapable of working.
The ties of her robe dropped away, and almost thoughtlessly, she brushed the fabric off her chest. Taught nipples bounced as she slowly rocked, the creamy orbs rippling with her want. Long, tapered fingers whispered on the inside of her thighs; she made herself shiver when they brushed against her sex. Braced against the pillows, head dropped back as she reveled in these sensations, she was an open display for him. He could see every move of her fingers as they dipped slowly in and out of her. Her thumb gently pressed on her nub, moving with slow flicks. Her another dance had trailed its way up her leg, over the curve of her hip, to cup her breast. She was still growing, still forming, but the sight was magnificent.
As her fingers ghosted over her chest, her body sang. Yes, he air was charged tonight. He had watched this before––and once had looked abashed. Usually, he was a voyeur: always watching but never touching, never participating, never crowding her. Tonight, she imagined it was his hands that palmed her, and oh God, she was on fire.
He had missed this: the mewls she could make when she frustrated, the way her hips flinched upwards as she searched for something more filling than her fingers. Her head rocked back and forth, yanking tendrils of dark hair away from her tie. Her hands were sloppy, searching for a special place deep within her, too far out of reach, but striving to reach for it was glorious. He could not tear his eyes away from her supple body as she pressed against the sheets in desperation, hovering on the brink of orgasm.
How desperately she needed it.
Hisana bit her lip, trying to keep her cries muffled. She had become so accustomed to this feeling of nearing completion. Her heart would race, her body thrummed in excitement. She had become so skilled at pulling orgasms from herself, though Miyako assured her that it was nothing compared to a man. She knew her body, what slow sections of skin to tease, how hard to pull, pinch and twist. She knew that rubbing her thumb in clockwise would slowly bring her to the edge, but her body seized if she went counterclockwise.
She played her body like an instrument, but doing it under his heady gaze made it more thrilling. Hisana may not have had the courage to look at him, but she knew he was watching. She could feel it. That notion made this seem more official, not something private, but an open declaration of her sexuality.
God, how she wanted him.
He could tell she was close. The air sang with electricity, pulsing in sync with her heartbeat. Hisana was creating a vortex of heat that swirled around her vivaciously. It whipped against Byakuya, smothering him in her saline scent.
"Please," it was so faintly, he nearly missed it. An outsider would have mistaken it as a breathy moan, but not he, who knew that voice so well. She had spoken.
Reason screamed that she was not calling for him, that her mind was trapped in whatever fantasy she concocted, probably something involving her dramas. He knew that she and Miyako discussed the various relationships frequently. One foot stepped forward without his noticing. He was a man, and the sight of his precious woman splayed out was highly arousing. More than arousing, truthfully. His cock was already swollen, and the heavy folds of his hakama were not dissuading. Her body needed to be touched as much as he needed to touch it. To hold her down, and fuck her until she remembered who she was, who he was. And then to swallow all of her screaming ecstasy in a barrage of kisses.
He needed her to know him, again.
Another foot stepped forward before he had control. It would not do for Hisana to be raped by some phantom. That would scar any psyche, and he wanted her to be whole and ready when they first met. He could protect her until she was ready for intimacy, and, more importantly, until she was able to see him.
His face swirled in her thoughts. That handsome, beautiful…familiar face looming over her. Whispering comforts as her body shook in despair. Calloused hands threading through her hair when he pulled her in close, eyes fluttering shut as he drifted into slumber. These images were too visceral to be fantasy. They had to be something more. Tender kisses, harsh words as they screamed at each other––another woman's name. His hands on the floor, cleaning the blood that she coughed out of her lungs.
A tear prickled in the corner of her eye. Inexplicably, she hoped that he did not see it. Fingers still plucked, but her mind raced, unconcerned with her pleasure. This man had become so much more important than a pathetic, half orgasm. He was the missing piece of her life's puzzle. "Please," she hissed. She was desperate for the fog in her mind to clear, and to reveal who this man was to her.
He came with searing kisses, gentle strokes, and millions of sakura blossoms dancing in the wind. There had been wishes for children, and the struggle with literacy. Her right hand had not worked properly, and holding the brush was too much some days. This man was the epicenter of an impossible life, of an existence when she believed that love solved all of your problems.
Her eyes snapped open. Fingers froze. "Oh, my God," she gasped shrilly.
Byakuya thought she had climaxed. The usual relaxation did not follow her exclamation; her body stayed tense for the briefest of moments. Then she sprang up, hips hinged and fingers still buried deep in her core. Thick black hair tangled around her head like a debauched halo.
"Byakuya," she called to him.
What?
The silence stretched between them. Dark brown eyes locked on his face, and her pink mouth gasped for air. He was the silhouette of a shadow, lost in the corner of the room, but it was him.
What?
No. That was not possible. He had been watching her for years without any contact. No hope. His precious wife had been lost to the humans. Her soul had found a home, but her memories were lost in the dark sky. He was watching her become the same woman he loved, but the rebirth was grander than anything he ever imagined.
She was a phoenix rising from the ashes.
The thin tip of her tongue flicked between her lips, just barely wetting them. She wanted to swallow, if only to ease the pressure in her throat. But she could not. "Byakuya," her voice was straggled. "Can you hear me?" Totally a stupid question, completely unromantic, but it forced him to answer her. Maybe it was not so stupid after all.
Kuchiki was not sure how he moved. One moment, he was hidden away and the next they were inches apart. Pale gray eyes peered at her. He was the quester, Jason, and she was his Golden Fleece. He did not move, but waited to see if she reacted. After years of futility, he had to be certain.
No words could describe the torrential emotion that crossed his angular face, but she could see the trepidation, and the jubilant hope in his sad eyes. Continuing on, staring at his smooth face would have been too much. She remembered him, but shew as still fifteen. Still shy and coming into her own, but her memories…they burned with something much more prurient than she expected.
"Oh my God! Byakuya!" she shrieked. Throwing her arms around his neck. Hisana literally tossed herself off the bed. "I remember you," she whispered into his ear.
Strong arms crushed her against his chest. "Hisana," he breathed against her neck. The shinigami pulled away, hands still clawing at her bare back. His breathing was ragged, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He could feel his heart beat against her chest. Hisana untangled both of her hands, and cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking it soothingly. He was trembling, decades of loneliness and misery flooding his veins. It was too much to hope that she was serious, the she was clinging to him with a desperate tenderness. He did not think he could bare to lose her again.
"Look at me," her voice was raspy.
It was a struggle to open his eyes, but he pulled them apart. His dark gray eyes met her brown ones. Hisana licked her lip, flicking her pink tongue between her teeth. "I remember you,"
His voice croaked. "Hisana,"
"Sshh, it's okay," she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her face up to nestle in its crook. He still held her tightly, so she was suspended from him, only her legs touching the bed. "Byakuya, my Byakuya," she crooned softly. "I remember you,"
And it was true. She remembered this man who had irrevocably changed her soul. She could not remember much, but he was enough. She had loved him once, enough for her soul to still tingle when he was near. He still seemed partial to her. The tips of her fingers touched his cracked lips. "What the fuck happened?" the words escaped her mouth before she could even process them.
Byakuya visibly flinched, but Hisana's words kept tumbling from her mind. "I remember you, and I think I remember us. I do remember us. But what happened to me? I couldn't even write!"
Her intelligence was so ingrained in her that she could not imagine a life that she did not possess it. Or it had not been cultivated, perhaps. He pressed his forehead to her. "Hisana," he choked out. There was not even a good jumping off point in their story. She did not even grasp the basics of the Soul Society.
"Who was Rukia?"
He met her eyes, mind reeling. It would take hours to explain it all to her, but she needed to hear every detail: their marriage, her death. She abandoned Rukia and he adopted her. He sentenced her to die. Would she forgive him?
"You know what," her voice broke his thoughts. "I don't even care,"
Hisana grabbed his head, regardless of his antique hair pieces and pulled his lips to hers. He didn't even think to stop her as her smug lips pressed against him, nipping and bruising. She was inexperienced: teeth clanked and she bit too hard on his bottom lip.
He didn't give a rat's ass. She was young, and he was dead, but they were there, tongues dancing like sabers, bodies pressed together until it was almost impossible to tell where he ended and she began. Her sweat damped his own clothes, just touching his skin. Already, she was marking him. Those damn little fingers twined into his hair, jerking the kenseikan out. He heard the little ornaments rattle as they hit the floor. It would be almost impossible to find them, come light. Or if she ever let go of his head.
"Hm," she groaned in the back of her throat, tingling against his lips. The heat he let off was intoxicating, burning her skin. She was melting.
"Byakuya," she moaned his named. She wanted to touch every part of him, to assure herself that this was real, that he was real, and that he needed her to be real.
"Hisana!" Her father's voice echoed loudly in the small apartment. Both flinched, neither having heard the man come in. "What's going on?" His footsteps thundered down the hall. He had heard her maudlin sough, and was presumably coming to beat the shit out of whatever little cretin she had invited over.
The shinigami dropped her on the bed, and wheeled around at the intrusive sound. His hand grasp the hilt of his sword. The both stilled at the panic of being discovered. Byakuya pivoted, his face contorted in anguish. Immediately, Hisana knew.
She lunged for Byakuya. "Don't go!"
The shinigami disappeared in an instant. Hisana's solitude would comfort her father, and allow him to avoid this conversation. He faintly heard Reiko bellowing, Hisana shouting at him to get out of her room. She would be fine, the little woman could handle herself. On the off chance Reiko could see him, Kuchiki did not want to risk killing the man. He would if it meant Hisana was all his.
