Pillars of Decadence, a KougaxMuramasa fic
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine.
Warnings: Yaoi, implied Dom/sub & BDSM undertones, rough play (what? You thought those nails were for show?) - pure lemony, sensual goodness.
AN: This is side A of the double chapter I have planned for Decadence. It's bugging me that Deca lags one chap behind Sanct, so I'm correcting that. This is set AFTER the 'role reversal' from Chap 5, but BEFORE the events in Chap 7 of Sanctuary. I decided to do this chap from Muramasa's POV. I had to use names a little more than I wanted – they're both "he" so I did this in order to make the fic a little more readable. I like experimenting and I guess it's pretty obvious I'm having a good time Let the good times roll – storytime in the place to be!
Chapter Six: The Exploration of Seclusion: Part Three
After nearly three years in this land of eternal night, there are few things that surprise Muramasa anymore. It is a place that requires one to give up any hope of dividing "day" from "night" - it is all night, but after a while he has gotten used to it. He's even gotten used to being out in the open almost all the time. His world of pillars and endless ocean is still his favorite, his private homeland where some things are easier than others. However, there are some benefits to being in the real world.
Like being woken from the vivid dreams he was enjoying by a certain apple green-eyed shinigami who looks at him in a way that never fails to spark a dry, twisted heat to move through his body. When he is in the real world, every touch feels amplified; every look is presented to maximum effect. He cares deeply for this one, this one he is thrilled to call his shinigami. The times he is freely allowed to walk next to him are a treat, but the ultimate treat has to be when his shinigami threads one of those big, strong hands through his small, thin ones. The move is never done in a hesitant way, even though his long fingernails sometimes nip the man when he isn't careful.
However, there is something to be said for their more intimate moments. Like the one he's currently wrapped in, with a very lustful-looking shinigami perched on top of his slender frame. This shinigami -- his shinigami, how can he forget the distinction — enjoys lying on top of him. After the events of the night before, Muramasa is convinced it's a quiet symbol of dominion.
Not that he's complaining.
"Mura."
He isn't one for nicknames — being a zanpaktou spirit, there are few possessions he really can say he owns other than his name. It is bad enough that the rose princess believes his name is better when shortened. However, it is being said from the lips of his shinigami. If this is what his shinigami wants, then he will gladly accept the shortening of his name, even though he doesn't really care for it.
"Kouga?"
A nod. One nip to his neck, then two. He can always tell when his shinigami is really wound up; he doesn't bother to take off the ascot. He pushes it out of his way with a quiet ferocity that tells Muramasa that it will be an intense night.
He notices that they are in the outer world for a reason — it is Kouga's favorite place to take him. His shinigami will never admit it out loud, but he is happiest out here in this isolated world. In fact, Muramasa realizes that his shinigami has never been this happy before since the two of them came together.
He enjoys the carefully balanced weight of his shinigami on top of him. While he did enjoy their role reversal earlier, he prefers to be under his master very much. It symbolizes their relationship in a way that pleases them both.
Pleasure. There is something to be said for such a thing. This started out as something to make his shinigami happy, to make sure that the water in his inner world would not rise so high it would sweep him away. Being the zanpaktou of Kuchiki Kouga, there are very few things in life that Muramasa truly fears. Drowning in the turbulent ocean of the inner world is one of the rare fears he holds. Losing his shinigami is the other. After that, the other fears — if they even exist — aren't worth naming.
Lips. Those lips are devouring every available space they find. They come with companion teeth that bite down, that nibble and chew on tender flesh that is helpless to resist those pearly white warriors. Surrender is imminent, if it hasn't already begun.
He can't remember when those hands have joined the fray, but he is grateful for them all the same. They explore his slender pale frame with a familiarity that has been hard-won, over two years of quiet coaxing and overcoming a shyness and nervousness that he doubts his shinigami would own up to.
His clothes are still on, not because of any concern for modesty — his shinigami simply deems that it should be that way. He knows that he will be stripped soon, but slowly, teasingly. He knows that he will be stripped slowly because his outfit intrigues his shinigami in its construction. His shinigami is also slightly amused that Muramasa cannot take off his own clothes due to his fingernails. He finds that ironic, since the fingernails do not block the proper grip of a sword.
So his shinigami starts slow, at the top, starting with the ascot. Those steady, strong fingers unlatch the brooch and pull the entire setup off of him. There are fast licks, kisses, nibbles and even a few sharp bites to the pale flesh underneath once it's been revealed. These are moments Muramasa treasures because these are the moments that he feels most cherished and prized. Stripped slowly, with nothing but anticipation between them as the scene progresses...
Dialogue is something he has learned his shinigami really likes. He didn't expect his normally quiet shinigami to be such a fan of language, especially risqué language in bed. Kouga is never crude per se, yet the words are certainly nothing that his kenseikan-wearing shinigami could speak anywhere else but behind closed doors. Preferably the closed doors of their sanctuary, where it is more like space than anything else.
Space. How fitting. In that space, nobody can hear Muramasa scream. It is a treat, to yell, to shout, to scream, to roar. All of these strange verbs have been unlocked to him since he has started this adventure with Kouga.
Yet it is the verb that started their descent into decadence that still catches Kouga's attention the most: whisper. It has taken on a far different meaning since the first time his shinigami has called it out on the battlefield, against opponents who were left gasping in shock when their precious swords turned against them. Here, the word is symbolic of their shared passion and interest in pleasing each other.
"Ah, kami, you're so damned beautiful, Mura..."
Beautiful. It is not a word that he associates with himself at all. He has seen his reflection too many times to believe that he is beautiful. Such a word better fits his shinigami, with his bright apple green eyes and his pouting lips. It's hard for him to respond to something that he doesn't fully believe in his heart — but when his shinigami says it the words suddenly carry a sharp ring of truth. In other words, he can accept it because it is Kouga who is saying it.
He wants to touch his shinigami, wants to run his hands through purple-black hair until his fingers find that little shock of red hair. He has often believed that the red ponytail is a quiet sign of defiance, the only type that his shinigami is allowed to make against the great Kuchiki clan.
He is so lost in the great sensation simply labeled as Kouga that he has forgotten the tiny details, like the opening of his robe. He vaguely remembers those thick fingers skillfully removing the sash, pulling it away and setting it aside. Some nights that sash has become cuffs on the fly, pinning his hands up and over his head. However, his shinigami is not feeling that type of entertainment ...yet.
No, his shinigami simply sets it aside for now — Muramasa is not sure if he's relieved or disappointed. He's slowly becoming more exposed, which is exciting only because Kouga is the one doing the exposing. In any other case, he does not like being exposed. The elements are not kind to his small frame and he gets cold too quickly.
The apple green robe he keeps underneath the white one is also moved aside. His shinigami is moving off of him, only to lift him up after a few moments to remove both pieces of clothing. The clothes are laid underneath them, since they are out in the open. They have gotten used to the chill inside the cave, especially since they both know things are about to warm up soon enough...
His shinigami usually takes everything off, except for a few things. Muramasa is convinced his shinigami doesn't consciously realize that he never fully takes everything off. For starters, he always leaves the kenseikan in his hair. He makes the most beautiful purring noise when Muramasa runs his fingertips lightly over it when they're in the middle of their more passionate moments. His shinigami also leaves on the long red scarf and necklace, both gifts received when he officially joined the Kuchiki house. It amuses Muramasa only because that family has caused his shinigami so much trouble over the years, yet he still wears their markings by default. One day, he will help Kouga let them go fully, but now isn't the time for such thoughts.
If he died right now, left only with the parting vision of Kouga in his most natural state, he would sincerely perish a very happy spirit indeed. Every muscle on that lightly tanned body is toned, though not to a point where it looks out of place. He secretly wishes he could be as muscular as his shinigami, but he is more than happy to simply admire him. He also can't help but admire the angles of that beautiful body, the angles and planes of his chest, the curve that leads down to a lean belly, and that final slope before the eye is led to his shinigami's most intimate zone. He knows that right below that cluster of tight, dark curls rests a length that always seems to look most erect when Kouga realizes that he is looking.
"Like what you see?"
The question has to be rhetorical. There is never a time that Muramasa will ever tell this man that the sight of his beautiful, lithe body isn't something that fills his sky blue eyes with wonder and joy. He wants to touch him so badly it makes him ache inside, but he knows the structure of this scene. He is not to touch Kouga until his shinigami whispers the command in his ear.
Whisper.
That shinigami of his does a lot of that — whisper, that is. He enjoys tormenting the spirit he owns outright and completely, enjoys pressing that warm hardness against his low belly in a way that just can't be ignored. He enjoys hearing that soft gasp Muramasa makes when logic finally catches up to passion and he realizes what else is on the horizon.
"Touch me."
Even though the core of his abilities revolves around control and influence, he can't help but become aroused by the way Kouga uses the imperative during their intimate moments. He loves the way his shinigami's voice lowers until he practically has to strain to hear it. It's a husky, breathy thing, really; something that flows around him and even inside of him, penetrating him with the same intensity as those teeth do when they tear so relentlessly into his shoulder.
There is no reason to ignore the imperative, so those nails that Kouga cherishes so greatly follow the order, sliding over those tanned arms, down that beautifully sculpted chest, and across his back. After two years, Muramasa is well aware that this is the pattern his shinigami likes best, and the moan that falls from those pouting lips is clear proof that he is doing something right.
Those pouting lips crash down on his cool, pale counterparts with an intensity that excites him, as it's a sign that Kouga really is into this. That isn't what really takes his breath away. It's that hungry, glazed look that creeps so easily into those apple green eyes when he's like this that really gets Muramasa going.
Maybe it's even noticeable, since Kouga enjoys teasing him about it.
"Excited for me, spirit? I don't hear you though...maybe I'm doing something wrong."
The statement is punctuated neatly by those lips latching onto his neck, right over a space that Kouga is well aware gets him quite aroused.
One moan, then two, falling effortlessly from pale lips that can't hold it in anymore.
This is the pattern that Muramasa is used to, but simply being accustomed to the pattern doesn't make the pattern any less exciting.
He wants more, wants to be devoured by this strong man with bright green eyes. He wants to be absorbed and consumed until there isn't anything left of his individuality. He wants to belong to this shinigami — his shinigami — for the rest of his existence. He can't imagine being anywhere else than right here with this beautiful man, being pleasured and touched and cherished. Always cherished. In moments like this, he is even seduced.
It is a slow seduction with a definite ending, but it is the journey that Muramasa enjoys most. His entire body becomes a delicious indulgence for his shinigami, and he cannot think of any better moment in his existence than a moment like this. He feels those hands over his body, fingertips exploring and curling back and forth slowly.
They don't have as much time tonight — as much as he loves looking at the lust swirling in those apple green eyes, he also knows there is much fatigue there. He will take every moment he can get with Kouga, but he also cares for his shinigami's good health as well.
Even though he would never complain if Kouga simply took him in their current state, he always finds it touching that his shinigami thinks about his comfort all the time.
That strong hand is curled around his arousal in a firm way, with the fingers curled tightly around him. He can't help but enjoy that feeling, even though it's not a position that lends itself to modesty.
"Kouga..."
He loves saying his shinigami's name in these moments, partially for the way it sounds on his lips when he's slowly losing the ability to think clearly, and partially for the excitement it generates in his shinigami on the whole.
"Mura...mm...you say my name like you really want me to take you..."
"I do. Please."
Normally a sarcastic or seductive reply is easily in his reach, but he can't think of one. He can't think of much except Kouga's husky voice mingling and mixing with his own. He can't think of much except for Kouga's hand around him, slowly stroking a fire through him that needs release.
Soon. Soon. Soon.
The actual preparation comes and goes, leaving him ready to be taken, and his shinigami more than happy to do the taking. To say the opening moments were painful isn't quite the word — they are simply frustrating. Frustrating because Muramasa knows they lead to an amazing sequence of pleasure that will leave them both gasping, aching, and satisfied. Frustrating because he knows that Kouga is fighting his instincts to simply dive into him. And just plain frustrating because part of him wants to hurry things along but he knows better than that. So he deals with the opening moves with the patience he's become known for in other arenas and lets Kouga guide the show.
He breathes in deep as Kouga finally moves all the way inside. That filled feeling that always accompanies such a move is one that he is rather fond of. It makes him feel incredibly connected to his shinigami, like they can never be separated ever again.
He moves his nails across Kouga's back in one of Kouga's favorite patterns, a slow sweep that makes sure that every accessible inch is addressed. It's a strange march down Kouga's back, down smooth skin that will soon be covered in plenty of scratches. Two years in the land of eternal night has given Muramasa plenty of time to practice some basic healing kido. If it were his choice, he would let the scratches stand, but it is not his choice. They may have eight years of seclusion left to them, but there are those in Soul Society that would ask far too many questions about why and where those marks came from. It is easier on them both to actually heal the damage from their intimate moments. After all, Muramasa will always have the memories seared into his mind where no amount of kido could wash them away.
"Still so tight...I love being inside you..."
The words fit, and Muramasa finds that each new moment they're allowed to share brings Kouga into a deeper, more comfortable zone where his dialogue flows freely around them. It's heaven here, even though it's constantly night and it's constantly cold. He gets to hear these delicious, risque things slip so easily from Kouga's lips. The move is made even more arousing by the remaining signs of nobility left on Kouga's body. He cannot help but see the scarf and the kenseikan as Kouga says these delicious, dirty things.
"Mm, Kouga..."
"Yes?"
"Harder. More..."
His shinigami is always happy to oblige, but he has a tendency to accelerate the flames by hunting for that strange spot on the inside. There's always a sneaky look on Kouga's face when he's in hunting mode. Fortunately, he usually doesn't have to take long — it has been two years, after all.
"Ah! Kou...Kouga..."
"That's right...that's right...lose yourself in it...and me..."
There's no point in hiding any noise now — all Kouga will do is thrust harder, dive deeper, suck on the pale flesh of his neck harder. So he moans loudly for his shinigami, he moans for each stroke, each move of that skilled hand over a hardness that is now throbbing and aching.
His nails leave small pinpricks all over that smooth back, over shoulders and arms, digging in slightly as Kouga picks up the pace, thrusting wildly. It is a night that he needs to take quickly, to dive in deeply and consume everything around him.
He thinks Kouga is at his best when he loses control like this, even though it makes it hard for him to have any control. He can't seem to remember anything of important outside of the way Kouga brings so much heat rushing over him, forcing him to stay in the moment. He can't help but feel the way Kouga slides in so smoothly, can't help but feel the way those teeth claim him.
The way they move together is something that doesn't seem like it can be taught; it is something that can only be learned in the heat of the moment. Kouga moves with a strange primal fever, his hips thrusting faster and faster.
"Say my name...like you always do..."
"Mm...Kouga..."
"Again..."
"Kouga..." He's starting to lose any hope of holding on for much longer, not with the way his shinigami is now biting his ear and whispering these words, these words that really drive him insane.
"My whisperer seems like he's having trouble focusing...I wonder what's got you so distracted..." Those strong fingers are squeezing and curling tighter over an erection that is twitching quicker as moments fly by.
"Kouga...I..."
"Shh. You know how much I like seeing you let go."
It's a simple statement but it isn't so much the words that expand his excitement to new heights; it's their delivery. He feels like the release is being squeezed out of him, drained out of him. His nails scratch and prickle, scrape and scrape and scrape until Kouga is yelling at the top of his lungs, eyes closing tightly.
"Mura...masa....ah! Yesssss..."
That final word comes out in a long hiss as the shinigami — his lustful, amazing shinigami — releases that familiar moist heat deep inside of him. It's not just a feeling of being filled, but a feeling of being saturated.
Old habits die hard and they already have an established pattern of laying together for a moment before breaking free of each other. He knows that he will soon fade and reappear, all signs of their earlier fire and passion only memories of what used to be.
For the moment, he feels Kouga laying on him, thoroughly satisfied.
"Thank you."
"I am glad you're happy."
"Of course I am, Muramasa...you're incredible when you're with me like this."
He can't find the words. He can control, seduce, influence and move spirits like chess pieces. But he can't find the words to tell this man, this beautiful shinigami, how deeply honored and moved he is every time their bodies meet.
He settles instead just to graze Kouga's face lightly with his fingertips, knowing that as sky blue eyes float up to meet apple green ones, there is always an understanding that goes far beyond words.
AN: "I'll just write a quick lemon before bed to relax my mind!" ...yeah, right. Quick lemon became nearly 3500 words of solid sweet KougaxMuramasa goodness. I decided to experiment with doing Muramasa's POV. This is more/less a filler chapter to build on their 'role reversal'. I wanted to flip the table back to where it rightly belongs — and Kouga is a delicious seme here. Definitely a quickwrite, but I tried to go back and add as much of the classic italics structure you've gotten used to.
I don't have too terribly much to say on this. I still wanted to capture their playfulness behind closed doors, their unique personality traits and just some good old yaoi fun mixed in.
Part of the story was written in time to Chris Botti's "What'll I Do?" which seems strange — but for some reason it captures the sappy romantic side I wanted to weave in around the hot lemony goodness.
I'm sorry it's not as long as you're used to reading in Decadence. Even though it's not my favorite chapter out of the entire series so far, it was one of the ones that was the most fun to write. I enjoyed Kouga's reactions, Muramasa's devotion, and the sense of familiarity that's present in their actions. The years together in Hueco Mundo seem to have taught them a lot about what the other likes. I wanted to really play on that.
I'm still playing with their dialogue some more — the more I re-read Decadence, the dialogue isn't quite where I want it, but that's probably my perfectionist writer voice harassing me again.
This is *not* connected to Chapter 7 of 'Sanctuary' - this is after the role reversal in Chapter 5, and before the events of Chapter 7. Just to keep up with the timeline.
This pairing has corrupted my sanity. So bad. I have dreams about bleach all the time — like Kouga magically getting a bankai. Muramasa is already awesome, kthx.
Anyway, rabid KxM fangirl needs to get some rabid fangirl sleep on ...