Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, Kubo Tite does. However, Original Characters belong to me.

WARNING: LEMON AHEAD

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It was nearly nightfall by the time Mariko returned to her apartment. Rukia was insistent that it didn't matter that she didn't have much time left in this world, getting to know her sister now would be worth whatever pain she would have to face. Mariko stared at the scrap of paper she clasped tightly in her hand. They had stayed at the top of the building in silence, with Rukia's hand holding on to hers. It was simple, but it was the most connection Mariko had with someone in a very long time. Rukia left things up to her in the end though, scrawling two telephone numbers on a piece of paper and slipping it into her coat pocket.

'Nii-sama and I aren't going anywhere. Remember that.'

She didn't deserve their forgiveness. She had abandoned her own blood, didn't truly love the man she married, and then made her husband promise to find her sister. She couldn't imagine how difficult things had been for Byakuya over the past fifty years, having to look at the face of Rukia that looked exactly like her. If it wasn't for her, the people she loved wouldn't have to deal with these problems again. All she had been was a burden.

Mariko's eyes narrowed and crumbled the scrap of paper up into a ball. She tossed it towards the bedroom trashcan with a solid thump. It narrowly missed, bouncing off the edge of the plastic rim and landing on the ground. She frowned, moving to pick up the trash. She quickly swiped it up, placing her hand over the can to drop it in, but she froze. She swallowed and turned her fist palm up—the paper was taunting her. She hung her head in defeat, carefully straightening out the crushed folds as she unraveled the ball. With a sigh, she placed the wrinkled scrap of paper on her bedside table.

A now recognizable sound of shunpo came from the open sliding door of her balcony. Mariko closed her ice-blue eyes. "What are you doing here?" she asked aloud, not turning to the shadowed figure outside the window.

"Honestly, I am unsure," the smooth baritone replied. His voice held sad undertones that only she could hear. He stepped into her room, his wooden reed sandals barely made a sound on the plush carpet. The white captain's haori was a stark contrast against his black uniform.

"I don't want to see you," she said in a near whisper. She didn't know if she could look at him without falling apart. You have to be strong.

"You're lying."

Mariko's eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. It was such a weak answer she didn't even believe herself. No matter what she told herself, with him here her secure walls starting crumbling. "Maybe."

"Hmph," he scoffed. Byakuya moved closer, sitting on the foot of her bed with his back turned to her. She glanced over at him. He still held his posture upright, his arms crossed into the sleeves of his kosode. His midnight black hair was parted in straight lines for the separations of the kenseikan. The white porcelain headgear glinted in the low warm lighting from a bedside lamp.

His voice cut through the thick tension. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Mariko decided to play the dense card.

"You know what I implied." His grey eyes shot to the corners, glancing over his shoulder.

It had always been difficult to lie to him when he looked at her like that. "I, um," she gulped. "Because you didn't need to know."

"That is not an acceptable response," Byakuya said calmly. "Of course I needed to know."

"Well I didn't want you know," she shot back. Her voice lowered to a murmur. "No one was supposed to."

"How long did you expect to keep it a secret? One day you would not show up to work and then all would find out?"

"It's not like that," she felt her brows furrow. "I don't need your pity."

Byakuya turned to look at her, his eyes nearly furious. "It is not pity," he emphasized. "It was never pity." His left hand now gripped his zanpaktou, his long fingers rubbing over its wrapping. "I loved you. I still…" he took a breath. "No matter what form you take."

The sting of tears hit Mariko like a ton of bricks. Even after everything she had done, he still wanted her.

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't?" Byakuya slightly tilted his head. Dark bangs hung over those eyes that could bore into her soul.

"I won't," she tore her face away from him. Salty tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, begging to drop. "I don't want to love you. I don't even know what you would call me." But I do love you. I want you here with me. A hand touched her cheek, pulling at her to look at him.

"How about, My Love?" He tipped her chin up, bringing his face close to hers.

"My Wife," he breathed.

Her glacier blues began to melt, their sad waves spilling out. The grey storm brewing within him reached out, catching the cold that dripped. His head moved down and his mouth brushed against hers. Mariko was shaken by the intensity of a brief touch. She pressed into him, taking his lips and taste in. He may have been in spirit form but he felt as solid and warm as he had always been.

He moved slower this time, his actions deliberate and hesitant instead of rushed and lustful as their first encounter. Calloused fingers ran lightly across her ivory skin, outlining every curve on her face. He kissed her gently at first, and then firmly when she returned his kisses. A hand ran down the side of her neck, an open palm pressed against the valley of her collarbone.

This time she reached back for him, her fingers tangling in his long hair at the nape of his neck. The silk of his silver-white scarf felt like feathers brushing against her wrist. His mouth slid across hers, a hot breath escaping in the process. His lips were solid against hers and not nearly as thin as he would make them look. She had forgotten how good of a kisser he was. He could easily turn her legs into jelly.

She didn't realize how much she had missed him—how much he had missed her. She completely gave into him, bringing herself closer so her chest was pressed up against his. Her tongue parted his lips, and he eagerly met hers with his own. His taste was familiar this time and she drank him with a velvety touch. His scent was a gentle musk, complimenting the lightly floral oak that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Suddenly it seemed like he was wearing too many layers. Her hands found the separation in his scarf where she could loosen the long garment and pull it off. She briefly pulled back from him, carefully draping the delicate silk over a chair next to her bed. She went back for another kiss, but he stopped her by placing his fingers on her lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Byakuya asked her lowly. His grey pools searched her face for anything that said no. "You could hardly bare to look at me earlier."

Mariko nuzzled her cheek against his hand. Her light blue eyes now looked like a clear sky instead of ice. "I just want you."

Then something happened that was so rare these days—Byakuya smiled. It wasn't a faint trace he would show on the rare occasion he made a joke, it was genuine. His eyes softened and the corners crinkled to the tiniest crow's feet, the single indicator that showed his age and the toll of war. As soon as it appeared, it was gone, but only because he lunged to take her lips again.

His movements changed—something that never ceased to amaze her in her past life or this one. He grew more forceful but knew her limits. One hand cupped her neck as the other moved to the small of her back. He pulled her in close, dipping his head down low to compensate for their difference in height. He may have been a full foot taller than her, but she still fit just as perfectly as before. She leaned back and he followed, laying her down against the soft comforter on her bed.

Her hand moved over the span of his shoulders, slipping into the layers of fabric and pushing them away from his skin. He assisted her, pulling the kosode out from the hakama waistband. The two layers of black and white hung from his arms and he shed them easily, tossing them onto the same chair where his scarf was draped. Mariko sat up, pulling her purple scrubs top over her head. She shook her white locks out after the fabric had ruffled them. With a small smile, she reached for the kenseikan and unclipped them from his hair. It fell in silky waves, sweeping across her petite hands. She slightly shuddered—the feeling was all too familiar. His hair ornaments clinked when she put them on her bedside table.

Calloused fingers ran up and down her arm, and changed their course, moving to her front. His large hand brushed between her breasts still covered by a sports bra and swept down to her soft belly, reacquainting her shape. Two fingers pulled loose the cotton tie from the waistband of her scrubs and tugged the thin pants down off her hips. An anticipative hitch caught in her breath, and she lifted her hips, helping him rid the garment. They landed on the carpet somewhere near the foot of the bed.

She leaned back against the numerous pillows she kept on her bed while he studied his prize. He sat perched on his knees and drew lines across her form, following every dip and turn on her upper body. He shifted, placing a knee between her legs and the other on her side. He brought his head down to her face, dark locks sweeping across her bare skin making her shiver. As they kissed, their hands roamed.

He had always had a trim frame but had bulked up since she had last seen him. Tight, compact muscles were littered with scars—some small, but some large. His chest was board and smooth under her tiny fingers. If possible, he was more chiseled than he had been all those years ago.

A whimper escaped her lips when his hand grazed across her breasts. She could swear she saw him make a small smirk and return his exploration to that area. He thumbed across the mound, teasing the fabric-covered nipple into a tight bud. The other hand found its way under the elastic constraints and gripped her. With a grunt, she arched her back and peeled the restrictive clothing off. He sat back with a heavy sigh, soft grey eyes watching her.

"I'm sorry," she broke the mood, "They're not much bigger in this life either."

His eyes moved from her chest to her face and twinkled with a faint grin. "They were always perfect," he breathed, putting his lips around one of the hard pink buds. A gasp broke free from her when he flicked his tongue. Her hand dug into his hair, grasping it by the roots. He took his time with the slow, delicious torture.

When she felt she couldn't take it anymore, her hands found the tie of his hakama sash, and tugged at the white fabric. The wide black pant legs loosened around his waist and she pushed them down his hips. He pulled back, shooting her a devious glare. He left the bed for a few seconds, quickly discarding the tabi socks and woven sandals. Senbonzakura was placed upright against the chair that held his other belongings. He came back to her, crawling his way up from the foot of the bed. He dove, teeth and wet lips crashed down on her throat. He let out a sharp breath when one of her hands managed to move through the folds of his loose hakama, finding him stiffened with desire.

She caught his eyes—this time hers were filled with mischief. She wrapped her hand around him, deliberately massaging to keep their heat going. He groaned into the column of her neck, bringing his hands down further to the center of her body. He paused near the base of her thigh, slipping two fingers in the elastic of her panties and slid them down. She felt a warm tug at her center, begging to be touched. To her delight, he was thinking the same thing. His fingers slid into her wet core, and her tightness immediately making her gasp out. His movements were controlled, knowing exactly where to press against her. When he pulled out, his fingers found her nub, gently massaging it until her back arched and she whimpered for him.

"I want you," her breathing was ragged and came in quick increments. That was all he needed to hear to push his hakama leggings off, throwing them against a wall. He paused for a moment, propping himself up above her so he wouldn't crush her with his weight.

"Please, Byakuya," she whispered out to him. Her eyes were pleading for this to happen. They held no more coldness or icy tones, only pure clear water.

She hiked a leg up around his hip to pull him closer towards her. His tip touched her hot, slick center, and then pushed in. He filled her with a single stroke, her walls completely closing around him with a firm embrace. She cried out, but not in pain—the familiarity of feeling him inside of her was too wonderful to cause any pain. They rocked together and her hips met his thrust for thrust. The rhythm quickened and a thick haze began to form around her head. She wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping them together as they both came closer to their peak. Her head fell back against the mattress with a cry as bursts of light filled her vision. She heard a groan rumble deep within his chest and his own crest grew near. She felt him stiffen within her, his thrusts grew fast before coming to a slow stop. A harsh breath ripped from his mouth and he relaxed, falling to her side.

With a pleased sigh, she flung an arm across his chest, snuggling down into the crook of his open arm. Sleep fell heavy on her eyes, so she rested against him. He pulled her close, giving her a kiss on the top of her head.

I love you, Kuchiki Byakuya.

She drifted off into a deep sleep before realizing she had said her thoughts aloud.

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I just love lemons. I hope you do too :-)