Warning: contains adult content. 18+ only.

Byakuya Kuchiki is the 28th head of the noble Kuchiki clan and taicho of the sixth division of the Gotei 13. He is not about to be defeated by a sheer black stocking. It's the lace band around the top of the stocking that's going to destroy him.

It's early evening. The sun has already sunken behind the seireitei roofs, leaving the sky a gradient of pale blue to violet. The Spring air is crisp and cool, carrying with it the fleeting perfume from the sakura trees in the garden.

As per his routine, Byakuya sits at the desk in his study, completing a few non-taicho chores: letters to other noble families, orders to keep the estate running, bills to be paid. The work of a noble taicho doesn't end the moment he steps into the foyer and shrugs off his white haori.

Which is why the sight of you lounging on the chaise in just a kosode is so poorly timed. In his mind, at least. You, however, are quite tired of having an exhausted Byakuya crawl straight into bed, give you a perfunctory kiss, then turn over and fall asleep. Your husband needs a night off and you intend to see that he gets it. Whether he wants it or not. Your dreams have been warm and sensual lately, imagining all the things on which you're missing out. Perhaps you've got a little Spring fever, too.

The bait is simple, elegant. Perfectly tailored to a man like Byakuya. You've arranged yourself on the chaise with a book in hand, your hair twisted up off your neck, inviting his gaze. Tempting his mouth. Byakuya's lingering eyes made your skin tingle when he entered the room after dinner. He's a sucker for your throat. Your legs.

The rustling of paper as he sets himself up to do the accounts is your cue. You cross one leg over the other. The front of the kosode, the shade of cherry blossoms, eagerly splits open to the hip, revealing your entire right leg and the expensive new stockings you purchased for just this occasion. You knew the second you saw them, what power they held. The garment seems happy to collude with you to bring down Kuchiki. You sigh, drawing his attention, and shift, as though making yourself more comfortable.

Your eyes never leave the book. You haven't taken in a single word.

The silence in the room is profound. The level of reishi spikes, before he tightly reins it in again. Hidden from his line of sight, a slow, wicked smile curves across your lips. Oh, Byakuya. A few minutes pass. You must let him sink back into the paperwork, lull him into a false sense of security. You chuckle, as though you've just read something amusing, turn another page, and let your leg slip to the floor, swinging back and forth in lazy, unconscious motions.

The scratching of his pen freezes.

'Is your novel interesting?' His tone is restrained. Cool. He's trying to pretend you aren't doing what you're doing. 'You seem to be enjoying it.'

You glance over your shoulder, tendrils of hair slipping free from your bun. Byakuya's pen is forgotten in his hand, his gaze fixed carefully on your face. You stretch your leg, toes wriggling. His eyes flicker. Darken. A peacock crows from the garden, as though in victory.

Got you.

He exhales through his nose, and composes himself. The grip on his pen deliberately relaxes and he lifts his wrist to add another row of characters to his letter. His motions are as graceful and precise as a bird in flight. Only the narrowing of his eyes betrays him.

He's ignoring you. It's his only defence against the taut flexing and relaxing of your thigh and calf muscles as your leg swings from the chaise. Anticipation makes your skin goosebump, makes the tips of your breast tighten under your robe. You turn a page with perfect nonchalance, then sit up straight and arch your back to work out an imaginary kink, settling back with a contented sigh.

The sound of writing has frozen behind you once again.

'_.'

Glancing over your shoulder, you raise an eyebrow. Perfect innocence. 'Byakuya?'

His handsome, patrician features are composed, his tone even. All that gives him away is the eyes: from slate grey to the colour of stormclouds. The sudden crackle of reishi backs up the metaphor. 'Are you well? You seem...restless, this evening.'

You twist around on the chaise to face him fully. The kosode inches down your shoulder, on the verge of falling off. By this time it's merely an idea of a modest garment, a suggestion. But it's the hint that works for Byakuya: the sliver of skin, rather than the full naked figure. The subtle flirtation, rather than the blunt come-on.

'I'm just fine,' you say. You close the book, marking your page with a finger. You tilt your head, all false concern. 'I should be asking that of you. You seem a little...agitated.'

On the last word, your voice drops into a suggestive purr. Byakuya's eyes flare. His knuckles turn white around his pen, before he forces his grip to relax. 'I am nothing of the sort. I have work to do.'

'As you like,' you say with a nonchalant shrug, turning back to your book. You wait. You can feel his gaze on your back. He didn't expect you to give in so quickly. Perhaps even hoped for a little persistence. Then he could capitulate, and still keep his dignity. 'If I'm bothering you, I'll go and read in bed.'

'You're not bothering me.' His tone is soft, edged with affection. 'I enjoy your company.'

You press your lips together to contain your smile. Sometimes your husband blind-sides you like that. His aloof facade drops, and you're left with the quietly intense man you married. You sigh, setting the book to one side. He's torn through all your dastardly plans in eight simple words. Getting to your feet, you pull open the front of your robe and let it slither off your shoulders to pool on the couch.

Byakuya looks up. His eyebrows rise, and his gaze lowers, moving over your figure. Of course you bought matching lingerie. He finally puts the pen down, leaning back in his chair to watch your approach.

'So this is your game?'

You reach for his face, cupping it in both hands and leaning your forehead against his. 'Playing was fun but you're too good at it. Come and spend some time with me, Byakuya. I checked with Renji and there's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow.'

A hand glides up your side, feather-light. Byakuya sighs, head tilting. His nose nudges alongside yours, your lips meet, and you sink into him. The hand's twin trails up the back of your thigh. Desire shoots through you, hot and sudden and searing. It's been a while...

'Byakuya...'

'I wouldn't want to dishonour your efforts.'

You lean back a fraction to look at his face. His gaze is warm, the perpetual stiff frown melted away. He strokes circles into the back of your thigh, then slides a finger under the lace top of your stocking.

'If you are absolutely certain there was nothing else that needed my attention.'

'I am.'

'Hm, I should have noticed that it was you that required my attention.'

'Better late than never.'

Byakuya rises from his seat, hands ghosting up your sides. You tilt your head back to keep his gaze. It's so startling, to go from receiving the dregs of his attention, to getting all of it. About time. You run your hands up the front of his robes to cup the back of his neck, urging him. He smiles, very faint, and then that smile is against your mouth. You sigh as warmth frissons through you, turning your blood to honey: sweet, slow, golden. The arm around your waist goes from loosely draped into a securing band. Wind rushes, the world tilts, and the ground is suddenly a soft, deep mattress.

'Show-off,' you murmur, opening your eyes to the dim, cool light of the bedroom.

The low chuckle near your ear sends shivers shooting down your spine. You've unlocked his warm, playful side, and you're about to reap the benefits of it. Hair trails across your skin, followed by kisses. Across your jaw, down your neck. You reach to curl your fingers in his hair, but the hard ridges of the kenseikan dig into your palm. Byakuya holds still as you work the catches and slip them free, putting them on the bedside table. His hair falls loose about his face, softening it. He looks younger, warmer. Kuchiki-taicho has been left behind with the white haori. Byakuya is the one leaving kisses down your stomach.

He caresses the lines of your body, as though committing them to memory once again. His fingers trail down your ribs; your breath hitches. His breath puffs against your skin. He's teasing you. He makes quick work of your bra. Its job as decoration is finished – now he wants to see bare skin. Your nipples tighten in the cool air, luring him. The backs of his fingers brush over them in a slow, deliberate caress that jolts through your nerves.

'Byakuya.' You push yourself harder into his hands. Wanting, needing more.

'Patience.'

Tease.

A sly fingertip strokes over your slit through the silk of your underwear. Once, twice. Enough to make your hips twitch and a gasp catch in your throat. He raises his gaze to yours; his smile, however slight, still manages to reach his eyes, which darken and burn. Flattening his hand, he slides it under your waistband and down, to cup you fully.

His palm is cool against your scorching flesh, contrasted with the heat of his mouth which suddenly engulfs the tip of your breast. A light suck, and a deft finger slips between your folds to glide over your clit. A soft moan breaks free, mixing with the bedroom hymn of rustling cloth and your lover's quiet hum of satisfaction. His fingers and his tongue move in tandem, tracing slick circles across your sweet spots, stirring the heat that is growing inside you.

He gives a harder suck, sighing through his nose, and creates a hollow ache in your core. You're already pulsing with need. His name tumbles from your lips in a whine, but he doesn't cease or increase his actions. Byakuya's meticulous. He strokes you higher and higher, using only the barest movements. He's still fully-dressed, fully-composed.

That irritates you a little. Bold, you brush the hair back off his face, then reach for the front of his shihakusho. He sits up, out of your reach, hands resting on his knees in perfect, annoying seiza.

'Behave, or I'll stop.' His tone lacks the coldness of command. He's enjoying this. Pompous ass.

'That's just cruel.'

'Those are my terms.' His dark grey eyes glitter.

You sigh, giving him a petulant nudge with your knee. He can be a pain in the neck sometimes, when he puts his stiff formality aside and gets it into his head to be a tease. Byakuya Kuchiki's sense of humour is odd, and buried deep, but it's very much there. You generally bear the brunt of it. Whether it's Admiral Seaweed jokes or testing your patience in the sheets, you're glad to experience it. 'All right, I'll behave,' you vow. For now.

'I'll hold you to that.'

He doesn't feel the need to chastise you any further, for which you are grateful. You welcome him back with open arms as he settles over your body. Long, drugging kisses that leave you breathing hard and boneless. He's slow and methodical, but gifted. Every slant of his lips against yours, every elegant sweep of his tongue frays at your self-control. Curling your fingers tight into the sheets, you cede to him. His hand skims down your stomach, back into your underwear. His mouth returns to your breast. Air hisses between your teeth as the delicate assault sets your nerves to throbbing.

His hand twists, his thumb takes over the slow rubbing of your clit, applying more pressure, and two long, thin fingers sink inside you to the knuckle. Slow stroking, slow sucking...he's winding you up like a music box, and he can't wait to hear you sing. The pleasure builds on itself, layer after layer. Your thighs tremble, clenched around his hand, desperate to keep him right there. It's too much. You need something to cling to. You sling your arms around him, heedless of whether he considers it misbehaving or not, grasp at his robe, his hair.

Your nipple slips from his mouth, left damp in the cool bedroom air. His breath purls against your neck, followed by soft, chaste kisses. Your moans vibrate against his lips. He smiles. His voice purrs into your ear.

'Don't restrain yourself.'

He leans over you, watching your face with dark, avid eyes. He wants to watch your pleasure unfold. He doesn't need to wait long. The come-hither motions of his fingers inside the confines of your body drive you over the edge. Your stomach tightens. You grab his wrist. Whether to keep his hand there, or pull it away, you don't know. His tendons flex against your fingers as he pumps his digits in and out, his thumb rubbing your swollen clit in implacable circles.

'Byakuya-'

Back arching, head canted back, eyes slipping shut, you lose yourself. Your breath stutters, clogs in your throat, breaks out as a moan. The pressure building at the base of your spine unleashes, spreading through your body on waves of pleasure. He smooths back the hair that's stuck to your forehead and presses a kiss to your temple as he eases his fingers free of your body.

He sighs. For a split second you're worried that this will be the end of it. He'll consider you satiated and go back to his work. Your doubt fades like old ink when he begins disrobing, shedding the layers of his shihakusho. In mere moments, your Byakuya is back, moon-pale, with night-black hair, and warm. You'd expect him to be cool to the touch, but he's warm and real and tangible, his lips urgent on your neck.

'These have served their purpose,' he says, his voice a shade deeper, as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and skims them down off your legs. They vanish into the shadows of the bedroom floor. His hands linger over the tops of the stockings you almost forgot you're wearing. He smirks, so faintly, but it's there. His eyes gleam, reflecting the faint light of the lamps. 'These may stay.'

'How utterly unexpected,' you say, wry. Whenever you wear stockings, he never allows you to take them off until he's through with you. 'Come on, now, Byakuya. You've kept me waiting long enough.'

'Patience is a virtue-nng-'

'So is not tormenting your wife.'

'So says the woman flaunting her legs in my study?' His voice is strained, probably because of the hand you have wrapped around his shaft, stroking him.

'Desperate measures.'

'Hn.'

'That is not an answer, Byaku-'

'Quiet,' he mutters, brushing his mouth over yours. The tip of his nose traces across your cheek, breath ghosting against your skin. He grasps the backs of your thighs and lifts your hips, aligning you with his erection. He sucks at the sensitive area just beneath your ear as he enters you in one smooth stroke. His previous ministrations have left you soaked and receptive. You card your fingers into his silk-smooth hair, twining it around your fingers. All of him. You've missed having all of him.

He braces one forearm beside your head, grasps your knee with his free hand, and wraps your leg around his waist. The lace scratches across his skin; his breath stutters against your cheek. Inside you, he twitches, setting off a stinging pleasure. Gradually he begins to move, drawing back his hips and sinking back inside you, allowing you to relish every inch of him.

You flex your leg, impatient for him to move faster. No luck. He ignores the silent demand, entertaining himself with leaving delicate kisses over your shoulders and collarbones, his body disciplined to a sedate pace, filling you up with every deep, careful stroke. He hits your sweet spots every time, taking the broken threads of your previous orgasm, winding them together anew. Every thrust pushes a soft moan from your throat, a combination of lust, pleasure, and frustration.

He lifts his head from the crook of your to rest his forehead on yours, eyes closed, eyelashes making shadows across his pale cheeks, lips parted a fraction. Sighs fill the space between you. Your cheeks flush with a sudden burst of adoration.

'Byakuya,' you murmur, tilting your head so your mouths align. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, returning the kiss with a sudden, unexpected urgency. You drag your nails lightly over his scalp to run your hands down his back. Shivering, he sinks his fingers into your hair, lips firm against yours, tongue dipping in to taste your mumbles and moans. A slick, intimate exploration that makes your eyes flutter under their lids.

'Are you all right? Is this what you want from me?' His voice is a low thrum.

'You're everything I want.'

'Hm.' An amused, affectionate sound.

He rolls his hips just so and starbursts explode behind your eyelids. Again. Again. The pleasure's been creeping up on you while he kept you occupied with kisses, twining around you, making tangles of your nerves. Without warning, his pace picks up, driving into you with precision force, making sure to grind against your clit every time he hits home. In no time at all, you're clutching his shoulders, gasping. Bolts of pleasure shoot through you, stronger than ever.

You twine your legs tight around his waist, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your mewls as your body begins to tremble. Sweat runs between your breasts, gathers on the back of your neck. His own back is slick with strain, with the mounting excitement that locks the pair of you together in your own private world of panting pleasure.

'_.' Your name is a ragged groan from the depths of his chest. You respond in kind, digging your heels into the small of his back as- yes, finally. You gasp with relief with your climax crashes over you, stronger than the last, deeper. Limbs slackening, you slump against the mattress. Byakuya grabs your leg and drags it up, changing the angle as he plunges once, twice more into your pulsating heat. His moan is muffled by the soft skin of your neck, felt more than heard.

You reach up and run your fingers through his hair. He recovers his breath after a second or two, and raises his head. His eyes are half-closed, a warm dove-grey, sleepy. You can't help but smile and turn your head to kiss him. Slow, all sighs and softness. He slips free of your body and shifts off to one side. Grasping your waist, he pulls you over himself to the other side of the bed where the sheets are cool and dry, blissful against your fevered skin.

Careful fingers peel your hair away from your face, stroking it back, then run down the side of your cheek, your neck, down your arm and back up. His touch leaves tingles, but they're comfortingly sensual, not sexual. You curl as close a possible, savouring his uninterrupted presence. Many people have demands on his time, but right now he's yours.

You map the planes of his face with your fingertips. His eyebrow raises when you trace it, giving him a imperious, lopsided look that you can't help but chuckle at. His answering smile is soft, and full, and just for you. He looks so young.

'I should buy more stockings,' you tease, running your finger around the shell of his ear.

He snorts quietly. 'Hn. Please don't. I have a division to run.'

You smirk, and nuzzle your face into his chest. His hand clasps the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair.

'No promises.'