AN: This is rated a very strong M for a reason. *not violence*
Pairing: RyukenxRukia hinted UryuxRukia
Rating: M (very mature)
Title: Sins of the Father
Summary: He claims a Quincy is superior to a Shinigami. She demands he proves it. Ryuken begins a chain reaction of events by a simple invitation to his office one evening. Rukia's never one to turn down a challenge.
...
He frightened her.
The tall, thin impassive man with the bow made of light relaxed at his side.
Cigarette smoke wafted heady in the air.
Even if he hadn't spoken, she'd have known his face. The exact tilt of the bone structure, the same sarcastic embittered light in the man's eyes as in his son's.
"Soul Reaper." He spoke coolly, calmly.
A shiver ran up her spine though the night air was warm against her bare arms.
"What are you doing here?"
The question brought a spark of anger to flare despite his narrow observation, like a predator stalking a smaller, slighter creature. She despised his candor, his arrogance, almost immediately. "Doing what is my sacred duty, Quincy! What are you doing here?" she parroted his question back with a sneer that felt good.
In the next second, his broad shoulders heaved beneath the expensive tailored-suit. She tried not to think this was how the Uryu she knew now, would look.
Handsome.
Intelligent.
Unreachable by the world.
"Enjoying the night, Soul Reaper." He lit a cigarette.
She folded her arms, frowning because something seemed off. And...damn it! She despised it when things failed to make sense to her perceptive mind. She shouldn't be there. The feeling of wrongness increased by the second yet her legs wouldn't carry her away from the shadowy little park outside the hospital grounds.
The smoke from his cigarette wafted around her.
Silence and the spirit particles of the Hollow waned.
She decided to say something even if it was ridiculous. "How is..Uryu?"
"You tell me." The man said without inflection so she knew he wasn't trying hard to make fun of her. "The boy does what he wants- regardless...of what I say."
The hint of bitterness caught her off guard.
She had thought he did things with purpose.
Lacking as a father, as support.
Then, she considered Ichigo's father, finding little to compare. "Uryu is..fine." Rukia's mind struggled to formulate the words, still struggling to define the absent Quincy's well-being when the father laughs.
Shortly.
Bitterly.
It cracked on her ears.
"Fine, you say, Soul Reaper?" His smile was cold beneath the moonlight mingling with the lamplight. Rukia was sure it was smoke clouding her head. Clogging her lungs like the commercials she's seen in the Kurosaki household, say.
Otherwise, why would her heart start beating a staccato beat?
"Uryu broke his word and runs with a pack of humans supposedly protecting this town."
"He's doing what he thinks he must." She said fairly hotly, angry that the man would judge his son so harshly.
"Then the Soul reapers are as useless as always if my son is required."
"Take it back." She rounded on him.
Ryuken puffed softly on the cigarette, another cloud of smoke wafting from his well-shaped mouth before he speaks again. "No. I think not, a Quincy is by definition the superior being even of an extinct race. But, you..you would challenge that view by spouting nonsense about justice and keeping the balance."
"I would." She lifted her chin, attempting to stare him down.
"Then," he flicked his cigarette to the cement and ground it out beneath his heel. "I will say, come, Soul Reaper, to the tenth floor of the hospital at approximately nine forty PM and I will show you how superior a Quincy is."
...
He still frightens her.
At nine-forty sharp, she doesn't bother knocking on his office door. Ryuken works late, always. It was something she recalled Uryu mentioning once in the past. Rukia was thankful the downstairs had been empty, hospitals made her uneasy, too many trips to Seireitei's healing center had her wary of any so-called healers.
But, that isn't why her knees tremble, nor her eyes stare so defiantly at the snowy head bent low over work. Rukia hates to admit she's afraid of anything, let alone a human man. So, she clears her throat, stalking over to his desk. Ryuken takes his time in addressing her, in raising his bespectacled face. When it does, his look is piercing, nonetheless cold.
"Soul Reaper."
"Rukia." She insists, her eyes flints.
He makes no reply, simply sits back after gathering his worksheets to one side, clearing space. It's all so methodical, so perfect that for a moment she simply watches his actions, never spare, always exact, until his cold eyes turn up to hers.
Waiting like a predator.
Sex is not gentle.
He pounds into her petite body, her knees spread, he moving in and out, pistoning thrusts from a large organ that make her walls shudder and threaten to break around him. Ryuken is no different from any other man. His needs never change.
Never diminish, she notices, as his surprisingly delicate hands for such a large man, move to her front, cupping her tiny breasts. They slide to her waist almost caressingly, lifting her hips up to gain more depth. Rukia shudders, groaning under her breath.
There's a masochistic fulfillment in the act.
A filthiness in the knowledge, that heightens her senses.
Ryuken's teeth grate together, he's suppressing his moans. Riding her out as his orgasm builds, his thrusts becoming uneven, sloppy. Rukia claws at the fine polished wood beneath her, her dress hiked far up her thighs.
His hands are on her breasts again, gripping them painfully as he comes.
A wet stickiness fills her, dripping down her cheeks, spiraling into trails down the insides of her thighs. Ryuken lifts her with ease, his shadow taller, broader than her as he sits down in the desk chair pushed off to the side, forgotten.
Rukia despises the semen leaking out of her crack.
Facing him now, she sees a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, dampening the longer locks of his silver hair. His eyes remain cold, clinical as his hands work at sliding the dress over her head. It's discarded soon enough, a yellow pile cast off with her innocence long ago. Rukia sits on his lap, her eyes daring as his gaze roves over her thin cotton bra, her nipples stand out against the fabric.
She looks like a child in his eyes.
But, he knows she's not.
Some faint spark replace her reflection behind the square frames. His hands unclasp her bra, cupping her breasts again in the same motion. Rukia felt a faint tingle of pleasure from the twisting of the pink aureoles, instinct made her hips lift resting against his half-hard member.
She felt its slick head slide against her crack as remembrance, ache fills her.
Ryuken watches her face intently.
Rukia dug her small nails into the armpads of the chair, shutting her eyes as she deliberately impales herself on his erect penis.
Almost immediately sensation explodes inside her.
Her hips writhe, the pain almost unbearable, his organ slides out deceptively gentle from her walls. She misses its lack within seconds, the throbbing between her thighs won't cease- so she thrusts again, and again.
Her tiny breasts jiggle, his hands steady her, but that's his only assistance.
Rukia is riding him, his cock plunging in and out- and she can't seem to stop. Can't seem to care when he's full to the hilt inside her tiny body, when the air becomes filled with her grunts.
She fucks him like an animal, her legs spread wide, her pussy walls clamping down on his penis. Her tongue even lolls, her panting like a dog's. She feels something build, something twisting painfully in her stomach.
Rukia forces her eyes to open, to stare defiantly into his chiseled as if from stone expression, she comes hard, staring at his beautiful face.
It's a sneer she gives him as she slides from his limp cock; mockery as naked, flushed with the afterglow of sexual fulfillment bends in front of him, presenting her ass while she gathers up her panties. Her bra was somewhere on the other side of the desk, the dress near his feet.
She takes an inordinate amount of time sliding her panties up. All the while Ryuken still watches her, expression unreadable, but Rukia knows there's a certain hunger in the weight of his stare. Her panties cling, dampening with the scent of sex and spent fluids, that was a part of sex she never liked, the scent of a man clinging to her skin, but with him, somehow it's different.
When she's dressed, she pauses.
Waiting.
Ryuken hasn't moved from when she left him, still sitting, his fly unzipped.
Rukia knows if she turns around, he- it will be waiting.
Unconsciously of course, she licks her lips.
And crosses the room, around the desk and drops to her knees.
There's an involuntary submission in the act for both.
Rukia kneels between his legs, bobbing her mouth up and down his cock and his hand that trails...gently through her hair urging her on.
...
It's getting more intense with each passage of time.
Even when she's away, carrying out her duties as Thirteenth's new Lieutenant, she can't help but think of the scent of books and pervasive masculine odor. Her body trembles then, flushing inside with heat and remembrance. In too soon a time, she's forcing herself to calm down.
But it's always there.
His hands, his hard lean body moving above her-
Rukia acknowledges to herself when one day after a Lieutenants meeting, Renji asks her out; that it's only Ryuken Ishida she desires. An easy lay wouldn't take away the burning feeling in her blood. Rukia knows it and turns him down with a punch and a shake of her head.
Renji tries to understand, but deep in his eyes, she sees he doesn't.
He thinks it's Ichigo.
Everyone always does.
She smiles to herself covertly as she leaves ostensibly to pick up something from Urahara.
No one would ever dream it was a Quincy who set her blood aflame.
...
The mechanisms are the same.
Thrusting, groping, sucking.
But, Rukia can feel something different with each time he shows her that a Quincy is more dominant than a Soul Reaper.
She fucks him hard one evening as the shadows are growing longer across the floor of the room, his hands steady her as her pace roughens, her body jerking as each thrust fuels the burning fire in her gut, her eyes open as custom, her orgasm much harder and longer when she's staring into his frozen mask of indifference.
His face is no different than before, the sight of it makes her walls spasm in pleasure, pulsing as her juices gush.
The routine is almost the same.
Even as her pause is broken and her steps lead back around the desk.
Ryuken sits as he always does.
Which is why he never expects it when her lips pout and she presses a soft kiss on his sealed lips.
It's brief.
She doesn't dare meet his eyes nor look back when she leaves.
...
Six months since she was away.
Rukia's back in Karakura.
Uryu issues a rare invitation for her to come study at his house.
His father is away at a medical conference- the son so much like his father explains, like light and dark, she muses on the rooftop of Karakura high; Rukia always makes sure the old gang is never around to see her on the rare visits, there's still too much pain there.
But, Uryu wants the company; he's tired of slaying Hollows with only a scant few people around who know what he is, he's lonely. So is she.
She realizes it all, sipping the juice box he thoughtfully brought for her.
Also knowing she likes Uryu- more than before.
But what about... her instincts tell her not to.
Rukia smiles instead, assuring herself he won't be there.
"I'd be delighted to."
Uryu's smile is a little fainter, shyer.
Rukia thought of his father and the kiss.
Why had she kissed him?
...
But, it doesn't matter.
It's already over.
She goes to the address he gave her, her heart light, she had even purchased a new dress. Plain but the color was a delicate pink to match the sandals Urahara left out for her Gigai. At the door, Uryu answered promptly, genuinely happy to see her.
They exchange smiles.
Rukia leaves her sandals in the shallow step before stepping into the slippers left out for guests. Uryu apologizes if anything's deficient, they haven't had guests for such a long time. He sounds wistful when he says it, but there's no such expression when she looks at his face.
He's glad.
They share another smile then Uryu offers to show her the kitchen and the recipe he's chosen for the night's dinner- she is going to stay, right?
...
The routine was the same, but he came home early.
The change in flight plan hadn't seemed a worthy reason to allow his son knowledge of it.
Ryuken doesn't think much of it, nor expect anything different than a solitary dark-haired boy almost past his teens at the two-story house. They're always alone.
He expects that.
Silence.
Solitude.
And work. He'd rather contemplate the hospital's budget only recently approved by the board.
He doesn't want to think of other things.
There's a certain normalcy to the motion that comforts him despite the unease tingling his senses that something is wrong, in inserting the key into the locked door. In the swing of silent hinges the eggshell-colored foyer is revealed.
There's four pairs of slippers on the floor and-
Ryuken stops at the sight of a pair of pink sandals, girly- his mind supplies, suspicion the next. His son has never brought home a girl before-
He forcefully stops his line of thinking when he notices the daintiness of the shoe size.
The door closes quietly.
He exchanges his brown loafers for slippers, pausing once to listen for any sound.
Nothing.
Ryuken surmises they must be upstairs, when as he's moving down the hallway, he catches his son's voice coming from around the next corner. They're in the kitchen.
The smell of fragrant spice scenting the air is the least thing, the father notices as he comes into sight.
Ryuken knows from the pure surprise on his son's face, that he had not been heard entering; but even Uryu's exclamation is forgotten as Ryuken's gaze falls on the intruder- on the one he never thought he would see again.
She's the same- he's surprised, but then recalls Soul Reapers don't age like humans.
She wears her hair the same, it's a little longer on the ends, going past her shoulders. The look becomes her, Ryuken thinks suddenly, unable to keep from noticing the small breasts he touched in his office six months before nor the rest of her body, knowing what lay beneath the shapeless pink garment.
He's suddenly ashamed when silence fills the kitchen- Uryu's just botched introductions, and he's been staring for a beat longer than necessary. Uncustomary to this happening, Ryuken ignores his son's open-mouthed stare, curtly dipping his head briefly to the motionless woman.
"We've met." Then because the statement seems enigmatic, he adds, "at the hospital."
The silence was more pronounced.
Ryuken isn't sure what disturbs him more, his son's social awkwardness - won't the boy shut his open mouth now? Or the fact that the Soul Reaper can't look him in the eye.
Something bubbles up in the distance, Ryuken is strangely thankful for the distraction, even when he's a man whom appreciates silence. "Dinner?" he keeps the sneer to a minimum before her. He isn't sure why.
Uryu yelps, she moves, beside him, near him, passing.
Ryuken barely feels something when the slender back is to him; but that something disturbs him even more and she's beside his son, chiding his inattention, laughing like any ordinary girl. Uryu at once at ease with the girl standing so close, smiles back pretending to be offended at her gentle insults.
A girl and boy- his son and-
The father is forgotten.
Suddenly something tight, painful constricts his chest. Ryuken is vaguely unfamiliar with the feeling, only knowing he has to get out of the kitchen, get away from the sight of his son and the very human seeming Soul Reaper.
He leaves, unnoticed.
The private office in the back of the downstairs, is where he retreats to. Plush. Masculine. The scent of leather drives out the memory of other smells, the scent of sex and books. Ryuken drops heavily down into the chair, shutting his eyes tightly. There's a headache pounding between his eyes, born of fatigue, he diagnoses himself humorlessly.
Ever since his wife died, he's never allowed himself to get close to a woman- any woman.
But, there's something-
His body sags heavily in the chair, covering his face with one hand.
He swore he could hear them still, faintly.
Laughter.
The sound of youth.
He covers his face with both hands, attempting to shut out the memory-
...of when the Soul Reaper kissed him.
...
She knows she's stupid for going there.
Stupid-stupid-stupid.
But, that doesn't compare to Ryuken's sentence.
"We've met."
She prays Uryu thinks it's plausible.
Then, the father adds, maybe to condemn her, Rukia's mind whispers traitorously. "At the hospital."
That starts the memories. But, Rukia isn't the type to cower and hide in anything. So, she remains. Disconcerted. Bold as brass. With a smile and a chiding tone in her voice, she passes the man she had been intimate with no less than six months before.
Ryuken remains as immovable as stone.
Uryu, trusting Uryu doesn't notice the tightness to her lips when she stretches them in a smile. It feels like a rictus grin. She teases him, barely knowing what she says, only prays it's amusing.
Uryu laughs.
Ryuken leaves.
He knows when his presence isn't wanted- says a sly voice in her mind.
'Shut up!' She pleads.
Far off in the house, a door slams.
One slams shut on her heart.
...
Dinner is almost done.
For the last sixty minutes she's been counting the seconds wondering how long until a soul simply burns away with the shame accrued from over a lifetime of existing. Uryu stands at the stove, punctuating his sauce-stirring with anecdotes about life in Karakura while she's been away.
Yuzu and Karin have entered Junior high.
Orihime enrolled in self-defense class at Tatsuki's encouragement.
Ichigo...and Ichigo still mopes.
That hasn't changed.
Rukia pretends to hear all, commenting at appropriate times, rolling her eyes with Uryu at Ichigo's expense; but when the time comes, she hops off the bar stool at the counter a little too quickly.
"I'll go tell your dad dinner's done."
Uryu's pencil-thin dark brows raise the slightly.
"Is something wrong?" Rukia questions, combatant as always.
The son shrugs, "go ahead. Be my guest. I doubt he'll join us though."
Rukia is already going, over her shoulder she adds, "I am your guest."
Uryu laughs again.
...
In the hallway, she still can't quite breathe.
Her legs shiver with invisible malaise, her palms sweat no matter how many times she wipes them dry on the skirt of her dress. The door looms ahead, polished, immaculate like everything else in Ryuken Ishida's life.
She doesn't bother knocking.
It feels like old times.
The clock reads six-forty on his desk. Ryuken sits, his head tilted back, glasses resting at a slight angle on his long, thin nose. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, exposing a sliver of flesh. Rukia can't stop her body from taking her around the desk, from dropping between his spread legs.
A bulge strains at the crotch of his tan slacks.
Her tongue flicks across her lips, her agile fingers slide the zipper down.
"Dinner is almost done." Rukia remembers her message, murmuring it against the bulbous tip of his penis. She doesn't see his eyes narrow nor the almost silent gasp escape.
Her tongue laps at the weeping slit moments later, lips wrapping around the taut flesh.
Sucking.
She sucks him like a lollipop.
Ryuken Ishida knows heaven for ten minutes.
...
6:50 PM.
There's subtle whitish flecks in the insides of her mouth.
Father, son and guest sit at the dining table in silence.
Rukia tastes a salt above the flavor of Uryu's cooking. Her insides twist; what have you become? Some old part of her asks? On the outside, Rukia smiles and lifts the soda in the fluted glass like it were wine.
And tastes the father's seed.
She aches.
...
The dishes are in the dish washer, the kitchen cleaned.
Rukia's said her compliments to the chef, from the corner of her eye seeing Ryuken leave.
The door closes in the distance again.
Uryu offers her a smile and asks if she wants to retire to his room upstairs; she's old enough to know there's no hidden meaning behind the gesture, the son just wants to stay as far as from his father as possible in the house where they both live.
Rukia is saddened somehow by that.
She gives Uryu a false smile.
"Alright."
He can never see beyond it.
...
Uryu's room is everything she expected it to be.
Streamline desk, top of the line computer and narrow twin bed in masculine hues.
It's plain.
"This is nice." It is. There's a touch of Ryuken in Uryu more than the son would admit. Rukia thinks it, but doesn't say.
After twenty minutes they're laughing again, chuckling over reminisces about their friends.
An hour.
Then two.
He's asleep as she hoped, falling sideways to rest halfway on and halfway off.
Rukia gazes down at the head of dark hair and narrow, aesthetic features.
"Sleep well, Uryu." Then, she gets up and goes downstairs.
9:45 PM the clock on the desk reads.
They have their old places.
He behind the desk, she before him.
"You're late."
"Five minutes." she scoffs.
"The spell was barely detectable. Soul Reaper magic, I presume?"
She glares but lets his hands go to her hips first, lifting the skirt of her dress up first.
"It'll last a while." Rukia adds when his finger crooks at the hem of her yellow panties.
They fall like her barriers do when he palms her crotch.
...
The sex isn't gentle.
But neither of them refuse to communicate. They speak in action, anger in his almost violent thrusts, crudity in the long finger extended up her inner thigh. Rukia rocks on it, a miniature-penis, huffing when it crooks, when it digs past her buttery folds and finds something harder inside her.
It hurts.
His large organ pumping in and out. She's on her knees, naked, on the floor. Her breasts are so tiny they barely jiggle at each animalistic motion. Punishment, she thinks, rolling her hips against his finger. Ryuken takes much longer, his orgasm in sputtering bursts. When it's finished, he slides slowly from her ass, his limpid cock brushing against the backs of her thighs then she's lifted into his arms.
Pink, swollen, wet.
She's still like a child in his eyes, even as he appears as an older man in hers.
Ryuken's age shows.
That doesn't stop her from bouncing up and down on his semi-erect cock. She drops to her knees, seconds from completion. Her pussy burns with lack of fulfillment, drizzling juices down her slender thighs.
A sheen stands out on the doctor's forehead, dampening his locks. He pants harder, breathing irregular. Rukia cups his fruit in her hands and wraps her salivating lips over it, she sucks long and hard, her tongue rubbing fiercely at the man's erection. Ryuken's old, she can taste it in his seed, she can feel it in the penis she bobs her mouth on.
So, different, she thinks. We are.
When his orgasm sputters into her mouth, she laps at the sticky white fluid then crawls up. She's reflected in his eyes, flushed with youth, wetter, aching. Rukia still feels lustful when she experimentally brushes her lips on his.
Semen and saliva mingle as Ryuken's hard mouth opens, his tongue brushes hers for the briefest moment then his lips travel down her chin, angling over her tiny breasts. She lets his mouth work over her buds, sharp licks that make the air colder and harden her nipples more. Everything about Ryuken is cold and clinical; cold- she thinks, as he settles her onto the hard floor, rutting her legs shamelessly apart. Like me.
His tongue angles across her clit, darting quickly over the rise of her vaginal sheath. She gushes wetly, unashamedly at the small attention. Ryuken's more careful than she is, applying subtle licks and caresses with his tongue. Her back arches, as moan after moan is wrung from her lips. Then suddenly he stops- her body burning with lust remains unsatiated as the man resurfaces, his slate eyes coldly detached.
"Quincies are superior, are they not?" he questions and her befogged mind can barely understand it. Moments pass then she smiles, reaching up and curling her small hand against his cheek.
"You are." she accedes and Ryuken smiles one tiny smile before their lips meet.
Then the door opens...
-Fin-?
AN: Thanks for reading :) I had actually wanted the NnoiRuki AU to be right after the previous chapter of TeslaxRukia which I have to admit I was very proud of. *beaming* but anyway, for the NnoiRuki I was aiming for the same sort of melancholia interspersed with violence except this smutty piece demanded posting. -.-; urgh. Yeah.
No flames!~
Reviews loved :)