Incentive

Footsteps along the roof vibrate the tiles subtly, and fall soft next to Kyoraku's head. They remain that way as they creep impossibly closer. A gentle and familiar tiptoe that he recognizes immediately, because how could he not, after all these years? Sure enough:

"Nanao told me you were slacking off again."

Ukitake's voice is smooth as always, comfortable liquid that rolls over Kyoraku, relaxing him (more so than he already is) on contact to the point where he's more than happy to drown in it. Sweet as the cool nighttime breeze and familiar as the dark insides of Kyoraku's eyelids, that voice is – and it's also liable to go as hard-edged as the roof tiles beneath his back if he doesn't mind himself.

So Kyoraku humors Ukitake. Lifts the rim of his hat, tipping it just enough so that he can peek up at Ukitake from beneath it. "Oh?" Kyoraku says, playing as innocent as he can, knowing it's a lost cause.

This earns an indulgent, twitching smile from Ukitake. The kind he gets when he doesn't exactly want to encourage Kyoraku's behavior, but is tempted to.

"I'm here to make sure you finish the day's paperwork."

"Hm…" Kyoraku would much rather spend several hours appreciating the shine of Ukitake's hair in the moonlight, or running his hands along the glow of Ukitake's soft skin. Somehow he doesn't think Ukitake would see these options as anything like a compromise. "Nanao was –"

Shaking his head, Ukitake steps ever-closer. "You can't push all of your responsibilities off onto your lieutenant, Shunsui. You'll overload that poor girl."

Ukitake continues to lecture, though Kyoraku is admittedly zoned out. His mind is caught on the way his name rolls off of Ukitake's tongue, and that pristine fall of white hair that's even brighter than the captain's haori around those eased, slender shoulders. Brighter than the stars.

It's quite late at night and Kyoraku was almost asleep; Ukitake brings out his dreamy sentimental side like no one and nothing else. He can't help it. It's in his nature to wax poetic in his head about such beauty.

And now Ukitake is staring at Kyoraku, with that same small smile from earlier reappearing, as he – with any luck – gets just as lost in Kyoraku's eyes as Kyoraku is in the dark green of Ukitake's.

Because that would only be fair.

After a moment of deep sparkling eye contact akin to being lost in the lushest of forests, though, Ukitake kicks at Kyoraku's arm, nudging it with his toes. It is a decidedly unromantic move. For some reason, Kyoraku still has half a mind to grab Ukitake's foot and kiss his way up that slender ankle and beyond.

"Come inside," Ukitake says. Sounds fond.

Kyoraku's eyes slide shut again, and he tilts his face toward the moon. "I'm fine here."

"You can come back after your work is done. It'll feel even better, then."

That, Kyoraku does not believe for a second. He's had plenty of experience testing that theory out – that relaxation is better after a hard day's work – and it never rings true enough for him to rush headlong into paperwork of all things. Filling out reports and signing his name over and over is tedious. An unnecessary formality in the grand scheme of life.

…However.

There is one thing that would be decent enough incentive to get him moving.

Kyoraku shifts his hat so that it's beneath his head, and cracks first one eye open, then the other. He levels Ukitake with a look that's well-calculated to be charming. "Are you going to help?"

A soft puff of laughter, and just like that Ukitake is close, crouched down and fully within reach. One of his eyebrows ticks higher than the other. "I'll keep you company," he bargains, while brushing brown curls away from Kyoraku's forehead.

The urge to reach up and wrap around Ukitake and melt the both of them together right here on the rooftop is overwhelming. If Kyoraku could convince his limbs that excessive movement was a good idea, he would absolutely do so. Have and keep Ukitake for as many hours as are left until sunrise. (A lot, hopefully. He slept through sunset, and isn't sure how long ago it was.)

Ukitake isn't doing himself any favors by continuing to play with Kyoraku's hair like that. It's not at all the type of thing that'll get Kyoraku jumping up eager to be productive.

"You're sure I can't convince you to forge my signature?" Kyoraku asks. He wants to spend as much time lost in captivating green eyes as he can. They're so dark and inviting out here against the black sky with its twinkling stars.

Warm fingertips tap at his forehead, too sweet to be a proper reprimand. "Not today, dear."

Oh, breaking out the pet names, is he? Surely Ukitake can't expect Kyoraku to focus on work under these conditions –

But apparently he does, because now he's gone. Out of easy reach. Standing back up and offering one slender hand accompanied by a kindly smile. Trying to get Kyoraku to join the world of the responsible.

Pale fingers beckon when he hesitates a moment too long.

Looks like he doesn't have much choice. With a heaved-out sigh of, "All right," he pushes himself to sitting, hat falling down his back with the movement. He grabs hold of Ukitake's hand, skin smooth to the touch with callouses that Kyoraku's had memorized for years. Marks that he's kissed a thousand times. "You win, handsome."

Using that devilish charm he possesses heaps of, Ukitake coaxes Kyoraku inside.

Even though Kyoraku would love nothing more than to smother him with lazy affection for hours on end, right here on the roof.

…And he has to wonder whether he's alone in wanting that, because Ukitake utilizes a suspicious amount of contact to get his way. Hands on Kyoraku's waist. Kisses dropped to his shoulders and neck when Ukitake ducks in close enough as they walk.

Again, he is doing a terrible job of keeping Kyoraku's mind on paperwork and off of Ukitake-work – something that he has to be invoking intentionally, the conniving bastard. He convinces Kyoraku all the way to the low table at the back the office that passes for a desk on his lazier days (which is, indeed, most of them).

"I take it you'll reward me when I'm done?" Kyoraku wonders, as those hands glide up his ribcage, circling around alarmingly close to his chest without touching skin as Ukitake gives him a half-assed hug from behind.

Or something to that effect, with his chin on Kyoraku's shoulder and all. "Maybe," Ukitake doesn't promise.

Hm. Kyoraku ponders for a moment, tipping his head, feigning deep thought. "I don't think I can work with 'maybe' as my only incentive."

Ukitake snorts out another soft laugh, pulling away. He tugs on Kyoraku's ponytail, like he used to do way back when Kyoraku's curls first got long enough to bundle up. Before Ukitake decided he'd grow his hair out, too. Back when they were much younger.

"Sit down," Ukitake orders, bending to light the little tabletop lamp.

With meager enthusiasm and his eyes glued to Ukitake's wandering form, Kyoraku does as told. Sinking to the floor slow and slithering his legs beneath the table, stretching them out to lean back on his palms.

"Your work," comes the reminder from Ukitake. Currently, he's lighting a couple of other lamps for better lighting, bathing the room in yellow that's not at all as appealing as the soft glow of the moon but is more conducive to productivity.

Kyoraku sighs.

The unyielding stack of papers in front of him isn't nearly as captivating as the way Ukitake moves. With grace and poise. Even after all these years, there's nothing quite as calming to lay eyes on as him. Gliding around, quiet and sure and the safest place that Kyoraku's ever known – and right. Yeah. Kyoraku's nose wrinkles. Work.

He cracks his neck, and frowns down at the documents. Rubs out a residual ache from that unsatisfactory crack.

The second he longs for Ukitake's hands, they're on him. Slipping beneath Kyoraku's palms and collar to knead the same spot on his neck – only with much more efficiency. Practiced and familiar and so, so warm. Beyond nice.

Tipping his head back, Kyoraku leans until he's pressed against Ukitake's legs, staring up at him. "Work is boring, Ju," he whines.

And, when that doesn't garner him the appropriate amount of sympathy – just another raised eyebrow – he bats his eyelashes. Channels the energy of as many puppies as possible into his expression, hoping that Ukitake will take pity on him and not leave him wanting.

"Oh, all right."

Ukitake's words are too gentle to be exasperated. Kyoraku can't help but grin at his victory. At Ukitake removing Kyoraku's hat to set it aside so that it doesn't get in the way when he, too, sits down.

He sinks into a kneeling position directly behind Kyoraku, who scoots forward that much more – partially to make room, sure, but ultimately so that he can lean back against Ukitake's chest. Because those thighs spread apart to cradle him warm and secure between them. Kyoraku has no choice but to make himself comfortable, slouching against the sturdiness that is Ukitake until he's nearly lying down, and can only just barely reach the table well enough to write.

When Kyoraku tips his face upward, there's a fond expression on Ukitake's face. "You're ridiculous," those tempting lips mutter out.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Warm fingers brush along Kyoraku's temple, impossibly gentle and followed by a palm resting atop his head. "Not at all, as long as you do your work."

Letting out a longsuffering sigh – and, even then, he cannot stop grinning, a side effect of Ukitake's company that he has no desire to stifle – Kyoraku reaches for his papers and pen with halfhearted hands.

Content as he may be against Ukitake's chest like this, he'll never be content to start his work. It's not so bad once he finds a rhythm, but it is dull. The only consolation is that it's so repetitive that he can spare more focus for the beat of Ukitake's heart, and the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathes, and those fingers that can't quite seem to leave Kyoraku's hair alone…

They twirl dark strands between them and tug the curls to bouncing – pull it free of its ponytail, even, apparently just so that they can weave some braids into it. Tiny and barely-there, but they keep Kyoraku as warm as those bent knees on either side of his waist.

…He doesn't realize he's paused in his work until a hand lands over his, easing it along to finish out whatever it was that Kyoraku was writing. He forgot. Good thing Ukitake was paying attention.

Lips brush feather-light to Kyoraku's forehead, and well, he sure is gone now. Fully out the door.

Tilting back some gives him a nice, close-up-if-upside-down view of Ukitake's face. He's never wanted to kiss anyone more in all his life. "I thought you said you weren't going to forge my signature tonight."

A soft, indulgent chuckle. Careful fingertips brushing along Kyoraku's hand.

"What we just wrote was a number on your weekly budget report," Ukitake murmurs.

Ah. So it was. After blinking in wonder at the paper for a moment, Kyoraku leans back to look at Ukitake again. Can't really find much reason to look anywhere else. "You know the eighth's recent spending habits?"

Ukitake doesn't explain himself or his mysterious knowledge – just shakes his head with an amused sort of smile, and guides Kyoraku's hand back to paper. He abandons it this time, fingers grazing skin as they slip free, gesturing with a flourish as they return to paying their full attention to Kyoraku's dark spill of curls.

"I'll never finish if you keep distracting me," Kyoraku says, when one insistent knee nudges him, presumably trying to goad him into working.

There's a thoughtful hum from Ukitake, and then his arms settle lower, wrapped loose around Kyoraku's ribcage, lingering there. Cradling him along with those tempting thighs. "I'll wait like this, then."

"…That's still distracting." More so, even.

"I thought you wanted my company?" Ukitake tilts his head, white hair spilling over Kyoraku's shoulder.

Muttering to himself, Kyoraku nonetheless curls a fist into Ukitake's pants. Just in case he gets any ideas about running off or anything ridiculous like that. If it's a choice between focusing alone or fighting the feel of Ukitake wrapped around him while he works, Kyoraku will routinely default to the latter. With glee, even. The choice isn't all that difficult.

No matter how torturous it is, when Ukitake kisses at his temple twice, nuzzling the spot afterward.

Oh, it isn't fair. Kyoraku sags closer to the ground, groaning. This puts more strain on the arms that encircle him, but they hold fast. Good, dutiful Ukitake. "Why am I the only one working?"

"Because I completed my work in a timely manner," good, dutiful Ukitake says. Amusement coloring his voice.

"Your second-seats are just too devoted to you."

"They didn't help at all, I'll have you know."

"Show off…" But even as he grumbles and grins at the way Ukitake flicks his cheek in retaliation, Kyoraku keeps working. Blindly signing his name a handful of times. Because he does, in fact, have every intention of polishing off this dwindling pile of paperwork. Only so he can enjoy Ukitake's company properly. Cherish every moment.

…

…Although.

His renewed burst of patience and diligence only lasts for a few moments before it's put to the test by Ukitake's hands finding their way to Kyoraku's chest. Lithe fingers bury themselves in the thick covering of hair there, rubbing away any residual nighttime chill.

And Kyoraku does his absolute best to hold out, to keep working like a respectable captain with proudly shouldered responsibilities, but Ukitake only seems to get closer with each breath. His cheek is now pressed to the side of Kyoraku's face – nuzzling in as if to savor the scrape of stubble against the smooth of Ukitake's skin.

"Hurrying me along?" Kyoraku thinks he can be forgiven if his voice comes out a little choked, there. Ukitake's hands are awfully close to his nipples. (He's not writing anymore. Better fix that.)

Infuriatingly, all Ukitake offers in response is a noncommittal hum. His mouth at the corner of Kyoraku's.

Kyoraku should also be forgiven for the way he hurries through the last of his papers. It's all simple formalities left. Routine forms that he could fill out with his eyes closed. Who cares if his handwriting is especially sloppy on some of them? No one will look twice as they file these away; Nanao will just be happy they're done.

His haste pays off, because within minutes – as Ukitake's fingers resume massaging his front, one hand reaching down his stomach – he's throwing his pen down –

Pushing himself backward, he shuffles with his legs and leans with purpose against Ukitake's chest until he gives in and tips backward. Falls slow to the floor, with Kyoraku clutched close to land half on top of him.

That's more like it.

Ukitake is a decently comfortable mattress. Far better than the lumpy roof, at any rate, though Kyoraku keeps an ear out for the way that Ukitake's breath stutters thanks to the sudden shift in position. Waiting to see if it continues or worsens, Kyoraku only relaxes when it settles easy.

Now they can cuddle properly. No more half-hugs. Only full-hugs accompanied by wandering hands.

That in mind…

Kyoraku squirms, twisting and shifting upward, expending all the energy he wants to bother with just to get himself positioned higher. Within better reach for things like kisses and getting lost in Ukitake's eyes and watching the mild wince of irritation across his brow as he blows one errant strand of white hair back into place.

"You couldn't make it to bed?" Ukitake complains. It doesn't sound genuine to Kyoraku.

The small smile never wiped itself off of Kyoraku's face. It's an expression that hasn't left him since Ukitake showed up, only varied in intensity at the most. Banishing it fully is impossible, in such good company. "Why bother?" In fact, Kyoraku is just starting to hunker down in earnest. "I'm plenty comfortable here."

One dark eyebrow raises at him, so Kyoraku figures he better bat his eyelashes some more. That never fails to endear Ukitake, no matter how much eye rolling he does about it – and see? Now he's curling his arms back around Kyoraku's waist. Lying content half-pinned beneath him, palms flat to his stomach.

Hands freed of miserable paperwork and that damned pen, Kyoraku rests them atop Ukitake's. One, he sends trailing slow up the length of a smooth arm, dragging that loose sleeve along with it. The other stays pressed over Ukitake's hand. It's smaller than his own, but just barely, and it bears equal strength. Size really doesn't matter, Kyoraku thinks, laughing to himself. Sleepy and content.

"What's so funny?" The raised eyebrow is tangible in Ukitake's voice, but Kyoraku watches it with joy anyway.

"Nothing," Kyoraku lies. His hand having thoroughly explored Ukitake's arm, he swaps to cupping that smooth jaw, tipping that handsome face in toward his own. Leaning up and putting his mouth on offer.

Ukitake shakes his head, and presses a kiss or two onto Kyoraku's scruffy cheek. "You're tired."

Kind of him to notice. Kyoraku feels deliriously happy besides. "And yet you made me work anyway…"

As if in apology for that fact, Ukitake's unoccupied hand moves upward, back to being buried in Kyoraku's chest hair. Rubbing with intent, all the way inside his clothes, even, sneaking beneath fabric to rest there. Gentle over Kyoraku's heart. Probably feeling the steady beat of it, even as it cups a pectoral.

Beyond pleased, Kyoraku hums – and then hums deeper when Ukitake's kisses finally reach his lips. Pillow-soft and just as divine as every other time Kyoraku's had the pleasure of tasting them.

"This is going to get uncomfortable, soon," Ukitake claims, when they part.

Kyoraku is very much distracted by trailing his fingertips along the edge of Ukitake's jaw. But the words register eventually, and he puts just a bit more effort into moving. He rolls over, in toward Ukitake in a way that sends him slipping off – Ukitake grunts at this, and that lovely hand on his chest is tragically dislodged – but Kyoraku soon huddles back in, more on his side and facing Ukitake, now. "Better?"

"A little." Ukitake's hand is a warm brand even through layers of cloth, as it resettles low on Kyoraku's back. So he's got to be more than a little comfortable, by Kyoraku's reckoning. "I'd still rather be in bed."

"Oh? Are you going to spend the night with me, handsome?"

"If you'll have me."

Leaning over Ukitake – close enough to breathe him in, and feel the sturdy press of his body, and touch the fan of his hair over the floor, and freefall into his welcoming eyes – Kyoraku kisses him. Takes his time aligning their lips. Wet and slick and languid as Ukitake's hand buries in his hair to keep him close…pull him closer…

When he lifts away, it's with a wet noise. They're both a bit short on breath, and Kyoraku gives his flame a break by kissing his way down Ukitake's throat. Feels it bob beneath his mouth, once. And again, when he nibbles on it, teeth gentle, skin suckled between them with intent.

Somehow, Ukitake's other hand has found its way back beneath Kyoraku's clothes, and now rests extra-hot against bare skin. Fingers massaging at Kyoraku's side in a way that's almost ticklish.

"I'll always have you," Kyoraku murmurs into a sharp collarbone. That chest rises and falls beneath him.

Powerful hands glide up his back, landing on his shoulders and coaxing him back upward, until he's level with Ukitake's face. Ukitake cups Kyoraku's jaw and guides him back in. Slow and savoring. He pushes his tongue into Kyoraku's mouth in a welcome addition to the calming, thick atmosphere –

Then those addicting lips and tongue and teeth are away from Kyoraku's, and green eyes are sparkling in that mirthful way they have. Kyoraku's knees are weak even though he's lying on the floor. It's been hundreds of years. Millions of kisses.

He'll never be over this.

"Likewise," Ukitake says. A tiny smirk tilting his mouth. "But I'd prefer to have you in bed, if you don't mind."

"So pushy…"

Nonetheless, Kyoraku has never been one to deny comfort – least of all comfort obtained at Ukitake's side, via Ukitake himself – so he untangles from the tempting shape that is Ukitake and pushes up. First to sitting, and then he forces himself onto tired feet. Swaying on purpose, making a show of the whole ordeal just to see that content smile widen into amusement on Ukitake's face.

And, the absolute nerve of Ukitake, he holds out a hand for Kyoraku to grab onto. Pretending to be frail. Making Kyoraku work at pulling him to his feet as well (admittedly he's more of a counterbalance than anything as Ukitake hauls himself up).

"Thank you." Now Ukitake is batting his eyelashes, leaning in close to wrap an arm low around Kyoraku's waist. Barely above his ass. Could easily be used to haul them flush together.

Oh, Kyoraku is endlessly weak for this. How free Ukitake gets with his touches when they're well and truly alone, with no danger of being interrupted or walked in on or overheard. He's tucking dark curls behind Kyoraku's ear, now, rubbing along a bearded jaw afterward, and Kyoraku has half a mind to sweep him off his feet and ravish him.

The other half of his mind is fast sinking into sleepy bliss at Ukitake's sheer proximity so late at night. Comfortable in his familiarity and a thousand other aspects that Kyoraku's tired mind struggles to form into some semblance of a list. The reasons and ways he loves this man.

Any attempt at listing love is usurped by Ukitake leading Kyoraku to his sleeping quarters, arm warm around his hips. Kyoraku clings to him as they approach the bed, walking along with his nose buried in white hair. Eyes settled closed, he trusts Ukitake to guide him.

Just like he trusts Ukitake to strip them both down appropriately for sleep. Something that has Kyoraku swaying content on his feet as those hands dance over his body. Down his limbs…

Ukitake is similarly bare, and Kyoraku's fingers grab on instinct. Tracing memorized scars while Ukitake lifts the covers. Delicately slipping in first and beckoning for Kyoraku – whose hands haven't ever really left the man – to follow.

"You see?" Ukitake is saying, as the two of them sink into pillows and blankets and each other, Kyoraku already half asleep. Molten and weak and infatuated. "Isn't rest more satisfying now that you've done your work?"

Surely he doesn't expect Kyoraku to respond with coherent words. Not when there are gentle hands rubbing down his chest and along his scalp, and slender legs tangling with his own, smooth thighs pressing in. Surely Kyoraku can't be expected to speak any of this aloud when it's much easier to wrap Ukitake in a hug and curl into his touches and feel his laugh.

Besides. Kyoraku's satisfaction has far more to do with Ukitake's presence than anything so vile as work.

"Sleep well, Shunsui," Ukitake murmurs, lips pressed to Kyoraku's forehead.

"G'night, Ju…"

A/N: I'm very soft for these old men, and they deserve all the peace and happiness in the universe,

Thanks for reading!