Kyōraku Shunsui had lied to him. Repeatedly. He'd said it was only going to be a small affair; family and close friends. He'd said that they were a respectable sort. And then he'd brought her along and she lied to him too!
Well, she hadn't. Her face had, though. Her face and those pleading, desperate eyes, and that soft and earnest, hopeful voice that had lulled him into a false sense of security. They had all told him that he wouldn't regret it.
He regretted it.
He deeply regretted it.
He was still trying to work out why he'd agreed to this in the first place.
A complete lie, of course. He knew exactly why he'd agreed to this. His Grandfather's disapproving tone resounded through his head, "And this is why you should never make decisions when it's your nethers doing the thinking!"
He'd never been a religious man, but he could at least now firmly attest that Hell was very much real and it was currently in his dining hall. It was heralded by the cacophony of Stock Aitken Waterman. It was loud and smoky and somehow both dark and incredibly lurid all at once. It smelt of Advocaat and Cinzano and Piña Coladas, the floor was sticky, and there were these stupid tiny animated deer wearing blue bows about their necks prancing across the tables.
No.
Wait.
That was just the Babycham.
Neil Tennant had a point: what had he done to deserve this?
Good grief, just what was in those shots that the redhead had insisted he try?
Blue.
Blue was in them.
Blue tasted fucking awful.
Don't even get him started on the green ones; they were nearly as bad as the orange ones.
He had to admit, though, the quality of the band and their occasional contributions was drastically improved after the fourth round. 'Band'. More like a free-for-all with drunken louts and musical instruments. He still wasn't convinced that their performance of White Wedding was entirely appropriate for the occasion. Or maybe it was. Either way, surely Billy-Idol-wannabe could have found some sleeves for it? And who has the number sixty-nine tattooed on their face anyway? Who would have anything tattooed on their face? Perhaps the leather choker was too tight. Depriving him of some much-needed oxygen. He snorted at his own joke. The lad on the keyboards was alright; a sensible sort who was taking his instrumental duty very, very seriously. Son of the director of Karakura Hospital, apparently. At the very least, he knew how to wear a suit. And how to do a proper Windsor knot.
He'd had zero interest in showing his face, but once what appeared to be half of some Yakuza crime syndicate started arriving at the property he thought he'd better keep an eye on things. It was purely coincidental that the things he was most interested in keeping an eye on seemed to follow a slender figure in a rather lovely emerald off-the-shoulder dress, matching eyeshadow, and so much jewellery he hoped she didn't pass by the fridge in case any of it was magnetic. (Or maybe he did. It would certainly be a novel way of ensnaring a woman; an entertaining tale for future Kuchiki generations.) She'd long ditched the heels and was flitting around in tiny stockinged feet doing her utmost to keep everyone in check. An unenviable task at best; as far as he could tell his house was hosting Bowie's spare goblin hordes auditioning for a rehash of Footloose and Dirty Dancing outtakes. (He had been genuinely concerned for the structural integrity of his home during 'Lip Up Fatty'. No building should ever have to suffer that many pairs of bovver boots crashing about the place. Bad Manners, indeed.)
No one had attempted that lift yet, but he was fairly certain that the tattooed monstrosity of a bridegroom had bench-pressed his cackling wife all the way through Olivia Newton-John. It would have been impressive if she wasn't quite so small (the groom's ridiculous shock of deep crimson hair was both bigger than the bride and weighed more), although the lace flapping in his eyes must have hindered things.
Apparently her sister had made the dress. And the floral arrangements. He strongly suspected that she'd had her hands full with the cakes as well, if the decorations were anything to go by. She'd certainly spent enough time putting everything in place over the past couple of days. It was all very tasteful and sophisticated and completely out of place with the rest of the wedding party.
Regardless, it was a wonder she was still standing.
Perhaps that was why he'd spent the best part of an hour outside in the early November chill, lurking amongst the chrysanthemums and budding winter peonies watching her every move. Just in case she collapsed.
That, or the fact that every now and then he'd catch a glimpse of stocking trim taunting him from beneath crushed velvet.
Even the sound of someone landing in his treasured koi pond and the following cheer wasn't enough to drag his attention away.
At least the east wing was off-limits.
Or so he thought.
"Ken-chan! KEN-CHAN!" A small, pink-haired child, no more than six years old, came barraging through the wedding party wielding a particularly deadly looking katana. A Kuchiki family heirloom from the seventeenth century, a glimpse into their feudal past. "LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" The guests ducked as she swung it around carelessly. "There's a whole room of them!"
"Yachiru, darling, I don't think you're meant to have that." The woman he'd been watching all evening attempted to extricate the blade from the young girl's hands.
The hulking great beast of a man that Byakuya could only assume was the child's father seemed completely unconcerned that she was brandishing a lethal instrument. He looked not too dissimilar to a giant, feral Pete Burns, with his glittering eyepatch and hair so wild, one wouldn't be surprised to find a tanuki nesting in it."Tschh! She'll be fine. Let 'er play." He waved off any worries, slinking back into his seat in the shadows; eyes shut, legs outstretched, and arms crossed as though in slumber.
Byakuya intervened, and in a swift motion disarmed the child. "I'll be taking that, thank you."
A hush fell over the crowd as the girl's father cracked open an eyelid, growling, "Who are you?"
Byakuya levelled an impassive stare in return, "The owner."
The man, Zaraki Kenpachi, or 'Ken-chan' drew himself to full height, a menacing grin plastered across his face as he sized up his opponent. "You know how to use it?"
Byakuya shrugged nonchalantly.
"Ooookay, we're just going to… umm… return this …" The small woman made a face at the bride, her near identical younger sister, as she forcefully shepherded Byakuya from the hall. "Everyone carry on!"
Once they were outside, the sound of synthesisers and a pounding drumbeat reignited from within.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't realise she'd-."
"It's fine," Byakuya cut her off. It wasn't fine, but he'd once again made the fatal mistake of looking at her face. He was just about to reprimand her about the fact that he'd stipulated no children were to be present in his home, before he remembered that he'd conceded on that point too.
She was dangerous. He may as well just give her the keys to his home and all the family silver.
"I'm Hisana."
He saw her small smile from the corner of his periphery, before catching himself and looking firmly ahead. "I know."
Hisana wrung her hands nervously, "Of course you do," she muttered, "We've already met." She didn't really think that sitting in the same room together for twenty minutes in absolute silence really counted, though. Still, there was nothing quite like an extremely attractive and unbelievably wealthy and powerful man to make you feel very, very stupid.
"Where did she even find that?" she asked, pointing at the sword.
His jaw tensed, "The east wing."
She paused, frowning. "I thought that was-."
"Locked?" He exhaled slowly through his nose. "So did I."
His lengthy and determined strides left little opening for further talk, and Hisana was beginning to wonder why she was still following him. He clearly thought she was nothing more than a nuisance.
Nevertheless, she continued to trail after him like an anxious puppy. "Look, I'm really sorry fo-."
"So you've said," he interrupted brusquely.
She pulled gently on his arm, stopping him. "I'll pay for any damages, honestly. It just… might take a while." She winced with a pained expression. When Nanao's Uncle Shunsui had told her he'd found the perfect venue for her sister's wedding reception, Hisana didn't realise that he meant he'd found the perfect venue for her sister's wedding reception.
It was no secret that this was a budget wedding between two very young and most definitely stupid people who loved each other very much and had maybe ¥365 and half a bag of crisps between them (which is to say not a lot). It was also no secret that the original venue, The Hanging Dog, was a less than salubrious joint which had been forced to close because someone had managed to burn the entire place to the ground a fortnight earlier. (She had an awful feeling that certain unnamed individuals involved in the fight that started the blaze were present tonight. Even if they didn't actually light the match, the glare reflecting from that someone's shiny, bald head was certainly more than capable of doing so.)
The point was that they could afford to hire The Hanging Dog. There was no way they could afford to even look at the front door of this… this… this palace, but Uncle Shunsui had insisted that she at least come and see it. And so she did.
The first half hour was painful. Kuchiki Byakuya just sat there staring at her like, well, she didn't know what really, but it was distinctly uncomfortable, made all the worse because he was just so damned attractive. And Shunsui had sat there with an ever-growing grin on his face, which meant that he was up to something and she didn't like it, but with only eight days until the wedding she was beyond caring and practically ready to throw herself prostrate on the ground and start begging. Thankfully, it was at that point Kuchiki's grandfather, Ginrei, walked in and saved both the day and her pride, on the proviso that he (and his friends) be allowed to attend.
In fact, the last she saw, Ginrei was having a jolly old time showing the 'young people' how to twist properly, and Genryūsai was doing his level best to drink Uncles Shunsui and Jūshirō under the table whilst Chōjirō adjudicated.
Byakuya, on the other hand, was the complete antithesis of his grandfather who seemed to have a sudden new-found zest for life. He was also having a tough time processing the fact that this mere slip of a woman was touching him under the guise of an apology. This was not how apologies worked. Apologies came in the form of a strongly- if ambiguously- worded letter that made it quite clear that whilst the author may be sympathetic to the recipient's feelings they were not responsible for them. This, whatever this was, was not an apology. He looked down at her until she stopped babbling whatever excuses she could come up with and let go of his arm.
The second his back was turned, she threw her arms up in the air in silent exasperation and stuck her tongue out at him. She was trying to apologise. He didn't have to be so bloody diff-.
"There's a mirror on the wall, you know."
Shit.
"You also have a ladder."
What? Sure enough, halfway up her right thigh there it was. She must have caught it with… She raised an eyebrow at him. His back was still turned, but she knew she didn't imagine that smirk in his reflection.
Oh ho.
Ohhh ho ho ho.
There was no way he would have noticed that little snag if he hadn't been looking. Was he toying with her? She'd caught him looking in her direction a couple of times through the evening, but had assumed he was expecting her to be light-fingered. Was he actually..? She realised that the expression that she had been taking as one of disdain, was actually something altogether far more promising and, dare she say it, predatory. That was a heady thought, right there. Or maybe she was just drunk. She didn't think she'd had that much to drink. Although, unlike Rukia, she was a lightweight, so maybe…
"You're blushing." He didn't really know why he was giving her a running commentary of her appearance, other than the fact that good old fashioned Dutch courage seemed to have loosened his tongue. He wasn't especially bothered, mind you. Not when it made her all flustered like this. She really was quite charming.
Well, he could be charming, too.
He briefly wondered how else he could make her all flushed and rosy cheeked.
"Excuse me?"
He was also thinking aloud, apparently. There was only one way he could play this one out: defiantly and with cocksure confidence. He turned his head to the side and skimmed her body from head to toe with a smouldering gaze. That should do it.
Hisana was all too familiar with the signs that a man was making his move. Being friends with Matsumoto Rangiku taught you all of them and more. She had always been more than a little envious of the frequency that Rangiku had to deal with men trying their luck, not to mention her confidence. It wasn't her fault, of course, and she in no way blamed her, but she just wasn't… She just wasn't Rangiku.
She knew all of the signs that a man was making his move. The problem was that she had no idea what to do with them when they were being directed at her. Certainly not from anyone as intimidating as Kuchiki Byakuya. It made her feel all swoopy inside.
So she did what any self-respecting woman in her situation would do.
She channelled her inner Pat Benatar and aloofly sashayed past, completely ignoring him.
He spluttered, nearly dropped his sword before remembering himself and catching up with her.
Rukia would be so proud of her normally shy, prissy big sister.
Ironically, or perhaps fatefully, she could just make out the sound of Aretha Franklin questioning "Who's Zoomin' Who?" in the background.
And so, with her tongue firmly in her cheek and more than a little alcohol in her system, she decided right there and then that the gloves were off. This game was most definitely on.
After crossing the enormous entrance hall, they had reached the mythical east wing, and Hisana darted in front to open the door.
The handle wouldn't budge.
"It's locked."
Byakuya rolled his eyes. "It can't be." He nudged her aside. "How else would she have-?"
Nope.
It was definitely locked.
His eyes narrowed, as he looked back in the direction from whence they came. He had so many questions, but ultimately decided no good would come of asking them. "Hold this." He went to pass the katana over to his companion, pulling it back sharply as she unthinkingly went to grab the blade. "No! Just…" he pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Never mind."
"Wha-? No!" Hisana whined petulantly. "I want to hold it!" He stared at her as she pouted at him. "I've never held a sword before."
Sighing deeply, he forced his eyes away.
"Please?"
Despite thinking better of it, he crumpled inside. Gingerly handed over the sword, hilt first this time, he warned, "Try not to hurt yourself." She squealed excitedly, beaming at him and he had to take a moment to remember why they were here in the first place.
Ah, yes. Fishing for the keys in his pocket, he mumbled to himself, pondering when he had become such a pushover. Glancing to his left, he saw Hisana closely inspecting the engraving on the hilt of the katana.
Right.
Eight days ago.
As the key clicked into place, and the door opened with ease, Byakuya reached for the light switch and Hisana got her first glimpse of a very long, very plain, very boring, and most definitely very anticlimactic corridor.
"Is this it?" she said, completely unimpressed. He looked at her incredulously. "Oh, sorry. Do the girls normally wait until the bedroom before saying that?"
She blew a cheeky kiss at him as he scowled, turning to lock the door behind them. His darkened mood soon changed, however, when she sidled up to him said slyly, "Didn't realise you were so desperate to get me alone."
He swallowed slowly, as he took charge once again of the katana. He allowed her to take the lead, and allowed himself the opportunity to appreciate the view of her delightfully pert backside. Delightfully pert everything, really, he decided.
Turning the corner, they were struck by a cold draught; a window was left wide open, and the Chinese water bamboo display that had sat upon the sill lay scattered in a puddle upon the floor. Hisana dashed forward and delicately began picking up the pieces, inspecting the damage to the plant. Its glass bowl was smashed and the decorative pebbles were strewn far and wide. Irritated, Byakuya slammed the window shut. At least he now knew where that demon-child had broken in.
"I'm so sor-."
He held up a hand telling her to stop. "It's not your fault. Leave it. I'll sort it." She glanced at him, placing the larger pieces of glass upon the windowsill as he nudged smaller shards to the wall with his toe. She'd just taken a couple of steps when she winced and lifted her foot. Picking the offending bit of glass from the nylon before it did any more damage, she ruefully thought about the shoes she'd abandoned.
She caught Byakuya watching her intensely and grumbled at him, "You could offer me a piggy-back, you know." She'd already ended up at hospital once before with a shard of glass stuck in her foot, she really didn't want a repeat.
"I never said you had to come with me."
"You never said I couldn't," she shot back.
At an impasse, the pair stared at each other. Which was somewhat problematic for Byakuya, because he'd never met anyone he couldn't stare at without giving in to their every whim. Until Hisana.
He considered his options. Even with the katana in hand he could quite easily pick her up, she was so tiny. But that would involve physical contact. Certainly, the thought of her thighs wrapped about him if he gave her a piggy-back was making him a little bit giddy.
Shaking his head briskly and clearing his throat, he came to his conclusion as he brushed past her. "I am not carrying you."
"Oh, what?!" She balled her hands into fists in a mock temper tantrum. "Why not?"
"You're too heavy."
Her mouth fell open in indignation at his retreating back. "You… You… did not ju… How rude! Give me that katana back!"
Standing in front of another door towards the end of the corridor, he called to her. "If you want it, you'll have to come and get it."
"Yeah, but what about the sword?" she cackled.
He snorted. Maybe she was just as uncouth as the rest of the rabble. She may look angelic, but she had a filthy laugh.
Byakuya took one final glance at her stranded down the hallway and flicked the switch, leaving her in the dark for the trophy room.
He had to laugh when she gave a high-pitched, pitiful whine, "That's just mean!"
Thankfully, Byakuya found the trophy room intact for the most part; only the display stand that had held the weapon currently in his grip and its saya, or scabbard, had been displaced.
He just finished putting everything into order when a sharp jab in the ribs jolted him and several expletives out of his skin. "Can't you wear a bell, woman?" he hissed.
Hisana glared at him. "That was mean."
"It was," he concurred. "Very. You should apologise."
She swatted him in the stomach. "And you called me fat!"
"No I didn't." His eyes did another quick sweep of the room. "I said you were too heavy to carry."
"It's the same thing!" She pouted sulkily at him. "You're mean."
He had to bite his tongue to stop laughing. He couldn't remember the last time someone called him out on his bad behaviour. Perhaps they never had. It was one of the more fortunate things about the legacy of the noble Kuchiki family and being the sole heir of a not inconsiderable fortune: everyone expected the spoilt little rich boy to behave like a spoilt little rich boy. They certainly never questioned it. Still, he could think of worse punishments than being pouted at by a particularly alluring young woman with particularly alluring sugar pink lips.
"Are you even listening to me?" she asked shrilly.
He blinked at her. "Hmm? Sorry, could you repeat that? I was… distracted."
"Distracted? By what?"
"You." Sometimes honesty was the best policy.
"Me?!" Hisana shrieked. "How?!"
"You're very distracting."
She stared at him, taken aback. "What's that supposed to meannmphhhhh?"
Sugar pink and just as sweet, kissing her was a very effective way of shutting her up. "Better?"
Stunned, it took her a few seconds to get a hold of herself. Sorry Pat, love is a battlefield but she was rapidly losing ground. "I still can't believe you called me fat," she eventually mumbled, staring at her feet.
Byakuya's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Seriously? Woman, I've seen cats that weigh more than you."
She eyed him reproachfully. "I do have a name, you know."
Suitably chastised, his approach softened. "Yes. Yes, you do," he admitted quietly. A very pretty one, he thought, as he went to check that the windows were locked in this room as well.
She observed his movements silently. Metal carries water. There was certainly steel in his gaze, those piercing grey eyes. At his very core, if his reputation was anything to go by. And he carried himself with the sort of fluid grace that inspired minds far more eloquent than hers. "Do you really know how to use it?"
Byakuya frowned in puzzlement.
"The katana."
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Look behind you."
There was a glass cabinet full of trophies for kendo tournaments. "I'll take that as a yes." For the first time, it dawned on her that Yachiru was right; there really was a room full of weapons. Granted, most of them were locked behind glass, but that didn't necessarily make her feel any easier about the situation she'd put herself in. He was dangerous. It was intoxicating.
She could feel him watching her.
Biting her bottom lip, she nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. "So, err… is this a house or a museum?" she asked lightly. She turned to find him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He'd look almost bored to passers-by. And maybe he was.
"I ask myself the same question almost every day," he uttered softly.
A large cheer suddenly broke out outside. A crescendo of rhythmic chanting.
Hisana grimaced and sighed. "I suppose I'd better get back before they break something."
"Are they normally this…" he struggled to find the appropriate word.
"Loud?" Hisana chuckled. "Unfortunately." She was transfixed by a terrifying samurai sōmen hanging on the wall above the now-returned blade. A full-face red and black mask with snarling gold teeth and protruding fangs, now dull with age. "Where did you get all this?" she whispered in awe. "It's incredible."
"Inherited it," he answered, apparently unfazed, although he found himself wanting her to be impressed a little more than was perhaps healthy. "You can see the rest of the house, if you want."
Hisana bit her bottom lip hesitantly, glancing at the window. She could now make out the sound of an especially rousing rendition of 'Pearl's Café'.
"They'll be fine."
She was unconvinced.
"Grandfather's there. He's quite capable of handling a few idiots."
"I…" That wasn't what she was worried about. It was the hungry glint in his eyes. He made to hand her the keys. "Aren't you coming?"
"I've had quite enough noise to last for the next nine years. Just make sure to lock the door behind you."
That she could understand. She did have a bit of a headache. And Rukia would kill her if she found out she'd turned down the opportunity for a secret rendezvous with such a dish.
"Okay," she said, looping her arm through his. She was the maid-of-honour. It was practically her sworn duty to sneak off with eligible bachelors. She could do this. "By the way, what do I call you?"
He squinted, confused by the question. "I'm Kuchiki Byakuya." How did she not -?
"Yes, I know that, but what do I call you?"
"Oh." He hesitated. Most associates referred to him as Kuchiki-sama, but that was much too formal. "Byakuya-sama will suffice."
She started sniggering and talking in the most horribly affected accent, "Byakuya-sama. How very posh."
"You're mocking me, aren't you?"
She shook her head profusely, "Of course not, my Lord."
"Yes you are." It was his own fault.
"Not at all, my Lord."
"Please stop." He deserved it, really.
"At once, my Lord."
He closed his eyes in exasperation, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
She grinned up at him. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord."
They'd ended up in the games room, which, as luck would have it, also housed the most comfortable seats in the entire house and a full-sized bar, fully-stocked with the finest saké, wine, liquors and spirits.
"You have such a beautiful house." Maybe she had had one too many strawberry daiquiris. She was feeling all giggly and girlish and fuzzy inside. She'd hung on to Byakuya's arm for the entire grand tour. She wasn't sure if it was for support or simply because he smelt nice. And he did. Smell nice. She'd told him so at least six times in the past ten minutes. Like warm spice with undertones of amber and sandalwood. He was the epitome of a sandalwood man; quiet but intense. Brooding. Powerful.
She was becoming increasingly chatty, but finding words was becoming increasingly difficult. Also, her ears were exceptionally warm.
"I like beautiful things."
"Oh? Like me?" she replied saucily, perching cross-legged on the bar stool and fluttering her eyelashes.
"Yes. Like you." He leant across her, left arm reaching behind the bar and right hand brushing the hem of her dress and skimming the lace and ladder of her stocking. He was much too close, his breath grazing her ear before pulling away, a bottle of Yamazaki single malt in hand. "Drink?" Blushing, she grinned coquettishly.
"Are you trying to get me drunk, Kuchiki Byakuya?"
He smirked back as he retrieved a couple of crystal tumblers from the cabinet. Having poured two glasses, he settled in an aged dark red leather Chesterfield armchair next to a small oak table before beckoning her over.
"Do you drink whisky?" he enquired as his molten gaze lingered just a little too long on the hem of her dress. Hisana shook her head. "Ever had it?" No. She didn't feel like telling him that today was the first day she'd had anything alcoholic since Chinese New Year, more than nine months ago. "Hmm." He turned his attention back to the bottle. "The thing is, Hisana," he purred, "this here is a particularly fine vintage and it's at the perfect temperature." He swapped the bottle for one of the tumblers. "It would be an awful shame to let this go to waste now, wouldn't it?"
He proffered the drink to her, but pulled it back just as her fingertips reached the glass and used her momentum to his advantage as he drew her into him. Startled, she threw out her hands to balance herself before realising that they had landed firmly on his chest, her right knee on the corner of the seat and her left leg between his own.
Her eyes widened as his right hand fell to her waist. "Byakuya-sama," she whispered, "are you trying to seduce me?"
His features softened and his left thumb traced her lips, "Well, now, that depends."
"Oh?"
His eyes sought hers, desperate for her permission, as his rich, velvety voice quietened to an almost ghostly sotto voce, "Is it working?"
Working? She refrained from telling him that she'd down the entire bottle in one if it meant he'd say her name like that again. Instead, she shuffled so that her left leg mirrored her right, effectively straddling him, and leaned across to take the glass he'd poured for her, arching her back and making a show of offering him her décolletage in return. His hand moved down from her waist and trapped her hip in an iron-grip as he exhaled slowly in an effort to contain himself.
She never broke eye contact.
"Tell me more about this drink," her voice was low and husky.
This all-too enticing game of cat and mouse was suddenly very, very real. It was daunting and thrilling and everything she had ever wanted but had never dared take.
Until now.
"Hey, Ru, have you seen Hisana?" Renji managed to catch Rukia between songs.
"Errrm…" she scanned the room quickly and shrugged. "She's probably snuck off for a kip." Rukia couldn't blame her. The briefest of glances at all of Hisana's work for this wedding was proof that she'd truly outdone herself this time. "Why? What's up?"
Renji was rootling through piles of paper plates and packets of serviettes, picking things up and setting them down again. "I can't find the cake slice."
Rukia frowned, "I thought she put it with the cake."
Renji indicated the lengthy tables that had been pushed together along the wall. They were a laden cornucopia of food which included no less than seven multi-tiered cakes. "Which one?"
"I dunno," she was really much more interested in topping up Orihime's Blue Lagoon. Orihime, who was getting to that interesting stage of tipsiness where she was starting to get just a little bit lairy, and closer to the point where she'd do her Mel & Kim impression, much to Ichigo's chagrin. "The one with the flowers on?"
"Ah, right. Wait-." Renji emerged from under the table. "Ru!" He threw up his hands in defeat at his wife's vanishing form. His sister-in-law was a florist. Everything had flowers on.
Hisana didn't quite know what to make of it. The heat had surprised her, and she was unaccustomed to the taste. She really wanted to spit it out, but Byakuya insisted that she hold it on her tongue. Her eyes were watering and she knew her make-up was a mess, but she knew she had to persist, if only because he was caressing her face so tenderly.
"Good girl," he wiped a stray tear from her cheek and kissed the back of her right hand. Tilting her head back just a fraction, he continued, "Now… swallow it slowly and savour it. Feel it go down, that's it."
She wasn't sure this was savouring it. She wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't battery acid. But he seemed to enjoy it very much and she was willing to give it another go, just…
"Can I have some more ice, please?"
"No. No more ice, sweet thing, you'll ruin it."
She whimpered and looked at him imploringly. He laughed and shook his head, nuzzling her nose with his.
As far as Kuchiki Byakuya was concerned, if Hell was in his dining hall, Heaven was very much here and now in the games room. He'd had the best forty minutes of his life so far, they were both pleasantly buzzed, and they were both still fully dressed.
He was trying to teach Hisana the finer points of drinking whisky, and whilst she was most definitely his favourite student, she was in no way a good one. She hadn't even managed to finish that first glass, and it was now diluted beyond recognition. Still, he had to give her extra points for effort. And points meant kisses.
Also, as a terrible a whisky drinker as she was, she had quickly learnt that she could gain extra credit through even more kisses so, really, it was a win-win situation all round.
"Would you like another?" She was an excellent hostess. Perfect, actually. Attentive with a desire to please. It was no wonder a man as selfish as he had become smitten with her in the few days he'd known her.
Speaking of selfish desires, he ached for her. He ignored her question has his hand crept up her thigh. The other worked on teasing her extraordinarily large hoop earring out of the way. Obstacle removed, he inhaled deeply at the perfume resting on her pulse point. Soft, sweet and gentle. Much like her. Exactly like her. Understated with devastating effect.
"How long do we have?" He didn't want this to be a five-minute fumble in a secluded corner with the threat of being caught hanging over them. He wasn't a horny teenager.
She drew back and took him in through half-lidded eyes. "How long did you want?"
Hisana was half-sprawled across Byakuya's chest in a contended daze, her legs entwined with his own as he ran his left hand gently up and down her arm. His right lay nestled in her hair, softly cradling her head to him. He was also in the midst of his own deep and pleasant stillness that followed only the most satisfying climax.
Neither had said a word.
Neither wanted to move.
Neither wanted to break this spell.
They'd been like this for over ten minutes.
Slowly, she began to stir and the weight of what she'd just done hit home, sobering her instantly. Not this. This was perfect. Byakuya felt her entire body tense just before she jolted upright, clutching desperately at the silk sheet as she hunted for her clothes. "I have to go. The wedding…" She was missing a stocking. "Rukia's going to kill me," she muttered to herself. She gave up on the stocking, it was the laddered one anyway, and hoicked the other one back off with the suspender belt attached.
Standing in front of the mirror, she began scrunching her hair. The joy of having it permed was that, even if it wasn't exactly curly, it was always stylishly messy. "I bet they can't find the bloody cake slice." She'd just finished shoving an armful of bracelets and bangles over her long sleeves when she turned back to Byakuya, "Where did you put my...?"
The expression on his face made her stop.
His eyes were pleading for her to stay.
She didn't particularly want to leave. "My sister… the wedding…" She trailed off, biting her bottom lip.
He began desperately searching for a reason to not let her go.
"I never showed you the indoor garden."
Whilst her curiosity was most certainly piqued, it was impossible to ignore that nagging voice telling her she was neglecting her duty as maid-of-honour.
"I collect orchids, you see."
Did he just say..?
"Do you like orchids?"
Hisana's eyes lit up. "I love orchids," she said breathily. Wedding be damned. There were orchids demanding her attention.
That settled it. Byakuya mentally sent Susannah Hoffs to the back of the queue, noting that she could reapply for the position if this all went tits up. This was the woman he was going to marry.
"Ya know, I'm surprised there weren't any shenanigans at the reception," Renji mused aloud as he sat at his sister-in-law's kitchen table, flicking through blurry photograph after blurry photograph. "Disappointing."
"What do you mean?" Rukia asked quizzically. "Where's that pic of Yumichi-? Ah, here it is! I'd say this counts as shenanigans."
Hisana peered over her sister's shoulder, before snatching the photo from her hands. "What on earth..?" Turning it upside down didn't help. "Is that one of Byakuya's carp?"
Rukia scrunched her face up at her sister's apparent over-familiarity of the venue's owner, mouthing the name quizzically at Renji who failed to notice.
"You know what I mean. No one sneaking off for raunchy rendezvous, that sort of thing. Even Rangiku behaved herself!"
Hisana choked on her tea. Thankfully, Renji remained oblivious. Rukia, on the other hand, turned her head sharply and pierced her with a hawkish gaze. Her sister had been acting weird since the wedding; secretive and coy. She began to put the pieces together.
"HISANA!" she burst out, slamming both hands down, howling with laughter. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!" Renji looked between the two, trying to work out what was going on.
Hisana mumbled, "Shut up," at her younger sister, her face tinged pink. It was at this point the proverbial penny dropped and Renji turned to his sister-in-law as though she'd suddenly morphed into something utterly unrecognisable before he, too, roared with good-humoured approval.
"Hisana: the secret slut," Rukia teased.
"It wasn't like that!" Hisana protested hotly. It was exactly like that.
"So says the woman who got more action on my wedding night than I did," Rukia quipped.
"It wasn't!" It really was.
"Oh, come off it, sis. You were gone for aaaaaaages."
"He was showing me his orchids!" It just turned out to be even better and more long-term than she could have ever hoped for.
Renji doubled over, wheezing, as Rukia raised her eyebrows at her sister. "Uhh huh. 'Orchids.'"
"He was! Look! He even gave me one!" She nipped out of the room.
"I'll bet he did," Rukia muttered suggestively to her husband. She faltered only when Hisana returned with a small pot containing a single flowering orchid with dark green leaves and purple stripes bleeding down milky white petals. Hisana also had a glassy, reverent look in her eyes.
"Look at it," she sighed, "Isn't she beautiful?"
"Err…" Rukia shared a side-glance with her husband. "It's… alright, I guess?"
"Rukia! This is a Paphiopedilum fairrieanum! It's one of the rarest orchids in the world, show it some respect!"
"Hisana… Are you seriously telling me that you snuck off for two hours alone with –."
Hisana interrupted her, "It was not two hours."
"Whatever," Rukia waved the quibble away.
"No. No, she's right," Renji interjected thoughtfully, counting out on his fingers. "It was over three and a half."
"Was it?" Rukia frowned and started doing her own mental maths, before coming to the same conclusion. "It was, wasn't it?!"
Hisana balked, cheeks aflame. Was it really?
"So, as I was saying, are you telling me that you spent three and a half hours alone with Japan's richest, sexiest, most eligible bachelor and you didn't have sex with him?"
That wasn't what she said, but Hisana had long ago learned that sometimes it was best to say nothing at all where Rukia was concerned.
"Are we even related?" Rukia looked truly disgusted with her.
"If by that you mean am I a wanton hussy, then, sweet sister, the answer is no. No, I am not." Actually, it turns out that where Kuchiki Byakuya was concerned that was exactly what she was, but Rukia didn't need to know that.
Sat in the car, the newlyweds took a moment to digest what had just come to light.
"Soooo..."
"So." Rukia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
"That was-." Renji didn't quite know where to cram his limbs.
"- Interesting?"
"Yeah."
"It was," Rukia nodded in agreement.
Finally as comfortable as he was ever going to get in this far too small vehicle, he hesitantly posed the question that had been plaguing him for the last hour. "Do, err… Do you think she actually got laid?"
Rukia had that spaced out look of an existential crisis. "At our wedding?"
Renji's tattoos gave the impression that they were trying to disappear into his hairline. "Yeah."
"Attila the Nun?"
"Yup."
"Miss Would-you-two-stop-having-sex-in-my-goddamn-house Goody-Two-Shoes?"
"Mmhhmmm."
"My sister?"
"That very one, yes."
Rukia turned to him slowly, her face struggling to contain her thoughts, before the pair finally made eye contact, "You know, I think she actually did."
Renji's face was still creased with utter bewilderment as his splayed hands waved in front of him, unable to grasp any sense of his sister-in-law. He respected her immensely, and loved her to bits, but sometimes he just didn't understand her. "What is it with orchids, though?
Rukia shrugged, shaking her head. "Beats me. At least she's found someone with…" She trailed off as a look of horror dawned upon her face, a disturbing realisation settling over her. "Oh God," she whispered, "There's two of them."