Whimsical Goddess

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XVI

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 05:58:03 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XVI
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

The cold woke Rukia up the next morning.

It had done the same thing every morning, ever since she and Byakuya had left the castle. It was a familiar thing—the cold, thin sheets, as thin and cold as the air that hung around her, numbing her face and the top of her bare shoulders. Being the sister of a prince had not caused her to forget that cold. Only to … sort of mourn it, in a self-deprecating kind of way. It was part of her. It was where she had come from, where she was born.

It was where she belonged.

Behind her, Ichigo mumbled something vaguely crass in his sleep, his arm tightening slightly around her waist. She could feel his nose and mouth pressed limply against her back, his slow, even breathing making her skin uncomfortably moist.

It wasn’t as familiar as the cold. But it, too, was fast becoming a part of her.

She lay there for a long time, her face turned toward the frosted-over window, waiting for the sun to rise. She watched its warm, anxious presence peek over the distant horizon, weakly penetrating the heavy clouds that still lingered on from yesterday night. It would scarcely melt the frost from the ground, let alone melt the slow-moving mountain streams they’d passed earlier on the way up here.

After awhile, she decided to rise, realizing that waiting for sleep to reclaim her was a losing battle against the cold, to which her body, however much her mind recollected it, was still not used.

She sat up carefully, easing Ichigo’s arm from around her and back down against the mattress. She waited for a minute, watching his face scrunch up a little in his sleep before relaxing again, both arms curling up towards his chest.

Bending down, she then reached for her clothes, silently pulling on leggings, pants, and over-pants, then shirt, sweater, jacket, followed by the fur-lined hooded cape. Fur-lined boots over her thick socks, then gloves to cover her hands, and lastly—the ever-calming presence of Sode no Shirayuki at her hip.

She winced, the floor boards creaking slightly as she tiptoed across the room. Ichigo never awoke, though, and neither did the rest of the house. She thought about fixing herself a cup of tea or coffee, or even building up the fire. But since it wasn’t her house, she just didn’t feel right about it.

But neither did sitting mutely before a few burning embers in an otherwise cold and empty living room.

Just then, the tantalizing thought finally entered her still sleep-fuzzed brain. The thought of her brother, and Renji, in a barn, all night. Alone.

Together.

She turned towards the front entryway (in the same room as the living area, actually, the entire home really quite small), a small smirk on her face that she for once didn’t have to bother to hide. Pressing her gloved hands against the wooden door proved useless at first; she put her back into it, gritting her teeth, suspecting newly fallen snow to be the culprit. She was right: it rained down from above, from the overhanging lip of the roof, dusting the top of her hooded head and shoulders.

The cold itself was not such a shock.

The lack of heat in the house had prepared her for it. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around herself as she started walking, her boots disappearing in the snow as she walked, seeping in through the sides and dampening her calves uncomfortably. She headed eagerly for the barn, half-stumbling over at times, her eagerness in part due to the belief that it would at least be warmer within, the heat lingering from the glow stones the family no doubt had to protect their animals.

She was halfway there—between the house and the barn—when she noticed the figure sitting on the fence, hooded cloak obscuring his face, feet hooked around the bottom rung to help hold him upright. Even with the cloak, his shoulders were a bit thin, slightly hunched forward, a few dark strands escaping from beneath the bowed hood.

Rukia stared for a moment, considering. I guess I can see it, she thought. How that oaf Renji could’ve mistaken him for herself. She smirked to herself and altered direction, trudging out toward the fence, which circled the property.

Byakuya lifted his head, revealing a flash of pale cheek as he looked briefly over his shoulder, hearing her approach. When she got to the fence, she braced her gloved hands against the top rung and swung herself over, the cold making her limbs stiff and unwilling to move properly. She wobbled a bit, but the steadying hand that briefly supported her from behind helped her finally situate herself.

She glanced at her adopted brother’s face for a moment, studying his features for as long as she could, without seeming rude. It occurred to her for the first time how beautiful he must look to others—and she wondered what it was that had changed about herself—or about him—that should suddenly open her eyes to it.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and she realized she’d just shivered.

“Of course,” she replied. When she shifted a little to lean against him, he didn’t protest. He has bony shoulders, she thought. Ichigo’s shoulder was soft, the hard muscle warm and round, a nice cushion for her cheek.

They sat like that for some time, the wind thankfully having died down. She thought she could feel her toes slowly numbing in her boots, but there was something about that that didn’t sound quite right. How could I feel my…?

“I have decided to stop running.”

Byakuya’s voice startled her from her nonsensical reverie. She looked up at him, but his cold, pale face was as expressionless as usual.

“I don’t see how we have a choice in the matter,” she said after awhile, shifting a bit. She sighed a little, watching her breath puff out before her. “After all, Lord Urahara is the one who insists—”

“I care as little for the wishes and concerns of that man as you ought,” he said, his voice suddenly as chilly as the air around them. There’s Nii-sama again, she thought, giving him a somewhat sideways look.

“Ichigo and Renji care,” she said after a moment. Then, adding carefully, “And they care about us.”

“That also does no concern me. I—”

He broke off suddenly, seemingly dismayed by his own words. He frowned, the confusion on his normally set features tugging strangely at her heart.

He tilted his head down a little, frowning down at the frosted over field now.

She waited, knowing he always needed time to think before saying something he felt was important. Or when he was working furiously to correct a mistake without seeming to acknowledge it.

Well, patience had its limits. They would both freeze to death before he managed to work up the courage to say what they both knew.

“What did you mean?” she prompted. “About not running away anymore.”

He started, ever so slightly. But then he frowned, looking back out at the field. “We were tools to Kuukaku. We are tools to this Urahara, too.” He paused before adding, his voice softening, albeit just so. “We are tools to all of them, despite their best intentions.”

Rukia blinked. “Nii-sama…” she said, her hand unconsciously reaching out, gloved fingertips hovering before hesitantly brushing his leg.

His hand came to rest atop hers, seemingly without thought.

“You and I have power, Rukia. We have always had it.”

Momentarily confused, she thought of Sode no Shirayuki at her hip. “You mean our zanpakutou?” she asked.

“In its most literal representation, perhaps. But we are not the only ones blessed with zanpakutou.”

“…Yes,” she said after awhile. “But … is it because I’m common-born?” Her eyes widened. “Because you married my sister?”

He nodded.

“I should not have been allowed to. But I would not be dissuaded, even despite the family’s threat to disinherit me. And in the end, that threat proved hollow. I did as I pleased. And … though Hisana … died … you remained. And together, we…”

“We proved that noble and commoner can work together,” she finished, straightening slightly.

He nodded again.

“The uniqueness of our relationship has unsettled them. To some, that relationship is dangerous.”

“To your parents,” she said, making a slight face. “Hell, to everyone back home.” Whatever “home” even is these days.

“Yes.”

“But then,” she continued, the realization gradually coming to her—all right, so no one ever accused her of being quick-witted, but whatever. “If the nobles consider us dangerous … if they’re really so afraid of us, and what we can do…” Her eyes widened. “Then that’s why we’re so important to the rebels.”

She looked at her brother. “That’s why Urahara wants us.”

And Kuukaku.

And really—how different could the two even be?

“You don’t consider yourself one of them.”

She started, the statement-turned-question taking her slightly off guard, jarring her from her thoughts.

She looked at him again. “One of who?”

“The rebels.”

Oh. She blinked.

“I guess I don’t.” For some reason, that made her feel bad, as if she were betraying Ichigo. But it’s true. We’re not on the same side—no matter what happens between us.

But if that was true—then whose side were they on, anyway?

She couldn’t speak for her big brother—though she could make a fairly reasonable guess—but she certainly didn’t side with the nobles. How could she? They’d all made it clear from day one that she was never welcome among them. Perhaps as a servant, yes, but as family? It was simply unheard of. Insufferable even.

Yet they bore it because they had to. Because Kuchiki Byakuya made them.

She breathed in sharply, her breath catching in her throat. “Nii-sama …”

The realization came over her all at once, like a chill rushing over her body and seeping into her bones, making even the back of her eyeballs ache.

“You’re going to fight them,” she continued, her voice strangely weak. “Both of them. The rebels and the nobles.” She looked at him. “Aren’t you?”

He made no answer. But the expression on his face was answer enough. She knew him that well.

“No!!” She grabbed his arm with both her gloved hands, staring beseechingly up into those fathomless dark eyes of his. “You can’t! How can you fight both sides at once? It’s impossible! You can’t just—”

“Rukia.”

She paused, the panicked words tumbling out of her mouth coming to an abrupt halt. Nii-sama…

He looked at her—finally looked at her, his gaze so intense, so commanding, it made her want to wilt into the frost-covered ground beneath her dangling feet.

“The enemies of the people are our enemies. Have we not always pledged as much?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Y-Yes.”

They’d said it many times, in fact, usually when they were both becoming frustrated with the barriers and bureaucratic hurdles that were placed between the people and what they were permitted to do for them. But … that was usually in reference to the courts, and the council, and whatever laws they were lobbying to overturn, which village they were attempting to have inoculated or be given relief after a particularly long, harsh winter.

He looked away again, that distant look passing over his face.

“They need us, Rukia. Our people.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to correct him even (perish the thought) … but then she thought of the good-natured couple in the farmhouse back there … how the man tipped his hat towards them seemingly without thinking, or how the woman both curtsied and smiled, her warm eyes holding Rukia’s for a moment, before turning and leaving her to her and Ichigo’s room for the evening.

And they weren’t the only ones.

The safe houses that she and Ichigo had stayed at thus far were all basically the same. And Ichigo assured her that there were many people like that—in fact, these were the people Urahara (and, in a sense, Kuukaku) were counting on to support them: a disaffected populace, still intrinsically loyal, but eager for change nonetheless.

Byakuya, she realized, was right.

“They’ll follow you,” she said, almost whispering the words. It struck her as so real, so painfully obvious, that she was amazed it had taken him this long to come to such a conclusion.

“No,” he corrected. He turned, once again, meeting her eyes with his own. “They will follow both of us.”

They need us.

Was that his voice or Senbonzakura’s she heard, echoing in her head? She could feel both their swords, their cold, comforting spirits twining round the two of them, Sode no Shirayuki half-dancing with excitement. She wished she could share in that excitement.

“I’m cold,” she said.

The silence seemed to stretch between them, until she felt the warmth of his arm settling around her shoulder. She leaned her head against his shoulder again and thought of the days and even months to come. Ichigo isn’t going to like this.

That was probably going to be the least of their problems.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Renji sighed heavily, smacking his lips lightly, halfway between the world of the asleep and the awake, the morning light squinting through the barn windows making his brow furrow ever so slightly.

“Mmm,” he sighed again, a smile now tugging at his lips, his hand reaching instinctively out. “Byakuya…”

He paused, frowning.

Absently patted the empty mattress beside him.

Creaked one eye open.

Only to see the lazily grinning, propped up visage of Kurosaki Ichigo.

“Mornin’, big guy,” drawled his new bedmate.

At first, Renji could only stare.

Then—

“Yaggghghgh!!!!” The cry of absolute shock and disgust came first, followed by his attempt to fling himself out of bed, as far away from the person beside him as possible. Unfortunately, he forgot two things. One, he was in a barn. Two, he was absolutely stark naked.

The back of his heel slammed into the wooden floor of the barn (a jolt of pain sliding up his left leg), his still half-asleep body wrongly anticipating there to be a least a foot and a half between the bottom of the mattress and the top of the floor. He then proceeded to flail his arms wildly, but it was all to no avail, as down he went, stumbling over backwards, his bare butt hitting the (thankfully hay-covered) surface of the floor.

For a few seconds, he was awash in pain, his thigh aching anew, his tailbone now smarting, and his heel throbbing from the impact of the hardwood floor. When he came to, it was to the sound of Ichigo laughing, his friend standing now, bent over, hands on his knees as if having to physically support himself through his mirth.

“Holy fuck …” the orange-headed rebel crowed, “That was sooo fucking worth it!”

Renji glared up at him. “Shut up!!” A second later, he realized he was still sitting there, naked, sprawled out on his ass with his legs wide open. He scowled and blushed at the same time, grabbing for the blanket so he could quickly cover himself.

Ichigo grinned. “Too late. I’ve seen the goods.” Then he added, smirking a little, “Though I guess I’m not the only one.”

Renji could feel himself abruptly blushing, all the way to the roots of his hair.

“You wouldn’t have been the only one ANYWAY!” he cried, blood vessels practically burning through the surface of his skin now as he turned his back to his friend and hastily began to gather his clothes, tugging them back on one at a time.

Ichigo just grinned, leaning against a post now, arms crossed over his chest. “Sure, sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Did he have to show you where to put it?” He smirked. “Did you make it all the way through the first time, or did you end up—”

“SHUT UP!” Renji roared, and he had the distinct pleasure of seeing Ichigo actually take a step back, the smirk quickly replaced by his usual pissy-faced scowl.

“Sheesh. Calm down already.” He nodded at him. “Hurry up and finish getting dressed. Their Royal Highnesses have something to tell us, apparently.”

Renji frowned, taken off guard by that. “Like what?”

Ichigo shrugged. “Beats me. They wouldn’t talk until I got you.” He made a face. “Some cocked up scheme of that prince of yours, probably. He just thinks he’s the absolute shit. Even when he’s taking a shit.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Renji growled, grabbing lastly his makeshift cane with one hand, and his zanpakutou with the other, not bothering to strap it on since they were presumably only trekking back to the house.

Ichigo snorted. “Fuck, he must good in bed.”

Renji’s only response was to reach out and shove him, Ichigo immediately shoving back, the two young men continuing to occasionally snap and push at one another as they made their way back through the slush of the rapidly melting snow, the sun already well over the horizon by now.

Once inside the house, Renji could immediately tell that something was just … different. It was still the same scene from last night—the fire cheerfully ablaze, the princess kneeling down beside it, cradling a mug as one of the farmer’s daughters bent to pour something hot within it. Her mother and sister were still in the kitchen, while the farmer himself occupied one of the two chairs in the tiny living area, his booted feet stretched out towards the fireplace, a thoughtful look on his face. And there, across from him, sitting poised in the opposite chair…

Byakuya … He could’ve sighed the name, if he’d said it aloud. In his eyes, the prince had never looked so beautiful. It wasn’t anything physically different about him. He was wearing the same exact thing he wore yesterday, in fact, and his hair and face were as clean as always—he was not the sort of person whom you would ever suspect had been traveling hard for almost a month, with little time or resources for personal grooming beyond the need for basic hygiene. But it was just … looking at that body, and knowing what he knew now, seeing what he’d finally seen with his own eyes … touching what he touched…

“Yo, Bright-eyes,” Ichigo drawled, voice close to his ear. “Snap out of it, will you? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Renji started. Then flushed, his body shifting uncomfortably.

“Nii-sama,” Rukia said, noticing them and reaching up to nudge her brother. “He’s here.”

For some reason, that made Renji flush even more: “He’s here,” as if Byakuya had been waiting expressly for him. Belatedly, he realized that that was pretty much obviously the case, seeing as how Ichigo had come and gotten him and said as much.

When Byakuya turned and looked at him, he felt himself unconsciously straighten, his heart suddenly leaping in his throat.

Beside him, Ichigo snorted.

“Renji,” the prince said, his voice calm but not cold, almost … though not quite … warm.

Renji relaxed, smiling.

And Byakuya—Byakuya blushed.

“Oh, come on!!!” Ichigo snapped, scowling. “Get over yourselves, would you?! There’re other people in the room, for crying out loud!”

“Ichigo!!” Rukia cried, standing, balled fists at her sides.

“Now, now,” said the farmer’s wife, hurrying over to come and take their coats, her accompanying laugh sounding slightly forced. “I always tell the children, bickering gets you nowhere!”

The farmer chuckled, apparently amused by the antics of their young guests. “Yes, Hana, but they aren’t children, are they?” He stood up then, looking at Renji and gesturing towards his vacated chair. “Have a seat.”

Renji blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Uh, thanks, but—”

“It’s all right,” the man continued, and he nodded at the cane still in Renji’s right hand. “You shouldn’t stand anymore than you have to, not with that leg. I’m sure the weather isn’t helping any, either.”

“Sit down, Renji,” said the prince, sounding more like his old self now, his dark eyes gazing up with faint irritation—what Renji might have previously catalogued as “blank indifference,” but he had now grown quite adept at reading Byakuya’s seemingly nonexistent facial expressions.

That wasn’t always a good thing, obviously.

Flushing, he made his half-hobbling way over to the chair, giving the farmer a tight nod before sitting down. The man patted his shoulder briefly, sparing them all one last lingering look before then disappearing back into the kitchen with his wife.

Renji met Rukia’s eyes, the former princess standing beside her brother’s chair, before sliding his gaze over to Byakuya’s.

“Ichigo said you wanted to talk about something,” he said. He felt awkward, the words tripping over the tip of his tongue. There was something strange about the whole situation, he realized—sitting across from the man he’d made love to last night, speaking to one another as if they’d reverted back to their old roles: the proud prince and the unruly young rebel.

Somehow that didn’t sound quiet right though…

However, it was Rukia who answered him, rather than her brother.

“We’ve decided to stop running,” she announced.

Renji blinked. He could tell from the slight jerking motion Ichigo gave that this was news to him, too. He glanced at his friend, wincing slightly as he did, already beginning to see the lines of betrayal etching across Ichigo’s face.

“What are you talking about?” Ichigo asked.

“It was Nii-sama’s decision,” Rukia said proudly.

“Of course it was,” Ichigo snapped. “Nii-sama still thinks his opinion matters out here. Nii-sama seems to forget that out here, he’s the prisoner and we’re the princes. Nii-sama—”

“Stop it, Ichigo!” Rukia cried, and there was something about her voice—something about the broken look in her wide dark eyes—that brought the orange-headed rebel to a definite halt.

Renji looked at the prince, anxious, concerned … but Byakuya sat unmoved, his expression seemingly calm, his eyes half-lidded as always.

It hurt for some reason. The four of them squaring off like this again. Renji bit the inside of his cheek. And this morning, when he woke up … why had Byakuya not…?

“What will you do?” he asked softly.

Rukia opened her mouth, as if to answer. But then she seemed to realize to whom the question was really posed, and quietly closed it.

Byakuya gazed at him a moment before answering.

“What I should have done a long time ago,” he said. He was looking away now, his face averted, eyes seemingly focused on the merrily dancing flames of the fireplace, as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. But Renji knew that look now. And he had a sudden, looming urge to rush across the room and gather the other man into his arms, to hold him close, kiss his hair, whisper into his ear, assure him he was listening, always listening.

Instead, he just listened.

And surprisingly, so did Ichigo, though Renji could sense the tension beside him, as the pregnant silence stretched onward.

Finally, Byakuya met his eyes again.

“We’re going to fight,” he said. He delivered the pronouncement calmly, as if he were announcing an afternoon excursion. “The time for running has ended. The time for fighting—fighting for the rights and safety of the people—has come.”

“To fight.” Ichigo crossed his arms, a sour look on his face. “Fight what? Who?” He glared, Zangetsu humming at his side. “Us?”

“No!” Rukia said, glaring right back. “Don’t be stupid!” She cast her brother an uncertain look, a look he didn’t seem to return. But nevertheless, she went on. “The nobles are the enemies of the people. They oppress them! They oppressed my mother and father. They made my sister’s last days a living hell. Nii-sama was the only one at her bedside. She died knowing she was hated!”

“We’re already fighting against the nobles,” Ichigo said. “That’s where you two come in.”

“You fight against no one,” Byakuya said. His cold, dry voice killed whatever protest Ichigo may have had ready and waiting. “You run. You hide. You carry out the orders of that murderous woman, or wait here, sitting in the snow like dogs, for word from this mysterious Urahara.”

Renji could see the tension in Ichigo’s jaw, especially at the mention of Kuukaku. It was a sore point with both of them. Still…

“Lord Urahara isn’t like Kuukaku,” he said, finally speaking up again. He looked at Byakuya, still confused about what was going on here—and not a little bit concerned about all this talk of fighting, too. “I guess…” he shot Ichigo a guilty look, “we always sort of knew what kind of person she was. And neither of us thinks that what she did was right. But Urahara’s different.”

“How?” The prince looked at him, his expression patient. It made Renji blush.

He stuttered. “Well … he just…”

“You’ll see when you meet him,” Ichigo said, as if that should settle everything. “As soon as he calls us to him.”

“I do not come when called.”

The prince’s cold words struck the room, even the fire seeming to flicker in response, a heavy weight settling over them all. From the corner of his eye, Renji thought he could see Ichigo shifting uncomfortably.

Byakuya stood up.

“You know where this Urahara is,” he said, looking at Ichigo. It was not a question.

Ichigo lifted his chin.

“What if I do?”

Renji gaped.

“What?!” He jumped to his feet as well, his left leg threatening to give out on him, but he ignored it. “Are you shitting me?! What do you mean, you know where he is?! When were you going to tell me—”

“It wasn’t for you to know!” Ichigo snapped. “He placed his trust in me. Not you! How do you think we always know where to go? Who do you think’s been giving me the information?”

Renji was so angry, he was momentarily speechless. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, burning just beneath the surface of his skin. Beside him, both his hands clenched into fists.

“Do you see?”

Byakuya’s voice was soft, almost gently chastising.

“Do you see what he has done? What he nearly has done.”

“Ichigo…” Rukia began, but then her voice just hovered, the rest of the sentence dying.

Ichigo merely pursed his lips and looked away.

Byakuya waited.

“All right,” his friend said after awhile, still sounding about as tense as he looked. He turned, facing the prince again. “I’ll take you to him. If that’s what you want.”

“He has not joined with Kuukaku,” Byakuya allowed. “There is hope in that.”

Ichigo nodded, warily.

“I would speak to him, as soon as possible. I would not make an enemy of the man my sister’s future husband appears to hold in such high regard.”

A single beat seemed to pass. After which both Ichigo and Rukia turned a startling shade of scarlet.

“Future husband?!?!” Ichigo sputtered.

“Nii-sama!!!!” Rukia cried. They looked at one another, as if each could detect the plague of potential marriage orbiting about the other’s head.

Renji snorted. “Nice one, Taichou,” he quipped, smirking. After all the teasing they’d had to endure over the past couple of days…

Byakuya blinked, then looked at him, questioning.

“Oh.” He realized, then smiled, a bit sheepishly. “It means ‘captain,’ right? In the Old Speech.” He shrugged. “I mean, it just sounds like … you intend to lead this shindig, don’t you?” He nodded at Rukia. “You and the princess.”

Byakuya seemed to shake himself before straightening again. “Yes,” he said. “We do.”

“We think the people will follow us,” Rukia said, her face still splotched with shades of vibrant red. She kept throwing Ichigo little scathing looks, daring him to approach her. “The rebel army is already forming. And you said Captain Hisagi had abandoned Kuukaku. If your Lord Urahara stays true, he could help us.”

“He’s smart,” Renji assured her. “He could definitely help.”

Byakuya gave him a look that could almost be deemed pitiable. Renji reddened without really knowing why.

Then Byakuya nodded. “I think we will have more support than we will know what to do with. If every family sends out its eldest son or daughter, it will be a burden we will hardly be able to bear.” Renji, recalling the look on the farmer’s wife’s face last night when they mentioned the eldest daughter, knew he was right.

“But they’ll fight for you,” Ichigo said, seemingly loath to realize how sure he was of that. “Both of you. Especially if Urahara joins you. He means a lot to them.”

“So does Kuukaku,” Renji added. “At least to some. The angrier ones.” The ones who’d had their homes sold, land bought up by greedy nobles. Or their ailing family members turned out into the cold when they could no longer afford royal health services.

“If they do not join us, they will be against us,” Byakuya said. His voice brooked no argument, and Renji couldn’t help thinking of that word again, the Old word: Taichou.

Taichou.

“I’ll need a lieutenant,” Byakuya said softly.

Renji looked up, startled.

The prince was looking right at him, an aloof calmness in those dark eyes of his, for all this talk of war. Lieutenant? He blinked, confused, beginning to wonder if his thoughts were becoming so transparent that … but then he blinked again, looking down at Zabimaru resting against the side of the chair.

In his head, he felt the sword smirk.

“Renji,” Byakuya said, diverting him again. “Do you know the word fukutaichou, too?”

“Yeah,” Renji said. He swallowed. His face was starting to feel warm again.

“Would you…?”

“Yeah!” he said again, hardly knowing what he was agreeing to, his heart pounding so fast, even though nothing had really happened; it was just a stupid word, a stupid couple of words. And there were Rukia and Ichigo looking at the both of them like they were idiots again, except this time he actually felt like an idiot, and yet, all he could really think about was…

“Oh hell,” he muttered, and he sort of stumbled forward, taking faint pleasure in the way Byakuya’s eyes subtly widened when the prince seemed to realize what he was about to do. The next thing he knew, he had his arms around him, pulling his startled lover close until their lips met, Byakuya’s head tilting back the way it always did, no matter how startled he tried to look.

They kissed, all the worries, fears, and concerns vanishing momentarily as they held one another—the only time they ceased to be prince and rebel, captor and captive—just lover and beloved, his own beloved Byakuya just melting into his arms, his taste and sweet scent swelling his senses, the touch of his body driving him wild.

When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, Byakuya giving him his best impression of a startled rabbit, the way he always did whenever they kissed in front of his sister and (apparently) future brother-in-law.

“Okay,” Renji said, feeling the smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “I accept. But only if it comes with all the perks.”

“That was hardly a perk,” Byakuya managed, still sounding a bit breathless.

“Maybe we should have a double wedding,” he heard Rukia joke.

“Fuck you,” said Ichigo. Rukia laughed.

Renji smiled.

It didn’t sound half-bad to him. Not half-bad at all.

And he knew that this was only the beginning—in so many different ways. Neither of them knew what the future had in store for them, how their thoughts, their actions, could potentially change not only their own lives, but the lives of thousands of others. Nevertheless, he did know one thing for certain: that whatever it was the future had in store for them, they would meet it together—the prince and his rebel—the captain and his lieutenant.

Of that, he could be absolutely certain.

~ FINIS ~

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XV

Sat, 02 Aug 2008 07:25:27 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XV
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: M (Don'tlookattheratingDon'tlookattherating!)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Byakuya smiles in this one. Several times. I apologize in advance.

“Can you imagine if your mother and father could see us now?”

Byakuya blinked, his mind slowly clearing itself of its solitary thoughts, before turning to look up at his sister.

She sat astride her and Ichigo’s horse, a somewhat spirited palomino rather inappropriately christened “Chappy” by its new mistress. Byakuya walked alongside her, the forest path less dense than before, the ground beneath grown steadily more rocky and inhospitable towards the larger breeds of foliage. They’d seen neither rain nor snow for several days now, and his boots found easy purchase along the hardened earth. He retained Senbonzakura at his waist, and Rukia did the same with Sode no Shirayuki, the saddlebags behind her filled to the brim, several pots and one sheathed dagger dangling from the side.

He looked away again, facing forward. “They would be very disappointed in the both of us.”

She snorted. “They were always disappointed in me.”

There was truth in that. And perhaps that was the reason behind the tiny flush of warmth that gathered just beneath the surface of his skin. For all his adult life, he had sought to protect her—both from his own family, and from the dredges of society from which he had brought her up. And yet, here they were, their roles reversed … him the lone noble amongst a base, roughened world that despised the very ground he tread on. Now, all that stood between himself and that world was his adopted baseborn sister and her rebel lover.

And, well … someone else, of course.

He gazed ahead, where Renji carefully rode the mare, the right stirrup shortened so that his still healing leg could lie cushioned against her side. Ichigo trudged beside him, the two friends murmuring lowly between them. It was in such stark contrast to their usual loudmouthed frivolity that it left Byakuya with an uncomfortable feeling between his shoulders … and perhaps a hint of jealousy, as well.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Rukia asked, her own voice soft and hushed.

Byakuya did not need to think too hard about his answer.

“The war,” he said. Or rather, the war that would soon come.

Rukia was silent for a while.

“It must be hard for them,” she finally said.

Byakuya looked briefly up at her.

“They have to act tough in front of us,” she continued. “But it’s hardest on them. They have to be strong, because we expect them to be. That’s why we love them.”

Byakuya ignored the flaring warmth to his cheeks again and choose to disregard that last part. But he felt free to differ with her otherwise.

“No more strong than you or I,” he said. “Nor have these events been any less devastating to us. Furthermore…” His eyes panned their wintry surroundings from beneath his hood, his mouth thinning slightly. “We are away from all that we once knew. In that, they have the advantage.”

He caught Rukia’s frown, the expression for some reason igniting another faint surge of guilt.

“They aren’t animals, Nii-sama,” she pointed out. Though she continued to use the traditionally deferential Old Language term when speaking or referring to him, there was a new note of assertiveness in her voice that he found … not so much distasteful as distressing.

“I am aware of that fact,” he said, perhaps a bit too stiffly. After all, he well knew the human softness of Renji’s skin and hair … the intelligent gleam in his reddish brown eyes.

Rukia smirked. “You’re thinking about him again. I can always tell when you are.”

When he shot her a look, she had the grace to look contrite, if not wholly apologetic.

“Ichigo grew up in the city, you know,” she went on. “His father is a physician. He and Ichigo’s younger sisters run a clinic for the poor in Kurakara.”

Byakuya had heard of the small outer-lying town, but had never personally visited there. He understood that it was one of the poorer cities, as were most of the outer-lying towns and villages.

“And what world-shattering event turns a physician’s son into a rebel?” he asked, not totally unaware of the slight sarcasm in his voice.

“He saw the people, Nii-sama. They were living … well, like animals. Ichigo’s father never had enough medicine to help them, and many of their illnesses were worsened, if not caused, by their living conditions. There was no sewage … no steady source of income, no permanent shelter. They lived side by side with their own animals sometimes.”

“You and I encountered many such places ourselves,” he pointed out, interrupting her. “We were not blind to the troubles of our people.”

“No, we weren’t. But that’s what makes us all the more responsible. Nii-sama…” He heard the tears in her voice, his own eyes lifting up to regard her in surprise. “We did so little…”

“We did what we could,” he said, not so much defensive this time as anxious, in his own admittedly awkward way, to reassure her. “The family did not approve of our efforts. The council rarely championed my causes. I myself had to beg for supplies.”

“We could have done more,” she replied stubbornly.

He started to open his mouth, but found he could not refute her this time. Maybe because some small part of him felt forced to admit that she was right.

The thought stayed with him throughout the remainder of the morning, until Ichigo called a very brief halt at noon for lunch. He and Rukia took the horses down to a stream to be watered, leaving Byakuya alone with Renji—a rare occurrence since the four of them had once again joined forces.

He leaned against a tree, watching Renji for a moment, the younger man exercising limbs which had no doubt grown sore and tired from sitting astride all morning, especially the injured right one. He’d set aside his homemade crutches for a sturdy cane now, his right leg able to support some of his weight. Byakuya suspected it could support more than he would yet allow it, but he had so far kept that thought to himself.

Renji caught him looking, pausing to flash that infectious grin at him.

“Pretty good, huh? It’s healing up a lot faster than I thought it would. I think it’s even better than it was this morning.” He grinned again, then demonstrated his newfound ambulatory abilities a little more, the limp only slightly noticeable now. Byakuya tried not to entertain the possibility that that slight limp would never go away.

More often than not now, he had caught himself chewing on the inside of his cheek, watching his former captor’s slow attempts at rehabilitation. Naturally, he had not allowed the others to notice his concern, but the guilt—it ate at him, gnawing at his insides like a disease, even keeping him up at night. He would lie on his back, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the inky darkness, going over and over in his mind his conversation with the apothecary. Had he followed all of the directions the man had given him? Should he have done more for Renji in the first place before leaving him alone—in the rain—with an open wound? Was he overcautious in refusing to allow the apothecary to accompany him back? If Renji had received proper care, from someone who actually knew what he was doing…

“Head in the clouds again?”

He blinked, surprised to see Renji now standing right before him.

He looked away again, out into the surrounding forest. From the corner of his eye, he could see the younger man smiling … felt him move a little closer.

“C’mon … don’t be like that.” When he still did not respond, Renji apparently decided it wise to change the topic. “So … what were you and the princess talking about earlier? Seemed pretty serious.”

“Idle thoughts,” he replied, scarcely heeding his own words. Lately, Renji’s nearness tended to do that to him. “Nothing of consequence.”

Renji gave a little snort and cocked his head, tilting it until their eyes eventually were forced to meet. Byakuya finally just sighed, the irritated look he gave the other man doing nothing to subdue the impertinent amusement in his eyes.

“We were talking about the coming revolution,” he amended. “That is … Rukia seemed to think the current situation most difficult for the two of you. Perhaps because you entertain some vague notion that we depend upon you.”

Renji grinned. “Some vague notion, huh?”

Byakuya just looked at him.

Renji chuckled. “God, you’re fucking cute when you pretend you’re pissed.” He moved a little closer, resting his free hand against the bark by Byakuya’s head, an increasingly familiar glint in his brown eyes. “Makes me wanna just…”

“Renji…!” Byakuya frowned and glanced in the direction Ichigo and Rukia had disappeared before aiming a chastising look the younger man’s way.

Renji rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

To be perfectly truthful, Byakuya was not entirely sure what it was that had forced this new tension to suddenly wiggle its way between them. Perhaps it was the constant presence of another pair of lovers. Perhaps it was merely the end result of their own burgeoning … interest … in one another. Whatever the case, they had begun to realize the … well, difficulties that arose whenever they happened to be in close proximity to one another. And, of course, so long as they were in the company of his sister and Ichigo, they could hardly give in to such … and there was Renji’s injury to consider as well. Consequently, he did everything he could think of to prevent their being alone together for any extended period of time. Luckily, Ichigo had packed an extra bedroll. It had been intended for Renji, of course, but he and Rukia both had to mask their surprise (rather unsuccessfully) when he made use of it—without Byakuya.

Byakuya, meanwhile, despaired to find that he missed Renji’s shared warmth at night. It no doubt contributed to his insomnia.

He closed his eyes, breathing in a slightly shaky breath at the feel of one calloused fingertip, brushing aside a strand of his hair. When he opened them again, Renji dropped his hand, an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He looked away, his face reddening a little.

“Don’t apologize.”

Byakuya blinked. His own words surprised him as much as they did Renji, who looked back at him, eyes slightly widened.

Then he grinned.

“Why not?” His hand dropped from where it leaned against the tree again, fingers once again stroking the side of Byakuya’s cheek.

Byakuya closed his eyes.

He felt Renji’s other arm curl around his waist a half-second before he heard the blunt sound of the cane falling to the ground, knocking against a tree root. His head tilted automatically back, Renji pulling him bodily closer as he opened his mouth to the younger man’s, Renji’s lips pressing against his own before his tongue slipped inside. The kiss seemed to stretch on for an eternity—his hands slid up strong arms and shoulders, the arm around his waist tightening, fingers massaging his neck before sliding up through his hair. He felt more than heard Renji’s moan, the sound rumbling up through the other’s chest. He answered him, breathlessly, the small tickle of desire curling out from the back of his throat.

All it took was the abrupt sound of a piercing wolf whistle to send them both flying apart, Renji actually tripping, his weakened right leg barely supporting him. Byakuya calmly knelt down, picking up the makeshift cane and handing it to his former captor before turning wordlessly away, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he passed Ichigo’s grinning visage. Rukia, meanwhile, might as well have had her tongue hanging out like one of the huntsman’s dogs, her gaping shock so evident he wanted to hurl himself bodily into the river and never come out.

The indignity of their moment of weakness stuck with them for the remainder of the journey. More than ever, Byakuya exercised strict efforts to keep his former captor at arms length at all times. Renji, for his part, sulked. Byakuya pretended to find his behavior insufferable, when all the while he privately envied the younger man’s abilities to vent his frustrations in so visible a fashion.

They reached the predetermined checkpoint some two days later. It was late afternoon, and they were tired, the weather grown unseasonably cold, even at this late month. It was not a matter of “appropriateness” that caused Byakuya to ride once against behind Renji (and Rukia behind Ichigo), but of sheer survival. To make matters worse, Renji had begun to complain of a renewed ache in his leg, too.

The sight of the large farmhouse, and accompanying barn, chimneys cheerfully emitting warm puffs of smoke into the early winter evening air, filled them all with relief. The family—once very low-ranking members of the nobility themselves—were loyal to Urahara and supposedly had long been wary of his alliance with Kuukaku. It was to be a safe place to stop for the night, and possibly to remain for a few days, until they could receive instructions from Urahara or someone else.

The thought of waiting around for instruction from an outcast nobleman did not particularly sit well with Byakuya. But now was not the time to voice his reservations—not when their stomachs all gurgled in simultaneous appreciation, the second they caught a whiff of whatever was brewing for dinner.

A boy came to take their horses away, while a man, along with a sturdy young woman who must be his daughter, hurried out to greet them. His wife and two youngest were yet inside, he explained, ushering them within. They had been expecting them, as per “Lord” Urahara’s request, and were just in time for a late dinner.

His wife did her best to fuss over them, instructing them all to make use of the bathing room, one after the other. He saw her slip Rukia a sweet-smelling soap, and was a little surprised when she did the same for him. When she whispered, “Your Highness,” in a soft, kind voice, he almost started, wondering how one could be loyal to the two heirs yet also be part of a resistance group set up to defy all that they stood to inherit.

After dinner, they obliged the family by staying up and talking with them, the two groups exchanging information. The oldest girl—fifteen if she was a day—intended to join the resistance, and even offered to travel with them. Her elder sister had already left to join, and had been lending her sword to the growing movement for some weeks now. Byakuya noticed her mother purse her lips together, but the woman said nothing, while her husband beamed on with pride.

It was news to him that the resistance was gathering any sort of army. He glanced at Renji, but Renji was engaged in a discussion with Ichigo and the husband and daughter about when they might receive Urahara’s next message, what progress the resistance had made thus far, and what was to be done with Kuukaku’s group. When the woman caught Ichigo pausing in mid-sentence to yawn behind his hand, she finally spoke up.

“It’s no use tiring out these young people, just to pump them full of information,” she said, standing and briskly smoothing out her skirt. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. For now, it’s bedtime for all of us.”

Her husband and daughter seemed disappointed, but not inclined to disagree with her.

“Well, Hana,” said the man, rising to his feet. “And where shall we put them up? We’ve only the one spare room. My Sena’s room,” he added fondly, glancing down at Rukia. Sena was their firstborn, the one who’d gone to join the resistance.

“There’s the barn,” Hana replied. “Where the boys sometimes sleep. They’ve gone home now, but I’ve asked them to keep the glow stones going, so it should be warm enough for comfort.”

“Ichigo and I’ll take the barn,” Renji spoke up, looking rather pleased with himself for his gallantry. “The prince and princess can have the spare room.”

“No.”

They all looked over at Ichigo, the sharp command momentarily halting the conversation.

“The princess sleeps with me,” he continued. “I’m her guardian.” He looked at his friend. “And Renji has to guard the prince.”

Renji just blinked.

Rukia stood up suddenly. “That’s right!!” she cried, with seemingly baseless enthusiasm. “Ichigo and I will take the spare room. And Renji and Nii-sama will have the barn!”

Renji blinked again. “But…”

“Just say YES!!” they both said, turning to yell at him in unison. Ichigo stared at his friend, widening his eyes briefly and sort of tilting his head forward a little, as if trying to convey some private message. Byakuya tamped down the growing urge to turn and disappear inside the spare bedroom, never to reappear again.

Renji, who still looked vastly mystified, finally caved in and just nodded meekly. “If, um … you guys think it’s best.” He cast an apologetic look at Byakuya, a look which Byakuya naturally could not acknowledge. Instead, he looked at his sister, who only smirked. He had a feeling if the family hadn’t all been standing here, watching, she’d have sketched him an impish curtsy.

Hana waited, then eventually cleared her throat. “All … right. If it’s all decided to everyone’s satisfaction then…”

“We’re decided,” said Ichigo firmly. “The princess stays here. And I stay with the princess.”

Renji just stood there and looked confused.

Hana’s husband walked over to him then, giving him a companionable slap on the shoulder. “Well, if you two will follow me, I’ll take you down to the barn. It’s not exactly feather pillows and silk sheets,” he cast an uncertain look at Byakuya, who also rose, “but you’ll be comfortable enough.”

Outside, the winter air was cold but still, the night sky clear, starlight twinkling down from above. Renji and Byakuya walked alongside one another, following the older man, their breath misting out before them, making Byakuya think of the dragon, its maw gaping down at them, hot breath smoking from its flared nostrils.

He pursed his lips, dispersing the unpleasant memory. Beside him, Renji still made use of his cane, though this morning he had been sure he no longer needed it. The dipping temperature brought the ache back into his bones, he admitted earlier. Byakuya had to ignore the ache that rose within him, the urge he had to wrap his arms around that sore leg, to kiss it, to breathe the warmth back in, and spare its owner further pain.

“Here we are.” The man showed them inside the barn, the glow stones, positioned at the foot of each stable door, casting a pleasant low light. Animals shifted in restless sleep, and something—probably an owl—peered down silently from the rafters above, yellow eyes reflecting eerily in the soft light.

“There’s an old mattress here the boys use…” He pulled it down, from where it stood leaning against a side wall, the mattress bouncing lightly as it landed in the hay. “And there’s linens in the basket here. A lot more comfy than it looks.” He chuckled. “I’ve spent the occasional night out here myself, when I’ve had too much in my system to make it worth my wife’s while to let me sleep next to her.”

He turned around then, frowning a little. “Afraid it’s the only one, though. The boys are young and don’t mind sharing. Say they share an even smaller one back home with two other brothers.” He shrugged, apologetic, obviously aware though that no comparison could be made between two stable boys and a prince and his fierce young rebel guard.

“It’s all right,” Renji said quickly. “I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He cleared his throat then, eyes shifting briefly over to Byakuya. It was difficult to tell in the low lighting, but he looked like he might be blushing.

The man chuckled again, fingers reaching up to absently scratch through his thinning hair. “Hay’ll poke you a bit, I guess. But you’ll be all right.” He paused to give Renji another companionable little shoulder slap, then offered Byakuya a polite, vaguely reverential nod before turning and heading back out the heavy wooden doors. The cold briefly tried to seep in after him, but the glow stones made sure it maintained its distance.

Wordlessly, Byakuya reached for the clasp of his cloak, his other hand pushing the hood back from his head.

Renji unbuckled his sword belt, laying Zabimaru down, before reaching for the basket of linens and awkwardly making the bed.

Byakuya set Senbonzakura down next, resting her beside Zabimaru. She whispered sweet nothings inside his head, her steel gleaming briefly white, then fading to a soft rose before returning to normal. He ignored her.

“I should have stood up to them,” Renji eventually said. He sounded genuinely contrite—and that old sense of self-worthlessness had crept back into his voice. “You shouldn’t be out here with me, sleeping in a barn. It’s just not right.”

Byakuya did not respond, instead, sitting down on the edge of the mattress so he could remove his boots.

Renji seemed to grow more uncomfortable. “I guess you’re mad at me.” He sighed, straightening then, as if to grab the last sheet and lay it over the hay beside the mattress for himself. “I can understand that. I don’t—”

He broke off, his expression mildly surprised, his gaze slipping down to his hand. Byakuya had caught it in his own, silently stopping him from rising. Both their hands were cold. But he could feel Renji’s heart beat quickening, his thumb pressing against the younger man’s wrist.

“Byakuya…?”

Renji blinked at him, his eyes widening slightly. Byakuya looked back at him, but there were no words to describe what he wanted right now … no way to let Renji know how erratically his own heart had begun to dance in his chest. He willed himself to squeeze that hand, to pull the younger man nearer to him, but that anxious, desire-driven boldness was already beginning to fade. He could only hold on to him.

Luckily, Renji didn’t need his encouragement to come any closer.

His back sank against the mattress before he could even register what was happening, Renji’s arms encircling his waist now, the heaviness of his body pressing down against his own. Their lips met, and he threaded his fingers through thick red hair, his knees parting automatically, so Renji’s hips could rest between his thighs.

The resulting contact, even still-clothed as they were, made them both gasp.

“Byakuya!” Renji murmured, still peppering his mouth with urgent kisses, Byakuya flinching slightly as cold fingers slipped beneath the material of his shirt. The chilly air made him reluctant to part with the garment, but Renji’s warmth would have to be heat enough. He lifted his arms briefly, then wrapped them around his soon-to-be lover as soon as the shirt was discarded, Renji’s now warm hands sliding over his back and sides, one palm slipping down to cup his ass.

“Renji…” he breathed, his lips caressing the younger man’s name in between increasingly passionate kisses. Renji’s shirt was next, then their fingers dipped below, fumbling with one another’s pants, tugging at buttons and laces.

The warm reality of being naked beneath Renji, he soon found, far surpassed all of his fantasies—the broad, muscular chest pressing against his own, naked shoulders there for him to dig his fingers into … or slide his hand down a strong, firm back, over twisting black tattoos, down to the sweat pooling there at the base of the younger man’s spine. They both moaned now, hands exploring one another’s bodies, an unbearable heat gathering between his legs, where Renji’s aroused length pulsed and slid against his own.

“Oh god … Byakuya …!!” Renji’s voice was rough now, panting between hot, moaning kisses. “You’re so… just … oh god…”

Byakuya responded, whispering his name, his body shuddering beneath his lover’s … especially when Renji reached down, fingers sliding over his quivering abdomen, before grasping him, squeezing gently, drawing out a long, low whimpering moan from deep within him.

“Byakuya…” He closed his eyes, feeling the warm breath puffing against his ear, his body continuing to shudder from what Renji was doing with his hand. “Byakuya, I … I don’t know…”

He opened his eyes, unable to mask the initial surprise from his features. When he looked up at Renji, the younger man was flushed, not merely from desire, a crippling sort of embarrassment creeping over his features.

“I just … I’ve never…”

Without thinking, Byakuya reached up, pressing his hand over Renji’s mouth, knowing it would kill his pride to say it aloud. He gazed up at him for awhile, feeling a small smile tickle itself onto his face. He shifted his hand, fingertip caressing that still-flushed cheek.

He could tell that Renji was misinterpreting his reaction for amusement at his expense, but he didn’t bother to reassure him—he had much more pressing concerns. He sat up a little, reaching for their discarded pack, for the salve he’d originally taken from the apothecary to help heal Renji’s wound.

Renji watched as he poured some into his palm, before lying back, his hands rubbing gently together. Then, gazing up into the younger man’s eyes again, he reached down between their bodies.

Renji went very still.

Then just groaned, his whole body seeming to shudder.

“Byakuya!” he panted, helpless. “Don’t… I’m … I’m gonna...” He tucked his chin in, groaning again. “Fuck…”

Byakuya felt the corners of his mouth turn up again, despite himself. “Relax,” he suggested, the playfulness in his voice earning him a wounded, desperate look. He removed his hand, though, having no desire to make his lover come with his touch alone.

He started to lift his knees again, but hesitated, a troubled thought coming to him. “Renji … your leg…” He looked up at him. “Can you…?”

“I’m fine,” came the short, panting response. “Don’t worry. Just wanna … just wanna be inside you now…please, Byakuya…”

Not entirely convinced, Byakuya nevertheless wrapped his legs around his young lover’s waist, lifting himself. He gasped, closing his eyes again, feeling the wet, now oil-slick head of Renji’s arousal sliding against his ass. He slid his arms around Renji’s shoulders, feeling a tension arise there as the other man had to rest his lower weight (and some of Byakuya’s now) on his knees—his body giving a slight wince as the pressure increased on his right thigh.

Byakuya immediately lowered his legs.

“NO!!” Renji cried, voice tinged with frantic desperation. “I’m okay, I’m okay!! It was just a … Byakuya, don’t…”

Byakuya frowned, but only to hide the smile that tried to creep in its place.

“Lie on your back,” he instructed.

Renji blinked down at him. “What…?”

Byakuya just stared back before lifting his hands and pushing against the younger man’s shoulders. Looking extremely unsure, Renji eventually slid off of him and rolled onto his back. Despite any reservations, though, he remained firmly aroused, his glistening cock still standing proudly, the tip weeping pre-cum.

Byakuya sat up, his own aroused state making every movement torturous pleasure. He watched the unsure expression on Renji’s face shift to one of unabated delight as he straddled him, his hands now resting on the younger man’s tattooed chest.

“Oh,” he said, a smile finally making its way to his face as well. Then he just grinned. “Cool.”

Without saying a word, Byakuya lifted himself, reaching back to grasp the hot length behind him, positioning the tip at his entrance. He distracted himself from the discomfort by watching the exquisite play of emotions on Renji’s face, as he slowly impaled himself on his lover’s cock.

Renji panted, chest heaving up and down now, his hands resting absently on Byakuya’s hips.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his brown eyes wide, his mouth half-parted. “Gnnn.”

Byakuya paused, careful not to move, waiting for his body to adjust to the intrusion. And Renji needed a moment, too, having to adjust to the no doubt mind-numbing pleasure as his lover’s body swallowed him up, squeezing him, impossibly tight.

“I’m ready,” he finally managed to pant. “Can … Can you…?”

Byakuya shifted his hips in answer, eliciting a low groan from the man beneath him.

It was answer enough, for Renji.

The grip on his hips tightened, as the younger man begun to thrust up into him, small, shallow thrusts at first. He moaned, hastily biting his lip to deaden the sound, feeling that wonderful length begin to brush repeatedly against his pleasure spot.

“Renji…” he finally said, gasping the name out. His head lolled back, dark hair sticking to his back and shoulders. His body rocked with increasing friction, Renji bracing himself with his bent left leg, his own thighs burning as he helped to lift and lower himself onto his lover.

When he looked down, Renji was a vision beneath him.

He moaned and writhed on the mattress, his naked chest glistening and heaving, wild red hair spread out around him. “Byakuya,” he cried, voice husky, tinged with desperation. His fingers tightened their grip on Byakuya’s hips—there were going to be bruises tomorrow. “Feels so … so good!! He moaned again, and this time, Byakuya joined him, unable to hold back.

By some miracle, Byakuya managed to pry one hand from his hip, moving to wrap his lover’s fingers around his own bobbing length instead. He could see it in the younger man’s eyes, the telltale flush of his features, that soon … he groaned, shuddering as that hand began to obediently stroke him, so that he could now be pleasured at both ends.

Not a moment too soon, he felt Renji suddenly go stiff beneath him, then groan, his hips jerking up for several final thrusts. The warmth of his lover’s essence began to fill him, just as his own orgasm hit—he cried out, his muscles contracting spasmodically around Renji’s cock, his whole world going briefly, blindingly white—before he sagged forward, Renji’s arms immediately rising up to catch him and hold him to him.

They stayed like that for some time, both of them breathing heavily, the sweat cooling quickly from their bodies. After awhile, he became aware of Renji’s fingers, gently stroking down his back, occasionally sliding up through his hair. The mattress smelled like hay and dirt and old leather, so he closed his eyes and buried his face in his lover’s neck instead.

“We should get under the blankets,” Renji said, his voice still husky from residual passion.

Byakuya slid off of him, trying not to wince, knowing his inexperienced lover would take his reaction the wrong way. Once they were under the covers, he lay close beside him again, one strong arm snaking out to curl around his waist.

The air was silent then, save for the muffled sound of their breathing, and the occasional rustling of the barn animals.

Byakuya shifted, absently moving even closer to the man beside him, his thoughts drifting.

“Renji,” he said after a moment. “When you first saw me … did you know?”

A soft, sleepy sigh, then the fuzzy response: “Know what?”

Byakuya frowned, his curling fingers resting on Renji’s chest, stroking the skin there. “Did you know that I was the prince?” He paused. “Or did you truly mistake me for a princess?”

He couldn’t see the resulting expression on Renji’s face. But from the sudden tensing of his shoulders, he imagined it must look something like guilt.

“Well … sort of.”

Byakuya’s frown deepened, dissatisfied with the lame response. “That will require an explanation.”

Another sigh, this one more exasperated than sleepy. “Did we or did we not just make love?” He grumbled, chest rumbling grumpily. “ ‘Bitchy’ stops being cute after midnight.”

“Renji,” he said, his voice insistent.

There was a seemingly reluctant pause, then:

“It’s just … I mean, we were told that she liked to sit in the garden. That it was her own private garden. The princess’s private garden,” he amended himself.

Byakuya felt him shrug. “When I saw you, I thought … well, you didn’t look like a princess. But I didn’t know what she looked like, so…” He trailed off, at a seeming loss for further explanation.

“You heard it form the servants,” Byakuya said. He knew the answer intrinsically, even before the other man could respond. “That was your source.”

“Well … yeah.” Renji sounded surprised. “How’d you know?”

He was silent for some time, before speaking again.

“Kuchiki-hime,” he said softly. The Old Language word felt cold on his tongue. In an instant, he felt himself as he once was, treading cold, silent castle hallways, his stiff back and cold eyes his only response to the whispers that followed in his wake.

“Kuchiki-hime,” Renji repeated slowly. “Kuchiki … Princess Kuchiki?” Finally, it seemed to dawn on him. “They weren’t talking about Rukia. They were talking … they were talking about you.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “That was their nickname for me.”

Renji turned finally, facing him, his eyes finding Byakuya’s in the semi-darkness, the glow stones slowly fading. “But that’s …” He frowned. “You let them call you that?”

“They did not speak it in my presence. The punishment for doing so was death.”

Renji whistled softly at that. But then he blinked, seeming to catch on to something. “Wait. Only in your presence?” He frowned.

“Yes.”

“Well, who the fuck decreed that?” He sounded angry now. “Your parents?”

“Yes.”

He could tell that the answer surprised Renji, even after all that he’d told him about his life at court. He was not merely out of favor with the family. In truth, he was “out of favor” with everyone around him, from his parents and the other high-ranking nobles, down to the lowest scullery maid. Unlike the people Outside, the castle workers were loyal to the noble Houses. What he did with Rukia’s sister—and tried to do with Rukia—and with the people Outside—it was something they could not, and never would, forgive him for.

The fact that Hisana bore him no child only strengthened the slanderous rumors that had already begun to rise up against him, even while still a boy. And though he had tried to keep it secret, it was a well-known fact that Senbonzakura was a female sword.

“Kuchiki-hime…” Renji murmured the word, his rough Outlander’s accent seeming to steal some of its power. Nevertheless, Byakuya felt himself stiffen automatically.

“Well,” the younger man continued, sighing heavily, his arms snuggling Byakuya close again. “I’m sorry for thinking you were the princess. I’ll make it up to you somehow. For starters, I promise to run Zabimaru through anyone who even thinks about calling you ‘Kuchiki-hime’.”

Byakuya frowned. “You can hardly control their thoughts, Renji.”

Renji chuckled. “That’s true. Okay, only if they say it. Then I’ll run ‘em through. And the same goes for me, too.”

The only reason Byakuya didn’t roll his eyes was because they were already closed. “How very gallant. And stupid.”

“Unless, of course,” Renji continued, “you’re actually acting like a bitch—I mean, a princess—and then it wouldn’t really matter what—hey!!”

He laughed, allowing Byakuya to rise angrily for a bit, before wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him back down to him, snuggling him close. Byakuya grimaced, allowing himself to be cuddled against the younger man’s broad chest, though in truth, it was no great sacrifice on his part.

“You’re my Kuchiki-hime now,” Renji whispered, his sleepy tone full of mingled amusement and sweet affection, and perhaps another emotion that neither of them had been willing to repeat since they’d first confessed to one another, the night Renji carved the little wooden horse for him.

His hand crept up, between their bodies, to curl around the small pouch he still wore around his neck—it was the only thing he did not take off, during their lovemaking, the leather thong still damp from lying against his fevered chest and neck.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice soft, causing the now-dozing Renji to only stir and murmur something in his sleep. Senbonzakura echoed his response, her petal-soft voice turning circles in his head, whispering the words he could not himself repeat. Zabimaru answered her, a metallic song of love, wrapping around his heart and drawing him deeper towards sleep.

His last thought was one of faint panic, of being found tomorrow morning like this by the yeoman or his wife—or worse, Rukia and Ichigo. But it was a fleeting thought, and soon he was fast asleep, Renji snoring lightly beside him, their arms draped loosely around one another.

The Prince and the Rebel XIV

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 07:49:13 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XIV
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13 (some heavy swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: I finally learned how to tag!! All my entries are now tagged. I will try to make it so the tags appear as a "top post." ;)

The wind whistled through the treetops, knocking the mostly bare branches together and tugging at the last few leaves of the season. The ground was hard, the soil dry and half-frozen, allowing Byakuya to move almost soundlessly through the forest in pursuit of his quarry.

But where he was forced to consciously restrain his movements, careful of every root, every rock and pebble beneath the heel of his boot, the other appeared to move with seamless, soundless ease. He did not require the assistance of the wind and the echoes of life it created amongst the branches above. Dressed entirely in black, save for the brown sheath for the sword he wore strapped to his back, he should have had difficulty blending in with the pale grays and browns of the surrounding winter forest. Yet Byakuya constantly lost sight of him, his heart leaping in his chest each time the man disappeared briefly from view.

Zangetsu …

Sebonzakura’s cold, metallic voice echoed in his head, the murmur laced with contempt.

Byakuya paused, eyes narrowing.

What followed was a string of maledictions so baleful he had to actually blink and wonder if his sword had somehow become possessed. With it came a series of rapidly flickering sounds and images: a flash of orange, the flaring of a black cloak—and the voice of a man who had once argued for his being left behind, bound and defenseless, to die like a rat in the snow.

Cold fury filled Byakuya’s body like a spark, indignant eyes widening, a flush of warmth springing to his cheeks. The next instant, his quarry turned, a hard wind whipping from the east, blowing back the hood of his cloak, bright orange hair flashing in the weak mid-afternoon sunlight.

Impossible to say who moved first. The second their swords kissed and held, brown eyes glaring fiercely into his own, Byakuya realized that Ichigo was his equal. Slight-statured and quick on his feet, the other man met his initial strike with a swift counter stroke, neither seeming surprised when Byakuya parried just as quickly. He had the advantage in training, but Ichigo, passionate young rebel that he was, had experience.

They both sprang back, swords held at the ready, but neither anxious to make the next move. He watched as Ichigo’s eyes flicked briefly down to his wrists, the crease between the younger man’s brows only deepening when he must have realized the ropes were no longer there.

“Where is the princess?” Byakuya asked, his features betraying none of the concern he felt boiling inside for his adopted sister.

“Fuck you. Where’s Renji?”

Byakuya bit back a scathing response, his mouth only thinning slightly. But it was reasonable that Ichigo should be concerned for his friend. As such, he could pose no threat to Renji—which was not any less reason to want to slit his throat, but that was beside the point.

“At camp,” he replied, his tone dry and devoid of helpful emotion. “Recovering from an injury.”

“Don’t believe you.”

Byakuya was beginning to find it hard to concentrate, what with his zanpakutou’s running list of insults slicing through his head. It was utterly unlike her, and again, he was reminded of how little her personality seemed to mimic his own.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes back.

“Nii-sama!!”

Both men turned, swords lowering momentarily. A horse was advancing rapidly, its hooves pounding the semi-frozen earth, the slight rider on its back weaving it expertly through the surrounding trees. Byakuya did not need to wait for her to straighten for him to recognize his sister. Her voice alone had been enough to momentarily stop his heart, fear and hope and relief overwhelming him at once.

By the time she pulled the horse up before them, he had gotten his emotions under control—for the most part. No doubt he stood there stoically enough, watching as she swiftly dismounted, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Nor had it ever, he supposed.

“Nii-sama!” she cried again, a huge smile on her face, then she literally launched herself at him, slender arms swinging around his neck, his face suddenly buried in windblown black hair. His own arms (one hand still gripping Senbonzakura’s hilt) rose up automatically to curl around her waist, which was thicker than usual, her body padded and protected from the elements by heavy clothes and a warm cloak.

“Rukia,” he whispered, his eyes closing, ever so briefly, while he held her.

They pulled apart after awhile, her beaming up at him, his eyes widening slightly when he finally noticed…

“Your hair,” he said. He blinked dumbly, the words caught somewhere between a question, a statement, and an expression of pure shock.

She grinned. “Like it?” She reached up to run her fingers through the shortened tresses, the new length giving it more volume than usual, framing her face in a way that he had to admit was not unbecoming. “Ichigo thought it would make it harder for people to recognize me like this. But I said I wouldn’t cut it unless he cut his first,” she added smugly.

Byakuya turned to regard the sober young man, who was now scowling more than ever if that was even possible. And his normally shoulder length orange hair was indeed shorn short, as short as many of the guards’ at the castle.

“We were so worried about you!” Rukia continued, that beaming look of happiness returning to her face.

We? Byakuya blinked. Then frowned.

“Speak for yourself,” snapped Ichigo. “The only one I came back here for was—”

“Nobody asked you!” she snapped back, hands flying to her hips.

Ichigo scowled. “Oh, so now I need your permission to give my opinion?!”

“There’s really no point, since your opinions are always wrong.”

“What?!”

For a while, Byakuya simply stood there, silently gazing at the bickering pair, his expression no doubt as characteristically blank as he always managed to keep it. It had been years since he had seen his adopted sister so animated when interacting with someone other than himself. Once, there had been a guard, a young protégé of Captain Shihouin’s, whom Byakuya found himself fervently wishing would be transferred to another regiment—until the young man died in a training accident, and he was left feeling guilty and very un-brother-like.

But perhaps secretly relieved.

“Rukia…?”

Ichigo’s voice was a distant thing now, encased as Byakuya was within the growing sense of … renewed fury, perhaps, rising deep within him. The feeling continued to be fueled by his sword’s ongoing litany of death threats directed towards the hapless Zangetsu—and the stunning, gradual realization that everything Renji had said about his sister and this … person … had been correct.

Rukia ignored him, too, as she was far too busy listing the number of times his poor decision making skills had nearly resulted in their imminent deaths.

“…and really, if it wasn’t for me, we’d have gotten lost ages ago! Lucky for us, Chappy here can smell water all the way on the other side of the mountain, or else we’d have had to test that stupid snowball theory of yours, and then…”

“RUKIA—!!” Ichigo roared, this time successfully cutting her off.

“I …” She blinked—then scowled, balled up fists still resting on her hips. “What?? I’m not finished explaining to Nii-sama why you’re so incompetent.”

Ichigo made a face, mouth twisting down sideways. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I don’t think he needs any more proof. Cause he looks like he’s about to kill me right now.”

Rukia whirled around to look at her brother, eyes impossibly wide as she took in his terrible visage. But he was scarcely aware of her observance of him, for his own attention was too focused on the young man standing beside her … the disgusting, worthless, pig of a rebel who would PRESUME to befoul his innocent sister with his scheming, pitiful, and no doubt undersized—

Byakuya...

His eyes widened, all the fury draining momentarily from his body as that sweet, vaguely familiar voice echoed distantly in his head. Not the steely voice of Senbonzakura, who had gone just as abruptly silent, but…

Byakuya turned, blinking, to stare down at his sister.

“You have Sode no Shirayuki,” he said.

Rukia’s face erupted into a smile.

“She came to me!” She reached down, pushing back her thick cloak to reveal the braided white pommel sticking out from her belt. “I was asleep. It was the first morning after…”

She paused, cheeks reddening abruptly. Behind her, Ichigo cleared his throat and scowled more fiercely than ever before.

Byakuya narrowed his eyes.

“I … I woke up, and she was there!” She hurried on. “She was right there, beside me, lying in the snow!”

She seemed to hesitate then, an uncertain look coming over her face. “Nii-sama…” She looked from him to Ichigo, then back up at him. “Nii-sama … she … she approves of Zangetsu. We think that’s why she came back. We think … it’s … when two people…”

“Nonsense.” He practically ground the word out, anger and disgust for once delivering his voice from its usual toneless quality. “A fairy tale. Zanpakutou do not—

“Oh yeah?”

Byakuya slid his eyes over to Ichigo, the young man’s stern frown now replaced with a smirk.

“So what does Senbonzakura think of Zabimaru?”

Byakuya blinked.

Rukia’s dark eyes widened before narrowing again into a glare. “Ichigo!! Take that back!!”

Ichigo ignored her. He was grinning now, arms crossed over his chest, smug look on his face.

“I think we have our answer,” he said.

Byakuya frowned. “I’ve yet to answer,” he said stiffly. Nor did he intend to.

“Nii-sama …”

He looked down at his sister, who winced, her expression mildly apologetic.

“Nii-sama … you’re blushing.”

He blinked again.

Ichigo grinned. “Holy…!” He started to laugh, hands on his hips, Zangetsu resting against a nearby tree. “Look at him go! He’s like three shades redder than a baboon’s ass!”

“… Ichigo!!” cried Rukia, furious.

Byakuya turned wordlessly away from them both, sliding Senbonzakura back into her sheath, all in one fluid motion. He then began to make his way back through the forest, to where he had left the mare. Dried leaves and sticks crumbled noisily beneath the soles of his boots, broken branches tugging at his cloak and hair. He did not appreciate the irony of his previously silent trek through the forest.

“Asshole!!” His sister’s voice, followed by a loud thumping sound and an exclamation of pain and surprise from that orange-headed idiot.

“Nii-sama!”

He did not look back, even as her footsteps hurried lightly after his own, her breath huffing as she ran.

“Nii-sama …” She drew up beside him, large eyes beseeching his own, though he refused to meet them. “He’s really not that bad. If you’d only get to know him…”

“He is a thief and a rebel,” Byakuya said, his voice cutting through hers like a knife. “Unbefitting of your notice, let alone your interest.”

She was silent for awhile, then: “I’m sorry I told him Senbonzakura’s name. He … He wanted to know. He wants to know everything about me … about us.”

“A plan so transparent, it, too, is utterly beneath us. In exchange for information, they attempt to seduce us—”

“They?”

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—the interruption, or the fact that she had interrupted him at all.

He paused, eyes still staring straight ahead. But they were losing focus now, images of bright red hair, strewn across pale, broad shoulders swimming before him, an array of tattoos so dizzying, they made him wonder… He clenched his jaw, his hands unconsciously forming into fists at his sides.

“Nii-sama …” His sister spoke carefully, though not as if she feared his anger. “Nii-sama … are you and Renji…?”

“No,” he said. He resumed walking, though he allowed his pace to slacken. She did not have his reach.

He did not quite stiffen when he felt her arm curl around his, though he did a fair job of pretending not to see the smile that had curled onto her face.

“Does he snore?” she asked. “Ichigo snores like a pregnant sow. If I knee him in the gut, sometimes it shuts him up.”

Byakuya found himself thinking of broad shoulders again … of how surprisingly warm they could be, soft skin pillowing his cheek, his hand resting on a gently rising and falling chest.

“No,” he finally replied, the word sounding much softer to his ears than he had intended. “He does not.”

Rukia chuckled, squeezing her arm around his one more time before letting it go. “Lucky you.”

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

“Six days ago, huh?”

Renji frowned, elbow resting on his bent knee, absently poking Zabimaru at the fire. “But we were only two days away from the meet-up point!”

“And we waited for two days afterward,” Ichigo said. He glanced over his shoulder at Rukia, who was busy attending to ‘Chappy,’ while the prince saw to the mare. “When you still didn’t show, we decided to come after you.”

Renji blinked. “Just the two of you?” He looked at his friend, then over at the princess. “And Lord Urahara just let you go?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo paused, his own forehead crinkling a little. “Things are … things are different, Renji. Something’s going on.”

Renji frowned again, not sure he liked the sound of that. “Like what?”

His friend was quiet for awhile, his lips slightly pursed, the omnipresent wrinkle between his eyebrows only deepening.

“It’s Kuukaku,” he said after awhile. “A few days ago—not long after we left her hideout, I guess—Hisagi, Ikkaku, and the others brought in some city guards.” He looked at Renji. “They’d been following us. All the way from the castle.”

Renji made a disgusted noise, but was nevertheless prepared to defend himself, recalling how fucking paranoid Ichigo had been about being followed early on.

But Ichigo wasn’t finished.

“Kuukaku had them murdered.”

Renji blinked, a little taken aback. He shook himself, though, frowning slightly. “Well … I mean, I guess that was harsh, but … they’re still the enemy, and who knows what they would’ve—”

“It’s not like that,” Ichigo interrupted. “She didn’t kill them to protect us. She used them to declare herself.”

“Declare herself?” Renji frowned again, not understanding. “What do you mean? Declare herself how?”

“I mean she marched them straight into Elissar’s town square, declared herself responsible for the kidnapping of the missing Kuchiki heirs, then slit their throats for everyone to see.”

Renji gaped.

Five soldiers, murdered in the town square of the most populous Outlander city outside the Royal City itself. Murdered by one of the leaders of his own group.

What did you think was going to happen? He could almost hear the prince’s dry, imperious voice, chastising him in his head.

He shook his head, scowling in frustration. “But … But how could she—?” But he cut the question short, realizing the fruitlessness of it, having known his lady—or thought he’d known her—for a good while now, and having had Byakuya’s account of her as well.

“So what now?” he asked instead. “I mean, how did everybody react? Fuck—how did she even get out of that city alive?”

“It’s just like she predicted it would be. Riots, angry mobs, vigilantes opposing the guard. But people are taking sides. Not everybody agrees with Kuukaku. Lord Urahara wouldn’t say what he thought—you know how he is—but I think he feels the same way.”

“Then he is a very wise man.”

They both looked up at the prince, who had returned to join him, his adopted sister at his side. He seated himself to Renji’s right, sinking back on his heels, hands in his lap, face as expressionless as usual. Rukia plopped down opposite him, beside Ichigo, sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees.

Renji looked at him. “Did you hear all that?”

Byakuya bowed his head—his version of ascent.

Ichigo scowled and reached for another stick, this time to join Zabimaru in poking at the fire. “Kuukaku’s gone into hiding now. She’s demanding that you and I return, with the hostages, then await further notice. Urahara’s advice … well, after finding you guys, first … was to hide, too.”

“Great,” Renji grumbled. “Feels like we’re hiding from everything but our own fucking skins now.”

“So it’s true, Nii-sama?” Rukia asked suddenly, gazing across the flames at her elder brother in a way that Renji could only describe as inappropriately reverential. “Lady Kuukaku really is that Captain Shiba woman from twenty years ago?”

Byakuya nodded.

She turned around and punched Ichigo in the arm. “See?! I told you it was her!”

“OW!!!” Ichigo swore and rubbed his arm, shooting her a glare. “What the hell was that for?!”

“So that must mean she’s been planning this for a long time,” Rukia continued, ignoring him. “Ever since she was banished!”

“Even before then,” Byakuya said. “She has always hated the noble families. She fooled us all into believing she was all that was good and honorable. Yet that hatred festered inside her, tempting her to commit mass murder.”

“Talk about bite the hand that feeds you,” Renji muttered, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well.” Ichigo shot Rukia one more warning look before leaning forward and tossing another stick onto the fire. “I always knew she was barking nuts. I wonder what Hisagi and his lot plan to do.”

Renji shook his head. “The Captain’s people are loyal to him. And the Captain’s loyal to the Cause.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing now. Which cause?”

They all four went silent for a while, each caught up in his or her own thoughts. A few weeks ago, everything had been so much simpler: capture the princess and win their freedom. Everything else would just take care of itself.

Renji snorted softly. Hard to believe he was ever that fucking naïve.

He figured this was probably easiest for Ichigo. His friend had always been a little on the rebellious side, plus he and Lord Urahara were already sorta chummy. Probably why he got chosen to be on this stupid mission in the first place. Teacher’s pet and all.

The princess … she didn’t really look the contemplative sort. He guessed now that she no longer feared for her life, she felt free to be herself again. Big surprise they didn’t warm up to her much at that castle back there. Comparing her to Byakuya was like comparing apples to oranges—hell, apples to antelopes. If anything, she was probably happy to be out, no matter what the circumstances had become.

Byakuya, now …

He found himself gazing over at the prince’s profile, guilt and amazement mingling inside him, as he once again wondered how he could have ever mistaken him for a woman. He was beautiful, sure … his skin like newly fallen snow, save when it was touched by the palest cherry blossom pink. His lips were thin, as unlike a woman’s as they possibly could be. His nose, straight and slender, but curving slightly upward at the tip, hinting at a deep-seated arrogance that arose from breeding more than anything else. Lashes dark and thick, though they hung over proud, heavy-lidded eyes, equally dark and almost fathomless, yet capable of evincing such contempt with a mere glance that Renji half-feared looking into them at times.

But as cold and impenetrable as that outer visage seemed to be … he knew now that it hid a vulnerability so carefully attended to that Byakuya appeared for all intents and purposes to go throughout life as if he had no emotions at all. True, Renji had yet to gain real access to that vulnerability, no doubt because Byakuya guarded it closer than his own heart (well, that much was already obviously apparent—it seemed neither one of them had had a chance in hell at guarding THAT). But it was nice to know that it was there, just waiting for him. Waiting for him to touch and kiss and hold the man who guarded it so fiercely, to assure him that everything was going to be okay … that it was okay to lay his head down on someone else’s shoulder, every once in a while…

“Whoa.”

Renji snapped his head back, meeting Ichigo’s eyes, staring at him across the fire.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” His friend grinned. “Abarai Renji—in loooove~!!”

From the corner of his eye, almost imperceptibly so, he saw Byakuya flinch.

“Shut up!!” he said, slapping his hands down on his own knees and leaning forward, glaring at his friend. “It’s not like that! Just because you and Rukia—

This time he noticed Byakuya seem to stiffen.

“—Just because you and the princess can’t keep it in your pants around each other doesn’t mean me and the prince—!!

Ichigo’s eyes widened. “You guys haven’t even DONE it, yet?!” He leaned back, howling with laughter, the sound echoing through the surrounding forest. “That’s rich!”

“Ichigo!!” Rukia said, jabbing him violently in the side with her elbow. “Apologize to Nii-sama at once!”

Renji stole a glance at ‘Nii-sama’ to see how he was taking all of this. But Byakuya was predictably calm and silent, his head slightly bowed, his dark hair falling forward to obscure most of his features. Simultaneous feelings of anger and protection rushed over Renji, such that he didn’t know whether he wanted to grab the prince by the shoulders and shake him until he showed some reaction, or pull him into his arms and shield him from Ichigo’s crass generalizations.

Then his eyes trailed down a little, down to Byakuya’s right hand, which was quietly clutching a little pouch tied around his neck.

Renji blushed, realizing what was in that pouch.

“OW!! Stop hitting me, will ya?!”

He blinked, and returned his attention to the forever feuding couple, Rukia now on her feet, leveling kick after kick into Ichigo’s no doubt bruised hip.

“Not until you apologize!!”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, sheesh! … HEY! I said I was sorry, okay?!”

Renji turned away from them, once again letting his eyes rest on Byakuya. Without thinking, he reached over, hesitating ever so slightly before resting his hand over the one that clutched that tiny leather pouch so tightly.

He felt the hand beneath his relax, oh so subtly, their fingers eventually twining together.

Suddenly, Ichigo stood up.

Renji looked up at him, surprised.

“Come on,” his friend said, reaching for and grabbing Rukia by the arm. “Let’s go get more firewood.”

“Nii-sama~!!” she wibbled, her large dark eyes seeming to sparkle as she gazed down at her big brother, quietly holding Renji’s hand. She didn’t protest then as Ichigo proceeded to drag her into the woods, though it wasn’t long before he could hear the pair bickering again, their voices too indistinct to make out.

Renji gazed at Byakuya again, a small smile finally curling onto his face. He rubbed his thumb gently over the hand in his, the prince still not looking up.

Wordlessly, Renji released that hand, slipping his arm instead around Byakuya’s waist, pulling him gently but forcefully closer. He touched the prince’s cheek, his own face already turning down, their lips meeting, Byakuya’s already half-parted, his eyes sliding closed. He twined his other arm around Byakuya’s waist, feeling two slim and slightly-muscled arms circle his neck as they explored one another’s mouths.

It was, he found himself fuzzily acknowledging, both the sweetest and most passionate kiss he had ever shared before.

When they finally pulled apart, he gazed down into those heavy-lidded eyes, those snow-white cheeks now flushed with feeling.

He reached up, fingertips gently touching the older man’s face.

“Byakuya,” he said, unconsciously swallowing around the tightness in his throat. “You know I’d never … I’ll never let anyone take you away from me. No matter what.”

Byakuya gazed back up at him, neither of them expecting or anticipating a response. After a moment, the prince simply leaned into his arms again, allowing his head to rest against one of Renji’s shoulders.

Renji blinked, surprised by the sudden brightness in his eyes. He swallowed again, and tightened his arms, feeling the warmth of Byakuya’s breath as the slighter man sighed against his chest.

He lowered his head a little, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of that dark head.

No, he didn’t know what the future held in store for the both of them. But at least he could be certain of one thing.

They were going to face it together.

No matter what.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XIII

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 07:01:09 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XIII
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13 (some heavy swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: As always, thank you everyone for taking the time to read my little story ^^ It has its ups and downs, but I am just glad that you are all here reading it with me ♥

EDIT: omg!!! I forgot to credit my fabulous beta, istahire!!!! Not only did she edit simply for grammar, but for content and character, as well. She turned this chapter around when it was going in the wrong direction and even offered me new and interesting ideas and motives. I OWE HER EVERYTHING!!!

Every day, Renji demanded that they pack up and leave. Every day, Byakuya refused.

He had little time to worry about the precariousness of their position, for the days passed swiftly, and they were filled with things to do. He cared for the horse, tended the fire, and tried his hand at sewing some of the patches in their clothing, now that he had a needle. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, he mounted the horse and conducted a survey of the area, Senbonzakura at his side, making a small circle half a mile wide in every direction. He located a small stream not far from camp, and routinely filled their water skins, and once even washed their second set of clothing. When Renji jokingly referred to him as “Mrs. Abarai” while he was busy stringing a line and hanging up the sodden material to dry, Byakuya said nothing. He continued to say nothing until nightfall arrived, and Renji was faced with the uncomfortable reality of a mute bedmate. Only then did it occur to him to apologize.

Renji continued to be fiercely immobile. Byakuya offered to let him help with the sewing, but he only ended up poking himself with the needle and fumbling all of his stitches. He then made several fruitless attempts to repair the ruined saddle. Later, he polished Zabimarou until the sword shone, but when he picked up Senbonzakura to do the same, he dropped her again almost immediately.

“She bit me!” he exclaimed, brown eyes widened with shock.

Byakuya looked up for a moment before returning to whatever it was he was doing at the time.

Eventually, he gave up trying to be useful and apparently resigned himself to lying back, arms crossed behind his head, and staring up at the pale, gray sky. Not surprisingly, he seemed to find that quiet contemplation did not suit him. A few minutes later, he sat up again and asked for a piece of wood. No—on second thought, several pieces. His patience now balanced on a precipice, Byakuya quietly stood up and did as he asked. It was with very briefly unfettered surprise when he sat back down by the fire and watched his companion pick up a large block of wood and flip open a small knife.

And that was how he discovered Renji could whittle.

Byakuya found that he enjoyed watching the other man work … the way his knife calmly swept across the surface of the wood, over and over and over again, little chips flaking off with each stroke. It always amazed him to see the shape of the object eventually emerge, a shock stealing over him the moment he could make it out. Renji was aware of his observation, but never said anything, though he would occasionally glance up with a smile on his face.

“How do you know what to make?” he finally allowed himself to ask.

Renji shrugged. “Just comes into my head, I guess. Maybe the wood tells me.”

Byakuya thought that was ridiculous, but said nothing.

Renji didn’t really do anything with his creations. Mostly, he just filled his pack with them, saying they’d make good toys for kids on market days. Byakuya didn’t know if he meant to sell them to the parents of such children, or if he intended to give them away, perhaps in some sort of compassionate display of empathy for the dire financial situation so many Outlanders were in. He did not ask.

One late afternoon, when he knelt to hand the other man his share of beans and dried meat—his attempts at fishing had proved futile, and their sources really were becoming dangerously low—Renji handed him something in return.

Taken a little off guard, he stared at the other man before gazing down at the object in his hand.

It was a miniature wooden horse, the legs so tiny as to be almost invisible when held up to the swiftly setting sun. The creature arched its head at a proud angle, mouth half-open, one hoof cocked in defiance. He stared at it for some time, cupping it carefully in his palm.

“I wanted to make you something,” Renji said, regaining his attention.

Byakuya did not look up, his eyes still focused on the tiny horse in his hand.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” He heard the younger man shift a little, clear his throat a bit. “I guess it just … sorta reminded me of you.”

When Byakuya looked up at him again, he was blushing.

He curled his hand around the tiny horse, folding it beneath his fingers, miniature hooves pricking against his palm. “I see,” he said. Then, after hesitating a moment, he leaned over, lightly pressing his lips against his suddenly mute companion’s. “Thank you.”

When he straightened again, he was slightly surprised to see that Renji had now turned the approximate color of his hair.

He glowered, evidently noticing Byakuya’s reaction. “What?!”

When Byakuya did not respond, he made a sort of hmphing noise under his breath and looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

“Fuck,” he said after awhile, his voice a bit gruff, almost testy, “you haven’t even let me touch you since that first night. How the hell am I supposed to react?”

Byakuya blinked—but it was true. Since that night, his only physical relationship with Renji consisted of lying close beside the other man beneath the blankets of the bedroll. Mostly, he turned to face away from him, preferring to stare out into the blackness of the surrounding forest until his eyelids became too heavy to remain open. When he felt Renji’s arm curl around his waist, he did not protest. In fact, he found the other man’s solid warmth behind him comforting, even pleasant. But he didn’t think of kissing him, because to do so aroused feelings that he was as yet still unprepared to reconcile with.

“Do you regret it?”

He looked up, almost startled—not so much by the words themselves, but by the strange tone in Renji’s voice. It took him a moment to realize that the other man was angry.

Almost absently, he squeezed the fingers of his right hand together, the little wooden horse now warm against his palm.

“No,” he finally said.

He felt a hand reach up, gently touching the side of his face before falling back again, its owner sighing. “Then why are you suddenly treating me like garbage?”

“I’m not treating you like garbage,” he said, the words swift and sharp, stinging the air. He tried to breathe in, but could not seem to inhale deep enough.

“Like hell.” Again, that hand, brushing against his face, but he ignored it. “I put my arm around you at night, and you go all stiff. Like just the thought of me touching you makes you sick to your stomach or something.”

Byakuya tried to breathe again, his vision becoming blurry. “I don’t treat you like garbage,” he whispered.

A pause, then … “Byakuya…?”

He blinked, his fist tightening around the tiny figurine in his hand, even as his chest began to feel as if it were trying to squeeze all the breath from his lungs. “Renji,” he said, his eyes still staring resolutely out into the increasing darkness. “I refuse to allow you to speak of yourself in such despicable terms. You will acknowledge your worth in my presence or face my displeasure.”

He blinked again, steadfastly ignoring the presence of Renji’s hand, now cupping his face, fingers slipping beneath his hair, tickling his ear.

“Byakuya … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I asked you to refute them!” he cried, cutting the other man off. He rose to his feet, then, still refusing to meet the other man’s eyes, and turned away from him, bypassing the campfire and heading deeper into the forest.

“Where’re you going?” Renji called after him, seeming concern lacing his voice.

Byakuya did not answer. He told himself he was going to gather wood for the fire, the way he did every night. But that explanation could not account for his increasingly erratic path as he stumbled blindly through the thick foliage, roots tripping up his boots and branches tugging at the hood of his cloak, whipping him in the face. Finally, after an eternity, he paused to lean against a tree, resting against the thick, hard bark, the cold wind freezing against his face.

After a moment, he sank to his knees, rocks digging through the thin material of his pants, his right fist unconsciously clutched to his chest, squeezing the tiny creature within it.

What am I doing? Another wind gust whipped past him, rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees and causing a chill to wrack through his body. And with it, a successive insidious thought, tickling the edges of his brain:

What have I become?

No longer the prince. No longer the heir of the noble Kuchiki family, ruler of the Four Great Families these 400 long years. He was everything his family despised—his compassion for those beneath him in stature interpreted as weak mindedness, his marriage to Rukia’s sister ten years ago an insult to both their peoples. And now … now…

He clutched his fist harder to his chest. Did he truly believe that which he had once insinuated to Renji during their numerous conversations? That there were two different levels of humanity … and that those two levels should not mix. Again, he saw the sly humor in the bowman’s eyes when he admitted that his sister could marry whomever she chose. Does it bother you?

Does it bother you?

“Yes,” he said into the darkness, shame and self-loathing crawling up his spine. It bothered him that Rukia could love so freely. It bothered him that he could not. It bothered him—it crushed him—it infuriated him—that his heart did not care for such restrictions, did not care for things like rank and consequence and pride.

Was this his punishment for marrying Hisana, all those years ago?

Byakuya ...

He lifted his head, eyes widening in shock, as Senbonzakura immediately began to fill his mind with an image—an image of Renji, throwing the blankets back, thrusting Zabimarou into the earth, using him as leverage to rise, struggling to his feet…

Icy terror slid through him as he immediately rose up, turning quickly to face the direction he had come. How long had he been out here? How far had he strayed from camp? But in the thick darkness of the forest, even the distant light from the campfire was hidden from view, and he realized, panic abruptly seizing him, that he was…

Byakuya ... !!

Her voice rang in his head like a piercing siren’s call, seizing his brain and forcing his eyes to focus ahead, a section of the forest seeming to throb in response. He stumbled forward, eventually breaking into a run, following the cry of his sword, and the image of Renji tentatively putting weight on his wounded leg, then screaming in pain—

“No!” he cried, and then he was there, the wind gusts having their way with the flickering fire, and Renji … Renji, staggering upright, braced against Zabimarou, red hair tumbling around his shoulders…

“Byakuya!” he said, looking up, his eyes wide with concern, though it was quickly replaced with profound relief … but his face was etched with pain, and he shuddered, groaning under his breath.

“Fool!” Byakuya chastised, grating the word out as he strode towards the other man. Perhaps he seized him a little too abruptly, for Renji staggered a bit beneath his hands, shoulders bunching and knees buckling. “Are you trying to kill yourself? If the wound were to open…” He left the horrific thought hanging—either for effect or because he choose not to fathom it himself—and, carefully looping one of Renji’s arms around his own shoulders, helped him hobble back until he could be lowered down to the bedroll.

“God!” Renji sat down heavily, panting, arms splayed out, bracing him upright, though he looked exhausted enough to want to lie down fully. His face was blotchy, even despite the cold, long red strands of hair sticking to his skin. Pain seemed to override any other emotion, but as that gradually faded, a strange tightness seemed to pass over his features, his mouth turning down at the corners.

Byakuya knelt down beside him, fisted hands resting on his knees.

“That was a very stupid thing to do,” he said after a moment—once he was able to see past the seething fear disguising itself as anger enough to put thoughts into words. “Would you have all my efforts to save you amount to nothing? Attempting to walk on your own, without any means of support, merely to satisfy a whim! Do realize you could have—

“For fuck’s sake,” Renji suddenly snapped, “would you just SHUT UP for once?!”

Byakuya was so shocked by the other man’s sudden outburst that it had exactly the desired effect of rendering him utterly speechless.

Renji growled under his breath, the sound seeming to roll out from under his tongue. “God damn it! It’s like … I spend all this fucking time trying to get you to talk, and now you won’t fucking shut up!!”

Byakuya felt a coldness begin to seep over him, his jaw hardening, ever so slightly. “I apologize,” he said after a moment, his voice stiffened and utterly devoid of emotion, “if my desire to communicate—

“I’M NOT FINISHED YET!”

This time he actually flinched—perhaps because Renji in a rage was, unsurprisingly, a force to be reckoned with. His eyes continued to burn, resulting in a prickling sensation of heat against Byakuya’s cheeks, though he was certain he gave little to no evidence of his own discomfort.

Renji paused to curse then, muttering a string of obscenities so crude that Byakuya unwittingly turned his head, averting his eyes, mouth thinning in disapproval.

“You think this isn’t hard for me, too?”

He lifted his gaze, meeting the younger man’s eyes once again.

“You think just because we were born in different places I don’t feel the same things you feel? Think the same shit you think? You think it doesn’t eat me up inside, that I betrayed everything I thought I fucking believed in when I took those ropes off your wrists?!”

Byakuya said nothing.

“You think you’re the only one struggling with this, don’t you? Poor dumbfuck, lame-ass, commoner piece of crap, you say to yourself. He can’t possibly comprehend the whole pot of shit he’s trying to brew up for the both of us.” He leaned in, his nostrils flaring slightly. Byakuya could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, making them seem almost red in the haze of the firelight. “Well that’s where you’re WRONG.”

Byakuya took a second to compose himself, his right fist tightening around the small figurine now imbedded in his palm there. He consciously relaxed his facial features, swallowing a few times to be certain his voice would sound clear and collected.

“I understand,” he said. His teeth were gritting together, despite his best efforts. “But Renji … this is where we must stop and question ourselves. Are our recent actions … worth the consequences they inevitably create?” He paused to take a deep breath, his left hand unconsciously bunching against the material of his pants. “Am I worth risking your position and your reputation—forfeiting your life—merely too—

“Yes, you are!” Renji snapped, cutting him off. “YES YOU ARE!!”

And suddenly, Byakuya understood.

Yes, I am, he thought, the very idea filling him with shock, even robbing him momentarily of breath. He looked into Renji’s fierce brown eyes, and his own widened, ever so slightly.

Yes, you are.

“Do you think I LIKE being in love with a pompous asshole like you?” Renji asked, but all of the fire seemed to have drained from his voice. His shoulders were slumping, a genuinely defeated expression on his face. “Hell…”

He reached up to rudely brush back some of the hair hanging over his eyes, but then seemed to change his mind, his hand falling limply back down.

The gesture made Byakuya’s heart begin to ache.

“No more than I enjoy being in love with a filthy rebel like you,” he said quietly.

Renji’s shoulders tensed noticeably—but when he looked up again, his eyes held the first fate glimpse of hope.

Then he smiled, the expression almost beatific. But after a moment, Byakuya had to avert his gaze, as if it were still too much for him to accept. He felt almost…

“You’re blushing again,” came that warm, husky voice … the same one that had invaded his dreams of late, leaving him hot and breathless in the morning, forcing him to slip out from under the blankets before Renji could waken.

He felt a hand reach up, fingers caressing the side of his face, bringing a new flush of warmth to his cheeks. Tentatively, he reached up and laid his own hand on top of the other man’s, his fingers curling around the slightly larger palm.

Renji sighed. “Fucking leg,” he muttered, shifting unconsciously, their hands dropping, though not unclasping. “We could totally be gettin’ it on right now.”

Byakuya could not quite refrain from rolling his eyes.

“Try to think of it as something to look forward,” he said dryly. He rose up then, not quite standing, but only shifting so that he could settle himself behind the other man, wrapping his arms around Renji’s waist so Renji could lean back against him.

He felt more than saw the cheeky grin that flashed across the younger man’s face. “My reward for being good?”

“I would hesitate to call it as such. You may have to wait an awfully long time then.”

Renji chuckled, the sound vibrating both their chests. Just for a moment, Byakuya allowed himself to rest his face in wild red hair, breathing in before sighing very deeply.

“Do you want to know why I haven’t let you touch me?” he asked after a moment.

“Mm. Why’s that?” The absent amusement in the other’s voice let him know that Renji could tell he wasn’t being entirely serious.

“You haven’t bathed in four days.” He shifted a little, ever so slightly nuzzling his nose through red hair. “You smell.”

Renji’s laughter almost pushed him back this time, his arms having to tighten around the other man’s waist. He rested his chin on one shoulder after a moment, looking down at his right hand as he uncurled his fist, revealing the little wooden horse.

He watched Renji’s hand cup his own, as if offering support for the tiny figurine. “Do you really like it?”

He smiled, ever so faintly.

“Yes,” he said. He stroked the tiny muzzle with his thumb before curling his fingers back over the little horse. “I love it.”

They were silent for awhile then, unmoving, Renji still resting in his arms, despite the fact that the wind was indeed picking up and he ought to be going around weighting things down. When both their stomachs reminded them that they hadn’t eaten, he finally sighed and eased away from his companion, rising to his feet and heading over to the fire, to remove his mostly charred dinner.

“Renji,” he said after they’d sat eating in companionable silence after awhile, “Do you think you could make yourself a pair of crutches?”

The younger man paused in his eating, chewing for a second then swallowing before pursing his lips in thought. Then he shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Long as I have the right size piece of wood. Right type, too.” He glanced up at the sky. “Better not rain again.”

Byakuya could heartily agree with that sentiment.

“Or snow,” Renji added grimly.

As the evening lingered on, they eventually assumed their usual positions under the blankets of the bedroll: Byakuya resting on his side, gazing out into the darkness—Renji behind him, one arm looped loosely around his waist. Except this time, he welcomed the feel of the other man gently nuzzling his hair, the way his arm around him tightened a little, Renji’s broad chest pressed snugly against his back. After a moment, he told him of his plan to get the younger man walking again, first with the aid of crutches. Their first expedition, of course, would be the lake, so Renji could finally bathe. When Renji made a joke about finally getting to see him naked, he could only purse his lips in faint disapproval, though he made no move to renew any kind of distance between them. A few minutes later, they were both soundly asleep, the blankets pulled up almost to their ears in an effort to keep out the biting cold.

IIIIIIIIIIIII

It was several more days later, during one of his daily treks around the camp, that Byakuya finally had grave cause for concern about the vulnerability of their situation. The mare paused, her head swiveling in one direction, chestnut ears pricking forward.

The sound was distant, but unmistakable—the sound of someone moving quietly through the forest, someone who obviously did not wish to be detected. And they were headed in the direction of the camp.

Wordlessly, Byakuya dismounted, quietly tethering the mare to a nearby sapling. He silently drew Senbonzakura and began to advance.

To be continued ...

Music Meme

Fri, 23 May 2008 04:52:32 GMT

yoinked from calmingeffects

1. Open a music player.
2. Go to 'all music'/'library'.
3. Hit shuffle/repeat/randomise.
4. Find photos of the first 15 artists/bands that come up (no repeats and no cheating).
5. Have people guess who the artists/bands are.
6. Paste this in your journal and do it too, so I can have fun guessing as well.

Most of its easy. The new age stuff might be hard :P

I'll say if you can guess TEN I'll write you a nice tiny drabble. But only for couples / characters I know and like :P

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XII

Thu, 22 May 2008 07:01:01 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XII
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Are you being spoiled? Yes, you are. Don't expect the next one to come so quickly :P

At first he thought he was dreaming again. There was no other explanation for why he was so warm. Or why he had the prince’s naked body pressed so snugly up against his own.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to move, for fear of startling the slighter man beside him … because he really couldn’t. His body felt sluggish, though well rested. His head didn’t ache, but it felt heavy, weighted down, as if he were recovering from some weeklong flu. His left leg, from the knee cap up, was mostly numb—though he could feel the telltale prickle of sensation, letting him know that he’d be far too aware of it again, far too soon.

He tried to sift through the snippets of his memory, to piece together what had happened, but it was hard.

The dragon … He frowned. I sure as hell remember that. Or really, he remembered his heart pounding hard in his throat as he stretched over the horse, digging his heels into her sides, one arm desperately clutching the prince in front of him. The fight itself was fuzzy. He had to protect the prince. He had to. But he’d failed.

He turned his head slightly, wincing a little, but more from expected than actual pain. A small fire burned cheerfully to his left. Further out, he could see the mare grazing near the remains of the saddle and their supplies. Her ears flicked back and forth, her back quivering, tail swishing occasionally.

He could tell from the tightness around his still mostly numbed left leg that his thigh had been treated and bound. The groggy feeling in his head made him think of medicine, though where THAT must have come from, he couldn’t begin to imagine. He tried to think of where they were, but it just confused him, thinking too hard about maps and logistics and all that mess, when he could still barely tolerate the slanting rays of the setting sun pushing through the surrounding trees.

They were alone, as far as he could make out. The mare was vigilant, but relaxed. There were no other signs of habitation. He couldn’t remember if he’d fallen here, or if the prince had somehow taken him here. Though why he would try to nurse him back to health in the middle of some unknown forest, well above the freezing zone, was beyond him.

The only thing he felt he could be reasonably sure about was that the prince had saved his life.

His lips twitched, thinking of the man beside him. Hard to believe this was the same guy who’d threatened to strangle him for sharing his fucking bed. He wondered just what the hell must have happened to make the two of them wind up like this—not just sharing the bedroll again, but in nothing but their underpants, the prince curled up against him, snuggling together as tight as a pair of buns in the oven.

I guess it got cold again. He frowned, brow slightly furrowing. I must’ve been really hurt.

The thought sobered him even more. He was really hurt. His leg … he remembered it now … remembered Byakuya leaning over him, pressing a hand to his hot cheek, asking him whether or not he could feel the wound. I thought I was going to lose my leg. But the prince promised to take care of him. The prince … the guy he kidnapped by mistake, his captive who lectured him on politics and responsibility, and somehow at the same time managed to cheer him up without actually admitting he was doing it … Byakuya, who blushed when he stared at him for too long, then acted like he couldn’t stand the fucking sight of him.

He sighed. Honestly? He had no clue where to go from here. If only they could just stay like this, wrapped up together under a blanket, in the middle of nowhere, the prince breathing quietly beside him, silky black hair tickling the underside of his chin.

He shifted, without thinking, just reaching down to rest his hand over the one that lay draped over his chest. A frown came to his face as their fingers slid together, the prince’s still limp, the tips surprisingly calloused. But they were dirty, too—he could feel the bits of dried mud rubbing against the soft skin, dirt caked to the creases in the palm. He really took care of me. He got dirty for him, which was saying a lot for someone like Byakuya.

It made him sad for some reason. It was all his fault, after all, that the prince was even out here, getting dirty, sleeping on the ground, having to care for the guy who’d taken him away from everything he knew and loved. Not that Byakuya seemed all that happy when he talked about his life back in the city…

Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath, just below his ear, startling him from his thoughts. The body beside his shifted, the prince awakening, lifting himself up on his elbows to blink down at his former captor.

“Renji…”

That voice—as calm and toneless as ever, the man sounding for all the world as if he were inquiring about the weather from a servant. But he was learning to see past that cool, outer façade. No, Byakuya spoke more through his eyes than with anything else, through the subtle changes in his seemingly blank expression. And now those large gray eyes were slightly widened, perhaps a bit brighter than usual, his mouth half-parted in hopeful amazement.

Renji smiled.

“Hey,” he said, the smile turning a bit lazy.

Byakuya pursed his lips, his hand pulling away from Renji’s to press against the younger man’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

Renji smiled again and reached up, gently pulling the hand away … before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. The fingers curled instinctively, the particles of dirt brushing against his mouth.

Byakuya looked surprised. “What are you doing?”

“Thanking you.”

The prince frowned, and quickly pulled his hand away. Renji half-expected him to haughtily rise to his feet and stalk away, but he didn’t. Probably because he was pretty much totally naked under that blanket.

He seemed to come to the same conclusion. Renji grinned, watching the steady progress of the blush as it swept across his cheeks, tingeing his skin a lovely pink. He never thought he could look at another man and think such a thing, but it was true: the prince was lovely.

He couldn’t help himself. Or rather, his hand seemed to be moving on its own volition again, this time reaching up to cup the prince’s cheek before sliding through long black hair, pulling the other man’s face closer to his own until their lips finally met.

He could tell Byakuya was shocked. At first, he just hovered there, stock still, his mouth motionless against Renji’s. But gradually, he started kissing back, and when Renji tried to part his mouth with his own, he let him, allowing the younger man’s tongue to gently slip in and take a sweet taste, Renji almost moaning at how good he tasted.

He pulled back after awhile, more breathless than he cared to admit—and he could tell from Byakuya’s mute expression that there were things he sure as hell didn’t care to admit either. But he didn’t have to, not really. Renji could feel the evidence pressing against his thigh, his own underwear having gone uncomfortably tight throughout the duration of the kiss.

Byakuya blinked, awareness seeming to rush back at him all at once. He made a small, strangled sound, his hand quickly rising up to cover his mouth. The look he then fixed his former captor with was downright accusing.

Renji chuckled.

“What? Don’t lay this all on me.” He grinned, but resisted the urge to smirk, knowing that if he ever wanted more than a kiss, he’d have to watch it from here on out. “I mean, it’s not like you didn’t kiss back or anything.”

Okay, so maybe a tiny smirk did leak out.

Byakuya lowered his hand. Those steely gray eyes narrowed slightly, and Renji couldn’t quite resist swallowing a little.

“If this is how you choose to repay me for saving your life,” he said haughtily, if perhaps not quite as stiffly as usually, “I could well do without your poorly conceived notion of gratitude.”

Renji just rolled his eyes.

“First you steal me away in the night and force me to travel across country,” the prince continued. “Then you nearly die trying to save me, and expect me to return the favor. And now—”

“Oh, hell!” Renji growled, and this time when he grabbed the prince and pulled him close, there was no semblance of resistance. Byakuya returned the kiss feverishly, his hands sliding up the younger man’s broad chest and over his shoulders, fingers digging into the soft skin there. Renji responded as well, wrapping his arms around the prince’s trim waist, somewhat pulling him on top of him, groaning low in his throat as their hips brushed against one another, their arousals pressing tantalizingly against each other through their underwear. He felt Byakuya gasp against his lips, and all he could think about was sliding his hands down that pale, slim back and … and … writhing in pain…

“Auughh!!” he cried out, pain throbbing up his left leg, sucking away all previous feelings of desire and twisting them into acute little fiery pinpricks of pain digging into all his nerves at once.

Byakuya hurriedly shifted off of him, the look of shocked apology on that normally placid face almost enough to make the pain worth it. Almost.

Renji closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuuuuuck…” He ground out the expletive between his teeth, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes.

He felt more than saw Byakuya shimmy out from under the blanket, a distant part of him begrudging the pain which prevented him from appreciating the sight.

“The medicinal oil must be wearing off,” he heard the prince say, somewhere off to his left. He squinted his eyes open, watching as the other man rummaged through a pack, his bare skin shockingly pale in the late afternoon sunlight. He had his back to him, sitting back on his heels, the bones of his spine peeking out a little as he bent over his task, black hair slipping over his shoulders. He wore black underwear, too.

Renji grinned.

Then winced, the searing pain in his leg reminding him why it was utterly impossible to sustain an erection right now.

“Here,” the prince said, and he hurried back to Renji’s side, pushing the blanket up, then quickly unbinding the wound so he could pour more of the precious oil onto it. Renji sighed, the soothing essence soaking into his inflamed and agitated skin, dampening the pain immediately.

Byakuya sat back on his heels, pausing to cap the bottle again before re-binding the wound. Renji watched him quietly, how swiftly and methodically his hands moved, slim fingers careful not to touch the underside of the gauze so as to avoid getting dirt into the healing wound. He shivered once he finished, his naked skin covered in gooseflesh, his cheeks spotting with color.

“Get back in here,” Renji said, his voice gentle, even a bit husky. He thought he’d have to argue the point (arguing seemed to be something the two of them were pretty good at, that was for damned sure), but he didn’t. Byakuya only looked at him for a moment before nodding silently, pausing to recover Renji’s leg before slipping back under the blanket with him.

Renji reached out automatically, slipping a strong arm around that slim waist. “Fuck,” he muttered, as he cuddled the slighter man to him, “You’re cold.”

Byakuya said nothing, just laid his head down on the younger man’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around the other’s chest as well.

They held one another like that for a long time, neither saying a word. The prince, he figured, was embarrassed. Probably confused, too. It had to be hard, admitting he desired the guy he was supposed to hate. Renji wasn’t so much embarrassed as depressed—depressed because he still didn’t know what was going to happen from here on out. Byakuya had planted the seeds of doubt in his head regarding the revolution. He’d proven to him that not all nobles were stuck up asses who deserved to end their days on the end of a pike looking down at cheering Outlander villagers.

And he no longer trusted the people he was supposed to trust—Lord Urahara and Lady Kuukaku, the self-styled leaders of the revolution. After hearing how ruthless his Lady could be, he found himself wondering just what plans she had in store for Byakuya and his sister. Had Ichigo come to that same conclusion? Did he and Rukia in fact make for the designated checkpoint, or had they gone rogue? He now knew there wasn’t anything in the world that could convince him to sacrifice the prince—or his sister—to the revolution, no matter who ordered him to do so—no matter what the consequences.

“Renji,” said the prince, his voice so characteristically calm and dry, it almost made Renji feel guilty for his downtrodden thoughts.

“Yeah?” He reached up, absently combing his fingers through smooth black hair.

“Do you remember removing the ropes?”

His hand paused, a frown coming to his face.

“Yeah,” he said again. He remembered the pain, and the fear as well. He remembered the tears running down his face when he thought Byakuya was going to leave him. He remembered…

The prince shifted in his embrace, propping himself up on one elbow so he could gaze down at his former captor. His hand still rested on Renji’s chest.

“Why?” he asked, his blank expression giving nothing away this time.

Renji frowned. “Why, what?”

“Why did you do it?” Those gray eyes seemed to darken, become fathomless. “Why did you let me go?”

Renji frowned again. “Because … you needed to get help. That’s what you said, and I believed you. I didn’t want you to leave me, but…”

Byakuya simply stared at him, though the hand on his chest shifted slightly, fingers absently rubbing his skin.

“You let me go so I could help you?” he asked.

Renji had to think about that. He was learning it was better to stop and think a bit before answering the questions the prince liked to pose him. Though he had the feeling that this one was even more important than all the others put together.

“Not really,” he finally said. “I guess I let you go because … because I didn’t feel it was right anymore. It wasn’t right for me to hold you like that.”

“Because I had saved you?”

He hesitated. “No …” Then, “Because it was you. Because I wanted you to stay with me, with or without the ropes.” Suddenly, he smiled, the expression just feeling so good on his face. “And you did.”

And to his great surprise, Byakuya actually returned his smile, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, gray eyes slowly filling with warmth. “Yes. I did.”

They shared another kiss, both of them conscious of the restraints that Renji’s injury was placing on their desire for one another. He longed to pull that slim body close against his own again, to let his rough hands slide over smooth, white skin, to slip beneath the band of that black underwear … but he didn’t, and Byakuya seemed to hold back as well, his hands only lightly gripping Renji’s arms, squeezing softly as they leisurely explored one another’s mouths.

Eventually, the prince lay back with a sigh, his head resuming its vacated spot on Renji’s shoulder.

“This may somewhat complicate your plans,” he said.

Renji snorted, self-deprecatingly. “Uh, yeah. A little.”

“I am still angry with you for telling me about Rukia and that man. You had no right to tell me.”

His lips twitched. “Duly noted.”

“I hope you will not attempt to restrain me when next we meet. I will no doubt try to kill him.”

Renji couldn’t resist chuckling this time, the image of Byakuya pouncing on a hapless Ichigo running around in his head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured him.

Byakuya did not respond, and Renji thought the conversation was over, which was fine by him. He was still tired, his body aching all over, and if it couldn’t do what it really wanted to do with the man beside him, there was no sense in doing anything else except sleep.

“Are you hungry?” the prince suddenly asked.

Well. Except maybe eat.

A few minutes later, the unfortunately now fully-clothed prince was ladling stew into his mouth, quite deaf to his former captor’s plaintive insistence that he could spoon the stuff into his own damn mouth perfectly fine, thanks.

In between all the bickering, they talked about what Byakuya had encountered in the village of Primrose near the foot of the mountain they were currently camped on.

Renji’s brow furrowed while he chewed and swallowed. “Soldiers, huh?” He looked at the prince. “How many?”

“Five.”

He nodded, thinking. “And how about the townspeople? How were they?”

Byakuya’s eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, by which Renji presumed he was thinking. “They were respectful,” he said after awhile. “But not supportive.”

He dipped the spoon into the bowl again, pausing before adding. “I believe one of them recognized me. He helped me escape.”

Renji very nearly almost sat up out of bed. “What?!”

Byakuya gave him a look, and continued to look at him, until he grumbled and settled himself more firmly back down.

He looked at the prince, his jaw clenched. “We can’t stay here.”

Instead of a response, he was calmly offered another spoonful of stew for his troubles.

“If they find us,” he continued, “they’ll kill me and send you back to the palace!”

“I am aware of their intentions.” When Renji grumpily refused to open his mouth, arms stubbornly crossed over his chest, Byakuya sighed. “Renji. You know full well you cannot travel. You can barely sit up, let alone stand. Riding would cause the wound to reopen, and invite infection. We will wait here until you are well enough to be moved.”

Renji grimaced, indeed knowing “full well” that the prince was right. He just wished he didn’t have to sound like such an ass about it.

“You are free to think whatever you like. However, know that I am doing this for your benefit. I have no desire at present to return to the palace.”

That last statement alone was enough to make Renji start, his arms uncrossing, eyes widening a little. But the prince wasn’t finished.

“Beside,” he continued calmly, “they did not carry zanpakutou.”

Not blessed with zanpakutou!! He relaxed immediately, at first mildly surprised that the Kuchiki family would have sent out five common guards, but then he realized they would have no direction to pursue, not even an inkling of suspicion of who might have kidnapped the prince and princess. Hell—they might not even realize the two had been kidnapped at all. Though Byakuya didn’t exactly seem like the type who’d run away from home.

Whatever the case, it could mean their resources were severely strapped. They were sending out common soldiers—either because they vastly underestimated the capabilities of their heir’s kidnappers or because they didn’t have the manpower to search the entire kingdom at full strength. Probably both.

He felt the spoon tapping expectantly at his mouth and opened it automatically, then continued to chew while thinking. Five common guards would be nothing to defend against. Hell, he could be completely unconscious, and Byakuya could not doubt still handle them with one hand tied behind his back. He and Senbonzakura had dealt with the dragon. A few paltry guards would be nothing in comparison. Zabimarou rumbled a warning in his head, letting him know what he thought about that, but he ignored him.

He had a couple more bites of stew before deciding he’d had enough, his stomach apparently somewhat affected by the medication, since it would normally take three or four bowls to get him full. He lay back with a sigh, pulling the blanket absently up to his neck while gazing up at the night sky, stars twinkling distantly overhead.

Movement to his left again made him turn his head, a frown coming to his face when he noticed Byakuya building up the fire again.

“Might as well light a beacon and put up a sign,” he said grumpily, shifting restlessly under the blanket.

“Indeed. Or we could freeze to death.”

Point taken.

He continued to watch as the prince moved about camp, tidying up, gathering more wood to be tossed on later, and eventually going to care for the horse. It no longer surprised him at how seemingly efficient and self-sufficient a member of the nobility could be. There was a lot more to Byakuya than his rank, that much he knew to be true. But nobles also lived very differently than how people from the Outside—people like himself—assumed they did. Arrogant and selfish the majority of them may be, but they weren’t stupid. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to rule for so long.

“Hurry up and get back in here,” he finally complained, fully aware of how whiny he sounded. “It’s fucking freezing!”

Byakuya complied, though seemingly at his own pace, completing a few more tasks before finally returning to the bedroll. Renji waited hopefully for him to remove his clothes again, but he didn’t.

Nevertheless, their arms went automatically around one another as soon as they were together again, Byakuya’s head once again resuming its rightful place on his shoulder. Renji tried to think of something to say, something sweet maybe, or maybe something just to tease him, for old time’s sake, but he couldn’t think of anything. He was too tired, his eyelids gradually getting heavier and heavier, his breathing slowing and evening out.

“Good night,” he finally said, hearing his own voice drop off a little. “Byakuya…”

He felt the arm around his chest tighten ever so slightly, fingers stroking his skin. “Good night, Renji.”

The prince’s voice was soft, lacking its usual inherent aloofness. Or maybe he just imagined it, tired as he was. Within seconds, the warm blankness of sleep overcame him, and he knew no more. And this time, he did not dream.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XI

Tue, 20 May 2008 06:50:24 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter XI
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Again, I apologize for the amount of time it's taken me to update. The semester is over, and I have two weeks to relax before the summer session begins. The next chapter is already half-written, but I felt this was the best stopping place :P If you notice any continuity errors, you can let me know, but I probably won't go back and fix any of that until the fic is finished.

I also ask that you forgive sappy Byakuya. *innocent look*

Renji was dreaming.

He knew they were dreams—fever dreams—because they were about things that could have never happened in real life.

He dreamed of his mother. She had long red hair, just like him, and baked him green tea buns with hot steaming tea, made from fresh leaves gathered from the base of the mountain. He kept trying to ask her what her name was, but she wouldn’t tell him. The long hair hung over her cheek, obscuring her face, save for the eerie smile that never seemed to go away. She’s mute, he thought. My mother’s a mute. Then he watched as she aged before him, her hair turning to gray coils and her skin sloughing off her bones.

He dreamed he was sitting in a field, close to where he grew up, poking at an anthill with a stick. The wind whipped his hair all around his face, but it didn’t seem to bother the ants. They disregarded the stick and marched toward his outstretched leg—his leg which suddenly had no feeling in it, though he could feel each pinprick as the ants marched solemnly across his thigh.

Ouch, he said. Stop it. He slapped at them, but they kept marching. Their tiny legs dug into his skin like knives. STOP IT. He crushed their tiny bodies with his stick, searing himself in the process. STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT.

He watched as his thigh was cleaved in two.

* * *

Byakuya paused to wipe the sweat from his brow before bending and carefully taking up the needle again.

His back ached and his heart felt as though it were pounding in his throat, but his hands were remarkably steady as he threaded the needle through a section of his captor’s flesh. A firm but gentle tug, bringing the two sides of the wound closer together, the skin along the edges inflamed but washed of the blood that had begun to cake and stain the area.

He paused to check Renji’s face as he inserted the needle again. The fear still lodged itself in his throat—fear that the man would jerk and groan the way he did at first. Byakuya suspected that he should have waited after pouring the oil over the wound before attempting to sew it shut. But he was so nervous, so fearful of having another man’s life rest so delicately in his hands, that he could only go on, pressing and piercing that inflamed skin until Renji moved no more.

The rain had stopped, easing his own discomfort, if doing nothing for the man lying prone and unconscious beside him. His clothes were still sodden, hanging heavily from his limbs as he worked. The temperature began to drop, prickling his damp skin, even as the sweat continued to darken his knotted hair and ease down the bridge of his nose.

At last, he straightened, sitting back on his heels. He felt his heart ease back down into his chest, his eyes blinking in the dry wind.

Next—the tea.

He spared a moment to bind the wound and re-cover his captor’s body, this time with a heavy blanket that had somehow managed to remain dry within the shelter of their canvas saddlebag. He tried to work quickly, his breath already beginning to frost, his fingers stiffening as he struck the flint again and again over the clumsy, pyramid-shaped bundle of sticks he’d attempted to create. But his efforts proved fruitless—the wood was too wet, and the flame wouldn’t take. Panic was generally a sensation unknown to him, but he began to feel the first hints of it, licking down the edge of his spine, his palms becoming clammy, despite the rapidly dropping temperature.

A low groan drew his attention, causing him to glance over at the prone figure beside him again. Renji’s brow was deeply furrowed, his cheeks flushed, nearly as red as his hair. His lips were half-parted, as if he labored more and more for each successive breath.

Byakuya ...

Senbonzakura’s metallic voice rang in his head, startling him—for neither sword had spoken since he’d first returned.

He turned to look at her—and was abruptly rushed with a sea of rapid images, flashing through his brain. The foreboding presence of Zabimarou loomed near as well, both zanpakutou working together to strengthen the images: two polished swords, held just so, catching the weak mid-morning rays of the sun, burning a red-hot hole through the underbelly of a large, horseshoe-shaped fungus.

Byakuya’s mind snapped free, his eyes blinking briefly.

“Where?” he asked, looking around, his breath puffing after him. But he didn’t need to ask because he saw it: a series of whitish-yellow growths climbing steadily up the slender gray trunks of a copse of birch trees. Quickly, he rose to his feet, hurrying over to the nearest tree and grabbing a fistful of fungi in each hand, yanking them off. When he had an armload, he returned to his spot by the defunct campfire and began to feverishly dig a hole through the earth with his bare hands before crumbling the fungi in the middle. He made several trips, gathering more and hurriedly crumbling it with the rest, along with a few dried needles and leaves, his fingers by now caked with dirt and grime in addition to being stiff with cold.

He wiped them off absently on his pants, then reached for the two swords.

Senbonzakura seemed to sing as he lifted her up, her steel neck already winking brilliantly in the sun. In contrast, Zabimarou felt impossibly heavy, an equally heavy weight settling in his mind, the sword expressing its displeasure at being handled by someone not its master.

Carefully, he angled the two blades the way they had instructed him to. If anything, it felt as though they turned within his very grasp, nudging his wrists just so, until the rogue ray of sunlight caught the slim neck of Senbonzakura, where it was redirected against the flatter, heavier surface of Zabimarou, intensifying it. Byakuya held them like this, just so, carefully, his right arm beginning to ache from the unnatural weight of Renji’s sword.

He almost cried out when he saw the first little trail of smoke, trickling up from the fungus bedding.

Within minutes, he had a flame going. Hurriedly, he set the two swords down, then began to rebuild his little pyramid of sticks. There was a great deal of smoke at first, but eventually, the flames licked further up, finally catching some of the rapidly drying wood.

Next, it was only the small matter of boiling the water in the pot over the fire before pouring it into the tin cup, its bottom laced with the medicinal leaves the apothecary had traded him. He let it steep for the recommended amount of time, then shifted over towards the unconscious Renji.

Carefully, he eased the man’s head into his lap, long red hair tumbling down around his knees as he did. Then, ever so gently, he pressed the edge of the cup to Renji’s lips, opening his mouth, and pouring in a tiny bit of the tea.

He waited with baited breath—but instead of choking, Renji calmly swallowed, as if he were not utterly unconscious and incapable of opening his own eyes at the moment, let alone quietly swallowing a mouthful of hot tea. A part of him was not surprised. He hardly expected the apothecary to give him faulty instructions; yet still, sometimes the very subtly of the smallest magics left him unsettled. Small wonder that the village people valued their apothecaries and witch women so highly.

Once all of the tea was consumed, he laid the cup aside before gently easing Renji’s head back onto the makeshift pillow. He paused to check on the fire again, but it continued to burn brightly, the fungal “coals” showing no signs of burning up anytime soon.

Gradually, a shadow fell over the camp, the heavy clouds above finally swallowing up the last of the sun. He shivered absently, arms rising automatically, crossing and hugging himself. Suddenly, he frowned, it occurring to him that he was just sitting here in soaking wet clothes, practically daring the weather to murder him with frostbite and hypothermia. The thought seemed to ignite an alarm in his head, his eyes widening a little as he looked to Renji—who seemed perfectly placid now, the tea having calmed and settled his fever. But it would not remain so for long, for beneath that thick blanket, he, too, was covered in soaking wet clothes.

Byakuya hesitated—it was only natural. The events from yesterday morning leapt rudely to the forefront of his thoughts, the back of his head even seeming to throb from the imprint of Renji’s foot.

But another part of him twinged as well … and he felt a heat crawl slowly up his cheeks, despite the surrounding cold.

This is nonsense. He berated himself sharply, knowing full well he was right. The man is unconscious.

And he would be much worse if Byakuya did not do something about it.

Again, he reacted swiftly, but this time it seemed his stiffened hands shook for a different reason, his heart beat quickening slightly in his chest. He built up the fire as much as he could, then edged back over to where Renji lay. Keeping his mouth set straight and thin, he quickly pushed the thick blanket back, then began methodically to remove the younger man’s soaked clothes. The trousers were already in tatters, so he simply finished the job, ripping them up the seam until he could pull them completely away. He took a moment to check the bandaged thigh before moving to Renji’s shirt. Thankfully, it buttoned, or else he would have had to ruin that, too.

He set the wet shirt aside, then began quickly to disrobe himself. Now clad only in his underwear, he lifted the side of the thick blanket again—it had been made from the hide and fur of some northern beast, the substance as capable of keeping out the cold as any magically enchanted item—and slipped in beside the unconscious body of his companion.

Renji’s skin was cold, and at first he couldn’t help flinching a little. But the cold pressing just outside their blanket was even colder, so he lay as close to the other man as he could, resting an arm around his captor’s broad chest and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. And eventually, he began to cease shivering, Renji’s body in fact quite warm from the remnants of the fever, and their combined body heat seeming to incubate them both beneath the blanket. After a moment, he closed his eyes, his breathing steadying, matching the slow rise and fall of the other man’s chest.

He was tired. Yet nevertheless, he once more found his thoughts drifting back to yesterday morning.

Why had he reacted the way he had? In his own embarrassment, he had only succeeded in alienating Renji even more from him, the younger man clearly humiliated by his body’s reaction. Byakuya had been too proud—too coward—to tell him that he had responded as well, and he did not have the half-fuzzed, indiscriminate comfort of sleep to hide behind. No, he had been fully awake. It was Renji’s arm around him, Renji’s warm breath in his hair, Renji’s subtly shifting body that had awoken his own.

He sighed, a slight frown etching itself onto his face. With Renji asleep, naked, helpless … depending on him for his very survival … it was easy to relax beside him, to let his thoughts drift where they most assuredly did not belong. It was simple to forget that this was a man, a commoner—a thief who had stolen him in the night, bound his wrists and his soul through magic, and forced him to be the impetus for the onslaught of revolution.

And yet … Renji was not a criminal. He was not wholly bad. In fact, Byakuya could even admit to himself (very quickly, and without hesitating on the realization), that he was, in fact, wholly good. He thought of the way he laughed … how his chest would rumble and shake beneath Byakuya’s arms as they rode together through the woods, trailing behind Ichigo and Rukia. How his brown eyes would dance when he believed himself funny, usually at the expense of his captive’s dignity. How those same eyes seemed to darken that night their gazes met, over the fire in Kuukaku’s cave. And he imagined—or thought he imagined—a blush on the younger man’s cheeks, before they both quickly looked away.

This cannot be happening. But the truth of the matter demanded his attention, even as it bewildered his heart. He could not have feelings for his captor. He could not accept that those feelings were returned—particularly since he was no longer Renji’s captive, his thoughts quelling when they turned toward the near future, though he convinced himself that the only thing that mattered was seeing those brown eyes open again, freed of fever and delusion, a warm smile tickling that forever smirking mouth.

Byakuya …

He felt Senbonzakura tickling his mind again, her steely voice softened for once, brushing against the outer edges of his senses.

Senbonzakura, he whispered back to her, his face still buried in long, red hair.

She began to sing to him, a comforting song without notes or words, easing his troubled thoughts and lulling his body ever closer towards sleep. Though it was scarcely noon, he had not truly slept last night, his mind wracked with fear and worry. Gradually, he felt his own limbs relax, his thumb absently stroking the soft skin of Renji’s chest, then finally not moving at all. His breathing deepened, and his thoughts let him go, to finally relax, and put his troubles aside for the following day.

Within minutes, he was deeply asleep, as deeply as his slumbering companion, both men subtly shifting closer to one another, seeking out the other’s comforting warmth.

WTF?

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 07:11:52 GMT

Just a quick note here -- WTF happened to the format of my journal?? I thought it was just my downstairs computer, but it's doing it here on my laptop, too. The little table is in the middle of the page for some reason. Did this happen to anyone else?

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter X

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 08:04:46 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter X
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, violence)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Many apologies for taking so long to update. This has been a difficult semester :( I'm hoping the next installment won't take as long. Enjoy, and if you spot any errors ... just keep them to yourself and laugh quietly at my expense lol

It had begun to rain.

Byakuya guided the mare carefully down the mountain, her hoofs picking out each uncertain step, sliding over loose bits of rock and soil that was steadily turning into mud. His thighs started to ache, as he was forced to lean back and hold on tightly without the aid of saddle or stirrups. His hair quickly became plastered to his cheeks and neck, so he lifted the hood of his cloak, pulling it forward to shade his eyes, keeping his face turned down against the light wind.

They had been traveling for about an hour, and as yet, there were no signs of human habitation. He would not—could not—let his thoughts return to the top of the mountain pass, where the dragon-flattened trees would do a poor job of protecting the prone figure below from wind and freezing rain and cold.

Instead, he pushed the mare forward, digging his heels into her soaked sides when she would balk. And the rain ran down his cheeks like tears, his hands gripping the reins tightly, his thoughts purposefully blank—not questioning whether or not he had left a man to his death, protected only by a pair of naked swords.

Not questioning whether or not that man deserved to die—whether or not he had truly been given his freedom, the moment Renji undid the braided ropes that had bound his wrists.

The mare snorted suddenly, nostrils flaring and chestnut ears pricked forward. He pulled himself free from his dull thoughts and stared, unblinking, at the rising trail of smoke, reaching up into the sky, less than a mile away.

After a moment, he pressed his heels into the mare’s sides again, urging her on.

The town was called Primrose, as indicated by the weather beaten sign that marked the merging of the makeshift mountain pass and the town’s main street. The street itself was not faring well from the rain; the mare’s hoofs sank several inches into mud as soon as they reached level ground. Not surprisingly, it was empty, shop signs waving in the wind, freezing rain dripping off the edges of the roofs, not yet cold enough to form icicles. Within, windows were warmly lit, muted voice filtering through the walls and out into the cold.

He located an inn and dismounted, his tired legs nearly giving way beneath him. As he had never encountered a common inn alone—without his retinue of servants, soldiers, and other necessary assistants—he was not sure what to do with the mare. He ended up looping the reins around a post, forming an ineffectual knot, and hoping that the rain and the wind would keep her pressed against the side of the building, unwilling to escape.

He paused, facing her, his own steady gaze meeting one liquidy brown eye.

“Stay,” he said.

She pricked her ears forward. He reached out, offering his hand, which she lipped at with feigned interest. Maybe that was a yes. He would take it as such.

Cold, wet, and tired, he then turned to enter the inn, unthinkingly pushing his hood back.

All conversation halted.

He could feel every eye turning toward him, following him as he walked up to the front counter, which seemed to also serve as a bar. A large man stood behind it, carefully polishing a spotty, yellowed glass with a ragged, discolored dishcloth. He gazed down at Byakuya, not saying a word. A few seconds later, conversation amongst the other patrons gradually resumed.

Byakuya, busy steadily returning the man’s stare, realized he was going to have to speak first.

“I’m looking for a doctor,” he said.

The man eyed him, still slowly polishing that glass. “You sick?”

“That is not your business.”

The calmness of his voice did not belie his unease. Outside, the wind howled, unusually fierce. Once again, his thoughts were stolen momentarily back to an unnatural clearing, that prone figure on the ground.

“Best put that hood back up.”

He blinked, looking up at the bartender again. The man gazed at him, then jerked his chin towards the stairs, where it was apparent that someone—or a group of someone’s—were descending from the rented rooms above. Their footsteps were heavy, booted, and accompanied by the clinking of mail and weaponry.

Soldiers.

Again, without thinking, Byakuya quickly drew his hood back over his head.

He did not recognize them. Nonetheless, they wore the insignia of the Kuchiki family. The noble families did not employ a single army; each House maintained its own battalion of soldiers. It had long been an indication of their natural distrust in one another. Captain Shihouin, and Captain Kuukaku before her, had charge of all four battalions, and had been appointed by the Kuchiki family, the current ruling House.

The soldiers—four men and one woman—took seats around the largest table in the place, and the one closest to the fire. An older man who had been sitting there quickly removed himself, pausing only to tip his hat to the group before slipping off.

“I vote we find a body,” said one of the men. “Any body.”

“And what?” scoffed another. “Cut the head off and bring it back home?” He laughed. “King and Queen would really go for that.”

“Shimada just misses his kitchen girl,” said the woman, grinning at the first man, the surly one. “He’s worried she’ll get bored without him.”

“Or that she already has,” chimed in another. They all laughed, except the surly one … whose eyes shifted briefly over to the bar.

Quickly, but not noticeably, Byakuya turned to face the bartender again.

“A doctor,” he said, reminding the man of his initial request.

The bartender put him through his staring routine again, then he sort of shrugged. “No doctor in Primrose,” he finally said. Byakuya was about to turn away in irritation, but then the man added: “We’ve an apothecary, though. There’s some as calls him a witch. But he gets the job done, nonetheless.”

“Where can I find him?” Byakuya asked.

The man turned and pointed, indicating a place further down the main road, on the opposite side of the street. “Just about the fifth building on your left there. Should be a sign. Ring the bell—he’s always in. ‘Cept when he’s sick.”

Byakuya gazed through the wall as if he could make out the building from here. Then he paused to dig inside the little pouch at his waist before reaching out and handing the man a silver coin.

“For your trouble,” he said.

The man gazed down at the coin. “Ain’t no trouble at all.” But he took the coin.

Only when he’d returned outside did Byakuya realize his heart was racing.

He untied the mare’s reins from around the post and then began to lead her down the street, towards the building the bartender had indicated. He quickly realized the error in his decision when his boots immediately sank deep into the mud, even past his ankles. It sucked at his heels, and at the mare’s hoofs, but they plodded on. At least no soldier would recognize him now, exhausted, covered in splattered rain and filthy mud—the heir to the Kuchiki throne, who had ten different pairs of boots, just for riding, a cloak for every day of the week, and a team of servants employed for the sole purpose of drawing his bath, attending to his hair, and dressing him every morning.

They paused before the signpost, flapping gently in the wind as all the others, the muddied white head of a unicorn emblazoned on the front—the universal symbol for an apothecary. He looped the mare’s reins around it before proceeding inside.

Chimes tinkled above the door as he entered.

“I’ll be right with you!” called a voice from the back.

Byakuya let his eyes wander around the shop, over row upon row of bottles and jars, each filled to the brim with various substances. Some were identifiable, like bay leaves, or dried dandelions, or shed snakeskin. Others were not identifiable—and Byakuya thought he would prefer to keep it that way.

He looked up as a man entered, smiling, long white hair sliding over his shoulders.

“Oh dear,” he said, chuckling. “You’ve tracked mud all over the place, haven’t you?”

Byakuya found himself gazing guiltily down at the floor. He lifted one very muddy boot, clumps of soil falling from the heel as he did.

He looked up again.

“I apologize,” he said.

The white-haired apothecary waved a hand at him, smiling. “No matter.” He chuckled again. “Not very used to apologizing, are you? You do it with such reluctance.”

Byakuya just stared back at him. In truth, he did not know how to respond to such casual criticism of his character.

The apothecary smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m unsettling you. And I’m sure you must be here for a reason.” He folded his hands in front of him. “How can I help you?”

“Jyuu-chan!!” A deeper voice called cheerfully from the back, almost a sing-song, playful quality. It was soon followed by its owner—a brown-haired, scruffy-faced man, who came bearing a cup of tea, a lopsided smile on his masculine face.

“Jyuu-chan,” he repeated. “You didn’t finish your tea. In this weather, especially—”

“I have a customer, Shunsui,” the apothecary said quickly.

Shunsui looked up, his eyes widening slightly when they finally fell upon Byakuya. He seemed to study the slighter man for a moment before smiling again, his eyes twinkling thoughtfully. “Ahh. I see.”

Byakuya almost frowned, beginning to resent the way the people of this town tended to stare. Years of self-discipline at court helped him to rein in his displeasure, and to maintain his characteristic emotionless façade.

Shunsui just arched an eyebrow, seemingly as gently amused as ever.

“Now,” the apothecary said, smiling, turning to face him again. “You were saying?”

“I had not yet spoken,” Byakuya said.

“Yes,” the apothecary agreed, smilingly. “Because Shunsui interrupted you.”

“And then you interrupted me, Jyuu-chan,” Shunsui interjected, holding up one finger.

‘Jyuu-chan’ chuckled, conceding the point. “Indeed I did. But now we must both hold our tongues, so that our guest here can have a chance to speak up.”

Byakuya looked at them both. Strange as it seems, he had not yet paused to wonder how he would word his request. He could not admit the entire truth—that there was a young rebel dying in the woods merely an hour’s ride away, and that he must race back at all costs to attend him. Yet the town was small enough so that these two would no doubt recognize him for a foreigner, and they were bound to ask questions.

But hesitating any longer could only bring suspicion down upon him. And if he were turned in to the soldiers—Renji’s life was forfeit.

“My friend has been gravely wounded,” he said calmly.

“Oh my,” said the apothecary. He exchanged a concerned look with Shunsui.

“We were attacked by a dragon,” Byakuya continued. “He was injured in the fight. I fear he is in danger of losing his leg. He has also suffered a severe concussion. Even now, he is unconscious.”

“That sounds very grave indeed,” said the apothecary. He paused, as if to think, then hurried to the other side of the room, reaching up for a small jar, filled to the brim with golden liquid.

“This is hollyhock oil,” he said. “Infused with various other ingredients, of course. Pour it carefully over his wound, and the infection should disappear. The fever should diminish within a day.”

He looked around, then walked across to pick up another jar, this one stuffed with what looked like dried herbs.

“Make a tea with these,” he instructed, while handing both jars over to Byakuya. “Have him drink it. The swelling in his brain should begin to go down. If he remains unconscious, lift his head and stroke his throat to encourage him to swallow.”

Byakuya took the two jars, pausing to wrap them carefully before slipping them into his makeshift satchel.

“Is that a never-freezing water flask?” the apothecary asked, hands calmly folded in front of him again.

Byakuya gazed down at the flask hanging from his belt. He had brought it with him, not knowing how far he would have to travel, or if he would need to fill its contents with medicine.

He looked up again. “It is,” he said. He had heard Renji proudly singing its praises, boosting of his connections to this Lord Urahara, its previous owner, apparently.

“I have always wanted a never-freezing water flask,” the apothecary said placidly, smiling a little.

Byakuya gazed at him a moment before reaching down and unhooking it, passing it over to the white-haired man. “Will you take it as payment?” he asked. He had been concerned over the remaining small amount of coins in his possession, knowing they would not be enough to purchase even a teaspoon of decent medication.

“Certainly,” agreed the other. He held the flask up, as though to admire it. “How funny. I was promised by a friend that I should have one of these soon.” He chuckled.

“Kisuke has always had an unusual sense of humor,” Shunsui rumbled placidly. He yawned and scratched his belly with his free hand, smiling when he caught Byakuya looking at him.

“Indeed,” murmured the apothecary. He set the water flask down on a shelf, then looked at Byakuya again. “Have you sewn the wound shut?” he asked, his expression serious again.

Byakuya paused for a moment, then shook his head.

The apothecary nodded. “You should. Here.” He hurried over behind the counter again and dug out a small box, handing it over. “A needle, thread, and disinfectant. Can you make a sewing knot?” He chuckled when Byakuya nodded. “I thought you might be able to.”

“Jyuu-chan…” Shunsui admonished.

The apothecary cleared his throat.

“Yes. Anyway. Sew the wound; it will help prevent further infection and speed up the healing process. Apply the oil immediately, and then use the needle and thread while the tea is brewing; the oil should make your work easier. It will deaden the pain, as well, but he likely won’t wake up for quite some time.” He paused, studying Byakuya. “Is all of this making sense? I suppose you won’t allow me to tend to him personally.”

“That would be impossible,” Byakuya said quickly, his heart starting to race again.

The other man nodded. “I thought as much.” He fixed Byakuya with a wry little smile before ushering him towards the door. “Well, off you go. The rain should be letting up soon, and the wind with it. Do you have long to ride? No, I can see you can’t answer that. Very well, then.” He smiled, hands once again clasped before him. “Good luck.”

Byakuya turned towards the door, but something made him pause. He stopped, turned again to face them—and bowed.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Not at all,” said the apothecary. “We love happy customers.”

“We’re not very good businessmen,” joked Shunsui. His companion laughed.

Byakuya nodded to them again before pushing open the door and heading back out. The rain had indeed slackened. The mare lifted her head to greet him, chestnut ears pricking forward. Within seconds, he was mounted and headed back the way he had come—down the road, and back up the mountain, as fast as his mount could take him.

Shunsui moved over towards the window, so that he could watch the young prince until he and his horse had disappeared into the woods.

He smiled. “Quite grown up, hasn’t he? Our little Byakuya.”

Jyuushirou came to stand beside him, a concerned look etched onto his face. “I should have followed him.”

“He wouldn’t have allowed it.” Shunsui chuckled, sipping his tea. “Very protective of this friend of his, it seems.”

“It must be his sister,” continued Jyuushirou, still worried. “Who else could it be?”

Shunsui shook his head. “The princess has been traveling separately. She’ll have reached the destination point by now.”

The other man blinked. “Then—?”

Shunsui smiled. “My dear Jyuu-chan.” He sighed happily, gazing out through window, now frosting over from both their breaths. “Would you not ride through mud and freezing rain to save me? Even at risk of your own life?”

“Of course,” replied the apothecary.

Shunsui smiled again, sipping his tea. "Of course."

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter IX

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 09:23:37 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter IX
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, violence)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

Renji awoke to pain.

The back of his head throbbed, blinding him with the force of a blunt hammer, beating against his brain with the rhythmic pounding of his heart. The thought of opening his eyes was sheer torture. His tongue was dry, his cheeks cold—the very hairs on his head were like needles pushing out from the prison of his scalp.

He groaned.

Amidst the pounding of his head—the burning rush of agony that ran in rivers up his left leg—he heard the sound of something falling, like scattered sticks, thumping against the hard ground. Then quick footsteps—someone rushing towards him.

“Renji?”

He didn’t know why … but for some reason, the prince’s voice brought a smile to his face.

The smile quickly faltered, however, as the pain came rushing back in full force.

“Renji …” He felt a warm hand cup his cheek, his body shivering as a shadow suddenly fell over him.

He opened his eyes.

“Hey,” he said. And there it was again—that smile, creeping back onto his face.

The prince didn’t approve, apparently. An answering frown creased his brow, his gray eyes large and intense. His hand continued to cup Renji’s cheek, eventually sliding up to rest against his forehead. Renji tried to follow it with his eyes, going slightly cross-eyed as a result.

“How is your head?” the prince asked. “Are you in great pain?”

His voice was calm, despite the worried look in his eyes. Like he tended to barley conscious handsome redheads on a daily basis.

Renji grinned. “Nah. Feel great.”

Byakuya gave him another one of those intense, disapproving looks of his.

But Renji couldn’t help it. The pain was pounding him from the inside out. And the prince…

The prince was a vision of unwashed loveliness.

“You look really cute right now,” he said.

Byakuya sighed heavily, removing his hand and sitting back on his heels. “Obviously delusional,” he muttered. He didn’t sound too pleased.

“I’m not delusional,” Renji countered. He blinked, the streaming sunlight through the treetops fuzzing his vision for a moment. He had to blink a couple more times before everything became clear again.

“Do you remember falling?” the prince asked. Renji thought he detected a slight thread of panic in that normally cool voice.

“No,” he had to admit. He frowned. “Is that why my head hurts?”

“Yes.”

There was that hand again, cupping his cheek. Renji smiled, feeling goofy.

Byakuya looked upset. He pulled his hand away, clasping all ten fingers together in his lap. He kept glancing around the surrounding forest, as if expecting … something … to miraculously appear.

Renji frowned again. “Hey … you okay?”

Byakuya ignored the question. “What is the last thing you remember?” he asked, looking down at him again.

Renji’s brow furrowed even more, the action not helping his headache much. He tried to think … tried really, really hard.

“The dragon,” he finally said. This time it was his own voice that sounded kind of uncertain—at least to his own ears. He gave Byakuya a doubtful look. “I tried to fight it, right? Zabimaru…” He felt swift panic suddenly wash through him, his chest clenching in horror. “Zabimaru! Where—?!”

“Hush,” Byakuya interrupted. He rested a hand briefly on Renji’s chest, the action seeming to counter the no-nonsense, emotionless command. He leaned over, reaching for something that was out of Renji’s view. There was the sound of steel sliding against silk, and suddenly Zabimaru was laid bare before him, the weak sun glinting off his silver blade.

Renji calmed, his whole body instantly relaxing.

“I cleaned him for you,” Byakuya continued, laying the sword down on its silk sheath beside its prone master. He guided Renji’s searching hand to its hilt, his coarse fingertips curling eagerly around it, a calmness passing through him as soon as he felt that cool leather.

He looked up again, meeting those large, gray eyes with his own.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You fought it,” Byakuya replied evenly. His voice no longer shook, his expression characteristically blank. “Your quick thinking saved us both, once again.”

Renji felt another little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, despite everything. “Is that a compliment, Highness?”

Byakuya looked at him. “It is a fact.” But then his features seemed to soften, however a briefly. “And a compliment … yes,” he allowed.

Renji smiled … regretting the weariness that prevented him from reaching up and touching that pale cheek.

“What happened afterward?” he finally asked. “How did I … fall?”

“You were fighting well. Unfortunately, the horse became difficult to manage, and no doubt my presence hindered your ability to control it. You fell off, as did I.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” he cut in quickly, brief panic washing over him.

“No,” the prince assured him. “I am unhurt.” He paused for a moment, seeming to think, before going on. “I believe then you were knocked unconscious. Only then did Senbonzakura come to me. She was able to complete the job that you and Zabimaru had nearly finished.”

Renji gaped. “Senbonzakura…?”

Byakuya gazed down at him for a second, then nodded.

He sighed, averting his eyes and looking up at the sky, squinting slightly. “Wow.” He wasn’t sure whether to feel alarmed or grateful. How was it that Byakuya could use his zanpakutou all this time and hadn’t yet done so until now? Well, regardless of his own feelings, he couldn’t exactly object to what had happened, considering the prince had obviously saved his life.

“Renji—”

His eyes focused again … with effort, he realized, his spirits sinking a little.

Byakuya was looking at him with that intense steely glint in his eyes again, which Renji now felt free to interpret as grave concern.

“Can you feel your leg?”

Renji didn’t have to ask to know which leg he was referring to.

He swallowed. “Yeah.” He thought his voice sounded husky, the pain seeming to intensify as soon as he turned his thoughts towards it.

Byakuya nodded. He reached out then, resting a hand tentatively on Renji’s leg, just above the knee. “I’ve … bound it … to the best of my abilities. But it … needs to be sewn shut in places. I do not have the tools to do so.”

Renji swallowed again, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

And then it was because a second realization had suddenly come to him.

I’m going to lose my leg.

“No,” said the prince quickly, apparently having detected the growing panic in his eyes. “I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you. Renji …” He gazed down into his eyes, and Renji had the distinct impression that he had been repeating this same litany to himself for hours now. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Renji blinked, surprised by the tears that had abruptly filled his own eyes. He nodded, the action sending fiery sensations of pain shooting up from the back of his head—which, he realized, was resting on a bundled up piece of cloth. Somehow, Byakuya had managed to shift him on top of the bedroll, too, and even now was laying the blanket over him.

He looked up at the prince … watched his long dark hair get pushed back over his shoulders by the wind’s chilly breath, even as it caused his own body to be wracked with shivering.

“Byakuya …” he whispered. The tears felt really hot against his face. He’d never noticed before how hot tears could feel.

“Shhh,” said the prince, his dry voice sweetened by the gentle actions of his hands, carefully tucking the blanket around Renji’s prone body. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m going to take care of you…”

Renji closed his eyes. He didn’t want to pass out again—he didn’t want to leave Byakuya alone like this. But he wasn’t really in a position to argue about it.

* * *

When he awoke again, everything was dim.

There was a small fire going—very small—off to his left, twigs and dried brush snapping up into the early evening air. He heard the sound of something heavy moving docilely, slowly behind him. Then the soft, lazy snort of a horse.

“Byakuya?” he called out. He felt panic grip his heart without really even understanding why. But the panic subsided almost instantly when those familiar footsteps approached again, that same shadow looming over him.

And that same question—the same questing hand, pressing gently against his cheek, sliding up to his forehead. “How do you feel?”

Renji blinked, trying so hard to make out those delicate, haughty features in the low light.

Byakuya sighed. “You have a fever.” He seemed even more anxious than before, more upset—that is, his distress was actually becoming noticeable, his features taut, his voice slightly strained.

Renji opened his mouth, trying to gather the strength to speak.

“What’s wrong?” he finally managed.

But the prince just shook his head, averting his eyes out towards the forest, his hands resting briefly in his lap.

“Byakuya,” he insisted. “What’s wrong?”

There was a silence between them, as if the old tensions had arisen briefly again.

“It’s the ropes,” Byakuya finally said. The admission seemed to rob him of his breath for a moment, his lips parting slightly, his jaw hardening. It came very slowly to Renji how difficult it was for him to say that … but that he deemed it utterly necessary.

“I need to gather more firewood,” he continued, as evenly and calmly as if he were discussing seating arrangements with a servant. “However, I can only scavenge so far. The further I venture…” But he didn’t need to continue, since they both knew what would inevitably happen.

“The pain is bearable,” he added—rather stiffly, Renji noted, though it was rather difficult to notice anything except the gnawing guilt that was currently eating him from the inside out. “But only to a certain extent. The wood is very dry, and burns quickly. I cannot—”

“I’ll remove them,” Renji cut in. The words seemed to swim in the air above his head, Byakuya’s look of stunned surprise bringing a vague, curling smile to his face. “What?” He blinked, slowly … and thought it must be getting darker, since it was becoming harder and harder to see the prince’s face. “Didn’t think I’d say that … didja?”

Byakuya just looked at him.

“No,” he said quietly.

His voice sounded strange … kinda funny. But Renji couldn’t really figure out how.

He could hear him swallowing, audibly.

“What do you need to do?” he asked.

Renji shrugged—or thought he did. “Just untie. No biggie.”

Byakuya nodded, and, after hesitating for a moment, offered both his hands. Very, very sluggishly, Renji lifted his own hands, his fingers suddenly feeling twice their size as he fumbled with the finely braided ropes that bound the prince’s wrists. But even despite his clumsy efforts, the knots seemed to just fall away, as if they were unwinding themselves, and only needed the faintest of touches to complete the task. They fell away suddenly, all in a delicate heap, half over his chest, the other half landing unceremoniously in the dirt.

Byakuya’s hands remained there for a second, hovering in the air above him before they finally drew back.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Renji tried to say something cheeky, like “Don’t mention it.” But instead he just nodded.

Silence between them again, before the prince deigned to speak up.

“The horse has returned.” Renji could no longer really make out his face, but just listening to his voice … he imagined those large gray eyes downcast, soft strands of hair sweeping over his shoulders. “I have tried my best. I … will not go back on my promise to take care of you.”

He closed his eyes, finding it difficult to keep them open anymore.

“Renji …” He felt a cold hand grope suddenly for his, long slim fingers sliding through his own. “You are not getting better. You are … feverish, and delusional. If I do not find help, you could…”

The implications seemed to seep into his brain, one word at a time … until it gradually occurred to him what the prince was proposing.

“What…?” His eyes fluttered open again. He could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. “You’re going to leave me?”

The hand in his squeezed slightly. “Renji … I must find help…”

“No!!” He tried to sit up, but of course it was impossible, the back of his head barely able to lift from its makeshift cushion.

“Byakuya …!!” His voice was desperate, those hot tears welling up at the corners of his eyes again. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here, all by myself.” He squeezed the hand in his again—could feel himself growing rapidly hysterical. “Please!!”

“All right,” Byakuya said quickly, that calm hand once again resting gently against his chest. “I won’t leave you.”

It seemed as if it broke his heart to say it. But Renji didn’t care. He felt his panic fade instantly away, relief washing over him. Byakuya was going to stay with him.

“Promise?” he asked. He was so tired. He felt his fingers slip from the prince’s grasp, his limbs just too heavy.

“Promise,” Byakuya whispered. Perhaps he dreamed it. But he imagined the whisper of the prince’s breath brush against his ear as he spoke, the sweet, comforting murmur kissing his hot skin. It was difficult for him to make sense of much else afterward. He thought he heard Byakuya rise to his feet and move about the camp. The sound of sticks being gathered, and the fire crackling, gobbling them up. Then the return of those footsteps—the heavy blanket resting over him being gently raised—a warm body sliding carefully, oh so carefully, in beside his own.

Then, finally, he knew no more.

* * *

The next morning, Byakuya awoke before the sun. The body beside his own was warm—very warm. He lifted his head, blinking in the faint pre-dawn light, his eyes adjusting quickly to the rapidly retreating darkness.

Renji’s face was pale, his mouth half-parted with each laboring breath.

He was unconscious.

Silently, Byakuya rose, pausing to carefully tuck the covers around the younger man’s prone form before getting to his feet. He packed quickly, forming a makeshift satchel from the broken saddlebag. Lastly, he unsheathed Senbonzakura, and laid her upon the ground beside Renji.

Zabimaru still lay on his other side.

Please, he begged them, their pristine, naked blades winking in the early morning sunlight. Watch over him.

They sang back, together—as one:

We will.

With that, he turned and mounted the mare, having to sit bareback since the saddle was destroyed. Then, gathering the reins, and not even allowing himself a final look back, he turned her towards the sloping side of the mountain—for his best chance at locating a village would be downhill.

He told himself that he would be back before nightfall.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter VIII

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 08:25:02 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter VIII
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG-13 (swearing, violence)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Well, in case you guys can't tell, the semester has started. *groan* I had hoped to finish the story before winter break, but obviously that didn't happen!! So updates will be very slow, as I was given a rather difficult teaching assignment this semester, plus I'm taking a class of my own, as well.

I should probably sit on this finished chapter for a few days and attempt to edit it, but ... nah :P Enjoy.

Byakuya’s first dim thought upon awaking the next morning wasn’t really a thought at all. It was more a sensation … a sensation of being warm.

Very warm.

Comfortably warm.

His eyes flew open.

The source of warmth was difficult to ignore. It was draped all around him, hugging him around the middle, pushing snuggly up against him from behind, even breathing softly into his hair.

No, make that snoring softly into his hair.

But this was not the most alarming realization. By far, the most alarming realization had to do with the presence of something … long … and firm … pressing gently into the back of his thighs.

His source of warmth had a morning erection.

Obviously, his first instinct was to panic. Naturally, he ignored it. It was not in the nature of any Kuchiki to panic; he had been schooled since birth to ignore his baser instincts. Instead, he had been taught to examine every situation with the utmost care before advancing properly into action.

Yet try as he might, he could not reflect on any childhood lesson that may have remotely prepared him for the situation at hand.

Perhaps if he attempted to move …

No. Bad idea.

Behind him, Renji responded, muttering in his sleep and shifting slightly, the arm around his middle actually tightening a little.

Byakuya sighed, flitting his eyes briefly upward. He tried to move again, thinking if he shifted just right, putting some space between their bodies…

“Mmm …”

The sleep-filled voice was soft, husky, almost purring against his skin. He sighed again, debating on whether or not he should just jab an elbow into the other man’s side. It would certainly serve him right … Instead, he started to lift his hand, intent on oh-so-carefully pushing Renji’s arm away from his waist, the large palm sliding gently over his hip…

“Mmm …” The hand gave a sleepy, absent little squeeze. “… mmmm … Byakuya …”

He went abruptly still.

Dazedly, he felt the hips behind his own begin to pivot gently, rubbing the hard length cozily against his backside. He swallowed—and suddenly, it was a great deal warmer than before, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, his breath catching slightly.

“Renji …” he said, the strangled murmur all he could manage. “Renji, wake up at once…”

As if in answer, the body behind his own stiffened immediately.

A single second ticked by.

Then the arm around him flung itself so violently away it may as well have been on fire. A short muffled curse followed, arms and legs flailing in a desperate attempt to disentangle themselves from the bedroll. Byakuya gave in to a few muttered curses of his own as one large foot actually swatted him in the back of the head, the other stabbing him in the spine, Renji literally crawling out on hands and knees before scuttling backwards.

“Byakuya!!” he gasped, his eyes round, mouth gaping, face as near the shade of his hair as it could physically be. “I didn’t—I couldn’t—I mean, i-it was cold, and I didn’t think you’d care, b-b-but I swear I didn’t mean to do it, I swear!” He inhaled quickly, then burst out with the finale: “It’s perfectly natural, isn’t it?! I mean, everybody gets them!!”

Byakuya sat up, finding it easy to be nettled after that kick to the head.

“If I ever find you in my bed again,” he said, his voice calm, though perhaps not as calm as he would’ve liked it to be, “I will strangle you with your own hair.”

He stood up, ignoring the sputtering, verging on desperate voice that followed him, even as he turned away.

“But … but … aw, come on!! Everybody gets them !! … right!? …

… Right?!”

* * *

“You couldn’t strangle me even if you wanted to,” Renji eventually deigned to point out. He was walking alongside the mare, reigns in one hand, sullen expression on his face.

“I could,” Byakuya returned. “And I will.”

Renji glared up at him. “Whatever. How? You’re my captive, remember? As long as those ropes are tied around those pristine little hands of yours, you can’t fucking touch me.

“When the mind is willing, Renji, no obstacle can stay its course.”

Renji snorted. “There you go again, preaching that philosophical bullshit. They teach you that in Asshole School, or are all nobles born knowing how to sound like complete Fucktards?”

“No.”

“No?” He glanced up at him again. “No, what? Which is it?”

“Neither, obviously.”

Renji swore under his breath, reaching out to absently kick at a clod of dirt with his boot. “Geez. You even suck at arguing.”

“You should ask yourself if this has anything to do with the fact that I always win.”

Another viciously aimed glare. “Okay. That’s just fucking petty.”

Byakuya refrained from commenting, as the statement did not technically necessitate a reply anyway. He hoped, also, that his silence would encourage Renji to drop the subject, but his wishes remained woefully unfulfilled.

“You can get off your high horse, by the way. It’s not like you were totally innocent.”

Again, Byakuya choose to remain silent. He desperately willed away the sudden, creeping warmth beneath his skin, dreading that Renji must have noticed his own…

“You were blushing.”

He almost let out a sigh of relief.

“Aaand, you’re doing it right now, too.”

“I am not!” he finally snapped, glaring down at the younger man, his hands fisting the mare’s thick mane.

Renji smirked. “Are, too. It’s getting worse. It’s like your whole face is about to explode.”

“You mistake my extreme displeasure for some imagined form of embarrassment,” he replied, facing sternly forward again.

“Whatever.” He chuckled. “You’re like, the Prince of Blushing or something. You’ve been turning ten shades of red since we first met.”

“I hardly think the word “met” can adequately sum up the manner of our initial introduction!” Byakuya haughtily replied.

“Mr. High-and-Mighty, thinks he’s soooo much better than everybody else. Ha! Yeah, right. Prince Blushy-Blush.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said stiffly.

“I can call you whatever I want,” Renji said. “You’re my captive. Remember?”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know damn well what it means.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t, Renji. You may be astonished to learn this about me, but I am rather surprisingly well read. And never, in all my literary expeditions, have I encountered a captor who gives his captive his own toothbrush.”

“What?!” Renji gaped up at him, sputtering, his face once again attempting to match the color of his hair. “Who told you it was mine?!?!”

“Renji,” he replied, his voice calm and cool now. “You wrote your name on it.”

Renji blinked, but remained otherwise silent.

“Now look who’s blushing,” he remarked.

He could not quite make out the words that Renji growled in response, but the meaning was in itself clear enough.

They traveled in relative silence for the next hour or so, during which he imagined Renji was busily trying to come up with some sort of rebuttal for the toothbrush incident. This morning was lost; he had obviously surrendered in that regard, attempting to pass the entire scenario off as a biological mishap. Byakuya was more than willing to believe him, if only so that he could apply the same explanation for his own … unfortunate reaction.

After all, he argued with himself, it’s perfectly naturally. And it was, wasn’t it? He most certainly did not care for Renji in that … manner. The embarrassment he’d felt two nights ago was the result of misguided sympathy, and righteous anger towards Kuukaku. And this morning was … merely a physical response to a series of unwanted stimuli. No, he could not admit that he cared nothing for the man walking beside him. He knew now that Renji’s heart, at least, was good—even if his actions, and even, at times, his thought processes, were far from permissible.

Byakuya …

He started, his heart hammering suddenly in his chest. Senbonzakura’s cool voice seemed to shimmer as she spoke his name, a trickle of trepidation beginning to squeeze his rapidly beating heart.

Zabimaru senses danger.

Byakuya blinked, looking down at Renji, or, more specifically, the sword he kept strapped to his back. At the same time, Renji looked up and met his eyes, the younger man’s own eyes then drifting down to the jeweled pommel sticking out of one of the saddlebags.

He looked up again. “Did she just--?”

“Yes,” said Byakuya, his fingers digging reflexively into the mare’s mane. “What does Zabimaru say?”

Renji narrowed his eyes, gazing out into the surrounding forest.

“Dragon,” he said, his jaw hardening.

Byakuya frowned. “But I don’t smell anything. And the horse…”

“It can masks its scent,” Renji cut in. “The one we came across two days ago … well, that’s why Ikkaku thought it must be a nesting female. We must’ve surprised it. That’s why we could smell it.”

“So why can we not smell this one?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

“Because,” Renji replied quietly, “it’s hunting us.”

Byakuya felt a shiver run through him, his reaction obviously upsetting the mare, who began to prance a little, flicking her ears back and nervously tossing her head.

“Lean forward a little,” Renji told him, so he did, and the next thing he knew, Renji had vaulted up behind him in the saddle, his strong arms wrapping around Byakuya’s waist, hands seizing the reins.

“Hold on tight,” he cautioned, leaning forward so that he could whisper the words into Byakuya’s ear. Byakuya shivered again, the absurd thought running through his head that dragons could possibly understand human speech.

“Hyah!!!” Renji kicked his heels into the mare’s sides, causing her to give a little buck before shifting into an all out, rollicking gallop. They both bent low over her neck, the wind whipping at their faces, the earth vanishing beneath the mare’s hoofs as they sped down the almost non-existent path, branches and vines slapping at their bodies.

Almost instantly, there was an ear-splitting roar, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing through the forest, and a sort of low rumbling, like the deep growl of a jungle cat, only ten thousand times deeper, ten thousand times louder.

Byakuya looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening in horror at what he saw.

The creature must have been immense. Only its snout protruded through the thick surrounding brush, nostrils flared and hot, lips peeled back to reveal curling, giant fangs. Its hot breath stank, a low snarl gurgling up from its gullet … and even as it advanced, gaining on them, more of it became revealed: twin spiraling horns, situated between its two eyes, fathomlessly black and hinting at an evil so primal it ought never to have been born.

“We’re not going to make it!” he shouted out, facing forward again. “Renji—!!”

Renji’s reaction was instantaneous—and left no further doubt in Byakuya’s mind as to his prowess as a warrior. Even as he pulled back on the reins with one hand, the other was reaching behind him, pulling Zabimaru from his sheath. By the time the mare was turned around, rearing and neighing in terror, the sword was already naked and pointing at their approaching nemesis.

“Hoero!!!” he cried, the Old Speech sliding smoothly off his rough tongue, “Zabimaru!!”

The sword lengthened as it spread into its shikai, whipping forward into wickedly serrated segmented lengths, the point jutting out from the end. Renji flung it forward, the tip sailing just past the dragon’s head, the beast crouching low and regarding its prey with newfound wariness. But even as it started forward again, Zabimaru returned, those serrated segments sliding across the dragon’s nose, slicing into is thick skin and causing it to rear back, bellowing in pain.

The mare reared up as well, Renji still holding onto the reins, Byakuya having little choice but to brace himself against the younger man’s chest.

Again, the sword was flung forward; again, the dragon dodged it, but this time it lunged forward as well, snapping its huge, slathering jaws, and swiping one wickedly taloned claw, cat-like, at them while Renji was defenseless. Luckily, the mare’s instincts saved them. She shied, violently, the movement not only jolting them mostly out of harm’s way, but also altering Zabimaru’s return course. This time, the segmented blades sliced across the very front of the dragon’s head, actually piercing an eye and leaving a long, jagged, gaping wound from the top of the head to the edge of the nostril.

The dragon roared in agony, blood dripping down its muzzle.

At the same time, Byakuya felt the weight of Renji disappear from the saddle, his fingers jerked from the reins as the mare reared yet again.

And then Byakuya himself was falling, both his arms pushing out to save himself as the ground rushed up to meet him, head on. He gritted his teeth upon landing, then immediately rolled away, the mare turning and kicking out violently in her terror, even as Zabimaru came howling back to his owner, shrinking into his sealed katana form, the last remaining serrated edges slicing across the saddle girth and ripping it in several places.

The mare reared again, the saddle slipping down her back, along with their supplies.

Byakuya turned, and saw Renji still lying on the ground, motionless. His left pants leg was awash in blood, tattered remnants of cloth clinging to the wound made by the dragon’s swiping paw.

The dragon lunged forward again.

“Senbonzakura,” Byakuya whispered, thinking himself half out of his wits as he held up his bare hand. But then, a miracle happened.

What was once bare, now clasped the white hilt of a sword, its naked blade blazing in white-hot defiance.

Byakuya, she whispered, her voice singing in his head.

The dragon paused, its one remaining eye narrowing in the sudden bright light.

Byakuya rose to his feet, his steady gaze never leaving the dragon’s wary, one-eyed visage.

“Chire,” he said calmly, “Senbonzakura.”

Instantly, the shining blade dissolved, spreading out into a thousand sparkling “petals” that whirled around his head, twisting up into the air like a weird, otherworldly storm. Still looking at the dragon, he raised his empty hand up high, then brought it back down, towards the dragon, spreading his palm wide. The shimmering blossoms followed suit, like a hive of pink, ethereally beautiful killer bees, making straight for the dragon’s head and swarming there.

The beast gave a terrific scream, as Senbonzakura began to slice its flesh into a million pieces.

Within seconds, it turned and fled, its tail whipping just over Byakuya’s head as it began to retreat, stumbling blindly back through the ruined remains of the forest.

Senbonzakura retreated as well, settling back into her sealed form, the blade reappearing in his hand. He looked at her for a second—then his eyes suddenly widened, and he hurried to Renji’s side again, kneeling down before him.

“Renji!” he cried, cupping both his hands around the younger man’s cheeks. His skin was icy cold to the touch. “Renji…” The name got caught in his throat, a strangled whisper disguising itself as a sob. But common sense told him to press two fingers to Renji’s throat, just beneath his jaw, against his jugular—only to find his heartbeat, still pulsing, however weak.

He looked around. The mare was gone, the discarded remains of the saddle and saddle bags lying some distance away.

Now that the dragon had fled, the surrounding forest was utterly silently, not even a bird daring to sing.

He swallowed and looked back down at the slack face before him—a face that was usually so expressive, pink with rage or laughter, dark eyes sparkling in mirth or narrowed in righteous indignation.

“Renji,” he said again, blinking away the sudden brightness from his eyes. “I’m going to take care of you.” He stroked the cold cheek again, his thumb brushing against day old stubble. “I’m going to find us help.”

The silence seemed to suck the promise from his lips, a cold wind picking up then, flinging the hair from his face. He shivered. His eyes traveled down his captor’s body, down to the tattered remains of Renji’s pants, the leg soaked in blood.

At least he had somewhere to start.

Housekeeping

Sun, 13 Jan 2008 20:17:53 GMT

Title: Housekeeping
Series: Bleach
Pairing: Renji x Byakuya (No other pairings, except perhaps vague hints of Rukia x Ichigo)
Rating: GEN -- but not necessarily worksafe
Warnings: FLUFF and CRACK! ~ a response to a pseudo-challenge for the 6th Division Love Social Group on aarinfantasy.com ~ "housewife" Byakuya XD

A/N: I'm sorry for doing a oneshot instead of another chapter!! Forgive me?

Renji whistled to himself as he hiked back from the stream, fishing pole over his shoulder, tackle box in one hand and cooler in the other. He’d asked Byakuya if he’d wanted to come with him, but his taichou had steadfastly refused. Renji knew better by now than to try and get the older shinigami to do anything he didn’t want to, so he’d simply shrugged, kissed him good morning, and rolled out of bed to get ready.

He hadn’t exactly expected Byakuya to get up after him and, you know, fix his lunch or anything. But it still made him sigh a little, the way he just rolled over, burying his noble head back into the pillows and falling instantly asleep again.

It’s not like he wished his taichou were a girl. And even so, he wasn’t the kind of guy who expected women to do that sort of thing—hell, he had Rukia for a best friend, so he sure as hell knew better than to even THINK about shit like that, let alone say it out loud. But he knew from talking to some of his other friends who’d been in long term relationships that lovers were supposed to help each other out at times … you know, do all those little sweet things that said “I love you” or whatever, like leaving notes for each other and signing them “xoxo.” Sure, Byakuya left him notes, but they were always work related, and NEVER signed “xoxo.” Once, in a fit of uncharacteristic fancy, Renji had added the little “xoxo” himself, right beneath his taichou’s elegant signature. But it just hadn’t felt the same.

He paused in his whistling, smiling as he finally approached the little cabin on the hill, smoke rising steadily from the chimney. The whole property belonged to Ukitake-taichou … or rather, his family, anyway. Once he’d learned that they’d determined to take a vacation together—well, all right, it was more like Renji was determined, and Byakuya had irritably given in, after weeks and weeks of incessant pleading—he was quick to offer up the use of his personal lodge.

“It has served me many years,” he’d said, his expression warm, placid smile in place. “I often go there when I wish to be alone. I’m sure you two will enjoy it very much.”

Renji had thanked the 13^th division captain profusely, his mind already swimming with visions of rustic goodness, camping out together under the stars, making love on the cool grass, counting fireflies together… Meanwhile, beside him, Byakuya had only twitched. But his taichou was awful twitchy these days, especially when it came to Rukia and that idiot Ichigo, so he didn’t think much of it.

Now, on retrospect, he probably should’ve.

He wasn’t sure what exactly made him think Byakuya would enjoy a week out in the woods. Oh, sure, the cabin had all the creature comforts: heating, cooling, flush toilets, hot water, everything. But there was one thing it most certainly did not have. It didn’t come with a single, solid servant.

“Renji,” Byakuya had pronounced that first morning, his cold voice imperious as he held up an off-white yukata. “My clothes are wrinkled.”

Renji had just shrugged, glancing briefly up from his magazine to take note of the offending garment. “So? Who’s gonna care, way out here?”

Byakuya had looked at him as if he were some sort of depraved lunatic.

The same thing had happen at noon, when Renji had served them a cold lunch, wanting to whip up something fast so they could head down to explore the valley that day.

“I prefer my lunch warm,” he’d said, gazing down in faint distaste at the bowl that was placed before him.

“Sorry,” Renji had replied, in between quick mouthfuls of noodles. “Just pop it in the oven for a few minutes, I guess.”

Byakuya had glanced at the oven as though it were from another dimension before quietly picking up his spoon.

But, well, while it was true his taichou may have seemed a little out of place here, at least he had managed to relax a little. He only talked about work for the first couple days, but then he eventually stopped. In the evenings, they mostly read, lounging in front of the fire, but once Renji actually managed to convince him to go down to the nearby lake and do a little skinny-dipping. And last night, he let him give him a massage, something he had never let him do before, claiming it was the proper job of a servant, not a lover.

“But I want to,” Renji had insisted, smiling as he wrapped his arms around the slighter man, hugging him close. “Please? Plus I promise to make it a happy ending.” He grinned, already getting a bit horny. “I bet your servants never fuck you afterward, huh?”

The look his lover leveled at him then was positively chilling.

“Sorry,” he’d quipped. “Make love.” Byakuya didn’t like words like “fuck” … well, except when they were actually fucking.

He was grinning again as he walked up towards the cabin, just thinking about last night. But then as he got closer, he started to smell something strange, almost like … like something was burning. Quickly, he glanced up at the chimney, but everything seemed normal … then he suddenly noticed the amount of black smoke that was pouring out from the kitchen window.

He dropped his pole and tackle box and sprinted the rest of the way.

“Byakuya!!” he cried, slamming open the front door, his eyes gazing frantically around, searching for his lover.

The sight that greeted him instantly subsided his panic.

Byakuya was standing in the kitchen in a day kimono, sleeves rolled all the way up to his shoulders. His hair was pinned back in a ponytail, and he even had one of Renji’s kerchiefs wrapped around his forehead. One hand was covered in an oven mitt. The other held a large stirring spoon, the end of which was decidedly burnt, the wooden tip blackened beyond recognition.

His expression was one of utter frustration.

“Um,” said Renji. It was like there was so much to say, that it would just be too impossible to begin.

Byakuya looked at him, breathing in and out, a couple of stray hairs having escaped from his kerchief. “I am trying to fix you dinner,” he said steadily, though his voice was tinged with rising impatience. “But the appliances are not cooperating.”

“I see that,” Renji said, his eyes shifting over to the bubbling pot of … something … currently spilling over onto the stove.

He looked around, his brow furrowing. “What’s with the house?”

Byakuya was still looking at him. “I cleaned.”

Renji blinked. “Oh.”

He had never seen one room in such a dilapidated state of disaster. Discarded dust rags were everywhere, along with piles of paper, a dirty mop, stacks of books in various corners … and even a pile of wood, which he must have brought in from outside, to make up the fire, but had for some reason set down right on the living room floor rug.

He nodded slowly. “Looks good.”

“It took me all day. I did nothing else.”

Renji nodded more vigorously, eyes scanning the mess. “Yeah. Yeah, I can tell.”

Their eyes finally met, across the small kitchen and living room. Renji just stared at his lover, taking in his frazzled state of dress, the loosened ponytail, the weary expression. His lips twitched.

Byakuya’s lips twitched back.

“Geez!” he finally burst out, already starting to chuckle as he hurried over to the kitchen. “Just look at you!”

Byakuya sighed and suffered himself to be hugged, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly. “Renji. You smell like fish.”

“Nope,” Renji quipped. “That’s the fish.” He still held the small cooler in one hand, so he set it down before hastily moving over to relieve the stove of whatever awful burden was soiling its once gleaming top.

“What was it supposed to be?” he asked, picking up a spoon and ladling some up to bring to his nose, sniffing carefully. He made a face before quickly dropping it back in.

“I don’t know.” When Renji looked up at him in surprise, his expression remained characteristically blank. “I thought I could be creative. But it seems clear that I have not been gifted in the culinary arts.”

Renji chuckled. “Well, at least not for human consumption.” He turned the fire off, then found a couple potholders so he could bring the pot to the sink and empty its steaming contents down the drain. He used a strainer to catch the solid stuff, then brought that over to the trash bin, tapping it against the side to get it all out.

“All right,” he muttered, turning to face the equally messy kitchen, rubbing his hands absently together. “No sense cleaning up until we’ve eaten. How about I just grill the fish up?”

Byakuya just nodded, his lips slightly pursed.

Renji frowned a little, looking at him. Then he realized, smiling. “Aww.” He walked over to him, putting his arms around him and pulling him close again, resting his forehead briefly against that pale blue kerchief. “It’s okay. I know you were trying. That’s what counts.”

Byakuya remained silent.

Renji pulled away a bit, looking down into his eyes. “Aw, c’mon, Taichou. Don’t be all upset.” He grinned, hooking his arms around him once more and sort of swaying their bodies together. “How about after dinner I give you another one of those massages? You know…” He wiggled his brow, black tattoos going up and down. “The kind with the happy ending.”

That seemed to shake the slighter man from his thoughts.

“No,” he said, pulling away, reaching up to pull the kerchief free from his hair. “It would be uncivilized to engage in such activities before dinner.”

Renji barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Furthermore,” Byakuya continued, “it would in no way bring about the desired conclusion for the task I have set myself to complete today.” He arched a thin, black brow up at his lover.

Renji frowned down at him. “Oh,” he said. He reached up, scratching his nose. “Yeah, I’m not following you here, Taichou.”

“I think that you should cook the fish. And then,” the older man added, his voice calm, “I will give you a massage.”

Renji’s eyes widened.

Byakuya just stared at him. The longer their gazes remained locked, the brighter the two spots of color appeared on his cheeks.

Then Renji just grinned. “Cool,” he said. He had to actually shift, already sporting a little action under his hakama. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the older man’s pink cheek, then turned and picked up the cooler, pausing to pull out the cutting board before starting to work on the fish.

Byakuya watched him for a moment before turning and heading out of the room, making for the hallway. “In the meantime,” he called out over his shoulder, “I’ll just tidy up the bedroom.”

Renji’s head snapped up. “What?!”

Byakuya just smiled to himself.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter VII

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 06:50:27 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter VII
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

About time, right?! Sorry for the brief interlude ^^;; Holiday madness and all that jazz.

Let me say that I'm so honored and SO excited that some of you guys are enjoying this little fic. Your kind reviews are such an encouragement! And a special "thank you" to all the anonymous readers out there too shy to leave a comment ... hehe, I was once like you! ^^

But, please, if you find something you don't like about my fic ... I'm not asking for a critique. I'm posting this here b/c I have such fun writing it and I want to share it with others who love to read and write about our favorite Bleach couple. So if you think the boys are ooc or if you don't like my writing, well ... oh well! haha ^^;; I'd rather not hear about it, I guess. Keep in my mind, my Byakuya is always uke, and also a little less stiff than his anime counterpart. If he remained as cold as he's presented in KT's world, this story and others like it could never be possible!

Well, enjoy Chapter VII!!

They were about fifteen miles away from the cave when Renji suddenly realized he’d forgotten to pack a second bedroll.

“What?” asked the prince, apparently alerted by the sudden tension in his shoulders.

“Nothing,” he said, glancing back. “Just thinking.”

There was a brief pause, then: “Tell me.”

It was not a compassionate invitation from a willing confidant. It was a command.

His shoulders slumped, his hands lowering to rest on the mare’s coarse mane. “I forgot to pack an extra bedroll again.”

Again, silence.

Then—

“How very unfortunate for you.”

Renji indulged in rolling his eyes, since the prince couldn’t see him anyway. Then he sighed—because he knew Byakuya was right. Once again, he’d be sleeping on hard ground tonight, huddling under a thin blanket, shivering in the nighttime cold. Why do I suck so badly at this kidnapping thing?? In a way, he had to admit it: Kuukaku was right. He was a lousy rebel, and an idiot to boot.

For one thing, he was too nice. Toooo fucking nice. He’d listened to all the stories as a kid, all the adventures about pirates and robbers and island-dwelling natives. And none of the pirates offered to give up their beds to their prisoners. Unless, you know, it was like some hot damsel in distress or something. Plus there was this whole talky talky thing they had going. For some reason, he really liked talking to the prince. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he just felt bad for him—and that was the key, right there, because you weren’t supposed to feel BAD for the guy you were kidnapping, right?!

And another thing—he’d captured the wrong frigging captive. Seriously, how could he have ever looked at Byakuya and thought him a girl?! He was kind of short, sure. But lots of guys were short. And he was a little on the thin side, so what? So what if his skin was rather pale, like the moon on a cold winter night? So what if his steel gray eyes were large, and sometimes surprisingly soft, his hair unnaturally fine, his lips…

Oh, shit! He jerked upright, his fingers clenching around the reins, making the mare toss her head irritably up and down. Oh, SHIT!

See? That was another thing. Thinking about your captive was NOT supposed to give you an erection.

“What now?”

Fucking son of a bitch actually had the gall to sound annoyed.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, swallowing, and inwardly cringing over the huskiness in his own voice. “Just thinking about … you know … some stuff. The bedroll … and stuff…”

Yeah, that was convincing.

Byakuya sighed, hands on Renji’s belt relaxing a little. And that was another thing—WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE TO PUT HIS ARMS AROUND HIM THE WHOLE TIME, HUH?!

“You’re very moody today,” the prince was saying. He still sounded annoyed. But maybe that whole kidnapped-from-his-home-and-separated-from-his-sister thing was just finally getting to him.

“Well, I’ve got a lotta stuff on my mind,” Renji said, which was true. He just wished he didn’t sound so defensive when he said it.

“You said you wished to know more about Shiba Kuukaku,” the prince continued.

“Oh,” Renji said, feeling a bit light-headed in his relief. “Yeah. Sure.” Maybe it would distract him enough so that he could stop thinking about turning around in this fucking saddle and kissing the hell out of the man behind him.

“She was the youngest captain to ever serve the royal families.”

Renji tried to envision his fierce lady as a young woman, wearing smart looking armor decorated with the insignia of the four royal houses.

“My parents adored her. All of the nobles did. She and her second, Shihouin Yoruichi, kept the peace as best they could, shielding my family and the other families from the growing unrest amongst the common people. She had earned her captainship by distinguishing herself in the war against the Arrancar tribes. I presume you were too young to remember them yourself.”

Renji frowned, trying to think. “Well, the wars all started before I was born. But then, when I was a kid, I remember being more afraid that “the Arrancar” were going to get me instead of the police.”

“You had reason to fear them both?”

He chuckled. “Well, not the Arrancar. I think the wars were pretty much over by then.” He paused, then, glancing over his shoulder, to stare into those impassive dark eyes. “Hey. Don’t judge me. We had to eat, right? It’s not like I could get a job. I couldn’t even spell yet!”

“I wasn’t judging you.”

He humphed under his breath. “Yeah. Well.”

There was silence between them for awhile, until he realized the prince wasn’t going to go on unless he prompted him to do so. “So what happened?” He hesitated, hating to ask it, but … “How’d she lose her arm?”

“I was getting to that.”

Renji rolled his eyes again. Of course you were.

“Captain Shiba betrayed us. It was all part of her plan, you see … to gain our trust. She was regularly invited to all the intimate family gatherings, both she and Lieutenant Shihouin. One night, the night of a banquet celebrating the 400^th anniversary of my family’s promotion as the head of the four Great Families, she planned to poison us.”

Renji blinked. “What—all of you?”

“All of us.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “But … even you? I mean, you couldn’t have been more than a little kid, right?”

“Yes.”

The cold finality of that word sent a chill up his spine. He wasn’t sure what disturbed him more: the fact that his leader had attempted to kill perhaps a hundred people in cold blood … or the fact that the prince could relate it so calmly, as if it did not remotely concern him in any way.

He swallowed. “I guess it didn’t work, though. I mean, obviously.”

“No. Lieutenant Shihouin—now Captain—gained wind of the plot and alerted us immediately. Captain Shiba was immediately taken into custody and brought to swift trial. Normally, she would have been beheaded, but the families took into consideration her great services to the country. Ultimately, she was to be banished from the kingdom. And her sword arm was to be cut off, as well.”

Renji remained silent, finding it difficult to take all of this in. Why did he think this wasn’t the only assassination attempt Byakuya had had to deal with, even as a child? Growing up on the streets, alone and hungry, didn’t exactly make for a pleasant childhood experience. But he always used to envy the noble children, envisioning them living like kings, eating themselves fat, never having a care in the world. But I guess we both had to worry about surviving, even as kids.

And why did he think, after listening to the prince talk about his family, that he had grown up as much an “orphan” as Renji and all the other urchins had?

“So I guess she’s always felt like this,” he said after awhile. “About the revolution, I mean.”

“The revolution you didn’t know about.”

Well that stung.

When he didn’t say anything again for awhile, the prince seemed to realize what he’d said and decided to take it back … in his own fashion, of course.

“I wasn’t implying that she was right about you. Only attempting to clarify the situation.”

Renji couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“You are being nice to me.” He glanced back over his shoulder at him. “But I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

“Thank you.”

He faced forward again, the playfully haughty response turning his smile into a grin. “Don’t mention it.”

They rode in silence for awhile, before Byakuya spoke up again.

“What do you plan to do, once this revolution of yours occurs?”

Renji frowned. “Well, first of all, it’s not my revolution. It’s—”

“No one can be as responsible as you have been, Renji. You have kidnapped the crown prince of the ruling Noble family.”

He paused … scratched his nose. “Well. I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“It is the only way.”

Why did he have this sneaking suspicion that if he looked back, he would see a smile?

“Whatever,” he finally said, shrugging his shoulders, unable to tell if he should feel delighted or burdened with this great “responsibility” of his. “It’s all semantics anyway. And yeah,” he added over his shoulder, “I do know what ‘semantics’ means.”

“Do you.”

“Don’t take that tone with me. Anywho, the answer’s pretty obvious: we’d elect Lady Kuukaku and Lord Urahara to be our new leaders.”

Byakuya snorted derisively, the abrupt sound startling Renji. “After everything I’ve just told you—you would still elect a woman who once planned to murder over a hundred people? In cold blood?”

Renji frowned. “Well…”

“A woman who does not even respect your abilities—who mocks you in front of your comrades, instead of praising you for your dedication to the cause?”

Renji felt his brow furrowing, his hands dropping to rest on the mare’s mane again. “But … I mean, she’s been a good leader to us.”

“Has she? How so?”

“She started all of this!” he argued, feeling his cheeks flush for some reason. “She’s the whole reason we’re even out here! If she hadn’t taken a stand, no one would have. We’d all still just be scraping by, living from day to day without hope for change, not to mention food.” He nodded, angry, satisfied with his response. “She started this thing. She’s carrying us through it, and she’s going to end it!”

“End what, exactly?”

“Are you dense or something? The revolution!” He was too caught up in the heat of the discussion to check his tongue. He never had gotten into the habit of talking so abruptly to the prince.

“So you think it will end. It will end as soon as your Lady Kuukaku and your Lord Urahara murder or imprison my parents and claim the throne for themselves. Then what will happen?”

Renji swallowed, a cold feeling traveling up the back of his spine, prickling his skin, even through his heavy cloak. “I’m sorry. I mean … about your parents. I didn’t even…”

“Never mind about them. That isn’t the point. I’m asking you what you think will happen.”

He was quiet for a long time, and so was Byakuya, the prince obviously allowing him time to think.

“I don’t know,” he said after awhile, his own voice gone quiet now. “I don’t know what will happen.”

“No,” Byakuya agreed. “You don’t know.” Then he added, his voice equally quiet: “And neither do I.”

That seemed to lend a finality to the discussion, and neither of them spoke again until noon, when they paused by a small stream to water the horses—Renji had to use Zabimaru to break the ice—and share lunch. As evening began to approach, and his ass started to fall asleep in the saddle, he felt the slight weight against his back begin to subtly increase. The prince had once again fallen asleep behind him.

He pushed the mare on until it was well after sunset, the stars and the nearly full moon lighting their way. He finally stopped when they came upon a suitable clearing, the brush giving way to a small stretch of land so that they could set up camp, though the area itself was entirely surrounded by trees and rocks, so that they would be protected from the wind and cold.

He turned and woke his companion, then helped him down from the saddle. “Can you loosen the saddle and tie her to that tree?” he asked, handing the mare’s reins to the prince, who turned without saying a word, the mare clopping after him. Then he got busy starting a fire, snapping kindling off the dead branches of a nearby tree, icicles breaking as he did so.

Shit. It’s going to be some night.

He found himself watching the prince as he worked. He rather expected Byakuya to just sit there, to play his usual part as the sullen captive. But he didn’t. Instead, he laid out the bedroll, unpacking the rest of the equipment as well, the dried jerky, canned beans, water jug, pots, a small knife…

Renji watched, then, as he held his own zanpakutou in his hands, the sword wrapped and bound in a white sheet. A great sadness seemed to pass over his features, but this was quickly replaced by a sudden flicker of inexpressible anger. Wordlessly, he thrust the sword back into the saddle bag, the jeweled pommel sticking up at the top, as though refusing to be ignored.

Renji breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure why he had packed the prince’s zanpakutou anyway, but he had. He also had complete faith in Lord Urahara’s magical ropes, but it was still a relief to see the prince discard the sword as if he had absolutely no intention of using it.

Her, corrected Zabimaru, his rough, surly voice echoing in Renji’s head. Her name is Senbonzakura.

“Senbonzakura,” Renji murmured. It was like the gentle brush of a deadly flower against his lips when he said the name, the cold breeze stealing the breath from his lungs. He smiled—then froze, Byakuya looking up at him in surprise.

“Zabimaru,” he said, trying to explain, feeling himself redden. “he … he told me her name.”

Byakuya just looked at him for a second longer before nodding and settling down before the fire.

They did not speak much during dinner. “Dinner” consisted of the dried meat, and a can of beans heated up over the fire, shared between them. They passed the water flask back and forth as well, the flask itself magicked into keeping its contents unfrozen. He said as much to Byakuya, who looked surprisingly impressed, as if he did not expect to find such an object in the possession of a rebel. Renji decided not to tell him that Lord Urahara had given it to him as a gift, telling him with that snide look of his that he would no doubt one day find grave use for it.

Yeah, like it was a real stretch to imagine he’d need a fucking unfreezable flask while transporting a helpless noble across the wintry countryside. Sometimes he wondered about that Urahara. But of course he kept such thoughts to himself.

After awhile, he wordlessly got to his feet and moved over to where the saddle and camp equipment had been set down. He untied the bedroll and moved to spread it out beside the fire, conscientiously handing one of the blankets to the prince, who took it just as silently as it was given. Then he sat back down beside the fire, the spare blanket wrapped around his own shoulders, and watched as the prince calmly wiggled down inside the contents of the bedroll, the blanket wrapped securely over him.

Not that he expected even the slightest apologetic look, but still. Would’ve been nice.

As the night continued to wane, he sat there, cross-legged and shivering slightly before the fire. He couldn’t help staring at the shapeless lump inhabiting his bedroll, couldn’t help imagining the growing warmth within. He thought of Ichigo and Rukia, how it had seemed so innocent between them at first—how all along he’d assumed it was innocent, until he’d caught them together, only the day before they’d encountered the dragon, and then Lady Kuukaku’s encampment.

He thought of Byakuya’s reaction when he told him about it last night, a slight grin tugging at his lips.

The prince, he supposed, was a handsome enough guy, despite that perpetually icy hauteur of his. But when he got all pissed like that, well … Renji had to admit: he was fucking beautiful.

Uncomfortably, he reflected on his realizations from this morning.

It’s just that we’ve been alone together a lot recently. He tried to reason out his attraction in various other ways, concluding ultimately that it was merely a result of the unhealthy lull in his personal life. And it wasn’t that the prince was a guy. There was nothing wrong with that, though he had to admit he’d never been into guys before. Which was what made it all the more suspicious, at least in his eyes.

Well, that’s it then. He nodded to himself, suddenly decisive. I’m just deprived or something. It’s not like I could really be into someone like him. So his reaction this morning was just a glitch—he wasn’t falling for the guy or anything like that. No, leave that sentimental bullshit to Ichigo. And Ikkaku and Yumichika and even Lady Kuukaku’s teasing hadn’t helped matters any. Besides—if he’d really had an interest in the prince, he’d have done something about it. Just like he’d caught Ichigo kissing Rukia, he should’ve been doing the same to Princess Bitch here, too. (He spared a thoroughly pleasant second to imagine Byakuya’s reaction to being referred to as “Princess Bitch.”)

So, that settled it. He wasn’t into the prince.

Therefore, there shouldn’t be anything dishonorable about his going over there and sharing that fucking bedroll with him.

Senbonzakura lets me stroke her petals now, murmured Zabimaru, his steely voice unusually pleased.

“Shut up,” Renji muttered. “You’re not helping matters any.”

He rose to his feet then, taking his blanket with him, and carefully approached the bedroll.

The prince was definitely sound asleep.

Ever so carefully, he eased in beside him. Byakuya sighed quietly, but didn’t otherwise move, only drawing his arm in even closer to his body, his hands tucked beneath his chin. Renji knew better than to mimic his friend—all the reasoning in the world could not stop his body from reacting to another nice, warm body pressing warmly against his own. He turned around, then, sleeping back to back with the prince, already able to appreciate the shared warmth the other man’s body was providing within the enclosed space of the bedroll and blankets.

Within seconds, his eyelids began to droop, his body gradually relaxing until he stopped shivering.

Soon, he dropped off to sleep, lulled into blessed unconscious by the calm, even breathing of the man beside him.

He slept deeply, undisturbed by the cold, his thoughts at rest.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter VI

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 07:20:11 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter V
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

Another chapter ^^

It was like a prison cell—this room.

He even hesitated to think of it as a room. It was at the end of a tunnel, a rounded out bit of rock and earth, large enough for two people to lie down on either side of a small fire. A hole through the top allowed for ventilation, but it hardly seemed adequate. Byakuya wavered between wanting to stay warm and wanting to breathe. As Renji did not seem to mind the smoke, and had spent the past several days shivering in the cold night air, he opted to continue feeding the small flames.

Renji sat opposite him, elbows on his knees, face turned down toward the fire. The light of the flames flickered across his skin, dancing against the jagged black marks etched into his brow, making him seem almost exotic, wild.

He was holding Zabimaru by the hilt, poking him listlessly into the ash.

Food had been brought to them, the once steaming plates grown cold. Neither of them had eaten very much.

“I guess you must think I’m a complete fucking idiot now,” Renji finally said. The listless look did not leave his eyes, Zabimaru’s blade sliding off a branch, tapping against the stone. “Don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

Byakuya tightened his arms around his own knees, his boots crunching into the ground.

“I don’t,” he said.

Renji smiled humorlessly, lifting his eyes briefly. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

Byakuya lowered his eyes, watching as Zabimaru’s long-suffering tip poked against the ash again. He tried to imagine what Senbonzakura would have to say if he were to thrust her into the flames as if she were a common tool.

He closed his eyes briefly, his vision blurring slightly from the heat and the smoke, before opening them again. “Why should I concern myself with how you feel? I have no reason to spare your feelings.”

Renji frowned thoughtfully before nodding. “I guess that’s true.”

The silence stretched between them again, broken only by the snapping of the flames and the occasional tapping of Zabimaru’s blade. Byakuya expected Renji to keep talking, but he didn’t.

He found himself struggling to find something to say.

“Kuukaku was wrong,” he finally said. Renji glanced up briefly before shrugging and staring back down again.

“She was wrong about you,” he repeated. “You made the best out of a difficult situation. You were sent to find a princess, yet you encountered a prince. You reacted swiftly, without wrecking the overall plan, and managed to forward your own leader’s goals as well.”

Renji looked up again, blinking. “You really think so?” He seemed surprised.

“I know so. You exhibited the same rapidity of thought and determination in the dragon attack. You wanted to stay and fight. But you understood that your prior responsibility made it necessary for you to flee instead.”

Renji sat up a bit, his shoulders straightening. “Well, yeah. The captain told me to run, so I ran.”

Byakuya looked at him. “Is that really why you fled?”

He could see the puzzlement in the younger man’s eyes, his brow furrowing slightly.

“No,” he said slowly. “It’s because I had you. If I’d stayed, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Byakuya blinked, his eyes meeting Renji’s across the firelight. Then his captor seemed to blush and turn his head again, gazing down at the flames.

“Yes,” he continued, forcing himself to go on. “Because you are compassionate. You have exhibited compassion throughout this expedition, proving that you have strength of character.”

Renji frowned. “I thought we were talking about how smart I was. Not my character.”

“Both are equally important. Neither can exist without the other. Compassion without intelligence—it is always the innocent, the foolish, who are taken advantage of first. Intelligence without compassion—this leads to unchecked power, and oppression of the weak.”

“Like the nobles,” Renji said, seeming to catch on.

Byakuya nodded. “Yes. Some of the nobles.” His mouth thinned, a bitter taste in his mouth. “But not all.”

Renji nodded. “You and the princess.”

“Yes. And others.”

Brief silence arose again, save for the crackling of the dying flames. Byakuya thought about laying another branch across, but with his cloak and the blanket around his shoulders, his knees curled up to his chest, he could not summon the effort to move.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Renji asked suddenly. “Ichigo and Rukia.”

“The princess,” Byakuya corrected sharply.

Renji didn’t argue. He actually looked contrite. “Oh, right. Ichigo and the princess.” He hesitated before going on. “I think they … you know. I mean … well, I guess it’s pretty weird for you, since she’s your sister and all…”

Byakuya just looked at him, unable to believe what he was implying.

“My sister is an adopted member of the royal Kuchiki family,” he finally managed. “She is a princess. She would never—”

“She’s also a woman,” Renji pointed out. “Like, a really, really hot one. And Ichigo, he’s not bad looking or anything.”

Byakuya felt the bile rising in his throat.

“And…” Renji looked apologetic again, his thumb rubbing absently over the end of Zabimaru’s hilt. “I kinda saw them … you know. Kissing.”

Byakuya almost choked on the breath in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists, his teeth grinding together in furious indignation. What did he care about these godforsaken ropes? All he had to do was wrap his fingers around that filthy commoner’s neck and squeeze until…

Renji grinned. “Man, you look pissed. Guess she’s never had a boyfriend before.”

He glared at the younger man for a good five seconds before he realized what he was doing. He turned his head then, a little huff escaping his lips as he tried to regain control of his emotions. Gradually, his fingers unclenched, his jaw loosening ever so slightly.

“Is it just because he’s a commoner? Or just, you know … because he’s a guy in general?”

Byakuya scoffed. “Rukia is common-born herself. She cannot inherit the throne. Therefore, she may court whomever she pleases.”

Abruptly, he was reminded of his earlier conversation with Yumichika.

He looked at Renji—and suddenly, an inexplicable warmth suffused his face. It was as though he could suddenly recall, with perfect clarity, the feel of his captor’s body pressed against his own as they rode together in the saddle. He thought of the jealous look in the younger man’s eyes when he’d caught Yumichika talking to him, how he’d told him earlier, while Ichigo and Rukia watered the horses, that Yumichika liked to flirt, even though he and that “captain” were supposedly involved. He remembered the amused look in Ikkaku’s own eyes as the staff-wielding freedom fighter glanced back at them, the wink he’d given them both … or had it really been meant for both of them?

“I guess that doesn’t really apply to you, though.”

Renji’s voice drew him out of his humiliating reverie, making him blink, his eyes focusing on the other man’s.

“Your family must’ve been pretty upset when you married,” he continued. Byakuya noticed that he was speaking carefully for once, as if afraid to say the wrong thing. “I figure they wouldn’t be too pleased if you were to do something like that again.”

“No,” he managed, his voice thickening slightly. He swallowed, blinking again. “Our children, had they been born, would not have been allowed to inherit.”

Renji frowned. “No kids, then?”

Byakuya only shook his head.

Renji leaned back on his palms, but then seemed to think better of it, the warm blanket having slid from his shoulders as he did so. He hunched forward again, pausing to lay Zabimaru aside, the sword no doubt relieved to have its hot nose spared from the fire.

“I guess I want kids,” he continued, but it was more as if he were talking to himself now. “Never really thought about it much. Never thought I’d be the type.” He tilted his head, then, seemingly thoughtful. “But it can’t be much different from having a dog, right? And I’ve always been pretty good with animals, so...”

Byakuya looked at him, dismayed. “Are you comparing having children to owning a pet?”

Renji grinned. “Not really. Guess I just wanted to see you get all huffy again.” His grinned widened, ever so slightly. “Worked, too.”

Byakuya rolled his eyes, deciding this conversation was definitely over.

“I’m going to bed,” he said. “That wretched woman is waking us before dawn.”

Renji finally began to look curious—he’d obviously been too busy wallowing in self-hatred earlier to really think about anything else. “How come you two seem to know each other so well?

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” he said, already turning away from the fire. He lay down, then, stretching out on the cot he had been sitting on and pulling the blankets up over his head. A few minutes later, he heard the other man begin to settle down as well, the fire hissing as it was dampened, blankets rustling as they were turned down. Within minutes, nothing but even breathing could be heard.

They both slept peacefully for the first time in days.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter V

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 08:37:13 GMT

Byakuya was glad that Renji had decided to cease conversing with him as they continued to Kuukaku’s hideout. Perhaps his captor was merely ashamed of doing so in front of his two friends, Ikkaku and Yumichika. It probably didn’t help that the pair teased him constantly, asking him if he’d had the time yet to enjoy his “consummation” prize or whether or not their zanpakutou had kissed—this last, of course, was part of a larger discussion wherein “battle” was apparently to be taken as a euphemism for sex and their zanpakutou as phalluses. The majority of it went over Renji’s head, but he was quick to point out that Zabimaru would never betray him like that.

Byakuya thought of what Senbonzakura had said about her petals and looked away, his lips thinning.

“Does it bother you?”

He started and glanced down, surprised to see Yumichika walking alongside the horse, one brow arched.

He looked away again.

“She’s falling in love with him. The others are blind to it, but you’re not. She’s your sister, isn’t she? A princess?”

“She’s common-born,” he said before he could stop himself, and again he cursed himself for needlessly pointing it out to someone who hadn’t any right to know in the first place.

“Does that matter?”

He was so surprised by Yumichika’s lack of surprise that he actually looked down at him again.

“Of course it matters,” he said, already annoyed with himself for even having this conversation. “She is allowed to court whomever she pleases.”

He saw Yumichika smile from the corner of his eye. “And yet it still bothers you. Doesn’t it?”

He chose not to answer the question.

Ahead of them, Renji stopped talking to Ikkaku (he had been busy explaining why he’d taken Byakuya in the first place—this also somehow tied into why he was a better leader than Ichigo was) and glanced back at them both.

Yumichika smiled again. “Oh, look. Somebody’s jealous.”

Byakuya threw him a half-startled, half-annoyed look, the mare actually feeling his disquiet and prancing a bit on her toes.

“What’re you two talking about back there?” Renji asked. There was indeed a hint of suspicion glinting in his usually warm brown eyes.

“Ohh, nothing much,” Yumichika sang back. “Just the weather.”

Renji made a sort of harumphing noise under his breath before turning to face forward again. Ikkaku glanced over his shoulder to shoot them both a wink, then quickly resumed their conversation, listening now as Renji extolled on the virtues of drinking whiskey before beer, and not the other way around.

About half an hour later, they came to a stop before a cave.

It wasn’t just any cave. For one thing, it seemed unusually out of place, situated as it was in the middle of a dense temperate forest. Two odd structures flanked its mouth, only adding to its overall abnormal appearance. They were in the shape of closed fists, and as Byakuya dismounted and passed between them, he felt the faint brush of magic—strong magic—against the surface of his mind.

Senbonzakura, who remained strapped to the mare’s saddle, cried out to him, outraged over being left behind. But he ignored her.

Ikkaku and Yumichika led them through a series of twisting passageways with a confidence that bordered on bravado. Byakuya, on the other hand, was lost after the second right turn. Judging from the look on Renji’s face, his captor was faring little better.

Rukia, who didn’t like enclosed spaces, quietly reached for and gripped his hand. He squeezed it back—an unspoken sign of affection which could be safely administered in the surrounding semi-darkness.

Presently, they began to approach a more well-lit area, a fair-size cavern which marked the end of one tunnel. It was a rather homely scene they encroached upon: men and women both crouched around fires, one woman nursing a baby, another busy mashing something into a pot. A pair of young men sat before a smaller fire fletching a bundle of arrows, while the woman beside them ran a sharpening tool over the blade of her sword.

Eventually, one of the women detached herself from the group and stood up to face them. She had one arm.

“Hello, Byakuya,” she said, her hand resting jauntily on one hip as she flashed him a sly little smile.

“Captain Shiba,” he said, his cool, dry voice betraying none of the apprehension he felt.

She chuckled and making a tsking sound with her tongue. “Still as personable as you ever were, I see.” She looked at Rukia next. “And this must be the famous Princess Rukia.”

Rukia looked uncertain. She glanced at Ichigo, who only looked vaguely confused as to why his beloved Lady seemed to be on a first name basis with the prince.

“So,” Byakuya said, purposefully diverting her attention again. “Now you are a lady.”

She grinned. “Don’t berate me, little Byakuya. I couldn’t bare it.” She shrugged, one-shouldered. “It’s what they call me. I’ve no objections to it.”

Byakuya pressed on, in no mood to play whatever game the ex-Captain of the Guard was attempting to draw him into. “You of all people know how little my family cares for Rukia. What purpose does it serve for her to remain your prisoner?”

Kuukaku smiled. “More than you might think.” She cocked her head at him, one brow rising slightly. “You see, the people are well aware of Rukia’s origins. You gave them more hope than you perhaps realized when you married her sister ten years ago.”

Byakuya just looked at her, saying nothing.

“They were elated, in fact. There was talk of change, an ushering in of a new era. But then—what happened?”

“Hisana died,” he said, the words thick on his tongue. He could feel the hatred burning in his own eyes as he continued to stare at her.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Hisana died. And with her, your dreams of uniting the rights and privileges of the common people with the interest of the nobility. Now, the only thing which has kept the people from outright revolution is the fact that you—and your family—have allowed a common-born girl to be christened a princess.” She moved a little closer, her head tilting to the other side. “Did you never wonder why your parents did not oppose you concerning Rukia? Why they would allow you to not only let her stay in the palace but to give her a title, as well?”

Byakuya was beginning to feel foolish.

It did not help to improve his mood very much.

“But his family hates me,” said Rukia. The sudden intrusion of her voice seemed to break the spell between them. Byakuya blinked, looking down at her, then back at Kuukaku.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, still looking at the older woman. “It’s what the people believe. What I made them believe.”

Kuukaku smiled. “Yes.”

“But I did more than that,” he continued. “I forced the House to enact new laws. Rukia and I started many programs together—the hungry are now being fed, the children are going to school, the elderly and the sick—

“Not enough.” Her smile was gone now, the firelight glinting in her cold, dark eyes.

Byakuya gritted his teeth. It was becoming more difficult than ever to retain his usual stoic façade.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his own gaze unflinching. “You are set to ruin everything that I have worked for. Without me to control them—

“All of your little laws and your little programs will have been for naught. No one will bother to enforce them anymore. No one will oppose the new raise in taxes. The divide between rich and poor will increase to astronomical proportions. The government will use outstanding debt to seize property, sending many of the poor into workhouses.” She paused. “Need I go on?”

“You’re mad,” he said, teeth still clenched. “Do your loyal followers know what you plan to do? The people will suffer even more. They’ll starve—

“No.” This time it was Rukia who interrupted him. She looked up at him, her small face seeming to glow in the flickering light of the fire. “No, Nii-sama. The people will revolt.”

The horrific logic of Kuukaku’s plan seemed to descend upon him all at once. Of course. The people will revolt. There will no longer be a need for his presence to remain in the House … because the House will no longer exist…

“I was trying,” he said. His voice seemed quieter than before, less assured. It broke the abrupt silence that had arisen amongst them all, even the freedom fighters gathered around the cave fires pausing in their tasks to watch and listen. “I was doing my best.”

“I know,” she said. Her smile had returned, albeit slightly crooked, though not unkind. “You have always done your best. But it is not enough, Byakuya. I have given you ten years. And it has not been enough.”

It infuriated him—the sheer rightness of her plan. He was not prepared to give in to this. He was not prepared to surrender his entire family to a no doubt bloody revolution. His way was the right way, to slowly work at bridging the two societies together. Prosperity could not occur without time, effort, and energy. To think that ten years of careful labor, of being berated by lords and politicians, shunned by family members, ignored by his father—that it would all be for nothing.

He looked at her. “But I was a mistake. Renji did not mean to capture me.”

She grinned, then chuckled. “So you two are on a first name basis now?”

He ignored her. From the corner of his eye, he could see Renji shifting, obviously embarrassed. It was not his concern though.

She shrugged. “You can look at it that way, if you like. If things had gone as we had originally intended, Rukia would be here, and you would be at the palace. Word would leak out eventually that the princess had been kidnapped. You, loving adopted brother that you are, would wish to rescue her. The people would expect nothing less. Your family would refuse. Eventually, you would determine to rescue her yourself … with or without their help.”

She saw that he understood. It was unnecessary for her to go on.

How many of them would have been waiting for him, he wondered. Would he have had to kill some of them in order to win his freedom? Or would Senbonzakura have abandoned him, as she had already?

“Nii-sama…”

He felt the hand in his squeeze gently, and turned his head to look down into his sister’s eyes.

“Nii-sama … would you have come after me, like she said? Alone?”

He gazed down at her, Kuukaku’s mocking words echoing in his head: loving adopted brother that you are…

“Yes,” he said.

She smiled, but looked away, as though sad.

Kuukaku chuckled. “Very touching. Thank Kisuke for making all our lives a little easier, then. Imagine the agony you two would have had to go through, being separated from one another. It’s much better this way, isn’t it?” She smiled. “He absolutely insisted on Renji being part of the team. I couldn’t imagine why. Whoever thought being a blundering idiot would ever work to his advantage?”

She laughed again, and he had to resist the sudden, wild urge to rise to his captor’s defense. But it would have been absurd—the man was his enemy, after all.

Beside Rukia, he saw Ichigo start a little, but Ikkaku reached out to rest a restraining arm around his shoulders. He could no longer see Renji, who must have dropped back behind him.

Kuukaku noticed, and smiled, but otherwise said nothing. She studied them all for a second longer, then turned away, waving a negligent hand over her shoulder. “Be glad you had these last few days together, because you aren’t going to be seeing one another for awhile. You’ll split up in the morning. It will throw the pursuers off a bit. Shin, Yuka—!” A pair of warriors stood up, saluting quickly. “Show them their rooms for the night. Take the prince down the Jade tunnel and put them up in one of the empty rooms there. Escort the princess to one of the empty rooms near my own.”

The pair saluted again. “Yes, Lady!” The young man hurried towards Rukia and Ichigo, while the woman, Yuka, approached him and Renji. Her hand rested on her sword hilt; the other reached out to lightly but firmly wrap around his right arm.

“Come with me,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting Rukia’s, having only one last glimpse of her large dark eyes before they rounded a corner. She did not cry out his name.

Renji walked behind them, and for a second, their eyes met as well. The younger man’s expression was uncharacteristically blank. For some reason, Byakuya felt a sympathetic warmth flood his face. If only they were not enemies…

But they were.

He faced forward again, steeling himself for the unknown days ahead.

Bleach pairings <3

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 20:50:21 GMT

Bleachy goodness, taken from chifuyu

Six Pairings I Like:

1. Renji x Byakuya
2. Shuuhei x Yumichika
3. Shunsui x Jyuushirou
4. Ichigo x Rukia
5. Yoruichi x Soi Fon

Three Ships I've Abandoned:

7. Ichigo x Ishida
8. Zangetsu x Ichigo
9. Urahara x Ishida

Three Ships I've Never Liked:

10. Renji x Ichigo
11. Ichigo x Orihime
12. Byakuya x Rukia

Two Ships that have Piqued my Interest:
13. Tatsuki x Orihime
14. Ganju x Hanatarou

The questions:

#1. Why do you dislike #11 so much?
I don't feel any connection between them AT ALL. Orihime's crush came out of nowhere in the anime ... whereas Ichigo and Rukia's relationship seems to grow so naturally, more and more with each episode.

#2. Who do you know that ships #13?
No one, but I know they're out there. IshiHime shippers tend to steal Orihime from poor Tatsuki.

#3. What would be your ideal scenario for couple #3?
I don't know. I basically figure they're been doin' the nasty together for the past five hundred years lol So maybe just some small evidence that they really do care for one another. Some flirting from Shunsui maybe ^^

#4. What is your favorite moment for #1?
Ahh, the hospital scene, when Byakuya asks Renji, why are you here? And Renji replies, because I am your fukutaichou.

#5. How long have you been following couple #6?
Since the episode that dealt with Soi Fon's past, and how she became so devoted to Yoruichi-sama.

#6. What's the story with #8? What made you stop caring?
I became too much of a IchiRuki shipper ... even though I still think Zangetsu x Ichigo is really, really hot.

#7. Which ship do you prefer--#2 or #4?
Oh god, so hard!! I can't stand to see either apart from one another. I guess Shuuhei x Yumichika because Yumichika is just such a character! But so is Rukia...

#8. You have the power to make one ship non-existent. Choose from #10 or #12.
Renji x Ichigo. AUUUGHHH.

#9. What interests you about #14?
Um, because at some point during the fillers I realized they were totally canon XDD

#10. When did you stop liking #7?
When the first set of fillers began and Ichigo and Ishida just seemed to drift apart, even as friends. I leaned more towards IchiRuki ever since then.

#11. Did your waning interest in #9 kill your interest in the series?
Hell no! It's just a crack pairing that vaguely interested me for a time.

#12. What's a song that reminds you of #5?
#1 Crush --- Garbage.

#13. Which of these ships do you love the most right now?
Renji x Byakuya, forever and always <3

#14. Which do you dislike the most?
Renji x Ichigo. I have LJ friends who are RenIchi shippers, and that is totally awesome, but I've definitely had some bad experiences with "other" RenIchi-ites. And I just don't see the pairing, at all, plus it pretty much dominates bleach_yaoi.

#15. If you could have any of these pairings double date, who would they be?
Oh, definitely Renji & Byakuya and Ichigo & Rukia lol I actually have plans to do a "Hot for Teacher" follow up story where this happens.

#16. Have #2 kissed yet? Elaborate if yes.
No, they haven't, and they never will. *sniffle*

#17. Did #4 have a happy ending? Do you think one is likely?
They haven't yet (in the anime) and they probably won't, because anime doesn't like to give anyone happy, definite endings. A cute declaration or kiss would be nice, though.

#18. What would make you start shipping #14?
I kind of already DO ship it, actually.

#19. If only one could happen, which would you prefer--#2 or #6?
Shuuhei x Yumichika for sure!!! Sorry, ladies.

#20. You have the power to decide the fate of #10. What happens to them?
They remain best buds, get drunk together, and yack about their old ladies.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter IV

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 07:21:04 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter IV
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

This fourth chapter is a small one ^^;; I thought about connecting it to Chapter V, but I'm not quite finished with that one yet, and I felt it was time to post another bit, just to keep you guys interested *lol* I know how easy it is to lose interest when a writer takes too long to post his/her updates ... happens to me all the time, and I feel so guilty, but I just can't get back into the story.

Anywho, enjoy ^^ Chapter V should be up later on the week ... it's full of political stuff, so is taking me a LOT longer, so I don't make any continuity mistakes and the like.

“I thought they were only a myth,” Byakuya admitted. He was sitting on a large rock beside Renji, his cloak wrapped around him to protect against the cold, even the hood pulled down low. His boots dangled about an inch from the ground.

Kuchiki Byakuya—that was his name. Renji had learned it from Ichigo, who’d asked Rukia while the prince was going through his morning routine. He had asked for a toothbrush, and Renji had silently handed over his own. He hadn’t actually told him it was his own … though in his head, he’d pictured the prince showering him with gratitude, awed that a mere commoner would make such an incredible sacrifice. To make things even worse, Renji had noticed Ichigo sneaking Rukia stuff, too, like extra socks and gloves. She just seemed a hell of a lot more receptive when it came to receiving gifts than her brother would ever be. Renji had to admit: he kind of envied Ichigo a little. At least his captive hadn’t turned out to be … well, you know. A complete bitch.

Which was pretty ironic when he thought about it.

Renji crossed his arms, his eyes following Ichigo and Rukia as they took the horses down to a nearby stream. “How could you think dragons were a myth? They’re a fucking infestation around these parts!”

Byakuya didn’t know he knew his name. Renji had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it very much.

The prince just stared off into the distance, as was his wont.

Renji sighed. “We gotta do something about this shyness of yours. It’s like pulling teeth, trying to have a frigging conversation with you.”

More silence.

Renji sighed again, more heavily, looking down as he poked at the earth with the heel of his boot.

He felt the prince shift beside him, ever so slightly.

“I’m not shy,” Byakuya finally said. His calm, dry voice invited no argument on the matter.

Renji snorted. “Like hell you aren’t. I can’t get you to say more than five words to me at a time.”

“Perhaps I am not in the habit of conversing with inbred mongrels such as yourself,” came the prompt reply.

“Hey!” Renji scowled. “I’m no more inbred than you are. Everybody knows about you nobles, always breeding with each other and shit, just to keep the family line intact. Besides—if you hate talking to commoners so much, what about Rukia?”

The thin lips became even thinner. “Rukia is my sister. Do not insult—”

“Sister by marriage, not by blood,” Renji pointed out, as if he really needed to. “Why’d you marry a commoner anyway?” He leaned down a little, arms still crossed, trying to see beneath that hood. “Did you love her?”

The thin shoulders stiffened noticeably. “That is none of your business.”

That was probably true.

Yeah, well.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment, cursing himself inwardly. Asking about the dead wife—not really the number one way to get someone to open up about himself.

“Do you mean that?” Byakuya asked suddenly, the question startling him.

Renji blinked. “Mean what?”

A subtle silence, then the prince’s head turned, facing the forest they had just emerged from. “Never mind.”

Renji frowned and tried to think of something else to say, but now that he was trying so hard NOT to ask about the dead wife, it was the only fucking thing that kept coming up.

“Renji!”

He looked over to where Ichigo was, his friend’s hands cupped over his mouth as he called out to him. Ichigo looked away and pointed back at the forest, and as Renji peered into its depths, he thought he saw movement.

He stood up quickly, positioning himself in front of the prince, his hand on Zabimaru’s hilt.

“It’s only Ikkaku and Yumichika!” Ichigo assured him. He and Rukia must have had a better vantage point from where they were.

Soon enough, both Ikkaku and Yumichika emerged from the forest, Ikkaku still holding his staff between his shoulders, Yumichika’s bow strapped to his back. Ikkaku was grinning from ear to ear, but then, battles almost always had that kind of effect on him. His best friend was usually no different, but Yumi actually had a frown on his face this time.

“Yo,” Ikkaku said, nodding at them as they approached.

Renji sat back down, relieved to see them both. “What happened?”

“Ran off,” Ikkaku continued. “We got her pretty bad—think it was a female, probably had a nest not far from here. Last year was a breeding year for them, you know.”

Renji nodded, then looked at Yumichika. “What’s his problem?”

Ikkaku glanced at his friend. “Ehh. Captain got hurt. Nothing serious, but he kept barking at us to follow after you guys. Had to drag this one along most of the way.”

Yumi sniffed, arms crossed over his chest. “He can bleed to death, for all I care.”

Renji and Ikkaku exchanged looks but said nothing. Yumi and the captain were a weird couple. The captain was always sending Yumi off on scouting expeditions and shit, like he didn’t even care about him, and even when they were together, Yumi tended to flirt with just about everybody but the captain. It just didn’t make sense to him.

Even now, he felt the bowman eyeing him up, the sudden sparkly smirk on his face making Renji vaguely uncomfortable.

“Well,” said Yumi, gray eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “Don’t you two look cozy.”

It took Renji a second to realize he was referring to him and the prince. It took him a second longer to realize he’d sat back down on the rock beside the prince.

He jumped to his feet again.

Ikkaku snickered.

The prince just stared ahead, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. But Renji could’ve sworn he was blushing.

Fortunately, the return of Ichigo, Rukia, and the horses was enough to distract Yumichika from further torturing him. It was just like that feather-headed twit to pick up on stuff like this… fuck. He sure as hell didn’t need the prince thinking he had designs on him or some shit. Geez.

Ikkaku relayed the information about Hisagi and the dragon to Ichigo, who only nodded. His eyes darted over to Yumichika, but the bowman didn’t say anything. He was too busy eyeing Rukia, who was calmly stroking their horse’s muzzle, smiling a little as the animal kept trying to lip at the braided rope connecting her small wrists.

Ichigo turned away. “Well, shall we mount up?”

“We’re on foot,” Ikkaku pointed out. “You can toss them up, but there’s no way in hell we’re walking while you guys ride.”

Renji smirked. “What’s a matter? Tired? If you want, the prince can walk and you can ride. Just say the word.”

Ikkaku looked annoyed, his grip on his staff tightening for a second. But then he blinked, his chin jerking toward Renji’s horse. “Too late for that, I guess.”

The prince had already swung up into the saddle, his boots pushed snuggly into the stirrups, the reins gathered in his gloved hands.

“Uh,” said Renji. He scratched his head. For some reason, Rukia giggled.

“I will not meet this ‘Lady’ Kuukaku of yours on foot,” Byakuya said, turning his head a little as he addressed them, though he did not deign to lower his eyes to theirs. “Neither,” he added significantly, “will my sister.”

Ichigo scowled. But Rukia immediately started forward.

“Yes, Nii-sama!” she said, hastily moving to the left side of Ichigo’s horse and gripping the front of the saddle before vaulting into it. Watching them both, Renji couldn’t help feeling impressed. He never figured a couple of pampered royals would know much about horsemanship.

Ikkaku looked disgusted. “You let him talk to you like that?” he asked, jutting his chin forward to indicate the prince—who, by the way, had already heeled his horse forward, apparently pretending for all the world like he knew exactly where he was going.

“Hell,” muttered Renji, “I just got him to start talking. No sense being picky.” He hurried over, grabbing the mare’s reigns and steering her towards the proper direction. “It’s this way,” he said. “You oughta know better than to just take off on your own like that. Did you forget about the ropes?”

“No,” replied the prince. “I didn’t.” And apparently this was all the response he cared to offer. Renji just sighed and led the way deeper into the forest, Ikkaku and Yumichika stepping before them, since the pair knew the exact path that would take them deep into the outcast noblewoman’s lair.

Santa, Baby

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 06:13:41 GMT

Yoinked from bosska_ak, who always has the cutest memes.

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

Last month I caught a purse-snatcher who stole west_side's purse (30 points). Last Tuesday I gave dharmaserenity a Dutch Oven (-10 points). In May I helped hirama_kyousaki hide a body (-173 points). In February I helped gogo_ergo_sum across the street (6 points). Last Thursday I got in line at the supermarket at the same time as someone else and I didn't yield (-8 points).

Overall, I've been naughty (-155 points). For Christmas I deserve a spanking!

Sincerely,
artemisms

Oh dear! A spanking! *hand to mouth*

Well, it's final's week, kiddos. After that, I'll be able to spend more time working on Le prince et le rebelle. Now I'd better get to sleep ~ I have to give a final at 7:30 tomorrow!!!

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter III

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 08:13:00 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter III
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

Byakuya wasn’t sleeping very well at night. By the end of each day, he was so tired, he nearly fell out of the saddle before Renji could even stop the horse.

The ground was lumpy; no matter how he turned and tried to settle, something always ended up poking him through the bedroll from the ground below.

It was cold, too. He shivered throughout the night, finding reluctantly that he envied Rukia, who had the warmth of her captor’s body pressed against her own each night. Of course, he found the arrangement disgusting, but his sister was a very practical girl, and so far, she said, Ichigo hadn’t tried anything. He was, however, made to face away from her, but Byakuya noticed (as he always woke first—if he even managed to fall asleep) that at some point Ichigo always turned during the night, so that he held her once again in his arms. The sight burned him inside, and he would have to turn his eyes away before his fury ate his heart entirely.

Then he would turn his eyes to his own captor.

Renji continued to spend his nights out in the open, allowing Byakuya to claim the blankets and bedroll. He felt no remorse in doing so; the man was his enemy, after all, and it ought to please him to see how he suffered.

But it didn’t.

Renji shivered all night, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his knees drawn in close. He kept his eyes staunchly shut, as though refusing to admit that he could not sleep. Byakuya hated how stubborn he was. Renji was so soft-hearted he had given up his own bedroll to his enemy. Yet he was too proud to admit that he regretted that decision each night.

If it weren’t for these ropes…

Yes, if it weren’t for the ropes, Byakuya knew he would have no trouble overpowering the man. But Senbonzakura still would not come to him, no matter how often he called to her. She did not even answer, though he could feel her humming presence in the back of his brain, taunting him with the warmth of her nearness. Sometimes, he would feel the creeping presence of the other zanpakutou, and he would have to retreat, furious over Senbonzakura’s apparent betrayal over him, and her tolerance of their enemy.

“You awake back there?”

Renji’s voice jerked him from his reverie—jerked him upright as well, as he realized he must have been leaning forward in the saddle, against the taller man’s back.

He felt Renji chuckle, and tried to sit up even straighter.

“I guess you haven’t been sleeping much,” the redhead continued. “Me either.” He paused to yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. Byakuya turned his face away in disgust, letting his eyes linger on the never-ending line of trees.

“Look at those two, though. Snug as a bug in a rug each night. I catch them sleeping like babies, and I just wanna go over there and stuff a buncha snow down the backs of their shirts.”

Byakuya remained silent, though he found himself reluctantly agreeing with the sentiment.

“It won’t be so bad, next couple of nights. That front’s moving on. See?” He pointed up at the grey, overcast sky, though how he was able to glean so much simply from staring at the clouds was beyond Byakuya’s comprehension.

“Yep,” Renji continued, “Tonight’ll be a lot warmer, you’ll see. At least it won’t snow. Man, I swear, that stuff’s almost as bad as rain, maybe even worse. It falls on my face, melts, and runs down like sweat. I keep wiping at it. Drives me nuts.”

Byakuya could think of at least one thing which was driving him nuts.

Renji remained blessedly silent for a few more minutes, then: “You don’t talk much, do you?”

His only response was the clopping of the mare’s hooves against the stony earth.

He cleared his throat. “Well, okay. Maybe you’re shy. Or maybe it’s just like a prince thing. Is it a prince thing? Are all royal people as silent as you?”

“No,” Byakuya said, forcing the short word through his teeth like bricks.

Renji nodded. “I didn’t think so.” He was looking ahead at Rukia, who was riding behind Ichigo, the pair about twenty feet ahead of them. The princess had her hands on her hips, her low, no-nonsense voice ringing in the crisp, mid-morning air as she berated her captor for something or other. Ichigo replied just as rudely, though Byakuya thought he was starting to look cowed, his shoulders hunching forward, his responses growing progressively shorter and more bewildered.

“Rukia is common-born,” he felt the need to point out. But then as soon as he said it, he wondered why he did feel the need. It was no concern to him what preconceptions Renji had regarding the nobility.

Renji blinked. “Really?” He reached up to scratch his head, long red hair rumpling back and forth. “I wonder why Lady Kuukaku never told us that.”

“Your Lady Kuukaku was obviously woefully misinformed,” he said, eager to seize on a new opportunity, one which might allow Rukia to go free. If their captors did not think she was worth keeping…

“How come she’s a princess then?” Renji wanted to know. It was a valid question.

“She was my wife’s sister,” Byakuya replied.

Renji looked back at him, obviously surprised. “What? You’re married?”

“Was,” Byakuya said pointedly.

“You mean you got divorced?”

“No.”

His answer hung in the air between them, and he could almost feel Renji working out the most logical conclusion in his head.

“Oh,” he said after awhile, his tone a bit less light-hearted. “Sorry to hear that.”

Byakuya hated how he really did sound sorry. It made it very difficult to dislike someone who offered him genuine condolences, which was more than his own family had ever given him.

He decided to return the conversation back to Rukia.

“Now that you know my sister is common-born,” he said, “She is of little use to you.”

Renji shrugged without looking back. “Not necessarily.”

“How can she be?” He frowned, frustrated with the younger man’s refusal to follow his logic. “My family will pay you no ransom for her. They do not care whether she lives or dies.” When Renji remained silent, he went on, persisting. “I am the only heir of importance. You should let her go, leave her—”

“Where?” Renji interrupted. “Just drop her off on a dry patch of land somewhere? Leave her here with no provisions, no shelter, no protection, nothing?”

“You could leave her some of your provisions,” Byakuya replied stiffly.

“Nope. Can’t do that.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Just can’t. Besides,” Renji continued, his voice a bit jaunty now, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe she’s noble-born after all. Maybe they’ll offer us a bajillion gold pieces in exchange for her life.”

Byakuya scoffed. “There’s no such thing as ‘bajillion.’ That’s not even a number.”

Renji turned slightly, grinning over his shoulder at him. “Oh yeah? Well, a billion then. Yeah, that’s right. We’ll set her up for a billion bucks.”

He could not resist flitting his eyes upward a bit. “Even if my family had such a ridiculous amount of money, they would not spend it on the likes of her. How many times do I have to explain this to you? She is not—”

“—Of noble blood. Yeah, yeah. You mentioned it.” Renji chuckled. “Geez. I think I liked you better when you acted like your lips were sewn shut. I mean, you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

Byakuya could not possibly fathom a response. He was too busy being utterly shocked at being spoken to in such a rude and forthright manner.

They continued in relative silence for awhile, even Ichigo and Rukia eventually quieting down. Suddenly, both horses came to a stop, Renji’s mare tossing her head and snorting into the cold surrounding air before stretching her neck out towards a patch of dying grass.

“Why are we stopping?” Byakuya asked, forgetting himself in his curiosity.

“Shh,” Renji cautioned, finger over his lips. He paused for a moment, then cupped both hands over his mouth and made a fluting, bird-like sound, his fingers waving up and down to produce the call. Ichigo looked back at them, his left hand resting absently on the hilt of his zanpakutou.

They waited in breathless silence until an answering call came, echoing from the depths of the surrounding forest.

“Allies,” Renji whispered, as he heeled the horse gently forward. “They’ll take us to Lady Kuukaku.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes, his hands resting lightly on the other man’s shoulders. So, he was to finally meet this meddling “Lady” Kuukaku.

“You’ll like her,” Renji continued, apparently totally unaware he was encouraging his captive to like the woman who had orchestrated his entire kidnapping. “She’s not like most other nobles. Not all tight-lipped and tight-assed like you. She’s funny. And she only has one arm, too.”

Byakuya was about to say something about that “tight-assed” comment, but the comment about the one arm gave him pause.

A woman with one arm…

He shook the distracting thought from his head, his fingers on Renji’s shoulders squeezing reflexively.

“Why did you make that noise?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Something about the entire atmosphere of this place, not merely the situation itself, made him uncomfortable. The mare seemed to agree; she kept tossing her head, occasionally snorting, forcing Renji to tighten his grip on the reins. He whispered Senbonzakura’s name in his heart, and she pulsed back, seeming to share his unease.

“So they’d know it was us.” Renji nodded at the hidden branches of the surrounding trees. “Trust me, there’re about a dozen archers up there, each with an arrow that’s got all our names on it. If I hadn’t alerted them to our presence, we’d be dead by now.”

Byakuya looked at him, slightly askance.

Renji caught the look and chuckled—softly. “You’re thinking I’m a pretty recognizable guy, huh?” He smirked. “You know, I could take that as a compliment.”

“As you wish,” he muttered absently. Renji went on, saying something about magic-users, and false identities he referred to as “gigai,” but Byakuya was no longer really paying attention. Senbonzakura was practically humming in his head now. She was restless, attempting to warn Zambimaru—Zabimaru? he wondered, startled, until he realized that must be the name of Renji’s zanpakutou.

Zabimaru is a beast, she murmured, her steel voice singing in his heart. He only wants to touch my petals.

Byakuya was so shocked, his fingers must have clenched reflexively, because Renji suddenly grunted and shot him a look over his shoulder.

“Nothing to be scared about,” his captor reassured him. Byakuya ignored him.

A man suddenly stepped out from behind a clump of bushes, his mouth set in a thin line. A long, trailing series of scars ran down one side of his face, the other marred by a rather eccentric tattoo. His lean, muscled arms were bare to the surrounding cold, as if he were above something as omnipresent as winter. He carried his zanpakutou in his right hand, the blade resting over one shoulder.

“Abarai Renji…” he said, his hard dark eyes running over them. “And Kurosaki Ichigo.” His gaze flicked briefly to Byakuya before shifting forward again, apparently resting on Rukia. “Did you accomplish the task Lady Kuukaku set you?”

“Yes, sir,” Renji replied, his back straightening unconsciously. Byakuya wondered why his captor should want to please such a rugged, unkempt looking man. It bothered him for some reason.

The man nodded. Then his gaze settled back on Byakuya, who stared coldly back at him, his own gaze unflinching.

“Who’s this?” he finally asked. He looked at Renji again. “You were told to take only the princess.”

“Seems Abarai’s caught himself a consolation prize.” Another man stepped out from the bushes, this one completely bald, a long staff resting between his shoulder blades. He grinned at Byakuya, letting his eyes pass languidly over him before smirking in appreciation.

Byakuya did not appreciate his obvious regard. And judging from the sudden tenseness in Renji’s shoulders, neither did his captor.

Which was right about when he realized he actually was gripping Renji’s shoulders. He dropped his hands abruptly, his own back straightening, rigidly upright, his chin tilted slightly upward.

“Oh, hush, Ikkaku,” came another voice, this one from above. Byakuya glanced quickly up, but by then, the third man had already leapt down from the branch he had apparently been perched on.

“You’re just jealous,” he continued, smirking. He was obviously one of the bowmen Renji had spoken of, his long, curving weapon strapped to his back, along with a quiver of arrows. The colorful feathers braided into his hair seemed to brighten with him, adding to the impish sparkle in his gray eyes. “Poor Ikkaku! He wishes he could find a friend as pretty as Renji’s.”

Ikkaku just snorted and rolled his eyes.

The first man, the one with the spiky hair and hard eyes, spoke up again. “Ikkaku has a point. You had better explain yourself, Renji.”

“You had better watch your pretty friend,” the sparkly bowman added. He beamed a smile at Byakuya, who was becoming too perturbed by the man’s intimations to notice Sebnonzakura’s increasingly warning siren call in his head.

“He’s not my consummation prize!” Renji finally snapped, his eyes blazing reddish brown as he glared down at both Ikkaku and the bowman. Byakuya was surprised to notice he was blushing—unfortunately, his captor’s adjectival mishap brought a slight heat to his own cheeks, and Rukia’s quick glance back at them, followed by the shared smothered laugh between herself and Ichigo, certainly didn’t help matters.

Since when was his sister sharing smiles with that orange-headed cretin? Wasn’t sharing her bed with him each night enough?

“Lay off him, Hisagi,” the orange-headed cretin said, finally speaking up. Byakuya noticed the other two give him a look for not addressing the spiky-haired one as “sir.”

“That’s the prince,” Ichigo continued, nodding in their direction. “Renji caught him by mistake, but we decided to bring them both back. If Lady Kuukaku doesn’t like it, she can send him back herself. But the way I see it, we piss them off twice as much now, so they’re twice as likely to listen to our demands.”

Byakuya’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. What demands? All along, he had simply assumed their captors’ plan was to trade them in for a ransom. He looked at Rukia, but she didn’t seem surprised. She was glaring down at Hisagi along with Ichigo, as if she were completely in agreement with him.

Surprisingly, Hisagi proved he had a head cooler than most people with power. He merely nodded, seeming to put an official end to the discussion. “All right. Ikkaku and Yumi will lead you to her ladyship’s camp. You should reach it by day’s end.”

“Aren’t you coming with us, Shuu-chan?” the bowman asked.

Hisagi shook his head. “No. I’ll stay with the others. There should be a rescue party not far behind. We’ll stay and take care of it.”

Yumi didn’t look particularly happy about that, but he didn’t argue, either.

An abrupt silence passed amongst them, captives and captors alike. Byakuya wrinkled his nose, finally becoming aware of a highly unpleasant odor wafting beneath his nose—a strong musk, like the smell of the exotic beasts kept in the tiny, ornamental cages of the Kuchiki garden.

“You smell smoke?” Ikkaku asked suddenly.

Renji’s mare reared up, startling them both, Byakuya’s arms flying around the younger man’s waist lest he be unseated. Renji tried to settle her, but she was clearly losing it, fidgeting from hoof to hoof, tossing her head, and showing the whites of her eyes. At the same time, Ichigo’s horse let out a strident neigh, his head coming up as well, ears flicking back and forth.

The neigh echoed through the otherwise silent forest.

And was met back with a deafening roar.

“Dragon!!” someone shouted, and abruptly the forest became crowded with people, archers dropping from the trees and swordsmen and women emerging as well, all of them training their weapons towards the sound of something huge crashing through the trees, rapidly approaching.

Renji’s horse reared again, Byakuya tightening his grip around his waist. Sebonzakura! he called, but she continued to ignore him, and he knew that without her, even with all his training, he could not stand up against such an opponent. He saw Renji reach for Zabimaru, pulling the sword free from its sheath, and raise it up high—

“No!” ordered Hisagi, his own zanpakutou held at the ready.

“But we can fight!” Ichigo cried, reigning in his fidgeting horse, his unsheathed sword in hand.

“No,” Hisagi repeated. “Run! Protect the prince and princess! We’ll hold it off!”

Ichigo took one look at his own captive and nodded, turning his horse decisively around and heeling it into a gallop, racing off in the opposite direction.

Renji seemed more hesitant, obviously unwilling to turn his back on a fight. Byakuya found himself grudgingly admiring the younger man for his reluctance to flee, but neither was he willing to give his life for the idiot’s own foolish sense of pride. Renji turned his head, then, and their eyes met briefly—something seemed to click, those fierce brown eyes softening momentarily. He reined the mare in, causing her to rear yet again, before digging his heels into her sides and urging her after Ichigo’s horse.

As he leaned forward over her neck, Byakuya was forced to lean with him. But the alternative was to either fall off the horse or strand himself out here in the unknown forest, empty-handed, since Senbonzakura continued to deny him.

He wrapped his arms around Renji’s waist and held on tight.

silly meme

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 16:02:17 GMT

I'll return to ruffling the prince's feathers sometime this weekend ~ after I'm exhausted from shopping all day Friday no doubt. But here's a cute meme, yoinked from jasetsi

I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away. Then post this in your LJ and find out what people don't know about you.

C'mon, just fun stuff. No embarrassing Artemis. And don't force me to lie about my weight.

Do You Want to Ride on the Ocean of Love?

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 02:48:04 GMT

100 word drabble that I incorrectly posted elsewhere (was supposed to follow a prompt and forgot) but thought I'd post it here, so what the heck XD

Series: Gintama
Pairing: Gintoki x Katsura
Rating: PG-15

“You have to call me Captain Katsura,” said Zura.

He was standing in Gintoki’s living room wearing his pirate cosplay, captain’s coat hanging over his hips, jaunty hat in place, pirate strap over one eye. There was nothing jaunty about the expression on his face.

“Sure,” said Gintoki. What did it matter? It was all coming off anyway.

“Call me Captain Katsura, and salute me occasionally,” Zura continued. His hair was so shiny.

“Sure,” said Gintoki.

Zura narrowed his eyes. “And you are not to refer to yourself as ‘the ocean of love’ this time.”

So many rules, this guy.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter II

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 00:22:35 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter II
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

A/N: Excuse any plot holes. Feel free to point them out (nicely) ^^;;;

Byakuya’s first instinct upon waking was to bring his hand up to his throbbing temple and groan. But a self-awareness sharpened by years at court made him pause, remain still, and instead immediately assess his surroundings before he even opened his eyes. He heard voices—two men, unfamiliar to him, some distance away. They appeared to be arguing.

He was lying on his side, his hands bound before him, and not behind his back, which he thought odd. The binding was tight, but not painful, not as rough against his wrists as raw rope would have been. He could feel the cold pressing against his face and chest, while his back was bathed in warmth, a fire crackling somewhere behind him.

A rock was digging sharply into his hip, but he resisted the urge to shift into a more comfortable position.

The argument was starting to become heated.

“We can’t stay here all NIGHT!” one of them shouted, a hint of panic in his young voice. “Let alone light a fucking FIRE. What the hell are you thinking, Renji?! Do you know what happens if we’re caught—”

“Yeah, I know!” replied the other, sounding equally on edge. “Give it a rest, will ya? What fucking choice do we have? Lotta good it’ll do if they fucking DIE on us, won’t it?”

It came to him in an instant—the voice of his captor. The thief who had had the insolence to curse to his face and call him a “princess” before… but then his memory became fuzzy, and his head started to throb again. He ground his teeth together, his eyes squeezed shut, riding out the pain.

“Look,” continued the first one. “Let’s just leave the prince. What do we need him for, anyway? Lady Kuukaku said to capture the princess. Who gives a shit about a fucking prince?”

His captor greeted the suggestion with a snort of derision. “What are you, brain dead? The prince is the fucking heir, moron! That kinda shit’s real important to nobles!”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know he’s the heir?”

“Use your brain already,” returned Renji. “He’s like ten years older than her! The heir is supposed to be the oldest…”

Byakuya drowned them out for a moment, concentrating on his own situation again instead. He opened his eyes, his head already tilted so that he was staring down at his own wrists. He was surprised to note that they were not actually bound together; rather, each was wrapped by what looked like a braided, silken cord and were connected in the middle by a band of the same material. It was difficult to tell, but from the amount of slack gathered in a pool by his hands, he estimated that he could almost stretch both his arms out on either side of his body without meeting any resistance. He frowned, perplexed by the seeming ineptitude of his captors, so foolish as to “restrain” him so lightly.

“Nii-sama…”

Without thinking, he snapped his head up, his heart leaping momentarily into his throat when he realized his adopted sister Rukia was lying not five feet away from him.

“Rukia,” he whispered, struggling to keep his voice as calm and emotionless as usual. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, very carefully. “He put something against my mouth. I passed out…” A worried look came to her face then, her brow furrowing slightly. “Nii-sama, you have a bruise…”

He winced, just from thinking about the throbbing pain over his left temple. “Yes. It seems my captor was not as considerate as yours.” They both spoke softly, keeping their voices little higher than a whisper so as not to alert the two men by the fire.

Rukia’s face seemed to crumble with what she had to say next. “I… I left Sode no Shirayuki. I had just set her down before coming out to the balcony.” Her voice quivered slightly, for it was a terrible thing indeed to be separated unwillingly from one’s zanpakutou. “Nii-sama… do you have Senbonzakura?”

Byakuya closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind. Relief flooded him the instant he touched his sword’s presence: she was lying not far away, though too far for him to reach her in his present state.

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes again. “Give me one moment…”

They slid closed once more as he tried to contact his sword, brushing his awareness up against hers.

Senbonzakura… come to me!

There was no response.

He looked at his sister again, fighting to keep the embarrassment from his face, as it was no secret amongst the family that his sword could be rather… willful, even to her own master. He could never understand this, as it was said that the sword was supposed to reflect the personality of its wielder.

“She will not answer,” he said.

Rukia nodded, obviously trying to stay calm for his benefit, but he could see that she was frightened. A surge of protective fury rushed over him, and he very nearly rose to his feet, to make a grab for Senbonzakura and use her to cut down their enemies. But then the realization returned to him, the memory searing his brain painfully—at least one of their enemy’s had a zanpakutou, as well. He remembered the thing’s presence: a strong, masculine, almost animal-like entity as its wielder pressed it up against his throat.

“Nii-sama,” his sister asked after a moment. “What are we going to do?”

The tentative question hung in the air between them, her waiting anxiously for him to answer, to reassure her, while he sought desperately for a means in which to do so. But as it stood, things looked very bad. He was not foolish enough to think that those from the Outer Regions who wielded zanpakutou were not as strong as their noble counterparts. In fact, many nobles even refused to believe that commoners could be blessed with the presence of a zanpakutou. Rukia was an anomaly, they whispered amongst themselves. No doubt she was the bastard child of some wandering noble, and Byakuya’s marriage to her sister was simply an attempt by the Kuchiki family to reclaim a lost, if not entirely wanted, relative.

But Byakuya knew otherwise. He knew Rukia was descended from a long line of struggling wine merchants, without an ounce of noble blood in her veins. She had been too young for him to marry, so he took her sister instead, hoping to elevate them in the eyes of the noble families who would normally look down on others like them. By proving that even a woman from the Outer Regions could be blessed with the presence of a zanpakutou, he would force them to consider the common people at least worthy of interest, if not as equals. Equality amongst all peoples, he knew, was a very, very long way off for this country. He himself did not expect to live to see it happen.

Of course, none of his grand plans ever came into fruition. Hisana died soon after their marriage, and Rukia became firmly entrenched in her role as unwanted step-child. Only the presence of her sister’s husband kept her safe from physical harassment.

“Rukia,” he finally said, cold determination in his voice as he stared into her dark eyes. “Do not be afraid. I have always protected you. I will not break that promise now.”

She nodded again, something in her features relaxing at his words of reassurance. Logically, she no doubt realized they were in grave danger, but her heart seemed as if it needed to hear what he told her.

“Oi. Ichigo.”

They both froze. Byakuya cursed himself, realizing the arguing had stopped.

His conversation with Rukia had not gone unnoticed.

* * *

Renji had had about all of Ichigo’s shit he could handle for one night. It was a little hard being a group leader when a) there were only two of you in the group, and b) the other guy kept insisting that he was group leader.

Ichigo seemed to be worried most about being captured and taken prisoner. This was understandable enough. But since there were as yet virtually no signs of pursuit, Renji couldn’t figure out why he was going so fucking ape-shit about it. The horses were exhausted; they literally couldn’t go another mile tonight. The sun would be up in a few hours, so they may as well just try to rest and halt travel until daylight. He’d initially assumed they would not need to light a fire, but after examining the prince and princess both, decided it was too dangerous not to. The prince’s cheek in particular was already icy cold, and while he was all for snuggling up next to a helpless princess to share body heat, he wasn’t about to lie down next to… well, it would just be kind of weird, right?

He sighed and leaned forward, poking at the fire with Zabimaru’s tip. “We can’t leave the prince here,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time. “For one thing, he could die. It’s so cold I think my balls are about to snap off in my fucking pants.”

Ichigo snorted. “Like that would be a loss…”

Renji glanced up, shooting the other man a dirty look. He found it hard to believe that before all this had begun, he’d actually thought of Ichigo as a friend…

“Listen,” Ichigo continued, sounding serious again. “He’s not going to die if we leave him here. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be back at the castle with his feet propped up in front of the fire and a hoard of fucking servants catering to his every whim.” They shared a sour look, a hatred for the luxuries of the nobility as inherent to them as breathing.

“So long as we keep his zanpakutou from him, he’s defenseless. So, first thing tomorrow, we knock him out again, take his sword, and leave him by the fire. A few hours later, the rescue squad comes charging in, and voila. They get their prince back, and all we have to worry about is the only thing we were supposed to worry about: the princess. Who, I might add…”

Renji tuned his companion out for a moment, his head turning slightly, his ears detecting what sounded like soft voices. He frowned, looking over his shoulder at the prone prisoners, but they didn’t appear to be moving. But the prince was facing away from them, and blocking his view of the princess …

“…and Lady Kuukaku said that under no circumstances were we to—”

“Oi,” he said suddenly. “Ichigo.”

Ichigo scowled at him, long orange hair framing his glowering face. “What?”

Renji only jerked his head back over his shoulder again, indicating the two prisoners.

Ichigo turned to look at them with suddenly narrowed eyes. He reached for his zanpakutou and rose to his feet in one smooth movement, black cloak swirling around his ankles as he approached the seemingly motionless pair.

“Oi,” he said, reaching out to nudge the prince with his foot. “We know you’re awake.”

Quick as lightning, the princess suddenly sat up, her large dark eyes glaring up at Ichigo, not an ounce of fear on her face. “Don’t you touch him!” she said, her low voice so fierce and commanding that Ichigo actually paused and blinked.

And then the prince was on his feet.

Afterward, Renji couldn’t even recall seeing it happen. It was as though the man were in one place and then another, without a single second passing between.

“Ichigo!” he called out in warning—but it was already too late.

While Ichigo grappled with the prince, the dark-haired man looked over his shoulder at his sister, a strange look passing between them. “Go,” he said, his dry, imperious tone of voice sounding no different than if he were ordering tea from a servant. “Run.”

The princess turned and fled.

Renji started. “Don’t!” he cried, his hand reaching instinctively out towards her. He cursed under his breath and took off after her, dropping Zabimaru on the ground beside his bedroll.

It didn’t take long for her to cry out. Within seconds, she was on her knees, her hands clutching her head, screams of pain tearing from her throat. Without thinking, Renji stooped down to gather her in his arms, her small frame weighing almost nothing in comparison to the prince. As he hurried back, her sobs gradually died down, though tears still streamed down her cheeks.

The prince had already broken away from Ichigo and was now rushing towards him. The expression on his face was one of utter fear, horror—and greatly suppressed pain. Renji got the impression it was not an expression most people had had the privilege of ever seeing.

“What have you done to her?” the prince asked. Renji surrendered her wordlessly into his slightly shaking arms, the slighter man gathering his sister close to him. “Rukia… Rukia!”

“It’s the ropes,” Renji tried to explain. He scratched his head, glancing past the prince at Ichigo, who was massaging his right shoulder and cursing under his breath.

The prince spared him a hard look before dropping his gaze briefly down to the thin, silken rope that encircled his sister’s wrists, identical to the ones that encircled his own.

Renji sighed, seeing the question in the man’s eyes when he lifted them again.

“They’re magic,” he explained. “Lord Urahara gave them to us. See, they make the wearer bound to whoever tied them on. In this case, Ichigo for her...” He nodded to indicate his scowling, orange-headed companion. “And… me for you. So the farther you run from us, the more it hurts you. And no,” he added, “you can’t cut them off, so don’t bother trying. Seriously, don’t. It will hurt just as much.”

That last part came out sounding a touch more sympathetic than he intended. Maybe it was one thing to see a princess being brought to her knees by such a cruel spell. But for some reason, it struck something deep inside him to imagine this proud, cold-eyed creature being forced to do the same.

“You broke away from Ichigo while she was still running,” he added, almost making it a question, but he knew that had to have been the case. “I guess you started to feel the pain.”

The pinched look was starting to leave the prince’s face, but he said nothing, only stared back at Renji with such expressionless hatred that it almost made him regret leaving Zabimaru behind.

“What is to keep me from killing you both?” the slighter man asked. He didn’t exactly look like he was capable of doing even one of them in, let alone both of them, but Renji wasn’t falling for that trick again.

“You can’t,” he said simply. “The spell prevents it. The second you even think about killing either of us, the pain will return. By the time you found a rock or a knife or something, you’d be too weak to even lift it.

Renji knew for a fact that this was true. Lord Urahara had introduced the ropes to them both in exactly this way. Abarai-kun, Kurosaki-kun! he’d instructed after fastening both their wrists. Try to attack me, if you can! Renji took pride in the fact that he had figured it out first. Ichigo had flopped around on the ground for a good five minutes or so, growling out insults to the outcast nobleman, who only smiled behind his fan, watching the younger man struggle with apparent glee.

The prince continued to stare at him, his sister cradled in his arms, his face seemingly impassive, before wordlessly turning and heading back to camp. The wind picked up behind him, as if he’d called to it on purpose, blowing his dark hair past his shoulders and kissing Renji in the face with its cold breath.

He trudged after them, dirty snow sucking at his boots. Ichigo now divided his scathing looks between him and the prince, who never even bothered to lift his eyes to either of his captors again. Both of them attended to Rukia, who did not immediately recover from her faint. Every now and then, Renji noticed the prince’s hands trembling ever so slightly, so he figured the ropes had impacted him a little more than he was letting on.

“Dawn’s coming soon,” he pointed out, watching Ichigo carefully tuck the blanket around the sleeping princess’s shoulders. “We should get as much rest as we can.”

The prince was now sitting as close to the fire as possible, holding a cup of hot mead. His expression remained listless, his dark eyes focused on the crackling flames of the fire, another blanket draped around his shoulders. Renji had offered him the blanket, but the man hadn’t said a word in response, so he’d just dropped the damn thing around him anyway. It was starting to bother him a little, how he could probably just sit here and watch the prince for hours without ever figuring out what was going on inside that skull of his.

It wasn’t until Ichigo started to lie down right next to the princess that the man finally lifted his head.

“Stop,” he said simply. His voice was calm, yet oddly imperious, as if it would never occur to him that someone might not obey him.

“Make me,” Ichigo returned, then snuggled close behind the princess, resting an arm securely around her so his body basically shielded her own from the cold, her sleeping face turned towards the fire.

Renji saw the prince stiffen, a sudden tension to his shoulders. Must be killing him, knowing he can’t do anything about it. Because at that moment, Renji knew those ropes were the only things keeping the prince’s hands from wrapping around his friend’s throat and snapping his neck from his shoulders.

“We only have two bedrolls,” he finally pointed, trying to prove that Ichigo wasn’t just being lecherous. Besides, for all his brash trash talk, Ichigo was really kind of shy around girls and wasn’t the type to just start cozying up to one like this.

The prince regarded him coldly before looking away again. “How unsurprisingly inept.”

Renji immediately frowned, his teeth clenching a little. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

No response.

Another little wind gust, rustling that dark hair again, and causing the flames to flicker, dead branches crackling.

Renji picked up Zabimaru, poking carefully at the fire with his tip, stroking it back to life.

“You can have it,” he found himself suddenly saying. “The other bedroll. I don’t mind sleeping on the ground.”

Still no response. He thought about taking the offer immediately back, but then changed his mind. In his mind’s eye, he saw those hands trembling, felt that cold cheek against his palm.

“Well, whatever,” he muttered, tossing his zanpakutou aside. “Do what you want. I’m turning in.” He reached for his saddle pad then and folded it in half, then did his best to scrunch up under his blanket on the ground, resting his head on the pad and closing his eyes. Every wind gust sent shivers down the back of his spine, but he was determined not to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him shake. Not that he was ever going to get a wink of sleep like this…

A few minutes later, a rustling of cloth and soft footsteps told him that someone had pulled his bedroll closer to the fire and proceeded to settle down in it.

When he cracked an eye open, the prince was gone, no longer sitting before the fire. Instead, a shapeless lump now inhabited his bedroll, the blankets piled on high.

Renji sighed and tried to scrunch himself up even tighter, another shiver racking his body.

It was going to be a long rest of the night.

The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter I

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 03:12:22 GMT

Title: The Prince and the Rebel -- Chapter I
Series: Bleach
Pairings: Renji x Byakuya (implied Ichigo x Rukia, other pairings may emerge over time)
Genre: AU / Fantasy, Romance, Adventure
Rating: PG (swearing)
Summary: It's tough being the only living heir to the Kuchiki throne. It's even tougher being a rebel sent to kidnap one.

Kuchiki Byakuya often thought that if the city were ever to fall, his family would probably throw a party for it.

His frown deepened as he fled yet another such lavish, pointless party, his brisk, booted footsteps treading almost silently down the carpeted hallway. He considered them pointless because his mother used them primarily to invite eligible (i.e. rich and titled) young ladies in hopes of attracting her only son’s infamously unwavering eye. A prince, she often intoned, ought to be eager to sustain his family’s lineage. Most young men your age have at least had the foresight to sow a few wild oats.

His eyes burned, his face a mask of such inexpressible malice that a passing servant literally squeaked upon seeing him and attempted to hide herself behind a suit of armor. Byakuya ignored her. What he needed now, more than anything, was the exact opposite of the ridiculous pomp and circumstance he had just wasted three hours of his life attempting to escape. He needed solitude, not the chattering nonsense of worthless, air-headed girls and their scheming relatives.

He passed through a series of silent corridors, the noise from the now-distant ballroom diminishing with each sure step, until he came to a small wooden door, just beneath an old tower staircase. Pausing to fish the key from the pocket of his shirt, he then slipped it into the lock and pushed the door open.

Immediately, he felt at peace. Here was the sweet solitude he found himself seeking more and more these days: a calmness of mind and body which could only be achieved by breathing in the fresh smell of the sakura petals in spring, or by allowing the cool, early autumn breeze to waft its way down from the pale moon against his skin.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him, briefly reinserting the key so as to lock it shut.

Out here, the noise from the party was utterly stifled. But it was not quiet—wild things called to one another from the other side of the thick walls that surrounded the small garden, and the wind answered, rustling the very tops of the trees and shaking the leaves from their branches. Insects, frogs, and other small creatures chirped from amongst the hidden foliage, even the ground seeming to teem with life.

He made his way over to his favorite spot, a small stone bench which seemed made just for him, deceptively comfortable and always cool, even in summer—though now, with the nights growing longer and colder, perhaps a little too cool. Still, the high stone walls surrounding the garden tended to keep the occasional chill gusts at bay, and he was able to sit in relative peace and comfort.

He closed his eyes, resting his hands in his lap and letting the stress of the evening wash away from his thoughts. Logically, his parents’ insistence on his remarriage made sense; he was the heir to the Kuchiki name, and if he did not sire children to continue that noble lineage, his adopted sister Rukia could hardly be considered an acceptable substitute. She was barely even tolerated by the family, allowed to remain only at his whim, her monthly stipend and social privileges doled out as grudgingly as possible. In fact, if he did not continue to exert his influence over the staff, he had little doubt that the servants would eventually “forget” that that particular wing of the castle even existed. Without him, his adopted sister would likely be tossed back onto the streets of the Outer Region, “where she belongs,” as his mother would sometimes mutter under her breath. His father was too busy with state matters to profess an interest in the sister of his son’s dead wife, but Byakuya knew he cared as little for her as anyone else in the family.

He sighed, quietly, a faint line marring his forehead. Tonight, it seemed, peace would evade him.

His only respite was that no one, save Rukia herself, knew about this place and his tendency to spend his evenings here. She accused him playfully of hiding, and he could not deny the accusation, though his dignity did not allow him to admit the truth aloud. But his need to escape was something she alone could relate to. There were times when she had even given him alarm, professing a desire to return to the dreary existence she had left in the Outer Regions ten years ago. Always, he would immediately forbid her to do so, both of them knowing that this was the closest he could come to pleading, begging on hands and knees for her to stay. And she would always laugh it off as a joke, and there would be an end to it. For now.

Nevertheless, he felt the day was approaching when he would once again be alone here. The thought weighed so heavily upon him that he could not even bear considering it, instead forcing his mind to linger on something else.

Somehow, he knew that Rukia could survive, on her own, living by her wits again.

He was not so sure if he could do the same.

* * *

Capture the princess, Abarai Renji kept repeating to himself. Sneak in, scale the wall, capture the princess.

He didn’t consider himself an uneducated man—he’d attended lessons at Lord Urahara’s like all the other village kids, and made pretty decent marks, too! Not exactly top of his class—okay, probably closer to the bottom, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart enough to carry out orders. After all, Lady Kuukaku had selected him personally for the mission. Granted, she’d selected that dimwit dumbfuck Kurosaki, too, but he put that down to brawns over brain. There was no denying Ichigo was one of the best fighters in their group; it made sense for him to be selected. But Renji himself was no lightweight when it came to the sword. Then again, one of them had to be the brains of the operation, and obviously…

Sneaking into the castle proved to be as systemically simple as Lady Kuukaku had smugly predicted. They’ve got their noses shoved so far up their own asses, it wouldn’t even occur to them to organize a proper sentry. He could picture her now—half-cocked smile in place, hand on her hip, breasts jutting out. She wasn’t like any other lady, he often thought, which just made them all the more proud of her. Lord Urahara was just as eccentric. There were definitely times when he wondered whether or not they really were the heirs to old, outcast noble families. They sure as hell didn’t act like it.

The biggest difference, of course, being that they gave a shit about the people. Lady Kuukaku told them the nobles referred to the area outside the castle walls and inner city sanctum as the “Outer Regions.” Though there was nothing inherently insulting in the name, it had left him feeling righteously incensed, nonetheless.

He didn’t need to look at his map, though he pulled it out anyway. The private garden where the princess sometimes took a bit of air—if that wasn’t the dumbest damn thing he ever heard—who the hell “took a bit of air”?!—was his primary target; he was to stake the place out, for it was reputed that she had a habit of fleeing large parties, using her garden as a place of solace.

Somehow, he found that kind of sad. All this wealth and privilege she was living in—fucking lap of luxury, literally—and she still felt like she had to get away from it all. He didn’t know whether to pity her or hate her living guts.

Well, either way, she was going to learn what it really meant to escape soon enough. Their information about the garden had come directly from a pair of servants, overheard gossiping in the kitchens by one of their spies. Ichigo was to stake out the princess’s private balcony, that being the other most likely place for her to turn up tonight. Supposedly, she liked to sit there and sketch the public royal gardens down below. Word from the servants was she couldn’t draw for shit, though. No doubt the other noble little snots had her convinced she was some kinda artistic genius.

He paused to slip his map quietly back inside his shirt once he came upon the outer stone walls of the little private garden. It was cold, removed from the rest of the castle at an odd angle to one of the towers. He couldn’t really figure out why anyone would want to “escape” here, let alone a princess. He watched, unmoving, as a barn owl dipped down from a tree not too far away from where he crouched, and swooped low over the wall settling somewhere within.

Well, it was now or never.

Silently, he made his way closer, until he could press his palms against the cold stone of the wall. He stepped back, judging the height to be no more than eight or nine feet. If he could get a good leap… He crouched again, then did just that—springing lightly off the balls of his feet, his hands just hooking the top of the wall, feet contacting soundlessly before he swung himself up to the top.

His heart almost stopped in his chest as he looked down below. Not twenty feet away sat the princess, her dark hair fluttering in the nighttime breeze. She seemed tall, her head bowed slightly, the long hair obscuring her face. Funny… Lady Kuukaku had described her as a fairly small and seemingly delicate young woman…

He checked the area for guards, but there were none.

Why is she just SITTING there?!

He frowned, staring at the princess again. It was true; she just sat there, as motionless as a stone statue, only her hair and the flimsy scarf thing around her neck moving in the breeze. Why did it piss him off so much? She didn’t even seem to notice the cold—even up here, he couldn’t quite suppress the occasional shiver. It was going to be a cold-ass winter, he could already tell…

He braced himself, going into a semi-crouch. She was going to feel the cold tonight, he thought, riding away from this place as fast as they could go, and later sharing a bedroll with him on the hard ground when they couldn’t even light a fire. Carefully, oh so quietly, he slid his sword from its sheath. So far, he’d figured the hardest part would be convincing her he really could kill her if he wanted to…

In the blink of an eye, he sprang off the wall, his feet already on the ground and running, even as the princess was just starting, turning her head. He brought Zabimaru up, swinging him around in a swift arc, already angling towards the princess’s throat even as he rushed up behind her, grabbing a hold of that (surprisingly, infinitely soft) black hair and forcing her to tilt her chin back to look up at him.

“Don’t even think of moving!” he snarled, his face close to hers now, sword at her throat. “If you do, I’ll—holy SHIT!!”

The large, startled gray eyes staring up into his own widened at the expletive, as if that were the most alarming thing about the situation they were both in. The fine black hair fell away from a pale face as delicately structured as any woman’s, the thin lips parted in faint surprise. The chin was rather long, though not unattractive, the cheeks slightly hollowed, not as full or flushed as a woman’s should be. But there was one feature in particular that stood out, flush as it currently was against the flat blade of his sword.

The princess had a fucking Adam’s apple!!!

“You’re not the princess!!” he cried out, forgetting to keep his voice down.

Her—His mouth moved. “No,” he said simply, as if that were the most obvious response ever. Which is was. How the fuck did he ever think this was the…

Then it dawned on him.

“You’re the prince,” he said, his own eyes widening now. A giddy feeling was slowly starting to come over him.

The gray-eyed man seemed to hesitate before finally answering. “Yes.”

Renji took about 2.5 seconds to come to a decision. He looked down at the guy, frowned, tilted his head. Then shrugged.

“You’ll do,” he said. Then, with that, he upended Zabimaru and brought him down, hilt first, to the left side of the guy’s temple—knocking him out cold.

Ha—nobody could say he wasn’t a quick thinker in a difficult situation. As he hefted the unconscious prince in his arms, he glanced back from where he’d just come. Hmmm. It was getting him over that damned wall that was definitely going to be the tricky part…

* * *

A/N: OMG! How could Renji mistake Byakuya for a GIRL? Or is it that the poor boy seems to lose brain cells each time I try to write him? Hmm...

So tell me if you like-y! I have been working on this FOREVER, so progress will be slow. I really mean it this time, too. -_- I'm talking maybe one or two updates a month. I already have the second part written (and woe, it is LONG; also, it's Ichigo vs. Byakuya all over again, AU-style) but I won't post it until I complete the third part, and so on and so on.

HMPH

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 22:33:34 GMT

I just posted something recently to capslock_bleach and was then basically told it wasn't funny enough. WTF. SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST SUCH ASSES. (capslocky enuff 4 u?)

Advertising!!

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 16:53:29 GMT

So I know a lot of you are Bleach rp-ers. What I have seen of these Bleach rp communities is that they are basically co-written stories or fictions. Then again, I've also seen some where the rp action takes place in comments, in a more "traditional" rp format, with all action indicated by asterisks, etc.

I write / rp at a place called Westfall (<---click the link to find out more). Although I had never rp'ed before, I somehow started doing this several years ago and just fell in love with the characters I wrote there. It's a yaoi rp board, so no annoying ladies to spoil the fun (although there are plenty of women side characters).

As you can see, we use the more traditional rp format, not the lengthy paragraph writing. So it doesn't take forever to draft up one post.

Although it looks like there are a lot of writers, there are actually only two of us -- we just write a lot of characters (though not all at once). CLICK. Again, don't let the long list of characters fool you; we aren't writing all of those guys at once, only listing ALL the characters we have ever written here.

The "skin" thing I know has confused at least one person *looks at gogochan* but it just means we use that anime character's "skin" to represent that one character. For example, for my sweet fairy Seel, I use Byakuya's skin.

The format can be confusing to, b/c a lot is happening in different places, but we post it all in one thread. Each thread is one "Day." So, for example, the thread begins with all the characters waking up. ---> CLICK

The background / storyline is vaguely futuristic, urban fantasy. The year is 2057, and there are "other" creatures called "illegals" like fairies, vampires, and wer. Mostly we just write humans. But I like to write a few other races, too. You can read about them HERE. And just read more about Westfall HERE. It seems complicated and kinda nerd-ish, but we really just add to it whenever we're bored or have an idea.

We try to make the story dramatic with plenty of action, but we are romantics at heart. Our guys do a lot of kissing, falling in love, and, of course, lots of fucking *lol*

I invite all my LJ writer friends to take a look and see if they'd be interested in writing with us!! You can only write ONE character if that's all you have time for.

Jana and I are both very busy people with jobs and social lives, so we don't post like maniacs. This is just something fun we do to relieve the stress of the work week. Won't you join us?

Of course you can come take a look even if you aren't my Friend... then again, why are you reading some random person's journal entry?? *lol*

Feel free to ask questions in the Comments XD