Jyuushiro can’t remember being so nervous in his entire existence. Not in all the centuries he’s lived and served as a Shinigami.
Sure, there have been other women. Other relationships. Other liaisons. But none have meant as much to him as the one he shares with Rukia. None of them have been half as important. And none of them had brothers with the ability to not only make Jyuushiro completely penniless but also rip out his testicles and force feed them to him. Not that Byakuya-kun has made such a threat. It’s simply been implied by the steely glance in those Kuchiki grey eyes. A wordless statement that says all he never will.
That Kuchiki Byakuya loves his only sister and that Jyuushiro better think long and hard about what he’s doing.
Only, he’s not really sure what he’s doing anymore. Not the relationship part. Never that. More the physical realities of what that entails.
All of that explains why he’s so nervous. Jyuushiro wonders if it’s truly possible for someone forget these things after abstaining for so long. He wonders if he’ll manage to meet her expectations. He wonders why he’s as eager and hungry as a young man.
By the gods, she makes him so young again.
They’ve had dinner. They’ve been to the theater. They’ve walked through a park in the midst of a warm spring evening. Admiring the flowers, holding hands, listening to the wind breathe through the trees.
And now, they are here. In Jyuushiro’s home. In Jyuushiro’s bedroom. Standing at the foot of his futon and looking at each other expectantly. Rukia’s eyes are somehow both bright and dark. Eager and just as nervous as Jyuushiro’s own.
She blushes ever so lightly when he cups her neck, strokes her throat with his thumb, and leans in to kiss her. She tastes sweet. Like caramel and cream. Her mouth is warm and wet, and her reiatsu is a kiss of winter against his summer storm.
His hands fumble at her obi, peeling back the layers of her yukata. She looks beautiful in it. The same yukata she wore on their first date, one that Ishida-san embellished for her. But Jyuushiro is sure that she is beautiful beneath as well. And he confirms this as he peels back the dark fabric and reveals the pale, smooth cast of her skin.
She moans when he cups her breasts, caressing her firming nipples and stroking fingers over the silky-softness of her skin. Her head tips back, revealing the elegant length of her throat. Jyuushiro tastes her because how can he not? Her throat is warm against his lips, skin carrying a gentle fragrance of some flowery soap.
Her hands reach for his clothes then, and Jyuushiro is quick to help her disrobe him. His skin is paler than hers, the pallor of the sick, but judging by the look in her eyes, she doesn’t see the same man who Jyuushiro sometimes glimpses in the mirror. There’s heat and hunger in her gaze that grow when her palms flatten against his chest and her fingers splay across muscle.
Jyuushiro’s breathing quickens. He arches into her touch, own hands roaming. Tracing the curve of her shoulders. The swell of her breasts. The slim lines of her hips. Hands moving slowly, gently. Dipping lower. Teasing briefly at the dewy wetness between her thighs.
Rukia gasps, a breathy moan, and Jyuushiro’s belly tightens. He is as aroused as a boy first discovering women. Wanting, wanting, wanting. So much that he wonders how he can even stand, how he can hold back.
Ironically, she’s the one who steps back first. Who pulls him toward the futon and on top of the mattress. Flushed bodies meet cool sheets, and Jyuushiro nearly purrs at the contrasting sensation. Rukia’s hands tangle in his hair, fingers curling around long white strands. She pulls him down for a hot kiss where tongues tangle and their breath mingles together. She tastes so sweet, and Jyuushiro’s intoxicated. His hands run over and over her hips and sides when she cradles his hips with her knees as if goading him on. Urging him.
Jyuushiro loses himself as he kisses her. Sucking on her tongue. Tracing his over the curve of her lips. Nibbling on her jaw line. Tasting her throat. Desire coils tighter and tighter within him with each sound she makes. Each whimper and mew. Each desperate press of her fingers to draw him closer.
He’s had visions and fantasies of things being perfect. Slow and sensual, gentle and smooth like it should be. But that’s not what Jyuushiro’s body wants, not what it’s begging for. And not, it seems, what Rukia desires either.
Her eyes are blue, big and bright. Her motions hungry and all but begging. She’s tired of waiting; she just wants. Wants in the same manner as Jyuushiro.
Too many years of unrequited feelings. Too many years of holding back for the sake of… for what, really? What and why? Age? Circumstance? The sorrow that still sits shared between them like a wet blanket?
Jyuushiro doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to ask. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from his mind as he buries his face in her throat and nudges between her thighs. As he pushes inside of her. As she moans, low and long. As fingers dig into his shoulders. As knees urge him deeper.
He thinks romantic thoughts. Slow and steady. Kissing her all over. Whispering sweet nothings. Jyuushiro thinks of worshipping her skin with his hands, thinks of teasing her for hours with gentle kisses and touches. He thinks of doing all kinds of things that in no way resemble what he is actually doing.
He slides into her, feels Rukia rhythmically pulsing around him. Her thighs clasp around his waist, the heels of her feet setting an urgent pace. Her fingers lock around his upper arms, squeezing, encouraging. She’s making these noises in her throat. Needy and hungry. Demanding with her eyes and her lips that Jyuushiro get with the programming and stop trying to be picture perfect.
Whatever anxiety Rukia may have suffered is long gone now, vanished in the blink of an eye. Leaving behind this beautiful, sexy, alive creature who seems to hunger for Jyuushiro and Jyuushiro alone. The thought itself is intoxicating, is enough to make him rumble in his chest. It’s enough to make him thrust a little harder, bury himself inside her wet heat and listen to her moan and watch her writhe for him.
He wants to hold onto this moment forever because it’s supposed to be poignant and romantic and important. But all Jyuushiro can think is finally and delicious and more, more, more. Rukia seems to echo the sentiment if her wordless noises and bruising fingers are any indication.
And Jyuushiro is never more pleased with himself than when Rukia peaks first. Clenching around him. Body twitching and moving sinuously. She makes happy cries in her throat, breathes his name. Blue eyes so dark with desire and other emotions that they are nearly black.
All thoughts of making things last, of slow and sensual romantic love as they stare into each other’s eyes for hours, fly out the window and are promptly tromped in the dirt. Right now, Jyuushiro wants. And Rukia is so gracious to let him have.
Jyuushiro indulges as he steals her lips for another sweet kiss. Fire rushes through his veins, building first in his belly before bursting through his limbs. He gasps like a land-locked fish as his release washes over him not unlike a tidal wave. And Rukia buries her hands in his hair and jabs her tongue into his mouth.
She murmurs something to him, and Jyuushiro thinks he murmurs something just as stupidly sweet and romantic in return.
He falls asleep wrapped in her arms rather than the other way around, but Jyuushiro finds he doesn’t mind that at all. And when he wakes up in the morning to a dull grey, stormy morning and a slight chill in the air, he really doesn’t mind at all. Rukia’s wrapped all around him like she has twice as many limbs as the obvious person. Her hair is a mess. And drool paints Jyuushiro’s shoulder.
It’s adorable. It’s sexy. It’s all that Jyuushiro could have wished for. And more.