Jyuushirou makes an elegant noise in his throat. “You know that is not going to happen,” he says, and shifts as though to climb out of the bed, but the arms wound around his waist tighten. Trapped. Alright then.
He settles back down.
“The Shinigami are going to be defeated,” his lover says, or whispers more like, into his ear, tone dark and sinful and making Jyuushirou shiver. “Wouldn’t you rather be on the winning side?”
“I’d rather be on the side that is right.”
Sousuke chuckles, nuzzling into the nape of Jyuushirou’s throat, such a vulnerable place. “That, Jyuushirou, is all a matter of perspective.”
“Your tactics leave much to be desired.”
“And yet I haven’t killed anyone.” Sousuke presses tighter against his back, all suffocating heat and twining reiatsu, as though braiding their spirits together means they won’t have to separate. “Imagine that.”
Jyuushirou sighs. Sousuke’s invitation is tempting, but only for a moment. He would never consider abandoning the Shinigami for Sousuke’s war because he could never think about abandoning Shunsui, his brother-in-bond. Or the memory of Kaien either, whose death is partially Sousuke’s fault, and a lingering source of agonizing guilt.
Bad enough that he consents to meet with Sousuke once or twice a week. Bad enough that he enjoys the stolen moments of intimacy. He can’t make the betrayal complete by up and running to Hueco Mundo.
He knows that one day he will have to face Sousuke across the battlefield, and he will have to choose between destroying his lover or betraying the Shinigami and those he considers family. Jyuushirou feels he knows what he would do, but sometimes, it’s hard to say with any certainty.
“I will not be convinced,” he murmurs but relaxes into Sousuke’s hold. “Let it be enough that we have this.”
“As you say it, so it shall be,” Sousuke retorts, but Jyuushirou knows he hasn’t given up.
He never does.