Categories > Anime/Manga > Bleach
It was true that Renji always had a style all his own.
When down on the living world, Byakuya was always hesitant to take him with him. His tendancy to copy so-called "rap singers" in their clothing habits, though apt, was not exactly what the noble considered proper dress for a person of his stature.
His hair looked good braided, though, and he would admit that. He enjoyed doing it for him, although he won't admit /that/. He had learnt how from Hisana; it seemed rather apt. It was enjoyable to slide his fingers through the red hair when it was still damp and everywhere, strands sticking to his muscled back. There was always some left over, pushing out the front, which was where the bandana came in.
He called it a "do-rag", Byakuya ignored him; he was quite good at ignoring things he didn't want to hear.
This time he was dreading dressing him, though, and insisted upon a shirt and tie, having had it layed out on his bed by some servants before going into his own room to change into an impeccablely tailored suit.
He had been presented with a new tie-clip after Renji lost his old one, and although it may have been of cheeper matereals than the old one, he wore it now. It was rather thrilling, in an illicit-love-afair kind of way to have a piece of Abarai Renji on him (not that he needed something to remind him), even though nothing illicit was taking place between the two.
When he came back out, Renji was mostly dressed, shirt untucked and not wearing any socks with the leather loafers. Some days he liked to blame the 11th Division for his crudeness, and sent them some unnessisary paperwork just to fustrate Kenpachi-taishou. In return, he would probably have his men beat up a few of the weaker members of this division, and then would slap him on the back hard enough to cause a cardiac arrest in the spirit of friendship. These kinds of agreements happened all the time.
Byakuya wasn't thinking of Kenpachi now, though. The ruffian dressed up looked at him in askance, a little exasperated at the unfamiliar regimine of dressing. Sighing, Byakuya deigned to let his hands flutter over the shirt tails and tucked them in all the way around, pulling and tugging the shirt into shape, adjusting the belt, frowning at the needless chain, the swear word on the front of the hat, and the way Renji's tattoos appeared above the collar of his shirt.
In truth, he wouldn't dare change it. To go any further would be to ruin the person. He knew, now, that one might minipulate all outside forces, but the most important force was the heart, inside and untouchable.
He wouldn't smother Renji with his attentions, the opposite. He did these things to hear the good-natured complaints as Renji picked up the unnessisary glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket, sneaking another look at himself in the mirror and smiling a little hesitantly. Renji had always thought that he wasn't worthy of this kind of attention; well, now Kuchiki Byakuya would prove him wrong. A few trinkets, kind words and some fashion advice wouldn't erase the superiority complex held towards him, but it would ease the transition.
He had a feeling that were he to propose sex with Abarai Renji, it would be the other blushing and stammering, not himself. No matter how much Kenpachi-taishou called him a pretty-boy.
The few days in the real world were uneventful, the way he liked them to be, because events meant paperwork, not to mention ruining his clothes.
Speaking of clothes, Byakuya couldn't keep his eyes off Renji, even if it was just mentally noting his presence via reiatsu emmitance. Renji was a fool not to notice the attention he was getting, but an honest fool he remained. The urges to slide his hands over a shaven cheek, to untuck that shirt and remove those glasses remained thoughts and only brought heat to his glances. Some days he wished Renji would figure it out and save him the pain of just sitting and watching.
when they got back to Soul Society, the ache faded a little in the presence of familiar black and white uniforms, but the clothing wasn't the real reason behind it in the first place, and so the removal of the temptation did not solve all the problem.
But life went on as usual.
When down on the living world, Byakuya was always hesitant to take him with him. His tendancy to copy so-called "rap singers" in their clothing habits, though apt, was not exactly what the noble considered proper dress for a person of his stature.
His hair looked good braided, though, and he would admit that. He enjoyed doing it for him, although he won't admit /that/. He had learnt how from Hisana; it seemed rather apt. It was enjoyable to slide his fingers through the red hair when it was still damp and everywhere, strands sticking to his muscled back. There was always some left over, pushing out the front, which was where the bandana came in.
He called it a "do-rag", Byakuya ignored him; he was quite good at ignoring things he didn't want to hear.
This time he was dreading dressing him, though, and insisted upon a shirt and tie, having had it layed out on his bed by some servants before going into his own room to change into an impeccablely tailored suit.
He had been presented with a new tie-clip after Renji lost his old one, and although it may have been of cheeper matereals than the old one, he wore it now. It was rather thrilling, in an illicit-love-afair kind of way to have a piece of Abarai Renji on him (not that he needed something to remind him), even though nothing illicit was taking place between the two.
When he came back out, Renji was mostly dressed, shirt untucked and not wearing any socks with the leather loafers. Some days he liked to blame the 11th Division for his crudeness, and sent them some unnessisary paperwork just to fustrate Kenpachi-taishou. In return, he would probably have his men beat up a few of the weaker members of this division, and then would slap him on the back hard enough to cause a cardiac arrest in the spirit of friendship. These kinds of agreements happened all the time.
Byakuya wasn't thinking of Kenpachi now, though. The ruffian dressed up looked at him in askance, a little exasperated at the unfamiliar regimine of dressing. Sighing, Byakuya deigned to let his hands flutter over the shirt tails and tucked them in all the way around, pulling and tugging the shirt into shape, adjusting the belt, frowning at the needless chain, the swear word on the front of the hat, and the way Renji's tattoos appeared above the collar of his shirt.
In truth, he wouldn't dare change it. To go any further would be to ruin the person. He knew, now, that one might minipulate all outside forces, but the most important force was the heart, inside and untouchable.
He wouldn't smother Renji with his attentions, the opposite. He did these things to hear the good-natured complaints as Renji picked up the unnessisary glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket, sneaking another look at himself in the mirror and smiling a little hesitantly. Renji had always thought that he wasn't worthy of this kind of attention; well, now Kuchiki Byakuya would prove him wrong. A few trinkets, kind words and some fashion advice wouldn't erase the superiority complex held towards him, but it would ease the transition.
He had a feeling that were he to propose sex with Abarai Renji, it would be the other blushing and stammering, not himself. No matter how much Kenpachi-taishou called him a pretty-boy.
The few days in the real world were uneventful, the way he liked them to be, because events meant paperwork, not to mention ruining his clothes.
Speaking of clothes, Byakuya couldn't keep his eyes off Renji, even if it was just mentally noting his presence via reiatsu emmitance. Renji was a fool not to notice the attention he was getting, but an honest fool he remained. The urges to slide his hands over a shaven cheek, to untuck that shirt and remove those glasses remained thoughts and only brought heat to his glances. Some days he wished Renji would figure it out and save him the pain of just sitting and watching.
when they got back to Soul Society, the ache faded a little in the presence of familiar black and white uniforms, but the clothing wasn't the real reason behind it in the first place, and so the removal of the temptation did not solve all the problem.
But life went on as usual.
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