Hiiii~~ can I get a sequel of that delishh Kensei masturbation fic except it's Byakuya who's pining for a subordinate Im sorry if I'm being v dorty ಥ‿ಥ
Gasp! You dorty little thing. I hope this is what you were looking for! :D
There is something odd about your voice. It is far too breathless for delivering a training report. You sound like a new recruit, nervous to be speaking to your taicho for the first time, not the capable, confident officer Byakuya knows you to be.
Usually he would not concern himself with the issues of a subordinate, but he relies on you to help keep the Sixth Division running. If something is weighing on your mind, it could well impact the overall performance of the squad.
To his surprise, you bite your lip and lower your eyes. That move is far too demure for you. He’s seen it on the faces of noblewomen at the events he is obliged to attend, but never expected it to manifest on the face of one of his trusted subordinates. The light in his office has changed. It was a crisp, clear daylight before. Now it is a soft, golden light, catching the few motes of dust that dare escape the stringent cleaning of his servants and making them glitter. It paints your face in rich, subtle hues. If he didn’t know you had no influence on the weather, he might have thought you staged it just so.
’Do you intend to answer me?’
He injects his tone with authority. Your eyes flicker up, and a smile curves your lips. You look mischievous all of a sudden, like you’re about to confess a secret. Byakuya frowns, just a small pinch between his eyebrows. This demeanour is utterly inappropriate, but he cannot find the words to reprimand you. His tongue is still as he waits for whatever you are going to say, his gaze fixed on your lips as you lick them, preparing to spill whatever is on your mind. They open-
The dim, hazy light of predawn filtered in through the paper-covered sliding doors that led to his private veranda and garden. He rolled his head back toward the ceiling, emitting a slow, controlled sigh.
That explained the foolish behaviour. He knew you would never act in such a way, trying to play the coquette with him. Your interest in him was purely professional. Proper. Appropriate.
It was a shame the same could not be said about Byakuya.
He lifted a knee, intending to move out from under the blankets and head for his bathroom. He would bathe, dress, then call for a cup of tea and the morning reports before joining Rukia for breakfast in the dining room. He didn’t get that far.
His predicament came to light as the expensive cloth of his robe brushed against his groin. Byakuya let out a soft grunt. He’d been so caught up in the impropriety of dreaming about you like that, he had failed to notice the dream had left him with a souvenir. Curses sprung to mind, left unuttered, as he sagged back against his pillow. Surely, he would not be reduced to this.
He could ignore it. The problem would go away by itself if he just got up and went about his morning routine, but the memory of your face flooded his mind again, and he felt an insistent throb. A rare flush of embarrassment crept into his cheeks. He was a man, and a young one, so he was no stranger to the demands of his flesh, but to be thinking about a subordinate like a hormone-addled teenage boy was beyond the pale.
Alas, where one thought crept in more followed, as his mind helpfully picked up the story threads his unfinished dream had dropped, and began to weave them back together.
’There is something on my mind, taicho…’
Byakuya knew he was defeated. He bent a knee, bracing his foot against the soft futon, and reached down to loosen his robe. His slate grey eyes roved the plain white ceiling above, then closed. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only outward sign of annoyance at himself.
His irritation was soon forgotten when he closed his hand around his shaft, squeezing for a moment, almost in self-reprimand for what he was about to do. With a sigh, Byakuya loosened his grip, lightly drawing his fist along the length of his cock. At first the stimulation felt too intense, shivers crawling over his skin, but then a heavy warmth settled into his gut as his thoughts slipped smoothly into the gutter.
Disjointed from the previous scene, but he doesn’t need a logical narrative. You on your back, arms splayed beside your head, eyes half-closed and hazy. Your lips are open again, but it is not words that come out but soft cries and pants of pleasure. His mind’s eye wanders, drawing his gaze down your bare throat and naked shoulders, the curves of your chest and waist, stomach and his. His hips are nestled between your stocking-clad thighs, which he has spread and draped over his elbows.
Byakuya throbbed against his hand, and gave himself a firmer stroke, following the sense of urgency that visual gave him. It was utterly inappropriate to be thinking about you like that, but the taboo only made his desire flush hotter. He shifted on his bed, black hair mussed against the pillow, white robe half open to reveal toned, pale flesh. He’d be an enticing picture, if only you could see. You were out there somewhere, utterly unaware that your taicho was pleasuring himself to the thought of you.
His thumb brushed over the head, feeling the wetness that already gathered there. He has not indulged in quite some time, and the thought of you is a temptation.
Sweetness creeps in, alongside the lust. The taste of your mouth, parting under his. The gentle climb of your hands up the slope of his back, tangling in his hair and pulling him back to you because you need more.
Your name issued from Byakuya’s mouth before he could stop it. Low, strained. Too quiet for the servants to hear, but it seemed to hang in the air around him. He could not stop now, even if he wanted to. Tension gathered along his thighs and the small of his back, along with restless, jittering energy. The feeling tightened in the pit of his stomach. Byakuya turned his face to the side, grey eyes dark and hazy and not seeing the pristine bedroom before him.
He sees your face slowly cloud over with pleasure, like a soft kind of pain as it builds, before it all melts into bliss. All because of what he has done to you. He hears his name in your voice. Not ‘sir’, not ‘Kuchiki-taicho.’
Your name spilled from his lips again, deeper this time, as the final push he needed. He felt a warm trickle on the back of his hand and sagged back against his futon, already cursing his foolish lack of self-control. With his clean hand, he swept damp strands of hair from his forehead, and let out a short, irritable sigh.
The aftermath of that dream may be dealt with, but you are a conundrum he is still left with.
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