[ When he'd sent off that picture on his phone - on a whim, mostly, once he'd discovered the function and made just a few trial attempts - he had most definitely not expected to get a picture back of Ichigo without most of his clothes on, his hair clinging to his face, water gleaming on his skin. He'd been training, clearly; his muscles stood out in that particular way that happens when you've given your body a proper work-through. Either way, Byakuya had spent less than ten minutes on freeing himself from his few remaining responsibilities for the evening (by finishing everything faster than lightning) and then, obviously, he'd... well.
He'd come straight here.
It's been a month. To have him suddenly so thoroughly in front of him, yet so far away and out of reach - that had been intolerable. He hadn't even considered taking the time to return his text; though he's certainly improving, as would be expected, he still takes too long to write on that tiny screen, his fingertips stumbling half of the time. It never fails to annoy him and at that moment, with the thought and sight of Ichigo's half-naked body seemingly fused to his mind, he'd had no patience for such inadequacy whatsoever.
Now, though, with Ichigo standing in front of him and looking equal parts irritated and abashed, he wonders whether it wasn't perhaps a bit... inconsiderate on his part. To effectively leave him hanging like this. He'd thought it was obvious, really, that he'd like it. That he'd like it too much to stay away, even.
Getting to his feet and ignoring the tea - abysmal, he could tell without even trying a single sip; someone else will have to clean it away, he's not touching it any further - he pauses like that, the distance between their bodies very short, nearly but not quite annulled. He could touch him now, if he wanted to. If Ichigo wanted him to. His hand actually twitches forward visibly before he aborts the motion. ]
I will remember in the future. To tell you exactly what I think about such pictures.
[ He meets Ichigo's eyes directly. His voice remains even, though there might be a small, near-invisible flush crawling up the sides of his nose. He'd looked very enticing, yes. Very. ]
[ So please keep sending them, Byakuya says, blushing, actually visible spots on his cheeks. Ichigo shuffles his feet a bit, suddenly extremely aware of how close they're standing, the way they're both breathing at the same time, Byakuya's hand jerking forward towards him. He doesn't care that they're probably being watched, there's no one here he couldn't beat the living crap out of anyway, but he cares that they're in a place Ichigo can't really imagine them fucking in, right?
They need to get out of here.
He wants to jump him, pretty much.
So, he reaches out and grabs Byakuya around the wrist and, in an impressive show of multi-tasking, turns around, swinging his bag over his other shoulder without getting the other man in the face with it, dragging him along unceremoniously. ]
Later. Right now, it shouldn't be necessary, right?
[ Glancing at Byakuya over one shoulder, he quirks an eyebrow slightly, it's not mocking, just mildly teasing. His skin is warm to the touch, his gigai's fine, too, huh. ]
Just get my shirt off and you've got the real thing.
[ All the while, he doesn't let go of the other man's wrist, fingers locked around the thinnest place, where he can sense bone and flesh and skin and all the stuff that wasn't there, back then. He tightens his grip slightly, looks ahead again and quite simply proceeds to drag Byakuya towards the exit.
Still, it's a light hold. If Byakuya wants to break out of it, he can, Ichigo is only forcing him along because he's so freakin' eager to get them alone, whatever degree of it he can get that isn't his whole local gym staring their way while they try to keep just a tiny bit of themselves private. Reserved to each other.
They can't even go home to Ichigo's house. Yuzu has her friends staying over. His dad's already sweating, just at those prospects. He'd get an aneurism or something, if Byakuya showed up, too. ]
[ They go from standing still to action with a fluency that characterises Ichigo, seemingly to his core - from one moment to the next, they're on the move. Byakuya, of course, is no stranger to speed but Ichigo's decisiveness is an explosive thing, something that mirrors whatever's in his heart, whatever takes up the most room in there, large as the space must be. Before they began this, whatever one might call it (Byakuya knows what he calls it in his own mind, privately, when no one can know or object), he found it off-putting because it seems so unpredictable - those motivations are not, after all, derived from objective criteria, rules you may look for in a scroll or in a book.
Now, he feels himself getting pulled along by the wrist, Ichigo's fingers closed around him the entire way (he rarely thinks about his own body in terms of fragilities or vulnerabilities but right now, like this, his wrist feels strangely thin). He allows it for a good few metres, following along, his mind and chest suddenly, seemingly ablaze at the sensations - the sudden change from distance to proximity, from no physical contact for a month to being, well, man-handled towards the building's exit.
He looks at Ichigo as they walk on, ignoring what guests might or might not be watching. He's like the wind in a way, is Ichigo. Not just the breeze as it travels past on the engawa, nor the storm when it beats against the windows or makes the roof of the Kuchiki mansion rattle. There are middle grounds as well, as is true with all natural power. There are moments when you think the breeze is gentle, then it turns colder or harsher or it dissipates, leaving you hoping for its return, knowing for certain that it'll come because there's no world and no life without it. This is normalcy, this temperamental aspect of it.
You always trust in the constancy, though. You always know.
People are not the same but there are lessons to be learned from the comparison all the same, he thinks. Always, there are things to be learned.
Gently, as they reach the front door, he slips his wrist from between Ichigo's fingers and says, voice quiet and unruffled, as if he hasn't just allowed himself to be pulled across the room: ]
Before we take off anything anywhere - [ He steps closer briefly, close enough that their shoulders brush. Then, he draws away. ] - we should eat.
[ He sticks his hands in the pockets of his long coat and looks away, gaze downcast, as he leaves is to Ichigo to choose what he's in the mood for. Byakuya isn't particularly picky tonight - like Ichigo, he's quite eager to get to the no-clothes stage of the operations. ]
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saviorcomplexed) wrote2025-03-17 12:16 pm
no subject
He'd come straight here.
It's been a month. To have him suddenly so thoroughly in front of him, yet so far away and out of reach - that had been intolerable. He hadn't even considered taking the time to return his text; though he's certainly improving, as would be expected, he still takes too long to write on that tiny screen, his fingertips stumbling half of the time. It never fails to annoy him and at that moment, with the thought and sight of Ichigo's half-naked body seemingly fused to his mind, he'd had no patience for such inadequacy whatsoever.
Now, though, with Ichigo standing in front of him and looking equal parts irritated and abashed, he wonders whether it wasn't perhaps a bit... inconsiderate on his part. To effectively leave him hanging like this. He'd thought it was obvious, really, that he'd like it. That he'd like it too much to stay away, even.
Getting to his feet and ignoring the tea - abysmal, he could tell without even trying a single sip; someone else will have to clean it away, he's not touching it any further - he pauses like that, the distance between their bodies very short, nearly but not quite annulled. He could touch him now, if he wanted to. If Ichigo wanted him to. His hand actually twitches forward visibly before he aborts the motion. ]
I will remember in the future. To tell you exactly what I think about such pictures.
[ He meets Ichigo's eyes directly. His voice remains even, though there might be a small, near-invisible flush crawling up the sides of his nose. He'd looked very enticing, yes. Very. ]
So please keep sending them.
no subject
They need to get out of here.
He wants to jump him, pretty much.
So, he reaches out and grabs Byakuya around the wrist and, in an impressive show of multi-tasking, turns around, swinging his bag over his other shoulder without getting the other man in the face with it, dragging him along unceremoniously. ]
Later. Right now, it shouldn't be necessary, right?
[ Glancing at Byakuya over one shoulder, he quirks an eyebrow slightly, it's not mocking, just mildly teasing. His skin is warm to the touch, his gigai's fine, too, huh. ]
Just get my shirt off and you've got the real thing.
[ All the while, he doesn't let go of the other man's wrist, fingers locked around the thinnest place, where he can sense bone and flesh and skin and all the stuff that wasn't there, back then. He tightens his grip slightly, looks ahead again and quite simply proceeds to drag Byakuya towards the exit.
Still, it's a light hold. If Byakuya wants to break out of it, he can, Ichigo is only forcing him along because he's so freakin' eager to get them alone, whatever degree of it he can get that isn't his whole local gym staring their way while they try to keep just a tiny bit of themselves private. Reserved to each other.
They can't even go home to Ichigo's house. Yuzu has her friends staying over. His dad's already sweating, just at those prospects. He'd get an aneurism or something, if Byakuya showed up, too. ]
no subject
Now, he feels himself getting pulled along by the wrist, Ichigo's fingers closed around him the entire way (he rarely thinks about his own body in terms of fragilities or vulnerabilities but right now, like this, his wrist feels strangely thin). He allows it for a good few metres, following along, his mind and chest suddenly, seemingly ablaze at the sensations - the sudden change from distance to proximity, from no physical contact for a month to being, well, man-handled towards the building's exit.
He looks at Ichigo as they walk on, ignoring what guests might or might not be watching. He's like the wind in a way, is Ichigo. Not just the breeze as it travels past on the engawa, nor the storm when it beats against the windows or makes the roof of the Kuchiki mansion rattle. There are middle grounds as well, as is true with all natural power. There are moments when you think the breeze is gentle, then it turns colder or harsher or it dissipates, leaving you hoping for its return, knowing for certain that it'll come because there's no world and no life without it. This is normalcy, this temperamental aspect of it.
You always trust in the constancy, though. You always know.
People are not the same but there are lessons to be learned from the comparison all the same, he thinks. Always, there are things to be learned.
Gently, as they reach the front door, he slips his wrist from between Ichigo's fingers and says, voice quiet and unruffled, as if he hasn't just allowed himself to be pulled across the room: ]
Before we take off anything anywhere - [ He steps closer briefly, close enough that their shoulders brush. Then, he draws away. ] - we should eat.
[ He sticks his hands in the pockets of his long coat and looks away, gaze downcast, as he leaves is to Ichigo to choose what he's in the mood for. Byakuya isn't particularly picky tonight - like Ichigo, he's quite eager to get to the no-clothes stage of the operations. ]