Seireitei Monogatari

a/n: Wahoo! Another drabble! And it’s another one of my absolute favorites.

Much love to my readers and reviewers for their continued support. Thanks to Yakumo, FlyinGShadoW1314, Kuromei, uchiha mikomi, and Emzzzz. I love you guys!

Title: Tomorrow in a Bottle
Characters: Aizen/Urahara, Shinji, Rikichi
Rating: M
Warning: references to character death, boykisses and lovin', spoilers
Words: 3818
Description: Kisuke recalls the past, even as he wakes up in the present, fighting a future he doesn’t want to see. Sequel to Anthem of Our Dying Day.

Title was taken from a song by Timbaland and Chad Kroeger.


Sousuke laughs as Kisuke glares, offended.

“It’s not strong enough to eat through wood,” the blond denies through clenched teeth.

Amusement dances in brown eyes as Sousuke pushes his cup of tea far away from him. “Well, it's certainly not palatable, my dear. No wonder everyone in your division refuses to allow you anywhere near the kitchens.”

Kisuke huffs, indignation crowding in on him. “How the hell do you know about that?”

“I have my ways,” Sousuke teases and leans across the table, casually pushing aside Kisuke's cup, too. “From now on, I'll do the cooking, ne?”

“You're only saying that out of self-defense,” Kisuke grumbles. He tries and fails not to be swayed by that easy grin and their growing proximity.

Sousuke chuckles again, a sound Kisuke will never tire of hearing. “I happen to value my life, yes. And my sense of taste.” He leans closer, breath a warm puff against the captain’s lips. “You can't blame me for that, can you, Ki-kun?”

He answers by closing the distance between them, sealing their mouths together. Sousuke makes an aborted noise of surprise before deepening the kiss. Washing feelings of happiness threaten to warm Kisuke through and through, but he doesn't dare get ahead of himself. Not just yet.

Kisuke opens his eyes to stare at a white ceiling, one he hasn't seen for nearly a century. He recognizes it immediately – the fourth division – and judging by the aching in his body, there's no surprise as to why he's there. He doesn't recall getting injured, but then, there's a lot of things Kisuke can't seem to remember at the moment.

How did he get here?

“I brought you. On my back, of course, so I'd like to get a little gratitude when you're done losing your mind,” a voice cuts in, effectively answering what Kisuke had thought to be an internal question.

His head tips to the side, and he's greeted with a familiar face. It – he – lacks in its usual playful grin but is familiar nonetheless.

“Shinji?” Kisuke murmurs quizzically, and his friend looks scarcely better than Kisuke himself must at the moment. Bandages cover his body in various locations, though they look more healed than recently earned.

“So you do remember who I am,” Shinji says with a raised eyebrow and slouches back in his chair. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten.”

Kisuke tries to move, to sit up against the headboard. But every muscle screams a protest at him, and he collapses back against the mattress. His brow furrows, mind still fuzzy.

“Why wouldn't I remember?”

“You couldn't seem to earlier,” Shinji answers easily enough and lifts one hand to showcase the thick bandages that encircle his wrist. “Took me and two others to take you down.”

Speechless, Kisuke can only stare. “I--”

Knocking interrupts what is sure to be a confused stutter. Kisuke's eyes flicker to the door where a boy hesitates in the doorway, one who he doesn't recognize.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” the young man says with a deep, formal bow that makes something inside Kisuke curdle with unease. A tattoo arches from one eyebrow. “But I was hoping to thank you, Urahara-dono.”

This is said to the floor, his face still parallel to it. And something inside Kisuke churns. He knows why the young Shinigami has come. But he honestly doesn't want to hear it. Thank kami that Shinji is there. He handles it with a finesse that Kisuke can't stomach. Not when just the thought of accepting someone's gratitude makes him want to vomit violently.

He can't bear to look at the boy. And so Kisuke doesn't, the hands in his lap clenching into fists as Shinji and the brat trade polite conversation.

“Somethin’ any of us would’ve done,” Shinji says, bullshit pouring from his lips as easily as truth. “Your gratitude’s appreciated though.”

The unidentified boy says something else, but Kisuke isn't listening. His ears are buzzing, roaring. And something a lot like a scream burbles up inside of him. Only he closes his mouth on it. Lets his fingers curl into tighter fists. Bites his tongue on the irrational response until he feels the bitter taste of blood.

“I don't see why you're making a big deal out of this, Sou-kun,” Kisuke mutters.

Agitation is in every step as he jerkily scrubs a cloth over one dirty dish and then another. Clean-up has always been his duty since Sousuke does the majority – okay, all – of the cooking.

“I don't see this as something to be ashamed of,” the blond adds, gesturing with a soapy spatula and making the suds flick through the air. They miss his lover's toes by a few inches.

Sousuke shifts back a step to the safety of the doorframe and leans upon it. Kisuke can't help but think that the downturn to his lips is rather sexy. Even as he whirls back around towards the dishes, scrubbing harder than needed.

The shifting of cloth indicates Sousuke folding his arms over his chest. “I never mentioned being ashamed of anything,” he says carefully, slowly. As though speaking to a particularly obstinate child, and Kisuke hates it when he gets that tone in his voice because isn't he supposed to be the elder here? The captain?

But sometimes... sometimes, Sousuke gets that look in his eyes that speaks of years beyond Kisuke. Years that he never asks about because he wants Sousuke to tell him when he wants to do so and not because Kisuke is curious. It's times like those that the blond wonders just what it is Sousuke’s hiding, and surely, it can't be that bad. It's not like it'll make Kisuke immediately stop caring for him; he's in too deep for that. Too deep to do anything but spend the rest of his days with this man and still not have that be enough.

“Don't even think about citing regulation at me,” Kisuke warns and glances over his shoulder. “That rule’s centuries old, and no one follows it. Otherwise, Isshin and Byakuya-bo both would’ve never been born, and you don't see anyone making an issue of that. You’re not even my fukutaichou or in my division at all. No one cares about it but you.”

One dark eyebrow arches. “Yamamoto-soutaichou is able to bend the rules where you and I cannot. And the Kuchiki have always done as they wished,” Sousuke says, as if that should be explanation enough. “But no, I wasn't going to bring that up. I simply believe in keeping private things private. I do not…” He pauses and shakes his head. “I’m not Kyouraku Shunsui. I’m not comfortable with public declarations.”

Kisuke shoves a pot through the rinse-water and sets it out to dry with a loud clunk. “I'm not asking to make out in public here, Sousuke. Or that you announce it from the water tower. I only want to be able to share a meal, somewhere other than here, and not have to worry if I’m doing anything improper.”

Without having to worry about random strangers and so not-so-strangers from making eyes at them is what he really means. One of them in particular.

And it frustrates him that he can't say what he wants to say without sounding juvenile. That he's tired of the looks that Sousuke's kindness and handsome features garner. Or that he hates lying and saying there's no one special at home when there is. And above all things, Kisuke hates denying what Sousuke is to him. Hates having to smile and politely decline at all the offers thrown his way. Hates having to hide and think up excuses. Hates having to pretend that there is anyone but the man before him.

“Kisuke?”

Shinji's voice breaks through the fog of his memories. He emerges as though rising from the deep, from icy and black water, gasping for breath. Crescents are visible in his palm, and Kisuke forces his fingers to unfurl.

“I want to see him,” he says then, tone flat and without inflection.

He barely notices that the Shinigami left at some point. Or that Shinji has risen to close the door, barring any further chances of gratitude. Kisuke doesn't want them and never will.

Shinji looks at him from his bedside perch. “You know better than that,” he returns, quieter this time, voice full of understanding.

He's the only one who knows. Surely, others have guessed, but Shinji is the only one who knows. The only one who ever saw.

And while he knows about the pair of them, he doesn’t know all of it. Doesn’t know that they couldn’t go days without the feel of other, sometimes not even hours. That they made love slowly during the summers and as fast as they could stand during the winter. That sometimes, it was like the world was on fire and would consume them both. And others, it was like they had all the time in existence. That there would never be anything else but the feel of their bodies sliding together, the warmth of Sousuke’s weight pressing him down, and the buzz of their reiatsu as it twined together.

He doesn’t know that Sousuke tasted of mint and that the spot behind his ear was particularly sensitive. That his hair was soft and silky as it slipped through Kisuke’s fingers. That he knew all the important dates in Kisuke’s life and why they were that way. That no matter how many women – or men – approached, Sousuke only ever had eyes for him. That in the end, Sousuke didn’t fight back.

Shinji knows. But he doesn’t know a damn thing at all.

“The Shinigami wouldn't have allowed anything of Aizen's to exist,” Shinji says, and Kisuke belatedly realizes that he’s been talking this entire time.

Shoulders slump that he hasn't even realized are held in the first place. A bit of energy slips out of him like the helium in a balloon as he sits slack against the headboard. The tightening in his chest increases like a vise has gripped his heart. Again, the taste of bile rises into the back of his throat, teasing his tongue. His stomach roils and tosses; his nose twitches with the scent of spilled blood.

All imagined of course. But he can feel it on his hands. Hot and bitter and so damn hard to accept.

Shinji sighs, sounding torn between a rock and a very hard place. One filled with jagged spears and serrated edges and molten lava beneath his feet.

“And don't let anyone see you with that look either,” he comments. “They won't understand. They think you're a hero.”

“I don't feel like one,” Kisuke mutters, dragging his dry tongue over dry lips and trying to stop the rampant heaving in his belly. “I didn't do it to save everyone.”

The chair creaks as Shinji shifts, reiatsu a subtle and comforting pulse in the room. Like waves lapping at a shore.

“Why did you do it?”

“I don't know. Maybe for myself,” Kisuke answers, but it's not really an answer at all and he knows it. He can't explain it in ways that anyone else would understand.

“Yourself?”

Kisuke shrugs, gaze wandering to the window. Bright light streams in cheerily, golden rays of dawn. They do little to pierce the darkness that fogs Kisuke's thoughts.

He was just selfish, he supposes. Wanting all of Sousuke to belong to him in the end since apparently nothing ever had. Since it had been so easy for Sousuke to abandon him. Since Kisuke had been just a pawn like everyone else. Since his existence hadn't made a difference at all.

“You're late.”

Kisuke just smiles as Sousuke lifts his head from where he fell asleep on the couch, obviously waiting for the blond to arrive. He's wearing little more than a sleeping robe, a dark shade of blue that complements his complexion perfectly. It gapes a little to reveal the firm, muscled tan of his chest.

“Sorry,” Kisuke apologizes sincerely. “There was an issue with one of the labs.”

“Something exploded?” Sousuke questions with a quirked brow, rising to his feet and hiding his yawn behind a palm.

“Something like that.”

Kisuke hums agreeably, letting his captain's haori slide off his shoulders and to the floor. He feels incredibly tired, reiatsu sluggishly stirring in response to Sousuke's presence but doing little else.

Strong fingers grip his shoulders then. Thumbs dig into the muscles of his upper back, and Kisuke groans, melting into the touch. His head rolls, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. He can feel Sousuke's presence behind him, even as the vice-captain's hands work their magic.

“You're tense,” Sousuke murmurs, voice a welcome purr in Kisuke's ears, his warmth so near.

“Not just in my shoulders either,” Kisuke returns with a soft smile.

He pointedly slides a half-step backwards and further into Sousuke's arms, heat flushes through him slowly. But more than anything, he just wants to sink into that embrace. To let those arms tighten around him and hold on. But Sousuke chuckles then, and something stirs in his groin.

The brunet’s hands glide further down and land on Kisuke's side, just at the curve of his rib. “Here?”

“Mmm. Not quite.”

His fingers a bare presence, Sousuke's touch shifts lower. He focuses on the blond’s hips, even through the folds of his shihakushou.

“Here?”

Kisuke's lips quirk. His lover is such a damn tease.

“Almost.”

Clever fingers dance around to the front of his hakama. One hand tugs at the ties to his obi as the other palm focuses hot against Kisuke's clothed arousal.

“Here?” Sousuke questions, tongue touching an ear.

Kisuke shivers and turns his head to meet Sousuke's lips with his own. And they kiss with eyes wide open and staring into another pair.

There is cool slide of metal from leather, a sword whispering softly as it leaves its scabbard. Kisuke turns his head back towards Shinji. Only to gawk at the item gleaming in the man’s hands, a very familiar hilt and pommel. He aches. By Kami and all the worlds above and below, he aches just looking at the beautiful blade.

Kisuke swallows thickly over a peach-sized lump in his throat. “Why... Why didn't she disappear with him?” he demands, half-afraid to touch the silvery-blue metal as though it would turn out to be mere illusion.

Just like her former wielder.

“You know why it didn't.” Shinji’s tone says everything but nothing.

Something clenches inside his chest, threatening to break free, keeping him dangling on the edge. Kisuke forces his hand to move, to cradle the zanpakutou gently. And the persisting reiatsu in her is bittersweet to his senses. His own reiatsu leaps out like an eager colt. Grasping onto the lingering tendrils. Pulling them into his own self like hoarding a handful of gold. And Kisuke is instantly surrounded in Sousuke's presence. Or what remains of it.

He closes his eyes, more memories than he can separate swamping his senses – laughter and burnt food and warm mornings and teasing touches and brown eyes and a feeling so much like home. He and Sousuke had been together for nearly a decade before his lover betrayed him. And something like that can’t be so easily forgotten or abandoned. Not for Kisuke.

“It wasn't an illusion,” Sousuke had said.

And Kisuke can't believe him. He can't. He doesn't have the strength to do that.

His fingers slide along Kyouka Suigetsu's tepid length, holding none of the warmth of her former master. But stirring at his touch, heating up.

And Kisuke has a rather treasonous desire, a brief and dangerous want. He has a thought of wanting to go back in time, knows that he could devise a way if he really and truly tried. Of wanting to press the reset button and start all over again. Pretend that yesterday and the past one-hundred years never happened. He wants to see if it's possible for him to hold onto the past rather than let it slip through his fingers. Make a new future. Never watch the man he loves become a man Kisuke doesn't know. To make sure the monster never happens. To never let go. To clutch on for dear life.

And despite the fact that they are his friends, that they’ve lived and fought and laughed together for over a century… Despite all that, Kisuke knows that if he had the choice to do it over, he would leave the Vizard to die. Shinji, Lisa and Love and Rose, Kensei and Mashiro, Hachi. Even Hiyori. He would simply turn his back and pretend he never saw. That there was nothing to see. He’d simply return to his warm bed, curl around Sousuke, and sleep like the dead.

They’ve won. The war is over. His exile has even been lifted apparently. But he’d give it all up in an instant. If Sousuke had even given him so much as a hint all those years ago, Kisuke knows exactly what side he would’ve picked. And it’s not the one he’s on now.

It’s a testament to what this man does to him. To how far he can reach into Kisuke’s soul even from the grave.

And Kyouka Suigetsu burns in his hands.

“They're going to want to see it, you know,” Shinji says quietly, his voice slipping into Kisuke's thoughts.

He forces his eyes open, letting the zanpakutou rest in his lap. His fingers run over the green stitching on the pommel, and he can hear both she and Benihime purr in his mind. Can feel both princesses as they twine together.

“See what?” Kisuke asks dully, not really interested.

Shinji shifts, his chin resting on his knuckles as he watches Kisuke intently. “Whatever you invented that allowed you to see the real Aizen. To see past the illusion.”

The words wash into Kisuke's ear. He freezes. Head lifting slowly, creaking like gears that haven't been used in a while.

“I...” He pauses, licking once again dry lips. “There wasn't anything.”

It is Shinji's turn to stare at him in surprise. “That's... That's not the sort of answer the soutaichou and Chamber 46 are gonna want to hear, Kisuke.”

“It's the truth,” Kisuke insists. He feels something tug and churn in his belly. “I tried. I honestly did. For the length of my exile. But without Kyouka Suigetsu to study, I couldn't create anything to combat his illusions.”

Shinji's head lifts from his knuckles. “Then how did you...?”

“Maybe he wanted me to,” Kisuke says with a shrug, gaze shifting to the safety of the window. “Or maybe I wanted it badly enough.”

Or maybe their reiatsu was too compatible. Too used to coiling together.

“I'm more inclined to believe the former,” Shinji responds with a thoughtful hum. “But what’re you gonna do now, Kisuke?”

His shoulders lift again, dropping without enthusiasm. “I'm not staying here,” Kisuke says and finds it strange that being here in Soul Society should feel so wrong to him.

The feel of spiritual particles surrounding him should be familiar, as well as the steady hum of reiatsu. Instead, it feels stifling. Like he can't breathe. And he wants nothing more than to return to his shouten in Karakura. To the solitude and the humans who know nothing and therefore ask no questions. Where he can be with his thoughts and memories and no one will notice or care even if they do.

“Then I won't either.”

His eyes skip to Shinji in surprise. But the other man’s face is painted with resolve.

“Shinji, that's not--”

Shinji cut into his denial with an easy grin, leaning back against his chair. “I can't leave ya by yourself when ya look this pathetic. What kind of friend would I be? Besides, it's not like you're planning to stay outta Soul Society forever, right?”

Kisuke isn't so sure. But for Shinji's sake he inclines his head.

“I'll return eventually.”

And it might be a lie; it might be the truth. He doesn't really know. Doesn’t care.

It’d taken him a century to figure out just how he was going to face Sousuke, and in the end, he still acted on impulse. To return to the place where they’d been together? That will take much, much longer.

Maybe forever.

Sousuke's lips twitch towards a smile, fingers dragging down a thigh. “I..”

“Yes,” Kisuke presses, and his tone is teasing but thoughts perfectly serious.

“I... find you interesting,” Sousuke finishes, the pads of his fingers tickling behind Kisuke's knee and making his leg twitch.

It takes all of his effort not to pout at the response he hadn't expected. Even if he still rather enjoys hearing it.

“That was so mean.”

Brown eyes, unshielded by glasses, twinkle with amusement. “It’s nothing but the truth, my dear. I find you interesting.” Sousuke's mouth falls, and his lips press to Kisuke's chest. “I find you enlightening,” he adds against the blond’s skin, dragging his mouth toward a collarbone with a nibble.

This time, Kisuke does pout. “Maw, Sousuke. You sound like you only want me for my mind.”

A tongue touches his skin, dancing upwards to the sensitive cove at the side of his throat. A kiss follows.

“I find you--”

“--ravishing?” Kisuke suggests. A purr builds in his chest as the warmth of another body covers him, and they rub together quite nicely.

Sousuke chuckles against his throat. “That, too.”

His hand smooths back over Kisuke's knee and thigh, heading to more interesting territory and prompting his lover to tilt his hips hopefully. Lifting a hand, the blond drags his fingers down Sousuke's back, tracing the line of his spine. He feels a few ridged scars – another something he's never asked about. Sousuke rumbles at that, lips seeking out Kisuke's for a stirring kiss. But Kisuke won't be deterred with an erotic distraction. At least, not completely.

“But do you love me?” he asks against the brunet’s mouth, his tongue dragging over his own lips.

There is a pause as Sousuke pulls back.

“Do you really need me to say it?”

There’s an edge of something in his voice. Hurt perhaps. As though Kisuke has just screamed to the world that he doesn't trust him when by this point it's so damn obvious that Kisuke does. With his life even. His soul.

Kisuke tilts his head back, grey eyes meeting his lover’s directly. “Sometimes, it's nice to hear,” he admits softly and with a tilt of his head.

Fingers drag down the length of his arousal. And Sousuke presses a kiss to his jaw, the motion a lot like a nuzzle. He lingers there, forehead brushing Kisuke’s cheek. And his words when they come are a whisper.

“And sometimes, it's nice to know without words.”

*******

a/n: Ack. Just like the prequel, this one digs fingers into my heart and refuses to let go. I wrote it in a big rush, much like I did the associated fic. Man, I love this pairing. Ahem. I doubt there will be a third in the series, but don't quote me on it. Never know when inspiration strikes. I hope you enjoyed!

Oh! And don’t forget to check out my brand new oneshot “Need, Want, Desire” posted here on aff.net. It’s a Renji/Byakuya/Shuuhei. Thanks everyone!